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not-close-to-straight · 4 years

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Lost and Found (Five)

MASTERLIST HERE

*****************

“Tones!” Colonel James Rhodes had been issued a passcode to the lab doors the day Tony had them installed, but since JARVIS always knew when he was coming, it had been actual years since Rhodey had bothered to even type the code in. “Tony? What are you doing?”

“Hey.” Tony was across the lab staring down at the open doors of his compactor and what was apparently an unexpected pile of trash. “It’s the weirdest thing, Rhodey. I’m almost positive I had a chair last night. This morning, no chair.”

“You’ve got nine different chairs in here, Tony.” the Colonel picked his way through the myriad of tables and aforementioned chairs to get to Tony’s side. “What’s the harm in one going missing? I’ve seen you misplace entire pieces of furniture before, this isn’t anything new.”

“I’ve told you at least eighteen times I have no idea how your favorite couch fell off the back of the moving truck and ended up in my bedroom.” Tony wrinkled his nose and grinned. “Scouts honor.”

“Fuck you and that couch.” Rhodey slung an arm around Tony’s shoulders and pulled him in for a side hug. “What are you working on today?”

“Arm things.” Tony inclined his head towards the displays filled with list after list of schematics, some of James’s implant and reconstructive surgery, the others with data from the arm he had built and proposed changes to make it into a viable limb for the ex soldier. “Suit things. All the new and improved ways I can piss off the Senate to make sure my face remains plastered all over the news and tabloids for the next six--” three. “--months.”

“Tony.” Rhodey’s disapproval face outmatched even Pepper’s. “Maybe we try not to piss off the Senate, huh? They do sort of run the country, you know.”

“Speaking of the Senate.” Tony ignored the warning with the same sort of smile he’d ignored all the other ones. “Don’t you have a committee meeting to be at? Not that I’m not happy to see you, but you hate being late anywhere.”

“I’m not late yet.” The Colonel said calmly, pointedly. “And the meeting I’m supposed to be at is actually a meeting we are supposed to be at and the plane for D.C. leaves in an hour. Put on some non grease smeared clothing and let’s go.”

“This isn’t grease, it’s chocolate.” Tony pointed to the large splotch on his t-shirt. “There was a hot chocolate related incident the last time I had one of the Maxim girls over and there’s too much nostalgia wrapped up in the shirt to bother washing it.”

“That’s--” Rhodey made a face. “God, Tony. That’s too much information for at least six different reasons. Go put some non Maxim affected clothing and wash you face.”

“Probably not bad advice an any account.” Tony agreed, but then- “Rhodey. I’m not going to D.C.”

“The hell you aren’t.” A pen clattered too loud on the desk when Rhodey smacked it down. “Tony. Do not argue with me on this.”

“I’m not arguing.” Tony met James’s glare steadily. “I’m telling you I’m not going.”

“That isn’t an option.”

“Actually.” Tony pointed a wrench at the Colonel, who only batted it away with a huff. “Actually it is. Because I’ve said what I want to say and I’ve heard them say what they want to say and it’s gone round and round and over and over and it comes down to this--”

He waited until Rhodey was clearly listening and stated firmly, “If the Senate wants my suit they’ll have to bring the National Guard to the my front door and get it from me themselves. End of story.”

“Yeah.” James leaned back against a desk and folded his arms. “Yeah Tony. Well, you know what? You are one pissy comment away from pushing them to do exactly that and you know who they’re gonna send to get it? Me.”

“That’s ridiculous.” Tony scoffed. “You have no idea how to use my suit, you’d never get it out of the garage much less into the atmosphere.”

“Tony, you’re not listening.”

“No, Rhodey, you aren’t listening.” Tony sliced his hand through the air to cut James off. “You aren’t listening and they aren’t listening. I’m not giving up my suit, not to you, not to the Senate, not to the Department of Defense to turn into a carrier for nukes or to sell off to the highest bidder. This is my stuff and you know how I feel about people touching my stuff!”

“This is not the time for jokes!” Rhodey raised his voice and Tony raised his to match almost shouting, “And I’m not joking! I’m done having this conversation! Fuck all of you for not fucking listening to me!”

He was angry, suddenly damn near furious in fact, and when James stared at him in shock, Tony immediately backed down, hands up and eyes averted from his oldest friend as the anger bled way to just weariness.

“I’m not joking.” he repeated, quieter this time. “I’m not messing around. And I’m real busy right now, so why don’t you go to the meeting and tell the Senate I said to go fuck themselves. Call me later with the results.”

He pushed past the Colonel and dropped into the chair closest to the arm prototype, ignoring Rhodey as he pulled up the most recent specs and used a 3D hologram to mime stripping out the heaviest pieces and anything that wouldn’t be needed once it was a non-combatant prosthesis.

James stayed quiet as Tony worked, didn’t comment when the hot rod red and flashy gold disappeared in favor of a muted gray and then a neutral skin tone, didn’t even smirk when Tony added in a few temporary tattoos of his favorite band logos.

James stayed quiet right up until Dum-E rolled up to Tony’s side with the usual 10 am green smoothie, and only when Tony shuddered past a first swallow did the Colonel ask, “What’s going on with you, Tony?

“I’m busy, Rhodey.” Tony inclined his head towards the hologram and the various ACDC pictures. “Working on my arts and crafts, obviously.”

“No, really.” James pushed off the table and came to sit right by Tony, tilting his head and studying the lines at Tony’s forehead, the way the brunette was clearly trying so hard to not meet his eyes. “What’s going on?”

“I told you, arts and crafts.”

“You think I can’t tell the difference between my best friend being an asshole just for shits and giggles, and my best friend being an asshole in an attempt to make sure no one sees what he’s really feeling?”

“Ah Sour Patch.” Tony kissed his fingers then smeared them over the Colonel’s cheek. “You always could see right through me. Safe travels to DC okay? I’ve got to see a beefcake about an arm.”

“I’m not laughing.” Rhodey said softly and Tony said just as softly, “Yeah, you don’t do that a whole lot anymore.”

“Neither do you, bud.” James’s hand was warm, solid at Tony’s shoulder. “At least promise me you aren’t being stupid?”

“I can promise you that I have put lots of thought into what I am doing.” Tony hedged and Rhodey groaned, “That’s what you said the night you set our dorm room on fire! Damn it, Tony!”

“You love me.” Tony elbowed him lightly and James just threw up his hands and stalked out of the lab.

“Rhodey!” Tony called up the stairs, laughing when JARVIS showed him the camera shot of Rhodey flipping him off. “You love me! Admit it! You love me!”

Tony was still shouting and the Colonel was begrudgingly smiling when he met Pepper at the top of the stairs.

“Ms. Potts, are you biting your nails?” James tugged Pepper’s hand away from her mouth and tsked faux offended at the ragged thumbnail. “And here I thought you people didn’t do that sort of thing.”

“You people?” Pepper managed only the barest smile. “And what people would that be?”

“You people who wear power suits and scary ass high heels and can castrate a man with a single expression.” James finished and her smile grew a little more, albeit reluctantly. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m worried about Tony.” she said sotto voce, clasping the Colonel’s hand and pulling him away from the stairs so their conversation wouldn’t carry. “Really worried.”

“Yeah, but you didn’t even bite your nails when he was gone in Afghanistan.” Rhodey pointed out. “What could be worrying you more than that?”

“I don’t know.” she confessed. “I can’t put my finger on it but something is going on with him. He’s more erratic than usual, scattered and then hyper focused-- he’s not sleeping at all, not even after a caffeine crash which is weird and then those smoothies--”

“-- are like some of that mega detox shit you find in health food stores.” Rhodey finished and Pepper nodded miserably. “I know, Pep. I’m worried about him too.”

“He’s been watching old footage of Howard.” she said then, and James’s eyebrows about hit his hairline. “Howard in the garage or working on his stuff for the Expo back in the seventies… I’ve seen some of it. Anytime Tony is on screen Howard yells at him, or calls for the maid or Jarvis to come get him out of the way. It’s really sad.”

“Do you think the Stark Expo is bringing up some bad memories for him?”

“It’s bringing up something.” Pepper decided. “Last week Tony brought home a homeless veteran, did he tell you about that?”

Rhodey choked through something that sounded like ‘the fuck he did what?!’ and Pepper pointed towards the other side of the house. “Found him in some gross diner in DC and brought him home! Says he wants to do some good in the world and apparently that starts with giving wounded ex soldiers new arms.”

“He’s giving the guy a new arm.” James repeated, and then louder-- “The one he is working on downstairs? That’s a piece of the Iron Man suit! He can’t just re-purpose that sort of technology so some stranger can have all ten fingers! The Senate will literally send the Army to confiscate everything! What is he thinking?!”

“Your guess is as good as mine.” Pepper’s slim shoulders rose and fell in a shrug. “I thought the guy was just around because Tony wanted to mix it up from his usual cover girls--” Rhodey made another one of those choking noises. “-- but he says it’s not like that.”

“Okay look.” James pinched the bridge of his nose and blew out a breath. “Okay back in college, I distinctly remember pulling Tony’s dumb ass outta what could have been a real bad situation with one of the older guys. He never told me what happened but he did tell me that he’d never mess with a guy again, and that we should chalk it up to college experimentation and never speak of it again.”

“...okay?”

“So I doubt this is about anything like that.” James decided. “Which almost makes things worse because if it’s not about hooking up or getting sexy with someone, what the hell is it about? Acting crazy, eating weird food, watching videos of his dad and suddenly caring about whether or not random people have both limbs?

He shook his head. “If I didn't know better, I’d say Tony is crossing things off a bucket list.”

“Oh Rhodey, no.” Pepper blanched white. “No, you don’t think--”

“No.” James said just as quickly. “Because Tony is stubborn and spiteful enough to outlive us both. No I’m not saying it is a bucket list, I’m just saying…” he scratched at his chin as he thought. “Maybe Afghanistan and Obadiah made him realize how short life is? Maybe instead of living for himself and living for the moment Tony’s trying to create something that will have a lasting impact on the world.”

“Last week he commissioned not one, but two different paintings of Iron Man.” Pepper said flatly. “Replaced the Da Vinci in the foyer and the Botticelli in the formal dining room. Does that sound like someone who is looking to create something to have a lasting impact?”

“No, but it sounds exactly like Tony.” Rhodey emphasized. “Maybe it’s just a phase. Can’t blame him, right? Life hasn’t exactly been roses for him lately.”

“It had better be a phase that runs it's course quickly.” Pepper decided. “I’m assuming you didn’t talk him into going to D.C. with you?”

“Not even close.”

“I figured as much.” Pepper clicked her tongue, tapped at her bottom lip thoughtfully. “Will you let me know what happens at the capital, today?”

“Yes ma’am.” Rhodey saluted her, and Pepper laughed quietly, pushing him away. “Keep an eye on our resident disaster for me.”

“I always do.”

*****************

Shopping was a novel experience for James.

Not only did he not have a single memory of ever shopping-- his spare set of clothing had come from the shelter’s closet when all his cash went to food-- but even if James did remember shopping, there was no way regular people bought their clothes like this.

This morning Pepper had calmly handed him the names and addresses of three different stores, handed him an envelope full of cash, “For food and any trinkets you’d like.” and then assured him the listed stores would put everything on Tony’s account and to not worry about what it cost.

Then a limousine had pulled round to the front of the Malibu house, a man whose moniker Happy had in no way matched the dour expression on his face opened the back door, and then James was whisking away towards the city and downtown to a store.

Now he was standing in a room with more mirrors than he’d ever be comfortable seeing, more clothing than he knew existed, all sorts of colors and patterns and material--

“Christ, what happened to denim and a t-shirt?” James muttered. “Khakis and a button up?” He picked up a striped long sleeve in a nearly weightless fabric. “Couldn’t wear this, it’d tear every time I put it--”

“I’ll find that in your size and add it to the pile.” The store-helper-person-- concierge? Was that the word Happy had used when he dropped James off?-- plucked the shirt right from James’s fingers and hurried off to get one in his size. Apparently that’s how people like Tony did their shopping, just pointing at various things and all the store helper people concierges took care of sizing and adding it to the bill.

James had been measured just once the moment he’d stepped inside. Over clothes, with quick perfunctory movements and even though it had still been awkward for the ex soldier, James appreciated not having to get undressed in front of one of those big mirrors, stripped down to his skivvies while strangers took his sizes and got to see the mess beneath his shirt.

Nah, doing it this way had some benefits. He couldn’t imagine needing four pair of pants and a dozen shirts but every time he picked something up even curiously it was added to the pile at the front register and he was able to move right on.

About eight shirts previous James had tried to insist, “Oh no, I was just looking at this one, I don’t need it.” and had been waylaid by a too perky smile and a quick assurance of, “We were given strict instructions to provide everything you want, sir.”

And when James asked, “How come there’s no one else in the store?” the ready answer came by way of another too perky smile and a memorized sounding, “Oh Mr. Stark prefers to do his shopping alone so we are happy to extend the same courtesy to his friends. Nothing could be worse than picking out clothing and intimates while being photographed, right?”

I could think of a thousand things worse.

“Sure.” James forced a smile of his own and grabbed a pack of the ultra soft boxer briefs he’d seen earlier, but had put aside in favor of a more practically colored package. “Add these for me?”

“An excellent choice.” she said smoothly. “Perhaps a package in the shades of red as well?”

“Um.” James thought back to the elevator at the hotel that first day, the way Tony’s eyes had lit up when he called out for something in blue and dark red. “Yes. And-- and blue?”

“Wonderful.” She plucked another from the display. “I’ll put them up front, you go ahead and continue shopping.”

“...Sure.”

Next up was accessories, and even though James didn’t remember having owned a belt in the past now he was going to own four. Pocket squares, a watch, cuff links for dress shirts he hadn’t been measured for yet, a wallet to put the pile of still untouched cash Pepper had handed him this morning. A shaving kit and assorted toiletries, expensive lotions promising benefits for sensitive or scarred skin, a toothbrush at least a hundred times fancier than strictly necessary and a set of hairbrushes and creams James was sure he’d never use. Three pair of sunglasses, something called a messenger bag, and several pairs of shoes ranging from classic useful sneakers clear up to a sturdy pair of colder weather boots.

“I will never use half this stuff.” he said flatly as six different boxes were carefully packed and addressed to to be delivered to the Malibu house. “Seriously, who needs all this?”

“Mr. Stark asked that we outfit you with everything necessary for a gentleman of your social and financial standing.” the young man answered smoothly and handed James a receipt of everything purchased, minus the prices of course because James hadn’t seen a price anywhere the entire day. “A man’s greatest weapon is his ability to be prepared for any sort of situation.”

“I feel like that’s more about knives and guns than bow ties and cuff links.” James insisted, and the concierge didn’t miss a beat as he pulled a velvet lined case from beneath the counter to show James an assortment of pocket knives.

“We have several beautiful knives to add to your ensemble if you are so inclined. This one here is a William Henry, the gentac ‘Vine’ knife. Hand carved stainless steel, colored sapphires inset here, a button lock set with citrine and of course, the signature Damascus steel in the copper wave.”

“I--” What the hell kinda self respecting knife came with jewels in it? “No, thanks.”

{HERE’S THE KNIFE}

The third and last stop was a suit shop and James honestly just stood there while a flurry of attendants took his measurements, held up color swatches to his skin, and then chattered in Italian about his size and how to give him as much room as possible on the left side without looking baggy, but still avoiding the feeling of constriction.

James didn’t know how or why he understood Italian, but he was too focused on his breathing to worry about it, focusing on clenching and unclenching his fingers and trying to stay calm because shopping in a big empty store had been trying enough, and walking through all the unnecessary and somewhat foreign accessories had been intimidating, but having six different people in his space, at his side and back, darting around with measuring tapes and holding him still gently but still firmly--

-- it felt like claustrophobia as yet another sample coat was draped at his left side. Felt like claustrophobia and being trapped with all the mirrors and the hushed voices and people staring and James closed his eyes and tried not to flinch--

“All done!” One of them announced and James turned on his heel and ran for his life, ran for the door, ran for sunshine and non perfumed air and a chance to breathe.

“You get used to it.” Happy was waiting outside and James realized in a split second of gratefulness that the store attendants must have called and let him know the appointment was over.

“What--” his mouth was dry again, dry like it had been all damn day and he grabbed the water bottle Happy tossed him, ripped the cap off and chugged half of it in one go. “What do I get used to? How does anyone get used to that?”

“You get used to it.” Happy said again, knowingly but kindly as he opened the back door and motioned James in. “You know back when I met Tony, he was still wearing Colonel Rhodes’s ratty ass hoodie places but one day Jarvis took him into a store just like that one and Tony came out a whole different man. Dragged me in a few weeks later, told me if he had to wear a stupid suit than I had to wear a stupider suit and here we are.”

Happy straightened the jacket of his clearly expensive ensemble and grinned. “And I look damn good, if I say so myself. You’ll get used to the fuss they make in there, and eventually you won’t be scared to eat in clothes that cost more than most people’s rent.”

“I don’t uh-- don’t have a reference for that. For rent. Sorry.”

“Right. Course you don’t. Tony told me you’re missing a few pages up here.” Happy tapped at his temple and pulled the limo out from the curb. “No offense, I mean. But you don’t gotta apologize for what you’re missing, you know?”

“...thanks.”

“You look like you need a cheeseburger.” Happy decided. “You want a cheeseburger? Big guy like you probably eats a couple doubles and then some, right?”

“I guess?”

“There’s no ‘I guess’ about it. You need a cheeseburger.” The limo swung East towards the house and James jumped when a phone ran in the speakers around the sides. “Yeah hey, this is Happy. I need me and Tony’s usual order but go ahead and double it.”

“Of course, Mr. Hogan.” answered the voice on the other end and James smiled a little. Of course Tony had a usual order when it came to food. He had a whole store that apparently jumped at his demand to get James clothes, of course he had a standing order with a food place.

“You want a milk shake?” Happy called back, and James shrugged. “Yep, he wants a milkshake. Give us three milkshakes, and throw in an extra thing of fries.”

“Why cheeseburgers?” James wanted to know after the call ended. “Tony’s favorite food?”

“I don’t know if it’s his favorite.” Happy glanced at James in the rear view mirror. “I do know that every time Tony has a shitty day he asks me to get him cheeseburgers. First thing he wants after a hangover, after a contract goes bad, after a project blows up in his face. When he got home from Afghanistan--”

--here the driver got quiet, almost choked up and James narrowed his eyes curiously.

“When Tony got home from Afghanistan, all he wanted was a cheeseburger, so that’s what I went and got him. Three months away, the guy deserves a damn burger right? He’s been eating them a lot lately so I’ve started picking them up on my way back and forth to errands.”

“Tony was in Afghanistan for three months?” James asked blankly. “He didn’t tell me that.”

“The arc reactor isn’t exactly a souvenir from a quick weekend trip.” Happy retorted, but his forehead was creased with misery now, eyes dim in remembered sadness. “Worst three months of my life wondering if he was gonna make it back home. So yeah, now when he wants cheeseburgers, he gets them. Doesn’t want cheeseburgers but I think he’s having a bad day? I get them for him. And you look like you need one, so congratulations, you’re officially part of our standing order right next to Pep’s weird vegetarian crap and Colonel Rhodes’s chicken sandwich.”

“Okay.” James sat back in the seat and closed his eyes again. “Yeah okay, I could go for a cheeseburger.”

***************

The house was quiet by the time Happy dropped James off at the front door. There were already dozens of boxes stacked in the foyer from the day of shopping but James stepped right over those and headed with a bag of cheeseburgers down the stairs to the lab.

There was a soft click, three seconds of silence and then JARVIS spoke from the ceiling. “Apologies, sir. But the doors to the lab are sealed right now.”

“Oh.” James paused mid step, thrown by the unexpected information. “Okay, well Happy brought him some burgers so--”

A click, three seconds of silence. “I’ll relay the information.”

“Um. Sure.” And then, “What is the click for?”

“I thought perhaps a warning before I’m about to speak so I don’t startle you.” The AI replied. “Most people jump and scream the first time I talk to them and it can be wildly funny but in your case I’d rather not cause the panic.”

Oh.

Thank fucking god.

It took no less than fourteen trips to and from his room to get all the boxes moved from the foyer. The entire operation would have been so much easier with two hands and James smiled to himself when he realized having two hands would be a reality soon enough.

It felt good in a materialistic sort of way to have something to put in the empty shelves in his room, to have shirts to hang up in the massive closet and socks and underwear to tuck into the drawers. James didn’t know if he’d ever put much thought into how he dressed or looked but it felt right when he tried on a sharply tailored pair of pants and crisp button up. It felt more like him, which was a feeling he hadn’t had even once since waking up beneath that bridge a year ago.

Maybe who he used to be liked dressing nice, maybe they liked the way they looked in clean cut clothes and neat hair and--

--James picked up a brush from the grooming kit, then changed his mind and picked up the sandalwood smelling shampoo and conditioner set instead.

If he had the clothes, maybe it was about time he did something with his hair and beard and then he’d get that feeling of being himself again.

Couldn’t hurt, right?

Putting every thing away and taking a long shower to clean up, trimming his hair at the ends and carefully carefully running the electric razor over his face to shorten up his stubble took hours and the sun had gone down by the time he was done.

James stepped from the bathroom into a dark bedroom, the evening air blowing cool through the open window and the moon casting shadows everywhere and he paused, hesitated, because the room felt empty now. Empty after a day full of activity and empty because the boxes were open and put back outside in the hall to be shoved in the trash and his bed was still made stiff and starch like he made it every morning, the lack of personal effects around the room still lacking...

...without the daylight, without the lamp on the room felt empty and the room felt lonely and knowing the lab was shut off and he couldn’t see Tony somehow made it all worse.

Lonely, even though he was in a house with two other full time residents. Lonely, even though James had piles of stuff now.

Lonely--

“Hey!” just like that the bedroom was flooded with light when Tony opened the door and poked his head around, sending James a smile that felt like actual sunshine on his skin. “Oh, sorry about the not knocking thing. Peppers the only one who stays here and she gave up on my knocking a long time ago. How are you?”

Suddenly not lonely.

It felt foolish to want to smile so big back at Tony, felt foolish to miss someone he’d only known a few days, so James tried to temper his grin, “Hey Tony. Didn’t think I’d see you tonight, JARVIS said the lab was locked down.”

“It was and now it isn’t.” Tony answered non commitedly. “I found the bag of cheeseburgers at the stairs, I was gonna reheat them and watch a movie. You want to join?”

“What movie?” James asked as if it mattered, as if he could remember ever seeing a movie or not.

“Have you even seen Howard the Duck?” Tony looked almost gleefully evil and James’s eyes widened.

“....no?”

“Well then you’re in for a treat.” He jerked his head so James would follow him out of the room and back towards the lab. “It’s going to be a terrible treat, the movie is absolutely awful but it’s worth a chuckle or two. You game?”

For just about anything that keeps you smiling like that. “Sure. Sounds fine.”

“How was shopping?” Tony asked while they waited for the burgers to heat up in the microwave. “Get everything you need?”

“And about a thousand things I don’t.” James took the hot plate without thinking, and when Tony looked at him strangely, he shrugged, “Guess it isn’t as hot as I thought.”

“I guess not.” Tony said slowly, though he knew damn well the plate was scalding. “Let’s make sure you don’t blister, give that back and I’ll put it on a towel.”

James obediently banded the plate back but there was so sign of blister or even red on his palms and Tony cocked an interested eyebrow. “Huh. Alright maybe my hands are a little less calloused and rugged than I like to admit. Anyway. Buy anything fun?”

“Nah, Just normal stuff I guess.” James reached up and touched the side of his face self consciously. “Shaved a bit though.”

“Yeah you look great.” Tony was already tearing into a hamburger, waving his hand so James would head towards the living room and the big TV. “Little less terrifying hobo and more distinguished but still terrifying assassin.”

“I look like an assassin?” That word reared up like a red flag in James’s mind. “Why would you say that?”

“I don’t mean anything but it.” Regret crossed Tony’s face, there and gone in a blink. “Remember me not being tactful? I’m trying to say you’re tall dark and murdery but in a… GQ sort of way.”

James just blinked at him and Tony raised his hands apologetically. “Never mind. I’m sorta spinning tonight, can’t get my head to settle. Ignore it. Sit down and I’ll find the movie.”

Tony cursed mentally as he sorted through the stack of DVDs to find Howard the Duck. Rhodey’s visit this morning has rattled him, the sheer displeasure from his best friend and then the quick turn to obviously worried and maybe even sad. He didn’t like lying to Rhodey and he knew the Colonel knew he was lying but not to this extent. Not about palladium and twenty-two percent and just over ten weeks barring anything catastrophic happening and rushing it all along.

Rhodey didn’t know Tony was lying about that.

His hands were shaking by the time he found the movie, and Tony shoved it into the player quickly, carelessly, wiping his palms on his pants and turning with a broadly fake smile for James.

“So really? Nothing fun?” He’d spent all day in the lab running simulations for the reactor, simulations for the prosthesis, facial recognition software trying to find James, organic cures for heavy metal poisoning, articles about the afterlife and whether he was doomed to be a slug in the next one because he’d been terrible in this one and Tony’s mind was running on empty, his emotions ran ragged and raw and it was all he could do to sit next to James on the couch and not turn and fall into the soldiers chest.

He was exhausted and Rhodey was worried about him and Pepper was too and Tony was exhausted, he just needed to rest.

When can I finally fucking rest?

“I didn’t even give you a spending limit and you’re telling me you didn’t find anything that wasn’t basic wardrobe stuff to buy?” He asked again, surprising himself with just how much he really did want to hear about James’s day. “Not one thing?”

“They tried to get me a pocket knife.” James said after a minute of gauging the distance between them and wondering just how out of character for him— the real him, the him he felt a little bit more like after changing clothes— to budge up close to someone pretty and try to charm them. “Dunno know why I want a pocket knife but it felt normal, I guess.”

“Did you get one?” The movie started playing, the plate of cheeseburgers got wedged between them and Tony tore into a second one. “You could, you know. This isn’t exactly a weapons free household.”

He chuckled but James didn’t get the joke. “The knife was… it was real fancy. Damascus steel, vines in it.” He shrugged. “Not my style.”

“Oh, a William Henry.” Tony said around a mouthful of fries. “Yeah they’re pretty, you can have one if you like. Get a new one or pick one from my room, I think I’ve got six. People give them as gifts cos you know—“ a slurp of water. “— that’s what every billionaire wants. A useless trinket they might be able to open a letter with. You’re welcome to any of mine or if you find a real knife you want, get that one. Doesn't matter.”

“Do you always spend money like this?” James arched a brow when a life sized duck filled the screen next to a teenage girl. “What the hell—?”

“I told you it was terrible.” Tony laughed at him. “And I guess I do spend money like this. I’ve got more than I could use in a hundred years so I might as well spend some on you, right? You only live once!”

Somehow that sounded wrong to James’s ears-- you only live once. He thought maybe he’d lived and died a hundred times on account of feeling so damn old some days but that wasn’t important, what was important was the way Tony was smiling, so James smiled right back and repeated, “Sure. Only live once.”

The movie played for a few minutes while they ate, and Tony finished off another handful of fries before he asked casually, “You ever heard of a bucket list, James?”

“A bucket list.” James mulled the words over a few times. “Don’t think so.”

“It’s ah—“ Tony cleared his throat. “It’s a list of things you want to do before you kick the bucket. Before you die.”

“Huh.” James looked around the living room, at the giant television and expensive paintings, comfortable couches and bar off to the side, all the pictures of Tony winning awards and shaking hands with what must be famous people. “Sure seems like you have most everything a fella could want, you must not have a lot of your bucket list.”

“You’d think so.” Tony couldn't keep his gaze from dropping to James’s mouth and he swallowed hard before looking away. “You’d sure as hell think so.”

The movie kept playing and they sat in mostly companionable silence, sharing the rest of the food and laughing at a few parts, cringing at others. James had definitely never seen the movie but Tony had seen it enough to silently mouth the words along with the actors and James found that both hilarious and oddly adorable.

By the time the start menu was playing on repeat, both Tony and James were fast asleep in the couch, the ex soldier worn out from a day of new experiences, the genius inventor worn out from a day of worrying.

Pepper tiptoed in sometime around one am and dragged a blanket up over Tony, and another up over James, took the empty cheeseburger plate from the table and set it in the sink and then went on to her room.

She’d never say a single word about Tony and James had fallen asleep budged up close together, shoulder to shoulder, thigh to thigh, knee to knee, drawn together even in sleep.

Not a single word.

******************

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#ncts fics #winteriron #tony stark #bucky barnes #james rhodey rhodes #pepper potts #happy hogan

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javisjeanjacket · 4 years

Text

Whatever It Takes - shara bey x kes dameron

A/N: hey gang! we’re trying something new this time around, so let me know what you think! I love our boy Poe and the more I researched his parents the more I fell in love with them and writing this for them made me cry ngl. but then again when do i not cry when writing angst?

This takes place in between Empire Strikes Back and Return of the Jedi fyi

Photos and gifs are not mine.

Also a HUGE thank you to my gal pal @mndalorians for beta reading for me!! LOVE YOUUUUU

Word Count: 2.6K

Warnings: angst, one curse word:)

"I think they've got him back on Tatooine." A Pathfinder operative hypothesized, scratching at the collar of his uniform as he shoved a spoonful of rations into his mouth.

"Tatooine? Why Tatooine?" A second operative asked from down the Mess Hall table, his expression smug.

"I heard they've got him in carbonite. That's gotta be the Hutt cartel; come on, man." The first Pathfinder splayed his hands.

Kes Dameron sifted his hand through his hair and ran it down his face. He picked lifelessly at the field rations before him, his stomach gurgling.

"Nah, I bet Lando's probably still got him on Bespin. He thinks Commander Solo stole the Falcon from him and he's probably holding him prisoner for it." The second Pathfinder responded.

"He's definitely on Tatooine. I heard that Leia is-"

Kes shook his head and sighed, the war and it's intricacies resting heavily upon him. "You guys heard if the A-Wings have come in yet?'

The few operatives at the table around him looked to each other, taken aback by his interruption, and then looked back at Kes. One responded quietly, "Haven't heard anything yet.."

The dark haired man sighed and took his tray of gray-ish brown food to the trash compactor shoot at the opposite side of the Hall. His brown eyes scanned over the heads in the Mess Hall, searching desperately for any member of Green Squadron or the woman who held his favorite tangle of black curls upon her head. Not finding anyone, he shoved his hands in his pockets and weaved his way through the bustling Hall back towards his quarters.

As he exited the warmth of the Mess Hall and entered the bitter cold of planet 5251977's environment, the familiar roar of A-Wings sounded above him. A breath of fresh air wafted over his heart and a tender smile spread on the Yavinite's face.

The ships soared through the howling wind and snow whipping above him, pushing towards the far east hangar bay.

Kes turned from his path towards his quarters and walked with hot steps to follow the landing ships.

As Kes made his way through the piercing winds and soft snow, he noticed a trickle of people crowding the hangar entrance. Most of them were like him, hungry for a few precious moments with the person they loved. He smiled softly at the earnest Rebellion members around him as he found a spot towards the back of the crowd. He looked over the multiple ships, searching for the one known to be piloted by Shara Bey.

Pilots began to emerge from their ships, throwing their helmets to the flight techs and beaming, rushing, towards their loved ones. Relieved squeals and sniffles filled the chilly hangar.

Kes meandered through the gaggle of reunited Rebels and continued his search for his wife's ship. His heart began to quicken and his palms became clammy.

L'ulo Lampar passed the panicking man, his helmet tucked underneath his arm.

Kes's heart jumped into his throat. He reached out an arm and grabbed the Duros man by the forearm. "L'ulo!"

L'ulo jumped and a soft smile spread on his face. "Kes, what's going on?"

"Shara..." Was all that he could get out, the backs of his eyes pricking with emotion.

L'ulo jerked his head backwards towards an A-Wing just kissing the hangar floor.

Kes squeezed L'ulo's arm and began to jog towards the ship. He could see her face, pulled tight in a focused expression, as she began the powering down sequences. Heaven had come down to planet 5251977 and had somehow found Kes Dameron.

Shara finished her power down sequence and opened the airlock release to open the top of the ship.

He could hear her mumbling and unbuckling and pressing the final buttons and Kes's heart beat wildly in his throat.

She wiggled her helmet off and held it as she began to make her way down the ladder.

Kes ran to the ladder and wrapped an arm around her side as soon as he could reach her.

The woman jumped and then softened, gazing upon her husband. "Kes." She said, her voice tender.

The shape of his name in her mouth, how gracious she had been to say it aloud for him. He could feel his hands shake on her skin.

Shara jumped from the ladder to wrap herself around Kes, burying her face into his stubble-ridden neck.

The man smiled and held her tight against his body. Choosing not to speak, for he knew words would not be able to touch the tremors in his heart. He brushed a calloused hand over her dark hair and held her neck to him. A relieved moan caught in his throat.

Shara kissed his skin softly, one of her hands wrapped around his back and the other tucked in his hair. "God, I missed you."

Kes nodded, his mouth seemingly glued shut.

The pair rested there for a few moments, absorbing the other.

The lips that had been glued shut finally worked themselves free and Kes asked, "Have you talked to our little man?'

Shara chuckled, moving her mouth from his neck to smile at him warmly. "Dad says Poe's doing well."

Kes's heart burned at the thought of his young son and for a moment he saw a flicker of Poe's mischievous grin in Shara's face. He leaned in close to Shara, his lips parting softly to brush against hers.

Shara met his kiss with passion, squeezing his shoulder as their mouths worked together. Pulling away from his mouth she finished, "Dad said he's been playing with the X-Wing toy you made him."

"He's gonna want to be a pilot, Shara." Kes teased. He stepped in time with his wife back towards the hangar entrance.

Shara shook her head and patted her husband's chest. "He better not. One of us has to make it out of this thing alive."

Kes chuckled and pressed a kiss to his wife's hand. "Stop talking like that-we will be fine. Even if we told him no, you know he would learn to fly anyway. He's too much like you."

Shara rolled her eyes and congratulated L'ulo and the other members of her Green Squadron as she passed them.

Sighing blissfully, she let her head fall to Kes’s shoulder. "Let's get something to eat."

~~~~~~~~~~~

A frazzled Leia Organa slid into a seat in front of the chowing Damerons. "Kes, Shara." She greeted them and nodded.

They both looked up from their rations to smile at the Commander; Kes’s appetite having returned to him.

Leia smiled, her lips tucked into her mouth and the couple braced themselves.

"New intelligence has been gathered by our spies in the Outer Rim." The Commander began.

Kes leaned forward in his seat and stopped his chewing to make sure he heard every bit of what she was about to say.

"We think the Hutt cartel has taken Han to Tatooine. Jabba's palace to be exact." Leia's piercing eyes moved from one Dameron to the other.

"Oof." Shara exhaled, gathering another bite of salad on her fork.

Leia shifted her weight on the uncomfortable stool and took a deep breath. "Shara, I would like you and Green Squadron to scout out the palace."

Shara stopped mid-chew and Kes's deep eyes flicked between the two women.

"Commander, I just landed. I don’t even do ground work." Shara quietly protested, her breathing becoming shallow.

Leia nodded, her gaze dropped to her hands folded in her lap. "I know...I know you did. We would just need you to map the palace from above; me and Chewie are the only ones going in. This is-," She wet her lips and shook her head. "We think they have Han."

The pilot looked to her husband and saw the way his eyebrow cocked up at her, how his eyes pleaded with her to stay but the determination over his eyebrows told her to go. She pictured herself as Commander Organa. She would have asked herself to go too.

Kes's eyes wet with emotion and the flames crackling in his heart began to scorch the back of his throat. He reached out and took his wife's calloused hand. He swallowed and whispered, his gaze fallen from his wife's, "Whatever it takes."

Shara's dark eyebrows scrunched and her jaw ground itself together. She squeezed Kes's hand and ran her thumb affectionately against the top of his hand. "Whatever it takes."

Taking a shaking breath, she turned from Kes and back to Leia. "When do we leave, Commander?"

Leia's eyes gleamed with emotion. She nodded and reached out for Shara's shaking hand. The two women held hands as Leia answered, "First thing in the morning."

Shara looked down at her knees as she nodded that she understood.

Kes let out a weighted breath and closed his eyes.

"I can't-" Leia swallowed. "I can't tell you that I know what you're going through, but...I know how hard it is to try and love someone you only see once every few months. Shara, you're one of the best pilots we have." Leia seemed to be pleading. "This needs to be done quickly and without detection and I know you and your Squadron are the only ones capable of getting it done."

Shara took a deep breath. "We will get it done, Commander."

Leia gave Shara's hand one last squeeze and then stood from the table, walking quickly out of the Mess Hall.

Shara's body slumped in the seat as soon as Leia was out of eyesight. She ran a weary hand over her face and a pained expression sat upon her face.

Kes watched his wife grapple with the news, her shoulders tensing and relaxing with her catching breaths. The man rubbed a comforting hand over her back, mulling the information over in his own mind.

The weight of Shara's head on his shoulder pushed heavily upon him. "I know this won't change anything, but I can't keep it together anymore, Kes." Her normally warm voice was raw with emotion.

Kes leaned his face against her head and placed a soft hand on her cheek. His lips reached to touch the top of her dark curls. "You don't need to keep it together, babe. At least for tonight."

Shara hiccuped and pushed away from his shoulder. "Let's just go to bed."

He searched her face, the streaks of pain and disappointment discoloring her features. He took her hand and nodded as they both rose from the table.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

As Kes lay in bed, the scratchy standard issue blanket pulled tight to accommodate Shara nestled behind him, he thought of his wife. He thought of her talent behind the controls of her favorite A-Wing. He remembered her hair streaking across her face on the day that he had first met her. He could see little Poe nestled in her arms, her voice gently reciting his favorite bed time story. His wife was beautiful and unrelenting on every front, an ace pilot, a highly decorated Rebel, the love of his life and the mother of his child. He missed her even then, with her breath trickling down the crook of his neck. He missed being with her without a timetable attached. His mind drifted from the twin bed they both were squeezed into to a place much larger. A place with land and a warm sun and a home to raise their son in peace. A place where Shara could fly freely and he could tinker with old droids to his heart's delight. A place with space for Poe to play and grow and become a man Kes knew he would be proud of.

Suddenly, Shara's breath on his neck became staccatoed.

Kes moved his head slightly to make sure he wasn't imagining it.

His wife's chest beat hard against his back and he froze, struggling to figure out how to help her. Her body began to jerk backwards slightly and her hands around his waist seized.

He placed a soft hand on her forearm and whispered, "Shara."

His wife continued to dream in peril, her eyebrows pursed tightly on her face.

Kes ran his hand up and down her skin, trying to wake her gently. His heart began to pound against his throat.

Tears began to plop onto his neck from her sleeping eyes.

His body tensed now and his voice became louder. "Shara." He said, squeezing her forearm until his fingertips turned white.

Shara jerked awake, her mouth gaping and her eyes blinking in the surprising moisture.

Kes turned in bed to face his wife. "Sweetheart, what happened?"

Her chin scrunched and she raised a hand to cover her face. "I had a nightmare about Poe."

He swallowed tightly. He reached a hand out to grab her unoccupied one. "You wanna tell me about it?"

Shara shook her head no and then ran her fingers underneath her eyes, collecting the welling tears there. "I miss him, Kes."

Kes nodded. "I miss him too."

The blue light of the moon coming in from the viewport settled over the couple as Shara's sniffles began to fill up the small room. "There is a place in my heart that I keep just for you." She ran a hand through her wild curls, desperately trying to calm herself. "And I can feel it," Her voice clipped. "I can feel it growing smaller and I don't know why."

Kes's face twisted in pain for his wife, he ached to reach into her and pull the anguish out of her, to store it safely inside himself, but he knew the sobering reality was that only more anguish was to come.

"I miss you and you're right here and we're never together long enough to be...us. You know?" She added.

Kes nodded that he understood. He gently caressed her cheek, pushing her to meet his gaze.

"Shara Bey," He began. "I am with you until the end of this thing. Whether that means the notice of death signing, or whatever it is we choose to do after this. I'm going to be right beside you when you do it."

His wife's tears began again at the tenderness of the heart inside of the battle hardened man laying next to her.

"We will be us again. One day, we won't have to be here. This thing will be over and we will just be us. And Poe, of course."

Shara smiled and nodded at the thought of her son.

"You are the only thing I'm sure of in this war. We just have to kick the buckethead's asses and then we'll be done. We can go somewhere, anywhere we want, and take Poe with us. I'll build us a big house and a landing pad for your A-Wing and you can plant your garden-"

Shara's face softened, imagining the warmth and comfort of the yarn Kes was spinning. She could feel her heart settle into the safety of Kes next to her, to the warm bed below her and the thought of Poe playing in a big backyard, his tiny head of charcoal colored hair shining in the sunlight.

"Time has passed and time will pass without us realizing until we look back at it." Kes whispered. "This war and this moment will be a memory and someday our biggest worry will be making sure Poe doesn't start running spice or something." Kes embellished the last of his sentence, pulling a smile out of Shara.

"Let's just be here. Pretend like it's just you and me and the moon." He finished.

Shara nodded, her eyes falling from her husband's and fixating on the collar of his t-shirt. "Okay." She mouthed, her throat coated thick with emotion.

Kes wrapped himself around her, tucking her face into his neck and weaving his legs around hers. He softly ran his hand over her hair, over and over again, lulling her back to peaceful sleep. His watchful eyes now becoming heavy with the weight of the night around them and the knowledge that she would be gone when he woke up and this evening would become a figment of his imagination, much like Shara Bey sometimes seemed to him. A goddess wandering so far from her throne to find him, her touch so very scarce it felt like Heaven on his skin, and her voice so bright it filled his lungs with light.

"Good night, Shara." He whispered, his lips touching her ear softly.

She hummed softly in response, her mind already drifting out of her grasp and to sleep.

As Kes allowed his eyes to close, he tucked this evening with Shara away in his thoughts, constructing a home for it in his mind, locking it away and keeping it pure for the moments when his heart became too heavy to hold without her. One by one, the grip Kes had kept so tightly on this moment began to relax, pressure releasing from his shoulders and at the base of his neck, and he could feel himself fall into dreams, mirages maybe, of a life unbridled by the passion and demands of the Rebellion. How fragile, how cruel, the galaxy had revealed itself to be and how it all could never outweigh the goodness of Shara Bey and Poe Dameron. Every disappointment, every surge of adrenaline, every close call, paled in comparison to those two.

"Whatever it takes." Kes whispered, as sleep pulled him fully into it's soft embrace.

SHARA AND KES TAGLIST: @fanfiction-trashpile-replies @itspdameronthings

ANY/ EVERYTHING TAGLIST: @mcolbz14

What did you think? I really hope you enjoyed reading my work. Just your liking / re-blogging it means a lot. If you have a moment, I would love to hear your thoughts! Tell me what you think via my ask box or a comment always warms my heart!! Thank you again for reading!

Need more reading material? You can visit my Masterlist for more Poe Dameron content, as well as my other works.

Want to be kept in the loop? Let me know so I can put your handle in my taglist form. Right now, I’m writing for Poe Dameron, Santiago Garcia, Kes and Shara, and Din Djarin; but I have plans to expand my SW character list, and eventually add in my favorites from the MCU as well.

Thanks again for reading! Sending love! -hai

#shara bey #kes dameron #angst #sw fic #sw angst #ot angst #hai writes #shara bey x kes dameron

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babedur · 4 years

Text

Max has a nightmare. Maisie couldn’t sleep in the first place.

Spoilers for Peril on Gorgon, up to the HIA building.

Tartarus was always cold. He was in a suit, a suit of armor, he was trying to follow his orders but he was doing something wrong, he was shooting the targets and running their courses but he was doing something so wrong that they brought him to the conveyor belt and shoved him into the machine, a machine that silently but finally forced him into shape, compressing his insides and snapping bones that would not bend-

Suddenly, it was bright, and Max shoved at the machine- but he wasn’t in a trash compactor. He was in Maisie’s room, on the Unreliable, shoving away the blankets. His whole body ached, and he was cold where he’d sweat though his nightshirt.

“Max,” Maisie said, from the foot of the bunk- a place she’d learned to wake him from, the hard way. Too far away by far. When he reached for her, she shuffled up, and the squeeze of her embrace and the warm glow of the MSI lanterns were reminders that he was alive and in one piece, not… not there.

He shuddered.

“ADA,” Maisie said, “Lights to twenty percent?”

The lights dimmed without sass. Odd, that. ADA was never one to pass up an opportunity to crack wise at Max’s expense.

“Did I wake you?” Max asked.

He’d intended it to be a rhetorical question, except Maisie answered, “No, I was already up. Couldn’t really fall asleep.”

“Gorgon?”

She nodded, snuggling into his embrace so that she could rest her forehead on his shoulder. It was hardly surprising.

Max knew, in vague terms, that prisoners from Tartarus getting loaned out to companies for experiments were not precisely getting the gainful employment that they were promised. But there was a difference in turning down a contract with Auntie Cleo, and experiencing the brutal horror of the HIA building.

Someone had designed those tests- fire on command, run for hours on end, and weed out anyone who voiced a word of complaint. Others still had run the prisoners through them. And even more had studied the results and attempted to make meaningful spreadsheets and graphics of the results.

And, somewhere, there had been a maintenance team, keeping the facilities as clean as they could, keeping the doors and lights and trash compactors running as smoothly as they could. How much had they seen? One had to wonder, when one cleaned up liters of blood every single day, where it was all coming from. Did they have to work extra shifts? (And if you’re working extra shifts, what better way to keep alert and active…)

“I keep wondering,” Max said, “if one of the contracts I had been offered during my penitentiary visit had been offered by Spacer’s Choice.”

Maisie’s embrace tightened. “Don’t even suggest that.”

“I never once thought of actually accepting a contract,” Max said truthfully. “On the surface it was all very saccharine- another chance to serve your colony, doing tasks that no one else has the grit and mettle to do, but… It doesn’t take years of studying the Law to realize that a promise to cut a sentence years long to a few months is probably a bad bet. Even so…”

“This is going to sound silly,” Maisie said, “considering I’m sure everyone on this ship knows better now. But never take Adrena-time?”

“Never,” Max said, and the vehemence in his voice startled a laugh out of Maisie. “Laws, never.”

“Good,” Maisie said. “And promise not to laugh at me when I track everyone down tomorrow and make them promise, too.”

Max opened his mouth to say, Of course no one would, no one on this ship is a moron. There’s no need for that, but Maisie knew that already. And she couldn’t sleep, either.

“I promise,” Max said. “ADA, how long did Maisie spend trying to fall asleep?”

“Approximately three hours and eight minutes,” ADA recited dutifully. “After that, she got up to write in her journal and do some bookkeeping.”

“Traitor,” Maisie muttered.

Max looked to the clock- he’d gotten about four hours of sleep before his nightmare got bad enough for Maisie to wake him, and he still felt exhausted and drained. Maisie hadn’t even gotten that.

“You should get some rest,” Max murmured, pressing a kiss to her forehead. Maisie readjusted their embrace, but didn’t reply. He would have to carefully word his next thoughts- he, of all people, knew how pride could make a fool out of someone. “And we should probably take the day off, tomorrow. Make sure our equipment is in order for whatever awaits us in the CHEM labs. It’ll give the crew some time to process what we saw there, as well.”

“You mean, give me some time to process.”

“Would you allow me to try to continue on as normal if I insisted on going out on a ‘hard-and-loud’ mission tomorrow? After the day we just had, and missing an entire night’s rest?”

He could feel Maisie making a face into his shoulder.

“Exactly,” Max said. “On a practical level, it would do no one any favors to have our tactician and leader far from her best. Not to mention that you and I are not the only people being hit by this. Our crew acts tough, but ADA could probably confirm we are not the only ones losing sleep tonight. Someone’s liable to get hurt- imagine how you’d feel if it wasn’t even you.

“On a personal level… you shoulder a lot on your own. And I understand that- I prefer to keep my own counsel, as well. There are things I tell my journal that I don’t tell you, and I’m certain the reverse is true, as well. But the process of, er, processing, is still… a process.”

“That one got away from you,” Maisie observed.

He scowled. There must be a better way to have phrased that, and he knew it would come to him at a time where it would be absolutely useless and he wouldn’t even be able to write it down. “You’re making fun of my bumbling attempts to comfort you because you don’t have a better argument.”

“…Yeah, I am.” Maisie sighed. “You’re right. You’re right on every point. But… I don’t even want to try to sleep, right now.”

“Tough. We’re going to change the sheets since I already did us the disservice of sweating through them, and then we’re both going to try and get some rest.”

Sometimes, it was all in the voice. Maisie pulled away and glared at him through sleep-beaten eyes, but she didn’t protest. She even got him new sleep clothes to wear and told ADA, “If anyone asks tomorrow, we’re all sleeping in. I don’t expect anyone to be ready to do anything until noon.”

“I’ll keep watch,” ADA promised. “I mean, I always do. But humans like to have the obvious re-stated when they are out of sorts.”

“Thank you,” Maisie said, to the sassy computer program that of which she was so fond. And when she climbed into bed beside Max, she kissed his cheek and said, again, “Thank you.”

“It was my pleasure, captain, to contribute to the continued well-being of this crew and the longevity of it’s operations-“

She attempted to smother him with a pillow. It felt good, to laugh.

#my fic #i'll probably clean this up and post it on ao3 sometime in the week #and im still working on that thing with ellie and canid's cradle...#the outer worlds #peril on gorgon #peril on gorgon spoilers

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swellwriting · 4 years

Text

A NEW ORDER - Part 1

- Knowledge meets Power -

Warnings: None.

A/N: Okay so hear me out, this chapter is a lot I know, and it’s necessary to set up the story in future parts!! I promise we will meet Mando soon I just had to get the story building out of the way. Also, I know there’s sexual tension between The Senator and Luke, trust me it serves a purpose (conflicts later on and such). I’m not just trying to sexualize everyone’s favourite Space Twink for no reason lmao.

Summary: Leia & crew visits Chandrila, The Senator meets Luke, books are read, plans are made, Jedi training takes place, young Ben Solo is cute, The Senator leaves Chandrila to start her mission to go to the bounty guild in the Outer Rim.

Word Count: 3.8k Series Masterlist Part 2

The New Republic is thriving, and you could not be more proud. Working with the Rebellion to help bring down the Empire, saying goodbye to the Old Republic, issuing the peace treaty with the Galactic Empire which was now in non existence (aside from the parts of the galaxy that remained out of reach of the New Republic where loyal Imperialists fled to hide) and demilitarizing according to the act that was issued following the treaty.

It was work that made you feel good, confident, the kind of politics you flourished in, knowing that you were on the right side, there were no Palpatine’s rising to power, no Empire in the shadows, just plain politics working just the way they should.

It would probably make you sound insane if you were to tell anyone you were growing bored with it, well maybe there was one sole person who could understand.

“Leia!” You exclaimed as your long-time friend walked into the room. You were in Hanna City in Chandirlla, in the empty building that was sometimes the capital building for the Republic, sat in a large meeting room at a long empty table. Though you were sat alone almost every seat had books in front of it.

“I think you read a little too much,” Leia teased as she sat in the seat beside you and picked up one of the books you had taken from the Republic’s large library of books recovered from the Old Republic.

“I don't think there’s such a thing, with a galaxy so large there’s so much to learn and if we ignore the past history is bound to repeat itself.”

“And what’s your interest in the pasts of the Jedi?” She asks flipping open one of the books which contains the Jedi code.

“I think perhaps it’s an outdated religion, but I could see a resurgence if perhaps more force-sensitive people were to come forward and be willing to work together to create a new and improved Jedi Order, separated from the Republic this time.”

“So not politics related? You must be bored.”

“That’s an excellent way to put it, I feel as if I have achieved everything I aimed to with the New Republic, helping to build it into what it is today and seeing the Empire fall from power. I want to move onto other things.”

“You sound exactly like Luke, I really need to introduce you two,” she teases, knowing you have asked her countless times, then she turns to leave the room.

“You should, I’d love to meet him and see what he’s like. My strength with the force is minuscule but given what he’s accomplished, I’m sure he could teach me a few things.”

“I’ll tell him to come to meet you,” she says, her back still facing you as she leaves the room.

“Leia wait, when? Also, what are you even doing here? The New Republic’s capital was moved to Hosnian prime, you know that? There’s nothing here for you?”

“That’s not true, you’re here and you are the only person high up in the New Republic who will listen to me about the rising threat of the First Order, though small I still don’t trust them ever since they left their wing of the New Republic, they have been lurking in the shadows since, probably growing in the sess pool of the Outer Rim.” Spoken like a true princess.

“True yes, and I understand your concern but there’s nothing I can do besides sending your informative report to those above me, again.”

“And will you, again?” She asks and she has this sly smile, you know you can’t say no to.

“Of course, I’ll send them the report until their datapads crash and their trash compactors are filled.”

“See, that’s why I came to Chandrila! I did live here at one point too if you haven’t forgotten, Ben was born here, we like to visit.” She teases you further, knowing you meant no judgment in your question. You’re walking beside her, down the barren hallways of the fancy building. Hallways that were once bustling with people but the ever-rotating capital stays true to its promise, it is not solely on one planet, travelling from different places in the systems.

“So when do you think you can introduce me to your brother? I'm not all that busy right now, there are no elections coming up, I can travel whenever, wherever.”

“Can you walk outside?” She quips and leaves you standing there confused as she leaves the building, you follow her after a moment, doubling up your steps to catch up with her until the sunshine and the bright purple skies fill your eyes.

You follow her to the familiar-looking Millenium Falcon that’s parked in the Senate houses hangar bay, the ramp is down and you can see Chewy with a four-year-old Ben Solo on his shoulders trying to fix or adjust something on the Falcon.

Han is sat in the grass with Luke standing in front of him talking about something in-depth that looks like it’s boring Han because his head shoots up when he sees the two of you approach.

“Senator!” Han exclaims standing up and dusting himself off.

“Solo!” You say with a cheesy smile as he wraps you in a hug getting some of the dirt he failed to wipe off on your long yellow and white dress.

“I'm Solo too!” Ben yells from the top of Chewy’s shoulders.

“And how is my favourite Solo doing today.” You ask as you look up at Ben.

“I'm great!” He yells with a bright smile from you calling him your favourite.

“Luke, this is our good friend, the one I was talking to you about before we got here.”

“Hi, I’m Luke.” He says with a smile as he walks up to you, offering his hand to shake. You can instantly see the resemblance between him and Leia but Luke smiles different, perhaps a bit more cheery than Leia usually is.

“Hello.”

“You’re the one Leia mentioned, you can uh, feel the force right?”

“Yes, but as I was telling her it doesn't mean much I don’t have a lot of control over it.” You try to undermine yourself, not wanting to make a big deal of it, something you kept secret for so long was now less taboo and it was hard to get used to even talking about it without it feeling wrong or strange.

“But you want to learn?” He asks and his voice is gentle, he seems kind and he gains your trust too soon.

“I’d like to yes, but I’m afraid I’m rather new to this whole thing, it was something I really kept to myself as I focused on politics and the New Republic.”

“But now her focus is on rebuilding a better and new Jedi Order.” Leia cuts in revealing your plans before you even properly had made them. You open your mouth but close it as no words manage to come out, trying to explain yourself.

“Well I'm new to this too, the teaching aspect, but I can try my best,” Luke assures you with a smile, he is quite sweet.

“Then you can teach me!” Ben yells as he runs to his uncle’s feet.

“Someday sure buddy.” Luke pats Ben’s hair as he looks up at his uncle with total admiration.

You bring Luke inside the Chandrila Senate House and into the meeting room where you have laid out all the books. The ceilings are tall and the walls are smooth stone as daylight pours in through the windows. He follows you in silence. You are too star-struck to talk to him and he finds you far too intimidating to say a thing. Outside when surrounded by his family he felt at ease, you were but a newcomer to him, a stranger asking him for guidance but in here you were like a princess in your palace, quickly maneuvering down the halls, your long dress flowing behind you, posture perfect and steps calculated as if the entire planet was watching you.

He wondered if that was you unconsciously using the force or if you really just seemed to flow through space like that as if the wind existed just to move your dress as you walked.

“This is a lot of books,” he says as he enters the room behind you and picks a few to look at them, “I have been looking for some of these for a long time, do you think I can borrow them after you’ve read them, or had a droid upload them?”

“Oh,” You say flatly by accident.

“Oh?” He asks.

“I've already read them all actually, that one there I’m reading a second time, the Jedi code, for I think it’s important when building new rules to take a look at the old ones and see what needs changing, so you can take all of them if you’d like.”

“You are writing new rules?” He asks as he flips through the pages of the Jedi Code.

“Yes, I tend to approach things such as this by learning as much as I can, I wrote everything important into my notebook, I can have a droid input it onto a datapad for you if you’d like a copy of that as well?”

“Sure, has Leia mentioned my plans to you?” He asks, confused why you seem to be organizing so many things together to help create a new system and new rules and teachings for a new age of Jedi all on your own.

“No, I just became bored with the New Republic, so this was like a side project I took on, it was meant to be a much smaller thing but I couldn’t help myself.”

“It’s brilliant, I mean, you put a lot of work into something that I’ve been thinking about doing for years. I want to create a new order of Jedi like there was before like my father was in but better.”

“That’s exactly what I was thinking! For what I lack in skill I make up for in knowledge if you need any help I’d be happy to lend a hand in any way I can.”

“Well I can teach you the ways of the force, strengthen your control over it, help you find a lightsabre of your own, and you can share some of that knowledge with me?”

“Perfect!” You exclaim as you take the book from his hands and put it down beside your notebook, taking a seat and offering him the seat beside you. He sits and moves close to you to see what your reading as your fingers trace up the page and over your delicately inked words. It was rare for someone to still use ink and paper when datapads were much more easily available and common.

“So here are a few rules I think need changing, to be more modern. I for one think The Jedi Order should be it’s own sperate entity from the New Republic while also working with them given they are the government in the galaxy, but separate to avoid and repetition... of last time.”

You explain and he nods as you flip the pages to a list of rules that you marked as outdated.

“What’s this rule you rewrote?” He asks and your face heats up as you know exactly which rule it is.

“Oh, yes that one. Well Jedi’s were all strictly ordered under celibacy in the past, and though I agree that not forming attachments is very important to the way of the Jedi I do think Celibacy is unimportant in that factor, as long as there are no attachments involved….” you prolong the last words as you look up from the paper to find he’s already looking at you. His cheeks are flushed pink and his eyes are a bit wide as he nods his head slowly.

“Yeah, I think… I agree with you. Yes,” he manages to get the words out and you can’t help but feel your face heat up at the whole conversation topic.

“Okay, good.” You agree as Luke stands up abruptly.

“So tomorrow, I’ll meet you back here and we can start your training?”

“Okay, I’ll be here right in the morning after breakfast.”

“Good, um wear something a little less-” Luke tries to explain but can’t find the words as he looks you up and down, your lightly coloured dress that shows your collar bones and shoulders, it puddles at your feet and is tight on your waist, taking over his thoughts

“Less?” You ask, unsure what he means and he quickly stutters to correct himself.

“No, not less. I meant um, wear something less regal, more um, something fit for agility if you have anything… like that”

“Oh, of course,” You say as you both stand in the room awkwardly facing each other, faces hopelessly red, you can feel the nerves flowing between you through the force, neither of you addresses this as he quickly nods and then rushes out of the room.

You stand there for a moment, chest heaving as you catch your breath and calm yourself, thinking over and analyzing each word of the conversation and the dynamic which turned so awkward once you both were alone.

“I can feel the sexual energy in the room, so either you’re going to sleep with my brother or you enjoy reading these books a little too much,” Leia says as she enters the room loudly.

“No, kriff no, Leia I just, we were just. I'm not sexually attracted to books.” You blurt out.

“But you are to my brother.”

“What! No, I ...we were talking about rules and such.”

“That sounds like foreplay when it comes to you.”

“Leia!” You shout covering your face with your hands.

“Relax, I don’t mind, he needs a woman in his life.”

“I'm not trying to sleep with your brother or do anything besides help him bring a new Jedi Order in place and learn the ways of the force from him, nothing more.”

“Personally I think you need a little something more but if you’re fine being married to a library of books I won’t judge, regardless Ben is adamant that you need to have dinner with us, so could you part with your books long enough to eat something?” She asks and you nod, fanning your face briefly as you follow her out the door and to the nice house just outside the capital that they lived in when Ben was first born.

Being the Senator of Chandrila meant you never really left, it was convenient when the New Republic was based here but now you just travelled to Hosnian prime whenever they called you to a meeting or connected through holo tech.

You much preferred the quietness that lingered when the Capital of the city was so empty, your council and the few droids that kept the Senate House looking so pristine were the only people still here, aside from the residents.

In the following days, you trained with Luke and discussed the future of the Jedi. Before you knew it he was giving you a lightsabre of your own that used to belong to Jedi Master Obi-Wan Kenobi, Han said he got it from a friend who bought it off a scrapper after the Death Star was destroyed. You had read about Obi-Wan Kenobi and you were glad to have such a respected Jedi Master’s lightsabre, one that was almost lost forever.

It was the last night before your friends were going to leave Chandrila, you were confident in your skills and Luke had a good understanding of the route you two were going to take with this.

“So whats next?” You ask as you sit in the meeting room with Luke once again.

“There’s still a lot of planning to be done, we need to decide on a planet to home the school, a safe location.”

“Any places in mind?”

“Well, I have to do some travelling to find a place, there are also more books and things that I need to track down. But we mostly need students and that’s where I thought you could come in.”

“You want me to find the students?”

“For most of your life you were hiding the fact that you could feel the force, I think you know what it’s like and you are best suited for recruiting, plus your political side makes you hard to argue with. A lot of these people will be children, very young.” He pauses as he senses your nervousness at such a grand task, doubting yourself and your abilities. “I sense so much light within you, so much hope and kindness that I believe you are best to tackle this. If you want to that is.”

“No of course I do! I’d gladly take that job! I’ll take a break from my political duties with the New Republic and with the help of my pilot droid I’ll track down the future students!”

“I have a feeling, though I hope it’s not true, Han had suggested it and ever since I can’t stop thinking about it.”

“What is it?” You ask as you grab his arm, his tone turning more serious.

“You are a competent fighter and stronger with the force than I thought you would be. If I didn’t have faith that you could do this I wouldn't let you but I think the best way to track these children down is to follow rumours, the problem is that the remnants of the empire will also be following these rumours, tracking down these children, putting bounties on them. So you should go to the bounty guild, the one in the Outer Rim and see how many you can get information on. You may run into a bounty hunter or a few while tracking down these kids so be careful. Then when you find them bring them back here in secrecy, this is your planet I’m sure you can keep them safe here until I establish a place for the school.”

“Okay, I’ll follow any intel I can get and I’ll contact you on the holo transmitter I gave you.” You confirm, pointing the holo transmitter you gave him in his hands.

“Great, I’ll keep you updated too and once I find a planet suitable I’ll join you?”

“Okay,” you say and then smile at him, it felt good, this plan felt good. You had a surge of confidence fill your bones, he believed in you and that meant so much.

“So does this make me a Jedi now?” You tease as he gets up and goes to leave the room.

“I grant you the rank of Jedi Knight,” he jokes, though he is being serious the words feel funny on his tongue, being a teacher and a Jedi Master will be weird.

“Jedi Knight, Senator of Chandrila, member of the New Republic, I like all these fancy titles I have.”

“Well, they suit you,” he compliments as he looks over your appearance again, you still have on a fancy dress, it’s light blue and purple which resembles the sunsets on Chandrila, your light sabre is strapped to your thigh under your dress perfectly concealed if not for the high slit in your dress which makes it visible. His eyes trail up your long legs, admiring you before meeting your eyes and then nervously looking away before forcing out a cough. “I better go.”

“Talk to you soon,” you say as you had already said goodbye to your friends earlier. You watch as he walks away, haste in his step as he boards the falcon, picking up Ben who was stood on the ramp waving to you ecstatically. The Falcon doesn't fly away for a few minutes until it reopens again and Luke walks out, his droids close behind him.

You walk down the steps meeting him halfway, Luke runs up to you almost bumping into you.

“Take my droids with you, R2 can help with flying and computers and Threepio can help you with translating and keeping you company.”

“I am fluent in over six million forms of communications!” The tall golden robot says matter of factly.

“I will take good care of them,” you say with a wide smile before closing the space and wrapping your arms around Luke, encasing him in a grateful hug, “thank you.”

“It’s no problem, I wish I could give you more.” He says casually, you notice the holo transmitter is strapped to his belt, keeping it close to him. You were glad to be building this new Jedi Order with Luke, you couldn’t imagine trying to work with anyone else, he was a great teacher, a gentle soul, a bit foolish but strong with the force.

It gave you hope, this mission should be a breeze! You watched the Falcon fly off and then went to your room to pack up some things and load your ship. You had a Star Yacht, which technically was one of the Chandrila Star Ships but you had total clearance to take yours used for travelling from Chandrila to Hosnian Prime anywhere in the galaxy as you saw fit, no one was going to question your flight plans anyways.

You had a pilot droid which was modelled after the one of a kind droid L3-37 which belonged to Lando Calrissian and got a bit of fame from freeing the slaves on Kessel. When you found the model which only resembled the original droid you had to have it, though none of the personality was shared you were still glad to have a one of kind pilot droid with a personality of her own. You considered hooking her up to the falcon to take what bits of L3 that were integrated when the original droid died, but decided L3 was better off as part of the Falcon, resurrecting droids wasn’t your strong suit anyway. Your droid, L8-39 was a calm droid, precise in her piloting and hated her nickname L8 because she was in fact, never late.

Your ship was just meant to be a travelling ship, a yacht in every sense of the word. There was a bedroom compartment not much less than your actual room in the Senate House, it had a small kitchenette, storage, lots of guest space, a lounge room and was built for comfort and elegance with its shiny chrome exterior.

Though it had a strong shield there were little to no offensive procedures in place, you packed your blaster, your lightsabre and some other handy things that remained after the demilitarization act and decided with your fancy ship, L8, Threepio and R2 you were more than capable.

- Part 2

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cinnaminsvga · 4 years

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💋 | tlhc!yoongi

the sleep deprived series (n.): drabbles that i write when i’m sad and tired

→ tlhc!yoongi ft. jungkook | 3.5K words → a/n: this was written after an anon sent me a REALLY angsty idea for tlhc and i haven’t stopped thinking about it since. also, this takes place after namjin’s wedding but before yoongi and y/n get together (in this drabble, they’re “dating” but i say that loosely because... well. they’re fucking yoongi and y/n so OFC they’re stupidly, emotionally constipated). anyway... here’s This!! rip!!

Yoongi knows he’s being childish when he leaves your shared apartment with a large pout on his face. He knows that if he just tried a little harder, he could’ve convinced you to let him stay at home instead of going to some godforsaken bachelor party. He hasn’t been to a party involving body shots and strippers since he graduated from university, and he isn’t exactly keen on returning to that particular scene either. He has always been a more wine and dine type of guy, and everyone is aware of this.

It’s a well-known fact amongst his circle of friends that Min Yoongi isn’t keen on attending most types of social gatherings. Birthdays, weddings, anniversaries, casual get-togethers… It didn’t matter what the occasion is because Yoongi is certainly going to hate every second of it. It didn’t even matter if the party was being hosted by a long-time friend; after all, sitting in a room filled with half-strangers and estranged friends isn’t exactly what Yoongi would consider a “fun time.”

It doesn’t stop people from inviting him out of courtesy, though.

Most of the time, Yoongi is able to grit through the pain of human interaction as long as you tagged along with him. You’re kind of like Yoongi’s walking meat shield when it comes to parties, though you aren’t exactly fond of his analogy when he had explained himself to you. Nevertheless, you always did understand him better than anyone else, always being his savior from awkward small talk by redirecting the conversation away from him. Or, you would quietly tug him outside to the backyard so that the two of you could pet the party owner’s dog or something.

Truly, what would he have done without you?

“I still don’t understand why you expect me to go to this party alone. You’re practically feeding me to the sharks,” Yoongi whines, not at all immaturely. He can hear your exasperated sigh through his phone speakers, though he imagines that you hadn’t been aiming to conceal your ire in the first place.

“Yoonie, it’s Jungkook’s bachelor party. You heard what that dweeb said: ‘No girls allowed’ or some shit. Like some sort of toddler. I’m surprised he even asked you to attend.”

“Are you implying that I should be barred entry because of my feminine hips?” Yoongi asks, hopeful. “Cause honestly, I was only kinda offended when Jungkook said I had twink-sized proportions, so I mean…”

You scoff, though Yoongi can imagine you shaking your head with tired fondness. AKA, your default mood towards him on most days. Yoongi doubts that fondness is going to help him convince you to let him get the fuck out of this party, though. “Save it. You’re going to that party or else.”

Yoongi sniffs, offended. “Honestly, you should be the one going instead of me. I’m not as close to that pussyboi as you are.”

“Hey, only I’m allowed to call him that,” you chide. “Besides, you already left the house. I don’t understand why you’re calling me in the first place. It’s almost 8PM and you should be at the restaurant by now.”

It’s true. Yoongi is literally already in front of the restaurant where they all agreed to meet before heading out to the “main event,” or whatever the hell that means. It could only end badly; after all, Park Jimin had been the one to organize this shitshow of a bachelor party. Things will not go in Yoongi’s favor tonight if Jimin can help it.

“I’m only here because you threatened to disfigure Kobe Bryant-sunbaenim! That bobblehead is limited edition!�� Yoongi has the strongest urge to stomp his feet, though he restrains himself only so that the hostess by the entrance of the restaurant won’t call the manager on him (again.) He is nearing his 30’s for fuck’s sake! Then again, Seokjin is a year older than him and if Yoongi’s future is anything like his, he shudders to think what might become of him.

“Yoonie,” you say, voice steely and quiet. Uh oh. You’re getting genuinely angry by now, and Yoongi knows he’s pushing your buttons to their limits. However, he wouldn’t be doing it otherwise if he really didn’t want to go to this party. He hates disappointing you, but nothing on this planet could ever make him want to go through those mahogany doors and face that bucktoothed loser with stars in his googly eyes.

Yoongi sighs, rubbing the back of his neck tiredly. “I know, I know. I’m being childish. It’s just a party and I should just endure it. Although, I’m not promising that I’ll even try to pretend that I’m enjoying it. That’s beyond my paygrade, I’m afraid,” Yoongi says, picking his hangnails as he gazes at the entrance of the restaurant. The hostess’ left eyebrow twitches slightly, a forced customer service smile on her lips. Yoongi feels a sudden sense of strong camaraderie with this stranger.

“I was just gonna say that if you really can’t stand the party, then I’m allowing you an out. If you can stay there for at least two hours, then you can leave once you’ve––“

You hardly get to finish your sentence when Yoongi cuts you off, a strangled sob of relief escaping his throat. “Oh, thank you, my goddess! You are truly the apple of my eye; I shalt never speak ill of you no longer! You are heaven incarnate, my fair and beautiful mistress, the sun who has chased away the darkness––“

“Shut the fuck up, court jester,” you say, endearment dripping like honey off of your words. But Yoongi is already smiling ear to ear, hopelessly warm for some reason. If Hoseok had been around, he would have gagged at the sight of the two of you.

We’re so whipped, Yoongi thinks idly to himself.

“Now go say hello to Jungkook for me, will you? And please, if either he or Jimin do anything stupid or illegal, try to hold them back a little, okay?”

“Nope, I don’t think so,” Yoongi says, before promptly hanging up. Before he pockets his phone, he texts a short “ily” just in case he actually might have pissed you off. Either way, that will be a problem for future Yoongi to figure out.

Just as he ended the calls, a muffled crash and what sounds like a hyena being forced down a trash compactor from inside the restaurant echoes ominously through the open streets. Yoongi and the hostess hardly flinch at the cacophany, both of them staring glassily at the smoggy South Korean sky with quiet acquiescence.

“Fuck me,” Yoongi says. “Fuck me, indeed.”

*.*.*.*.*

The party is as terrible as Yoongi had imagined. Scratch that––Yoongi doesn’t think his imagination is capable of conjuring such a nightmarish scene. He’s pretty sure at least 99% of the inhabitants of this strip club were doing something slightly to moderately illegal. Case in point:

“Jeon Jungkook, I don’t think you should be doing that,” Yoongi yells over the discordant noise that the DJ is trying to pass off as “music.” Jungkook pauses in his ministrations to turn to face Yoongi, which is a feat in itself, as it appears that Jungkook’s eyes were facing opposite directions. Yoongi chooses to maintain eye contact with his left one.

“Whaaa? Why not, coconut?” Jungkook giggles at his little rhyme at the end, but his laughter sounds garbled, probably hindered by the amount of saliva pooling inside his mouth.

Yoongi points at his hands. “Jungkook. I’m pretty sure that is not salt that you are pouring over your fries.”

It takes a few moments for Jungkook to register anything that Yoongi had said. In fact, Yoongi doesn’t think he registers them at all; Yoongi has to forcefully take away the soiled plate of “mystery powder fries” away from him before Jungkook even realizes anything is going on.

“Heeeey, getchur own food, boomer!” Jungkook whines, making grabby hands at the plate before flopping pathetically onto Yoongi’s lap. Yoongi, ever the gentleman, pushes the younger off until he tumbles off the side of the booth and into a mysterious puddle spilled by one of the scantily clad “mechanics.” Jungkook, to his credit, gets up back onto his seat with some semblance of grace (which is to say, he managed to get his ass onto the couch without any additional injury.)

“I can’t believe I’m literally at a glorified children’s party. And I thought babysitting Namjoon’s little demon was bad enough,” Yoongi groans, grimacing in disgust at the mystery liquid from the floor oozes gently down the side of Jungkook’s face. “Dude. Wipe your fucking face.”

Jungkook, known laundry-fanatic and clean freak extraordinaire, promptly takes off his pristine white shirt and uses it to dab his face away. After which, he throws it somewhere behind him, right into a circle of twinks who proceed to fight over who gets to keep it. “Better,” he mutters, same dopey smile on his face.

“Just 1 hour, 18 minutes and 34 seconds left, Yoongi… I can do this,” Yoongi says through clenched teeth. He takes a deep breath, counts to ten, tries to remember what his therapist told him to do when he’s slowly losing his grip on reality. Then, Jungkook throws up all over his new leather shoes.

“Hyung,” Jungkook mutters sleepily, head lolling like he’s about to drop dead in a second. He grins dopily at Yoongi, a string of saliva dripping down the side of his cheek. “I think I’m sick.”

“Oh for fuck’s sake.” And so, like the kind person that he is, he drags Jungkook by the armpits, dodging sweaty strippers and drunken guests alike as he tows the younger to the nearby restroom. Yoongi contemplates bringing Jungkook to Jimin to take care of him instead, but that idea is completely dashed the moment he sees the latter drinking shots as if it were water. The risk of having two people vomit on his shoes in one night would have been extremely high, and Yoongi isn’t an idiot. So he takes the idiot draped across his back to the toilet himself.

The restroom is empty when they arrive. When Yoongi slams the door shut, it becomes shockingly quiet as the noise from outside gets dulled to a soft throb. Yoongi immediately dumps Jungkook against one of the chipped porcelain sinks, grimacing slightly when the younger causes the sink to groan precariously from his weight.

“Hyungie,” Jungkook warbles. The sweat on his brow has made his bangs stick to his forehead in strange patterns, and Yoongi imagines he could rearrange his hair to spell out “SHITHEAD” if he so desired.

“What.” Yoongi grabs a handful of paper towels and proceeds to try (and fail) to clean the carnage on his shoes. Meanwhile, Jungkook just stands there quietly, spit long since dried on his face, adding to the sheen already there. The quietness of the restroom is both jarring and awkward compared to the insanity just behind the door, and Yoongi finds himself preferring to look at his black-turned-brown shoes instead of the boy standing just to his right.

“I think I overdid it,” Jungkook admits after a while. Yoongi chances a glance upwards before looking back down at the floor, uncomfortable when he sees the surprisingly sober face of a man who had just finished drinking ten tequila shots.

“You think?” Yoongi snorts, rolling his eyes. He inches forward towards the sink, gently nudging Jungkook out of the way to wash his hands. Jungkook has still yet made a move towards the faucet himself, but Yoongi isn’t about to offer to clean him up either. He’s already a Samaritan for bringing him to the restroom; he’s used up all his empathy points for today.

“Y/N and Tae always say that I have severely low impulse control.”

True to form, Yoongi’s traitorous ears perk up at the mention of your name, and he finally makes full eye contact with Jungkook through the mirror. “It took two people and ten tequila shots to figure it out? Geez. No wonder you almost didn’t graduate kindergarten.”

“Hey, I told you that in confidence,” Jungkook pouts.

“Not my problem,” Yoongi retorts, indifferent. Yoongi stares at him for a moment. “Jesus. You look like a fucking mess. You sure you’re getting married next week?”

“I’m pretty sure, unless Taehyung changes his mind,” Jungkook shrugs. Well, that was certainly not quite the answer Yoongi was expecting. Yoongi must not have been quick enough to hide his surprise because Jungkook laughs coldly, the sound mirthless and paper-thin––not at all like the ridiculously mirthful manchild he’s always known him to be.

“Don’t tell me you’re getting cold feet?” Yoongi had meant to say it like a joke, but his harsh tone doesn’t escape his own ears. God, he wishes he was better at this, but sue him for lacking practice at consoling other human beings.

Luckily, Jungkook takes it in stride, shrugging his shoulders. “Not really. More like… I’m in disbelief? That he’d actually… after all this time…”

Yoongi doesn’t reply at first. For as long as Yoongi has known him, the elder has never quite connected with Jungkook, for whatever reason. Hearing him speak so candidly about his feelings like this is new territory for Yoongi, and it’s strangely making him nervous. He feels the hairs on the back of his neck stand at attention as he is faced with a side of Jungkook that Yoongi didn’t think he was capable of having. Sure, you’ve told him vaguely about the problems that Jungkook has asked advice about, but never has Yoongi ever thought that he’d be doing the same. The two of them just weren’t… like that.

“I’m sure Taehyung likes––no, loves you. A lot. Anyone with eyes can see that he absolutely adores you,” Yoongi says after a while, coughing awkwardly into his fist. God, he sucks at this. Where are you when he needs you? You always knew what to say in moments like this.

Jungkook laughs again, and it’s just as discordant as the first. He shakes his head, empty smile on his lips. “It’s not that. I don’t doubt him in the slightest. It’s more like… I’m doubting myself.”

Now that catches Yoongi’s attention. Self-doubt, loneliness, fear: if Yoongi had to be an expert on anything, it would be for those three. He… he gets it. “Jungkook, if this is about feeling like you don’t deserve him, then you’re dead wrong. You’re allowed to be loved, Jungkook. Believe me, I know more than anyone what denial feels like. The two of you aren’t going to crash and burn, okay? You’ll be fine.”

Jungkook smiles wryly at that. “Thanks. But it’s not… it’s not that.” Jungkook pauses, and it looks like the words get caught in his throat. He opens his mouth, closes it. Grimaces like he’s swallowed something bitter. He takes a deep breath, looking as uncomfortable as Yoongi feels. “Yoongi-hyung, I have a confession to make.”

Now Yoongi’s confused. “What?”

“I haven’t been… candid. With you. About…” Jungkook takes another shaky breath. “About me and Y/N.”

Yoongi’s blood runs cold. He feels the sweat start to form across his palms, and he clenches them into fists to stop them from shaking. He can almost sense the disaster before it even hits, feels the floor swimming underneath his feet, waiting to devour him whole.

“What?” Yoongi repeats.

“I’ve been thinking about it, recently. It’s been years since I last even remembered it, but then it started plaguing my dreams, and it’s… It’s ruining me. I need––I need to come clean or else I might die with regret,” Jungkook says. Yoongi still doesn’t understand what he means; Jungkook is just saying words without saying anything at all, and it’s making the wait even more terrible.

“Kook, just spit it out already.”

“Hyung, I beg of you. Please don’t think badly of me but…” Jungkook slumps to the floor just then, both the sink and his legs unable to keep him up any longer. Against his will, Yoongi tumbles with him, compelled to follow him down.

“What? What? What?”

“I kissed her,” Jungkook murmurs, voice low. Whispered like a secret. Because it is a secret, even though it isn’t any longer. Not when the words have crawled out his mouth and into Yoongi’s ears, making its way to his brain where it refuses to be understood, to be processed.

“What?” Yoongi can’t seem to remember how to breathe, much less how to speak. He can’t say anything else except, “What?”

“N-not recently. A long time ago,” Jungkook hurries, fear crossing his face when he realizes how he must have sounded. “I would never cheat on––Y/N would never cheat on you––“

His words do nothing to quell the thunderous beating in Yoongi’s chest. He can only stare as the younger jumbles over his words, fat tears starting to dribble out of his eyes like waterfalls. Why is he crying? This is so wrong.

“We––when you broke her heart, all those years ago. Before she ran away to Daegu––“

Yoongi remembers. Of course he does. He doesn’t think he can ever forget.

“––she was so so sad, and it fucking hurt. It hurt seeing her like that, you know? I… I hated you for it. So much, hyung,” Jungkook sobs, hiding behind his hands. He wipes at his face, smearing his sweat, tears, and vomit with shaky movements. “And then she kissed me but it was a mistake because she was heartbroken and she just wanted to feel––to feel something? I don’t know… And then I pushed her away––“

“You pushed her away?” Yoongi interrupts, uncharacteristically calm. He thinks like he should be screaming, maybe. Or feel jealous, even. But then again, this had happened years ago, when you and he hadn’t even been… anything, at the time. Hell, he has no right to be hurt by this. He shouldn’t even be allowed to resent Jungkook for it. Shouldn’t have to feel like he won’t be able to forgive Jungkook. So then why is he..?

Jungkook nods. “I-I did, but that’s not… the whole thing. For a while, I thought that maybe…” He curls into himself, bowing his head in shame. Yoongi doesn’t need to hear the rest to know what he was about to say.

“You used to love her, didn’t you?”

Jungkook nods again, ashamed. Disgusted with himself. “Pathetic, right?”

But the thing is, Yoongi already knew this. You’ve told him about Jungkook’s misplaced affections for you; it had happened during a stressful time for the both of you, and you had assured Jungkook that his feelings were just a figment of his imagination. You believed that Jungkook had just been lonely, desperate for someone to cling onto especially after all that drama between Taehyung and Hoseok at the time.

“She kept telling me that I wasn’t in love with her. And for a while, I believed her. But then, when she was about to leave for America, we… we kissed again. Just to… I wanted to make sure,” Jungkook slams his fist onto the dirty restroom floor, clawing at the tiles like an animal in pain. It’s getting harder for Yoongi to understand Jungkook through his sobs, but he is afraid of even moving lest Jungkook stops speaking. It’s like watching a car crash––no matter how much Yoongi is afraid, he can’t look away.

“When we kissed the second time... She laughed. I laughed. ‘No spark,’ was what she said. I agreed because I had no other choice but to,” Jungkook admits. He exhales like his chest has been ripped open, like he’s drowning. Yoongi feels the same way.

“It would be unfair if I said anything. To her, to you, to Taehyung… but most of all, to myself. Because it would never work. It’s not… I’m not...” Jungkook coughs, trailing off. He hacks his lungs out, forehead banging against his knees from the force. He heaves for air once, twice. Then, silence.

“Jungkook?” Yoongi whispers, momentarily stunned. When the younger doesn’t reply, he nudges his shoulder. No movement. Yoongi tilts his head upwards, only to find Jungkook’s eyelids already closed and breathing steadily through his nose. The bastard had finally passed out.

“Jesus,” Yoongi sighs, letting go of the younger and letting him crumple to the floor. Yoongi contemplates passing out as well. “Jesus,” Yoongi repeats.

He sits there in silence for a while, accompanied only by his thoughts and the muffled sounds of the party outside. He doesn’t know how long he sits there for, only thinks to leave the restroom when a young couple (Jungkook’s college friends) burst in while making out, both incognizant of the odd pair slumped on the floor.

Yoongi leaves Jungkook there, but not before sending a short text to Jimin to go check on Jungkook, and sending another one to Taehyung for good measure. Yoongi rushes out of the club without looking back, feeling slightly more empty than he had before the night started.

You don’t comment when Yoongi comes back home earlier than expected. You don’t even scold him for breaking his side in the agreement. Wrapped up in blankets in front of the TV, you wordlessly open up your cocoon to let him slither in beside you, allowing him to wrap his cold feet against your legs. You don’t even complain when he falls asleep without another word, just gently caressing his hair as he descends into fitful dreams. He doesn’t bring up the party the next day, and neither do you.

The following week, the two of you attend Taehyung and Jungkook’s wedding.

#btsboulangerie #bts scenarios #yoongi x reader #bts x reader #bts fanfiction #bts #bts imagines #bts angst #min yoongi #yoongi scenarios #yoongi imagines #yoongi angst #bangtan #the sleep deprived series

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geo-winchester · 4 years

Text

DEAR BROTHER (2)

A/N: Hi! So here’s the second part of this story, I think is a littler linger and this time is a little more of Han and Ben relationship with the trade but I didn’t left Poe behind, I hope you like it!

Part 1

———

Yn woke up in what she thought it was a cell with her hand tied and she could feel something was preventing her for talk, she look around, the room was a little dark but she could see the figure who was in front of her, her brother was sitting in a chair, she didn’t make a sound as she was looking for a way to escape, it would be more easy if he weren’t wearing the mask, that way she would know if he was looking at her.

-finally, you’re awake- he finally said, she was about to talk but she couldn’t so she just close her eyes and focus.

-Seriously, you have to do this?- Ben turned around to the a projection of his sister.

-I know what you did to those stoormtropers, I didn’t give you the chance to do it again- she looked at him, he could see her emotions in her eyes, fear, anger, sadness... love, he take away his mask so she could see her -I missed you.

-oh yeah! I thought I was here because I was a prisoner not because you miss me, beside If you miss me, you wouldn’t stay, you would help me and come home with me, this isn’t you Ben...

-That’s because Ben Solo is death.

-That’s a lie, that’s what you tell yourself, but I know who you are, your my brother the one who told me he always going to be there to protect me...

-I still want to protect you, imagine your powers if you let the Snoke train you, we could be the most powerful brothers in the universe, we could be more powerful and fear than our grandfather!- she shook her head.

-Ben, I won’t join you...

-Why? because you scare of what our parents think of you...

-Because this isn’t right, ...

-Or maybe you didn’t know what you want and you there stay there because of that pilot- she look at him -You know who I’m talking about he was our prisoner a few weeks ago, I saw everything in his head Yn, and he only was thinking about you...

-Leave him out of this, he just...

-A resistance pilot who’s in love with you?- you stop abruptly -Ah, you didn’t know... but you love him too...

-Get out of my head!- she screamed making him to get a step back.

-See all that anger would make you a powerful sith.

-I will never join you- she said taking a step closer to him, she saw him walk to the door but stop before the door was open.

-I hope the isolation help you to change your mind.

Yn try all the things she’s been training with her mother, but every idea that fail the more and more anxious she fell, she wonder why this time was differently, I mean this wasn’t the first time you were in danger, then it hit her, Poe, the things Ben told her about poe, she have to recognize it, she had feelings for him and maybe he feel the same way but he never say something to her and imagine she could die without telling him was killing her, Yn thought in projecting to Poe but she never tried from a long distance but she decide to give it a shot, she close her eyes and focus, she said his name but she couldn’t found him, she was about to give up when she sense someone else, someone in the same place she was.

-Dad...

Han Solo was in a room with Chewbacca and Finn, after they heard Finn’s plans they wait for captain Phasma, it didn’t take a lot time when she finally walk in front of them, Chewbacca push her and bring it to the room, Finn take the lead and step in front of her.

-Do you remember me?- Finn said

-FN2187

-Not any more, my name is Finn and I’m in charge, I’m in charge Phasma, I’m in charge.

-Bring it down- Han told him.

-Oh yeah- Finn agreed -follow me- he took them to the computer and he point her head with his gun -you’re going to deactivate the shields- she didn’t move -Do you want a whole in your head?- Finn said and Chewbacca roar in response, Phasma push a bottom and deactivate the shields.

-you have to be stupid if you think this is going to be easy, my troops will come here and kill you.

-I disagree, Now what we do with her?- Finn said.

-Do you have a garbage dump? Trash compactor?- Han ask, making Finn smile and asked them to follow him.

They were walking thru the halls searching for the room were they can turn off the blasters, when they enter to the room they saw a figure standing in front of them, Han was the first to approach to her.

-Hey dad...- she said, Chewbacca roar and Yn smile -Hey chewie.

-Are you really here?- Han asked to his daughter and she give him a little smile.

-No, I’m in some kind of cell- she hadn’t repair in Finn until he cleared his throat -who are you? Is that Poe’s jacket?- Finn look at the jacket and he was going to answer her but Han was quickly.

-How do you know who’s jacket is? Is he’s your boyfriend? Why didn’t you tell me? Did I need to kick his ass??- Han start to raise his voice, Chewbacca roar to Han -Yeah I know she is capable to kick his ass but I’m his father.

-I don’t think this is the time or the place to do this- Finn said, he turned to look at Han -I know where she is, is Rey with you?- Yn shook her head.

-Did you know where this prison is?- Finn nod.

-But what happened to Rey

-We look for Rey, while we go for my daughter, they probably be in the same floor- Yn smile before she disappear -kid, lead the way.

Yn open her eyes, she scare when she saw her brother was stand next to her, how much time did he was there, did he notice she wasn’t Really there, she look at him when he approach his hand to her face, and he take what she had in her mouth, she look at him with surprise, this was the first time in a long time that she recognize her brother, the brother she growth with, the one who protect her and the one she miss. They stay quiet for a while but then one stormtrooper told Ben that a general need him in the headquarters and without making a sound he left. It wasn’t long when the door open and her dad came followed by chewie they stop when he saw she still had her hands tied, chewie approach to her and break the handcuffs, she run in to her father and hug him.

-Hey kiddo- Han said, Chewie take the both in a big hug.

-Hey Chewie, Thanks for save me- she smile and turn to Finn- did you got an intercom?- He nod and give it to her.

-It better be to talk your mom and no that boyfriend of you- Han said while he approach to the door to give her a little of privacy, she put the intercom and hope he could hear her.

-Poe?- she said, Poe was in the middle of the trip to get to the star killer base, when she hear her voice.

-Yn is that you? Are you ok? Are you hurt? What happened?- he asked her.

-I’m fine, your friend Finn help me- she hear her father cleared his troath behind her -with the help of my dad and Chewie.

-I’m so glad to hear your voice, I was afraid something happened to you and I didn’t got the chance to...- he stop for a moment and he hear BB-8’s beeps, he agreed -Yn... I want to tell you... that... I... Lo...

-I know- Yn said with a smile in her face -me too- they stay quiet for a few seconds.

-If I were there I would kiss you.

-save it for when we win- she said feeling the blush in her face.

-Ok love birds, we have a mission to finish- Han told them, he took the intercom -and you young man we’re going to have a long conversation when we get back- he didn’t even wait to Poe to answer him, he just give the intercom to Finn, Yn look at his dad a little surprise -Let’s go and finish this mission.

#star wars x reader #han solo x daughter!reader #solo!reader #kylo ren x sister!reader #kylo x reader #poe dameron x solo!reader #poe dameron x reader #poe dameron

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hazel-writes · 3 years

Text

Summary: After a brief encounter with the mysterious Kylo Ren, you find yourself caught in a moral dilemma - one that gets you in trouble with a certain notorious General onboard the Finalizer. As you find out more about your internship and its conditions, you start to regret your decision to leave home more and more.

Word Count: 1,900

Warnings: minor canon-typical violence, blood

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

Images of broken light

Which dance before me like a million eyes

They call me on and on

Across the universe

• Across the Universe - The Beatles •

He was tall, really tall, and wore an all-black ensemble of expertly-fitted linens. His robes, like an ebony waterfall, fell down below his feet. His cape billowed behind him dramatically, almost like a prince. Your eyes drifted up to his face, or rather where his face should’ve been, as he was wearing a mask. You recognized his visor; you would be surprised if there was a single soul in the galaxy who didn’t.

You immediately knew the face that lied behind it:

Commander Kylo Ren.

As if you had said his name out loud, the Commander, who had previously been reprimanding a stormtrooper, snapped his head to the side to meet your eyes.

You froze, panic starting to build in your gut. He cocked his head to the side. You were finding it difficult to avert your eyes from the metallic twilight of his mask. After a moment, you realized that you were still staring and quickly turned your head back to the map.

You continued to feel his piercing gaze for a few more seconds as you attempted to slow your breathing back to a semi-normal rate. After what seemed like an eternity, he focused his attention back onto the anxiety-ridden stormtrooper who stood before him. With a casual flick of his hand, the Commander threw him against the nearest wall, where he crumpled down to the floor, unmoving.

Oh stars. Oh stars. Oh stars.

You bore your eyes into the piece of paper in your hands with an extreme ferocity, not daring to look up. You released a breath you hadn't realized you were holding when he finally turned on his heel and walked away, leaving the unfortunate trooper unconscious on the floor.

Now you faced a dire moral dilemma: help the injured trooper and risk being late to your meeting, or walk away and arrive on time. After going over the options in your head, you started to realize how selfish and inconsiderate you sounded. Is this what working on the Finalizer did to people, scare them into a self-preservational mindset, prioritizing duty over empathy?

You remembered something your dad used to tell you: Nothing bad can ever come from helping those in need.

Though you were aware the same may not be true for life on the Finalizer, you hadn’t lost your Lothalian morality.

Not yet.

With a newfound confidence, you made your way over to the fallen stormtrooper, proud of yourself for honoring your father’s advice. You bent down until you were on your knees in front of him. Everyone else in the hallway continued to go about their business as if nothing had happened. After carefully removing his helmet, you found he was seemingly unscathed and breathing steadily. The man who lied before you looked young, maybe only a little older than you were.

He looks so… normal.

You gently shifted his head so that he would be more comfortable, and after doing so, found your hand covered in blood. Your eyebrows furrowed in concern and you peered down to view the source of the fluid, finding a large gash at the back of his scalp.

Oh stars.

You were saying that a lot today.

You looked around frantically, hoping that someone else would see the predicament you were in and offer their help.

No one did.

You started to become angry; angry at the normalization of violence within the First Order. But you weren’t naive — you understood that violence was always going to be present, no matter where you were. You were more frustrated by the reactions, or lack thereof, to that violence. You found yourself becoming more and more uncomfortable with the idea of working on the Finalizer, surrounded by people who seemed to lack every empathetic bone in their bodies.

You decided to channel that anger and frustration into making sure the stormtrooper would be okay — a fate you knew wasn’t shared by other victims of Kylo Ren and the First Order.

I need to stop the bleeding.

After one more desperate look around the hallway, which was still crowded with troopers, various lieutenants, and droids, you spotted a man wearing a long coat that could definitely help stem some of the bleeding. You heard yourself calling out to him:

“Sir! Excuse me, sir!”

He glanced down at you as he approached, seemingly confused and irritated at the sight before him.

“I’m sorry, but I- I need to borrow this!” You gestured towards his long overcoat.

His mouth opened in protest but before he knew what was happening, you had grabbed the coat off of his shoulders and placed it at the back of the stormtrooper’s head. The man’s startled expression evolved to one of anger as he roughly grabbed your arm, bringing you up to a standing position. Not letting go of your arm, he snarled in your face.

“What is the meaning of this?” He growled.

Is he serious right now? you thought, incredulous to the man's behavior.

“I was just trying to save his life!” You pleaded, before adding, “Sir”.

“General,” he seethed.

“Right, sorry, General,” you repeated.

The unnamed General loosened his grip on your arm slightly. You stood there in a silent panic, not knowing what was coming next.

“Who are you? Where are you stationed?” the General spat.

Great, you thought, I'm gonna get fired and I haven't even started working. Mother will be real happy about that.

“Uhh… I’m a - an intern. In the Office of Imperial Promotion, Galactic Truth, and Fact Correction.” You shrugged nervously and gave a sheepish smile. “It’s my first day.”

“Obviously,” the General frustratedly sighed. He slowly looked you up and down, considering something. “You don’t happen to be from that dreaded planet Lothal, are you?”

Surprised at his knowledge of this, you replied with a twinge of shock and confusion in your voice.

“Yeah, yeah I am. How did you-”

“It seems you are late for our meeting.”

Kriff.

“You’re General Hux?” you asked, already knowing the answer.

“That is correct,” he replied slowly through clenched teeth.

“Oh.” You didn’t know what else to say. There was no way this was going to end well.

Gently extricating yourself from his grasp, you knelt again by the stormtrooper, checking on his wound. It was still bleeding, but much less than before. Your eyes drifted to his face, a deep brown color, accentuated by kind features and lips that were downturned in a slight frown.

He looks sad. You sighed.

“Is there anyone who we can take him to?” You asked helplessly, gesturing to the body next to you.

“I do not concern myself with the business of trivial trooper mishaps,” Hux spat back, irritated.

You chuckled humorously. “This was hardly a misha-”

Hux cut you off. “I know a mere intern wouldn’t dare speak back to a commanding General on their first day of work, now would they?”

If you wanted to keep your job, and probably your life, you knew you had to comply with his orders. Resisting at this point wouldn’t do you, or the trooper, any good.

“No General, they wouldn’t,” you replied solemnly, eyes downcast.

“Good. I will let the fact that you ruined my irreplaceable coat on the account of a replaceable trooper slide for now. But any more trouble of this sort, and I will see to it myself that you are executed.” His eyes narrowed and nose scrunched in a threatening glare.

“Yes, General,” you replied.

“Follow me, and don’t fall behind,” he gestured in the direction of the hallway he initially came from.

With one last look at the trooper, you stood and followed him, thoughts spinning through your head.

You remembered his words: replaceable trooper.

Surely that meant you, a young intern, were far below the status of replaceable.

Yes, that’s right.

You were executional.

———————————

You followed Hux to a medium-sized office. There was a large, sleek desk in the center of the room. On one side of the desk was an uncomfortable-looking chair with a tall, rectangular back. On the other side was another chair, this one smaller, but just as uncomfortable-looking. The lighting in the room was dark, making it difficult to see Hux’s face. His ginger hair, however, stuck out like a sore thumb, and you found yourself wondering if he was ever made fun of for it as a kid.

“Sit,” he demanded.

You did as he told, bringing your hands to your lap to fiddle with your fingers: a nervous habit.

“So…” you started.

Silence.

“Umm…” More silence.

You sighed. “This… chair. It’s nice, ya know. Sturdy. Real sturdy.”

Your nervous babbling was met by yet another bout of silence.

“And those curtains are-”

“You’re an artist,” the General interrupted. Though it was meant as a question, it came out as more of a statement. Maybe a questioning tone was too polite of a gesture for his 'intimidating' persona.

“Yes,” you replied. “Well, mostly. Kind of.” You stumbled over your words, trying to find the best answer.

He rolled his eyes. “Well, which is it? Yes, mostly, or kind of?”

“Yes, General.”

“Were you briefed on your internship duties here on the Finalizer prior to your arrival?”

“A little, General.”

“And?” he questioned impatiently.

“And I am supposed to help in the creation of propaganda posters and flyers in support of the First Order.”

“That is correct,” he replied blandly. “They will then be mass produced and distributed on planets that we are attempting to apprehend. These will hopefully lead neutral parties away from the grasp of the Resistance and into the hands of the First Order.”

“Will I have others working with me?” you asked hesitantly.

“We have assembled a small team to assist you — but should the work produced disappoint us, it will be your head in the trash compactor.”

You shuttered at his words because you knew that what he was saying was true. Thinking back to the fate of the poor stormtrooper you came across earlier, you couldn’t help but imagine what your own fate could be.

Twirling the end of your bracelet, you thought of home. You’d been doing that a lot lately too. Images flashed before your eyes: your mother, an old song whistling through her cracked lips, spiralling hair flying behind her as light whirled and danced over her body. Your father, painting in his makeshift studio, an organized chaos of antiques — rusted paint tins, bristled brushes, and half-finished canvases surrounding him. Your brother, perched on the raggedy wood fence that surrounded your home with one arm rested on his beloved speeder, eyes staring longingly at the marshy horizon, almost as if he was begging it to come just a little closer. And you. Watching everyone else as if it were the last time you would be able to do so…

You blinked and suddenly you were back in the present, however something was now clouding your vision. You hadn’t noticed when the tears had started to fall.

Hux just stared at you, and you stared right back, not knowing what to say.

Finally breaking the tense silence, the General abruptly stood. “I believe that this will be enough information for today. You will start work tomorrow. Directions to your workspace will be posted to your door.” He paused. “That is all, you are dismissed.” He gestured to the door.

Breathing a shaky sigh of relief, you stood and made your way into the hallway, not saying another word.

——————

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pinnithin-writes · 3 years

Text

A Matter of Trust

Gordon wasn’t going to make it out here by himself. He had no right arm, no weapons, and no one watching his back. If any aliens saw him, they’d eat him for lunch in seconds. The walls of the tunnel pressed in on all sides as he felt the crushing reality of his situation begin to settle on his shoulders. He was fucked.

A narrative depiction of the post-betrayal reunion in Act 3 Part 2. Tommy is the only motherfucker in Black Mesa Gordon can trust and he has Emotions about it. 4649 words.

The paranoia was making Gordon’s skin crawl, but maybe it was just the sewer water in his suit.

Every day prior had been the worst day of Gordon’s life, but this one? This one left them all miles behind. He was beginning to feel like some vengeful god had cursed him to crawl through the guts of Black Mesa forever, stretching his last thread of sanity further and further as he faced off interdimensional aliens and haywire experiments and whatever the fuck else the facility threw at him.

Now, he could confidently say that the soundness of his mind had finally snapped, hacked off along with his right hand and fed to a trash compactor. Gordon wasn’t sure if he was lucky to wake up alive or not - he was beginning to view oblivion as a comforting relief at this point - but the feral, human instinct to survive kept him moving despite all the bullshit he’d put up with so far. What was the loss of a limb compared to sheer, unparalleled adrenaline crashing through his bloodstream?

He stumbled along the tunnels, nerves alive with fear. Who could he trust now, after everything that just happened to him? It wasn’t like he'd call any of the men he had been traveling with his friends , exactly, but you’d think surviving something as batshit insane as the Resonance Cascade together would cement at least some level of confidence in one another.

Too bad he’d made the mistake of allying himself with the craziest motherfuckers employed by Black Mesa. Too bad these crazy motherfuckers chopped off his hand and tossed him in the garbage.

He was fucked.

The stump where his hand had been hurt like hell. Every jostle and jolt sent shockwaves of pain radiating up his arm, and he cradled it protectively against his side as he made his way forward step by hopeless step. He had lost a lot of blood, and he found it difficult to plan for what lay ahead in his dizziness. He could see the tunnel emptying out in a few yards and faintly picked up a sour chemical smell, but if there was something in the next room that wanted to kill him, Gordon wasn’t really in a position to stop it.

Laid low by vertigo, Gordon crawled the rest of the way to the tunnel’s opening, hoping to stay out of sight. The rusted metal cylinder yawned out to a room that glowed green and illuminated a solitary figure at its center. Gordon felt his already rabbity pulse quicken when he saw who it was.

Tommy stood there, tall and ghostly in his lab coat, chin tipped up in Gordon’s direction as if he had been waiting for him. He looked haunted, face shadowed and gaunt, backlit by the eerie glow of the sludge that ringed the room.

Delirious as he was, Gordon heard himself bark out Tommy’s name against his better judgment. He didn’t know what this man had been posted here to do, what he was capable of, whether he could be trusted. In the moments before Gordon had been sawed apart and knocked out, he remembered hearing Tommy’s voice, shrill with panic, begging his assailants to stop, but… now?

Tommy was impressionable and outnumbered by the rest of the science team. Gordon didn’t want to distrust the only person he didn't outright dislike in this whole facility, but right now his survival depended on it.

“Are you here to fuckin’ kill me?” Gordon hissed, clutching his arm close to his side.

Tommy looked positively mournful from where he gazed up at him. “No,” he answered. “They tricked me.”

‘They’ undoubtedly meant Bubby and Benrey. Gordon hung an elbow over the lip of the tunnel, examining Tommy with a haggard stare. His fathomless eyes were round and shining with… were those tears? Did those bastards make Tommy cry? “What did they do to you?” he demanded.

The man hesitated and scratched the back of his neck. He at least looked unharmed, but the vacancy in his eyes disturbed Gordon. He needed to get down to his level and out of this grimy pipe. Not that the room Tommy stood in looked much cleaner than his current location, but at least that way he could be face to face with the guy.

He almost blacked out from the effort it took to clamber down to the floor below. He stumbled and pitched forward, and was caught by a surprisingly strong grip on his upper arm. Tommy took Gordon’s weight, fingers digging into him through the suit as if to make sure he was real. It knocked the breath out of Gordon, and he found himself panting as Tommy helped him stand upright, searching his face with concern.

God, he really was crying. Tears slipped silently down the other man’s face, running clear tracks through the grime on his skin. “I ran away,” he explained, looking positively miserable. When he was sure Gordon was steady on his own two feet, he released him, giving him a brief once over. His wide eyes snagged on his gaping wound, finally seeing it for the first time. “Oh my god!” he yelped. “Your hand!”

Gordon was still gritting his teeth in pain from the fall. “I know,” he ground out. “I know.”

“How are you going to write?”

The absurdity of the question choked a laugh out of him. He thought that maybe he answered him, but the pain was fogging up his head, making it difficult to focus on anything outside of the pounding of blood in his own ears. He vaguely registered telling him about Beyblades and medical resources and hazardous waste. Then he realized belatedly that Tommy was guiding him gently by the elbow, insisting they vacated the room.

“Wait.” Gordon snapped back into clarity. “Wait.”

He jerked his arm out of the other man’s grip and winced at the shockwave it sent up to his shoulder. “Can I trust you?” He fixed Tommy with a bloodshot stare, teeth bared against the agony from his stump. “Are we good together?”

Tommy answered him without hesitation. “Yes.”

His face was lined and warweary, his lab coat flecked with blood, but truth shone bright in his eyes. This man had been through nearly everything Gordon had, pushing against an apocalypse where survival meant always moving forward. Yet he was willing to slow up for Gordon’s sake, to guide him through the facility in his handicapped state.

Gordon had to trust him. Regardless of whether Tommy played a part in his betrayal, which he was beginning to suspect was unlikely, he would surely die in here without him.

He nodded finally. “Alright. Okay. Is it three against one? Are Bubby and Benrey out there looking for us? What’s - is Dr. Coomer-”

“I don’t know, Mr. Freeman.”

“You know if Dr. Coomer finds us we’re fucked, right? Like, he will kill us both dead . And Benrey - I don’t even know what Benrey’s capable of. Maybe Bubby - Maybe we can take on Bubby-”

“I think we can make it out of here,” Tommy said, raising his voice to speak over him. His eyes were spilling over with concern as he regarded him carefully.

Gordon realized he was babbling. He closed his eyes, trying to get his dizziness under control. “You’ve still got your guns, right?” he asked, fixing Tommy with an intense stare.

“Uh, yeah,” Tommy answered, patiently indicating the rifle strap over his shoulder and the pistol at his waist.

“Okay,” Gordon said. “Okay.”

He could do this. Maybe all wasn’t totally lost. Tommy was a surprisingly excellent shot, so he felt that his chances were significantly better with him on his side. He drew in a breath to steady himself and steeled his nerves for the pain ahead.

“Let’s go.”

Slowly, Gordon allowed Tommy to lead him through Black Mesa. He was worse than dead weight: he was dead weight in an industrial hellscape, blood loss wrecking his coordination and judgment. He felt drunk in the worst kind of way, and there were many times he had to lean on Tommy for support.

The young scientist was an attentive guide, carefully carving out a path for them as they moved through the world’s worst obstacle course. Gordon could faintly hear his murmured reassurances and patient observations as he stumbled along beside him, incoherently demanding answers. He even thought he laughed a few times at Tommy’s attempts to lighten the mood, but it could have just been the delirium making him hear things.

There were a few horrifying times that he slipped into the toxic waste, and by the time they reached the edge of a pool, his head was spinning. Gordon stared at the swirling brown sludge before them and slanted a half-lidded glance at Tommy.

“This is… raw sewage?” he slurred.

Tommy was supporting most of Gordon’s weight at this point, and Gordon marveled hazily at the ability of someone so rail-thin to carry his heavy ass for this long. The scientist gave the brown water a careful look.

“I think this is clean,” he ventured.

Even in his dizziness, Gordon was skeptical. “That don’t look clean to me.”

Tommy frowned as his gaze passed over their concrete-and-steel surroundings, recognition flickering in his eyes. “Watch out, Mr. Freeman,” he cautioned. “We’re gonna have to swim through something that’s like a Beyblade, but big.”

He’d heard wilder shit come out of the guy’s mouth before, so Gordon just nodded and let himself be deposited in the water. The faster he swam through this nightmare pool, the less likely he was to get sepsis, he guessed. He floated through the cloudy water, trusting Tommy was behind him, and emerged on the other side of the spinning vent in their way.

When he broke the surface, sucking in air, the first thing he noticed was how cold it was in this room. The second thing he noticed was the press of bodies all around him, and the many pairs of eyes pointed in his direction.

Gordon screamed as he found himself surrounded by a seething crowd of men wearing Dr. Coomer’s face. They were all staring at him, grinning identical grins as if Gordon were a delightful surprise, a five dollar bill on the sidewalk, not a half dead man floating in the sewer.

Adrenaline fired off in his bloodstream and Gordon pushed off from the ledge to retreat back into the water, but he felt his body collide with Tommy, who had just surfaced behind him.

“Tommy?” he yelped, hoping the other scientist would offer any kind of reassurance.

Tommy just hauled himself out of the water and unslung his rifle from his shoulder, giving Gordon a complicated look before setting his jaw and aiming the barrel at the nearest clone.

“Do- Doctor-”

Gordon didn’t get the word out before the clones were upon them. Knobby knuckles and long fingernails reached for Gordon while he thrashed in the water, the old man’s congenial greeting of “Hello, Gordon!” battering his ears. He was helpless to stop them from hauling him out of the water, strong boxer’s fists gripping tight on his HEV suit. Gordon’s heart was galloping with fear, staring down dozens of mustachioed mouths repeating his name over and over.

“Tommy!” he called out desperately as the ring of Coomers tightened around him. He could barely see anything in a sea of white lab coats and his arm was screaming with pain as the clones jockeyed around him.

Dr. Coomer’s voice thundered in his head, cleaving it in two. Gordon’s vision went fuzzy as the old man bore down on him with grandiose proclamations of the void outside Black Mesa, of the world within his dreams. This was nuts. This wasn’t happening. Gordon was fucking losing it, and this was the breakdown that would do him in. He could barely see, barely think through the pain. He thought that maybe he cried out for Tommy again, but at this point his brain was so scrambled he wasn’t even sure Tommy was actually there anymore.

Gunfire popped around him and he felt a solid hand shove him towards a staircase. Instinct made him climb it and he ran, too fearful to look back.

The next few minutes passed in a hurricane of screaming voices and pounding feet and gunshot after gunshot after gunshot. Gordon ran blindly over the catwalk and through the halls, ducking back into the water, splashing through tunnels while the clones pursued him. Dr. Coomer was screaming inside his head and Gordon briefly wondered if he was already dead and this was his hell. He flailed through another pool, nearly gulping in a lungful of sewer water, and found himself surfacing back where it started.

It was finally, astonishingly quiet. Gordon weakly clawed at the lip of the pool, coughing and spluttering. Then he felt a pair of hands pulling him out of the water, and he struggled feebly against whatever clone had finally grabbed him.

But it was only Tommy, who lowered Gordon gently onto the slatted steel. He knelt beside him, steadying him with one hand, firmly patting his back until he stopped retching. Once he had made sure Gordon wasn’t going to black out on him, the scientist stood and began to make rounds of the room.

It was only when Gordon lifted his head to watch Tommy that he noticed the bodies littering the floor. Dozens of identical Dr. Coomers sprawled, bleeding, on the ground, riddled with holes. Tommy paused at each corpse, firing a round into each of their skulls. His face was drawn and pained.

“T-Tommy,” Gordon started as his sluggish brain caught up with reality. “What-”

“I killed them all,” Tommy answered. He raised his gaze from his task to stare at Gordon with that haunted look.

“All of them?” Gordon asked, volume climbing. “What about the real one?”

Tommy just went back to filling Coomer skulls with lead. Nausea climbed up Gordon’s throat and he ducked his head to vomit again. This was insane. He was going insane. And if he wasn’t, well, this was definitely the worst day of his life. He wiped his mouth and began launching questions at Tommy, driveling words out until he felt somewhat grounded, not even fully registering what he was asking or what Tommy’s answers were. He sank to the floor, tucking his stump of an arm in close, staring hazily into the distance as the adrenaline leaving his body rendered him boneless.

Tommy finished checking the corpses and approached Gordon, who could do little but stare in disorientation up at him. “Tommy,” he pleaded, though he wasn’t sure exactly what he needed from him. He was shivering violently. “Tommy, talk to me.”

The scientist crouched down in front of him. He was spattered with gore, his lab coat stained crimson. He looked tired and scared and a little sad.

The realization of what this man had just done for him hit Gordon in the chest like a freight train. Tommy had killed every last clone, singlehandedly, for him. Not just any clones, either. Clones of one of the most powerful men at Black Mesa. He could have died - no, he should have died - facing those odds. And Gordon should have died with him.

He frantically passed his gaze over his protector, searching for any sign of injury, but aside from looking a little rattled, Tommy seemed impossibly, miraculously unharmed.

“Um,” his companion began, awkwardly. “Do you want a soda?”

Gordon sank further onto the floor until his forehead touched cold metal. He felt indistinguishable from one of the bodies that littered the room. This brave, foolish man had hauled his useless ass for miles through Black Mesa and laid waste to countless clones. And here he was, offering Gordon a soda. Gordon didn’t deserve jack shit from Tommy. Tommy could have been killed because of him.

“Guh, I’ve lost a lot of blood,” he groaned.

He had to find out what was happening. He had to keep asking questions. The uncertainty was going to eat him alive. Gordon could sense his own lips moving, could feel the rough press of his voice through his raw throat, but the words that gasped out were meaningless as they passed through the fog of his brain. He couldn’t stop shuddering.

The only thing that broke through the haze was Tommy delicately propping Gordon into a sitting position and gathering him close. Gordon was too weak to protest, his head falling limply against the other man’s shoulder.

“Did you kill him? Did you kill him? Tommy? The one that was different?”

He was a lunatic. He was losing it. There was blood everywhere and the scent of iron was thick. Tommy encircled Gordon in his arms, hugging him tight against him as he shook uncontrollably.

“They were identical. They were clones, Mr. Freeman,” Tommy said carefully, voice close in his ear. “That’s… the definition.”

Before Gordon could open his mouth to protest, he felt light fingers in his hair, combing through locks that were wet with blood and sewer water. It was positively disgusting - they both were, slick with gore and shit and the fear-sweat of days on the run. But Tommy repeated the motion over and over until Gordon’s questions died off and his heart rate slowed to a weak flutter. Calm down, he seemed to be saying. It’s alright .

It was the first taste of comfort he’d had in days. Years, actually, if he was really thinking about it. He sagged bodily against Tommy.

“I’m gonna die out here,” he said weakly.

“No,” the scientist murmured against his temple, “I don’t think so.”

Gordon was a shivering cloud of vapor and Tommy was warm and solid and he wanted to believe him so, so badly. His eyes fluttered shut as his shaking subsided, and he could feel himself beginning to drift.

“We should probably keep moving,” Tommy said, pulling him out of his stupor. He disentangled himself from Gordon and stood, offering a hand.

Gordon stared at it. Tommy was right. He needed medical attention. He needed to live. Where bleak despair once gripped his heart, there was now desperate, clawing hope. Gordon Freeman was going to make it out of here. Tommy didn’t lay waste to all those clones for his stupid ass to die on him.

He gripped the man’s hand and let himself be hauled to his feet, once again surprised at the strength of someone so slight. His legs shook and the warehouse tilted around him, but Tommy caught him before he could collapse.

Gordon’s addled brain was running laps around him. Tommy, Tommy, Tommy, slowing up for him, risking his life for him, carrying him through hell. Tommy slung Gordon’s good arm over his shoulder and led him up the stairs while Gordon bore the pain and the tidal wave of emotion crashing through him.

The first med station they encountered was empty, which sent Gordon into a hysterical, babbling episode that Tommy helpfully ignored. They pushed onward, stepping around bodies as they went. Gordon trusted Tommy to lead him, not even bothering to question how he knew where they were going. His mind was beginning to put reality back together piece by piece, using Tommy as his anchor. As they made their way unsteadily along, Gordon was actually beginning to feel a little more normal.

That is, until a corpse sprang to its feet right in front of his eyes.

“Surprise attack, Gordon!” Dr. Coomer’s voice rang cheerily, reverberating up and down the halls and into his disbelieving skull.

Bloodstained, teeth bared, eyes feral and hungry, the old man advanced on them. Animalistic prey instinct seized Gordon and he ripped away from Tommy’s side, hurtling down the hall while gunfire cracked in his wake.

Here he was, running again, useless, a coward, fleeing the impossible. Gordon stumbled and found himself crashing into the water, and as he drifted down, he thought, maybe this is it . Maybe Coomer was the end of the line. Maybe he should kill himself before the old man could take him apart piece by piece.

But he was too weak to swim toward the industrial vent and the current washed him back to the water’s edge. It was death, spitting Gordon back out, refusing to accept him, saying, take this, I don’t want this , to an awaiting Tommy.

Tommy. Tommy! “Tommy!” Gordon yelled.

“Mister Freeman, where are you?” came the man’s distant reply. He sounded scared, but his tone was significantly calmer than Gordon’s racing thoughts.

He struggled at the edge of the pool he was in, trying desperately to reach him. “Tommy!” he cried. It was the only word left in his vocabulary that made any sense.

He felt himself being lifted once again out of the water as his unfiltered thoughts poured unbidden out of his mouth. “You gotta kill him, Tommy,” he heaved, “You can’t let him win, he can’t keep getting away with this.”

Tommy didn’t answer him as he hauled Gordon down the hallway. Gordon woozily went with him, dripping water and blood in his wake, until they came upon a body slumped against the wall with a neat bullet hole in its chest.

Gordon blinked. “Did you kill him?”

“Yes,” Tommy answered, but whatever he was about to say next was cut off by a loud, booming voice that almost shattered his eardrums.

Gordon’s knees buckled as Dr. Coomer broke open his mind.

GORDON… EVERY TIME YOU GO TO SLEEP, I CAN FEEL MY BODY TORN APART ATOM BY ATOM… IT’S AGONIZING, GORDON… I’VE SEEN OUTSIDE BLACK MESA, GORDON… THERE’S NOTHING… BUT I KNOW YOU… THERE’S A WORLD OUTSIDE HERE, GORDON… AND I NEED YOU TO TAKE ME THERE…

As quickly as the voice arrived, it evaporated, along with Dr. Coomer’s body. Gordon collapsed, hysterical giggling pouring out of him as his broken brain tried to reconcile what just happened to it. He laughed like a maniac while Tommy looked down at him with concern.

“We’re fucked,” he giggled shrilly. “We’re fucked. Is this even-” he was limp and yielding as Tommy pulled him to his feet yet again. “Is this even real?”

Tommy was silent, staring at the place the doctor had been, finger still taut on the trigger of his pistol while he supported Gordon. He needed him to say something, needed any shred of reassurance he could offer. “Tommy,” he pleaded, “Do you have any words of wisdom? From your books , or your-” A sob choked out of him, tripping and stumbling over his own laughter. “Help,” he cried pitifully.

The man pulled Gordon tight against him, letting him ride out his hysterics in the embrace while he kept a watchful eye on their surroundings. Gordon hiccupped into his shoulder, terror racing like a livewire through his spine. Tommy just held him close without judgement, running a hand up and down his back until he caught his breath.

He was just about to pull away when Tommy suddenly shoved Gordon behind him, pointing his firearm down the hall as a figure rounded the corner.

“Hello, Gordon!” hit him like a gunshot, but maybe his ears were just ringing from the round Tommy fired in Dr. Coomer’s head.

Tommy backed up, an arm flung out protectively in front of Gordon, as the old man stepped toward them. Blood was gushing from the wound in his face, but he was smiling as if he couldn’t even feel it. Gordon was sure his heart was going to give out from how hard it was hammering in his ribcage.

The three of them stood like that, staring each other down, while Tommy kept his pistol trained on Dr. Coomer. The old boxer spoke congenially to him, but Gordon barely registered his words. His fuzzy brain was thinking about the human shield in front of him, how quickly Tommy had placed himself between Gordon and the threat. He knotted a desperate hand in the fabric of his lab coat, unable to do anything but cling to him.

“How can I trust you?” he called out to Coomer, panic making his voice shrill.

“I think this one is safe,” Tommy commented, flicking Gordon a reassuring glance. “I shot him and he didn’t die.”

“That is kind of like the Coomer we know and love,” Gordon answered, managing to find an ounce of sarcasm in himself. He fixed his bloodshot stare on their assailant. “Prove it to me.”

The old scientist grinned as blood soaked slowly into his uniform. “Gordon, I’m thirsty,” he declared.

The fight went out of Gordon all at once, his legs turning to jelly as Dr. Coomer strode cheerily past him to examine the bloodbath in the other room. Gordon lurched after him, Tommy close behind.

He would have to trust this guy, whether he wanted to or not. He couldn’t let Tommy keep carrying his weight alone, no matter how willing he was to put himself in harm’s way for Gordon. He tried to explain as much to Dr. Coomer, raising his voice to what he hoped was an authoritative volume. Coomer nodded along, unfazed as the blood clotted and dried on his face. A wave of dizziness passed over Gordon and he felt himself sinking.

“Perhaps you should have a seat,” Dr. Coomer advised.

“Uh huh,” he slurred, stumbling backward into Tommy, who caught him with careful hands. Those careful hands guided him, gentle as ever, to the cold steel beneath his feet.

Across from him, Dr. Coomer was sitting down, too, smiling faintly as he passed an interested look between him and Tommy. Gordon no longer had any energy to resist the old man’s eerie presence, but as Tommy settled onto the floor beside him, he wrapped a protective arm around him and fixed Coomer with a threatening stare. Don’t you dare touch him , the man’s intense amber gaze burned. I’ll kill you again if I have to.

Blood loss and affection made him feel lightheaded. This whole fucking day was a neverending loop of Gordon shattering apart and Tommy putting the pieces back together. He wasn’t sure he deserved the hellscape he was being forced to travel through, but he was certain he didn’t deserve Tommy. He didn’t deserve the warm, solid hand at his back. He didn’t deserve the blood that was spilled to keep his pathetic ass alive.

They talked over everything that happened, slowly exchanging information and piecing together a plan. Gordon sagged against Tommy, contributing to the conversation but barely tacking together what he was saying. He was thinking ahead to the impossible future, what he was going to do once he got out, once he strangled Benrey with Dr. Coomer’s help.

How could he possibly repay Tommy for what he had done? What did someone like Tommy want? What did someone like Gordon have to give?

This moment couldn’t last forever. They had to keep moving soon, to plunge into the unknown and follow that pinpoint of hope that was always just too far away. But as Gordon slumped there, awash in the yellow glow of the industrial lights, he thought that maybe he could reach it. He let his head fall against his companion’s shoulder, breathing ragged and thin. Gordon would see the sun again one day, and when he did, he would draw its warm rays down just for Tommy.

And maybe he’d take him out. Buy him a soda. He’d probably like that.

#ink #fanfiction #graphic depictions of violence #scene rewrite #blood #guns #amputation #hlvrai #part of my endeavor to relocate all my ao3 work

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cyberneticlagomorph · 4 years

Text

> 🔴 cyberneticlagomorph is live on caster

Music plays over a cute screen of a cute doodle of Jack sitting on an upturned teacup, kicking his legs peacefully. His eyes are closed, tail thumping contentedly.

Jack's voice comes in clear over the music as the chat in the corner of the screen starts to become lively as people log in, "Right, ok so... I'm doing things a little-- well, a lot different tonight."

A pause, and the cheerful music stops.

The stream changes then, to Jack sitting in a very lush vivarium with plenty of climbing trees and ledges and places to hide, Jack himself is sitting on a lush cushion on the ground, a long cord snaking away from his back and curling around to the monitors in front of him. He's got a handheld camera, that much is obvious at least.

"Tonight's stream is sponsored by the Lobotomy Corporation! These guys are doing me a solid and keeping me under close observation while I game tonight, so hopefully nothing horrible will happen this time... god I hope I didn't just jinx myself." He makes a sour face, after a beat he clears his throat, "Anyway... let's get this started, yeah? The site went down for maintenance last night, so we probably won't have any problems this time... hopefully."

He's visibly uncomfortable, maybe even afraid. The camera cuts off and we are met with that familiar splash screen. Jack logs in, the loading screen that follows is a sketchy drawing of something vast and terrible reaching up and up and up in order to devour the sun, Jack finds himself reading the tooltip text aloud, "Sand fallen, sun consumed, the War was all for nothing, our stuffing is the only softness left in this world - Stitches 5:24"

A shudder seems to rip through the entire stream, a concentrated wave of unease.

For a lot while there is only a heavy silence until the game finally loads in.

Jack's avatar is outside the doll hospital again, rocking back and forth in a cute idle animation. He can finally see the town around him, brightly lit by lanterns full of green fireflies. The streets are made of obnoxious bowling alley carpet, and the grass is an assortment of fluffy shag rugs.

The town itself is full of players wandering here and there, going into shops, and chatting with each other. Someone flying on an obnoxiously pink cloud swoops low enough to nearly decapitate Jack, he barely has time to duck. The sky is normal again, dark purple with green stars, and that sad, jagged moon hanging limply in the sky.

For the first time, he can hear the background music and it sets him at ease. He wanders away from the hospital, looking for something to do.

The cloud flyer swoops back around and coasts next to Jack, low enough to make polite conversation, "Sorry about almost running you over like that, I just got this thing and I'm still learning how to drive it..." her avatar is almost as pink as her cloud, some sort of frilly undead opossum with a skeletal tail and toothy mouth where her sternum should be, "You ok? You look kind of lost."

"Oh, uh, it's fine!" Jack stops, unsure of where he even wants to go, "I'm new, I just got past the weird door tunnel monster like, yesterday."

"The Snarl, you mean?" The possum tilts her head, "I'm Keerah by the way, but yeah the big scary boss thing at the start of the game is called the Snarl, you're supposed to try and run from it but it always catches you and you end up in this damsel in distress situation and black out it's An Ordeal!"

Silence, "I just sorta... ran straight at it?" Jack laughs awkwardly and fiddles with his claws. Keerah gawks.

"No way?? No... way??? You can DO that??" She makes a disbelieving noise in the back of her throat, "Jeeze, that's probably what broke the game last night, you went full hero and confused it."

His head snaps up, "That can happen!?"

"No! No, I was just teasing, sorry." Keerah reaches over and pats Jack's paws, "The glitches have been a thing for awhile but they've never been this bad before, like sure sometimes an npc would lag out or something but never whatever the hell last night was." She shivers, "Hopefully maintenance fixed everything... so, where ya headed if you don't mind me asking?"

Jack just shrugs, trying to keep his mind off of the... everything, "Dunno, I'm like brand spanking new at all this, I don't even know what the main storyline is..."

"Oh that's because there really isn't one! Quests, plots, and character motivations all vary by server, so players have complete control over their play experience," she grins in a wistful kind of way, "Isn't it great?"

"Yeah... great... uh, where do I want to go if I want to take up a quest?" Might as well actually play the game instead of standing around, waiting to get spooked

Keerah points towards the massive Lego brick wall that seems to wrap around the entire town, "Head back towards the doll hospital and go north until you hit the barracks, you can't take any real quests until you learn how to fight, y'know how it is with these kinds of games..." she looks like she's turning to go at first but stops herself, "Oh! Before I forget, let's add each other as friends!"

She produces a cute pink coffin shaped smartphone and holds it out for Jack to take. There's a moment of awkward silence, "I don't... know how to do that yet."

"Just check your pockets, it's ok, this game really hates holding your hand when it comes to mechanics, everyone was a confused noob once in their life!" Keerah smiles again and the caster chat fills with heart emojis. Jack will now die for this complete stranger.

He finds his pockets, and his phone, along with the prescription bag he got from Ribbon. He hands it to Keerah and watches her enter her information into his contacts the same way one would do a normal phone.

Cool, not everything in here is ridiculous then.

The phones are swapped back and the two part ways.

The barracks aren't hard to find, a squat Lego brick building sprouting from the inside of the huge wall like a tumor.

It's dim inside, and crowded with new players sparring against each other. Some with swords, some with magic.

Others seem to bend the darkness to their will.

Another player let's out an ear splitting cry and sends their sparring partner flying through a nearby wall.

"Well... looks like I'm in the right place..." Jack muses. A mangled looking stuffed dog strides up to him, missing an eye and more patches than plush, his fur has been stained camo print and he looks deeply unpleasant to be around.

"You there!" He barks, the remaining fluff on his top lip looks like a droopy mustache, "What's your business here?"

"I came to train!" Jack barks right back, the old dog looks taken aback but just starts to laugh heartily.

"Well then, why didn't you say so! Welcome, new recruit to the first day of your new life in service to Haven and all those who live safe within her walls, my name is Sargent Barker and it's my job to whip limp ragdolls like you into shape!" Barker turns quick on his heel and marches away, "Come along now, we don't have all night."

Jack follows, his excitement evident in the way he wiggles, bouncing up into a rare binky. Barker stands before a wall covered in weapons, each polished so bright that Jack can see his reflection.

"Now then, I can't train you until I know what you want to be, so go ahead and pick whatever speaks to you, and we'll go from there." The old army dog stands aside, hands behind his back. He's wearing little polished black boots on his feet, that's not entirely important to the situation right now, but Jack things it's awful cute...

The wall glimmers with promise and dulls with the dust of heros past. Jack stands there, trying to decide, while the chat loses its entire mind trying to get him to pick the sick looking anime sword in the top right. His hand ghosts over the one thing that looks out of place, a bandaid with a smeared lipstick print on it. He looks at Barker, and the Sargent tilts his head, "Ah... the Ragged, toys that have been loved to death by their humans and are now more patches than fluff..." he clears his throat, "Not that I'd know anything about that! They're a peculiar class of folk, can heal themselves as well as their friends on the field of battle, and they know more than anyone how to strike down the Fears that plague mankind, would you like to be one of them?"

A pause. That didn't sound like him at all, he broke things, he didn't fix them! He was a manmade monster, not fucking Mercy! He opened his mouth to reply to Barker when the cheerful background music slammed to a literal screeching halt. The entire world seemed to bend and slant, like a cardboard box in a trash compactor. The npcs lost their textures, t-posing brokenly as their heads twitched and snapped back in ways that shouldn't be possible.

"Another glitch, hopefully it will pass." The fear in Jack's voice is evident, he can taste his own lies.

None of the players seem to be able to move, just standing there, helplessly watching as the world becomes flat and colorless. Textures and lighting melting away until there is nothing but the bare framework of the game all around them. Escape is impossible, any attempts to log out fills the screen with endless error messages.

Jack swore and screamed, but made no sound.

The ground beneath them all became a chasm yet again. That same impossibly black pit that stretched forever and ever.

Hands snaking up through the emptiness, grabbing players the way one plucks fruits from the vine.

Long and disfigured fingers with far too many joints wrapped around Jack, leaving him only slivers to see through.

Down.

The darkness swallowed him whole and the entire stream suddenly goes dark.

#long post #ask to tag //#ursumbra online #caster stream #viewable icly #glitches

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alternitavely · 4 years

Text

Werewolf idea? Chap 1

Shout-out to @kitkat-the-snacc for helping me out so much with this, they're amazing, so check them out!!

_______________

Of course it had to be the one thing he knew so little of how to control that malfunctions.

Edward Richtofen, alongside Nikolai Belinski, Takeo Masaki, and 'Tank' Dempsey had all wound up in somewhere deep in a dark forest, cold and fogged over.

The men look around confused, but none moreso than Richtofen himself who had intended that they arrive elsewhere, nowhere near a forest of this kind. He turns to face the other men, perturbed and a bit nervous.

"Gentlemen! It seems as though we have been transported to an area in which I had not intended, and I am afraid I do not know why."

Nikolai snapped his attention to the German.

"What do you mean, "don't know why"? Is it not you who holds the knowledge of Universe in your Kronorium?" He asked angrily, "Can you not just open another portal?"

"Yeah," Dempsey agreed, "what's the hold up Doc'?"

Edward huffs, irritably. "It is much more complicated than just opening and closing a door. These portals are openings through time and space. Hardly something to fiddle with when it doesn't work properly."

Takeo stepped forward as he surveyed the wooded area. "I fear if we stay to argue here, the light will leave us for the darkness soon." He said, watching the sun lower all to quickly." We need to find shelter from the dangers of the Forest."

Nikolai nodded." Yes, I agree with Takeo. Let us discuss later your incompetence, Richtofen."

The Doctor narrowed his eyes, but did not retaliate. They walked for a time, and eventually found an empty cave.

"Convenient.." Dempsey grumbles, looking for any signs of a wild animal, and finding nothing relevant to their safety.

Edward knew he would only worsen his already dwindling impression on the others, and decided to find food for the others in the forest.

"Are you sure you will be alright on your own, Doctor?" Takeo asked him, taking note of the quicky darkening terrain.

"I assure you that I will be fine Takeo. I will return when I have found something."

Nikolai grunted. "Take your time."

Edward huffed, and made his way into the forest. He walked into the forest for what felt like hours, until he found a lone stag. It was larger than any he had ever seen, and completely oblivious to the rifle he held pointed at his heart. Richtofen fires, and kills it with his rifle, but as he walks back, dragging the large animal slowly, he hears a growl.

A deep, low, threatening sound that makes his hair stand on end, and his body shake to its core. A wolf, larger and more monstrous that he had ever seen, comes out of it's spot in the darkness, hungry for a meal. Richtofen, thinking quickly, tries to back away slowly, posing no challenge to the beast. However, this was no ordinary canine, and it's intentions we're not on eating the fallen fauna, but the scarred man faking confidence before him.

Before Richtofen could do anything to defend himself, the Monster took him to the ground, and bit viciously into his shoulder, its front fangs reaching down to puncture the barely healed wound under his ribs.

He tried to call out, but was muffled by the beastly paw pushing down on his face. He flailed his arm attempting to locate his blade, clawing at the opposing force on his face, finally grabbing it it and frantically slashing at the animals side making it cry out in pain, and flee. Richtofen took a moment to steady himself, groaning loudly as he sad up to bandage his newfound wounds. After a while he managed to stand, and grab hold of the fallen Stags antlers once more, and continued to follow the smoke showing over the trees.

_______

Takeo was the first to notice that Richtofen was very obviously injured, but his question on the matter was drowned out by the other two men's outbursts of astonishment over that large animal he had brought back.

"How did weak man like you manage to move such a large animal, Richtofen?" Nikolai jested,

"Yeah, didn't know you could see past that huge ego far enough to shoot anything smaller than a naval ship!"

Dempsey joked.

Richtofen didn't have the strength to respond. He simply dropped the the deer's head to the ground, tossed his knife to the ground near Nikolai, and stumbled into the shelter, grimmacing

He sat for a while, trying to steady his breathing. His wound hurt incredibly so, he was exhausted, but he promised to be lookout. He was so focused on breathing, on ignoring the pain and staying awake, tht he didn't notice the others calling for him as he faced the wall of the cave.

Takeo decided to confront him directly, rather than have Richtofen just push off the issue like he very often did.

He approached the Doctor, setting a gentle hand on his shoulder.

"Richtofen?" He called, quietly. "Are you alright, Doctor?"

The German slowly came to, realizing that is the man had asked him something.

He blinked, taking a slow, shaky breath.

" I am sorry, Takeo. I am afraid I didn't hear you."

The warrior looked worried, but repeated himself nonetheless.

"I asked if you were alright, Doctor. You are injured, and look unwell. Are you sure you don't with to rest tonight instead of taking watch?"

The German winced, finally processing the weight on his injured shoulder. He gently removed the other man's hand and put up a false show of wellness.

"Surely you've been worse for wear? I was just hit by the Stäg before I managed to kill it, nothing the Doctor cannot handle!" He stood, stretching, but instantly regretting it. " I appreciate your concern Takeo, but I assure you, I am perfectly fine." His speech was strained, and he was obviously in pain, but he knew he wouldn't be able to make the doctor change his mind without force, so he let him be.

Takeo returned to the others, who had cut up the stag and were now cooking sizeable chunks of it. The skin was hung on a nearby tree, and the antlers were severed and set by the mouth of the cave.

Dempsey had hung strips of the animal over the billowing fire with a rather impressive contraption made of sturdy thin logs.

"So, the fuck is wrong with him?" Dempsey grunted,

He had been peeved that the German had fucked up whatever their mission was supposed to be, but he had calmed down when he realized that there weren't any maggot bags to be seen. Yet.

He had been worried, however, when said German came back looking worse than he'd ever seen him. He looked ready to collapse at the sound of the bell.

"He is badly injured, but he insists he is fine." Takeo replied, looking worried himself. "He is still determined to take watch tonight, though I suspect he won't be able to stay alert enough to preform the task successfully. One of us should stay out with him."

Nikolai huffed. "Let him sit out alone, why should we Care tht he doesn't want to care for himself? He certainly hasn't shown his care for us. And he obviously doesn't know what he's doing, leading us to a place mistakingly, and not telling us of his supposed "plan?"" The Russian vented.

He continued on, clearly unforgiving to their German associate.

The other men looked at him, then to each other. Nikolai would obviously not be staying out with Richtofen tonight.

"I can stay with him, Tak'. You and Nik' just rest for tonight, ok?" Dempsey offered, quietly as not to let their Russian comrade hear.

"If you are sure, Dempsey. Thank you, my Friend." Takeo accepted, greatful for the chance to rest and think over what had been happening for the past few months.

Soon enough, two men went into the shelter to rest while Richtofen exited, avoiding the Russian man's gaze. He knew that he had only worsened his relationship with the larger man, and didn't wish to start an argument over the residing issue. He didn't have the strength.

Dempsey left to stay with the German after a bit, seeing him sitting on a log near the pit they had dug, holding the antlers if the Stag he killed.

"Is that what got you hurt?" The Marine questioned the Doctor, dropping onto the adjacent log.

"What?"

"The antler's, from the deer." He repeated,"Did it hit you? I'd that why you look like you were just run over by a trash compactor?"

The doctor looked back at the antlers. "Ah." He said, sounding distracted. "yes, I'm afraid I became... Distracted."

The Marine laughed. "Must have been something out of a nightmare to have distracted you from I giant deer charging at you, HaHa!"

The German chuckled, a dry and humorless sound.

"How right you are, Dempsey.." He said under his breath.

Tank had failed to hear what his teammate had said, but his did notice the lack of resort from the usually quick-to-resort German.

"You sure you don't need to lay down, Doc? God knows you could use some beauty sleep." Demsey said to him, worry evident in his voice.

The Doctor looked to him, a small smile playing on his tired face.

"Ha-Ha Dempsey, very funny."

The German laughed quietly.

"I fear sleeping anywhere near Nikolai may end in my throat being slit. I wish I could explain to you what I must put you all through this, but I cannot." He said, voice heavy with exhaust.

"Well what's stopping you?" The Marine prodded, hopping to gain a bit .ore information, but also wanting to learn more about the other man.

Richtofen faltered, and slowly rocked in his place, trying to find an explanation.

"I cannot.. explain it.. there are things you would misunderstand, and some you wouldn't understand at all. This is not me saying you arent intelligent, just uninformed."

The American took a second to think about what the Doctor told him, and decided to not press any further.

"Are you alright? You're breathing a little hard there." He tried, seeing as the other's rocking hadn't ceased.

"I am fine." The doctor said, shaky and quiet. He nearly jumped out of his skin when a large, comforting and warm had gripped gently on his upper arm.

"You're hiding something Doc, you aren't alright. What really happened when you went out earlier?"

Richtofen looked at the other, desperate for comfort, wanting to break and tell the other everything, what had happened, the strange twist in his gut when he looked at the moon.

But he resisted, shutting his eyes tight and taking a deep breath, calming himself. "I am sorry, Dempsey, but I will not push my own issues upon you when. You have your own to deal with. Thank you, for talking with me, but u think I'd like to rest now."

The Devil dog seemed disappointed in his response, but said nothing in protest.

"Why don't you sleep here? You said you don't feel safe with Nik', and I'll be finishing watch tonight, so I can make sure you're safe."

The German deemed flattered. "You wouldn't mind too terribly, would you?"

Dempsey grunted, "I'm the one offering, Doc."

Edward chuckled, and nodded. He layed down before the log, far enough from the now dying fire to be comfortable, and tried his best to ignore his worry over the shifting of muscle around his newest injury, and sleep.

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reddie-fangirl24 · 4 years

Text

Together (An IT/Toy Story 3 Crossover)

NOTE: I am in love with the incinerator scene from Toy Story 3 so I decided to make a crossover of the climactic scene with The Losers Club. I hope you enjoy!

After the peculiar allusions the group went through, somehow they managed to join back together in a cove, hiding from their enemy. The clown which had grown legs like a spider and a sharp claw that looked as if it could kill anyone in sight smashed against the cave trying to find the Losers hiding spot.

“Now what? There’s no way we’re going to get out of here without re-experiencing those wacky delusions!” Richie said. If they lived he was always going to be afraid of doors for the rest of his life. Oh yeah, and Pomeranians.

“We have to kill It once and for all!” Mike stated.

“And how are we going to do that, Mikey?” Bill asked, skeptical. “You were the one who said that ritual would work and now look at what’s happening?”

“Bill, stop blaming, Mike!” Beverly warned him, placing a hand on his shoulder. He was scared. They were all scared. She was still soaked in blood. Her white shirt was thick maroon red now. And yet nobody asked what happened to her. Oh, men.

They jumped when they heard the clown’s manic laugh echo in the cave. “Come out wherever you are, Losers! Only I can win!” IT chanted.

“Remember what we did the first time?” Ben asked grabbing everyone’s attention. “We attacked him!”

Bill nodded, recalling. “That’s right, we did! And that made him weak!”

“Have you seen what we’re up against?” Eddie fought indicating a hand toward the lair. “We’re likely to get killed in seconds even if we tried!”

“So, you want to just sit here and live in this cave and make a home?” Richie asked sarcastically. “Oh, yeah, this place could make a nice living room. Pennywise can be our TV and entertain us!”

“Okay, asshole, I don’t need sarcastics right now!” Eddie chided him.

Feeling the cave shake under their feet, dust and rocks crumbled down from the ceiling. They didn’t have much time. Slowly, walking towards the opening, Pennywise had its back turned.

Mike charged IT, ignoring the others calling for him. “I’m not afraid of you!”

Pennywise turned, surprised, but keeping its frightening composure to scare off the Losers.

Following Mike, Beverly joined in and so did Ben. If they ran towards IT that could once again stop Pennywise. But they had to do it for good. No way was this thing returning when they were seventy!

“Are you sure this is going to work?” Eddie asked, holding onto his weapon tightly.

“No idea, let’s go!” Richie told him as he ran off.

The Losers Club charged the clown, fear racing through their hearts.

In one snap, everything changed in a matter of seconds. Losing their footing, the group no longer had a solid ground. All sorts of trash, rubble, and dismembered body parts swarmed them as they went tumbled down a hill until coming to a stop.

The heat melted their faces. The moment Bill opened his eyes, he wished that he hadn’t. None of them had ever been to a garbage incinerator, but Pennywise turned the entire cavern into a trash compactor. Thick orange flames shot out directly from the ground as they were slowly descending. It was worse. Pennywise was the at the very bottom shooting flames out of his mouth, smiling evilly through the fire. “Time’s up, Losers!”

Mike shook his head, sweat dripping off his face. “Move, move!” he ordered his friends as he struggled to climb upwards.

Climbing through the mountains of trash was not easy, in fact it didn’t seem like it was doing anything. It felt as if they were only staying in one place instead of moving anywhere. They couldn’t find anything stable enough to hold them.

Bill turned back, his heart pounding, the fire belched out of the clown’s mouth.

Just then, Eddie slipped up falling backward. He screamed trying to grab for something.

“Eddie!” Richie called out trying to grab him.

Mike reached out to grab Eddie only to lose his footing, falling down the mound of trash. It only made the trash ricochet making the whole group fall closers towards the fire, descending quicker.

“Ben!” Beverly called out. Ben turned around meeting the frightened woman’s eyes. “What do we do?”

Opening his mouth, no sound came out. Whatever they tried wasn’t going to work. If they just kept trying to climb they’d only tire themselves out. Plus, how would they get out even if they made it back to the top?

Spying Beverly’s shaking hand, Ben held it tightly, giving her hand a squeeze. Their hands fit so perfectly together. Confused, Beverly looked into his eyes. With just one heartbreaking look, Beverly knew, and her face contorted into one of the most heartbreaking expressions that Ben could ever see.

Bill saw what they were doing. Pennywise had them right where IT wanted them. There was no escape. Reaching his hand out to Richie, the man just looked at him as if he were out of his mind. Eventually, he accepted it, feeling the sweat drip off his face.

Eddie was struggling to hold himself, slipping through the garbage, panicking as his breathing was rapid. Richie grabbed his hand, immediately calming the man down. Eddie finally took a look at what was goin on and looked into Richie’s eyes. Was he tearing up?

Mike was still trying to work his way up the mounds of trash. The moment he saw what everyone was doing, he froze, staring at everyone in shock. Devastated, he made eye contact with Bill, again no words forming.

Reaching his hand out, Bill stared into Mike’s eyes begging for him to take hold of his hand so they could stay together. After all the years Mike gave up to stay in Derry and keep watch for the clown’s return, he never thought that it would end like this. Struggling, Mike took Bill’s hand. And then he grabbed Ben’s, forming the chain.

I’m sorry, Bill, this is all my fault.

It’s okay, Mikey. It’s going to be okay.

The flames were coming closer now, slowly which made them all the more uneasy about their impending doom. This wasn’t fair.

Tears drenched Beverly’s face. For a moment, she wished that she were back home. No, that was the last placer she wanted to be. Beverly never felt safe with... him. This was the best decision she had made in a long time. How could she be so blind? The person she was meant to be with was sitting right next to her holding her hand.

Ben, I love you.

Right when Ben looked away from the flames to look at Beverly’s face, his heart cracked. For twenty-seven years he remembered her face. Never once did he ever lose hope. No, what was he saying? That period of excessive drinking where he passed out night after night only trying to drown out his feelings. That wasn’t possible. It was hard to feel the emotions that were unfair. You weren’t human if you didn’t.

Closing his eyes, Beverly cradled her head into Ben’s neck. Her hair, despite it being soaked in blood, felt so nice against his face. He held her hand tighter, bringing it to his chest. Ben vowed to keep her safe in whatever way he could until the very end.

I love you, Beverly.

Bill closed his eyes, too. For the remained of however much time he had left he thought about Audra, telling her how much he loved her.. Her beautiful face. Why did he say that insulting remark to her? Even as he got over the stutter he was still incapable of choosing the right words to say. Audra was the best thing that could ever happen to him. Tears fell from Bill’s eyes as he waited.

Richie turned and looked at Eddie who was struggling to breathe. Why, why did it have to end like this? He always thought that the day Eddie moved out of Derry after graduation was the worst thing possible. No, forgetting him was awful. He knew there was a reason that he didn’t want to be in a relationship because he already had someone. He only had one love.

Right then, when the flames were spewing out of the clown’s mouth, Eddie let go of his weapon and with his free hand latched onto Richie’s leather jacket, holding him tighter. And he turned his face away into Richie’s neck for comfort.

Richie felt better. He was with Eddie. They were together. His first love. Gripping his hand tighter, Richie kissed Eddie’s forehead and closed his eyes, waiting.

I got you, Eds, and I’m never letting go.

Mike stared helplessly into the flames. This didn’t feel real at all. He felt something hit against his back. The weapon that Eddie had been holding. What if... this wasn’t real. The clown liked to mess with them.

Letting go of Bill and Ben’s hands, Mike stood up but swayed trying to find balance. The clown noticed, appearing nervous, the flames faltering out of IT’s mouth.

Mike threw the sword into the clown’s mouth.

And everything stopped.

The cavern was just a regular cave again. And the clown was normal-sized again, only slowly diminishing. This gave Mike the perfect opportunity to shove his hand through the clown’s chest and rip out IT’s heart. Scrunching it, the clown disappeared forever.

They were all quiet. They did it. They really did killed IT.

Ben and Beverly were still holding hands. Staring into Ben’s eyes, Beverly touched Ben’s face, smiling. They kissed.

Eddie felt something in his hand. Richie still had a pretty tight grip, but Eddie didn’t mind. Richie also noticed, looking nervous. Eddie smiled into Richie’s eyes, his cheeks blushing.

The curse had been lifted.

#Reddie #crossover #It Chapter 2 #It Chapter 2 what if #fix it fic #It movie #Pennywise #Benverly #bill denbrough #Richie Tozier #Beverly Marsh #Ben Hanscom #eddie kaspbrak #the losers club #Toy Story 3 #toy story 3 incinerator #it fanfiction #mike hanlon #audra denbrough

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wildroseofarran · 4 years

Text

Pain, Relief, Closure || Kelly, Pete, Fletcher, Q, June, Emmanuel, Peabody, & Bridget

Fletcher: {Text to Peter Graham from Fletcher Goodman} FedEx guy swapped our shit

Pete/June: Pete was caught off guard so much by the name on his screen that he just stared at his phone for a few moments until June poked him.

"Respond!"

"What?"

"This is your chance! Respond, respond!"

"Okay! Jesus."

{Text to Fletcher} All right, I'll be over to get it in a second

{Text to Fletcher} Do I have one of yours?

Fletcher: {Text} Should have a small box of some cleaner I ordered

Fletcher held his breath and dropped his phone face-down. Enough of that. He tried to focus on - what was he doing?

Pete/June: He looked to June, who was reading over his shoulder. "Do we?"

"Maybe? I'll go look in the closet."

Sure enough, Fletcher's box of cleaner was sitting where their shipment of napkins was supposed to be.

{Text} Yeah I got it

{Text} Be across in a sec

Fletcher: Fletcher smoothed his hair, which he had allowed to grow for the last several months, longing for the length of his college years. His beard, finally trimmed, was given a feel as well. His navy blue shirt felt, collar fixed.

This didn't matter. Just shut the fuck up and make the trade.

The box was dropped on the counter. Here, he would wait, stomach contorting into knots.

Pete: Pete shrugged on his jacket and took a deep breath. This shouldn't feel as weird as it did. It wasn't like he was doing anything groundbreaking or foreign. He was just going across the street to get a package. Simple, right?

If only it felt that way.

He crossed the street, balanced the box of cleaner on his arm, and opened the door like he did this every day.

"Hey."

Fletcher: A visibly painful breath escaped as through from the pit of his stomach. No forced smile, but forced composure.

"Hey yourself."

Pete: At least he wasn't the only one who was nervous.

"I believe this belongs to you." He held up the box. "You'd think after all these years he'd learn to look at the shipping labels."

Fletcher: "Yeah, well..." The Samsa swallowed. He didn't know what he had expected from this, but laying eyes on the man he'd avoided for months, to truly see him without the dull sepia of a Samantha, he might as well have been that greasy teenager injured by Marion's lies.

"Here it is." The box was given a pat.

Pete: For Pete's part, this interaction was already surpassing his wildest expectations. He didn't want there to be any hostility between them, however much reason there might be for it to exist.

"And here's yours." He set the box of cleaner down. "Sorry if it took a while, my bartender signed for the delivery this week."

Fletcher: "Kay. So..." Yeah. He would open the box to see for himself. Something, anything for him to tear his eyes away.

Pete: Silence was worse than strained conversation. He had to say something.

"So how've you been? I see you grew your hair out."

Fletcher: "I just... wanted it." Another useless clearing of his throat. "Ya look... good."

Pete: "Suits you." Pete offered a smile. Not a weird one or a forced one or a polite one, just a small, genuine smile. "Thanks. I feel pretty good. Year off to a decent start?"

Fletcher: Might as well rip the bandaid. "Gettin' married. Spring, I think."

Pete: Aaaand there went the genuine part of the smile.

“I heard.”

Fletcher: "Figured ya would."

Pete: “Small town.”

Fletcher: Enough of that. "Thanks for the box." He forced a smile and began to break down the package. He'd keep his eyes to himself.

Pete: "Sure, no problem. Thanks for mine. Oh, um, June told me to tell you that she's inviting you to dinner at her house."

Fletcher: "When?"

Pete: "She said you have a choice between Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday."

Fletcher: "Right. Guess I'll give her a text." Didn't seem right to make Peter the messenger. But now he was left with nothing else to say. He knew the answers. How was he? He was well. His sister was having a baby, and Peter was a family man. Where was MJ? Anywhere but here. But then again...

"How's um..."

Pete: "I'll let her know." June could've texted Fletcher herself, of course, but she hadn't been able to pass up the opportunity to extend this visit for these two men she loved.

Pete gave Fletcher a gently expectant look. "Yeah?"

Fletcher: "...Nah. S'nothin'. Ain't my business. Anyway, thanks." This was what he did. How obvious that he would shrink in on himself. He was out of his element. As though their intimate nights, their lapses in judgment in the back room merely a figment of fantasy, forged on some particularly lonesome evening alone with his thoughts.

Pete: So close, yet so far. A perfect portrait of their entire relationship really.

"All right, well, you know where to find me if you wanna ask." Pete balanced the box of napkins against his arm. "I'll tell June that you'll text her."

Fletcher: "Ya ain't gotta tell her anything."

Pete: His real smile made a soft return. "I know. I still will."

Fletcher: "Ya know why-" The Samsa made a bitten off sound. A protest he couldn't heed. "-why you're here n'not her."

Pete: "I'm surprised I am, but I don't really know why I am beyond you maybe wanting to say hello?"

Fletcher: "Me wantin' t'say hello?"

Pete: "That's the only reason I can think of for why I'm here instead of June."

Fletcher: "It wasn't...me."

Pete: Pete’s brow furrowed. “What wasn’t you?”

Fletcher: "Ya know it was June. You're fuckin' with me."

Pete: Pete looked genuinely confused. “June told the delivery guy to mix up the packages?”

Fletcher: "No, that you're - that you're here t'pick this up n'not her - just forget it."

Pete: “June—did June ask you to text me to come get the package?”

Fletcher: "No, I was stupid."

Pete: “You’re not.”

Fletcher: "Right." Peter would get a wave goodbye.

Pete: “...Okay then. Thanks.” He nodded to Fletcher and headed for the door.

Fletcher: Stupid, stupid, stupid. He had meant to text June. He would swear by it. Yet it had been Peter Graham -- for some fucking reason his name was still in his phone. For some reason it had been that name - and he just couldn't steady his thoughts. His tongue wagged and he was helpless. Reckless.

The box was shoved from the counter the moment the bell jingled its goodbye.

- Two Days Ago -

Kelly: Kelly white-knuckled the bathroom sink and took slow, shaky breaths in and out.

Fuck he shouldn't have come in. He should've stayed home.

The pain that had begun in his hip had radiated outward until every last bone in his body felt like it hurt and for his rotten fucking luck he was tapped out of Vicodin. It would be six weeks before he could get a refill.

Fucking opioid panic.

He had to do something. He needed something or he wasn't going to make it through the next twenty-four hours, much less the next six weeks before he could get his prescription.

Another shaky breath. "Fuck."

He limped his way out of the bathroom and looked around the bar. O'Charlie's was quiet and sketchy and filled with melancholy as usual, but what he needed wasn't there.

"Dwight! I'm taking my dinner break!"

Q: Q passed two rum fireballs to Stacey, waving her off and rolling his shoulders. This wasn't a Pete's Pub kind of night, it seemed. The younger, vibrant crowd wanted to dance, make out in the darker corners, and throw their weight around with burning stomachs as fuel. His kind of night, but he wasn't nineteen with a fake ID anymore. This was a night to get paid.

Kelly: The Brig was close enough that on a good day, Kelly could've walked and been there pretty quickly.

Or on a bad day like today, close enough that he could drive there at break-neck speed without running the risk of the cops catching him speeding.

He didn't quite bust through the door--the limp prevented that--but he zeroed in on the bar and its tender with the single-minded intensity of a man on the brink.

The crowd and the music might as well not have existed; he was only there for the man known as Q.

Kelly approached the quietest end of the bar and waited to catch Q's attention.

Q: Not much of a feat for a man on guard. A smile, creasing the ends of his mouth, slowly diminishing with every step closer to his newest patron. That sexual energy he could read with absolute literacy was nonexistent.

"You look like shit," he greeted. "The hell are you doing here?"

Kelly: He knew he looked like shit. He hadn't been sleeping well for the past month, every single micromovement he made hurt like fuck. It was exhausting being in this much pain.

"I need help," he said slowly. Emphatically. Desperately.

Q: Elbows on the counter. Q leaned forward, studying the man from head to shoulders.

"What kind of pain is it?"

Kelly: "It feels like someone stuffed my body into a trash compactor. Everything hurts."

Q: "Why haven't you been to the emergency room?"

Kelly: "I've done this dance for years and I can't get more Vicodin for weeks now can you help me or not?"

Q: "Vicodin?" He thought for a moment. "I'll get it. Before I leave. How long can you stay?"

Kelly: "Vicodin, oxy, heroin, I don't care, man. I just need something." He looked at his watch. It was a slow-ish night.

"I can stay forty-five minutes."

Q: His phone was already out. "I might have to come to you, but I'm on it." Kelly was still a new face, but he could read honesty when it was staring him in the eyes.

"Hey, what do you wanna drink? On the house."

Kelly: Thank fucking god. He just might make it through the next twenty-four hours after all.

"Triple bourbon, neat. Thanks."

Q: "You got it. Hungry at all? Fried fish tacos tonight. I'll hook you up."

Kelly: "Might as well." It was his dinner break, after all.

He eased himself onto a stool with great effort and silently begged for death.

Q: Firstly, the bourbon. Slid his way after a quick smile and word to Stacey. Kelly was none of her business, and he intended to keep it that way.

Kelly: The bourbon was downed with gratitude. He wasn't in the mood for savoring, he just needed something to take the edge off. This dull pain was so much worse than anything sharp he'd ever experienced.

Sharp pain just killed you. Dull pain made you lose your mind.

Q: Q glanced to his phone for the third time. Still nothing. Tony had to be at work. Shitty, but he'd hear back soon enough. The man was addicted to the screen.

"Want another? I'll drive ya wherever."

Kelly: "One more. Gotta get back to work after this." And he couldn't give the appearance of resuming his shift drunk off his ass, much as he wanted to be.

Q: One more, and a round of beers for a table across the bar, close to the dance floor. Nearly ten minutes and a plate of fish tacos later did his phone finally vibrate.

"Hey, he'll be here in thirty. Either you're late back or I'll come to you."

Kelly: There truly was a god. He might just have to pop into the church to light a candle in homage. "I can be late. We're not busy right now anyway."

Q: "How long have you been like this, man?"

Kelly: “Ran out of pills a few days ago. Been downhill from there.”

Q: "Want something to smoke, too? I got you covered."

Kelly: “I’d have gone down that road already if I could. Lungs are fucked.” Along with every other part of this damn body.

Q: "You have asthma or something?"

Kelly: “Inhaled smoke and hot air during a fire.”

Q: "You look like a million bucks, sweetheart." A soft pat to his shoulder. "Or you will soon."

Kelly: “I’ll settle for looking like a buck fifty if I can get some relief.”

Q: Soon. "How're the tacos?"

Kelly: "Pretty good. Better than I expected actually."

Q: "Better than I expected too," said under his breath. "It's a hit or miss here.”

Kelly: "Didn't think ya'll did food beyond fried things."

Q: "Trust me, we don't. Tried doing caprese salad once. Didn't go over well. We're not in Europe."

Kelly: "This is the wrong crowd for that. This crowd just wants Jaeger shots and bass."

Q: "Not a bad crowd, just different."

Kelly: "Sometimes it's needed." Like today. His night would be extra miserable if he was working at Pete's. He'd have to endure so much more than pain.

Q: A question spurred from somewhere within. One he kept to himself. The first, it seemed, as far as intuition with Kelly. Pocketed for later. This was not Kelly's night.

True to Q's word, a man walked in at the appointed hour. Still in his hardware polo and as tired as Kelly looked.

The man took a seat beside Kelly, smiling politely at his bartender.

"Gimmie somethin' I shouldn't drive home after drinkin'."

"You got it."

"Where is-"

Q gestured vaguely to the man by his side.

Kelly: It seemed like a hundred years passed before his salvation arrived and even in a hardware polo, he looked like a goddamn angel.

"Yeah, me. Help me."

Q: Q left them alone to discuss the details. None of which were his business. He knew his friend to be fair when sober, and his first drink was now.

Kelly: Kelly's request was simple. Probably concerning, but simple.

"I need all of the Vicodin that you have. That's not an exaggeration. You did not hear 'I want a lot of Vicodin'. I meant exactly what I said. If you don't have it, I'll take oxy. I'll take heroin. I'll take crystal fucking meth. Just please, god, give me some relief, my body hurts."

Q: A question asked of anyone with such blatant demand was if this was some kind of suicide attempt. The man was obviously in pain, but his desperation was enough to make a man shift in his seat.

"I'll give you two now, n'I wanna see ya take em." Words muttered under breath before large gulps of dark bitter beer.

Kelly: "Trust me, if I was gonna off myself, I would've done it long before tonight. Unassisted. I'll take the two and thank you for all eternity."

Q: "Hey, man, I get it." He dropped his hand with dead weight onto the counter, explaining how every other finger was held together with steel. A construction job traded for a hardware store with less pay. Such was life. He understood, but he wanted his money.

Kelly: Kelly would all but throw it at him. Probably too much, he hadn't counted it. He'd just grabbed a wad from his stash before he'd left for work, having anticipated ending up doing exactly what he was doing.

Q: Under the counter. A hot fist with two white pills tapped against his knee. Q saw to his duties, smiled when appropriate and once quite inappropriately to a woman in a blue dress and her disapproving male counterpart.

Kelly: He'd never experienced such instant mental relief. And if he had, it had been years.

Kelly swallowed the pills dry and thanked his savior.

- Present -

Fletcher: Fletcher had paced the ugly brown carpet flat. This was stupid. He was stupid. Having expected in any measure for Peter to have sent June had been reckless. His stomach had known what his head and heart couldn't bear. He'd fumbled his words. He'd made things worse. He felt sick.

And all for a man that didn't love him.

A shot glass was the last thing on his mind. Straight from the bottle of honey whiskey.

This was fine. This was the natural order of things. He was getting married. Whenever it was Marion decided to set a date. He didn't fucking know.

He stared into his half-finished bottle. He should have been himself. Take it all back and just go back to a few years ago. There were more important things on his agenda. Had to be something.

June/Kelly: "I think you're coming down with something," June said to Kelly as she put chairs on top of their respective tables. He usually did this, but he didn't look like he could lift a feather right now.

Kelly put away the last of the glasses and tried not to wince. "What makes you say that?"

"Well for one, it's usually you doing this instead of me. For two, you're all pale and sweaty and if I had to guess, you're clammy, too. I think you have a fever."

If only. "M'fine. Gonna take out the trash."

"That's okay, I can--"

Kelly shook his head. "It's fine, I got it."

It wasn't and he didn't, but he'd rather balance the trash bag and his cane than stand there looking like shit and feeling like shit.

Fletcher: Fletcher checked his watch. Still time. The shop sign was flipped closed. Door locked. The back room was thick with the stench of cigarettes. A habit he needed to rid himself. A stench others could all too easily catch.

Away with his shoe. Away with a Samantha out a hidden passageway.

Kelly: “Fucking...opioid...fucking....crisis,” Kelly muttered in between steps, adjusting his grip on the trash bag. “Fucking—do-gooder fucking—drug dealer.”

He braced himself against the dumpster and hissed out a breath. “Since when does a fucking dealer have morals, fuck’s sake.” Man was as bad as the doctor, rationing out his meds. One didn’t want him turning into a junkie and the other thought he was going to OD. Couldn’t catch a fucking break.

Should’ve bought heroin, he thought as he struggled to lift the bag into the dumpster.

He barely got it to shoulder-height before the cloud cover above him moved away and cool, ethereal light filled the alleyway.

“.....oh, fuck....”

Fletcher: Hardly any toes left. Something to keep his mind occupied. The Harrak house; the hospital; the police station; a handful of vampires, to say the least; a dangerous game of hide and seek at his mother's tiny house. One across the street.

His eyes drifted, checking each Samantha.

June/Kelly: "No no no no no, please, please! Not here, no n--AGH!"

A sharp crack had June's head whipping around. "Kelly? Was that you?"

"Please, PLEASE--gah!" Another crack, two, three. Kelly's legs buckled beneath him as his bones began the excruciating process of reforming. It hadn't always been this bad. It hadn't always been this hard, this unwelcome.

Now there was only pain.

"Kelly?!" June headed for the back. "Kelly, is that you? Are you okay?"

Fletcher: Fletcher turned to face the frame covered wall. Behind it was brick, and the street, and the pub. Through the crack in the wall yet to be fixed. A single glance.

{Text to Peter} Pub NOW

June shouldn't have been there. Do-gooder sweetheart, helping a man that probably didn't deserve it. Nature could have run its course if not for this one variable.

The door slammed behind, rattling at its edges.

Pete/June: Pete's stomach twisted into knots the moment he got the notification on his phone.

{Text} What happened? What's wrong?

Fuck. He couldn't just up and leave, Graham was asleep in his lap. But what if something was really wrong?

"Goddammit."

God, what was that horrible sound? It sounded like branches breaking or something.

Oh shit, what if Kelly's cane had broken somehow and he'd fallen? He could be trying to get back up.

June jogged the rest of the way to the back entrance. The door was still open.

"I'm coming, Kelly," she called, stepping out into the alley. "Are you okay? Are you h--holygod!"

Fletcher: A body slammed hard against the dusty brown brick of the alleyway. Fletcher bounced his shoulder from the wall into a defensive stance. A gruff man to say the least, but nothing as intimidating as the scene before him. Not yet.

"Get back inside, June."

June: June didn't seem to hear him. She was frozen to the spot, eyes wide and horrified as the animal-like mass on the concrete a few yards ahead of her shifted and writhed and made that awful cracking sound.

"I-is--that's...oh, god..."

The mass of cracking bones and torn flesh was Kelly.

Fletcher: The only defense between June and jaws. He couldn't afford to tear his attention away. If he had to intimidate her to safety so be it.

"Get inside, June! NOW!"

June/Kelly: It was hard to tell whether it was the volume of Fletcher's voice or the tone, but either way it had her scrambling back to hide just inside the door.

Her heart was going a mile a minute, breathing quick and growing more panicked with every new crack, every tortured yelp, every godawful wet sound coming from the alley.

It was like being flayed alive. Any fluidity and ease had long ago been erased, severed when they'd severed him from the moon.

She seemed to mock him now as she forced him to change, as she punished him for their sins.

Scarred skin and fabric gave way to matted, patchy fur. Bones struggled to shift correctly, one leg seemed to atrophy and turn lame as with one last strangled cry, a dire wolf emerged where Kelly had been.

Fletcher: This was never a scenario Fletcher had prepared himself for. A bar fight; a troublesome vampire; for Peter to accidentally change. Kelly had a stench to him. Unmistakable. A viable excuse to maintain surveillance. He wondered now if he had cursed them.

Fletcher hunched his back, shoulders tight but hands loose, ready to snatch a wolf from pounce. He doubted this would end well. Never fucking did with wolves.

"Kelly!" he shouted. "Look at me. Can ya fuckin' hear me?"

June/Kelly: The wolf snarled and snapped its jaws in warning. Its eyes were feral, devoid of any understanding or acknowledgement.

"Oh my god. Oh my god." June slipped back behind the door and squeezed her eyes shut. This wasn't happening this couldn't be happening things like this didn't happen.

You're dreaming, she told herself, hugging her arms around her middle. You're dreaming this is a dream it's not real, it's not real, it can't be real!

Fletcher: A wolf like this, would he retain this memory? Carried knowledge in the same manner as a Samsa?

The sharp screech from his throat an equal warning. Hunched forward, meeting the creature at eye level. Back bowed and threatening.

June/Kelly: June's eyes flew open. That sound....that wasn't--what was that?

Steeling herself, she dared to peek around the doorframe and immediately had to cover her mouth to keep from screaming. Kelly was gone. The horrible pile of flesh was gone. In its place was--holy god. That was a wolf. That was the biggest fucking wolf she'd ever seen. No no no no, th-that was--was that Kelly? He was--and Fletcher--had that sound come from Fletcher?

The wolf growled again, desperation and its fight or flight response making it take a careful step forward. The wolf wanted out. The wolf wanted the woods, wanted freedom, and Fletcher was standing between it and the way out of the alley.

It crouched and measured the space.

Fletcher: He couldn't let Kelly go. Not this deep into town. Much against his mother's wishes and against his better interest, this had become his purpose.

"Calm the fuck down."

Where the fuck was Peter?

Pete/Kelly/Emmanuel: "What's going on?" Emmanuel whisper yelled to Pete as he took the sleeping bundle that was Graham from his arms. "What happened at the pub? Where's Stella and Ryan?"

"They're at a wedding in Savannah with my parents," Pete whispered back. "I don't know what happened at the pub, I just know it's an emergency and you were on the way." He kissed his nephew's head. God love him for being such a heavy sleeper. "You sure this is okay?"

"Yeah, it's fine, go. I'll look after him."

"Thanks, man, I owe you one."

"Just be careful. And call Brett if it's bad."

"I will."

Pete practically flew back down Emmanuel's walkway to his car and floored it to the pub.

{Text to Fletcher} On my way

{Text to Fletcher} Do I need to call Brett?

There was no sign of understanding, only more snapping and snarling and slow, deliberate steps forward. Perhaps it was a warning. Perhaps it was careless. Perhaps it was both.

But all Kelly could see through the haze of pain and anger was the freedom just beyond Fletcher.

He leapt forward.

Fletcher: There were too many possibilities Fletcher couldn't allow in his escape. His back bowed, gaining height and the beginnings of chitin on his forearms. As the creature leapt, the Samsa made a grab for whatever he could. He would use his center of gravity to his advantage in an effort to bring the creature onto its side. Enough reasoning at this point.

Kelly: The leap had accounted and calculated for the height of a man; not the height of what that man was becoming before his eyes. It all happened too quickly for the wolf to make out what it was, but it didn't matter.

Balance already off, Kelly was caught by his useless back leg and hit the unforgiving concrete. Hard.

His fight was pure pain response. He scrambled to try to get away from the creature, growling and biting anywhere he could in his attempt to free himself of the threat.

Fletcher: "Fuckin' stay!" This was exactly why he fucking hated dogs. The wolf was yanked by his useless limb and pulled underneath his weight. Forearm to his face, elbow against its snapping muzzle. He'd participated in enough fights with Garou over the years to know how to deal with less than friendly jaws. Less dangerous forcing the mouth wide than trying to keep it closed.

His voice was becoming hoarse, broken by sharp clicks and screeches. "Swear t'fuckin' god, Kelly, I will put ya down if ya don't chill!"

Pete/Kelly/June: Pete couldn't have begun to guess what sort of scene was going to greet him when he arrived at the pub. Fletcher hadn't answered; he was flying blind.

Perhaps that was why he felt so unsettled as he pulled up to a still scene.

He could hear some sort of sound coming from somewhere but couldn't see the source. The lights were still on. Blinds still open. No movement inside. He couldn't tell if that was reassuring.

He got out of his car and unlocked the door as quickly as he could, immediately looking around for June and Kelly. Nothing. The cleaning supplies were still out. Only about three quarters of the chairs rested on top of their respective tables. But no June and Kelly. There was only that sound he'd heard earlier, which was louder now.

It wasn't coming from the main room. It wasn't muffled enough to be coming from upstairs. Could it be coming from backstage or one of the storage rooms? Were June and Kelly there too?

He ducked behind the bar, intending to check on each of the closets and the kitchen when he turned and saw the door to the alley wide open. And hiding just behind the frame, peeking outside, a petite figure he immediately recognized as June.

"June?" he called, startling her into turning around.

The look in her eyes slammed into Pete like a ton of bricks. Even in the low light, he could see how pale she was, how she trembled in fear.

Pete crossed to her in a second, pressing his keys into her hand and ushering her away from whatever untold horror was in the alley. "Take my car and go home, right now!"

"I--"

"NOW!"

What came out of Kelly's mouth wasn't a growl; it couldn't even be called a howl. There wasn't enough fight in it for that, if there was any fight in him at all.

It was a scream. It was raw, exhausted anguish. The woods were so far away. He couldn't see them anymore, couldn't see anything except a haze of red that he didn't realize was blood. He could only feel pain, could only hear voices. One angry, and one that called, "Fletcher!"

Fletcher: He knew that voice. Recognized the tone and every emotion behind it. That blame which lay in his name better than anything else. He was a disgusting thing doing a disgusting job. His arms were covered in chitin. Fingers filed to sharpened points, where nail and bone and skin became a single entity. Eyes of rich amber glowing through the limited light at the Gurahl. What would be his superior, had he been anything but a Mockery.

"Help me!" he screeched.

Pete: Pete couldn't begin to name the emotions he was feeling. All he saw was Fletcher--in many ways as if the first time--and the giant, thrashing wolf he had pinned beneath him.

He rushed over, careful to avoid claws and jaws. Kelly was making a sound that was making every hair on Pete's body stand on end. "Fletch, come on, let him up. Let him up, you won, he's not fighting you!"

Fletcher: "No shit he's not fightin' me! M'not lettin' a wolf loose on this fuckin' town. I don't care how injured it is!"

Pete: "Then I'll take him with me to the woods! He won't be loose!"

Fletcher: "Move your goddamn hands n'do somethin'!"

Pete/Kelly: "Dammit, Fletcher, let him--fuck."

Pete pulled a pendant from under his shirt as he crouched beside Kelly's head.

His bartender was still making that godawful sound and trying to move from underneath Fletcher's weight, to no avail. Kelly's pain was plainly obvious when he was up and human; now it was nearly unbearable to see.

Sooner or later someone was going to hear and either come looking and call the sheriff, and then they would really have a problem on their hands.

"Kelly. Kelly! I need you to calm down." Pete pulled his necklace up over his head and clasped it in one hand while gingerly attempting to place the other on the wolf's head.

Not an easy task with Kelly just waiting to clamp his jaws down on something.

"I'm gonna make you feel better, okay?" he said as gently as he could. "I'm gonna try. It won't hurt you more, it's just green light. You ever heard of Druids? It's just some of their magic. It'll help, I promise."

He squeezed the pendant tighter, willing its magic forward.

Fletcher: "He can't fuckin' understand ya. I've tried! Don't ya think I've tried?!" But then again, maybe true breeds understood one another. He didn't fucking know. But this was somehow his fucking fault. Where would June be right now had he not bolted across the street? Peter would say she would have been fine. He was sinking into self-doubt and further paranoia.

One more snap at Peter, though, and that muzzle was going to be wrapped.

Pete/Kelly: Fletcher was right; Kelly showed no more signs of understanding Pete than he had of understanding him. At the moment it was hard to say whether that would've been the case in different circumstances, but as things stood, Kelly understood nothing and perceived everything as a threat.

That didn't mean Pete was going to stop trying, however.

"Come on, Kelly, try to think through it. You've gotta try." Pete squeezed the pendant harder. What the hell was taking it so long?! "I've almost got it, Kelly, you're gonna be okay. You're gonna be okay, Kelly. That's your name, remember? Kelly George Rose. You've gotta understand that, you--fucking finally!"

At long last, a soft green light had begun to flow from the pendant. Pete immediately pressed it against the wolf's head, hoping the bit of magic would help calm and relieve him.

"Fletch, you have to let go of his leg. We have no chance of getting him to calm down if you don't."

Fletcher: Fletcher lifted onto one of his now amber elbows. A soft crunch of not-skin against concrete. He'd release the leg, focus almost entirely on snapping jaws and frantic claws.

"Lemme guess. France?"

Pete/Kelly: Pete shook his head, gaze trained on Kelly. "Callum's cousin."

There was a rush of something that could technically be called relief but fell far short of the mark. It wasn't really relief in the sense Pete had been hoping; it was just a bit less pain.

Kelly continued to struggle, more weakly but with the same amount of desperation.

At the very least, the screaming had stopped.

Fletcher: "Where d'ya wanna take him?" Because this alleyway shit had to end. He turned, checking for June. A sound, a scent. On guard while Peter did whatever it was he was doing.

Pete: "The woods. I have more of this magic along the riverbank. The pendant only has so much."

Fletcher: Fletcher closed his eyes. The fight against his nature in order to set himself to rights was painful as always, but an otherwise thoughtless transition.

"Help me get him up."

Pete: Thoughtless on Fletcher's part but definitely not Pete's. When this was over and done with he was going to have to take a second to process everything he was witnessing.

"Not yet. Give it another second." He didn't trust that Kelly wouldn't snap right now. Best to let the magic work a little bit. "Anyone pawn an ATV recently?"

Fletcher: "What? No. He can fit in the back of my Dart." He'd have to, torn upholstery be damned. One more idea. It had been some time since he'd looked, but, "How crowded is the attic?"

Pete: "We won't be able to get to the part of the riverbank we need to in a car. I usually hike out there on foot or walk there in bear form."

Pete's brow furrowed. "The attic? There's no magic in the attic."

Fletcher: "I don't give a fuck about magic right now, Peter. We just need him where humans can't fuckin' see. Make him walk with ya when he's got two semi-functional legs in the mornin'."

Pete: "He won't be seen by anyone if we take him to the woods. He'll be out of sight and he'll get some relief for his pain. He's not just some wolf, Fletch, I see this man every day. He works for me."

Fletcher: "Why does no one in this goddamn town have any fuckin' sense of self-preservation." A hand was thrown about. "Whatever then. Ya deal with it."

Pete: "My self doesn't need to be preserved, his does. What would putting him in the attic do that taking him to the woods wouldn't?"

Fletcher: "Uh, expose him t'fuckin' people."

Pete: "And who exactly is going to see him deep in the woods? There's more risk keeping him here. I'd be truly surprised if someone hasn't already called Brett because a wild animal was screaming in town."

Fletcher: "We're not in the fuckin' woods, Peter."

Pete: "So let's get there! And if you don't want to help me that's fine!" He could call Callum to help him. He'd be able to provide magic and possible transport.

Fletcher: "You're out of your goddamn mind." The wolf - because that's all it was in this form - was lifted in impatient arms. So goddamn ignorant and no sense of safety for himself or those in this town. Absolutely ridiculous. Pentex could have Peter's head tomorrow and it would be his own fucking fault.

But no matter the torture, he was in love with this idiot bear. If he breached the veil for anyone, it seemed, it would be in the name of half-love.

"Let's fuckin' go then."

Pete/Kelly: The wolf wasn't exactly going to go easily. Just like in his human form, any amount of movement at all sent waves of pain and discomfort all throughout his body. This amount of magic had been intended to help Pete sleep or meditate, not offer relief to a horribly injured direwolf. The most it could do was offer a calming effect.

"Since when is helping a friend being out of my mind? The goddamn woods are the safest place for him and for everyone else. He's out of sight to them, and they are to him."

Pete tried to keep the pendant pressed to Kelly's head as best he could as they started for the woods. Tried being the operative word. There was still a lot of snarling and struggling and there would no doubt be more as the magic ran out.

They just needed to get inside the tree line. They needed to get at least that far.

Fletcher: "We gotta go through fuckin' buildings, train track, homes, Peter. Homes. I don't know how this ain't gettin' through t'ya. Ya hang out with that druid way too fuckin' much."

Pete: "The hell are we, ghosts? We're not going through anything. Vampires didn't take over this place for the flurry of activity. It's nearly three a.m., there's no one out in the back streets to see what's happening."

Fletcher: "They didn't make this place an Elysium by marchin' a fuckin' werewolf through the goddamn streets just 'cause 78% of people are asleep."

Pete: "No, they did it by covering shit up which is exactly what we're doing."

Not a single major street would be taken if Pete had anything to do with it. Back streets and alleys only. Not a single streetlamp would be walked under. He wanted to take the most lowkey route possible while also doing it as quickly as possible.

Not an easy feat, but then Edenton wasn't terribly large.

Fletcher: "I'm so grateful you're such an expert now. Really, it brings me peace of mind that all my upbringing and knowledge is a goddamn lie."

Pete: Pete tried his best not to give Fletcher a snippy reply back. It would be far too easy to fall into an argument just for its own sake and they had a very pressing issue to deal with.

"Really, with the sarcasm? You telling me vampires aren't like the goddamn mob? I'm not trying to make your life hard, Fletcher, I'm trying to help Kelly."

Fletcher: "The sake of one over many." He was angry in the moment. Flabbergasted at the situation he'd allowed Peter to place them in. Pissed beyond measure that Kelly thought he could work under such condition. The man was gonna get a fair right hook in the proper moment.

"You're..." A glance at the moon. "Is it a tattoo? That necklace? Why ain't ya changed, too?"

Pete: "The many are tucked away at home right now and they're not my concern. My concern is my friend and if that really steams your clams that goddamn badly, I'll look after Kelly on my own!"

The green glow seemed dimmer. The magic was running out. Or maybe it was his own paranoia making it seem that way.

"Callum's cousin helped me. I couldn't change tonight, I'm looking after Graham."

Fletcher: "Ya do that enough you're gonna break yourself. But whatever." That was becoming the theme for everything tonight. He knew truths, but whatever. Feelings outweighed facts apparently.

Until it didn't, and a door just yards away opened with a slam. Less than a second and Fletcher was on his knees, armful or wolf and eyes caught in moonlight.

Pete: "Is there anything you're not gonna fucking jump down my throat about tonight? This is the first time I've ever done it and it'll most likely be the last. My nine year-old nephew was my only fucking reason."

He could've kept going, but the sound of that door made every drop of blood in his body run cold.

Fuckfuckfuck they needed a shadow any shadow please god don't let them look in our direction--

Fletcher: "Just don't move," he whispered. "You're fine, Peter."

Pete: Forget moving, Pete barely breathed. He motioned for Fletcher to be quiet; even that whisper sounded way too loud.

It had been a back door opening. He heard shuffling footsteps, a clinking sound followed a dull thud.

He finally let himself relax when the door slammed shut a few moments later. "Who the fuck takes out the trash at three in the morning?" he hissed, pulling his phone out of his pocket.

"We're not gonna make it before the amulet runs out, we need Cal."

Fletcher: Fletcher's face could best be described as deadpan, seeing as he was the point attempting to reassure Peter. Seeing as he was the one carrying two arms' worth of unnerved wolf.

"Gee. Sure sounds like we shoulda stayed fuckin' put. Sounds like it's gonna be a crowd of us in the middle of bumfuck and exposed. Sounds like ya shoulda listened t'me."

Pete: "Absolutely not, we're not staying exposed, we're still going to the woods. I need magic to calm Kelly. And by all means, Fletcher, set him down and wash your hands of this if you want to." He pulled up Callum's name and dialed.

"You need to hear you were right? Fine, you were right and I was wrong. You know best and I should've listened to you."

Fletcher: "If only I believed anything ya ever said t'me, it might actually make me feel better."

Pete: "God, Fletcher, what do you want from me?!" Pete whisper yelled. "I am trying to do right by Kelly. Maybe it's not the best way and maybe I'm being a reckless, naive idiot but dammit I have to try! The woods are safe, he needs to be safe!"

Fletcher: "Ya ask me now?!" Plenty willing to have a whisper fight right there and then.

Carefully, he returned to his feet. "Move t'that bit a'trees. I'll scout."

Pete: "Might as well since in your infinite wisdom I can't do anything right! Jesus god, why won't he pick up?" He'd been sent to voicemail. Callum was either dead asleep or away from his phone. He dialed again.

"You can't scout with an armful of wolf, give him here." Pete propped his phone between his ear and shoulder and held out his arms for Kelly.

Fletcher: "S'three in the mornin'. His husband probably turned his phone off." Something he'd been known to do when Callum needed sleep. Something Fletcher wasn't about to reveal in its entirety.

The wolf was handed over. Almost instantly did he disappear among the shadow and branches. Off with his shoe. The one with a reasonable toe to spare.

"Don't say a fuckin' word," he hissed. The distinct and nauseating crack of bones. The tear of flesh far too easy than it should seem. Two abnormally large roaches flew away with impressive speed.

Pete: Pete took the wolf as gently as he could, careful not to jostle him too much. And although there was some protest and half-hearted struggling, Kelly remained relatively calm.

However little magic there was, it was having the intended effect.

"Your toes are really the least of my concern right now, Fletcher." Still no answer from Callum.

Pete sighed.

Fletcher: "Just sit a moment. No use wastin' energy." His eyes, still reflective in certain angles, had taken a faraway glaze.

"Where ya keep the blue roses?"

Pete: Pete didn't bother wondering how Fletcher knew about the roses he'd planted. At this point, he simply assumed Fletcher knew about everything that happened in Edenton.

"Along a secluded part of the riverbank. Off any paths."

Fletcher: A simple nod, eyes forward. Peter would have to wait through the flinches and stuttered breaths, watching a mind in multiple places simultaneously.

Pete: “It’s about a two-mile hike from Callum’s house. There’s a big rock nearby.”

Fletcher: "I know," he muttered.

Pete: “Right. Of course you do.”

Fletcher: "What's that mean?" Not a lot of fight left in his voice.

Pete: “That you know everything.”

Fletcher: "I don't."

Pete: “Probably more than anyone else in town.” His voice was quiet, void of any accusation.

Fletcher: "S'all I do. People think I'm crazy but m'just not... m'just not."

Pete: “People think everyone’s crazy.”

Fletcher: "Yeah, s'easy t'dismiss when you're not me."

Pete: “I don’t mean to dismiss it.”

Fletcher: "I bet ya don't mean a lot of things."

Pete: Pete heaved a long sigh. “They find the roses?”

Fletcher: "Almost there. Not lil Ferraris."

Pete: “Just asking.”

Pete looked down at his armful of Kelly. His eyes were closed but he wasn’t asleep. His breathing was too labored to be restful.

And the light was definitely dimmer now.

Fletcher: The path was clear. Fletcher felt at the tree and forced himself upright.

"Follow behind me, alright? Walk where I walk."

Pete: He nodded and carefully adjusted his grip on Kelly.

"Lead the way."

Fletcher: He needed something to fill the silence. "Did ya ever trust me, Peter?"

Pete: "I trust you now, Fletcher."

Fletcher: "How can ya say that n'we're walkin' this way?"

Pete: "I wouldn't be here if I didn't trust you. I'd be home still, with Graham."

Fletcher: "What was trust?"

Pete: "Dropping everything and leaving my nephew with Emmanuel in the middle of the night because you texted me that something was wrong."

Fletcher: Fletcher fell into silence, chewing a wound into his lip as they continued along the path to Peter's sanctuary. The declaration of love to a leech. What a sad, pathetic life he lived.

"Do your thing. I'll... keep watch."

Pete: Pete had never been more relieved to see a blue rose in his life.

The moment he stepped into the serenity garden, more of that soft green light began to emanate from each of the roses, covering the immediate area in a soothing haze.

He lowered Kelly to the ground as delicately as possible, giving extra consideration given to the injured leg.

As for Kelly, he was too exhausted to put up much of any kind of struggle. The Druid magic couldn't quite take away all the pain, but it was lulling him into a half-asleep state.

And now that Kelly was calm and still, the extent of the damage to his body was plain to see. He looked like he'd been put through a meat grinder and left to heal poorly.

Fletcher: Fletcher looked back over his shoulder. "What kinda Garou can't heal proper? The fuck ya think happened t'him?"

Pete: "I couldn't even begin to guess," Pete sighed, settling beside Kelly's head. "He's a vet."

Fletcher: "That don't - I dunno, man. Seen wolves heal from some crazy shit. Ya felt his leg? Some unnatural shit in there."

Pete: "Could a vampire have done damage like this? Made it so he wouldn't be able to heal?"

Fletcher: "Maybe a witch. Maybe somethin' like ya. Y'all supposed t'be the manipulators of health or some shit."

Pete: "Whatever it was, they were either really pissed or really powerful. Or both."

He put his pendant back on and tucked it away again. "Stronger ones of me probably. I'm just a bear."

Fletcher: "Ya ain't ever been 'just' anything."

Pete: "Guess not. My first transformation made that clear."

Fletcher: "I shoulda smelled it on ya."

Pete: “I was a late bloomer, weak bloodline.” He shrugged.

Fletcher: "You've only dipped your toes in."

Pete: “Not much of a puddle to dip them into. What I know about being a bear I learned from my mentor.”

Fletcher: "I mean all of it. Bein' 'round Callum ain't the whole of it."

Pete: "What else am I gonna do? I come from a river guardian tribe. I guard the river and hang out with Callum on full moons."

Fletcher: "More than that, Peter. There's... so much ya don't know." You have no idea how much I worry.

Pete: “I don’t doubt that. But since I have no mentor who is like me, I make up for it by just living my life and transforming quietly and looking after the river. It’s all I can do. It’s what I’ve got to work with.”

Fletcher: "Is that what ya want? T'just... be like that?"

Pete: “I never asked to be this, Fletcher. I was human my entire life until I got sick one random day and transformed a few days later. I just want the life that I built.”

Fletcher: "Wow, ya never asked for it. Amazin'. None of us ask t'be born, Peter. Ya either adapt or ya don't."

Pete: “Well it may not seem so to you, but I think I’ve adapted pretty damn well for not having transformed until I’d been alive for over three decades.”

Fletcher: "Ya ain't been caught yet, 'cept by vampires, n'me, n'maybe a hunter."

Pete: "I was never going hide it from you, or from the vampires. Comes with the territory."

Fletcher: "What territory is that? They'll kill ya as sooner look at ya."

Pete: "The territory of living in Edenton. Even if I prevented my transformation every single full moon for the rest of my life, I can't hide it. My aura's changed. My scent has changed."

Fletcher: "Ya can stay away from em. You're not me. You're not strong enough. If Guildias' boss told him t'kill ya, he would. Ya just..."

Pete: "My life is here, Fletcher. And I've kept that life as quiet and private as I can to stay off the Prince's radar. I'm doing the best I can."

Fletcher: Fletcher could only sigh, at a loss for words that would not result in an argument or further heartbreak. Best to just turn his back and watch their path.

Pete: Fletcher didn't have to say anything more; that sigh spoke volumes. It said his best wasn't good enough, that he wasn't good enough. It said he was doing everything wrong. It said he was naive and idealistic and overemotional and irrational.

So...everything he'd gotten used to hearing about himself.

He laid his hand on Kelly's head and asked god to help them all.

Fletcher: Shouldn't that have been said for himself? Fletcher would have corrected several mistakes in that line of thought had he said them. Just a further widening gap between those unforgettable few weeks they would never share again. The further from those days, the more Fletcher convinced himself they were just a dream.

"How's he doin'?"

Pete: “I think he’s mostly okay.” Pete gave Kelly a good once over. “His breathing seems a little labored. Leg’s twitching.” He leaned in close to listen. “And he’s whining with every exhale. Probably still in a lot of pain.”

Fletcher: "Could steal somethin' from the vet's office." A partial joke with no accompanied laugh.

Pete: Pete snorted. “Vet’s offices keep morphine?”

Fletcher: "Gotta be a dog equivalent."

Pete: "He's on medication. Maybe that'll be enough once he turns back. Unless you want to risk breaking into the vet's office."

Fletcher: "I mean, we're already breakin' rules." But he took a breath. "I might have somethin'."

Pete: "Is whatever it is safe for giant wolves?"

Fletcher: "Are ya bear in all things when you're a bear?"

Pete: "Right down to scratching my back against a tree."

Fletcher: "So ya think it would hurt ya t'take some oxy?"

Pete: “I don’t know, probably. Animal systems aren’t equipped to handle heavy meds.”

Fletcher: It was all relatively new. He knew of other breeds because he had been forced for one reason or another to kill them.

For the good of his species and the security of this town.

"Stayin' here til dawn?"

Pete: Pete nodded. “Yeah. I’ll help him home when he transforms back.”

Fletcher: Fletcher solidified his stance. Arms folded like a hug.

"Alright."

Pete: “It’s okay if you don’t stay, you don’t have to. Kelly’s my responsibility.”

Fletcher: "You're mine."

Pete: “I’m here every full moon, Fletcher,” he said softly. “I’ll be okay, promise. You have a life and I don’t want to keep you from it.”

Fletcher: "...So am I." All Peter had to go on with that faraway tone was Fletcher's back and impossibly tight shoulders.

Pete: Years of knowing about Fletcher's vigilance and somehow reminders of it still surprised him, even if it was brief. Of course Fletcher watched him on full moons. Fletcher watched everything.

Better to quit arguing and focus on Kelly. Maybe he'd text Gaetan and ask about the injuries.

Fletcher: Every day with Peter was a foot-in-mouth situation. Best to let the silence stretch between them. The whispers against his ears were making him miserable anyway.

"Fuck off," he tried to hiss. Whomever was vying for his attention tonight was particularly insistent.

Pete: Pete frowned and turned toward Fletcher's back. Who was he talking to? Was someone coming toward them?

"Is everything all right?"

Fletcher: "S'fi - S'fine." Composure. Not another argument. He was tired.

After a moment, Fletcher turned his shoulder in Peter's direction. He doubted he would remember their night together, the rain, the power outage, the embarrassment caused by the blackout. But, "Ya ever... hear anything in the dark?"

Pete: Fletcher needn't have doubted; Pete remembered every moment of the time they'd had together.

"I didn't used to, but I do now, sometimes."

Fletcher: "Anyone ever tell ya what it is?"

Pete: He nodded. "Yep, my mentor. Said it was the Veil."

Fletcher: "Dead fuckin' people?"

Pete: "Not dead. The in between."

Fletcher: "Whatever that is." He flicked at his ear, as though swiping at a fly.

Pete: "The way it was explained to me, it's the space between life and death. The spirit world where ghosts and ideas and dreams happen. That's where the voices come from."

Fletcher: "It can fuck right off," he muttered.

Pete: Pete pulled his phone from his pocket and checked the battery. There was a decent amount left.

He turned on the flashlight and set it down on a nearby rock.

Fletcher: Fletcher turned at the click of the light. Confusion tangled with caution in those gray eyes as he approached the illuminated sanctuary. He would crouch quietly, akin to the very creature they protected.

Pete: "Light helps right?" Pete asked softly. "I remember, from before."

Fletcher: "Yeah... Helps." For some indescribable reason, a verbal thank you felt like too much to give.

Pete: He nodded and offered Fletcher a smile.

"Did you know Druids can borrow light and play with it?"

Fletcher: "Heard somethin', but just sounded like a fairy tale." He'd seen things from Callum, more his cousin, but nothing he cared to disclose.

Pete: "Callum told me that he and his cousins used to make soccer balls out of light. His cousin Bronwyn still does it with her son."

Fletcher: "I..." know her. He chewed his lip. Stomach churned. "...be glad when this is over." Not what he meant to say, but the bottom line was he felt sick to his goddamn stomach near Peter.

"I just don't get this luna shit."

Pete: Pete looked up at the sky. He could just make out the moon through the canopy. "I really don't either. It's strange being controlled by something you can't touch. Something so far away."

Fletcher: "I mean, gravity," he scoffed. "Sunburn. Insanity. Love n'hate."

Pete: He hummed. "You can feel all those things all the time. You're always aware of them. The moon is just a space rock every single day of its cycle except for one, and on that one day..."

He shook his head. "It's just its position relative to us and the sun. It's math."

Fletcher: Fletcher shook his head, but then shrugged. "I mean, if that blows your mind, I'm a fuckin' cockroach. You're a goddamn bear. Callum is married t'a vampire that can explode into ash. It all means somethin' we can't see. The moon ain't just the moon. Magic n'shit."

Pete: "The second you think nothing can surprise you anymore, something does. And it's not even just magic shit, it's normal shit too. How can you be a were-roach and I be a were-bear when we've only explored five percent of the ocean? None of it makes any sense."

Fletcher: "I mean, that's "we" as ya know it. Someone probably has. Only surprise I've had the past few years have been you."

Pete: “That makes two of us. Well, three. Callum was really damn surprised too.”

Fletcher: "Oh. Yeah. The bear shit. Yeah, that's surprisin'."

Pete: Pete wanted to ask Fletcher what he'd thought Pete had meant but refrained.

He was quiet for a moment. "Do you think someone not-human has explored the ocean?"

Fletcher: "Oh, yeah," he repeated. "Heard some things. Really interestin' things."

Pete: "Any you can share to pass the time?"

Fletcher: Deep breath. "'Bout a guy, his father is... a bloodsucker. N'he lives in the ocean."

Pete: Pete blinked. "He lives in the ocean? How--well I guess he doesn't need to breathe."

Fletcher: "N'he don't gotta look like us."

Pete: "Yeah. Man, that's crazy to think about. Does he ever come out or does he just feed on fish or?"

Fletcher: "Couldn't hear too well. Think he only comes up like once in a - like a century or somethin'."

Pete: "That's....actually kind of terrifying. I'm just imagining some deep-sea creature-looking vampire emerging from the depths."

Fletcher: "Somethin' like that... was here, once. When we were little."

Pete: "He's not still here, is he? Creeping around just out of reach of the sunlight?"

Fletcher: "I don't think it was a bloodsucker. Mama wouldn't tell me."

Pete: “Something bad or just not human?”

Fletcher: "Definitely not human. The way she described it in her book was like... somethin' ya'd see in the deep."

Pete: “So terrifying, probably with transparent skin and creepy eyes and razor sharp teeth.”

Fletcher: "Loose things." He indicated to his throat, arms.

Pete: Pete shuddered. “Scarier things than any of us are at the bottom of the ocean.”

Fletcher: "N'sometimes they get out. Remember... I guess not."

Pete: “Remember what?”

Fletcher: "That week I wasn't in school. I'd spent the night with Tristan Seger, and then bounced."

Pete: “Oh yeah, I do remember that.” He remembered being jealous and upset that Fletcher would go over to Tristan’s house but not his.

“Did something come to town that week that freaked your mom out?”

Fletcher: Another one of those things he wouldn't know. "Somethin' like that. She took me huntin'."

Pete: “Normal hunting or humans killing non-humans hunting?”

Fletcher: "Non-human killin' non-human."

Pete: “Well then. Must’ve been life or death if she took you away for a whole week.”

Fletcher: "Think she just wanted t'teach me." Much more important to her than being a student in some school for humans. With valid reason.

Pete: "Well, you missed Nicholas Maurey wetting himself during reading time."

Fletcher: "Wow. I missed so much." He managed a smile.

Pete: "At that age, that was the hugest thing to ever happen. Still remember the principal stepping over the puddle."

Fletcher: "Did he ever live that down," he mused.

Pete: "Mitch Borden teases him to this day. But Mitch never matured so."

Fletcher: "Did ya... really notice? When I wasn't there."

Pete: Pete nodded. "Yeah. I did."

Fletcher: I hate how much I love you.

"Ya n - mm." He shook his head.

"I'll keep an eye on him, if ya wanna rest your eyes."

Pete: "I'll be fine," he said with a shake of his head. "Used to pulling full moon all nighters, remember?"

Fletcher: "I know what ya can do, n'I'm offerin' anyways."

Pete: "I appreciate it. Truly. I don't think my brain would let me rest."

Fletcher: Another span of silence, then, slowly turning away from the light, though remaining in its protection.

Pete: Pete alternated between staring off into space and staring at Kelly's scars. The cane his bartender had been sporting lately made perfect sense.

This wasn't just a limp, that leg looked atrophied.

"The hell happened to you, Kelly?" he asked the air.

Fletcher: Fletcher stared into space, wondering why it was he constantly threw himself into these situations. Why was it he protected this town, besides self-preservation, had to be more significant than Peter Graham.

"What happens t'all Fera? Battle."

Pete: "Seems like he never fully recovered from that one." He couldn't help but wonder what had caused this kind of damage. What had prevented Kelly from healing the way a Fera should.

He fell silent for another few long moments. Then, "One of us should talk to June."

Fletcher: "I will," said without hesitation. "But I don't think she'll wanna."

Pete: "I think she will. June makes sense of things by talking them out, alone or with someone. And she can't talk this one out alone."

Fletcher: "Nah, she's got a sense of survival."

Pete: “She was still by the door when I arrived. She didn’t run, I had to make her.”

Fletcher: "Some freeze, some frenzy, some just haul ass."

Pete: “Well, looks like she’s a freezer. Now that is. The old her probably would’ve lost her mind.”

Fletcher: "Maybe. Maybe she'll call someone n'this place'll be crawlin' with Pentex."

Pete: "This is the same woman who's kept promises she made in kindergarten. If she talks about it at all, it'll only be to one of us."

Fletcher: "Maybe should be both of us."

Pete: "Maybe. Might help her understand better."

Fletcher: "When are ya gonna tell your family?"

Pete: "I'm not."

Fletcher: "I don't get that."

Pete: "Stella's about to have a baby, my dad's nearly recovered from his accident, he and my mom are still going to therapy. They don't need to know the world the thought they lived in is a lie."

Fletcher: "Luke already knows shit."

Pete: "He hasn't told anyone either."

Fletcher: "Y'all need a damn heart-t'-heart. That shit'll separate y'all eventually."

Pete: "Or it'll tear us apart if I rip the fabric of their reality in two. Enough damage has been done to my family already."

Fletcher: "Not Luke. Ya trust me, remember? It won't break him."

Pete: "He's already broken. Every time I see him he looks more and more wasted away."

Fletcher: "He'll be alright. People are workin' t'fix him."

Pete: "He doesn't need supernatural shit on top of everything he's dealing with."

Fletcher: Deep breath. "Man, that whole separation shit's already good n'happened."

Pete: "You mean his boyfriend being murdered?"

Fletcher: "I mean the two of ya. Believe me. I know what keepin' secrets does t'relationships."

Pete: "If I know he knows, then he already knows that I know."

Fletcher: "For sayin' ya trust me, ya sure don't act like it."

Pete: "What am I gonna say that'll be any help to him, Fletch? Hey Luke, I know you're horribly, horribly depressed but to make your day, let's talk about how our pregnant sister and our parents are surrounded by vampires."

Fletcher: "More like, fuckin, 'Hey, brother, this shit ya know? ya ain't alone. I would really appreciate your company n'I want ya t'know ya can come t'me 'bout your wraith boyfriend.'"

Pete: "His what? His boyfriend is haunting him?"

Fletcher: Fletcher simply stared.

Pete: "So you watch him too every weekend. And his best friend."

Fletcher: "For twenty years. Every fuckin' vampire, hunter, breed. Every fuckin' fairy n'every goddamn witch I can find."

Pete: "How do you walk, Fletcher? Your toes are everywhere."

Fletcher: "Had t'learn. Could be worse."

Pete: "Worse than having to dedicate brain power and appendages to watching Gertrude's Elysium for two decades?"

Fletcher: "N'as reward people call me fuckin' crazy n'an asshole. A know-it-all n'paranoid." Not all was incorrect, but whatever.

Pete: "You're not. You just know too much about too many things." You must be exhausted all the time.

Fletcher: "Pentex is just next door. An ugly beige outer space buildin' in every state. Got one outside Raleigh. Works with the military. Ain't no such thing as knowin' too much."

Pete: "Knowing too much has a nasty habit of getting people killed."

Fletcher: "Why ya think I watch everyone?"

Pete: "To stay alive."

Fletcher: "N'everyone else I give a shit about."

Pete: "Talk to June. She won't tell a single soul anything."

Fletcher: "Talk t'Luke. Ya can lean on him. He needs t'lean on ya."

Pete: "I'll talk to him about it when he gets here on Thursday. This isn't a phone conversation."

Fletcher: "No, it ain't."

Pete: "Tomorrow's June's day off and she plans to stay home all day. Bring a pizza and talk to her."

Fletcher: Fletcher looked over his shoulder, stared at the wolf, stared off into space. Stared at the sky with that familiar lost gaze, and shrugged to himself.

"I shouldn't have left ya."

Pete: Pete was still gently petting Kelly's head, offering whatever comfort he could even if Kelly wasn't aware or couldn't feel it.

"It is what it is, Fletch," he said softly. "I don't hold it against you."

Fletcher: "Of all the times t'fuckin' slack."

Pete: "Don't beat yourself up. You couldn't have known."

Fletcher: "But I knew he was fucked."

Pete: "She didn't get her way. I'm okay. It's not your fault, Fletcher."

Fletcher: It was obvious, even in such dim lighting of the full moon, that words waited on the tip of Fletcher's tongue. Words that he knew would be meaningless.

So he shrugged again.

"Marion wants t'move t'the city."

Pete: Of course she did. Why the hell wouldn't she.

"Gonna do it?" he asked, quieter than he intended.

Fletcher: "Not really my speed, but... I'd blend in with the other crazies."

Pete: He nodded, because what else could he do.

"What about your building?"

Fletcher: "I dunno. Dunno if we will. S'just somethin' she's in my ear about."

Pete: Another nod. "Have you ever thought about it? Living in a city?"

Fletcher: "Ya know I did. Before. N'ya didn't want me to."

Pete: "No, I didn't. Wanted you to be able to be where your life and mom and home are." Where I was.

Fletcher: "Yeah..." What more could he say? "Ya know why I wanted t'leave."

Pete: "Yeah. And I was the one who ended up leaving."

Fletcher: Fletcher shrugged. Stared at the exhausted wolf.

"Ya were never with me t'begin with. What I miss?"

Pete: "Stole a few weeks before it all went to hell. The only thing I regret is hurting you."

Fletcher: "Stole," he scoffed. Nails dug into the back of his hand. His humorless laugh was broken by a "Fuck you."

Pete: "I stole them," he said to the ground. "You didn't. You did nothing to deserve what I put you through. I hurt you, and I'll be sorry for it all my life."

Fletcher: "How'd ya use me?" If this was going to be the subject, let's have it.

Pete: "You've been beating yourself up for leaving me with Victoria but I'm the one who went out that window. You deserve so much better than me. I wasn't brave enough when we were younger and I wasn't brave enough then. You deserve someone who's brave enough. You've been watching this town for two full decades, you've gotten yourself into hot water more than once to protect it and protect the people you care about. You're in hot water now with me and Kelly and you're still here when you can tell me to go fuck myself and deal with this on my own."

Fletcher: "Peter..." He had wanted an apology, but hearing any semblance of regret now felt empty. A goodbye. Just that black void in his gut he couldn't fill and never had.

"Ya could take a knife t'me right now n'I'd let ya. Told ya when ya jumped in the water ya... only did it 'cause he wasn't here. I knew." Hands rose and fell. "Ya can't be blamed."

Pete: "Yeah, I can. I can because I made choices and those choices hurt you. I deserved every bit of what happened in the woods that night. And if you had come along and decided to get a few hits in, I would've deserved that, too. I wouldn't have stopped you then and I wouldn't now. You've had to put up with so much of my bullshit and I am so goddamn sorry, Fletcher. You're not the asshole, you never were. It's always been me. And after all you've had to deal with, the only thing I want is for you to be happy. Genuinely and truly happy. Because jesus god, you've earned it."

Fletcher: A visceral heat burned its way from that void to his fingertips. A blissfully empty mind fueled on instinct. Slowly Fletcher reached for him, intent on curling rough fingers around Peter's throat.

Pete: Pete was too focused on Kelly and too caught up in his thoughts to react in time to stop Fletcher.

He braced for a hit; he expected one. He'd all but given Fletcher permission.

Fletcher: Not a strike of brute force. Only a squeeze of powerful fingers against important arteries. The command of his nearness with a simple flex of his arm. He was warm. He was Peter, as always. Being a bear didn't change much.

"Don't ever say that again. Don't ever let anyone lay a hand on ya... like that. Not ever."

Pete: There was a small, quiet part deep in Pete's mind that completely believed he deserved what Victoria had intended to do to him, and this was the first time it had ever been voiced aloud. At the very least, he deserved MJ's anger. He deserved Fletcher's, too.

And everything in his face reflected that sentiment.

"I'm sorry," he whispered.

Fletcher: "What d'ya have t'be sorry for?" he whispered. "I got t'taste what it was like. Your mouth. Your skin. Your you. I got that. S'mine. It hurts, but everything does."

Pete: "I'm sorry that it hurts. I'm sorry that that's all I ever do to you. I want to make it better but I don't know how."

Fletcher: "Ya can't. Ya can't... be with me." Though it destroyed his spirit to finally say it. "I'll say anything hateful so it don't kill me, 'cause I know ya can't. M'not him."

Pete: Everything Pete wanted to say would only hurt them more. He wished Fletcher had come over to his house for a sleepover instead of Tristan's. He wished Fletcher had been the one to give him his first kiss under the bleachers. He wished he'd gone right up to Fletcher and asked him to prom.

So many things. None of which could be changed, all of which were painful enough to bring tears to his eyes.

"I've said so many awful shitty things to you and I didn't mean a single one. That's what I did so it wouldn't kill me. I need you to know that, even if it's too little too late."

Fletcher: "Well, s'what we do. Ain't it? What I said t'ya months ago. What I said for twenty years. What m'sayin' right now." And despite everything he'd just said, he pulled Peter that much closer. Dangerously close. Less than a mistake would crush their mouths.

Pete: Pete had made that mistake once and hurt the man he'd loved for two thirds of his life. To do so again would put him beyond all redemption.

"I know it can't be with me, but I want you to be so happy. That I did mean. You deserve it so much."

Fletcher: "It coulda been, though. N'it always will be you, Peter."

Pete: He closed his eyes. "I'm sorry for that, too. If there's another me and another you in another universe, I hope he's more worthy of you than I am."

Fletcher: "What's that bloodsucker got that I ain't got?"

Pete: “I wish I knew. I wish I understood why.”

Fletcher: "When ya figure it out," he released his throat, "lemme know, so I can be a better man."

Pete: Pete gave Fletcher a sad smile. “You’re a good man, Fletcher. A far better man than I could ever hope to be. Don’t ever let anyone tell you different.”

Fletcher: "Shut up with that shit."

Pete: “I mean it. Ask June.”

Fletcher: "Ya are good."

Pete: “I’ll take your word for it.”

Fletcher: "Trust me, right?"

Pete: Another small, sad smile. “Yeah, I do.”

Fletcher: "You're the best thing I've ever met."

Pete: It took every ounce of strength he possessed to take even breaths and not break down sobbing.

He would absolutely never deserve Fletcher Goodman.

“I hope I can spend the rest of my life proving you even half right.”

Fletcher: "Ya can start by listenin' t'me next time some shit goes down. Deal?"

Pete: Pete nodded. “Deal.”

Fletcher: Fingers softly brushed against Peter's chin, and fell into his lap.

"Should keep hatin' ya in public. Ya know, reputation."

Pete: “No one would blame you. People around here care a lot about reputation.”

Fletcher: "A man is his reputation. S'why I got nothin' t'lose."

Pete: “Well, you kinda do. Emmanuel Gaia’s daughter thinks you’re secretly a pirate. So as long as you don’t disprove that you should be good.”

Fletcher: "How the hell sh - the pawn shop."

Pete: A true smile and a nod. “Gold coins are all the proof she needed.”

Fletcher: "Mm. Gold coins..."

Pete: “Everyone knows only pirates have those. Her words.”

Fletcher: "They mean more t'me now, ya know."

Pete: He nodded. “Yep. Never gonna look at one the same way.”

Fletcher: "If I gave ya anything," he smiled, wrinkles plaguing his face.

Pete: “You sure did. Gold coins, donuts. All in a new light.”

Fletcher: A growl escaped the Samsa before he could catch it. He turned back to Kelly to save face. He couldn't talk about those memories without warming his body.

Kelly: The growl stirred Kelly from his half-asleep state. Not enough to put him on high alert, just enough for him to lift his head for a moment before unceremoniously plopping it on Pete’s lap.

Fletcher: Fletcher leaned closer with his stirring. A primal reminder of his current rank amongst the three of them. A mockery of breeds, but the alpha of this mishmash nonetheless.

Thin amber antennae sprouted from his scalp. Began to feel with gentle taps at Kelly's body.

Kelly: Just beneath the calm, it would be very obvious that Kelly’s body was in distress.

His heartbeat and breathing had slowed but remained erratic. His muscles were tense. Touching the area near his leg, however softly, would elicit a whine and a whimper.

Fletcher: "Hush." His antennae were the equivalent of tiny feathers. He felt and studied and judged the mangled body.

"We're gonna carry him t'the hospital at sunrise. Say ya found him on the floor at work, passed out."

Pete: “Okay,” he said with a nod. “It’s probably for the best, he’s in no shape to just go home, even before tonight. He’s been getting worse and worse all month.”

Fletcher: "Ya didn't say anything?"

Pete: “I tried. He either ignored me or bit my head off just enough to make me back off but not enough to get himself fired. I wouldn’t have fired him but he doesn’t know that.”

Fletcher: "Well," he turned back to him, "welcome t'the family. I'm in charge."

The antennae began to recede.

Pete: “I’m his emergency contact, you know. When I hired him I asked him if he was sure he didn’t wanna make it a relative or a friend and he just stared at me.”

Fletcher: Kelly's memory was still in question. Whether he would remember the abomination preventing his escape. Either way, he was a liability.

"Maybe they did it. Not our problem. He ain't goin' anywhere."

Pete: “Nowhere but the hospital.” He began petting Kelly’s head again. “Makes me sad that if something happens to him, his boss is the only person that’ll know. One of his bosses.”

Fletcher: "Not much Charlie could do."

Pete: “Probably why he made it me, not to toot my own horn. Could’ve chosen Dwight I guess.”

Fletcher: "Ya smell like animal."

Pete: Pete nodded. “Giving me the edge over Dwight.”

Fletcher: Fletcher turned to rest his head on the opposite of Peter's lap.

Pete: That was just fine by Pete. A small moment of peace for them all was exactly what was needed.

Fletcher: "M'watchin' everything. Ya really can rest your eyes, Peter."

Pete: It felt like his eyes got itchy and grainy the moment Fletcher told him to rest them.

"Feel like we should build a fire."

Fletcher: "Build a fire?"

Pete: "For light and heat."

Fletcher: "He'll be fine. Ya can have my jacket."

Pete: "I'm okay. He just seems so frail." It was strange calling a giant friggin' wolf frail, but oh well.

Fletcher: A noncommittal noise was all he would receive. He couldn't say how he felt, except that this man had been reckless.

Pete: Pete wouldn't have disagreed. How had Kelly ended up transforming in the alley? Surely he must've know what day it was. Had he forgotten somehow? Had he used something to prevent his turning that had failed on him?

There was no way of knowing. Not right now at least.

Fletcher: Fletcher remained vigilant, despite his position. This was Peter's life, which meant more to him than the wolf sharing his lap. No sense in checking his watch when Kelly was their alarm. He would only stir when the first rays of morning poured over dark fur.

Pete/Kelly: Much as he wanted to keep watch over Kelly, Pete was just too tired. It hadn't been a particularly taxing day but the night was something else altogether. He was emotionally and spiritually exhausted.

At some point he began to doze where he sat, head occasionally lolling to the side in the brief moments where sleep won, only for him to jolt awake again.

Kelly didn't fare much better. He never fully fell asleep; just continued to drift in his the magically-induced relaxed state.

The moment the moon lost her hold on him, however, he too would startle awake as the first loud, excruciating cracks signaled his return to his human form.

Fletcher: The first crack forced Fletcher into a crouched position, wide awake and diligently on guard, waiting for whatever reaction, no matter the severity, to put this man in his place should he decide to lash out on his only protector.

Pete/Kelly: Pete wasn't quite so awake or quite so on guard, but he did try to comfort Kelly as much as he could as the cries of pain started up again.

The magic of the flowers simply wasn't enough. It was meant to soothe and comfort; only an actual Druid could've offered Kelly any significant relief but Pete wasn't entirely certain a Druid could even help right now.

Kelly rolled off of Pete's lap in an attempt to curl in on himself as his bones reformed. Fur receded, his form elongated, and slowly the howls of pain became more and more human. They became ragged, tortured sobs. Every movement hurt and with good reason.

Kelly had transformed back fully clothed, but what skin was visible was covered in horrible, nasty bruises.

Fletcher: He recognized that pain as though he could remember his deaths. Stolen memory, but unadulterated resonation.

Slowly, he approached his side. Movement quite feral. Now, they were in the recovery phase. It was time to assess.

"Kelly. Look at me."

Pete/Kelly: Bleary eyes attempted to meet Fletcher's, only vaguely aware of his surroundings. He could smell that he was in the woods and he could hear the rush of water from the river but beyond that Kelly was completely disoriented.

And then there was the matter of the bruises, which had concern plastered all over Pete's exhausted face.

They were everywhere. Shouldn't they only be in places where Fletcher had hit him or where Kelly had made contact with something? His fingers were bruised for god's sake.

"Fletcher, something's not right. Have you ever seen someone change back like this?"

Fletcher: "I see em," he sighed. "Go get his keys n'bring his truck this way. I'll ride with him in the back." Gently, Fletcher shimmied his arms underneath Kelly's weight. He expected more whining, given his current state. Maybe even a snap of that human jaw his direction.

"Go on now, Peter."

Pete/Kelly: Gentle wasn’t gently enough. Kelly had yet to form any kind of coherent word but the moment he was jostled Fletcher would be treated to more ragged cries. Even trying to struggle sent waves of sharp pain absolutely everywhere.

Meanwhile, Pete did as Fletcher asked and pulled some adrenaline out of somewhere so he could run back to the pub as quickly as his legs could take him.

Fletcher: "I hear ya," was his version of soothing. Kelly was brought to his chest and adjusted. "Gonna lift in three, two..." and up. Now was not the time to chide. He'd be talking to himself, he assumed. The man was too far gone in his agony. He couldn't be blamed for deaf ears.

Kelly: Kelly didn't have the presence of mind to even swear. He just screamed.

At least, in his mind he was screaming. In reality it was just more of the same; cries and grunts and whimpers.

He didn't really hear what the man was saying but he was aware of him. There was even a glimmer of recognition somewhere in his mind. Or was there? ....Yes. Maybe....yes? He knew who this was....right...? Right? Ri.....

Kelly's head fell back. He'd lost consciousness.

Fletcher: Fletcher walked to the nearest bit of road, where he assumed Peter would show. Just shy of the clearing, waiting by a tree for the first sign of his partner in rescue.

And with his arrival, he would motion with his elbow to the door. Kelly was traded off long enough to settle in. Still the crack of dawn, they had time to make this without being noticed.

Pete: Those gladiator workouts were finally coming in handy for more than just staying in shape.

Pete had gone back to the pub at a full run, letting that second wind do its job and propel him forward. It also helped that he didn't have a giant ass wolf to carry or any prying eyes to hide from. It was too early for anyone to be awake anyway.

He got back in record time, making quick work of retrieving Kelly's keys and cane and anything else he'd brought with him. The place was still only half shut down since Kelly and June hadn't finished closing up but that was a problem for his future self.

Back he went towards the woods, taking advantage of the early hour and driving at breakneck speed. It felt like he was racing the goddamn the sun but really he was racing every person in Edenton.

Thankfully he spotted Fletcher quickly.

"God, he feels so much heavier now," he said as he took Kelly. "I don't think we're going to be able to get away with just saying we found him."

Fletcher: "June can corroborate seein' him last n'lookin' like dog shit. S'either we take him, 'cause we are not the hands t'fix him, or you're knockin' on a druid's door at five in the mornin'. S'your call, Peter."

Pete/Kelly: Pete shook his head. "I'd ask Cal but I think this is way outside his wheelhouse. I guess if they ask we can--"

Kelly came to with a start, cutting Pete off and violently coughing up what was unmistakably blood.

Fuck.

"Fuck, okay, we gotta go. Got him?"

Fletcher: Kelly was held loosely, enough for him to move about and cough as he needed to.

"I got him. Drive." He took a breath. "Callum might be low grade, but his cousin ain't."

Pete: "It's four in New Orleans," he called as he got back in the driver's seat, not even thinking to question Fletcher's suggestion. "She can take a crack at him later, he needs medical attention but quick."

Once more taking advantage of the empty road, Pete floored it to the emergency room.

Fletcher: "That suddenly matters?" Seemed Peter was still... young. That was to be expected. Callum wasn't about to tell him everything, best friend or not.

"Easy does it, man. Don't breathe deep."

Pete/Kelly: It probably didn't in a situation like this, but Bronwyn had a kid and Pete was loath to force her to scramble like he had with Graham earlier.

Besides, there was no guarantee she'd be able to help Kelly. At least not to the extent the hospital could.

Kelly couldn't have breathed deeply if he'd wanted to, and being jostled around by his own crappy truck and crappy suspension system didn't help. If it wasn't the coughing, it was the shocks of pain after every single movement as they drove. It wasn't long before he was unconscious again.

Fletcher: Fletcher knew nothing of meditation that an ex and a best friend hadn't attempted. Considerable willpower was spent in remaining in that back bed as the truck pulled left down the long driveway to the hospital.

He could do it, he thought. Disintegrate into an intrusion of American cockroaches, scatter little by little until one remained, inconspicuous.

One steady breath. Another. Another. The simple act of remaining ached from the inside out.

Pete: Pete hoped to god that the fact that it was five in the morning meant that the emergency room would be empty as the roads. Empty and loaded with nurses.

He parked at the curb, cutting the engine and leaping out in one fluid motion.

"Okay okay, we're here." He hopped into the back. "We need--are you okay? Are you having a panic attack?"

Fletcher: Fletcher managed his best glare. The torch of mangled Garou was passed to Peter's arms.

"What are ya gonna say?"

Pete: Even though Kelly was unconscious, Pete still handled him as carefully as possible. "I'm gonna say I found him in the alley outside the pub. He looks like someone beat the hell out of him and I'm not gonna offer any theories to the contrary. Come on, let's take him inside."

He studied Fletcher for a moment. "Or would you rather wait with him while I get a nurse?"

Fletcher: His skin was burning. Palms slick with sweat. Not a smell Peter needed up his nose.

"Brett's gonna show up 'cause of this. Ya only called me t'help ya. That's it. Got it? Go get a nurse."

Pete: Pete nodded. He wouldn't push or insist or pry. If Fletcher was uncomfortable or simply didn't want to be anywhere near this, Pete wouldn't make him.

"Okay. Wait here. Once they take him inside you can slip away." He gently set Kelly down and hopped off the truck bed, running inside and shouting for help.

Fletcher: He couldn't leave. For Peter's sake. He remained by Kelly's side and wished he was religious enough to pray to anything capable of sparing him from exposure.

Pete/Peabody/Bridget: The first person Pete saw when he burst into the ER was Bridget, Peabody's girlfriend, and standing beside her was the man himself. It was Peabody who spoke first.

"What is it, what's wrong?" he asked, immediately going from relaxed to cop mode.

"It's Kelly Rose. I've got him out in the truck. He's hurt bad, he's all bruised and coughing up blood, I think he was attacked."

Pete didn't get a chance to finish speaking before Bridget was calling for whichever one of her colleagues was closest to get the doctor and a gurney.

Fletcher: Fletcher waited with Kelly's head in his lap, keeping his airways absolutely clear. He didn't know much about anything medical. Never a need for it. His assistance was pretty much what he'd seen from film.

The sight of Deputy Peabody straightened his spine.

"He passed out on the way here," he muttered.

Peabody/Bridget: Fletcher wouldn’t have to wait long. Bridget and the other staff came through the automatic doors like bats out of hell just moments after Pete had gone in. Peabody came as well, giving Fletcher a nod of acknowledgement and greeting as he opened the tailgate so the nurses could get to Kelly.

They immediately began checking vitals and attaching equipment, alternately telling each other readings and giving instructions to each other for getting Kelly out of the truck and onto the gurney.

While they worked Peabody turned to Fletcher. “The hell happened? Pete said he was attacked?”

Fletcher: Fletcher watched with his chin down, eyes to himself. This wasn't his rodeo. If he could be nothing more than an inanimate object...

To all but Peabody. He was his whole world for the next five minutes.

"Dunno. Peter banged on my door. He's a big motherfucker. Couldn't get him up on his own."

Pete/Peabody: Peabody looked back to Kelly's prone form and couldn't help grimacing at the sight of all the bruises. "Yeah, he is. Too big for one person to do that to him. Probably a group."

There was blood on Kelly's face and facial hair and down his front and far as Peabody could tell, that was all the blood there was. Surprising considering the state the poor bastard was in.

He didn't have time to ask more questions before he was asked for help in getting Kelly onto the gurney, along with Pete who had finally come out of the ER.

Fletcher: Fletcher exchanged a look with Peter when he could. As though the sight was too much to bear, he turned his back to the scene and wiped at his mouth with both hands. Not alarming or alien or stomach churning. The less his face was seen, the less he would be remembered.

Pete/Peabody: Pete offered what he hoped was a reassuring smile. Fletcher's discomfort was practically rolling off of him; it didn't take a lot to see how much he wanted to get out of there.

They managed to get Kelly off the truck without tossing him around too much, but that little bit of movement was enough to make him come around in a flurry of coughs and cries.

The nurses were trying to offer both care and comfort as they finally wheeled him inside, leaving Pete, Peabody, and Fletcher outside.

Peabody was the first to talk. "My shift's about to end but we need to get a report going on this. Can you stick around, Pete? Since you found him?"

Pete nodded. "Yeah, no problem. Fletch, you wanna drive Kelly's truck to his house?" And get out of Dodge?

Fletcher: Eyes darted between the two men. I see what you're doing.

"D'ya need his truck, Peabody? Otherwise I'll... do that."

Pete/Peabody: "Was he in the truck when you found him?"

Pete shook his head. "No, he was by the dumpster. Truck was parked in the lot, just easier to bring him here in it."

The deputy nodded. "All right, should be fine then. Go ahead and take it."

Fletcher: "Not gonna CSI: Vegas his truck or somethin'?"

Peabody: "Even if we had the resources for that, we'll have better luck with Kelly himself. Parker will probably look around the alley though."

Fletcher: "Right." He held his hand out to Peter. "Keys, then." Whatever it was Peabody was about to do, whatever this investigation would lead to, he wanted no part of it. Putting aside the fact that Kelly's wallet was still intact. An attack without greed as the motivation made everything stickier. He was still trying to wrap his head around a Fera that could keep his clothes on during the transformation. That was more his artificial species. So those wheels were busy turning.

Pete: Pete handed Fletcher Kelly's keys and with them, the opportunity to escape Peabody's probing questions. And Brett's too, when he finally arrived.

"I guess you can put the keys in his mailbox when you get there. Or under the mat or something. I can go get them later and keep them for him until he goes back home."

Fletcher: "Could just leave it in the parking lot, right? I can walk home."

Pete: He nodded. "Yeah, yeah, that should be fine. Gives Parker a chance to take a look at it if he wants to."

Fletcher: So, reluctantly, the keys were handed back. "Ya know...where t'find me."

Pete: "Yep. Sure you wanna walk?" It's been a long night.

Fletcher: "Yep. Yep, I'll see y'all."

The best goodbye he was going to give, waving a behind as he headed back to the road.

#Pain Relief Closure #kellygeorgerose #petegraham #junelujano #fletchergoodman #qtraxler #emmanuelgaia #deputypeabody

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oneofyatosfollowers · 4 years

Text

One of a Kind- chapter 12

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20191861/chapters/53410423

Fanfiction: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13360973/1/One-of-a-Kind

The room stood still. They could do nothing as Yato's scream echoed in the room, then choked out into nothing. Kouto released a breath then stood up, Yato's body slid down the control panel, limp.

"There, you see?" Kouto yanked up Yato by his compactor before the Wall-E's body completely hit the floor.

"Now we can get back to A113." Kouto walked towards them in controlled steps, not hindered by the dead weight he dragged behind him. Hiyori and Yukine gaped at him, fear and disbelief rooting their feet to the floor. Tear welled up in Yukine's eyes as his breathing picked up. Hiyori's mouth worked uselessly, squeaks of straggled cries whispering along her breath. Kugaha took this oportinutiy to roll to his feet, taking off towards his superior.

"Wait stop!" Hiyori pointed her gun again but didn't shoot. Her hands were shaking and she couldn't focus on her system's auto-aim, Yato was still in the shot zone. Thankfully, Tenjin took control of his chair, rocketing himself foward and slamming into the Go-4's side, knocking him back to the floor. Captain Tenjin then lurched and grabbed hold of the poncho's loose turtle neck, ripping open the black clips that held it in place. Kugaha sputtered and shouted but he was too slow. Implanted at the bottom of his jugular was the Go-4's reset button. Tenjin didn't even want to think how many times his Auto had used it. His thumb slammed into the blue and yellow device, Kugaha struggled for a bit more before his eyes rolled to the back of his head.

His body was dropped to the floor with a powerful thump. Tenjin glared in spite from under his eye brows. Kouto was quiet for a moment, looking down his nose at the captain. He looked to Hiyori with her gun still trained on him, a tear rolling down her face. The Auto then looked down at the limp Wall-E at his side, and sighed.

"Really now," Kuoto said turning slightly so he could push open the trash door, "I'm just doing what's best for the ship. There's no need for such violence." He pushed the compactor's handle in first, then gripped Yato by his hair and heaved him in, Yato's boots dragging on the floor behind him.

"Stop!" Yukine cried, rushing towards the co-pilot and throwing his body at him in tackle. Kouto didn't even need to move his feet. Looking down at the blonde with a blank expression, he didn't react in the slightest. The Mo's fists balled up Kouto's pristine white coat and he struggled to knock him over, or kick his shins, or grabble Yato out of the shoot. The Auto's elbow swung around to crack Yukine in the forehead, sending him to the floor. He then kicked the rest of Yato's body down the tube, smiling to himself as he heard loud thuds get farther away. A blast suddenly hit him in face, followed by a shot to the chest.

Kouto stumbled back with a cry, his shoulders hitting the broken control panel. Eyes widening, he ducked as another stream of blue light hit right where his head was. Hiyori moved in, gun trained on her superior. He dashed to the side as Hiyori fired just behind him. She rushed over to Yukine and kept shooting. When Kuoto made it behind the elevator, and out of sight, Hiyori risked a glance at Yukine.

"Are you okay?" Hiyori looked frantically between the floor and the elevator wall, shooting when she saw the tiniest bit of red peek out. For the floor, Yukine sniffled and groaned, forcing himself to sit up. Blood streamed from a cut on his forehead.

"Captain!" Hiyori shouted, "Please barricade yourself in your room!" She nodded to the captain with wild eyes as he drove towards his door, disabling the lock pad and shutting the door behind him. The room was quite except for Hiyori's heavy breathing. The Auto hasn't move from his spot. Waiting patiently for an opening.

"Yukine?" Hiyori tried again, looking over her shoulder to see the empty spot on the floor. A splatter of blood where the Mo used to be. Her wide eyes darted to the elevator and around the room, finally catching Yukine push open the trash shoot behind her.

"Yu-Yukine!" Hiyori fully looked over her shoulder, watching Yukine hop in feet first, roller clanking along after him. When Hiyori looked back, Kuoto was already half way across the room, running swiftly and silently, the skin around his right eye scorched off. The glowing red and black mechanics making him look like a true cyborg. She gasped and fired off a shot, hitting the ground to the right of him. Kuoto didn't even blink, swerving around the hole in the floor and through the smoke. Hiyori clicked on her boots, taking to the air and shooting at him again. The Auto burst through the black smoke screen arms closing around the space Hiyori once occupied.

The trash flap closed with a loud clap. Kouto glanced around, straightening himself up with a grimace. They escaped. He produced a handkerchief from his front pocket and began dotting the blood streaming down his cheek while his sensors did a system check. He heard the sound of engines from the break in the window. A couple moments later, the golden hair of Sergant Major Bishamon rose to view followed by First Sergent Kazuma. They flew through the glass break without second thought. Though they did give him a horrified expression.

"Command Sergent, What happend here?" Bishamon demanded as her jets folded back into her shoulder blades. Behind her, a line of more Secur-T rose to the glass, halted by Kazuma, who scanned the room.

"They were here." Kazuma informed. Kuoto looked at the First Sergent, then nodded at Bishamon.

"It's true. They attacked. It seems the virus has spread to the Eve making her armed and dangerous." Kouto said.

"What of the captian?" Bishamon demand. Kouto growled at her tone but calmly held a hand up.

"I asked him to barricade himself in his room. Don't bother going to check, I instructed him to only answer to me."

"Very well," Bishamon nodded to the co-captain once then turned to Kazuma, "Leave a squadron here and set a perimeter. No one comes in or out of the captain's chambers. I want all units on an all out search. Alert the public all chambers will be investigated."

"That won't be necessary, Bishamon." Kouto cut in. Both Secur-Ts looked at him with shock.

"But sir-"

"I took care of them," The Auto said, smiling a little at their expressions, "Just have a Secur-T posted here for the time being." He pointed at the garbage door, letting the two come to their own conclusions.

"Sir," Bishamon stepped forward, "Did you-"

"The public cannot be bothered by such a trivial matter that can- and was- easily handled," Kuoto steady met the Sergent Major's gaze, "Their safety and happiness is our utmost priority. In a couple minutes everything will be handled, and you'll be back on damage control." He walked by the two and towards the Go-4 on the ground, not sparing them another glance.

Bishamon looked back at Kazuma who shared her twisted expression. Kazuma turned and beckoned Kuraha forward, commanding the bearded man to stay posted at the trash shoot. When he walked by, Bishamon put a hand on his shoulder and looked towards the Auto.

"Stay sharp. And do what is right." Bishamon whispered. Her subordinate nodded and took his post. From the floor, Kugaha groaned and woke up, sitting with his head in his hand. Kouto blinked down at him with one eye, then looked over at the two Secur-Ts

"That will be all, Sergent Major Bishamon." Kouto said. Bishamon narrowed her eyes at him, bowing before leaving back out the window. Kazuma close behind her.

"I don't like this Kazuma." Bishamon said before her boot even touched the ground.

"Indeed, every criminal is allowed trial with the captain. But if the cyborg has a virus, we are more than capable of curing it. On top of that, human Eves can't even get virus!" Kazuma held his chin, eyes opening the more he thought. Bishamon looked just as surpirsed.

"You're right. And why does he not want us to apprehend them? What does it mean he took care of them?" She turned to look at the garbage shoot. Kazuma followed her line of sight.

"The garbage shoot, huh?" Kazuma crossed his arms. They looked at each other, communicating with looks alone. With a nod, the two snuck away, out of sight.

Several floors below, Hiyori screeched to a halt just before hitting the cement floor. Dirt and paper flew out of the way of her engines before she cut them off. She looked around, the floor beanth her was relatively clean, at least free of garbage. In fact, it seemed a large pathway was cleared all the way to a smaller room off to Hiyori's left. She looked around, Yato and Yukine were no where to be seen. She heard urgent voices by the smaller room, shilohettes were shadowed by the bright white LEDs. Hiyori made her way towards them when their body langue became more demanding. Above them, a red light began flashing, a siren harshly sounding.

The massive doors slowly began to slide shut, the light closing in on Hiyori's path. Still, she could make out the shorter body of Yukine, shouting at a group of Wall-Hs. A large cyborg with a mop of thick brown hair had a massive hand over top of a control pad, his other arm blocking Yukine from getting to it.

"Yukine!" Hiyori called out to him as she ran up to the group. Yukine sparred her a glance before turning his glare back on the Wall-H.

"Please! You have to stop it! My dad's in there!" Yukine grabbed the man's wearalls and shook him. The man grabbed his hands and ripped them off his front.

"What are you talkin about? Cyborgs ain't got parents! Besides we got orders straight from the top!" The Wall-H said, pointing his massive shovel at the smaller room. Hiyori whipped her head towards the sliding doors in horror. Yato was in there. Unconscious and injured. Without another thought, Hiyori cranked up her rocket boots and leaned back. She flew towards the door, spinning to her side to make a tight turn right into the trash chamber. The Eve flipped on her helmet, it's invisible glass encasing her head and the scanner coming shine across the trash piles. Her helmet's speaker buzzed with static. She touched the side of her helmet with furrowed brows.

"Hi-yori?" Yato's voice crackled through the speaker. Hiyori's heart jumped to her throat, she nearly cried.

"The speaker!" Hiyori thought with pure euphoria, thanking the stars she gave it to him. She tapped the speaker.

"Yato? Yato! Where are you?" Hiyori zipped around, head looking around too fast for the scanner to fully get a read. She kept tapping the side of her helmet, calling Yato's name over and over only to receive static.

"Hiyori!" Her name echoed in the large white room. She looked towards the source, her relif dripping into fear with a jolt. Yukine stood with his knees bend, fists desperately trying to keep the roller from being bent by the doors. The doors pushed against the horizontal rod Yukine held up, large, dirty hands wrapping around the door to help keep it open.

"Hiyori!" Yukine shouted again, "Hurry up!"

"I'm trying!" Hiyori felt tears of frustration prick her eyes. The siren was loud but her heart was louder. The hollering of the Wall-Hs and Yukine became static to her panic. Then, cutting through it all, her speaker buzzed again.

"Fridge." Yato's voice spoke clearly in her ear. It took the Eve a couple seconds to process his words. But the she did.

"Fridge? A fridge!" Hiyori changed her scanner and and flew around the piles of shovled trash. Finally spotting a fallen refrigerator at the bottom of one of the piles. Yato on his stomach under it, one hazy blue eye trained on her.

"Yato!" Hiyori cried, swooping down next to him. She grabbed his wrists and pulled hard. Yato grunted in pain as he slid out, Hiyori apologizing over and over. By the time she worked him onto her back, the room sent out a warning that the space doors will be opening soon. She clicked on her boots again, rising above the trash piles and shooting towards Yukine. The kid was struggling, eyes squeezed together with stress.

"Hurry," Yukine grounded out, roller bending under the force of the doors. His eyes widened and fixated on something behind then. Hiyori felt herself be tugged backward. The space door opening a crack, the vacuum of space sucking up the lightest trash. She pushed harder, inching towards the entrance slowly. The air around them pulled harder and Hiyori gripped Yato tighter, his limp body starting to weigh them down.

A handle came into view, reading out far past Yukine's roller. A man with glasses and long brown hair was leaning over Yukine, extending his shovel to her.

"Miss Eve! Grab on!" He commanded. Hiyori stretched out a hand, desperately trying to keep Yato balanced on her back. Her fingers brushed against it before she was pulled back. When she reached at it again, the tips of her fingers curld around it. Once she was secure, Hiyori looked into the brown eyes of the Wall-H.

"I got it!" With a strong tug, Hiyori and Yato were safely back in the dump. The bear-like Wall-H wrapped a large arm around Yukine's torso and ripped him from the doors, the heavy metal slamming shut with a resounding slam. The wind pressure cut off immeitatly and Hiyori crashed to the ground, Yato falling off her shoulders.

"Yato!" Yukine squirmed out of the man's hold and scrambled to the Wall-E on the floor. Falling to his knees, Yukine shook Yato's shoulder, Hiyori collapsing next to him. Blood clotted his hair and face. Yato wheezed out shallow breaths, eyes glassy and unfocused.

"What were you kids doing in there?" The bifocaled man came to stand behind Yukine and Hiyori. He wore a loose grey outfit , stained with dirt and grime, thick brown strips wrapping around the edges. The man went ignored. Hiyori stepped over Yato, moving aside scorched hair to see destroyed wires and a shattered light blue plate. Blood was seeping from around the edge of the insert staining his circuits. Yato moaned, electricity sparked out of the broken wires.

Yukine shuffled even closer to Yato. Hiyori stopped him from leaning over and looking at the damage. The Mo sniffled, grabbing Yato's hand without a second thought. The Wall-E's eyes moved like molasses to look up at Yukine, face morphing to one of sorrow when he saw his kid's pained expression. All the Wall-E could do was force his chest to rise and fall.

"Is he gonna be okay?" Yukine's voice quivered, coming out as a breath. Hiyori squeezed her eyes shut, forcing the tears away. She took a breath in and carefully turned Yato's face towards the floor while parting his hair. Activating her scanner, the Eve stored the identity of the wires and chips. She quickly stood up and activated her rockets.

"Wait! Miss Eve!" The Wall-H went ignored, Hiyori taking off into the darkness of the ship's dump. She moved from pile to pile, shuffling through months of rotting trash. Her scanners alerted her of any electrical wires, cranes, spare parts, computer hard drives. Hiyori collected anything that resembles Yato's unique make-up. Anything that could work.

By the ejection door, the Wall-Hs wrapped Yukine in one of their extra pieces of fabric, another was laid over Yato. The man with the chipped glasses, the head of the section, had commanded the others to do a thorough check of the area, just in case there were other workers that were lost. He then gave Yukine a dented can of hot water, one that went ignored. Instead the Mo was gently wiping Yato's face, working though the packet of baby-wipes he had tucked in his uniform. Already there was a pile beside Yato's head, the white cloths died dark red and brown.

"Mmm that feels nice," Yato slurred. Yukine gave a half-hearted scoff.

"I bet. This is probably the closest you've ever had to a shower." Yukine winced as his cleaning made the bruises more prominent. Once his face and neck was wiped down, Yukine moved to Yato's hands. The mechanical circling of the cloth turned to short rubs, then to nothing at all.

"What's wrong," Yato took a breath like a gasp, "Kiddo?" Yukine didn't look up from his daze, Yato's calloused hands tanner than his smooth ones.

"What is it like? Earth?" Yukine asked quietly. Yato didn't answer right away and Yukine worried that the Wall-E had passed out again.

"It's nothing like here," Yato took a deep breath in, "There's still lots of cleaning to do, but it has the most amazing things hidden. There are no more living things- I think- but the mountains and volcanoes are still there. All the art and statues, the movies and music. Humanity really." He murmured, his voice growing weaker the more he talked and heaved oxygen. Yukine apologized and only got a wheezing cough in return.

"'Humanity', huh?" Yukine repeated. He looked down at his uniform, one the first things he remembers receiving after waking up, recalling not a damn thing. Yukine paused and took it all in. The thought of what Earth could be, his role here, Suzuha, his new name. He squeezed the wet-wipe tight.

"Yato!" Hiyori's boots scattered the dirt and dust around the floor as she landed hastily next to them, cradling her helmet over flowing with wires and chips. She knelt down by Yato's head and Yukine scrambled around to help Yato into somewhat of a sitting position, letting the Wall-E lean heavily against him.

"Is this it?" Hiyori held up a misshapen one, one that Yato shook his head at, "What about this? This? How about this one?" Hiyori grit her teeth, turning her helmet over and dumping out its contents. She and Yukine spread them out before Yato so that he can look them over. Other Wall-Hs came with what they've found. None of them even came close. They didn't have the necessary wiring for a cyborg, and when they did, they weren't meant to fit in the Wall-Es old fashioned design. And now that Hiyori thought of it, they would need a highly trained specialist that could surgically remove the plate and reattach a new one to his antique system, all while keeping him alive.

When Hiyori voiced as much the room grew quiet, Yato's wheezing covering Yukine's sniffles and Hiyori's choked sobs. Yato looked at his love sadly. One of his eyes had trouble focusing, the other interpreted color oddly, but she still looked beautiful. He hated making her this sad. It's a good thing he had something that could cheer her up. He belonged in the trash heap anyway.

"Hiyori," Yato said, "I have-" he broke off into a cough. Hiyori seemed to understand, perking up and crawling towards him.

"You have?" Hiyori wiped some tears away. At his side, Yukine jostled him.

"You idiot! Why didn't you say something sooner!" Yukine smiled wide despite himself. Yato tried shaking his head but got dizzy, his hand shakily went over his shoulder and gripped his compactor. Slowly, one at a time, Yato's latches opened up and allowed the compactor to slide off his back. Hiyori helped Yato drag it around. The cube opened, allowing it's contents to come tumbling out.

The room froze, confusion knitting the features of the Wall-Hs while Hiyori and Yukine sat with stunned expressions. The glass bottle clicked against the pavement, spinning to a landing right in front of Hiyori. The Eve slowly looked down, face frozen. Her trembling fingers reached for the smooth container, wrapping loosely around it and lifting the plant into her lap.

"Yato, What is- I don't." Hiyori whispered, thumb rubbing over the glass.

"P-plant," Yato wheezed, "Directive." his mouth wobbled into a crooked smile. Hiyori looked up at him with wide, misty eyes. He held her gaze as best he could, hair covering the eye that stopped working, smile drooping just a bit. But to her, he just looked defeated. His bright, sunny demeanor and eyes so full life, looked shadowed and muted. His wearalls were bunched in Yukine's tight fist. The Mo subconsciously squeezing Yato tighter.

"Who cares about that now!" Yukine shouted, "Earth isn't what's important now!" He steadied Yato after the Wall-E flinched from the volume. Yato swayed a little, head lulling back.

"Earth..." Yato slurred. Hiyori looked sadly at Yukine, who was trembling and gnawing at his lip.

"Earth?" Hiyori repeated. Her eyes fell down to the organism in her lamp, then back up at Yato. Focusing on the round plastic speaker imbedded in his chin, once again cracked. He would need a replacement.

"Earth!" Hiyori exclaimed, coming off the ground to her knees. She kept repeating the world like it was her lifeline. She shouted it at confused Yukine and again at the bewildered Wall-Hs. The Eve crawled to Yato with a face of pure joy. Slowly pulling his head back up, Yato fixed her with a smirk. Yukine, smart as he is, caught on.

"All of Yato's stuff is on Earth!" Yukine perked up for a moment before he deflated, "But, that jerk Auto is the one who drives the ship."

"But! But!" Hiyori scooted even more forward, "The ship's programming should override his control. All we have to do is place this in the Halo-detector and the ship will take us back!"

"We have to get back to the captain!" Yukine affirmed.

"You're not going anywhere near the captain!" A voice boomed in the enormous room, powerful and strong. Heels clicked against the pavement followed by the footfalls of more soldiers. The Wall-Hs stepped back with their hands in front of them, leaving the trio under a spot light in the middle of the floor.

Hiyori stood up, one hand out behind her, the other cradling the plant. She moved to block the view of the boy and the broken cyborg, narrowing her eyes as Bishamon stepped into the light. followed by a line of Secur-T.

#noragami #noragami fanfic #noragami fanfiction #wall e #wall-e

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