Oh Moth Me, shall we lamp?: Part 2 electric boogaloo!

Not even I can believe it took me 4 months to get the sequel out.

Moth Brothers edition->

Mothatos is the ONLY reason I decided to make gradient wings because it’s not Barbatos without a gradient, now is it? Also pls protect Lukepillar, I knew some kids back in elementary school that would literally Yeet any rock they could grab at any caterpillars so hard the poor thing’s guts would splatter all over the place from impact, and who’s to say people like that still don’t exist…do it for Simmoth and Mothatos since Bug/Flying types are x4 weak to rock

Twisted wonderland theory - who is Dire Crowley?

I'm currently drowning in my brainrot so I shall offer you this. Forgive me if it's kinda messy, I only have one brain cell ;-;

Some people speculated that our very kind headmaster is inspired by the Diablo, Maleficent's crow. This is pretty obvious just by taking a look at his design: the golden claws on his hands, his beak-like mask, the black feathers on his coat and his walking stick with a golden crow on top.

Now, what are Crowley's true intentions? What may be his final goal? Well, if he truly is based on Diablo (which by the way means Devil in Spanish), then he ought to share some traits with him, right? The Disney wiki describes the crow with a certain sentence that has caught my eye: "he is completely and genuinely loyal to her (Maleficent)". Why is this important? Well, what if Crowley was Maleficent's assistant in the Twisted Wonderland universe? Assuming she is Malleus' grandmother, how in the world would he still be alive then?

Let's take a look at his character design. First off, his ears are pointed, and we all know what having pointed ears means! He's a fae, and this would explain why 1) his age is listed as "unknown" (just like Lilia and Malleus', the only two fae characters in the game) 2) he could've easily lived long enough to serve the Queen of the Land of Thorns

(Another hint/foreshadowing of his long lifespan is here: )

Prologue ; Chapter 1 - 19

Crowley: In all these years that I've been Headmaster... For the day to come that students from Night Raven College to go hand-in-hand to face and defeat their enemy! [...] Ace: I would never do that, gross! But Headmaster, how old are you!

Second, he shares quite a lot of similarities with Malleus' design. They have the same pointed ears, same black lipstick and very similar color palettes (for the hair/horns). And what if the mask is there to conceal his eye color? (it could totally be green, for what we know; no one said that goldish glow is his actual eye color) To make it look less suspicious? Because to be honest, I've never noticed all these similarities until I actually stopped and intensely stared at Crowley's sprite.

(another fun fact, we have never seen Crowley without a hat, neither in official art, the opening movie, his usual sprite or the vacation one. He might be hiding the Vatican's secrets under there and no one would suspect a thing)

Second of all, what is he trying to do? I remember reading somewhere (I don't know whether it was a theory or in-game infos), that NRC's true objective is recreating the great seven, to find magicians talented enough to remake the original seven but in version 2.0. But why in the world is he trying to do that? Well, if he really is Maleficent's loyal servant, then he may be doing it for her. Maybe because of an order, a wish or it can totally just be independent acting on his part. That's also why we have dorm leaders and why he was so happy to have met someone like Yuu, a person who can coordinate the haughty students of the college. He wants to use us to control and in a way manipulate his future great magicians.

Prologue ; Chapter 1 - 19

You cannot use magic.

But, maybe, precisely because you cannot use magic means that you could give instructions to wizards and get them to cooperate. Perhaps that mediocrity is exactly what this school needs right now!

[...]

MC.

I have no doubt that your existence is essential to the future of this academy. So says my educator-senses.

This would mean that he's not researching a way for us to go back to our world as he wants to keep us there as much as possible.

As if he wasn't suspicious enough, in the actual opening of the game there's this sequence of images that hint at his connection with the overblots.

(1) the ink of the overblots (2) that's him doing the 👁👄👁, very suspicious if you ask me

(3) this might as well be related to Pomefiore's overblot or the importance apple trees have in NCR as stated in the scary monsters event* (4) the symbol of diasomnia, a spindle (+thorns)

*why would apples be related to him? Do we have any proof? Oh! Would you look at that! Are those apples on his vacation shirt? Yes. Yes they are.

Lastly, these two are the most important pictures:

(5) his jacket laying in a puddle of what I presume is water?? (6) the viewer is being closed into a coffin as a crow flies inside the mirror

Why are there 6 keys on the back of his coat? Yana wouldn't just give him a random number of keys just because, if there are 7 dorms then where is the seventh one?

Right here! His walking stick is a literal key, and even the biggest one!

(He also has 4 keys on his hip ; they might as well represent the NRC staff: Crewel, Vargas, Trein and Sam)

Anyone who has ever pulled anything in the twisted gacha knows that coffins all have a little window that glows green, a fountain with green water and a mirror. When we pull to get a card, we see green flames and then a giant mask with the overblot symbols and dark lipstick. Are they obsessed with the color green? Did they choose it just because it has a nice contrast with the background? (the color palette is, once again, crowley's. I'd add a picture if I could but I've reached the maximum for this post) Or is it because it's a type of magic based off on Maleficent's? Each time we see the diasomnia students using magic in the opening movie, the color is always the same shade of fluorescent green that we have seen so many times.

Why is a crow flying into the mirror? Here I come to you empty handed because I simply do. not. know. We'll have to see what the next events/main story chapters will tell us because this image is too specific for me to find an explanation for it. It might be a mention to how we got isekai'd, it may represent Crowley flying off into the distance because he wants to break free from all the taxes he has to pay, or it may simply be a crow attracted to a glowing mirror, just like a moth flying into a lamp.

Pauline's song:

A royal Au with Daichi Sawamura! Dancing and Semi comfort. You can never feel unloved with his man.

Word count: 1.9k

Genre: Fluff

The masquerade ball has been going on for hours at this point. Starting when the sun had set and it will continue was the sun will rise. As the people danced inside, the music was loud and food was served. Daichi, the king of Karasuno, was merely watching his fellow royals walk along the crowd and finding for people to chat with. “Are you not going to socialize?” Sugawara, his right hand man asked as he placed his hands on his hips. “Oh, well Ushijima left to reunite with his love so I am just waiting for an opportunity,” The blackette said. “Opportunity to get your babe?” Sugawara teased. “Yes, exactly that,” Daichi said. “Where is M’lady anyway?” The silver asked. “She is currently mingling with a few nobles down over there,” Daichi said as he gestured to where you were.

As the queen of Karasuno, you were dressed in a gown of your choice. It was your favorite dress, after all. It was also Daichi’s favorite. Cause it really matches you and he loves the sparkle in your eye whenever you wear it. “I heard you married King Daichi Sawamura of Karasuno, congrats~” One of the girls said as she placed her fan in front of her mouth. “Yes! Sawamura has been so sweet! I absolutely love him,” You responded as you smiled. “Show us the ring!” Your closest friend said as they looked at you. You showed them the ring Daichi gave to you. The symbol of his undying and eternal love for you, his queen. “That is a really pretty ring!” One of them said as they looked at your ring. “Yeah, he picked it himself,” You responded with a smile.

As the conversation continued, things got a bit uncomfortable. “You know on how some royals marry for political purposes, are you sure Daichi loves you?” One of the nobles said. You hummed in confusion as you looked at her. “Of course I know he loves me,” You responded. “It doesn’t seem like it though,” Another commented. “What do you mean?” You then asked as you slightly glared at them. “Well Karasuno was a weak kingdom before recently, are you sure he isn’t using this as a political advantage?” One said. “Or maybe it was a scheme for them to rise to power?” One added. They explained their part and it made sense to you. Daichi is a gentleman, so maybe he was just doing this for curtesy. Was all the moments you both spent together a fraud? All the stolen kisses, the dates, and even the moments you held in close doors. Are all of them just curtsy? A sense of insecurity flooded your senses but you still kept the smile upon your face.

As the conversation about your relationship with Daichi continues, your lover noticed the change of behavior from you and decided to go check. He was observing you from afar and he knows your habits. “Pardon me, m’ladies,” Daichi said as he came towards you and your group of friends. You all greet him and some tried to change the subject. “Your majesty, these three tried to spread lies about your love for your queen,” Your friend then explained to Daichi. You subtly give her a “What was that for?” face while she mouth your welcome. “Is this true?” He asked as he looked at you. You responded honestly and looked away from his gaze. His face stoic and cold in front of the three said nobles. “Such blasphemy you are spreading,” He started as he gently made you look at him. He placed one of his arms on your waist and his other hand cupped your cheek.

His cold and stoic expression melted into a soft one. His eyes and smile could show how much love he has for you. The gentleness of his hands and the warmth. All of it reminded you of home. All your worries washed away as you leaned in to his touch. “I love you, okay? Don’t ever doubt that,” He said as he kissed your forehead. He then turned back to the ladies in front of you. “To answer the already obvious question. I love her,” Daichi started as he pulled you close. “I love her with all my heart. She is my queen, my lover, my other half. This ring I gave her shows that I want to be by her side for eternity. It is not just some political project. What I feel for her is genuine and real” He added as he displayed his ring to them. His voice was soft and filled with love. Those that are listen can feel the sheer amount of love he has for you.

It was not a surprised. Everyone can see how much love he has for you. But it’s oh so easy to feel down. How could you forget the promises he had given you? The vows that you both exchanged. For better or for worse, you both would be together. Daichi looked at you with such fondness. He leaned in and kissed your forehead. He then looked at all of them before turning back to you. He leaned in and kissed you softly. He cupped your face and pulled you closer. Once he pulled away, he had a smirk. He then kissed your forehead and let you recover from his attempt.

“Anyone who says otherwise will have consequences,” Daichi said coldly. “Come now my darling. Let’s go to somewhere else,” He then said as he led you out of the place. “See you, your majesty!” Your friend then said as they waved goodbye. You and him walked silently across the busy ballroom. As people made way for the two of you, Daichi held you close and refused to let go. Once you both were outside of the palace, things were a bit peaceful. It was silent the whole time, the tension and awkwardness was, unnerving.

“Don’t listen to them,” Daichi said as he stopped walking. Now the two of you were in a middle of an empty hallway. It was very well lit and at your left was a door to the garden. Daichi turned to face you, he gently made you look up and smiled. “I love you, and you alone.” He explained. “I’m not doing this for curtesy or for political purposes. I am infatuated with you. I am devoted to you,” He explained further. He cupped your face gently and placed his forehead on yours. “I’ll remind you, no matter how many times it takes. I love you, I love you, I love you,” He said as he kissed your forehead. “Alright?” He said as he pulled away. You responded to his advances and he chuckled. He loves your reaction, no matter what it would be.

“I have a place to show you,” He said as he held you hand. He opened the door to the left to reveal a beautiful garden. You had a garden in your castle as well, but this was something else. Everything seems so familiar and close but you knew that this was the first time you were here. “This is so pretty,” You responded as you looked around. As your eyes wander, it was hard to keep track of all the details. There were statues, lamps, and even floating lanterns. The flowers were so pretty and arranged in such a way that all of them could shine in their own way. Each of them had a different meaning and so different yet together, they seem so unified. There was fairy lights to light up the place. It gave it a more fantasy output. It gave enough light to see the path but also dim enough not to disturb the nocturnal animals. A perfect balance, Kuroo thought this through well. “That’s not all,” Daichi said as he led you further inside. You looked around and saw night butterflies or better known as moths. “Don’t worry, we are just passing by,” He reassured. As you passed by the moths, you realized how pretty they are. Some were brown in color but some were even blue and green. It gave a sense of nostalgia. The memories of childhood came flooding in.

But passing the flower area, in front of you was an arch way. It was covered in plants and seemed to be old but still very sturdy. With Daichi leading you, you felt safe. It was an unfamiliar place but it still felt nostalgic. The flowers that hang from the arc, the leaves that sway with the wind. The night gave an unfamiliar feel to this majestic garden. When Daichi finally stopped leading you, you looked at what was in front of you. It was large empty gazebo surrounded by flowers. Specifically, the flowers were different colored tulips. And within the flowers there were fake tulips that light up like fairy light. The vines that were attached on the supports made it look even more majestic.

“Here we are,” Daichi said as he smiled. But there was two people about to go out. “Ah, Daichi, a pleasure,” Oikawa said as he pulled his lover close. “Oikawa, it’s a coincidence seeing you here,” Daichi replied. As the two briefly talked, you and his lover looked at each other. “Is your idiot this tense or?” She asked as she looked at you. “Idiot? Far from that but he isn’t this tense,” You replied with a soft smile. “Oh, thank the gods. I’m dealing with this idiot everyday so at least the others won’t struggle as much,” She playfully said. “You know I just prosed to you and this is how you treat me,” Oikawa then pouted. “Oh? Really? Congratulations for a new chapter in life, Oikawa,” Daichi said as he pulled you close. “Yeah now I have to spend my whole life with this handsome hunk of a man,” Oikawa’s lover said with a smile. You congratulated them and chatted for a while. “We’ll leave you two alone now. Trashykawa and I will go now. I deeply apologize for the intrusion,” The short female said as she held Oikawa’s hand. “We are about to get married in a month and this is how you treat me?” Oikawa then whined. “You better invite all of us, even Ushiwaka,” Daichi reminded. “Yeah yeah whatever,” The taller male then said as he disappeared with his lover.

“Now that they are gone, shall we continue?” Daichi asked. “We shall,” You added as you held his hand. You both went towards the gazebo and you were in awe. The roof of the gazebo had hanging stars and butterflies. You awed at the intricate design and the hanging decoration. “It’s pretty isn’t it?” Daichi said. “It really is,” You added. “But that is not the best part,” Daichi then said as he walked towards this box that is on a pedestal. He pressed on a button and soft music started playing. “Kuroo said that he installed this for those that want some privacy with their lovers,” Daishi said. He then started to walk towards you and offered his hand. “And so I asked If I could use it,” He continued. “May I have this dance, My queen?” He asked as he offered his hand. You accept his hand and he pulled you close. “I love you,” He said as he started dancing with you. “Don’t you ever forget that,” He added. He continued to lead you with the dance, making sure that you would be able to follow. “You don’t even try but you make me feel butterflies in my stomach,” He continued. As you both danced together, the wind blow making the hanging stars and butterflies dance with you.

The night continued with the two of you dancing the night away. Butterflies aren’t the only ones that dances beautifully.

Remus @ moths: eat my clothes stupid fucks | Remus @ butterflies: my world is full of grace and beauty and ive been blessed by your Devine presence my little darling | Roman @ Butterflies: I... your cute but I don’t get why so many people like you... you’re okay? | Roman @ Moths: fUZZY BABIES OH MY GOSH I LOVE YOU SO MUCH I SHALL BLESS YOU WITH MY LAMP AND WE SHALL BE FRIENDS FOREVER, PLEASE ALLOW ME TO PET THE FLOOF PLEASE??🥰🥰🥰😍🥰😍😍😘🥰🥰🥰😍🥰🥰😍🥰

GSJDBDDNHD YES RO LOVES MOTHS SM

if wishes were stars

This is my secret santa gift for @kirkwords​!

It’s a bit late, but technically I got it done on time sooooo here you go! I hope you enjoy this and I wish you and everyone here a very, very Happy Holiday!!

Word Count: 3,071

AO3 link

･ﾟ✧*: ♡ ･ﾟ✧ *:

In a secluded street of a nondescript town, there lived a run-down little toy store. What was special about this store was that it was owned by a man named Nicholas St. North, otherwise known as Santa Claus.

Not that he admitted to such a thing. On first glance, he didn’t much look the part either – instead of a fat and jolly little grandpapa, what you were met with was a tall, imposing wall of a man, with a rumbling, earth deep voice and tattooed arms that had likely lifted a reindeer or two in their time.

But the jolly part was still there, twinkling in his eyes. And every toy he made seemed to hold a touch of that fairytale magic.

A whispering, fluttering little thing, beating deep inside.

Thump … thump … thump …

Thump

A pair of cloth eyes blinked. They blinked again.

Looking down, they found two pudgy, cotton-stuffed arms. Those arms led into the puffed sleeves of a faded dress that might have once been pink but through age and time and the general negligence of items left behind and forgotten about had eventually faded to a dull, stained beige.

On one corner of the dress was a curling, embroidered word. Rapunzel. That was her name.

Rapunzel sat up. From where she was on the floor, there was not much to see beyond the wall of cardboard boxes. The dust motes hardly stirred in the dim lighting, and the few spiders spinning their webs ignored her presence entirely.

But in the distance was noise. Things moving around, talking, what might have been a few strains of music. Was it a party? Rapunzel liked parties.

She toddled up onto her stout little feet and followed the sounds. The boxes were not all uniform; every now and then they let through shards of light. Rapunzel made sure to pass through each of them – or at least she tried; some were too high up for her to reach. Occasionally she would stop and stare at how they lit up her dusty skin, or made the occasional stray glitter sparkle on the ground.

When the wall of boxes ended, Rapunzel did not find a party. But far above her head were strings of sparkling lights, enclosed in clear glass spheres. They looped in and out of the shelves that lined the isle, creating a woven canopy of brilliant yellow light. Large work tables occupied the space within the isle, pushed against the shelves and stretching up so tall that Rapunzel couldn’t see where they ended or what they held.

Rapunzel wandered amongst them. Her feet made prints in the dust that covered the floor, but she didn’t know that, not when her head was craned up and her sight was filled with floating lights.

She was so caught up in them that she didn’t notice when someone noticed her. She didn’t see it when that someone climbed down to reach her. And she definitely didn’t hear them until they stuck out their hand and said: “Hello!”

Rapunzel yelped. To her right was a towering pile of junk heaped under a table. And crouched on an outcropping was a colourless boy.

That is, everything from his clothes to his skin was coloured stark, pasty white, even his hair and cheeks and mouth. The only thing time and wear had done was fade his once fancy looking clothes to old cream and add several moth holes and tattered strands to it. The hand he held out was made of segments, smooth and hard as marble.

"Why are you shiny?"

The boy blinked two black pinpricks he had for eyes at her. He tilted his head. "... Pardon?"

"Your face, I mean. It looks a bit shiny where the light hits it." Rapunzel gently touched his hand with her soft mitt. "And your hand, why is it hard? And why is it shaped like this?"

"Oh ... I guess that's because I'm made of clay." The boy touched his face. His fingers made a light tap-tap sound. "My hand is like this because I'm a puppet ... I was a puppet. I'm not anymore. I'm free. Do you know why?"

"Why?"

"Because I gave myself a name." He pointed to himself. "I’m Jack. I like the name so it’s mine now. What's yours?"

"My name is Rapunzel."

"Is it really? How do you know?"

"My dress has my name on it." Rapunzel held out her dress and showed off the embroidery. Surely he'd never seen stitching this pretty before, and it spelled her name so that meant her name was pretty and good, too.

"Do you always listen to what your dresses tell you? You're funny." He went to poke it but Rapunzel batted his hand away.

"Well, if you don't like it-"

"I didn't say that. It's nice - really, it is!" Jack laughed, even as Rapunzel sulked. "In fact, I've got a friend who's playing dress-up right now. She'll tell you it's pretty, too. Do you want to meet her?"

"You have friends?" So there were other dolls there. Then another thought hit her. "Can I be your friend?"

"Sure you can!" Jack shook her hands. "There! Now we're friends. Come on, let's go meet the others!"

At first Rapunzel thought that Jack was going to make them climb up the junk to get to the table's surface. But instead, Jack led her down a winding path through the debris, until they heard a raised voice and the sound of laughter.

The heart of the junk pile opened up to a cleared space. A desk lamp off to the side illuminated two figures.

The laughter was from a wooden soldier. His paint was chipped and peeling, and where he should’ve had a black boot to match the one on his right leg, there was instead a rusted nail jammed crookedly into the wood.

While he sat on a pencil box and held his sides, a girl doll twirled in the middle of the space. Her long, puffy hair was a shiny red and she wore the most outrageous outfit Rapunzel’s button eyes had ever seen. The bedazzled purple headpiece didn’t even match the rest of it. The moment she caught sight of Jack and Rapunzel she brandished a sword bigger and wider than the spindly arms that wielded it.

“But hark! What is that I spy?” She declared. “A rascal! How dare the miscreant show his face?! Doest thou wish for a flogging, foul knave? For I shall bestow it myself!”

Jack ran up to her and dropped to one knee, flinging his arms out. “Why would I fight such a fair princess when we could dance the night away?”

She waved her sword at him and threatened to chop his head off. Meanwhile, the soldier sitting off to the side laughed even harder.

“… That’s not … how … it goes … at all …” He wheezed helplessly.

The girl tossed a grin at him. “Close enough, right?” She hung the sword in a makeshift shawl-turned-belt and raised a smug eyebrow at Jack. “You hear that? That’s the sound of success. You’re not the only one who gets to be funny around here, Jackie boy. Eat it and weep.”

“I’m pretty sure that’s not how that goes either.” Jack stumbled up, his joints knocking together.

She rolled her eyes. “Whatever. Now tell us who your new friend is.”

Rapunzel wandered up to the group. She did a shallow curtsy. “Greetings, all. My name is Rapunzel. I’m happy to meet you.”

“And we’re happy to meet you, too.” Jack pointed to the toy soldier. “That is Hiccup Horrendous Haddock the Third. There’s a really long and windy story about how he chose his name.”

Hiccup shrugged. “I’ll tell it to you if you want to hear it.”

Rapunzel skipped over to him and shook his hands. “I’d love to! I love stories! Please tell me whenever you like.”

“Uh, wow. Thanks?” Hiccup chuckled. “It’s nice to meet you too?”

“Okay, okay, okay. That’s enough of that.” They both looked over at Jack. Jack grinned. He swept his arms up and showcased the shiny girl in the shiny dress. “This is Princess Merida of Clan DunBroch.”

“Not anymore I’m not!” Merida swatted at him, and he spun out of the way cackling.

Pulling her sword out again, she swung it up. “No longer am I Princess Merida. From now on, I wish to be the warrior queen Boudica! Hyah!”

She did a spin and a leap, making the layered skirt swirl in her wake and the headdress fly off. She landed in front of Rapunzel, knelt on the ground and sword pointed at Rapunzel’s chin.

Rapunzel obligingly clapped. “Very good!”

“Thank you, thank you. All in a day’s work.” Merida brushed herself off and stood.

“Why don’t you want to be Merida anymore?”

“Because I’m one of several dozen Merida princess dolls.” Merida rolled her eyes. “I don’t want to be the same as them. I don’t even know who this ‘Princess Merida’ is. I mean, sure, the name is fine, but does it really need a Princess in front of it? I’d rather just be Merida, and not-” Merida shook her outfit out. Rapunzel giggled. “-this, you know? That’s why I’m changing my wardrobe.”

On the other side of the clearing were racks of doll clothes and a large changing station. Many of the clothes were strewn about on the ground. Half of them were almost as outrageous as whatever Merida wore, the rest not looking like they’d even fit on her. These friends must have been here for a while.

A warrior queen, was it? Rapunzel had never heard of that, or much of anything really, but that didn’t mean she wanted to miss out on the fun. “Can I help, too?”

“Would you? Fantastic!” Merida looped her plastic arm through Rapunzel’s. “Let’s get to it. To start, I was thinking we’d look into something green …”

They did eventually find a dress that Merida liked, after many more dramatic outfit changes and general silliness. Granted, it drooped around the shoulders and she had to kick out the skirt to walk in it, but she said it was ‘comfortable for movement’ and ‘blending into the surroundings’. Rapunzel and Jack also dug up a proper belt for Merida to store her sword on.

“I think this calls for a celebration.” Rapunzel tugged the belt more securely and straightened up.

“What’s the occasion?” Jack asked.

“Because why not? Because we found a new dress for Merida. Because I met all of you and because we’re here together. Let’s do something nice.”

From where she admired herself on a plate, Merida smiled at Rapunzel through her reflection. “I think that’s brilliant.” Giving her hair one last flounce, she spun around. “What do you suggest we do? Shall we do a dance? A play? Want to go exploring?”

“I have an idea.”

They all looked towards Hiccup. Laid at his side was a trumpet about as long as he was tall that Rapunzel hadn’t noticed before. He used that to slowly pull himself upright and started walking into the junk pile, using the trumpet like a cane. “Follow me.”

They wound their way down one of the twisting paths until they came out to find a giant table leg. Unlike the others, this table leg had a strange device attached to it. There was a large box – what it was for, Rapunzel didn’t know – with long strands of belts tied to it. Those belts went up, up, up so high it passed above the table and out of sight.

The box had a little door that Hiccup swung open. “Get in here.”

Jack and Merida easily walked in, while Rapunzel craned her head up at the structure.

“What’s this supposed to do?” She asked. She almost missed the door and walked right into the side of the box when Hiccup caught her arm.

“It’ll take us up. Look.” Next to the box was a large red button, bolted onto the table leg. Hiccup pushed the button.

The button lit up bright red. Something hummed above their heads, and then the belts began to move. And they moved the box with it.

Up they went. Rapunzel gripped the rim of the box, which came up to her belly, happy as could be. The ground grew further and further the higher up they went, until they reached the table top and the ride met its end.

There were many things scattered on the table. But what caught Rapunzel’s eye was the structure right in the middle of it. It was a dollhouse. It was very large, at least three stories tall, and made of sturdy, unpainted wood. The best part was that it had a flat roof, with a few chimneys growing out of the corners.

Without a second thought, Rapunzel ran to it and started climbing it. The roof had a much better view of the lights, and she spun around and around and made them all blend together, bumping into Jack or Merida along the way and laughing with them.

The lights went dark.

They blinked at each other, button eyes and plastic and paint.

“… Where’s Hiccup?” asked Merida’s voice.

The door to the roof swung open. “Here.” There was Hiccup. “How do you like it?”

Rapunzel stumbled forward until she found his hand. “Why’d the lights go off?”

“The lights are connected to the outlet over there. I unplugged the wire.”

“Aww that’s not fair.” There was Jack, bumping into both of them. “We were having fun!”

“Look – no, no. Not at me. Look up.”

Rapunzel looked up. With the lights gone, it was easy to see that the ceiling above was made of glass. Through the glass was a blanket of starlight.

The dolls huddled together, hushed by the sight. Something about the light of the stars and the quiet of the room and the darkness that shrouded them made them keep close to one another.

On occasion, one would murmur a thought, or another hum a tune. Some thoughts led to others, which led to strands of conversation.

They passed those conversations between each other, lying on their backs and staring at the sky.

“Of course I remember how I came here.” Jack scoffed. “I escaped.”

“Exciting, I’m sure.” Even in the dark, Merida’s voice carried her eye roll.

“Shush, you. It was either that or they sent us to the scrap pile.” A sigh in the dark, followed by shuffling noises. “I remember hearing them talking, alright? I was supposed to be part of a set. But the other puppets, they said … that we came out wrong. Apparently, we were supposed to have bigger heads or something, be- what was it … exaggerated. We were supposed to have ‘exaggerated features’. But, well, here I am.” Jack waved his arms in the air, so that they showed up black against the sky. “I don’t know what happened to the other puppets from my batch, but I didn’t want to go so soon. So I escaped when no one was looking and ended up here.”

“… Okay, so that’s mildly interesting.”

“What about you, princess? What got you to come here?” Merida gave him a half-hearted shove. He went with it, and then rolled back to flop an arm on her.

“… Just me being myself, I guess.” Merida hummed. “I was up one night with the other dolls. The other Merida ones were alright, and I think … some of the other princesses, too, maybe, and a few more. But the rest of the dress up dolls were so annoying! All they wanted to do was comb each other’s hair or have tea parties or sing songs and that’s it. And like, those things are fine. I don’t mind them. But there should be more to life, shouldn’t there? Like going on adventures and fighting monsters and saving the world.”

“… Like in a story.” Rapunzel said.

“… yeah. Like in a story. Just like that.” Merida reached over Jack and squeezed her hand. Jack made a protest of being smushed, but Merida blew a raspberry at him and Rapunzel patted his head.

It was nice, being like this. Friends were nice.

“Do you remember how you came here?” Rapunzel turned her head to the right, where Hiccup was.

A pause, interrupted by a distant bell chime. “I remember … I remember waking up around books.”

“That’s how he knows so many stories.” Merida said.

“You’re the one who’s been here the longest, I think. Longer than me.” Jack’s voice went softer. “… that’s a long time, isn’t it?”

None of them answered. It wasn’t easy to tell what time was or wasn’t, when one was a doll.

“… Can you think of any story right now?” Rapunzel asked, to fill the silence.

“I think there’s one about the stars? You’re supposed to make a wish on one and it’ll come true.”

“Well, there are plenty of them here so that means plenty of wishes, right?”

“No, um … I’m not sure that’s how it works, Jack.” Hiccup shook his head. “It has to be … there’s supposed to be some other condition to it. Something special about it. Or about the wishing.”

“I know what I’m wishing for.” Rapunzel said. With one hand in Hiccup’s and another in Jack’s, Rapunzel spoke to the stars. “I wish that we can all stay together.”

A moment of quiet, with only their thoughts and the strange fluttering in their chests.

“… For how long?” Merida whispered.

“For as long as we’re friends. We’re friends now, right?”

“… we are.”

“We’re friends.”

“Friends for good.”

Friends to keep. Friends to stay.

In the dark where no one could see it, Rapunzel smiled.

She smiled for the moment and the company she had. She smiled for the lights she’d seen before and the stars she saw now. She smiled for the promise she’d made on the stars.

The stars. What beautiful things. To every corner of the room, to every corner of the sky, they breathed their glittering, infinite light. Like a promise of forever in an ever changing world. That was such a strange concept for lost, little souls, who had no place of their own but where they were, with no perception of yesterday or tomorrow, only the present. Only now.

In the sky, the stars carried wishes. Of things lost and things found.

In the dark, the night carried dreams.

an alternative ending to A Streetcar Named Desire...

The gentleman from Dallas sat across from her, eyes containing nothing but love for the one opposite him. He clasped her hand and brought it to his lips, whispering countless promises to the trembling girl in her hospital gown.

“It’s not a dream, my darling Blanche. They say you are insane, but you are anything but that. Do you not remember what my promise to you was, before I left Laurel?”

She nodded, and recited what Shep had once told her; long before Belle Reve had passed into the hands of strangers, long before the days of the Flamingo Hotel.

“You said you were my Rosenkavalier.”

“And your Rosenkavalier I shall be. Escape with me, my girl in white, and we shall be together forever.”

-

Blanche shimmies down the window with a makeshift rope of bedsheets, her coarse hair catching the breeze, the wind threatening to tug her down. Shep’s words course through her head, that his yacht would be on standby at the docks, his men stocking it with countless bottles of champagne and jewels of his own choosing.

“You won’t need to worry about anything anymore. I, Shep Huntleigh, swear to gift you everything you desire. You own my heart and soul, dear princess, not a day goes by where I wish for your company.”

The woman clad in white flutters among the shadows, careful to lurk within distance of the street lamps, knowing that they would lead to her capture. She follows her intuition, trailing the streetcar tracks on the asphalt; her nose, once used to discern perfume, learns to pursue the faint smell of salt within the air. New Orleans was quiet, and Blanche was alone, all alone in the night.

The thundering told her otherwise.

The rumbling crept up on the lone figure, the streetcar hurtling on the tracks, taking no note of her until it was too late. The driver of the Polaris slams on the brakes, silent prayers hoping for a quick death for the girl glued to the ground

Fate ties Blanche to the tracks , the fabric of her gown latching onto the rail, pining her down as the roars grow louder and louder.

“Oh, Shep, save me…”

The Rosenkavalier swoops in, saving the fair maiden.

The Rosenprinzessin leaves with her Rosenkavalier, the girl in white taking no notice of the streetcar splattered with crimson; she places her hand in his, not hearing the shrieks of those surrounding the girl in red.

The moth, now a butterfly, is finally alive.

(author note: done for a school assignment- pretty proud of myself)

Frostfur Episode 1: The Still, Cold World

First episode is out and oh my god I made quite an effort to write this! Enjoy and let me know what you think! If you wish to have some character(s) featured, please let me know! and dont forget to use #Frostpunk! Avery belongs to Bluewarbandit on DA

My feet drag through snow, crunching in the soft blanket. The wind is my adversary, pushing against my body in an effort to keep me back, yet I fight to maintain my direction. The weather becomes rough, pelting me with snow to force me back, and yet I press onward, as I cannot return. It had been seven days since the evacuation at Liverpool. Without warning, the storm invaded, attacking home by surprise and slowly conquering it through cold. I, along with a few others, decided to leave our home behind and head north. Many have spurred our heads with talks of a generator program the government had set up as a means of rebuilding civilization. It is our only chance of survival. We set out in the hopes we would settle within these new settlements and triumph against Mother Nature, as we had done before. However, there is a cost to every journey; our dreadnought had collided with large, jagged rocks and submerged under the icy sea quickly. A small group of us managed to get out in time, the others not so much. This had then prompted to continue our trek on foot. My group were not lucky, succumbing to the conditions just days after our departure, leaving me alone to fight the forces of the cold. I cannot turn back, for I’ve come too far. The deaths of those brave souls have taught me that with such effort comes sacrifice. I mustn’t forget them, for their efforts shall not go in vain. My name is Zach the Fox, and I have a purpose: find the city of Winterhome.

Traveling has taken a lot out of me, and visibility is getting more difficult as the light fades. The storm is definitely not helping with things, so I must seek shelter. I switch on the lamp attached to my coat, illuminating my way through the snow. Light pierces through the thick fog. I thrust my way through the dim atmosphere, fighting the wind as I am still being attacked with snow and ice. I am quick, however, making about forty meters as my progress. It is then that I notice something glaring in the corner of my eye. I turn my head towards the floating orb and glance at it for a few seconds, assessing it. Could this be the light of another lost soul? Perhaps it’s other refugees searching for their way to Winterhome, but had gotten lost on their journey. I make my way toward it for curiosity of the light has overtaken my mind. My leather boots crunch the soft blanket as they sink in with every step. Closer, and closer, my body draws nearer to the source. As I am closing on the light, a rocky background fades into view. Closer, and I am able to trace a hole craved within the hardened, rough wall of a giant alp. There is shelter! It’s a good place to stop and wait for the storm to die, however, this cave could hold the dangers of large beasts. I equip my gun from my back and proceed cautiously into the mouth of the opening. Scanning my surroundings, the cave seems clear; no signs of life can be seen. Where had the light come from, then? Was it just sunlight bouncing off the ice-coated walls? Upon my pondering, light glares in my face. I raise my arm to shield my eyes and to my surprise, I find the source; a small, golden lamp lay flat on the clear, frozen floor. Its rays of light stretch out and fill the entire cavern with its glare. This is definitely a sign. A sign that someone is here, or was.

My ears perk up as a grunt echoes throughout the grotto. My head pivots quickly around, scanning for whoever made that sound. “Hello?” I call out. “Is anyone here?” My feet amble around as my eyes remain alert. “Hello? I said is anybody here?”

“You need to be quiet,” utters a voice, low and soft as a child’s. “You don’t want to wake it.” I trace the voice toward the clear, icy stalagmites and find the voice’s origin: a small black moth, bundled in leather heavy clothing, like me, remaining hidden within the pile of spikes. From their voice and body form, I can easily make them out to be a little boy.  

“Wake what?” I ask. “What’s wandering these caves?”

“Something big,” says the moth. “And scary… I only glimpsed its shadow…”

“Are you hurt?” The boy shakes his head. I slowly approach him, lowering my rifle. “Are there any others here?”

“It is only me… I got separated from my group during a bad snowstorm… I couldn’t see my way through the snow, and I had been searching for them… I fear I may have lost them…”

Separated? This isn’t good, especially when it’s a child. He must be scared now that he’s alone. “You are traveling to Winterhome, yes?” The moth nods. “You should come with me, for I am headed that way as well. Come, let us leave this place, and travel together.” The child’s eyelids peel back as far as the go. His jaw hangs down as he backs against the frozen wall. The look in his expression concerns me deeply, for I know what he must be seeing. I turn around to look behind me, when I notice a tall, anthropomorphic figure standing inches from my body. It’s hairy body makes it immune to the effects of the weather outside. I raise my rifle, having it aimed at the head, but as soon as I have my finger on the trigger, its long limb swings across and knocks my gun from my grip, throwing it into a corner. The hairy creature proceeds to swing its claws, marking me as prey. I back away quickly to evade its nails, which look sharp enough to penetrate the lids of canned food. I back away with ease, but the hairy beast takes one pace toward me for every step backward. Turning my head, the rifle is just over by the hardened wall, ten feet away. Once the animal charges forward, I leap away and run for the gun. I’m near when my feet slip, causing me to fall and stop just inches from it. That’s when I stretch my paws out to it. Come on! I almost have it! It’s in the paws when the animal grabs me by the feet. My body turns, and I take aim. Squeezing my finger on the trigger, one shot goes into its belly, enough to let go of my limbs and clutch its stomach. Quick to reload, I take another shot in its left breast where the heart would be. The beast growls and snarls. Guess my bullets didn’t penetrate the skin deeply enough. I take three more shots at its chest. Still nothing, though. I squeeze the trigger again, yet nothing comes out. My clip is empty, prompting me to reload. I have no time! The beast grabs me with its hands and hoists me up to meet its eyeline. Its dark, grey eyes stare deeply into mine as I struggle to wiggle loose. Another idea comes to me, though. Using my rifle, I thrust the butt at its head, forcing the animal to drop me to place its hands on where I hit it. Once on the ground next to my rifle, my eyes pivot to something shining nearby. Something clear and sharp in front of me; an icicle! I’m quick to grab it with my paw before I’m hoisted up again. This time, I’m confident to kill the beast! I grasp my new weapon and jam it into one of the grey eyes. The tall animal yells in agony and drops me again. This gives me enough time to load my rifle and take aim, firing two bullets into its head. The figure leans backwards, slamming its body against the hard, icy cave floor. Blood streams down from the head and pools next to it. My rifle is frozen in place with my arms while I breathe heavily, recovering from what was indeed a very stressful situation.

Another body appears in the corner of my eye. I shift my head to clearly assess who it is. It’s the moth child from the frozen stalagmite pile. My body remains still as I lower my arms. I watch as he approaches the lying animal with caution. “I-is it over?” he asks. “Is it dead?”

“It’s not moving anymore,” I say. “So, it must be. Are you all right, little one?”

He nods his head. “Y-yeah. Will there be any more of those things?”

“Hope not…” I swing my rifle around my shoulders and strap it to my back. “We should get going before any more of them do show up.” I reach down and grab the lone light, then hand it to the child. “I believe this is yours.”

“Thanks, Mister!” He grabs my tail and stays by my side as we prepare to venture out back into the harsh weather. “That was amazing, the way you took on that big beast! I sure wish I could be like you.”

“Gee, thanks, Kid. Maybe if you stick with me long enough, you’ll learn Do you have a name, by the way?”

“Um, my name’s Avery,” the moth answers. “How about you?”

“Zach. I am Zach.”

“I am so lucky to meet a brave fox like you, Zach.”

My mouth bends into a smile. “Appreciate the comment.” Our bodies soon pass through the mouth of the cave, leaving behind the carcass of the large animal inside as we journey out, back into the still, cold world.

Something More Than What I Had- Part Six

Part Six- Revelations 

“He will wipe away every tear from their eyes, and death shall be no more, neither shall there be mourning, nor crying, nor pain anymore, for the former things have passed away.” Revelations 21:4

“Hello, Sweetheart.” 

 Castiel looked up from the Bible and met Dean’s eyes from across the room. “Hello, Dean,” he said carefully. 

 “Smelled coffee. Why you up so early? Bad dreams?”

 Cas pressed his lips together. Dean looked different in the dark, in the shadow. Castiel couldn’t make out his face, it was obscured by shadow, the only light coming from the lamp next to the typewriter. Castiel was bathed in warm light from the lamp. Dean had to see the Bible in his hands. 

 They stared at each other in the darkness, waiting for each other to make a move. Dean stepped out of the hallway into the light. His expression was soft, his lips turned into a disappointed frown. “This isn’t how I wanted you to find out, Cas.” 

Castiel tried to choose his words carefully. He knew the situation was fragile at best. He had been around killers before, and if he could’ve guessed the way his encounter would go when faced with the biggest murderer of his career, the situation in front of him wouldn’t have even made the list. He ran his tongue over his bottom lip; it was dry and cracked from the winter air. “And how did you want me to find out, if I can ask?”

 “Cas, of course you can ask,” Dean said, stepping toward him. “I wanted you to find out when you were ready to know. You aren’t ready, Cas, you have to know that. I wanted you to see the gift that I was giving you, that I was giving everyone. I’m ridding the world of evil. The men were a plague, and I eradicated them.”

 “Dean… you killed them.”

 “I brought them to justice.”

 Castiel pressed his lips together. “That isn’t justice. The law decides justice.”

 “You were so heartbroken, Sweetheart, I just couldn’t sit back and watch. You don’t do that when you love someone. When you love someone you fight for them.” He was rambling, his eyes squinting, but he was still unbelievably calm. It was as if he couldn’t find the words. “I saw you that day outside of the courthouse after Azazel’s trial. You did everything right and it didn’t matter. The system is broken. The angels are gone, Detective. They’re gone.” He was getting emotional, his ears welling up with tears.

 Castiel stepped closer to Dean. In that moment they weren’t enemies, they were just two men who were tangled together moments before. His stomach ached. He loved Dean. “What do you mean, Dean?”

 “I saw what they did with my mom. She didn’t get any justice. I couldn’t let that happen, not again. Not to anyone else.” Dean closed the space between them, taking Cas’ hands in his own. The reality of the situation snapped around Castiel in an instant. He recoiled from Dean’s touch. “You’re mine, Detective. I wouldn’t ever let anythin’ happen to you. I’d never hurt you. You know that, right?”

 He didn’t. Of course he didn’t. “Does Sam know?”

 “He wasn’t ready, either. He is just a kid. It’s my job to protect him. I’m his brother.”

 “I have to take you in,” Castiel said suddenly. If Dean wasn’t going to hurt him, there would be no need for cuffs, no need to make a scene. “Will you come willingly?”

 “Right,” Dean said with a nod. “You have to bring in Duma today. I knew you’d want to go in early. I had plans, ya know, about when this finally happened. I’d make you breakfast in bed, and you’d relax for fuckin’ once. Better be glad I think you’ll look dignified with wrinkles, Detective.”

 Castiel frowned deeply. “Dean, I’m not going to bring in Duma. She didn’t do it. I need to bring you in.”

 “Oh.”

 “Do you want to call Sam?”

 “Why would I call Sammy?”

 “To tell him. He will be surprised when we come to the precinct, won’t he?”

 “I go there all the time,” Dean Winchester said as he batted his beautiful green eyes. 

 “Dean, get dressed,” Castiel said carefully. He couldn’t tell the game that Dean was playing. Dean seemed like he wasn’t all there. He looked confused. He looked different. Castiel reached one of his arms over to the other and gave himself a quick, but hard pinch. It hurt. He wasn’t dreaming. Was Dean in denial? Was he having a breakdown? Maybe he was hoping for an insanity plea, which, from where Castiel was sitting, was a real possibility.

 “Sure, Cas. You sure you don’t want another round before work? Heard it’s good for your health.” He wiggled his eyebrows.

 “I think we’ve run out of time.”

 “Damn, you’re right. I should’ve woken up earlier.” He leaned forward and placed a kiss on Castiel’s cheek, causing chills to run down Cas’ spine. “I’ll meet you back out here?”

 “Sure,” Castiel said carefully. His body was stiff, and he was painfully aware that he was in his underwear and a shirt of Dean’s. He needed to change. His stomach tugged like he was going to lose it. He had to be ready to go when Dean came out of the bedroom, in case he got violent. 

 He turned and scanned the room, finding a discarded pair of jeans by the couch. He picked them up and slid inside, getting into his shoes and coat. He holstered his gun in the back of his pants, all the while listening for Dean’s bedroom window to open, in case he tried to make a run for it. “Let me grab a coffee, and we can head out,” Dean said, shrugging into his coat. “Damn.” He paused, looking Castiel over with a smile. “Sweetheart, you look so sexy in my clothes.”

 “We don’t have time for coffee, Dean,” Castiel said, wishing he had his handcuffs with him. Dean’s behavior had his discomfort increasing rapidly. 

 “I got it, Cranky,” Dean teased, as he put the lid on his mug. “You aren’t fun in the mornin’.” 

 They left the apartment in the snow and walked toward the precinct. If Dean was talking, Castiel didn’t hear any of it. All he could hear was the soft footsteps in the snow. He could feel Dean’s presence like a moth to a flame. He was shining so bright that Castiel imagined he would be able to find him even in the darkness. He could feel Dean next to him, and the cold metal of his weapon in the back of his pants. He was grateful that the precinct was so close. 

 It was getting closer to six o’clock in the morning, and the evening shift was still staring at the papers on their desks trying desperately to stay awake. No one noticed Castiel and Dean walk through the front doors. He led Dean to the interrogation room, his fingers curling around the door frame. “Have a seat in here.”

 “Sure thing,” Dean said, eyeing the room. “Are we going to do a sexy detective criminal role play?”

 Castiel pursed his lips. “Just wait here, Dean.” 

 “Hey, you good?” Dean touched Castiel’s shoulder. 

 “Just get in the fucking room, Winchester!” 

 “Fuck, okay.” Dean's hands flew back. “I read ya loud and clear, buddy.” He looked a little hurt. The door clicked shut behind him, and Castiel turned to the trash can next to him and vomited. 

 Dean was the killer. Dean was the killer. Dean was the killer. 

 He could still see the letter typed and stuck in the typewriter, the pages missing from the Bible.... he could hear the Hello, Sweetheart . He threw up again. His arms wrapped around the trash can as if he was hugging his father's leg, begging for attention. 

 “Woah, did you drink too much? Because if you went out celebrating without me we are going to have words...” 

 “Charlie?” He looked up, tears streaming down his face. “What are you doing here?”

 “Captain Singer is getting in early today, and I have to be where he is.” She crouched down next to him, pressing her palm to his forehead. “Fuck, Cas, you okay? No offense, but you look like shit.”

 Castiel shook his head. “I’m not okay.” 

 “What happened?” She asked, rubbing his back gently. 

 “I...I can’t,” he gasped. It was too much. 

 “Shh, hey. You can. Look at me.” 

 He did.

 “You’re the strongest guy I know. You look danger in the face daily and tell it, come at me. That’s strength. Did you and Dean...” 

 He didn’t hear her question, because at the sound of Dean’s name he was vomiting again. “Can you go to my apartment?” He asked her, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “I need clothes.” 

 “You got it.” Charlie nodded quickly. “Let me go get Sam... he can...” 

 “No. I’ll get him in a little while,” Castiel said frantically. He wasn’t ready. He needed more time. 

 “Okay.” Charlie nodded, grabbing him a water bottle from her bag. “Take this. Sam’s in the break room. He was asleep when I got here. He looks pretty damn cute sleeping, for such a tall guy.” 

 “I’ll keep that in mind when I wake him,” Castiel said with a pained smile. 

 “I’ll be back soon.” She pressed a kiss to the top of his head and ran off. 

 He stopped throwing up after what felt like forever. He stood up and walked to the two-way mirror. Dean Winchester sat with his hands flat on the table and stared directly at Castiel as if he could see him through the glass. He could’ve sworn that Dean wasn’t even blinking. He felt rotten in his own skin, with the smell of Deans sheets sticking to him, his sex still fresh on Cas’ skin. He wanted to strip naked and scrub until he bled. 

 Castiel felt like a fucking idiot. He wasn’t cut out to be a cop. He should’ve been a botanist or maybe a janitor, something where lives weren’t on the line, at the very least. He hadn’t known it was Dean when he was right under Castiel’s nose the whole time. In his bed. If he’d had anything left inside of him to vomit, he would have. He was empty, in the most complete sense of the word. He pressed his palm to the glass. 

 “The people who walk in darkness will see a great light. For those who live in a land of deep darkness, a light will shine. Isaiah 9:2,” Dean murmured, continuing to stare impossibly at Castiel through the glass. “Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for you are with me; your rod and your staff, they comfort me. Psalm 23:4.” 

 “What are you doing?” Castiel asked no one in particular. 

 “Detective, I know you’re out there,” Dean said slowly, carefully. He clasped his hands. “It’s rude to leave a guy hangin’.” 

 Castiel closed his eyes. 

 “The grace of the Lord Jesus be with God’s people. Amen. Revelation 22:21. There is no grace with God’s people anymore, Detective. I think you know that. Give me a pen, Cas, and you’ll see. I sound better on paper.” 

 His ears almost perked up at the sound of his name. When he opened his eyes, Dean was in front of him, his hand touching Castiel’s through the glass. “I never lied to you, man. Don’t leave me alone in here.”

 Castiel pressed his lips together as Dean rested his forehead against the glass, and his forearm above it. He looked handsome with his eyes almost gray from exhaustion, and his hair still tussled from bed. His chin and cheeks were covered with prickles of hair since he hadn’t had time to shave. He looked disheveled in the way that a man always does after he is ravished. 

  “You really love me, Detective?” Dean asked, as he hovered over Castiel, his lips only a breath away.

  “I do.”

 Cas felt Dean’s fingers run along his arm, and then Dean tangled their fingers together, pinning Cas’ arm above his head. “I never thought someone like you could… could love someone like me.”

  “Someone like you?”

  “Yeah.”

  “It was always you,” Castiel whispered, leaning up to kiss him again. 

 “It was always you,” Dean echoed Castiel’s thought. “I saw you in that bar, and I hit on you. I don’t make a habit of hittin’ on men in clubs when I’m supposed to be helpin’ Sammy, but I think I knew. You’ve got a way about ya, buddy.”

 Castiel was captured by Dean’s words. The gruff of his voice was still against Castiel’s throat in his mind, harder, faster, fuck I love you. He didn’t realize he was walking until he pushed open the door to the interrogation room and was face to face with Dean again. 

 “Cas,” he breathed with a relieved exhale, like he was a balloon deflating after a child’s birthday party. “I didn’t think..” 

 “Do you know why you’re here, Dean?”

 He needed to get another detective. It wasn’t appropriate for him to work the case any longer, but he couldn’t make himself move. 

 “You want to talk to me about the murders,” Dean said slowly, carefully. 

 “Yes.”

 “Okay. I’ll tell you.” He nodded. 

 “Do you want to contact your lawyer? You have the right to one.” 

 “I don’t want a lawyer, Cas. I wasn’t lyin’ in my letter when I told you that if you forgive me that I will make it to heaven. You’re the only person I need to convince. Maybe once you hear it, you won’t want to keep up with this. Maybe we can just go back home and get into bed. I know that’s where you’d rather be, Sweetheart.” 

  I don’t think I can forgive you. “Have a seat.”

 Dean walked back to his seat and lowered himself in it. “What do you want to know?” 

 “I want you to tell me the truth. Did you kill Fergus Crowley?” 

 “He got what he deserved, Detective. Did you know that he was going to continue? I talked to Krystal. He was going to kidnap more women to sell and if they fought back he’d kill them. Do you really think he didn’t deserve what happened to him?”

 “That wasn’t what I asked you, Dean.” 

 “I just want you to understand.” 

 “My opinion means nothing here. There is a right way and a wrong way,” Cas’ voice was strained, his throat stinging from the vomit, scratchy and pained, but nothing hurt more than how it felt to look at Dean. 

 “According to who?”

 Castiel gripped the back of his chair. He knew he should sit, but his legs were buzzing. “I didn’t even know you were religious.” 

 “I’m not.” 

 “The Bible verses? The angel wings? If you’re not religious…” 

 “God doesn’t give two shits about us anymore, but that doesn’t mean he wasn’t right. If his soldiers aren’t doing their job to punish the wicked, then we have to. Mom said angels were watchin’ over us, but no one was watchin’ over her. I wish there’d been someone like me out there when she was killed.” 

 “Did you kill Fergus Crowley?”

 “If I answer that you will leave. I’ve seen Law and Order.” He tilted his head to the side inquisitively. 

 “You want to talk to me,” Castiel said slowly, as the reality settled in. It was Dean’s game, and he had no real stakes in that could let him win. No matter what Dean had to say, Castiel would lose. They both would. 

 “Yeah.” 

 “Why?” Why can’t you just let this be over? 

 “I always wanna talk to you.” He gave one of those big grins that made the skin around his eyes crinkle, the kind of grin that got Cas’ heart racing, but it was racing for a different reason this time. 

 “Say whatever you want to say, Dean.” 

 “You don’t want to talk to me?” Dean asked, his bottom lip poking out in a pout. “I thought what we had was more than all the bullshit, Detective. I thought it was real.” 

 “Detective Novak, I have your clothes.” Charlie's voice came over the intercom in the interrogation room. 

 “I’ll be back,” he said sharply before exiting the room, feeling Dean’s eyes on his back the entire walk to the door. 

 “What the fuck?” Charlie asked, her eyes wide in shock. She held Castiel’s clothes folded in her arms. “Please tell me that you are doing some kind of roleplay in there, and not what it looks like.” 

 Castiel looked around and grabbed her hand, pulling her into the single stall bathroom. “Lock the door,” he instructed. She followed the instructions and he peeled off Dean’s sweatshirt. 

 “Jesus, Cas,” she commented on the hickies covering his chest, stomach, and thighs when he wiggled out of his jeans. He shot her a look, and she put up her hands in surrender. “Sorry, explain.”

 He slid into his gray slacks and buttoned up the deep blue shirt that she picked for him. “He did it.” His voice sounded completely defeated and forgein even to his own ears.  

 “What do you mean?”

 “He is the killer, Charlie. He murdered those people.” 

 “What makes you think that?”

 “I don’t think it, I know it. I was at his place, and I found a typed up letter just like the ones I received at the crime scenes. A Bible with the pages ripped out... he did it. It was Dean.” 

 “Shit. Does Sam know?”

 “Dean said he didn’t tell him.” 

 “But did you?”

 “I haven’t had the chance.” 

 “But you’re interrogating him? You’ve arrested him without his brother knowing? Without your partner knowing?” She handed him a polka dot tie. 

 He wrapped it around his neck and began to tie it. “I haven’t arrested him. He seems… off.” 

 “Yeah, he’s a serial killer, Cas!” She exclaimed, completely perplexed. 

 “I told him I loved him last night,” he admitted quickly, needing to purge it from his system.  

 Charlie dropped Castiel’s belt. It clattered to the floor. “You did what?”

 “I was walking to his apartment, and I just couldn’t stop myself. I looked at him and fuck.” Castiel turned and sent his fist flying into the stone wall. He cried out in pain, but the sting of broken skin on his knuckles centered him just enough to get it together. “I’m in love with him.”

 “Oh, Cas,” Charlie murmured, reaching for his hands, but she refrained from taking them. “Are you sure it’s him? Maybe there's an explanation.” 

 “Trust me, Charlie, I wish there were,” he said solemnly, bent down, picked up his belt, sliding it through the loops, and clasped it. “I need to talk to the Rookie. I’ve been stupid. I want the answers, but I don’t think I’m going to get the ones I want. I don’t think there’s any closure for me.” 

 “I really thought he was the one,” Charlie said, looking down. “I feel like I pushed you two together…” 

 “I thought he was the one, too,” Castiel admitted out loud for the first time. “But that doesn’t matter. He is just another criminal that I have to put away. I did say I was married to the job, makes sense that I would be attracted to a psychopath.” He unlocked the bathroom door, his back to Charlie. “I’m going to talk to the Rookie.”

 “Cas, you can take a second,” she said, putting a hand on his shoulder. “No one would blame you.”

 “I don’t need a second,” he said, shaking his head. “All I’ve wanted was to find the son of a bitch who did this, and now I’ve got him. There’s no sense in letting emotions get in the way.” Castiel opened the door and pushed out into the precinct, running immediately into Sam Winchester. 

 The Rookie was pouring himself some coffee, his eyes were red rimmed and his hair stuck up in the back from where he was sleeping peacefully on the couch in the break room. The sleeves on his plaid dress shirt were pushed up to his elbows. He didn’t know. Castiel was about to ruin his life forever. 

 “Hey, Novak, good morning.” Sam glanced at his watch. “Damn, you’re here early. I thought I’d have a little more time to get presentable… but I should’ve known you’d be here earlier than we agreed.” 

 “Rookie we need to talk.”

 Sam looked up from his cup of coffee with a frown. “Sure, Cas. What’s up?” He grabbed another coffee cup and poured it for his partner. 

 Castiel took it, even though the coffee was old, and even though he was jittery as all hell already. He took a sip out of habit. 

 “Jesus, are you okay?” Sam asked, gesturing to the broken skin on Castiel’s knuckles.

 “Let’s go somewhere private to talk.”

 Sam ran his fingers through his hair. “Yeah, okay. Lead the way.” They walked back to the evidence locker. Castiel unlocked the door and clicked on the light. The single fluorescent light buzzed angrily like a bee trapped behind glass. “You’re freaking me out, Cas. What’s going on?”

 “We were wrong.”

 “That’s pretty cryptic, wrong about what?”

 “Duma isn’t the Angel Killer.” It wasn’t an official name, but it was a hell of a lot better than the alternative. 

 “What? Did you find something else? I’ve been researching all night. She looks good for it…”

 “Yeah, I found something,” Castiel said in almost a hiss through his clenched jaw. He felt sick. His stomach gnawed against the coffee he was suckling. It was better to keep it busy. Maybe he was just yearning to give himself something in his stomach to vomit up. He felt like he was going down a hill too fast, like he couldn’t quite get a grip on it. It was that empty, weightless nausea. 

 “What was it? You weren’t supposed to be working, but I’ll let it slide if you got a lead,” Sam teased gently, trying to relieve some of the palpable tension in the air.

 “I wasn’t working. I just came across the information.”

 “What was the information, Cas? Are you feeling okay? You look a little green…”

 Castiel pressed his lips together and looked up, his eyes meeting Sams. They weren’t as green as Dean’s, with flecks of gold in the center, but still familiar. The kid would never get past it. How could he? Dean was his older brother, his pillar, his light in the darkness. How was he going to feel knowing that the man he held in such high regard was a murderer? Probably just as bad as Castiel was, knowing that he slept with the criminal he’d been hunting. The man both of them loved was the man they were hunting. “It’s Dean,” he said suddenly, but quietly. His voice was barely a whisper, a withdrawal of smoke. 

 “What?” Sam laughed, shaking his head. “What’s Dean? I know you guys are dating, Cas. You don’t have to be weird about it.” 

 “That isn’t what I’m saying, Sam.”

 “Okay, then what?”

 “It’s Dean. Dean is the Angel Killer.” 

 Sam raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean it’s Dean? That’s crazy. I’ve never heard him quote scripture in my life. He doesn’t even own a Bible.” 

 “He does, Sam,” Castiel said carefully. “I’m sorry. I don’t want it to be true, trust me.” 

 “This isn’t funny, Cas. Is Dean hiding somewhere? He loves to pull pranks. Come on out asshole!” Sam looked around the corner of the shelves in the center of the room. They were alone. 

 “It’s just us, Sam.” 

 “Then you’re recording this,” he said stubbornly. “I can’t believe you let him rope you into this. You’re supposed to be the serious one.” 

 “I assure you that this is no prank. I’m sorry, kid. I saw his Bible on his writing desk… it was missing all the pages we found at the crime scenes. He was writing the letter when I showed up at your place.” 

 Sam stared past Castiel, and it was a moment before he spoke again. “Did you arrest him?” He asked quietly. 

 “He’s here in the interrogation room. I wanted to talk to him first. I didn’t want it to be true.” 

 “What did he say? Did he say he did it?”

 “He said this wasn’t how he wanted me to find out about it.”

 “But he didn’t say that he stabbed them? How do you know for sure? This is all circumstantial…” 

 “Sam,” Castiel reached out and put his hand on his partner’s shoulder. Sam flinched, but didn’t move away. “I’ve done this for a long time. He did it. We need an official confession. I can get him to say it, but I thought you’d want to talk to him before he’s booked officially. I owe you that much.” 

 “You’re wrong.” Sam’s voice broke. “You have to be.” 

 Castiel smiled weakly at his young partner. 

 When he started at the Sixty-Sixth Precinct, the older detectives always said that there would be one case that would make his career, one case that would change him forever. He had that case when he was a rookie himself, he fucked up and someone ended up dead. Looking at Sam, he knew that this was the kids case. Something was breaking inside the young detective right in front of Castiel’s eyes. There was no going back from a case like that. 

 “He’s my brother.” 

 “I know, kid.” 

 “He… fuck. Can I talk to him?”

 Castiel nodded and opened the door to the evidence locker and let Sam out. He walked to the interrogation room, his hand hovering over the doorknob. He was frozen in place. “You’re wrong,” Sam said again, to no one in particular. It sounded like he was trying to convince himself to turn the knob with trembling fingers. 

 “Maybe,” Castiel said finally, even though it was a lie. The kid needed a push, and he had two hands capable of giving that to him. 

 Sam turned away from his partner, opening the door to enter the interrogation room alone. 

 “Sammy?” Dean said, standing up from sitting on the edge of the table. “I was expecting Cas.”

 “Is it true?” 

 “What do you mean?”

 “Is it true?”

 “Sam, I…” 

 “Don’t, Dean,” Sam snapped, his eyes brimming with tears. “Don’t fucking lie to me. Don’t play like you don’t know what I’m talking about.” 

 Dean sighed. “Sammy, you don’t remember this, but every night before we fell asleep mom would tell us that angels were watchin’ over us. It was a comfort, ya know? How could anything be bad when there are angels watchin’ over us?”

 “I don’t remember that.” 

 “You were just a baby.” Dean scratched the back of his neck with a fond smile that quickly melted away. “Where was the angel that was supposed to be watchin’ over her? She is dead, Sam. I saw her burnin’. Do you know what that does to a kid? I still smell her burnin’. I still hear her screamin’ under the roar of the flames. I still see her when I close my eyes… I blamed the police for a long time. Since they didn’t find who did it.” He sighed and shook his head. “But it wasn’t until you became an officer that I realized they’re angels, too.”

 Dean walked to his brother and held his face in between his palms. “You’re a fuckin’ angel, Sammy. You watch over people the best you can, but your hands are tied. You can’t do God's work because the system is failing. You can’t find justice, but me… my hands aren’t tied, Sammy. I am not held back by anythin’, not by a badge or a boss. I can help. Doesn’t that mean I have an obligation? I can fix it. I have to fix it.”

 Sam stepped away from his brother, his forehead wrinkling. “Not that way, Dean. You aren’t God. It isn’t up to you or me to decide people’s fate. You aren’t God.” 

 Dean’s hands fell to his sides as Sam moved away from his touch.

 “I know that, Sam. There is no God. Not anymore.” There was a darkness behind Dean’s eyes. He looked empty, almost as if he was looking into the flames right then. 

 “You killed them.” Sam swallowed hard. 

 “The Lord saw how great the wickedness of the human race had become on the earth, and that every inclination of the thoughts of the human heart was only evil all the time. The Lord regretted that he had made human beings on the earth, and his heart was deeply troubled. Genesis 6:5-6. God even knew that people were wicked, Sam. I am doin’ what He would want. I’m gettin’ justice.” 

 “Dean, God is good. The Bible says not to kill…”

 “But Sammy, I saw you. You were so upset about the girl, Amara, about findin’ her killer. Then when I saw Crowley walk free; I couldn’t just let that happen. I couldn’t sit back while he hurt other girls,” Dean said almost desperately, walking toward his brother. 

 “We were taught right and wrong, Dean. Our whole life… you have to know that this was wrong.”

 “I was taught right and wrong, Sammy. Mom taught me. She read me the Bible before bed. So when I lost her I learned it, more and more, a little at a time, and the more I learned, the more I knew.” 

 “Mom wouldn’t have wanted this, Dean. You can’t pretend you’re doing this for her… or for me.” Sam frowned, staring at his brother. It was like parts of Dean were peeling away right in front of him, and Sam knew, as desperately as he wanted Castiel to be wrong, that Dean did it.

 “But Cas, man. He is the one. I knew that when I saw him. It was just gonna be Crowley, but then I saw him when Azazel walked. I already knew Azazel was bad. I invited him to the poker game, but when I saw Cas’ face… I knew he had to die. Do you know how terrifyin’ that is, Sammy? To see someone and to know that they are pure evil? You and Cas are good. I’m not. I never have been, but you are both my family. It is my job to get rid of the people in your way. To get rid of the evil. To find justice.”

 “This doesn’t make any sense. It can’t be you,” Sam said, his hands shaking. His eyes flickered to his brother. “The morphine. Fuck. I should’ve known. It’s what they used at the hospital with Dad. Did you steal it?” 

 “He killed her, Sammy. You and I both know that.” 

 “We don’t, Dean. We never did. He was a bastard… but he was our father.” 

 “He deserved what he got.” 

 Sam peeled his eyes away from the gaze that his brother had him stuck in. “You killed him, too?”

 “Detective Winchester, get out of there now, boy! Don’t make me tell you twice,” Captain Singer’s voice boomed over the intercom. 

 Sam stood up a little straighter and locked eyes with his brother one last time before he turned and exited the room. He could feel Dean’s eyes on his back even as the door shut. 

 “You two, my office, now, ” Captain Singer said through clenched teeth. 

 Castiel and Sam exchanged a look before following him into the cramped office. 

 “Shut the goddamn door.”

 Sam let the door click shut and braced for the skinning they’d get. He was used to it, growing up being John’s son, but there was something different behind their Captain’s eyes. 

 “You two idgits better start talkin’, and you better make it real fuckin’ good, ya hear me? You better have a real good explanation for why you’ve got that boy in my interrogation room with ya.” He crossed his arms and watched Sam and Castiel staring back at him blankly. They didn’t have the words, at least not the ones that their Captain wanted to hear. “I’m missin’ birthdays here, boys.”

 Castiel stepped forward. “It’s my fault, Captain.”

 He raised a graying eyebrow. “The kid was talkin’ to him. Why?”

 “When I was with Dean last night… I found some evidence linking him with the crimes of the Angel Killer.”

 The Captain stood up a little straighter. “He’s a suspect?”

 “He practically confessed,” Sam said through clenched teeth. 

 “And you two just took it into your own hands? You decided fuck the law, I’m not gonna call for backup, I’m going to interrogate him myself?”

 “I don’t think we really thought it through, Cap,” Sam said like a little boy in trouble. 

 “Novak, did you call for backup to arrest him?”

 “No, Sir.”

 “So you did it yourself?”

 “No, Sir.”

 “What am I missin’ here?” He asked, quickly losing his patience.

 “I didn’t arrest him.” Castiel picked at the skin around his thumbnail. 

 “You think he’s innocent?”

 “...no.”

 “Help me understand this, Novak. You found a criminal, believe him to have committed his crimes and didn’t arrest him?”

 “It’s complicated Sir…”

 “I know you’ve been havin’… relations with this man, and what you do on your own time is your own business, but if you two are right and he is a killer then you might have fucked this up. If he walks, I swear to God neither of you will ever work in this city again. Now go home while I figure out what to do with you.”

 “Captain I’d like to stay… he is my brother,” Sam said weakly, still unable to truly grasp what was happening. Captain Singer looked at Sam, scratching his beard as if he was really thinking. His jaw was set, and it was pretty obvious to Sam that he was pissed. All that he knew, was that he couldn’t leave knowing what he knew. “I can answer any questions you have about him. Maybe I could be helpful.” 

 His captain gave a big, heavy sigh before shaking his head. “I’ll probably regret this, but you can stay, Winchester, just give me your badge and gun. If you’re here, you’re here as a civilian.”

  Later that evening

 “Hey,” Charlie said, lowering herself onto the stairs leading up to her apartment next to Castiel. He was sitting with his face in his hands. “Where have you been? I’ve been calling…”

 He met the eyes of his friend, his own feeling bloodshot and swollen. “I found a liquor store, and I drank it,” he slurred. 

 “Oh my.”

 “I’ve been so fucking stupid.” 

 “Hey, you’re not stupid,” Charlie said gently, her hand resting on his shoulder. 

 “I am. How did I miss this? It was right in front of my face. What kind of detective am I if I missed this?”

 “None of us saw it.” 

 “But I fucked him. I slept next to him…” 

 “Sam lived with him, and he didn’t know,” she pointed out. 

 “The kid is a rookie. He doesn’t know his ass from his elbow.”

 “Right,” Charlie said, pushing her hair behind her ears. “What’s this really about? You were interrogating him outside of protocol. You’d never do that, no matter what.” 

 “I needed answers.” 

 “Bobby put Hanscum and Mills on it, they’re pro’s. They’ll get the answers.” 

 He shook his head. It wasn’t the same. They were good cops, but they hadn’t been on the case. They didn’t know. 

 “Cas,” Charlie said, treading lightly. “It’s okay to miss him, to be disappointed.” 

 “I’m only disappointed that I didn’t see it sooner.” 

 “So you could save yourself the pain?”

 His head snapped to hers, his vision blurred, from the alcohol, or maybe the tears that stung his eyes. “No, to save people from being murdered. What kind of self centered person do you think I am?” 

 “I don’t think you’re self centered. I don’t think you’re self centered at all, actually. Not even enough to mourn for the man that you love. You should mourn, Cas. It’s okay to be devastated.” 

 “I’m not devastated,” Castiel snapped. She wasn’t understanding. It was all a lie, it had been from the beginning. Killers always got close to the head detective in their case. Dean managed to insert himself right in the middle of the investigation, and Cas didn’t even notice. Charlie would never understand how sick it made him. “He killed three men. Four, most likely. His father’s death was suspicious… I’m just...” He sighed in frustration, curling his hands into fists. “I’m not sad. I’m pissed off. I’m furious.” 

 “Okay,” she said, a slight irritation in her voice. “It’s okay to be furious. He lied to you.” 

 “He is a murderer, Charlie! That’s it! I let him get close to me, distract me so he could kill people! I didn’t notice, and I will never be able to forgive myself for that. End of story.” He stood up, wiped his sweaty palms on his gray slacks and pushed out into the white, snow speckled evening air, leaving his badge and gun on the steps behind him. 

  Six months later

 “This is a collect call from the New York State Prison, will you accept these charges?”

 “No.” Click. 

 It had been six months since Dean Winchester was arrested. Six months since he confessed to all crimes. Three counts of premeditated murder. 

 It had been six months since Castiel hopped in a cab and took it to New Jersey to visit his brother Gabriel. He was hiding. Hiding from his job, from his partner, from New York, from the guilt, but most of all he was hiding from Dean. 

 It had been six months since he’d had a nightmare. The only demon he had left to face was himself.

 He received one letter a week since Dean was incarcerated. He didn’t open any of them. Dean called and called, but Castiel never agreed to speak with him. 

 Since the weather had warmed up, Castiel was gardening out behind Gabriel’s house. Despite living in the city his whole life, he was doing surprisingly well. He stared at his blank phone screen that read Call Ended, his hands still dirty from planting his tomato seeds. 

 “Want a beer?” Gabe called out from the house. 

 “Okay,” Castiel said, wiping the dirt from his palms onto his jeans. 

 His brother popped the caps off the beers and met Castiel halfway, his arm extended. “He call again?”

 “Why do you ask?” Castiel asked, putting the bottle to his lips.

 “You always get that look when he calls.” 

 Cas sighed against his beer bottle. “He won’t take a hint.”

 “Why don’t you block the phone number?”

 Why didn’t he? “I don’t know.” He looked down the neck of the beer, as if the answer was in the foam. 

 “Maybe you should go see him. Seems like you didn’t get any closure.”

 “It feels pretty final to me,” Castiel said, tipping the bottle back to his lips again. 

 “Come on, little brother. You don’t have to lie to me. Have you talked to Sam?”

 “On and off.” 

 Gabriel scratched his chin. “What does he have to say?”

 “I told him I didn’t want to talk about Dean,” he sighed. “Bobby gave him a pass, and he’s on probation, but he’s still working in homicide. He says he misses his partner, but I told him I’m done.”

 “You can work at the comedy club with me.” Gabe wiggled his eyebrows. “I’m working on an act right now that includes some close-up magic.”

 “As exciting as that is,” Castiel said through clenched teeth, “I don’t know how much longer I’ll be here.” 

 “You just planted a vegetable. You’ll be here for awhile.” 

 “Tomatoes are fruit,” Castiel deadpanned.

 “Right.” Gabriel pinched the bridge of his nose. “Where will you go if you leave?”

 “I don’t know. I’ve never taken a vacation in my life.”

 “Oh trust me, I know.”

 Castiel rolled his eyes. “My point is… I don’t know where I will go. Anywhere else.” 

 “You can stay however long you need to, brother.”

 “I know. I appreciate it,” Cas said with a sigh. The condensation on the outside of the bottle mixed with the dirt on his hands. He reached down and wiped them on his jeans, leaving muddy, smeared handprints on his thighs. “I don’t mean to be such a burden.”

 “Are you kidding me? My house has never been this clean.”

 “I believe that.” He laughed dryly. 

 Gabriel took a swig of his beer. “Charlie’s been calling for you. Are you going to ignore her forever? I think she will come out here eventually if you do. I can only keep her at bay for so long.” 

 “Did you tell her I was here?”

 “She knows.” 

 “How?” Castiel narrowed his eyes at his older brother. 

 Gabriel shrugged. 

 “You told her.”

 “She is hard to say no to.” 

 “You were bested by a girl.” 

 “Hey,” Gabriel snapped. “She is more than a girl. She’s inhuman.” 

 Cas snickered. “Don’t I know it,” he sighed again and stared at the bubbles dissipating inside of his bottle. 

 “You’re not going to feel like this forever. I know sometimes things feel pretty endless, but I’ve got it on good authority that eventually the bad shit stops.” 

 “I don’t know how to make it stop.” 

 Gabriel reached into his back pocket and pulled out a letter addressed to Detective Castiel Novak, and he placed the letter in Cas’ hand. “I’d start with closure. Shut the door and lock it, man, it’s the only way you’ll be able to really move on.” 

 Castiel took the letter and stared at the familiar scrawl on the front of the envelope. It would match two dozen more that sat in a drawer in his bedroom, all unopened. He looked at the letter like an old friend, a temptation, a kiss stolen under the moonlight. He looked at it like it was from the Dean that he thought he knew, instead of a stranger in an orange jumpsuit. He looked at it like it was from a man that he loved in a different life, instead of the one that he loved in this one. Instead of the one that broke him. 

  Two weeks later

 Castiel Novak didn’t dream while he slept. His unconscious mind was filled with a buzzing emptiness. He almost missed the nightmares. 

 “No! Enough, Gabe! You can’t hide him anymore. This isn’t healthy. He loves that goddamn job, and he’s a New Yorker! He hasn’t set foot in the city in half a year.” 

 “I know that,” Gabriel said with a huff. “I’ve tried everything! I even put temporary purple hair dye in his shampoo a few months ago and he didn’t care, Charlie. Do you get that? I prank him, I make jokes, and he just doesn’t fucking notice. He is a shell. This guy fucked him up.” 

 “You’re protective of him. I know, because I am too. He’s my person. Let me help him.” 

 “He doesn’t want help.” 

 “Respectfully, I don’t give two shits what he wants. Now move out of my way, or I’ll make you move .” 

 It was no real surprise to Castiel when Charlie busted into his room not more than a minute later. She walked right to his bed and scooted in next to him, pulling his quilt over their heads. They laid on their sides, face to face, nose to nose. “Hey,” she breathed. 

 “I knew you’d come eventually.”

 “Are you going to make this hard or easy?”

 “What do you think?”

 “Hard it is.” She smiled widely. “Sweetie, I know you’re in a bad place.” 

 “That’s an understatement,” he admitted quietly. It was hard to lie when it was just Charlie. 

 “You miss him.” 

 “No.”

 She gave him a look, her eyebrow raised and her head tilting more into the pillow like fucking really? 

 He sucked in his breath, feeling a sob threatening to creep up his throat before he nodded twice. “It feels really fucked up to miss him.” 

 “We can’t help who we love, Cas. You’re a gay man, so I know you know that already.” Charlie wrapped an arm around him. “I can’t let you do this to yourself.”

 “Do what?”

 “Punish yourself. You’ve done enough, honey. You’ve done enough.” 

 Castiel didn’t believe her. He couldn’t, but there was something in her tone that was painfully maternal. Something that made his heart ache. “He is sending me letters.”

 “What do they say?”

 “I have no idea. I can’t open them. They’re all in a drawer haunting me.” 

 “Do you want to read them?”

 “No,” he said, and it felt like the biggest lie he’d ever told. 

 “Then why are you keeping them?” There was that look again. 

 “Because… if they’re there then I can always change my mind and read them.” 

 “Thank you.” 

 “For what?”

 Charlie put her hands on either side of Castiel’s cheeks and looked into his eyes. “For being honest with me for the first time in six months.” She forced a smile. “I’m mad at him, too. Especially for what he did to you and the kid.” 

 “The seasoned detectives always talked about the one case that they could never get past. I was certain that it was Benny.” His voice broke from saying the name out loud after so many years. “I didn’t think anything could be worse than that, but this . It has to be this, Charlie. I’m never getting past this. I am a ruined man.” 

 “You aren’t ruined. You’re hurt, but we always keep fighting, Cas. It’s what we do. You get knocked down, and you get up again.” 

 “Do not say what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.”

 “I won’t say it, but only because I think you get the picture.” She moved her hands from his face and propped herself up so she was looking down at him. “What if Harry Potter decided that he couldn’t fight Voldemort because he was just Harry? No matter how many times that you are knocked down you have to get back up. It’s up to you, and fuck it, it’s up to me, too.” 

 “I don’t understand that reference,” he said with a desperate frustration. 

 She pinched the bridge of her nose. “I know, Cassy, okay? It’s just the sentiment. I’m just saying, get back up, Rocky. You’ve gotta keep going. You’ve gotta try again, or you’ll never survive this.” 

 Castiel ran his tongue along his bottom lip, wetting it, before he let out a shaky sigh. “Okay.”

 “Great,” she said, brightly. “Now get up, take a shower and brush your goddamn teeth because your breath is disgusting.” She laughed, poking his nose. “It’s time, Cassy.” 

 “I know it is,” he agreed, sitting up. 

 Charlie hopped out of his bed and walked to his window, opening up the curtains. “We have to get you the hell out of Jersey, Novak, I’m serious. This is where joy comes to die.” 

 “Don’t tell that to Gabe, he sells joy for a living.” 

 Charlie laughed outright. “You clearly haven’t seen his show if you think he’s selling joy.” 

 “Touché.” 

  Later that afternoon

 “Are you ready?” Charlie turned to Castiel in the backseat of the cab. 

 “No.” 

 She took his hand in hers. “You can do this, and afterwards we can get really, really drunk.” 

 “I’ll take you up on that one,” Cas said sadly, squeezing her hand. “I hate you for making me do this.” 

 “That’s okay. You can hate me.” 

 “I don’t hate you,” he said, wrapping her in a hug. “Thank you for making me get up.” 

 “I was worried that you’d get bedsores.” He could feel her grin widely against his shoulder. 

 “We wouldn’t want that.” 

 “You’re much too pretty for bedsores,” Charlie said pushing his too-long-hair out of his eyes. He was well overdue for a haircut. 

 Castiel leaned forward and placed a kiss on her cheek. “You’re pretty, too.” 

 “Quit trying to romance me, Novak. I’m not into all of that.” 

 “Likewise.” Castiel laughed for a moment, before it stifled into a sigh. “I suppose I should go in.” 

 “You are racking up the cab fare.” 

 “Subtly does not become you, Charlotte.” 

 “I brought a book. I’ll wait outside for you,” Charlie said, pushing him gently toward the door of the cab. 

 “Alright, alright. I’m going.” He shut the door behind him, and walked the long walkway to the front of the jail. He signed in. He was searched and scanned.

 He didn’t want to go, but somewhere deep inside of him he knew that it was the only way. He knew, if he couldn’t read Dean’s words, that seeing him could make a difference. It had to, because in the previous six months nothing had helped pull him out of the grief hole that he’d been buried in. 

 The inside of the prison was gray and hollow like the emptiness within his own chest. He could hear the beat of his heart like the sound of a knock on a door. It echoed through him like the voices over the intercom inside of the prison. 

 “Follow me,” the guard said, leading Castiel to the visiting area. He gestured to the seat at the far end. 

 “Thank you,” Castiel said quietly before settling into his chair. One of the legs on the chair was uneven. He was leaning slightly to the left and every time he shifted his weight the leg clicked back down onto the tile floor. He stared through the fingerprinted glass and wondered when it had been cleaned last.

 He was so distracted by the fingerprints of the longing that he didn’t see Dean approach, and suddenly he was there. He was handcuffed, and while Castiel could admit that he used to imagine Dean in handcuffs, it wasn’t like this. It wasn’t while he was in a gray pair of scrubs behind a fingerprinted glass. 

 Dean was smiling, and he looked like he’d lost weight. Castiel could make out the point in his cheekbones and his jaw was more defined. He looked tired, with darkening half moons under his sparkling green eyes. His freckles looked less frequent across his cheekbones, and Castiel wondered if he had imagined the night sky across his boyfriend’s face, or if perhaps they’d truly faded like dying stars. Perhaps he’d been inside, out of the sun all of these months. 

 Dean reached for the phone and tapped it, causing Castiel to almost jump out of his skin. He glanced at the phone. Was he really going to do it? He thought back to the dozens of letters in his drawer taunting him and picked up the receiver. 

 “Hello, Detective.” 

 “I’m not a detective anymore,” Castiel said flatly, his stomach flipping at the rough sound of Dean’s voice. 

 Dean seemed to scoot in to be closer to Castiel, even though there was a table and smudged glass between them. “Why not?”

 “It wasn’t for me.” 

 His forehead wrinkled in confusion. “But you loved that job. You were good at it.” 

 “Not good enough.” 

 “You were always good enough.” 

 They sat in silence, Castiel’s eyes flickering  down to his lap. 

 Dean cleared his throat. “You look good, Cas.” He smiled, changing the subject. “Very handsome.” 

 Castiel stared at him. He didn’t know what to say. He felt like he was standing next to his body looking down at some sad sack. He wouldn’t be Liz Kendall pining after a serial killer. He knew what Dean did and no amount of flattery could erase those facts. 

 “They said after the trial I may be able to move to a place with a view. A real view.” Dean smiled widely. “Maybe I could get some writing done… but ya know, I wouldn’t want to go too far from Sammy... from you.”

 “It’s not like you have much of a say.” 

 “Right, but I just meant… If I had a choice I wouldn’t try to leave you. I wouldn’t give up on us.” 

 “Us?” Castiel shifted in his seat, the leg clacked against the tile. “There is no us, Dean.” 

 “Sure there is,” Dean said, blinking rapidly. “You love me and you’re… you’re family. Me, you, and Sammy are family. You don’t just walk out on family. Sure, it isn’t ideal, but all relationships have problems, right?” 

 Castiel’s upper lip twitched. “This isn’t a problem, Dean.” 

 “It isn’t? Fuck… that’s a relief to hear…” 

 He put up a hand to quiet Dean before he spun out of control. “It isn’t a problem because there’s no us anymore. I can’t just overlook this. It’s over.”

 “I… shit.” Dean’s fingers ran through his hair, his eyes flickering away from Castiel’s. “I didn’t mean for that to happen, man.”

 Castiel’s heart leapt around his chest like a rabbit in a cage. It banged against his rib cage. He rubbed his sternum, trying to calm it. “And what did you mean to happen, Dean?”

 “Did you read my letters?” 

 Castiel shook his head. “That’s why I’m here.” 

 “Cas, you have to read them. Please.” His eyes were back up, his palm pressing against the glass. 

 “No, Dean.” 

 “I thought you liked the whole bad boy thing,” Dean joked with a glint in his eye and a shit eating smirk planted on his lips. 

 “No,” Castiel said, clenching his fists. “I don’t.” 

 “Cas, come on. I’m not some kind of psycho. You know me.” 

 “I don’t know you!” Castiel snapped. “I don’t know you at all. I thought I loved you, but I was wrong. I was in love with who I wanted you to be. You’re a murderer, and I would never be with someone who is capable of that.”

 Dean looked like he’d been hit, he recoiled, his face twisting in hurt. His hand fell back to his lap with a soft thud. “You’re wrong. What we have is real…” 

 “It was never real, Dean. How could it be? Everything was a lie.” 

 “Not everything.” 

 “That’s what it looks like from where I’m sitting.” Castiel swallowed and the leg of the chair scratched angrily against the tile. “Stop calling me. Stop writing me. Just let me go, Dean. If you care like you say you do, you’ll let me go.” 

 Dean sucked in his breath like he took a blow to the gut. As Castiel turned to hang up the phone that connected them, Dean reached for the glass again. He pressed his fingers against it longingly. “Just read the letters, Cas. I explained everything… if you read them you’ll see.” 

 Castiel shook his head. “I burned them,” he said as he hung up the phone. 

  Two hours later 

 “This should be illegal.” Castiel complained into his whiskey glass. 

 “You love it,” Charlie said, holding her microphone in her hand as she tried to sing along with the words on the screen. “Kiss me like you wanna be loved.” 

 “Just because you’re a redhead does not mean it’s required to sing Ed Sheeran.” 

 “Us gingers have to stick together, Cas, don’t you know? Shit, you got me off the words umm…” 

 He laughed, a good hearty laugh and damn did it feel good. 

 Being a queer man meant that Castiel Novak was not unfamiliar with pain. It lived inside him from the moment he realized he was different, to the moment he moved out of his house when his father couldn’t stand to look at him anymore. The pain grew less and less the older he got. When he became a detective, the pain was almost gone completely. He no longer carried shame like an extra weight around his middle. He was comfortable with himself. 

 The pain  had returned, but it was no longer his sexuality that plagued him. It was Dean. The way his heart ached for Dean was crippling. The moment he came back to New York, him crept back through the cracks of Cas’ carefully built walls. Seeing him at the jail didn’t help matters, and all he could hope for was that time was on his side. That the theory that all wounds eventually healed would be true in his case. 

 In the meantime, he had whiskey, and a bartender with a heavy pour. 

 He jingled his empty glass and the bartender filled his glass. “You’re a good one, Tom. Don’t ever forget that,” he slurred gently. 

 The bartender winked at him, making his cheeks warm up. Nope. No more relationships for you Castiel. You are celibate. You’re a nun. A priest. You’re not hooking up with anyone else! Plus, he isn’t Dean. He tried to shake off that thought as Charlie abandoned the rest of her song and waltzed up to him. 

 “The stage wasn’t ready for me.” 

 “Sure wasn’t.” 

 “Charlie! Hey!” A familiar voice said. 

 Castiel turned slowly, the whiskey in his veins weighing him down like wet clothes. He didn’t need to turn to know who the voice belonged to, Cas could pick the kid out of a line up blindfolded. “Sam.” 

 “Cas, hey.” 

 Eileen waved, her arm through Sam’s, and his eyes flickered to her as he signed, nice to see you. 

  Same , she signed back with a smile, are you okay? 

 Castiel shrugged lightly at her before his looked back to Sam. He’d spoken to him in the last six months, but seeing him was a completely different situation. The whiskey that had settled in Cas’ stomach began to churn angrily. “Rookie, want a drink?”

 “He’s not a Rookie anymore, Cas,” Charlie said with a grin as she sipped on her rum and coke. “Isn’t that right? Our little boy is all grown up!” 

 The kids plaid shirt was tucked in, wrinkle free, but his sleeves were still pushed up to his elbows. He looked fucking exhausted, his hair a new level of shaggy, and his jaw sported a thickening beard. He wasn't sure what he expected to see, part of him thought that time stood still while he was at Gabriels, but the biggest part of him expected to come back to a completely new city. The pieces of his life that stuck and the pieces that changed were almost so minuscule and random that it left him completely unsettled. 

 “I guess not,” Castiel said. “A lot has changed since I’ve been away.” 

 “Are you coming back to work?” Sam asked, shifting his weight uncomfortably from foot to foot. His body language was discomfort, but his eyes told Cas a completely different story. They were hazel, but glinting a strong green against the green plaid in his shirt, and they were focused. It had to be a trait that he’d picked up from his brother. Dean was the only person that Castiel had ever known to hold such an intense gaze, that sometimes he thought that Dean could see right through his skin and into his soul. 

 “I don’t think so, kid,” he said, gripping his whiskey glass like it’d keep him from drowning. 

 “We miss you around there.” 

 “It’s just not right, not anymore,” Castiel said before taking another swig of his drink. The room was seconds from spinning, so he closed his eyes and tried to center himself. That didn’t last long, though. It was hard to hide from Dean when his face popped up every time Castiel closed his eyes. Hello, Detective. Chills ran up his spine, and he sat down his glass. 

 “The trial is next week,” Sam said, running his fingers along the outside of his beer bottle, rubbing designs into the bottle’s sweat. “Are you going?” Sam looked at Castiel like he wanted something from him, like he expected Cas to fix every problem that he had with one simple yes . 

 Castiel sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. The kid was looking at Cas, like he was sure that he looked at Dean. “I don’t think so, Sam.” 

 “It would mean a lot to me to have some familiar faces, and I know it’d mean a lot to my brother.” 

 Castiel stood up from his seat and swayed a little, his hand catching the bar top to steady himself. His eyes settled on Sam’s chin, Dean’s chin . The way that he talked, tilting his head to the side, was all Dean, and Cas couldn’t fucking take it anymore. “Sam, I don’t mean to be rude, but he doesn’t deserve me being there.” 

 “Sweetie, don’t,” Charlie said, putting her hand out, but he gestured it away, his eyes not leaving Sam’s. 

 “He broke my fucking heart,” he said, his voice cracking, breaking into pieces. “I shouldn’t have to go and watch that. It’ll hurt too much. It’ll hurt too fucking much.” 

  One month later

 “Where are you going?” Gabriel asked, leaning against the door frame to Castiel’s room. 

 Cas looked up at his brother from his open suitcase. “I need to start over, Gabriel.” 

 “I know.” He nodded with understanding in his eyes. Gabe was always such a child, but he was there when Castiel needed him. There wasn't much else that he could ask for in a brother. 

 “I think I’m going to California. I just need to be somewhere else. A different coast, a different time zone.” 

 “You can’t run forever.” 

 “I’m not running,” he sighed, laying down the shirt that he was folding. “At least I’m not trying to. I want to be happy again someday, and I don’t think I can do that here. There’s too much history. It’s smothering.” 

 “I understand.” Gabriel nodded and moved from the door, opening his arms for a hug.

 Cas met his brother’s embrace, wrapping his arms around him and squeezing tightly. “Thank you for everything.”

 “Thanks for leaving me with a goddamned garden. Don’t be mad if you come back and they’re all dead,” Gabriel said, giving him a squeeze before releasing him. “Don’t be a stranger. You have my number.” 

 “I do,” Castiel agreed with a nod. 

 “Alright, well I have a rehearsal for the show tonight. We have to go through light and sound queues. Will you be gone tonight?”

 “I think so.” 

 “Are you going by the trial on your way out? They’re determining the verdict today, right?”

 “Are they?” Castiel asked dumbly. “I hadn’t realized.” 

 “Hm.” Gabriel shrugged. “Maybe I’m wrong. Call me when you land.” 

 “I will,” he said, watching his brother leave. 

 He walked to his desk and pulled out his papers and his pens. He wasn’t an extravagant man, and he didn’t own many things, but the things he owned were his. He’d lost enough, and he wasn't prepared to part with anything else, no matter how small. 

 He opened up his last desk drawer and stared at the pile of white envelopes. Detective Castiel Novak. He sucked in his breath and pulled them out. Writing love letters long hand always sounded so romantic, but staring at the letters seemed like something else altogether. It felt daunting, heavy. He closed his eyes and pressed the letters to his chest like a hug. Dean. His mind called out like it was second nature, and he lowered himself down to a seated position on the end of the bed. He stared at the letters, willing his x-ray vision to absorb the information without making his hands rip the envelopes open to truly expose their secrets. Once they were open there was no going back. 

  Fuck it. 

 He tore open the one on the top, his heartbeat racing at the sound of paper ripping and his finger running along the inside of the envelope. He pulled out the page and unfolded it. 

  Dear Detective Novak, 

  Hey, Cas. I’ve been staring at this page for an hour trying to decide what to say. What could I say that would make a difference? I don’t have that answer, but I know I’ve always been more articulate on the page, so I will take what I can get. I’ve made a mistake, Sweetheart. I fucked up. I let my impulses get the best of me. The same way as when I kissed you back in the alley. I knew it was right, in my gut, so I did it. 

  It was the best kiss of my life. I thought I got high off that kiss. That kiss changed me. You changed me, even though I’m sure you won’t believe that. I know what I look like to you, I just want you to understand… life is full of disappointments. Dads who drink way too much and beat you stupid for wearing a pair of pink panties, even though a girl dared you to do it, and Moms who die. They burn alive and no one bothers to find the answers. The bad guys get away. I couldn’t let that happen to anyone else. I couldn’t let it happen to you, because you’re good, Cas. You’re better than I’d ever be. I know that because I am shitting in an open room with three other guys, and you’re out there living your life. 

  You deserve that life, Cas. I just hate myself for removing myself from that situation, because we could’ve had a life together, you know? The kids, a dog, the whole nine. I would’ve liked that. I’m sure you don’t believe me, but I do love you. I don’t say that shit lightly, Cas. I love you, man. You’re the one. You were always the one. 

  Dean

  Dear Detective Novak, 

  Hey, Sweetheart. I got some yard time today, and I just kept thinking, damn that sky is blue just like my blue eyed angel. Looking up at the sky reminded me that I’m under the same sky that you’re under. That gave me some kind of peace, man. I never thought I could handle jail, but knowing that you’re out there helps. 

  I know you don’t approve of my methods, Cas, but it isn’t all bad. Krystal visited me the other day, and she thanked me for killing Crowley. I didn’t do it for the thanks, but some of those girls are going back to college and their families! That’s a win, right? We have to take all the wins we can get. I hope you aren’t too mad at me, Detective. I couldn’t stand it if I lost you forever. 

  But I figure nothing too bad can happen on a day where the sky is this blue. It’d just be wrong, and there’s enough wrong in this goddamn world, so I’ll take the good where I can get it. The sun on my face, sriracha ramen from the commissary, and you. 

  Dean

  Dear Detective Novak,

  So I’ve been thinking about first loves lately. I know, what a hard prison thought to have! I better not let the boys here find out that I’m made of cotton candy or I’ll be a bottom for sure, and I’ll only bottom for one guy, you hear? 

  Anyway, I was thinking about first loves. I always thought my first love was this dame Lisa from high school. She did cheer and yoga, and damn it if she wasn’t flexible. She was nice and funny (sorry, not trying to make you jealous. I’ll get to the point), but no matter what she had going for her, she didn’t make me feel a quarter of what I feel for you. I always thought at almost thirty I would be too old to have another first, but fuck, if there was anyone before you I don’t remember them one bit. 

  You light me up, baby. I promised myself I wouldn’t shit out a bunch of clichés, but you do that to me. You make them sound good. Damn it, you make everything sound good. Maybe it wasn't our time, Cas. Maybe it was fate, the fault in our stars, or maybe it was just me. Maybe I fucked it all up, but I think in another life it could be us. It will be us, because this isn’t something that just happens, you know?

  This is real, Cas. It has to be.

  Dean

  Dear Detective Novak,

  I love you with all the stars in the sky. I love you like I love pie. I didn’t say it enough, and I’ll never be able to forgive myself for that. I’d give it all up just to hear you say you love me one more time. Damn, I sound like a chick. Forget I said anything. Write me back, even just to tell me how gay this all sounds. Anything. I miss hearing from you. I miss your dry humor and your shitty attitude. I just miss you, ok?

  Dean

 Castiel was in the car before he knew it, his suitcase still open on the bed. He still clutched the letters in his hand for dear life as he backed out of Gabriel’s driveway and headed toward the city. Toward him. He needed answers that not even a dozen letters could give him. 

 Dean was a monster. No, Dean was a man, nothing more or less. Men make mistakes. Some are forgivable and some are not. Castiel didn’t grow up believing in God, despite his angelic name. Castiel meant shield of God in Hebrew, so it was no real surprise that someone desperate for justice came to fall in love with him. 

 Perhaps it was wrong for Castiel to love Dean at all. Perhaps that love was long gone, as he had assured Dean the last day he saw him, but how could he know for certain if he didn’t see him one last time? Gabriel talked about closure, and Castiel knew, as the space closed between himself and New York City, that he had never gotten that closure. It wasn’t about slamming the door shut on Dean Winchester. It wasn’t about seeing him in that prison and knowing that he did the things that Castiel was most afraid of, it was about another end altogether. It was about saying goodbye to Dean and his feelings for Dean. Castiel hadn’t said goodbye, and this would be his last chance. If he hadn’t missed it already. 

 He got out of the car blocks away from the courthouse, knowing he wouldn’t be able to find anything closer. He shoved the letters in the back pocket of his slacks, and he ran. He ran, pushing past other people on the street. He could hear his shoes smack the concrete, the scratch of the chair against the tile in the jail, Dean saying his name in the darkness, and the beat of his heart in his chest. He pushed harder. “Get out of my way!” 

 It felt like the end of a romantic comedy, like he was running to break up a wedding or to confess his love. Except this time, there would be no confession, no wedding, and all Castiel expected was pain. He expected it to hurt, to watch him be led away in handcuffs, but he ran toward Dean anyway. 

 He half expected to find himself trapped back in that endless nightmare cycle that he’d been in over and over again, only to wake up next to Dean, but there was no rain on his face, the sun was out, and the walls weren’t closing in. Reality was so much worse than his nightmares. 

 The streets were crowded with onlookers, with protesters, with reporters. It was bustling, even more so than the usual New York City bustle. He pushed past the people to the tape separating the walkway from the crowd. Across from him he locked eyes with Sam, Eileen, and Charlie. He could see Charlie mouth his name, yet he heard nothing but the door from the courthouse opening. 

 Next to him the reporters called out questions, with their recording devices stuck well over the line, obscuring Castiel’s view of Dean. It was over. There was a weight in the air. An armed officer held one of Dean’s arms handcuffed behind his back. He wore a suit, and his collar stuck out from the neck of his suit, and Castiel’s heart squeezed at the image. Sometimes, Dean seemed like such a child, and when he turned and the sunlight glinted in the green of his eye, he looked hopeful. Fuck, he looked innocent. 

 Dean smiled when his eyes caught Castiel’s, bright and big. His left shoulder lifted a bit as if to wave, as if he’d forgotten that he was chained. As if he’d forgotten that he and Castiel weren’t the only two men on the street. Hi, Dean mouthed with a wink. Castiel was still angry, but in that moment his stomach flipped. There was something about the wrinkles around Dean’s eyes when he smiled, they made Castiel dizzy. They made him a little hopeful, too. 

 It all happened so fast. 

 It always does, doesn’t it? The day turning to night, falling in love, dying all happen in a blink. 

 Dean was still grinning in a way that was stupidly beautiful, even as his eyes widened in shock. His body jolted backwards a bit, his shoulder hitting the guard to his left from the impact. He was knocked completely off his feet, and Dean was usually so steady. 

 A gunshot is not an unfamiliar sound to a detective in the NYPD. With the point he was at in his career, Castiel could easily tell the difference between a firework, a car backfiring, or a true gunshot. He’d shot many at the gun range, heard them in the field, and shot many rounds of his own weapon, sometimes at targets, sometimes at people. He was taught to shoot to kill, don’t give the motherfuckers a second chance to attack. 

 So when Castiel heard the bang echo off the buildings, he didn’t hesitate. Perhaps it was instinct, or maybe it was the way Dean’s eyes had lit up when he caught Castiel in the crowd. 

 Cas leaped over the tape separating them, and the guards sprang into action, raising their own weapons. He managed to push behind them and catch Dean seconds before his head hit the ground. “Fuck,” he whispered, looking up at the ex-detective.

 Castiel moved his eyes from Dean’s face to his bleeding abdomen. “Oh my god.” It looked like it hit an artery. A red rush of blood, like a dam being broken.

 “Shit, does it look like that scene from The Shining?” Dean asked with a dry, strained laugh.

 “Shut up,” Castiel murmured, putting pressure on the wound.

 “Cas I...” He gasped out in pain as Castiel applied more pressure. Maybe to help, or maybe to just get him to be fucking quiet for once. 

 “Just focus on not dying, okay?”

 Dean nodded with a wince, as if that was going to be tough. 

 Castiel could feel the heat of the sun on his back as the guards moved toward the crowd. 

 “You don’t understand!” A woman cried out. “He is a murderer! He killed my husband… my sweet Lucas. He was… he could be a monster… but he was mine. I loved him.” Her voice seemed to come from nowhere in particular. Castiel closed his eyes. 

 Mrs. Azazel. Of course. Castiel would never forget his interview with her. He wondered if she had Stockholm Syndrome with how much she defended her husband against his actions towards their daughter. He felt sick. When he opened his eyes Dean was looking up at him. His face was growing more and more pale by the moment. 

 Dean’s blood was seeping through Castiel’s fingers. His hands were slick with it. No amount of pressure was enough. He could hear the sirens from the ambulance coming, but it wasn’t fast enough. Everything was in slow motion. 

 It was all so slow, but in another way it was instant. 

 Castiel didn’t feel the pain. It was more like a pinch, a mosquito bite against his back. Another shot rang through the air, and it sounded like his mother’s prize vase shattering into a million pieces on the tile floor. He held his position on his knee to keep Dean in place.

 He always thought he would’ve made an excellent soldier. Castiel Novak was a good man in a storm. 

 “Somebody take her down, for God sakes!” Castiel commanded. It didn’t matter that he wasn’t an officer anymore or that he was no one's superior, his presence demanded respect wherever he went. 

 The crowd was a wild mass of hysterical screaming. Sobbing. But Castiel was calm. His eyes were focused on the freckles on Dean’s cheekbones alone. Suddenly he believed the theory about angel kisses causing more freckles. He could leave a thousand.

 “Detective, you’re bleeding”

 “I’m fine, barely grazed me. Just stay awake for me, okay? Keep your breathing steady.”

 “You were shot. I got you shot.” Dean's voice was shaking. It was a rough whisper as the blood continued to pool on his abdomen. His shoulders pulled forward as he seemed to try to reach out, but his hands were still chained in place. 

 “You didn’t do anything. This isn’t on you,” Castiel said, forcing a smile. “I’m good. Trust me. You’re the one bleeding all over the place. You always have to be the center of attention, don’t you?”

 “You know me, a real attention whore.” Dean smiled a bit, despite the blood that trickled down the corner of his mouth. “You came.”

 “Don’t be inappropriate. We are in public,” Castiel said through clenched teeth. It was a poor attempt at a joke. He clutched Dean’s wound with one hand, his other under Dean’s head. 

 “You love it,” Dean gasped, and closed his eyes.

 He did. “Hey, hey look at me.”

 “Don’t gotta ask me twice,” Dean said, his voice hoarse. “I never get tired of lookin’ at ya. Those fuckin’ blue eyes.”

 “It’s just you and me, Dean. Okay?” Cas said, gasping from the stinging pain that danced up through the wound on his back. His hands were shaking. 

 “Detective?”

 “Yeah?”

 “Don’t cry for me, okay?” Dean asked, turning his head to place a gentle, tear-soaked kiss on the inside of Castiel’s wrist. “We always get what we deserve. I always knew it would end like this for me. I’m goin’ out like an outlaw, and you can’t cry for an outlaw, Detective,” he said, his voice barely a strained whisper. 

 Castiel dipped his face down to Dean’s. “Don’t fucking tell me what to do,” he whispered before pressing his lips to Dean’s one more time. Cas kissed him slowly and deliberately, like a last confession, until the pain and the darkness overtook them both. 

Read the Epilogue

Masterlist

Art by @cryptomoon

No Regrets | Runaways au | Nct | Lucas

Masterlist

Runaways!AU/Dystopian!AU

Length: 3.9k

Note: I’m sorry I got kind of carried away

Warnings: None really

Pairing: Yukhei x Reader

Genre: Fluff/Angst/Adventure

Summary: If you had never met him you would never have known what love or freedom felt like.

There was a loud crash as the glass window shattered into thousands of little pieces at your feet, you stayed there in shock for a few seconds before scrambling over the edge. Your boots crunched on the glass that covered the pavement as you broke into a sprint down the street doing your best to avoid streetlights and cameras. You had been planning your escape from the marbled hallways of your own personal hell, taking careful note of where security cameras and the exact timing of patrols for months and you had finally done it. Life on the run was far better than any sort of life you had prior, the pristine, polished hallways of your fathers mansion that you grew up in may seem pretty on the outside but were filled with horrors. You were born into the life of a high ranking government official, after the second Great War and the new government came into power your father managed to grab the position of general. He was in charge of all the military power in the entire country but even though you grew up swimming in money your life was far from perfect. Once you had turned five things started changing, your father’s military nature took over after your mother passed away and he began lashing out with force, maids and butlers walked with limps and were covered with bandages even his own child wasn't spared from his flying fists whenever he was mildly displeased. After nineteen years you had had enough and decided to leave.

Your legs and lungs burned as your feet pounded against the street, you could hear the sirens of military vehicles in the distance who were most likely sent after you by your father. You ignored the pain and pushed yourself to move faster as a rush of adrenaline shot through you and you turned around the corner and managed to scale the fence that surrounded the neighbourhood. Your father’s mansion was in the neighbourhood where all the government officials and high class families lived surrounded by an iron fence to keep the people who were below them out. Separating the cities into districts was one of the many rules and guidelines the government had put into place after the came to power, you were currently running through the slums surrounding the factories where the highest percentage of people lived in cramped townhouses and apartment buildings which made it incredibly easy to hide with all the alleys running every which way. The highest percentage of people in the country were poor and got stuck working in factories making weapons and products for the highest classes, the streets were dirty and filled with waste while the factories pumped out steam from the smokestacks at all hours of the day.

You could hear the sirens getting closer as you continued to run not knowing where you were or where you were going until an arms shot out and pulled you into a dark crack between buildings which was barely big enough to stand in. You were about to scream before a hand pressed over your mouth and you were pulled against aches and back behind a stack of boxes just before a light swept through the alley. Both you and the person at your back didn't let out a breath until the light disappeared and the boot steps carried on with the sirens.

“So you're the reason the streets have been crawling with soldiers for the past hour.” The person who pulled you into the alley who you now knew was a man said after letting you go.

You turned around and squinted through the darkness to see his silhouette standing in front of you with his arms crossed over his chest. “I’m sorry but I had no other choice.” You told him.

“I know that why I grabbed you.” He said matter of factly. “Nobody is a runaway unless they have no other choice.”

You stared back at him utterly shocked at what he was saying, you expected the streets of the slums to be filled with hardened thugs and criminals but this man standing in front of you seemed almost compassionate. “Oh, thank you.” You whispered, you obviously had no idea what runaways were like.

“So where are you headed?” He asked before leaning against the brick wall to his left.

“I'm going to catch the cargo train tomorrow morning and head to the outer city.” For some reason you trusted this man, after all he saved you. So you decided to share your plane with him.

He pushed himself off the wall. “You’re heading to the lost city then.”

“How did you know?” You were shocked that he somehow knew your plans already.

“Relax,” he chuckled. “That's where I’m going too.”

Your shoulders fell as you let out a sigh of relief. “Shall we go together then?” You completely expected him to decline but you were shocked as he reached out his hand to shake.

“Sure.” He said plainly as you took his hand to shake. “I’m Yukhei.”

“I'm Y/n.”

“Wait, Y/n like the general’s daughter?” He exclaimed as his voice echoed off the cobblestones.

You sighed and nodded, knowing now that he would most definitely refuse your previously made deal but you were surprised once again as he reached out a grabbed your hand.

“Well Y/n, I’m assuming you don't have s place to stay so shall we spend the night at mine?” He said cheekily.

A blush rose to your cheeks which made him chuckle before taking off and signalling for you to follow him.

You managed to keep up with him through all the twists and turns of the streets until you were breathing heavy as you climbed up a fire escape and into a tiny cramped apartment through the window.

“Welcome to my humble abode.” Yukhei teased before taking of his jacket and throwing it onto a torn up sofa in the corner. “Don’t worry about anybody finding us,” he said sensing your tension, “This place was abandoned a long time ago after the family all died from the plague that swept through this district a few years ago and the other other residents won’t tell.”

“Are you sure this is safe?” You muttered before stepping over a rotting plank in the floor.

“This is how things are in the slums princess. Things aren't like the picture perfect neighbourhood that you grew up in, this is how most people live.” He warned.

You cringed at the mention of your childhood but muttered a quick apology before shuffling over to a door he disappeared behind. You peered around the doorframe and you immediately spotted him kicking off his shoes in the corner and shedding his shirt before you drifted to the lone mattress laying on the floor with a few blankets riddled with moth holes and mysterious stains thrown over it.

“We’re going to have to share unless you want to sleep on the floor.” He told you as you made your way over to the mattress where he was sitting, he had thrown on a different T-shirt and was in the process of crawling under the blankets. You wiggled up next to him leaving a good amount of space between you before he turned of the gas powered lamp in the corner.

“The clock chimes the hour every hour so we’ll have to leave around six in the morning if we want to make it to the railroad on time, it’s also the same time when most people start heading to work so it will be easier to slip past the patrols if we blend into the crowd especially since there will be more now.” He told you, “Get some sleep.” He whispered before you felt him roll over and you closed your own eyes. You were finally going to get away, unless they catch you.

----

You’re eyes shot open to the dim morning light filtering in from behind a torn up curtain. A small rush of panic sent you rolling over when you realized you were alone on the mattress only to see Yukhei digging through a backpack in the corner which you hadn’t noticed the night before.

“Good to see you’re awake.” He chuckled once he realized you were staring at him. “You can change here and I’ll head to the bathroom, we’re leaving in twenty minutes.” He explained before swinging the bag over his shoulder and shutting the door behind him. You listened to his footsteps fade down the hallway for a few moment before you shook the dog of sleep from your eyes and stumbled over to your bag. There was an array of various popping noises which came from your stiff joints as you shuffled over to the little chair your bag was thrown on, every muscle in your body was aching as you struggled to get dressed. Thankfully you had thought ahead enough to bring sturdy and adaptable clothing as you felt the chill even between all the factories as you wandered into the main room.

The crinkling of a wrapper startled you when you heard a dull thud of something being tossed to you and missing. “What is this?” You muttered before picking up the small ration which seemed much more like a block of solid concrete.

“Breakfast,” Yukhei called from the windowsill already munching on his own. “It was a lot of work to steal those so if you don’t eat it more for me!”

You sighed and tentatively took a bite of the rations that tasted more like cardboard than actual food, you thought you would break all of your teeth but the brick eventually softened as your saliva did it’s magic. You both swallowed the last bit of your food and took a swig of water right as the bell chimed signalling it was time for you to go.

“This is the city that’s farthest north so we have to make sure we get on the train heading south or we’ll be taken straight to the army base.” He explained as you followed him out the window and down to the throngs of people who were funnelling through the streets.

“Keep your head down and don’t get lost.” Was the last thing he muttered to you before joining in the crowds. There were a few moments of panic at the beginning when you were jostled a little to hard and lost sight of Yukhei but you quickly learned to slip through the crowds and keep your eye on the giant of a man you were following. You held your breath as you passed a blockade of guards and did your best to blend in with the worn out workers beside you who were covered in grime and dirt. They didn’t so much as glance in your direction before you walked a little further to the land of factories pumping out clouds of smoke and Yukhei grabbed your head and took off down an alley.

There were a few close run ins with patrols but your got to the fence surrounding the slums relatively unscathed although you knew your heart was pounding faster than it ever had before. When you reached the fence Yukhei boosted you over first before following after you and taking off into the woods surrounding the train station. The squeal of the train coming to a stop at the station echoed throughout the area and you picked up the pace in order to get to the tracks in time. When you reached the edge you heard another squeal of the second train coming to a halt as you both crouched at the edge of the treeline.

“Everything after the first two cars is safe but make sure you don’t get on the last,” Yukhei whispered to you while the sound of an engine starting again entered your ears, “You’ll he spotted if you get on the last one, wait for my signal.” You nodded and he shuffled forward as you saw the front of the train start to pick up speed.

“Now!” He hissed as the first two cars passed and you both took off sprinting through the bushes and along the tracks. The train was steadily picking up speed and another three cars passed by you as you started to panic pushing yourself even harder as your lungs burned. You were about to give up when Yukhei used his long legs to jump on the car two from the end and grabbed your arms dragging you in with him. You both collapsed onto the cool metal floor breathing heavily and letting your bodies calm down as the train reached full speed and sped away from the station.

“We’ll make it to the South by this time tomorrow, there’s nobody on this train and no stops along the way so we can do whatever we want,” Yukhei told you with a large smile, “We’re finally free!” He shouted.

It startled you at first but soon you were shouting along with him and collapsing into a pile of giggles beside him. The day passed pretty uneventfully, both of you ended up sleeping for half the day, exhausted from the night before and eager to give your sore muscles a rest. Your time spent awake was certainly interesting, as you quickly learned Yukhei was the complete opposite from all the cold and reserved officials you had known previously. He was loud and happy and unafraid to express his opinion or try and make you laugh, he seemed to fill the whole train car with sunshine and you loved it. One of the most interesting things that happened was when he found your stash of books you had brought with you, as it turns out he was an avid reader and loved most of the same books you did which was a nice surprise.

----

You let out a long sigh and leaned back onto your jacket which you had balled up into a makeshift pillow, the sun had set a few hours ago and after a super of some more bricks of concrete the government likes to call food you had finally decided to call it a night. You had pushed some of the boxes aside and created little bunks to sleep on so you wouldn't have to lay on the cold floor, You peered over to your left where Yukhei was similarly moving around.

“Tell me about yourself,” you blurted out, “I mean, why did you end up on the streets? If you’re okay with telling me of course.” He laughed at your panic in the last bit of your sentence and you were thankful your flush was hidden by the darkness.

He hummed as he rolled onto his side so he was mirroring you. “Well they tried to take me for the army and I couldn’t go so I ran away,” he said plainly, “both my brother and father died in the army fighting the government’s wars against their will, my mother……. she died in a factory accident a few months before I left so I’m all on my own.”

“I never knew it was that bad,” You whispered in disbelief, “I knew there were mandatory enlistments and the factory conditions were horrible but I didn’t know people actually died….. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay, it was a long time ago,” he assured you but your heart was still filled with grief because for some reason you felt it was your fault.

“Now that I’ve told you my story you should tell me yours right?” he teased you with an air of seriousness, “I want to know why the general’s precious daughter ran away from home?”

“Precious my butt,” you snorted, “the general didn’t care about me whatsoever, he liked to use his fists and I was usually on the receiving end. He tried to marry me off to an official three times my age which was the last straw so I left, he only views me as an asset and nothing more.”

“Well at least you have a better reason than childhood rebellion.” He offered.

You let out a small giggle, “I’ve only been gone for two days and even though I’m on the run from him I feel more free than I’ve ever been.”

“That’s good,” Yukhei sighed, “and it will definitely get a lot better once we reach the lost city.”

“Agreed.”

“Goodnight Y/n.”

“Goodnight Yukhei.”

----

You rolled as you hit the ground, diving off the train before it reached the station. Yukhei woke you up that morning and made sure you at least knew the basics of what you were doing so you didn’t get hurt too much, the jump jostled your bones but you knew a few bruises would be better than a broken ankle.You stood up and brushed yourself off before stumbling after Yukhei who’d already headed into the trees seeming perfectly fine, you crashed through the bushes behind him until you stopped at the wall. The south city was completely different from the capital, for starters there wasn't a single factory in the whole city but it didn't change much for the lower classes. They weren’t stuck in factories all day but instead they were basically slaves for all the merchants that lived in the city, it was the only place in the entire country that had access to the ocean so it was a center for foreign trade and guests. After about an hour and a half of navigating your way through the city you two finally found a small run down apartment that was roughly the size of Yukhei’s old one that had obviously not been touched in years due to the thick layers of dust coating everything. It was actually in relatively good shape with a fairly large bed, a few couches and chairs, a miraculously working bathroom, and a small ice box.

“Welcome to our base of operations for the next few weeks,” Yukhei exclaimed when you’d emerged from the bedroom after placing your things down, “We need to collect supplies so we can make the journey to the lost city and who knows how long that will take. We don’t have any cash whatsoever so you, my dear, are going to have to learn how to steal.”

“I’ll have you know that I’m a pretty successful pickpocket,” You told him and he raised a brow, “How do you think I got enough money to pay for my books?” You asked with a smirk when a look of realization crossed his face.

“It still doesn’t change the fact that we have to be careful but today is for exploring,” he told you.

----

By the end of the week you knew the city like the back of your hand, you and Yukhei took the time to explore as he taught you how to run through the streets, hopping fences and climbing walls with your bare hands. In return you taught him how to steal things while staying undetected like snatching apples from a street vendor or a few coins from the pocket of a merchant while they are distracted. You two learned to work like a well oiled team, while you managed to steal needle, thread, and buttons while somehow Yukhei managed to steel multiple yards of fabric to make clothes with. You stole other necessities like a portable gas stove and a few pots and pans, there was no exact location of the lost city and you had no idea how long it would take you to get there or what was there. Over the past few days you had noticed more and more patrols and guards arriving in the city to the point where you couldn’t walk a block without seeing a soldier which made you finally decide to leave the city.

----

Your boots slapped against the cobblestones as you ran through the streets, you packed your bags during the day and made all the preparations so you could leave. You had chosen to leave around three am since most of the guards are usually out partying or getting drunk even if they are on duty. You had mapped your escape a few days and advance and practiced everyday until you were sure you could do it in your sleep as you slipped around a corner and away from the searchlight. You had to travel through the end of the military district to get to the wall where you could climb over and both you and Yukhei were on edge as you dodged past patrols and searchlights, you were almost as the edge when in a moment of stupidity you ran straight into a searchlight. Sirens had immediately gone off and Yukhei grabbed your hand as you were frozen in place he dragged you into an alley to buy you some time to plan your next move.

“Y/n, stay with me,” Yukhei exclaimed as he slapped your face to get your attention, “this is the real deal, they know where we are and they’re going to have guns so you need to be careful and whatever you do don’t come back for me, ok?”

You stayed mute and nodded your head before he pulled you to your feet.

“No regrets, right?” He laughed with a forced smile. You nodded and followed him as you took of running, you could hear the rumble of vehicles and the firing of guns as you ran between the maze of buildings, backtracking and changing your path when there were too many soldiers or a dead end. You scrambled over the edge of the wall and yanked your bag back over with you.

“Yukhei come on!” You screamed when he didn’t follow immediately after, you scrambled back up and held yourself so you could see him peeking his own head over.

“Y/n, I’ll draw them away, you have to keep going,” He rushed out.

“But-” “No you have to keep going or they’ll catch you, ok?” He said before turning his head back around down the street and the sounds of gunshots which were getting closer and closer, “I’ll meet you by the tree where we first left the train but if I’m not there by dawn you leave without me, alright?”

You could see the terror in his eyes as they darted around and you stayed frozen like a statue.

“Alright?” He demanded and you forced yourself to nod as you just stared at him.

“I love you,” You whispered before he could turn around and to your surprise he closed the distance between you lips and kissed you sweetly before breaking away and shouting, “Leave now!”

You listened to him and took off sprinting with tears in your eyes as it took all your willpower not on turn back towards the gunshots.

----

You waited for an hour after dawn even though Yukhei told you to leave, you had been crying for the past three hours until all your tears had dried up and you were just waiting as your mind drifted to all the worst possible out comes. You were about to get up and leave after you convinced yourself he wasn't coming before you heard a rustling in the bushes and whipped around only to burst out into ugly sobs when Yukhei stumbled into the small clearing.

“Yukhei!” You called out before he came and collapsed into your arms.

Oh moth me, shall we lamp?

What ever you do hide your MC lamp if you have one because they’ll either try to break into your house for MC or will be summoned by MC lamp

Nature Trail to Hell Arc IV: Megamart of Darkness (2)

Chapter 2: They Paved Paradise…

           Honestly, I didn’t know what I expected paradise to be. Back in those days, the word made me think of one of two things: sitting under a blanket all day with my video games or those scented candles Mom always got for the bathroom.

A dinky little stock pond filled so high with trout their fins were breaking the surface was the last thing I would have thought of.

           Dinky or not, though, if I just sat there it was going to be my grave, and I acted accordingly: by kicking and screaming until I got what I wanted. Like the puppy dog eyes, I figured that if they worked on my parents, they’d work on these waddly little buggers. But natural selection must have been kind to those bird brains, because they did not relent in the slightest! It was like all the sympathy had been bred out of them over generations, and the rest was squashed by some rigorous training program. Heck, they seemed to work even faster after hearing me pout.

           There was a sudden feeling of lightness as they launched my climber into the air, followed by a splash as it slapped smack dab in the middle of the pond, my body still facing skyward. The sun was shining brightly that day; right in my eyes like it was taunting me.

           Then I began to sink. It was slow at first, like quicksand (I figure it was because of all the trout buoying me) but before long the sun was blotted out by a fifteen mile cloud of shimmering fish scales. By the time I’d sunk ten feet, it might as well have been night. My screaming got real bad after that, seeing how I couldn’t die and was probably going to spend the rest of eternity with my lungs caved in. And honest, I had no idea exactly how this equaled redemption. All I could do was let my last few bubbles of oxygen bounce right out of my mouth to the surface.

“Be calm, child.”

I didn’t know whose voice I heard, but it was like a loud, low gong going off in my noggin. Would have asked who was making it, if the source wasn’t already ten steps ahead.

“I’m simply here to help, and for any duress you may have experienced, I apologize. My followers can be quite… zealous, shall we say. Live action roleplaying is not a sport for those soft of spirit.”

Just like that, the trout started fleeing to the edge of the pond, letting enough sun in for me to see the bottom. I instantly wished they hadn’t. Because right in the direction I was heading came a dark walking tsunami of a beast with eyes like embers and teeth like steak knives.

I shut my eyes as the water started rushing around me.

                                                            .   .   .

When I finally got the courage to unseal my peepers, I realized it had all been a dream. Or had it? I was still at the stock pond, only I was on the grass next to it. Most importantly, I was free! Releif didn’t last long, though. Right next to me I could see the cat climber, ripped to shreds.

“Are you awake?”

The Voice!

I turned my head back and forth, trying to see where the voice had come from. It was night out, the only light coming from a rickety old streetlamp hanging over the pond. I would have wondered about the design choices that made the owners of Paradise decide to put a lamp there of all places, but frankly, I was more startled by the voice. There was something ancient, primal about it. Not in the pretentious way the Elves spoke, but something like rumbling thunder. Or an earthquake.

“Pardon me, but I asked, are you awake?”

Whoever was talking to me, they spoke in the dinosaur tongue. And not the street slang version I’d spoken in Hell. The real stuff.  Think listening to someone talk in an Italian accent, then hearing a real Italian. Like that.

So there I was, sitting in a little island of light, surrounded by darkness, listening to a faceless voice with only a few moths for company. It was a scene straight out of those stranger danger videos they made us watch back in 1st grade, right before little Georgie got dragged into the sewers by some faceless evil for believing a sewer might have delicious lollipops. Of course, besides the creeping dread of never finding out what exactly did happen to little Georgie, I couldn’t remember a single piece of advice from that stupid film, other than run, which clearly wasn’t an option given how dark it was.

Instead, I curled up like a snail on the grass. It was my only defense.

“I do not wish to harm you, Watterson Tostig. I only want to talk.”

A pair of eyes glowed like fire in the darkness, followed by the sound of wet feet on grass, coming closer, closer…

I screamed. It honked back.

Then there was… gasping? Wheezing?

“Sweet Osiris, child, you nearly gave me a heart attack!”

           Barely heard it, though, as it was still dark and I was still scared and I was hollering my head off. Kept at it, too, for a good ten seconds before I was aware I was still alive, so whoever was talking to me must have some sense of mercy. All slow-like, with that creeping sense of dread you get at a good horror film, I opened my eyes.

           A goose. The thing I’d been scared of this whole time was a freakin’ GOOSE! Or at least the basic shape of one. Instead of the brown body and white belly of the other geese, this guy had a grey body with a black and white streak on the wing. Neck was different, too. Grey, not black, with a pink bill and a reddish brown mask over the eyes. Oh, and their tongue was covered in spikes.  

The sight of that made me scream again.

The bird sighed, calming my nerves a tad. I breathed a sigh of relief, knowing that if he wanted to eat me, he’d have done so by now.

“Indeed, child. But I am no mere waterfowl: please, call me Bokrug.”

“Well, uh, thanks for saving me, Bokrug.” Most of my fear evaporated, replaced with relief I wasn’t going to be eaten alive.

“Many thanks to you as well, child, for most who have gazed upon my wretched form abscond into the night. Yet you have stayed. Would you, by chance, like to talk?”

Now imagine you’re a kid who had a goose walk up to him in the middle of the night, claiming to have saved your life. What would you do?

Long story short, I was there with Bokrug until sunrise.

We talked about… well I don’t remember this part too clear. Keep in mind I was still a ten year old who, at the time, was half asleep from exhaustion. Just that Bokrug had a lot of questions about how the world has changed in the last sixty years (apparently Elves gave him more ‘sacrifices’ than he’d ever need, but not one of the pretentious buggers could be bothered to pitch him a newspaper every once in a while).

“Once more, I would like to apologize for the behaviors of my… followers.” He sigh-honked the last part. “They have this odd habit of always sacrificing enemies to me, despite me being a pescitarian.”

“Pesci- What?”

“I eat fish.”

“Oh.”

“Watterson, I am truly grateful for your company, but before you continue on your journey back to the wretched Camp Sham (which I am sure is a long and arduous quest) there is a favor I would like to ask of you. You see, I cannot leave this pond, as I am a spirit bound to my bones. Bones residing at the bottom of this very stock pond.”

I imagined how pruned Bokrug’s feathers must have been after sixty years trapped in that dinky little fishing hole. It was not a pretty sight.

“But it was not always this way. Once, we Wood Elves lived in Paradise, usurped by a most befouled evil. My brethren shall explain in greater detail. Their skills of exposition far exceed my own. And there will be apologies, of course.”

Sure enough, I could see the little punks with their shopping carts hiding in the woods, beaks opened in shock as I made small talk with their God.

“Hey Bokrug?”

“Yes?”

“You’re not from here, are you? ‘Cause I’ve seen a lot of geese, but one with a little bandit mask over their eyes.”

“That, my child, is a story that began long ago, in a mystical land called Africa-“

“On second thought, nevermind. If it’s’ anything like the Africa stories Mom tells me, it’ll just make me feel bad about not finishing my broccoli.”

Bokrug let out a disgruntled snort as his white-cheeked worshippers waddled out from their hiding spots in the trees.

Underearth: Book 5 - Chapter 4

The remainder of the trip through the Citadel was quiet for the most part, especially between Frisk and Chara, who didn't speak a word to one-another whatsoever. Along the way, Frisk had Toriel stop at the spider bake sale and get him a donut. Once claimed, they progressed onward through the last of the area, arriving at Toriel's house.

"Do you smell that?" Toriel asked soon after they entered. "Surprise! It's a butterscotch-cinnamon pie."

Chara's interests were perked at these words, though Frisk was too busy taking in the aroma to notice.

"I thought we could celebrate your arrival. I want you to have a nice time living here. So I will hold off on snail pie for tonight. Here, I have another surprise for you."

Toriel led Frisk into a nearby hallway off the foyer, stopping at the first door. "Here it is." she said. "A room of your own. I hope you like it!"

Frisk reached down and opened the door. Immediately, Chara flew through.

"Thank you." Frisk said.

"You are most certainly welcome. If you need me, I will be in the living room." Toriel then walked off.

Chara fluttered around the room, taking everything in, before coming to a stop in front of a drawing of a flower.

Frisk simply walked over to the bed and took a seat on it. The two remained that way, in silence, for a few minutes, before Frisk finally decided to break the ice.

"Lovely place, huh?" he asked.

Chara looked over at him, her eyes appearing disinterested.

Nice going, moron.

"Yes... It is." she eventually said before looking back to the drawing. "My first clear memories of Hades happened here, in this very room. Right on that bed you now sit on."

Frisk looked down at the bed, his memories shifting to that... dream? he had some time ago.

"Chrysanthe..." Frisk mumbled, still looking at the bed.

Chara's gaze shot straight at Frisk. "Where did you hear that word?" she demanded.

Frisk looked up, shocked at her sudden tone. "I, er, I remember hearing it in a... a dream I had when I slept here a few Worlds back. Chrysanthe was a word spoken, alongside..."

"Charaktiras." Chara finished.

"Yeah."

Chara floated over to the lamp in the corner. "I'm sorry I snapped like I did... It's just that, it's been a long time since I... since I heard my name spoken."

"Your... your name?"

"Yes. 'Chara' was a nickname given to me by Asriel. My real name is Chrysanthe. Named after my mother's favorite flower." she then gestured to the drawing.

Frisk stood up and looked at the drawing. It was of a golden flower; like those Frisk had fallen on, and those in various places within the Underground.

"It's beautiful..." Frisk said.

"Yes... yes it is."

Another few minutes of silence passed them by.

"So, was this your room while you lived down here?" Frisk asked.

"Yes. I shared it with Asriel. Though when we left Home for New Home, a great palace was built, and that was where I dwelled after."

"I see."

Frisk walked back over to the bed and removed his boots. Chara looked over at him curiously.

"Aren't you going to continue to Snowdin?" she asked.

"Nah. Not right now, at least." Frisk slipped under the bed covers and closed his eyes, quickly falling asleep.

Chara watched as Frisk quickly fell under Hypnos's spell. Once he was asleep, Chara left the room, heading off to explore the house. Within the kitchen, Toriel prepared the butterscotch-cinnamon pie for eating, cutting a slice for Frisk and setting it on a plate that she took and placed on the nightstand beside his bed.

With that task complete, Toriel turned off the lamp and went to the living room.

"And so here we are..." a soft, slow, deep voice echoed throughout the room.

Chara looked around. Nothing, the room was far too dark to see anything clearly.

"Frisk!" she hissed.

No response.

"There you lie, blissfully unaware of what you have done on the greater stage. The horrors unleashed by your determination. You blindly think yourself free from the consequences of your actions; as another I have watched. Despite this, the gluttonous Eaters of Pain and the arrogant beasts of Chaos make plans because of you. The great moths entranced by the flame you have lit."

A pencil scratching against a paper took the scene as the darkness finished speaking.

"Sleep well, young Frisk. Your peace is soon at an end."

The greater darkness lifted, and Chara could once again see her surroundings.

"FRISK!!!" she shouted.

Frisk bolted upright, alert by Chara's distressful voice.

"What!?" he said, somewhat slurred with sleep. Looking around, he found Chara floating near the door, a deeply frightened look on her face. "What is it? What's wrong?"

"Do you normally have Skias speak to you when you sleep?" she asked.

"Skias?"

Something catching her eye, Chara pointed to the nightstand. Looking over, Frisk saw a paper sitting beside the pie. Scribbled on the paper were two words, both large and sketchy.

SLEEP WELL

"Wh—Who wrote this?" Frisk asked, a cold chill rising through his spine. "It was Toriel, right?"

"Toriel only brought in the pie. After she left, a great darkness; perhaps Erebus himself, appeared and spoke at you."

Frisk's mind flowed back a few Worlds, when a great darkness had enveloped him and spoke to him.

"What did it say?" he asked.

Chara recounted what the darkness said. Frisk shuttered when she finished.

"Do you know who the 'Eaters of Pain' and the 'beasts of Chaos' are?" he then asked.

Chara shook her head.

"I see..."

Frisk grabbed the pie from the table and began eating it. Once finished, he put his boots back on and got off the bed.

"So, shall we continue to Snowdin?"

"Sure."

Frisk turned to the wardrobe and opened it, grabbing the jacket and the bag from within. Stashing the donut in the bag, Frisk exited the room and walked to the foyer.

Approaching the stairs, Chara spoke up once again.

"What about the wooden knife nearby?" she asked.

Frisk gave her an odd look. "What about it?"

"Shouldn't you go grab it?"

"Why?"

"Non-warriors are less likely to attack when they're attacking someone who is armed. You wouldn't have to draw it, but just having the knife would keep attackers at bay."

Frisk chuckled a bit. "Yeah sure, why not."

Backtracking out of Toriel's home, Frisk walked to the balcony with the great cityscape view. The Helian Photon Gates had opened, and the light of Helios Station poured out upon the entire Underground.

"Over here." Chara called, pointing out the wooden knife.

"Thanks." Frisk grabbed the knife and stored it on the side of the bag. He then returned to Toriel's home.

"Welcome back, my child." Toriel said, walking through the foyer, when Frisk returned.

"Oh, hey mom." Frisk said. "Would you mind too heavily if I headed off to Snowdin?"

Toriel stopped walking.

"I'd just really like to get home, is all."

"This is your home now." Toriel said.

"It can't be that hard to leave, right? I'm sure I could find my way out if I left the Citadel. Could you point me to the exit?"

Toriel stood there, silent, for a few more seconds. "I have to do something. Stay here." she said, now walking down the stairs at the back of the foyer.

"Now you have done it." Chara said.

"Relax. All part of the plan." Frisk said, climbing down the stairs himself.

The hallway below was of the same purple as the majority of the Citadel. Toriel walked down it, making haste towards an unseen destination.

"Mom, wait up!" Frisk called.

Toriel turned a corner up ahead. Frisk quickly turned it soon after, finding Toriel had halted in front of a door.

"You wish to know how to return 'home', do you not?" she asked.

"Yes, that is what I asked."

Toriel gestured to the door. "Beyond this door is the end of the Citadel. The one way exit to the rest of the Underground." Toriel paused for a breath. "I am going to destroy it. No one will ever be able to leave again. Now be a good child and go upstairs."

"Not a chance. I can't let you destroy the way out."

"Every Human that falls down here meets the same fate. I have seen it again and again. They come. They leave. They die. You naive child... if you leave the Citadel, they... Asgore... will kill you. I am only protecting you, do you understand? Now go to your room."

"Asgore wouldn't stand a chance against me. Let me through."

"Do not try to stop me. This if your final warning."

"Let me through."

Toriel turned to face Frisk. "You want to leave so badly? Hmph. You are just like the others. There is only one solution to this. Prove yourself... Prove to me you are strong enough to survive."

Orange sparks flew around Frisk as a torrent of flame shot from him, engulfing the walls in flame.

Toriel stepped backwards, impressed by the spell cast and his level of control. She then ignited her own arms, launching a great wall of flame at Frisk, who simply summoned a shield and blocked the flame.

"You have great skill with magic, despite your tender age." Toriel said. "I... I believe you are indeed strong enough to survive."

Whoa, that was fast.

"You sure?"

Toriel frowned, extinguishing her arms. "I know you want to go home, but... must you go? We can have a good life here."

"I have no doubt, but I'm sorry... being trapped down here, it's claustrophobic. I'm... sure you understand."

Toriel slowly nodded.

Frisk extinguished the flames that coated the walls and approached Toriel, offering a hug. Toriel knelt down and accepted it.

"When you leave..." Toriel said as they embraced. "Please do not come back. I hope you understand. Goodbye, my child." she then let go of Frisk, stood up, and walked back up the hallway.

Frisk continued through the door ahead. Looking at the hallway beyond as he walked, small slits in the walls and holes in the ceiling caught his attention once more.

"Hey Chara." he said.

"What?"

"What are these holes?"

Chara looked at the holes within the hall. "Oh, those are fonosisme," she pointed to the holes in the wall, "and those are fonope." she pointed to the holes in the ceiling.

"Alright, what are they for?"

"Killing those within this hall. They're defensive features. This hallway itself is what is called a fonozone."

"Why?"

Chara looked aghast. "To prevent incursion." she said. "The Citadel is a great curtain that was built by Monsters absolutely consumed by terror. Its entire purpose is to protect those within, like Mount Teichos."

At this point, Frisk reached the end of the hallway, and entered the final chamber. Before he could continue his conversation with Chara, however, a familiar voice called to him.

"Howdy!" Flowey said. "Tell me something, Human. When did you get chummy with Calibri?"

Frisk looked down at Flowey with contempt, ignoring the question asked.

"Alright, well here's a better question. How many times have we 'first' met?"

"Oh, just a few times."

Flowey laughed a bit. "It always seems like just a few times."

"What do you want?"

"Oh, I'm sure you already know the answer to that question. I'd better not repeat myself. Be seeing you around, Human." Flowey retreated into the ground.

Frisk heaved a heavy sigh, then heaved the Citadel door open, exiting into Snowdin.

"Hey Chara," Frisk said, stepping through the snow that now surrounded him. "if the Citadel is supposed to be a protective fortress for all Monster-kind, why is the door to leave so small?"

"That door you just came through is the back-door, is why. The main gate is on the other side, and is much larger."

"The other side?"

"Over near New Home, at least the section the Palace was in."

"I see. Why have a back-door in the first place?"

"So castle inhabitants could flee in the event of invasion. An invading army would have great difficulty breaking through here, and would have a harder time inside. This tower is isolated from the rest of the Citadel, and all doorways to the City are hidden. You saw the fonozone within as well. That long hallway would act as a serious obstacle to bypass. The sharp turns and tight spaces within also make perfect positions to hold off attackers. Every part of the Citadel, especially the Royal Watchtower, was built in such a way to make invasion nigh impossible. And that's just in case an attacking force even finds it."

"Alright. I think I understand."

"Understand what?" Sans said from behind Frisk.

Frisk jumped upon hearing Sans's voice.

"What's the matter kiddo, it looks like you've seen a ghost. Sounds like you're talking to one, too."

"Can you not?" Frisk asked.

"Not what? Be absolutely hilarious? Sorry bud, no-can-do."

"Nevermind."

Calibri, who'd jumped from one of the many tall, thin trees around them, landed in some snow nearby. "Sup Frisk." he said upon regaining his posture.

"Not much. Just learning stuff about the Citadel from Chara before Sans popped by."

"Oh? Have you gotten to the part about how it's strikingly similar in design and defensive capability to that of a medieval European castle, or how the Monsters somehow managed to find all the stone to build it in less than a week?"

"Um, no. Why?"

"No reason. Just some strange stuff regarding it that I found interesting."

"I see."

Calibri slapped his hands together. "So," he said, "I'm going to Grillby's. Anybody wanna come with?"

"Sounds like fun." Sans said. "Whaddya say, kiddo?"

"Yeah sure."

A shrill, unintelligible noise sounded from further in the forest.

"Ah, right on time. Let's go get Papyrus and bring him with." Calibri said.

"You sure that's a good idea?" Sans asked.

"I don't see why it wouldn't be. Once he shows up just up here, we tell him that a Human has been located, and then the five of us can have a jolly good time before reaching Snowdin."

"Sounds great, let's go."

Calibri, Frisk, and Sans all crossed the bridge. Ahead, Papyrus walked full speed towards them.

"Sup bro?" Sans asked. "We were just taking the Human to Grillby's. Wanna come?"

"NO SANS, I DON'T HAVE TIME TO SLA— WAIT, DID YOU JUST SAY YOU FOUND A HUMAN!?!"

"Yup."

"REALLY!?!? WOWIE!!! GUESS I SHALL!!"

The four then started making their way deeper into the forest, Chara following close behind. The trip was short, especially with Sans telling the Canine Unit to go on break when their warriors were encountered. The trip would occasionally be somewhat elongated, however, when passing over a few of puzzle, which Papyrus insisted on putting Frisk through. When the group finally did reach Grillby's, Frisk hurried inside and flopped onto the booth near the entrance.

"H-h-h-hiya!" a rabbit in the opposite booth said before planting her face back onto the table.

"I'm sure she won't mind us joining her." Calibri said as Sans used gravity magic to move her to the wall-side of the booth. Those two then took a seat in the booth, with Papyrus sitting down next to Frisk.

"HOW CAN YOU TOLERATE ALL THIS GREASE, HUMAN?" Papyrus asked.

"Very carefully."

Grillby approached the booth table.

"Hey Grillby." Sans said. "Give us just a minute."

"We'll take three orders of fries." Calibri said. "That's it."

Grillby wrote on a notebook then walked off, into the back room.

"Fries?" Sans asked.

"Yeah, it's what Frisk ordered with you in the first few Runs. It's also what I'd've gotten, and you'd eat anything from here. Papyrus isn't getting anything."

"Wow, stalker much." Frisk said.

"Pays to have all the information."

Grillby returned from the back room with a small platter holding three bags of fries.

"Here comes the grub." Sans said, pulling a bottle of ketchup from an internal pocket. "Anybody want some ketchup?"

"I'll pass." Calibri said.

"Nah."

"More for me." Sans said, unscrewing the cap and chugging the bottle. Once finished, he replaced the cap and stashed the bottle back in his jacket.

Frisk ate a few fries before looking up at Calibri.

"So Calibri," he said, "I think I know the answer, but what's a 'Run'?"

"A Run through the Underground in a single continuous setting. It's the span of time between each RESET."

"Ah, okay. I know those better as Worlds."

"Worlds?"

"Yeah, it's what the Timepiece calls them."

"Interesting. May we... see the Timepiece?"

Frisk looked thoughtfully down at his pocket.

"GO AHEAD. THEY CANNOT DO ANYTHING." the Timepiece said.

Frisk reached down and pulled the pocketwatch from his pocket, placing it down on the table.

"Fascinating..." Calibri said, picking it up and looking at it. "Sans, have you ever seen this decal before?"

Sans looked at the front. "Hmm... it... it seems familiar, but I can't place why."

"I'm getting the same feeling..."

"What's going on?" Frisk asked.

Calibri looked from the pocketwatch to Frisk. "It's probably nothing." he said, handing it back. "So that's the device Flowey used, huh."

"Seems that way."

"WHO'S FLOWEY?" Papyrus asked.

"Talking flower, you've probably met him, Papyrus. Charming fellow." Calibri answered.

"OH, I KNOW OF A TALKING FLOWER! HE'S MY BEST FRIEND!"

"Yup, so I've heard."

The group went back to eating for the most part for a minute.

"I, ER, HATE TO BE THE ONE TO ASK THIS," Papyrus said, "BUT ARE WE EVER GOING TO, YOU KNOW, ACTUALLY CAPTURE THE HUMAN?"

"What? We already did." Calibri said.

"WE DID?"

"Yeah, he's right here, isn't he? All you need to do now is take him to Undyne so she can kill him and take his SOUL."

"BUT, UH, I KNOW WE NEED THEIR SOUL, BUT ISN'T THERE A WAY TO GET IT THAT'S LESS... MURDERY?"

"Nope, sorry. Can't make an omelet without breaking a few eggs and all that."

"Actually—"

"Sans, please don't open wormholes inside the eggs again. You know what happened last time, we don't need a repeat."

Sans laughed nervously. "Yeah, alright."

"Why, what happened?" Frisk asked.

"Nothing." both Calibri and Sans said at the same time.

"Alright then, keep your secrets."

Frisk finished off the last of his fries.

"Say, Papyrus. Since you seem to be great friends with the Human now, why not take him to see Undyne?" Calibri suggested.

"WHEN DID I BECOME GREAT FRIENDS WITH THE HUMAN?"

"Right now. We're all hanging out, aren't we?"

"THAT IS TRUE, BUT ISN'T 'HANGING OUT' SUPPOSED TO BE ONE-ON-ONE, LIKE TRAINING?"

"It can be, but it can also be just like this."

"I SEE. AHEM. HUMAN!" Papyrus said. "WOULD YOU LIKE TO GO MEET MY BOSS, UNDYNE?"

"Sure. Sounds like a party."

"WOWIE! THEN LET'S GO!!"

Frisk and Papyrus slid out of the booth and, unceremoniously, exited Grillby's.

"THIS WAY, HUMAN." Papyrus led.

Frisk and Papyrus continued through Snowdin, approaching the Waterfall Caves. Within, the light of Helios grew dim, and the glowing crystals within the walls took over the heavy lifting in guiding entities through the darkness.

"Good luck, you two." Sans said from his station when they reached it.

"THANKS, SANS. KEEP UP THE GOOD WORK!"

The two advanced deeper in. Ahead, one of the strange boxes came into view near a river.

"Oh, Frisk. The gauntlets." Chara said.

That's right. "Hey Papyrus, gimme just a second, would you?"

"OF COURSE."

Frisk opened the box and pulled the gauntlets, which still stood the test of time, from it. Immediately, Frisk put them on.

"WOWIE, UNDYNE WOULD LIKE SOMETHING LIKE THAT. YOU CERTAINLY KNOW HOW TO PREPARE YOURSELF."

Frisk and Papyrus then crossed the river, Papyrus wading through it, with Frisk just freezing pillars of ice through to the bottom, walking on the surface.

"AHEAD IS WHERE I NORMALLY MEET UP WITH UNDYNE. IF, UH, YOU COULD JUST WAIT HERE, I'LL TRY AND... TALK TO HER."

Papyrus then went on ahead. Frisk, already knowing how it all was going to turn out, waited just a bit before advancing himself.

Emergence : Return to Sequence

Previous First posting First of this book Next

A Cold Autumn

By Ivan Bunin 

Translated by David Richards

In June of that year he was staying with us on the estate. He'd always been considered one of us, as his late father had been a friend and neighbor of my father's. On the fifteenth of June Franz Ferdinand was killed in Sarajevo. On the morning of the sixteenth the newspapers were delivered from the post office. Father emerged from his study carrying a Moscow evening paper and entered the dining-room, where he, Mama and I were still sitting at the table, and said:    'Well, my friends, it's war! The Austrian Crown Prince has been killed in Sarajevo. It's war!'    On St Peter's Day a crowd of visitors gathered at the house -- it was father's name-day -- and over dinner our engagement was announced. But on the nineteenth of July Germany declared war on Russia.    In September he came to us for just twenty-four hours, to say goodbye before going off to the front. (Everyone at that time thought that the war would soon be over, and our wedding had been postponed till the spring.) So this was our last evening together. After supper the servants brought in the samovar as usual and as he glanced at the windows which were steamed up from its heat, father said:    'What an astonishingly early and cold autumn!'    We sat quietly that evening, only occasionally exchanging the odd insignificant word, hiding our innermost thoughts and feelings with exaggerated calm. It was with the same affected simplicity that father had made his remark about the autumn. I went up the door into the balcony and wiped the glass with a cloth: out in the garden the pure icy stars were sparkling with a sharp brilliance against the black sky. Father was smoking, leaning back on his armchair and absently gazing at the hot lamp suspended over the table; by its light Mama, in her spectacles, was carefully sewing a little silk bag -- we knew what it was for -- and the scene was both touching and chilling.    Father asked:    'So, you still want to set off in the morning rather than after lunch?'    'Yes, if I may, in the morning,' he answered. 'It's very sad, but I still haven't managed to see to everything at home.'    Father let out a slight sigh:    'Well, as you wish, dear boy. Only in that case it's time Mama and I went to bed; we certainly don't want to miss seeing you off tomorrow…'    Mama stood up and made the sign of the cross over her son to be; he bent down and kissed her hand, and then father's. Left alone, we lingered in the dining-room; I decided to set out a game of patience, while he paced from one corner of the room to another. Then suddenly he asked:    'Shall we go for a little walk?'    My heart was growing heavier and heavier, and I answered indifferently:    'All right.'    As he put on his coat in the entrance hall he was still deep in thought, and then with a sweet smile he suddenly recited some lines from Fet:

   'What a cold autumn!    Put on your bonnet and shawl…'

   'I don't have a bonnet,' I said. 'But how does it go on?'    'I don't remember. Something like:

   'Look -- through the darkening pine trees    A fire is arising…'

   'What fire?'    'The rising moon, of course. There's a certain autumnal, rustic charm to those lines: "Put on your bonnet and shawl." That's our grandfathers' and grandmothers' time…Oh, my God, my God!'    'What is it?'    'Nothing, dearest love. But I do feel sad. Sad, but contented. I love you very, very much…'    We put out coats on, went through the dining room out onto the balcony and then down into the garden. At first it was so dark I held onto his sleeve. Then the black boughs which were sprinkled with metallically brilliant stars began to stand out against the lightening sky. Stopping for a moment, he turned to face the house:    'Look how the windows are shining in a special autumn way. I shall remember this evening as long as I live.'    I looked at the windows, as he embraced me in my Swiss cloak. I brushed my mohair scarf away from my face and tilted my head back slightly so he could kiss me. When he'd kissed me he looked into my face.    'How your eyes sparkle,' he said. 'Aren't you cold? The air's quite wintry. If I'm killed, you won't forget me straightaway?'    I found myself thinking: 'Suppose he really is killed? Surely there won't come a time when I'll forget him -- though in the end we do forget everything…'    And frightened by my own thought, I answered hurriedly:    'Don't talk like that. I wouldn't survive your death.'    After a short pause he pronounced slowly:    'Anyway, if I am killed, I'll wait for you over there. You live, be happy for a while in the world, and then come to me.'    I burst into tears…    In the morning he set off. Round his neck Mama hung that fateful little bag she'd been sewing the previous evening -- it contained a small golden icon which had been carried to war by both her father and her grandfather -- and we made the sign of the cross over him with nervously jerky despair. Watching him go, we stood on the porch in that state of stupefaction always experienced when saying farewell to someone before a long separation, and all we felt was the astonishing incongruity between ourselves and the joyful, sunny morning around us with its with its hoar-frost sparkling on the grass. We stood there for awhile and then went back into the house. I walked through the rooms with my hands behind my back, not knowing what to do with myself, whether I should sob or sing at the top of my voice…    He was killed -- what a strange word! -- a month later, in Galicia. And since then a whole thirty years have passed. And I've experienced so much through those years which seem so long when you consider them carefully and go over in your memory all that magical, incomprehensible thing called the past which neither the heart nor the mind can grasp. In the spring of 1918, by which time my father and mother were both dead, I was living in Moscow, in the cellar of a house belonging to a woman trading on the Smolensk market who regularly mocked me with her 'Well, your excellency, how are your circumstances?' I engaged in trade myself and, like many others at that time, I sold to soldiers in Caucasian fur caps and unbuttoned greatcoats some of the things I still had -- a ring, a little cross, a moth-eaten fur collar -- and then one day while trading on the corner of the Arbat and the Smolensk market I met a man with a rare beautiful soul, an elderly retired soldier; we soon got married and in April I went off with him to Yekaterinodar. It took almost two weeks to get there with him and his nephew, a boy of seventeen who was trying to make his way to the Volunteers -- I disguised as a peasant-woman in bast shoes, he in a worn Cossack coat and with a newly-grown black and silver beard -- and then we spent over two years on the Don and in the Kuban. In the winter, during the hurricane, we set sail from Novorssiysk for Turkey with a huge crowd of other refugees, and on the way, at sea, my husband died of typhus. After that, of all my nearest and dearest only three remained in the whole world -- my husband's nephew, the latter's wife and their little girl, a child of seven months. But soon after this the nephew sailed off with his wife for the Crimea to join up with Wrangel, leaving the child on my hands. There they too disappeared without trace. And then I lived for a long time in Constantinople, earning a living for myself and the child by back-breaking manual labor. Then, like so many others, I wandered the world with her -- Bulgaria, Serbia, Bohemia, Belgium, Paris, Nice… The little girl grew up long ago; she stayed in Paris and became a model Frenchwoman, very pretty and completely indifferent to me; she used to work in a confectioner's near the Madeleine, using her manicured hands with their silver fingernails to wrap up boxes in satin paper and gold string; and I lived, and am still living in Nice on what God provides… I saw Nice for the first time in 1912 -- and could never have imagined in those happy days what the city would one day become for me!    So I did survive his death, even though I once impetuously said I wouldn't. But when I recall everything I've experienced since that time, I always ask myself: 'What, when all this is said and done, has there been in my life?' And I answer: 'Only that cold autumn evening.' Did it ever exist? Yes, it did. And that is all there has been in my life. All the rest has been a useless dream. But I believe, I do ardently believe that somewhere over there he is waiting for me -- with the same love and the same youthfulness as on that evening. 'You live, be happy for a while in the world, and then come to me…' I have lived, I have been happy for a while, and now, quite soon, I'll come.

   3 May 1944

When I pretended.

Black coffee; spin it gentle, cue cream heaven algorithm, skinny dipping dollar store manicure, brewing tight curls, hubble in a cup. My little double shot whirl-pool, where's my double hot whirl-pool? I hate this, I want to die. Bossy with the world cuz I'm a bad bitch. Broke my heel, he stained my world, they stained my world, I stain peoples worlds everyday, what does this mean? I don't know. Does it matter? Always and forever, yeah, I'll add in beeper codes, it'll be cryptic and 90. Not 90's, or the 1990's, or Portland, or MC Hammer. I'll buy my neighborhood. I'll buy the houses and I'll buy the dogs and cats. Army of dogs and cats complete with barracks and oppressed natives. Heed my words, crumbs of potato chips at the bottom of the bag, the sticky in the cup holder of the Corolla, hair creatures plugging up my brain. I want warm apple pie and french vanilla ice cream. I want vanilla pie and warm apple cream. "I want nothing" is a zero. To "want" is something. I changed my mind. Warm Vanilla cream, slowly focusing eyes, Tibetan prose sublimation event; words transcend to light. $67.36 for a plastic bag, the morning after pill, and a coke. He bought me a scratch off to cheer a girl up. Black coffee, a girls only friend. Smoke it like you're french god damn, "god damn" he said. Sleep me away Romeo. Buy me a small dog and pay my car insurance. You're ok, you're kind of old, kind of Indian, and I'm terrified of what might lie behind the thickness of your beard. You buy me drinks honey... I love you. What does Tabitha want to be when she grows up? I'm a bank robber. Your house is burning. The house, it's on fire, there's still time, go, go! Bubble baths, fresh Clementines, I smell of fire, the radio is personal and the antenna speaks italian. It feels like 22 years of falling asleep. Nightmares. Electric ab stimulators for fat hearts and big eyes. Through squinted eyes, television three after midnight. Silk slip. Glass of white, free box, basic. Magic lamp, three wishes, cute drunk boy, bag of Andy Capp's hot fries, and something numb, a housewife special, I'll never be, so it's obvious what I need. "No Ammonia." in bad english say's Penelope; Revlon. "I'll put you to bed early!" my response to him saying that he's been going to bed progressively earlier since we started dating. It's only been two months, I think. Do not disturb, I am writing! Do not disturb the bee hive, I am the soul eater. Killer Queen Bee. "Plato, just some old white guy." "Well he's dead now." "Ding dong the bitch is dead.". Hmm, I sometimes wonder...Is the gas station clerk an alien, like a real alien, with purple skin. Tiny alien inside giant Arabic model mechanical human giving me change for cigarettes. Or is it possible that Oprah Winfrey is over six hundred years old? Why does the thought of washing other peoples hands bring me closer to my soul? Tiger print booty shorts and Margaritas in plastic cups! I sculpt Alabaster stone with my eyes. Get what you want before somebody else eats it all up. Jelly donuts haunting me. My fingers smell like cigarettes. I woke up mean and aiming a hand gun at the piano. HE woke up, taunted the cats, something about the yawning claw cat club, stole a book on Tibet from my roommate, rambled about how he needed to "escape" for coffee and sustenance, I would have struck him dead if it wasn't for his dashing good looks. I pointed my gun at his piano playing while he gathered free drugs on the porch and danced around like an asshole. Floating raft of kerosene and red pumps. Flaming arrow by Chanel plucked from Paris. Rose petals are contagious. It's no coincidence that the dark chocolate's, like the dark arts, across the aisle from lipstick and glitter nail polish. I reek of fire. I reek of fire. I reek of fire. I wish I had a time machine so I could go back and see that one movie for the first time in that one theatre that one time when I was somewhere around the age of you know... eleven. I need a big bow on my head that reads "NO". Maybe I can get Herpes and join one of those dating sites where everyone has Herpes. Live in a circus tent with a clown named Bongo sipping Mai thais under the flaming hoop, slap a tiger in the face, let'em keep his clown shoes on when we... start a nice little Herpa-A-Derp Partridge family. Tiffany lamps, Empty one-gallon gas cans, Full one-gallon ice cream cans, handful of stamps, rested writing hand, corded telephones stretching from room to room. The Operator is a spider. You'll trip your sister with the web you weave. Woopie, Wazooooo, I'm goin' to Vegas. Bank robber turned show girl, tonights news at eight. It's 4:14 AM the sun won't come up today. If dissatisfaction manifested physically, it would fill the air with grey and blinding ambient poison. If I had the power to manifest my emotions physically be warned for ye shall suffer one thousand years of blood shed and plague. I am Sludge, I have no remorse. A kitten today at Willard and Reynolds pet emporium lost 3 of it's 9 lives. Scientists believe that the clock is actually an ancient life form in a state of willful hibernation. If Sandra believes that I'll actually let her crash on my couch for "a little bit until I get my head straight"... "Mmmm yesss can I help you?" Black leather and red lanolin. Dead Cow, dead whale, inspirational. Dead bitch, white bitch, move bitch I'm next! I want this, I want that, I want THAT now! Trash, leave. Brief pause... I'm a dreamy whimsical sober and a Terminator II level drunk. Let's rock. Patience otherwise known as long suffering. I'm the girl in the corner playing madlib in my head with the cable TV trying to blend in. Surrounded by numb & weakened moths worshipping the dim & easy to reach lights. Getting weirder by the second. Can I come to your party and not have to talk? I'll smoke your cigarettes. Purple lightning Jeggings and Winnie the Pooh socks from the Party store bring happiness. Gas station chicken tenders and apple pies while the water soaks in. My elegant black gloves have never touched a steering wheel nor dare they dream of such sorted affair! Dare they dream! I dare them to dream. See where they'll end up? With the rats. Gold dipped Cheetos. Never-ending Po' boy. World wide oceanic light rail. Elevator to heaven for glass floor tours of earth. Oh I love my ugly boys. Two woman stand gossiping in the coffee room of Webber Electronics. One woman notices an itch near her wedding ring. Suddenly the woman, the room, the building, the streets and the piss, the hotdog hot air rising up from the sewers, the monarch butterfly in the dogs mouth, the America's funniest home videos over broccoli & cheese with the pork chops and the family they belong to, Poof. Cotton Candy. Big pink plumes firing like geysers from apocalyptic sink holes. Sky turns blood pink. Cotton candy fungus swallowing people alive. Everybody dead. I mean, nobodies really dead but these people looked really dead. Like really really really dead. Like "Fuck I'm dead." dead. I am a pit-bull terrier and you're fucking with the ultimate.  

Tyrion

They had warned him to dress warmly. Tyrion Lannister took them at their word. He was garbed in heavy quilted breeches and a woolen doublet, and over it all he had thrown the shadowskin cloak he had acquired in the Mountains of the Moon. The cloak was absurdly long, made for a man twice his height. When he was not ahorse, the only way to wear the thing was to wrap it around him several times, which made him look like a ball of striped fur.

Even so, he was glad he had listened. The chill in the long dank vault went bone deep. Timett had chosen to retreat back up to the cellar after a brief taste of the cold below. They were somewhere under the hill of Rhaenys, behind the Guildhall of the Alchemists. The damp stone walls were splotchy with nitre, and the only light came from the sealed iron-and-glass oil lamp that Hallyne the Pyromancer carried so gingerly.

Gingerly indeed . . . and these would be the ginger jars. Tyrion lifted one for inspection. It was round and ruddy, a fat clay grapefruit. A little big for his hand, but it would fit comfortably in the grip of a normal man, he knew. The pottery was thin, so fragile that even he had been warned not to squeeze too tightly, lest he crush it in his fist. The clay felt roughened, pebbled. Hallyne told him that was intentional. "A smooth pot is more apt to slip from a man's grasp."

The wildfire oozed slowly toward the lip of the jar when Tyrion tilted it to peer inside. The color would be a murky green, he knew, but the poor light made that impossible to confirm. "Thick," he observed.

"That is from the cold, my lord," said Hallyne, a pallid man with soft damp hands and an obsequious manner. He was dressed in striped black-and-scarlet robes trimmed with sable, but the fur looked more than a little patchy and moth-eaten. "As it warms, the substance will flow more easily, like lamp oil."

The substance was the pyromancers' own term for wildfire. They called each other wisdom as well, which Tyrion found almost as annoying as their custom of hinting at the vast secret stores of knowledge that they wanted him to think they possessed. Once theirs had been a powerful guild, but in recent centuries the maesters of the Citadel had supplanted the alchemists almost everywhere. Now only a few of the older order remained, and they no longer even pretended to transmute metals . . .

. . . but they could make wildfire. "Water will not quench it, I am told."

"That is so. Once it takes fire, the substance will burn fiercely until it is no more. More, it will seep into cloth, wood, leather, even steel, so they take fire as well."

Tyrion remembered the red priest Thoros of Myr and his flaming sword. Even a thin coating of wildfire could burn for an hour. Thoros always needed a new sword after a melee, but Robert had been fond of the man and ever glad to provide one. "Why doesn't it seep into the clay as well?"

"Oh, but it does," said Hallyne. "There is a vault below this one where we store the older pots. Those from King Aerys's day. It was his fancy to have the jars made in the shapes of fruits. Very perilous fruits indeed, my lord Hand, and, hmmm, riper now than ever, if you take my meaning. We have sealed them with wax and pumped the lower vault full of water, but even so . . . by rights they ought to have been destroyed, but so many of our masters were murdered during the Sack of King's Landing, the few acolytes who remained were unequal to the task. And much of the stock we made for Aerys was lost. Only last year, two hundred jars were discovered in a storeroom beneath the Great Sept of Baelor. No one could recall how they came there, but I'm sure I do not need to tell you that the High Septon was beside himself with terror. I myself saw that they were safely moved. I had a cart filled with sand, and sent our most able acolytes. We worked only by night, we—"

"—did a splendid job, I have no doubt." Tyrion placed the jar he'd been holding back among its fellows. They covered the table, standing in orderly rows of four and marching away into the subterranean dimness. And there were other tables beyond, many other tables. "These, ah, fruits of the late King Aerys, can they still be used?"

"Oh, yes, most certainly . . . but carefully, my lord, ever so carefully. As it ages, the substance grows ever more, hmmmm, fickle, let us say. Any flame will set it afire. Any spark. Too much heat and jars will blaze up of their own accord. It is not wise to let them sit in sunlight, even for a short time. Once the fire begins within, the heat causes the substance to expand violently, and the jars shortly fly to pieces. If other jars should happen to be stored in the same vicinity, those go up as well, and so—"

"How many jars do you have at present?"

"This morning the Wisdom Munciter told me that we had seven thousand eight hundred and forty. That count includes four thousand jars from King Aerys's day, to be sure."

"Our overripe fruits?"

Hallyne bobbed his head. "Wisdom Malliard believes we shall be able to provide a full ten thousand jars, as was promised the queen. I concur." The pyromancer looked indecently pleased with that prospect.

Assuming our enemies give you the time. The pyromancers kept their recipe for wildfire a closely guarded secret, but Tyrion knew that it was a lengthy, dangerous, and time-consuming process. He had assumed the promise of ten thousand jars was a wild boast, like that of the bannerman who vows to marshal ten thousand swords for his lord and shows up on the day of battle with a hundred and two. If they can truly give us ten thousand . . .

He did not know whether he ought to be delighted or terrified. Perhaps a smidge of both. "I trust that your guild brothers are not engaging in any unseemly haste, Wisdom. We do not want ten thousand jars of defective wildfire, nor even one . . . and we most certainly do not want any mishaps."

"There will be no mishaps, my lord Hand. The substance is prepared by trained acolytes in a series of bare stone cells, and each jar is removed by an apprentice and carried down here the instant it is ready. Above each work cell is a room filled entirely with sand. A protective spell has been laid on the floors, hmmm, most powerful. Any fire in the cell below causes the floors to fall away, and the sand smothers the blaze at once."

"Not to mention the careless acolyte." By spell Tyrion imagined Hallyne meant clever trick. He thought he would like to inspect one of these false-ceilinged cells to see how it worked, but this was not the time. Perhaps when the war was won.

"My brethren are never careless," Hallyne insisted. "If I may be, hmmmm, frank . . . "

"Oh, do."

"The substance flows through my veins, and lives in the heart of every pyromancer. We respect its power. But the common soldier, hmmmm, the crew of one of the queen's spitfires, say, in the unthinking frenzy of battle . . . any little mistake can bring catastrophe. That cannot be said too often. My father often told King Aerys as much, as his father told old King Jaehaerys."

"They must have listened," Tyrion said. "If they had burned the city down, someone would have told me. So your counsel is that we had best be careful? "

"Be very careful," said Hallyne. "Be very very careful."

"These clay jars . . . do you have an ample supply?"

"We do, my lord, and thank you for asking."

"You won't mind if I take some, then. A few thousand."

"A few thousand?"

"Or however many your guild can spare, without interfering with production. It's empty pots I'm asking for, understand. Have them sent round to the captains on each of the city gates."

"I will, my lord, but why . . . ?"

Tyrion smiled up at him. "When you tell me to dress warmly, I dress warmly. When you tell me to be careful, well . . . " He gave a shrug. "I've seen enough. Perhaps you would be so good as to escort me back up to my litter?"

"It would be my great, hmmm, pleasure, my lord." Hallyne lifted the lamp and led the way back to the stairs. "It was good of you to visit us. A great honor, hmmm. It has been too long since the King's Hand graced us with his presence. Not since Lord Rossart, and he was of our order. That was back in King Aerys's day. King Aerys took a great interest in our work."

King Aerys used you to roast the flesh off his enemies. His brother Jaime had told him a few stories of the Mad King and his pet pyromancers. "Joffrey will be interested as well, I have no doubt." Which is why I'd best keep him well away from you.

"It is our great hope to have the king visit our Guildhall in his own royal person. I have spoken of it to your royal sister. A great feast . . . "

It was growing warmer as they climbed. "His Grace has prohibited all feasting until such time as the war is won." At my insistence. "The king does not think it fitting to banquet on choice food while his people go without bread."

"A most, hmmm, loving gesture, my lord. Perhaps instead some few of us might call upon the king at the Red Keep. A small demonstration of our powers, as it were, to distract His Grace from his many cares for an evening. Wildfire is but one of the dread secrets of our ancient order. Many and wondrous are the things we might show you."

"I will take it up with my sister." Tyrion had no objection to a few magic tricks, but Joff's fondness for making men fight to the death was trial enough; he had no intention of allowing the boy to taste the possibilities of burning them alive.

When at last they reached the top of the steps, Tyrion shrugged out of his shadowskin fur and folded it over his arm. The Guildhall of the Alchemists was an imposing warren of black stone, but Hallyne led him through the twists and turns until they reached the Gallery of the Iron Torches, a long echoing chamber where columns of green fire danced around black metal columns twenty feet tall. Ghostly flames shimmered off the polished black marble of the walls and floor and bathed the hall in an emerald radiance. Tyrion would have been more impressed if he hadn't known that the great iron torches had only been lit this morning in honor of his visit, and would be extinguished the instant the doors closed behind him. Wildfire was too costly to squander.

They emerged atop the broad curving steps that fronted on the Street of the Sisters, near the foot of Visenya's Hill. He bid Hallyne farewell and waddled down to where Timett son of Timett waited with an escort of Burned Men. Given his purpose today, it had seemed a singularly appropriate choice for his guard. Besides, their scars struck terror in the hearts of the city rabble. That was all to the good these days. Only three nights past, another mob had gathered at the gates of the Red Keep, chanting for food. Joff had unleashed a storm of arrows against them, slaying four, and then shouted down that they had his leave to eat their dead. Winning us still more friends.

Tyrion was surprised to see Bronn standing beside the litter as well. "What are you doing here?"

"Delivering your messages," Bronn said. "Ironhand wants you urgently at the Gate of the Gods. He won't say why. And you've been summoned to Maegor's too."

"Summoned?" Tyrion knew of only one person who would presume to use that word. "And what does Cersei want of me?"

Bronn shrugged. "The queen commands you to return to the castle at once and attend her in her chambers. That stripling cousin of yours delivered the message. Four hairs on his lip and he thinks he's a man."

"Four hairs and a knighthood. He's Ser Lancel now, never forget." Tyrion knew that Ser Jacelyn would not send for him unless the matter was of import. "I'd best see what Bywater wants. Inform my sister that I will attend her on my return."

"She won't like that," Bronn warned.

"Good. The longer Cersei waits, the angrier she'll become, and anger makes her stupid. I much prefer angry and stupid to composed and cunning." Tyrion tossed his folded cloak into his litter, and Timett helped him up after it.

The market square inside the Gate of the Gods, which in normal times would have been thronged with farmers selling vegetables, was near deserted when Tyrion crossed it. Ser Jacelyn met him at the gate, and raised his iron hand in brusque salute. "My lord. Your cousin Cleos Frey is here, come from Riverrun under a peace banner with a letter from Robb Stark."

"Peace terms?"

"So he says."

"Sweet cousin. Show me to him."

The gold cloaks had confined Ser Cleos to a windowless guardroom in the gatehouse. He rose when they entered. "Tyrion, you are a most welcome sight."

"That's not something I hear often, cousin."

"Has Cersei come with you?"

"My sister is otherwise occupied. Is this Stark's letter?" He plucked it off the table. "Ser Jacelyn, you may leave us."

Bywater bowed and departed. "I was asked to bring the offer to the Queen Regent," Ser Cleos said as the door shut.

"I shall." Tyrion glanced over the map that Robb Stark had sent with his letter. "All in good time, cousin. Sit. Rest. You look gaunt and haggard." He looked worse than that, in truth.

"Yes." Ser Cleos lowered himself onto a bench. "It is bad in the riverlands, Tyrion. Around the Gods Eye and along the kingsroad especially. The river lords are burning their own crops to try and starve us, and your father's foragers are torching every village they take and putting the smallfolk to the sword."

That was the way of war. The smallfolk were slaughtered, while the highborn were held for ransom. Remind me to thank the gods that I was bom a Lannister.

Ser Cleos ran a hand through his thin brown hair. "Even with a peace banner, we were attacked twice. Wolves in mail, hungry to savage anyone weaker than themselves. The gods alone know what side they started on, but they're on their own side now. Lost three men, and twice as many wounded."

"What news of our foe?" Tyrion turned his attention back to Stark's terms. The boy does not want too much. Only half the realm, the release of our captives, hostages, his father's sword . . . oh, yes, and his sisters.

"The boy sits idle at Riverrun," Ser Cleos said. "I think he fears to face your father in the field. His strength grows less each day. The river lords have departed, each to defend his own lands."

Is this what Father intended? Tyrion rolled up Stark's map. "These terms will never do."

"Will you at least consent to trade the Stark girls for Tion and Willem?" Ser Cleos asked plaintively.

Tion Frey was his younger brother, Tyrion recalled. "No," he said gently, "but we'll propose our own exchange of captives. Let me consult with Cersei and the council. We shall send you back to Riverrun with our terms."

Clearly, the prospect did not cheer him. "My lord, I do not believe Robb Stark will yield easily. It is Lady Catelyn who wants this peace, not the boy."

"Lady Catelyn wants her daughters." Tyrion pushed himself down from the bench, letter and map in hand. "Ser Jacelyn will see that you have food and fire. You look in dire need of sleep, cousin. I will send for you when we know more."

He found Ser Jacelyn on the ramparts, watching several hundred new recruits drilling in the field below. With so many seeking refuge in King's Landing, there was no lack of men willing to join the City Watch for a full belly and a bed of straw in the barracks, but Tyrion had no illusions about how well these ragged defenders of theirs would fight if it came to battle.

"You did well to send for me," Tyrion said. "I shall leave Ser Cleos in your hands. He is to have every hospitality."

"And his escort?" the commander wanted to know.

"Give them food and clean garb, and find a maester to see to their hurts. They are not to set foot inside the city, is that understood?" It would never do to have the truth of conditions in King's Landing reach Robb Stark in Riverrun.

"Well understood, my lord."

"Oh, and one more thing. The alchemists will be sending a large supply of clay pots to each of the city gates. You're to use them to train the men who will work your spitfires. Fill the pots with green paint and have them drill at loading and firing. Any man who spatters should be replaced. When they have mastered the paint pots, substitute lamp oil and have them work at lighting the jars and firing them while aflame. Once they learn to do that without burning themselves, they may be ready for wildfire."

Ser Jacelyn scratched at his cheek with his iron hand. "Wise measures. Though I have no love for that alchemist's piss."

"Nor I, but I use what I'm given."

Once back inside his litter, Tyrion Lannister drew the curtains and plumped a cushion under his elbow. Cersei would be displeased to learn that he had intercepted Stark's letter, but his father had sent him here to rule, not to please Cersei.

It seemed to him that Robb Stark had given them a golden chance. Let the boy wait at Riverrun dreaming of an easy peace. Tyrion would reply with terms of his own, giving the King in the North just enough of what he wanted to keep him hopeful. Let Ser Cleos wear out his bony Frey rump riding to and fro with offers and counters. All the while, their cousin Ser Stafford would be training and arming the new host he'd raised at Casterly Rock. Once he was ready, he and Lord Tywin could smash the Tullys and Starks between them.

Now if only Robert's brothers would be so accommodating. Glacial as his progress was, still Renly Baratheon crept north and east with his huge southron host, and scarcely a night passed that Tyrion did not dread being awakened with the news that Lord Stannis was sailing his fleet up the Blackwater Rush. Well, it would seem I have a goodly stock of wildfire, but still . . .

The sound of some hubbub in the street intruded on his worries. Tyrion peered out cautiously between the curtains. They were passing through Cobbler's Square, where a sizable crowd had gathered beneath the leather awnings to listen to the rantings of a prophet. A robe of undyed wool belted with a hempen rope marked him for one of the begging brothers.

"Corruption!" the man cried shrilly. "There is the warning! Behold the Father's scourge!" He pointed at the fuzzy red wound in the sky. From this vantage, the distant castle on Aegon's High Hill was directly behind him, with the comet hanging forebodingly over its towers. A clever choice of stage, Tyrion reflected. "We have become swollen, bloated, foul. Brother couples with sister in the bed of kings, and the fruit of their incest capers in his palace to the piping of a twisted little monkey demon. Highborn ladies fornicate with fools and give birth to monsters! Even the High Septon has forgotten the gods! He bathes in scented waters and grows fat on lark and lamprey while his people starve! Pride comes before prayer, maggots rule our castles, and gold is all . . . but no more! The Rotten Summer is at an end, and the Whoremonger King is brought low! When the boar did open him, a great stench rose to heaven and a thousand snakes slid forth from his belly, hissing and biting!" He jabbed his bony finger back at comet and castle. "There comes the Harbinger! Cleanse yourselves, the gods cry out, lest ye be cleansed! Bathe in the wine of righteousness, or you shall be bathed in fire! Fire!"

"Fire!" other voices echoed, but the hoots of derision almost drowned them out. Tyrion took solace from that. He gave the command to continue, and the litter rocked like a ship on a rough sea as the Burned Men cleared a path. Twisted little monkey demon indeed. The wretch did have a point about the High Septon, to be sure. What was it that Moon Boy had said of him the other day? A pious man who worships the Seven so fervently that he eats a meal for each of them whenever he sits to table. The memory of the fool's jape made Tyrion smile.

He was pleased to reach the Red Keep without further incident. As he climbed the steps to his chambers, Tyrion felt a deal more hopeful than he had at dawn. Time, that's all I truly need, time to piece it all together. Once the chain is done . . . He opened the door to his solar.

Cersei turned away from the window, her skirts swirling around her slender hips. "How dare you ignore my summons!"

"Who admitted you to my tower?"

"Your tower? This is my son's royal castle."

"So they tell me." Tyrion was not amused. Crawn would be even less so; his Moon Brothers had the guard today. "I was about to come to you, as it happens."

"Were you?"

He swung the door shut behind him. "You doubt me?"

"Always, and with good reason."

"I'm hurt." Tyrion waddled to the sideboard for a cup of wine. He knew no surer way to work up a thirst than talking with Cersei. "If I've given you offense, I would know how."

"What a disgusting little worm you are. Myrcella is my only daughter. Did you truly imagine that I would allow you to sell her like a bag of oats? "

Myrcella, he thought. Well, that egg has hatched. Let's see what color the chick is. "Hardly a bag of oats. Myrcella is a princess. Some would say this is what she was born for. Or did you plan to marry her to Tommen?"

Her hand lashed out, knocking the wine cup from his hand to spill on the floor. "Brother or no, I should have your tongue out for that. I am Joffrey's regent, not you, and I say that Myrcella will not be shipped off to this Dornishman the way I was shipped to Robert Baratheon."

Tyrion shook wine off his fingers and sighed. "Why not? She'd be a deal safer in Dorne than she is here."

"Are you utterly ignorant or simply perverse? You know as well as I that the Martells have no cause to love us."

"The Martells have every cause to hate us. Nonetheless, I expect them to agree. Prince Doran's grievance against House Lannister goes back only a generation, but the Dornishmen have warred against Storm's End and Highgarden for a thousand years, and Renly has taken Dorne's allegiance for granted. Myrcella is nine, Trystane Martell eleven. I have proposed they wed when she reaches her fourteenth year. Until such time, she would be an honored guest at Sunspear, under Prince Doran's protection."

"A hostage," Cersei said, mouth tightening.

"An honored guest," Tyrion insisted, "and I suspect Martell will treat Myrcella more kindly than Joffrey has treated Sansa Stark. I had in mind to send Ser Arys Oakheart with her. With a knight of the Kingsguard as her sworn shield, no one is like to forget who or what she is."

"Small good Ser Arys will do her if Doran Martell decides that my daughter's death would wash out his sister's."

"Martell is too honorable to murder a nine-year-old girl, particularly one as sweet and innocent as Myrcella. So long as he holds her he can be reasonably certain that we'll keep faith on our side, and the terms are too rich to refuse. Myrcella is the least part of it. I've also offered him his sister's killer, a council seat, some castles on the Marches . . . "

"Too much." Cersei paced away from him, restless as a lioness, skirts swirling. "You've offered too much, and without my authority or consent."

"This is the Prince of Dorne we are speaking of. If I'd offered less, he'd likely spit in my face."

"Too much!" Cersei insisted, whirling back.

"What would you have offered him, that hole between your legs?" Tyrion said, his own anger flaring.

This time he saw the slap coming. His head snapped around with a crack. "Sweet sweet sister," he said, "I promise you, that was the last time you will ever strike me."

His sister laughed. "Don't threaten me, little man. Do you think Father's letter keeps you safe? A piece of paper. Eddard Stark had a piece of paper too, for all the good it did him."

Eddard Stark did not have the City Watch, Tyrion thought, nor my clansmen, nor the sellswords that Bronn has hired. I do. Or so he hoped. Trusting in Varys, in Ser Jacelyn Bywater, in Bronn. Lord Stark had probably had his delusions as well.

Yet he said nothing. A wise man did not pour wildfire on a brazier. Instead he poured a fresh cup of wine. "How safe do you think Myrcella will be if King's Landing falls? Renly and Stannis will mount her head beside yours."

And Cersei began to cry.

Tyrion Lannister could not have been more astonished if Aegon the Conqueror himself had burst into the room, riding on a dragon and juggling lemon pies. He had not seen his sister weep since they were children together at Casterly Rock. Awkwardly, he took a step toward her. When your sister cries, you were supposed to comfort her . . . but this was Cersei! He reached a tentative hand for her shoulder.

"Don't touch me," she said, wrenching away. It should not have hurt, yet it did, more than any slap. Red-faced, as angry as she was grief-stricken, Cersei struggled for breath. "Don't look at me, not . . . not like this . . . not you."

Politely, Tyrion turned his back. "I did not mean to frighten you. I promise you, nothing will happen to Myrcella."

"Liar," she said behind him. "I'm not a child, to be soothed with empty promises. You told me you would free Jaime too. Well, where is he? "

"In Riverrun, I should imagine. Safe and under guard, until I find a way to free him."

Cersei sniffed. "I should have been born a man. I would have no need of any of you then. None of this would have been allowed to happen. How could Jaime let himself be captured by that boy? And Father, I trusted in him, fool that I am, but where is he now that he's wanted? What is he doing?"

"Making war."

"From behind the walls of Harrenhal?" she said scornfully. "A curious way of fighting. It looks suspiciously like hiding."

"Look again."

"What else would you call it? Father sits in one castle, and Robb Stark sits in another, and no one does anything."

"There is sitting and there is sitting," Tyrion suggested. "Each one waits for the other to move, but the lion is still, poised, his tail twitching, while the fawn is frozen by fear, bowels turned to jelly. No matter which way he bounds, the lion will have him, and he knows it."

"And you're quite certain that Father is the lion?"

Tyrion grinned. "It's on all our banners."

She ignored the jest. "If it was Father who'd been taken captive, Jaime would not be sitting by idly, I promise you."

Jaime would be battering his host to bloody bits against the walls of Riverrun, and the Others take their chances. He never did have any patience, no more than you, sweet sister. "Not all of us can be as bold as Jaime, but there are other ways to win wars. Harrenhal is strong and well situated."

"And King's Landing is not, as we both know perfectly well. While Father plays lion and fawn with the Stark boy, Renly marches up the roseroad. He could be at our gates any day now!"

"The city will not fall in a day. From Harrenhal it is a straight, swift march down the kingsroad. Renly will scarce have unlimbered his siege engines before Father takes him in the rear. His host will be the hammer, the city walls the anvil. it makes a lovely picture."

Cersei's green eyes bored into him, wary, yet hungry for the reassurance he was feeding her. "And if Robb Stark marches?"

"Harrenhal is close enough to the fords of the Trident so that Roose Bolton cannot bring the northern foot across to join with the Young Wolf's horse. Stark cannot march on King's Landing without taking Harrenhal first, and even with Bolton he is not strong enough to do that." Tyrion tried his most winning smile. "Meanwhile Father lives off the fat of the riverlands, while our uncle Stafford gathers fresh levies at the Rock."

Cersei regarded him suspiciously. "How could you know all this? Did Father tell you his intentions when he sent you here?"

"No. I glanced at a map."

Her look turned to disdain. "You've conjured up every word of this in that grotesque head of yours, haven't you, Imp?"

Tyrion tsked. "Sweet sister, I ask you, if we weren't winning, would the Starks have sued for peace?" He drew out the letter that Ser Cleos Frey had brought. "The Young Wolf has sent us terms, you see. Unacceptable terms, to be sure, but still, a beginning. Would you care to see them?"

"Yes." That fast, she was all queen again. "How do you come to have them? They should have come to me."

"What else is a Hand for, if not to hand you things?" Tyrion handed her the letter. His cheek still throbbed where Cersei's hand had left its mark. Let her flay half my face, it will be a small price to pay for her consent to the Dornish marriage. He would have that now, he could sense it.

And certain knowledge of an informer too . . . well, that was the plum in his pudding.

The Harpies

Lyra and Will each awoke with a heavy dread: it was like being a condemned prisoner on the morning fixed for the execution. Tialys and Salmakia were attending to their dragonflies, bringing them moths lassoed near the anbaric lamp over the oil drum outside, flies cut from spiderwebs, and water in a tin plate. When she saw the expression on Lyra's face and the way that Pantalaimon, mouse-formed, was pressing himself close to her breast, the Lady Salmakia left what she was doing to come and speak with her. Will, meanwhile, left the hut to walk about outside. "You can still decide differently," said Salmakia. "No, we can't. We decided already," said Lyra, stubborn and fearful at once. "And if we don't come back?" "You don't have to come," Lyra pointed out. "We're not going to abandon you." "Then what if you don't come back?" "We shall have died doing something important." Lyra was silent. She hadn't really looked at the Lady before; but she could see her very clearly now, in the smoky light of the naphtha lamp, standing on the table just an arm's length away. Her face was calm and kindly, not beautiful, not pretty, but the very sort of face you would be glad to see if you were ill or unhappy or frightened. Her voice was low and expressive, with a current of laughter and happiness under the clear surface. In all the life she could remember, Lyra had never been read to in bed; no one had told her stories or sung nursery rhymes with her before kissing her and putting out the light. But she suddenly thought now that if ever there was a voice that would lap you in safety and warm you with love, it would be a voice like the Lady Salmakia's, and she felt a wish in her heart to have a child of her own, to lull and soothe and sing to, one day, in a voice like that. "Well," Lyra said, and found her throat choked, so she swallowed and shrugged. "We'll see," said the Lady, and turned back. Once they had eaten their thin, dry bread and drunk their bitter tea, which was all the people had to offer them, they thanked their hosts, took their rucksacks, and set off through the shanty town for the lakeshore. Lyra looked around for her death, and sure enough, there he was, walking politely a little way ahead; but he didn't want to come closer, though he kept looking back to see if they were following. The day was overhung with a gloomy mist. It was more like dusk than daylight, and wraiths and streamers of the fog rose dismally from puddles in the road, or clung like forlorn lovers to the anbaric cables overhead. They saw no people, and few deaths, but the dragonflies skimmed through the damp air, as if they were sewing it all together with invisible threads, and it was a delight to the eyes to watch their bright colors flashing back and forth. Before long they had reached the edge of the settlement and made their way beside a sluggish stream through bare-twigged scrubby bushes. Occasionally they would hear a harsh croak or a splash as some amphibian was disturbed, but the only creature they saw was a toad as big as Will's foot, which could only flop in a pain-filled sideways heave as if it were horribly injured. It lay across the path, trying to move out of the way and looking at them as if it knew they meant to hurt it. "It would be merciful to kill it," said Tialys. "How do you know?" said Lyra. "It might still like being alive, in spite of everything." "If we killed it, we'd be taking it with us," said Will. "It wants to stay here. I've killed enough living things. Even a filthy stagnant pool might be better than being dead." "But if it's in pain?" said Tialys. "If it could tell us, we'd know. But since it can't, I'm not going to kill it. That would be considering our feelings rather than the toad's." They moved on. Before long the changing sound their footsteps made told them that there was an openness nearby, although the mist was even thicker. Pantalaimon was a lemur, with the biggest eyes he could manage, clinging to Lyra's shoulder, pressing himself into her fog-pearled hair, peering all around and seeing no more than she did. And still he was trembling and trembling. Suddenly they all heard a little wave breaking. It was quiet, but it was very close by. The dragonflies returned with their riders to the children, and Pantalaimon crept into Lyra's breast as she and Will moved closer together, treading carefully along the slimy path. And then they were at the shore. The oily, scummy water lay still in front of them, an occasional ripple breaking languidly on the pebbles. The path turned to the left, and a little way along, more like a thickening of the mist than a solid object, a wooden jetty stood crazily out over the water. The piles were decayed and the planks were green with slime, and there was nothing else; nothing beyond it; the path ended where the jetty began, and where the jetty ended, the mist began. Lyra's death, having guided them there, bowed to her and stepped into the fog, vanishing before she could ask him what to do next. "Listen," said Will. There was a slow, repetitive sound out on the invisible water: a creak of wood and a quiet, regular splash. Will put his hand on the knife at his belt and moved forward carefully onto the rotting planks. Lyra followed close behind. The dragonflies perched on the two weed-covered mooring posts, looking like heraldic guardians, and the children stood at the end of the jetty, pressing their open eyes against the mist, and having to brush their lashes free of the drops that settled on them. The only sound was that slow creak and splash that was getting closer and closer. "Don't let's go!" Pantalaimon whispered. "Got to," Lyra whispered back. She looked at Will. His face was set hard and grim and eager: he wouldn't turn aside. And the Gallivespians, Tialys on Will's shoulder, Salmakia on Lyra's, were calm and watchful. The dragonflies' wings were pearled with mist, like cobwebs, and from time to time they'd beat them quickly to clear them, because the drops must make them heavy, Lyra thought. She hoped there would be food for them in the land of the dead. Then suddenly there was the boat. It was an ancient rowboat, battered, patched, rotting; and the figure rowing it was aged beyond age, huddled in a robe of sacking bound with string, crippled and bent, his bony hands crooked permanently around the oar handles, and his moist, pale eyes sunk deep among folds and wrinkles of gray skin. He let go of an oar and reached his crooked hand up to the iron ring set in the post at the corner of the jetty. With the other hand he moved the oar to bring the boat right up against the planks. There was no need to speak. Will got in first, and then Lyra came forward to step down, too. But the boatman held up his hand. "Not him," he said in a harsh whisper. "Not who?" "Not him." He extended a yellow-gray finger, pointing directly at Pantalaimon, whose red-brown stoat form immediately became ermine white. "But he is me!" Lyra said. "If you come, he must stay." "But we can't! We'd die!" "Isn't that what you want?" And then for the first time Lyra truly realized what she was doing. This was the real consequence. She stood aghast, trembling, and clutched her dear daemon so tightly that he whimpered in pain. "They..." said Lyra helplessly, then stopped: it wasn't fair to point out that the other three didn't have to give anything up. Will was watching her anxiously. She looked all around, at the lake, at the jetty, at the rough path, the stagnant puddles, the dead and sodden bushes... Her Pan, alone here: how could he live without her? He was shaking inside her shirt, against her bare flesh, his fur needing her warmth. Impossible! Never! "He must stay here if you are to come," the boatman said again. The Lady Salmakia flicked the rein, and her dragonfly skimmed away from Lyra's shoulder to land on the gunwale of the boat, where Tialys joined her. They said something to the boatman. Lyra watched as a condemned prisoner watches the stir at the back of the courtroom that might be a messenger with a pardon. The boatman bent to listen and then shook his head. "No," he said. "If she comes, he has to stay." Will said, "That's not right. We don't have to leave part of ourselves behind. Why should Lyra?" "Oh, but you do," said the boatman. "It's her misfortune that she can see and talk to the part she must leave. You will not know until you are on the water, and then it will be too late. But you all have to leave that part of yourselves here. There is no passage to the land of the dead for such as him." No, Lyra thought, and Pantalaimon thought with her: We didn't go through Bolvangar for this, no; how will we ever find each other again? And she looked back again at the foul and dismal shore, so bleak and blasted with disease and poison, and thought of her dear Pan waiting there alone, her heart's companion, watching her disappear into the mist, and she fell into a storm of weeping. Her passionate sobs didn't echo, because the mist muffled them, but all along the shore in innumerable ponds and shallows, in wretched broken tree stumps, the damaged creatures that lurked there heard her full-hearted cry and drew themselves a little closer to the ground, afraid of such passion. "If he could come - " cried Will, desperate to end her grief, but the boatman shook his head. "He can come in the boat, but if he does, the boat stays here," he said. "But how will she find him again?" "I don't know." "When we leave, will we come back this way?" "Leave?" "We're going to come back. We're going to the land of the dead and we are going to come back." "Not this way." "Then some other way, but we will!" "I have taken millions, and none came back." "Then we shall be the first. We'll find our way out. And since we're going to do that, be kind, boatman, be compassionate, let her take her daemon!" "No," he said, and shook his ancient head. "It's not a rule you can break. It's a law like this one..." He leaned over the side and cupped a handful of water, and then tilted his hand so it ran out again. "The law that makes the water fall back into the lake, it's a law like that. I can't tilt my hand and make the water fly upward. No more can I take her daemon to the land of the dead. Whether or not she comes, he must stay." Lyra could see nothing: her face was buried in Pantalaimon's cat fur. But Will saw Tialys dismount from his dragonfly and prepare to spring at the boatman, and he half-agreed with the spy's intention; but the old man had seen him, and turned his ancient head to say: "How many ages do you think I've been ferrying people to the land of the dead? D'you think if anything could hurt me, it wouldn't have happened already? D'you think the people I take come with me gladly? They struggle and cry, they try to bribe me, they threaten and fight; nothing works. You can't hurt me, sting as you will. Better comfort the child; she's coming; take no notice of me." Will could hardly watch. Lyra was doing the cruelest thing she had ever done, hating herself, hating the deed, suffering for Pan and with Pan and because of Pan; trying to put him down on the cold path, disengaging his cat claws from her clothes, weeping, weeping. Will closed his ears: the sound was too unhappy to bear. Time after time she pushed her daemon away, and still he cried and tried to cling. She could turn back. She could say no, this is a bad idea, we mustn't do it. She could be true to the heart-deep, life-deep bond linking her to Pantalaimon, she could put that first, she could push the rest out of her mind - But she couldn't. "Pan, no one's done this before," she whispered shiveringly, "but Will says we're coming back and I swear, Pan, I love you, I swear we're coming back - I will - take care, my dear - you'll be safe - we will come back, and if I have to spend every minute of my life finding you again, I will, I won't stop, I won't rest, I won't - oh, Pan - dear Pan - I've got to, I've got to..." And she pushed him away, so that he crouched bitter and cold and frightened on the muddy ground. What animal he was now, Will could hardly tell. He seemed to be so young, a cub, a puppy, something helpless and beaten, a creature so sunk in misery that it was more misery than creature. His eyes never left Lyra's face, and Will could see her making herself not look away, not avoid the guilt, and he admired her honesty and her courage at the same time as he was wrenched with the shock of their parting. There were so many vivid currents of feeling between them that the very air felt electric to him. And Pantalaimon didn't ask why, because he knew; and he didn't ask whether Lyra loved Roger more than him, because he knew the true answer to that, too. And he knew that if he spoke, she wouldn't be able to resist; so the daemon held himself quiet so as not to distress the human who was abandoning him, and now they were both pretending that it wouldn't hurt, it wouldn't be long before they were together again, it was all for the best. But Will knew that the little girl was tearing her heart out of her breast. Then she stepped down into the boat. She was so light that it barely rocked at all. She sat beside Will, and her eyes never left Pantalaimon, who stood trembling at the shore end of the jetty; but as the boatman let go of the iron ring and swung his oars out to pull the boat away, the little dog daemon trotted helplessly out to the very end, his claws clicking softly on the soft planks, and stood watching, just watching, as the boat drew away and the jetty faded and vanished in the mist. Then Lyra gave a cry so passionate that even in that muffled, mist-hung world it raised an echo, but of course it wasn't an echo, it was the other part of her crying in turn from the land of the living as Lyra moved away into the land of the dead. "My heart, Will..." she groaned, and clung to him, her wet face contorted with pain. And thus the prophecy that the Master of Jordan College had made to the Librarian, that Lyra would make a great betrayal and it would hurt her terribly, was fulfilled. But Will, too, found an agony building inside him, and through the pain he saw that the two Gallivespians, clinging together just as he and Lyra were doing, were moved by the same anguish. Part of it was physical. It felt as if an iron hand had gripped his heart and was pulling it out between his ribs, so that he pressed his hands to the place and vainly tried to hold it in. It was far deeper and far worse than the pain of losing his fingers. But it was mental, too: something secret and private was being dragged into the open, where it had no wish to be, and Will was nearly overcome by a mixture of pain and shame and fear and self-reproach, because he himself had caused it. And it was worse than that. It was as if he'd said, "No, don't kill me, I'm frightened; kill my mother instead; she doesn't matter, I don't love her," and as if she'd heard him say it, and pretended she hadn't so as to spare his feelings, and offered herself in his place anyway because of her love for him. He felt as bad as that. There was nothing worse to feel. So Will knew that all those things were part of having a daemon, and that whatever his daemon was, she, too, was left behind, with Pantalaimon, on that poisoned and desolate shore. The thought came to Will and Lyra at the same moment, and they exchanged a tear-filled glance. And for the second time in their lives, but not the last, each of them saw their own expression on the other's face. Only the boatman and the dragonflies seemed indifferent to the journey they were making. The great insects were fully alive and bright with beauty even in the clinging mist, shaking their filmy wings to dislodge the moisture; and the old man in his sacking robe leaned forward and back, forward and back, bracing his bare feet against the slime-puddled floor. The journey lasted longer than Lyra wanted to measure. Though part of her was raw with anguish, imagining Pantalaimon abandoned on the shore, another part was adjusting to the pain, measuring her own strength, curious to see what would happen and where they would land. Will's arm was strong around her, but he, too, was looking ahead, trying to peer through the wet gray gloom and to hear anything other than the dank splash of the oars. And presently something did change: a cliff or an island lay ahead of them. They heard the enclosing of the sound before they saw the mist darken. The boatman pulled on one oar to turn the boat a little to the left. "Where are we?" said the voice of the Chevalier Tialys, small but strong as ever, though there was a harsh edge to it, as if he, too, had been suffering pain. "Near the island," said the boatman. "Another five minutes, we'll be at the landing stage." "What island?" said Will. He found his own voice strained, too, so tight it hardly seemed his. "The gate to the land of the dead is on this island," said the boatman. "Everyone comes here, kings, queens, murderers, poets, children; everyone comes this way, and none come back." "We shall come back," whispered Lyra fiercely. He said nothing, but his ancient eyes were full of pity. As they moved closer, they could see branches of cypress and yew hanging down low over the water, dark green, dense, and gloomy. The land rose steeply, and the trees grew so thickly that hardly a ferret could slip between them, and at that thought Lyra gave a little half-hiccup-half-sob, for Pan would have shown her how well he could do it; but not now, maybe not ever again. "Are we dead now?" Will said to the boatman. "Makes no difference," he said. "There's some that came here never believing they were dead. They insisted all the way that they were alive, it was a mistake, someone would have to pay; made no difference. There's others who longed to be dead when they were alive, poor souls; lives full of pain or misery; killed themselves for a chance of a blessed rest, and found that nothing had changed except for the worse, and this time there was no escape; you can't make yourself alive again. And there's been others so frail and sickly, little infants, sometimes, that they're scarcely born into the living before they come down to the dead. I've rowed this boat with a little crying baby on my lap many, many times, that never knew the difference between up there and down here. And old folk, too, the rich ones are the worst, snarling and savage and cursing me, railing and screaming: what did I think I was? Hadn't they gathered and saved all the gold they could garner? Wouldn't I take some now, to put them back ashore? They'd have the law on me, they had powerful friends, they knew the Pope and the king of this and the duke of that, they were in a position to see I was punished and chastised... But they knew what the truth was in the end: the only position they were in was in my boat going to the land of the dead, and as for those kings and Popes, they'd be in here, too, in their turn, sooner than they wanted. I let 'em cry and rave; they can't hurt me; they fall silent in the end." "So if you don't know whether you're dead or not, and the little girl swears blind she'll come out again to the living, I say nothing to contradict you. What you are, you'll know soon enough." All the time he had been steadily rowing along the shore, and now he shipped the oars, slipping the handles down inside the boat and reaching out to his right for the first wooden post that rose out of the lake. He pulled the boat alongside the narrow wharf and held it still for them. Lyra didn't want to get out: as long as she was near the boat, then Pantalaimon would be able to think of her properly, because that was how he last saw her, but when she moved away from it, he wouldn't know how to picture her anymore. So she hesitated, but the dragonflies flew up, and Will got out, pale and clutching his chest; so she had to as well. "Thank you," she said to the boatman. "When you go back, if you see my daemon, tell him I love him the best of everything in the land of the living or the dead, and I swear I'll come back to him, even if no one's ever done it before, I swear I will." "Yes, I'll tell him that," said the old boatman. He pushed off, and the sound of his slow oar strokes faded away in the mist. The Gallivespians flew back, having gone a little way, and perched on the children's shoulders as before, she on Lyra, he on Will. So they stood, the travelers, at the edge of the land of the dead. Ahead of them there was nothing but mist, though they could see from the darkening of it that a great wall rose in front of them. Lyra shivered. She felt as if her skin had turned into lace and the damp and bitter air could flow in and out of her ribs, scaldingly cold on the raw wound where Pantalaimon had been. Still, she thought, Roger must have felt like that as he plunged down the mountainside, trying to cling to her desperate fingers. They stood still and listened. The only sound was an endless drip-drip-drip of water from the leaves, and as they looked up, they felt one or two drops splash coldly on their cheeks. "Can't stay here," said Lyra. They moved off the wharf, keeping close together, and made their way to the wall. Gigantic stone blocks, green with ancient slime, rose higher into the mist than they could see. And now that they were closer, they could hear the sound of cries behind it, though whether they were human voices crying was impossible to tell: high, mournful shrieks and wails that hung in the air like the drifting filaments of a jellyfish, causing pain wherever they touched. "There's a door," said Will in a hoarse, strained voice. It was a battered wooden postern under a slab of stone. Before Will could lift his hand and open it, one of those high, harsh cries sounded very close by, jarring their ears and frightening them horribly. Immediately the Gallivespians darted into the air, the dragonflies like little warhorses eager for battle. But the thing that flew down swept them aside with a brutal blow from her wing, and then settled heavily on a ledge just above the children's heads. Tialys and Salmakia gathered themselves and soothed their shaken mounts. The thing was a great bird the size of a vulture, with the face and breasts of a woman. Will had seen pictures of creatures like her, and the word harpy came to mind as soon as he saw her clearly. Her face was smooth and unwrinkled, but aged beyond even the age of the witches: she had seen thousands of years pass, and the cruelty and misery of all of them had formed the hateful expression on her features. But as the travelers saw her more clearly, she became even more repulsive. Her eye sockets were clotted with filthy slime, and the redness of her lips was caked and crusted as if she had vomited ancient blood again and again. Her matted, filthy black hair hung down to her shoulders; her jagged claws gripped the stone fiercely; her powerful dark wings were folded along her back; and a drift of putrescent stink wafted from her every time she moved. Will and Lyra, both of them sick and full of pain, tried to stand upright and face her. "But you are alive!" the harpy said, her harsh voice mocking them. Will found himself hating and fearing her more than any human being he had ever known. "Who are you?" said Lyra, who was just as repelled as Will. For answer the harpy screamed. She opened her mouth and directed a jet of noise right in their faces, so that their heads rang and they nearly fell backward. Will clutched at Lyra and they both clung together as the scream turned into wild, mocking peals of laughter, which were answered by other harpy voices in the fog along the shore. The jeering, hate-filled sound reminded Will of the merciless cruelty of children in a playground, but there were no teachers here to regulate things, no one to appeal to, nowhere to hide. He set his hand on the knife at his belt and looked her in the eyes, though his head was ringing and the sheer power of her scream had made him dizzy. "If you're trying to stop us," he said, "then you'd better be ready to fight as well as scream. Because we're going through that door." The harpy's sickening red mouth moved again, but this time it was to purse her lips into a mock kiss. Then she said, "Your mother is alone. We shall send her nightmares. We shall scream at her in her sleep!" Will didn't move, because out of the corner of his eye, he could see the Lady Salmakia moving delicately along the branch where the harpy was perching. Her dragonfly, wings quivering, was being held by Tialys on the ground, and then two things happened: the Lady leapt at the harpy and spun around to dig her spur deep into the creature's scaly leg, and Tialys launched the dragonfly upward. In less than a second Salmakia had spun away and leapt off the branch, directly onto the back of her electric blue steed and up into the air. The effect on the harpy was immediate. Another scream shattered the silence, much louder than before, and she beat her dark wings so hard that Will and Lyra both felt the wind and staggered. But she clung to the stone with her claws, and her face was suffused with dark red anger, and her hair stood out from her head like a crest of serpents. Will tugged at Lyra's hand, and they both tried to run toward the door, but the harpy launched herself at them in a fury and only pulled up from the dive when Will turned, thrusting Lyra behind him and holding up the knife. The Gallivespians were on her at once, darting close at her face and then darting away again, unable to get in a blow but distracting her so that she beat her wings clumsily and half-fell onto the ground. Lyra called out, "Tialys! Salmakia! Stop, stop!" The spies reined back their dragonflies and skimmed high over the children's heads. Other dark forms were clustering in the fog, and the jeering screams of a hundred more harpies sounded from farther along the shore. The first one was shaking her wings, shaking her hair, stretching each leg in turn, and flexing her claws. She was unhurt, and that was what Lyra had noticed. The Gallivespians hovered and then dived back toward Lyra, who was holding out both hands for them to land on. Salmakia realized what Lyra had meant, and said to Tialys: "She's right. We can't hurt her, for some reason." Lyra said, "Lady, what's your name?" The harpy shook her wings wide, and the travelers nearly fainted from the hideous smells of corruption and decay that wafted from her. "No-Name!" she cried. "What do you want with us?" said Lyra. "What can you give me?" "We could tell you where we've been, and maybe you'd be interested, I don't know. We saw all kinds of strange things on the way here." "Oh, and you're offering to tell me a story?" "If you'd like." "Maybe I would. And what then?" "You might let us go in through that door and find the ghost we've come here to look for; I hope you would, anyway. If you'd be so kind." "Try, then," said No-Name. And even in her sickness and pain, Lyra felt that she'd just been dealt the ace of trumps. "Oh, be careful," whispered Salmakia, but Lyra's mind was already racing ahead through the story she'd told the night before, shaping and cutting and improving and adding: parents dead; family treasure; shipwreck; escape... "Well," she said, settling into her storytelling frame of mind, "it began when I was a baby, really. My father and mother were the Duke and Duchess of Abingdon, you see, and they were as rich as anything. My father was one of the king's advisers, and the king himself used to come and stay, oh, all the time. They'd go hunting in our forest. The house there, where I was born, it was the biggest house in the whole south of England. It was called - " Without even a cry of warning, the harpy launched herself at Lyra, claws outstretched. Lyra just had time to duck, but still one of the claws caught her scalp and tore out a clump of hair. "Liar! Liar!" the harpy was screaming. "Liar!" She flew around again, aiming directly for Lyra's face; but Will took out the knife and threw himself in the way. No-Name swerved out of reach just in time, and Will hustled Lyra over toward the door, because she was numb with shock and half-blinded by the blood running down her face. Where the Gallivespians were, Will had no idea, but the harpy was flying at them again and screaming and screaming in rage and hatred: "Liar! Liar! Liar!" And it sounded as if her voice were coming from everywhere, and the word echoed back from the great wall in the fog, muffled and changed, so that she seemed to be screaming Lyra's name, so that Lyra and liar were one and the same thing. Will had the girl pressed against his chest, with his shoulder curved over to protect her, and he felt her shaking and sobbing against him; but then he thrust the knife into the rotten wood of the door and cut out the lock with a quick slash of the blade. Then he and Lyra, with the spies beside them on their darting dragonflies, tumbled through into the realm of the ghosts as the harpy's cry was doubled and redoubled by others on the foggy shore behind them.