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reveniemus · 3 years

Note

8 or 21 or 31 for the hug prompts. love your new look 😉💖

thank you!! i am obsessed with this photoshoot 😭😭 also i hope you enjoy some angst i guess?? bc i write that now???

geraskier in angst major, no. 1

pairing: gen with lite!geraskier rating: teen warnings: implied torture, mild descriptions of injuries jaskier is not having a good time

on ao3

Never say never, his mother had always said, and yet, Jaskier had foolishly done just that. He thought he was never going to feel anything worse than the heartache of what happened on the mountain, and yet, this moment was a very strong contender. It was such an obvious thing too, and Jaskier knew if Geralt had been there, he would’ve tutted at him for being so oblivious to the fact that the men giving him the eye were not, in fact, looking for a one night tumble.

Then again, if Geralt had been there, Jaskier wouldn’t have been flouncing about in a crowded tavern in plain view of some Nilfgaardian soldiers out of uniform. He would’ve been curled up in a bedroll on the forest floor, eating rabbit or deer and scribbling in his notebook while Geralt sharpened his swords.

“Bard’s tougher than he looks, huh?” he hears one of the guards say after he’s taken yet another beating. “That’s the third one today and he’s still conscious, somehow.”

“Barely. I bet if he got another one today, he’d tell us everything,” his companion says, and Jaskier’s body involuntarily winces at the thought of another beating so soon to his last one.

“Think the captain will let us? It’s not like we’re getting anywhere with the other prisoners,” the first one says, and he must lean against the bars because the scraping sound of metal against metal rings in Jaskier’s ears.

“Most likely. We haven’t tried branding yet,” the second voice answers, the gleeful tone to his voice making Jaskier’s stomach curl. Thankfully, it sounds like they’re finally, finally walking away and Jaskier lets himself relax when the sounds of their conversation dissipate.

He takes a deep breath and even that small, miniscule amount of movement makes his body ache. Jaskier tries to remember the things Geralt used to say about managing pain. The first step was to take inventory of his body to figure out what was wrong. It’s hard to do on his side, so Jaskier shifts, his face scrunching up as he lays on his back. It isn’t comfortable and the movement makes his bones feel like they’re on fire. How is it possible to feel this much pain and survive?

Okay, he can do this. He can take inventory of his body, just like Geralt used to.

Deep breath.

Something aches on his calf, near his ankle. Twisting it shoots pain up his leg, and Jasker bites down on his bottom lip to stop from making a noise. He can’t let the soldiers know he’s conscious enough to make noise.

Deep breath.

There’s a cut on his right upper thigh. He doesn’t know when he acquired it. This last beating? The one before? It’s not actively bleeding anymore, which is good. He thinks it means they didn’t hit anything major.

Deep breath.

A stabbing pain shoots up his left arm. Fuck. He hopes it’s not a break, because the implications of it makes his heart ache. Then again, he doesn’t know when he’ll see his lute again, so maybe it doesn’t really matter.

Deep breath.

His abdomen feels heavy. Is this what internal bleeding feels like? He should’ve asked Geralt how to know if you’re bleeding internally. Jaskier thinks he’d be colder if he were bleeding internally, or number.

Deep breath.

Jaskier’s head is pounding — not enough to distract from the rest of his pain, but just enough that his thoughts are verging on disjointed. Geralt would yell at him for not being able to focus.

Deep breath.

That definitely means there’s a head injury though. Jaskier remembers when Geralt had fought two fiends and they’d knocked him around. He had insisted that Jaskier not let him sleep, that it would make a head injury worse. Jaskier isn’t sure what worse means when the main part of your body that keeps things running is already hurt, but he thinks it means he shouldn’t sleep.

Deep breath.

If he’s asleep, though, he won’t feel the pain of his injuries. Jaskier closes his eyes, knowing Geralt would hit him for genuinely contemplating falling asleep while he’s got a definitive head injury.

Deep — Jaskier is jolted out of his breathing routine by a loud clanging noise, followed by thumps and screams and the sound of running. He pushes himself up onto his elbows, grimacing with the motion, to peer past the bars of his cell.

He should move back, maybe hide in the shadows and hope that whoever is attacking the prison will leave him alone. If he can have time to heal, he can get out of here and find … who? Geralt made it very clear he didn’t want Jaskier around, and it wasn’t like Jaskier could go around and find his old acquaintances. Anyone who was associated with him could be in danger because of his association with the White Wolf.

Maybe he could turn this prison into his home after whoever is out there finishes off the Nilfgaardians. Jaskier lays back down, closing his eyes and taking deep, slow breaths as the noises of fighting seem to get closer. If he lies here, maybe they’ll think this cell is empty of viable prisoners and they’ll keep going.

“Fuck,” he hears a voice grunt before the door to his cell opens. The voice seems familiar, but Jaskier can feel himself slipping in and out of consciousness and his already-vaguely-disjointed thoughts connect even less and less. “Please don’t be dead,” the voice says, and Jaskier vaguely feels a warm body next to him. The immediacy of the movement makes him flinch, and he hears another curse from the voice.

Familiarity blooms inside him, and he winces. His mind is playing tricks on him, it seems, maybe the Nilfgaardians decided an illusion would be more useful than a branding. Jaskier tries to curl into himself, but the pain that courses through him makes him scream.

“Jaskier, please, don’t move,” the voice whispers, gruff and gentle, and Jaskier whimpers as a hand brushes back his hair.

“Please, I don’t know anything, I swear,” he pleads, fighting back tears.

“It’s okay, Jask, you’re safe,” the voice murmurs, and Jaskier whines. The illusion feels so real it makes his heart ache, reminds him of the moments he clung to when Geralt’s fingers would barely brush over his skin when they were making camp, or when Jaskier made a stupid decision that got him hurt.

Suddenly, Jaskier is being tugged up, and he’s shocked into looking up. His eyes widen when he sees a shock of long white hair and amber eyes, a soft whisper escaping his lips.

“Yes, it’s me. We have to keep moving,” Geralt says, and Jaskier feels arms on his waist as he somehow gets on his feet. “Can you stand?” he asks, his eyes glittering with concern in a way that makes Jaskier’s head spin.

“You’re here,” he whispers, leaning back a little as Geralt’s hand moves from his waist. It’s not far, he can feel the heat of it against the ragged remains of his chemise, and Jaskier feels more light headed than he has in weeks.

“Careful,” the witcher murmurs, catching Jaskier’s arm as he sways on the spot. “I’ve got you, Julek.” His arm wraps around Jaskier’s waist and he brings him closer.

Jaskier inhales Geralt’s scent, a mix of leather and horse that’s difficult to duplicate, much less recreate in an illusion, and ignoring the sharp ache in his lungs at the movement. He’s probably got a broken rib, he realizes, as he involuntarily leans into Geralt more. “You’re here,” he repeats, his eyes fluttering.

“I am, but don’t fall asleep on me yet. You’ve got a nasty head wound,” Geralt says, his voice gruff and stern and the familiar tendrils of it makes Jaskier’s heart warm.

“Y’know, even if this was a dream, it’s a nice dream. I hoped this would be my last,” Jaskier whispers, like it’s a secret, as he leans into Geralt, wrapping an arm around the witcher’s waist. He has no balance, so he feels the sway of his body as he tries to recalibrate his center of gravity.

“It’s not a dream, and it sure as hell won’t be your last one.” Geralt’s response is angry, almost aggressive, and Jaskier thinks maybe he’s far too out of it to be affected by that. “Yen’s outside with a portal waiting for me to get you out of here,” he continues, tightening his grip around Jaskier’s waist and moving out of the cell.

Jaskier makes a soft noise, burying his face in Geralt’s neck as the witcher half-carries him out of the keep. “You came for me,” he mumbles, voice slurring as darkness starts to take a hold of his consciousness.

“I always will,” Geralt whispers. Or maybe it’s just a part of Jaskier’s dream. “You’re not dreaming, Jaskier, and I need you to stay awake.”

Did he say that aloud? Oh. Did that mean he was definitely dreaming or definitely not? Jaskier is about to say something else, he thinks, but putting words together has become very difficult. What a useless wordsmith he is, isn’t he? Not able to put words together! What a sorry excuse of a bard.

“What’s he babbling about?” a sultry feminine voice asks, and Jaskier’s body jerks, the pain shooting from his possibly-twisted ankle as he tries to run off. “Bard, what are you doing? Has he been doing this the whole time?”

“Hm,” Geralt grunts, shifting to hoist Jaskier towards the shimmering portal that’s just outside of his fuzzy eyeline.

“Why didn’t you Axii him like one of your horses?” Yennefer asks, her voice coming closer as Jaskier’s arm lifts and loops over someone’s neck. A lilac and gooseberries someone.

Geralt lets out a grunt that, if he were in the right state of mind, Jaskier would be able to translate, but for now, he knows there’s an underlying layer of softness to it that he wants to hold close to his heart.

“Oh, you stupid witcher,” Yennefer mumbles before Jaskier feels chaos surrounding him. It’s the last thing he consciously notes for himself before his vision goes black and his mind goes empty.

#hello i tried a thing i hope it's okay #jaskier #julian alfred pankratz #the witcher #witcher fic #geralt of rivia #a sprinkling of #yennefer of vengerberg #hurt/mild comfort #or as they say in the gallery #whump the bard #kali writes

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starilicious · 3 years

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der lagi lekin (hunter x force-user!gn! reader + ep. 8 fix-it)

》 summary: tbb episode 8 fix-it featuring a force-user reader who used to be a jedi. reader is a part of tbb and in a relationship with hunter, but the squad–nor hunter–knows that reader is a force-user. (disclaimer: all of this was written before episode 9 was released! see a/n for an explanation ^_^) (another disclaimer: if you want just the hunter x reader comfort, please let me know and i'll finish it up and post it!)

》 word count: ~8k (yeah, it's a lot LOL)

click here to read on AO3

》 warnings: in-universe swearing, mental breakdown, some slight sensory overloads, pretty mild panic attack, light canon-typical violence, angst + some comfort, survivor's guilt from surviving order 66, no use of y/n, slightly plot heavy because i got way too carried away in writing (whoops?) [if i should add more warnings, please let me know!]

》 spoilers: major ones for tbb episode 8 "reunion"

》 a/n: okay look, i gotta confess: this wasn’t supposed to be an episode 8 fix-it. really. i’m actually glad cad bane won because we get to see that the clones don’t always win every fight... i think it makes for a better and more complex story. anyway, i started out writing just reader and hunter comfort after episode 8 ended. but i’m weak for omega because she reminds me so much of my younger siblings and i ended up writing a wholeass fix-it to save her (even tho cad bane is a downright badass). i kind of liked what i did with building up the plot so much that i might continue this story of force-user!reader with tbb. but that’s a tangent we can deal with later. if you would like a part two with the hunter x reader comfort this was originally intended to be, let me know!

as i said in the summary, i wrote all of this before episode 9 came out–just be aware of that. because it’s so long, it took me a while to edit, which is why i’m posting after ep. 9 was released. but without further ado, i hope you like it! <33

》 misc. notes:

• title of the fic is from the hindi song "der lagi lekin" from the film zindagi na milegi dobara. i linked the song in blue and linked the english translations in green in case you're curious! it's not necessary to listen or understand the song, but i thought it went well with the fic :)

“Everybody get down!” Wrecker yells. You and the squad immediately do as he instructs, diving towards the ground and covering your head. Stars, I hope this works.

The charges the six of you placed around the gigantic cone that surrounds the core cylinder explodes in a deafening blast. You curl into the tightest ball you can manage, breathing so hard that the HUD inside your helmet temporarily fogs up. Metal shards of the explosion rain down on you hard.

For a moment, it seems like nothing happened. But then you hear the telltale, ear-grinding creak of the durasteel and the squad is roughly catapulted forward from the force of the cone beginning to fall down.

You struggle to stand up as you lurch this way and that, trying to regain your balance and stabilize as Tech calls out, “Hold on!”

You quickly glance at the rest of the Bad Batch, trying to see if any of them were hurt. Other than the absolutely terrified look on Omega’s face, all is well considering the circumstances. The metal groans and begins its descent, taking your feeling of being grounded with it. The weightlessness is uncomfortably familiar to say the least, but you ignore it as the six of you scramble to hold on to the side of the cone. You certainly did your fair share of acrobatics back in the war, but feeling it hum around you...it’s too much. It’s too much. You elect to push it back into the depths of your brain. But it doesn’t leave.

It never really does.

Omega’s anxious whimpers come in faintly through your thick helmet and you whip around, frantically trying to find where she is. But before you can find her, the cone lands vertically on its head and the force is so violent that your stable hold on the durasteel is broken. Panicked, you quickly fire a grappling hook towards the ledge where you were previously hanging on. The hook catches and you stop abruptly, the jerky movement almost wrenching your arm out of its socket.

You look down to see Omega falling from someone’s grip and into Hunter’s arms. You can barely tell where anyone is thanks to the lack of light and the incessant motion.

The cone begins to topple onto its side and suddenly, your wire snaps from the tension. You let out a scream of surprise as you plummet downwards, wind rushing past your helmet. ForceIdon’twanttodieohmyMakerohno–

But you never hit the ground, instead being flung sideways as the cone tears into two. On trained instinct, you tuck yourself into a ball to try and roll in order to break your fall instead of using it. That time is long gone.

You land with a sickening thud and hiss in pain as your back hits the metal hard. You hear something crack, but whether it is your armor or something internal, you have absolutely no idea, and don’t have time to check before you black out.

✧✦✧

You jolt awake, a sound making its way into your consciousness. Finally, the damn place stopped moving. You take a few minutes to try and relieve the painful pressure in your chest, reaching up to rip your helmet off because you can’t breathe, you can’t breathe.

You tilt your head back as you struggle to take in air and let the adrenaline subside. You hear voices in the distance and you strain your ears to pick up on the sound as you quickly check yourself over. As far as you can tell, nothing major is broken, and at this point, that is all that matters. Though, your head is pounding, and for more reasons than one

“–nter.. port side... what… status?”

You can’t tell who is speaking, the message too far away for you to hear. But the bits and pieces are enough for you to know that it’s someone from the Bad Batch and that you weren’t unconscious for long. You stand up and dust yourself off before slowly walking to where you believe the origin of the sound is.

“–engine… got company.” A blaster sound and then an explosion rings through the quiet.

Your eyes widen and you quickly pick up the pace, getting your blaster ready as you pick your way through the sharp metal that is jutting out from the ground.

You click on your wrist comm. “Echo, you there?” A faint crackle before his voice comes through, but the signal is scratchy. You frown in frustration.

“–are you? Hunter is... port side,” Echo says and you smack your commlink to try and get the electronics to work, but it’s no use. The device is broken, most likely from the fall, you deduce.

“Meet… Marauder.”

You don’t bother to answer, knowing Echo would probably not even be able to hear what you had to say anyway. Without a signal booster or repeater, there’s no way you can get your transmission across the channel frequency.

It takes a few minutes, but you eventually find the night sky of Bracca blinking down at you at the end of the ripped off cone. You run out to find that you’re in the middle of where the cone broke in half. Okay, new plan. I need to find Hunter. Hunter will know what to do.

You scan your surroundings. The HUD isn’t picking up on any lifeforms near you, and you realize with sinking dread that you have no more options. Whichever piece you climbed through to get to your squadmates, it would take too long for you to search for them since you don’t know their coordinates and your comm isn’t working. Frankly, the Empire–Crosshair–would find you first. You have to use it.

You have to use the Force.

A wave of nausea overcomes you at the mere thought of it and you sway. In an attempt to ground yourself, you tear off your helmet to breathe some fresh air and end up keeling over as the bile rises in your throat. Nothing comes out. You can’t tell if that’s a positive or not.

You could have saved them. Someone. Anyone.

It itches at you in the back of your head, wishing to be let out of its cage. But you can’t. You can’t do it. What’s the use anyway? All you would be doing is saving yourself. The choice of surviving it all has haunted you ever since. Your head pounds in agony.

You saw it happen. You could have helped them. And you ran like a coward. Only ever concerned about yourself.

You inhale sharply as the scene flashes before your eyes, clones shooting at you and the other Jedi. The blaster fire. The confusion. The screams.

How pathetic.

The last statement, an echo of Crosshair’s words, bounces around in your brain. You clutch your head as you let out a heartbroken sob, knee deep in the dirt and metal and grief. Tears create clean tracks down your face as you finally break down, the flood of emotions bursting the dam open. At this point, you don’t know if the emotions are yours or the ones you previously felt through the Force, all of them swirling and blending into one. The bottled up anguish merged together when you attempted to cut yourself off from the Force after the clones–your friends–attacked.

The pain of their death is perhaps the worst of all. Horror courses through you as you finally process your friends and mentors dying around the galaxy, their deaths, their distress, their fear reverberating heavily throughout the Force. Each one cripples you further as you once again struggle to breathe.

It feels like light years pass when you finally calm down to a practically numb state of being. The scenes stop replaying behind your closed eyelids and the echoing shrieks die down to a faint, hollow whisper. You’re suddenly exhausted, limbs heavy and energy sapped. It was almost relieving to finally let the Force once again flow through your body, your nerves lightly tingling with potential despite how tired you feel. You collapse onto the ground and try to recenter yourself.

But despite finally acknowledging the loss, it doesn’t feel right. You didn’t get to say goodbye. You hadn’t been able to even think about them, much less honor them, too focused on going on the run to concentrate on anything beyond the next day’s survival. Even once you joined the Bad Batch, you were paranoid about their chips, about your friends turning on you at any moment. You were always extremely reluctant to engage in the Force, even at the worst of times.

With a start, you realize that you don’t need to worry about your squadmates. Their inhibitor chips are now gone. You… you are safe.

You let out a shocked laugh as it sinks in. A glimmer of hope, of peace. I’m safe.

You sit up then, criss-crossing your legs as you survey the broken landscape of Bracca. Despite the planet being a graveyard, you feel lucidly alive. Perhaps something died in you, that wretched day. But something else, slowly but surely, began growing in its place. It’s meek, but it’s there.

You let out a breath and close your eyes, reaching for the Force like it’s an old friend. It accepts your invitation with hesitation, joining hands with you as if you did not try beating it to death for days on end. You sink into the gentle lapping waves of the Force, extending into it and widening your scope.

There’s something that lurks beneath the surface, in the deep. Dark and sinister and so utterly painful. It calls to you, quiet and low. Enticing. Tempting. And something in you knows that it’s the reason for your previous life’s demise.

But you can feel Hunter’s–and Omega’s, you realize–presence near you in the Force. Even with your relatively damaged connection to the Force after Order 66, the Bad Batch’s Force auras were something you could always hone in on. You let yourself direct your focus to the duo, letting their emotions be your beacon to the acceptance of the Light side of the Force.

In a split second, you decide to not dive deeper into the Force. This isn’t the place nor the time to discover what is prowling in the endless yawning of the Force, to discover why everything happened. So you direct your concentration to the beings on the planet, feeling and breathing your way through the Life Force.

You freeze. There’s something here. No… someone. Your eyebrows furrow as you divert your attention away from your friends and other organisms to the peculiar source. Something about this person strikes you as familiar.

Your eyes snap open and you gasp. I’m not alone. A Force-sensitive. Someone survived. Giddy beyond belief, you snatch up your helmet and begin trekking your way across the wreckage in the opposite direction of Hunter and Omega before pausing. Whoever this person is doesn’t know about your presence on the planet.

And despite the fear you felt emanating off of them in the Force, you somehow knew they were safe, at least for now. And they would remain so if you have anything to say about it. Maker forbid anything that jeopardizes this person’s fragile safety. After all, you know best what it’s like to constantly flee scene after scene.

Staying away is the best thing to do. I’ll come back for you, whoever you are.

You double back and make quick work of getting across the debris as you focus your concentration on Hunter’s and Omega’s Force signatures. As you get closer to the port side, you hear Omega’s high voice. Through your HUD, you can see her small form. You grin. She disappears then, and on closer inspection, you figure she jumped through some broken cargo doors.

The entrance she and Hunter took is too high for you to jump up to, even with the aid of the Force. Combined with your wariness of probe droids, you decide to take a different route from the right side, climbing up the broken ship. The slick oil mixed with the water still present on the metal makes for a difficult trek, and you slip more times than you would like to admit.

Hunter’s gruff voice floats up towards you and you scramble the last few meters to the edge of a hole in the ceiling before pausing. The Force is itching at the back of your head. Something’s wrong.

You peek over the edge of the giant slab of durasteel that created the hole to see bodies in white armor littered everywhere–clones, you realize. Your heart pangs in sadness at the sight.

Slightly to your right, a blue figure and a techno-service droid stand in front of a ship and a frightened Omega stands behind a defensive Hunter. Your mouth drops open. Kriff.

Cad Bane.

A memory from near the beginning of the war hits you in full force. You and Anakin had taken some time on Coruscant to catch up with each other after you passed your trials and were promoted to Jedi Knight. He told you about a mission where he had to stop a bounty hunter who successfully stole a Jedi holocron. You remember how surprised you were when you heard the bitter disgust in Anakin’s voice. The ruthlessly cunning bounty hunter not only threatened to kill Ahsoka, but he murdered Master Ropal.

Judging by the looks of it, Hunter doesn’t know who he is. If the Anakin Skywalker had a difficult time with Cad Bane, there is no way in sithhell Hunter can take him on, even with his enhanced senses. Frankly, you seriously doubt you can either, especially with how rusty your Force skills are now. And that means this isn’t going to end well.

You watch carefully as you tune into the conversation.

“Ain’t you smart?” Bane smirks. “The kid’s got it all figured it out.”

“You’re in trouble now!” the droid exclaims, pointing at Hunter and Omega. You grit your teeth in annoyance.

“Who hired you?” Hunter asks. Stalling. Not a bad move, Hunter.

“Son,” Bane sighs, already done with the brief conversation. “That’s confidential information. Now hand her over.”

Omega stays behind Hunter, taking a knee as Hunter walks forward protectively. You bristle. How am I supposed to help from up here?

“She’s not going anywhere.”

Your eyes drift over the scene in a panic and you take in the fallen clones again. An idea pops into your head. It is desperate, but at this point, you don’t have much of a choice.

Bane mimics Hunter’s movement, walking forward and putting a hand near his belt. The tension is as thick as duracrete.

“That’s unfortunate… for you.”

You grab the long barrel piece from your belt, fitting it over your blaster hurriedly as the showdown begins. Out of the corner of your eye, you see them staring each other down and you can’t help but roll your eyes. Men.

During the war, Crosshair helped you re-engineer your weapon so you could put together various pieces in the field to make a blaster gun that loosely resembled his own sniper. Seeing the clones reminded you of him. A wave of sadness washes over you, but you shake your head. Now is not the time.

You screw on the telescopic sight and set up your makeshift sniper. You peer through the viewfinder and find Bane’s chest. Your finger tenses over the trigger.

You let yourself sink deep into the Force, let it guide your actions. Inhale. Exhale. I can do this. As you relax, the mellow warmth you missed so dearly washes over you, gently eroding the torment in your mind and heart, guiding your focus to the here and now. Trust in the Force.

Wait.

Now.

You fire two bolts straight into your target the same exact moment Bane and Hunter shoot each other. Hunter’s shot hits the droid, breaking off its leg. Bane’s shot hits directly in Hunter’s chest, as yours did Bane. Both men immediately fall backwards and slam into the ground.

“My booster!” Oh. So not a leg. Got it.

“Hunter!”

Kriff kriff kriff. You jump down nimbly from your hiding spot in the ceiling and immediately sprint towards the duo. Is he dead? You would unapologetically release sithhell on Bane if he killed the man you love.

Omega panics as she tries to wake Hunter up, continuously calling his name before taking a glimpse of her surroundings. Before you can react, she grabs her bow and pulls it taut, aiming at you. She looks petrified.

“Whoa! Omega, it’s me!” you exclaim, holding your hands up in surrender. She takes a moment to actually look at you before sagging in relief. Suddenly, the droid comes speeding out of nowhere and Omega shoots, the energy bolt whizzing past your waist and straight into the droid before it can attack you from behind.

The shot rings true and the grumpy robot falls. You turn around to grab at its exposed parts under its head and yank them out to make sure it can’t power on again.

“Thanks, Omega. I owe you one,” you say and Omega gives you a proud smile.

You place a comforting hand on her shoulder before kneeling down to shake Hunter awake, but it doesn’t work. You take a moment to analyse Hunter’s Life Force. It’s a bit dimmer, but it’s constant, meaning he’s out cold and doesn’t have the life draining out of him. You let out a sigh of relief. He’s alive. You glance back to see Bane still not moving. Good.

“What’re we gonna do?” Omega whispers as you both peer down at Hunter. His armor is smoking from Bane’s blaster shot and you exhale through your teeth, trying to come up with a plan. You slip off a glove to check Hunter’s pulse–it’s strong. You don’t want to leave Omega alone, even if Bane is unconscious, but you aren’t sure you have a choice.

“Well we can’t carry him to safety, neither of us are strong enough for that,” you think aloud, gears churning in your head. You would have to wait for help, even if you were sitting ducks.

Briefly, you entertain the thought of taking Bane’s ship. The only problem is you don’t know what trackers or other gadgets are in there–it’s too costly of a risk and a price you weren’t willing to pay. You sigh, resigned.

“Omega, you try to comm the others and see if you can wake Hunter up. I’m going to go inside this guy’s ship and see if I can find something that can help us. We have to get out of here before the bounty hunter wakes up,” you instruct and Omega nods, youthful determination flooding back into her eyes.

You leave her to it, walking cautiously towards Bane’s ship. You look down at him. His armor is smoking in two places from the shots you fired. Based on what you see, he’s still unconscious, and his Life Force reflects the same conclusion. How long that would remain, you don’t know. Which means you need to work fast.

You board the ship while you remove the sniper attachments from your blaster and clip them back onto your belt. You keep your guard up as you look around. No droids. Guess that techno-service droid is his one and only.

In an effort to slowly re-familiarize yourself with the Force, you send out a quick pulse through it to see if there are any lifeforms aboard the ship, relaxing when you find none. You rummage through all the cabinets that you discover, looking high and low as you try to locate something of use. The secret compartment in the cockpit proves to be the fruitful reward to your search. With a wave of your hand, you unlock it with ease. Bingo.

Credits. Bags of them. And they’re unmarked creds, which make your score even better. Hopefully, it would be enough to pay off your debt to Cid and give the Havoc Marauder some much-needed upgrades.

Usually, you would feel bad about stealing from someone, but considering this was a bounty hunter – Cad Bane, no less – you figure you can risk treading the grey area of your moral code.

You grab as many bags as you’re able, stuffing them inside your backpack and clipping the rest onto your belt. At this moment, you’re incredibly grateful to Tech and Echo for designing a sturdy utility belt that fits you well. The standard ones were for clones and you definitely were not a clone.

You exit the cockpit and head to the second level of the ship to see if there’s anything else you can find. A stack of crates sits in the corner across from what you assume to be a prison. You scrunch your nose in disgust as you open one to find medical supplies. Bacta patches and gel, vitapaste, rations, water, gloves, sanitary napkins–it was all there. Delighted, you close the crate and click the repulsor to make it levitate. Oh how you love technology.

You turn around and walk back up the stairs to leave the ship. You freeze at the exit ramp. You have got to be karking kidding me.

“Sorry lil’ lady.”

Cad Bane stuns Omega in front of your eyes before rounding on you and immediately fires. In a desperate attempt to save yourself, you throw your hands up and the honeyed power of the Force rushes through every fibre of your being. The blaster bolts slow down to a snail-like crawl and your eyes widen. How did I…?

Never mind how you argue with yourself. Time to get out of here!

You tiptoe around each bolt, the effort of keeping them in stasis becoming more difficult with each passing moment. You grit your teeth as your arms shake, but you keep going until you are finally off the ramp. You lower your arms and the energy hits the inside of the ship, spazzing out the blinking controls inside.

Bane turns to you in surprise, astonished at how you’re suddenly in front of him. You don’t give him the luxury of processing the event and immediately punch him in the face with as much strength as you can muster. Bane pitches backwards and collapses onto the ground, just as he did the first time. You grab your stun blaster and shoot him as extra assurance. You really did not want this to repeat again. Hopefully he never wakes up with a memory of what I just did...

“Now stay down,” you mutter to a knocked out Bane, cradling your now injured hand. You have no idea how Wrecker ever does this because wow your hand is killing you.

You have to say, you’re pretty proud of yourself for being able to render him unconscious not once, but two times. You wish you could tell Anakin–the thought saddens you. He’s probably dead too.

With that vividly cheery thought, you stagger back from the ramp in exhaustion, weary from the sudden surge of the Force still ebbing and coursing through your body.

None of the Bad Batch knew you used to be a Jedi–not even Hunter. It was something only a few of your closest Jedi friends and the Jedi Council knew about.

But after what happened today, with Rex helping your squadmates get their inhibitor chips out, with you finally letting the Force in… maybe it is time to tell them. The secrecy wouldn’t be needed anymore now that you were sure you were safe around your friends. But clearly, the universe wanted to throw a nasty vibroblade in your plans by knocking Hunter and Omega unconscious and having the best kriffing bounty hunter in the galaxy be hot on your heels.

You take a few seconds to get your breath back and regain your mental energy. You aren’t out of the woods yet. You run inside Bane’s ship to grab the crate of medical supplies before sprinting back out towards Hunter and Omega.

You lean down and pat Omega’s cheek gently, trying to wake her up, but she’s out cold. Why is everyone around me unconscious? Frankly, you’re equally amused and terrified by the situation laid out in front of you.

You sigh, looking around to see if you can find some cover. There’s a giant sheet of durasteel to your left, big enough to act as a barrier in case trouble comes knocking. You bend down and pick Omega up before placing her down cautiously, leaning her small body against the metal. You repeat the action with the crate you found.

The third time proves to be much more difficult. Hunter certainly isn’t as muscular as Wrecker, but he sure as sithhell isn’t as light as Omega. You tap your foot nervously, trying to figure out a way for you to lift him. Yes, you could use the Force, but you don’t want to alert the other Force-sensitive on the planet. If they knew about your existence, it could put them in danger, and that was the last thing you wanted.

Giving up, you place your hands underneath Hunter’s armpits and effectively drag him all the way over, propping him up as you did Omega. You cringe at the sound of his armor grating the floor. There are sure to be dirty scuff marks on it now. Sorry Hunter.

Just as you’re about to sit down next to him, heaving deep breaths from the exertion, you pause. A warning is practically blaring in the Force and you tense, urgently trying to figure out the cause.

“Not again,” you mumble under your breath. You can’t handle any more action today. With Hunter and Omega both down, and your extreme fatigue from engaging in the Force, you don’t know how much of a fight you can put up. Not to mention you never trained as a soldier. There was a reason why you left the military planning strategies to the Bad Batch.

You hold your blaster close to your chest as you scan the environment. Bane is immobile and so is the dismantled techno-service droid. So what’s wrong?

Ten nerve-wracking seconds pass before you get your answer. Clone voices waft up to your hiding spot and you bite your cheek in frustration as your head continues to pound. Your headache still hasn’t stopped.

There is no way you can fight them all off, especially if Crosshair is with them. They are too far away for you to get a read on how many there are, and frankly, you’re much too scared to even peek around the durasteel to count.

One of Tech’s previous statements floats through your mind. About three attack shuttles worth.

You can feel your heart thumping wildly in your chest, blood rushing through your ears as anxiety ties your stomach into knots. I can’t do this, I can’t do this, Ican’tdothis.

You take deep breaths, doing your best to clear your mind and focus. You had to do this. There is no other option other than surrendering or dying. No, damnit, you would go down fighting until the Life Force left you.

You peer just past the edge of the metal to see at least twenty clones heading your way. Certainly not ideal, but you bide your time. If you started shooting now, you couldn’t use the element of surprise to your advantage and they would easily overwhelm you. But once they’re close enough, you hope you can at least take a couple out before having to resort to using the Force. It isn’t ideal, but it’s all you have.

Honestly, you don’t know if you could get out of this one alive, much less protect Hunter and Omega too. Maker help me.

It throws you off when they finally come into sight–you see how plain the clones’ armor looked without paint. You never really noticed it before since you were always running for your life in those circumstances. But now that you think about it, you are so used to seeing bright blue or green or yellow that the alabaster white just seems so… odd.

“Looks like a big fight happened here.”

“Yeah, tell me about it. All these men are dead.”

Now.

You whip your body around the metal and immediately begin shooting as fast as you can pull the trigger, trying to make every shot count. The troopers hesitate for just a moment, most likely due to their surprise of you being there. But that second is all you need.

You take out the three men closest to you before jumping back behind the metal as their barrage of fire rains down on you. You do your best to shoot back and manage to take out one more clone, but they’re beginning to gain too much ground too fast. I can do this. I have to do this.

As far as you can tell, Crosshair isn’t with the clones attacking you, but that doesn’t mean he hasn’t set up shop somewhere nearby, waiting to shoot you.

You shudder. It’s a chilling thought.

You grab one of your last detonators from your belt and hurl it as far as you can. The rapid beeping rises quickly in pitch before the charge explodes. Anguished cries reverberate throughout the area, and you briefly feel sorry for having to take such drastic measures as you feel their Force signatures dim swiftly. But you don’t have a choice.

Peeking around the corner, you count around eight to ten clones down. Not bad considering the circumstances.

You continue shooting as much as you can but now the troopers are much too close for comfort and you’re feeling overwhelmed. The durasteel you are using for cover isn’t meant to take this kind of damage, and the integrity of your shield is quickly waning as told by the constant creaks and groans. You don’t know what to do. Will we make it?

In your haste of shooting first and panicking later, you don’t notice Hunter groaning, finally waking up. And before you have time to even glance at him, the familiar hum of the Havoc Marauder and its lights shine down on you. Your sag in relief. Looks like Omega was able to comm them after all. Never before have you been so glad to see the beat-up hunk of junk. (You would never say that to Tech though–the Marauder is his baby, his pride and joy.)

Echo, Wrecker, and Tech all race off the ship, guns ablazing. Wrecker and Tech stand guard, serving as cover fire while Echo bends down to help you out.

“Hunter, wake up!” Echo hisses and smacks his helmet lightly. Hunter mumbles in pain as he starts to move, trying to look around as his HUD boots back up. Seriously? Now you wake up? you think sarcastically. But you’re much more relieved at the fact that he has actually woken up.

“What happened? Where’s Omega?” Wrecker bellows, worried.

“She’s right here, I’ve got her!” you shout back at the same time Echo says, “He was shot in the chest plate.”

You pocket your blaster and gather the young girl in your arms with every last bit of strength you have left. You aren’t strong enough to hold her in one arm and shoot with the other. That is much more up Wrecker’s alley.

“We have to get him on board!” Tech exclaims as he helps Echo support Hunter. You pick Omega up in both arms and bolt for the ship as fast as you can while yelling at Tech to grab the crate of supplies.

“Incoming!” Wrecker calls out as a fresh wave of troopers advance towards the six of you. You grunt as you deposit Omega in a chair near the controls before pulling out your blaster and helping Wrecker shoot down the men racing towards you.

“Got him. Tech, fly us out of here!” Echo commands while Wrecker makes a gesture for them to get on the ship faster. Hunter stumbles as he does his best to upright himself.

“Go go go!” Wrecker exclaims. Tech shoves the crate next to Omega’s seat and makes a beeline for the cockpit as you continue shooting, moving to the side to make space for Echo and Hunter to come on board. Wrecker quickly climbs in right after them and the ramp closes shut.

Tech immediately pilots the Havoc Marauder up and away from the scene. You vaguely hear the sound of blaster fire hitting the bottom of the ship while you drop your blaster on the ground and wrench Hunter’s helmet off in a panic. You take his face in your hands as you scan him quickly, trying to figure out if he’s hurt or not.

Hunter bats your hands away. “He... he took Omega,” he says and you shake your head. Wrecker pipes up from behind you to respond.

“Who? Crosshair?”

“The bounty hunter,” Hunter mutters as he rubs a hand over his face. Before Wrecker can answer again, you step in.

“No, he didn’t. I took him down. And no, he’s not dead,” you tack on quickly when you see Echo open his mouth. Echo shakes his head fondly and you just grin at him.

“She’s right here,” Echo says instead, pointing to Omega’s sleeping figure. Hunter turns in surprise to see that his brother is indeed telling the truth.

“How...?” Hunter’s voice trails off. Echo and Wrecker look at you expectantly, and Hunter follows suit. You sigh and take off your helmet, setting it down on the ledge next to the controls. You don’t look at them.

“It’s a long story.”

You don’t have a chance to elaborate any further because Tech walks in, interrupting the conversation.

“I’ve made the jump to hyperspace. There was a cruiser in the atmosphere, but I was able to quietly go past them by disguising our ship as a bounty hunter’s. They didn’t interfere. I put in the coordinates for Ord Mantell. I estimate our time of arrival to be five hours and thirty two minutes,” Tech reports and Hunter nods while you voice your thanks.

“Looks like we got time!” Wrecker says cheerily, pulling out an extra chair. Tech looks to you in confusion.

“Did I miss something significant?” Tech asks, concerned about the information he did not receive as he adjusts his goggles. You shake your head but now, all eyes are back on you.

“She was just about to tell us how she saved Omega,” Hunter supplies helpfully and Tech nods in understanding. He grabs a chair as well and sits down, interested in hearing what you have to say.

You look around the room, realizing you can’t get out of it. You are exhausted and just want to sleep but based on the looks you are getting from the boys, there is no way you can leave without giving a sufficient answer.

You sit down on a chair in between Omega and Echo and begin explaining.

“When the cone fell, it separated. I got knocked out when I hit the ground, but I don’t think I broke anything,” you quickly reassure as Tech grabs a datapad to scan your vitals.

“After I came to, I tried comming Echo, but my commlink was broken – I could only hear bits and pieces of what he said. There were some voices near me so I just followed them and–” you pause, not sure if you should tell them what happened. What you experienced, what you found out. “–I saw Hunter and Omega. The ledge I found was way too high for me to jump to, so I climbed up the side of the wreckage to see them and the bounty hunter facing off,” you say, choosing to leave the detail out. It was too personal. You still needed time.

All of them are listening intently, hanging on to every word you’re saying. Hunter’s gaze on you is heavy and loaded with questions. Tech is still tapping away on the datapad, but you know you have his full attention. Multitasking may not be possible for regular humans, but it definitely was for Tech.

“When I saw the bounty hunter, I knew Hunter wasn’t going to win,” you mumble sheepishly, rubbing the back of your neck. Hunter winces at your statement and you rush to explain why.

“Hunter, you have to trust that I genuinely don’t doubt your abilities. You are much more of a soldier than I will ever be. But this bounty hunter is one of the best, if not the best in the entire galaxy. He’s gone against the Jedi, and won. Based on what Anakin told me at the beginning of the war, Cad Bane is ruthless. He tortured Master Ropal and killed him. Believe it or not, I think he tried to abduct Chancellor Palpatine. Even Anakin had a difficult time fighting him.”

A tense quiet settles over you all as you mentally revisit your conversation with Anakin, and later with Ahsoka. She told you how it was one of the first times she was genuinely afraid that she was going to die, or at least get hurt very severely.

Echo’s rough voice shakes you out of your reverie. “How do–did you know General Skywalker?” he asks, clearly confused at how you referred to him on a first-name basis. You mentally facepalm yourself. How did I forget he served as part of the 501st? You feel incredibly stupid.

You could make up a lie, of course, but it wouldn’t be worth it. Hunter’s enhanced senses and Tech’s vitals scan could probably pick up on your biological signs, not to mention you would feel terribly guilty about not being honest. I promised myself I would tell them…

You blow out a nervous breath, deciding to at least give them something. They deserved that much.

“I’m–well, I was a Jedi,” you admit, staring down at your feet. You can’t bring yourself to look at them, feeling almost… ashamed.

The boys are shocked into silence and you cringe. There was probably a much better way for you to say that, but now it was out there. Yet the pressure that had been weighing down on you since you let the Force back in didn’t lessen.

“What?” Wrecker questions, thrown completely for a loop. “You’re a Jedi?”

Before you can answer, Tech pipes up. “When I reviewed your medical data, there was no note about an elevated midi-chlorian count or any sort of connection to the Force. Additionally, there is no documentation of you serving as a General or a Commander during the war in the Republic military records. How were you a Jedi? And why aren’t you one now? You used past tense in your sentence,” Tech adjusts his goggles as he attempts to register this new information that conflicted with his previous knowledge.

You sigh, drumming your fingers on your thigh. “I left the Jedi Order before the war ended. I promise I’ll explain everything in detail later, but for now, you have to understand that I’m just a Force-user. I trained as a Jedi, but I’m not a Jedi, not anymore,” you clarify, lifting your head up to make eye contact with each of them.

“Aw man, that’s so cool. You have to show us your cool mind tricks sometime!” Wrecker smiles and you agree to his request. It warms your heart to see him so excited.

“It makes sense. You must have seen the regs turn on the Jedi but didn’t know why. When you started traveling with us, you didn’t know if we would turn on you too, even though we’re not regs,” Hunter realizes, and you nod in affirmation. You’re secretly relieved by the fact that he doesn’t seem angry, just… just thoughtful.

“And then when I saw what happened to Crosshair, I knew I couldn’t risk ever telling any of you. But when Rex told us about the chips…” you trail off.

Echo picks up your sentence quickly. “You figured out you would be safe with us if we got our chips removed. No wonder you were so insistent on following what Rex said.”

You smile at the last part, a bit embarrassed. He wasn’t wrong. You were probably even more insistent than Rex was on telling them to get their inhibitor chips out. Better to be safe than sorry you told them. Though at the time, you hadn’t even thought about how removing their chips would impact you and your abilities. You were too focused on keeping the Force out of your body to entertain that thought.

Wrecker suddenly gets up and gathers you in a bone-crushing hug. “Well you don’t have to worry now! We got those stupid chips out of our heads, which means I promise we won’t kill you!” he says cheerfully and you can’t help but laugh as you hug him back, the knot in your chest beginning to unravel. You could always count on Wrecker’s wonderfully big heart to raise your spirits.

“You’re right, big guy. It’s honestly a relief. One less thing I have to worry about.”

Wrecker lets go of you and you pick up where you left off. “As I was saying, Cad Bane isn’t a bounty hunter we can take lightly. Crosshair helped me re-engineer my blaster to turn it into a pseudo sniper with attachable parts during the war. Because I was so high up, I could get a clear shot of Bane. From that vantage point, I shot him at the same time Hunter and Bane shot each other.”

Echo’s mouth drops open. “Damn.”

“What I didn’t expect was for Hunter to be rendered completely unconscious. So I told Omega to try to comm you guys while I went on Bane’s ship to see if I could find anything. And I did.” You pull off your backpack and dump out the contents. Bags of credits come tumbling out. You unhook the few bags on your belt and toss them into the pile.

“Bane had a secret compartment with a lot of credits. So I took them and that crate I yelled at Tech to get,” you explain as you reach into the bag to show off the Imperial credits.

Tech’s eyes widen as he lifts up a bag to inspect it. “I will have to calculate how much you took and mark it in the inventory, but based on my initial deduction, this may be enough for us to upgrade the Marauder and provide sustenance for at least a few months.”

“Nice one!” Wrecker compliments and you grin in response. “What’s in the crate?” he asks, walking over to lift up the top.

“Medical supplies. We barely had any left so I figured I might as well take that too,” you shrug as Hunter gets up to join Wrecker to peer at the contents.

“What happened after that? You said you told Omega to comm the others, which means she was awake. Did she get hurt while I was out? Is that why you look so exhausted?” Hunter inquires, astute as ever.

You bite your lower lip. “When I was getting off his ship with the goods, he had woken up again. Before I could do anything, he stunned Omega and then immediately shot at me,” you pause, wondering if you should elaborate on how you got out of the situation. You decide to come clean on this part.

“I… I don’t know how, but I was able to stop the blaster bolts and keep them – and Bane – in stasis with the Force. The problem was that it took a lot out of me. After not really using the Force for so long, my energy reserves were pretty much gone,” you sigh, absentmindedly rubbing your arms. Your muscles are still sore from the event.

“After that, I punched him and knocked him out again. I dragged you and Omega away from the ship so that I could protect you, and I ended up using that giant piece of durasteel as cover to fight off those clones. Then you guys came and rescued us and that’s that,” you finish, suddenly fatigued from the conversation. You slump back into your chair, perfect posture be damned.

“Wow,” is all Echo says, surprised by your strength. It took some serious stamina to be able to withstand so much for so long. Echo remembered seeing Commander Tano and General Skywalker be exhausted after some especially intense missions where they constantly had to use the Force.

“Yeah,” you mutter, massaging your dominant hand. It is still throbbing from the mean hook you threw at Bane. You don’t have any regrets. You glance at Omega’s sleeping figure and soften. The things I would do for this girl.

“Looks like I taught you well!” Wrecker laughs and you smile. When you first met the Bad Batch, Wrecker took it upon himself to teach you basic self-defense and how to overtake an opponent intelligently. Even though you already learned how to fight as part of your Jedi and military training, you couldn’t say no to him when he looked so excited. But it paid off because he’s right. Wrecker did teach you well.

“You did. You basically saved my ass out there with your amazing teaching skills,” you chuckle, glancing down at your hand. You think you’ll probably have to cover it in bacta gel to speed up the healing process before having yet another realization. (You seem to be having a lot of those today.)

I can just Force-heal. Before, you couldn’t Force-heal because it would look suspicious if something healed too fast. But now that they know, you don’t have to solely depend on medical supplies anymore.

Tech, as always, is right on cue. “Is your hand alright? For you to render Bane unconscious must have been no easy feat. Not to mention that according to the medscan I just took, you have a mild concussion, most likely due to your fall. I can run a medical diagnostic test to start and then run more specific tests to combat your pain...” Tech mutters the last part to himself, brain running light years faster than his mouth as his fingers fly over the datapad.

You debate it for a moment before nodding. “That would be great, Tech–thanks. But right now, I’m exhausted, so I’m going to go and crash in my bunk. Wake me up if I need to punch someone again,” you joke before shuffling away from your squadmates. You ruffle Omega’s hair affectionately as you pass by her and pick up your blaster from the ground before climbing down the ladder. You don’t notice Hunter’s troubled gaze or how his Force signature sours a bit as you leave.

You quickly clean up and throw on some bacta patches on a few nasty bruises. You sit down on your bed and pull the privacy curtain before deciding to open up your secret compartment next to your mattress. You stare down at the objects, the only things you have left as a reminder of the past. You reach down for one of them, about to touch it when you stop.

You shake your head and shut the drawer. Deciding to finally, finally hit the hay, you’re out like a light as soon as your head hits the pillow. Dealing with the Force and healing yourself could be done later. Not even your constant pain and crippling worry about your family friends could keep you up any longer.

please consider reblogging! it really helps me and is super encouraging ^_^

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therosefrontier · 3 years

Text

Whumptober Day 4

No. 4 - TRUST FALL

“Do you trust me?” | taken hostage | pushed

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Genshin Impact | Diluc, Kaeya, and Mondstadt’s resident dragon friend

(crossposted to AO3)

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“Well, what a surprise this is, you asking me for help? You must be really desperate, then.”

“Don’t get any ideas. I’m not asking for your help tonight; I’m only asking for this one favor.”

“So, you play hero and I watch from the sidelines? Hmph, you wound me, Diluc.”

Diluc leveled his eyes at Kaeya with complete lack of amusement. He really didn’t have time for this. He pulled his sort-of brother into the stock room at Angel’s Share this morning with the intention of getting him alone with as little fanfare as possible (he wouldn’t be going to the knights for this, that’s for certain) and in as little time as possible. “I’m serious,” he insisted. “I’m only asking you to do this because you’re the only one who can. I need you to convince Vind to leave her post, just for one night. There’s going to be danger, and I need to ensure her safety. Obviously, I can’t do it myself, as this could reveal me as…well, the rumored vigilante.”

“The Darknight Hero, you mean?” Kaeya supplied with a smirk.

“Don’t call me that.”

“Fine, fine.” Kaeya shrugged. “I understand; you wish to keep your secret identity a secret. No worries; I have no intention of letting Vind be prey to some Abyss mages tonight. I’ll make an excuse to get her out.”

“Right…wait!” Diluc’s eyes widened at the realization. “I didn’t tell you—!"

“That the Abyss Order was the ‘danger’ described?” Kaeya appeared far too satisfied with himself. “Don’t be so surprised. I have my sources just like you have yours. It is the reason why Sucrose is on her way right now to tell Vind about those strange weather anomalies in Dragonspine that need her attention right now, as they could be the sign of a great storm that the expertise passed down to her through generations might be useful for. Plus, she has the official knightly request signed by yours truly.”

Diluc sighed. “You…already had a plan.” Of course, he did. A very official-sounding one, actually. “Wait, is there actually…?” If this was a lie, there was no way that Sucrose would go with it.

“No, probably not, it’s just a little stretching of the truth. I asked Albedo to hype up the facts for this purpose. But don’t worry, he doesn’t know any details.”

And…he got Albedo in on his scheme as well. “You would think of everything.” He exhaled while rubbing the bridge of his nose. “Well, fine then, you do that; I’ll handle the rest.”

It really wasn’t that much of a surprise to him that Kaeya would show up anyways. And, if he was being honest, it wasn’t unwelcome. Especially considering his timing.

Diluc struggled to regain his footing quickly, use the flat side of his claymore as a shield when another barrage of cryo icicles came his way. The cryo still caused a melt reaction on the flaming bush in front of him that made the fire burst in his face and deal yet another painful shot of damage. He inhaled a sharp breath and responded with launching himself at the cryo abyss mage with a flaming sword. He then unleashed his flaming phoenix on the hoard—half of Stormbreaker Point was already on fire, so it really wouldn’t matter if he added more flames to the mix.

A wound on Diluc’s arm was bleeding heavily, and he reached up to touch his face to confirm that there was blood there, too. Before him, a large group of abyss mages and Hilichurls made a blockade stretching across the clifftop and around the watchtower, and behind them, four Ruin Guards stood as support. The grass and trees around them had caught on fire, making a beacon in the pitch-black night sky. Behind Diluc, there was the edge of Stormbreaker Point and the long drop to the ocean. And beside him, there was Kaeya.

Diluc did not expect the fight to be as intense as it was. He knew that the Order was planning some raid because they got it in their heads that the tower at Stormbreaker Point must have something vitally important in it, and that Vind was some kind of powerful, mystical protector of it. Hilichurls hung around the tower a lot, so maybe they…communicated, somehow? Either way, Diluc planned to put a stop to it. However, he wasn’t planning on this much resistance…maybe they learned of his involvement?

Or maybe, that one Abyss mage in the middle, the cackling pyro one, was just a cut smarter than the rest. It made a point to sneer at the “Darknight Hero” upon Diluc’s arrival, and when Kaeya came in from nowhere to bowl through the line and take his place by Diluc’s side, it sneered at him, too.

“Well, if it isn’t the great cavalry captain of the Knights of Favonius? Such a…wonderfully unique star in your eye, isn’t it?”

Diluc felt Kaeya tense by his side.

“Hehehe, what’s the matter? Worried about your precious Darknight Hero? Or your precious secrets?”

Kaeya didn’t respond to the taunt. He kept his stance steady, his sword angled towards the hoard. His one visible eye didn’t lose sight of the sword’s target. “They’re coming,” Kaeya spoke in a whisper that only Diluc could hear. “Our reinforcements.”

So Kaeya knew, coming here, that the battle was bad enough that they would need help.

“What’s that, oh great knightly captain?”

Most of the mages didn’t talk that much. Diluc wasn’t sure they even knew much, or if they remembered things. They ran on their one-track goal against humanity, and they plotted and schemed to meet that goal. It was enough of a reason to destroy every one of their ilk Diluc saw.

(He tried not to think much about what Kaeya told him that day, about the truth. He didn’t know what to do with that truth. He couldn’t protect Mondstadt if he doubted what he should do about it, so he didn’t. Whatever those mages used to be, they were only monsters now.)

Kaeya unleashed a blast of cryo in front of him, and Diluc followed by running into the fray of fighting renewed, taking out every creature he saw. In his distraction, he almost missed that he had been targeted by a Ruin Guard’s missile, and he stumbled to the ground in a desperate last-minute attempt to dodge. A Mitachurl tried to capitalize on that moment of weakness and bring down its giant flaming axe on him, but Kaeya in that moment dove in and struck the monster deep in the side. He then grabbed Diluc and they dodged backwards.

They were going back too far. Little by little, they were losing ground, to the point that their feet neared the edge of the precipice. Still, they fought. It hadn’t been so long for them that Diluc’s fighting by Kaeya’s side felt unnatural…although it was odd. Because, they were older now. Kaeya had a Cryo vision now. Everything was…different, but every now and again, they’d still end up doing something together anyways.

Diluc breathed heavily, his hands around his claymore sweating underneath the gloves. He pushed whatever pain he felt from his injuries somewhere deep, deep in the back of his mind. He needed—they needed to push through the line. He wasn’t confident in the state of his glider after getting himself roughed up and singed so much or in their ability to avoid further attacks during their descent.

“Kaeya, we need to—”

“Diluc, do you trust me?”

Diluc’s eyes darted over to him, taken aback by the gravity in Kaeya’s softly-spoken question. “What kind of question is that?”

“Well, do you?”

As if he could answer that in one sentence or less. He trusted him…in some ways, he guessed. He trusted him in battle. He trusted him…with Mondstadt, yes. Just…well…that was all very besides the point and this was really not the time. “Yes, sure,” he huffed.

“Excellent.” Kaeya smiled.

What was he—?

Then, Kaeya laughed, loudly and triumphantly, a wild look in his eye and he reached out for Diluc’s collar and grabbed it tight. His soft voice had turned into a shouting, mocking one. “Hahaha, end of the line, Darknight Hero! The Knights have no need of meddlers like you!”

What the fu—

He pushed him. Before Diluc knew what was happening, he felt his body succumbing to gravity, his feet losing their hold on the stone of Stormbreaker Point’s edge and following the rest of his body into the open air, suddenly void of every handhold or foothold within reach.

Kaeya fucking pushed him.

Diluc had to open his glider—fast. It wasn’t working. The hell was Kaeya thinking he couldn’t open it in time he was going to—

And then, he landed on something with a thud, much sooner than he should have. The surface uneven and scaly and distinctly familiar, it didn’t take him long to realize that it was a someone. Was that—?

Dvalin arced into the sky with a powerful beat of his wings, looping back around to the space underneath the cliff, coming in close at the moment Kaeya jumped off the edge as well. Diluc repositioned himself on Dvalin’s back to a place of more stability astride his spine and watched Kaeya make a much more graceful (much better prepared, that is) landing than he did.

Diluc’s first thought was that he was relieved to see Kaeya in one piece. His second was that it was time to demand an explanation. “What was that about?”

“Clever, wasn’t it?”

“You could have told me something!”

“But would it have believable to the mages if I did? You’re not that great of an actor, Diluc.”

“Your theatrics are utterly pointless,” Diluc huffed. “And now that we’re both gone, who’s going to stop them?”

“Well, look down,” Kaeya directed.

Dvalin had flown back up into the sky, well above the surface of the cliff but low enough that one could see exactly what was going on. Diluc looked down and saw, sure enough, some familiar forms attacking the small army on the cliff, now at the perfect position to pin them against the edge. He saw Jean herself, along with Amber, the Traveler, Eula, and a number of other knights as backup. Diluc had almost forgotten that Kaeya did tell him about the reinforcements. Looking again, he noticed even Venti hanging in the back, acting as if he were there for mild support and not the actual anemo archon. Dvalin’s presence was probably his doing. Wait, Kaeya didn’t know about Venti, did he…?

“Since we had discovered during our Golden Apple Archipelago adventure that our very curious bard friend is a good friend of our resident dragon, I thought I’d ask him for his assistance. Sure, there’s other ways we could have gone about this, but sometimes, striking fear into the hearts of your enemy is very much a job for ‘theatrics,’ as you called them.”

Well, it did make some sense, Diluc guessed. He was just relieved to see that the reinforcements in question were having little trouble that hoard which had given him such a difficult time solo. Still, the relief didn’t quite keep all the lingering irritation from his voice. “You really called in the knights.”

“Well, this may come as a surprise, but that is their job.”

“Hmph,” Diluc grunted. “You say that like it would have been easy to get the bureaucracy to trust an anonymous source about the attack happening in the first place. They’re consistently useless on matters like this.”

“So you still don’t trust them.”

“No.” He’s established this already.

“All of them?”

“I trust Jean,” Diluc clarified.

Although, he supposed she might not be the only one on the list. There were…some knights who knew what they were doing, mostly. And, he had respect for the Honorary Knight, not that they really counted as a “knight” in an institutional sense.

“Well, that’s a start.” Kaeya shook his head with a smile. “I’d be worried if you threw even her under the bus for doing nothing wrong at all.”

“It’s not like that.”

“Is it, now?”

“Kaeya, what are you even talking about?”

“Well, maybe I could bring to your recollection that because of your insistence on working alone, you walked into a rather significant ambush today, facing a threat to Mondstadt without bothering to communicate to the people of Mondstadt, and also sending poor Vind all the way to Dragonspine because you couldn’t be forthright on the potential danger to her life.”

“You know that last part was specifically your plan, right?”

“But you were the one who wanted me to make up an excuse.”

“You literally already had your plan in motion while I was talking to you this morning!”

“Are you two quite finished?” Dvalin’s booming voice rattled through their ribs, his point made quite loud and clear.

“Right, understood,” Kaeya agreed. “So, Diluc, ready to head back and get someone to look at that arm of yours?”

“I can still fight, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

“I do not think that would be necessary. They’ll be fine, and besides, I can always return to provide backup.”

“No,” Diluc refused. “If I’m seeing a healer, so are you.”

“So you’re fine with that, then?”

Dvalin was already ending his circling to start heading towards the city of Mondstadt, but Diluc could still look back and see the clashing forces on the cliff, now with two Ruin Guards down and many more mages extinguished or thrown off the edge. It was clear to see who the winning side was, now.

“It’s fine,” Diluc finally conceded with a steady exhale. “I trust them.”

#whumptober2021 #no.4 #do you trust me?#pushed #fandom #fic #genshin impact #diluc (genshin impact)#kaeya (genshin impact)#more fluff than whump ngl #i mean...pain is involved still #abyss order shenanigans #the ragnvindr brothers being their dense chaotic selves

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burning-clutch · 3 years

Text

Shielded From The Truth

Cross posted on A03: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30441042 -.-.-.-.- Warnings: Mild wounds. Number two in the phic phight! When his parents put a shield up around Casper high to keep the ghosts out, and it means that Danny’s day hardly goes to plan. And he was so close to being on time for once too…. PHIC PHIGHT 2021 For team ghost! -.-.-.-.-.- Prompt by: Silverwing013 Danny's parents have kindly offered to set up a ghost shield generator for Casper High. Hijinks ensue as Danny attempts to handle the situation.

-.-.-.-.-.-

Danny groaned as he only half listened to his parents rattle off whatever ghost nonsense they were going on about as he ate his breakfast. A bowl of dry cereal because the milk was contaminated and he really didn’t want to chance it giving him more than a stomach ache. This had become the norm this week it seemed as his parents seemed invested more than usual into the ghost shields that they had been working on and improving.

Why only shields? They would be installing one in the school soon… but beyond that? He wasn’t sure. They probably told him, sure, but being a teenager and one that had parents that hated half of him, had the effect of making him only lightly listen to the weapons and things that were meant to fully kill him off. That and at least the ghost shields weren’t usually a hindrance to him, in fact, they had proven themselves useful on a few occasions.

Plus he had the added advantage of being able to simply return to his human form and slip through the shield with little issue. Given his parents had no knowledge of half ghosts existing, at least he hoped not, they shouldn’t be designing a ghost and human shield. After all, that would defeat the purpose, right? It wasn’t as if Amity really had any human threats anymore.

Well, regardless of the eccentricities of his parents he could at least take some comfort in the fact that Skulker couldn’t simply attack the school to get to him any longer.

Small mercies he supposed.

Danny blinked as his father said something to him before slapping him on his back causing the teen to practically choke on his cereal from the force of the smack. “Isn’t that just great Dann-o?” the large man exclaimed happily before looking at his son expectantly. Oh great, he wanted him to ask something? Great.

“S-Sure” Danny choked out as he flailed, grabbing in front of him for the orange juice he had nabbed from the fridge, it thankfully hadn’t been in there long enough to start glowing… yet…

He shook his head as he finally got his breath back without inhaling dry cereal pieces into his lungs. When he was sure he wasn’t going to sound like some dollar store squeaky toy he tried to ask his parents a question, always a dreadful time if he were honest, but hey, he would usually be late for school anyway.

“So this will go around the whole school?” Danny tried weakly.

“Yep! And the best part is it’ll sense where there's an evil ectoplasmic entity nearby and spring up instantly! We made sure there won’t be a ghost within Twenty feet of the school before that puppy jumps up to the rescue! Like a big Fenton airbag!” Jack exclaimed all too enthusiastically for what the current time in the AM should allow a normal person to exhume.

Danny hummed noncommittally and sent a glance of ‘help me’ to his sister, who, in turn, rolled her eyes at her little brother. “And the shield even uses the ghost’s power to run the shield right?” Jazz asked side eyeing her father from her own spot not wanting to fully engage in the conversation they were having.

“Oh, yea! That’s the best part!” Jack practically cheered out.

“And the stronger the evil skum is the faster the shield will react and sooner it will be picked up. It will only go off on a level three or higher.” Maddie explained with a pleasant smile as she sips at her coffee.

“And we got it all finished last night to be ready for you kids today” Jack added happily.

“Hooray, more fun on a Monday” Danny sighed out into his last bites of cereal. Jazz snorted but didn’t comment, though Danny blew her a childish raspberry.

Jack continued to go on about the more intricate details of the shield they had put up though only one thing really caught his attention in the spiel, “-And Vladdie helped with the funding to outfit the school! Even helped us get the materials we needed to make such a large shield!”

“Ah, there it is…” Danny groaned letting his head fall forward onto the table in instant defeat.

“Danny! I really wish you would learn not to stay up so late playing video games! Look at you! If I get another call from one of your teachers about you sleeping in class-” Maddie started only for Danny to cut her off jumping to his feet.

“Yep! Thanks for that, mom! Look at the time! Love you bye!” Danny prattled off quick as could be before grabbing his book bag by his feet and bolting like a scared rabbit. After all, if his mother never finished that sentence when he inevitably fell asleep he couldn’t be grounded… she never officially gave him the last warning…

That’ll work, right?

It wasn’t long when he was out of the house that he was at his usual waiting spot for Sam and Tucker. Unsurprisingly, Sam got there first though they didn't have to wait long for Tucker to lumber forward, half asleep to his friends, and together they made their way towards the school as a unit.

Things seemed well enough until he got onto the stairs leading up to the main doors. That was when all hell broke loose. A deep alarm sounded before his father’s voice rang out from the speakers, in his over the top cheery way that only Jack Fenton knew how to pull off.

“Attention kids! Guess there’s an evil spook nearby so we’re deploying the shield! This ghost protection was brought to you by Fenton-works and sponsored by your mayor!”

Danny frowned. “My ghost sense didn’t go off…” He mentioned quietly to his friends.

“Maybe the shield sensors are more sensitive than you are?” Tucker asked with a frown.

“Since when?” Sam argued incredulously.

“Well who or whatever it is, it isn’t bothering me right now and no one’s screaming, no one’s panicking, so it can wait. I’m actually going to be on time for once!” Danny says waving the notion off.

He continues his trek up the stairs and towards the doors of the school, though when he reaches the threshold of the shield he finds himself having to really push hard against the thing. It was like hitting a wall of foam or Jell-O. He could push through if he pressed hard enough but it was not pleasant or as easy as going through the air.

Once through the initial shield wall, he blinked slowly feeling sluggish and as though all his limbs were moving through water. He even sort of felt like he was having to ‘swim’ as he walked like he was both heavier and lighter than he should be, but unable to find that buoyancy happy middle ground.

“Dude…” Tucker said smartly as he frowned at his friend’s almost slow motion, yet stop motion like movements. It was eerie, to say the least, not to mention the more pressing issue that he noticed right off the hop, “Your eyes are shining, man. And your, um… Neck...”

Sam, ever prepared for whatever bull their lives seem to throw their way, slipped her bag around to her front and offered Danny a pair of sunglasses, which the halfa put on promptly, along with the spider webbed patterned black and silver scarf. “I mean, it’s better,” Sam argued, not even giving Tucker's look of disapproval her full attention.

“They’re spider glasses.” The boy states with a shake of his head. “Not really digging the whole-” Tucker waved his arm about Danny’s head in little circles, “-pseudo goth thing” he finished finally. Though he had to admit it was at least marginally better than seeing his friend’s glowing eyes and the electric scars showing up on his neck and disappearing under his shirt collar.

“Better?” Danny asked out sluggish, his voice almost sounding like it was being drawn out on a tape deck that was starting to lack battery power and not playing at quite the proper speed making the pitch and timing slower and lower.

Sam and Tucker shared a look before offering a thumbs up to their friend, both deciding it better not to address… whatever that was… The look they shared between one another spoke of their mutual hope that this would perhaps be one of those problems that simply go away on its own.

Ignoring the problems they have usually makes it go away… Yeah, that always works out.

Danny makes a grab for the door to pull it open again, having that weird slow stop motion effect, like he was flickering between blinks rather than making a smooth motion forward. “Ehm, maybe don’t move around too much man… it’s um… creeping me out.” Tucker offers helpfully.

“Huh?” it took Danny a minute to process, as while he looked slow to them they seemed to be hyped up on caffeine to him… “Why are you talking so fast?” He wondered, his head almost appearing to glitch into a tilted and confused look.

“I think the ghost shield is making you go all slow motion. Just stop talking.” Sam says forcefully before letting out a shudder of her own.

Sam and Tucker share a glance before they each grab onto one of Danny’s arms and half drag him off to his locker. Despite his friends’ efforts he still got many looks shot his way, and a couple of people started whispering to one another as he passed by them.

“How is this going to work if I’m already weirding everyone out?” Danny asked, voice still sounding like a slowed record as he blinked sluggishly and his head jerked almost unsteadily from side to side. From his perspective, everyone was speeding along and talking at 1.5 times the normal speed.

“Maybe I should look for the ghost that triggered this, maybe Tuck, can you look into this mess?” Danny asked after a moment of trying to figure out what was being said around him through the noise of the hall.

“Yeah that might be best…” Sam responded shifting from leg to leg as she locks eyes with a basketball jock who was staring at their group incredulously.

“I got you, man, I’ll change everything to present and, block any ‘call home’ recommendations.” Tucker pipped up already pulling out his PDA to set that up preemptively.

Danny nodded and let out a hum before glitching his way out the nearest exit and out of the shield’s bounds. Once he slipped back out through the barrier, strangely enough, a harder feat than it was getting in, but that wasn’t a problem he wanted to focus on, he already blamed Vlad so he would simply continue to do so until the fruitloop showed himself.

As soon as he was through the green line of the shield Danny practically fell forward in relief. That stifling feeling now gone from his core and bones making his movements fluid and normal, well as normal as a clumsy half ghost could be anyhow…

It was a moot point and not one Danny wanted to think on too long. He gave a quick “thanks” to his friends, before diving between the dumpster and the school’s bricks, transforming into his ghostly alter ego and taking off into the sky. He would do a few laps around the school and city as he looks for whatever ghost set off the shield.

-BREAK-

It wasn’t until lunchtime Danny returned looking much more windswept and all around more miserable. He entered the courtyard through the side joining his friends out on the picnic table they had claimed. He made it over to them, flopped down on the bench next to tucker with a groan before his head smacked into the table before him.

“You find them?” Tucker asked around whatever horrid monstrosity of a sandwich he was eating, spewing bits of half chewed bred at Danny’s head.

“No” Came the muffled reply, filled with tired disdain.

“No ghost sense?” Sam wandered, flicking the bits of bread from Danny’s raven hair and back towards Tucker.

“No”

“Huh… You think it was you who set off the shield?” Sam wondered with a thoughtful frown.

“When I went into the back end of the generator though it wasn’t supposed to go off for anything that low, Danny in human form is like a two at best,” Tucker argued spinning his PDA around to show what he’d found when he hacked into the motherboard of the Fenton’s latest device.

Danny groaned. He supposed had he listened to his parents he could have been more prepared for whatever lunacy his parents’ decided to toss his way but alas, his short attention span and teenage rebellion and lack of caring got the best of him yet again.

Joyous of joys.

He tuned out his friend’s back and forthing for a bit, wondering if he could get away with smashing the device as Phantom when Tucker had his a-ha moment of discovery. Danny turned his head and raised a brow at his friend who was furiously typing away at his device.

“You were right about Vlad, Sam”

“Naturally,” She agreed.

“Well, he had an over right line here specifically set for Phantom’s ecto- signature,” the boy states running his finger along the line of code he’d found in the program.

Danny’s mood instantly brightened at that. “So then we just get rid of that bit right? And BAM everything’s fine?” He asked. “Man, what happened to me? Why do I want to get into the school again?”

“To keep up the illusion of normalcy on this mortal plane.” Sam supplied stabbing at her salad a little more forcefully than she probably needed to.

“Eh, yeah, I suppose.” Danny agreed with a lacklustre shrug.

“There, that should do it” Tucker spoke, interrupting whatever tangent Sam was getting ready to spew off about how normalcy was only an illusion created by corporations or some other such thing.

“And just in time The bell just rang,” Danny says with a small grin clasping a firm hand onto his friend’s shoulder. “Nice one Tucker!” he cheered as the trio made their way over to the doors that would lead them back into the cafeteria.

Unfortunately, as soon as Danny’s hand hit the door handle the shield once again sprung to life, though this time, instead of simply having a hard time passing through the shield, he was thrown back across the field earning a cry from several students who were following the trio.

“Grapes of wrath Mister Fenton!” Lancer, (of course it was Lancer) shouted out in worry, his shout even carrying over the prerecorded message containing his father’s voice. Lancer half jogged half waddled over to Danny who blinked up blearily to his teacher, eyes flashing green for the briefest of seconds before draining back to blue.

“Leave it to Fen-turd to get himself possessed.” Dash snorted from behind the pot bellied teacher earning a few nervous glances between the small crowd of gathering students. The mutterings of the students didn’t take long to start up after that.

“I’m not possessed,” Danny argued, though, it was rather hard to make said argument when the palm of his hand was burned and leaking ectoplasm from where he had touched the door.

“Course he’s not possessed! He’s a ghost himself!” Wes shouted pointing an accusatory finger at the youngest Fenton.

Danny glared. “Not the time Westly.” He muttered under his breath as he was hauled to his feet by his friends. He tried to brush himself off only to end up smearing the ectoplasm from his hand onto his jeans, leaving a luminescent streak across his thigh.

Seeing his chance the ginger jock was all too eager to point it out. “See look! He’s bleeding ectoplasm!”

“No, I’m not! It’s from the shield! it sputtered out at me.” Danny tried to protest, though even in his own ears it sounded like a weak argument.

“Really?” Wes argued and marched over to the shimmering shield. The teen waved his arms about freely in the shield’s range hopping back and forth pointedly across the line of the barrier before showing his hands and clothes were completely clean of any glowing goo. “See! Ghost!” he accused again after he did a little pirouette to show his lack of ectoplasm.

“Yeah? Well, it sputtered at Danny only ‘cuz it turned on with him in the threshold.” Sam tried to argue back glaring at the ginger, venom in her gaze.

“Well then, why don’t you just walk through the shield Fen-toad?” Dash said with a smarmy grin, ever eager to get his own jabs in and seemingly not wanting to be outshined by the ginger conspiracy theorist’s bullying of his favourite punching bag.

“Fine” He spat back bitterly and marched up to the shield with a huff.

Sam and Tucker exchange a glance with one another as Danny presses his hand into the shield again. Thankfully this time there wasn’t anything that blows him back but he also really had to try and push through the shield.

Danny could see out of the corner of his eye Wes’s smug grin as he grunts and does his best to push through the shield. His persistence is rewarded and he falls to the ground on the other side jumping up and giving a quick ‘HA!’ as he faces the small gathering crowd of students shifting uncomfortably just beyond the shield.

Sam had a look of exasperation and she looked like she was trying to restrain herself from face palming. Tucker on the other hand had no such restraint. He was almost over eager to bury his face into his hands.

From Danny’s perspective, he simply smacked into the ground and stood back up, but from the other students’ perspectives, Danny fell into the shield but instantly slowed down, looking as though he were falling with the moon’s gravity rather than the earthly speed everyone was used to. It also didn’t really look to them like he had hit the ground, instead glitching his body back into an upright position before cheering in that low slow motion state as he had earlier.

And if that wasn’t damning enough his eyes were glowing a lovely shade of ectoplasmic green.

Wes smirked, seemingly very smug and content with himself and this development. “See told you all he was a ghost!”

“T-that’s enough Mister Weston… Right…” LAncer muttered to himself a few moments watching as Danny seemed to glitch about as he cheered before seemingly realizing something was wrong. “I think there was a procedure to depossess a student…I bet the teachers in Bridgestone don’t have to exercise their students in this manner…” He complains. Sure they had gym class and he would appreciate the pun and irony if he wasn’t so tired.

“I don’t get paid enough for this,” he muttered, ignoring the look of panic that spread across Danny’s face.

It took some doing, a lot of flailing limbs and pressing himself against the damn shield, but Danny soon was through back out and free. His eyes still glowed brightly as he stared at his classmates looking very much like a deer in the headlights. Eyeshine and all might he add.

A few of the students were snickering, because only in Amity park could one get possessed by a ghost and have it come across as though someone had merely said something embarrassing or misheard an instruction and was now staring blankly ahead.

“Er….” Danny stared at his classmates half panicked before simply vanishing from view.

“Moby Dick!” Lancer exclaimed, almost dropping the book he was thumbing through from the Fenton parents. Sure it was a ghost, and could potentially be dangerous, but it wasn’t attacking so there wasn’t really anyone panicking.

Instead, the teacher simply felt tired. “Right, I’ll call the Fentons and let them deal with this, Everyone back inside I do believe the lunch bell rang already!” the teacher called out shooing the students into dispersing.

Danny stood there invisibly and holding strong as he internally groaned. At least they thought he was possessed, that could be easily explained away but he was not looking forward to trying to explain it to his parents…

Still maybe if he gets ahead of this…

It was with that thought in mind that he bolted away into the treeline beside the school, transformed and headed off to his home landing in his bedroom only a few minutes later. He went human, back intangible and invisible came out the door, made sure the coast was clear before speeding his way down into the basement.

He just made it down the stairs startling his mother and father who blinked at him curiously, when the phone rang cutting off his mother’s “Honey? What are you doing home so soon?”

“It’s the school calling Mads,” Jack says, sounding disappointed as the large man sent a look of disapproval to his boy.

“Wait!” Danny jumped forward answering the phone and instantly hanging it up.

“Daniel!” His mother exclaimed abashedly.

“I wanna explain first! Do you know how all your stuff goes off on me? Well, the shield at school started doing that and they think I’m possessed! I’m not, it's just the… ya know…” Danny rambled off hurriedly hoping against hope that his parents wouldn’t try to send him to decontamination … again… (Thanks to his ghost half, it burned in places he didn’t ever want to burn)

“You’re possessed Dann-o?!” Jack exclaimed instantly pulling a Fenton gun from somewhere on his person and brandishing it towards his son.

Danny threw his hands up and waved them placatingly at his father. “NO! Just the normal stuff! The contamination from the portal accident set it off. I got too close to the sensor!” He says quickly ignoring how his parents seem to flinch slightly.

His parents shared a look before his father seemed to deflate, seemingly upset at the fact his son wasn’t possessed. “I thought we fixed that... “ Jack says with a frown. “But, we can’t let the school know we may have messed it up! I know we’ll just run the tests again and fix it in the night!”

“Yeah, that would be- Wait what?” Danny blinks. Why couldn’t they just go down and fix it normally? Of course, his parents had to be weird about this too. “Thanks… Is there anything you need from me to help?”

And with those words said he almost instantly regretted it. “Well… We would really like to know why your ecto signature lines up perfectly with Phantom’s but perhaps that can wait.” Maddie offered with a small amused smile.

Danny sputtered at that, “Wh-What?”

“We set up a monitoring system so we can tell which ghosts most frequent the school… Phantom was the one that triggered the shield twice today. There actually wasn’t anything else that did,” Maddie explained with a deepening frown.

“You sure you’re not possessed, son?” Jack asked again this time sounding almost defeated in how, well, normal a volume he asked that. The hidden meaning was all too obvious especially after he mentioned his accident…

They thought he was dead! The portal killed him! And as the growing pit of dread grew into Danny’s stomach he couldn’t help but feel awful knowing they were correct in that assumption, well at least half right anyhow.

“Yeah… I’m… I’m me…” Danny managed out his voice cracking

“O-oh hun....” Maddie sniffed.

“But it’s not I… I’m me, I promise and I’m not all dead. I still have a heartbeat and everything!” Danny argued or rather tried to as his mother was quick to kneel before him taking his face in her hands as tears bubbled down her chin.

“Mom really I’m like … half at most. More human with a side of ghostly abilities ya know?”

“Oh, it’s okay Dann-o… You're still my son, I know ya are. It’s been almost a year since that accident and you’re mostly still you.” Jack said. “Just worse grades and more hormones and-”

“Thanks, guys really,” Danny sighed in relief both at dodging the potentially awkward birds and ghostly bees talk as well as the tepid acceptance he was getting. Awkward though it may be it was still acceptance nonetheless. He was happy for it just the same.

“Maybe while we work on fixing up the shield to ignore Phantom’s signature you can tell us about some things?” Maddie asked sniffling again as she looked over her son’s face trying her best to hold herself together and not outright bawl at the thought she had killed her youngest child.

“Y-yeah… I’ve been wanting to tell you about this for a while now but, well, ya know…” Danny offered uselessly.

“I think it’s us who should apologize for that, son but maybe we can just all go get some triple chocolate fudge milkshakes and go deal with that shield after dinner?” Jack offered with a smile, ever the one to break up tension.

“Yeah, yeah… that sounds good.” Danny agreed. Well, it wasn't how he was expecting this to go, but he was kinda glad it ended up like this. Maybe now they could repair their strained relationship.

As Maddie ruffled up Danny’s hair the teen offered her his first genuine smile in almost a year.

-.-.-.-.-.-

Total words: 4245 Complete

#phic phight 2021 #Phic Phight #Danny Phantom #danny fenton #lancer #ghost shields are a problem #kinfa fluffy #danny is so done

56 notes · View notes

aquaquadrant · 3 years

Text

the little things

Kenji’s mouth is dry. “Ben…?” he croaks out.

Ben swallows. “Oh,” he says, in a very small voice. “It’s you.”

~*~

Ben’s been reunited with the other campers, and seems to have come out the other end of his experience stronger than ever before. But as he slowly finds his place back within the group, a bigger picture starts to emerge, piece by piece.

Rated T for: mental illness, mild language, panic attacks, PTSD, anxiety, insomnia, eating disorder (not in a traditional sense, but definitely not a healthy relationship with food)

A/N: Hey Camp Cretaceous fandom, y’all mind if I uhhhh write six-thousand words about Ben’s trauma?? Basically, Netflix kept recommending the show to me so I watched the first ep out of curiosity and then ended up binging the whole thing in like two days, and now here I am.

(Dear sweet, patient, regular readers of mine: I’m so sorry my main fic’s been delayed but I promise it’s getting updated next week, I just had to get some feelings out about Sad Dino Boy)

Hope you enjoy, please reblog and leave a comment if you do! - Aqua

Click here to read on A03 (with more complete tags)

~*~

the little things

~*~

Ben Pincus has returned from the dead, and he’s never been better.

The other campers are amazed. What he’s been through must have been horrible. He thought he was the only one left, that there was no one to help him and no hope of rescue because he was presumed dead. It would’ve been enough to drive anyone into despair, or off of the deep end.

But Ben shows no signs of this.

They didn’t find him holed up somewhere, near starvation and waiting to die, like one might’ve expected. They didn’t find him at all, really. He found them, and by coming to their rescue, no less. And when he did, he wasn’t a trembling mess, he wasn’t a half-mad ball of paranoia, and he wasn’t a hollow-eyed skeleton fueled solely by desperation.

He’s an all new and improved Ben, the best version of himself.

He hasn’t just survived, he’s flourished. He’s brave, he’s confident, he’s capable. He gives his opinions freely and without second-guessing himself, suggesting things the old Ben would’ve recoiled at. He fits seamlessly into the team like he never left. He faces problems head-on with determination and grit and not a trace of fear.

The turnaround is unbelievable. But even more important is that while he’s a new and improved Ben, he’s retained all the best parts of his old self.

Ben is easy smiles and meticulous organization of a leather waist bag and doting affection for a four-ton armored lizard. He’s sensitive and soft-spoken and accepts hugs from his friends gratefully. He still can’t quite pull off coolness, with a voice that sounds as gangly as his limbs look and an awkwardness he hasn’t grown out of.

And it’s perhaps because of this that no one thinks to look closer. This image is an easy thing to accept because it’s what they all want to believe, that Ben is okay- in fact, better than okay. But the truth is not always big and obvious upon first glance.

It’s the little things, as they soon find out.

~*~

That first evening after Ben’s return, after Mitch and Tiff and everything else, they don’t eat dinner.

They all ate their fill at the campsite and, after a month of scarcity, it was more than enough to sate their appetites. It’s Darius who thinks to ask Ben if he’s hungry, remembering that the boy hadn’t had the chance to eat with them. They have a good stockpile of food at the moment and he figures Ben must’ve been struggling.

But Ben shakes his head with an easy smile, and says, “Nah, I ate earlier.”

Darius leaves it at that, because there’s still so much catching up to do. They show Ben around their clubhouse, make plans for where to build a bunk for him (he insists he’d be just fine sleeping on the ground next to Bumpy, but they all veto that immediately). They talk well into the night about the day’s crazy events, filling each other in on their own sides of the story, and everything that’s happened since Ben got separated.

There are some more tears, some more hugs. But ultimately, the mood in the clubhouse is ecstatic. They never thought Ben had survived the fall so to have him back is better than a dream come true, it’s a miracle.

Darius thought he knew what it was to experience a miracle when they first saw that bonfire smoke on the horizon. But if he had to chose between the miracle of them finally leaving the island or the miracle of getting Ben back, it’s not even a competition.

Eventually the exhaustion catches up with everyone, and they turn in for the night. Bumpy parks herself underneath the clubhouse, her presence incredibly reassuring. Ben ends up sharing Kenji’s bunk because it’s bigger than Darius’s even when occupied by two, and the older teen had insisted in a very faux-casual way, to which Ben had rolled his eyes but nonetheless seemed touched by the gesture.

Darius takes the first night watch shift and gets to see all his friends sleeping peacefully. And even though Tiff sailed away with their only means for escaping, he feels a lot more hopeful than he has in a long time.

~*~

It’s canned peaches for breakfast.

A far cry from yesterday’s buffet. But no one’s complaining because the meticulous rationing of their food, courtesy of Darius, means they’re all starving by meal time and couldn’t care less what it tastes like. Darius is in the process of separating the food out into bowls, half a can for each of them, when he realizes Ben has yet to take a seat. He’s lingering at the edge of the room, watching.

“Hey,” Darius calls, “you coming or what?”

Ben shakes his head. “Thanks, but I already got my own breakfast.”

Before Darius can respond, Brooklynn shoots Ben a look. “What? Where?” she demands. “You holding out on us, jungle boy?”

Darius shoots her a look, but Ben just gives an easy smile and unzips the leather pouch that’s reclaimed its spot around his waist. He withdraws a small handful of bright red berries, no bigger than blueberries. It’s not even a fraction of the half-can of peaches the rest of them are settling for, and Darius sees his own unease reflected in the others’ eyes.

Brooklynn glances away. “Oh. Um, sorry. You don’t… you can have some of ours, you know?”

“I’m good.” Ben tosses a couple berries into his mouth. “You guys go ahead, I’m gonna go check on Bumpy.”

“O- oh, okay…” Sammy murmurs, watching Ben go with uncertain eyes. “If you’re sure…”

They’re silent for a moment.

Kenji inhales quietly through his teeth. “So… that’s weird, right?”

Yaz leans forward in her seat. “What do you think, Darius?” she asks lowly.

Darius bites his lip. Even though dinosaurs are his specific topic of interest, he’s gained a lot of second-hand knowledge about general biology and psychology. After all, he has to understand the processes behind behavior in order to identify patterns and deviations.

And right now, he has to admit that Ben is displaying a very concerning behavior.

“I’ll talk to him,” Darius decides.

There’s a collective sigh of relief around the table, and the others start eating. It takes Darius longer than usual to finish his serving.

~*~

“So, uh, bottom line is… you don’t need to feel bad about eating our food. You’re as much a part of this group as anyone else, and we’re happy to share.”

After a couple tense days, Darius is finally talking to Ben about the food situation. Or rather, talking at him. Because Ben’s not looking at Darius- his eyes are tracking the small spider that’s crawling along the railing next to them. Normally, Darius would take it as a sign of boredom and inattentiveness. But there’s an intensity in Ben’s eye that’s a little unsettling-

Quick as a flash, Ben shoots out an arm. He crushes the spider under his thumb and swipes it into his mouth. And then, untroubled as can be, he returns his focus to Darius as if nothing had happened.

Darius has overheard Kenji teasing Ben about eating bugs, and Ben has admitted as much in the stories of his time alone. Berries and grubs were what he lived on. Darius, for one, can’t imagine being hungry and desperate enough to snatch a bug off the ground and eat it.

But it’s even harder to imagine having access to real food, good food, and still choosing to eat bugs.

“Don’t worry so much,” Ben says lightly, patting Darius on the shoulder as he turns to go. “I can take care of myself.”

That does it. “You can’t keep living off berries and grubs!” Darius finally snaps.

Ben whirls around. “Says who?”

“Basic human biology!” Darius retorts.

Ben glares at him, but there’s something shaky behind it. “Darius, I told you it’s fine,” he says evenly, though he doesn’t fully meet Darius’s gaze. “Don’t make a big deal out of it. Please? If I’m hungry, I’ll eat.”

Darius hesitates. “You promise?”

Ben breaks into an easy smile. “I promise.”

Darius sighs. It’ll have to be good enough, for now.

“Okay.”

~*~

Darius knows he isn’t the only one still concerned by Ben’s lack of appetite.

Right from the start, Ben was the scrawniest one among them, and it’s only gotten worse. But surely he’ll have to eat at some point, right? Basic survival instincts will win out over whatever stubborn mindset is holding him back. Plus, it’s clear that he’s got enough energy to run and climb and stuff with no problem.

Maybe it’s not as serious as Darius thinks. Maybe Ben just needs time.

~*~

Ben doesn’t know what’s wrong with him.

He just- he can’t take their food! Why don’t they get that?

And it’s not because he’s stubborn, it’s not- no matter what Darius thinks. There’s nothing wrong with letting others help you (as long as you don’t let it make you soft, of course). After all, he relies on Bumpy. He just… when he looks at the food, and imagines eating it, he just knows it’ll sit in his stomach. Like a rock, weighing him down.

Plus, plus, if he gets used to eating like that, it’ll just- it’ll be harder to cope once it runs out. He’s already gotten used to roughing it and it was hard enough the first time, he can’t let himself slip back into complacency. And- and really, how long do they think it’s going to last? They’ve searched all the previously inhabited areas of the island and there’s no more food for them to scavenge.

Do they think they’ll be rescued before it runs out? No one is coming to save them. They know it as much as Ben does- they wouldn’t be bothering with rafts if they didn’t. Do they think they’ll escape, then? Sure, because their current attempts have been going so well.

No, they just aren’t thinking long term. Ben is.

There’s nothing wrong with that.

~*~

It’s the sixth day in a row where Ben eats nothing but berries.

He wants to search around some more, see if there’s anything more substantial. That would require him to leave Bumpy, though. And he can’t leave Bumpy. But the hunger is excruciating. It gnaws at him every waking moment, keeps him up at night. He’s never felt such hunger in his life, not even close. He can’t keep going like this, can he?

But there’s nothing else.

Except… something’s crawling up his arm. Something small, and leggy. Ben turns his head, squinting to focus his eyes in the dark. It’s some kind of beetle, with a shiny shell that catches stray shafts of moonlight poking through the roof of his lean-to.

Ben stares at it for a moment. Then, before he can think, he snatches it up and pops it into his mouth. He barely registers any taste, mostly just the crunchy texture. And even though it wasn’t any bigger than a quarter, after he swallows, he feels… fuller. Even if it’s purely imagined, it’s a comfort.

Berries and grubs. It’ll have to be enough.

There’s nothing else.

~*~

Ben continues to decline their offers of food.

~*~

A few weeks after the reunion, Kenji is starting to get antsy.

As the self-designated ‘pro-fun police’ (a clever play on ‘no-fun police,’ if Kenji does say so himself), he’s made it his responsibility to make sure none of his friends just keel over and die from stress one day. That means it’s his job- no, his duty- to lighten the mood with copious amounts of joking, goofing off, and, of course, pranking.

Jumping out to scare his friends while they’re trapped on a dino-infested island might, on paper, sound like a bad idea. But it keeps everyone on their toes, and the relief of realizing they aren’t facing a dino attack, just Kenji pulling a prank, helps keep any real anger at bay. It’s typically an exasperated annoyance, which Kenji will gladly take. His main targets are Brooklynn and Darius, because he can’t fathom doing that to Sammy, and Yaz is- while perhaps in the most need of lightening up- super freaking scary.

But now that Ben’s back, Kenji knows what he has to do.

Before, back when they were just campers and not survivors, Ben was easily the most frightened of them. The kid was scared of dirt. And his over-the-top hysterics always managed to, somehow, put everyone else at ease. Because if Ben was scared of something, that didn’t really mean anything. Again; scared of dirt.

(Now, if Yaz is scared of something, that’s a different story).

Since Ben’s, uh… departure, they’ve been sorely lacking that energy in the group. Kenji would wager he’s not the only one who misses it. He used to have so much fun riling Ben up with just a couple words (none of the others are so easily baited). And whenever Ben would freak out and instantly cling to him, like some kind of scrawny spider monkey, it made Kenji feel… capable, in a way.

Like, if Ben was trusting Kenji to protect him, maybe he wasn’t so useless after all (which was becoming an all too frequent feeling as the others continued to adapt and grow, leaving Kenji struggling to keep up).

Problem is, Ben’s really hard to scare now.

It’s not always obvious, like when he’s bragging about taking down Toro or itching to blow things up. Sometimes it’s the little things. Whenever they’re out in a group, foraging or gathering supplies, and there’s a sound in the distance that makes them all freeze, Ben’s frozen in readiness, not fear. He looks more like Yaz, tense and waiting with his fists up and eyes narrowed.

Sometimes, when they aren’t occupied by any particular task or imminent threat, and have the chance to enjoy some downtime, Ben drifts off to the side and just… watches, all tense, silent, and anxious. He’ll watch the tree line, or Bumpy on the ground below, or even just the rest of them as they go about their business. Kenji is sure he’s not the only one who’s noticed but none of them bring it up.

It’s… unsettling, seeing Ben like this. Kenji figured he just needed a couple weeks to fall back into the rhythm of the group, to see that he didn’t have to be this loner Rambo type of guy anymore. But even though he talks with them easy enough, seems to enjoy their company, and has a good handle on teamwork, it’s like there’s a part of him that can’t fully shake that mentality.

At least, not without help.

~*~

Kenji’s plan is- in his humble opinion- pretty dang brilliant.

He waits for a time when it’s just him and Ben in the main level of the clubhouse (Yaz is running laps around their perimeter, Darius is in his bunk writing in his nerd book, Brooklynn and Sammy are upstairs going over inventory) and then announces he’s going for a shower. His daily showers are common knowledge at this point, so Ben just nods in acknowledgement and goes back to leaning against the railing, watching Bumpy graze down below in that tense-silent-anxious way of his.

Kenji sets up the shower and lets it run (he’ll go down to the river later and get more water to make up for the waste, because even though he tries to avoid manual labor whenever possible, it’s totally worth it in this case). And then, being more careful and silent than he’s ever been (except maybe in cases where he’s being hunted by dinos), he slowly creeps up behind Ben before leaping forward with a shriek, grabbing him by the shoulders.

Ben doesn’t just jump and scream. He jumps, screams, then spins around and swings a fist into Kenji’s jaw in one smooth motion.

Kenji’s laughing even as he staggers back, his jaw stinging (because at the end of the day, even though Ben’s kind of a badass now, he’s still Ben and his arms are pretty much chicken wings so there’s no real harm done, just a bruise at most). Plus that’s a valid reaction, considering everything, and he can’t say he didn’t deserve it.

“Oh man, I totally got you!” Kenji says anyways, to rub it in. “You should see your… face...”

And Kenji trails off because now he’s seeing Ben’s face.

What Kenji expected is this:

Once Ben realized it was just him pulling a prank, he would get mad. In that totally non-threatening dorky Ben way, where he scrunches his nose and puffs out his cheeks, his little fists clenched at his side like an irate toddler. Maybe he’d stomp off but it’d be worth it because being mad is better than being tense-silent-anxious and it’d give him the chance to be annoyed with Kenji. And maybe Ben being annoyed with Kenji would help everything feel a little more normal, a little more like before.

What Kenji gets is this:

Once Ben realizes it was just him pulling a prank, he doesn’t get mad. He starts shaking. Violently, uncontrollably. Like he’s suddenly come down with hypothermia despite being in a tropical jungle, staring at Kenji all the while and not saying a word. His chest rises and falls rapidly in little panicky breaths and the kind of fear in his eyes isn’t the kind that’s funny. It’s glassy-eyed with shrunken pupils that dart around Kenji’s face, frightened and searching, as if he isn’t fully seeing it.

Kenji’s mouth is dry. “Ben…?” he croaks out.

Ben swallows. “Oh,” he says, in a very small voice. “It’s you.”

Kenji hasn’t heard Ben’s voice sound that small since before, and it doesn’t feel like a victory.

By now, of course, the others have noticed the commotion and it doesn’t take more than a second for them to piece together what happened. Yaz rounds on Kenji with a furious snarl and whisper-screams a lecture about how stupid and irresponsible he is. Darius is immediately trying to mediate the situation while Sammy frantically asks Ben if he’s okay, to which he doesn’t respond. Brooklynn steps in, citing an unboxing video about dealing with shock, and when she goes to put a hand on Ben’s shoulder, he lets her.

And now Kenji realizes where he miscalculated. Ben never showed discomfort with physical contact before because he’d never been surprised by it before (because Ben has gotten scary good at being alert, always keeping an eye and an ear out on his surroundings even in the middle of a conversation). And when it came to his friends, it wasn’t unexpected for Sammy to rush in with a hug or Darius to pat his shoulder or Brooklynn to playfully knock elbows.

But Kenji snuck up on him, so Ben’s first thought wasn’t that it was a friend. It was that he was going to have to run for his life, like he has countless times since being stranded on this island.

Kenji apologizes over and over again as Darius gently leads him away by the elbow and Brooklynn talks to Ben in low tones while Sammy squeezes his hand and Yaz takes up a lookout position because they can’t afford for all of them to be distracted even though she occasionally cuts a glare at Kenji out of the corner of her eye so it’s really debatable how vigilant she’s actually being.

Throughout it all, Ben doesn’t get mad, but he doesn’t stop shaking.

~*~

Darius explains it, later.

“The sudden fear reaction signaled a bunch of adrenaline to be released into his bloodstream, to give him the energy needed for running. And then, when he didn’t, there was nowhere for that energy to go. It’s like, even though his mind knew there wasn’t any danger, his body wasn’t convinced.” Then, a sympathetic look. “You didn’t know, man.”

Kenji only nods. But knowing doesn’t make it better because even though Ben’s stopped shaking he doesn’t turn his back on Kenji anymore and somehow that’s a million times worse than if he’d gotten mad.

~*~

There are claws wrapped around Ben’s shoulders and shrieks in his ears.

Wind whips his face and his stomach lurches as he’s carried through the air, weightless, at the mercy of the Pteranodon. He’s never felt so small and utterly helpless before, not once in his life. Even his screams aren’t big enough to carry, snatched away by the wind and deafened by the roars of the terror-birds fighting over the right to tear him limb from limb.

And then he’s falling and has other things to worry about.

~*~

Ben stops sharing Kenji’s bunk.

~*~

In a rare moment of downtime, Yasmina is curled up with Darius’s field guide, adding a few more illustrations, when she feels Ben staring at her.

It’s not the first time she’s felt him staring at her. It is the first time, however, that she decides to stare back.

She means it to be playful, at first. She meets his eyes, one brow quirked as if to say, ‘What, is there something on my face?’ But instead of glancing away in sheepish embarrassment or jolting out of a daze, Ben just stares back. There’s no emotion in his expression at all except intense focus.

The faint smile drops from Yasmina’s face as she stares back in surprise. Then, with ever-growing confusion and a fair amount of alarm, she realizes that Ben’s shoulders are rising, tense and hunched like he’s trying to make himself look bigger.

Like an animal.

Yasmina knows what it is to stare down a wild animal. She’s felt predatory eyes on her before and either bolted or turned to face the challenge. And that’s what it is, for some of the dinos- a challenge. Sometimes they’re testing your mettle, and standing your ground is enough to make them back off.

Ben must’ve learned that, too. And for whatever reason, he’s slipping into that behavior now.

It’s a ridiculous thought. This is Ben, her friend. Her very scrawny friend who can’t weigh more than ninety pounds soaking wet, and prefers a diet of berries and grubs. And yet, here he is, staring her down like she’s a particularly bold pack of Compies that’s decided to threaten him.

Yasmina gives a slow, deliberate blink. “Ben?” she calls. “What’s up?”

Just like that, the spell is broken. Ben gives a violent start, blinking and shaking his head. Yasmina sees confusion flash across his face, and then realization. And now the embarrassment comes, but it’s darkened by something like horror.

Without a word, Ben turns and darts away, scrambling down the ladder to the alcove underneath the house where Bumpy’s napping.

Yasmina lets him go, too baffled and unsettled to form words.

~*~

Eventually, Yasmina tells Darius about it.

His expression is troubled as she runs through the incident. But in the end, there’s nothing more he can tell her than what she’s already worked out on her own. It’s just another side effect of the mindset Ben has adopted throughout his isolation. Those habits were what he relied on to survive, and it’ll take time for him to realize he doesn’t have to constantly be on edge now that he’s got a team to look out for him.

Though privately, Yasmina wonders if maybe the rest of them should take a page out of Ben’s book. Seems like he’s got a better handle on survival than they do.

(And then she thinks how Sammy would react, if Yasmina started acting like a wary animal around her, and she realizes Ben’s methods come with a price.)

~*~

After Ben runs the Compies off for the first time, staring becomes a defense tactic.

It’s not always the Compies, who are slowly but surely learning not to mess with him. Sometimes it’s the Parasaurolophus in the river, or the lone Pteranodon perched in a tree, or the group of Edmontosauruses grazing on the hilltop. As soon as he feels their eyes on him, he knows his best chance is to stare back, to show that he’s willing to put up a fight, that chasing him wouldn’t be worth it.

Obviously, there are some dinosaurs that doesn’t work on. But if Ben can drastically cut down the amount of time spent running for his life by standing his ground, then he’ll take it.

All he has to do is not back down.

~*~

Ben avoids Yasmina for the next few days.

~*~

Brooklynn wakes up in the middle of the night with an unshakeable feeling that something is wrong.

Her bad feeling is confirmed when she gets a look at the moon. Based on its position in the sky, she should’ve been woken up by Ben to take her night watch shift at least an hour ago. This practice, established by Darius months ago who insisted they should always have at least one person awake, has already become routine within the group. Brooklynn couldn’t sleep fully through the night if she tried.

Ben’s only just recently become a part of the routine. Immediately after his return, Darius thought it best just to let Ben settle in and get as much rest as he could, now that he had the security to do so, and everyone agreed. Ben had insisted he didn’t mind, but Darius stood firm, so it’s only been within the last few days that Ben took part.

But this is the first time he hasn’t woken Brooklynn up and her heart is in her throat as she rushes to the lookout point-

Only to find Ben sitting right where he’s supposed to be, looking out over their compound as a small candle burns next to him.

As soon as Brooklynn’s relief passes, it’s replaced with anger. “What are you doing?” she whispers furiously.

Ben, not at all surprised by her presence, gives her a sidelong look. “What does it look like I’m doing?”

“You were supposed to wake me up, so I could do night watch.” Brooklynn struggles to keep her voice low, so as not to alert the others. “What gives?”

Ben shrugs. “I knew I wasn’t gonna sleep tonight, so I figured I’d just take the whole watch myself.”

“That’s not how this works,” Brooklynn hisses, crossing her arms. “Even if you can’t fall asleep- and I’ve totally been there- you have to lay down and close your eyes and rest. You need to rest.”

Ben breaks into an easy smile, but Brooklynn can see the annoyed creases at his eyes. “Hey, it’s fine. I can-”

“Take care of yourself, I know,” Brooklynn interrupts, hating how frustrated she sounds but unable to help it. “But you don’t have to. We’re a team. We can take care of you too, alright?”

Ben stares at her for a moment. “I know that,” he says, sounding uncertain.

Brooklynn softens. When she reaches out to put a hand on his shoulder, he lets her. “Then… why?”

“I don’t know,” Ben admits. The muscles beneath Brooklynn’s hand are so tense, it feels like they’re going to snap. “I don’t know.”

They finish the night watch together.

~*~

Brooklynn almost hates to bring it up to Darius.

Dude’s stressing almost nonstop about everything, all the time. And it really isn’t fair for him to be responsible for the rest of them, including Ben. But Darius is the only one who seems to have the… what’s it called, emotional intelligence, she supposes, to weigh in on the situation.

(Sammy is a close second, but her brand of caring is a little more touchy-feely, and this doesn’t seem like the right time for that.)

Darius is immediately worried, pointing out that Ben might accidentally fall asleep on watch if he keeps this up (something Brooklynn hadn’t even thought about). He promises to talk to Ben about it, and that’s that.

Brooklynn is only slightly relieved because she knows if Darius had a real fix for the problem, he would’ve said so. And if Darius doesn’t have a fix for it, maybe there isn’t one.

~*~

Those first several nights, Ben doesn’t sleep at all.

And it’s not for lack of trying. But how can he sleep, when it’s pitch black and the jungle is full of unfamiliar sounds and he’s got no one but a baby Ankylosaurus by his side? He soon finds it’s even worse without Bumpy, though, because at least he trusted that Bumpy would wake up if there was any danger, as her senses are more powerful than his.

On his own, there’s no one to wake him up. So he has to stay up, and settle for catching short scattered naps throughout the day (if he can find a tree to hide up in).

It’s hard, but he’d rather be tired than dead.

~*~

Ben is taken off night watch, but still ends up awake more often than not.

~*~

Pyromaniac is a word no one ever expected to become synonymous with Ben, and yet here they are.

It’s one of the first things he always suggests as an answer to a problem; blow something up. Darius has a million reasons for them not to do that; they could get hurt, they could start a wildfire and burn the jungle down, they could attract unwanted attention from predators.

But that doesn’t stop Ben from cataloguing everything on the island that can be used as an explosive, memorizing their locations or creating hidden stashes. It doesn’t stop him from using the candles that came with the scavenged emergency kits. He’ll light them for no reason, just to watch the small flame flicker back and forth.

(Someday, months later, they’ll encounter a horrific hybrid dinosaur that is drawn to flames, and they’ll all think about how unsettling it is that Ben shares this trait, but none of them will say it.)

~*~

It’s been one week since Bumpy left, and Ben is starting a fire.

Just a small one. It rained all day and he’s soaked to the bone, which normally wouldn’t be a huge problem considering the jungle climate. But now that it’s nighttime, there’s a chill in the air and he can’t afford to get sick. It’s risky, because at night he knows the light could draw attention to him, but his teeth are starting to chatter so there’s no helping it.

When a Stegosaurus stumbles upon him, baying low and angry at finding another creature in its territory, it’s the fire that makes it balk. Rumbling displeasure, it retreats back into the dark jungle. Ben quickly adds torches to his arsenal, using the rest of his shirt as tinder.

Fire is safety.

~*~

Ben lights his candles in silence.

~*~

“You can’t just run off like that,” Kenji says, deadly serious.

Ben scoffs. “I think you’re forgetting who defeated Toro,” he says with an easy smile.

“You’re not invincible, Ben!” Kenji snaps. The anger churning inside him is deceptively hollow, like it’s masking something else. “And I can’t lose you again.”

Ben isn’t smiling anymore. “You won’t,” he mutters, pushing past Kenji. “I can take care of myself, now. I don’t need you to play the hero and protect me.”

Kenji wants to protest that’s not what this is about, and that’s never been what this is about, but Ben is already gone.

~*~

Ben still lives off berries and grubs.

~*~

“… and so I was thinking, berries have seeds in them, right? So if we plant some, we’ll have our own berry bushes at the clubhouse. It’ll cut down our foraging time in the mornings for sure, and-”

“Uh, who are you talking to, Ben?”

Ben blinks at Yasmina’s voice, the girl having only just entered the room.

“Um, Bumpy?” he says, as if this should be obvious.

Yasmina glances out at the compound, where Bumpy is fast asleep and well out of earshot.

“… right.”

~*~

Ben can’t sleep, even when he’s actually trying.

~*~

“Alright,” Darius says, “so we need to get the T-Rex out of Main Street so we can do another sweep for supplies. Any ideas?”

Ben’s hand goes up.

“For the hundredth time, Ben, we aren’t going to feed the T-Rex to the Mosasaurus.”

Ben’s hand goes down.

~*~

Ben feels more at home with Bumpy than the other campers.

~*~

“You know we didn’t mean to leave you, right? We would’ve come back for you if we’d known…”

~*~

Ben never talks about getting off the island.

~*~

“You have to tell us where you’re going, Ben, you can’t just disappear-”

~*~

Ben keeps slipping away.

~*~

“Blowing stuff up isn’t the answer to everything!”

~*~

Ben keeps saying he’s okay.

~*~

“We’re a team, we have to work together-”

~*~

Ben keeps smiling.

~*~

“Don’t you trust us to protect you?”

~*~

Ben doesn’t know.

~*~

Sammy finds Ben sitting on the roof of the clubhouse one day.

Her footsteps are loud and obvious as she approaches him. No chance of sneaking up. She knows he’s noticed her, from the subtle shift in his body. He doesn’t acknowledge her, though, continuing to stare off over the jungle and into the horizon, his skinny legs slotted through the railing and dangling over the edge.

The sun’s about to set, a few stars already twinkling in the purple edges of the sky. Sammy can remember another night, months ago, where Ben wasn’t here but everyone else was and they spotted bonfire smoke in the distance. She remembers the way her heart raced, the overwhelming joy and relief flooding through her. And yet, there had been undeniable heartache, because the realization that they’d made it out only meant it was more unfair that Ben hadn’t.

Sammy breaks the silence after a few moments.

“Are you okay?”

Ben doesn’t look at her, but she can see the easy smile that slants across his face, dying sunlight reflected in his eyes.

“Yeah.”

Sammy sees the lie for what it is. None of them are okay. No one who’s been through what they have would be. But there’s a certain danger that comes with not being willing to admit it, and an even greater danger that comes with not being able to see it.

“Y’know, it’d be fine if you weren’t.”

Ben doesn’t answer.

Sammy sits with him until the sky turns dark.

~*~

It’s the way he struggles to eat anything he hasn’t obtained by himself.

It’s the way he sometimes goes off on his own without telling anyone.

It’s the way he talks to himself when he thinks no one else is around.

It’s the way he takes any concern for his safety as a personal attack.

It’s the way he leaps at the chance to blow something up.

It’s the way he can stare silently for hours.

It’s the way he smiles a little too easily.

~*~

It’s not jumping at every unexpected movement, or screaming awake from night terrors, or flinching away from the slightest touch. It’s not loud meltdowns or hysterical sobbing or uncontrollable fits of rage.

(Even though those will come, someday, when the island is just a memory.)

It’s the little things, that- once you notice them- keep piling up.

And suddenly, they don’t seem so little anymore.

~*~

#jurassic world camp cretaceous #camp cretaceous #jwcc #jwcc fanfic #my writing

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shiftynightshade · 3 years

Text

Inhaling softly Roy rested his face into his gloved hands, fingers threading into black hair and tightening into a solid grip. He left them there for a few seconds before dragging his fingers over his eyes.

“Sir?”

Roy looked up at Hawkeye from where he was sitting, her eyes hard yet shining in concern. “I wish we didn’t have to bring Fullmetal into this.” He whispered, fingers pinching the bridge of his nose. “I don’t like it; he’s too young to witness war on this scale.”

Hawkeye didn’t make much sound except for the soft exhale as she closed her eyes. “I don’t like it either sir, but… orders are orders.”

Roy pursed his lips. ‘Orders are orders…. Yeah right. Just like how the genocide of Ishval was just ‘orders’’

Roy sighed and opened the car door, slipping out and grimacing at the chill breeze that swept its way through the streets. With a few long strides, Roy was standing in front of the dorm's large doorway. ‘Here goes nothing, tch, damn you, Bradley.’

They found Ed’s dorm easily enough, having made plenty of house calls beforehand to know the path by instinct. He rapped his knuckles against the door and waited for any kind of response, not that they ended having to too long.

Behind the door soft, nearly inaudible footsteps approached the door. The door creaked open slightly, half of Ed’s head poking out from behind it, eyes narrowed and eyebrows drawn.

When his eyes rested on them, he obviously relaxed, though the tension didn’t completely leave his body.

“Oh, it’s you two.” Was all he said. He stood back and opened the door fully.

“Lieutenant,” He tipped his head respectfully towards Hawkeye.

His eyes met Roy’s. “Colonel Bastard.”

Roy spluttered. “Hey! why do you acknowledge Hawkeye with respect but I’m ‘Colonel Bastard!?”

Ed raised a single eyebrow. “One; I give my respect to people who I think deserve it, and two; I may be reckless but I do value my life.”

Hawkeye coughed into her fist. “May we come in Edward?”

Ed blinked before giving a hesitant nod. He stepped out of the way and grabbed the doorknob.

“Mind the mess though.” He muttered.

Hawkeye nodded and strode past him, leaving Roy to trail after her. The second he was through Ed shut and locked the door, wriggling the knob for a split second before nodding in satisfaction.

Roy rose an eyebrow. ‘That’s an odd habit, though I guess it’s better than Fullmetal never locking the door.’

Roy smirked. “Paranoid much, Fullmetal?”

Ed scowled at him. “Like you aren’t?”

Roy dropped his smirk and blinked. He wasn’t that easy to read. Was he?

“Either of you want something to drink?”

Both of them shook their heads. “No thanks.”

Ed shrugged. “Suit yourself.”

The blonde stumbled slightly over to the counter and grabbed a steaming mug with his automail hand, yawning and leaned on the counter. He peered at them over the rim of his mug.

“So,” He began. “I’m gonna assume that this ain't a social call?”

Hawkeye nodded solemnly. “Where is Alphonse? We’d rather he not hear this. He would probably want to hear this from you and not us.”

Ed’s eyes dimmed slightly at the mention of his younger brother, shoulders drooping and body slumping.

“Al’s not here right now, hasn’t been here since yesterday, and won’t be back for a while, so you don’t have to worry about him overhearing anything.” He muttered, taking a long gulp of his drink.

Roy rose an eyebrow. “What do you mean by that? You two rarely leave each other’s side, and with how crappy you’re looking, I highly doubt he’d leave you alone.”

Ed’s eyes flashed with annoyance at the ‘crappy’ comment, but he didn’t say anything.

“He and I had a fight yesterday, it was… pretty bad.”

Roy took the time to observe Ed, eyes roving over the small Alchemist. His hair was down, a simple sweater and soft pants replaced his usual leather get-up. His eyes were droopy and his bags were darker and more pronounced than usual.

Ed pursed his lips. “I don’t even remember what the fight was about, it was pretty loud and,” He sighed sadly. “We said some things we didn’t mean. So he stormed off and most likely won’t be back for a few days.”

Roy couldn’t hold back the small flinch at that. ‘Shit, he’s not going to like this then.’

Roy and Hawkeye shared a look. Ed looked between the pair, eyes narrowing. “What aren’t you two telling me?”

Roy frowned before sighing heavily. “Drachma’s been attacking our borders in the North and North-West with increasing frequency, and State Alchemists are being called to the frontlines as back-up.”

With that one sentence any semblance of sleep that clung to Fullmetal disappeared, his once lax body stiffening and his eyes more aware. “So… we’re looking at war here, aren’t we?”

Hawkeye tilted her head. “Yes, we decided to come get you personally, as our team’s being shipped out later tonight.”

At Ed’s outraged face Hawkeye raised placating hands. “We were just given our orders, Ed, so it’s not like we purposely withheld this from you.”

Ed huffed an agitated breath, hand coming up to slide into his hair and grasp the golden strands into an unforgiving fist. “Shit, shit, this is so fucked up.”

Ed trembled slightly in his spot against the cold counter, his automail deceptively steady as he placed the ceramic mug down. Roy stared at his subordinate. “You still have your military uniform Fullmetal?”

Ed glanced up at him. “Unfortunately.” He looked annoyed, like having to go to war was simply a mild inconvenience and not a life-changing experience.

“Good, go get changed.”

Ed frowned, apprehension growing in his eyes. “…How long do I have?”

Hawkeye gave a sad smile. “Half an hour max.”

Ed nodded and made his way through the maze of books and other research instruments that made up the dorm. “Don’t touch any of my research notes Mustang!” He called from the depths of the dorm.

Hawkeye chuckled, shaking her head. “I’ll make sure he behaves Edward.”

“Lieutenant!” Roy shrieked.

Hawkeye smiled serenely, ignoring his indignant splutters.

“Like you haven’t been badgering him about his notes for weeks now sir, I don’t exactly blame him for being wary to leave you with any of his research.”

Roy did not pout thankyouverymuch.

The sound of boots hitting wooden floorboards drew them from their bickering. They both immediately took in the changes in Ed’s appearance.

No longer did Ed look like a simple civilian with artificial limbs; he looked like the ferocious Fullmetal Alchemist, Hero of the People, someone whose loyalty knew no boundaries. Mixed with the blue uniform he looked like every part of a soldier.

It made Roy sick.

‘Child soldiers, we’re using child soldiers.’

“Damn Fullmetal,” Roy smirked, if only to mask the nauseating guilt that was building in his gut and creeping up into his jugular. “You should wear the uniform more often, maybe then you wouldn’t look like such a shrimp.”

Fullmetal spluttered, rage growing on his face, though Roy could see the small amount of thankfulness in his eyes. ‘Give him the familiarity that he will soon lose.’

Fullmetal set his suitcase down and grabbed a stray sheet of paper and an abandoned pen, setting himself down heavily to the wooden chair.

“Just give me a minute to write something for Al,” Not once did Fullmetals’ eyes leave the paper.

“I don’t want him to come home to me being gone with no reason or explanation.” He said it so softly that Roy had to strain his ears to hear him.

“I won’t abandon him like that bastard did.” He spat, right hand curling into a tight fist.

Roy frowned as he watched the alchemist continue his note, continuing his way down the page before gently placing it under a paperweight made from some kind of shiny mineral.

Instead of setting the pen down, Ed grabbed another paper and began to write something else, seemingly oblivious to the slightly tense silence that had dominated the small apartment.

Ed gently folded the paper and slid it into an envelope, sealing it and tucked the letter into his jacket pocket. Fullmetal stood from his spot and picked up his suitcase, He nodded at them, only to stop and turn slightly, running a hand slightly over his scarlet cloak that hung on the chair.

He inhaled and pursed his lips. “Let’s get this shit-show on the fucking road, eh?”

Even though it was inappropriate, Roy smiled.

~◦~ ~◦~ ~◦~ ~◦~ ~◦~ ~◦~ ~◦~ ~◦~

“Ah, young Edward!”

Ed looked up from his book just in time to get a face full of Armstrong’s chest, his large arms wrapping like a vice around his frame.

“H’ly shit Armst’ng, c’nt breathe!”

He was dropped almost immediately, Armstrong patting his shoulders. “Ah, my apologies!”

Despite himself, Ed smiled at the Major. “You joining us as well Armstrong?”

The major gained a slightly darker expression on his face. “My apologies, but no, I won’t be.”

Ed tilted his head in confusion. “I though all state alchemists were being called in?”

Armstrong smiled bitterly. “Ah yes, well I was an exception. Mostly because I wasn’t deemed trustworthy enough due to my… reluctance to fight during the Ishvalan Civil War.”

He shook his head. “No matter, I was assigned to look after your younger brother while you were away, so I’m not complaining.”

Ed smiled at that, despite the ache in his chest and the stinging in his eyes at the mention of his brother. He didn’t want to leave the country without finding Al and apologising for their fight, but he just didn’t have time.

He frowned, the letter in his pocket burning despite it being nothing but paper and ink. “Hey… Major?” He asked softly.

“Yes Edward?” Armstrong definitely picked up on his mood change, if the concerned look on his face was anything to go by.

He dug into his pocket and pulled out the envelope, gently pushing it into the Major’s hands. “If…” He inhaled, trying to ignore the trembling in his limbs or the thick lump that had made itself known in his throat.

“If anything happens to me, can you give that letter to Al for me?”

Armstrong’s sharp inhalation was barely audible over the crowd, but Ed heard it all the same.

The Major opened his mouth to protest, but Ed peered up at his colleague through his fringe.

“Please.”

Maybe it was the look in his eye, or the soft plea, but Armstrong nodded stiffly and pocketed the envelope.

“Fullmetal.” Mustang suddenly appeared at his back, eyes lingering on the envelope in Armstrong’s hand before meeting Ed’s.

Ed turned to stare at Mustang, then back at Armstrong. Mustang put a hand on his shoulder. “It’s time to go.”

Ed bit his lip and nodded. “Seeya Armstrong, look after Al for me would ya?”

When the younger Armstrong nodded, he smiled. “Thanks.”

With that, he turned his back on the larger man and began to follow the colonel towards where the rest of Team Mustang had gathered.

Havoc raised a hand. “Heya Chief!”

Ed smirked. “You guys ready to kick some Drachma ass? Havoc cheered. “Hell yes!”

The wind picked up at that moment, putting out Havoc’s cigarette and sending the skirt overlays of their uniforms flying with the wind. One airship lifted into the air, almost looking ominous in the dark.

Ed inhaled. “So this is it, huh?”

Hawkeye nodded from her spot beside Mustang. “Colonel Mustang!”

The team turned in surprise as a soldier ran up to them and saluted. “You guys are up next.”

Mustang nodded. “Thank you.”

The soldier nodded and pointed to the airship closest to them. “Your teams been assigned to that airship alongside General Simmons. Good luck sir.”

Without any pre-amble, the soldier had dashed off.

Breda stretched his arms out wide before picking up his pack. “Well we better get aboard.” He grinned. “Don’t want to get left behind now, do we?”

Ed snorted. “Pretty sure Colonel Bastard wouldn’t let us be left in the dust even if we wanted to.”

Hawkeye rolled her eyes with a smirk. “Come on boys, we have work to do.”

They all groaned sarcastically, but made it onto the airship without any trouble. ‘What a shocker.’

The rumbling of the airship taking off beneath his feet rattled Ed’s bones.

With a tightness growing in his chest, Ed sat and leaned against the wall, willing his brain to imagine the rocking of a train carriage in place of the rumblings of the airship.

~◦~ ~◦~ ~◦~ ~◦~ ~◦~ ~◦~ ~◦~ ~◦~

After a few days of cooling off and stewing in alleyways, Alphonse finally felt stable and confident in his emotions to go talk to his older brother. Al sighed as he picked his way through the streets, the sun almost warming him in ways he hadn’t felt in years, even if he was still entombed in a bodiless state in his armour.

Just thinking about his armour made Al flinch and want to hide away in shame. ‘Some of the words I said… oh brother I’m so sorry.’

The words he said still echoed in his head, and it made Al want to both scream and cry and rage at the world and himself.

“If it wasn’t for you I wouldn’t be stuck like this!”

Al sighed and made his way towards the dorms, apprehension growing in his metaphorical chest.

‘What if brother doesn’t forgive me this time? URG Dammit Alphonse! Why do you have to be stupid!?’

He finally made it to the dorms, letting his feet take him to the apartment he and his brother shared. When he got to the door though, Al stopped. “What do I even say…”

He gripped the doorknob and shoved the key into the slot after a moment with his other hand.

“Brother, I’m home!”

Absolute silence.

“Brother?”

Alphonse walked further into the apartment, taking note of the dust and how none of the books had been moved an inch.

The glint of colour on the table and flash of scarlet caught his attention.

‘Brothers coat, what is it doing here and not with him?’

As he approached the table, it became obvious that the other colours that were glinting in the sun belonged to a paperweight.

It was a simple thing in retrospect, but it was a small gift from Teacher last time they had visited her, and it meant the world to them.

The paper under it though was new, and after a few brief moments of hesitation, Al picked it up.

Soulfire eyes roamed over the paper, disbelief and world consuming guilt encompassing the world around him.

Al let the paper slip from his hands and onto the table, armour rattling in distress.

“Brother...” The whimper slipped out before Al could stop it, even though there was no one around to hear it. Like it was a shameful little secret.

Suddenly the sun didn’t seem so warm.

#alex louis armstrong #jean havoc #heymans breda #riza hawkeye #FMA #fmab #edward elric #ling yao #Roy Mustang #Alphonse Elric

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novantinuum · 4 years

Text

Tides of Renewal (SU one-shot)

Fandom: Steven Universe

Rating: T (Mild TW for vague allusions to past suicidal thoughts.)

Words: 2500~

Summary: Now twenty years old and living on the other side of the country, Steven spends his morning relaxing on the beach, musing about his past, and having a chat with his dad.

Hi folks! This is actually my two-months-late “Happy Birthday, Steven” fic, ahah- amusingly, posted two months late to the day. I’m quite happy with how this short turned out.

If you read this and enjoy, I’d greatly appreciate your support through reblogs here, or kudos/comments on AO3 as well. AO3 link will be provided in the reblogs. Thank you! <3

____

Tides of Renewal

Steven rises alongside the sun, but not by choice.

As he abruptly stirs, jerking onto his side under his tangled blanket, he soon realizes that he has little lingering memory of the nightmare that shook him from his slumber. Nevertheless, his heart pounds so hard it feels like it’s hanging in his throat. There’s feelings, faint impressions— someone’s blood (his, or hers?), Connie’s screams, a bubble of terror boiling from within— but that’s all he’s left with. The young man clutches at his sheets, struggling to catch his breath as is the norm most mornings. Dim light sneaks in between the edges of the curtains, offering a rough estimate of the time.

Once it’s clear his chances of sleeping in have become null and void, he entices himself out of bed with the promise of buying himself a muffin at the local coffee shop later today, a birthday treat. His routine is sluggish, but precise. He uses the bathroom, throws on his swim trunks and a thin cotton shirt, downs the pills he forgot to take last night with a quick swig of water, carefully runs his fingers through his long curls to work out the tangles, and slips his feet into the flip flops he always leaves lying right at the foot of his bed.

The young adult only takes his guitar, phone, and keys with him as he walks the mile distance from his humble studio apartment to the public beach. Around him, the world is at peace. The only sound intermingling with the gentle ebb and flow of the Pacific at this hour of the morning is the chattering of puffins that nest on the large rock outcroppings in the tide pools nearby. The edge of his lip quirks up when he finally crosses that sacred boundary— the sidewalk meeting the shore— and removes his sandals, reveling in the satisfying, grainy texture of sand squishing between his toes. Hah... the beach. Funny, that. All his traveling these past years, from mountains, to prairies, to sprawling suburbs to wooded forest towns, and it only succeeded in deepening his childhood love for the familiarity of saltwater air and tourist-filled boardwalks. Still, the secluded, rustic charm of Haystack Cove is a far cry from the Beach City he grew up in. Different people, different sights, different types of seafood sold at the markets. This place feels like a home all his own, appropriately distant from the Gem influenced settlement he’d left behind.

He crosses the fine grained sands towards his favorite sitting spot, a hefty stone jutting out from the ground, its surface buffed to a glossy finish over the years by the high tides. The water’s still distant this early in the morning, glimmers of sunlight sparkling off of the foam and spray. Yawning, he plops himself down on the stone and lifts his guitar into his lap. He strums a few random chords as a warm-up before settling into an experimental melodic sequence.

As he plays, the early morning breeze teases at the ends of his shoulder-length hair, untied and let free in all its curly splendor. It’s still quite chilly, but with the sun peaking over the horizon behind him and not a cloud in sight, the air’s bound to heat up in no time. Steven inhales deeply, soaking in the salt and light and pushing away the shadows lurking at the periphery of his mind, that twitching, exhausting anxiety that never quite seems to leave him alone these days. Unfortunately, functional does not mean carefree. While far fewer in number then when he was a teen, he still runs into plenty of moments where he’s struck blind by particularly painful reminders of his past, his gem snapping into overdrive in an instant. He’s a bit better at coping in these moments now, and walking himself down from panic attacks, but deep-rooted traumas don’t simply melt away. With that in mind, at this point he suspects he’ll likely have to deal with a mixture of therapy and meds for the rest of his life. That’s fine, though. If that’s what it takes to be at peace. He’s thankfully reached a point in his recovery where he’s more than willing to work for it.

Startling him out of his roaming thoughts, his phone chimes to life, touting the same cheery ring tone he had as a kid. He gently sets his guitar down in the sand and fishes his cell phone out of his pocket, a silent bet as to who’s calling rising within his mind. Sure enough, his dad’s contact photo proudly greets him. Hah— he called it. Steven stifles a giggle as he hits accept and lifts the phone to his ear.

“Hey, Dad!”

“Hey, Schtu-ball!” his father chimes from the other side of the country, three hours ahead. He hears a faint shuffle over the line, and then the beginnings of guitar accompaniment as the man begins to sing:

“Happy birthday to you~!”

Dad ends the line with a resounding vibrato, and a few extra jazzy chords for good measure.

“Heh heh, thanks,” he says, bashfully blushing at the attention, and gazing across the loose sands as if ensuring the secret of his birth hasn’t swelled into a nauseatingly public affair like half of his birthdays had since the start of Era 3. “Gotta say, the impromptu guitar solo pushed that to a whole new level. You just get up?”

“Yep! Bright and early. Garnet said you’d probably be awake by now, so I figured I’d call and give ya’ a good greeting to start the day. Lemme guess, you’re down there at the beach already? I think I heard waves.”

Steven’s glance lifts to admire the slowly rising tides, and the promise of each tomorrow that lies beyond. “Hah, you know me,” he says softly, taking a deep lungful of that precious salt-touched air he’s always adored. “I live for the water. Might force myself to go for a swim later before all of you come. Not sure yet,” he says, shrugging as he turns and squints in the wake of the steadily rising sun. “But my therapist said I should probably keep as active as po—“

“It’s your birthday. You do whatever makes you happy, bud,” his dad promptly reminds him, slight concern sticking to his voice. And yes, it’s practically a father’s job to worry, but his chest tightens with lingering guilt for pressing that upon him anyways. Ugh, this is because he said ‘force myself,’ isn’t it?

“Doing my best to,” he lamely offers, hoping it’ll at least end that segment of conversation. He twirls a stray strand of hair around his finger as he scours his memory for something new to offer. Thankfully, his mind quickly lands on the exciting email he received last night. He grins, knowing for sure his dad’ll love this. “Oh, uh- topic change, but I got that last job I applied for, by the way.”

“Oh? The taffy shop one?”

“Yeah! I start on Tuesday.”

“Wow, that’s- that’s awesome! They responded fast, then.”

“Yup,” Steven nods, popping the ‘p.’ “Honestly, it’s nothing much, just stocking and working the register, but it’ll give me some cash to work with.”

Some cash to finally pay for his own food instead of continuously bumming money off his dad. There’s no way he can handle full month’s rent on his own with this minimum wage job, (who on Earth could in this economy), but it might be enough to cover the smaller things. Groceries, electricity, internet. That sorta stuff. Fidgeting on the edge of the stone outcropping, his bare toes dig narrow lines in the sand. He hasn’t really had this discussion with Dad yet, but the mere concept of being wholly reliant on other people steers his mind uncomfortably close to the I’m a Burden Zone. He’d far prefer to feel like he has a stake in the game.

“I know you said you don’t mind supporting me,” he continues in a hesitant tone, twirling his finger through one of his curls, “but I still feel kinda bad—“

“Don’t. I’d rather you not have to stress yourself to the bone about money like I did when I was your age.”

The line shakes for a second. He’s pretty sure he hears the faint clink of a bowl meeting the counter from his dad’s side.

“Dad...?”

“Sorry, bud. Just putting ya’ on speaker. Figured I’d make myself some instant oatmeal,” he says, his voice sounding a bit further away from the microphone. “Goodness, though. Twenty years. That still boggles the mind.”

He gives a soft laugh. “You’re telling me. Could’ve sworn I was twelve just yesterday. And to be honest, it’s... it’s kinda weird sometimes, you know?”

“What is?”

“Being another year older. ‘Cause... well, uh...”

Steven grits his teeth, searching for the most delicate manner in which he can discuss these emotions. The feelings of his past are a really hard topic to dwell on sometimes, even in therapy, and even though he and his dad have long since had scattered discussions about what a poor mental state he was in then, he doesn’t wanna upset him too much.

“There were definitely days I assumed I wouldn’t have a future, or didn’t want one to begin with,” he continues, throat thick. “Back during all the conflict, before Homeworld reformed. And even after that, when I was... you know. And things are better, now, they’re definitely a lot better. But the idea of a ‘future’... even if I’ve got a job, a home, a girlfriend... it’s still weird to think about, I guess.“

There’s a brief silence on the line as this vulnerable admission sinks in.

“Yeah,” Dad replies eventually, clear sorrow in his voice despite how careful he thought he was in phrasing these matters. “I hear ya’.”

With a quick nervous laugh, he scratches at the nape of his neck, fingertips brushing against the thin, wispy strands of hair growing back there. “Geeze, sorry for bringing the mood down so quick. Didn’t even know I had all that on my mind until it spilled right out.”

“No, no! No need for apologies, I’m always here to listen. And in any case, I’m glad you’re in a better place now.”

Steven nods his head to himself in full agreement (momentarily forgetting that his dad isn’t actually here in the flesh to see this response). Sixteen and seventeen really, really weren’t good years for him. And even though he’s put lot of work into himself since then, he can’t help but constantly fear the possibility of relapse. His therapist told him a few sessions ago when he expressed this worry that... relapses into old thinking patterns can be common for people living with C-PSTD, and that it’s important for him to be cognizant of any unusual changes in his patterns and routines so he can quickly intervene with his box of healthy coping tactics, but... geeze. The dark, traumatic destinations his wandering thoughts end up stagnating in when the concept of relapse brushes his mind aren’t fun to acknowledge. It makes him yearn with deafening hunger for a simple switch he could flip, some magic cure-all for his brain that would stop him from having to deal with any of this awful shit in the first place— but of course, cruel universe this can be at times, those don’t exist.

“Speaking of that,” Dad speaks up again after clearing his throat, “how are those new meds treating you? You said last call your doctor was gonna change them, yes?”

“Nah, not change. There’s no need to change types,” he shrugs. “It’s just a dosage shift. And it’s fine, I think. I’ve been on ‘em for a few days, and there’s no problems so far. Brain's been treating me a little better.”

Nightmares aren’t quite as bad.

His energy isn’t totally zapped by noon.

The whirling, panicked trajectory of his thought patterns is a little easier to wrest control of.

All in all, nothing’s perfect, but he certainly feels a good deal more stable than before. Now, if only he can remember to consistently take his meds before he goes to bed like he’s supposed to instead of totally forgetting like he did last night and having to scarf it down when he sees that forsaken capsule in his pill box the next morning. Tsk, tsk.

“That’s real good to hear,” his dad responds to his news.

He flexes his knuckles against his lap, gaze reflexively drifting back towards the welcomed distraction of the tides. “Yeah.”

“Anyways, I, uh...”

“So, party logistics,” he cuts in with an overly cheery tone, changing the topic from his boring mental health crap entirely. “We should probably hash this out now. I know Connie’s planning on dropping around about noon. What’s your guys’ plan? She can probably send Lion to you after she gets here, if you want.”

“Yeah, that’d be best. Pearl said there weren’t any convenient warps nearby. Well, there’s one- but apparently it empties out into an active lava tube. And that’s not exactly Dad-friendly.”

“Aww, you mean you’re not filled with the intense desire to dip your hand into molten lava and shlorp it up like it’s soup?” Steven retorts, only barely holding back his laughter as he thinks of this absurd text thread he had going with Connie a few weeks back, wherein she sent him a video of some volcanic flows and told him, verbatim, that 'despite all logic and reason sometimes I can’t help but look at super viscous lava and think... forbidden s o u p, mmmm.’

“Not particularly, no,” his dad says, sounding thoroughly confused. “I’m- why are you laughing? Is this some sort of weird internet thing I’m not familiar with again?”

He wipes tears from his eyes as he tries to catch his breath. “You, ah- you kinda had to be there, sorry. Anyways, yeah. I’ll have Connie send Lion. I’ll text you right before, how’s that?”

“Sounds great! Can’t wait to see ya’, bud. I’m gonna let you go, now, okay? I can talk your ears off later. Go enjoy your morning. Love you.”

“Love you too, Dad,” he says, grinning. “Bye.”

“Buh-bye.”

Once his dad hangs up he sets his phone beside him on the rock and takes a deep, steady breath, trying to capture the full nuance of each diverse scent in the air. He may just be imagining it, but he swears he’s able to pick out the faint scent of taffy intermingling with the ocean saltiness and the hint of cedar from the nearby state forest. In the end though, whether it’s real or not it’s a welcomed reminder of all the possibility the future holds for him.

He’s twenty now. It’s a brand new decade of life. He’s got a new job lined up, a stable and loving relationship, a supportive family, and plenty of courage in facing the shadows of his past. Sure, so maybe he’ll never know with certainty what will happen— maybe he’ll relapse a little, maybe he’ll still have some bad days sprinkled amongst the good ones— but as he watches the tides flow in to greet him, he smiles... and resolves to just take this year as a renewal of his vow to care for himself as best he can.

#su #su future #steven universe #greg universe #su fanfiction #my writing stuff

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detectiveupstead · 4 years

Text

Stay the Night [Upstead One Shot]

A/N: Hello, friends! This Upstead one shot (a grand total of 7,790 words) is based off of the Grey’s Anatomy episode, The Sound of Silence, in which Meredith gets brutally attacked by a patient. This, however, is my own spin of Hailey getting attacked by an offender and the aftermath. Hope you enjoy it!

He should have followed her.

That’s the only thought that was running through Jay’s mind. It was the only thought capable of running through his mind as he stood outside of the trauma bay, surrounded by his team, surrounded by Platt and fellow officers who had shown up as soon as the news broke. Jay was deaf to any sound, blind to everything else, only hearing the clamor of Will and the other doctors as he watched them treat Hailey. Upon noticing her state and the severity of her injuries, it hadn’t crossed anyone’s minds to shut the glass door and draw the curtain inside. And so Jay stood and watched.

It was only Adam and Kevin’s hands on him that stopped Jay from launching into the bay when he heard a strained, anguished cry emit from Hailey, unsure of what happened given the number of medical personnel surrounding her. His heart threatened to leap out of his chest, grunting against his friends’ grips as he tried to throw himself into the room, wanting to push aside all of the doctors for hurting her when he knew they were only helping. Hailey’s scream was followed by hoarse, heavy breathing, and Jay’s eyes burned with unshed tears as he jerked away from Adam and Kevin’s grip, burying his fingers in his short hair as he watched. Because that’s all he could do. Just watch and wait.

He should have fucking followed her.

*****

“Hey! Stop! Police!”

Why did they always fucking run? It never failed to exasperate Hailey as she chased after Nicholas, adrenaline pumping her legs, muscles working as she sprinted after him. Her boots thudded against the pavement as she went after him, gun in hand and, in the back of her mind, unsure if she was grateful for the lack of civilians on the late evening street. People milling around meant the possibility of no clear shot should she need to take it, but the lack of them meant nothing hindering Nicholas from getting away from her.

He turned the corner at the end of the block and Hailey forced herself to slow down, raising her gun as she checked around the wall before raising her weapon and following through, blue eyes sharp and eyebrows furrowed when she didn’t catch sight of Nicholas. No way he could’ve made it all the way to the other end already, or just disappear into thin air. Her senses on high alert, trying to pick up on any sound that would indicate Nicholas’s whereabouts—his breathing, his footsteps, anything—with her blue eyed gaze flickered everywhere as she carefully moved further down the narrow alley.

Apparently her senses weren’t sharp enough.

Somehow, Nicholas got the drop on her, using it to his advantage as the first thing he did was knock the gun out of her hand, the weapon clattering several feet away from their now struggling figures. Hailey was, by no means, someone who would go down without putting up a fight, face scrunched up in frustrated anger and determination as she tried to get the upper hand on Nicholas. But it was proving to be difficult, something Hailey was coming to a gradual, panicked realization, when she considered Nicholas probably had over a hundred pounds and a whole lot of muscles on her definitely smaller frame. Hand to hand combat with someone significantly bigger than her hadn’t been a wise choice—not that it had been much of a choice to begin with.

His fist was drawn back, and Hailey’s attempt of blocking it was useless as Nicholas’s fist came in contact with Hailey’s jaw, a pained grunt escaping her upon impact as the hit settled deep in her jaw bone. She felt as though her entire head had collided with something hard, eyes automatically squeezing shut as the pain was accompanied by the familiarly metallic taste of blood.

She stumbled back, but Nicholas’s hands were on her shoulders, using his strength to slam her into the brick wall behind her, the sound of her radio clattering to the ground distant to her ears. Hailey’s blonde hair flew at the harsh, jerky movement, her jacket doing nothing to prevent the scrape of the bricks against her back, her head thudding against the wall as her hands pressed against Nicholas’s chest. She dug her nails into him, hoping to bring some semblance of pain to get him to relent, eyes just barely opening to see him snarling at her.

Hailey exhaled sharply through her nose, finding enough strength to bring her right knee up as fast and as harshly as she could, slamming it deep into Nicholas’s stomach with a heated growl of her own. And although he keeled over with a groan, Hailey’s knee was no match for Nicholas’s stamina, because he recovered far quicker than she had anticipated, doing so by burying his fist in the same spot of her jaw as he had done so previously, stars exploding behind Hailey’s squeezed shut eyes. And then the air was knocked right out of her lungs as his heavy boot crushed into her chest, the sheer power of the kick once against knocking her into the brick wall. Only this time the rough action sent her flying back at an awkward angle, right side catching the brunt of the hit, and as Hailey fell to the ground, she had a vague feeling her right arm was broken. The numbing pain in her jaw told her it was probably broken, too.

This wasn’t good. This was not fucking good.

Nicholas wasn’t quite finished with her yet. “Think you could’ve taken me, bitch?” he spat, his large figure looming over her. There was a mild ringing in her ears. Why did his voice sound so far away? Hailey pressed the heels of her palms against the ground, the gravel digging into her skin as she tried to push herself up on shaky arms. But Nicholas grabbed a handful of her blonde hair at the top of her head, and Hailey cried out in pain as he yanked it to slam her head against the wall, and suddenly that ringing grew louder until it was all she could hear, her eyes squeezed shut, refusing to let the tears of frustration and pain fall. Her body didn’t feel like her own. It felt broken.

It was getting increasingly difficult to breathe, each small inhale and exhale feeling as though shards of glass were being punctured into her lungs. The taste of blood tainted her mouth, leaking down the corners of her mouth in semi thick streams, and her head spun. It hurt and it spun, a kind of pain and dizziness she hadn’t ever experienced.

Another punch to the jaw, though this time Nicholas kindly did so on the other side, his grip no longer on her so when the hit was delivered, she was sent to the floor. Her eyes squeezed shut as she fell, a breathless grunt escaping her, breath hitching when she felt shards of glass that had already been on the floor cut into the skin of her cheek and temple, blood oozing instantly from the new cuts.

“Hailey!”

Jay? She couldn’t be sure if it was him. She couldn’t hear, that much she was coming to realize. The several blows to her head made for a severe concussion, and the son of a bitch fucked up her ears. He fucked up her face and her arm and her chest. She was by no means a doctor, but in her moments of ragged breathing as she slowly came to acknowledge every sharp pain that stung her body, Hailey knew she had some broken ribs.

She heard something familiar then. Pop, pop, pop. Gun shots?

Her eyes could barely stay open, feeling her heart pound erratically in her chest. She knew that feeling an ache every time her heart beat wasn’t a good sign. Through hooded eyes, she saw Nicholas’s figure drop, body landing sideways with his eyes right in line with her own, and Hailey exhaled sharply, painfully. He was dead.

She groaned, eyes squeezing shut, the tears she’d fought to keep back finally falling. It wasn’t her fault. She no longer had the strength to keep them in.

Gentle yet frantic hands were on her, a familiar, far away voice calling her name, and Hailey decided she didn’t want the last thing she saw before she passed out to be the face of the man who did this to her. So she opened her eyes, slowly, reluctantly, blinking in hopes of clearing up her vision. No such luck.

The person above her was calling for help. She could barely hear, only picking out every other word. “5021 George. . . Officer down. . . Roll an ambo. . . Now!” And then hands were grasping her shoulders, her upper half laying on someone’s lap, feeling warm hands lightly touch her cheek. A familiar scent lightly tickled her numb nose—aftershave? She couldn’t tell, not over the taste and smell of blood. “Hailey, you’re gonna be okay. Stay with me, alright?” Jay. It was Jay. She knew it was him. Her head wasn’t right. Neither were her ears or vision. But she opened her eyes just enough to look up at him, to see a blurred familiar face and blurred worried green eyes. “Come on, Hailey. Stay awake. Look at me.”

Jay had her. She was safe. She could close her eyes now. At least she saw him.

*****

His hands were shaking at his sides as he watched his ragged looking brother exit Hailey’s room. They’d wheeled her off to get X-rays before setting her up in a room, and Jay hadn’t sat down for a second as they anxiously waited for an update. Will noted Jay’s red rimmed eyes, saw the anxiety and desperation etched into his features, looking more worse for wear than the other worried, terrified cops loitering around.

“How is she?” Voight asked. Even he didn’t bother hiding his concern for his detective.

Will let out a breath, looking over all of the quiet officers before his eyes finally met his younger brother’s. His throat was tight, never liking the part of the job where he had to recount a loved one’s injuries and sufferings to their family members. It was a million times worse having to tell it to his own brother. “She’s stable,” was how he chose to start off, knowing it was the most important thing. He was speaking to them all, but his gaze was only on Jay. “But she suffered massive head trauma. She’s got a severe concussion, and the blows to her head have caused temporary hearing loss.”

“Oh, my God,” Kim murmured, a sharp breath escaping her as the gravity of the situation befell Intelligence.

Jay remained silent. Numb.

“She—” Adam paused, throat working. “We heard her scream earlier, when you were working on her. What was that? Is—Is she okay?”

Will pursed his lips, breaking their gaze momentarily. “Her jaw was fractured at an awkward angle, which would make it difficult to heal properly. So Dr. Marcel had to—he had to completely break her jaw and wire it shut so it can heal. She can’t speak.” Will exhaled sharply. He always tried to remain detached when it came to situations like these, delivering the terrible news to friends and families of patients. But it was damn near impossible when he was delivering this kind of news to his friends and family. “Her left arm’s broken, and a broken rib punctured her lung, so we had to put in a chest tube. She’s—She’s got a long road ahead of her, most of which is going to be spent here. But she’ll heal.” He shrugged, almost defeated. “Physically, anyway.”

It was a wonder Jay heard anything his brother had been saying at all; his heart was thundering in his chest, blood rushing in his ears and were his fingers shaking? Hailey was hurt. Of course he knew that. He was the one who found her. He was the one who let her go after Nicholas while he took care of the partner. They both had gone without backup, something he had promised himself he would never do or let a partner of his do, and it nearly cost him Hailey.

The image of her laying in the alley, barely breathing and beaten to a horrific pulp. It had reminded Jay of the time when he’d seen her file after her first sting with Booth, bruises discoloring her face. Only this time, the nauseating twist of his stomach was overwhelming because he could have prevented this. He should have followed her, provided ample back up, and maybe she would be okay then. It was his fault.

“. . . Jay? Hey, Jay.” Will’s voice drew him back out of his muddled, guilt ridden thoughts, blinking tear heavy eyes as he looked at his older brother. All eyes were on him, and Jay would’ve felt them if he wasn’t so damn numb. Will’s concerned eyes were stuck on him, hand resting on Jay’s shoulder as he repeated, “She’s not awake yet but you can go see her.”

It took a moment for Will’s words to register in Jay’s mind, and when they did, he silently moved without a word. He walked the few steps towards her room, well aware of Voight and the rest of Intelligence following after him. Jay’s feet moved of their own accord, not quite comprehending where he was until he stood at the end of Hailey’s bed.

It was gravely silent in the room, the only sound coming from the shrill and continuous beep of the heart monitor, a loud reminder that she was still alive. Still breathing. From his peripherals, Jay noticed his team members entering around him, flanking either side of Hailey’s bed as he remained at the foot of it. Small tubes for the nasal cannula were connected to Hailey, providing her with supplemental oxygen as she lay unconscious.

Jay’s lips parted, a long, slow breath escaping him as he took in the sight of her. Reddish-purple bruises discolored her face, cuts from glass along her cheek, and his chest tightened at the swelling of her jaw. Needles and tubes were connected into her left arm, because her right was in a cast, broken and in need of healing. Her head was wrapped as well, a spot of blood vaguely visible under the white cloth bandaid by her temple. And despite the slow, calm, and steady beeping of Hailey’s heart monitor, Jay could feel his own heart racing in his chest, a guilt and panic mixing together into an overwhelming concoction of anger, desperation, and terror.

He should’ve followed her. He should’ve been her backup.

His fault, his fault, his fault.

The sight of her laying in the bed, unconscious and bruised, suddenly felt like too much. Jay, who had witnessed a lifetime’s worth of horror, couldn’t stand there looking at his partner, at this woman who had such a tight hold on him, because the sight was too much for him to handle. He physically couldn’t do it.

His teeth clenched together, he turned, feet carrying him out of the room, ignoring Vanessa’s soft call of his name as he moved further away and down the hall. Jay’s feet carried him, hands buried in his hair, head bowed as he squeezed his eyes shut. A ball of lead settled deeply in his stomach, throat closing up with a lump that made it difficult to breathe. Get it together, Halstead, he kept repeating to himself, forehead creased with the way his eyebrows were so harshly drawn together. He knew the tell tale signs of an episode, of a panic attack. Recognized the racing of his heart and the flush of his body. Hailey wouldn’t want him losing it like this.

Hailey. She was in this state because of him, wasn’t she?

“Damn it!” His voice echoed in the hall, and Jay didn’t think twice about slamming a fist against the nearest wall. Not head on, saving his knuckles from any damage, just the side of his fist. Still, the pain reverberated through his hand, but he didn’t care.

“Hey, Jay—Look at me!”

It was Voight, with his hands on Jay’s shoulders and heavy voice anchoring him back to reality as he turned Jay around to face him. Jay opened his eyes, eyebrows still draw together, jaw tight as he stared at his sergeant. His head was bowed, chin brought down, looking Voight right in the eyes as the older man stated, “This is not on you, you hear me?”

Jay scoffed, the sound derisive and deprecating, ready to push away from Voight. But Voight was firm, grip on Jay unrelenting, gaze sharp on his detective who stared back with glass sheen eyes. “You both made a tactical decision, and those don’t always end right. This is one of those times. It is not on you.”

“She’s my partner,” Jay spoke, his voice tight and edgy and controlled, ironic given that he felt completely out of his element here. Coming apart as every second passed by. His eyes once again felt heavy as tears drowned them, his emotions getting the better of him. Jay knew he had the habit of losing it in front of others, but it had never been with tears. Not until Hailey was laying in a hospital bed beaten within an inch of her life. “If I don’t have her back, who does?”

There was a silence between the two of them, filled by the distinct sounds of medical personnel doing their jobs and machines beeping in the distant, and Jay knew Voight was realizing there wasn’t much he could say to lift the guilt that suffocated him. “You were both just doing your jobs,” he repeated the idea, looking at him sternly, but the concern was still visible. Concern for Hailey’s recovery, concern for Jay’s conscious. He squeezed his shoulder. “Do you want to head home or—”

“No, no,” Jay instantly said, voice thick as he lifted his chin, gaze flickering up to the ceiling as his eyes remained glistening. He swallowed. “I’m staying.”

He walked past Voight, running is hand down his face as he made his way back to Hailey’s room. His arm dropped to the side as he stood in the doorway, feeling his friends’ eyes on him yet his own remained on the unconscious woman.

Everyone had left after a while, despite wanting to stay. Everyone except Jay, who brought the chair in the corner up to Hailey’s bedside, settling down on it with his elbow on the arm rest and knuckles pressed against his mouth. He couldn’t tear his gaze away, taking in every injury he could see. Every injury Nicholas was able to conflict before Jay got to them, before Jay manage to fire his weapon and fatally shoot the man who had been trying to deliver another kick to Hailey’s stomach.

The offender was dead, but Jay’s guilt was lively as ever.

*****

The only time Jay left Hailey’s room was to change into a new pair of clothes that Will had brought, going into a bathroom in the hallway. His brother had brought in breakfast as well in the morning, but Jay didn’t have the stomach to eat. So the breakfast burrito sat cold in Hailey’s room as Jay left the bathroom, now in a fresh pair of jeans and T-shirt. He hadn’t seen the point in changing, really, but Jay figured Will was trying to get him to move after spending the entire night sleeping on the somewhat comfortable chair.

His body felt heavy, weighed down my worry and guilt and mere exhaustion, given that he barely slept. Not because of the chair—he just didn’t want to take his eyes off Hailey. Logically, reasonably, Jay knew if anything were to happen, the doctors and nurses would be in there in a second to help. But he couldn’t sleep. Didn’t let himself.

Despite his exhaustion, Jay made his way back to Hailey’s room quickly, rounding the corner, only to stop when he was right in front of the room. His heart stilled for a moment, mimicking the way his muscles froze when his widened eyes took in the sight before him.

Blue. Gorgeous blue. The prettiest fucking blue he’d ever seen.

His voice was thick, throat closed up as he hoarsely sounded, “Hailey.”

He hadn’t even noticed his brother in the room. Jay’s eyes were glued to Hailey, who was staring at him with an expression he couldn’t quite get a read on—because it said nothing. She sat there, a blank look on her face, watching as he further entered the room and stood at her side. “Hailey, are you—”

She was frowning up at him, silent. Her jaw was still swollen, bruised from the hits it had taken, and she remained quiet. But it was Will who spoke up. “Jay.” He looked towards his older brother, who had a mildly concerned expression etched onto his face. Licking his lips, Will reminded, “She can’t hear, remember? At least not for now.”

Right. Shit, right. Fuck.

Jay blinked quickly a couple of times before looking back down at Hailey, who had been looking between the two Halsteads as she tried to figure out what was being said right over her head. Jay’s throat worked, noticing the frustration evident in her bruised features, before looking up at Will. With her uninjured left hand, Hailey made a gesture, like she was writing, and Will caught on.

“Wanna write something? Hold on,” he said, and Jay watched as he turned his back to them to rummage through a drawer in the counter by the wall. He then turned back to them, offering Hailey a small whiteboard and uncapped the marker before handing that to her, too.

Jay chewed on his lower lip, watching as Hailey wrote something down. When will my hearing come back? She erased the words after Will read them, handing him the marker as he wrote down, Can’t say for sure. Could be a day to a week. Upon reading the response, Hailey’s eyebrows furrowed together, harshly pushing away the whiteboard from her lap towards her feet, a strained groan escaping her, muffled with her jaw being wired shut.

Jay’s stomach twisted at her obvious frustration, biting the inside of his cheek as he and Will exchanged a look. Letting out a breath, Will grabbed the board and erased the words, writing some more. How’s your pain level? I can give you something if it’s too much.

Hailey read the words before giving a shake of her head, exhaling sharply through her nose as she turned her gaze up to the ceiling, apparently done with the silent conversation. Will looked at Jay, murmuring, “I’ll check on her later,” before exiting the room.

Settling down in the chair he had failed to sleep in, Jay let out a slow breath, hands tightly gripping the arms of the chair as his green eyes remained on his partner. Maybe his gaze was burning a hole in Hailey’s face because she was suddenly looking towards him, blue meeting green, and Jay remained silent as she watched him.

He sniffed, hand reaching up to run down his face once more as he broke their gaze, suddenly unable to look at her. He looked at her and all of her injuries were a reminder of how this happened. How he had been too late.

Jay heard a sharp tap, prompting him to look up to see Hailey tapping the marker against the bed to get his attention. His lips parted when he read the words she was showing him on the whiteboard.

This wasn’t your fault.

Throat closing up, Jay felt something inside of him crack; something that had began to crack the second he had entered the alley. His teeth pressed together, jaw tight to keep his expression from crumbling in front of her. But the fear had yet to loosen its grip on him—that unadulterated fear that he lost her was still heavy on his mind and heart, reminding him of how close of a call this was. He’d lost people; in Afghanistan, in Chicago, and it never got easier. He learned to healthily deal with his emotions, learned to be okay. But Jay had a feeling that if Hailey had succumbed to her injuries, if she wasn’t staring at him right now, if her bright blue eyes were instead dull and lifeless. . . He had a feeling he wouldn’t come back from that.

*****

When she woke up, her head wasn’t pounding as thunderously as it had been before. Still, though, Hailey’s eyes felt heavy as kept her head against the pillow, and she managed to shift her gaze to the right to catch sight of her partner. Jay slept on his side, a pillow under his head and a blanket half covering him, and Hailey exhaled quietly through her nose at the thought of him being uncomfortable. He’d slept on that couch for—how long had it been? She couldn’t remember how many days she’d already spent—but she wished he would go home to his bed.

She also knew that asking him would be pointless. Hailey hadn’t left the waiting room when he had been shot—not until she knew for sure that he was alive and well and recovering. But she was fine, wasn’t she? Sure, she couldn’t hear, her jaw was wired shut and she had some broken bones, but she was alive. Jay should go home and sleep on a comfortable bed rather than that couch.

But she would be lying if she said she didn’t appreciate, didn’t love the fact that he insisted on staying with her, even with his hatred of hospitals.

There was a subtle ringing in her ears, a distant muffle of a sound she couldn’t comprehend, and Hailey squeezed her eyes shut at the reminder of her temporary deafness. And her temporary muteness. Her eyes opened and she looked around her room, towards the windows on the left that allowed her to see the rest of the hospital, the nurses’ station a few feet away as the world around her continued to move. She just couldn’t hear it.

The soreness in her jaw was ever present even as she tried to clench it, wincing as the pain throbbed through the bone, and Hailey hated the water that began burning her eyes. She felt trapped in her own body, unable to hear or speak, just watch everything around her move while she was stuck in this bed with a broken arm and even more fucked up body. She hated that she was in this position, hated Nicholas for putting her here, hated herself for not being able to defend herself properly even though, logically, Hailey knew she couldn’t fault herself for that.

Hailey Upton was never one to pity herself, never one to think of herself as a victim. But in this moment, days after being admitted to the hospital and needing help to go to the bathroom or take a sip of water or being unable to properly eat anything, her emotions were catching up to her and the tears were spilling from her eyes before she could help it.

She squeezed her eyes shut, feeling the tears wet her cheek as she leaned her head back, the sobs escaping her. She tried to remain quiet—but it was difficult knowing how loud or quiet she was when her hearing was damaged. The muffled sounds from before remained as such, distant in her ears, but Hailey could feel the quivering of her lips and the heaviness of her heart as she cried out of anger, frustration, and sadness.

Hailey wasn’t sure how long she stayed like that, with closed eyes leaking tears, but eventually she felt the mattress of her hospital bed shift, felt a body lay down right next to hers, and the familiar scent of her partner invaded her nose as she felt Jay’s left arm settle on the pillow above her head as his chest pressed against her right arm. She couldn’t bring herself to open her eyes, the sobs escaping her as she, for once, allowed herself to drown in her misery, her self pity, her anger.

But Jay was ever present. He remained lying next to her, propped up by her pillows, his left hand brushing away her blonde hair from her forehead while his other hand found her right one. His hand felt warm holding hers, callused fingers wrapping around hers perfectly as he anchored her emotions, pulling her out of the vat she was drowning in.

Everything hurt—physically and emotionally. Sure, she’d been banged up and bruised, had her fair share of trips to the hospital to get checked out for on-duty injuries. But it never had been this bad. She’d never gotten so beaten up before; God, she thought what Booth had done all those years ago at that damned New Years party had been awful—this felt ten times worse.

The hand that held hers in this moment, though, helped. She squeezed Jay’s hand, trying to steady out her breathing, which was a bit difficult when her mouth was wired shut and nose had become stuffy from the tears she had let out. But as she tried to calm down, catch her breath, the distant ringing in her ears started to fade, and her unsteady breathing started to sound louder and louder rather than feeling as though she was hearing it with cotton stuck in her ears.

Over the beating of her heart, sounds slowly started becoming clearer, gradually emerging from a distant muffle to being clear and present, and as the realization settled in her head, Hailey felt herself being pulled into reality. Jay’s hand still holding hers definitely helped.

The sounds came together slowly. First it was the steady beeping of her heart monitor. Then it was the vague sounds of the hospital bustling beyond her room. And then, finally, it was him.

“. . . love you. I know you can’t hear me, Hailey, I can’t imagine how awful this is. But I’ve got you. I’m here, alright? I love you and I’m here.”

Hailey inhaled sharply as Jay’s quiet, soothing voice filtered in her ears, eyes blinking open to rid of the tears as her blurred vision immediately dropped to his hand holding hers. Her heart once again began pounding as she heard his words, registered them in her muddled brain as a confession she didn’t know he wanted her to hear or not. He’d uttered it thinking she couldn’t. But she had. Her hearing had taken that exact moment to return, and Hailey now knew of a secret of Jay’s heart she wasn’t entirely sure she was meant to.

But it would be a complete lie to say it didn’t lift a weight off her chest she didn’t know she carried.

He loved her. He loved her the way she loved him. And although Hailey Upton didn’t like depending on other people, she held onto his words tightly, afraid of letting them slip.

“I’m gonna be here for you.” He was still talking, oblivious to Hailey’s ability to hear again, his voice quiet by her ear. Hailey knew it made Jay feel like he was doing something, made him feel useful in a situation she knew he otherwise felt helpless in. She was too familiar with that, given that’s how she had felt when he was in surgery. Her gaze still on their joined hands, reveling in the warmth of his touch, she listened to him continue with a small smile in his voice. “I’m gonna be by your side every day while you’re here, even after you’re discharged. You’re gonna be sick of seeing my face by the end of your recovery, but you can boss me around all you want until then.”

That had Hailey letting out a small laugh—as much as she could, anyway, through a wired shut jaw—briefly resting her head against his chest as she gave his hand a squeeze, his words both comforting and amusing. She would never be sick of seeing his face—that much, she was certain of.

Her laugh, despite being muffled because of her jaw, was enough to catch Jay’s attention. She felt him stop before leaning back slightly, and she lifted her gaze to see his bright, widened green eyes peering down at her. This close, Hailey could count every freckle on his face, could see the specks of gold in his green irises, and Hailey tried her best to school herself into a state of tranquility in case the heart monitor decided to betray her.

But Jay was looking at her in surprise, bewilderment, and Hailey raised her eyebrows in silent inquiry until he finally spoke up. “Hails—y-you—can you hear me?”

Hailey nodded, closed lips quirking up ever so slightly as she hummed an affirmative, given that’s all she was capable of doing, and watched as Jay’s lips parted to release the disbelieving scoff that escaped him before he ultimately grinned. “Shit—” Jay cut himself off with a shocked laugh, free hand running down his face while his other squeezed hers. She wanted to smile, the sight of his merely urging her to do so, as Jay shook his head. “I should—I should get a doctor—I’ll get Will, yeah? He’ll give you a quick check up.”

The excitement and relief brightened his eyes, and Hailey knew it was warranted—having her hearing back was a step forward in her recovery, that much she knew—so she nodded with a smile. Even if she didn’t want to let his hand go, or didn’t want to be rid of the warmth of his body as he got off the bed. But she let him go, watched as he stood to his feet with a relieved chuckle and ran his hand through his hair as he gave her one last look before leaving the room.

Despite the circumstances, if she could grin any wider, she would. No surprise it was because of Jay.

*****

“This is the best thing I’ve ever tasted.” Jay laughed at the satisfied groan Hailey released after swallowing down a mouthful of the gyro he’d gotten for her, his own in his hands he kept forgetting to eat. He was too busy focusing on her. And the sound of her voice he could finally hear after what felt like forever.

“I figured your first proper meal should be your favorite,” Jay told her after taking a sip of his soda. With a smirk, he added, “You’re welcome.”

Hailey rolled her blue eyes, though the smile on her face was evident as she putted the gyro down on the paper plate in her lap to grab a napkin and wipe at her mouth. “I already thanked you—stop fishing.”

Jay merely chuckled before biting into his gyro, but his eyes never left her. She looked better now, much to everyone’s relief. Three days after her hearing had returned, they doctors had taken off the wires from her jaw, though she still hadn’t been allowed to move it too much for a few days after that. But the bruises on her face had started disappearing, yellowing out and nearly blending into her skin, the cuts and her internal injuries were healing well and the thick cast on her left arm was replaced with a brace.

She was getting better and Jay was more than relieved.

“I do need to thank you for something else, though.” Jay raised his eyebrows as Hailey’s blue eyes locked onto his green. Her lips quirked into a smile, showing off those dimples he’d so easily come to adore as she rolled her lip into her mouth. “Thank you for. . . For having my back out there. With Nicholas. You saved my life in the alley, so—you know. Thank you.”

Jay’s lips parted, her words tightening his chest as his eyebrows drew together. He leaned forward, arms resting on his thighs as he gave a shake of his head. “Hailey. . .” He spoke up, breath hitching in his throat as the corner of his lips quirked up. “You don’t ever have to thank me for that. You’re. . .” He paused, feeling his throat lock out of nowhere. Lock from the thought of losing her. Lock from guilt. “You’re my partner and I should’ve gotten there sooner.”

“Jay,” Hailey began with a shake of her own head, eyebrows knitting together. “It wasn’t your fault.”

His jaw clenched, head dropping as his gaze went to the wrapped gyro he was still holding. A frown drew together his eyebrows too, the guilt still tightening his muscles. Since the moment he’d found her in the alleyway, Jay’s thoughts had been running rampant. No words of comfort from his brother, or Voight, or any member of his team calmed him down as he thought of his injured partner and how the extent of her beating could’ve been reduced had he gone after her sooner. Sure, he was occupied with the first offender, but he shouldn’t have let her go after Nicholas without backup. He was her backup. And he didn’t do his job the way he should’ve.

“That’s the first thing you wrote to me when you woke up,” Jay muttered through a dry, short chuckle, her handwriting flashing across his mind.

“I still mean it,” Hailey replied softly. “Besides, I’m doing better and I think I remember you saying something about me bossing you around until I’ve fully recovered.”

At that, despite the weight on his chest, Jay let out a laugh as he lifted his head, catching sight of her wide grin as he shot her look. “That would be the first thing you hear after temporary deafness,” he mused playfully.

Hailey let out a raspy chuckle. “It wasn’t.” He saw the instant moment of regret that flashed across her face as she let those two words slip past her mouth, neck tensing as she pressed her lips together and dropped her gaze to the half eaten gyro in her lap. She was avoiding his gaze, something Jay picked up on instantly, and Jay sat up slightly as his eyebrows furrowed together. What?

“It wasn’t?” he repeated, green eyes watching her carefully. What was she talking about? “Then what was—”

It slammed into him like a truck, harsher than the damn baseball bat he’d taken to the back of his head all those months ago. The blood in his veins froze as his heart jumped up right into the middle of his throat, and he stared at Hailey as she twisted her lips to the side, easily catching sight of the flush that spread across her cheeks. He remembered. Of course he remembered what he’d been murmuring to her, believing that she couldn’t hear him but still feeling the need to voice the words that wrapped around his heart.

He didn’t think she’d heard him. Had only uttered them because she couldn’t hear him. But she had. She knew how he felt. And Jay. . . Was alright with that.

Question was—was she?

“Hailey—”

“Jay—”

They both stopped short and he let out a nervous chuckle, watching as she smiled as well. She gave a shake of her head, gesturing to him with a soft, “Go ahead.”

He let out a breath, putting his plate on the table next to Hailey’s bed before linking his hands together, grip on himself tight as a way of keeping himself together. Jay reminded himself that this was Hailey—his partner, his best friend—and he could tell her anything. But this was different, wasn’t it? Their relationship was already so strong, unbreakable—he didn’t want to risk it. But he also couldn’t just pretend he never said what she had heard.

“I didn’t mean to make things weird between us,” he spoke slowly, carefully. “But I don’t—”

He stopped, feeling a tightness in his throat. Was he making a mistake? He didn’t think so, but the doubt was still present in the back of his mind. “Don’t what?” Hailey prodded quietly, gently. She deserved an answer.

His green eyes locked onto her blue, and Jay saw the hope in her eyes, the softness in her features, and it was enough to make him finish. “I don’t regret it. I meant what I said.”

Jay’s heart was pounding, taking in the way Hailey parted her lips and took in a breath. His gaze never left hers, even as she was about to say something, only to get cut off by a knock on the door that stole their attention, watching as Kim and Kevin entered.

Jay’s gaze flickered back to Hailey, who smiled at their friends, briefly meeting Jay’s gaze. She heard him. That’s all that mattered.

*****

She was finally able to go home. It felt damn good to finally leave her hospital room after taking a shower without feeling like her entire body was aching. She was finally in her own clothes, too, no longer in a hospital gown that ran a draft up her back. There was still a cast on her arm, but for the most part, she was physically healed and ready to sleep on the comfortable mattress of her own bed.

As soon as her discharge papers were signed, she went to pick up her duffel bag, only to be beaten to it as it was scooped right up, and she let out a soft chuckle at the sight of Jay standing there in his usual jeans and dark hoodie. His badge was clipped to his waistband, gun on his side and her bag in his hand. “Hey,” Hailey greeted with a smile. “Off duty already?”

A half smirk tilted at his lips. “Sarge let me off to pick you up. Since Rojas is on an undercover op.”

Hailey’s smile remained, biting the corner of her lip as she eyed him knowingly. “Sounds good,” she said. The two of them then began walking towards the door—Hailey couldn’t be out of there fast enough.

The car ride to her place consisted of the radio playing softly in the background as Jay told Hailey about the case they’d just wrapped up, knowing she didn’t like being out of the loop when it came to cases. It was comfortable, like nothing had changed, despite a conversation they’d had days ago still lingering in the back of their minds—a conversation they hadn’t brought up again since the day they’d had it. But they would; Hailey had a feeling.

When they got to her house, Jay came inside, setting her duffel bag on the coffee table in her living room. The house was silent, but Hailey felt a flood of relief and comfort rush through her as she stood in her own home. She hadn’t been there for so long, the days having blended together while she was in the hospital, and she couldn’t contain the sigh of relief that escaped her.

“You good?” Hailey opened her eyes to see Jay watching her, the amusement apparent in his features and signature half smirk. She didn’t particularly care he just saw her have a moment.

“Just glad to be out of the hospital,” Hailey told him with a smile, running her fingers through her blonde hair.

“Yeah, you and me both,” Jay chuckled softly.

She smiled, taking a step towards him, aware of the pounding in her heart as she looked up at her tall partner. “I appreciate you spending all those nights with me in the hospital, Jay.” Then, with a teasing scoff, she added, “Especially at the expense of your back.” She couldn’t imagine how uncomfortable that couch was.

He rolled his eyes, but the smile on his face remained as he responded, “Anything for you, partner.”

Hailey rolled her lower lip into her mouth, blue eyes locked onto his green as she repeated, “Partner?” She hadn’t meant for it to come out as a question, but it gave her the excuse to tilt her head a bit and find the courage to ask, “Is that all we are?”

Jay’s smile faltered slightly as he heard her question, and for a heart stopping moment, Hailey feared she had misstepped, had drudged up a topic he’d been trying to evade. But Hailey could read Jay well, knew him as well as she knew herself, and she saw the relief that swam in his green eyes as he gave a shake of his head. “Hell no.”

His hands were gentle on her face, carefully cradling her jaw after the rough time it had, but his touch was welcome as he tilted her head up and met her halfway with his lips pressing against hers. Hailey’s eyes instantly fell shut at the pressure of his soft lips against hers, returning the kiss just as earnestly as the stars exploded behind her eyes and her hands gripped his wrists to keep him in place.

The scruff he was sporting scratched at Hailey’s skin deliciously and she leaned into him, leaned into the kiss, feeling dizzy in the best way. She felt weak in the knees as Jay kissed her, as if he’d wanted to kiss her like this for the longest time, and she understood the feeling. She couldn’t remember how long she’d waited for this moment, either.

The kiss ended too soon, but Jay’s nose brushed against Hailey’s and she let out a soft breath. Her skin was warm, the heat from Jay’s body seeping into her bones. The smile, blissed out and sincere, upturned Hailey’s lips. “By the way,” she breathed, her lips brushing against Jay’s as she spoke, “I love you, too.”

Hailey could feel the relief relax his muscles, his thumb brushing across her cheekbone while the fingers of his other hand brushed a lock of blonde hair behind her ear. “Yeah?” he murmured, voice dropping an octave lower. It sent a shiver down her spine.

“Yeah,” Hailey returned, eyes slowly fluttering open. Her heart jumped to see his green eyes already watching her. Smile widening slightly, she asked, “Wanna stay over? My bed’s more comfortable than a hospital couch.”

Jay’s smirk returned—how did he manage to look charming at the same time? “Yeah,” he answered quietly before the smirk widened. “Think I’ve gotten too used to spending my nights with you.”

Hailey grinned, dimples in view. “Not that you’re complaining.”

Jay pressed another kiss to her lips, soft and slow. “Never.”

#jay halstead #hailey upton #hailey upton x jay halstead #jay halstead x hailey upton #jay halstead fic #hailey upton fic #chicago p.d.#chicago pd #cpd #writing #upstead #hailey x jay #jay x hailey #upstead one shot #upstead fanfic #upstead fic #jay halstead one shot #hailey upton one shot

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skellebonez · 3 years

Text

Smoke, Flasks, And Unfinished Tasks: Chapter 3

AO3 Link!

Chapter 1 Link!

Chapter 2 Link!

Summary: MK starts to realize things are a bit too familiar right now, an unspoken event is revealed, and someone else realizes other things. There is a lot to unpack.

Warnings: Mild violence and smoking at the tail end.

Chapter 3: Big Words Traveler, But Can You Back Them Up

Something felt... off. That's the only way MK could describe it. Off.

It reminded him of the Calabash when he thought about it, but was it even possible? When Jin and Yin had trapped him in that weird mechanical gourd thing they had tried to make everything perfect, barring those odd earthquakes and the glitches that his mind made excuses for ignoring at the time. Really, they were actually pretty bad at their scheme and he should have picked up on it a lot sooner. This time nothing felt perfect, however, everything felt... mostly normal.

The Monkey King kicked his butt in scheduled training and then lost matches in Monkey Mech and refused to stop until he had best out of 15. Mei and Red Son seemed to be acting like normal. No earthquakes. No glitches.

But his time in the Calabash had made him more observant of his surroundings and his mistake with Macaque had made him less trusting. The fact the weather station called for rain and it had not rained? That was just odd enough to catch his attention when the weather station hadn't messed up a forecast without someone attacking it or really messing something up, something that always got local news alerts sent to their phones and would have had Mei making fun of the poor sap who messed up by now, in the entire time he had a phone.

Something didn’t just feel off. Something was off. And just in case he was right he needed to play his cards carefully. Do something that wouldn’t raise suspicion.

“Hey, Monkey King?” He smiled, knowing that his expression was just fake enough that if the other were real he would call it in an instant. He would raise his eyebrow or ask him what was up or ask him what the look was for. “We have any snacks?”

“Yeah, bud, coming right up!” He just... smiled. Stood. Walked into the kitchen.

This was not The Great Sage Equal To Heaven.

This was not his mentor.

Well... Shit.

----------

“Wait, back up,” Mei turned from where she sat at the boat wheel. “What does that even mean?”

MK had gotten her to stop before they were nearly back to the City, feeling bad they stopped in such a poor spot for Red Son but determined to talk when they were seemingly alone. He’d played along and only grown more certain in his deduction that the person they were with was not the Monkey King. The more he paid attention the more certain he was that they weren’t on Flower Fruit Mountain either.

The mountain always smelled of four things. Flowers, peaches, dirt, and the slightest undertone of molten rock and ash from close by the Flaming Mountains. The more he tried to pick up the normal scents that would hit him they just seemed... muted, somehow. Like smelling them through a mask or like they were artificial. The rock and ash was nowhere to be found at all.

And there was more. He tried so hard to remember how he got to the mountain. Logically he knew they took a boat, they had to do that. There was a boat on the shore. But that was the first thing he remembered seeing. He could not remember the boat ride over, could not remember the walk to where they docked the boat at all, could barely remember anything past leaving Pigsy’s Noodles at all. Gaps in his memory were not an every day occurrence for him (despite Pigsy teasing him about forgetting to do his job, that was not the same thing).

The only things he knew for certain were real were Mei and Red Son. He’d almost let his anxiety get the better of him, memories of summoning monster trees with his stress being the thing that made him focus long enough to test the waters.

He knew that burying his face in their hair and smelling them was weird as hell, even given their close relationship that was pushing it way too far in comfort, but given scent was the most telling sense giving him pause he had to try once Monkey King was distracted. If it had been any other situation Mei and Red Son’s disturbed and confused faces (and the muffled “what the fuck dude” from Mei) would have been hilarious, but when he could clearly smell Mei’s tea tree shampoo mixed in with the ever present scent her bike’s motor oil he was certain she was real. He was almost certain when Red tensed up and flushed when he repeated the action, but the scent of slight burning and his overly expensive coconut oil and jasmine shampoo cemented the fact he was real as well.

He’d make up for making them uncomfortable after all this was over.

“Exactly what I said, that wasn’t Monkey King,” MK repeated, looking over the horizon at the city-scape. Still no rain. No clouds. It was half an hour until sundown. “I don’t... this is going to sound crazy... but I don’t think this is real.”

His companions looked at each other in clear concern and MK knew he would finally have to come clean. “MK, wh-”

“There’s something I never told any of you. Not even Monkey King. Just... promise you’ll listen to me?”

----------

When he finished recounting the long ago misadventure he had in Jin and Yin’s Calabash he couldn’t look Mei and Red Son in their eyes. Despite knowing he probably shouldn’t he felt guilty for keeping something that important a secret.

“Oh MK... That’s why you were so preoccupied with us not being perfect,” Mei said softly, standing to envelop her friend in a sudden hug that barely shook the boat. “I’m sorry for losing my cool with you back then.I should have known something was weird when you said that.”

A shaky breathe MK didn’t know he was holding escaped, grateful that they seemed to believe him immediately.

“No, I’m the one who should be sorry,” MK pulled away, giving Mei an awkward smile. Red Son had moved closer, and he shot him a smile as well when he placed a hand on his shoulder. “I should have told everyone when it happened, I just... I felt..” He trailed off, looking at the rainless city again. “We can unpack that later, right now we need to see if we’re really in another Calabash or if it’s something similar. If it is Jin and Yin again they’ve really stepped up their game.”

“I don’t think so...” Red Son said thoughtfully. He bit the end of his thumb nail, pacing the boat slowly in thought. “They seemed more preoccupied with just... having fun almost, last time. They didn’t seem to have an endgame past ‘capture the Monkie Kid’. What’s the end game? Why capture all three of us?”

“Yeah...” MK sighed, looking around carefully. “I dunno.. come to think of it, it all just feels different. This time it’s a lot closer and that is really scary if I’m being honest,” MK shuddered, not comfortable with how much better it was if he was really correct. “But it isn’t 100% accurate. Everything smells dull and Monkey King wasn’t picking up on things he normally would have.”

“Is that why you smelled o-”

“Unpacking later!”

“Why don’t we do what you did to get out last time?” Red Son interrupted, looking hopeful that he had solved the problem already. “We just have to find your staff.”

“Yeah that... that’s another problem...” MK bit his lip and held his hand up to his ear. The glow that lit from it illuminated the dawning horror on his friend’s faces as the staff materialized in his hand. They both seemed to regret not watching MK train that day when they realized what this meant. “That... may not work this time.”

----------

“You’re bleedin’ delusional!” The demon couldn’t help but groan out, pacing wildly in growing frustration. Before them both was a set of screens, watching the display of the trio’s conversation. The entire room looked like something right out of one of those American spy thrillers they’d seen, computers and monitors hooked up and showing a multitude of views. “I told you, you can’t just throw that many people in at once! It doesn’t matter how improved it is, it messes up, confuses the simulation! And-and you let ‘im keep the bloody staff! He’s-”

“Not getting out any time soon,” the other demon, seated comfortably in the only chair in the room, soothed. Their words were like poisoned honey and the first demon grimaced. How they let themselves be taken in by these words... they would never forgive themselves now, not after all of this. Not after what happened to- “Patience is what you and your brother lacked the first time. They don’t need to believe it, they just need to stay in it. Come now, you need to... relax.”

The first demon, the smaller demon, backed a step away as the seated one sat up straighter. They weren’t fast enough to get away from the clawed hand that gripped their throat, cutting off their air supply and pulling them far too close to the other’s face. No fight was given, they knew what would happen if they tried, and watched anxiously as the seated demon raised their forearm long smoking pipe to their lips to take a long drag on whatever foul concoction they had in it.

“Just rest Yin.” Their open mouth revealed colored smoke, sickeningly sweet and fruity smelling, swirling around inside before they loosened the grip on his throat to blow it directly into his face as he took a hasty breath of oxygen. "Perhaps you'll be more patient after a nice long nap."

The blue demon coughed when the other finally let him go, breathing deeply in the hopes he didn’t inhale as much smoke as he feared he did. As he tipped backward onto the ground he knew that was a fruitless thought. Now he laid on the ground with his head fuzzy and gaze filled with the equally unconscious visage of his elder brother.

The Gold and Silver demons... had really messed up...

#some of you guessed the where #can you guess the who now?#well the other who anyway #smoking is bad kids don't do it #mk #Qi Xiaotian #mei #long xiaojiao #red son #mystery character #monkie kid #lego monkie kid #jin and yin #fanfic #fanfiction #smoke flasks and unfinished tasks #sfaut #side note: mei 100% should not be driving that boat

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ace-oreos · 3 years

Note

Ohhhh I have one! Alpha and Anakin going on a stealth mission but anakins not exactly stealth and they are both getting frustrated with each other. IDK just think buddy cop Alpha & anakin is funny

Haha I really like this one, anon! Their personalities are so different, it’s pretty fun to poke at how they’d bounce off each other and clash.

“So, Skywalker,” Alpha begins, wondering if it’s worth trying to phrase this delicately, then immediately deciding against it, “do you make a habit of being a beacon to every Sep within a five-klick radius?”

“No,” Skywalker says, frowning. “Why?”

Alpha would almost be disbelieving if this wasn’t Kenobi’s Padawan he’s dealing with. As it is, the kid’s baffled expression isn’t as much of a surprise as it should be.

“Because you’re doing a pretty good job of letting every hostile who has eyes know exactly where we are,” Alpha informs him tersely.

Kenobi, at least, can take a hint. And an insult. Skywalker, on the other hand, is still inexperienced enough to take it solely as the latter, and his first instinct is to push back.

“You’re not exactly a paragon of stealth yourself,” he shoots back. The righteous anger pinching his face might be amusing if they weren’t deep behind enemy lines with every chance of getting ambushed.

Alpha inhales slowly. It’s better for them both if he doesn’t let his temper get the best of him, but maintaining discipline isn’t the easiest thing when he’s been saddled with a kid fresh out of the Temple who doesn’t know much beyond charge them head on.

“Maybe not, but I’m not standing out in the open waving a shabla lightsaber around for the whole planet to see.” A look of mild alarm is slowly dawning on Skywalker’s face, and Alpha dares to hope that he might be getting through to him. “I hope you’re planning on watching your own back. I’ve got more important things to do.”

“Master Kenobi sent both of us,” Skywalker says pointedly after he gives a cursory glance over his shoulder.

Alpha sighs. “The way I remember it, he sent me and someone else decided to tag along.”

“He said it’ll be good experience,” the kid insists.

“Getting your head blown off is a learning experience, I’ll give you that…”

Skywalker scowls but obediently slides back into position beside Alpha. Satisfied that the issue is resolved - at least for the moment - Alpha returns to studying a holo map of the enemy base. The whole thing would be much simpler if he didn’t have to account for Kenobi’s Padawan; infiltration and sabotage are second nature for an ARC.

He contemplates sending Skywalker back to the outpost where he’ll be someone else’s problem, but he’s all too familiar with the kid’s tendency to go out of his way to get involved exactly where he shouldn’t. In the long run, it’s probably safer if the kid is here where someone competent can keep an eye on him - but that doesn’t do much to alleviate Alpha’s frustration.

Besides, Skywalker would probably just remind Alpha that even though he’s a Padawan, he’s been through a number of escapades with Kenobi and come out just fine, thank you very much. Alpha isn’t the ranking officer here, either, which means Skywalker is free to do as he pleases.

He’s just putting together what might be a feasible strategy when Skywalker says abruptly, “You’re not what I thought you’d be.”

“I could say the same for you, Commander.”

“Was it weird, growing up with people who look exactly like you?”

“... this really couldn’t wait?”

Skywalker shrugs. “Just curious. Master Kenobi says Kamino is very different from the Temple.”

You think?

Alpha takes time to lament the absence of someone who would find conversation much more agreeable - Fordo, maybe; he’s about as social as any of the Alphas can be - before answering carefully, “It is. Whatever you’re imagining, it’s probably worse. They never thought of us as - why am I telling you this?”

Skywalker shrugs again, but there’s a hint of triumph in his face. “Because I asked.”

It’s nothing short of a miracle that Kenobi’s put up with him for so long, Alpha thinks. He’s not sure he likes the kid’s vaguely smug expression, and the words are out of his mouth before he can stop himself. “If you’d put half as much energy into your lessons at the Temple you wouldn’t be a liability right now.”

Something like hurt flashes across Skywalker’s face, but it’s quickly replaced with anger. “Maybe if you weren’t dead set on playing hero yourself I’d actually learn something from you.”

“I’m not trying to be a hero, I’m trying to get off this useless rock alive,” Alpha snaps. “And it’s not my job to teach you.”

“I’m not sure my Master would agree…”

“That means a lot, seeing as he’s sitting comfortably in the outpost right now.”

“It wasn’t his decision,” Skywalker says heatedly. “The GAR needs him alive - Master Windu even told him as much, and Master Windu thinks he’s the worst thing that’s happened to the Order since - ”

He breaks off with a wince. Alpha doesn’t know what anger feels like in the Force, but it can’t be pleasant, judging by the kid’s reaction. He’s not exactly sorry for it, either; Skywalker as good as said Alpha’s life is nothing compared to a Jedi. It isn’t anything Alpha doesn’t already know, but it’s a slap in the face nonetheless.

“Sorry,” Skywalker mumbles.

“You ever try stopping to think for a second before you run your mouth?” Alpha’s voice is tight as he wrestles with his temper.

“Sorry,” the kid repeats. There’s genuine regret in his voice.

Alpha lets out a sigh. He can only imagine what Fett would say if he could see one of his ARCs bickering with a half-baked Temple brat.

“Look, I want to get this done before the Seps realize we don’t have enough numbers to hold off a full-scale attack. If you want to help, fine. If you’re going to get in the way, I’ll work around you. But I’m not wasting time arguing with you. Good to go?”

“Yes.” Skywalker pauses. “Lieutenant.”

Progress.

“I’ll do as you say,” Skywalker adds earnestly.

Alpha smiles in the safety of his helmet. “Sounds dangerous.”

“Uh… I’ll at least try to listen?”

“Fair enough.”

The kid grins. “Wait ‘til my Master finds out. He’ll be after you trying to figure out how you convinced me to follow orders.”

Alpha keeps his amusement to himself. “You want to follow orders now?”

Skywalker shrugs. “I think I ought to.”

“Then do me a favor and keep your shabla head down.”

#alpha-17 #alpha 17 #anakin skywalker #obi-wan kenobi #the clone wars #star wars #fanfic #prompt #thanks for the prompt!#my askbox is open

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hypnoticwinter · 3 years

Text

Down the Rabbit Hole part 28

A scratchy little voice is crooning in my ear. Major Fracture Detected. Joint Dislocation Detected. Pneumothorax Detected. Blood Loss Detected. Mild Nerve Damage Detected. T. Jacksonii Spore Residue Detected. Diagnosing…acute deceleration injury. Poisoning. Spore inhalation. Begin treatment?

There’s a little friendly dinging tone. Someone near me shifts, and then I feel a warm hand slip into mine momentarily and squeeze. For a second I’m willing to let myself believe it might be Elena, but then I run my thumb lightly over the knuckles pressing against my fingers and give that up right away. This hand is much too soft to be Elena’s.

I try to crack my eyes open but it’s far too bright for that right now. I’m having a little bit of trouble thinking straight. And a little bit of trouble breathing but for whatever reason it feels as though wherever I am right now is very far away and separated from the rest of my body. I can feel a stab of pain on the right side of my chest whenever I take a breath but at the same time it’s as though I’m observing it from such a far distance that it barely is of significance. Maybe it’s happening to someone other than myself.

Begin treatment? the voice repeats and next to me the person holding my hand sighs and says my name. I recognize their voice but not who they are.

“Are you awake?” they ask, and I try to say something but my tongue is very thick and heavy. I swallow hard; my throat hurts.

“Roan,” they say again, “I don’t know if you can hear me but I’m going to have to start the treatment procedure soon, okay? You really did a number on yourself falling off that cliff, and then the spores you’d been breathing in for about three days weren’t helping any.”

I try a little harder to say something but I know it doesn’t come out right.

“This might feel a little weird,” the voice says. Now I do recognize it; it’s Makado.

Begin treatment? The tiny scratchy voice says again and this time Makado shifts next to me and hits the button. There is a hiss and a whine of moving machinery and then a sharp prick in the skin above my hand. I make a little noise, try to move my hand away, but something hard has grabbed onto it and isn’t letting me go.

Sedative administered, the voice says, and then everything fades very quickly. I have just enough consciousness left, circling the drain as it is, to feel Makado’s hand slip from mine, and then I am moving, or rather I am being drawn into something, and then something comes down over my head and cradles my neck. It’s very dark and I feel as though I ought to be afraid, but before I can open my mouth to voice my fears, to scream perhaps, I flutter out entirely.

* * *

I can hear talking. I’m laying in a bed curled over onto my side and in the other room I can hear talking.

My head is remarkably clear. I breathe in deeply and let it gust out slowly through my nose. There is a mild ache in my ribs, nothing more.

“Yes,” Makado says, “I’ve got her. No, she didn’t give me any trouble. She’s pretty beat-up, a kitten could have knocked her out and carried her up to the surface.”

A pause. I open my eyes with an anticipatory wince but the light is cool and grey and clinical, filtering down through a sheet or curtain drawn around the bed; there is a wide-paneled fluorescent set into the ceiling but it’s switched off.

“No,” Makado says, after a pause, then repeats. “No, that won’t be necessary. Just be ready to receive us, that’s all.”

There’s an IV in my hand and the jaw of a heartrate monitor clamped around my finger. I think about it for a moment and then reach down and take it off. The machine the IV feeds into gives an interrogative chirp.

“Yes, I have the handcu - hang on, she’s awake.”

I hear the screech of a chair sliding back along a hard floor and then a door opens and someone comes in.

“Hey,” Makado says softly, and I almost feel like crying. “You okay in here? You awake?”

“Makado,” I breathe, and she pushes back the curtains and sweeps her eyes over me, then blows her breath out.

“How are you doing?”

“I’m – I’m good,” I say, taking a moment to think about it. I sit up a little more fully and yawn. My jaw cracks like a gunshot. “How long was I out for? And what are you –“

Makado laughs. She motions at my legs and I scoot over a little, let her sit down at the foot of the bed. “So, um. You were out for about a day and a half. That’s how long it’s been since you fell off the cliff.”

“Jesus.”

“Yeah. I brought you down here,” she gestures, “put you into the autodoctor unit that they had, let it do its thing. It isn’t ideal but it uses a ton of ballast, so I figure you probably feel pretty decent, at least. When we get out of here we’ll get you to an actual doctor for a checkup.”

“Autodoctor?”

“It’s an old Anodyne thing,” she says. “DUSA has the last functioning one, they get a little use out of it. Runs off an old AD biocomputer. It was supposed to be for a military contract, put a bunch of them overseas, hard to reach places. Can do surgeries and treatments and diagnose like that,” she says, snapping her fingers. “Not a lot of flexibility, though. But plans fell through of course and the few that were left are museum pieces now. The one they’ve got here is the last working one.”

I chew on that for a moment. “DUSA?” I ask finally.

“Oh, right. This place,” she says, gesturing. “Dura Urgens Staging Area. DUSA. Some people call it Medusa. As like, a pun.”

“That doesn’t really help me understand what it is.”

Makado nods. She reaches up and runs a hand through her hair; I’m busy watching her eyes. Something about this place is important, I think; something here means something to her.

“Below us,” she says finally, “about eighty or a hundred meters down, is the largest known nerve bulbule in the Pit. There might be others someplace else, someplace deeper, someplace we haven’t explored yet, but this is the biggest one we know of. The Pit doesn’t have a brain the way you or I do. Whatever common ancestor it shared with humans, if it ever had one, was so far back that it was before the development of the central nervous system. The Pit uses a distributed nervous system instead; it has nerve bulbs all over the place and they handle reflexive and autonomous reactions for the general area that they’re in. Then, you move deeper by another five hundred meters and you find another bulb. It’s like a web, or a road network, and all of these bulbs are the cities.”

“But this one below us is the biggest.”

“Yes. That doesn’t mean it’s the main one, just that it’s…bigger. Handles more things. And DUSA – well, there’s a reason that they put it right over the big one.”

I blink at her. “Wait, is this where the - ?”

“The Contingency Plan?” she says, clearly saying the words with big important Capital Letters. “Yeah. That’s here. This is the facility for it.”

Something about the way she grins at me makes me shudder. I think back to the story Peter had told me – god, poor Peter – and his horrible descriptions of the way that the contingency had fucked their brains. I look at the woman before me, at the mottled flesh beneath her eyepatch and the hearing aids poking their heads out of her ears, at the acid burns and digestion marks lining her arms like vitiligo, and I can’t reconcile her tiny excited smile with the picture I had of her when Peter was telling me about her.

I blow out a big sigh and flop back in the hospital bed. There’s a warning twinge in my ribs and I wince; Makado picks up on it instantly. “You alright? Do you need anything?”

“No, I just – how was that thing able to fix me so fast?”

She shrugs. “Lots of ballast. The tank was still nearly full when we got here, it used a few gallons on you it looked like.”

Again I shudder. I’m trying not to think back to the horrible, terrifying crawl through the tight, sucking, fleshy tube to the ballast bulb, about the abject terror I had felt when Crookshank had crawled in there with me.

Crookshank…he’d be dead now, almost certainly. I realize that I don’t remember seeing him die, I don’t remember what happened to him. My memory of the attack down in the barrows is just streaks of gunfire sliding by my faceplate, the rhythmic, chest-squeezing thundering of the slug rifles, and the shrieks of the copepods. I wonder for a moment whether I’m going to have PTSD, whether I’ll ever be able to eat lobster again. I shake my head.

“Mak, this is fucked.”

“What is?”

“This whole – this whole thing. This is –“

“Relax,” she says, putting a hand on mine. I can feel the cool, clammy skin on the inside of her palm where the acid had burned her. It feels like something that’s been microwaved about twice as long as it needed to be and then let to cool down and I have to stop my lip from curling. “It’s not active. Not yet, anyway. Once we get that crystal back we can go about getting it carved down and –“

“I don’t think that crystal’s going to be an option any more.”

I tell her, briefly, about what happened after Erica and Marcus had ambushed us, how they had shot the Sergeant, how they had shot Elena and gotten us separated. “Do you know where she is?” I ask, realizing with a faint feeling of guilt that I hadn’t asked already.

Makado stares at me. “Who?”

I blink. “Elena. I don’t know where she is, did she – did she make it out?” The thought of Elena laying there hurting somewhere in some throbbing corridor of this place is almost too much for me to bear. Or worse, laying there dead –

I break the thought off like a plank of rotten wood. She is not dead. She can’t be.

I almost missed the calculating look that had flashed across Makado’s eye, and I realize I’ve grabbed onto her arm rather tightly. I let go but even so I can’t stop myself from biting my lip out of sheer worry. “She’s fine,” Makado says finally.

“She is?”

“Yeah. She came stumbling into Control a few days ago, they got her up to the surface, far as I know she’s still in the infirmary. That’s how I knew to come down and get you, she told us what was going on.”

“Oh thank god,” I blurt. I hug my knees to my chest and squeeze my eyes shut. She’s okay, I tell myself. I can feel the tears coming but at least this time they’re out of relief. After a moment I hear Makado sigh again and then she shifts closer to me and puts her arm around me.

“You must really like her,” Makado ventures after a moment. I laugh but it comes out as more of a sniff.

“Yeah,” I say after a moment. “Yeah, I think I – I do, yeah.”

For a short while it feels as though Makado doesn’t know what to say. Then finally she shakes her head. “I’m sorry,” she tells me.

“For what?”

“For dragging you into this,” she says. “I never thought that all of this would happen, it was going to be just routine,” she says, massaging her temples. “The copepods, they never would have done anything if it wasn’t for the damn Leechman, they never would have attacked, nobody would have had to die…”

“It isn’t something you could have predicted,” I say gently. Makado continues on as though I hadn’t spoken.

“And then Erica, goddam Erica, Christ…”

“She was doing what she thought was the right thing,” I say. “I don’t think she meant for things to go the way they did.”

“That doesn’t really make it any better,” she groans. I think about Peter again and wish fervently that he were here. I lean back and navigate my arm around so that now I’m the one holding Makado.

“I’m sorry about Peter,” I tell her.

Makado is utterly silent. She’s looking away from me, over into the other room. I can see the muscles at the base of her jaw working as she grinds her teeth. For a moment, just a moment, I get a feeling of foreboding. She seems horribly angular and purposeful and mean all of a sudden, sitting there at the foot of the bed like an axe about to fall on me. I start to say something else but she looks over at me and nods. Her eyes are very hard.

“Yeah, I’m sorry too. It sounded like a rotten way to die.” I look over at Makado, look at her carefully. She glances over at me after a moment. “What?”

“Nothing,” I say finally. I swing off of the bed, get up and stretch. “I feel good,” I observe.

“Yeah,” Makado says, rising to her feet as well. “With that much ballast in your system you’ll probably be riding pretty high for a couple of days at least. Now, be careful though, because –“

“What are we going to do about the FBI?” I ask her. I undo the hospital gown and let it fall, gaze down at myself. There’s a ragged weal of a scar along my ribs on the right side but it already looks long-healed. I put my weight down on my other foot and nearly stumble. Makado gets up and rushes to me but I caught myself on the railing around the cot.

“You alright?”

“Yeah, my leg, it –“

“I was going to tell you,” she says. “The autodoc wasn’t able to set it properly. You’d fallen on a calcium deposit and your tibia and fibula broke. It cleaned out the fragments of bone but there wasn’t enough left to just set it and let it heal, so it put in a synthetic replacement, used ballast to meld your skin and muscle around it, but that leg is going to be weak for a long time.”

I sit back on the bed, reach down and feel the leg. It doesn’t feel much different but whatever caused the weakness is still lurking inside there, maybe a muscle not connected properly, maybe something else. I can feel a dull, bone-deep throb of pain, steady and regular and hard-edged, just waiting to boil up to the surface the second I put a foot wrong. I shake my head.

“I’m going to need like, a boot or something. If we have to climb out of here –“

“We’ll figure it out, it’s okay. I just wanted to tell you before you, you know, figured that you were totally fine.”

“What about this?” I ask, turning to her, pointing to the scar across my ribcage. “I know that wasn’t there.”

“Just repair work on a rib, I think. I read the summary it spat out after it was done but I’m pretty sure it didn’t reinflate your lung by going through your rib cage.”

“Jesus Christ,” I murmur, craning my neck and squinting down at it.

“Are you breathing alright?”

With only a little trepidation I take a deep breath and hold it, then let it blow out long and slow. There’s a little pain when I hold it, in the right lung only, and then as I’m nearing the tail end of the breath it rattles somewhere deep down, but I shake my head. “A little rough but it’s okay.”

“You need to know that you’re still a little, you know, doped up. Ballast would have kept most of the pain down and kept your head pretty clear but that’s going to come back with a vengeance if you overdo it.”

I nod. “Alright, I get it. Take it easy for probably the next year or so.”

“There’s an extra jumpsuit over on that chair.”

And so I get dressed, and eat a nutrient bar and Makado shows me around DUSA. I have to hang on to her every now and then when my leg threatens to buckle beneath me but she bears it without complaint and lets me hobble around with my arm around her shoulder like we’re old friends.

DUSA looks just like all of the other ranger stations I’ve been in so far, if maybe a little cleaner. She shows me the door to the room that has the big scary capital-letter Contingency Plan inside of it, but even though I ask she won’t let me in to see it.

Outside the inch-thick windows the Pit’s flesh is squeezed tight against the walls. A few small stents hold it back here and there to let a metal gantry and corridor file through and out into a vent but otherwise it’s like this place was just cut open and the small lozenge shape of DUSA was slipped in and then the Pit grew back around it. Unlike some of the other ranger stations this one is tall rather than wide, maybe four or five floors of various facilities. There’s a dormitory, a kitchen and eating area, the small infirmary with the autodoctor, now revealed as a squat, many-legged machine a little like an MRI machine and a metal octopus had a baby, and on the fourth floor room after room of workstations with dark screens and dusty keyboards. Servers lie dark and dormant, tucked against the walls and tied down with cloth straps.

We end up sitting on the roof of the place, after Makado opens the hatch and lets a ladder telescope down from the recessed sheath it was hiding in. She helps me up it methodically and then we’re there, the fleshy wall of the ceiling barely a dozen feet above our heads. It gives me a sense of disorientation somehow, like I’ve just crawled upside down from the bottom of DUSA and am now standing with my feet glued to the ceiling, staring down at the floor. I blink hard and it passes.

Makado leans out over the railing and groans. “Everything’s fucked,” she growls. “This whole place ought to be full of people, getting things ready for when that crystal gets here. Instead it’s just me and – and you.” She’d gotten more and more pessimistic the further into our little tour we’d gone. I reach over and put my arm around her. She stiffens when I touch her and then seems to relax. I feel rather comradely, I feel like laughing. I guess I had convinced myself that I was going to die and now that I’ve received an unexpected reprieve I can’t hardly believe it.

“It’ll be okay,” I tell her. “What’s going on with the FBI?”

“Admin’s stalling them, but they’ll come back with a writ or a warrant or something and when they get their hands on our files there’ll be some shit. Right now they’re fighting with the DoI guys over jurisdiction, I think.”

“DoI?”

“Department of the Interior,” she says, waving her hand. “Normally that’d be who would handle this type of thing, they’re in charge of National Parks, but the FBI want in because this isn’t a park any more, I think technically it’s a preserve or something and that’s different…somehow. Not sure on that one.”

I nod. I start to say something else but Makado heaves a huge sigh, glances sidelong at me. “There might be some trouble but I think we’ll be able to get you out of it,” she tells me, and I laugh.

“I’m more worried about you. Klaus said they were gunning for you, that you were going to go down hard.”

She rolls her eyes. “We’ll have to see,” she says. “Especially if he’s dead, it might be a little more difficult for that to happen.”

I get a little wrench in my stomach as she says it but I swallow hard and let it pass. I did what I had to and if I hadn’t I would be dead.

I wonder for how long after this I’m going to be seeing that grin and that knife in my dreams.

“So he was a mole, then?” I ask. “That’s basically what he was saying.”

“I don’t think so,” she says. “He’s been here for a long time, Klaus has. I don’t think he ever was, you know, an undercover FBI agent or anything, I think he was just their guy on the inside. An informant. I read his personnel file, he’s an ex-con. It makes sense that there was someone giving them information but…” she trails off. “It’s hard to say,” she finishes. “It’s too bad, though. Too bad we didn’t get that crystal. We could have done a lot of good with it. If they just hadn’t shattered the first one…”

We sit there on the roof of DUSA for a long while, until Makado finally groans and gets to her feet. I glance up at her and then take the offered hand, let her pull me up. “What happens now?” I ask.

“Now?” she laughs. “Now we get out of here.”

* * *

Getting out is easier than getting in. Makado gets me into a ranger suit and we march off into the wet, tumescent depths of the Pit. Except, as Makado explains to me, we aren’t nearly as deep as I think. DUSA is far higher depth-wise than the dense fungal hell I thought I was going to die in. When I asked her how I had gotten here, then, she explained, as though it were simple, that she had just taken an IAV.

Peter had mentioned them briefly, the acronym standing for something like ‘Internal Anatomy Vehicle’ or similar. I’d even seen some, parked down below in the meager garage at the control center, what feels like ages ago, lurking like snub-nosed, aerodynamic lozenges, there in the dark. But here is one of them, its big chunky wheels soaked in gore, its prow stained red from apparent hours pushing panicked through venterial folds, rushing to DUSA with me in the passenger seat, strapped in as tightly as Makado had dared.

“It was tight,” she tells me. “I wasn’t sure you’d make it. I went as fast as I possibly could but it was still a near thing.”

“It was those fucking lizards down there,” I mutter. “I touched one, they’re covered in some kind of – poisonous goop, I don’t know what –“

“Yeah. The autodoc scrubbed your system and breathing clean air for long enough got the spores out as well, but you’re just riding on the ballast right now,” she reminds me, pressing a combination on a keypad near the low-slung waist of the vehicle and then stepping back to let the hatch open. It smells like oil and disinfectant but I clamber in eagerly. The interior is space-age, or at least it would have been in the 90s or so. The interior lights are all in red for some reason; when I ask Makado about it she explains it’s to help maintain low-light vision while still letting you see. When she grins at me her teeth reflect back cherry-stained and I have to shake my head to keep from thinking of it as blood. She looks carnivorous, hungry, frightening.

The ride is bumpy but uneventful. Once Makado flattens something that looks like an overgrown louse the size of a small pig. It shrieks as the wheels crunch over it. I glance over at her and she shrugs. “We’re in a hurry,” she explains.

After that we lapse into a comfortable silence that grows slowly more frosty the closer we get to the Control Center. I can see it approaching on the three-dimensional map readout on the dashboard, a blinking line of waypoints leading us back to the garage. Makado’s answers become shorter and shorter and eventually I just stop trying to make conversation at all. She’s just tired, I tell myself.

After we park Makado helps me out of the IAV and guides me up a set of stairs and into the Center. My leg twinges a little whenever I really put weight on it but if I limp it isn’t nearly as bad. The stairs are rough though, and I have to cling on to her and take them one step at a time just to get up them.

Over the last hour of driving or so I developed a little bit of a headache but when I mentioned it to Makado she nodded and explained it was probably just the ballast starting to wear off. It’d keep me going for a while longer but I’d need to rest and let my body heal. I had grinned. “Fine with me,” I told her, and she offered me a faint smile and then turned her attention back to the wet, bloody folds ahead of us, nudging the nose of the IAV through one muscular ribbed sphincter at a time.

The stairs take us to sort of a tool room or machine shop, and then we pass out into a hallway and then up some stairs that I recognize. Beyond the next inch-thick submarine-style door is the control room, still as messy as a few days ago, with two or three of the geeks present before still in residence. They look up when Makado enters but make no comment other than a perfunctory greeting or two; clearly we’re expected. Then I step into the room and catch nothing but eyeballs.

One of the nerds frowns. “Wait,” he asks Makado, staring at me, “is that…?”

I start to answer but Makado nods, shuffling me along with her hand in the small of my back. “Yes, it is,” she assures him, but the look he gives me after she does so is more than a little confusing. I glance at Makado but before I can say anything there is a burst of pain in my leg that forces a groan from my lips and makes me stumble. Makado catches me before I fall and then I’m good again. My leg feels like it’s made of glass, or rather that it’s two glass blocks stacked on top of each other, and if I’m not extremely careful about how and where I put my weight they slide apart and the most excruciating -

“You okay?” she asks, and I nod.

“Yeah,” I grunt. “Once I’m out of here I will be.”

“They already called the elevator down,” she tells me. “I radioed ahead for us. Twenty minutes and you’re through.”

“And I can see Elena?” I ask. I feel a little like a baby saying it but it just tumbled out when I opened my mouth to say something a little less pathetic like ‘thank goodness’ or similar. Makado stiffens next to me fractionally, and I frown. “Are you –“

“Yes, you can see Elena.”

We hobble out of the control room and down the corridor to the gondolas. I don’t even know how to feel; I don’t even know what time it is, whether or not it’ll be light out. Something about the way Makado took too long to answer has me worried, though, and I glance over at the woman as we make our halting way towards the waiting gondola car.

Her jaw is clenched tight and though I can’t see her one good eye from the side I’m on, I can see her brow is downcast and furrowed. I lick my lips and try to quell the sudden stab of fear that’s gone through me. “Mak, is Elena…is she okay?”

Makado opens the door to the gondola and helps me inside. “She’s fine,” she tells me. “Just try to rest. Sit down on the floor if you need to.”

As soon as she says it, as if on cue, a wave of exhaustion passes through me and it’s all I can do to keep myself standing. Makado shuts the door and fiddles with the controls for a moment and then with a sickening lurch we’re moving upwards, and with the motion it’s as though all the tension exits my body. Even the twinging in my calf doesn’t seem quite as bad now that we’re moving. I look at Makado and she offers me a tight smile. “See?” she says. “We’ll get you out of here soon.”

“And Elena’s alright?”

Makado doesn’t meet my eyes. “She’s fine,” she tells me again, but the way she says it just makes me worry more.

“Do you promise?” I ask her. She looks up from her wrist computer.

“Hmm?”

“Do you promise,” I say slowly, “that Elena’s alright?”

Makado stares at me and I see something dark and unnameable shifting behind her one remaining eye. After what feels like entirely too long she nods. “Say it,” I prompt her. “Please.” I know it’s irrational and stupid but the way she’s acting is like she’s hiding something from me, it’s like she’s –

“Roan, calm down,” she says. Her voice is smooth and serene. “Elena’s fine.”

“Promise me she is,” I whisper.

Makado takes what feels like a moment longer to respond than she should. “Okay,” she says finally. “I promise.”

“Okay,” I say. I try to will myself back to the relaxed, relieved state I’d been in as soon as the gondola had started moving, but I can’t find it. Makado’s put enough worry into me that I feel like a spiky ball of it, hard-edged and serrated. I eventually do take her advice and sit on the floor and rest a while.

I try to make conversation with her but the answers she gives me are flat and eventually we both let it peter out. I assume she’s nervous about the FBI and the investigation I’m sure she’ll go through. I already told her on the way up that I didn’t mind hanging around and giving a statement or whatever else they need exactly, but it barely seemed to make an impact on her. Maybe it’s Peter, and if it is, I don’t know what to say to her that could possibly make it better.

But I go ahead and stick my foot in my mouth anyway. “Mak,” I say, breaking the – well, not silence exactly, for the grinding and swaying of the gondola is far from quiet, but my words still seem overly loud inside the car, “are you okay?”

She blows a breath out and looks at me. She starts to say something, then stops. “I’m sorry,” she ends up telling me, and I frown.

“What for?” I ask. “I know it didn’t – it didn’t go how it was supposed to but none of it was your fault, you couldn’t have predicted –“

“No,” she says. Her voice has a catch to it as though she might start crying. “It isn’t that. It’s – look, can I show you something?”

“Sure.” I’ve got no clue where she’s going with this. Outside the window I can see the first hint of real sunlight that I’ve glimpsed in probably about four or five days, pouring down into the Pit like an orange cascade. It’s far-off and dim but it’s real. Looks to be somewhere around the middle of the day or so. Makado reaches down for me and with her help I manage to clamber to my feet. I’m still a little unsteady on the right leg but I think it’s getting better. I think I just needed to rest it for a while. “What is it?”

“I’ll show you,” she says. “Turn around real quick.”

“What are you –“

“Just do it,” she nods. Her eyes flick over to the window then back to me. “You’ll miss it.”

So of course I turn, not thinking anything of it. I hear her shift and then come and stand just behind me. There’s a clink of metal, a small subtle sound. I don’t see anything out the window.

I start to glance back at her and then she grabs my wrist and tugs it backwards and snaps half of a pair of handcuffs around it. “What!” I blurt, jerking away from her before she can grab my other hand. Her face is tight and calculating.

“Give me your fucking hand,” she snarls.

“Makado, what the fuck –“

She punches me. I see it coming but I don’t react in time. Her fist slams into my gut and the breath whooshes out of me in one go, folds me over like a pressed shirt. I reach for her and try to slap her back but she grabs my hand and then she’s got me by the wrist – her grip is like iron. I bring my leg up and knee her in the hip and she grunts, but then she draws her leg back and kicks me in my newly repaired calf and the explosion of pain is so intense that I scream. I draw my leg back and falter and then fall to the floor, landing heavily on my elbow, and then Makado grabs me and heaves me over onto my stomach, jarring my leg again and forcing another scream from between my teeth as she cuffs the other wrist.

“What the fuck!” I yell, as soon as I’ve caught my breath.

“I’m sorry,” she says, breathing heavily, smoothing off the front of her suit. “I’m really, really sorry.”

“You fucking bitch!” I shriek. “You fucking bitch, get me out of these fucking cuffs!”

“It wasn’t anything personal,” she says, sounding more like she’s trying to convince herself than she is trying to convince me.

“You bitch!” I say again. I apparently become rather uninventive when I get stabbed in the back. Makado growls, a low wordless snarl, and then rolls me over onto my back. The cuffs cut into my wrists, sandwiched between myself and the floor, and I cry out.

“Shut the fuck up,” she tells me. Her voice is icy calm and that scares me more than anything else she could have said. “I have to give someone to the FBI. I have to let someone take the fall.”

I open my mouth to say something and she puts her booted foot over my throat and presses down gently. I can feel the blunt cleats on the bottom dig into my neck. I try to wriggle away but she just puts a little more of her weight onto it and then I can’t breathe and so I stop, staring at her desperately, hoping she has the sense not to choke me.

“There is too much at stake right now,” she says, “for me to go down for something as fucking stupid as human trafficking. Especially when my contribution was just looking the other way. So you’re going to go down for me. That’s all. There’s still a chance I can get that crystal back but I won’t be able to if I’m rotting in a federal prison somewhere.”

She takes her foot off my throat and I heave the air in while I still can. “Tell me,” I wheeze. Makado looks down at me. “Tell me you weren’t lying about Elena. Tell me she’s okay.”

Makado is silent for a long while. “I lied,” she says finally, in a small voice. “I knew you wouldn’t come with me if you thought she was still in the Pit. I don’t know where she is or if she’s alive. The tracker in her suit is dead and nobody’s heard from her in three days.”

The gondola grinds to a halt and the doors hiss open, and sunlight and fresh air pour in. I hardly notice. Makado steps over me and walks out while I lay there, my hands cuffed behind my back, bawling my eyes out, and then three men with badges and pistols come in and pick me up and carry me off somewhere. I don’t notice where, I don’t see it. All I can see, my eyes squeezed shut in a vain attempt to keep the tears from leaking out, is Elena, poor Elena, trapped somewhere at the bottom of the Pit and calling out my name, not knowing I’ll never come.

Continue with Part 29

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#mystery flesh pit #writing #writeblr #alt lit #spilled ink #mystery #thriller #original writing #caving #disaster #Michael Crichton

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fyeahnix · 3 years

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Title: I Got You Pairing: Bangalore/Wraith (Voidstrike) Other Characters: None Rating: Teen and Up for language and mild nudity Words: 1440 Prompt: Taking Care (Sickfic) Other Tags: Sickfic, Bathing/Washing, Cute, Overprotective Wraith, Mentions of vomiting Summary: The first time Anita's been sick in years and she's knocked on her ass by the flu. Good thing for her a special someone is there to take care of her.

If you like it PLEASE REBLOG. You can read it here or on AO3, via the link found in the notes of this post. Please read on AO3 if you prefer correct formatting!

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Anita hasn’t been sick in eight years. Not since she turned thirty, and even then, it was only food poisoning. Friends and coworkers dragged her out to celebrate at Hollygroove’s renowned sushi restaurant. Woke up the next morning to the worst vomiting and diarrhea spell of her life. Swore off sushi for five years after. She doesn’t count it, not officially, but it’s the last time she recalls that isn’t from childhood.

Anita. Never. Gets. Sick.

Until now.

Bullshit.

She lies back in the bathtub, nearly submerged in lukewarm water. The lingering odor of the peppermint bath bomb burns her sinuses but allows her to breathe clearly — quite the feat for the past twenty-four hours. But, it’s peppermint. She despises that acrid, wintery stench, and wiping the persistent scowl off her face proves more difficult as time passes.

Wraith's idea.

Wraith sits curled up next to the tub, hair tied back in a loose and lazy half-ponytail. Anita’s dragon-adorned muscle shirt hangs off her upper half, her own heather-grey sweatpants covering her bottom half. Her phone rests propped up on the side of the tub, playing some loud, dramatically-styled animation that surprisingly hasn’t annoyed Anita after… three episodes? Wraith’s sucked in, sunken-in eyes trained on the bright colors and grotesque transformation sequence of this monster-of-the-week monstrosity of a show.

“Oh shit, that’s new…” she mumbles to herself.

Is it? Anita’s attention wavered an episode and a half ago. Hard to focus when her brain pounds against her skull and her entire body burns like a malfunctioning furnace. The shivers haven’t subsided either. They wrack her body in waves, rippling cloudy bathwater around her. Not to mention the muscle aches. Her obliques and back and thighs and shoulders throb something fierce, and not in the pleasurable post-workout burn type of way. She’s miserable, dejected, and exhaustedly weak, and all the positive effects from the once-piping-hot bath have long since worn off.

The credits roll on the animation and a prompt pops up for the next episode. Wraith pauses it and rests her chin on the side of the tub, staring at Anita as she smiles sympathetically.

"You okay?"

"No," Anita rasps.

"Ready to get out?" she asks with a gentle tilt of her head.

"I'm ready to pass out. For like five days. Everything hurts."

Wraith dips a fingertip in the tub. "Yeah, this water's freezing. Time to get you out." She moves her phone to the sink countertop and grabs the clean washcloth. She hesitates, tips her head a few degrees, “You want to or…?”

Anita’s ears and cheeks sear at the insinuation. She leans forward, slowly, reaching for the washcloth, but the world spins around her as she does. She screws her eyes shut. Takes a deep breath to recenter.

“It’s fine. Don’t worry about it." Wraith lathers the cloth with some fancy body wash Anita knows she doesn't own. "Can you sit up okay?”

Anita huffs. She grips the side of the tub for support. Pulls herself forwards to a sitting position and winces. It's difficult, her muscles screaming for her to stop, but if she stops moving long enough and trains her eyes to one spot, namely on Wraith, she'll survive. "Kinda."

"Don't worry. I got you." And with that, Wraith, soapy washcloth in hand, settles at the crook of Anita's neck.

Anita's nostrils flare as she relaxes and closes her eyes. She savors the touch at her neck, under her jaw, around her back and shoulders, and under her breasts. The water's cool against her hot, sensitive skin, every glide of Wraith's hand filling her with renewed vigor. The soap's aroma, lavender, overpowers the stink of peppermint. For a fleeting moment, the agony and pain of the last twenty-four hours subsides.

Still, guilt strikes her in the chest, and her eyes flutter open to fix her gaze on Wraith. Anita hates being dependent. Always been one to enjoy taking care of her loved ones. Always took care of herself, too. But this? This is… pathetic. Can’t move half an inch without dizzy spells. Stomach rides close to the edge of vomiting. She feels… useless.

"What's with the sad puppy eyes?" Wraith asks. “Arms up.”

"Should have gone to your match today." Hard to keep the bile down. She inhales slowly, then exhales. Repeats the process. It subsides, for now.

"What do you mean? And” — Wraith recoils and grimaces as her eyes flash white — “please don't throw up on me again?"

Anita ponders. Question’s obvious, but is the clarification worth it? Does it even matter?

Wraith lathers the washcloth again. "Bang, it's just us. Talk to me."

She attempts an eye roll but even that hurts. She settles for a sigh instead. "You don't have to stay here. Takin' care of me like this."

"You're right. I don't." Blunt and direct when it matters, but that's Wraith. "But I am. I'm here because I care about you. And I know you'd do this for me twenty times over if given the chance."

The scowl on Anita's face dissipates, the tight tug of a genuine smile emerging in its wake. Wraith's words melt her on the inside and for the span of five seconds, nothing on planet Solace is wrong or out of place. When Wraith scrubs her ribs and mid-back, the dejection and doubt return.

"Still feel bad, though. Can't imagine it was easy gettin' that across to Young."

"You feel bad for having the shit kicked out of you from the flu?" Wraith clicks her tongue. “It happens, Bang. And don’t worry about Jacob. He and I had an… understanding. If you wanna call it that."

The mischievous smirk on Wraith's face conjures too many possibilities and scenarios in Anita’s head. Curious as a cat, even as Wraith's gliding hand over her belly and hips beneath the water elicit a flinch from her.

"Babe" — Wraith hesitates, blue eyes dilating at the mention of her pet name — "what did you say?"

Wraith stops, lets the washcloth drift to the bottom of the tub beside Anita's thigh. She chuckles to herself, a smug "do you really wanna know" expression playing across full lips. If Anita didn't know Wraith well by now, she'd assume a civil discussion. But that's not how Wraith is. The claws unsheath when she wants something badly enough. Or if anyone dares drive a wedge between them.

"Well, I went to his office yesterday and we spoke. And by 'spoke,' I mean I may have yelled at him. And by 'yelled at him,' I mean I may or may not have threatened to gouge his eyes out and feed them to his Prowler pup. So, my match is postponed until tomorrow evening, which means… I get to take care of you for longer."

The flutters in Anita's belly force a burning blush out of her. Neither have shied away from seeing the other at their absolute worst — anxiety attacks and episodes, drunkenness and hangovers. God, Anita loves this woman with every fragment of her soul.

"If I weren't so sick, I'd kiss you."

Wraith chuckles. "If you weren't so sick, I'd kiss you back." She grazes wet fingers down Anita's jaw, coaxing her forwards to plant lips on Anita's forehead. "You're burning up, by the way. Let's get you out for real this time."

Anita hums as Wraith fishes for the washcloth. With careful, diligent hands, Wraith washes the rest of her body. The water's cold now, and with each drop that trickles down her back and chest, she longs to be out of the water and back in comfortable clothing.

Anita fights through vertigo when she's pulled out of the bath, shivers as she stands naked and freezing and dripping. Wraith towels her down from head to toe and helps her into underwear, sweatpants, and a t-shirt. With patience and slow, timed breathing, Anita ambles to the couch where she lies halfway on Wraith's lap, blanket draped over her.

Wraith grazes the back of her head, the nape of her neck. Tender and caring and sweet as always. She whispers about ordering food or at least making ginger tea — Anita objects — but gently chides that she should hydrate and get her stomach settled.

It's the truth and there's no denying it — the burning and freezing, dizziness, muscle aches and sour stomach — it's all there.

Anita acquiesces, a curt grunt and groan that conveys her annoyance and discomfort. Wraith coos, calms her with a gentle hand across her arm and shoulder. A simple caress proves to be all she needs to know that she's loved, that's she seen and heard.

That she's taken care of.

#Apex Legends #Bangalore #Wraith #Anita Williams #Renee Blasey #Voidstrike #Bangawraith #writing #nix fics #tw vomit #if anyone's wondering #yes this is the fic I commissioned noxlotl to create an illustration for #turned out wonderful!

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katehuntington · 4 years

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Title: In Bad Waters - part four Word count: ±2800 words Episode summary: Still in possession of the Winchesters’ belongings, Zoë meets up with the hunters on her next case. When it turns out to be a little more complicated than anticipated, she accepts their help in order to make an important deadline. Part four summary: After Dean takes a girl home, Sam goes to look for the huntress who is keeping the brothers’ belongings hostage. Episode warnings: Dark! NSFW, 18+ only! Descriptions of domestic violence/child abuse. Drug use/addiction. Angst, gore, violence, character death. Description of blood, injury and medical procedures/resuscitation. Swearing, alcoholism. Supernatural creatures/entities, mentions of demon possession. Descriptions of torture and murder, drowning. Illegal/criminal practices. Mentions of nightmares and flashbacks. Music: Shine On You Crazy Diamond - Pink Floyd Author’s note: Beta’d by @winchest09 and @deanwanddamons. Thanks, girls!

Supernatural: The Sullivan Series Masterlist

S1E02 “In Bad Waters” Masterlist

The nights are mild this November. The moon is almost full and stands high in the dark blue sky. This time it’s not the sun which shines a light on the hundreds of tombstones, neither does the cemetery have a peaceful feel like it did this morning. Trees create long shadows, so black that one would be afraid to walk through its darkness. At this hour the statues of angels and other Biblical figures don’t seem sacred, the figures looming over those who dare to disturb the dead.

Anyone who would walk around the stretched out lands of Linwood Cemetery, would be rather sure the place is deserted. Nevertheless, someone is present. Not a grieving widow or a relative who got left behind, but a person who is, quite literally, digging up some dirt. In a steady rhythm, scoops of soil fly through the air and land on a pile next to a hole in the ground. Down in the grave, Zoë is working like a miner. Even though it’s night, all she’s wearing is a thin Lakers basketball shirt, sweat shimmering on her body as her muscles move under her skin.

For a moment she pauses; she reckons she’s almost there. Out of breath, she listens to her surroundings and scans the area like a periscope of a submarine, popping her head just above ground level. Not a sound, nothing to see, yet she senses something. She can’t really put a finger on it, but glances at the loaded shotgun next to her in the grave nonetheless. She picks up the shovel instead, continuing to dig. Her senses grow stronger and the huntress freezes, picking up the smallest sound. Making a split second decision, Zoë goes for her shotgun, aims on pure gut instinct and fires. The slug demolishes half a gravestone and barely misses the person hiding behind it. “Jesus Christ!” a startled voice cries out. “Friends call me Zoë,” she responds, skillfully discharging the empty shell and reloading her rifle.

She stays low to the ground and focuses on the tombstone from the hole, prepared for a possible counter attack, but nothing comes. “Show yourself,” she commands. A tall figure rises from behind the tombstone, his hands up. “It’s me,” he says. The man steps into the moonlight and Zoë instantly recognizes him. “Sam...” She scoffs, actually not that surprised to see him. “Seriously man, there will come a day that I will kill one of you fucking Winchesters if you keep sneaking up on me like this.”

“How the hell did you even notice me?” Sam questions, disappointed with his own ambushing skills. “Are you kidding me? I can smell you from a mile away after your dive in that septic tank,” she nags. Sam stares at her for a moment and smells himself. “I showered!” he exclaims. Zoë smirks; she can’t believe he actually fell for that. Sam also realizes she is deliberately messing with him and shoots her a deadly glare. “What if I was the night guard?” he tests. “If the night guard enters, I’ll notice it the minute he sets foot in the cemetery.” Zoë puts away her shotgun and picks up the shovel again. Before she continues digging, she looks back up. “What the fuck are you doing here anyway?” Sam approaches the grave. “Looking for you.” “Well, you found me. Now get lost,” the huntress scoffs. “I’m not going anywhere without our stuff, Zo,” Sam states. She stops what she was doing, leaning on the handle of the shovel. “Sure. Just a sec. I’ll just pull your laptop case out of my back pocket and I think I stuffed the two duffel bags in my bra,” she responds, smartly. He glares at her. “Ha-ha.” Zoë continues shoveling dirt, while Sam halts on the edge of the hole in the ground. It’s not the first open grave he has seen, but that’s not what he’s looking at. Zoë has captured his attention, and Sam can’t stop watching. The fabric of her shirt is drenched in sweat, a darker tone between her shoulder blades and down her chest. The moonlight distinguishes hardened arms and shoulders. She might be a lean built woman of no more than 5’8, yet clearly she is well trained. Even though Zoë has been working the soil for some time now, there is no sign of fatigue and every scoop is powerful. Just like that moment in Rochester, yesterday morning, she captivates him in such a way that it seems impossible to keep his eyes off her. When she walked by naked to turn up the radio she meant to get his attention, but apparently this time she feels uncomfortable.

“What do you think this is? BustyAsianBeauties.com?” she remarks, glancing up at the hunter annoyed. “Excuse me?” Sam returns, puzzled. “Don’t get all innocent with me, perv. I happened to stumble on some browser internet history on your laptop, which is full of viruses because of that shit by the way,” she notifies. Sam stares at her staggered, then the light bulb switches on. Rolling his eyes skyward, he huffs. “Dean.” Zoë shrugs, continuing her job at hand. “I don’t really care which of you two can’t get laid enough. Your harddrive was a fucking mess.” “You’ve been on my computer?” It’s not so much a question. The tall Winchester eyes her from under his brown bangs, clearly not happy with her snooping around through his stuff. Zoë has the feeling that this would be a good time to lie, but just to rile him up a bit more, she doesn’t. “I did, actually,” she comments. “Got a problem with that, college boy?” Sam averts his gaze and grinds his teeth, which draws a reaction from Zoë. “Hey, don’t be mad at me. I didn’t fuck up your computer with a dozen porn sites, videos, pi--” “- I’m gonna kill him,” Sam growls. “Oh, don’t wanna miss that.” Zoë turns up the speed, now that she has some extra motivation to hurry up.

The youngest of the Winchester brothers glances down at her again. “So, this is your case?” “I’m not digging up dead people for fun,” she retorts, without pausing. “What’s the story?” Zoë peers at him for a moment, but doesn’t stop with what she’s doing. Not seeing any harm in it, she gives him a brief summary. “Young girl got beat up by her father. One strike killed her.” “Let me guess, what goes around comes around for the dad?” Sam assumes. “Yep. Died yesterday,” she confirms.

Whoa, she’s quick, Sam realizes. It’s not often that he has run a case that fast. “How did you figure it all out in that short period of time?” Sam asks, genuinely interested. “You guys have your methods to pick out cases. I have mine,” Zoë responds curtly. The younger Winchester brother knows better than to continue the interrogation. A silence follows and Sam glances over at the gravestone.

Laura Emily Shire Beloved daughter and sister 01.22.1995 – 09.21.2005 Rest in Peace

“Apparently not,” Sam comments on the last sentence, before he redirects his attention to the huntress. “Need help?” “Do I look like I need help?” she counters. He shakes his head and goes quiet, not daring to contradict her. He should have known Zoë wouldn’t accept a helping hand. So he watches, awkwardly, not sure what to do with his hands. Not for long, though, because three swings later, Zoë hits the coffin.

The sudden difference in sound when the steel shovel collides with the wood draws Sam’s attention. He glances over the edge as Zoë wipes the dirt away. A hardwood beech coffin is exposed once again. Zoë busts the hinges with her shovel and opens the coffin, after which she quickly backs out. It’s one thing to burn just bones, but this little girl is still in the process of decomposition. “Argh… man, that’s bad.” Zoë covers her mouth and nose with her hand and turns at Sam, who hands over her backpack.

Trying not to inhale as she takes out a bag of salt and a small jerry can filled with gasoline, she continues to cover the remains with both. She climbs out of the grave and takes a matchbox out of her pocket. With a smooth strike, Zoë lights a couple of matches and drops them down the hole. Almost immediately the fire spreads out and shines an orange light on their faces as the heat reaches for them. The body burns for a while and when the fire almost dies out, she shovels the dirt back in the hole. Sam wants to help, but she only brought one shovel, so there’s not much he can do.

“How did you find me by the way?” Zoë wonders, as they saunter back to the main gates of Linwood Cemetery twenty minutes later. “I drove by and saw your Harley in the parking lot of the Hampton, asked for you at the desk. They called up to your room, but you didn’t answer. Since your bike was still there, I just figured you were at the cemetery across the street,” he explains. “I could have been having a bite and a drink somewhere,” she suggests. “Could have, yeah,” Sam admits, a small smile on his lips. “Lucky guess, huh?” Zoë grins as they amble through the gate. “More like a coincidence,” he expresses. “Let me tell you one thing, Sam.” Zoë looks over her shoulder, an all knowing grin on her lips. “There’s no such thing as coincidence.”

They halt in front of the Hampton Inn as Zoë shakes off the cold and shrugs on her jacket. Grave digging can be quite intense, but now that she’s not busting her ass, she’s freezing. Before the huntress moves inside, she throws her backpack over her shoulder and turns around at Sam. “What are you doing tonight?” “Not much, actually. Dean has a girl over at the motel,” he sighs. “Ah, I was wondering where the fucker was. Another one, huh? Not a shifter this time?” The huntress winks, remembering the joke she pulled on him. Sam laughs too. “Not this time.” “You didn’t tell him that we don’t know what sex that thing was, right?” Zoë checks. “Nope.” Sam’s eyes sparkle for a moment, in the same way Dean’s eyes do so often. It’s probably a Winchester thing. “I bet he has nightmares about it,” Zoë grins, enjoying the idea, but then turns to Sam as her amused facial expression changes into something more serious. “You have any last night?”

Sam looks her in the eye and the sparkle disappears. He forgot about the fact that he opened up to the huntress about the strange dreams he’s been having and for a second he feels uncomfortable. He’s happy to shake his head. “No, I slept quite well, actually. First time in three weeks,” he returns. “Well, I didn’t.” She yawns and quickly covers her mouth with her hand. “I’m gonna catch some sleep. Night, Sam.”

Zoë intends to stroll inside and leave the hunter at the entrance, but he clears his throat. “Aren’t you forgetting something?” Sleepy and confused, Zoë halts and looks at the younger Winchester. “You’re not getting a kiss, if that’s what you’re waiting for.” Sam eyes her. “Our stuff.” “Oh right,” she remembers, entering the Hampton Inn, Sam in tow.

They take the elevator up to the second floor, where the huntress turns left, expecting Sam to follow. The younger Winchester seems impressed with the luxury of the hotel; he’s used to hunters settling for a much cheaper accommodation. As she slips her keycard through the lock, she yawns again.

“That bad, huh?” Sam chuckles. “I haven't had much sleep lately. Too many cases,” she replies and walks directly to the bathroom. “Let me freshen up, one sec.”

One sec turns out to be five minutes, because after that amount of time she walks out of the bathroom, fresh and showered. She’s wearing a Nirvana shirt and pajama shorts, not even bothered to put on a bra, even though she has company. She’s going to turn in for bed soon anyway, the aftermath of her high this morning seriously kicking in. She carelessly beckons at Sam, pointing at the other end of the room. “You can find your shit in the closet.”

Sam crosses the space and opens the double doors. He lets out a sigh of relief when he sees the duffel bags, but he can’t spot his laptop. “It’s on the table, still hooked up to the server,” she answers before he can ask. He walks over and notices the USB cable. “Why is it hooked up?” “Don’t get all emotional about it, but I’m copying my supernatural database to yours,” she tells him. “Since you guys are still going on what’s in that old book.” Sam’s eyebrows perk up, surprised. She actually did that, something nice without him asking? Maybe she’s not so bad as his brother would have him believe after all. “Thanks,” he expresses.

She looks aside, able to tell that his gratitude is sincere. Touching the mouse pad, she triggers the screen to light up; it’s still copying. To pass the time she opens ITunes, starts one of her favorite playlists and the first tunes of Shine On You Crazy Diamond by Pink Floyd come from the speakers. “Don’t mention it, but I'll tell you what.” She straightens her back and walks over to her bed. “It’s still transferring files, which might take another hour or so. If you don’t have a place to stay anyway, why don’t you hang out here? You can crash on the sofa if you want.”

Another unexpected act of kindness; she just invited him in. Not that she would want anything from him, though, or does she? For a second the Winchester wonders why she’s so interested in him all of a sudden. She’s being nice, and that’s just off. “Sure, if you don’t mind,” Sam accepts, masking his suspicion. “As long as you shut your piehole, I don’t mind. I really need to sleep,” she clears up as she crawls into bed and pulls the covers up till her nose. “Remote is on the TV if you want to watch anything, as long as it isn’t porn,” she mumbles, fitting her eye mask over her face. “Thanks, I’m good,” he assures, sitting down behind the table and glancing at the screen. He watches the bar move slowly, the percentage going up with each passing minute. “Hey Zo, is it alright if I--” But he doesn’t finish his sentence. Zoë is already far away, curled up in fetus-position, wrapped in her covers. She seems so peaceful and vulnerable, so unlike the Zoë Sullivan he got to know these past couple of days. He smiles at the endearing sight. She’s quite a peculiar woman.

It only takes a moment, though, before guilt settles on his chest and memories cloud his mind. Because every time when he thinks of Zoë, his thoughts wander off to Jessica as well. As if a voice in the back of his mind is mocking him for taking an interest in the new huntress. That it’s ‘not done’ since he’s in a relationship. But he isn’t. Jess is gone forever.

Sam swallows apprehensively and glances at his laptop again. He sees images transferring, of ghouls and werewolves, wendigos and demons. Honestly, he can’t wait to get his hands on that thing that killed his former girlfriend and his mom. Never has he felt the urge to kill something so strongly, never has he felt so much anger and hatred towards anything. Of course, he has ended the lives of creatures and burned the bones of the souls that stayed behind, but never out of hate. He did those things for opposite reasons; to save people and help spirits to move on.

The frustrating part about his attempt to find the creature that was responsible for the death of his loved ones? He has no idea where to start. Their dad has disappeared from the face of the earth and he and his brother have no leads whatsoever. They need to get back on the road, find their father and make progress fast, before that thing disappears off the radar again. Sam is going to make sure that he and Dean leave this town tomorrow first thing in the morning.

When the time comes, when they finally find their father, the next step is making the bastard pay that murdered Mom and Jess. That thought right there is what drives him, disturbing yet thrilling, but that’s what everyone is after. The death of that monster, the ultimate revenge.

Thank you for reading. I appreciate every single one of you, but if you do want to give me some extra love, you are free to like or reblog my work, shoot me a message or buy me coffee (Link to Kofi in bio at the top of the page).

Read part five here

#Supernatural: the Sullivan Series #Supernatural series #Dean Winchester x OFC #Sam Winchester x OFC #supernatural rewrite #Supernatural fanfiction #Dean Winchester fanfiction #Sam Winchester fanfiction #SPN fanfiction #SPN #Supernatural #Dean Winchester #Sam Winchester #Zoë Sullivan STSS #In Bad Waters #1x02 In Bad Waters #Kate Huntington

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