#i have no idea what willows fit really is supposed to look like so im going with this until canon proves me otherwise !! | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

sweetwhumpandhellacomf · 6 years

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Willow and Grackle’s (Bad) Road Trip

Willow and Grackle settle into a peaceful life at the dorms. Grackle finds employment in acting as a courier for the clinic, delivering parcels of medicine to patients who need regular refills. Willow buys a slightly larger bed for his room, so he and Grackle can both fit more comfortably. Grackle even makes an attempt to socialize with Willow's friends and colleagues, though he still prefers spending time in their shared room when things get busy.

Grackle feels really happy for the first time.

Returning home from a delivery one evening, excited to keep reading the book about the pirate queen with Willow, he hears footsteps behind him. He slows down from his jog, straining to hear. One person, it sounds like, soon joined by two, then three. They slow a bit when he does, then break into a run.

Grackle begins to run as well. Years of experience have taught him that people chasing him never have good intentions. Best to get somewhere more public quickly, then make for home. Three more people dash out from around a corner to block his path. "Not so fast, Blackbird," one of them says. They're all wearing dark clothing, and they look large and muscular. Grackle darts off to the side, making for some shadows he can disappear into, but one of those from behind cuts him off.

"Someone wants to see you, and we suggest you come quietly," the speaker from before continues, drawing a polished wood club from his belt. "Ain't afraid to get rough." Grackle narrows his eyes and he draws two daggers from his hips, backing up slowly. Someone tries to get behind him; he whirls, shifting his grip in a swift movement to slash upwards. The assailant cries out in surprise, staggering back and clutching their face.

"I offered civility," the speaker says with a shrug. "Get 'im."

Six people close around Grackle. He opens his eyes wide, and sees some of them hesitate, probably unnerved by how his pupils reflect the dim ambient light. Someone lunges and he leaps back, jabbing an elbow into whoever tries to grab him from behind. He focuses himself into a whirlwind of steel, waiting for an escape route to open while he keeps his attackers at bay. There--one of them breaks away from the pack, stumbling away with blood covering their face. He darts through the gap and into the shadow of a building, and vanishes.

He moves through the shadows, up to the flat rooftop shaded by an umbrella. He emerges and looks over the edge, watching his assailants try to search for him in the shadows. He grins; looks like that little trick saved him. Without waiting to see if they'd give up, he resumes his way home, leaping between rooftops.

Willow's waiting when he climbs in through the window; he no longer needs to go in that way, really, but it lets him see Willow's face faster. His sweetheart smiles, then looks shocked and rushes to his feet. "Grackle, you're covered in blood!"

"Not mine," Grackle assures him, shedding his jacket so he won't get blood on Willow when the physician runs over to hug him tight. "Got attacked."

Willow looks up in alarm, immediately checking him over for any injury. "You didn't get hurt, did you?" Grackle shakes his head. Willow sighs in relief, pulling Grackle close again. "I'm glad you're safe." Grackle buries his face in Willow's mass of curly hair, calming himself with the scent of herbs and fresh linen.

---

Grackle maintains vigilance for the next few days, but his assailants don't reappear. He hopes they've given up the chase; maybe whoever's paying them wasn't paying enough for the trouble. He lowers his guard, but still keeps a watchful eye out as always.

One night, he's walking with Willow after the physician had a hard and tiresome day at the clinic; taking a stroll through the balmy night air always seemed to re-energize him just enough. "It's really pretty tonight," Willow says, smiling and looking up at the stars twinkling in the blue-black sky. "The ancestors must be happy for us." Grackle feels himself blush, and he squeezes Willow's hand, humming his assent.

He hears footsteps behind them; one pair, then two, then four, all very quick. Heart pounding, he grips Willow's hand tightly and whispers, "Run."

They run, Grackle careful to keep pace with the slower Willow and not leave him behind. He hears a clack and pop up ahead and skids to a stop, using precious time to yank Willow's scarf up over his face to cover his eyes and mouth, to protect him from what he expects to be a smoke grenade. Light explodes at their feet, and Grackle cries out, eyes searing before he gets a chance to close them.

Someone grabs at him from behind, but he yanks away before they get a chance to close their hand. He finds Willow again and pulls him close, blindly sidestepping. "Willow??"

"I'm fine!" Willow holds his hand tight. Grackle squeezes back. He blinks his eyes rapidly, trying to return his vision, but everything is a mess of white and grey. Willow is pulled away from him suddenly and he hears him yell out in protest. "Let go!"

Grackle surges forward, grabbing blindly in an attempt to reclaim him, but someone else pulls him back, calloused hands wrapped around his wrists. "I did offer civility," the voice from the other night says, uncomfortably close. Grackle's heart pounds. "See what happens when you don't cooperate? You get ordinary citizens caught up in your trouble, Blackbird." He hears Willow's strangled cry, hears him coughing. "Could've avoided this."

"Don't hurt him!" Grackle says desperately, trying to escape his captor. "Don't!"

There's a moment where all he hears is Willow struggling to breathe. "Promise to behave if we keep this one safe?" Grackle nods frantically. Willow takes a deep gulp of air and coughs again. His breathing after is wheezy and irregular, but it's there. Grackle relaxes a bit.

"Right," the voice says. "Let's go, lads." Someone clubs Grackle on the back of his head. He staggers forward, what's left of his vision turning black.

---

Grackle isn't sure how long it takes for him to reawaken. The floor under him is rattling up and down. It feels too hot for it to be nighttime still, but he can't see a thing. His head throbs, and so do his eyes. He can't have gone blind from the flash bomb, can he? He blinks rapidly and shifts his head, trying to look around. The sound of cloth covering his head brings realization. A sack or hood is blinding him. Giving his eyes time to focus, he can barely see light through small gaps in the threads. He tries to reach up to remove it, but his hands are stuck behind him. Something coarse binds his wrists together, and tugging on them scrapes his skin uncomfortably. Experimentally, he tries to move his legs, but discovers his ankles are bound as well.

Grackle bits back panic. He's been restrained before. He can handle it. He--

A hand touching his head startles him and he jerks away. "Grackle, it's me," Willow whispers, voice muffled by the cloth. "I-I saw you moving."

Grackle's breath hitches. He wants to talk to Willow, try to reassure him, but he can't find his voice. They'd said they'd keep Willow safe--Grackle hadn't imagined they'd meant taking him along as well. He hears a distressed whine escape his throat.

Willow pets his head gently. "I'm okay," he says, still keeping his voice low. "They didn't hurt me, but--I guess they're gonna use me to keep you calm..." His voice wavers. Grackle leans into the touches, desperate to be as close to Willow as possible. "We're in a covered wagon. They took us out of town, but haven't mentioned where they're going."

Someone barks for Willow to shut up, and Grackle doesn't hear him speak again. He lifts Grackle to lie on his lap, carefully rubbing his back and shoulders. The action does help to calm him, but panic is still rising in his gut. What are they going to do to him? What are they going to do to Willow when they don't need him anymore? He's grateful Willow can't see when frightened tears start spilling down his cheeks and he has to bite his lip to stop from sobbing out loud.

---

Grackle has no idea how much time passes, but Willow lets him know when they stop for the night. He's painfully thirsty and hungry by this point; their captors allow Willow to feed him some slices of crusty bread and give him a cup of water, but not remove the hood. Willow sits in the rear of the wagon with him, massaging his arms to try and keep his hands from going numb from the restraints. It's not unpleasant, but Grackle wishes it was under better circumstances.

"Someone's definitely noticed us missing by now," Willow says after he's settled Grackle up against his side. "I bet we'll be rescued before long."

Grackle hopes so. His panic has faded, but fresh waves of dread wash over him constantly. What kind of person would want to capture him alive? He supposes there are bounties out for him and the other Blackbirds, but they'd made sure to remove every piece of evidence of their identities from their old home. He lived as "Gray" in the clinic dorms, and the others had taken assumed names for their new lives as well. How and why had these people tracked him down?

He eventually falls into an uneasy sleep, wishing he could wrap his arms around Willow just for the night.

---

It feels like another day's worth of travel before the feel of the road under the wagon changes. Grackle listens intently, and determines that they're on cobblestone instead of bumpy dirt. Another town? It seems Willow can't see outside the wagon, but Grackle hears him shifting around nearby.

The wagon eventually comes to a stop. There's muffled discussion outside, then the sound of the wagon's rear covering being pulled open. Willow puts a hand on Grackle's shoulder and squeezes reassuringly before someone climbs inside and pulls him away. "Where are you taking us?" Willow asks, voice brave despite the waver in it. Grackle feels someone pull him out of the wagon and heave him over their shoulder, then start to carry him away. Willow's voice is more distant when he calls out, "Grackle, I'll be okay! Don't worry!"

He's taken indoors, but beyond that he doesn't know what sort of building. Doors open and close; he tries to memorize the layout, but blinded and muffled as he is it's difficult. His carrier drops him onto a hard mattress. He hears their footsteps, hears a door shut, and hears a lock click.

He's alone. He doesn't know for how long.

Some amount of time later, the door unlocking and swinging open grabs his attention and he tries to sit up. He hears footsteps rush over to him and kneel by his side, before they're locked back in again. "Grackle, are you alright?" Willow asks, pulling the hood off. The room is dim, but it still takes his eyes a moment to adjust so he can see. Willow's face is worried. Grackle doesn't feel alright, but he's at least uninjured, and he doesn't want to worry Willow more than he has to, so he nods. Willow sighs in relief. "They said I can untie you. Or, try to. I don't know if I'm much good with knots."

He shifts to kneel behind Grackle and gets to work on the rope binding his wrists. He holds as still as possible, heart sinking every time Willow makes a noise of frustration. He don't know if he can stand being bound for however long they intend to hold him for. Finally, with a triumphant, "Got it!" Willow pulls the ropes loose, throwing them aside. Grackle's up on his knees before he realizes, pulling Willow close and burying his face in the crook of his neck. Willow returns the embrace, stroking his hair. "You're alright now. We'll be alright."

The ropes binding his ankles are easier for Willow, and soon, they're huddled together on the mattress, Grackle with his arms wrapped desperately around Willow. Willow pets his hair to try and settle him, and it works just a bit. Someone slides a tray with bread and water into the room through a small flap, and Willow leaves him just long enough to bring it over. "You should eat more," Willow encourages him. "I'm fat, I can go longer with less. It's medically sound." Grackle shakes his head in protest, looking at the extra two slices Willow's trying to offer him. "You need your strength for whatever's going to happen. Grackle, please?"

He eventually relents, though guilt eats at him more than hunger would have. Once the tray is clear of crumbs, he tries to calm himself down enough to assess the situation.

The room is barren. The only furniture is the mattress and a chamber pot. The door is locked from the outside, and there are no windows. The walls are a solid stucco, and the floor is stone. The only tools at their disposal are some scratchy rope, a hood, a tray, and two empty ceramic cups. His daggers and other weapons and tools were taken away, probably before they even put him on the wagon.

He's tired. He'll try to come up with an escape plan tomorrow. "Do you wanna try to sleep?" Willow asks. "We can push the mattress into a corner if you'd feel safer..."

Grackle nods. He moves the mattress, while Willow stuffs the hood with the rope to form a makeshift pillow. "It's not going to be really comfortable," he apologizes. "But it's probably still better than going without..."

"It's fine," Grackle mumbles. Willow offers a weak smile. Grackle settles down on the side against the wall, and Willow lays next to him. Grackle tucks his head under Willow's chin, closing his eyes and imagining they're back in Willow's dorm room, with the lingering smell of baking hanging in the halls. Willow's warm body against his is just enough to help him feel a little safer.

---

Grackle isn't sure how much sleep he managed to get, but he doesn't think it was enough. The door opens and heavy footfalls enter, waking them both. Grackle is the first to sit up, jumping to alertness and blocking the still-dozy Willow with his body. Two people haul Grackle to his feet by his upper arms, while the third keeps an eye on Willow. "Wha, where are you taking him?" Willow asks, trying to wake up faster. He goes to stand but the third thug pushes him back down roughly. Grackle watches him desperately until he's dragged out of the room and another hood is yanked down over his head.

Cold iron shackles snap around his wrists, binding them behind his back. His breath catches and his heart starts racing, already knowing what awaits him now. Punishment. He struggles wildly in his panic until one of his captors slugs him in the gut and he doubles over, gasping. "You best stop that," she says sharply. "We'll hurt the other one if you don't knock it off."

Willow. He has to protect Willow. With a low whine, he does his best to ignore the cold of the cuffs and stumble along with his captors. "He's so pathetic," the voice says. "Is this really one of the Blackbirds?"

"That's what the informant said," a second voice answers. "And maybe they're not all this weak. Just disappointing that this is the one he wants."

The pair take him down what feels like a straight corridor. His hearing is muffled by the hood, but he picks up on the sound of a breeze outside a window. He makes a note of it as a possible escape route. There's a pause and a door opening, and he's pulled inside a new room. "Wait here." One of them shoves him down onto a rug-covered floor, and as he struggles to right himself he hears them both exit.

Grackle tries to take deep breaths to settle himself. Whatever's waiting for him can't be good, but panicking won't help him now. The shackles dredge up awful memories, but he can deal with those. For now, anyway. Maybe if he can focus on trying to form an escape plan…

The door opens again and he sits up straighter, ready to spring away at the first chance. Heels click deliberately on the floor before coming to a stop. A hand grasps the hood and yanks it off. He blinks rapidly in the bright room, trying to adjust after spending so long blinded and in dimness. He looks up into a face that seems somehow familiar, a man with a streak of white in dark hair. "These mercenaries claim you're a Blackbird," he says. "For their sake and yours, I hope they're correct."

Grackle doesn't let any emotion show as the man, probably a merchant of some kind by his dress, crouches before him. "They also tell me they brought along an extra. Someone you seem very fond of. Do you know what it's like to lose somebody like that?" Grackle says nothing, staring just to the side of his captor's face and trying not to shake. "Hopefully, you won't have to find out. I'm not as cruel as you." Grackle shifts his gaze forward, looking the man in the eyes. "You see, Blackbird, I found out when you murdered my sister Diamante."

Grackle blinks. That explained the familiarity; he'd spent weeks monitoring the late Lady Diamante prior to executing his assignment. "It so happens there's a large bounty out for any Blackbirds caught," the man continues. "I don't necessarily need the money, but if it rids the world of scum like you, I'm willing to hand you over."

Grackle still doesn't answer. "First, though, I intend to exact some revenge of my own. I'm going to make you match the pain I felt!" The man stands swiftly, and Grackle starts to get to his feet as well, fully prepared to dodge any assault, but the merchant is faster. He slams a leather boot into Grackle's gut, knocking the wind out of him and toppling him back onto his side.

The merchant shoves the boot against his back, forcing him to roll onto his front. Grackle struggles to regain his breath and right himself again, but the boot comes again, jabbing into his side repeatedly. He squeezes his eyes shut, trying to will himself to his feet when the boot comes down hard on the back of his knee. He cries out, immediately biting his tongue after to keep himself quiet. He hears the merchant take a few steps back, breathing heavily. "Not done with you yet," he mutters, leaning down to yank Grackle over onto his back.

Grackle forces himself to sit, thinking that this was nothing compared to what he's been through before. He can endure this kind of beating. He just has to get back to Willow in one piece. The boot collides with his shoulder, interrupting his train of thought. He hisses in pain, instinctively yanking at his shackles in an attempt to hold the newly sore spot. The merchant shoves him back onto the floor, then brings his foot down to rest on Grackle's vulnerable throat. He goes still, staring up at his assailant and doing his best not to provoke him.

"I can't believe how easily I could kill you," the merchant says, eyes wild and hair disheveled from his exertion. He presses down just a little bit more. "Just hold you down like this for a few minutes..." He presses harder. Grackle gasps for air, feeling his windpipe squeezing closed. He starts to thrash against his tormentor, struggling to get free, but this only seems to encourage the merchant to press his neck against the floor.

Grackle feels himself growing lightheaded, and grey and white lights pop in front of his eyes. The pressure finally releases and his starving lungs take in air in huge, unsteady gulps. "That's more mercy than a monster like you deserves, though," the merchant says, wiping at his forehead with his sleeve. Grackle feels sweat and tears trickle down the sides of his face, and he shuts his eyes to avoid looking at him. "And besides, I won't be done with you for a while yet." The merchant gives himself a moment, time that Grackle gratefully takes to recover himself. He lies on the floor, trying to steady himself. Before he can calm himself much further, a solid kick to the side brings him back to dreadful awareness. He doesn't have time to even register it before the merchant finds a rhythm of kicks and shoves, inflicting pain on every part of Grackle's body he can reach. Grackle finds himself blanking out, lost in the pain.

Some time later, he's dimly aware of two people speaking. "I'm done with him," the merchant says. "Get him out of my sight."

"At once, Carvaho." Is that one of the two who'd brought him in? He can't tell. Someone sits him up and tugs the discarded hood back over his head, not that he feels in any shape to care where he's going. He's slung over their shoulder and carried back down the same hall, then thrown down onto the mattress without regard for his comfort. The shackles are unlocked and pulled away, along with the hood.

Willow is immediately in his field of vision, blurry but a wonderfully welcome sight. The physician gathers him up into his arms, and despite the comforting warmth and scent of herbs, he cries out in protest as his battered body is moved again.

"It's okay," Willow whispers. He feels him stroking his hair, and that alone helps him settle down. "I'm here, Grackle. I'm right here for you." It's a while before he can bring himself to move, but he eventually manages to bunch himself up against Willow's body, nuzzling into the crook of his neck.

---

Grackle drifts in an exhausted daze until their food is brought in. He makes himself sit up to eat, but he doesn't have the energy to finish chewing through their meager meal. Willow makes sure he at least drinks his cup of water and sets the remains aside.

He doesn't know how long it's been by the time he actually wakes up again. The room is completely dark, except for a dim sliver of light from the gaps around the door flap. Willow is fast asleep at his side, arms wrapped around him securely. Grackle sighs and buries his face into Willow's shirt, trying to imagine they're back in the dorm instead of trapped in ancestors-knew-where. The aches from his earlier beating come to the forefront and interrupt his fantasy, dropping a ton of hard reality on him.

He shoves all thought aside and tries to fall back asleep.

---

It feels like no sleep was gotten at all by the time the door opens an unknown amount of time later. By the time Grackle brings himself to awareness, Willow has already disentangled himself from Grackle and is standing in front of the mattress. "Are you going to hurt him again?" the physician asks, putting on a brave voice.

One of the mercenaries sighs and grabs Willow by the arm, yanking him away while the other retrieves Grackle. "We don't have to play nice with you," she says. "It's only to keep your friend in line that you're even alive. You'd better be damned grateful." She practically throws Willow into the far wall.

Grackle flails against the other mercenary's grasp, overcome with the need to get to Willow again; the shackles close around his wrists and lock them behind his back before he can force his complaining, sluggish muscles to react. He tries to call Willow's name, but his voice is stuck. The last thing he sees before the hood closes over his head again is Willow crumpling to the floor in a heap.

The mercenaries end up having to carry him to the room from yesterday. Grackle finds himself too exhausted to fight them, let alone walk. He's flung to the floor again, and he lies still, waiting for what'll happen next.

It feels like ages before the door opens again, and he braces himself for the click of heels, but it's the thumping of the mercenaries' boots again. Someone hauls him up to stand, and removes one wrist from the shackles. He tries to break out of their grip then, but one of them locks a hand around his throat to hold him steady as another drags his arms up, re-securing the shackles hanging above him. He hears them step back, and his throat is freed, letting him breathe again. "Looks good enough," one says, and they leave.

Good enough? For what? Horrid thoughts course through his head, reminders of when he still worked for Rook. This position is uncomfortably familiar, and sends fresh waves of panic throughout his body. He squeezes his eyes shut under the hood, easily falling back into that old mindset. Whatever's coming, he just has to endure it without making a sound. It's just a punishment.

Minutes slide by painfully slow as he waits. His already aching arms complain from being held up so long. Whatever he's chained to, he can't lift his body enough to slip his wrists free. Somehow, the anticipation feels worse than the upcoming punishment surely would be. At least Rook got it over with quickly.

The door opens, and straining his ears, he hears the click of heels. Carvaho--that's his captor's name, he remembers--strides over to stand in front of him. The hood is lifted off, and as Grackle blinks to adjust to the light, Carvaho takes his jaw in his hand. "Is this yours, then?" He holds up a dagger, one of Grackle's daggers. Grackle looks at it, but says nothing. Carvaho holds the dagger to his face, cold blade pressing into his skin. "Is this what you killed my sister with?"

Grackle remains silent, not that he feels any answer would have spared him. Carvaho tightens his knuckles around the hilt and presses down hard, dragging the dagger down his cheek. Grackle hisses in pain, trying to jerk away, but his chin is held fast. The dagger is pulled away, leaving a sharply throbbing mark that's already dripping blood down his skin.

Carvaho steps back, staring down at the bloody blade for a moment. "...Right." He grabs the front of Grackle's shirt and pulls it forward, thrusting the dagger forward. Grackle jerks backwards, afraid he's about to be stabbed, but the blade just cuts down through the fabric, slicing the shirt open. Carvaho slices the hems apart and yanks the sides of the ruined garment aside. He stares at Grackle's torso a moment, no doubt taking in all the old scars, and promptly turns on his heel.

"Oh stars," he hears the merchant mutter, and Grackle feels himself relax a bit. This man was so soft that he couldn't handle a few old wounds? He can't imagine what he'd do if he saw his back. He snorts lightly through his nose.

Carvaho turns back to him, scowling. "Oh, is this funny to you now?" he demands. "I said I'd repay the pain you caused me, and I intend to!" He grips Grackle's shirt, holding it aside with a white-knuckled hand. The knife dances closer to his exposed body. Carvaho takes a deep breath and drags it down his ribs. Grackle winces, but it's no worse than other injuries he's had to endure. The knife shifts aside, and pulls down again, the movement steadier and more certain this time. Grackle cracks an eye open, and is chilled to see an emboldened look on the merchant's face.

"I wonder if it would be more effective for me to cut up your little sweetheart," Carvaho says, dragging the blade downwards again. Grackle's breath catches and he stares at him wide-eyed. "Oh, now there's the reaction I want!" The merchant grins, bringing the bloody dagger up to scrape on Grackle's jawline. "You really are attached to him." The blade bites into his skin, drawing forth more blood. "I didn't think a monster like you could feel anything, with all the killing you do. Is he your little pet?"

Grackle clenches his teeth, but says nothing. Hearing this man talk about Willow like this makes his blood boil, but there's nothing he can do about it now. Just bear with it, he reminds himself. Carvaho studies him a moment, then brings the dagger back down to his chest. "...Let's add to your scars."

The torture is silent from then on, broken only by a breathless gasp from Grackle when the blade cuts into a particularly sensitive spot. His chest stings from over a dozen long, shallow cuts and even more small wounds caused by flicks of the tip of the blade. The smell of blood and sweat saturates the air, and it's all Grackle can do to keep from sagging in his bonds. He slumps back against the post he's shackled to, hoping for it to end soon.

Carvaho steps back from him at last, and Grackle hears him breathing heavily. "I think you've had enough for today," he says, throwing the dagger to the floor with a clatter. He walks to the door and opens it, calling for a mercenary to return Grackle again.

Grackle doesn't fight as he's re-shackled and hooded again, though being flung over the mercenary's shoulder grates on his wounds and he lets out a weak cry of pain. He's flung back onto the hard mattress, and adding injury to injury, a kick is delivered to his gut. "That's for gettin' blood on my clothes," the mercenary says, before removing the hood and shackles and leaving.

He opens his eyes blearily and is greeted with Willow's face, eyes rapidly filling with tears as he sees the state Grackle's in. "Oh, Grackle..." Willow grabs one hand in both of his, squeezing gently. "I'll do my best to take care of you. Wait a minute." Grackle mumbles some vaguely assenting noise, and Willow stands, going over to the door.

"Excuse me, can I have some bandages?" Willow asks, pounding on the door. "I need to take care of him!" Silence answers; Willow pounds on it again. "Is anyone even there?"

The door pounds back, practically slamming. "Shut up in there," a muffled voice answers. "Just deal with it." Willow stands in silence for a moment, then returns to Grackle's side.

"I can do this anyway," Willow says. "I just need your shirt."

Grackle forces himself to sit up, removing the remains of his shirt before collapsing against the wall and closing his eyes. He hears fabric ripping, and then there's a stinging sensation as Willow gently dabs up what blood he can. Willow works quickly, murmuring reassurances and instructions to Grackle. "Just sit up for a second. You're doing really well. Can you hold this down for me?" Grackle follows his commands automatically, too tired to even consider otherwise. When he's done, he glances down to see the worst of his wounds wrapped up in the ruins of his shirt. It seems the smaller ones have already started to close.

Willow helps him settle down onto the mattress. "You try and sleep. I'll wake you when they bring food, alright?" Grackle nods, closing his eyes and shifting to rest his head in Willow's lap.

He tries to sleep, but some of Carvaho's words keep drifting through his mind. "...Willow," he whispers, unsure if his voice would even work again. He opens his eyes to see Willow look over in the dim light. "...Am I... a monster?"

"Stars, Grackle, no, of course not!" Willow reaches down to smooth his hair. "Did you choose to be an assassin?" Grackle shakes his head, leaning into Willow's touch. "And did you enjoy when you had to take lives?" He shakes his head again. "You had to do that because you didn't have a choice. You're not a monster."

Still feeling a bit miserable, Grackle, reaches up to hold Willow's hand. "Promise?"

Willow lifts the hand, pressing his lips to the back of it. "I promise."

---

Willow finds himself a bit disoriented when he wakes on his own the next morning (is it really morning? he can't tell in here), instead of by a sudden intrusion to take Grackle away again. He sighs softly and rubs his cheek against Grackle's forehead, glad his battered sweetheart finally gets a chance to sleep properly during their imprisonment.

His skin feels far too warm, though. Frowning, Willow disentangles himself from Grackle's clutch, bringing up a hand to press against his forehead. He's burning up. "Oh no," Willow murmurs, fear creeping into his heart. "Oh no, Grackle..." He pulls himself out of his arms fully, squinting through the gloom to get a better look at him. He brushes a thumb down Grackle's cheek, wiping away a sheen of sweat. Grackle doesn't awaken from the contact, either.

Willow pushes himself to his feet, swaying a bit; leaving most of the food for Grackle has left him feeling less than his best. He finds his way over to the door, pounding on it with his fist. "Is someone out there?" he calls. "We need some medicine! He's got a fever!" There's no answer. "Please, I'm a physician! I can tell you what we need!" There's no answer. Willow waits a few moments, holding his breath. "Is anyone there?"

There's no answer.

Ignoring the prickle of tears in his eyes, Willow returns to Grackle's side.

---

Grackle comes to awareness very slowly. He's warm, but too warm. His body feels heavy. His cuts are throbbing. He whines lowly, curling around himself. A soft hand caresses his cheek, and he sluggishly grasps it. "Hey," Willow whispers. "Don't try to move much. You have a really bad fever."

Fever? He opens his eyes to look up, and Willow swims into view next to him. "Some of your cuts must have gotten infected. I tried to ask for some medicine, but... nobody answered." He closes his eyes, pressing himself up against Willow. "I'll do my best to take care of you," the physician says. "But you're going to be miserable."

Miserable turns out to be an understatement. Hours later, Grackle is shivering violently, the air in the room chilling his over-warm body. Willow has wrapped him up in his arms, but the scant warmth can only do so much. His brain pops with small jolts of lightning whenever his eyes shift, or even at random. He longs for a real bed and real blankets. Willow murmurs soothing words to him, but he only understands about half the time.

When Willow leaves him for even brief moments, he cries out in weak protest, but can't even get up to try to pull him back. At some point, a cup of water is pressed to his lips, and he forces himself to swallow it. He can't muster an appetite for the stale bread, despite Willow's pleading. He drifts in and out of awareness, sometimes lucid enough to hear Willow telling some story. Just the sound of his voice helps, even if he's unable to really listen. At some point, he wakes to realize that Willow is asleep next to him again, arms and legs wrapped around his shivering body as much as possible. He presses his face into his chest and drifts off once more.

---

He feels worse the next time someone comes for him. He doesn't even put up a token resistance as he's hauled off the mattress, shackled, and hooded like before. He faintly hears Willow calling out in protest, but he can't understand the words.

Before he realizes it, he's tossed to the floor of the room from previous encounters with Carvaho. He shivers weakly in the too-cold air, hoping this time is at least quick so he can get back to Willow's warm grasp.

Someone grabs him by the throat and his eyes flutter open. Dimly he recognizes Carvaho's sneering face, speaking words that Grackle is too sick to understand. He feels lightheaded and can't tell if it's from his air being cut off or from the fever spiking. His eyes slide shut again and something strikes him hard across the face, rousing him painfully.

"--lieve how pathetic you are," he hears the merchant spit. "No fight in you anymore. I should just go ahead and kill that sweetheart of yours and turn you over for some proper justice."

Grackle struggles weakly at the mention of Willow, but all he can do to protest is to shake his head. "And how do you expect to stop me, the state you're in?" He's flung back onto the floor, a boot pressing down on his chest to pin him. "A caged bird like you is absolutely powerless."

He dimly hears the door open, crashing into the wall. Carvaho shifts, managing to sputter "What do you th--" before something cuts him off with a strangled cry. His heels click unsteadily before he comes crashing down, landing across Grackle.

Someone picks him up. He smells leather and blood, and instantly leans into his savior's muscular arms. "Willow," he croaks. "Down the... hall..."

Willow is at his side already, cupping his face in his hands. "I'm here," he says. "They got me first." Grackle relaxes, eyes sliding shut.

Willow strokes his head gently, then looks up at Jackdaw as one of the other Blackbirds frees Grackle from the shackles. "He needs medical attention right now," he says. "Can we do that before we get out of here?" Jackdaw nods, shifting Grackle to hold him more comfortably. "I don't know if they'll have everything I need here, but can you look?" Jackdaw nods again.

They find a spare bedroom, one that doesn't have a dead merchant or mercenary in it, and Grackle is lowered onto the mattress. "Look for echinacea--coneflower," Willow instructs, quickly covering Grackle up with the blankets. "If they have a medicine cabinet, it should be labeled. Feverfew or willow bark will work if they don't have coneflower. I need bandages, some clean cloth, and a pitcher of water." The gathered assassins scatter, leaving Willow with one he doesn't recognize. "What's your name?"

"Raven," she answers. "How can I help?"

Willow smiles. "Raven. If they find the herbs I need, can you make a tea of them?" She nods. "Thank you."

The supplies are gathered, and Willow gets right to work, first cleaning Grackle's cuts with a soaked towel while Raven makes echinacea tea. He re-wraps the wounds in proper bandages, then sits Grackle up with Jackdaw's help and gets him to gulp down the tea, along with a cup of water. He still seems delirious and largely unresponsive, but being surrounded and helped by familiar people appears to help.

With the emergency treatment taken care of, Willow instructs the Blackbirds to bundle Grackle up in some blankets before carrying him outside. They emerge into the heat of the day, Willow taking great care to avoid looking at the slain mercenaries along the way. "Let's get him home," he says, following Jackdaw as she carries Grackle into the carriage they'd arrived in. "How did you find us, anyway?"

"The clinic hired an investigator," Raven says, settling on a bench as Willow positions himself near Grackle. "Hound. He tracked them here, and we..." She shrugs. "We were pissed."

Willow smiles tiredly. "Well, thank you for coming after us. I don't know if Grackle would've..." His voice catches, and he swallows hard. "If he'd have made it."

Raven doesn't answer, but she doesn't have to as the two stragglers clamber into the back, one holding a heavy, jingling sack. "Magpie!" she scolds.

"He's not gonna use it!" Magpie protests, before shooting a guilty look at Willow. "Er..."

"Nobody will hear of it from me," Willow says, turning back to Grackle.

Jackdaw sighs from the driver's seat and snaps the reins, urging the mules forward.

---

They stop for the night hours later, after they're well clear of the town. Jackdaw and Magpie set up a couple tents, and Raven sets to boiling some more tea for Grackle. Willow stays with him in the carriage, accepting some soup and tea from Raven once the food is ready. "Grackle?" he whispers, brushing a thumb down the side of his face. "Wake up, there's food."

Grackle makes a low whining noise, but does open his eyes after a moment. Being bundled up in the blankets has eased his chill, but he still looks very unwell. Willow helps him to sit, giving him a mug of steaming tea to drink before helping him with half a bowl of soup. "We should be home tomorrow," Willow assures him as he rearranges himself to bunch up against Willow. "We'll have a real bed, and nobody will tear you away from me like that anymore." Grackle makes a miserable noise low in his throat, squeezing his eyes shut. Willow rearranges the blankets to cover the both of them and wraps an arm around Grackle's shoulders, hugging him close. His shivers abate somewhat, surrounded by the warmth.

Willow leans over, pressing a kiss to his damp forehead. "Get some rest. I'll be here when you wake up." Grackle sighs, nuzzling into Willow's shoulder and mumbling a 'goodnight' before falling into slumber.

#willow and grackle #my writing #whump #hurt/comfort #torture

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spinosaurusdex · 6 years

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Willow and Grackle: Road Trip (Bad)

Read on AO3

Grackle feels really happy for the first time.

"I offered civility," the speaker says with a shrug. "Get 'im."

"Not mine," Grackle assures him, shedding his jacket so he won't get blood on Willow when the physician runs over to hug him tight. "Got attacked."

---

He hears footsteps behind them; one pair, then two, then four, all very quick. Heart pounding, he grips Willow's hand tightly and whispers, "Run."

Someone grabs at him from behind, but he yanks away before they get a chance to close their hand. He finds Willow again and pulls him close, blindly sidestepping. "Willow??"

"Don't hurt him!" Grackle says desperately, trying to escape his captor. "Don't!"

"Right," the voice says. "Let's go, lads." Someone clubs Grackle on the back of his head. He staggers forward, what's left of his vision turning black.

---

Grackle bits back panic. He's been restrained before. He can handle it. He--

A hand touching his head startles him and he jerks away. "Grackle, it's me," Willow whispers, voice muffled by the cloth. "I-I saw you moving."

---

"Someone's definitely noticed us missing by now," Willow says after he's settled Grackle up against his side. "I bet we'll be rescued before long."

He eventually falls into an uneasy sleep, wishing he could wrap his arms around Willow just for the night.

---

He's alone. He doesn't know for how long.

He eventually relents, though guilt eats at him more than hunger would have. Once the tray is clear of crumbs, he tries to calm himself down enough to assess the situation.

The room is barren. The only furniture is the mattress and a chamber pot. The door is locked from the outside, and there are no windows. The walls are a solid stucco, and the stone is floor. The only tools at their disposal are some scratchy rope, a hood, a tray, and two empty ceramic cups. His daggers and other weapons and tools were taken away, probably before they even put him on the wagon.

He's tired. He'll try to come up with an escape plan tomorrow. "Do you wanna try to sleep?" Willow asks. "We can push the mattress into a corner if you'd feel safer..."

---

"That's what the informant said," a second voice answers. "And maybe they're not all this weak. Just disappointing that this is the one he wants."

Some time later, he's dimly aware of two people speaking. "I'm done with him," the merchant says. "Get him out of my sight."

---

He shoves all thought aside and tries to fall back asleep.

---

"Excuse me, can I have some bandages?" Willow asks, pounding on the door. "I need to take care of him!" Silence answers; Willow pounds on it again. "Is anyone even there?"

The door pounds back, practically slamming. "Shut up in there," a muffled voice answers. "Just deal with it." Willow stands in silence for a moment, then returns to Grackle's side.

"I can do this anyway," Willow says. "I just need your shirt."

Willow helps him settle down onto the mattress. "You try and sleep. I'll wake you when they bring food, alright?" Grackle nods, closing his eyes and shifting to rest his head in Willow's lap.

Still feeling a bit miserable, Grackle, reaches up to hold Willow's hand. "Promise?"

Willow lifts the hand, pressing his lips to the back of it. "I promise."

---

There's no answer.

Ignoring the prickle of tears in his eyes, Willow returns to Grackle's side.

---

"--lieve how pathetic you are," he hears the merchant spit. "No fight in you anymore. I should just go ahead and kill that sweetheart of yours and turn you over for some proper justice."

Someone picks him up. He smells leather and blood, and instantly leans into his savior's muscular arms. "Willow," he croaks. "Down the... hall..."

Willow is at his side already, cupping his face in his hands. "I'm here," he says. "They got me first." Grackle relaxes, eyes sliding shut.

"Raven," she answers. "How can I help?"

Willow smiles. "Raven. If they find the herbs I need, can you make a tea of them?" She nods. "Thank you."

"The clinic hired an investigator," Raven says, settling on a bench as Willow positions himself near Grackle. "Hound. He tracked them here, and we..." She shrugs. "We were pissed."

Willow smiles tiredly. "Well, thank you for coming after us. I don't know if Grackle would've..." His voice catches, and he swallows hard. "If he'd have made it."

Raven doesn't answer, but she doesn't have to as the two stragglers clamber into the back, one holding a heavy, jingling sack. "Magpie!" she scolds.

"He's not gonna use it!" Magpie protests, before shooting a guilty look at Willow. "Er..."

"Nobody will hear of it from me," Willow says, turning back to Grackle.

Jackdaw sighs from the driver's seat and snaps the reins, urging the mules forward.

---

#willow and grackle #whump #hurt/comfort #long post

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amoristt · 7 years

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Watching Angels | Nathan x Reader

disclaimer: i know nathan is not a good person. i am not putting a blanket over his actions in this fic. i, the writer, understand he’s not an innocent character and has made many terrible choices. im just answering people’s requests, please dont put me under the fire for it.

thank you.

Anonymous Asked: fic where reader is new to blackwell and nathan becomes infatuated with them, but he intimidates then so they stay away?

i accidentally deleted this anon but i re-wrote it to the best of my memory! either way, here you go, enjoy!

reblogs/tags and replies will make my entire day as i put a lot of effort into this :)!

story continues beneath the read more. let me know if you can’t access it!

Watching Angels

Amidst the partially one sided conversation he was involved in, Nathan’s mind was roaring per usual. Victoria tried to help him in the best ways she knew how; trying to distract him with jokes and gossip, but today it seemed that wouldn’t be enough. She watched his pensive expression while she still continued to talk about some underclassmen he really couldn’t care about and hoped it would elicit some sort of response but unfortunately nothing came. She wasn’t entirely surprised, however, and just sighed in defeat knowing he wouldn’t notice.

She also wasn’t surprised when Nathan stood up from the benches they were relaxing on and shoved his hands into his pockets, ducking his head down to his shoulders like he was trying to shield himself away from all the students around them involved in their own events. Victoria raised her hand to block out the sun as he told her he was just going to head back to him dorm, he wasn’t feeling well.

Knowing she couldn’t, and shouldn’t argue against him she just nodded and let her hands fall back onto her lap. “I’ll see you tomorrow, then.” she said as he turned. “I’ll text you later on.”

As he walked past the dispersed students Nathan couldn’t help but feel like every single pair of eyes were on him. Eyes are attracted to movement, he reminded himself as he subconsciously sped up. They aren’t staring at you. But he knew they always were. Eyes were always on him, rather it be students, that dickhead Madison, or the ass backwards Principle Wells. Of course Nathan had leverage as to not get bothered but he still hated the feeling entirely, and most times, it pissed him off, had him lashing out at everyone who so much as waved to him. Of course he’d regret it later on and wonder if he should apologize but an ‘im sorry’ most likely would never see the light of day. It just wasn’t in his character. Wasn’t his style.

Just before he entered the building to his dorms he saw something in the corner of his eyes. Like everyone else, he was attracted to the movement, and his head turned. All at once everything seemed to come to some sort of stop, even the howling thoughts in the back of his head.

You were leaning against the brick walls, phone in hand, occasionally glancing up from it to take a look around as though you were waiting for someone.

Frozen with his hand still reached out towards the handle Nathan didn’t move, undoubtedly staring at you and for some reason just taking in your appearance. ___ hair, ___ eyes, your outfit simple but fitting you so well. He didn’t know what it was that was so capturing but he couldn’t look away until you turned, eyes meeting his, and his stomach dropped. For a moment he didn’t do anything, he felt like a deer in the headlights, and it only strengthened when you offered him a hesitant wave. The oblivious, innocent gesture meant one thing. You had no idea who he was.

Instead of acting like a normal person and waving back he blinked himself free of his trance and threw the door open, completely ignoring your greeting and hauling into the building. The moment he was inside he felt oddly shielded, for some reason at ease knowing you couldn’t see him anymore. The ease wasn’t out of fear, however.

Nathan didn’t know what it was. Something about you ate at him the entire way to his dorm and well into the evening, and even as he clicked off his lamp at 4 am you were still on his mind. He wanted to know you. He wanted to know your name, your favorite color, everything about you. Why he did was the biggest question he had, however, and it too eroded away the walls he’d placed all around himself. He rolled over on his bed, holding a pillow tight to his chest, and frowned. Why were you so special to him? You were just as average as everyone else in Blackwill, but at the same time you were so much more.

He felt like if you asked he would cave into you and spill every single secret he had, and this feeling fucking scared him. It struck him that you, having not done anything at all save for exist, made him fear.

Even days after he’d saw you that first time you were still on his mind. Though he wanted to avoid you like the plague he also seemed to subconsciously search for you face in a crowd of people, wondering where you were and what you were doing.

Nathan had hoped if he avoided you and made sure to keep any and all contact minimal that you would cease bothering him but if anything it made it worse. The less he saw of you the more he wondered, the more he questioned. What were your friends like? Would you ever consider Nathan to be friend? Had you yet learned about his reputation, and if so would that bother you?

Scenarios littered his mind and played out like story books. Some good, where he’d befriend you and learn, and others bad, where you would tell him to leave you alone and stop obsessing over you. These were the thoughts that bothered him the most but then again they were entirely farfetched- you had no way of knowing you were constantly on his mind with how he made sure you two did not cross paths. He still didn’t even know your name, but then again maybe that was best.

Still, despite his efforts to keep away he sometimes would see you from the corners of his eyes, just like he had the first time. You were almost always alone- either on your phone, reading, or sometimes just leaning back with your earbuds in. He wondered what type of music you liked, and then remembered you weren’t supposed to capturing him anymore. It made him feel a sense of weakness, or maybe even shame, to know that even without meaning to he found himself wanting to talk to you about anything and everything. Sometimes he could barely even bring himself to chat with his best friend, so what was it about you that made him want to be right there, talking about mundane things that no one should even care about. Things that he shouldn’t care about.

When he saw you afterclass one day he had to fight himself down from taking a photo of you. His camera shook in his hands while he watched you sit against a thick tree, eyes downcast and mind probably enveloped in whatever book you were reading. The sun was starting to set thanks to shortening days (Blackwell never got much of a winter) and so your figure was outlined with gold while the leaves above head shadowed you perfectly, the small specks of light peeking through and dancing atop your skin. You’d make such an excellent model, Nathan thought to himself. You had no much potential.

In successfully biting back his want to take pictures of you he was quick to abandon the scene before he could second guess himself, and thankfully before you could look up from your story and see him standing there like a statue, staring right at you. How embarrassing that would have been on his part.

Along with wanting to know everything there was about you, Nathan also at times envied you. You always looked content, so at peace and down to earth. You’d pet over the grass you sat upon, lean your head back and take in deep breaths of air. From what he’d seen you were on good terms with almost everyone. Classmates smiled and waved to you as they passed and you’d do so right back, and each time he got to witness your harmless smile he’d feel his shoulders ease up just a moment. You had such an effect on him without even trying, and part of him wished he could be like you, just spending your days relaxing and watching. Never bothered, never hateful, always taking in everything around you, a stark contrast to Nathan himself who lived like a wildfire. Almost everything he did was spontaneous, loud, and angry, never regal. He never felt safe whereas you could sleep under a willow tree without a care in the world.

Nathan scoffed to himself as a beaten and bruised phrased swept through his mind. Opposites attract.

The next time he saw you he wasn’t able to stop himself taking a photo. It was a weekend and he was out on his own for the evening, spending a large portion of his day in the more wooded parts of Blackwell when he saw you again. Like a good omen you were as soft as ever, crossing over a log that connected a shallow stream. Just like those few days ago the sunset outlined the play of your figure and with all the scenery the shot was too good to be true. Before he could wonder what you were doing out in the woods alone he pulled out his camera, fingering at the button he’d grown so familiar with, and with just one click he realized you were going to be with him wherever he went now. Of course he couldn’t use this for any type of contest but then again he didn’t want to. This photo was for his eyes, and his eyes only. Exploiting you was the last thing he wanted, and it was an odd feeling to know that he wanted to keep you safe and out of danger. That’s why, he decided, he would never befriend you.

For a time in knowing keeping himself at a distance would keep you out of any harms way, he was at ease. He’d still see you from time to time and those moments would light him up for the rest of that day, and dreams of holding you would still eat away at his decision, but ultimately you being alive and happy would overcome any urges of confrontation. Sometime’s he’d bully himself for growing so soft over a stranger.

Sitting at his school desk in silence, waiting for a reply on his phone while the teacher lectured the class, once again Nathan’s mind wandered to you. He wondered what you were doing again, if you were bored, if you had made any friends yet or if you just prefered to be alone. He would understand if you did- most of the kids here were assholes. They’d take advantage of you, they’d use you just like the lot would use him when given the chance. He wanted to protect you from that, to show that you can do better than anyone else. He wanted to show you that he could be the person who gives you solace, and he wanted to show you that if there was someone worthy of your affection in the school it was him. But then he’d remember who he was, and that was all it took to make him stop.

When the bell rang and students routinely packed up their papers and binders, Nathan instead opted to sitting for a few more moments. He was tired, it had been a long day, and he knew the teacher wouldn't say shit. His phone vibrated, Victoria’s name lighting up, and he decided to finally leave the room. He packed his things half assedly, not caring if the papers squashed or bent, and wordlessly left the room. Most of the hall had cleared out by now except for a few teens hanging around their locker, so without looking both directions he slipped from the doorway and ended up slamming directly into another student passing along all the lockers. Given his size, just like the other person he hit the floor and fell back on his ass, but sooner than them he was back on his feet and fuming.

“Watch where you’re fucking going!” He shouted, roughly shoving his bag back onto his shoulder. The person he’d collided with scrambled to pack up all their papers and notebooks that went sliding over the tile flooring, all the while apologizing over and over again.

“I’m so sorry,” they repeated, and for a moment Nathan’s eyes narrowed at the familiar tone. He swallowed when he really gave the person a good look over, their ___ hair leaving his eyes widening. When they looked up at him, face red with embarrassment and eyes watering with both fear and shame, he felt his stomach roll in his gut.

It was you.

You looked at him, silent now, and for a moment you two just stared at one another. All the things he wanted to say to you bubbled to his throat but he swallowed them back down when you took in his features before looking back down, mumbling apologies and how you weren’t looking where you were going. In an instant you were back on your feet, clutching your things to your chest, and racing past him without daring to look up. He wanted to chase after you, even turning as you left and watching you disappear with regret in his heart. All the scenarios he’d made in his head, all the wonderful conversations you could have had for the first time, crumbled. Instead of it being happy and peaceful, your first meeting was something you were going to likely never want to think about again. He would be a bad memory in the back of your head.

A teen who’d been at his locker, who’d seen the whole thing, watched her go. His head turned to follow her as she passed him, a crude laugh leaving his throat, and for a moment Nathan wanted to rip it out.

“Be quiet.” He growled, and the student did in an instant. He went silent and turned back to his locker as though he hadn’t seen a thing.

Nathan, however, wanted to scream. He wanted to find you and apologize over and over, say that he wasn’t thinking and he never meant to yell at you of all people, but how would that sound? Up until this moment you’d never met him, so you’d be confused as to why you were different than any other kid on campus. How could he explain that you’re constantly on his mind? He’d terrify you more than he already had. He wondered if he could make it up to you, show you that he means no harm, but if there was something Nathan didn’t have it was the ability to make someone feel safe, not to mention showing his love. If love was even the right word for it.

Instead of borderline hunting you down, making you feel like an animal caught in a corner, he bit so hard at the inside of his cheek the skin sliced. He walked away from the scene with blood in his mouth and his hands clenched so tight his knuckles whitened.

___.

That was your name.

He’d heard it in a whisper in the back of the class, one that he hardly ever paid attention in. Two of his classmates talked back and forth about countless subjects that Nathan couldn't care less about but the minute he heard a name he knew it was you.

“Have you met ___ yet?”

His fingers, moving rapid fire over the keyboard on his phone, came to a dead halt.

“Nah, have you?”

Nathan leaned back on his chair and stared down at his lap.

“Yeah. Kind of weird, but overall cool.”

Oh, how Nathan wanted to whip around in his chair. He wanted to demand the kid tell him everything there was to know about ___. Did they share classes, have they hung out, what type of people were you attracted towards. Everything. But, instead, he just continued to sit there, unmoving even well after the subject had been changed. His phone turned off due to inactivity but he didn’t notice, entirely lost in thought about you and the things he desperately wanted to know. He wanted to open you like a book, read all the fine print, take note of the contradictions and all the pieces of you that fell into place. He didn’t understand why of all the people in his life it was you that drove him up a wall, but it was.

At the end of class it had begun to rain, the droplets tapping at the window endlessly. Like before Nathan didn’t leave until the classroom was virtually empty and instead just leaned back in his chair for a few longer moments. Even with the dark clouds rolling in overhead and the rain as heavy as lead, all he could think about was how you’d look under the open sky, soaked to the bone and smiling. In his mind you were smiling, anyways. He could picture it in his head- you with a heavy raincoat, mindlessly wandering around as though it were a bright and sunny Saturday morning. He wanted to take photos of you with rain dripping down your face, and no matter how greyed out his pictures were the color in your eyes would always stay.

His fingers itched to grab his camera and find you, and he almost did. He leaped up from his chair and threw his bag over his shoulder, his sudden movements making the teacher jump at her desk. He was gone in a few seconds flat and just before he walked out of the classroom’s door he looked both directions, hoping to see you. He’d grab your hand and apologize in a heartbeat. But, you were nowhere to be seen. He made his way through the hallways of the school, moving slower than usual in hopes of maybe catching a glimpse of you in some other area. He tucked his camera into his bag when he reached the front door, knowing you had already gone to your dorm for the day.

Normally Nathan couldn’t care less about the world around him, much less the rain. He’d step right out into the storm and not worry one bit about his school bag getting drenched, but this time he did. His camera was in there, and though he knew he could just get another, it struck him he had the only copy of a very important photo in there, and he couldn’t lose it just from the rain. Seeing his car in the parking lot, he bit at the same spot in his cheek he’d split earlier, and in a strong dash sprinted to his truck, where he threw the doors open and then shoved himself inside. The minute he was shielded from the pelting rain he ripped open his backpack, pulling his camera and turning it on. When the logo flashed and the item powered up Nathan felt like he could breathe again. It was safe, and therefore the photo of you was too. You were still with him.

He didn’t drive anywhere in particular, mind both full and empty at the same time. He’d visit Victoria, maybe smoke a little if he was feeling it. She’d ask him why he was acting off as of late and Nathan wouldn’t tell her because he knows how she is- if he told her about you she would be on your ass in an instant. He’d just say it because of his dad again and she would buy it in an instant. She knew how his dad was.

Before he made his way to his friend’s house Nathan took a quick pit stop at one of the local stores nearby, hopping out of his car and leaving his things inside. He shoved open the doors and quickly made a B-line straight for the alcohol section. A few adults side eyed him but didn’t speak up, instead just going about their business. His mind was hazy and lagging behind but he managed to grab a bottle that he somewhat recognized and made his way to the register but something stopped him.

You were there.

He stopped dead in his tracks and even though he couldn’t see your face he knew it was you. Your hair, the clothes. He realized that somehow despite being a stranger still he could tell your style of out-wear. You were at the candy aisle, staring down at the many different selections. He wanted to ask you what your favorite kind was and buy you 20 of them, but opted to instead just standing there. When you suddenly turned around without grabbing anything he was so caught off guard that he didn’t have time to dodge your line of sight and dip back behind the racks of food, and when your eyes met that same expression of fear took over.

“Oh shit,” you mumbled as though you were in trouble. “Sorry.”

He had no idea what you were apologizing for but he shrugged anyways, taking his advance and stepping into the aisle. You were thrown off and took a step back, eyeing him with uncertainty. In turn Nathan didn’t come closer.

“You like candy?” He asked, rubbing the back of his neck. He’d die if his classmates ever saw him being this bashful, this strained and awkward. It left a weird feeling in his stomach to not be blowing up at someone but he didn’t want to scare you again.

You just shifted your weight and nodded a few times. “Yeah.” You looked at him then the bottle he was carrying, eyes narrowing for a moment.

He nodded too and stared at the floor, about to say something else before you moved to grab a random candy bar without looking at it. Before he suggest that he’d buy it for you in hopes of mending some sort of ties you pushed it up on the counter and shoved a five at the cashier. “Keep the change.” you said quickly, leaving without looking back.

Nathan lurked for a few more minutes so that he could mentally beat himself up before handing the cashier a ten, tauntingly shaking the bottle in his hands and leaving knowing the seller wouldn’t say shit about him and his underage drinking. Part of him wanted to see you outside so he could try to talk to you again but you were nowhere to be seen. With the rain still falling he hoped you lived close by.

His mind was as tired as it was when he’d first walked in but that didn’t stop him from cracking open his drink and taking a long chug. When he tossed the cap of his drink into the garbage can his heart sank. Your candy bar sitting unopened at the top of the pile of trash.

One gulp after another, Nathan climbed back into his car and didn’t bother to check both ways while he pulled out.

Over the course of a week it seemed like you had fallen off the face of the earth. Your name didn’t float through the halls, you didn’t bump into kids walking out of their classes, and you didn’t rest in obscure places looking like an angel. The lengths you were going to avoid talking or even seeing Nathan was beyond him, and it hurt. It actually hurt him, something he didn’t think was possible. For a time it pissed him off, made him want to hate you because he didn’t know what to do with the emotions pooling his gut, but then he realized it wasn’t possible. No matter how hard he tried he couldn’t hate you, not when he could see you in the back of his head still. Not when he pinned that photo of you on his wall in plain sight. You were too pretty to hate, he thought.

Subconsciously he scouted you out, eyes scanning over the waves of students in hopes of seeing you. Sometimes when someone had the same color hair he’d catch sight of them, heart lifting, only to drop back down when they’d turn to look back at him. Suddenly everyone who wasn’t you were so ugly.

It hurt him to understand that among all the different thoughts in his head, one was persistent. He missed you. He missed seeing your face, missed imaging all the expressions you were capable of making. He wanted to capture every last emotion, every last pull of your lips and brows. He wanted it all, but you didn’t want him. You were terrified of him, and it was all his fault. The fruit of all his labor was crushed by just a few words: watch where you’re fucking going. Oh, how they haunted him. How he wished he could take them back. He would break his entire persona if it mean forgiveness- no matter how much pride he had. That scared him, too, how he was willing to throw away his pride for someone he’d barely talked to. Nathan knew, deep down, that it was wrong of him but he couldn’t stop. You clung to his mind like oil on fur.

You were destroying him to the point where even though you deliberately hid from him, he sometimes swore he could see you. Sometimes it would be underneath the shadows built from leaves, sometimes it would be leaning against walls. Sometimes he thought he saw you in the passenger seat of a car he’d never seen before, and sometimes he thought he saw you in buildings through glossy, foggy windows. He saw you everywhere like a thirsty man saw a river, or a starving man saw a deer.

When he saw you again, driving in the rain and debating pulling the steering wheel for the hell of it, you didn’t disappear before him. You weren’t a ghost, a figure composed of shadows and want. He hit the brakes faster than his mind could register it.

You were sitting atop a block of cinder beneath a tree, it’s branches extending out, covering you from the rain. Despite having little to no cover than what the scattered leaves offered you didn’t seem bothered one bit, even looking up and closing your eyes as water dripped down the sides of your face and onto your shoulder. The peace in your expression, in your body language, made Nathan lean back in his seat and actually take a breath. You were so relaxed even in high winds and heavy rains, almost comfortable.

This was his chance.

He rolled down his window and swallowed, his throat dry when he tried to shout. “Hey!”

He would make up for the shit he did to you.

That serenity was broken, and you opened your eyes and looked at him through the rain. He hated the expression that the happiness was replaced with- fear. You were uncertain of Nathan, and rightfully so. You sat up straight and picked your bag up, nervously fidgeting with the keychains you had on your zippers.

“Do you need a ride or something?” Nathan asked, leaning forward to get a better look at you through the open window. You looked left, then right, before hesitantly standing. The look on your face was less than pleased, and if anything you were likely scared of getting into the vehicle with him. At this point you must have heard the rumors- about what Nathan had been doing with girls as of late. Still, you reached out, grabbed the door handle and cast him a wary look before opening it and jumping inside.

When the door shut you looked at him through the corners of your eyes, and he leaned forward with his arms on the steering wheel.

“Um, thanks.” you said hesitantly, tucking your school bag down by your feet. “Sorry I’m getting everything all wet.”

“It’s fine.” He replied, leaning back against seat and looking out his own window, trying to stay as casual as possible. The silence that took over was deafening but at the same time his heart was beating a mile a minute in his ears. You were right next to him, acknowledging him, and for once being seen felt all too good, even if he could see how unnerved you were. Your fingers played with the hem of your shirt, body tense with unease. You were afraid of him.

Nathan licked at his lips and looked in the rear view mirror before settling his foot back on the gas peddle, rolling the window back up.

“So,” He said, “Where are you going?”

“Just to my dorm. I was uh… I was gonna outwait the storm.”

Nodding, he pressed at the gas and made a U-turn. As if scared of the car instead of the person driving you held the small handle on your side of the door, still not looking up at him.

“Do you not have any friends to pick you up?” He asked, wishing his voice wasn’t so naturally harsh in comparison to yours.

You shook your head. “I haven't gotten around to making very many friends.”

“Everyone likes you, though.” As soon as he spoke Nathan his eyes widened, forgetting that you didn’t know he’d been watching you. You didn’t seem to notice, or if you did you didn’t say anything, still looking down at your lap.

You did, however, breathe a small laugh that made his face heat up. The feeling made him frown at himself. “I’m on good terms with a lot of people but as for friends…” you sighed. “I left them all back at home.”

“You’d make friends easy here. They’re all easy to please.”

“What about you?”

Nathan narrowed his eyes on confusion and tried to fight off his oncoming menacing tone. “Meaning?”

“Are you easy to please?”

Nathan opened his mouth to answer but found he didn’t know what to say. He wanted to tell you no, that he wasn’t like the rest of the idiots, but then again all it took was one look at you for him to fall practically head over heels. Not only that, but just sitting in the car with you, talking, would be enough to keep him content for weeks. When he found he had no idea what to answer with, he just changed the subject entirely with a small shake of his head.

“Why’d you chose Blackwell?” He asked. The rain was hard to see through as he drove but Nathan, for once in his life, had no problem with taking it slow. It gave him more time to ask you the questions he’d been dying to know for weeks.

You noted this topic hop but didn’t question it, looking out the window. “Not sure. My friend knew someone going here and I checked it out- the school’s not bad and I’ve been wanting to get away from home anyways.” Finally starting to warm up you leaned back in your seat, shoulders rolling before you relaxed. “Do you like it here?”

Nathan scoffed. “Yeah, I’m all about phony hipsters and wanna-be artists.”

Instead of being off-put by his attitude, you laughed, and once again he felt heat in his cheeks. It made his heart flutter to know you had laughed because of him. His words. It felt like some sort of progress.

“Why do you stay, then?” You asked suddenly, and he took in a breath of thought. Of course the answer was obvious, but if by now you didn’t know who the Prescotts were the last thing he wanted to do was make you painfully aware of how they seemed to own the entire town. Usually his last name was a weapon, but at that moment Nathan wished he was someone else.

“My dad.”

“Does he work here?”

Nathan felt his grip tighten around the steering wheel at the thought of his father. “Yeah.” He mumbled through gritted teeth.

Taking note of his anger, you grew uneasy in your seat again. That same hesitant expression made him want to run.

“Everything alright?”

He didn’t answer, not wanting to think about his father anymore. This was his second chance, the last thing he wanted was to scare you off with his explosive anger again. you just nodded shallowly before looking down to examine your hands, eyes unfocused but unsure where to settle.

You’re ruining it, He thought to himself. You’re scaring her again.

Nathan swallowed, shook his head, forced himself out of the mindset no matter how much it eroded him. Instead he tried to take the conversation elsewhere.

“You like the rain, don’t you?” Painfully aware at how stupid the question was, Nathan bit at the inside of his cheek. It throbbed but he didn’t let up. Thankfully it seemed like you were fairly easy to talk to, taking the bait and shrugging.

“From afar.” You stared out your window almost longingly. “It’s pretty when you’re inside, but I don’t really like to get wet.”

“You looked pretty happy.”

You rose a brow at him. “You were watching me?”

“What? No!” Nathan huffed, cheeks heating. “I’m not some creepy stalker, okay?” The irony in his statement almost made his chest hurt.

You, however, giggled. “I know. I’m just giving you a hard time.”

He exhaled sharply, trying to calm his nerves. This conversation felt like a rollercoaster, and your twists and turns were all new to him. However talking to you, person to person rather than him intimidating you, was nice. It felt casual… Calm. He began to understand how you were on good terms with everybody, and once again he felt just a little tinge of jealously. He wished he could be as warm as you were. He wished he could be half the person you were.

“Thanks for the ride.” You suddenly said, and Nathan realized that he hadn’t been paying attention to the road but his instincts were strong enough to lead him to the parking lot. You leaned forward and grabbed your bag, lifting it onto your lap as he turned into the lot and parked in front of the doors so you could avoid as much rain as possible. When you looked back at him, smiling, he wanted to reach out and stop from pulling open the door. He wanted you to stay, he hadn’t learned enough about you yet. This was his shot to finally get his answers and he wasted a majority of it pissed off.

When you jumped out of the car he really felt like he’d missed his chance, but then you turned around as if getting wet all over again didn’t mean a thing to you. You smiled at him.

“Thanks,” You shouted over the roar of the rain. “We should do this again sometime.” Nathan felt his heart flip in his chest, hands gripping harshly at the steering wheel. He stared at you, not knowing what to say, but thankfully you continued on before he could. “I’m ___, by the way.”

I know that, Nathan thought to himself, but he didn’t dare let you know he already knew who you were. “I’m Na-”

“Nathan, I know. You know, you’re not as scary as I thought you were.” You said with a sheepish grin. His heart rolled again, and for a moment he feared that you knew about him and his family, but then he recalled that you had no idea who his father was. He also feared maybe you heard the rumors about him, or possibly got his name during the times he’d scared you, but the look on your face told him otherwise. You seemed interested in him, bag over your shoulder and rain dripping down your face. You didn’t fear him like a stray fears a stranger.

“Well,” you breathed. “Thanks again, see you later!”

Then you were gone, shutting the door and bounding for the dormitories, hauling inside to escape the downpour. For a moment Nathan just sat there unmoving in his seat, a wide array of emotions running through him. He was so happy at the thought of seeing you again, but at the same time fear of involving you in darker matters weighed him down. He was stuck between getting what he wanted and actually caring about your well-being, which was something Nathan was very unfamiliar with.

When he finally pressed back at the pedal and drove off to burn his gas going nowhere in particular, he thought about your face seconds before you’d left him to run inside. Your hair was flat and dripping, clothes heavy and soaked. Your bag was in no better shape and for a moment he wondered if you’d ruined your things. He would buy you ten times what had been ruined.

One thing, however, stuck out to him the most.

With the rain beading and racing down your face, dripping down your chin and a smile on your lips, you were as breathtaking as he had imagined you’d be. However this time he didn’t feel the need to capture it in a photo, your words of wanting to see him again ringing in his ears.

For the first time in weeks Nathan felt something in his chest, an absence of a feeling he’d lived with his whole life. With you still fresh in his mind, the hurt stopped.

#nathan prescott #nathan prescott x reader #life is strange before the storm #life is strange #imaginefictionals

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