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misscrazyfangirl321 · 2 years

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Will and his little sister: I feel so sick.

I just realized I messed up on ages a bit here. Evie is 16, and Will is 28. Technically he’s supposed to be 15 years older than her, but just ignore that for the sake of this fic, pretty please.

TW for drug use/withdrawals.

Will hears the footsteps coming, but doesn’t bother to open his eyes. His head is pounding, the lights are way too bright, and his whole body aches. Besides, the only people who have a key to this place are Danny and Kayla, and he trusts them both completely.

It isn’t Danny coming, he knows; the footsteps are too quiet, too close together. Kayla, then. That’s good; hopefully she brought him some food, because he’s starving.

“I feel so sick,” he says, and he knows he’s whining, but he can’t bring himself to care. Distantly, he’s grateful that he has friends he can whine to, friends who will take care of him even when he feels like this: miserable, jittery, in pain, fighting both insomnia and fatigue (always tired, never sleeping, like some sort of twisted fairytale curse). One day, when this is all over, he’ll have to thank Danny and Kayla for letting him crash on their couch (letting him fall apart, and not shaming him as he tries to piece himself back together).

The footsteps reach the living room, then stop, lingering in the doorway. “Will?” The voice is soft, but it cuts straight through him, and his stomach turns. Not her; anyone but her.

She-his precious little sister, the best thing that’s ever happened to him, the only one in his family that doesn’t treat him like a freak half the time-cannot be seeing him like this: burning from withdrawals, fraying at the edges. She’ll never look at him the same way again.

Part of him wants to ignore her, to pretend she isn’t there. Maybe he can convince himself that this is all some sort of dream, or a hallucination of some kind. But… She is there, and already, he knows she’s scared.

Digging up every bit of strength inside him, he opens his eyes, and tries to sit up. Nope, bad idea. The room spins, and he lets his head fall back onto the couch cushion, settling for facing her. “Hey, Evie.” His voice is hoarse, like he’s been screaming for hours (and maybe he has; the past few days are a blur in his mind), but he can at least force a weak smile. “What are you doing here?”

She knows something’s wrong; it’s written all over her face. But she’s still young (younger than he ever was at her age; by sixteen he was bitter, and angry at the world, aware of anything and everything that could dull the pain), so as long as he can put on a good show, she won’t figure out what it is. Hopefully.

At last, she speaks, taking a tentative step toward him at the same time. “I just wanted to show you what Mom and Dad got me for my birthday.” It sounds almost like a question.

Wait, birthday? No way; her birthday isn’t for-

Oh no. No, no, no. He’s never missed her birthday. Not once, even from her very first. He’s doted on her with cake, presents, and singing, making sure she knows exactly how important she is to him. But since he missed his first dose, the details of life have gone by the wayside, and now all too soon, she’ll know he forgot (though it’s so painfully obvious, she probably already does).

“What-” He’s shaking, he realizes absently, and tries to force himself still. “What did they get you?”

There has to be something he can do, he reasons. Something he can pull out of thin air, some way to convince her that no, really, he didn’t forget. It should be easy enough-he’s always been a quick thinker-but now it feels like his brain is fighting through a sea of fog, and it’s losing. He’s losing.

“A car.”

“Nice.” Really nice; they definitely never bought him a car (and the anger stirring in his chest must be a withdrawal symptom, because he never even asked them for a car, but it burns all the same).

This isn’t helpful. He needs to focus, but it seems almost impossible. Hunger, pain, frustration, and exhaustion war in his mind, and he can’t seem to push past them. Not even for her.

Against his will, his mind is drawn to his backpack, to the stash even Danny and Kayla don’t know about. It’s just across the room, and it would be so easy for him to get to it. It wouldn’t take long for the effects to hit, and he’d start to feel human again. Just one dose, a voice at the back of his mind whispers. Just one dose, for Evie’s sake. Is there anything he wouldn’t do for her?

And then what? Is he going to quit a second time? To start this misery over from the beginning, and go through withdrawals all over again? No. Deep down, he knows that if he gives in now, this will never end. He’ll always find another excuse, another reason, to take just one more dose. He’ll be trapped in this cycle, never quite able to break free, and he’ll never stand a chance of getting into Quantico.

The thought is enough to steel him. Is he really willing to do that? Give up the chance to put the bad guys behind bars, to save little kids from having to weep over dead mothers? Not for a second. No, taking another dose isn’t an option; he’ll just have to deal with Evie on his own, even if everything in him is fighting back.

Evie’s watching him expectantly, and he realizes she must have answered while he was lost in his own head.

“Sorry, what’d you say?”

But apparently she’s had as much of this as she can take. “What is wrong with you?”

What’s wrong with me? A bitter laugh slips out of his mouth before he can stop it, a thousand answers bubbling up in his mind. Should I start with my childhood trauma, the constant pressure I’m under, or my feelings of isolation? No reason to let that psychology degree go to waste, after all. What’s wrong with me? How long do you have?

Inhale. Exhale. This is his little sister. This is Evie, and he loves her. He will not allow the fire in him to scorch her.

“Stomach bug.” He manages another shaky smile. “Might not want to get too close to me.”

“Stomach bug?” She echoes. Fear gives way to gentle concern, and Will can finally breathe. She’s actually convinced. That’s good, because everything still hurts, and if she doesn’t leave soon, his control might start slipping. It’s taking everything in him just to hold it together.

“Mmm. Something I picked up at Harvard.” It’s not even completely a lie. “Listen, as soon as I’m feeling better, we’ll do something together, okay? You can even drive me somewhere in that car of yours, if you promise not to speed.” How he finds an ounce of teasing to slip into his words, he has no idea.

Pursing her lips together, she seems to weigh her options. “Maybe you should come home. Mom makes a really good chicken noodle soup.”

Soup sounds amazing, and Will’s stomach grumbles (and maybe, just maybe, there’s a child inside him that really loves the idea of going home, of having his family there to help him through this), but he firmly ignores it. Evie may be young and innocent, but his dad and Michelle are not. They’d take one look at him and know, and then their whole family would know.

“I’m okay.” This one is, in fact, completely a lie, but a necessary one. At the very least, he can follow it up with some truth. “Danny and Kayla are taking good care of me.” Then, because he has to ask, “Wait, how did you find me? Did they tell you where I was?”

If they did, he might never forgive them.

“I saw Kayla at the grocery store.” She shrugs. “She was picking up those weird cookies you love so much, so… I had a hunch, you know?”

“And how did you get in?”

She has the grace to look a little sheepish. “I looked around until I found their spare key.”

And part of him wants to be angry-not at Evie, never at Evie, but at Kayla, for giving away his location, or at her and Danny, for having their spare key in such an obvious hiding place-but he forces himself to exhale. This isn’t their fault, he tells himself, and mostly believes it.

Deep breaths. Keep joking, keep teasing, and get her out of here. “Pretty sure breaking and entering is a crime,” he points out, and she huffs.

“I didn’t break anything! I just-” But her voice rises, and Will can’t help but wince, closing his eyes in a helpless attempt to stop the echoing noise. She pauses, and when she speaks again, it’s soft. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” he says, but it’s strained, so obviously a lie that he can’t even look at her.

“I should go. Get to feeling better, okay?” She starts walking; he hears her, but doesn’t bother opening his eyes again. It hurts too much, and besides, he’s exhausted, frayed to his limits in an effort to act somewhat normal for her. “I’ll leave some candy in your backpack in case you get hungry later.”

“Hm.” Candy sounds good, even if walking all the way over there sounds like a lot of work. He’s hungry, so hungry, and Danny and Kayla still aren’t back with food. Maybe he could ask Evie to bring it over to him instead, but he’s already told her he has a stomach bug; she has to keep her distance.

Still, though, surely there’s somewhere closer than-

His backpack.

Horror dawns, and he shoots upright on the couch, eyes flying open. It’s too much, too fast, and his entire body protests, but he ignores it, just focuses on a desperate “Evie, no-”

But it’s too late. When his gaze lands on the corner, he sees Evie: a vial in one hand, a syringe in the other, looking more pale than he’s ever seen her.

No. No, no, no. He has to keep a clear head, has to think this out, but desperation and pain are clouding his mind, and the only thing he can think to say is, “Put that down.”

“What is this?” But she’s sixteen years old, she’s read the label, and innocent doesn’t mean stupid; she knows what this is and what it means, so why is she dragging this out?

“Put it down.”

“Will, what is going on?”

“Evelyn, just-”

“Are you high?”

It’s out before he can stop it. “No, but I wish I was.”

She withdraws as if he’s slapped her, and he has a moment-just a moment-of painful clarity. Reality settles in, not drowning out the aches but mingling with them, nearly too much to handle.

“I’m sorry, I-just put it down, okay?” His control is slipping, and he swallows roughly. When she complies, he continues, “It’s withdrawals, Evie, just withdrawals. I promise, I’m trying t-I’m trying to get better. It just takes time.”

Tears glisten in her eyes, and he can’t stop the panic clawing at his chest. His own vision blurs, but he ignores that. She’s crying. He made her cry, and it’s his fault, all his fault, and he’s so stupid. None of this would’ve happened if he’d just taken one more dose-

No. No, he can’t think like that; it’s not right. Not right. (He’s spiraling, and he knows it, but he can’t seem to stop, mind growing more and more muddled with rage and fear, with desperation, because he made his little sister cry, and-)

“How long?” Her voice shakes, but she holds her ground. “How long have you been-using?” The word sounds like poison on her lips.

He can’t even think to form some sort of reassurance; all he can do is admit, “Since the second week at Harvard.”

“And you’re-you’re quitting?”

“Yes.” He wills her to understand that he means it, that he’s done with that awful stuff for good.

“So I can pour the rest of this out?”

And in spite of everything-in spite of every firm conviction that he’s done, that he never wants to touch that stuff again-there’s a part of him, wild and desperate, that wants to say no. Wants to beg her not to take it from him, or worse: shove her away, so that she’s nowhere near his precious stash.

It’s that last urge, more than any other, that leads him to nod. Because no matter how bad things get, no matter how suffocating, he’s never going to let anyone lay a hand on Evie. Especially not him.

She takes the vial and the syringe, and when she comes back again, she has neither. Wherever they are, they’re gone, and he can never have them again. There’s a pit of loss in his stomach, but with it, something like relief. One way or another, this is over.

“Evie, I-”

“Do Danny and Kayla know?”

“Yeah. They’re taking care of me. Evie, please-” He doesn’t even know what he’s asking for at this point. For her to not tell anyone? For her to not hate him? For her to not look at him like a complete failure?

She stares at him for several long seconds, expression unreadable, until finally, he looks away. His back to her, facing the edge of the couch, he waits for her to leave. He won’t blame her, he knows; after everything she’s seen, she has every right to leave him behind. The tears in his eyes slowly start to slip, and he wants to scream. He doesn’t cry in front of Evie, not ever, and-

And suddenly there’s someone sitting on the couch behind him, arms snaking around his waist, and a warm weight against his back. Her tears soak through his shirt, and he’s shaking so hard he can hardly think, but she doesn’t let go, and he reaches up, clinging to her arms like they’re the only thing keeping him from drowning.

“I’m sorry,” he says at one point, or she says; it’s hard to be sure.

At last the tears subside, and she releases him, patiently waiting for him to look back at her. When he finally does, his heart breaks at the calm, steady expression on her face. It’s like she’s aged ten years in as many minutes.

“I won’t tell anyone,” she promises, and he’s more than a little surprised. “But you have to get better, okay? Promise me you won’t ever, ever do something like this again.”

“I promise,” he says, and he means it to his bones. No matter what, he’s never going to put her through this again.

“Good.” At last, she smiles, shaky but sincere. “I love you.”

And it’s so much more than he deserves, almost enough to bring him to tears all over again. “I love you, too, Evie,” he says quietly. “We’re gonna be okay, okay?”

Maybe not today, and maybe not tomorrow, but someday, they’ll be okay.

#stay tuned to the end of my tags for screaming about the writing process for this fic bcs it was something else #will zimmerman #evelyn zimmerman #sanctuary #my fics #my writing #mine #answered #thanks for the ask!#lattes of love #ec snowed in #okay rant time #this is the fic that i wrote almost in its entirety on tumblr #then lost #i almost immediately tried to rewrite it #but i didn't like how it was going #so i didn't finish #later i decided to pick this story up again but i was like 'yeah that one doc is terrible i'm just opening another one'#and it was... better #i didn't love it #but it was okay #i didn't finish it that time either #i went back later to work on it #and went to the wrong document #anyway long story short i ended up with two nearly completely versions of this story to replace the one i lost #(except the ending. i only wrote everything after the initial confrontation once; i didn't even get there the very first time i wrote this)#so today i opened a new document #and basically copy-and-pasted my favorite versions of each sentence #and reformatted a tiny bit #and when i didn't like either sentence i wrote a new one

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hailsatanacab · 7 months

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A Persuasive Argument - dpxdc

"Great!" Danny says, clapping his hands together to get everyone's attention. The dinner table falls silent as everyone looks towards him. It's a full house today and, honestly, Danny's a little nervous. "I'm sure you're all wondering why I gathered you here today."

"It's dinnertime. In our house." Duke mutters, while doing a very bad job of concealing his yawn. He holds his fork poised over the braised beef, but, just like everyone else, still looks towards Danny before tucking in. It's intriguing enough to wait.

"Yeah, no one misses Alfie's dinner." Dick says, with a brilliant smile that Danny can't help but return.

"Precisely! What better time to talk to you all than when you're all actually here!"

"Wait, I thought you came round to work on our English essays?" Tim asks, blinking owlishly.

"I'm afraid I've lured you here under false pretences, Tim."

"This is where I live."

"I would still really appreciate help on that essay though, I mean, what the hell is Hamlet even about? I just don't get that old time-y language, like 'Hark! A ghost hath killed me!' - absolute rubbish, what does that even mean?"

"The ghost never kills anyone in Hamlet, he's there to tell Hamlet that he was murdered. Have you actually read it?"

"No, but it sounds like you have. Tim, I want this guy to help me with my essay instead. I know for a fact that you haven't read Hamlet, either."

"So? We don't need Jason, I've read the Sparknotes."

"Hi Jason, I'm Danny, pleasure to meet you, summarise Hamlet in three sentences or less."

"Am I auditioning to help you write your essays? I can't believe you’ve gone through your whole school life without reading it, it’s good!"

"Hamlet, along with a number of other classics, was banned in our house because it portrayed ghosts as intelligent and sympathetic beings rather than evil, animalistic beasts. I didn’t even get to see The Muppet's Christmas Carol until last year with Tim! It was surprisingly good, and I hate Christmas because everyone always argued and it sucked. But we're getting off topic. I—"

"No, no, please go back to that, because what the fu—"

"Boys, please." Bruce interrupts, looking to the world as if he wants to hang his head in his hands. "Danny, you were about to say something?"

"Oh, yeah, Mr. Wayne! Thanks!"

"Please, call me Bruce."

"Well, that very succinctly brings me to my point, because I'd actually really like to call you dad."

Nobody says a word. Nobody even blinks, all as shocked as the other, watching open-mouthed as Danny pulls his laptop out from beside his chair. Bruce can definitely feel a headache coming on.

"Before you say anything, I've prepared a 69 slide PowerPoint presentation on why you, Bruce Wayne, should adopt me, Danny Last-Name-Pending. Please save your questions, comments, and verdict until the end, thank you."