#temporary character death | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

cuubism · 3 months

Text

Rock Paper Scissors

Dreamling | Pre-Slash | 5.7k | AO3

Dream suddenly gripped the lapels of Hob's jacket with a startling fervor, arms stretched across the tabletop. His gaze bore into Hob's. "I beg, allow me to represent you instead." "Now what kind of man would I be if I let others fight my battles?" Hob said, prying his fingers off before his endless grip tore through the fabric. "Hard as it may be to believe, I'm actually not a bad hand at chess. Don't worry about me." "I do not find that hard to believe. However, as I have said, this is not chess. It is an intimate and punishing battle of minds." "Alright, so it's like Go Fish."

Hob gets challenged to a duel. Too bad his opponent has it out for Dream, and has no intention of playing fair.

the first fic I ever started writing for Dreamling a year and a half ago, then forgot about! 😂 then randomly decided to finish.

“ROBERT GADLING,” yelled an individual Hob had never met before in his life, “I hereby challenge you to a duel!”

Hob squinted at him. Said individual was standing across the darkened street, dressed strangely in a white tunic flecked with gold. Then again, Hob’s barometer for strange was a bit different than what was normal, so who was he to say, really.

“What?” he said.

Suddenly this person was much closer to him. Hob flinched back, but couldn’t move much, close as he was to the pub door. “We have business,” hissed his pale-suited challenger. It was a masculine figure, blond hair swished to one side, eyes like fire.

Hob wasn’t impressed. He’d seen worse. Better, too.

“Listen, mate,” he said, “I don’t really have time for this. I’ve already got something on the books tonight. Come back tomorrow.”

He started to walk through the doorway, but the… creature?—he didn’t think it was human—grabbed his arm and pulled him back. “We have business,” it repeated.

Hob tried to shake off its hand, but its grip was like hot iron. It seared through his jacket and burned his skin.

“What business?” he snapped. “I’m certain we’ve never met before, and my memory is actually pretty good, long as it is.”

The creature smiled, more like a baring of teeth. “You have courted those who have harmed me—and my ilk.”

“Not clearing it up at all.”

There was a sound like the swishing of a thousand ghosts, and then Dream was beside him.

Dream. How strange, still, to have a name, a history—well, sort of—to put to the face he’d circled back to over and over again for all these years. The name cut his friend into sharp relief—Hob’s shadow, finally united with the being who cast it.

Where the pale stranger burned white-hot, Dream emanated cold. Hob had always found his friend’s cold aura strangely comforting. It didn’t feel dangerous and biting like the winter wind. Instead, it was the cold of lake water when one dove deep enough, a subtle and quiet draw to the otherworldly.

Well. Usually it didn’t feel dangerous. Right now, it felt positively hypothermic.

Dream’s presence chilled the air until the stranger was forced to yank his hand away from Hob’s arm, shaking it out with a hiss. Hob’s breath fogged the air in front of his face, never mind that it was summer.

“Phaethon,” Dream hissed on one long, cold breath. “You are not wanted here.”

Phaethon pulled himself up haughtily. “I can go as I please. Night, or no night.”

“You may test that theory if you wish.”

Phaethon faltered, just a bit, before recovering himself. “I am here only to deliver a message. I challenge you, Robert Gadling, to a duel.” His blazing eyes flickered over to Hob, then back to Dream. “I did not believe you were one to violate the old rules of challenge, Lord of Dreams.”

He bowed slightly. It felt mocking, which rankled Hob, who’d otherwise been keeping his cool.

“Are you going to explain what this is about?” he said, for the third time. “I don’t appreciate being accused of things I haven’t done.”

Instead of answering, Phaethon said, “I’ve uncovered your history. There’s quite a lot of it, isn’t there? I wager it could make quite a bit of trouble for you, having all of that information turned over to certain parties. Human authorities. Occultists. Vampire hunters, they’ll love you–”

“I’m not a vampire,” Hob snapped.

“Doesn’t matter. Point is, we can do that, or, you can choose to face me directly.”

“What do you seek to gain from the challenge?” demanded Dream. He seemed to know more about what was going on here than Hob, which wasn’t comforting. Hob didn’t particularly want to get drawn into some kind of immortal creature game with obscure rules he’d end up tripping over.

Phaethon’s grin emerged one tooth at a time. “I want… your dreams.”

Hob probably should have been more troubled by this. Instead, he just frowned in confusion. “Not sure that’s in your power, mate. You’re aware who you’re talking to?”

He didn’t need to gesture to Dream looming over his shoulder.

“If you agree to the terms,” said Phaethon, a hiss like lava dripping over stone, “then the magic will bind us.”

Dream didn’t contradict him, but his anger cooled the air until Hob felt like he was standing atop a glacier.

“I think I’ll pass,” Hob told Phaethon. “Feel free to try to reveal me. I’m good at disappearing.”

He turned to go—

“Lord Morpheus.” Phaethon turned the beam of his gaze on him, sunlight ricocheting off ice. “Will you stand in his stead?”

Hob grit his teeth and, against his better judgment, turned back around. “Don’t bring him into this. Look, if I win your challenge, what do I get in return?”

“You may request whatever you like,” said Dream. “Such are the terms of the agreement.”

“Fine. If I win, then I want this: you never speak to or of me again. That means no threatening me, no using me to threaten anyone else, no telling anyone about me—nothing. Got it?” God, Hob just wanted to go inside and have a beer.

Phaethon gave him a little bow. “Fair enough. I accept the terms of this challenge.”

Dream seemed aggravated; a trickle of energy, like black lightning, scurried up the back of his neck and disappeared into his hair. But he didn’t intervene.

Hob and Phaethon shook on it. Then Phaethon retreated into the shadows again, calling, “Tomorrow at midnight, Robert Gadling. I will see you then.” Then his eyes blinked out and he was gone.

Hob shuddered. Good riddance. He rather preferred his eldritch creature to that one, thanks very much.

“What was that?” he said.

Dream’s presence was warming again by small degrees. The atmosphere was now more like an industrial freezer than Antarctica. “A minor demigod.”

“Oh, minor. Alright then.”

“They are occupied by petty troubles,” said Dream.

Hob looked at him out of the corner of his eye, but elected not to comment.

“Come on,” he said instead, leading the way back toward the pub. “We’re supposed to be having an easy night of it, dammit!” He wasn’t about to let some minor demigod ruin his night. He never knew how many of them he would get with his friend.

Dream’s gaze lingered on the spot where Phaethon had disappeared, but eventually, like the sweeping of a long coat tail, he followed.

---

"So, a duel," Hob remarked as they sat down across from each other in the pub booth. "I admit, I haven't dueled anyone in a few centuries, but I can't imagine it'll be—”

"It is not what you are thinking of," Dream interrupted. He had folded himself into the booth seat like a stick insect trying to cram itself in a jar. It was an absurd image, the long black coat, the spindly arms on the tabletop. "It is not a fight of the physical form. It is a battle of the mind and will."

"You're going to have to elaborate."

"In such a challenge—” Dream began, but was interrupted by the arrival of a waitress, there to take their order.

"So, what can I get for you chaps?" she said brightly.

The idea of Dream being a chap was so hilarious Hob had to stifle a laugh. Yeah, maybe he wasn't taking the whole duel thing seriously enough. Oh well.

Hob ordered a beer and a plate of chips. When Dream showed no sign of speaking, he ordered for him, too.

“You can order whatever you like,” Hob told him, when the waitress had gone. “It is my pub and all.”

Dream picked up the laminated menu gingerly. It wobbled in his hands. He looked down at it with a flat expression.

Hob realized belatedly that he probably didn’t know what to order. How much had pub food changed since— God, 1910 or so? And it wasn’t like his friend would have had much time to peruse menus since, what with all he’d been up to.

“Just try the chips,” Hob said, taking the menu away from him. “We’ll see how far that gets you.”

"I have no need of human food," Dream said, folding his hands back on the table.

“Sure, and I technically don’t need my left leg, either, but I do rather like having it.”

“You say strange things,” Dream murmured. “As I was telling you. In such a challenge—”

The waitress returned with their drinks. Dream glowered at her. Hob thanked her brightly.

"So, you were saying?" he said, sipping his beer. "In such a challenge…?"

"In such a challenge—”

The waitress arrived again with their chips. Dream slammed his hands on the table, shaking the chips in their basket and making the waitress jump.

"Sorry," Hob apologized, "we've had a bit of a day." Wasn't it always.

"In such a challenge," Dream continued when she had gone, in a tone that suggested he would not be stopped this time, "one must suggest a mind-form, which one's opponent will attempt to surmount and defeat. Then you attempt to defeat their new form, and so on until one challenger is victorious. It is… a predictive game, of sorts. If one can predict what one's opponent’s moves might be, one can choose forms to foil them. This can easily become complicated."

"So, it's like chess," Hob summarized.

Dream stiffened, lips pressing into an offended line. "It is not so simple as chess."

"Checkers?"

"It will not help you to think of it so." Dream took a chip and bit into it in irritation. "You just— oh." He stared at the chip. "These are quite pleasant."

"Can never go wrong with a good chip," said Hob, then furrowed his brows. "Haven't you had them in dreams before or something?"

"Presumably. It has been at least a century."

Ah, yeah. That. "Well, they're frying them in veg oil instead of lard nowadays anyway. Kind of a different experience."

Dream stared at him as if Hob made no sense whatsoever.

"Anyway," Hob continued, "am I even going to be able to create these mind-forms? I'm not exactly an otherworldly being."

"The power is in you, though it may be more challenging to harness. And easier to let slip from your grasp. It is imagination, after all. Humans are good at imagination, though perhaps not so good at holding onto it."

"Hmm." Hob munched on a chip. "Okay. I'll work on my imagination." After seven hundred years or so of life, it was possibly a tool that needed some sharpening.

"I admit it offends me greatly that Phaethon would presume to ask a human to fight in this way," said Dream. He suddenly gripped the lapels of Hob's jacket with a startling fervor, arms stretched across the tabletop. His gaze bore into Hob's. "I beg, allow me to represent you instead."

"Now what kind of man would I be if I let others fight my battles?" Hob said, prying his fingers off before his endless grip tore through the fabric. "Hard as it may be to believe, I'm actually not a bad hand at chess. Don't worry about me."

"I do not find that hard to believe. However, as I have said, this is not chess. It is an intimate and punishing battle of minds."

"Alright, so it's like Go Fish."

"Do not joke," Dream growled. Actually, he never truly growled. It was more like his voice dropped into a lower register than usual. Which was saying something. Hob interpreted it as a growl, though. "Do not joke when your existence is at stake. Your immortality cannot protect you from this."

"Are you saying I'd be unmade if I lost?" Hob asked. It was a concerning thought, to say the least. It had been a long time since he'd had to concern himself with his own mortality.

Dream’s tongue ran over his lower lip. "Potentially. The terms of the fight do not state so, but I do not know how such a duel will affect a human. The strain of it may simply tear you to shreds. It nearly drained me, the last time I fought."

"Wait, you had a fight like this? Recently?"

Dream tilted his head, gaze paling in confusion. "I told you that I went to Hell to retrieve my helm."

"Yeah, but you didn't tell me you had to mind-battle– who'd you mind-battle anyway?"

"The demon chose Lucifer Morningstar as his representative." Dream’s lip curled in distaste. "Hence, the near loss."

Hob looked at him in concern. "Are you alright, though?"

"Of course I am all right." He spoke it as two words, like the phrase had never before graced his tongue. Hob wanted to let out a long-suffering sigh, but managed to restrain himself. "I am Dream of the Endless."

"Mmhmm. Yep. Okay."

"You do not have to worry about me," Dream said stiffly, parroting Hob's words from before.

Hob thought that was evidently untrue, but decided not to mention the century of imprisonment or the multiple near-death experiences— could he die? Maybe it was more like multiple near-misses with eternal agony— since then. To preserve the relative peace of the moment.

"So how'd you beat the devil, then?" he asked.

"I had everything to lose. Lucifer had nothing to lose, and only a paltry amusement to gain."

Was that an answer? Hob wasn't sure.

"Okay," he said. "Well, I do have all of my dreams to lose, apparently. Plenty of incentive to win."

Ice crystallized along the rim of Dream’s glass, spreading from where his fingers pressed. “You speak as if you think I would ever allow this to happen.”

Hob raised an eyebrow. “I thought the magic was binding?”

“Only by honor.”

“And so… what would happen if you violated that honor?”

The words trickled out of Dream reluctantly. “One’s word would not be trusted again.”

“Right. Exactly. I can’t let you do that, love. There’s a whole eternity of words needing to be trusted after this.” It was tempting, honestly, to let his more powerful friend step in and handle this—especially as Hob still hadn’t gleaned what the hell he’d even done to piss off Phaethon—but ultimately, it wouldn’t be right. He’d never used Dream as a clean-up tool for any of his problems in the past, and he wasn’t about to start just because he now knew he was the Lord of Dreams.

Dream’s expression darkened further. He truly was capable of embodying shadow when he was annoyed; Hob didn’t know how he hadn’t figured out the extent of his supernaturalness sooner, honestly. “You would not let.”

“Hey. Come on. I’ve solved plenty of my own problems, haven’t I? Have a little faith.” Hob kind of wanted to pat his hand, but wasn’t sure it was a good idea. “You don’t think I can win a duel against this Phaethon guy?”

Dream seemed uncertain about it, and Hob couldn’t help but feel a little offended. Sure, he wasn’t a supernatural entity, but Hob had gotten himself out of a fair number of scrapes, and without the help of any Endless, thanks very much!

“His rancor disturbs me,” Dream said at last. “I do not know what you have done to offend him.”

“Nor I. Never met the guy.”

Dream seemed lost in contemplation. Hob let him, and kept eating the chips.

Eventually, Dream said, “Even if this loss did come to pass… you would always have a place in the Dreaming.”

Hob’s breathing stuttered. “With you?” he said, sounding much smaller than he’d expected. It was… an ill-considered response, to say the least.

Dream shifted in his seat. “I am the Dreaming,” he said. “It is part of me, and I it.”

“I see,” said Hob. But the thought kept turning within him.

---

No more was said on the matter until their beers were drunk and their chips polished off and they were strolling out the door of the pub.

As they crossed the threshold, Hob was struck by a realization. He slapped Dream on the breast of his coat, stopping him in his tracks.

"I'm an idiot! Of course it's not like chess. It's metaphysical rock-paper-scissors!"

"Are you intoxicated?" Dream asked wearily.

"Nope. Just happy to have my old friend around again."

Dream’s form, unbreakable as the darkness between stars, stuttered. Behind him, his shadow wavered.

Then he swept away, leaving Hob to catch up.

---

They met again on the field of battle, so to speak.

Phaethon was there before them, melodramatic in his white-and-gold cape. Not as melodramatic as Dream, though, whose eyeliner seemed darker than usual, somehow, and whose cloak swept all the way to the ground, pooling more like liquid than fabric. He was very displeased about these events, Hob could tell.

Hob shook Phaethon’s hand formally. Once again, the touch burned him, but he resisted the urge to shake his hand out in pain. Then they stood across from each other. Hob wished he had a sword, but that was not this game.

"As the challenged party, you commence the duel," Dream told him, standing not far from Hob’s side as Phaethon paced before them, grinning. "You may choose your form and begin."

Hob had thought long and hard about how he would start. He didn't want to go too big, else the fight escalate beyond his control. Obviously, he didn't want to pick something weak either.

What was out there that had tormented mankind, sowing destruction, breeding fear and illness and death, while barely reaching higher than an ankle?

Hob had lived through it. The choice was obvious.

"I am a plague rat," he started, and saw Dream’s eyebrows twitch. Impressed. Ha! "Hiding in shadows. Letting sickness into our food, homes, blood."

He saw the rats in his mind. Scurrying through tunnels, climbing into grain stores, unaware of what they carried. A seething mass of tails and slick fur and beady eyes, churning, churning, churning.

Phaethon curled in on himself, limbs creaking, boils popping on his skin and pus leaking from his eyes. Hob flinched at the reminder of those times. Horrible, horrible times.

Mentally, Hob prepared for the counterattack. Paper beats rock. What beats rat? Dog beats rat. Cat beats rat. Famine, extermination fumes, plague doctors, modern medicine—

"I," Phaethon ground out, through the contortions of his body, "am a flood."

Oof. Good one.

"A swelling, raging river, decimating any town in my path. Washing rats down to their deaths."

A phantom wave smacked Hob in the face and hurled him to the ground. It crashed over him, gallons and gallons of water, surging up his nose, into his eyes, down his throat. He choked on it. He drowned in it. Debris in the floodwaters bruised him till he felt like a branch spinning out in the current, rather than a human.

Then. He managed to take in a breath.

He staggered to his feet.

Dream was standing a step closer, like he'd lurched forward, but he forced himself back into stillness.

"I," Hob said on a gasping breath, pushing wet hair out of his eyes, "am a drought." Phaethon had taken it to another level? Fine. Hob would go scorched earth. "Whisking away all your water. Turning everything into dust."

Phaethon choked, throat suddenly dry. His eyes went bloodshot. His skin flaked and peeled, his lips bled. He clutched at his stomach as it heaved for water.

He could go rain again, Hob thought. Or ice age. Asteroid. Biblical flood—does that count if he already did a regular flood?

"I am famine," said Phaethon, when he'd recovered himself, though he was still rasping. "I wither crops without water. I starve everything that walks."

Hob's stomach caved in on itself. He fell to his knees, retching nothing but bile. His mind flashed back to his decades on the streets, so long without food he'd thought his stomach would start eating itself—and then it had.

His arms shook. His body felt thin and liable to crack.

"I," he croaked, still on all fours, "am an oasis. Rising from the desert, real, not a mirage. Offering reprieve."

Too late, he realized this might restore his opponent.

But instead, Phaethon creased and cracked, like he was the famine, persecuted by salvation. He clasped his stomach as if it was overfull; water poured from his mouth.

Water filled Hob's mouth, too, but it restored him. He climbed back to his feet.

Dream was definitely closer now. He wasn't imagining it. Still, he didn't intervene.

Phaethon was visibly weakened, but still he said, "I am selfishness. Infighting over limited resources. Society destroying its oasis."

Hob's limbs were torn in opposite directions. He yelled, but the invisible hands on him didn't let up, yanking at him like he was the final piece of food before everlasting deprivation. He pulled at them, but it was no use.

One of his shoulders dislocated with a loud pop, and he bit down on his tongue so as not to scream. Blood exploded in his mouth.

"I am generosity!" he yelled, blood dripping over his lips. "I am brother sharing with brother. Stranger sharing with stranger."

Dream was looking at him now like he didn't know what to make of him. Phaethon, too, was staring at him, but with a look of disgust.

"High-minded idealist, are you?" he sneered. "What the hell is generosity going to—”

His expression broke in half. His hands shook; he picked at his nail beds until they peeled and started bleeding. His lip wavered and his eyes beaded with tears.

Hob didn't know what was happening to him.

"Shame," Dream breathed from behind him. "So clever, Hob."

Hob hadn't actually known what generosity would do, but he appreciated the compliment nonetheless.

"I," croaked Phaethon, through tears, "am memory. History and anger curdled to a resentment which no generosity can overcome."

He felt Dream’s eyes on him, as he no doubt feared the anger, the resentment he so believed that Hob held over his absence would surge forth again. But it did not, for Hob had never been angry with Dream. Angry with himself, yes, and that he felt acutely, along with the fear and hurt of Dream walking away, the stewing guilt of it.

Memory held more than anger. Mostly, for Hob, it held grief. Grief for his friend who'd been imprisoned for so long, while Hob went about his life, imagining him lonely, isolated perhaps, but never knowing the truth. Grief for himself, too, for he knew that to always blame himself for Dream’s behavior had also been unfair.

Tears slipped from his eyes. He looked over at Dream, who was still watching him warily.

Memory had far too many facets for Phaethon to use it as an effective weapon.

"I am forgiveness," Hob said, closing his eyes against a fresh welling of tears. He didn't know who he was forgiving. Himself, or Dream, who still seemed to need absolution from Hob, no matter how Hob told him he didn’t.

"I am hatred!" Phaethon snarled. His voice had gone animalistic in a last ditch effort to come out on top. But forgiveness clanged around him, pulling tears from his eyes, undermining his viciousness. "I am division even forgiveness cannot mend."

Just like that, he opened up the path for Hob to take his king. Checkmate. Game over. Rock paper scissors shoot.

"I am love," Hob said quietly, even as a sob caught in his throat as the memory of all the hate he'd witnessed in his life, the hate he'd participated in, and the fear, long-held, that even Dream might hate him, for his wrongs, or for overstepping, pulsed back to the forefront. He could never hate Dream, though. No matter what.

"Love can be easily destroyed," snapped Phaethon, but he was wavering.

"But it always comes back," said Hob. Unwitting, he looked over his shoulder at Dream.

His friend was already looking directly at him. That tinge of red, so terrible and familiar now, was back along his eyes. He didn't speak, not to Hob. Hob followed his gaze as he looked over Hob's shoulder and spoke to Phaethon.

"Do you have a counter?"

"Love?" Phaethon laughed hysterically. "You brought love to a duel?"

"I believe Hob brings love everywhere he goes," said Dream, and Hob whipped back around to look at him, eyes wide. The tiniest smile was dancing on Dream’s lips.

Then a blade erupted from Hob's chest.

Blood sprayed. His heart stopped beating—actually stopped, he felt it. The sword had pierced right through it. He scrabbled for it with clumsy hands, but the blade shiiiinged back out before he could grab it.

Blood spattered Dream’s face. Those pretty lips parted, eyes widened, the lordly bearing wiped from his expression leaving only a person, shocked and wounded. Hob would never forget that look of startled horror for as long as he lived.

Which wasn't looking to be that long.

He fell to his knees, blood pouring from his chest. No use trying to stop it. It would mend itself, in time, but that knowledge did nothing to stop the instinctive rush of fear. He was dying. He was dying.

He fell on his side. Blood soaked his shirt. All told, it took maybe ten seconds after getting speared like a wild hog—

—for the world to completely blink out.

---

Hob's chest ached like a bitch when he woke.

He was still on the ground, bloody mud around him, soaking his clothes. Oh. That was mud made from his blood. How horrifying.

He opened his eyes in time to see Dream lifting Phaethon from the ground by his neck. His hand was a vice grip and Phaethon choked, scrabbling at his fingers for breath.

"TREACHERY," Dream snarled, louder than Hob had ever heard him. His voice boomed across the empty park. "I will unmake you."

"I'm not one of your creatures, you can do nothing to me," said Phaethon, but his assuredness flickered.

Dream’s being was a black hole eating light. "Watch it happen."

Hob coughed, dirt trapped in his throat, and shoved himself up on his forearms. Dream froze, and turned slowly to look at him, Phaethon still clasped in his hand like he weighed nothing. Dream’s attention was like being in the path of a comet.

"Hob," he said. "Are you alright?"

Hob knew, in that moment, that if he asked Dream to spare Phaethon from whatever fate he had in mind for him, he would comply. And what power that was. Hob didn't want to be the one doling out mercy or punishment, like a judge at the gates of Hell. But damn if it wasn't a thrill to have Dream look at him like that.

"Of course I'm all right," he said, with a bloody grin. "I'm Hob Gadling."

Dream smiled too, a ferocious smile, like that of a wolf.

Hob didn't tell him to spare Phaethon.

Apparently, they both had some savagery in them.

---

"So why did he kill me?" Hob asked later, when he'd showered all the blood off—God he loved modern showers—and they were both sitting at the kitchen table in his flat, drinking tea. Well, Hob was drinking tea. Dream was just kind of staring at it. "I mean, the cost of losing wasn't even that high. Not on his end, anyway."

"He was not interested in you at all," said Dream, still not looking at him. "I dragged the truth from him while you were… gone. This was all a ploy to get to me. To hurt me—indirectly, of course. Such a lower being could never hurt me directly."

"Wait." Hob tried to grapple with this. "You— are you saying I was like a kidnapped princess?"

Dream frowned. "If you insist. The point is, he did not plan to let you walk away. By winning, or by killing you, whichever he could accomplish."

"Damn. Maybe I should have let you fight for me."

"No. You represented yourself admirably. More than admirably. You won the challenge, fairly, and did not try to kill your opponent to do it."

Praise from Dream always hit Hob somewhere deep. Possibly because Dream only said such things when he meant them. Possibly just because it was Dream saying them.

“Well, thanks for handling him in the end,” Hob said, instead of voicing that sentiment.

Dream nodded solemnly. “I would not allow such harm to befall you without interfering,” he said.

Hob took a sip of his tea to avoid showing how he felt about that quite so obviously on his face.

“Why did he want to hurt you, then?” he asked instead.

“He is the child of a sun deity,” said Dream.

“And… that… means…?”

“Sunlight chases away dreams. We are natural enemies.”

Hob frowned. “What about daydreams?”

“Daydreams may take place during the daytime, but they exist in the darkness of the inner mind,” said Dream.

“Ahhhh.” Hob nodded sagely. Yeah, sure, that made sense. One hundred percent. Absolutely. “I don’t know, I feel like some dreams can survive in the daylight. Thrive, even.”

“Perhaps next time I have an altercation with a sun deity, I will call upon you,” Dream said, a bite of sarcasm in it. “To see if you can banish them with this mindset.”

“Don’t give me that cheek,” Hob admonished. Dream’s mouth popped open in offense, but Hob plowed on, “Just have an open mind about it, that’s all I’m saying. Who knows, maybe you guys are in a symbiotic relationship or something, instead of enemies. You help people see what could be possible, and they balance it with reality.”

Dream was silent for a moment, thinking. “Perhaps,” he said at last. “But I do not think approaching them in this manner will serve me well, at the moment.”

“Maybe not if they’re going around attacking you,” Hob conceded, and Dream cracked a small smile.

Sun deities, Hob thought. Really, life was full of such strange and interesting things.

“So when you went to Hell,” Hob started. Dream tilted his head, but didn’t seem thrown by the change in subject. “What did you wager in exchange for your helm? The game makes you wager something, right?”

“It was the demon who chose the other side of the wager,” said Dream. “He demanded I remain in Hell and serve him for eternity, if I lost.”

Hob was glad he’d put down his tea, as he’d probably have dropped it. “What? Was the helm really worth that risk?”

Dream leaned back in his chair, lips pressed tight in offense. Or maybe hurt. “I am nothing without my tools of office,” he said.

“That is not true,” said Hob, surprised by his own vehemence. Nothing? He thought he was nothing?

“I could not have restored the Dreaming without them,” Dream insisted.

“Okay, fine. They’re important for your job. But that doesn’t mean you’re nothing without them.” Hob went to lay his hand over Dream’s on the table, hesitated, then decided, fuck it. Dream started when their skin touched, but didn’t move away. Hob repeated his words, with even more emphasis this time. “You’re not nothing.”

Dream met his gaze, challenging. Hob didn’t back down.

“As you wish,” Dream finally said. Which wasn’t actually an agreement. “I can concede that the ruby breaking was ultimately beneficial to my power. But the helm is my symbol of office. To leave it in the possession of a demon is a continual humiliation to my realm and station.”

“Okay, I’m hearing you,” Hob said. It wasn’t that he didn’t think Dream should be able to get his helm back. But he didn’t want Dream to risk horrible punishment for the sake of his pride. Better to slink away alive to try again another day, or so Hob felt. That wasn’t Dream, though.

“Just be careful, okay?” he said. “Even if you lost your helm and everything, and everyone in Hell thought you were pathetic—which, by the way, not sure Hell’s opinion is worth much anyway? but that aside—I’d still rather have you here than the alternative.” He threw Dream a smile, hoping he didn’t take offense to the idea that he could possibly be pathetic. “It wasn’t ‘The King of Dreams and Nightmares, et cetera’ that I missed for all those years, you know?”

“You did not know who I was, then,” Dream pointed out, but he seemed contemplative.

“I liked who I did know,” Hob said. “My friend.”

“Your friend,” repeated Dream slowly. Finally, he did pick up his tea, and took a sip. “A powerful title indeed, if you would have me when it is the only one I carry.”

“If you say so,” Hob said, which brought a small smile to Dream’s lips. If Dream wanted to think of it as a title akin to his kingship and endlessness and whatnot, then Hob would bestow it on him with gladness, and with a warm sense of honor that nestled right in his heart.

“It is…” Dream added, at length, “a meaningful title. To me.”

Rare, those expressions of feeling from Dream. Hob couldn’t help but to bask in them like a cat in a sunbeam. He remembered how Dream had looked at him during the duel. Love always comes back. Worth it, all the strife, to see Dream look at him like that, he thought.

“You defended me,” Dream said. “To prevent me taking the duel in your place. To protect me when it was not warranted.”

Wasn’t warranted. Hob really wished Dream would just learn to let Hob care for him.

"Would have even if I'd known it was you he truly wanted," he said. “I missed my friend for long enough. Wasn’t going to let something happen again when I could get in the way of it.”

“Your friend,” Dream said again. As if savoring the words. His lips tipped up again in a small smile. One just for himself.

Hob squeezed his hand on the table. A grounding touch, a reminder. “And don’t forget it.”

Dream turned his hand over on the table, and squeezed back.

#rip hob lol #dreamling #hob gadling #dream of the endless #my writing #temporary character death #such a hilariously different tone than the last thing i posted

219 notes · View notes

frostbitebakery · 10 months

Text

Oh, This Fragile And Fleeting Youth

“CC-1010, you lost.”

Because Cody has killed him.

“Oh, come on! Sir. I mean, oh, come on, Sir.”

Cody has killed his brother.

“CC-1010, the stats read you drowned in your own blood.”

Because Cody killed him.

“Only a little bit!”

He grips the vibroblade tighter before it can drip out of his hand like the blood off the blade.

“Co— CC-2224, tell Trainer Vau that stabbed lungs don’t count!”

“Fox…” The name slips out of his mouth before he can catch it and drag it back into the safety of his heart.

His brother’s eyes widen like in surprise, like in death Cody brought down on him. “24…”

“CC-1010, I will write you up for insubordination if you—“

The blood spatter on Fox’s chest comes closer. He killed his brother. Distantly he can feel the Curse rising under his skin, prickling it from the inside. He had aimed at the neck. He had seen the swing of the blade across and through it. He had aimed at the neck. He had aimed at the neck. The blood grows closer, swallowing him. He doesn’t know why he had aimed at the neck. There’s no excuse why he—

“Hey, no harm done.”

Because Fox had slammed the butt of his blaster down on Cody’s hand, redirecting the strike to his torso.

“I’m still better than you.”

Reading bloody lips and Fox’s newly discovered cocky smirk. The skull is staring at him.

“CC-1010, do not take another step forward!”

Fox had choked on his own blood before going still. Looking up at Cody sightless and dead.

“Cody, pull yourself together. Now.”

“CC-1010,” the automated voice announces, “the training time limit with— CC-2224— has expired—“

“Thank fuck,” Trainer Vau groans.

“— please leave the training area immediately and proceed to the med halls for check-up. CC-2224, please prepare for the scheduled training unit with— CC-1119— starting in— ten— minutes.”

Cody has killed his brother.

#the unlucky ones #my art #commander cody #cc 2224 #commander fox #cc 1010 #star wars #star wars art #clone troopers #tcw #tcw art #blood #disassociation #temporary character death #I blame #the space in between by how to destroy angels #DEAR GOODNESS #frostbitebakery art

983 notes · View notes

jewishrat420 · 1 month

Text

Steve always thought Eddie was beautiful.

He never let himself linger too long on it in fear of what he might see if he let himself look. If he let himself dust off the dirt that lay on top of it, too overwhelmed by the possibility that he really hadn’t had himself figured out the way he thought he did.

But it’s true.

Like the sky knows clouds that filter in and out of eyesight, like the moon knows the unwavering devotion of the tide, Steve knows this to be a fact as irrefutable as the nature of gravity:

Eddie Munson is beautiful.

It’s in the way his hair bounces with every step. These springy, frizzy little curls that Steve desperately wants to know, intimately, the way he knows his own. Wants to compare them, wants to feel them in the spaces between his fingers, the sensitive parts that nothing else really touches.

It’s in the way he lights up a room as soon as he steps into it, a walking sun that burns so bright that he leaves the hole of every space he was once in great and gaping and singed at the edges. Everything he touches turns to gold, everyone he meets ruined for anyone else.

It’s in the way he carries himself. Tall when people are looking and small when they aren’t, like his body is a show that no one ever willingly buys tickets for but ends up seated front row at regardless.

Steve would buy tickets.

If he had known, if he had been brave enough when it really counted, he would have bought tickets.

There is no one like Eddie, and there never will be again.

But it doesn’t matter now.

Because Eddie is still beautiful, Steve thinks, even when he’s pale.

Even when his skin is sallow and sunken, even when his big brown eyes are tucked behind grayed eyelids.

Even when Steve himself was the one to shut them, but only after he spent nearly an hour gazing into their emptiness.

His hair is shorter now, the frayed edges trimmed by Wayne. He’d laughed as he did it, a sad little hitch in his throat, because apparently Eddie never let him cut his hair when he was younger.

When his blood flowed warm through his arteries, when his skin was still pink.

Wayne said he used to bounce his leg so hard that he was worried he was going to stab the scissors right through his thick skull.

So Eddie grew his hair out, split ends running wild.

But Steve still thought he was beautiful. Frizzy hair and all.

Steve’s never seen him dressed so fancy, not even for his own graduation.

But then again, he never got to try on that suit he borrowed from Wayne. Never got to see just how long the sleeves were, because he never got to be as tall as his uncle, did he?

No, Eddie never got the chance.

Never got the chance to he a normal boy with a normal childhood. To grow into the man he could have become and then into the world that was always too small to fit him.

Eddie Munson: born to die in Hawkins, Indiana.

If only he had tried just a little bit harder.

Fought just a little bit longer.

But he did his best, didn’t he?

Steve certainly thinks so.

Steve thinks he looks beautiful, now, still, always. He tucks a trimmed curl behind his ear, wishes he could have known what it would feel like if his skin were warm.

But it’s okay. He’ll know the feeling one day.

Next time.

Next time, they’ll try again. They’ll try harder.

Next time, Steve won’t be afraid to tell Eddie how beautiful he is.

Won’t be afraid of what comes after, because it will be different.

It won’t end with Eddie, sallow and skinny in a suit six sizes too big for him.

It won’t end with Eddie, pale and pretty as ever, laying in the coffin that’s been on reserve for him since the day he was born.

Next time will be different, see, because it won’t end.

They’ll do it right.

Steve will do it right.

And Eddie will still be beautiful, and Steve will tell him so.

original post

#steddie #stranger things #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie fic #steve x eddie #steddie headcanon #steddie thread #time loop #temporary character death #realizing feelings #oooo #steve is a sad boy #but also. determined

172 notes · View notes

promptsforyourwhumpfic · 5 months

Text

Whump Prompt #1302

The whole ‘limbo moment where the whumpee sees a dead loved one who tells them they have to stay alive etc’ is touching and all, but what if the loved one was more aggressive?

Whumpee: “Am I dead? [Loved One] it’s so good to see you - I’ve missed you so mu-“

Loved One: “What on earth do you think you’re playing at? Get the hell back down there!”

Whumpee: “But- but it’s so painful.”

Loved One: *slaps whumpee*

Whumpee: “The hell was that for?!”

Loved One: “And now it hurts up here. Get back down there, you idiot, you’ve got people waiting for you. I’ll still be here when your time comes.”

#Whump #writing #prompts #angst #death tw #temporary character death #near death experiences #family dynamics

270 notes · View notes

wangxianficrecs · 2 months

Text

Young Madam Jin by StarClearWaters (Readoutloud)

Young Madam Jin

by StarClearWaters (Readoutloud)

G, 5k, Wangxian

Summary: “Jiejie, I thought he had killed you!” “A-Cheng, what do you mean? A-Xian didn’t hurt me. I was protecting him. It was not his fault. It was my choice” A stupid ridiculous choice. She knows now just how she had been used. Kay's comments: This story was a super cool read and I loved this portrayal of Jiang Yanli! I loved to see her live (longer) and I really loved the time travel, though it caught me completely off-guard because I didn't read the tags before :D I think Yanli should be allowed to go apeshit more often actually. Excerpt: “They were Wen-” “They were the ones A-Xian owed his and your life to. And A-Xian’s A-Yuan, was he not a child? When we went to Yiling, did he not tell us stories? Does killing war orphans and refuges make us better than the Wen. Do you feel better now A-Cheng?” Jiang Cheng does not say anything, I can see he wants to yell and scream at me, but this at least he can't bring himself to do. Maybe it is because I have not raised my voice, or maybe it is that I look a little too much like mother. “Was it Jealousy again A-Cheng? Did you let others guide you to hate him, like mother did?”

pov jiang yanli, canon divergence, temporary character death, jiang yanli lives, time travel, time travel fix-it, bamf jiang yanli, jiang yanli/jin zixuan, hurt/comfort, grief/mourning, jiang family dynamics, cloud recesses study arc, cold springs cave, marriage proposal, shameless lan wangji

~*~

(Please REBLOG as a signal boost for this hard-working author if you like – or think others might like – this story.)

100 notes · View notes

uniquevoidflowers · 8 days

Text

I made a fic for @kikker-oma’s art~

Ao3 link:

Link to art:

Warnings: Blood, Temporary Character Death

Legend sat down at an inn bed with his thoughts. He tapped his foot on the carpeted floor, and looked up at the white ceiling.

“Don’t be a bully, vet. Sky doesn’t deserve that.”

Twilight’s words rang through his head, his eyes stinging. He had been pretty mean hadn’t he?

The ranch hand was right, the chosen hero didn’t deserve Legend’s remarks. Sky was the kindest and most heroic soul the vet had met.

So why had he said those things?

The vet rubbed at his eyes, not wanting to cry.

A bully.

It made Legend want to scream. His goal was to help people right? If he couldn’t do that…if he was the exact opposite then…what use was Legend?

The veteran wouldn’t give up so easily though. He’d try to change, and apologize to Sky. He thought over it, trying to picture what he was going to say. He hoped Sky would forgive him, no matter how futile it was.

The veteran stood up off the bed, pulling off his blue cap and laying it on a side table. He took a deep breath and opened the door when—

“HELP!”

Legend rushed out the door and followed the cries of help, heart pounding. He found a young lady, crying and holding a man’s body. “What happened? Is he breathing?” The vet asked as he heard footsteps.

“No!” She cried. “I don’t know what to do. There are horrible monsters out there and he-he tried to fight ‘em but they were too strong.”

He heard the captain’s voice, calling out for an explanation. The lady explained with a trembling voice and Warriors took one look at the limp, unmoving man before using chest compressions. Legend bit his lip, not sure what to do.

“What happened?” Time’s low, concerned voice made the veteran turn around.

“The lady said he tried to fight some monsters outside but couldn’t.” Legend informed.

The old man’s stoic eye trailed to the lady. “Where are these monsters and what specifically happened to him?”

“Oh Hylia.” The lady shuddered and then took a deep breath. “They have a camp real close to the inn and he didn’t wanna risk anything. One of the Moblins grabbed him by the neck and squeezed. He-he tried to get out but I heard a crack and he went unconscious. Out of blind rage I rushed at the Moblin and stabbed it with my pitchfork until it released my husband.”

“Was there any black blood?” Legend asked.

“Ye-yes. Come to think of it, I never recognized the Moblin. I just assumed it was one.” The lady mused.

“I’ll take care of the camp.” Legend decided.

The lady’s eyes widened. “Are you a warrior or a knight or something?”

“Something like that yes.” The veteran shrugged.

“Well…I can’t stop you but, be careful.” The lady warned.

Legend gave a nod. “Slow down, vet.” Time interrupted. “You’re not taking on a camp alone.”

The vet scowled. “Why? On my adventures I was alone.”

“I don’t want to risk anything. I’ll grab the others, and we’ll all go together. Stay here.” Time said sternly.

“Fine.” Legend grumbled and the old man ran up the stairs.

After a few minutes of waiting the urge to leave and help was getting stronger. He needed to help. He was just about to go out the door when Twilight rushed over and stopped him. “And just what do you think you’re doing?” Twilight blocked the doorway.

The vet rolled his eyes. “I thought it was pretty obvious. I’m going to go help.”

The rancher shook his head. “Time gave you an easy task. To stay here. Why are you so insistent on making a choice that could get you hurt, or killed? That’s not helping anyone.”

“B-but…” Legend’s protests stuck in his throat.

“That’s not helping anyone.”

“Bully.”

The veteran stared at the ground, trying to make a retort, prove that it was better that he did go but nothing came out. The ranch hand crossed his arms and leaned against the door, as if Legend would try to rush out now. Soon the others came, armed and ready to go. The rancher opened the door and the vet followed everyone silently. Hyrule nudged him as they walked to the camp. “You okay?”

Damn it of course his sweet successor would notice. “Yeah.” Legend nodded.

The traveller didn’t seem that convinced but he didn’t say anything. They crept to some bushes near the camp. “Four Moblins from

Hyrule’s era. Two red Wizzrobes from Wild’s era. Ton of Bokoblins from Wind’s era, and a…Lizalfos with an axe?” Time guessed.

“Daira.” Hyrule muttered.

“Weaknesses? Things to look out for?” Four prodded.

“That axe can go through shields. The Daira will throw it. Long range weapons are our best bet.” Hyrule advised.

“Wild, I suggest you fire arrows at the Daira. If it throws its axe at anybody, dodge don’t block.” Time commanded.

The champion nodded and climbed up a tree. “Two of us should go after the Wizzrobes, always keep an eye on them.”

“I can.” Hyrule and Four said at the same time.

There was an awkward pause before Time cleared his throat. “Yes, both of you can. The rest of us can do with the Moblins and the Bokoblins. Do not take more than one Moblin at once.”

The veteran readied his sword, unsheathing it. “Let me distract them first.” Wild called in a whisper-shout.

The monsters looked at the trees, but then looked back at their fire. The cook shot an arrow at the ground near a tree, far away. The Bokoblins and Moblins went to inspect it while the Wizzrobes looked up where the arrow had been shot. Hopefully, Wild wasn’t caught. “On three.” Time whispered.

“One.”

“Two.”

“Three!”

They all leapt out of the bushes and Legend sprinted over to the Moblin with the pitchfork holes on its side. He sliced his arm clear off, and sure enough, black blood spilled out. The Moblin let out a roar and turned around, eyes fierce and hungry for revenge.

The veteran dodged a spear and ran up it, standing on the Moblin’s neck and slashing the monster’s neck repeatedly. The Moblin wailed and flung Legend off its neck. The vet landed on his neck but he got up before the spear could pierce his chest. He let out a battle cry and as Fi began to glow he impaled the beast. The Moblin whimpered and fell to the ground, disappearing in a puff of smoke. The only remains of the monster was the black blood staining Legend’s tunic. He turned around just in time to miss a sword.

Another Moblin, snarled and picked up its dead friend’s spear. It wielded both the sword and the spear. Legend dodged both weapons with a hint of fear. He had never seen a monster double-wield like this. His resolve hardened an he grabbed his ice rod and froze it in place. He was running to lunge at it with his sword when agony reached his chest and he stumbled to the ground.

Someone cried out his name. He had no warning when he was suddenly flung across the battlefield and he landed on the cold, bloody ground. He screamed, as his chest burned. He spotted the Moblin raising his sword to finish the veteran and Legend whimpered and tried to move but his limbs refused. He closed his eyes, heart racing as he readied himself for the blow.

It never came.

Instead he heard the beast roar in pain and the battle cry of the skyloftian. Soon something picked him up and there was a hand on the wound in his chest. “Legend?” Someone said frantically.

The vet managed to open his eyes a little and he could see the chosen there. “You’re going to be okay.”

Sky reached to hug him, and Legend could see the tears streaming down his face. The vet coughed, a thick warm substance spilling from his mouth. Blood? That isn’t good.

“Time has the healing supplies.” Sky bit his lip, looking worriedly at Legend. “TIME COME HERE!” Sky shouted.

Sky? Oh yeah Legend was going to apologize to him. Realizing he might not make it he took a breath. “I’m so-ory I was so m-mean to you…” He coughed again. “Sky…I was-wasn’t very nice…was I?”

He hadn’t pictured apologizing like this but he hoped it worked. The grip on him got tighter as Sky held him closer. “NO! Don’t ever say that! Y-You’re the kindest of us all.” Sky shouted.

Legend blinked slowly, surprised. That…That couldn’t be right.

“Bully.”

Sky was kind to say that. “I love you…Sky…” Legend slurred as his eyes began to droop even more.

“I love you too, Legend, so much.” The chosen replied.

Legend gave a small smile as his eyes began to close.

At least he got to apologize.

————————————————————

Sky heard footsteps and Time’s voice as the vet’s eyes closed. “Vet, stay awake. Legend, please.” Sky begged.

The vet’s head rolled to the side, his mouth not opening or moving. The old man pulled out a fairy, both of his eyes open. “I couldn’t get here. The monsters were blocking my path.” Time panted.

The skyloftian’s heart twisted painfully. He grabbed Legend’s limp wrist and searched for a pulse, only to find nothing. The vet wasn’t breathing either. Sky let go of the veteran, kneeling beside him. Sky remembered his knight training and he put all his might into chest compressions, trying to revive the vet. After what felt like forever, he heard a small weak gasp and Sky stopped. “Fairy!” Sky cried out.

Time uncorked the bottle as quickly as he could and the fairy flew out and noticed the bleeding out hero. The fairy circled Legend and the wound glowed a bright pink before it was gone. Sky picked up the veteran and thanked the fairy who chimed and flew away. The battle was done, when Sky checked. “I’m so sorry.” Time choked out.

The chosen swallowed. “It’s not your fault.”

If only Sky could’ve done something. The old man scoffed and left to tell the others what had happened. Then they began walking back to the inn.

In those moments before Legend had died he had apologized, said he was mean.

Where in Hylia had that come from?

The Legend he knew was soft, with a guarded exterior. He had once seen the vet with a bunny. Legend had scooped the animal up gently cheeks burning but his violet eyes were filled with happiness. He had also been kind to people, helping out whenever he could, lightening the mood, offering advice.

Why had Legend thought he was mean?

“Sky, come on.” Wind’s voice brought Sky out of his thoughts.

He came inside. The man from earlier was gone and the lady from earlier was talking to the innkeeper. She noticed everyone come in and gasped. “Are you all okay?”

Four nodded. “We all just need rest. The monsters are taken care of.”

“Thank you so much. Here, have this purple rupee.” The lady handed it to the smithy and looked worriedly at the vet. “What happened?”

“He took a nasty hit, but we got a fairy.” Time informed.

Well, Legend had also died but Sky guessed the old man didn’t want to worry the lady too much. “Well I hope he’ll be alright.” The lady hummed.

Sky nodded and began to carry Legend upstairs, and bumped into the captain. Warriors paled. “Sky?”

“I’ll explain later.” The chosen murmured and set Legend gently down on the inn bed.

He pulled out a chair and sat down, relief making his eyes sting with tears again. “Sky, you’re covered in blood.” Warriors said. “Go clean up, I can stay here with him.”

The skyloftian stood up, nodding and grabbed a spare tunic. He headed to the inn’s bathroom to clean the blood off, and he gagged at how much of the blood-Legend’s blood- was there.

He covered his mouth as a sob escaped his throat. Hot tears poured down his cheeks and he couldn’t stop them.

He had seen Legend die.

A knock. “Sky? S’that you?”

“Y-yeah.” Sky responded, voice thick.

“Can I come in?” Twilight asked.

“Mhm. Just washing off blood right now.” Sky answered.

The door opened and Twilight came in, looking concerned. The chosen turned on the water and began to wash the blood out of his hands and nails. “Are you okay? No wait that’s not a good question.” Twilight sighed. “How are you feeling?”

Sky watched the blood wash out of his hands and stain the water that was draining a foggy red. “M’fine.” Sky spoke softly.

“Don’t give me that.” Twilight tried.

“What do you want me to say?” Sky asked in a cold, icy tone.

He hadn’t meant to say it like that. “Sky.” Twilight didn’t seem to care though.

He stepped forward and hugged the chosen. “Legend’s going to be okay. It’s okay, Sky.” Twilight reassured.

Before Sky could stop himself, he sobbed. “Twi-he died.”

“I know. He ain’t dead anymore though. It’s okay.” Twilight continued.

Sky could still feel the blood on his hands.

#unique writes #linked universe #lu legend #lu sky #lu twilight #lu warriors #lu time #tw blood #temporary character death

98 notes · View notes

shu-box-puns · 10 months

Text

I never would have given you to them; not for anything

(Tsu’tey x Reader)

Part 1 -> Next Chapter

If you prefer to read on Ao3, you can find the fic here!

Summary: The RDA unknowingly revives a traitor through Project Phoenix.

Word Count: 11,251

Reader uses they/them pronouns.

NOTE: The term 'Zaza' is a gender neutral way to address a parental figure.

Connecting to the Tree of Souls was always bittersweet for Tsu'tey.

Eywa was a kind mother. For a few short moments, he could be reunited with everyone he had previously lost. He could ask Eytukan for guidance on being Olo’eyktan, or speak with Sylwanin when his grief threatened to overwhelm him.

And other times, Eywa would gift him a glimpse into a vision that could’ve been his reality, if events had played out differently.

The phantom of HomeTree was booming with life. Those who lived there were distant and concealed from view by the colossal roots of the great tree or simply occupying the foliage beyond its shade. Tsu’tey found himself sitting upon a log, his knife in hand which he was using to shape an arrow head.

A fire roared at his feet, meat cooking over the flames whilst the joyous yells of children darted to and fro behind his turned back. He couldn’t help but smile softly to himself, reminded of the early years in Spider’s development when the boy had finally grown large enough to comfortably fit into an exo pack. Tsu’tey had been delighted, eager to take his son from the confines of the demon compound and let him loose on the clan.

Spider took to the outside like an ikran to the sky. Staring in wonder as Tsu’tey carried him into the heart of the village. Na’vi of all stations had cooed at him, offering Tsu’tey honest congratulations even if their eyes had held poorly concealed hesitance at the toddler giggling against his chest.

Within the hour, Spider had become fast friends with Jake’s children - Eywa help him - and was gleefully dirtying his loincloth as they tumbled and played.

“He has grown significantly.” A voice to his left suddenly commented, ripping Tsu’tey from his private musings. He made to turn to whoever was sat with him, but some untold force kept his gaze glued to the arrowhead he was carving.

“Children tend to.” Tsu’tey responded easily, the English falling thick and accented off of his tongue.

His secret companion merely hummed, leaning into his side. Tsu’tey caught sight of blue skin in his peripheral. Five fingered hands falling to demon style clothed knees. His expression tightened. Confusion swirling beneath his skin.

“A mighty warrior in the making.” The stranger praised, undercurrents of pride lacing their tone. “I am glad his aim has greatly improved.”

Tsu’tey lifted his gaze from the arrowhead as the words registered. His questioning response was halted by the sudden absence of the clan chatter and the crackling of the flames at his feet. His eyes flickered, expressing softening as he realised the scenery had changed.

Now, he and his companion sat on a tree branch overlooking the Omaticaya flight range. Targets lined the far perimeter, whilst na’vi of all ages stood in uniformed rows at increasing distances from the targets, their bows drawn. Tsu’tey’s gaze immediately zeroed in on Spider.

Here he was about twelve, Neteyam alongside him as the two practised in companionable silence. Despite being a full year younger, Neteyam easily towered over the older boy, his frame lean and long, whilst Spider had grown strong and thick in the shoulders. His son held his bow with ease, the strain long having lessened with hours of practice.

The presence at his side had shrunk somehow. The warmth no longer reached his shoulder. A soft brush of skin to his lower bicep indicating that the na’vi who had sat with him had shrunk to a more human stature.

Tsu’tey could not place who this was. They did not sound like Grace Augustine who possessed both avatar and human forms on the off chance she visited him in the tree. Nor had he befriended any of the scientists who possessed avatar bodies.

A celebratory whoop drew his attention back to Spider, who was receiving awed high fives from Neteyam. Glancing to the target, Tsu’tey swelled with pride at the three perfect bullseyes.

He blinked, and he was in the old shack. Although in his present the stolen compound was overrun with wildlife and had fallen into disrepair, here, it looked well preserved. As fresh and disorganised as it had been the night the humans left for good.

It looked homely.

Lived in.

He was sitting on a bunk much too small for his large frame with a baby carrier strapped across his chest. His son was nowhere to be seen in this particular vision, but as always, he felt no sense of panic within Eywa’s care. He simply observed the small room around him, noting that the presence at his side had disappeared with the flight range.

The messy sheets he sat on told of a good night’s rest. The military boots neatly lined up by the door and the camouflage jacket hanging on the back of it, reassuring him that whoever he was visiting was close by.

Tucked under the window, the desk was a mess of coffee stained reports and various pens. Even from the other side of the room, he could make out the shakily written na’vi phrases repeated over several pages. He’d never seen his language written out before, since his people had no use for it, but somehow he instinctively knew the phrases.

Oel ngati kameie.

I see you.

Three words his mate had been practising behind his back. A secret he was very much aware of, but content to allow them to figure out.

The sound of the door opening drew his attention from the desk, and he found said mate looming in the doorway, their son cradled to their chest. They looked exhausted but proud of themselves. Spider was sound asleep, nestled into their tanktop, with one chubby fist clenched tightly around the courting necklace Tsu’tey had presented them with several moons ago.

“I finally got him to drop off.” His mate sighed happily as they stepped further into the room and quietly pulled the door closed behind them.

Tsu’tey could only hum. Greedily drinking in the sight of his mate and son. Gazing at the face that had been snatched from his too early, and the youth and innocence of Spider. He was sixteen now, years past infancy, but still Tsu’tey’s little boy. Whilst his mate was frozen in time. Forever held by Eywa.

“You good big guy?” The use of that ridiculous nickname snapped him back to the present. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

His lips stretched into a tight smile. The irony.

“I am fine.” He insisted. His english heavily accented and rusty from disuse. Since Spider had become fully fluent in na’vi, he hardly ever had to use the demon tongue. But somehow, Eywa always switched them back to that language, despite having learnt plenty of na’vi through him.

Their proud grin dropped a fraction, their eyebrows drawing together. “Are you lying to me?”

He scoffed. “Olo’eyktan’s do not lie.” He said simply.

“You aren’t Olo’eyktan here.” They argued. Approaching him on quiet feet.

Feeling called out, Tsu’tey had to work hard to keep his ears from flicking back in guilt. Instead, he chose not to respond as his mate stepped into his space. Their scent wafted over him as they expertly manoeuvred the slumbering infant into the net tied across Tsu’tey’s chest. The motion was practised; familiar in a way his mate hadn’t had time to master.

Spider went easily. Instinctively curling into his father’s warmth and finding something new to latch onto. This time, Tsu’tey was not fast enough to keep his son from grabbing onto one of his braids. Even in sleep, Spider yanked hard on the braided lock of hair, making Tsu’tey wince. His mate chuckled softly, reaching up to carefully untangle Spider’s fist, to which the infant immediately curled his fingers around their index instead.

The scene was domestic. Something he had mourned when his mate had passed.

“You look tired.” His mate stated, those eyes studying his expression.

Tsu’tey could only nod. What use was lying to a memory anyway?

“I am.”

“You should rest.”

They titled their head, and Tsu’tey knew this was a battle he had no hope of winning. “Spider is waiting for you.” They said.

Carefully, they raised their free hand to hold his cheek, their expression worried. He leaned into the touch, savouring the warmth of their tiny hand against his cool skin.

His words were slow to come back to him. But they waited patiently, idly tracing the stars of his freckles as he gathered himself, his breathing uneven. “No. I want to stay here, with you.”

There was a power behind their words now. A greater knowledge they should not be privy to. Tsu’tey knew this wasn’t his mate speaking to him anymore. Despite looking and sounding like his human, this was Eywa gently nudging him. Reminding him that he had responsibilities to attend to and a son waiting beyond her realm.

He followed his mate’s nod towards the window where he found a sixteen year old Spider standing patiently at the treeline, looking longingly towards the compound. He knew without looking down that the infant was gone from the sling at his chest. His son wore his exopack and was wringing his hands, head darting too and fro in search of someone. Rocking on the balls of his feet as often did when unsettled.

Tearing his gaze from his son, Tsu’tey found and held eye contact with the Great Mother disguised as his lost mate. “Will you allow him to visit today?” He asked.

“He will See soon.” Eywa replied in their voice, untold power building behind every word.

His mate’s hands were small but strong as they took him by the wrists and helped him rise from his seat on the bed. “He is waiting.” They informed him, gently guiding him away from the desk littered in papers and towards the closed door. Tsu’tey’s heart ached at the familiar gesture. This part was always the hardest.

“He misses them.” He told Eywa and she could only nod in acknowledgement. “He watches their video logs.” He insisted, stomach sinking at the thought of his mate not knowing how badly Spider loved and missed them. That they might believe they had faded from the child’s memory, when in truth they’d always played such a crucial role. “He asks about them, always. Demanding memories, facts. Anything.”

“He will See soon.” Eywa repeated, and Tsu’tey knew she understood.

They squeezed his hand and he realised he was standing before the door with the boots neatly lined up beside it. He glanced at them one last time, absorbing all their little details and committing them to memory. His mate smiled at him one last time, before they dropped his hands and stepped back.

“I know.”

“You will See soon.” Eywa assured him, but Tsu’tey was no Tsahik and did not understand how to interpret the phrase. So he simply nodded.

>_<

They said no more as he raised his hand to push the door open, and in kind, Tsu’tey could only nod as his words got lost in his throat. Instead of responding, he turned and stepped out of the bedroom into the hall.

The sounds of the forest came back to him slowly. He felt the change of the humidity as Eywa gently returned him to his body. He sat crossed legged under the glowing vines of the Tree of Souls, his heartbeat still pounding in time to the gentle pulses of the ancient tree. Animals moved in the bushes behind him, uncaring of his presence and content to go about their evening.

He felt the familiar dry, flaky sensation of mourning paint running from the top of his brow down the line of his nose to his chin. His bullet scars felt stiff against his skin with every deep breath. Whilst a body leant into his side. Small and warm in a way that na’vi were not.

Slowly, Tsu’tey peeled his eyelids open and glanced down to find Spider curled into him. His exopack was digging uncomfortably into Tsu’tey’s ribs, but he didn’t care. Now sixteen, his boy leaned into his side and had dragged Tsu’tey’s arm out of his lap to rest across his back. Keeping him safe and secure whilst his father communed with the ancestors.

His tail swayed happily at the adorable sight.

Sensing a shift in him, Spider groggily raised his head from Tsu’tey’s rib cage. His eyes were unfocused as he lifted his heavy head, only to find Tsu’tey already looking at him. He blinked slowly, drawing in a deep breath as he stretched and sat up.

<”Who was it today?”> Spider asked in fluent na’vi, his tone heavy with sleep.

Tsu’tey felt the corner of his mouth stretch upwards into an adoring smile. His boy was so precious. <”Zaza.”> He replied simply, to which Spider returned his smile.

<”It is late.”> Spider agreed, to which Tsu’tey playfully ruffled his braids, ears pricked at the boy’s mischievous grin. Carefully, Tsu’tey reached up and disconnected his kuru from the tree, sending a prayer of thanks to Eywa for her gift.

<”And where did you end up going?”>

<”The old shack.”> Tsu’tey replied simply, reaching up to disconnect his tswin from the Tree of Souls. <”They were trying to convince you to go to bed.”>

<”We should return to the village.”>

<”Only if you carry me.”> Spider stated, lifting his arms expectantly to Tsu’tey who rolled his eyes.

<”You have been hanging around Lo’ak too much. So whiny.”>

<”You are old enough to carry yourself.”>

<”But it’s late!”> Spider retaliated.

<”Don’t let him hear you say that or he’ll become ten times worse.”> Considering the boy was Jake’s son, Tsu’tey didn’t doubt it.

>_<

The last thing you remembered was lying down in a link unit.

The smell of silicone had been poisonously strong in the tight space as one of the scientists closed the lid on you with a firm click. Your heart had been pounding, your plan to escape and meet up with Jake plaguing your mind. Distracting you from the half assed explanation of why Selfridge had ordered all military personnel into the link rooms.

You weren’t sure if you made it out of Hell’s Gate that night, let alone if Trudy had managed to drive you to the secret compound. If you’d been caught, or if your squad had noticed your absence.

Not that any of it mattered now, considering you were in outer space and the Battle for The Tree of Souls had ended fifteen years prior.

Now, you stared blankly at the pre-recorded video of yourself in that same laboratory. In the video, you were decked out in your usual, military attire and were horribly explaining what was going on. Floating in zero gravity, your hand - now blue and much, MUCH bigger than you were used to - kept you in place before the monitor with an unnervingly tight grip.

The you of the past wasn’t focused on their task. You could tell from the shift of their eyes as marines moved around them behind the camera. In a similar situation, your nerves were also all over the place. Your eyes were constantly darting around the small bunk room as your tail thrashed. So many enemies in such a small place.

It had been a fucking shock to wake up disoriented on a small hospital bed with a heart monitor beeping away in the background. Only for a massive, blue forehead to dart into your line of sight, dragging with it, a pair of large, unblinking eyes. You screamed, flailing weakly at the enormous bald head of Lyle Wainfleet.

You recalled blinding rage in your most recent memory of this man.

He had grinned at you, yelling loudly, “morning Private!”

You had punched him, that past anger carrying over as you shoved him away with an additional well placed kick to the stomach and a ferocious hiss. Movement in the corner of your vision kept you from following him down, intending to choke the life out of his stupid, grinning face.

Alexander had been quick to grip your bicep, holding on tightly. He was smiling at you. And it was fucking disorientating to see his face on a na’vi body, his eyes too far apart and his nose flatter than you were used to. It stunned you into stillness.

On the floor, Lyle had chuckled good naturedly and complimented you on your improved strength.

You hadn’t responded, your eyes widening as you took in your reflection in the one way window. It was you, but it also wasn’t you staring back.

On the monitor, the human version of you scratched the back of their neck, clearly reading off of a script to the side of the camera, blurting some bullshit about the RDA storing your memories and implanting them in an avatar embryo. Your expression remained neutral as you glanced down to past-you’s throat.

Mostly hidden beneath the hem of their camouflage shirt, you caught sight of a pretty little choker, the polished beads catching the laboratory lights. It was simple in design, layered three times tall with long, brown beads as the centrepiece, framed either side by carefully selected circular red beads.

Subconsciously, your blue hand reached to your own throat, frowning at the naked skin only for your fingers to catch on the metal chain of your dog tag. It sent a stab of phantom pain through your chest, which you were quick to rub away.

You remembered who had given it to you. What he had been to you. But you didn’t know how it had ended. If the RDA had resurrected you for this stupid little project, then chances were, the human version of you was dead.

You had no idea who had died during the Battle of The Tree of Souls - clearly a lot of you judging by the number of recoms the RDA had paid for. There was no solid knowledge on how far the RDA had won, or how much of Pandora they had destroyed. For all you knew, everyone could be dead. The Omaticaya clan wiped off the face of the planet.

The windows of your little bunk room overlooked the vast embryo tanks of the recoms. As you half-listened to the video, you watched a trio of three scientists carefully extracting the body, of who you recognised to be the na’vi version of Mansk, from the closest tank. They took great care in cleaning the embryonic fluid from his airways before flying the body out of sight through an open door.

/Remember Private,/ the video stated, drawing your attention back once more, /the mission is not over./ There was something unreadable in human you’s eyes, their rage momentarily broadcasted across the screen. /Fight hard. Make me proud./

They couldn’t see you, but you found yourself nodding anyway.

Those words gave you a direction. Past you didn’t believe the fight was over, so you just had to pick up where you left off. And to do that, you needed to get back into the forest.

>_<

The RDA had made special uniforms for all the recoms and required you to be dressed and ready to move into the base upon landing. Their first mistake was willingly handling you a gun. Evidently, they had never recognised you as a traitor. You’d died with them still believing you were loyal. Now, you would exploit that weakness.

For now, you decided to play nice until they willingly unleashed you into the forest. You made jokes with Lyle, established yourself as one of the team. Laughing with the other recoms about escaping death, making wild accusations about what you’d do the next time you saw that traitor; Jake Sully.

It was easy. As it always had been.

As if nothing had changed. Like you were back in school and you’d all come back from the summer having had growth spurts and been up to god knows what.

As a squad, you fitted together effortlessly. Falling into a routine of sleeping in the dorms, getting up early for drills and training, only to spend the evenings goofing around. The recom bodies were years younger, practically brand new, so the energy required for such shenanigans was effortless.

Within a week, it felt like nothing had changed. The squad was blissfully unaware of what you had done in your past life behind their backs. To them, you were still their comrade.

Initially, you’d attempted to keep your distance.

The forest called to you. It’s pull even stronger now with the additional na’vi instincts, and the small hallways of Bridgehead that were clearly not built with you in mind. You felt out of place in its tiny, box-like layout.

Your comrades weren’t too sneaky in trying to ease your nerves and welcome you into their chaotic escapades.

Lyle had always been an overbearing extrovert, chomping at the bit to challenge you into pushing yourself harder and harder during drills.

Mansk, in his own quiet way, insisted on dragging you to the kitchen every mealtime to assist him with cooking. He stated that he had no idea what to do with the new Pandoran ingredients required for their recom bodies, but you could tell he was bullshitting you to keep you out of your head. It worked; mostly.

Whilst Z-Dog had taken it upon herself to make sure your shooting skills were up to scratch - they were. And had sparked many competitions out in the shooting range.

Even the colonel seemed to have caught on. And that man was in no form of the imagination a family man. He was a leader. Your boss. The man you had to impress or risk getting killed. But recently, he’s been acting like some weird version of a father figure. Offering silent nods and backhanded compliments in his usual condescending tone whilst observing your training with your comrades. It would always be paired with a playful smack to the shoulder or a rough ruffle of your hair whilst the squad sniggered.

It was easy to remember why you’d stuck with them for so long. Because despite their missions and the people they killed, they had been your family on Pandora since you’d woken up from cryo sleep. A reluctant one. A ragtag bunch of trigger happy idiots, but they’d always watched out for you.

You also knew that they would kill you if they ever found out about your little personal mission. They made you feel safe within Bridgehead, but you knew they would turn on you instantly.

Lyle wouldn’t hesitate to cuff you and drag you to the colonel. Whilst Quaritch would go real quiet, ordering you to hand over your gun which he would use to shoot you on the spot. Z-Dog would make it look like an accident, whilst Mansk would hide behind his sunglasses and deal with business himself, stealing your dog tags to take back to the colonel.

It was imperative you remained vigilant. If anyone remembered or found out, you were fucked. So you had to get out. Fast. At the first opportunity. You could figure it out from there.

>_<

The moment the samson chopper landed in the undergrowth of the rainforest, you leapt out. Lyle was hot on your tail, peeling away from your side to secure the perimeter as the helicopter finished landing.

You didn’t bother pretending to be scoping the landscape.

The hum of the forest had grown steadily stronger throughout the trip, and now it slid through you like a melody. Calling to you more strongly than you’d ever felt. You took in greedy lungfuls of the damp, humid forest air. The scents of dew and vegetation invaded your nose, a world away from the canned air the recoms were forced to breathe in Bridgehead. Your ears swivelled towards every little sound, tail swaying to show content despite the mission ahead. Pandora was as gorgeous as she had ever been. The dappled sunlight peeking through the trees as the exotic fragrance of the plants filled the air.

As a human, it had never been this pretty. Behind an exo pack, you had never been able to smell the world, whilst the sights had been smudged by the acrylic screen.

This was freeing on an entirely new level.

Someone smacked you upside the head, abruptly shattering the nostalgia of finally returning to the forest. You choked, spinning in place and immediately stood to attention under the Colonel’s unimpressed glare. “What are you playing at Private?” He barked.

You could see the rest of the squad pretending not to look your way. Z-Dog and Walker had promptly turned their backs, clinging to each other as if it was the funniest thing in existence.

“Apologies sir, I got excited.” You replied sheepishly. "Needed to stretch my legs."

“Focus!” Quaritch stressed with an eye roll.

“Yes, sir.”

He nodded once before motioning to the others and leading the way into the undergrowth.

You fell into line, gun aimed on your surroundings as the squad moved further and further away from base.

Within the hour, the squad stumbled upon a broken AMP suit collapsed in front of an abandoned compound. The building looked like one of the remote link compounds the scientists used to use during avatar exertions. What it was doing so far away from its assigned location, you had no idea.

Quaritch immediately issued orders for the site to be secured. Whilst Z-Dog investigated the building, the rest of the squad fanned out into the clearing. Half went to search the undergrowth, whilst you remained nearby, eyes more focused on the compound than the forest.

The colonel and Wainfleet remained close to the AMP suit, quietly analysing the corpse impaled within the ribcage of the dismantled robot.

You swept close on your return pass, ears pricked as Quaritch glared daggers at the skull. Peering over his shoulder, your eyes widened at the pair of na'vi arrows jutting out of moss covered bone and the scar of a viperwolf scratch carved into the skull.

Quaritch's corpse.

And whoever had got him had been merciless in finishing him off.

The sight made you uneasy. Reminding you of the threats Pandora possessed. You were glad when a shout from the forest and the call for backup drew you from the suit.

No one knew how long the kids had been there. Whether they’d gotten curious and followed from the moment the samson touched down, or if they had been lingering around the shack. Either way, the petrified scream of the youngest girl had drawn the rest of your squad to the scene.

There were three na’vi kids in total, and one human child. All held hostage by a recom, whilst Quaritch interrogated each of them. You watched the scene from the sidelines, assuming Quaritch would decide they weren’t worth it and let them go.

But when the na’vi boy swore at him and Quaritch grinned with a simple, ”you’re his.”

Jake’s, you realised.

Your heart began to pound as you rounded the rear of the group, eyes narrowed as you took in the side profile of the boy. His too small eyes, the slope of his jaw, the fifth finger on each hand. At a glance, a full blooded na’vi. But you’d been around avatars long enough to pick out the little imperfections. The broader set to his shoulders, the lower position of his kuru that indicated human blood somewhere in the line.

Quaritch was precise in his motions. Taking the kid’s kuru in hand to begin interrogating him. The colonel was rough with him. Spitting sharp commands before yanking his knife from his thigh strap. The boy’s eyes widened a fraction. You saw the raw fear swimming within them as he stared blankly up at the snarling colonel. Refusing to back down. Refusing to waver.

Quaritch’s expression tightened as he raised the knife a fraction. Logically, you knew the first strike would be a fake, to scare the boy into spilling information with minimal effort. You were lurching forward half a step, ears fanning wide in alarm before you could stop yourself.

The motion of that knife froze mid air, a testament to the Colonel’s reflexes as his burning eyes flickered to you. You made an effort to smooth out your microexpressions, hands limp at your side instead of reaching for a weapon like you so desperately wanted to. Something in the kid’s face had made something tight and protective flare up between your ribs, and the Colonel had noticed.

Quaritch’s gaze was stern as shook his head in disappointment. “Don’t go getting soft on me, Private.” He reminded, grasp shifting on the kid’s kuru. “I know you had a soft spot for them back in the day, but none of that bullshit now.”

“Sorry sir.” You grit out, but didn’t retreat. He glared at you, you maintained steady eye contact until Wainfleet pulled Quaritch’s attention to the older na’vi girl. He had her fingers splayed for the colonel to see, chuckling at her five fingers.

Their conversation quickly dissolved into the back of your mind as Quaritch handed the na’vi boy off, putting blessed distance between the kid and his knife.

Tracking the Colonel’s movements as he approached the older girl, you found your attention drawn by the human boy. You blinked at his intense gaze, at the storm of unexplainable emotions swimming behind his eyes that you felt dizzy just looking at him. Despite his face being locked away behind an exopack, his gaze was no less piercing. He seemed to see you.

The squint of his eyebrows seemed to suggest he saw you. Not a soldier. Not a recom. Just you. As if he could see beneath the scientifically created body to the memory chip beneath, to what remained of your soul.

But that was probably just you projecting.

To distract yourself from the tightening of your chest, you also studied him as your comrades kept interrogating the children. Their voices grew distant as you inspected the blue stripes painted across tanned skin. The traditional Omaticayan weaving style of his armband as well as the songcord attached to the hem of his loincloth.

Your eyes caught on the necklace at his throat. A style that matched the one your human body wore in the video. Down to the brown and red beads. The familiar weaving style. Even at this distance, you recognised Tsu’tey’s handiwork.

And whilst it reassured and relieved you that he was still alive, that somehow, in some way, this child had a piece of him, you were confused. How had he gotten his hands on one of Tsu’tey’s pieces?

Then he steeled himself. Quaritch’s bulk warmed your back, his shadow falling over your left arm. In a shockingly gentle tone, Quaritch asked for the boy’s name, and surprisingly, he gave it.

”Spider Socorro.” He blurted in strained english.

Your ear flickered back at the colonel’s sharp inhale. “Miles?”

Spider straightened, chin lifted in defiance. “Nobody calls me that.”

Quaritch’s expression was unreadable. He didn’t bother to respond and stepped away to talk into his neck piece. He didn’t go far and simply turned his back, speaking to Ardmore as the squad shifted uneasily.

The kids hissed as the recoms began moving them towards the compound where the shuttle would more easily be able to let down the ropes. Your stomach tightened at the thought of dragging them back with you. To know how they felt and be unable to offer sympathy.

Quaritch motioned to the children. ”Keep hold of ‘em. Shuttle will be here in ten.”

Your stomach dropped. Not the shuttle. Not yet. You couldn’t stomach the idea of going back to Bridgehead after this. After such a short taste of freedom.

”Colonel.” You said loudly, making the man pause midstep. He levelled you with an unreadable look as you struggled to find your voice. “These kids are useless to us.”

As soon as the words left your lips, his expression visibly shut off and you knew you would not be able to get through to him. “I’m not gonna repeat myself, Private.” He snapped, pulling rank to put you in your place. You squared up to him. Chin lifted.

A distant bird call had your ears pricking. It was short. A burst of a sound. It had the kids straightening, all their ears fanning towards the sound.

The bird called again. That one note echoing through the trees.

Shifting uneasily, your eyes followed the direction it had come from, momentarily breaking eye contact. Quaritch smirked as if he’d won a great battle. “Take the na’vi boy.” He ordered, motioning to the kid who was promptly handed over, and then raised his voice to the squad. “Into defensive positions!”

The group fell into formation as the sun began its nightly cycle behind the moon, bringing with it a rain storm. The boy’s neural whip between your fingers quickly grew saturated, making your weak grip slip with every sharp movement he would make. That bird call did not grow distant or stop. In fact, you could’ve sworn it was getting closer.

There was a moment of stillness. The forest holding its breath as the recoms kept whispering to each other, kept moving noisily through the undergrowth. Blind to the silent warning.

You held your breath, going unnaturally still as the boy in front of you did the same.

There was a cut off shout. An explosion of movement near the main body of the group.

Keeping your position, your head snapped towards the sound. Mouth going dry at the na’vi arrow protruding from Fike’s skull. It had embedded itself into his eye socket, almost straight through.

Whatever was making that sound had clearly found the squad. And it wasn’t pleased.

As the group erupted into chaos, you saw your chance. Loosening your grip on the kid’s kuru, you slowly stepped back, praying the steady movements would not draw that hunter’s eye to your form. The kid spun to face you, wrists bound, looking wide eyed and terrified.

You raised your hands in surrender, head dipping. <”Get out of here.”> You hissed, nodding to the trees.

His ears fanned wide as a satellite. Momentarily frozen in time. Eyes studying your own for the trick.

A gun went off at his back, snapping him out of it. More arrows were fired and more recoms died.

He turned his back to you, and with a burst of speed began shepherding his little sister towards the treeline. The girl went easily, grabbing at his bound wrists and dragging him away.

You kept your attention on their backs, hand hanging close to your gun in case someone turned their attention on you.

The recoms were dying in disorganised clusters. The smart ones like Wainfleet and Z-Dog had already taken cover behind trees as the onslaught of arrows threw everyone else out of formation, causing them to scramble for cover. It gave you a sick sense of satisfaction.

A shout drew your attention.

Walker had the older girl by her kuru after she’d tried to make a break for it with Spider. She struggled as she yanked her back, her gun useless in her focus on keeping hold of her.

Your gaze narrowed. Your rifle was in your hands before you could think to check if anyone was looking. The trigger was smooth under your finger. And with a light squeeze the machine roared to life and shot a hole through the tree to her left.

Walker shrieked, hand spasming in fear as she instinctively let go of the girl’s neural whip. Spider was quick to grab her arm and run away, whilst an arrow found its mark in the recom’s chest. She collapsed in a heap. Dead on impact.

You grimaced.

The rain muffled your footsteps as you carefully retreated into the shadows of the trees. Thankfully, the squad was too preoccupied to notice your silent escape.

You felt like a traitor for withdrawing into the forest quietly. Which was funny considering that’s what you were. Your ears were pricked and your body low. Eywa must have wanted you to succeed because no arrow pierced your back.

The screaming from the small clearing had begun to die down now, but was quickly replaced by the sound of a machine gun going off. Definitely Mansk’s hand, he had always been quick to react in any situation. You quickened your pace, knowing the distance those things could reach.

The aim was to get as much distance between you and the squad as possible. Then, you’d tear off any and all equipment that would hinder your survival out in the forest until you stumbled across a clan and could ask for uturu. The word and its meaning came to you from a distant memory. A simpler time when Grace had been ranting about some new discovery she’d observed out in the field whilst you’d simply been trying to microwave your dinner.

One of the explosions went off a little too close to you. Making your pace falter as your head snapped up to watch the branches above burst into flames. You squinted as a figure got thrown clean off by the blast. They seemed to collide with every branch and bush in existence on the way down, screaming the whole way.

<”SPIDER!”> Yelled the older girl from before, appearing over the lip of the branch but not daring to jump after him.

Instinctively, you leapt forward, gun falling back on its strap as your arms came up to catch the falling kid. He crashed into your embrace with a punched out wheeze. Blood oozed from many cuts, whilst his back was warm to the touch, not burnt, but still caught by the flames.

Another explosion went off, spurring you back into motion. You tried to set the kid down, but he groaned painfully, clutching at your bullet proof vest as his legs failed to hold his weight.

“Shit.” You cursed under your breath. Glancing back to the branch, you realised the girl was still there. Still watching your every move. And still way too close to Quaritch and his squad. To the inbound airship.

Shifting the kid so he was supported by one of your arms against your body, you strained to relieve your feet of the heavy duty avatar boots. The laces were slippery from the rain, slithering out of your grasp and making you growl lowly to yourself. It felt like hours, but it could’ve only been seconds before you were barefoot, your shoes and socks discarded in the undergrowth.

”Hold on tight!” You instructed the kid, who dutifully wound his shaking legs around your ribcage and hooked his arms around your neck. You supported his back with one arm whilst you scrambled to begin climbing back up the hill he’d just tumbled down.

The soil was loose from the rain. The bushes offering no firm support due to your weight, their roots easily giving way if you dared hold onto them for support.

You hadn’t climbed anything in this body yet. With the base possessing stairs, and your memories of climbing trees locked away in a past life, there was no real need to. And yet, it came easily to this body. As if it had been born to scale the trees of the Pandoran rainforest despite being grown by aliens in a test tube.

The girl was quick to grab the back of your bullet proof vest once you were high enough. Heaving you up onto the branch with her whole body thrown back. Curling your toes into the uneven bark, you swayed in place, tail compensating for your shit balance. ”We need to move.” You insisted, once again readjusting your grip on the shivering child in your arms.

She nodded dutifully. ”This way.” You kept a hand on her bicep to steady her as she took off down the branch, leading you away from the gunfire.

With practised ease, she reached the end of the branch and smoothly dropped to the forest floor before scrambling away. You were slower in following, your body protesting the intense movements before your knees groaned at the sloppy landing. To his credit, Spider didn’t complain as the jerky ride, his eyes half closed behind his mask.

You pushed through the bushes to find the three na’vi kids waiting by some ikran. Eying the beasts wearily, you slowed your pace, listening to the older girl reassure her siblings with soft words at your approach.

You needed to be quick. The owner of those arrows would be returning for their kids soon. And whether or not it was Jake, they’re bound to kill you on sight without checking your face.

”He’s wounded. You must get him to the Tsahik quickly.” You explained as you approached, dropping into a crouch to set Spider down gently at the kids’ feet. He protested again, putting up a valiant fight to keep a hold of you, but you were stronger than him. Your touch was firm as you removed his limbs from you and sat him down.

Kiri was quick to drop to his level, frowning hard at his bloodied appearance. Feeling sorry for the wounded kid, you dared to take a couple of extra seconds pulling out a knife from your belt to cut him free.

He pouted as he rubbed the circulation back into his wrists. Those piercing eyes darting all over your face.

You turned to leave, but the youngest kid was quick to waddle up to your side, her bound wrists extended. ”Can you cut me loose too?”

”I /really/ need to go.” You reply softly, before cutting her loose anyway.

You shifted back, only for the older pair to immediately extend their arms expectantly. You audibly groaned, before reaching for the boy since he was closest.

”Zaza?” Spider croaked, making your brows furrowed at the odd word. Around you, the older kids had gone unnaturally still. <”Is that you?”>

”Zaza?” You repeated, finding the word felt odd on your tongue. It sparked a distant memory, of a late night sprawled on a bunk with someone beside you. Someone tall and distracted. The memory brought with it a sense of dread; a distant threat. You discarded that train of thought before it could distract you for too long.

<”It can’t be.”> The na’vi girl commented, and now it was her turn to begin studying you.

”I don’t know what that means.” You pleaded, hands frozen in time, the knife still poised. A headache was beginning to form between your eyes, and your stress levels were incredibly high, but no one was giving you a straight answer. All you knew for certain was that you didn’t recognise this boy, and yet, he looked at you as if he knew you.

<”Holy shit.”> Was all Spider replied with, slumping against the forest floor.

<”No way.”> The na’vi boy agreed with a laugh. He was grinning hard, ears perked.

His younger sister looked as confused as you felt. Whilst the older girl was inspecting you in a way similar to how Grace used to look at something that deeply fascinated her.

Out of nowhere a large, calloused hand wrapped around your shoulder, yanking you back and away from the kids. The hand moved with the momentum, throwing you off balance to land hard on your back. You gasped loudly, your knife flying away into the bushes. The kids were already yelling as you struggled to gather your bearings.

The barrel of an old model RDA rifle came into focus, inches from your face, making you gulp loudly. Following the line of the weapon, your gaze travelled up a blue arm to a scowling face that you hadn’t seen in decades.

<”JAKE DON’T!”> Spider yelled. Despite the frantic edge in his voice, he remained unmoving. His eyes as large as the moon as he stared unblinkingly up at the na’vi’s turned back.

<”DAD! NO!”> The oldest girl shrieked, clumsily shoving her bound hands into the na’vi’s stomach, her eyes wide and pleading.

The boy was quick to jump to your defence. <”They helped us escape Dad- SIR! Don’t!”>

<”DADDY!”> The youngest shrieked, joining in at her older siblings’ reactions. She promptly latched herself onto his leg, clingy tightly and making his strong stance waver. If you weren’t seconds from dying - again - it would’ve been a comically domestic scene.

You shifted your gaze back to the man in question. Jake looked different. He was older now. Tired. Blue. Very fucking blue. His expression was aged, his hair in dreadlocks. You barely recognised him.

Movement over his shoulder brought your gaze to yet another kid. Older than the others, he shared the same hard expression as his father, an arrow notched and reading in his bow. Clearly, there was no chance of escape. If Jake missed you by some miracle, that boy would finish the job for him.

Jake hadn’t lowered his gun. He was still studying you, blatantly ignoring his kids as his narrowed eyes swept over the planes of your face. The weight of the stare was heavy as his frown deepened.

Somehow, you managed to unstick your tongue from the roof of your mouth, terrified but fucking estatic that he was alive. ”Long time no see, marine.”

No reaction. The gun didn’t lower. His expression didn’t change. Remaining cold and closed off.

Your smile faltered as you realise he probably didn’t recognise you. You expected the gun to be shoved back against you, for a bullet to shoot through your body and for you to die again.

Nothing happened.

Then something seems to click. ”Impossible.” Is all Jake said, and he lowered his weapon. The kids collectively breathed out and moved out of his way.

His brow was furrowed now as he dropped into a crouch. Jake loomed over you, his shadow blocking out the moon as his arm shot forward to grab at the front of your bullet proof vest to yank it down. You jerked, instinctively growling at him as his large hand grabbed your dog tag chain and pulled it out of hiding. The chain pulled taught as he dragged you in by the neck, in turn, Jake stooped lower, eyes squinting to read the printed metal in the pathetic light of the forest.

He sucked in a breath. <”What kind of sick-”> He cut himself off with a swear, dropping the tag like it had burned him. His eyes shone with a dense swirl of emotion when he caught your gaze again, his voice punching out of him in a yell. ”You should be dead!”

Your expression furrowed. ”Sorry to disappoint?”

He cursed again. <”Kids, get to the ikran. Your mother should be waiting for you.”> None of them moved. Jake growled. <”Did you hear?”>

You could make a break for it right now. Roll onto your stomach and dart off into the forest whilst he was preoccupied. The boy with the bow had loosened his arrow when Jake had dropped the gun from your face. But there was no guarantee he wouldn’t put a bullet between your shoulders for your hard work.

In another life, you had been friends; comrades. But now, he was a stranger. And you were decked out in enemy gear.

The heat of the jungle was getting to you now. Causing sweat to bead on your brow and moisture to collect under the heavy, bullet proof vest clutching tight to every movement of your torso. The military grade trousers clung uncomfortably to your legs, your boots long gone but your feet weak and vulnerable against the rough terrain of the jungle floor.

In contrast, Jake was in his element. Adorned in traditional Omaticayan attire and walking around barefoot without an issue.

Private! Quaritch’s calm voice over the com sent chills down your spine, making you stiffen. Private! Do you read me?

You dared not respond. Jake was still studying you. Those unnatural glowing eyes pinning you in place.

Y/n! Dude, you alive! Lyle’s loud voice had you wincing. Jake’s head snapped down at the sound, ears fanning wide as Lyle kept trying to coax you into responding. Making your insides twist tighter and tighter.

You’d been hoping for a clean break that would spare your conscience. They weren’t supposed to have noticed your absence yet.

Fuck, Quaritch was gonna kill you for getting cornered by Jake. That is if Jake didn’t kill you first.

You were so caught up in your musing that you didn’t notice the man in question had moved, until a hand clamped hard around your queue, snapping your head back from the harsh yank. The sound you let out could never have been produced by a human. It echoed through the trees, making your ears flatten.

Jake paid you no mind as he harshly dragged you to your feet.

”Jake!” Spider yelled at him, eyes hardened.

The marine waved him off as you struggled to comply, your balance all thrown off and mud clinging to your ass and back. His movements were sharp, making you gasp. In one swift motion, he dug his finger under your earpiece and tossed it away into the undergrowth.

”Jesus, you’ve gotten cranky in your old age.” You complained, struggling to relieve the pressure on your kuru.

Jake let out a surprised burst of air that could’ve been a laugh. ”Glad to see whatever they’ve done to you hasn’t dimmed your humour, Private.”

”Fuck off with that military shit.”

He kicked at your calf, tripping you into walking faster. Snapping your teeth at him, you followed the sound of the kids retreating into the undergrowth. Jake’s grip was painful on your kuru, but he was no longer using it to guide you along like a misbehaving horse, so you would take it.

”You started it.” He blurted in that typical knee jerk reaction of his. You huffed at the familiarity of it. ”Now start walking.”

”You’re not seriously considering taking me with you? Are you?” He didn’t respond and you let out a bark of laughter. ”You’re being an idiot.”

“I’m sparing your life.” Jake replied sharply. ”Usually, people are grateful.”

You saw the ikran first. They weren’t as big as you remembered, but still scared the shit out of you.

<”Ma Jake, what are you doing? Kill-”> Neytiri hissed from beside her mount. The youngest girl cradled to her chest. The woman stepped away from her ikran’s side, bow slung over her shoulder and her expression thunderous.

Jake pulled you up short, startling a second shout of pain from you. ”Dude! Ease up. Come on!”

Neytiri suddenly appearing in front of you had you stiffening. Her gaze pierced through you, studying your face with a hunter’s precision. She recognised you much faster than her mate.

“Would you quit whining?”

”You’re being an asshole!”

You could only watch dumbly as her eyes widened, mouth dropping open whilst her ears fanned wide as the membrane of a frilled lizard. The hand not cradling her daughter flew to her mouth as that expression morphed into one of fiery rage.

”What did they /DO/ to you?” She shrieked, the sheer grief in her tone making you flinch. Her breath stuttered, glancing at Jake before finding your pained expression again. “Eywa took you home.” She sounded like she was trying to convince herself of that fact.

The kids shuffled on your peripheral. Unsettled by their mother’s blatant grief. Neytiri drew your attention back.

”How is it that you stand before me now?!”

Her cry echoes through the trees, bouncing back to your bent ears with the same gut wrenching emotion as they had had leaving her mouth. You stared blankly at your friend, feeling all sense of hope and joy at being found drain away.

She was looking at you like you were a ghost or some kind of illusion. Waiting for you to evaporate or cease to exist at any moment.

Your presence had unknowingly opened an old, festering wound that had barely healed the first time.

This wasn’t the reunion you’d been expecting. This wasn’t the open arms and tears you’d been praying for whilst you planned your escape. This was everything you didn’t want.

“I’m sorry..”

>_<

Jake’s grip was unforgiving as he hauled you off of his ikran at High Camp. Your arms strained against the vines they’d used to bind your wrists, fingers failing to keep you on your feet as he forcefully yanked you down off of his ikran and onto the uneven cliff edge. One hand still grasped your kuru, whilst the other bit imprints into your bicep.

They’d stripped you of your gear before wrestling you onto a banshee.

Now, your weapons, bullet proof vest and any form of communication with the RDA lay soaked in rainwater somewhere in the forest. You didn’t mourn the loss of the devices, since the RDA could no longer track you without them. But you did miss the false protection of the knife and the warmth of the vest against the frigid mountain air.

Goosebumps erupted up your forearms as you were dragged further into the heart of the camp. Tents had been erected inside the cave system, made homely by the cooking fires within and the decorative rugs lining the cold, stone floors.

You glimpsed a compound on one of the rocky rises. The shining metal stood out like a sore thumb against the wooden structures of the tents and the warm glow of the fires.

Jake kept you walking, guiding you through the gathering throng of clan members. Some you recognised, many you didn’t. They all stared at you the same. With pinned back ears and judgemental eyes.

It was a relief when you were shoved between the flaps of the largest tent so far. The atmosphere was tense inside, with a fire burning low in the centre and various belongings stacked up against the walls. Herbs dried where they hung from the ceiling, whilst a hammock hung suspended against the back wall where two figures crouched over a map.

Your heart leapt into your throat. The rest of the clan and Jake’s unforgiving grip on you fell away as your eyes widened.

The years had been kind to Mo’at. She still wore her red beaded shawl, but had updated her headpiece and decorative necklaces, one of which appeared to have been made by a child. Her intelligent eyes snapped towards you in the small space, the weight of the years portrayed in the heavy crow’s feet and bags pulling at her cheeks. That expression did not change as she studied you.

Tsu’tey shifted at her elbow, looking as handsome as he always had. White paint ran down the line of his nose, from forehead to chin, standing out brightly against the soft blue of his skin. He carried himself with an undeniable sense of authority, chin lifted as that razor sharp glare cut you down to your very core. He no longer wore the necklace that had matched the choker your human body wore, but the rest of him had not changed. He studied you wordlessly, his lips dragged down into a frown as if he’d already analysed all he needed to know.

Your eyes caught on the bullet scars that adorned his left shoulder. They were old, faded with time but obvious. Your stomach tensed at the thought of what he had been through in your absence.

Wordlessly, you watched as Spider - who had slipped in behind you - skirted the fire and walked straight for Tsu’tey. “Dad.” The boy breathed, barely loud enough for you to hear. The hunter immediately opened his arms for the boy to fall into, his tail swaying anxiously as he whispered inaudibly to the young boy. Spider finally lost the tension in his body, whilst your stomach clenched painfully. You hated to imagine what their closeness meant.

Neytiri burst into the tent behind you, making your ears shoot up and your body jerk. She paid you no mind, kicking at the back of your knee to force you to kneel. You gasped as Jake’s grip left you and Neytiri took his place. Her nails digging crescent moons into your scalp as she grasped the back of your neck with unforgiving tightness.

<”Daughter, what brings you here with such rage in your eye?”> Mo’at asked carefully. Her familiar voice sounded so calm, so familiar. You squeezed your eyes shut at the sudden weight behind them.

<”The Sky People have found a new low.”> Neytiri declared loudly to the silent tent. Mo’at hummed.

Somewhere behind the canvas of the tent wall, you heard small feet shift. Glancing to the side, you saw a tiny eye peering up at you from the gap between the material and the floor. Those unnaturally large eyes bore into your soul, making your tail thrash with nerves.

Neytiri’s fingers turned into claws in your hair, snapping your attention back to the situation at hand as she grasped a fistful of hair and yanked. <”They have begun to resurrect the dead.”> Your head snapped up from the motion, causing your neck to crack and warm pain to deep down your spine. Your mouth opened wide with an involuntary, pained gasp.

Mo’at didn’t move.

Tsu’tey was scowling hard at her side, Spider wincing in sympathy at your treatment. Two sides of one coin. An odd pairing in appearance, but even in the short time you’d seen them together, you knew there was a bond there. Probably years old.

With the crack in her daughter’s voice, Mo’at rose from her seat. On silent footsteps, she rounded the fire. ”What are you called?”

You could tell that who you were still hadn’t clicked into place for Tsu’tey from the way that his ears flickered in uncertainty. Still looking confused, he composed himself, sitting back on his hunches to look at Neytiri. <”What is the meaning of this? Why have you brought this puppet to High Camp.”>

<”It protected the children.”> Neytiri returned easily. Making it sound like you were a pissed off thanator that had by some miracle, spared her offspring. <”It recognised us.”>

”Neytiri-”

<”You do NOT speak here.”>

Your name sat frozen on your tongue. The reactions of your previous two friends made you not want to reveal yourself. Neytiri shook you painfully by the kuru, letting out a warning hiss.

You spoke your name, eternally grateful that Mo’at’s towering form blocked Tsu’tey from view.

More humming from Mo’at as she reached for the tiny blade concealed within the sheath of her head dress. You eyed her wearily, held still by Neytiri’s hand in your hair as she pricked your shoulder. She pulled the bloodied blade back, tasting the drop of blood.

Her ears pricked at the taste, staring at you with a newfound revelation. ”It is you.” She confirmed, and something seemed to unwind in both Jake and Neytiri. ”But altered. You are not as the Great Mother intended.”

She motioned to her daughter, expression pinched. Neytiri tried to protest, but at her mother’s stern glare, her hands retreated from you. Your posture immediately slumped, relieved tingles echoing across your scalp and down your back.

”Explain.” Mo’at boomed, commanding your attention once more.

That finally got a reaction from the hunter still crouching over the map.

”The Sky People grew this body as they grew the avatars.” She nodded along to the simple explanation, sharing glances with Tsu’tey over her shoulder. You swallowed. ”They uploaded my memories into it. This body is me.”

Jake sidestepped, putting himself back into your line of sight. ”So you aren’t linked up?” There was something unreadable in his eyes. You almost mistook it for hope.

You shook your head. That body was long gone. ”This is my body now.”

Spider had sat down on the mat beside him by now, and shifted uncertainly as the man wordlessly rose from his couch with the authority of a king rising from his throne. Mo’at stepped aside as he took slow, menacing steps towards you. Swallowing hard, you dared to meet his burning gaze highlighted by the soft white paint. The vibrant grief and rage swirling within those gorgeous depths was startling to behold.

His hand went to the knife at his waist, wrestling it free with the practised song of the blade against its bone sheath. Your fight or flight threatened to kick in as you recognised the same hunter’s stalk he had performed the morning Neytiri and Jake had officially mated.

<”Olo’eyktan?”> Mo’at asked, eying him wearily.

He ignored her, storming past her fast enough to have her braids dancing. That gaze was narrowed; honed in on prey.

His arm drew back.

Your eyes widened.

With a yell, he took a swift swipe at your head which you barely managed to dive out of the way of.

<”DAD NO!”> Spider yelled from across the tent. He was on his feet in minutes, scrambling forward, only for Mo’at to hold him back with her arm.

Neytiri tutted at the poorly aimed blow, her tail thrashing on your peripheral as you cowered in the dirt, your arms still bound and braced against stone. Vulnerable skin tore on uneven rock as you scrambled away, kicking yourself for turning your back, but knowing distance was more important.

At least Jake seemed to have your back.

<”Tsu’tey, what are you doing?”> The marine asked, immediately jumping in to stop him from striking again as you scrambled to get your feet under you. With your hands bound, it was a struggle. Your tail thrashed, attempting to aid your balance as you scrambled away.

Tsu’tey was like a man possessed, shoving Jake off balance and making another stab at you. His ears were flat on either side of his head, eyes wild and manic. You’d never seen him so pissed. And certainly not so quiet whilst being so angry. It was somehow more terrifying than if he were screaming at you.

Jake scrambled to stay on his feet, his arms wrapping around Tsu’tey’s waist and yanking him back. Causing the knife to fall short of slicing through your side. The Olo’eyktan shrieked, a noise you had never heard a na’vi make before as his nails clawed at the man’s arms, failing to tear him off. Your ears flattened at the heart wrenching sound. Eyes not quite leaving the knife still in the Olo’eyktan’s grasp. A knife which he was quick to recall and hurl at your head.

“Jesus FUCKING christ!” You swore, ducking again. “Calm down!”

He hissed in retaliation, ears pinned back from the ferocity of the sound. You stilled at the glint of water staining his cheeks, the redness of his eyes. ”I mourned you!” He cursed. Still struggling. Still trying to close the distance and kill you.

Scratch that last part. Seeing him cry and begin to break down was far worse than anger.

”I buried you.” He screamed, the shout echoing around the tent and no doubt chasing itself out into the main cavern. ”I visited you in Eywa!”

Numbly, you took a step back. Towards the tent flaps.

This had been a mistake. Coming here was a mistake.

”I have made my peace with your passing! What purpose do you serve? Why have you returned to haunt me?” There was so much anguish in his tone, you would’ve preferred a punch to the jaw. ”WHY!?”

”I couldn’t stay there.” You breathed, straightening your shoulders when you realised you’d curled in on yourself under that venomous glare. ”I couldn’t stay there!” You repeated, louder this time. Needing to be heard. Understood. ”With them.” Your throat was uncomfortably tight. ”I wanted to come home.”

”THIS IS NOT YOUR HOME, DEMON!” Tsu’tey was quick to snap back. His expression shattered, the rage giving way to a tsunami of grief so strong it made you sick. ”LEAVE!”

But you were frozen in place.

Tsu’tey took it as a challenge. With strength that made your eyes bug out, he stomped on Jake’s foot, shot his arms back, grabbed the marine by the weapons belt and yanked him up and over his shoulder. Jake hit the stone floor hard. With a wheeze, he collapsed in a heap, momentarily stunned.

You gawked.

Spider seemed to come back to himself. In your peripheral, you watched the kid expertly duck under Mo’at’s arm and dart around the fire, with the ease of someone who’d been doing it his entire life.

Tsu’tey’s form blocked him from view. His muscles were bunched like a thanator preparing to pounce.

”GET. OUT!” Tsu’tey screamed again. He made to step over Jake, only for the man to grab his ankle and yank, causing the hunter to crash at your feet. You leapt back as his hands shot for your ankles.

Spider was at your side in moments. ”This way!” He yelled, grabbing at your bound wrists and dragging you towards the tent flaps. You obeyed, but your eyes remained glued to Tsu’tey. To the hands that would drag you down and gladly wring your neck. To the twisted expression on his face, so alien to you and causing the white paint to bunch and flake.

Mo’at tutted at his back. <”You do not think clearly.”> She narrated, stalking around the fist fight now commencing on her tent floor.

”Come on!” Spider urged, tugging sharply on your wrists and tearing your attention from Tsu’tey and the rest of them. ”We have to get you out of here.”

<”Give me a head start?”> Spider joked with a hoarse laugh, the furious screams of Tsu’tey biting at your ankles.

Neytiri appeared at your side, yanking aside the tent flap and helping Spider shove you outside. <”Take the ikran.”> She urged the boy, her expression icy. <”They cannot remain here.”>

You had FUCKING GATHERED THAT MUCH!

Neytiri nodded sharply before barking out loudly, <”Neteyam!”>

A flurry of movement by the side of the tent revealed the older son from before. His expression was painfully neutral as his gaze slid from his mother to the teenager holding you hostage by your bound wrists.

<”Take the demon to the forest.”> Neytiri stated. She didn’t wait to see if he acknowledged her command before promptly ducking back into the tent. The flicker of a memory tickled the back of your mind at her sharp cursing as the ruckus within the tent continued.

The boy, Neteyam, barely spared you a glance before heading back the way you’d been dragged into the camp. Despite being dragged all the way here for the Olo’eyktan to pass his judgement, the Sully family were doing a spontaneous job of doing the opposite of his will. You had no doubt that Tsu’tey would have gutted you regardless of his knee-jerk reaction.

You were lost in your musings as Neteyam hollered for his ikran, three bursts of sound that had the magnificent beast dropping from a higher level of the cave system to stand before its rider. The boy was quick to form Tsaheylu, before fluidly mounting up.

<”Where are we headed?”>

<”The old village.”> Spider replied simply, guiding you towards the back of the mount with firm pushes.

Part 1 -> Next Chapter

#Tsu'tey x Reader #Dad!Tsu'tey #Son!Spider #xreader #grief #temporary character death #conflict #recoms #recom reader #part 1 of 3 #Tsu'tey #Spider socorro #avatar #avatar the way of water

314 notes · View notes

occasionallyprosie · 2 months

Text

"A Halo of Black and Red"

Legend wasn't actively hiding his pedigree from the other heroes... but he was avoiding telling them that he was a prince as long as he could. Of course, he knew it wouldn't stay secret forever, but he would put it off to avoid the eventual betrayal from the knights in the group. Finally, that not-quite-hidden secret came to light when Legend took the other heroes to Hyrule Castle. At least the reveal itself had been amusing, it's aftermath? Not so much.

Febuwhump 2024 | Prompt 14: Blood-stained Tiles

Event Masterlist

Read On AO3 Warnings: Graphic Violence, Major Character Death

As surprising as it was, Legend wasn't actively hiding anything from the other heroes.

He just wasn't up front with them. It wasn't that he was keeping secrets, if they asked he'd honestly answer, but... They didn't ask and he was not going to say it outright until he had to.

"I thought you said we were going to go see your sister," Warriors said as Legend led the way through Castle Town and up to Hyrule Castle. "Does she work at the castle?"

"I did and yes she does," Legend confirmed. Honestly it was amusing, sure he wore a dozen rings but one was his mother's signet ring, he literally had a Triforce hair clip... that was usually hidden by his hat but he's lost it in battle and taken it enough times for them to have seen it, and he's signed his name "Link Hyrule" in front of them at least a dozen times.

At this point it was a bit of a game to see how obvious he could be without outright saying who his sister was and what he was. Though, admittedly, he kept quiet for safety reasons as well.

"What does she do?" Hyrule asked curiously. "Is she... a handmaiden?"

"No, she's not a handmaiden." Legend barely held back a snort. He kept a hand rested on the magic rod on his hip as they passed the guards who shifted but didn't attack him.

"Is she someone of importance?" Wild piped up, appearing on Hyrule's other side.

"You know," he feigned thoughtfulness, "she is rather important."

"Is she older than you?" Warriors joined in on the theorizing. "Because I could see a... twenty-something year old being a general or high captain depending on their experience."

"Well..." he thought about it. "I guess she's kind of like a commander? That's not her official title, but by definition she could be a kind of commander."

Commander in chief, he supposed.

"So she's in the military?" Warriors concluded.

"In? No, she's not, but she is a great leader and she could've taken Ganon on alone if he hadn't prioritized getting her out of the way first."

"Ganon prioritized her?" Hyrule gasped. "Who--Why?!"

They reached the last door to the throne room. Legend grinned.

"Take a guess," he said as the guards pulled the door open.

Zelda was talking to Impa by her throne, but as the door was opened, she looked over and a bright smile appeared on her face.

"Link! You’re back!"

He sped up the slightest bit to meet her part way as she tackled him in a hug.

"Oh--You better not have a new scar, I've told you to be more careful!"

"I'm fine, no new scars, I've barely been injured so far. There's three idiots here who like to take hits not meant for them and I'm not one of them."

Zelda scanned his face before she nodded. "Good." She then moved to face the heroes. "Apologies--It's been several months since Link last came by the castle and I like to make sure he's alright before anything else when he does. Welcome to Hyrule Castle, I am Queen Zelda. How can I aid in your quest?"

Legend held back a laugh at the completely confused looks that were shot toward him.

"Well--Currently, we are only seeking to find a place to rest," Warriors said formally. "But we would welcome whatever information on monster sightings and movements you have."

"Of course," she did a subtle gesture and one of her handmaidens approached, "Estelle here will take you gentlemen to one of our guest wings, you may settle as you wish. Link and I will ensure tonight's dinner will accommodate all of your different dietary needs while we catch up and discuss."

"I thought we were visiting the Vet's sister?" Wild muttered to Sky.

Legend couldn't hold back the laugh while Zelda just tilted her head.

Twilight elbowed Wild but the damage was done and Zelda looked at Legend with a frown.

"You didn't tell your companions prior to bringing them here?"

"I swear it wasn't a secret--I am wearing both my ring and the hair clip."

Her frown deepened. "Your hat hides it."

"And I take my hat off all the time, it falls sometimes when I fight too. If they haven't seen it that's not my fault."

Zelda gave him a sharp look. "I told you that you need to introduce yourself."

"It's time travel and heroes of past and future," Legend defended. "I introduced myself appropriately for the situation! You said that if it doesn't call for it then I don’t need to say that whole title."

She stared him down.

"Besides," he added quickly, using his last card of defense, "half of them are knights."

Her eyes narrowed briefly, flicking toward the group, then she nodded. "Fine," she turned to the partly confused and partly very shocked group of heroes. "My apologies, it seems my little brother's lessons still haven't stuck."

"You said hero came first!" He protested, happy she wasn't going to outright mention anything.

"That doesn't mean you can neglect your position as prince!"

"Din give me strength, you’re impossible."

"You're impertinent."

"This is being impertinent? Oh I can show you impertinence."

Someone cleared their throat. "Umm--"

Zelda shot Legend a threatening look as he huffed and turned away. She turned to the other heroes with a graceful smile.

"My apologies again, as you can tell, Prince Link and I often have points of conflict in regards to his responsibilities. Please, follow Estelle. She will also be the one to fetch you for dinner."

"Of course," Warriors said as he grabbed Sky's arm. "Thank you for your hospitality, your majesty."

Legend rolled his eyes, that was also part of the reason he didn't introduce himself fully when they met. The unnecessary formality was a small part, but a part nonetheless.

Estelle led them away, Legend avoided Sky's eyes very stubbornly and the moment they were gone, Zelda turned on him.

"Are you safe with them?" She demanded. "Knights? Link, you--"

"I am well aware, Zel." Not introducing himself as a prince had been a choice, and it was one made in self defense, even if he defended otherwise in front of the heroes.

He supposed he would find out how they treated Hyrulean Princes soon enough, if one of them tried to kill him anytime soon, at least he would know why.

"Are you safe?" She repeated.

He nodded. "I am." He didn't confess how unsure he was of that fact, it was a point of uncertainty, whether the knights of the heroes would kill him because of his heritage and gender, but he wasn't telling his rather protective older sister that.

She sighed softly and nodded. "Good." She gestured for him to walk with her. "Then tell me about this quest, these... heroes?"

He sighed softly. "Well..."

He reluctantly had put his cap away--look, it was representative of his sanity, he was emotionally attached to that thing--and fixed his hair into something nice and not as practical, triforce clip a bit more on display as a result.

Dinner came and there was more meat than Legend was used to seeing on these platters, but he had been the one to alert the chefs that most of their guests enjoyed meat, majority of which on the rare side, and another few liked fish.

Sky had stubbornly taken the seat beside Legend and when dinner began and Zelda ate, he finally prodded the subject.

"You never said anything," he said quietly, other conversations flowing around them.

Legend shrugged.

"You’re the one who figured it out and said it, why didn't you tell me?" It being the fact that Sky was the patriarch of the royal bloodline.

"I didn't think it was important," he lied.

"You didn't think it was important that you’re my descendant?" Sky hissed, if Legend didn't know better he was hurt.

Except Legend did know better and he was avoided those bright blue eyes because if he met them he knew he'd see how hurt Sky felt at his omission.

"Is it?" He managed instead.

"Yes."

He somehow didn't show the wince he felt. "Oh."

"You--" Sky seemed to be struggling and he kept glancing at the wider table. Legend had a feeling this was a conversation meant to be had in private.

So he sighed and stood. "S'cuse us, Zel."

Zelda waved him off as she continued her conversation with Four about... some book?

Sky was quick to follow him, Impa moved to as well but Legend subtly gestured for her to stay. She did, turning her attention back to Zelda.

They stepped out into the hall where the guards didn't linger.

"Why don’t you think it's important?" Sky asked, and he sounded hurt. He sounded so genuinely hurt.

"Because..." because princes were believed to be the scourges of the goddess' bloodline, because since as far as he could remember he had been told that the goddess had no sons, and he'd believed it because he was unaware he was her son. Because he didn't fully trust the knights in their group to not kill him now that they know.

Sky visibly faltered. "You clearly don't mind your sister--Am I the reason you..."

"No! No--It's not-- I'm... I'm not against my heritage or anything," Legend insisted. "I'm not ashamed of being--Zelda's brother, I'm really not. It's just..."

"Just what? Is it Hylia?"

"No. Sky, I didn't even know her name before meeting you. She was just the... the goddess born mortal, the first queen of Hyrule, its divine protector who chose mortality to be with her lover. It's just--Princes are not considered a good thing, they--we are considered the scourges of--"

CRASH

Glass shattering echoed through the hall, followed by a scream, his left hand burned and he ran back to the banquet hall.

The doors slammed open and, though he noticed the shattered window and Four and Wild both leaping out of it as Warriors had a guard pinned, his eyes set on Impa kneeling on the ground beside Zelda's fallen chair.

He ran across the room, Pegasus Boots spurring him into near teleporting across it to see a sight he had never, in his life, wanted to see.

No, no, no.

Zelda laid on the cold tile floor and blood pooled around her head like some demented halo.

Amethyst eyes that were mirrors of his own was staring blankly at the far wall, unblemished features marred by the blood that soaked the right side of her face.

A black blade made of shadows melted back into the darkness from the hole in Zelda's head.

Some part of Legend brokenly laughed at the irony, she had a halo now, as if her crown hadn't been enough. A halo of blood and darkness behind her head, a representation of the darkness, death, and destruction she held back with that bright light of hers.

"I'm sorry, Link," Impa croaked, the heroes in a chaotic circle with potions and fairies but none of them moved. It was obvious nothing could be done, Twilight helped Warriors with the guard but Legend could already feel the dark magic on him. "I didn't..."

Her voice became a background noise, a background ringing as his thoughts grew frantic.

Why didn't he notice?

He was gone for ten seconds.

How could this have happened?

No, no, no--

"Zelda?" His voice escaped him and he sounded like none of the last seven years ever happened, like he was still that ten year old child who had found Zelda asleep like the dead in that bed in Kakariko.

"Vet, I'm so sorry," Hyrule whispered.

She can't be dead. She can't be.

She wasn't supposed to die before him. She was supposed to live here in the castle, safe and leading their people, she wasn't the one constantly running head-first into the dangers that plagued Hyrule. She wasn't the one returning to the castle soaked in blood, a new scar marring her body every time. She wasn't the one who--

She wasn't supposed to die first.

"No," he whispered, kneeling down beside his older sister. There was a tiny splash as his knees hit the blood puddle and a brief flash of pain from them hitting the hard tile. "No--Zelda don't you do this."

"She's dead, Link. I'm so sorry," Hyrule said as he stepped away.

Legend shook his head. "No! No she--" his voice broke.

"You can't revive the dead, Link," Impa said weakly. "She's gone..."

He could though. He could revive the dead, or rather...

He held his left hand over her forehead. "Watch me."

He heard Hyrule say something and felt a hand land on his shoulder.

Come on, ladies, you owe me one. Farore, Nayru, Din--Don’t take her too.

Light coursed through him and he felt his Triforce absorb it, he felt the familiar caress of time, the whispers of secrets, and the moving of seasons.

The single triangle on his hand blossomed into three, all of them glowing bright.

Zelda gasped. Amethyst eyes glittered again with life and she shot up. Legend dropped his hand and pulled her into a hug as she gasped and coughed blood onto his tunic.

"Link?" She breathed. "How--"

"You’re not allowed to leave me yet," he whispered, pulling back and pressing his forehead against hers, not caring for the blood that covered her and now him. "You're not dying first."

"Oh, Link." She let out a shaky breath, clinging to him. She was shaking something awful, and Legend couldn't fault her for it. She had died. "Impa is here--Go."

He nodded before standing. Impa was quick to swoop in and pull Zelda into her protective arms, tears streaming down her cheeks. His Impa was not the warrior of the Captain's era, or anyone else's Impa, she was a matron, a nursemaid, a protector as much as any mother but not a warrior.

Legend went to the window and looked out. Four and Wild were long gone, Wind apparently giving chase as well. He didn't know what happened, but he knew there was one set of clues far closer.

He turned from the window to the guard that Twilight still had restrained.

He didn't even draw his sword, just took steps toward them both and the guard made a strangled, terrified noise and instead of trying to get away from Twilight, he scrambled back toward the Rancher.

Legend grabbed the strap of his helmet and Twilight quickly backed off as he slammed the guard to the ground, anger fueling him more than his power bracelets ever could.

"So," he growled as Impa, Sky, Hyrule, and Warriors rushed Zelda from the room, which left Legend with just Twilight and Time... And the traitor. "Who decided it was a good idea to try and assassinate my sister?"

The guard sobbed out his terror. "I don’t know! I just had to break the magic off the windows! That's all!"

"Why?"

"They paid me! They paid me!" He screamed, as if Legend had been torturing the answers out of him, but he hadn't even touched him beyond throwing him to the ground. "Please--Your highness--"

"Don’t beg," he snarled. "Congratulations, you can tell your employer his plan succeeded. He killed the Queen--He just didn't account for me and just how much power I hold in the palm of my hand."

He trembled and stared up at Legend, Legend could see the dark magic in his eyes and the broken glass in his hand... The Shadow, the Shadow had given him that power to destroy a Triforce-formed shield of protection.

"Y-You’re letting me go?"

"If your target had been me, then I might've. But since you decided to go for her--You can go to hell. I'll send that employer of yours along soon enough so you can relay that message."

Black blood soaked the tile floor when Legend drove his blade into his throat.

"We could've gotten more information out of him," Time admonished.

Legend turned his attention to the elder hero. He raised his sword up and drove it down again, causing more blood to splatter and the body to twitch, not looking away from his eyes.

"If you couldn't tell since you’re half blind," Legend started lowly, "he is black blooded. I personally am not sparing a person so juiced up on pure darkness to the point they could take down Hyrule Castle's magic defenses on the off chance of gaining information."

He stabbed the body again, blood gushing and splattering across the tile floor, staining it and his blade, his hands, and his boots.

"You think The Shadow would've let this guy near us if he had actual information? No."

He raised his blade to stab again when Twilight caught his hand.

"He's already dead," the Rancher croaked, and Legend noticed how pale he looked. "Zelda's alright, the threat's gone f'r now. It's fine... Breathe, Vet. It's alright. Just--Breathe, calm down."

Legend blinked, he stared at Twilight, confusion hitting him and the haze of red, of protect and avenge faded away.

Suddenly the black blood staining polished stone tile wasn't vindicating, it didn't feel good to see, it felt awful. The body in front of him was a gruesome scene, bloodied and its face a permanent expression of fear.

It was horrific, disgusting, and he felt dirty and wrong just knowing he caused it. Zelda's blood still soaked the floor too.

Twilight gingerly took his sword from his hand and Legend realized distantly that he was shaking.

"Vet--Hey, Link, look at me," Twilight said gently. "It's okay. Everyone is safe, they're alright. The Captain, the Traveler and the Skyloftian has Zelda, nobody's gonna be able to hurt her with them right there protectin' her. You need to breathe."

He was covered in blood, soaked in it, some of it was Zelda's, some of it the traitorous guard's, but nonetheless his clothes were saturated in blood, Fi's golden blade was hidden beneath the black ichor, even his skin was covered... his hands and his legs and he knew his face was too.

"Sorry," he managed to say with a somewhat even voice. "I... I lost myself there."

"We noticed," Time stated. "It happens. Your anger will get the best of you..."

Legend wiped his face off a bit, it didn't help, only smeared the blood and made him feel even worse.

"I... I should clean this up," he said weakly. "The servants don’t deserve to deal with this mess."

"You should go clean yourself up, and then go to your sister," Twilight corrected. He moved forward and directed Legend out of the room, and he let the older hero do it.

He couldn't tear his eyes away from the blood soaking into the tile, the body, the puddle of Zelda's blood.

Zelda died.

His sister died, she did. It was only because the goddesses owed him one that she was alive right now, but that didn't change the fact that she died.

He didn't protect her. He had been too busy trying to fix his own mistakes to be there and protect her.

He hadn't been there.

And now there was a puddle of her blood soaking into the floor, and the only reason she wasn't laying there and adding more blood to it was because the goddesses owed him a favor.

Yet he couldn't shake the thought that he was the reason she had ever been in danger in the first place.

71 notes · View notes

steddieas-shegoes · 11 months

Note

The top of your blog says you're still taking requests,no pressure though of course: Eddie lives through the events of s4 and heals in the hospital, his name is cleared, Eddie spends his time with his uncle and his friends, plays games. He notices that Steve sort of remains on the back burner, shows up to little gatherings but keeps himself at a distance, busies himself with small tasks. Keeps the focus on Eddie, and is content to sort of stare at everyone, and not join in. Eddie gets worried and asks Robin whats up with Steve, why does he keep just standing in the corner or the kitchen smiling instead of joining in, I think he's bumming the kids out, Robin. And she has to calmly, and frightfully, remind him that Steve died over spring break. What are you talking about he's right there! I'd love a Ghost Steve who doesn't want to move on, wants to stay with his family. Doesn't want to be alone. Eddie is the only one who can see him at first(?)

OKAY SO THIS WAS SAD AS SHIT AND I LOVE THIS PREMISE. I especially love it because I have read A LOT of ghost Eddie fics, some where he was actually dead and some where it was a weird Upside Down thing and he was alive. I'm a big believer in happy endings so I went full speed ahead with the latter option for Steve. But since you requested ghost Steve not wanting to move on, I had to switch it up a bit to where Eddie couldn't just let it go. Still plenty of sad, but I had to make it hopeful and happy at the end because I am me. - Mickala ❤️

----------------------------------------------

While Eddie was in the hospital, it felt like he was in a bubble. His uncle was the only one allowed to visit for the first week, and then the kids were able to come by when his name was cleared.

They weren’t themselves, a cloud of sadness around them, but that was to be expected with everything that had happened.

Dustin, especially, clung to him more than he expected.

He figured it would be rough, he did almost die, after all, but this was on another level.

Dustin was with him every day for hours, sometimes had to be dragged out by his mom who understood, but only in the way a person who doesn’t know about the Upside Down could.

Robin came by sometimes, a haunted look on her face, none of her usual energy anywhere to be seen.

He managed to get her to crack a small smile twice.

When he left the hospital, things somehow felt worse.

The government had provided him and Wayne a new trailer, nowhere near the trailer park, even managed to get Wayne a new truck since Eddie’s van had been destroyed and Wayne’s truck was on its last leg for the last year.

His name was cleared, but that didn’t mean people changed their mind about him.

He mostly stayed at home, didn’t even attempt to go to the store with Wayne or anywhere but Dustin’s house or the Byers’.

The kids started begging for normalcy in whatever ways they could: meeting up for movie night, bringing Hellfire back, dinner at the Byers’ house.

Eddie was on board with it, wanted to put everything in the past just as much as they did.

He went to movie night, at Robin’s house while her parents were out of town instead of at Steve’s.

Steve, who hadn’t visited him once while he was in the hospital, hadn’t made it to any hangouts with the kids, apparently was coping with everything by ignoring everyone.

Eddie would have to do something about it soon because the kids were clearly missing him.

Movie night was okay, but he decided to have the next one at his house.

He told Dustin to let everyone know, didn’t think he had to be specific about everyone.

Steve didn’t show up on time, which was unusual since he was usually Dustin and Lucas’ ride. They rode with Nancy and Mike.

Everyone settled in, Eddie started the movie and passed out popcorn, waved goodbye to Wayne on his way out the door to his night shift.

Everything felt okay, but without Steve, it didn’t feel right.

Eddie could admit to himself he had a crush on him. He had one on him in high school, but that was easy to ignore when he was an asshole.

Now, he knew Steve was a good guy, protected these kids and Robin and Nancy with his life and didn’t hesitate even when he should.

It wasn’t just a crush anymore, he realized that while he was in the hospital. It was full blown feelings. Love.

Eddie sat in Wayne’s recliner in the corner, keeping an eye on everyone through the movie. He glanced over to the kitchen and saw movement, but didn’t think anything of it.

They paused the movie halfway through for bathroom breaks and refills on snacks and drinks, and Eddie followed all the kids into the kitchen to get his own beer.

He was startled when he turned the corner and saw Steve smiling at him from the corner.

He didn’t want to say anything, figured the kids had already said hello and he was just letting them get their stuff first.

But it was kind of weird that he’d come in the backdoor of a trailer he’d never visited when he easily could have come in the front door. Eddie watched as Steve leaned against the wall of the kitchen, watching everyone move around without saying anything.

It was weird, especially because the smile seemed to transform from a genuine one to a sad one quickly.

He didn’t want to draw attention to it, didn’t know how much Steve let the kids see usually, so he turned to grab his own snack from the counter.

Robin was standing there, staring at him, eyebrows pinched together.

“What were you looking at?”

“Uh,” Eddie glanced back over and saw Steve frowning now. “Steve? Looking like a kicked puppy in the corner?”

Robin’s face went from confused to worried in a millisecond.

“What? What do you mean?”

“Steve.” Eddie gestured towards where Steve was still standing, but now he looked panicked, like he wanted to interrupt. “Please feel free to make me not look insane, Steve.”

Robin glanced over to the corner, then back at Eddie, tears in her eyes.

“Eddie,” she said, voice sad, like she was about to break the worst news in the world to him. Then, she did. “Steve died. Remember? We had to leave him.”

That can’t be right. He could’ve sworn Steve was there when he was being pushed through the gate, when he gained just enough consciousness to look around and take inventory of the people around him. Steve was there.

“When did he die? He was at the…with the bats…he was at the trailer…right?”

Eddie looked back in the corner and saw Steve looking down at the floor.

And then Robin was pulling him into a hug.

“Nobody told you. They were supposed to tell you. And we-” she let out a sob. “We just haven’t talked about it. It’s hard to. Last time we tried, Dustin had to be given anxiety meds. I’m sorry, Eddie. He’s gone.”

She was crying through the explanation, almost too much for him to understand what she was saying.

But he watched as Steve wiped at his eyes in the corner.

Like he was crying. Like he was there.

He knew Robin wasn’t lying, she would never lie about something like this, and it would explain a lot of the behavior of everyone and Steve’s absence up until this point.

“Robbie, I-” Eddie didn’t know if it would help or hurt her to know he could see Steve right now. He made a decision based on the way Steve was watching them now, his eyes wide and sad, like he would be crying if he could. “I can see him right now.”

Robin pulled away, looked at him, then over at the corner.

“Right now? He’s there right now?”

Eddie nodded.

“Can you hear him say anything?”

“No, he hasn’t said anything. I don’t think he can.”

Steve was still just staring at them, and Eddie knew he was stuck.

If he was truly dead, he wasn’t moving on the way people do. If he wasn’t dead, then something super weird was happening and he would have to get help from everyone.

But he didn’t want to involve the kids, not for this. Because if Steve was dead, like they thought, and they went through the trouble of trying to find him, they’d be hurting all over again.

But if he wasn’t.

“Robin, were you sure he was dead? No pulse or breathing, no movement?”

Robin’s eyes widened.

“I mean, I guess as sure as we could be with how rushed and emotional we were? Nancy couldn’t find a heartbeat and he wasn’t moving, and we waited as long as we could, but he didn’t wake up. Do you think he isn’t dead?”

Steve was watching them, his fingers tapping against his arms that were crossed over his chest.

“How long can someone survive down there?”

“Eddie, look. I already talked to Hopper about it. He said even if somehow Steve managed to survive his injuries, they were bad enough that he would have probably been found by something and attacked. And even if he survived that, he’s been down there without food and water and clean oxygen for a month. The fact that Will survived a week was a miracle.”

He didn’t push. He could hear it in Robin’s voice that she’d already thought of every possible outcome, probably even tried to plan a rescue mission at some point.

She couldn’t take the disappointment either.

Eddie dropped it for now, but he watched as Steve watched him.

He just had a��feeling that this was more complicated than Steve being dead.

—-----------------------

He let himself mourn that night.

While he didn’t feel like Steve was dead, he knew that no matter what, Steve had been missing from all their lives for a month.

He cried for hours, he cried for Steve, for Dustin, for Robin, for Max, for everyone who Steve loved so much that he died for them.

Himself included.

Because that’s what it came down to: Steve died protecting them.

They all took a risk, but Steve paid the price.

It wasn’t fair. The guy who put everyone first was the first one gone.

Eddie finally fell asleep, but it was restless. He kept getting flashes of Steve in his dreams, his face bloody, his body bloody, his screams loud.

Which was weird for a lot of reasons, one of them being that he didn’t know what injuries Steve even had when he died. The ghost he saw in his kitchen earlier had just been Steve, not bloodied or broken or scared.

When he managed to get up, he went through the motions of his day: brush his teeth, shower, eat breakfast, do his stretches, play guitar, eat lunch, clean up, talk to Wayne.

But by dinner, he felt like he had to do something. He had to figure out why he felt this buzzing energy around him.

He waited until Wayne left to get their dinner at the diner and bring it home, then he called Robin.

“Robin, is there a gate open somewhere?”

“Seriously, Eddie.”

“I just need to know! Maybe you’re right, in fact, you probably are. But what if you aren’t? What if he’s stuck down there? What if he’s too hurt to find a way back here?”

Robin was silent, but Eddie didn’t let that deter him.

“I know you guys were pretty sure. And I know you wouldn’t have left if you didn’t believe he was dead. But you said yourself you were emotional and overwhelmed and feeling rushed because of everything happening. It’s not that far of a stretch to believe that he could be alive.”

“Eddie.”

Her voice was broken.

She didn’t want to believe him.

“Okay,” he sighed. “Okay.”

“I know it’s hard. It’ll get easier, I hope. His parents just sold the house, and his car, so. He’s gone. We have to accept that.”

“Okay.”

But it wasn’t okay.

He hung up with Robin, promised he would try to get some sleep, take care of himself. It was a lie.

He ate dinner with Wayne, pretended he was doing alright, pretended he didn’t still hear the echoes of Steve’s screams in his head.

Wayne left early for work, claimed he was picking up some overtime due to them being short staffed still after the quake. He said he wouldn’t be home until nine the next morning.

Eddie nodded and pretended to head to his room for the night.

He did a lot of pretending until he was alone.

Then, he got on the phone with El.

El had gotten attached to him while Max was in a coma, stopping by to talk to him after she’d spent an hour or so with Max. She saw him as a cool older brother, especially when she realized Hopper wasn’t his biggest fan.

“I need to know if there’s a gate open.”

“Eddie, I do not know if I can help with that,” El responded slowly, carefully.

“What if I say it’s for a really good reason?”

“I am sure it is, but I promised Dad I would not open one.”

“But what if there’s one already open?”

“There is not. I would feel it.”

Eddie sighed. He didn’t want to make El break a promise, but this was worth it.

He knew Hopper would forgive her and him if he was right.

“Has Will mentioned feeling anything weird?”

Sometimes Will felt things that even El couldn’t, usually things happening only in the Upside Down. Everyone’s running theory was that it was because of the time he spent down there.

“No, he just feels the usual.”

“What’s the usual?”

“It is just there. Sometimes it is more there than other times.”

“And right now? It isn’t more than other times?”

“I think it is just always more than other times since Vecna.”

Hm. That could be something.

“Why does it feel like more sometimes?”

“It is hard to say. Sometimes it is nothing, sometimes it is because something is moving and trying to get out.”

“Is it always a creature?”

“It always was before.”

“El, I think Steve’s alive.”

There, he said it. He said it to someone who could probably actually help him, who would would help him if she believed him.

“Why do you think that? They said he was not breathing.”

“I know, but, look. Robin even said that they were being rushed and were crying and could have missed something.”

“But it has been a month.”

“I saw him. In the kitchen.” He hated saying this to one of the kids. They all loved Steve so much and if he was wrong, he really didn’t want this to hurt her. “At movie night. He was there, but only I could see him. Robin said maybe it was a ghost, but it seemed too real.”

“It was Steve?”

“Even if he’s de-,” Eddie stopped. “Gone. If his body is where it was left, it should be put to rest here. And if it isn’t, and he’s alive, then we can save him.”

“But we will get caught.”

“Not if we do it tonight. Hopper works nights this week, right?”

“Yes.”

“So he won’t be home to know you’re gone. Will is over at Dustin’s. Jonathan is so high, he won’t notice you’re gone. Joyce will be asleep by ten. You can sneak out.”

“What if you get hurt? I cannot go down there.”

That was a valid concern.

They defeated Vecna, and the Mindflayer hadn’t been a problem since, but that didn’t mean the other creatures weren’t still prowling around down there.

Out of all of them, he had the least experience with them, and she had every right to be worried.

“I can handle it. I’ll bring Steve’s bat.”

—------------------------

He met El in the woods behind the cabin they were staying in. Hopper had redone it, adding two bedrooms and a bathroom so they could all fit more comfortably.

They silently hugged and kept walking further, away from any chance of being seen or heard.

El warned him that opening the gate was risky in other ways too. She had a lot of control over her powers, but sometimes using this much strength would leave her too tired to close it again, and they couldn’t leave a gate open for longer than it took for Eddie to get in, check for Steve, and get out.

They also ran the risk of her using a little too much power and making a gate that was too big for her to close at all.

But these were risks Eddie deemed worth it, and with some convincing, El did too.

They found a small clearing, big enough to make a gate that Eddie could fit through.

He didn’t let himself stop to think about the last time he was being pushed through a gate, how he was bleeding out and barely breathing. He only thought about how Steve was down there, dead or alive, and didn’t deserve to be.

“Are you ready?” El asked him, her hands digging into the earth below her.

“Ready.”

“Two hours. If you are not back in two hours, I call Hopper.”

That was the deal. That was the only way she agreed to do this.

He knew if it came down to him being gone for more than two hours, he’d probably be grateful to see Hopper.

“Got it.”

El nodded and closed her eyes.

The ground started shaking, Eddie held back the panic, and suddenly El was staring up at him, blood dripping from her nose, smiling.

The ground had opened between them, just big enough for Eddie to slip through, small enough for El to cover with sticks and leaves if someone came looking before their time was up.

“You will come back in two hours.”

“Sure thing, supergirl. With Steve, hopefully.”

“With Steve,” she added with a small smile.

Eddie didn’t think anymore.

He dropped himself down, ignoring the sinking feeling in his stomach when everything turned upside down on him.

He didn’t let himself hesitate, even though he wanted to.

He had a lot of ground to cover in a short amount of time, and if Steve was alive, he could be anywhere.

But he walked towards where Robin and Nancy had left him. It would at least confirm if he was dead, his body hopefully would still be there if so.

It was only two miles, but Eddie was never a very fast runner. The first mile went surprisingly well, much faster than he expected to be able to do it. But during mile two, he felt his legs shaking.

He was still technically healing, the physical therapy stretches he did every morning further proof that he still had a long way to go before he was completely recovered.

But he pushed through it, knowing that the way back would be worse and he couldn’t waste time now.

But when he got to the area between the Creel house and the trailer park, he saw no sign of Steve, or anything for that matter.

There weren’t even vines or dead creatures around.

He tried to remain calm.

Steve had been alive when they left him here.

He may not be now, but he had been.

That felt worse.

He pushed that aside and decided to run to the trailer park.

Steve wouldn’t have gone in the direction of the Creel house, and he wouldn’t have wandered aimlessly no matter how much blood he’d lost.

He would have gone to the place he knew they would be in hopes the gate was still open.

The trailer park had always been kind of eerie, even in broad daylight, so the Upside Down version was downright horrific.

Eddie ran directly to his old trailer, hoped that somehow Steve found shelter here.

It looked worse than what he remembered, blood on the floor from when they were half dragging, half carrying him after being a meal for the bats.

The door had been kicked in at some point, and he wasn’t sure how or when that could have happened after they left.

He almost didn’t want to know unless-

He could hear movement in the back bedroom. His bedroom.

It could be anything. Wind blowing through a broken window, a creature he wasn’t entirely prepared to kill, Steve.

God, he hoped it was Steve.

He slowly walked towards the bedroom, his hands shaking where they were holding on tight to the bat.

The door was open a few inches, and he could hear the movement more clearly.

It sounded like someone was in bed, shifting in the sheets.

Holy shit.

He pushed the door open.

Holy shit.

“Steve!”

Eddie dropped the bat and ran to the bed, only stopping himself from jumping onto it when he saw the blood.

There was a lot, though most of it looked old, like maybe Steve had crawled here and then couldn’t quite find his way back out.

Steve was pale. It was dark, and hard to make out a lot of details, but he could see that he was deathly pale.

“Steve?”

“Eddie?”

“Holy shit, Jesus Christ, Steve. Where are you bleeding from?”

“Um, I think my leg? And my stomach.”

His voice was raspy, sort of nasally like he was coming down with a cold. Could you catch a cold from being down here? Probably.

Eddie’s hands hovered over the sheets, ready to move them so he could try to help, when Steve suddenly turned on his side and threw up.

“Shit. Hold on, let me help you sit up.”

“Sorry. Sorry.”

Steve was crying, and Eddie didn’t know what to do.

He took a deep breath.

“You don’t have to apologize, Stevie. I’m sorry you’ve been stuck here. Can I check your heartbeat?”

Eddie needed to see if it was ridiculously fast or slow, needed to determine how quickly he had to move them out of here, if he could take a few extra minutes to try to patch him up or if he just had to put him on his back and run.

Steve held his wrist towards him and Eddie quickly found his pulse.

He counted like a kind nurse showed him while he was in the hospital, filed away for future emergencies so he could be useful.

“It’s a little fast, but I think that’s normal for the situation. Let’s get you up and we can go.”

“Go how?”

“You can hop on my back.”

“I-”

“Steve, it’s not up for debate. You’re coming back with me and I don’t care if it means I break my back.”

Steve nodded once, his eyes closing as if he was just too exhausted to fight.

Eddie was sure he was.

Even if he managed to sleep here, it couldn’t have been well. It’s hard to rest when you know scary monsters are just outside the door.

“Tired,” Steve said, almost like he could read Eddie’s mind.

Hell, maybe he could after spending so much time down here.

Something to test later.

He checked his clock. Still had almost an hour and a half to get back to the gate.

“Have you had anything to eat or drink lately?”

“Found some water four days ago I think? Maybe five. Managed to stretch it until yesterday. Food’s been gone for days.”

How was he not passed out?

“How much of this blood is yours?”

“All of it.”

Awesome.

Eddie felt his forehead. He had a fever.

Even more awesome.

He probably had infections, which can be treated if you get them taken care of quickly, but he could have had them for weeks by now.

Cool.

“Alright, on three, wrap your arms around my neck and your legs around my waist. I’m gonna lift, and I just need you to try to keep leaning forward while I get you on my back.”

“Mkay.”

“And you cannot close your eyes. You hear me, Steve?”

Steve didn’t answer.

“Sweetheart, I need you to talk to me.”

“Mhm. Eyes stay open.”

“And mouth keeps moving. Alright,” Eddie helped him out a bit by placing his arms around his neck. “One…two…three.”

He lifted, and huffed out a sharp breath when his ribs started aching almost immediately.

“Okay?” Steve whispered against his neck.

“I’m okay. You?”

“Okay.”

“Okay.” Eddie let himself take one calming breath, just enough to get himself back on track. “Talk to me.”

“Hurts.”

“I know, love, but I need to know you haven’t passed out,” Eddie said sympathetically.

“Wanna hold your hand.”

God, okay. He could handle that.

He could.

“Okay, one hand for a minute. I need them both to hold you up though.”

He moved one hand up to his chest, where Steve’s hands were sort of dangling. He let his thumb run along the side of Steve’s hands, then Steve grabbed it and squeezed, surprising strength behind it.

“Is Dustin okay?”

Jesus Christ, this guy was half dead and still asking if others were okay.

“Yeah, he’s doing okay. Misses you, though.”

“Miss him.”

“Max is gonna be mad you came back from the dead in a more impressive way than her.”

“She can win.”

Eddie let out a laugh and tugged his hand back to adjust Steve on his back.

They had barely made it out of the trailer park and Eddie’s legs were shaking. He could do it though, he had no choice.

“How long?” Steve asked.

“A month.”

“Robin?”

“She’s hurting. She thought I was crazy. Didn’t wanna come because she didn’t wanna see you like she left you.”

“Not dead though.”

“Nope, not unless dead people can talk down here.”

Steve’s breath was hot against his neck, tickling him and sending chills down his back.

“You?”

“What about me?”

“Hurt?”

Steve’s voice was getting more strained, like he was doing his best to still talk but it was causing a lot of pain for him to do so.

“I was really hurt, yeah.”

“Still?”

“Not as much. Just a little.”

“Love me?”

Eddie knew he was losing it. The pain, the dehydration and hunger, the deliriousness. Steve didn’t have a clue what he was saying.

“What?”

“You love me?”

“Um.”

Steve squeezed his legs around Eddie’s hips.

“Came back. Love me.”

When it was put like that, yeah, Eddie guessed it seemed kind of obvious.

“Just a little.”

He could sense the eyeroll Steve wanted to give, but didn’t quite have the energy.

“I saw you. In my kitchen. Were you there?”

“Dunno.”

“Did you dream about it?”

“Just you. Kids. Robin. Missed you.”

“We all missed you.”

Eddie was making more progress, his determination to get Steve medical attention far outweighing any weakness or pain he was feeling.

“Ow.”

“What hurts, sweetheart?”

“Stomach.”

“Bites?”

“Mhm.”

Eddie could feel where the blood was soaking through his shirt, but he knew it wasn’t so much that he couldn’t at least make it through the gate before bandaging it up. He’d made it this long with them out, another 30 minutes wouldn’t kill him.

Hopefully.

Steve was quiet again, but he was breathing against Eddie’s neck steadily, so he didn’t push.

“Man, you won’t believe the place they gave me and Wayne. It’s got two bedrooms. And we have a whole kitchen instead of just a small counter area with a stove and fridge. Maybe you can cook us dinner when you’re better, you know, as a thanks for rescuing you.”

“Not a good cook.”

“I don’t believe that. Robin said you made her chicken parmesan from scratch for her birthday.”

“Yeah.”

“Alright, so chicken parmesan, my kitchen, soon.”

“Soon.”

They were close, creeping into the edge of the woods, and Eddie was trying not to panic at Steve’s silence.

“Stevie, just a few more minutes. Tell me about the first thing you wanna do when you’re back.”

“Mmm.” Steve’s head rolled back and forth like he was trying to focus. “Kiss you.”

“That can be arranged. What else?”

“Hug Dustin. Love him.”

“Yeah, he could use that.”

“Hug Robin. Love her.”

“She could use that, too.”

“Hug you, love you.”

He wouldn’t hold Steve to this, he wouldn’t. But it would hurt so much when Steve forgot about this whole conversation.

He bit his lip and nodded.

“Yeah, I could use that.”

Steve’s lips were pressed against his neck, most likely accidental, but Eddie let himself pretend for a moment it was a kiss.

When he reached the gate, he whistled to get El’s attention.

“Oh! Eddie, is that…”

“He’s alive. Really hurt and needs water and food. I need to get him through.”

El was prepared with everything and it only took a couple of minutes for them to get through the gate, Steve whimpering slightly as they moved him around.

“You were right.”

El seemed surprised, like she had only done this to give Eddie closure. She hadn’t expected Steve to be alive.

“He loves me,” Steve said.

El looked at Eddie, then at Steve, then back to Eddie.

“You love him?”

“I do. And I’ll love him a lot more if he stays alive. We have to get him to the hospital.”

“I can call Hopper?”

“Tell him to meet us at the cabin with an ambulance.”

“Jus’ need sleep.”

Eddie looked at Steve, mouth open in disbelief.

“You’re going to the hospital.”

“Sleep.”

“I’m not arguing with you. You can barely form a sentence. You’re going to the hospital.”

“You come?”

“I won’t leave your side.”

Eddie put him on his back again so he could walk towards the cabin, hopeful that Hopper wouldn’t ask a lot of questions until they got Steve taken care of.

“He is on his way!” El yelled from the porch, Joyce coming up behind her, hair a mess from being asleep.

When she saw Steve, her eyes widened and she nearly tripped running down the stairs.

“Oh God, Steve! Honey, are you okay? Of course not, you can’t even walk. You’re bleeding!”

“Mrs. Byers, can you get him some water maybe please?”

“Yes! Oh my God!”

She was running back up the stairs, mumbling to herself the whole way.

El giggled as she watched.

Eddie loved her.

He could hear sirens in the distance, and he hoped he would be able to ride with Steve.

He shouldn’t have to be alone anymore.

Steve’s eyes were closed, but Eddie kept his fingers on his pulse, making sure he didn’t have any changes while the sirens got closer.

Hopper’s patrol car arrived first, barely in park before Hopper was jumping out and running to where Eddie was cradling Steve.

Joyce came out with the water and handed it to Eddie.

“Dammit, why would you go down there alone? You know the rules.”

Eddie ignored him, just focused on getting some water past Steve’s lips.

“C’mon, sweetheart. Just a few sips.”

Steve’s lips moved, then he swallowed some of the water.

“There ya go. Good job.”

Hopper was watching in silence now, Joyce with her arm around him.

Eddie knew they were wondering how the hell they would ever get over leaving Steve behind.

The ambulance pulled up next, EMTs rushing out and asking Eddie question after question.

He had to keep it simple: found him in the woods, must’ve been out there since the quake with the injuries and level of dehydration. They took him at his word.

When they loaded Steve up, they let Eddie in only because Hopper insisted.

“I’ll be right behind you.”

And he was.

Eddie kept his eyes on Steve the whole time, but he could see the lights of Hopper’s police car in the window next to him.

Steve’s eyes fluttered open a few times as they hooked him up to oxygen and an IV, kept checking his vitals.

Eddie smiled at him each time, made sure he knew he was there and he loved him.

—---------------------------

It was two days before Steve woke up again.

The wounds weren’t bad, but they were infected, which was why they kept randomly bleeding despite not being very deep.

The infection was actually the worst of it, but it had potential to be life threatening if they couldn’t get it under control.

They pumped him full of pain relievers and antibiotics, fluids and nutrients.

Eddie sat by his bed the whole time.

None of the kids were allowed in yet, doctor’s and Hopper’s orders, but he heard Dustin in the hall multiple times a day giving it his best shot.

Robin hadn’t come by yet. Eddie knew she felt guilty, immensely so. She left her best friend down there, suffering, and didn’t even think to double check when it was safe to do so.

Eddie didn’t blame her, and he knew Steve wouldn’t either, but Robin would.

But when Steve’s eyes finally opened, bloodshot and glassy from his IV concoction, he smiled at Eddie.

“Love me?”

“Just a little.”

He fell back asleep a few minutes later, holding Eddie’s hand like a lifeline.

—------------------------

It took another four days before the doctors said he could be around others. His infection symptoms had gotten better and they believed the worst was over.

Eddie called Robin and told her to bring Dustin, no arguing. Steve was asking for them.

It wasn’t a lie, but he may have exaggerated it slightly just to get them here.

And when they did show up, everyone cried.

Robin collapsed next to the bed while Dustin folded himself against Steve the moment he was given permission to.

Eddie just watched from his chair, took in the way Steve comforted them despite the fact he was still in the hospital after spending a month alone in the Upside Down.

That was just who Steve was.

It probably wasn’t healthy, but it’s why Eddie loved him. Just a little.

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #robin buckley #the party #temporary character death #ficlet #request #angst #happy ending

382 notes · View notes