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themurphyzone · 3 years

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If I Can’t Love Him Ch 4

AN: I do eventually wanna write out an entire BatB AU, it’s just that it’s kinda on the backburner compared to Nova and Pinky the Snowmouse right now. Decided to finish this story before working on anything else in BatB AU. Unlike the other chapters, this one’s not based off any scene in the 1991 movie.

AO3 Link

Ch 4: Hints of Kindness

Two days since the West Wing incident, and there was still no sign of the Beast. His servants all said not to worry, he was always reclusive until it was time to give orders, but Pinky still worried for the Beast’s arm. He didn’t seem like the type to take it easy.

“Hey, if the scratches get infected, that’s on him,” Rita reassured Pinky as she escorted him down the corridor for breakfast.

The servants were on a rotating schedule of helping him get around the castle to prevent another incident of wandering somewhere he wasn’t supposed to. Pinky appreciated the company, but part of him also wanted to sneak around too. If he was going to be here for the rest of his life, then he wanted to know every nook and cranny of the castle.

At least the nooks and crannies of the places he was allowed to go in.

But sneaking around would have to wait. At least until the world stopped spinning around. It was throwing him off-balance.

“So what do you want for breakfast?” Rita asked, her halo bobbing above her head as she glided along the floor. “Cream? Fish? Or the gray stuff again? That’s always a hit.”

The moment breakfast was mentioned, Pinky’s stomach flip-flopped and churned. “Quiet, tummy,” he scolded.

“You good? You’re pale,” Rita asked. “Not exactly a healthy shade of white.”

“I’m...narf...I’m okay!” Pinky tried to smile at her, but Rita’s eyes only narrowed. “Don’t worry about me!”

A shiver wracked his body. Was it just him, or was the castle draftier than usual?

“Nice try, mouse,” Rita crossed her paws over her angel robe. “But a little tip about castle living? If the boss can’t pull a fast one over Hello Nurse when he’s sick, neither can you. Try it, and the results ain’t gonna be pretty.”

He was fine though. Pinky was used to hiding any signs of sickness from Papa. He couldn’t worry his father like that when there were other things to worry about. All he had to do was cover his mouth so all the icky stuff wouldn’t get out and run over to Slappy’s tree for help.

He didn’t like lying. It made him feel awful inside. But he had to, just so he wouldn’t scare Papa.

"Sorry," Pinky whispered, his throat tight. "I'll go back to my...I mean, the room you all gave me. I don't wanna make anyone else sick. Poit."

"Eh, don't worry about it," Rita said. "Only the boss is affected by that sorta thing. Rest of us are immune. Now c'mon. I gotta tell Hello Nurse so we can get some chow into you."

o-o-o-o-o

Secrets never remained secrets in the castle for long. It took a grand total of thirty seconds before a crowd of servants gathered outside the bedroom door, from the littlest dinner fork to several heavy cabinets that clinked with dishes and silverware as they moved.

A tall coat rack lifted Pinky back into bed. And while Pinky didn’t mind climbing to reach the strange, huge mattress that was cozy when he was tired and not so cozy when he thought of Papa and home, he was too dizzy to climb up himself right now.

Though he wanted to snuggle into the blankets more than anything else, he couldn’t until the stethoscope finished checking his heart and lungs. He shivered as the cold bell pressed into his chest and back, but tried to breathe when he was asked to.

When it was finished, the stethoscope firmly knocked twice against the mahogany bedframe and wrapped itself around the coat rack’s thin wooden arm.

“So what’s the verdict?” Rita asked from the doorway.

“Well, his heart and lungs are strong. And nothing’s inflamed either,” Hello Nurse said. “Pinky, are you having trouble breathing?”

Pinky shook his head.

“Any chest pain?”

“Nope. Don’t worry, everyone! It’s just a fever. I’ll be fit as a fiddle soon!” Pinky said, trying to reassure them. “And I can clean some rooms or dust the staircases or anything else you want then!”

“Nope, that won’t do at all! You’re our guest and we insist you get some rest!” Yakko protested. The fire on his head burnt intensely, and the flammable servants hastily scooted away from him. “Ya know, that’s not a bad verse for Be a Pest now that I think about it. But still! Don’t even think about getting out of bed ‘til Hello Nurse okays it!”

“Only for a day or two,” Hello Nurse added. “And tell someone immediately if you have trouble breathing or the fever gets worse. You came back soaked to the bone, and I don’t want this developing into pneumonia.”

Okay, at least he wouldn’t be confined for too long. He wanted to move around and explore. What was the point of being imprisoned in a castle if he couldn’t explore?

“What about Pharfignewton?” Pinky asked. “She fell in the river too. And...she’s all I’ve got now.”

His mother’s cape was in shreds. He didn’t know how Papa was doing. Pharfignewton was the only member of the family he could see now. The blue dress was his only remaining possession from his life in the village.

“She’s okay!” Dot piped up. “The stablemaster is one of the best in the province! He’s got her covered in a pretty violet blanket.”

“She really likes apples!” Wakko exclaimed.

Pharfignewton adored apples, and while Pinky trusted the servants to take care of her, he also wanted to make sure she was alright in-person.

But that would have to wait for a few hours.

Sapped of energy, he yawned and curled underneath the blankets. Only his head poked out, and his vision blurred as his eyes drooped with exhaustion.

The crowd dissipated with promises to come back with food and medicine later, until only Yakko lingered in the doorway.

“Keep an eye on him, Marita,” Hello Nurse told the purple and white wardrobe, which had a hippo’s face carved into the top. She hummed her agreement. “Now come along, Yakko. Pinky needs his rest.”

“But-”

“I’m sure Dr. Scratchnsniff misses you. It’s been a busy past few days,” Hello Nurse suggested, and Yakko hopped away, his spirits restored as he hollered about all the news he wanted to deliver to the psychiatrist’s couch.

Soon they were gone. As Pinky’s eyes drooped shut, he thought he might’ve seen the end of a cape and a zigzagged tail dart behind a crouching gargoyle in the hallway. But the door swung closed before he could be sure.

o-o-o-o-o

Despite the fever, or maybe because of it, it was the best sleep he had in ages.

“Wakey, wakey, Rip Van Winkle!” Dot shouted. “Got your hot tea and soup here!”

Pinky rubbed his eyes, stretching his limbs and tail as he sat up against his large pillow. His forehead was hot to the touch, and his throat was a bit sore. He breathed in fine, warm steam from the tea and soup, and while he didn’t have much of an appetite right now, he’d at least try to eat what he could. He was sure it would taste wonderful anyway.

A tray slid onto his lap. A steaming bowl of chicken and vegetable broth, a flower patterned teacup full of warm liquid, and a spoon and napkin laid on top of it.

“It’s lovely. Thanks so much!” Pinky said, smiling at the Warners, who sat atop a rolling cart next to his bed.

“Make sure you gobble it all down like a turkey!” Wakko exclaimed, doing his best impression of a turkey call just as Pinky took his first sip of the broth, which included several small pieces of carrots.

Pinky couldn’t help but laugh, which was a huge mistake with food in his mouth. He sputtered and coughed, quickly pounding on his throat as he snatched up the teacup and took a huge gulp of tea to wash it down.

“Well, don’t make him choke on it!” Dot scolded.

“Careful, dearie,” Marita said as she shifted a lovely green dress to a hanger on her front. “My darling Flavio puts lots of love into his food. I wouldn’t want it to go to waste.”

“I will,” Pinky promised. He ate more slowly, trying to savor every bite. Not that he really needed to chew. Everything just slid down his throat like melted butter.

“That didn’t go into your lungs, right?” Yakko asked, who’d been strangely silent during the visit.

“I don’t think so,” Pinky replied. “And no agonizing, excruciating, stabbing, or writhing pain?”

Pinky stretched his limbs, careful not to jostle the tray too much. “A bit sore, but I’ll be alright.”

“It’s only a fever, Yakko,” Dot muttered, rolling her eyes as Yakko’s flames burst sporadically. “He’s not suddenly gonna drop dead or anything.”

Wakko shuffled his wooden legs awkwardly as Yakko and Dot burst into an argument over their guest’s health, and Pinky found himself nursing a headache that developed at his temple.

“Children, I think our guest wants some peace while he eats,” Marita suggested, her front drawer opening to reveal a lavender letter that was sealed with a heart-shaped kiss mark. “In the meantime, would you do me a favor and deliver this letter to my sweetheart?”

“For true love!” Dot squealed in joy, forgetting that she didn’t have hands to grab it by as she strained to grab it from Marita’s handle. Wakko reached over and grabbed it for her, and Dot hopped to the other side of the cart in a huff, muttering that she could’ve gotten it for herself.

“Hi-ho rolling cart, away!” Yakko shouted, and the cart sped across the room and slammed into the slightly ajar door, and the Warners were nearly thrown off the cart from the impact.

“GAH!” there was a surprised shout from behind the door as it crashed against the wall.

That wasn’t a normal door crashing into the wall sound.

To Pinky’s surprise, the Beast stumbled into view from behind the door. He clutched one shoulder with his bandaged arm, an irritated growl building in his throat.

The Warners whistled innocently and gave the Beast extremely wide, guilty smiles before zooming away.

“Ooh, that sounded like it hurt,” Pinky said, and the Beast looked at him in annoyance. Then Pinky remembered that they hadn’t spoken to each other in a few days, and he didn’t really know where he stood with the Beast right now. “Did they catch you on the arm?”

The white-collared shirt was new though. It was a high quality piece of clothing, even though it was a simple design.

The Beast stood in the doorway, the bandages outlined against his sleeve on his injured arm while he held onto the doorframe with his uninjured arm. He also wore a wine-red cape and a pair of black trousers, and both clothing items were much less worn and ragged than when Pinky had first met him in that tower just a few nights ago.

“They didn’t,” the Beast grunted, staring at the floor like he’d seen a very interesting dust bunny. The silence was only broken by Marita’s blissful humming and the clink of Pinky’s spoon against his bowl.

The Beast wasn’t the best at conversations. It was either too much roaring or stony silence with no in-between with him.

“Were you eavesdropping?” Pinky asked.

The Beast huffed. “I was napping behind the door.”

“Strange place to nap,” Pinky said. “Wouldn’t you be better off in a cozy bed? Less back problems that way. And you wouldn’t be smashed in the shoulder by a door.”

“I’ll...keep that in mind,” the Beast replied, still not making eye contact with Pinky.

Though his responses were short and blunt, it seemed to be more out of awkwardness than anything. Still, Pinky wished the Beast would come up with a topic. It wasn’t exactly 20 Questions if the other party wasn’t asking anything.

Pinky chewed a piece of chicken, even though he didn’t need to. “Is Yakko okay? He seemed kinda scared cause I’m sick.”

“Oh, he can’t help it, dearie. An illness almost took-” Marita trailed off as a growl rose from the Beast’s throat. “-well, nobody wants to see your fever grow worse. Especially Yakko.”

Had the Beast been severely ill for a time and didn’t want to admit it? Pinky wanted to ask, but from the way the Beast’s claws dug into the doorframe, he decided that maybe it was better if he didn’t.

“Sorry if it’s a sore subject. I can ask something else if you want,” Pinky said.

The Beast’s large ears lowered, and his growl tapered off. And for the first time, shadowed pink eyes met Pinky’s.

“The fabric you used as a temporary bandage...was it important?” the Beast asked.

Pinky dropped his spoon into the bowl, surprised at a question that involved his mother’s cloak. No harm in being honest though.

“That cloak used to belong to my mother. It became mine after the accident,” Pinky admitted. The two fabric scraps from his cloak had been laundered, scrubbed of blood, and neatly tucked away in one of Marita’s drawers. He figured he could still use them somehow, but hadn’t quite figured it out yet.

The Beast looked distinctly uncomfortable, averting his eyes once more. “Sorry about your mother.”

Though awkward, it was a more sincere condolence than what some who’d attended her funeral had said.

“She wouldn’t have minded though. I think she’d be happy to know her cloak helped you,” Pinky said.

He didn’t have any doubts about that. He remembered his mother as a generous, lovely soul, even though he was a child when she passed away.

The Beast placed a hand over his bandaged arm. Then he turned to leave.

“When you’re healthy again, I’ll personally make sure that you know your way around the castle,” the Beast said. “But only to ascertain that you won’t barge into the West Wing again.”

It would be nice not to get lost. He always had trouble finding the kitchen so he could thank Chef Flavio for his meals.

“Alright,” Pinky agreed as he pushed his tray aside. He wasn’t hungry anymore. “And Beast?”

The Beast was a few steps away from Pinky’s door. He paused and looked back, stumbling over his feet like he wasn’t used to walking on two legs.

“Thanks for checking on me,” Pinky said. He snuggled into the blankets once again, ready to sleep off his meal. “I’m sure I’ll recover twice as fast cause I know everyone wants me to feel better.”

There was a long silence.

“You’re welcome,” the Beast finally said. Then he was gone.

And strangely, Pinky was looking forward to the promised tour.

Fun fact: Stethoscopes were invented in 1816, which isn’t in the French Revolution era of Beauty and the Beast, but this is Animaniacs and I am allowed to be anachronistic.

Before the curse took hold, Dot was severely ill for a time (same deal as Wakko’s Wish), and Brain doesn’t want this info getting out cause it could potentially reveal the curse to Pinky. Yakko is just spooked by any type of illness as a result, even a temporary mild fever.

#pinky and the brain #patb fanfiction #beauty and the beast au

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ithebookhoarder · 3 years

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Chapter 19: In Sickness and in Health (The Gangster’s Daughter)

Description: Life for Tommy Shelby was pretty ordinary; all he ever had to worry about were his family, their business and the Blinders. Nothing more, nothing less. Well, that was until his ‘daughter’, a twelve-year-old girl called Evelyn Westmore, was thrown into his life, dredging up feelings and things from the past he’d done very well to forget.

Also available on AO3:

Warnings: Original Character(s), Canon-Typical Violence, Grief/Mourning, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Explicit Language, Gangsters, Period Typical Attitudes, Parent Tommy Shelby, Implied/Referenced Dubious Consent.

Masterlist:

----

The next morning was when Evie finally learned the definition of a hangover. A real hangover. Like, Arthur after a night at the Garrison hangover.

She had barely been conscious a minute before she realised her head was pounding. It was as if someone was driving a hammer into her skull over and over again.

She didn’t dare open her eyes, knowing instantly the pain was going to be too much.

“Fuck,” she whined, pushing her face into her pillow, wondering if by some miracle she could go back to sleep. Of course, it was clear that wasn’t going to happen. Not when she also currently felt like she was suffering from the worst case of sea sickness known to human kind. It made her stomach churn uneasily, and she could feel her whole body shaking.

Evie groaned, weakly turning over to try and sit up in bed. She knew for a fact that her hair was most likely a hell of mess, and the fact her breath felt like acid left her heavily confused.

She honestly had no idea what the hell had happened to her, or why the hell she felt the way she did. It was as if someone had scrubbed her mind so clean it was raw. There was a huge chunk of time missing from her mind from the night before.

What the hell happened?

With a sigh, she peeled back the covers and began to brave her way down to the kitchen below.

Tommy, needless to say, was waiting in the main room, a paper spread out in front of him and a cup of tea in hand. John was also in the kitchen, Arthur beside him as they scoffed their way through the food in front of them - courtesy of Polly.

The woman truly was an angel.

Her father glanced up as he heard Evie enter, only to start laughing at her miserable face. He was enjoying this; she could tell. If she’d had any strength she’d probably have tried to wipe that smile off his face. But she didn’t. She merely shuffled in, sat in the nearest chair and let out a small moan at the fresh smell of food in the air.

“Why do I have bulls stamping on my brain?”

“Because you thought it was a smart idea to challenge Johnny boy here, to a pissing contest,” Tommy remarked calmly, hiding his grin behind his paper. It was clear from his windswept hair and the smell of soot about him he’d been up sometime, already venturing out into the city. How he got the resilience, Evie could never explain.

“What?”

“Which I won, by the way,” John protested, looking unfairly healthy as he helped himself to his breakfast. The smell alone was enough to make Evie want to empty her stomach everywhere.

“But she gave an admirable attempt,” Arthur heckled. “Worthy of the Shelby name I’d say. Almost drank a bottle of her own before she keeled over. Not bad for a slip of a thing.”

Evie groaned, dropping her face down into her hands. “I hate you all.”

“So you don’t want some hot coffee then?” Polly chuckled, placing the cup down in front of her. “Drink that. It’ll help.”

Evie took her at her word, all but downing the steaming drink, praying it helped in some way. “Why do you all drink so much if this how you feel afterwards?”

“You learn your limits,” her father chided. “You build up an immunity too.”

“Clearly I didn’t inherit your Shelby skill.”

“No, but you have determination,” Tommy chuckled. “Clearly you’ve had good teachers.”

“Or bad influences,” Polly countered, turning to glare at her nephews.

“One day, she’ll look back on this and laugh.”

“Not anytime soon, by the looks of her.”

Evie groaned all over again. “I’m right here. You don’t have to talk about me like I’m not - actually, better yet, why doesn’t everyone whisper?”

“PARDON?”

Evie was half way out of her seat and ready to murder Arthur in a heartbeat. It was only Polly’s warning glare that stopped her. That, and the sudden nausea caused by moving so fast.

“Sit down,” her aunt scoffed, placing a plain piece of buttered toast in front of her. “Eat that and then go back to bed. You’ll feel better. I promise. This lot will be gone soon.”

“Sooner the better,” Evie grumbled half heartedly, even though she didn’t mean it. Still, John clearly got the hint and took that as his cue to excuse himself from the meal.

“Right,” John grinned, donning his cap. “I’m off to the garage. Be back in a bit, yeah? Meeting Lizzie so she can cook.” The others nodded, murmuring various acknowledgements as he slipped out into the street.

“I have business too,” Arthur grinned, rising from his seat and patting Evie’s shoulder as he did so. “Just sleep it off, ey? And don’t drink anything Polly gives you. You’d rather die on your own terms than have one of her miracle cures.”

“Oi!”

Arthur sniggered, leaping out of the doorway as Polly rose to slap the smile off of his face. Still, Evie took his word for it. She loved her aunt but she had a suspicion Arthur knew what he was on about. Especially judging by the slightly queazy look on her father’s face.

“The bloody cheek.”

“Leave him, Pol,” Tommy soothed. “He isn’t worth it."

“I wish I’d let Evie rip his throat out now.”

“Oh, there’s still time. Maybe later.”

Evie chuckled under breath. She’d hold him to that. For now, though, she was content to simply make her way through the plate of buttered toast and endless mugs of coffee Polly put before her. “Thank you,” she beamed, watching as Polly kissed her head before helping herself to her own breakfast.

That was how they stayed for the next half hour or so. Once they’d finished, Evie took the plates and went to wash up as a gesture of her gratitude. It also left her father and Polly alone, both of whom had been shooting odd looks at one another to the point where Evie almost wanted to call them out on it.

If they had something to say, they should just say it… unless they didn’t want her to hear?

So, she gave them space, washing dishes and listening to their soft voices echoing through the open doorway.

Evie didn’t need to hear more than the words ‘talk’ and ‘Lizzie’ to know what this was about. It had only been days since John had told her he was thinking of asking Lizzie to marry him. Evie still didn’t know how she felt about it, even though she wanted John happy and she liked Lizzie well enough. However, by the sounds of it, she didn’t have to worry about it any longer.

“Fuck,” Pol muttered. “You gonna tell him? Or am I?”

“I will.”

“Tell him what?” Evie asked slowly.

She couldn’t help it any longer. Her curiosity was greater than her fear of being scolded for eavesdropping. Besides, it was hardly like this conversation was that private. Else, they’d have taken it to the offices on the other side of the shop floor if they hadn’t want to be overheard.

She simply stepped into the doorway and waited for an answer.

Tommy sighed. He blew out a thin stream of smoke and looked at Pol. The look between them was enough for them to understand one another.

Polly blinked. “That leopards never change their spots.”

Just like that, Evie felt even sicker - something she hadn’t thought possible. It didn’t take a genius to work out what Polly was referring to. Part of her hoped she was wrong though, that her father and aunt hadn’t conspired to break John’s heart.

She watched her father go and turned back towards the stairs. All she wanted now was to crawl into bed and sleep the remainder of the headache away. “Fuck.”

It appeared she wasn’t the only one who would be suffering that day.

--------

Thankfully, after a hot bath, plenty of coffee and a long sleep, Evie felt almost as good as new. She didn’t even mind the fact her father decided to wake her the following morning, ripping open the curtains and letting the morning sunshine burst into the room.

“Rise and shine, Evelyn.”

Evie groaned, pulling the pillow over her head in a vain attempt to block his voice out. “What’s the smile for?”

“Get dressed and you’ll find out.”

As if the shock of seeing her father in her room wasn’t enough to peak her interest, his proposition definitely did the trick. Evie was alert instantly. She couldn’t actually remember the last time he’d woken her up, let alone in such an odd mood.

She tried not to laugh as he tugged the covers off of her, doing his best as she clung on for dear life. Playful Tommy was rare. She half expected a cold bucket of water over the head or for him to be banging pans together instead.

“Dad,” Evie whined, surrendering and sitting upright. “What the hell is going on?”

“As I say, get dressed and come downstairs. We’ve got somewhere to be,” her father explained, gesturing to the dresser in the corner of the room.

To her utter surprise, a dress was already laid out and waiting for her - a beautiful sky blue dress, but one she’d never seen before.

Had he bought it for her?

“Polly picked it our for you so don’t keep her waiting,” he continued, as if sensing her questions. However, he gave her no more opportunities to ask them as he turned and left her to get ready for the absurd day ahead of them.

Evie couldn’t even begin to process it all. What had just happened? Was she still dreaming?

She managed to pry herself from her bed and wander over towards the dress. A single touch of the silky fabric was enough to prove this wasn’t a dream. This was very very real… and very expensive.

“Damn it, Pol,” she sniggered, reminding herself to talk to her aunt about wasting money on her like this. Whilst she absolutely adored the garment in front of her, she also knew they couldn’t really afford it.

Nevertheless, she’d learned a long time ago when to pick a battle with the Shelby family and when to simply go along with their wishes. This was definitely one of those times to go with the latter option. So, she stripped herself of her nightclothes and began to get ready for the day, washing away the sleep from her eyes in the washbasin and tidying her hair as best she could.

A few minutes more and she was ready. One final look in the mirror confirmed as much.

She slipped on her shoes and grabbed her coat, hurrying downstairs as fast as she was able. If her father was as excited as he’d seemed about today then she knew better than to keep him waiting. Even if she was nervous about what lay ahead, Evie couldn’t help but be a little excited too. However, as she hurried into the parlour, she was surprised to see it empty.

Her father was no where to be seen.

“What the hell?” she whispered.

That was when the door opened. That was when the last two people she’d expected to come strolling through together, did just that, grinning ear to ear.

“Polly what on earth is going o-” Evie began. She stopped, however, the moment she laid eyes on the woman next to her. “Ada?”

Like that, she was upon her, hurling herself at her aunt in disbelief. The heavily pregnant woman didn’t mind though, laughing as she cradled her back, peppering kisses to her cheeks.

“Oh my god. I’m glad to see you.”

“I missed you too,” Ada whispered. “It’s been too long.”

“What are you doing here?”

“Tommy invited her,” Polly smirked, visibly touched by the scene. “Family should be together on days like this one. We have a one day truce, thank god. I love a good wedding.”

“A wedding?”

She wasn’t the only one confused. Ada looked as bewildered as she felt. However, Evie finally took a moment to properly examine the moment. It was then she realised they were all dressed impeccably, with fine dresses and coats. Polly even had a hat on, something she saved for church or special occasions. How Evie had missed it was beyond her. Clearly, she was getting rusty.

“Apparently.”

“Whose?”

“I thought it was obvious,” Polly chuckled. “So, shall we go? Otherwise we’ll miss the bloody thing… I never thought I’d see the day John Shelby re-married. To a Lee of all things.”

Wait.

John.

This was John’s wedding?

To a Lee girl?

Not Lizzie?

Evie blinked. She froze and stared at the woman in disbelief. “You’re fucking joking? Right?”

Both Ada and Polly shook their heads. “It was your father’s idea,” Polly explained, adjusting her hat in the mirror before opening the door and ushering them towards the car. “It was a deal proposed by the Lees. Tommy agreed on John’s behalf. Kill two birds with one stone.”

Evie had a suspicion someone would be killed if that really was the case. “Does John know?”

“They’ll have told him by now.”

“Fuck. Now I see why they all left together.”

It took an army to make a Shelby do something they didn’t want to do. John especially. Evie felt bad at the thought. What if he didn’t want this? Why was her family forcing him into this? Was it too late to stop it?

Then again, her father loved his family more than life itself. He wouldn’t do it if he didn’t have John’s approval or hadn’t meticulously thought this whole thing out. Had he even met the bride to be?

Evie sighed. Why were Shelby weddings always so complicated? At least this one wasn’t in secret, a fact she was grateful for as she turned to her aunt and took her hand. The fact she was here beside her already made her feel ten times better.

“Freddie not with you?”

Ada shook her head. “No, but it’s alright. I’m… I’m glad to see everyone.”

“We’re glad to see you too,” Polly hummed, kissing both Ada and Evie’s cheeks. “Now. Stop nattering and get in. We have a wedding to get to and I don’t want to miss this for the world.”

The girls didn’t need to be told twice. They knew an order when they heard it. They had a wedding to get to after all. John’s wedding… God help them all.

---------

The ceremony was brief but pleasant. Even her father and Ada seemed to be getting on, grinning and teasing one another as Jonny completed the ritual, standing in front of the crowd gathered in the shipping yard the Lees currently called home.

Evie had never been to a gypsy wedding before. Not one like this, with so much colour and excitement for what was usually quite a somber ceremony according to the church she was used to. Yes, Esme - her newest relative - was wearing white as she made her way down the aisle, but that was pretty much where the resemblance ended. After all, when had church ever involved the use of a knife before? … or real blood?

Evie had clearly been going to the wrong services.

“That’s the mingling of the two bloods. Where two families become one family,” Jonny explained, grinning ear to ear as Esme and John clasped hands together. The look on their faces said it all. “I now pronounce you, man and wife! Go on John, kiss the bride, will you?”

The cheer was instantaneous, as were the celebrations that followed.

Evie was quick to hug and congratulate John and his new bride. To her relief, he seemed happy - excited even, and who could blame him? Esme was gorgeous. After a few moments of talking, Evie had also deduced that she was wild and almost as much of a true gypsy as Polly. She was also kind, witty and clever - she had to be if Tommy had accepted her to join their family, their side of this now resolved conflict. He wouldn’t have accepted just anyone and yet again, they were all forced to have faith he knew what he was doing.

That didn’t mean Evie had to hold it against Esme. No matter how she’d joined the Shelby clan, she was a Shelby nonetheless and Evie knew better than most how daunting it was to join such a clan as this.

“Congratulations,” she smiled once more, kissing John’s cheek and nodding at his bride. “Be good to one another.”

“We will be.”

“And welcome to the family, Esme.”

“Thank you,” she nodded, grinning as John slid his arm about her waist and held her close.

Evie took that as her cue to leave the newly weds to it. As it was, one of the younger Lee boys had decided to take advantage of the fact she was currently by herself, lingering by the now raging dance floor.

He was quick to stand beside her, taking her hand and shoot her a teasing grin. “Fancy a dance?”

Evie automatically went to decline, but changed her mind. He was handsome and the night was young. “Why not?” she shrugged. It was a night of peace and celebration after all. “Just don’t blame me if I stand on your toes.”

With that, she let him grab her other hand and spin her into the crowd. She didn’t know the steps, if there even were any, nor did she know the song the band were singing. All she knew, was that she felt weightless, skipping about with her partner.

“I’m Antony,” he grinned, bellowing to be heard over the violin and drumbeats.

“Evelyn!”

“Pleasure to meet you, Evelyn Shelby!”

Give it five more minutes, and several broken toes, and she’d see if he still felt that way after all.

------

Just because the light soon disappeared, didn’t mean the celebrations did. In fact, as candles and lanterns were lit, so too were everyones spirits; There were drinks being poured, games of cards being won, and at one point - gunshots and fireworks.

It was official, Evie loved weddings. Particularly, Shelby weddings.

She also liked dancing and was not looking to stop anytime soon. She’d danced with multiple partners, making her way around the floor before finally ending up beside her aunt. For a pregnant woman, Ada was doing rather well at keeping up.

To be honest, if Evie was having fun, then Ada was on a whole other level. It was almost hysterical watching as her aunt spun and cheered and staggered about the place. After weeks, months even, without her, she was glad to have her back and making mischief with her.

“Fuck. I missed dancing!”

“That’s not dancing!”

“It is!” she protested, snagging Evie’s arm and spinning her around and around. “I should know. I taught you, didn’t I?”

Evie erupted into laughter at the memory. “I think we broke Polly’s vase when you tried to dip me!”

“And her clock with that lift!”

Both girls erupted into further laughter, tears trickling down their cheeks. All Evie could see was the memory of her aunt Polly’s face as she’d come into the kitchen to find Ada lifting Evie over her head, surrounded by broken china and glass.

“God! I’ve missed you,” Evie whined, hugging Ada close as her emotions over took her for a second. Her aunt didn’t seem to mind though as she hugged her back tightly.

“I’ve missed you too. We should never go this long without speaking ever again.”

“Fine by me. After the baby’s born, we should go dancing together.”

“Fuck yes!”

As if proving her enthusiasm for the idea, Ada began to twirl all over again, faster and more manically than before. Apparently it was enough to worry her family. Arthur was by their side in an instant.

“Come on, Ada. Enough now. Enough,” he tried, to no avail. He went to reach for her, only for her to spin away faster. “Ada.”

Even Tommy was coming over from his seat, sighing as he approached. That was enough to knock the smile from Evie’s face, especially as she noticed Polly’s concerned expression. What did they expect? Ada had always enjoyed living vicariously and she’d been locked away for weeks.

“Ada,” her father coaxed, addressing her like some spooked animal. “Come on, have a rest. Sit down now.”

“Come and look, Esme! Look at the family you’ve joined!” Ada bellowed in reply. “Come look at the man who runs it, who picks his brother’s wives for them!”

Evie turned, an apology already on her lips as John and Esme were startled from their own celebrations. She could see John was about to say something less than nice to his drunk, pregnant sister.

“He hunts his own sister down like a rat, and tried to kill his own brother-in-law!”

“Ada, that’s enough!” Arthur urged, as both Polly and Tommy closed in.

“Now, he won’t even let me have a fucking dance!-”

“Ada!”

“-Not even at a fucking wedding,” she seethed, glaring at Tommy whilst Polly tried to wrap her arms around her niece and guide her to a chair.

“Sit her down,” John pleaded.

Jesus. Every Shelby was involved now. Only Finn appeared to be missing and he was too busy playing with the Lee children to care. Else, he’d have found it hilarious.

“Calm down, Ada. Calm down.”

However, Ada’s face was anything but calm. In fact, it looked horrified. Polly only had to glance down to know why.

“Holy shit.” She sighed. “Water. Right.”

“Bloody hell Ada,” Arthur groaned. “You do pick your times.”

“Her water’s broke!”

“I didn’t plan this!”

“Right we need to move.”

“Get off me, Tom.”

Everyone erupted into chaos. Evie lost track of who was talking or even in charge of the scene. She simply followed, excitement and panic coursing through her as she took Ada’s hand and squeezed.

“Evie?”

“I’m right here,” she promised, helping towards the waiting car. “I swore it at the beginning and I meant it. You’ll always have me. I’m not going anywhere. Not until we have a screaming baby in your arms.”

-----------

Screaming.

So much screaming.

It was official - Evie was never having a baby.

“It hurts!”

“I know,” Polly cooed, manoeuvring the sheets about as she peered up from her position between Ada’s parted legs. “If it didn’t it wouldn’t be called labour.”

“I want Freddie!”

“Ada-”

“Please!” she sobbed, laying her sweaty head back against Evie’s chest. Despite Polly’s warning Evie had chosen to stay. She wasn’t going anywhere. Even if she knew nothing about delivering a baby, she knew all about loving and supporting her family. She and Ada had been there for each other time and time again.

Nothing had changed, just because Ada was married.

“You can do this,” Evie whispered, kissing her aunt’s damp brow. “Freddie’s on his way. You heard Polly. Dad’s given his word. Freddie can come. He’ll be here any second.”

“So will this little one,” Polly urged as Ada yelped again, a contraction cutting off the conversation. “Keep going. That’s right. Push.”

And to her credit, she did. Ada pushed, screaming and crushing Evie’s hand in the process. Yet, Evie wouldn’t have had it any other way. Her heart was racing as within the span of mere minutes she heard the soft cries of a baby.

Ada’s baby.

“Oh my god,” she whimpered, hugging Ada tightly as she tried to catch her breath. Polly and Esme were doing their part, cleaning and tidying everything below before presenting the baby to its mother. “You did it, Ada. You did it.” “I did,” she giggled, almost deliriously. She looked like she could have slept for weeks.

“Ada. Congratulations, darling. It’s a boy.” Polly’s voice broke them from their celebration as they turned their eyes downward to the cloth wrapped bundle now being passed their way. Soft, tiny fingers poking out were all Evie could see as she gaped at her new cousin.

She wanted to cry. Damn it, Ada and Polly actually were crying, as was the baby. It was a room of crying people. All shedding happy tears though.

“A baby boy,” Ada whispered, staring at the bundle in her arms.

Then they heard it.

The door banging below.

“Ada! Come on! Open up!”

“Freddie,” Ada whimpered, exhausted eyes turning to the hall. She didn’t even have to ask. Polly was already half way down the stairs. The already perfect moment would now be complete, as would their family now that the father had arrived. Just in time too.

He would get to meet his son.

Evie couldn’t have been happier for Ada, grinning as she heard Freddie’s frantic footsteps approaching. The look on his face as he burst into the room was awestruck.

Then again, seeing his wife, beaming ear to ear, cradling their newborn in her arms tended to have that affect on a person.

“It’s a boy, Freddie,” Ada whispered.

Freddie simply blinked. His smile grew as he took the invitation, approaching slowly before perching on the stool next to them. Evie was quick to move aside, allowing him to take her place as he reached over and took the bundle for himself.

One look was all it took.

He was in love.

“It’s a beautiful baby boy,” he gaped, much to everyone’s amusement. Polly even wiped her eyes hastily, as if trying to hide her tears of joy. “There you go. Welcome to the world, son. Welcome to the world.”

His tone was of wonder and of euphoria as he stared down at the boy in his arms. Who knew what he was thinking.

Was that how her father would have looked, had he been there for her birth? Would he have stared at her like she was his entire world? Evie gulped at the thought. It was stupid to think of such things, but she couldn’t help it. A small part was jealous as she witnessed the tender tableau before her.

The truth was, her mother had probably been alone. Who had she had as a friend to hold her hand or assist with the birth? Maybe their neighbours? They were always kind to them, looking out for the small family. Still, it wouldn’t have been like this, that much Evie was sure of. Not full of love and support.

Her mother had had her reasons, Evie knew that. It just didn’t make witnessing what they could have had any less painful.

“What are you going to call him?”

“Karl,” Ada grinned, answering Esme’s question. “After Karl Marx.”

“Who?”

“Bloody hell,” Polly sniggered. “Karl’s a lovely name, Ada.”

A lovely name for a lovely boy. Evie was about to say as much when there was yet another knock at the door. Well, knock probably wasn’t the right word, not when the door rattled under the weight of their visitor’s fist.

“Police! Open up!”

Everyone froze. No one knew what to do.

The Police? The Police were here? Why? How?

“Oh god,” Evie choked, reaching instinctively for Ada and taking her hand. She also watched as Polly was quick to snatch Karl out of his father’s arms and placed him securely back with his mother.

That was all they had time for as the door burst open down below. Everything that followed for the next five minutes was pure pandemonium. Evie didn’t even know where to look. She lost track with the sudden surge of bodies in the house, all arguing and brawling, dragging Freddie outside with them.

Esme was vicious in her attempts to defend her new family. Polly too, was screaming blue murder as she tried and failed to stop them. She was also gone, storming out mere moments after the Police had left.

No one needed to ask to know where she was headed, or whom she intended to see. “I’m gonna set this right,” she’d rambled, kissing a now hysterical Ada as she left.

How? How could anyone make this right? Evie didn’t know how it could have gone wrong. No one knew Freddie was here. Her father had given his word. He wouldn’t have lied to them… not today… not even he was that callous.

Right?

Evie wished she could be sure. However, she had bigger concerns than her father’s integrity to worry about; Ada was already pushing herself up, onto her feet, and trying to reach for her forgotten coat and shoes.

“I need to go home.”

“No,” Esme pleaded, trying to force her to sit back down by the fire. “You just gave birth. You need to rest.”

“What I need is my husband,” Ada sobbed. “I need to be out of this house!”

Evie took that as her cue to intervene, before her aunt did any damage to herself or anyone else in the room. “I’ll take you home, ok?” she offered, reaching for her arm. “We’ll take the car. Save you walking.”

“But-”

Whilst well intentioned, the look Evie passed Esme told her it was hopeless. She’d soon learn Shelby women did only what they wanted, when they wanted. Everyone else could be damned. Right now, Ada cared about one thing and one thing only: keeping herself and her baby safe. That meant getting as far from Shelby territory as possible.

“Tell Polly where we’ve gone if she comes back, ok?” Evie stated, nodding at Esme.

To her credit, Esme didn’t argue. She hurried to gather Ada’s things, helping Evie to assist her aunt and new-born cousin into the back of the waiting car. She even offered to accompany them.

“I know about babies and what needs doing now,” she explained, hopping into the passenger’s seat. “I’ll be more use to you there than sitting on my ass here.”

Evie and Ada were visibly grateful for her company; They were going to need all the help they could get.

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

It was hours before either Evie or Esme returned. In fact, the sun was already beginning to rise as Evie rounded the corner of Watery Lane, the engine humming as it bounced across the cobbles. Whilst she much preferred riding to driving, she’d learned all the same during the war. When there hadn’t been any men to drive anywhere.

Like riding, she loved the solitude and freedom driving offered. She only wished she could turn the car around and drive away from it all… anywhere else… anywhere but here would have been good enough for her.

Her rage had been steadily building with every moment that had passed since Freddie had been taken. By now, she was shaking as she controlled the urge to march inside her house and shoot the lot of them.

Instead, she ground to a halt, slamming the car door harder than necessary and barging her way into Watery Lane.

She’d hardly made it in the door before Polly was upon her, wide eyed and panicked.

“Is she-?”

“She’s alright, Pol,” Evie soothed, glad to see the immediate relief in Polly’s eyes. That didn’t mean she wouldn’t be hurrying back to Ada the moment she could, to check on her for herself. “She’s sleeping. I made sure she ate and kept an eye on her. Esme did too. She’s there to help with feeding and stuff when the baby wakes. Ada just needs sleep.”

Her aunt’s face relaxed at the news, but her skin was still too pale. “She shouldn’t be alone. Not now.”

“She didn’t have much choice,” Evie spat, her eyes following to the guilty party. The one who had made this divide. “Isn’t that right, Dad?”

She hadn’t even acknowledged the others in the room until that point, but now her stare was ice cold as she focused on them.

She snapped.

She grabbed the nearest item - a teapot of all things - and hurled it at his head. Luckily, Tommy dodged, meaning it shattered harmlessly against the wall. But the look of disbelief on his face was accurate enough.

“Oi!” he warned, hurrying to reach her before she could throw something else. Had John not wrapped his arms around her, she probably would have. There were several teacups she had always hated in particular, lying within reach in an open invitation. “Listen to me! I didn’t do this.”

“Then who did?” Evie bellowed.

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t-? Bullshit.”

Evie spat at him, breaking free of John and pushing him off of her.

“Pack it in!” he begged, rolling his eyes. “Tommy wouldn’t do this.”

Whether they believed him or not didn’t matter. Evie knew in her heart they’d been betrayed. If not by her father then who was it? Who was she supposed to believe had this kind of information, other than family?

“First you dictated John’s life. Now theirs? Is there anyone you won’t control?”

“Evie-”

“Don’t,” she seethed, panting from the exertion. “Don’t touch me. If you had anything to do with this,” she warned, “then I’ll never speak to you again. Ever.”

“It wasn’t me!”

“Promise?”

“Promise! On your mother’s life.”

A stray tear escaped Evie’s eye as she turned and stormed back across to Polly. Such an oath had to be honoured until it was proven otherwise. But that didn’t mean Evie had to like it. So, she choose to leave her father where he stood: on shaky ground.

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madpanda75 · 4 years

Text

The Romantics Series “In Sickness and In Health” Part Two

Part Two where we find out what happens to the reader and see if Rafael really does murder Chet Aldrich. Thanks for all the love and comments on Part One! Title credit to @sass-and-suspenders ❤️

The song Rafael sings is Drume Negrita, an Afro-Cuban lullaby

Warning: Hospital scenes, brief mention of death, angst, and fluff

4800ish words (It’s long! Take breaks! Stay hydrated! Grab a sandwich 😂)

The taxi cab came up to the hospital entrance. Rafael threw a wad of cash at the driver. “Keep the change.” He shut the car door and ran inside, bumping into Chet who was on his way out. The frat boy appeared to be unscathed, not a mark on him. “Oh hey, Roger,” he said.

Rafael gripped the man by the shirt. “What happened? Where’s Y/N?”

“Chill out. She’s being looked at by the doctor right now.” Chet shook loose of his grip. “We got into a little fender bender. It’s no big deal. Well, except my car, but luckily there wasn’t too much damage.”

Rafael saw red, his blood boiling. Grabbing Chet once again, he slammed him up against the wall, gaining attention from several people. “You could’ve killed her and you’re more worried about your precious car,” he snarled.

“Get off me!” Chet pushed Rafael causing him to stagger back a few steps. Rafael glared at the frat boy, his fists shaking in fury. “She’s fine. Just has a few scratches. What’s up with you two anyway?” He scoffed. “You in love with her or something?”

Rafael lunged at him once more just as an attendee came to break them up. “Is there a problem here?” the attendee sternly asked.

“No,” Chet said, smoothing his shirt, staring at Rafael. “No problem at all.” He turned on his heel and walked away.

“And for the last time, the name is Rafael!” Rafael shouted as Chet left the hospital. “Asshole,” he muttered under his breath and went over to the nurses’ station. No one was there and he urgently knocked on the counter in the hopes of getting someone, anyone, to help him. “Excuse me! Hello?”

A woman with a tag that read “Ellen” trudged over to the counter, her head down while intently reading a file folder. “Can I help you?” she asked in a monotone voice, never once looking up at him.

“I’m looking for a patient who was admitted here about an hour ago.”

“Name?”

“Y/N Y/L/N,” he replied.

Ellen sighed and opened another file, moving at a snail’s pace as she looked for your information. “Are you family?” “Well, no but—” “Are you listed as her emergency contact?” “No, her mom is but—” “Then you can’t see her. Hospital policy states only family and emergency contacts may see a patient outside of visiting hours. Come back again later,” she replied. “I’m her husband!” Rafael blurted out in a moment of panic.

Finally catching Ellen’s attention, she looked up at him for the first time. “Husband?”

“Uhhh...yes, ma’am.” Desperate to see you, he said the first thing that came into his head. Now he could only hope that the nurse would believe him. Judging by the skeptical look on her face, it wasn’t working.

“Then why aren’t you her emergency contact?”

“Well, we haven’t had time—”

“And where’s your wedding ring?” she asked before Rafael could even answer her first question.

He quickly put his left hand behind his back. “I left it—”

She arched a brow, taking in his Harvard t-shirt and flannel over shirt. “Aren’t you a little young to be getting married?”

“I am 21 years old and so is my wife. Last I checked it’s not illegal for anyone over the age of 18 to marry,” Rafael retorted, his patience wearing thin. “And while I may not have a ring on my finger, if you want further proof of the validity of our marriage I can tell you that my wife was born on November 8, 1971. She snuck out of the house when she was 15 to go see The Cure in concert. She eats cucumbers dipped in peanut butter which I find absolutely disgusting, but she claims it’s delicious. She always drinks chocolate milk with her pancakes. Her favorite color is purple, but not just any purple. It’s violet, like the color of the sky just before the sun sets. She’s seen the movie, This is Spinal Tap, at least a hundred times. She knows every word to Rapper's Delight. She is the love of my life. And right now she is terrified and in pain and she needs me. So, I’m going to ask once again may I please see my wife or do I need to go to your supervisor,” he said with finality, crossing his arms, refusing to back down.

Ellen remained deadpan after Rafael’s impassioned speech; however, much to his relief she called over one of the other nurses. “Judith, please take Mr.—”

“Barba,” Rafael said and puffed out his chest a bit.

“Mr. Barba over to see his wife, Y/N Y/L/N. She’s in the emergency ward.”

The nurse named Judith gave him a kind smile. “Follow me, Mr. Barba.” Rafael followed her through a pair of double doors and down a long hallway. “Young love, huh?”

Rafael blushed. “Yeah, something like that.”

“Well, I’m sure your wife will be happy to see you.” She led him to a large emergency room. The place was chaos. Patients lying in beds with varying ailments or wounds, doctors and nurses scrambling around.

Rafael felt his stomach churn when he saw a man sitting in a bed with a steak knife sticking out of his cheek. “What are you looking at?” the man yelled at him.

“Nothing,” he muttered and ran to catch up with Judith, worried what state he would find you in.

She stopped at the far corner of the room and pulled back the curtain where you were lying in bed, dressed in a hospital gown. Your face was pale with a few cuts on your cheeks and a small angry gash on the right side of your forehead, your right arm swollen and bruised.

Rafael was taken aback. You looked so small, swallowed up by that big bed, your eyes were wide and fearful. It was a stark contrast to the confident, beautiful woman with the larger than life personality he fell in love with. All he wanted to do at that moment was hold you in his arms and take away your pain.

“Hi, sweetheart,” Judith softly said. “Look who came to be with you.”

Your eyes lit up as soon as you saw your best friend. “Rafi!”

“Y/N,” he breathed and rushed to your side. “Thank God you’re alright.” A few tears slipped down your cheeks. Rafael reached out with a hesitant hand and wiped them away. You leaned into his touch, instantly comforted by his presence.

Judith took your vitals, smiling as she observed your interaction. “Your husband has been so worried. You should’ve heard the fuss he was making earlier.”

“Husband?” You furrowed your brow in confusion. “We’re not—”

Rafael placed his hand over your good one. “Yeah, hermosa. Can you believe they wouldn’t let me see you?” He gave you a pleading look to go along with his charade, his right eye twitching slightly.”

“I can’t believe that, honey,” you slowly said, the term of endearment sounding foreign on your tongue. “I’m glad you’re here now.”

“How long have you two been married?”

“One year,” you answered.

“Three months,” Rafael said at the same time. You both glanced at each other and chuckled.

“We’re newlyweds,” you explained.

“But it feels like we’ve been together forever.” He tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, your cheeks turning a brilliant shade of pink.

“You two remind me of me and my husband. We were college sweethearts, been married 20 years next March. Now all he does is sit on the couch and clean his belly button out with his car keys.” Judith wrote something on her clipboard before listening to your heartbeat. “You can go ahead and give her a kiss,” she told Rafael.

Rafael froze for a second. “Oh I—”

“Go on. She won’t break,” Judith encouraged.

He licked his lips and leaned down, placing a soft, chaste peck on the corner of your mouth. The kiss lasted a millisecond, but it felt as if time stood still. A spark shot through your body the moment his lips came in contact with yours. Slowly he pulled away, his green gaze never leaving yours, trying to remember how to breathe after that small gesture.

“Whoops, your heartbeat started racing,” Judith said, taking the stethoscope out of her ears.

“It..It..did,” you stammered.

“Mmhmm, I think I know why,” she said in a sing-song voice. “The doctor will be right with you.” With a sly wink, she left, closing the curtains behind her.

You arched a brow at Rafael once the nurse had left. “Husband, huh?”

“It was the only way they’d let me back here.” He shrugged and rubbed the back of his neck.

“Rafi, I’m so scared,” you said, your voice breaking. “Please don’t leave me.”

He vehemently shook his head and ran his fingers through your hair. “I’m not leaving. I’m going to be right here. I promise.”

You softly began to cry. During your freshman year, you had taken a month off of school to be with your father when he was sick. Most of it was spent at Northwestern Memorial Hospital helping your mom. Memories of those few weeks came flooding back— the smell of iodoform, the cold sterile room where your father slipped away. Ever since then you hated hospitals and here you were stuck in one, but at least this time Rafael was with you. “I miss my dad. I wish he was here.”

“I know,” he whispered, reaching for a tissue and gently dabbing your cheeks.

Just then the curtain was pulled back and an older man with glasses and a white coat walked in. “Hello, Ms. Y/L/N. I’m Dr. Cohen.” He looked down at his chart. “I see we got into a little fender bender today.”

“Yes, there...there...was a cat that ran into the street and we had to stop and the...the...car got rear-ended.” You hiccuped, barely able to catch your breath, crying harder as you explained what happened.

“Shhh, it’s ok. You’re safe,” Rafael softly said.

Dr. Cohen looked over at him. “And you are?”

“He’s my husband,” you explained, getting butterflies in your stomach just by referring to Rafael as your spouse.

“Right, well let’s take a look and see what we got here.” Dr. Cohen began to examine you—flashing a light in your eye, checking your heartbeat, inspecting your body for any broken bones. You winced in pain when he felt your right arm. “It looks like your arm is broken and you’ll have to get a few stitches on that cut, but other than that your vitals are fine. I’d still like to run a few more tests, take some X-rays, and as a precaution keep you overnight for observation.”

“Ok,” you replied. “Thank you, doctor.”

Doctor Cohen had you turn your head so he could tend to your cut. You whimpered in pain, trying to focus on Rafael as the doctor began to clean and suture your wound.

Rafael squeezed your hand. “Your mom’s on her way in. She should be here tonight.”

You gave him a shaky smile before gasping as the sharp needle pierced through your skin. He felt hopeless, wanting nothing more than to take away your pain. Letting out a nervous breath, he did the first thing that came to mind and started to serenade you with a Cuban lullaby that his abuelita would sing to him.

Mamá la negrita se le salen lo pie e' la cunita y la negra Merce' ya no sabe que hace'. Tú drume negrita que yo va' compra' nueva cunita que va' tené capite' que va' tené cajcabel. Si tú drumi yo te traigo un mamey muy colorao' y si no drumi yo te traigo un babalao que da pau pau. Tú drume negrita que yo va' compra' nueva cunita que va' tené capite' que va' tené cajcabel. Si tú drumi yo te traigo un mamey muy colorao' y si no drumi yo te traigo un babalao que da pau pau. Tú drume negrita que yo va' compra' nueva cunita que va' tené capite' que va' tené cajcabel.

Your heart skipped a beat, listening to your best friend. You had never heard him sing before. His voice was beyond beautiful, it was warm and comforting. You were lost in his melody. Lost in his shy smile. Lost in him. For the first time that night, you felt at peace.

“All done,” the doctor said. “That wasn’t so bad was it?”

“It was incredible,” you whispered, your eyes never leaving Rafael. “I mean, yeah it was nothing.” You cleared your throat and blushed.

“Ohhhkay,” Dr. Cohen said, glancing between you and Rafael. “An orderly will take you to get some X-rays for that arm.” The doctor stood up and left, closing the curtain. “Kids,” he muttered, chuckling to himself.

*****

Rafael paced around the waiting room, wearing a path on the linoleum floor while the doctors ran more tests on you. Checking his watch for the umpteenth time, he sighed and took a sip of his fifth cup of coffee. Finally, Dr. Cohen came out and told him that you were resting comfortably and he could go back and see you. As the doctor led him to your room, he noticed several members of the staff staring at him and whispering to each other. Little did he know that word had gotten out, courtesy of Judith, about the cute young couple in the emergency ward. You were the talk of the hospital.

Upon seeing Rafael, you gave him a sleepy smile. Your right arm was in a cast and you had a few butterfly bandages on your face. The doctor explained that you were given a drug for the pain and it would take 6 weeks for your arm to heal, but other than that you would make a full recovery.

Once he left, Rafael pulled up a chair and sat next to you while you flipped through channels on the TV, finally settling on Unsolved Mysteries. Halfway through the episode, he noticed you shivering. “Are you cold or are you shivering cause you’re just as freaked out as I am by this show?”

“I’m cold. Will you lay down next to me?”

“What if we get caught?”

“Then you can blame it on me. Please, Rafi. I’m sick,” you whimpered, pouting your lip and batting your lashes. Between the pain-killers and the exhaustion, you were acting a little loopy.

He snorted a laugh. “You’re gonna milk this for all it’s worth, aren’t you?”

“Damn right I am.” You shifted over and patted the space next to you on the bed.

Rafael looked back at the door for a second, making sure the coast was clear before getting into bed next to you. As gently as possible he wound his arm around your shoulders. “Am I hurting you?”

“Nope.” You snuggled up against him and let out a contented sigh. “Mmm, you’re so warm.”

Rafael’s body molded to yours. He rested his cheek against the crown of your head, running his fingers up and down your arm. Even scraped up and in a hospital, you were as beautiful as ever, your skin as soft as silk, your hair still smelled like your green apple shampoo.

You shut off the TV, both of you lay there in silence. Rafael thought you had fallen asleep until he heard your voice. “So what’s our story?”

“Excuse me?”

“Like where do we get married? Where do we live? How many kids do we have? Every couple has a story. What’s ours?” You looked up at him and smiled. “I’ll start us off. We get married by candlelight in the same church my parents did on a late spring evening. And I end up wearing some big ridiculous poofy dress that my mother insists on that makes me look like a cupcake,” you teased.

“Excuse me, but you do not look like a cupcake on our wedding day,” Rafael softly said. “You look absolutely breathtaking, like a goddess, ethereal and radiant. I can’t take my eyes off you.”

Your cheeks turned bright pink. Biting your lip, you shifted your focus to a loose thread on his flannel shirt, too embarrassed and shy to meet his gaze as you continued. “You look so handsome. It takes all my strength not to run down the aisle and fling myself into your arms.”

“So what happens next?” he asked, enjoying this game you were playing.

“Well now that I know you have an incredible voice”—you playfully poked him in the ribs—“you serenade me at the reception.”

“And you recite a poem by Shelley or Keats,” he added.

“Then we dance under the stars, maybe to a song by Depeche Mode or Joy Division.” You closed your eyes, envisioning the two of you swaying together to the music. Your guests fading away because your whole world was right there in your arms. Rafael followed suit and closed his eyes, shifting closer to you. “After the wedding, we honeymoon on some exotic island with white sand beaches and crystal blue water. Of course, we rarely spend any time on the beach.”

“We don’t?” he asked, picturing you in a skimpy bikini.

You shook your head. “Nope, we spend most of our time in the hotel suite.”

A smirk tugged at Rafael’s lips as he continued with the story. “After the honeymoon, we move to New York. I’m a lawyer working at a prestigious firm and you’re a Pulitzer Prize winning author.”

“You wear suspenders and fancy three piece suits everyday—”

“Suspenders?! Really?”

You laughed and playfully nudged him with your foot. “Yep and you look sexy as hell while I stay at home and work on my latest literary creation. And we’ll have two kids, a girl and a boy, Cecilia and Leo.”

His heart skipped a beat at the thought of having a family with you, silently wondering if they would have your hair color or his eyes. “I’ll help coach the debate team and you can be Troop Leader for the Girl Scouts.”

“Cecilia and I will visit your firm and get everyone to buy girl scout cookies,” you said. “Then we have another baby.”

“Another baby!?” Rafael’s eyebrows lifted in surprise.

You shrugged. “We get a little tipsy at the Harvard Reunion. One thing leads to another and then nine months later we welcome a little girl, Paloma, into the world.”

Rafael ran his hand through your hair. “She’ll have all of us wrapped around her little finger since she’s the baby of the family.”

“We’ll go on vacations, have family dinners, go to school pageants, decorate the fridge with macaroni art, and get sticky chocolate kisses. We’ll be more in love than ever and we’ll live happily ever after.”

Rafael opened his eyes and studied your face. Your eyes were still closed, lost in that perfect world you both created with your words. He audibly swallowed and cupped your cheek. “Y/N,” he whispered.

You opened your eyes to find him staring at you. The electricity between you both was palpable. You were like a moth to a flame, completely drawn in by him. Tilting your head up, you inched closer, your noses bumped up against one another, his hot breath on your face. “Oh God, this is really happening,” you thought. Just as your lips were about to connect, the door opened and in stepped your mother, her face fraught with worry.

“Mommy!” you exclaimed and instantly sat up.

She ran to you and gently pulled you into her arms, tears streaming down her face. “Oh, baby. Are you alright? I was so scared.”

“I’m fine,” you said, your voice slightly muffled from being locked in her embrace. “The doctor said I could go home tomorrow.”

She kissed your forehead and lovingly stroked your hair when she locked eyes with Rafael, who was still laying in bed with you. The pair exchanged an awkward glance. “Hi, Rafael.”

Rafael immediately jumped out of bed, his cheeks turning a deep shade of crimson. “Hi, Mrs. Y/L/N.”

“Rafi took good care of me.” You reached for his hand. “He’s the best husband ever.”

Your mother slowly stood up from the bed, her jaw dropping to the floor. “Husband?!”

“Oh didn’t you hear? I’m married now,” you replied and gave Rafael a sly wink.

“Married?” Your mother tried to maintain her composure. After all, she was once young and dumb, but her panicked tone gave her away.

Worried that she was about to have a heart attack, Rafael spoke up. “We’re not actually married. It’s a long story.”

You laid back in bed, looking between your mother and Rafael. “My two favorite people in the whole wide world,” you sighed.

Your mother chuckled and fluffed up your pillow. “I see they gave you the good drugs.” She pulled up a chair and sat down. “So who wants to explain why you decided to lie about being man and wife.”

*****

Once you had fallen asleep, your mother quietly left your room and went over to the vending machine running into Rafael who was getting another cup of coffee. “Long night, huh?” She gave him a sympathetic smile.

Rafael yawned in response.

“So how long have you been in love with my daughter?” she asked while deciding between a Reese’s and a Snickers bar as if she was casually bringing up the weather.

Taken by surprise, Rafael took a large gulp of coffee and burnt his tongue. “I...uh...I don’t—”

“Rafael, come on. I wasn’t born yesterday.”

He looked down at the floor, focusing on his shoes before facing her. “Since the first day I met her,” he confessed.

She nodded her head and picked up her candy bar. “I suspected as much. You know she’s in love with you too,” she said.

“You think so?” he asked, following her out into the hallway and over to a small waiting area.

“Rafael, I’ve seen you two together and I know my daughter. She lights up whenever you’re around.”

Rafael was never one to express his emotions. He still had nightmarish flashbacks from high school when Lauren Sullivan turned him down in front of the entire junior class. Poor Rafael was left standing in the cafeteria with nothing but a tray of Salisbury steak, creamed corn, and humiliation. Now that his secret was revealed, he should have felt vulnerable and exposed, but instead he found comfort in your mother’s words. He was tired of hiding his feelings for you and it was a relief that someone knew. “I don’t know what to do. I’m afraid to tell her.”

“You know I was your age when I met Y/N’s father. I accidentally smacked him on the head with a sign at an anti-war protest.” She giggled, thinking back to that fateful day.

A smile tugged at Rafael’s lips. Your mother’s laugh sounded just like yours. “Really? Y/N never told me that.”

“We were madly in love for twenty years until he passed away. What I wouldn’t give for just one more chance to tell him how I feel. Tell him how much I love him.” She tilted her head to meet his gaze, her eyes shiny with tears. “So here’s what you’re gonna do. You’re gonna go home, get some sleep, and tomorrow morning you’re gonna tell Y/N how much you love her. Don’t let life pass by without telling the people you love how you feel about them.” With a gentle pat to his knee, she stood up and began to walk back to your room.

Rafael followed suit and went his respective way, heading in the direction of the elevators when your mother called his name. She half-jogged over and pulled him into a tight hug. “Thank you for taking such good care of my daughter.”

“I’d do anything for her,” he softly said.

“I know.” She smiled and left him just as the elevator doors opened. He stepped inside, hopeful of what tomorrow would bring.

*****

Rafael fidgeted while he waited in line at the hospital gift shop. He hadn’t slept a wink the night before, nervous and excited, going over and over in his head the speech he had prepared for you. This was a crucial turning point in your relationship. Everything had to be perfect. Stepping up to the counter, he set down a single red rose and a small teddy bear with a bandaid on its head. The cashier, who was a less than enthused teenage girl wearing black lipstick and a nose ring, began ringing up the items.

“Hi,” Rafael said with a big goofy grin. “These are for my girlfriend. Well, she’s not my girlfriend yet. She’s my best friend, but I hope that’ll change soon.”

“Uh-huh,” the cashier replied.

“Yeah, she’s getting out today. Thought I would stop by early and surprise her. I had a long talk with her mom last night and she told me to just go for it and tell her how I feel and you don’t care at all do you?”

“Not really.” She loudly smacked her gum between her lips. “That’ll be $13.82.”

Rafael rolled his eyes and pulled out his wallet, handing over the money. After taking his change, he grabbed the flower and bear and made his way out of the gift shop when he saw something that stopped him in his tracks.

*****

“You know I can walk. I’m not an invalid,” you grumbled as an orderly wheeled you out of the hospital with your mother in tow.

“Hospital policy,” the orderly replied.

“You’ll be on your feet soon enough, sweetheart,” your mother said. All three of you made your way outside when you noticed she was twisting her head as if she was looking for someone.

“What is it?” you asked.

“Oh, nothing. I thought maybe Rafael would show up.” She leaned down and kissed the top of your head. “I’m gonna get the car. I’ll be right back.”

While waiting, you wondered why she was expecting Rafael to show up. The poor guy was probably home, passed out in bed. Flashbacks of last night came rushing back. What started as a terrifying ordeal quickly changed the moment you saw him. The lullaby. Your fantasy life together as husband and wife. The almost kiss. But then that gnawing doubt crept back into your mind. Perhaps he was just placating you. After all, you were scared and in the hospital. He may have been saying anything at that moment to calm you down.

You continued to ruminate on the situation when you heard your name being called. Looking up, you saw none other than Chet Aldrich balancing a large bouquet of roses and a teddy bear that was almost as big as you. “What are you doing here?” you blurted out.

Chet bit his bottom lip and kicked at the pavement. “I came to apologize for leaving last night. These are for you.” He placed the flowers and stuffed animal in your lap.

“Thank you,” you replied, slightly in shock by the gesture.

“Let me give you some privacy,” the orderly said with an awkward chuckle and walked back into the hospital.

Once the orderly left, Chet let out a big breath. “I’d still like to make it up to you. Maybe I can take you out on Saturday night?”

“Like a date?”

Chet blushed and stuffed his hands in his pockets. “Yeah, like a date.”

You thought of Rafael for a moment then quickly pushed him aside. It was time to grow up and move on. A smile slowly spread across your face. “I’d love to,” you said, unaware that you were being watched the entire time.

*****

Rafael saw the whole thing through the gift shop window. The three dozen red roses. The gigantic bear. The smile you gave Chet that made him weak in the knees. He saw how Chet tried to win your mother over with a fake laugh and a cheesy compliment on how she must be your younger sister.

Rather than walk out and be humiliated, he waited in the gift shop until you had driven away before leaving himself, throwing his measly rose and cheesy bear into the trash. There was a tightness in his chest and a wave of pain washed over him, consuming him. He couldn’t catch his breath. Placing his hand over the left side of his chest, he felt the rapid steady beating against his palm. “So this is what a broken heart feels like,” he thought as he made the long walk home alone. The dream life you had mapped out together would remain just that. A dream.

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partyinthemysterymachine · 4 years

Text

The Wendy’s Secret Menu

Cheryl isn’t very ladylike. She slouches on the other side of the old, sunken-in leather bench seat: an original part of the blue, vintage pickup truck. The dashboard is scuffed and dirty where she’s put her mismatched, socked feet (one cartoon zombies, the other made to look like a shark is devouring her leg - gifts from dad). Her happily wobbling knees are so close to her face that they could knock the sweating cup of chocolate frosty right out of her hand if she doesn’t pay enough attention.

And so what? It’s not like it hasn’t happened before, like, so many times.

She’s a Mason, and as a Mason, she has an uncanny knack for tempting fate and patience. So to the beat of the music she rocks her body to and fro, making the bench seat squeak and the truck bounce a second off rhythm. The music is what she and her dad both enjoy (for the most part; he’s come around to some of these songs), though it always looks like she loves it way more than he does. That’s fine by her; she can muster enough enthusiasm for stadium full of stoic duds. As the song reaches the second chorus, she scoops a dripping helping of melting soft serve and soggy, splitting french fries - her favorite.

Cheryl’s hand-eye coordination took an unauthorized smoke break. Her feet hit the floor as she immediately sits up, trying to wipe the mess off an undershot bite from her face.

“Aw, fuck!” she whines, dejectedly accepting a wad of too-thin napkins to sponge her mouth. Dabbing her t-shirt proclaiming that she made it out of the corn maze at the Vermont State Faire back in 2016 was an honorable effort, but was no match for shitty fast food napkins. This was a job for the washing machine. This thing is a prize well earned! A future family heirloom! “Noo, come ooonnnnn.. get ouuuuut! UGH! My life is such a fucking mess,” she complains at her chest to the sound of soft chuckling.

“Do you eat, or just read about it?” Cheryl throws the speaker a glare. “Heh, I was waiting for that,” a young man’s (not very young anymore; much younger than his husband, much older than his daughter, and there are lines where there weren’t even five years ago) voice tells her. She exudes maturity as she mockingly wiggles her head and parrots him under her breath.

“Okay, well, excuse me, prophet,” she says, shoving the used napkins into the paper bag between them. “What, you couldn’t warn me?”

“Mmm.. nope. Then you wouldn’t have been taught a lesson,” James replies, stirring the mash of chocolate and potato in his own cup. “I thought I raised you on how to learn from your mistakes.”

“Yeah, well clearly—“

“Clearly you haven’t learned a thing,” he interrupts, smirking into the dessert somewhat haughtily, “because if you’re gonna be good at anything, sweetheart, making mistakes is what’s gonna make you the most successful.”

“Okay, but whose fault is that?” The unruly teenager scrunches her nose right into James’s ear as she noisily plunges her hand into a second, grease-spotted bag and spends way too much effort grabbing for cooling fries. “Huh? Whose fault is that, James? Huh? Huh? Huh, dad?”

One of the joys of this world is that even after ten years, James gets a dumb little smile when she calls him ‘dad.’ She used to call him daddy; she used to call them both daddy. Modern times call for modern changes, so she has a wealth of synonyms to use for addressing her parents, but nothing hits quite like ‘dad’.

Just so he doesn’t get any ideas about her being soft, she blows a puff of air at his cheek and plops back into her sunken spot. Cheryl releases the handful of salty french fries into her traitorous frosty cup to the sound of her dad’s soft laughter. She picks up any stragglers dropped on her chest and munches on them while she beats the fries down in the dessert with the black, plastic spoon like a milkmaid churning butter. Noisily sucking the salt from her fingertips, she can feel the blond man’s eyes on her.

(Sun-kissed, spun from an angel’s golden halo, sunshine wheat field - that’s how her daddy describes James’s hair; yet within the past couple years, silver threads have come to lay amongst the golden. They look nice, and they make her think about things she already stresses too much about.)

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer,” Cheryl sasses, looking at him sidelong and stuffing her face with savory and sweet. James’s eyes go soft, but the trouble remains on the smirk spread on his lips.

“No way. You broke my camera last time.”

“It’s not my fault technology can’t handle a visage so holy and unattainable to mortal men,” she cockily replies. Then, there’s a prolonged, dramatic sigh. “Ohhh, whatever, dad. Maybe we just go back to the old days and get paintings done of us. Yeah, let’s do that. Let’s spend thousands of dollars and wait two years for someone to paint us a family portrai..”

Cheryl whips her head to James. He raises his eyebrows back at her; his smirk has been traded for a smile warm and loving. “Dad,” she starts urgently, “we have to get a huge oil painting of us done. We have to. This is serious, I’m so serious right now. I’m not even joking a little.”

“Yeah? Why?”

“Uh, hello?” She regards her father (who smells of grease and turpentine, metal, smoke (smells that would make most people nauseous, but not she) and a little bit like Harry (who falls asleep with his face pressed to James’s neck)) like he’s the idiot he is. “Prestige? Fame? Our souls getting caught in it and being passed around as a super haunted painting and we can go around fucking up people’s houses and rearranging their furniture together for the rest of our lives? So we can look like totally rich assholes? Because our egos are as big as my dick?”

James squints at her then. “Mmm. I think our egos are bigger than that. You had me at ‘haunted painting,’ but lost me at the end, there.”

“Pft, okay, didn’t realize we had an ego-dick connoisseur here.”

“Your dad taught me some th—“

“Oh, no!” she cuts off, shoving her fist and extended index finger into his face. “No! Nnno. Nuh uh, I’m not gonna hear about—“

“—ngS ABOUT EGO,” the mechanic continues, matching the volume of Cheryl’s chant trying to drown him out. “Because I’m pretty sure his ego would be big enough to get a painting doaaaaaaaaaaAAAAAAAAAA—“

Now they’re just holding out one tuneless vowel together, a battle of wills and lung capacity (may the best set win). The Masons are a stubborn people and stubbornness makes the voices crackle and strain as their organ balloons deflate to uselessness. Cheryl flings her head back to face the ceiling, pulls in a ridiculously showy breath, and picks up from where she left off, her energy restored.

It’s hard to warble when another person is doing the same right up in one’s cookies. She starts to laugh with James so close and monotone-yelling at her, but she has an image to uphold. Retaliation comes in first pushing his shoulder, then shoving her palm right against his nose to keep him back while she performs her dominating solo for the truck and all its machinery.

“EW!” Cheryl jumps back into the corner of the door, revulsion pinpointed at her hand. She frantically scrubs her palm on her jeans, whining pathetically. “Daaa-aaaaaddddd, groooossss! Eww, don’t lick me!”

“Don’t put your hand in my face,” he retorts. His daughter huffs and shoves her feet into the side of James’s thigh, making herself comfortable across the old leather, and thus a much easier way to harass her father.

“Well, don’t talk about gross stuff.”

“I wasn’t talking about gross stuff. I was talking about Harry’s ego.”

“Yeee-AH!” Cheryl stresses. “That’s what I said: I said, don’t talk about gross stuff! GOD,” she laments, giving her almost entirely melted stew a sarcastic, wide-eyed stare. “Nyeeheh, I’m James, I like to talk about gross stuff because I think It’s funny to torture—“

“I think we should seriously talk about getting that painting done,” says the owner of this beaten down and beloved blue truck. “We’ll get it as big as a mortgage allows. We’ll have nowhere to put it and it’s going to be the start of our financial ruin.”

Pursing her lips, Cheryl glances up at him and the beginnings of such a captivating pitch. “Hmm.. go on..”

Three pats on the tops of her feet make her smile. “We’ll get it started before you go off to college, and when you visit, we can get more done.” Green eyes glance at her. “Every time we go to sit for it, we’ve changed a little bit each time.”

Slowly, the plastic spoon scrapes the sides of an empty cup and scratch contemplatively at remnants that aren’t truly there. “Hmm.. I like the sound of that. So that it takes a long time to be painted, and as we change, the artist has to alter us more and more.. never truly finishing the painting.. which means we might never even have it, but..”

“But since it took so long, we’ve been in that painting as different people for years,” James explains. “And it’s sat untouched for so much time, too. And what if one of us dies before—“

“Which you won’t.”

“—it’s anywhere near done; then it means that that one is still alive, as they were, in the painting. You could even say that’s the first haunting.”

Their eyes meet.

Ten years ago, Cheryl Mason was seven. She spotted a sad-looking blue pickup truck in the driveway one morning and her daddy lied to her that a neighbor was parking it there for a short spell. None of their neighbors had a car like that, and he knew that she knew.

Maybe a handful of days later, she met the man who owned that truck. Daddy told her he was dating a man, and it was important that they liked each other. She thought he looked young, and he looked at her like she could devour him alive. The first night was test, and this guy passed with flying colors.

The second month was a test, too. So was him dropping her off at school for the first time, and picking her up; when the school stopped him after the fifth drop off/pick up to ask who he was and what he was doing with Harry Mason’s daughter, and oh, the delicate mess to clean up there; when a lady at the park shouted at her son to stop playing with her, and made her cry because she didn’t understand why that lady was yelling at her parents - they were doing nothing wrong! - and James took her into his lap, cradling her, and calmed her down (and she found he smelled of turpentine, grease, metal, smoke, and oil, and a little bit like her daddy); playing Katamari Damacy on a Sunday morning after she begged him to get out of bed and come play, and he did, sleepily, but soon woke up and was laughing with her; and

Toluca Lake.

the time she disobeyed her fathers (officially, legally three Masons in this family; officially, legally two men to raise her) and ate all her Halloween candy in one night to prove a point - the point being that they were right, and James sat with her while Harry started the wash; taking her to a play; to her activities; trips to

Silent Hill.

faires and parks; her dads didn’t (don’t) like hospitals or clinics, but she didn’t even know until she was thirteen because they hid it for her all these years; let her scream and cry at him because he knew, even better than Harry, how to handle her pain, and so held her while she sobbed herself exhausted, since James never truly needed words to speak; the pride in his eyes; the love he had; how he defended her (and scared her, really) against a boy who didn’t understand ‘no’ (but she was glad it was him, because she was even more scared of what daddy could have done, for the way his face changed when he heard..); taught her how to drive; hung out in comfortable silence, and all through the ten years, ten years of absconding to Wendy’s behind Harry’s back to eat fries in a chocolate frosty.

Cheryl gently kicks him three times. (“Three squeezes, or taps, or whatever,” Harry told her. “It’s an easy way to say ‘I love you’ whenever you want to.” So she drummed her palms three times on his aging face, and beamed so bright when he laughed.) “You might have something there. Dark, though.”

James glances down, then at her. “Isn’t it supposed to be?”

“Yeah, duh.” She drops the bare cup into the bag. “I like it. Good lead up. Good lore. Not bad, pops.”

Cheryl smiles at that smile.

“Thanks, Cher.”

A new song begins on the gritty little cassette mixtape that the sole Mason heir painstakingly (while grousing at her middle-aged father about how dumb and time consuming this ancient ritual of appreciation is) strung together. For being a mechanic, James’s radio could really use some good ol’ fashioned TLC - and if he dared to do even think about fixing it up, Cheryl would have an honest-to-god fit. Nothing would sound right; all the old memories and those in the process of making would feel different. James’s radio sucks, and she knew all three of them wouldn’t have it any other way.

Her foot keeps rhythm on his thigh and his fingers match it on the windowsill. This is a bittersweet song. It promises eternity. Cheryl felt a little odd putting this on the playlist, but she couldn’t leave it off. (“It reminds me of you and dad,” she justified. “You’ll get what I mean.”) When she hears it, she gets that happy-sad feeling that everyone in the world seems to have had at least once in their life. A small, apologetic but loving smile indents her cheeks at the sight of James disappearing into thought. He’s probably thinking about an angel.

She used to roll her eyes at it, but on hot summer nights, she’s outside in the dark, looking for an orange firefly in the grass.

When they get home, Cheryl lingers in the foyer. They have a beautiful home. The three of them picked this one out, and it was the second one they were shown. Natural light pours in through a spacious, open-air floor plan. A skylight overhead illuminates, draws colors out to their raw excellence, bathes their comings and goings in halos from the sun and moon. Cheryl can hear the author hard at work at the piano instead of his computer from the living room quiet, and in the kitchen, the mechanic’s radio softly playing a hazy tune while he’s elbow deep in his truck’s guts.

From the second floor balcony, when she can’t sleep and sees the flickering glow from the muted TV, she can stop and listen to Harry make James laugh, though she can barely hear what he says. Once she woke up in the middle of the night and decided she wanted to polish off those leftovers, but never made it to the foot of the stairs. She hid behind the railing, peeking through the carved wood at a sight that instantly welled her eyes with tears.

Watching the two men lazily slow dancing together like a couple at prom, Harry’s arms around James’s shoulders, James grasping his back and their foreheads touching, and the sing-talk style the patriarch was known for asking his husband about sins and love, Cheryl realized she saw an angel and a firefly.

She’d cried so hard into her pillow.

She watches her adoptive father - the second one to adopt her, much younger than the first, whose green eyes inspired so many pieces of their home decor - hang the keys on the kitchen wall, then begin to backtrack to head into the living room. He pauses, a light, questioning frown creasing his dark brows. “Hey, kiddo. You okay?”

Her hesitation only intensifies his worry. James approach, his face falls as his daughter buries her face in his chest and clutches him tight. His arms are lean, but they’re strong and warm around her, and his gnarled hand gentle in her hair. With him she sways, the pressure of a kiss atop her head, and then the weight of his head when he sets his cheek over that kiss.

James is the quiet parent. He doesn’t talk a lot. Verbal communication is not one of his strong suits, even after.. well.. she can’t remember what that was, exactly. So rather, the better way to swing it is: even after all this time, verbal communication isn’t one of his strong suits. But James says a lot when he has his arms around her. It’s really wonderful to hear his voice out loud, but there’s nothing like the way she hears him talk in the best way he knows.

Cheryl locks her arms around James Mason. He smells of turpentine, grease, metal, smoke and oil, and the man he married. She squeezes him harder, and his arms clasp her tighter. He rubs her back, and she finally lifts her head and looks up at man whose features are beginning to age. There’s a smile for her, and so she gives him one, too.

Today is probably one of her favorite holidays out of the year. At breakfast she announced that for the tenth year in a row, upon their honored, Hallmark-dependent day, their gift is: her. Cheryl basked in the golf claps and lavish praise from both of them. Oh, they were so grateful; yes, she knows. They need nothing else, she’s the greatest gift they could ever receive (though a Starbucks gift card wouldn’t go amiss); yes, she knows (no, dad, you’re getting Dunkin’ Donuts and you’re gonna like it). It’s all tradition at this point. The breakfast shenanigans is tradition, and how they spend the day is tradition.

For some reason, their tradition has felt more meaningful the past few years.

She smiles wider. James does too, and even chuckles softly and musses up her hair. He leaves another kiss on her forehead, and before he gets ideas about letting her go, Cheryl says, “Happy Father’s Day. You’re pretty okay. Sometimes I like you more than the other guy.”

James lights up the foyer with his laughter. Cheryl grins up at him, treasuring that look he gets that will never, ever get old. Take a picture, it’ll last longer. Cli-click.

When he’s looking at her again, the mirth still creasing his eyes, his daughter hugs him tighter. “I love you, dad.”

James Mason, formerly Sunderland, dips his head to this precious girl’s shoulder and hugs her so tight (his little girl, their little girl; she cried when they married at the courthouse, she hates her vegetables, likes to play word ping-pong, trusted him with secrets that Harry still doesn’t know, calls him dad, trusted him, trusts him, trusted him, trusts him - loved him, loves him - proclaims she’s the greatest gift they’ll ever receive and she’s goddamn right every single year.

“I love you too, Cher.”

“I’m really glad you and dad got married.” He squeezes her tighter; his head presses harder into her shoulder. “You’re the best thing to happen to us.”

Her father is made of amber and stars, so Harry says; they’ve been wandering the earth forever looking for each other, and Harry held him once on a summer night in a jar, in his hands, and then he let him go. He was meant to be with them, Harry told her, and there’s a perpetual sadness in those lake green eyes but don’t worry: he loves us. He doesn’t always say it traditionally, the older man had said softly. So listen to him, because by god, Cheryl - he needs to be heard, and we’ll listen.

Cheryl’s smile trembles with incoming tears, and she closes her eyes and holds her father close. He doesn’t utter a sound, and she can hear everything he’s saying, loud and clear. He squeezes her one - two - three. She laughs weakly and locks her arms around his back. One - two - three.

She hopes James can listen, and hear her, too, but in case he missed it, she’ll say it as many times, and as many ways, as she can:

“We love you too, James.”

One.

Two.

Three.

#ches writes #harry mason #james sunderland #cheryl mason #silent hill #silent hill 2 #a&s - but make it an au #(because i'm not telling theo how the sh arc ends :3c)#anyway this is a&s #i was supposed to write and finish it for father's day but you know what?#you can't rush art #except when you're making the rules #anyway!!!!!!#i have a lot of Thoughts and Feelings about dad James #so #roundhouse kicks this out into the world #stubs my toes in the process #hobbles away crying about multiple things but definitely the stubbed toes

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handeaux · 4 years

Text

Cincinnati Sculptor Caroline Brooks: I Can’t Believe It’s Butter

Caroline Shawk Brooks was born and spent her childhood in Cincinnati, showing little evidence of the talent later to build her fame. She moved south after her 1862 marriage to a farmer named Samuel Brooks. Mr. Brooks served in the Union Army during the Civil War then settled in Arkansas where he raised cotton.

His crop failed in 1867 and Caroline looked to butter as a way to maintain an income stream. It was expected back then to serve butter molded into various shapes – vintage butter molds are common in antique shops today – but Caroline provided an extra touch. Instead of molding butter, she sculpted it. After some animal sculptures sold well, she turned to human faces. Caroline’s butter sculptures were popular in the Helena region.

In 1873, as her contribution to a church fair, Caroline crafted an idealized portrait in butter. Samuel Brooks was so taken by his wife’s creation that he carried it by horseback himself to ensure it would arrive intact at the church. Bidding on Caroline’s sculpture rose so high that her church was able to fix the church roof. Her success at the fair led to a couple of commissions, notably one that was displayed to some acclaim in Memphis.

Later that year, Caroline made the decision that would set the course of her life. A friend had loaned her a translation of Henrik Hertz’s lyric drama, “King Rene’s Daughter.” Hertz tells the story of Iolanthe, daughter of a doting king, who conceals from his child any awareness that she is, in fact, blind. Romance and magical cures ensue.

As Caroline told it, she had the choice one day of making butter or reading the book, and decided to read the book. So taken was she with the tale of Iolanthe, that she grabbed her butter churn and whipped enough butter to sculpt a bust of Princess Iolanthe. It became to work that made her reputation.

Caroline carried her Iolanthe to Cincinnati early in 1874 to show her relatives. They convinced her to put it on public display. William Wiswell enthusiastically agreed to put Caroline’s sculpture on display in his Fourth Street Art Hall where, in just two weeks, two thousand customers paid 25 cents to view it. Local critics were ecstatic. Here is the Gazette [28 February 1874]:

“The bust of a sleeping girl, modeled in butter by Mrs. Caroline S. Brooks, a farmer’s wife in Arkansas, now on exhibition in Wiswell’s building, is a marvel of artistic execution and of beauty.”

And the Commercial Tribune [25 February 1874], reprinted in the New York Times:

“Mrs. Brooks presents a bust of the innocent and beautiful girl as she lies sleeping and almost glorified in happy dreams. The bust, which is somewhat less than life size is in high relief in the concavity of a large tin pan. The head is but slightly turned from a full front view. The butter is almost white. Its translucence gives to the complexion a richness beyond alabaster, and a softness and smoothness that are very striking. The profile is pure Grecian. The hair ripples back in waves, and the lips are parted with a heavenly smile. The harmony of the face is exquisite.”

Reports of the Cincinnati exhibition reached newspapers across the country. Someone took stereographic photos so Caroline’s work could be appreciated in the three-dimensional medium of the stereopticon.

Caroline, inspired by the acclaim, created a full Iolanthe, from her head to her slippered toes and gained entrance to the Philadelphia Centennial exhibition in 1876, Chicago’s Columbian exhibition of 1893 and galleries in New York, Paris, and San Francisco.

Most news accounts expressed surprise that Caroline had little or no artistic training and used butter-making tools – a paddle, broom straw, cedar stick and pencil – to create her sculptures rather than a sculptor’s implements. So many people were convinced that someone else must have created these works that Caroline gave demonstrations at most of her exhibitions, charging viewers a dime to watch her create in real time.

Although Caroline never abandoned butter as a medium, she eventually began producing work in marble and moved to Italy for some years as she studied that material. Most sculptors – then and today – did not actually work directly with marble, but produced a plaster model that skilled artisans transferred to stone. Caroline created her ideas in butter, then produced plaster casts for the marble workers.

At least two of Caroline’s marble creations found their way back to Cincinnati. According to the Cincinnati Enquirer, Jennie Spencer Smith of Avondale acquired a marble “Iolanthe” in 1896. Mary Allen, wife of Glendale druggist Charles Henry Allen, surprised her husband in 1883 with a marble bust of Emanuel Swedenborg, the Swedish theologian, philosopher and mystic. The Allens were congregants at Glendale’s Swedenborgian Church of the New Jerusalem.

About the time Caroline married Samuel Brooks, her parents moved from Cincinnati to St. Louis, and eventually Caroline relocated there as well. She spent the last decades of her life in Missouri and her death in 1913 went unreported.

Not much of Caroline Brooks’ art has survived. The art of butter sculpting has continued primarily as a publicity gimmick for the dairy industry.

Modern scholars, notably Pamela H. Simpson (1946-2011) of Washington and Lee University, who saw in Brooks a proto-feminist icon. Simpson wrote:

“Nevertheless, her assertion that women could make art out of the humble products available to them has a particularly feminist ring to the modern ear, and it apparently did so to the women of 1893 as well. Brooks was a role model. “

#cincinnati artists #Caroline S. Brooks #Caroline Shawk Brooks #butter sculpture

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xtrashmammalstefx · 5 years

Text

My Dr. Feelgood (Nikki Sixx x Reader)

Requested and Inspired by: @xcazzax

WARNINGS: Cursing, smut, it’s Motley Crue you get the gist.

Since Mick joined the band that would be Motley Crue Nikki and I had our own special thing. I remember Mick nailed his audition and was welcomed with open arms by Tommy (drummer and goofball extraordinaire) and Nikki (my very own Dr. Feelgood). I swear what Nikki and I had between us felt almost instant. I knew it and he sure as hell knew it too.

“You’re in on one condition,” he told Mick that first day.

“Name it,” Mick said curious.

Nikki then turned to me and smirked. “You join us too.”

I shook my head. “Mick is the only musically talented one of us unfortunately.”

“Yeah but you have talent elsewhere which I like,” Nikki said,

“To what talent are you referring to?”

“You, sweetheart, are a very talented enchantress,” Nikki said fingering a loose piece of my hair. “You’ve got me under your spell and now I need to be near you constantly or else it’ll quickly become a curse.”

“Ahem,” Mick cleared his throat looking at us disapprovingly.

After that Mick told me repeatedly that even though he agreed to join the band there was no fucking way I was going anywhere near them; especially Nikki. But the thing is even I was enchanted by Nikki. Not because he was inhumanly beautiful in his own way but because he was an enigma of sorts. He always kept everyone at arm's length but when anyone got close, especially me, he melted as though he were made of butter. He enjoyed comfort and affection yet wouldn’t give it himself. And a big part of me couldn’t help but wonder why.

So I went with Mick to every practice, recording session, and tour. He wasn’t very pleased but Nikki was. He’d always find a way or reason to be close to me, and truth be told I sort of did the same.

Tommy and Vince tried to get close to me but Nikki was quick to put them in their place. Like when Vince joined the band after we booted out this no talent hippie who got on everyone’s fucking nerves. He wasted no time in trying to lure me with his charm.

“So Y/N you seeing anybody?” he asked joining me on the couch at Nikki’s place. They’d just got done performing a new song for the first time, and not gonna lie Vince was pretty good.

Before I could answer Nikki sat down on the other side of me answered for me. “What’s it to ya?” He glared at Vince.

It wasn’t that fierce but Vince still backed off. “Sorry man I didn’t know she was with you.”

“Well now ya know,” Nikki said. Vince got up then and walked off towards the kitchen.

“Nikki,” I groaned.

“What?” he said smiling and draping his arm around me.

“You’re a fucking asshole you know that?”

“That hurts babe,” he said making a pouty face which with his full lips and big eyes weakened the absolute fuck out of me.

I looked over to make sure Mick wasn’t looking (sure enough he was occupied with his guitar). When I was sure the coast was clear I turned back and pecked Nikki on the lips.

Nikki jolted as though my lips gave him quite the shock. He then smiled, placed his hand on my cheek, and pulled me back in. He kissed me hungrily; almost as though he’d been aching to kiss me all day. I didn’t kiss back right away. I was dead scared Mick would see us and tear us a new one. But then my dumbass angel swooped in and saved our day.

“Hey Mick check out this new song I’m working on,” I could hear Tommy say in his loud, doesn’t-know-how-to-shut-the-fuck-up voice. With my brother distracted I smiled and kissed Nikki back.

For a while life was filled with moments like these. We weren’t sure what we were exactly. So until we could figure it out moments were all we had, and we were okay with that. We did our best to keep things PG around the guys since A) Mick was still not entirely okay with me being around Nikki all the time, and B) Tommy wouldn’t stop making gagging sounds at the slightest bit of flirting (which happened A LOT!).

Tour was no exception. And the fact that we each had our own curtained bunks on the bus was a godsend. Nikki and I did things in my bunk that would probably make Mick cry (and Mick doesn’t really cry for shit so…). Mostly hand stuff and...toy related things (my god did he know how to work a vibrator). We didn’t think it could be better than that.

Then at the end of the tour, the guys decided to throw a party at the hotel we were staying at. Of course, some of those invited were the groupies desperate to fuck the members of the band; including Nikki.

At first, I wasn’t really going to indulge too much but fuck… groupies were brutal.

“I heard he’s seeing that weird ass guitar’s player slutty sister,” said one groupie.

“Ew as if,” said another. “I doubt Nikki would waste time on that trash.”

I took a swig of whiskey. “Funny I thought she was talking about me and not you.”

“Excuse me?” said the one who called me trash.

“You’re excused,” I said pushing past them. “Cunt.”

After that, I sort of drowned my sorrows in whatever liquor I could find. When I started feeling a little more than buzzed I started to make my way back to my room. I had just reached the door and was slipping the key in when I heard a voice shout my name.

“Y/N!” Nikki made his way towards me. “Why’d you run?”

I shook my head. “I guess I just wanted to drown my sorrows in whiskey all on my own; spare everyone the upsetting imagery.”

“What? D-Did something happen?” he asked brushing my cheek with his fingers.

I sighed. “Just go back to the party, Nikki.”

“Oh fuck no. I ain’t going anywhere when you’re like this,” Nikki said bringing us both into my room and closing the door behind. “Yuh-you’re sad and that’s not okay. Now tell me wuh-what those cu-cunts said to you. I know it was the groupies and I promise not to do anything illegal to them. Just… tell me. PLease.”

I placed the pilfered whiskey down on the small table by the door and sighed. “They said you wouldn’t waste time on someone like me. The weird guitarist's slutty sister.”

Nikki’s eyes grew wide. “I change my mind about not doing anything illegal those cunts are fucking dead!”

“What? No!” I grabbed his hand to hold him back which, along with all the booze in his system, fucked up his balance and well… “OH FUCK!”

Nikki had tripped and fallen on top of me. Thankfully we had a grayish fur rug to soften the fall. Nikki laughed. “Yuh-You know if you wanted me to uh-hic-top you all you had to do was ask.”

“Shut up,” I laughed. Next thing I knew Nikki was kissing me.

Not gonna lie parts of it are a little fuzzy to me. One minute Nikki and I were just making out and then in the next, we were both naked and Nikki was pushing himself inside me. I remember feeling a tingle at the feel of him. So much so that a few thrusts in I actually sobered up a little (just a little).

I remember being unable to keep my voice down when he hit a certain spot. I remember my back arching and screaming his name as I tightened around him. His thrusts became sloppy and… suddenly he was erupting inside me; a string of curses leaving his lips. His body trembled as he released every last drop he had.

I don’t remember anything else after that until I woke up the next morning with a motherfucker of a headache and sore cunt. I blinked open my eyes slowly and found Nikki laying beside me naked.

“Oh shit,” I muttered reaching over to nudge him awake.

“Mmm fuck off,” he muttered turning to lay on his side.

“Believe me we already did,” I said making his eyes snap open.

“Oh fuck,” he then cringed bringing his hand to his head. “FUCK!”

“Hey Y/N!” Tommy knocked on my door which felt like a fucking jackhammer drilling into my head.

“HEY DICKHEAD WE’RE HUNGOVER AS FUCK IN HERE! YA MIND KEEPING IT THE FUCK DOWN?! JESUS!” Nikki shouted at him.

“Nikki?!” Tommy exclaimed. “Dude what the fuck?!”

“Tell Mick about any of this and I swear to God I’ll fucking kill you, Tommy!” I snapped at him.

“Can I at least tell Vince? He sorta owes me a hundred bucks,” Tommy said.

“Of-fucking-course he does,” I groaned. “Discretely alright?”

“FUCK YEAH!”

Nikki groaned. “GET THE FUCK OUT OF HERE TOMMY!”

Tommy laughed and walked away.

“I feel like someone bashed my fuckin’ head into a wall,” Nikki said. “Repeatedly with the fury of a thousand fucking suns.”

“Well at least you’re not the one suffering pain on both ends,” I said. “God is your cock made out of steel or something?”

He looked over at me and smirked. “So I was THAT good eh?”

I lifted my middle finger as I shoved a pillow (from a nearby chair) onto my face.

After that night I figured we wouldn’t like mention it ever again, or at least forget it ever happened and move; go back to the way things used to be. Not that I didn’t want things to go in the direction that night sent us in it’s just… the groupie's words refused to leave my mind.

Maybe he shouldn’t waste his time on someone like me. He’s Nikki fucking Sixx. He’s a rockstar. He can have anything and anyone he wants. Why would he want me? A nobody who just so happens to share DNA with a somebody.

Four months later though I realized forgetting that night wasn’t an option.

I woke up one morning to my stomach churning. I ran to the bathroom and barely made it to the toilet when all of the previous night’s dinner came out. It scared the shit out of me. Once my stomach was empty of food I thought about what in the hell could have caused it. Then I realized, while my mind was occupied with band matters and such, it was completely unpreoccupied with the fact that I was more than three months late.

Oh, fuck! I quickly got dressed and went down to the nearby drugstore. I had just gotten back when Mick startled me from inside our kitchen. “Coffee?”

“Jesus!”

“Sorry I didn’t know you’d be out so early,” Mick said handing me my mug. “What’s that?” He motioned at the small baggy in my hand.

“Oh-uh-it’s nothing. Just girl stuff,” I said. Even Mick knew not to ask questions when it comes to female relate things such as periods.

“Nikki called says he wants us over at his place in a few minutes,” Mick said. “Claims he and Tommy got a new song he wants us to try out.”

“Alright,” I said taking a swig of my coffee. I finished it as fast as I could and darted upstairs.

“DON’T TAKE TOO LONG OR ELSE I’M LEAVING WITHOUT YOU!” Mick called out after me.

Shit. In the bathroom, I quickly peed on the stick, capped it and shoved it in my pocket.

We didn’t say anything as we drove down to Nikki’s house; the fucking place that started it all. Once there I excused myself to go use the bathroom, without even looking at Nikki. I darted upstairs and locked myself in the bathroom. I took out the test and placed it on the counter (it still had a couple of minutes to go). I never cried so hard as I did when I saw that little pink plus sign.

I placed my hand on my stomach and felt the smallest bump had already formed. It was real… and it was happening to me. To Nikki… I wiped my eyes, shoved the test back in my pocket, and went back downstairs.

“Hey, you okay?” Nikki asked brushing his hand against my arm.

“Um yeah I’m fine,” I said.

“Okay,” he smiled. The guys performed the new song then… and god did it strike the right chord.

You know I'm a dreamer

But my heart's of gold

I had to run away high

So I wouldn't come home low

Just when things went right

It doesn't mean they were always wrong

Just take this song, and you'll never feel

Left all alone

Take me to your heart

Feel me in your bones

Just one more night

And I'm comin' off this

Long & winding road

I'm on my way

Home sweet home...

Tonight, tonight

I'm on my way

Home sweet home...

The song continued like that and so much more until it’s very end. By then I was crying again.

“Y/N?” Nikki looked at me concerned.

“Just… give me a moment alright,” I said escaping to the kitchen. The fridge was full of beer which was exactly what I needed but couldn’t have. So I settled for a coke. I sat down on the counter and tried to ease my breathing.

“You gonna tell me what’s wrong?” Nikki asked joining me a moment later.

“I can’t…” I shook my head.

“Hey,” Nikki said taking me into his arms. “Whatever it is I can handle it.”

“Even if it has to do with our night of drunken fucking?” I asked.

“I wouldn’t exactly call it that but sure,” he said. “Y-You don’t regret do you?”

“Do you?”

“Of course not,” Nikki said. “I love you Y/N.”

I pulled back, wiped a tear away and took out the test. I held it up for him to see. “Do you still love me now?”

Nikki’s eyes grew wide. “Holy shit!”

“Is that a no then?”

“What? Fuck no...I mean yes I still love you,” Nikki said. “I’m always going to love you.”

I breathed a sigh of relief.

“What did you think I was going to do?” Nikki asked.

“I don’t know,” I said. “I mean after what those groupies said… I figured you wouldn’t want to waste your life on something that happened because of a careless night of drunken sex.”

“Y/N,” Nikki lifted my chin with his thumb. “It wasn’t a night of drunken sex for me. That night… what we did… hell what we made,” he placed his hand on my belly. “It was way more than that. We made love as we will continue to for the rest of our lives.”

“Really?”

He nodded. “My old man. He was never there and I can guarantee that if I croaked right now he wouldn’t give two shits about it. I promised myself that when given the chance that I would be different. That my kid would know a father’s love; and that my wife would know her husband’s love.” He placed a small box in my hand. He lifted the lid revealing a small ring. “So will you?”

I cried and threw my arms around him.

“Is that a yes then?” he asked.

“Just put the ring on you idiot,” I said holding out my hand. He slipped the ring onto my finger.

“I love you,” he said.

“I love you too,” I said.

Nikki was my Dr. Feelgood and his drug of choice that he would always hook me up with was what our special thing was all about. It was love.

It would always be love.

#nikki sixx #The Dirt #Douglas Booth

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babybirdgyeom · 5 years

Text

you, me and bertha (2) | park jinyoung

⇴ neighbor!au, farmer!au, jinyoung x reader.

⇴ summary: moving from the big city to your uncle’s farm in the small village you used to visit as a child was a big and scary step. luckily, you found many reasons to stay. reasons like your cousin bambam, your best friend jaebum or park jinyoung, your neighbor who maybe was more than just a guy you like to nag around with.

⇴ this chapter: jinyoung and the reader and their constant habit of teasing and fighting each other. jinyoung actually being nice for a change, a hidden softie. and, of course, bambam being nosey. (kind of a filler chapter)

⇴ word count: this part: 4.5k full story: ~30k

⇴ all the other parts can be found in my masterlist, linked in my bio! ♥

After a week you slowly got used to the daily work on the farm, your body was already starting to react differently, your arms weren’t getting as sore anymore and waking up early was bothering you less and less. It was Saturday which means you had to gather all of the stuff your uncle wanted to sell on the market the next morning. Picking out the best eggs, milk, wool and cheese was pretty boring, especially since Bambam left early because he was going on a date tonight with a girl you never heard of. But since you wanted him to be happy, and also his teasing about Jinyoung was slowly getting seriously annoying, you told him it’s okay to go. After about an hour you were finally done with stacking all of it into your uncle’s car as you saw Mrs. Park, Jinyoung’s mother, and decided to help her a bit since she looked like she was struggling.

She was a beautiful lady, always has been. Her black hair was long and even though there were a few grey strands in it by now she still looked as young as ever.

“Mrs. Park, let me help you!”, you shouted while jogging over to her, “Where’s Jinyoung? Letting his mum carry all the heavy boxes of fruits and vegetables alone is not a nice thing to do.”, you said as you arrived, one box already in your hands.

She let out a laugh and you were reminded of how warm her laughter was, it sounded like the giggle of a small child. “It’s fine, I told him to rest for today. He always works so much.”, she let out a sigh, “I’m very thankful, I know that’s not what he wanted to do with his life but he does it for me.”

You never really thought about it that way before - this might explain why he’s still here despite wanting a different life, it was probably hard for him to leave his family behind after losing his dad. While carrying a box full of blueberries you ate a handful, not able to hold back. The Park’s blueberries were always your favorites.

“You still love blueberries, huh?”, She asked joyfully as she was carrying the last box to the car.

“Yes, how couldn’t I?”, you answered, “Oh- I still wanted to thank you for the little basket full of fruits you send to me. I was so happy. The peaches were even better than I remembered.”

Mrs. Park looked at you in confusion for a second before realizing what was going on, the confusion vanished while a different kind of expression came to her face, unable for you to read at first. “Oh, so he can actually be charming.”, she mumbled with an almost mischievous smirk and within seconds you knew exactly what she was talking about.

The basket hasn’t been from Mrs. Park, it was actually Jinyoung being nice. You scoffed a bit thinking about it, wondering why he wouldn’t just admit it was from him. You guessed it just wasn’t like Jinyoung to play the nice guy.

“Mum-”, you heard his voice screaming while walking out of the door to their house. When he saw you he froze for a second, “Oh, hey, (y/n).”, he said with a slight and not really convincing smile.

You nodded towards him, ready to go back to work and leave them alone, as his little brother came running outside after him, chasing after Jinyoung.

“Jinyoung!”, he let out a scream as he tried to jump on his back. He was surprisingly tall for an eight year-old, almost managing to get to Jinyoung’s shoulders if he jumped high enough, “Can I come with you? Please?”

Before Jinyoung could answer, Ken’s attention was on something else. Or better said, on someone else. To be precise, on the girl standing in front of his mother and brother, a stranger he’s never seen before. “Who are you?”, he asked curious, studying you exactly, “Are you the niece of Minwoo?”

You kneeled down to be at an eye to eye level with him, shaking his hand, “Yes, that’s me. I’m (y/n).”

He had a big grin on his face, “Hi, I’m Ken.” - After introducing himself to you he turned around to his big brother, “Is this the person you made the basket for yesterday?”

Jinyoung shushed him immediately, giving him a warning glance before trying to cover up his story, “Yes, I did it because mum asked me to. Right, mum?”

She let out a sarcastic laugh, making fun of her son, “Sure, Jinyoung. It was totally me asking you to do that.”

A heavy sigh fell from Jinyoung’s mouth before shaking his head in disbelief, “Where is your cousin? He promised he’d help me picking up our new couch.”

“Oh, I am afraid he forgot.”, you said to him, “He’s on a date right now.”

Jinyoung let out a heavy sigh, not believing that Bambam completely forgot about him. Now even more frustrated, he started mumbling, “It’s always the same with this kid.”

“I’ll help you.”, you said determined, not even bothering to ask him first, knowing he’d say no anyway, “I’m done with work for today and I don’t mind coming along.”

“No, it’s fine. I’ll go alone.”, he said, clearly mad at Bambam, before walking over to his car. You didn’t care and followed him, hoping that he’d be nice to Bambam if you helped him instead. You had little hope, considering the fact you were talking about Park Jinyoung but it was worth a try.

“Stop being so stubborn.”, you said to him as you opened the door and sat down inside the car, “Just accept my help.”

As the two of you drove out of town the sky looked like it was painted in golden colors, the sun slowly setting but the air was still warm, brushing your arm that you held out of the open window.

“Where are we even going?”, you asked the obviously bothered boy beside you.

“It’s not far away, the dude I’m buying the couch from lives like twenty minutes away.”, he said, his eyes glued to the street, “You really didn’t have to come. I could’ve easily done it alone.”

Slowly but surely, you were starting to get annoyed by Jinyoung. You couldn’t tell why but his constant attitude was getting to you but it did, “Dude, you’re the worst. Can you shut up for once and accept help? Stop being so rude all the time, being nice every now and then won’t hurt you, you know? You can take your bad mood out on Bambam later.”

Suddenly he looked at you, his eyes grew wide in shock at your rant. Even though your voice was still low he clearly heard the frustration in it, “What do you mean? I am being nice all the time. I told you that you shouldn’t wear your good clothes to work. That was a piece of nice advice I gave you for example.”

You scoffed at him not knowing if he was being serious or if he tried to make him look good, “You also attacked me because you thought I was stealing chicken and made me churn butter all by hand.”

He chuckled as you brought it up, “I still can’t believe you did that.”

“My arms still hurt. You’re an asshole.”, you rolled your eyes, not in the mood to put up with Jinyoung being, well, himself, when you were just being nice, “If that is your interpretation of being nice I’m very very sorry for your future girlfriend.”

“Hey, now you’re just being mean.”, he said, acting offended and honestly a bit confused, not knowing why the two of you were discussing. Actually, you weren’t really mad at him, you just wished that he could be nice for once.

“Well, maybe you just need a taste of your own medicine.”, you said and let out a pout as the discussion was getting a bit more playful than it was serious.

But before you or Jinyoung could fuel the fire and add anything into the discussion you let out a small scream as he was turning right with full speed, making you feel like you were about to crash, holding onto the seatbelt for dear life, “For fucks sake, where did you learn how to drive? Do you not know that you’re supposed to slow down before turning?”

“If this is already scaring you, I’ll give you the nice advice to not drive with Jaebum.”, he said, chuckling, as he parked his car in front of a big house, “Ready to use the strength in your arms built up from churning butter?”

It took you about twenty minutes to carry all the parts of the couch from the third floor to the trailer on Jinyoung’s car. When you were done it was beginning to become dark outside and the weather was cooling down, making you feel a bit cold. All done, you sat back inside Jinyoung’s car as he was securing the trailer so you could drive back home.

“If you’re cold there’s a blanket on the backseat, you can use that.”, he screamed from outside, “See how nice I am? Caring for you, not wanting you to freeze to death.”

You shook your head amused, “What a gentleman you are.”

The drive home was more peaceful, no discussions this time. You looked outside, seeing a big and bright star in the sky, pointing to it.

“I can’t get over how beautiful the starry night sky is here. I don’t think I’ll ever get used to it.”, you said, almost sounding dreamy, eyes glued to the sky. It wasn’t even completely dark outside yet, but the first stars were already sparkling brightly.

“Isn’t it the same in your hometown?”, Jinyoung asked a bit perplexed as he looked over to you.

“Not at all. The big city lights drown them. You can barely see some, and if you can, they are not as bright as here.”

“I suppose Ilmon isn’t all bad.”, he shrugged.

You hummed in agreement, “Except for this strange dude, who can never smile, living next to me I quite enjoy my time here.”

He chuckled, rolling his eyes, “Must be really hard to live right next to such an attractive young man, huh? I bet you have a hard time.”

Laughing, you were impressed at his wittiness, “Don’t think too highly of yourself.”

Before you could let him answer your favorite song suddenly started playing in the radio, making you turn up the volume instantly, “You need to shut up now. This is my all time favorite song.”

He started to sing along to the song as loud as possible, laughing, trying to be louder than the radio.

“I didn’t know you could sing.”, you said, giving him an approving look.

In response, he gave you a small wink, “There are quite a lot things I can do.”

The rest of the drive the two of you were singing along to the radio as loud as you could, having genuine fun together for the first time since you arrived. It was nice to see him let loose a bit.

Driving up to the farm you already saw Bambam sitting on the porch. He immediately stood up, walking over to the car, already apologizing without you really arriving yet, “I’m so so sorry mate. I completely forgot. I owe you a beer next time we go out.”

Jinyoung chuckled as he parked, “Doesn’t seem like his date had a happy ending, considering he’s home already.”

“Good for me.”, you said, shrugging, “I’m way too tired to carry the whole couch inside anyway.”

You were the first to get out of the car, making Bambam narrow his eyebrows in confusion. “What are you doing in Jinyoung’s car?”, he asked suspiciously.

“I’m doing your fucking job, Bam.”, you laughed.

As you were walking towards your home you were stopped by Jinyoung holding your arm, making you turn around.

“Thank you, I suppose.”, he said, pressing his lips together, “Just trying to be nice.”

You gave him a genuine smile, “No problem. Sleep well.”

“You too, (y/n).”

As you woke up you were almost shocked to see today’s weather. Yesterday the sun was still shining while today it was pouring like never before. The sky was dark and grey and your whole farm looked quite sad, making you wish you could just stay in bed all day, just being lazy, reading, eating and maybe fantasizing about a certain someone. Looking at your phone you saw a text from Bambam.

‘it’s going to storm today, you have to make sure all the animals are in the barn and safe, please. i’m getting food for tonight. see you later, favorite cousin.’

You immediately threw on a cardigan and brushed your teeth, hurrying to get things done before the weather got even worse. Looking in the mirror you scoffed for a second at your sad reflection - your hair was in a very messy bun and your under eye circles were almost black. But there was no time to pity yourself right now.

After you fed and, of course, petted the chickens and made sure that all the windows were closed tightly you ran over to the barn where the cows and goats were in. Your clothes were completely drenched even though the way between the barns was very short, the heavy rain was so strong that there was no way you could’ve stayed dry.

Entering the barn your eyebrows narrowed as you see that the light was on and the food for the cows was already laid out. “Uncle Minwoo?”, you screamed loudly, the rain was so loud that otherwise, no one would hear you.

“Oh thank god, there you are.”, the owner of the voice was coming out of the little hut you kept your tools in, throwing one of the milking machines over to you. You barely had time to catch it because Jinyoung was throwing it without caring if you’d let it fall.

“What are you doing here?”, you asked him skeptical as you sat down to the cow next to the one he was currently milking.

He looked at you with an annoyed expression on his face - but only until he saw how wet you were from the rain. Immediately he burst out into laughter, “Why are you not wearing a raincoat for fucks sake?”, he asked, clearly amused.

“I don’t even own one.”, you admitted a bit hesitant while shrugging, knowing he’d make even more fun of you.

And of course, he did. “How can you not own a raincoat? Seriously, (y/n), you’re something else. Who on earth doesn’t own a raincoat?”, he shook his head in disbelief, still laughing.

You simply pressed your lips together, coming back to your actual question, “But why are you here? Certainly not because you wanted to help me.”

“Hey, maybe I’m not as bad as you think and just wanted to be friendly for once?”, he said, acting offended, “Since you’re always complaining.”

“Yeah, I doubt that.”

Suddenly you heard a loud thunder outside, making you jump - you usually were not afraid of thunder but the sudden loud noise startled you for a second. What really scared you though was the reaction of two of your cows, immediately after they heard the thunder they let out the deepest and loudest sounds you’ve ever heard of them. They sounded terrified.

Jinyoung immediately jumped up from his stool and walked over to Bertha, the small brown cow, petting its face. “Shhhh.”, he tried calming her down before looking over to you, “I’m always here when it storms. Bertha and Marnie are deadly afraid of the thunder, so I accompany them. It calms them down.”

For a second you thought he was fooling you but before you could say something another loud thunder was heard followed by loud sounds of the cows once again.

“Wait.”, you said confused as you saw Jinyoung pet Bertha once again, giving her a small kiss on the side of her face, “You’re serious?”

He looked at you with a grin, “Of course I am. Go, pet Marnie a bit. She loves getting pet right under his chin, she’s such a lovely cow.”

You did as he said, not really trusting him yet. “I didn’t know he had feelings, Marnie, did you know?”, you asked the cow sarcastically.

He let out a laugh, shaking his head, “I only love Marnie and Bertha.”

Bertha was walking away from Jinyoung to the hay he just put down for them to lie down for a bit, something you barely ever saw them doing, “When I first looked into Bertha’s big brown eyes I fell in love.”, he said loving, petting some of the other cows while Bertha was still lying down.

“That’s adorable.”, you admitted, “Didn’t expect that from you.”

He rolled his eyes at your comment, “You know, I’m not an asshole just because I’m telling you you’re stupid because you don’t own a raincoat or work on a farm with a goddamn Gucci shirt. That’s my way of helping.”, he said confident, “You just seem to not know exactly what to do, so I’m trying to help.”

“Oh, did you hear that, Marnie?”, you asked the cow sarcastically once again, “He is just trying to help by being mean.”

“Fuck off, (y/n).”, he said while walking over to Bertha, who was resting on the ground, lying down next to her, “Just go to your hut, I’ll take care of the cows.”

“No way.”, you said sitting down next to him, “I’ll not leave you alone with my cows. I don’t trust you.”, Of course, that was only an excuse to spend some time with the pretty boy from next door. Both of you were now starting to relax, leaning against Bertha, petting her.

“So, farmer girl, how do you like it here?”, he asked you after a few seconds of silence, seeming to be actually interested in you for once.

“It’s nice, Park.”, you shrugged as he was looking at you, “I like the fact that I finally am allowed to go into the pub the most.”

“I remember when we first were allowed to go in, it was like Harry Potter seeing Hogwarts for the first time.”, he said laughing, “and now we’re the ones that get drunk in there while the younger kids are jealous they can’t.”

“Some things never change, huh?”, you said, looking at Jinyoung, who had his eyes closed and seemed to be truly relaxed in your presence for the first time since you arrived. He was using his arm as a pillow, a smile on his lips - for once a genuine smile, not the usual teasing one he gave you. The rain was pouring so hard onto the roof of the barn it sounded like music. You couldn’t help but laugh to yourself, a bit of air coming out of your nose, not believing that Jinyoung actually had a soft side.

“What are you laughing about?”, he asked curiously, still with closed eyes.

“I just love the sound of heavy rain.”, you said, also getting into a comfortable position and closing your eyes.

“Mhhh.”, Jinyoung let out, agreeing with you before yawning, “Me too. It’s cozy.”

You felt your eyelids feeling heavy, you didn’t have much sleep last night and your body was shivering a bit because of your wet clothes, Jinyoung was snoring lightly beside you within a few minutes and before you knew it you were asleep too. You wouldn’t have expected the barn to be such a comfortable place to sleep in.

You woke up by someone calling your name. As you were slowly starting to realize where you were, you were just as perplexed as Jinyoung, who was still beside you.

“Did we fall asleep?”, he asked you, yawning.

Suddenly, Bambam was standing in front of both of you, confusion written all over your face, “What the hell are you two doing in here? How do I keep finding you two together?”

Jinyoung shrugged, sitting up as you were doing the same, “We fell asleep, obviously.”

“Why were you here together in the first place?”, he asked, a smirk on his lips, “Did you make out in front of the cows? That’s unholy.”

You laughed at your cousin, “Shut up, please. I’m having a headache.”

“You two are just too cute.”, he teased you before telling you the reason he was looking for you in the first place, “Dinner’s ready. We’re having some meat with different salads and corn. Join us, Jinyoung, your mum and Ken are there too.”

“I don’t know.”, he said, unsure, “I still wanted to meet with Jaebum and Jackson later.”

Bambam narrowed his eyebrows, “Why didn’t you ask me to join, you fuck?”

Jinyoung laughed at Bambam, standing up, surprisingly offering you a hand to help you get up from the ground, “I’ll eat dinner with you and then you can come with me, alright?”, he asked Bambam.

Bambam agreed and the three of you walked over to the big house Minwoo and Bambam lived in.

“Did you find her?”, your uncle screamed from the kitchen as he heard the door opened.

“Yes, I’m here!”, you screamed as you took off your shoes.

Walking over to them, Mrs. Park was surprised to see her son, “Oh, Jinyoung. How lovely that you’re here.”, she said, as cute as always, “Where have you been?”

Both, Jinyoung and you clearly didn’t want to tell them where Bambam found them, not wanting anyone to get a wrong idea. But, of course, your annoying cousin was faster.

“They were sleeping in the barn together.”, he smirked as he told your family, knowing exactly how much you both wanted to kill them, “You two seem to get along better by now.”

Jinyoung rolled his eyes, “We were just taking care of the cows.”

You nodded, “It’s not like we met to take a nap in the barn.”

Uncle Minwoo and Mrs. Park both giggled a bit at the two of you. “Stop teasing them. They are already flustered.”, she said lightheartedly.

Everyone sat down on the table as your uncle brought the food to the table. It smelled and looked delicious.

“Thank you for letting us eat with you.”, Jinyoung said politely to your uncle.

“Oh, Jinyoung!”, he said laughing, “You’re always welcome. We’re like family.”

He nodded as all of you started eating. The food tasted amazing and the conversation was nice, all of you participating in it, talking about current events and the life on the farm.

“What were you doing before coming here, (y/n)?”, Jinyoung’s mother asked you as you were just speculation about what all of you would be doing if you didn’t have the farm.

“I was working in a hospital as an assistant during surgeries.”, you explained to her, “It was super interesting and I learned a lot about the human body. But the night shifts were the worst.”

Jinyoung looked at you, shaking his head, “I didn’t know that.”, he said surprised.

You gave him a confused glance, “I mean, why would you know that?”

He shrugged, making real conversation with you for the first time, “That sounds so interesting. Did you ever save someone from death?”

You laughed, “Yes, a lot of times. But I think it was more the doctor’s that really saved them, not me.”

Ken suddenly was joining the conversation, being just as curious and impressed as his big brother, “Woah, (y/n). Did you wear all white like the people on TV and ran around the hospital when people were hurt?”

“I did.”, you told him chuckling, “I hated the clothes though. I could never drink cranberry juice because I was afraid of spilling it and people would think it was blood.”

Jinyoung nodded before Ken could answer, “Did you ever see someone die?”, he asked curiously, making his mother gasp.

“Hey, we’re eating! Stop with such inappropriate questions.”, she said almost horrified.

You, Jinyoung and Bambam started to laugh at her reaction, continuing to eat. After all of you were done you offered to do clean the table but Bambam said he’d do it.

“I’ll just go and put on some different clothes and then pick you up, alright, Bam?”, Jinyoung said as he followed you to the door, both of you putting on your shoes.

“Uh-huh, sure.”, he said, grinning at Jinyoung’s obvious attempt to bring you home, even though you didn’t even realize.

Walking from the big house to the small hut took only a minute or two but Jinyoung still brought you home. As the two of you stood in front of your door, you felt a bit awkward. “Don’t let Bambam drink too much tonight. I need him to be fit tomorrow. It’s my day off.”, you joked, Jinyoung nodding.

“I promise to stop him if he drinks too much.”, he said, smiling brightly, “I’ll see you around?”

You scoffed a bit, wondering why he was so nice to you, “Considering the fact that you can see into my living room from your window I think so yes.”

#got7 #park jinyoung #jinyoung au #jinyoung scenario #jinyoung imagine #jinyoung series #got7 au #got7 scenario #got7 imagine #got7 series #kpop #park jinyoung imagine #park jinyoung scenarios #park jinyoung fanfic #jinyoung fanfiction #jinyoung fluff #got7 fanfiction #park jinyoung au #kpop fanfic

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calligraphist-artemisia · 5 years

Text

Across Time and Space (Chapter 9)

Summary: Sequel to I’ll Take Her Place. Slav is showing off a piece of experimental equipment, when it malfunctions and blasts Katie and Keithir to another universe. At the same time, it drags Pidge and Keith over into theirs, effectively swapping places. With their fate resting in the hands of Slav, will they be able to get back home? Or are they stuck to live the rest of their lives in the wrong universe?

Also posted on AO3 and fanfiction.net under the username “kishirokitsune”.

I’m going to switch up my update schedule to every other weekend for a little while, so the next update should be sometime along the 21-23.

(Also, are line breaks no longer a thing on tumblr??? Guess I’m doing this the old way.)

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Chapter 9

OLKARION – CASTLE OF LIONS

Krolia hadn't known what to expect when Keith mentioned a castle, but the building settled in with the Olkarion cityscape still took her by surprise. It was unlike anything she'd seen before, with sleek high spires and lit with light blue. It looked out-of-place, like someone had picked it up from someplace else and deposited it within the city.

She glanced at her son, who looked tense as he carefully guided them towards the castle. Below them, the Olkari stopped to point and stare in fear, but they must have been warned about the Galra craft beforehand, because no one tried to strike them down from the sky.

They flew down to the castle and easily glided into the hangar, parking off to one side. A small group of people were waiting for them when they disembarked, and Krolia was relieved to see Kolivan among them.

Keith walked towards them, but rather than go report to their leader, he headed straight for a young human woman with brown hair. He pulled her into his arms and Krolia watched as his shoulders relaxed, his tension draining away.

“Welcome back, Krolia.”

Her gaze snapped to Kolivan and she inclined her head. She tried her best to pay attention to him, but something kept drawing her back to her son.

There was something... off. She couldn't say for sure what it was, but she could feel it.

“I am glad you came,” Kolivan said. “I worried that not even Keithir would be enough.”

“It almost wasn't. Kolivan, why am I here?” she asked.

“We have a situation here which requires my attention, and I have had difficulties managing both that and my duties as leader. I should have called you in months ago, but felt your position under Ranveig too important. Now, however, things have changed,” Kolivan told her.

Krolia frowned. “What of Antok? Surely he'd be a better...”

Kolivan glanced away.

Oh.

Krolia's stomach churned at the revelation. “Kolivan, I'm sorry. Of course I'll help you, in whatever way you need, but what's so important that you feel you need to divide your attention?”

“Currently, this castle is playing host to two visitors from another reality. We have been working to return them and bring back the two who were sent to their reality. It is a complicated matter, but one of great importance to our cause. Of the missing pair, one is a paladin of Voltron, and the other is a member of the Blade of Marmora.”

Krolia looked around, wondering who it was that came from another world. Her eyes fell on Keith once more.

Keith, who kept casting her guilty looks and then immediately averting his gaze.

Keith, who she was starting to realize looked older than he should.

Keith, who had point-blank refused to travel through the Quantum Abyss, no matter how important it was to her mission.

Krolia swallowed. “You called him 'Keithir'.”

“That is how he introduced himself after the swap happened,” Kolivan said.

He wasn't her Keith.

There was a sting of mild betrayal there. Why hadn't he told her the truth from the start. (Because she never would have believed him.) Didn't he trust her? (He was afraid of how she would react.) Why hadn't he corrected her when she called him “Keith”? (She would have had so many questions from such a simple correction.)

Keithir glanced her way again and she straightened her spine, making a split-second decision on what to do. He watched her approach with no small amount of trepidation, and flinched when she reached for him.

Krolia abruptly pulled him into a hug, giving him no room to pull away. He stiffened up until he realized what was happening and then wrapped his arms around her, hugging her back tightly.

What universe he came from didn't matter, he was still her son.

Keithir pulled away after a few long ticks and turned slightly to his left, gesturing his friend forward. “Mom, this is my wife, Katie.”

There was so much to take in – other realities, a wife, the purple color starting to bloom across his cheeks – but Krolia let it all slide over her. She'd stop and ask questions later, but right then she was going to enjoy getting to know her family.

“So is your face supposed to do th- OW!”

Krolia listened, bemused, as the two younger humans began to quietly bicker, while everyone else sighed and did their best to ignore them. It was easy, as Keithir shifted form completely, the purple spreading across his face in the form of short fur. He grimaced as his ears elongated and transitioned to the top of his head, sprouting longer fur than on the rest of his body.

When his transformation was finished, there was only one thing Krolia could think of to say: “You look like your grandfather.”

“Really?” he asked, sounding surprisingly pleased.

There was something else she was missing. Something she didn't really want to think about, but her mind drifted in that direction against her will. He knew nothing about their family history and there were only a few reasons for that to happen.

Even in another reality, she had missed out on being with her son. She would never be able to change that, but she could start trying to make up for it. Whatever he wanted to know, she would tell him, and in the process get to know him and his tiny wife. (And then later, she would get the chance to do it all over again, once they got Keith back.)

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

ALTEA – CASTLE OF LIONS

There was a Galra who Pidge didn't recognize waiting in the hall when she went to leave. She froze in the doorway, taking in the Blade uniform and the lack of mask. He seemed friendly enough, despite his lack of smile, but that didn't stop Pidge's brain from jumping to wild conclusions as to why he was there.

She thought Kolivan was the only one of the Blade who knew they were there. How had he found them? Was he supposed to know? And if he was, why hadn't Kolivan told them? Just who was he?

“Umm...”

“Apologies, I didn't mean to startle you,” he said. “I was hoping... Is Keithir – sorry, is Keith here?”

“Pidge, what's going on?”

She jumped, startled by Keith's voice as he exited the bathroom. He walked over to join her with a frown on his face and stared up at the Galra with confusion.

“You're... Thace?” Keith said, struggling to recall his name.

Pidge could dimly recognize the name. She was pretty sure that was the name of one of Kolivan's spies on Zarkon's command ship; the one who they lost communication with, resulting in Keith volunteering to infiltrate to infect the ship with a virus.

“I am,” Thace confirmed. “I was hoping you'd join me on the training deck this morning. Of course, you're more than welcome to join us, Pidge.”

It was tempting. She didn't want to be out of shape by the time they got back to their reality, and it would be nice to fight alongside Keith again, but the call of her stomach was louder. “I might join you later,” she told him.

Keith was already pulling his Blade uniform out of one of the drawers, preparing to put it on.

They'd decided the anonymity of the uniforms was perfect for the times they needed to travel beyond the paladin wing of the Castle, but Kolivan recommended they only do so in the company of Shiro, Allura, or a trusted member of the Blade, like himself or Regris. (Pidge supposed Thace counted too.) She'd have to find someone to take her once she was done in the kitchen.

Pidge left them there, heading off on her own when she saw how comfortable Keith was with going along with Thace. She wasn't sure if it was the familiar name or if Kolivan had specifically mentioned him as someone trustworthy, but she knew he would be okay. Aside from Shiro, who was basically Superman, Keith was the strongest person she knew. If he ran into any trouble, he'd be able to get himself out of it.

The kitchen looked empty when she arrived, but the smell of peanut butter lingered in the air and the plate of perfect cookies sitting on the counter told her she'd just missed Hunk. At least, she assumed it was Hunk. For all she knew, Lance had taken up baking as a way to impress his husband. (She didn't think she'd ever get over the fact that they were married. It was weird, but natural at the same time. Or at least it wasn't impossible to see how they'd be good together.)

Pidge figured it wouldn't hurt if she had one or two cookies. She went to reach for one, but a tiny, purple hand beat her to it, feeling around on the counter before landing on the plate and then carefully withdrawing back down the other side.

She had a pretty good idea who the cookie thief was.

“Yorak?”

A tick passed, and the hand reappeared with the cookie and placed it back on the plate. Pidge stifled her laughter.

“You know, I don't think Hunk would mind if we share one,” she suggested, picking up the same cookie and splitting it evenly.

Yorak peeked around the corner, his big ears twitching in curiosity. He brightened when she held it out to him and happily walked over to accept it. “Thank you!”

Pidge kept an eye on him as she began to nibble on her half, pleased by the taste of peanut butter on her tongue. He reminded her a lot of Matt: polite, but not without a streak of mischief. She doubted he was supposed to be unsupervised in the kitchen and could only guess that he'd once again sneaked away from whoever was watching him.

As before, she had no idea what to do. At least Yorak wasn't crying and seemed content to quietly munch on his treat, but that would only last so long.

Pidge chided herself for such thoughts. If she could handle facing down the likes of Sendak and his underlings, she could handle a simple conversation with a child. She just needed to calm down and think of a simple subject and go from there.

“Peanut butter cookies are my favorite,” she remarked.

Yorak paused to properly chew and swallow. “Mom likes them too. They're good, but chocolate chip are better, especially the way nana makes them.”

Pidge found herself starting to relax. “It's hard to beat a classic.”

Yorak looked pleased with the acknowledgment, but said nothing else, choosing to watch her with his head tilted to the side instead.

Any other time, Pidge would have appreciated the quiet. Social interaction wasn't her strong suit and it usually worked for the better for her if she let someone else take the lead. (Which was what was so nice about being friends with Hunk and Lance, who could do so as naturally as breathing.) With Yorak, it felt awkward. Like he was waiting for her to take charge.

Time for a new topic.

“Yorak?”

Pidge visibly deflated in relief. She was saved!

Yorak quickly stuffed the rest of his cookie into his mouth as an Altean woman with graying hair and dark robes swept into the room, an exasperated but fond expression on her face. She paused at the sight of Pidge before walking over and scooping Yorak up into her arms.

He squealed in delight and buried his face into the crook of her neck.

“You've had your grandfather very worried about you,” she gently scolded. “I know it isn't fun being cooped up all day, but you must be patient with us for a little while longer. And you will apologize for running off.”

“Yes, grandmother.”

Pidge looked at the woman with renewed interest. If she was Yorak's grandmother, then that made her Keithir's mother. The thought threw Pidge off momentarily before she came to the logical conclusion that she was his step-mother. Perhaps she was the reason for Keithir's status as “Prince” though she wasn't sure how, since Allura and her parents were the ruling family of Altea.

There was a massive chunk to the puzzle of that reality that Pidge hadn't been given, and it was going to drive her crazy if she couldn't find out what was being hidden from them. Would it really hurt to tell them more about the lives of their other selves, especially for Keith? What if there was some clue to getting them home that was hidden in the secrets being kept?

Pidge had plenty of time to do some digging and find out, considering her role in repairing the machine so far was reduced to daily updates from Allura and brief discussions of theories to pass on to Slav and his team. With Yorak's grandmother, she had her first opportunity to find out a few things.

She finished off her cookie and cleared her throat to get the woman's attention. “Uh, hi?”

The Altean turned to face her with a soft smile. “Hello, Pidge. Thank you for watching after him. I hope he wasn't much trouble for you.”

“Oh no, he's great,” Pidge quickly assured her. “I only got her a few minutes ago.” She paused, feeling a rush of uncertainty. The woman probably wanted to get Yorak back to where he was supposed to be. She should let her go.

“Sorry, but who are you?” Pidge blurted out, unable to stay quiet in the end.

The woman didn't look at all offended. “I am Honerva.”

It took Pidge a few seconds to recall where she'd heard the name before. It was only once, when Allura and Coran explained the origins of the Lions and the events leading to the destruction of Altea and Daibazaal.

Honerva was the wife of Zarkon.

Pidge backed up as a very real fear began to build in her gut. She fought to remind herself that they were at peace with the Galra and the there was no reason for Zarkon or anyone associated with him to attack her and Keith.

They were safe.

“Pidge, I am sorry. I should not have... Allura mentioned you have great reason to worry and urged myself and my husband to keep our distance,” Honerva said, keeping her voice gentle and low. “I should have listened, but I will admit that my curiosity got the better of me.”

Pidge swallowed her fear. “You and Zarkon, you're Yorak's grandparents? But Keith's dad – I mean, I've met Keithir's dad, so how...?”

Honerva adjusted her hold on Yorak. “It is a bit of a long story, but I have time if you'd like to hear it.”

“I wanna hear,” Yorak said.

Whether it was the sincerity in Honerva's voice or Yorak's eagerness to hear the story, Pidge sat down to listen to what Honerva had to say. Maybe none of it would matter in the long run, but the more she knew, the better prepared she'd be for any more “surprises” thrown her way.

“Nearly thirty deca-phoebs ago, the Blade of Marmora was investigating a rebel unit who desired to gather the Lions and use them to build an army capable of taking down the combined forces of Daibazaal and Altea...”

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

Pidge's talk with Honerva left her with a great amount to think about. She'd thought it was strange how many similarities their two realities shared, so to finally hear some differences put her at ease, and it also made her think that maybe it was because of those similarities that they were able to pas between them. Those parallels formed a bridge; fixed points that were the same, or very nearly the same, and any differences were there to balance things out. The key to going home had to be there somewhere.

She'd mentioned as much to Honerva, who promised to look into it more, but it was something Slav had brought up a number of times and thus far they hadn't had much luck with it.

Pidge had so many more questions and theories and ideas as she settled cross-legged on her bed to wait for Keith's return.

Like, how were they able to pass through without any protective equipment? Was it because of Slav's machine or was it residual protection from the Lions? Would they still be protected when it was time to go back? What would happen if someone who wasn't alive in the other reality got sent through? Would it even be possible? And if it was possible, would they be able to get them back?

She was sure she'd have the answers if Allura would let her in on the meetings, but the last time she asked, the princess recited security issues that Pidge was finally starting to understand the reasoning behind.

She'd assumed it was to keep people from panicking over two missing paladins, but it was more than that.

Keithir was the crown prince of Daibazaal, and as his wife, Katie was the princess.

Pidge closed her eyes and fell back on the bed with a soft “oof”. Her thoughts bounced around as she took a moment to relax and breathe.

She may not be allowed to sit in on meetings, but that didn't mean she was without options of her own. Slav and his team could handle the machine and any equations and algorithms needed, and she would work on building a bridge.

The Lions were the strongest similarity – the strongest connection they had between the two realities. They hadn't had any luck in getting Green and Red to respond, but maybe they were going at it the wrong way.

She had one more idea to try, and they'd need Shiro's help to do it.

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

OLKARION – CASTLE OF LIONS

Keithir found himself in the Black Lion's hangar early the next morning, staring up at the massive Lion while waiting for Shiro to arrive. He wasn't sure what to expect from her. There was every chance that they'd get the same response as they did from Red and Green – silence.

“Work with me, girl,” he murmured as they doors slid open behind him and Shiro walked in, clad in his armor. Keithir raised an eyebrow.

“Sorry. It's a habit,” Shiro explained with an amused grin. “Ready to try this?”

“Absolutely,” Keithir replied.

As Shiro walked up, the Black Lion lowered her head and opened her mouth, letting them both inside. Shiro let Keithir sit down in the pilot's seat, choosing to stand behind him with a hand on his shoulder. Neither of them spoke as they closed their eyes and cleared their minds, both opening themselves up to the Black Lion.

Keithir's breathing evened out after a few doboshes and a strange, floating sensation washed over him.

And then he felt it.

A pinprick of surprise that wasn't his own. It fueled his determination and he chased after it, following it deeper and deeper into the dark haze until he stumbled through a curtain into an empty plane lit by a colorful nebula.

He glanced at his hands, taking note of the faint glow around them, and nearly fell to his knees in relief. “We did it! Shiro, we did it!” Keithir turned, expecting to see the other man standing with him in the Astral Plane, but there was no one else. “Shiro?” he called out, looking around in confusion.

In the distance, the air distorted and Keithir braced himself for trouble.

A shadowy figured formed and the air smoothed back out as it moved forward. The closer it got, the more Keithir could make out distinct features, until he could say with absolute certainty that it was Shiro standing in front of him.

Except something was wrong.

Shiro stared at him, his brows furrowed in confusion. “Keith, is that you?”

#voltron #kidgemas #kidge #reality swap au #fanfiction

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carisi-dreams · 5 years

Text

Shore Pt. 2 | Sonny Carisi x Reader

this is the was supposed to be the 3,000 word fic prize commission as part of my celebration of one year with this blog. in actuality, the entire thing is about 3600 words and this is part 2. @the-never-good-enough-nobody asked for: Sonny x reader where they are partners at SVU and you’re held in a hostage situation like Olivia was and Sonny freaks out and just how he is afterwards and everything

The television blared on in the background as you wrapped the blanket around you tighter. You couldn’t seem to get warm, no matter how many layers you put on and how much you fiddled with your clanky radiators. A flash of hands pulling at you bled into your mind and you shook your head to dispel the memory. It was persistent, though, and you felt more wash over you like waves. Over and over a flash of hands, you shivering, hard floors—it was like someone was flipping through a book of memories and only reminding you of enough to keep you on edge. You leaned forward to reach for the remote, hoping that turning up the television would help to drown them out. So far, McDreamy was doing a terrible job of distracting you and you felt frustration churning in your gut as you watched more drama unfold on the screen.

A knock on the door interrupted your growing unease and restlessness and you froze before slowly unfurling your limbs. Keeping the blanket around your shoulders you reached for the gun that was sitting beside you on the small table next to the sofa. A glance at your phone showed that it was silent and your eyes flickered back over to the door as you slowly made your way over. Your heart was hammering in your chest and your palms grew damp as you tightened your grip on the gun. You swallowed hard before closely the distance in brisk steps that betrayed a confidence you were ashamed to admit was forced.

“It’s me, doll.”

At Sonny’s voice through the door you slumped in relief. With the gun still in your hand you made quick work of unlocking the door to let him inside. He stepped over the threshold and closed it behind him, locking all of the locks again before turning to face you. In one hand he held a plastic bag that was bulging, but his attention was on the gun hanging limply by your side.

“Sorry,” you apologized as you followed his gaze. You took a step back and set it on a counter. “Wasn’t expecting anyone. I’m still a little jumpy.” You hated to admit it, but if there was anyone you could be completely truthful with, it was your partner.

“I can understand that,” Sonny replied slowly. He nodded his head towards the kitchen and when you nodded in agreement he slipped his shoes off before heading that way. “Sorry to just pop up like this. I should have called.” He placed the bag on the counter and began unloading plastic containers. “Figured you’d be bored out of your mind on the couch watching Grey’s Anatomy, but not feel like washing dishes. I brought you dinner.” He hefted another container out of the bag and you pushed back the nausea you felt.

“This is nice of you, Sonny.” You reached out to tap the top of one of the containers. It was hard to tell what was in it because the contents were wrapped in foil. “Can’t say I’m too hungry, though.”

Sonny paused in his movements and gave you a long look. His eyes were a cool blue and his expression seemed stormier than usual, even though his tone earlier had betrayed nothing. You fidgeted a bit under his gaze and he finally dropped your eye and unloaded the last container. Balling the plastic bag up in his hand he kept his gaze on the counter.

“I’ve, uh, got plain pasta, too. You can eat that with some butter for now? Maybe some garlic bread?” He lifted his head to nod towards the container your fingers were still resting on. “This’ll all keep in the fridge for a few days and whatever you don’t think you’ll get to you can freeze.”

You gave him a weak smile and nodded. “Okay. I’ll try to eat a little bit later.”

Sonny shook his head and reached for a container. He popped the lid and spun to the cabinet that held your dishes. “Nah. C’mon. Have a little now. Eating alone is no fun. I’ll eat with you. If you don’t mind, of course.” He turned back to you with an inquisitive look and two plates in his hand.

“I don’t mind.” You gestured to all of the food covering your counter and laughed a little. It was a foreign sound and feeling to you. “There’s plenty here. Clearly, someone was a little overenthusiastic.”

Sonny had the decency to look sheepish for a moment before it morphed into a pleased expression. You shook your head at him, but he only smiled in response and began forking pasta into plates. It felt nice to have someone else in the apartment, to have someone to look after you who wouldn’t hover like your parents or walk on eggshells like your friends. Sonny was still Sonny. You could tell that he was beating himself up over everything and that he still blamed himself. You’d already told him once, when you were first brought to the hospital, that none of this was his fault, but you could tell then that he didn’t believe you. From the looks of things, he hadn’t started believing you over the last several days either.

“Sonny, I—”

“I think—”

You both spoke at the same time. You laughed again and this time it didn’t feel quite as foreign. The two of you were always so in sync with each other. You gestured for him to go on.

“No, you first,” he insisted.

You shook your head and watched him spoon pasta sauce over one plate of noodles. Another wave of nausea hit you and you shook your head harder. He must have seen something shift in your expression and he bit his lip in uncertainty before slowly beginning again.

“Doll.” He took a deep breath and looked up at you from beneath his lashes. “I think you should come stay with me for a couple of days. Maybe a week.” That wasn’t what you had been expecting and you opened your mouth to protest automatically. He stopped you with a hand held up and started speaking again. “You’re home alone in this apartment all day and all night. It’s not…it’s not a good environment for you to heal from everything you’ve been through.”

His eyes were pleading and the food was momentarily forgotten.

“You live in a one bedroom,” you pointed out with a little twist of your head. “You have one bed. What’s the difference between me being there and me being here?” You tossed your hands up in the air in question.

“First, you’d take the bed. Of course. My couch is plenty fine for me. Second,” he raised his fingers to tick off his points, “the difference is that I have food at my place. I don’t even need to open your fridge to know that you probably haven’t gone shopping in awhile.” You focused on not shifting your weight lest you give yourself away. “It’s a change of scenery. We could both use the company for our evenings. Just—tell me you’ll think about it.”

You gave him a long look as you chewed on the inside of your cheek. Finally you nodded reluctantly and his shoulder slumped in relief before he turned to reheat the plates in front of him.

“I’ll think about it.”

Sonny smiled at you and reached out his hand. He was saying something, but you couldn’t hear him. As it became increasingly more difficult to make out his words your returned smile started to fade. His hand was still outstretched and you went to grab for it, but your fingers only hit air. You tried again, this time working to take a step towards him and let him know that you couldn’t hear him. The next time you looked down at where your hand was outstretched you watched as his stretched more and more out of reach. Before you knew it, he was almost a city block away. You tripped over something and grabbed for him and he dove to catch you, but you dropped to the ground with a hard thud.

You jerked awake on a bitten back gasp. Lifting a hand to your chest you could feel your heartbeat thundering. Your phone glowed up at you when you turned your head and you could make out the time as your surroundings started to feel more familiar. Sonny’s bed was foreign and so much bigger than yours, which only made sense considering his height and how he liked to sprawl, but the sheets smelled like him. The scent helped to ground you back to the present and shake off the last vestiges of the bad dream. Barely anything had even happened in it, but you could feel the lingering dread coursing through your body. You reached to the side and came up with only cool sheets. The disappointment you felt was trained inwardly. You’d wanted to ask Sonny to share the bed with you, but you had chickened out at the last moment. Sometimes you looked at him and saw more than your partner, but that wasn’t what this was about. You trusted him and relied on him, and right now? Right now you needed him to anchor you to safety.

After a very brief debate you spun in the bed and threw your legs over the edge. You stood to your feet and were halfway to the door before you could talk yourself out of this for the nth time. The rest of the apartment was nearly silent, just the hum of the refrigerator and the muted sounds from outside the window. A particularly large laugh cut through the din and you were reminded that there was a whole other world beyond this apartment. Right now it felt like it was its own island and that thought had been a great comfort to you as of late.

Sonny was sleeping on his stomach with his face mashed against the back of the couch when you finally got to the end of the hall and peeked your head around. The image drew you out a little more and you smiled fondly at the picture he met. He was sleeping, maybe not the most peaceful, but he was asleep and he deserved it. Over the last three days he had kept all of your favorite foods, different variations of pasta, movies and magazines coming. Every time you turned around he was thrusting something in your hand, most recently a milkshake and a book from the library. As you stood debating whether or not to wake him he suddenly groaned and then turned toward your direction. You held your breath as he ran his tongue over his lips, but you let it out when he blinked his eyes open. He didn’t seemed surprised.

“Whassamatter?”

Even in just waking up from a deep sleep he was still concerned about you. Sonny beckoned you towards him and when you got close enough he pulled you gently to the couch and then wrapped the blanket around you. This was the warmest you had felt in almost a week and you couldn’t resist cuddling towards him. The inky darkness of the room and muted sounds made space for this in the way the bright sunlight did not.

“Had a bad dream,” you admitted.

Your chin was tucked down into the covers so the words were spoken to his chest more than his face. Still, he seemed to understand you as he hummed in acknowledgment. Or maybe was just perceptive. This was probably part of his plan the entire time, to be around when you needed him most.

“I’m here,” he replied finally. His voice was sleep rough and sincere as he gently tightened his grip around you before pulling back again.

“Will you share the bed with me?” you whispered. You kept your chin tucked to avoid his eye. “It’s so big and every time I wake up alone, for just a split second, I feel like I’m back there.” When you hazarded a glance up at his face you could just make out that he was frowning in concern.

“Of course,” Sonny breathed. He began sitting up and tugged you upright as well. “Of course, doll. C’mon. Let’s get you back to sleep.”

Sonny reached out his hand for you as he stood and you felt your stomach drop for one impossibly long moment. When you gingerly lifted your hand to reach up for him you held your breath. You exhaled an audible whoosh as your fingers collided and he helped you to your feet and then started shuffling down the hallway. The warmth of his hand in yours vanquished the last bits of the bad dream that had sat on your shoulders.

“Sonny…I just want to say…thank you.”

You broke the quiet again as he gestured for you to take the side furthest from the door. The sheets were cool on this side of the bed and you shivered violently before burrowing under the covers and wrapping the second blanket tightly around you. Sonny groaned in pleasure under his breath as he sank into the bed. You heard him turn towards you. Through the blankets you could feel the brief weight of his hand on you shoulder.

“I’d do anything I could to keep you safe. You’re my partner.”

“I know…and you did. You know that right? You found me.” You heard him make a noise of protest. “It’s just…I have these waves, y’know? These waves that crash over me all the time now. A wave of fear and then a wave of anger at being afraid and then a wave of, of, like, nausea and then a wave of something else. I feel like I’m being tossed to and fro, but then I look up and you’re there. Like a lighthouse, or the shore. You’re here, Sonny. Your presence pulls me out of the churning water and I can forget, sometimes.”

You reached out for his hand under the sheets. When you felt his you clasped your around it where it was laying on the bed between the two of you.

“So, thank you.”

He leaned towards it and before you knew it he as drawing you into his embrace and ghosting a kiss against your forehead.

“You’re welcome, doll. I’m here.”

It took you awhile drift back to sleep, but Sonny never pulled away. For the first time in days you felt truly safe and that was the last thought you carried back down into slumber.

#sonny carisi #sonny carisi x reader #sonny carisi fic #commission #blogiversary #my writing

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the--blackdahlia · 5 years

Text

Newsroom Chapter 4

Summary: Sam and Dean travel to Indianapolis, Indiana to investigate a haunting at a news station. But things take a turn when the boys become part of the TV personalities.

Warnings: Supernatural violence

“So what is it that we’ll be doing?” Dean asked as he followed Vanessa around the studio.

“Keeping the talent happy.” She said, rolling her eyes. “Because if they aren’t happy, no one is.” Dean nodded, following her back to the office she had. She threw herself into a desk chair, sliding across the floor some. “Take a seat.” She pointed at a chair over in the corner. “One perk of doing this is you don’t have to dress up like a CPA.”

“T-shirts and jeans?” He asked. “Really?”

“I came in last week wearing a Johnny Cash flipping off the camera t-shirt and jeans. All I got was a high five from the cameraman.” She laughed. “Just wear clothes and you’re fine.” There was a knock at her door and Dean looked up to see Sam standing in the doorway.

“I need your keys.” Sam said.

“What? Why?” Dean asked. Sam sighed.

“I’m being sent on a dry cleaner and Starbucks run.” Sam told him. Vanessa couldn’t stop the smile that she had. Dean handed Sam the keys to Baby and waited until his brother was gone from sight to look at Vanessa, who started laughing.

“What’s so funny?” Dean asked.

“He’s dealing with Ben Roshia. He’s not exactly the best guy to work with.” She sighed some. “It was a shame that he had to find Declan though.”

“Declan?” Dean asked, playing dumb. He knew exactly who Declan was.

“He was a field reporter. We started out in the same intern group, but he worked his ass off and to climb in the ranks. It was such a shame that he killed himself…”

“I think I read about that online.” Dean said. Vanessa nodded. “He wasn’t the first, was he?”

“No. Since I’ve been working here, there’s been four.” She rubbed the back of her neck. “Dusty’s predecessor, James Willey was found at the bottom of the stairs. Kristin McMann, a heavy piece of equipment fell on her. Holly Ford, they say she jumped off the room of the building. Then Declan.”

“Damn.” Dean said. Vanessa shrugged.

“I’m trying to stay positive.” She said, smiling at Dean. “Come on, I’ll take you down to our cafeteria and show you around. And, our chef makes some of the best pie in Indianapolis.”

“You had me at pie.” Dean laughed, following her to the cafeteria.

****

“I officially hate this city.” Sam grumbled to himself as he walked out of Starbucks with Ben’s order. Traffic was awful, and it seemed like every street he needed to turn down was closed or backed up. Gas was about the same price it seemed, but the gas stations were so hard to get in and out of that it didn’t even seem worth it.

He made his back to the studio, upset that a six minute drive, according to Google Maps, was taking well over ten. He finally parked the car and made his way back inside to where Ben was. He was sitting on the desk in Kendra Beeson’s office, smiling and flirting with her.

“Here’s your Starbucks.” Sam said, handing him the coffee.

“About time.” Ben said, rolling his eyes. “I left a list of things for you to go over. It’s on my desk.” Sam glared at him. All it would take was one bullet…

“Okay.” Sam growled, leaving. Kendra watched him walk away.

“Think he’s single?” She asked, licking her lips some.

“Oh come on, that guy? I’d be surprised if he’s ever had a girlfriend.” Ben said, shaking his head.

“I dunno Benny boy. I wouldn’t mind if he churned my butter.” Kendra laughed, making Ben glare at where Sam had been.

****

“Dude, I love this place.” Dean said as he met Sam in the cafeteria. Ben had left Sam a long list of chores and he had decided to take a moment for lunch. Ben was over with the other big shots and Sam was planning on avoiding going over there.

“I’m glad you do.” Sam said, yawning. “I can’t wait to be out of here.” Dean motioned for Sam to follow him after they got their food. He sat across from Vanessa, Sam taking the chair by him.

“So, Sam, how is your first day with Ben?” She laughed. Sam’s bitch face was priceless.

“It’s fantastic.” He said in the most monotone, sarcastic sound tone he could manage. Vanessa laughed harder.

“You can handle it big guy.” She said, reaching over and patting Sam’s hand. “I bet Dean here is just miserable working with me.”

“Oh yeah, it’s a total nightmare.” Dean laughed.

“Well, today was easy. Wait until Mr. Ben scares off your friend here and we’re having to cater to his every need and want.” She shivered some. “That man is a registered asshole.”

“I can tell.” Dean and Sam said at the same time. Vanessa smiled at the in sync speaking.

“Well, Sam, you better eat up. Because that devil and his posse are going to run you ragged.” Vanessa took a sip of her drink. “Good luck.”

****

It was after the news broadcast. Ben had a shine on his face as he made his way back to his office. He stopped to check himself in the glass windows for the trophy case. He was on his way to change out of his suit and get ready to head home.

As he walked away from the trophy case, he shivered and saw his breath in front of him.

“What the hell?” He asked. He looked and saw nothing out of the usual, minus the mop bucket sitting down the hallway. He started to walk towards his office when he felt himself being pushed backward. The invisible force just kept hitting him in the chest, over and over again. But then it stopped.

“Okay, whoever is playing me better stop right now.” Ben announced. He turned around in circles, trying to figure out who was messing with him. That’s when someone appeared in front of him, flickering and staring at him with deep eyes. “Who are you?” He asked. It was a woman, that was for sure. She was dressed like she was pulled straight from the early 70’s.

Instead of talking, she stared at Ben. Then, before he knew it, she disappeared. And the pushing started again. This time, he lost his balance and fell right into the trophy case that he had been looking into. The glass impaled him in multiple places, leaving him drowning in his own blood. The woman appeared again, staring down at Ben.

“H-help m-me.” He begged. She slowly shook her head and pushed him farther onto the glass, silencing him. She disappeared as quickly as she had appeared, but the mop bucket from down the hall moved down towards him and tipped over, making it look like he had tripped.

Kendra was heading down the hall, planning on trying to convince Ben’s cute intern to go out with her for drinks. She turned the corner and all she saw was Ben’s body, impaled on the shattered trophy case, blood and water mixing on the floor.

And she screamed before she fainted.

****

“Did you hear that?” Vanessa said as Dean and Sam were about to head out the door for the day. The boys looked at each other before they went running down the hall, Vanessa following them. After years of hunting, the boys were pretty good about tracking down sounds. And soon enough, they found the source of the scream.

“Oh my god!” Vanessa gasped, staring at Ben’s body. Sam immediately knelt by Kendra, checking her pulse. She came to as Sam’s fingers were on her neck.

“What happened?” Dean asked, walking towards Ben.

“I...I’m going to go call for help.” Vanessa said, running towards someone, anyone with a phone. Soon, more people had joined the mob. It was obvious Ben was gone, but no one wanted to move him.

“I just came down here and found him like this.” Kendra cried, holding on to Sam. Dean stood back with Vanessa and some of the others while the police and paramedics took care of Ben’s body.

“By any chance, are there security cameras around here?” Dean asked. Vanessa nodded and pointed to a black dome in the corner of the hallway.

“I can’t remember how much of the hallway it picks up though. It’s been awhile since Carl and I have watched the anchors doing stupid stuff on the cameras.”

“Do you think there’s a way I could get in there?” Dean asked. “I’ll buy you dinner if you can.”

“Are you asking me out on a date?” She asked, giving Dean a smirk. “You know that office romance is usually frowned upon, right?”

“I...uh…”

“But I’ve never been one to follow the rules. Come on.” She waved for Dean to follow her. They snuck away from the group. As they did, Dean sent a text to Sam telling him to go ahead and go back to the hotel for the night and he would text him later. She led him down the halls to the security room. She knocked three times and no one answered.

“No security?” Dean asked as Vanessa pulled out a key and unlocked the door.

“It gets kinda lax around here.” She said with a shrug. “And the benefits of sucking up to everyone is they usually don’t get too upset if I go places I shouldn’t.” She let Dean in and shut the door. “So, what are we looking for?”

“Everything that led up to Ben’s death.” Dean said. Vanessa raised an eyebrow.

“What kind of intern are you?” She asked.

“Uh, Sam and I like true crime.” Dean said, which was only half lying. Vanessa nodded and rewound to the time that she knew Ben had left the set to head back to his office. They watched him walk down the hallway, stopping to check his reflection in the trophy case he just died on. Not long after, they watched as Ben was shoved repeatedly. There was no sound, but they could see him talking.

That’s when she appeared.

“Oh my god.” Vanessa gasped.

“Do you know who she is?” Dean asked. Vanessa shook her head.

“She looks slightly familiar, but I can’t place it.” Vanessa told him. Dean watched as the scene played out, with Ben being impaled on the glass and the mop bucket sliding over next to him. The pair set back and watched as Kendra arrived on the scene. Vanessa paused the video.

“That...that was a ghost.” She said.

“I’d say so.” Dean said. “A pretty pissed off one too.” Vanessa pushed herself back from the video monitor.

“Were they all killed by this ghost?” She asked. Dean shrugged.

“I’m thinking so, but I can’t give you a definite answer.” Dean told her.

“You’re not really an intern, are you?” She asked. Dean smiled sheepishly.

“We’ll just go with yes for now and talk over that later.” Dean told her, which seemed to satisfy her for now. “So, how about that dinner I promised you?”

“Well, we can go to Steak n’ Shake. Or White Castle. They’re both open late.” Vanessa suggested.

“White Castle? Isn’t that just a restaurant in the Harold and Kumar movies?” Dean asked. Vanessa stared him down like he had committed a crime. “What?”

“Come on. We’re going to White Castle.” Vanessa said, pulling him out of the room.

Forever Tags: @anathewierdo @we-ride-with-the-tide @dekahg @marvel-af @feelmyroarrrr @nanie5 @imboredsueme @gemini0410 @aiaranradnay @babypink224221 @mogaruke @xxwarhawk @strab0 @sandlee44 @screechingartisancashbailiff

Supernatural Tags: @bandobsession98 @mrsdeanfuckingwinchester @fangirlsencyclopaediaofweirdness @ilovetardis @missihart23 @cloudyskylines @supernaturalwincestsblog @flamencodiva @sams-serialkiller-fetish @theas-bedtime-stories

Newsroom Tags: @mysteriousharmony @mereka18 @bunnybaby121115

#newsroom #sam winchester #dean winchester #supernatural #jensen ackles #jared padalecki #fanfiction

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uas-fics · 5 years

Text

Part 2 of The Goth and The Vampire, a fic inspired by @bybasily ‘s stutters piece

Part 1 .

~~~

He didn’t get used to it.

Five months had passed, and being fed on was just as gross and uncomfortable as ever.

Raven rested his lower back against the top of the concrete barrier. The far end of the baseball field, behind the dugout, was a lonely place, tucked near the tree line, which made it perfect for smoking and the feeding in peace.

With one hand clamped against his shoulder, Butters gripped tighter to Raven’s front, his fingers balling around the fabric of his shirt. A rumbling came from his throat.

Rolling his eyes, Raven held his cigarette between his teeth, then reached up and flicked Butters in the nose.

“Stop it.” Raven snapped without looking back.

Butters took his teeth from Raven's neck, then rocked back on his toes until his back rested against the chain link fence.

He pouted while wiping the stray blood drops from his chin.

“I’m sorry, but I can’t help it.” Butters ran his hand down from Raven’s shoulder to his mid-back. He let it rest there a moment before pulling it between his knees with his other hand.

“You can help moaning when you’re literally drinking my blood.” Raven took a drag, then purposely blew the smoke at Butters’ face.

He hated when Butters did that. It made his entire circulatory system ache every time. It also didn't help that it was just plain weird. Raven wasn't a particularly tasty slice of cake. There was no need to moan.

No matter how much Butters claimed to the contrary.

“But you taste real good, Raven!” Butters chirped, waving the smoke away. He rocked forward to wrap his arms back around his middle, but Raven took a step out of his reach.

Pulling from his pocket a large bandaid, Raven doctored up the bite mark. Butters looked away from Raven over his shoulder, lip out in a childish pout, at the trees. Usually Raven gave Butters twenty minutes to drink as much as he needed to get by. After breaking the no moaning rule this time, he’d only had eight.

It would be enough until Saturday. In the months since this all started, Raven had figured out how much Butters had to take to get by. He had it down to a science at this point. The full twenty minutes was just Raven being nice and letting Butters take a break every few minutes to jabber on about whatever was on his mind.

Raven pressed the bandaid to the bite with a wince before beginning to readjust his shirt. He’d have to wear his jacket zipped all the way up again. How many times had he told Butters to bite lower down on his shoulder? It might have been farther from the artery in his throat, but it was so much easier to hide.

“I’m only good because I’m all you have,” Raven muttered.

Butters hummed to himself. “Nah, that ain't it. You just taste good, better than some of the other people I’ve had.”

“You’ve had, like, two other people, one of which was Eric Cartman. It’s not much competition.” Raven stole a step back to slide down the side of the concrete barrier to the ground.

Apparently, when Butters was first turned, he tried to ignore his hunger, but it grew too strong for him and started to cloud his mind. Seeing Cartman through an unlocked window, he acted out of instinct instead of thought.

Somehow Cartman being one of Butters ‘victims’ seemed fitting to Raven. Cartman had always been pushing Butters around, bullying and tricking him. Raven figured sooner or later Butters would snap and somehow get revenge on his bully. Honestly, Raven wasn't sure how Butters hadn't gone out of his way to get back at all the people who were mean to him in elementary school. He had the power to do it, but his good heart must have held him back.

Butters stuck out his tongue. “Eric tasted like lard — lard, rot, whip cream, and cheesy poofs. It was icky.”

“What about your ex-friend?” Raven took a drag. “How’d he taste?”

He hadn’t gotten Butters to spill whom the friend he had a falling out with was. He had, however, narrowed it down to either being Kyle Broflovski or Kenny McCormick. They were both old friends with Butters and, as far as Raven could remember, good enough people who would be willing to help Butters out — for a preppy know it all and a dirty pervert, anyway.

“Oh, he was interesting.” Butters looked up at the dreary sky. “Tasted like cherry, not real cherry, though, the fake kind they put in Poptarts, and something else. The something else was good, really good, but icky at the same time. Like...” He screwed up his face in thought, "grill steak and burnt bread.”

Raven tried to imagine that taste, but couldn’t get all the flavors to cross. He nearly asked what he tasted like, but the school bell cut him off before he could open his mouth.

Butters jumped to his feet. “Math class time!” He said in a sing-song voice.

Raven rolled his eyes. Butters, the vampire dork, who lived for math class that was his friend. Butters was an A-plus student in hall his math courses, though.

Raven heard somewhere that vampires had a tendency to count out everything. In days long past, that was how scared villagers would keep vampires in their graves: filling the grave up with tiny seeds that the vampires would have to count before they could leave. He’d wondered if Butters’ vampiric nature made his mind better at math or if he was already good at it before. Maybe it was both.

“I’ll consider heading to class when my eyes aren’t freakish,” Raven made a point to jab a finger towards his eyeballs. A side effect of being a vampire’s blood bag, his irises were tinged red for at least fifteen minutes after every feeding.

As Goth as it looked, it was a pain in the ass to explain away. Besides, if he had to deal with those emo brats gawking over his eyes being so ‘edgy’ and ‘cool’, he was going to vomit. At least being a Vamp Kid, Butters could pretend his weird red eyes were fancy contact lenses or something.

Butters smiled apologetically then leaped off the barrier. He landed on his toes with more grace than a normal human could ever muster. Butters took two steps, then stopped, spun back around and retraced his steps.

After digging in his pockets, he crouched down. “I only gotta ten today.” He slipped the bill into Raven’s hand. His fingers were warm, almost unnaturally so, against his palm.

Raven shrugged, then slipped his cigarette behind his ear. After running his tongue across his lips, he set a hand on Butters cheek, then leaned in, pressing a kiss to his lips.

This part of their private time started as a joke. A month in, Raven commented he should start charging for his services. A moment after he had said that, Butters asked him how much would he charge for something like a kiss or a hug.

Thinking Butters was playing along, Raven jokingly replied, “Five for a hug, ten for a kiss, twenty-five for frenching, fifty for a handjob, and for a hundred, I’m yours for the night.”

He’d never expected Butters to take him seriously, but the very next Wednesday, Butters showed up with fifteen dollars that he blushingly pushed into Raven’s hands for one kiss on the cheek and a bear hug

Sometimes, Raven worried Butters would actually show up with twenty-five or more, but that had ever been the case. The closest he came was showing up with two tens to get four hugs. Raven wasn’t sure if his restraint came from respect or the fact he always spent his allowance the moment he got it. Either way, Raven was almost guaranteed at least five dollars four times a week just for showing Butters a little physical affection.

Butters giggled, his face pleasantly flushed. “Thank you for that!”

Raven grunted. “Whatever. Head to class. Can’t be a cog of society’s death machine if you can’t do arithmetic.”

Butters bobbed his head. “Right!” He exclaimed, a little too happily, as he jumped back to his feet.

“See you at the graveyard on Saturday,” Raven raised his cigarette towards him.

Butters paused a moment then offered, “If you want, we can have a sleepover at my house on Saturday. We could stay up all night playing games and then you could sleep in on Sunday, instead of going to church.”

“I’ll think about it,” Raven stated as if he hadn’t replied that exact same way every Friday when Butters asked him. Butters beamed then finally spun around to head back to class.

Raven ground his cigarette against the earth before reaching to pull another out of his pack.

In truth, Raven was not completely against the idea of a sleepover, but at the same time, the thought made his stomach churn.

He didn’t want to risk putting a name to their relationship.

Raven wasn't sure where he and Butters stood at this point. It wasn't that they weren't friends. On the contrary, Raven didn't think it was possible to have another man's lips on your neck willingly every other day for five months without some positive emotions turning up.

He just wasn't sure if his affections went as far as “crush” or “romantic love”, but they definitely were growing less and less platonic with every passing day. Sometimes, Raven wondered if they were platonic at all anymore.

At first, he chalked the positive emotions up to pity. He felt bad that someone who, really, wasn't all that terrible, was stuck spending his time with those douchebags, pseudo prep, Gothic subclass losers.

Since Raven started paying attention to Butters, he'd noticed that Butters just barely sat on the fringe of the Vamp Kids anyway. He rarely talked to them, and they rarely talked to him.

To Raven, it seemed that Butters just hung around with them so he wouldn't have to be physically alone.

But as time passed, Raven found his pity answer having less and less truth in it. He really did just enjoy Butters company, just like he had all those years ago. Even dyed in all black, Butters was a breath of fresh air from the heavy mausoleum air that hung around himself and the other Goths.

He put his cigarette to his mouth and inhaled.

If only he could piece together how Butters felt about the situation.

To Butters, were the butterfly kisses and hugs just a fill-in to actual romantic love? Was that why he never brought enough cash to go any farther? Was he too scared to risk his secret by getting close to anyone else? Was he using Raven as a stand-in for the girlfriend he wished he had?

No, Raven refused to spend an entire night alone with Butters. He wasn’t sure what he would do if he found out he was just a substitute for something Butters couldn’t have.

~~~~

His mom's car wasn't in the driveway, but his dad's car was.

Raven cringed. Instead of walking into the house, he made his way to the garage.

The kittens had long since been adopted out to good homes, so there was no greetings of mewls this time. As Raven sat down on a box, he couldn't help but smile to himself.

Butters wanted to “apologize” to the kittens for murdering their mother, so every night for a week straight he came in and left them little gifts of food in an attempt to gain their forgiveness.

It never worked. The kittens still hissed at and hid from him when he came by every time until they were adopted out.

It was almost as funny to watch as the time when Pete and Henrietta attempted to paint the kittens' claws black.

Raven dropped his bag beside him then began to tap against his phone. At least one of his friends had to answer. If he had an excuse, he could just pop into the house, dump his shit, then head out — the less time with his dad, the better.

He already knew Henrietta was a no-go. Her little brother was coming from out of town to visit, and she had to stay home. Firkle was probably still sick with whatever flu or cold was going around the elementary, so he didn't bother texting him either. That left Pete and Michael. He texted Michael first since Michael lived closer.

A few moments later, he answered, “sorry. babysitting. kill me now.”

Raven replied with a frowning face and four pistol emoji. He sent Pete a text next, asking what his plans for the night were. Pete’s trailer might be farther away, but Raven wasn’t above walking there in the cold.

He pressed himself against the corner made by the wall and a shelf, waiting for Pete to reply back when the door to the house opened.

His dad peeked in, looking around until his eyes landed on Raven. Raven tried to stand so he could make a quick escape, but his dad was faster this time and made it over to him first, leaving Raven boxed in.

“Hey, son, how’s it hanging?” His dad asked in that tone he used when he wanted to talk about something uncomfortable.

“Just waiting for death, like always,” Raven muttered deadpan, praying Pete would text back soon.

“Oh.” His dad took a breath, then let it out in a low whistle. “You know, Raven, I think we need to have a talk.”

Raven flinched back. “About what?”

His dad looked everywhere else but him as he said, “You know, stuff.”

Raven wanted to die. He didn’t want to talk about ‘stuff’; he wanted to be left alone. His dad had his opportunity to make a deep bond with Raven years ago, and he squandered it with snide remarks about adding color to Raven’s outfit and wishing his Goth ‘phase’ would hurry up and go away so he could 'have his son back’.

His dad heaved a sigh. “Look, Raven, I just want to make sure you're being safe, ok?”

“Safe? Safe with what?” Raven set his jaw. Did he mean his knife? Or how he walked home in the dark? His dad never cared before, not until his mom flipped out on him about it after the night with the cat, anyway. Was that why he was doing this? Had his mom made him? Seemed a little late to be trying to be a good parent.

“Safe with, uh, well, you know, safe.” His dad scratched the back of his neck.

“If you’re not going to be clear about it, then just go.” Raven looked pointedly down at his phone, trying to urge Pete’s text to come.

His dad groaned. “Here.” He reached into his pocket and held out a thin, foil square.

Raven's eyes grew wide at the offered condom.

“I’ve seen the hickeys on your neck, son. I just want to make sure you and your little girlfriend aren’t doing anything that you two might regret.”

Raven’s mouth gaped open, his face going completely red. “I, I don’t — it’s not like that!” He pulled up his jacket collar until it touched his chin. “I don’t have a girlfriend, Dad.”

Realization flashed across his dad’s face. “Oooooh.” He nodded. “Well, if you and your boyfriend are doing stuff, you still need to be safe. STDs don't discriminate, Raven.”

Raven sputtered, but couldn’t for the life of him make a coherent sentence.

With a soft smile, his dad crouched down beside him then slung his arm over his shoulder.

“You know, it’s ok if you’re gay, son,” He promised. “I love you, either way. I just want you to be happy, and if being with a boy makes you happy, then I’m all for it.”

For the first time in a long time, something warm towards his dad welled up in Raven’s chest. When was the last time his dad had been this supportive of anything in Raven's life?

He might not have been completely right about it, as Raven still liked more than just boys, but it was a step in the right direction.

“I’d rather you be decked out in rainbows than all black, anyway.”

And then he took forty steps back.

With a cry of frustration, Raven shouldered his dad’s arm off him and stomped to his feet.

“Why do you always have to make it about you!?” Raven screamed. He stormed past him out of the garage.

“Stan, get back here!” His dad shouted after him.

Raven spun around and yelled back, “It’s Raven, you selfish fuck!” Without another word, Raven turned on his heels and ran.

~~~~~

It was dark, the wind was freezing, his phone was dead, and his eyes stung from crying.

What a way to spend a Friday night.

Raven pulled his knees to his chest then leaned against the plastic half sphere. He looked the eight feet down to the softwood chips that covered the ground around the playsets.

Another sob tried to force itself out of his throat, and he swallowed it down.

He could use a cup of coffee right now. That Tweak place was near the playground, wasn’t it?

He considered heading there but decided against it. He wanted to be warm but refused to go into such an ungoth place.

Or, that's what he tried to convince himself.

In truth, he just didn't want to risk running into anyone who knew him there. The Tweak's son was in his class, and all Tweek's friends hung around there on Fridays. The last thing he needed was a bunch of people hovering around him asking why he was upset.

No, he’d rather just suffer in the cold. Maybe he’d freeze overnight.

He curled into a tighter ball, burying his face in his arms.

Why couldn’t his dad just understand this was who he was? He didn’t want to play sports anymore or be the homecoming king. He was happy as a Goth, as paradoxical as that seemed.

His mom understood. His sister understood. Why can’t his dad?

A biting wind cut through his jacket. A few snowflakes slapped against his red cheeks.

Raven shuddered. He really was going to freeze if he stayed out here. Standing up, Raven looked towards the rest of the town. Henrietta’s place was closest, but the lights were all out at her house. She was still out with her family.

He turned, straining fruitlessly to try and see through the trees towards Michael's.

Even if Michael was home, Raven didn’t want to deal with Michael's siblings gawking over him and trying to rope him into playing with them. Firkle was sick, and Pete lived across town.

Setting his lips into a line, he let his eyes move to another house, just a few down from his own.

He took a breath and began to crawl off the playset.

~~~~~

Raven rubbed his arms as he stood in front of Butters’ front door. The snow started to fall down in thick heavy sheets on the walk over. The covering of white made it easy to sneak past his house but at the cost of freezing his extremities.

He reached up and knocked. It only took a few moments before the door opened.

“Raven?” Butters’ face burst out into a wide smile. “Well, howdy! What brings you here?”

“Sleepover.” Raven shivered. “Can I come in? It’s cold.”

“Oh, yeah! Come in! Get warmed up! I’ll get you some cocoa.” Butters ushered Raven inside. His hand lingered a moment too long on his arm before he pulled it away.

Butters rushed towards the kitchen, leaving Raven standing awkwardly in his living room.

Butters’ mother sat on the couch, an infomercial playing as she fiddled on her phone. His father was seated at the table reading over a newspaper. Raven didn't remember much of Butters' parents from when they were eight, though some far off recollection he couldn't fully grasp left a sour taste in his mouth. They weren't the nicest, he remember that much, at least.

When neither of them looked up or greeted Raven, he let out a breath he didn't know he'd taken. Something about them seemed off, but Raven couldn’t put his finger on how. Thought if it meant he didn't need to talk to them he was fine with letting the oddness slide. He would rather spend that time trying to blood flow back to his fingers anyway.

Just as the feeling returned to Raven's digits, Butters came back with a steaming mug in his hand. He pressed it into Raven’s grasp.

“Follow me,” He waved him towards the stairs. Halfway up, Butters leaned over the railing to call, “Raven is staying for a while. Maybe the whole night. We’ll be good though, so don’t worry.”

For the first time, Butters parents turned and looked at Raven. There was a subtle red haze around their eyes. Raven wasn't sure if they were really seeing him though or just acknowledging what their son had told them.

“Oh, welcome, Raven,” Mr. Stotch greeted. He sounded like prerecorded message. “You two have fun.”

Butters agreed, “We will, Dad.” He looked to Raven to ask, “Are you hungry? Mom can bring us some snacks if we ask.”

Raven nearly declined, but he hadn’t eaten since lunch hours ago. Instead, he just nodded. Butters then turned and called to his mother to bring something up for them to eat a little later. She said she would, then Butters led Raven up the stairs to his room.

He spun around as Raven entered.

“Well, what do you think of my ‘crypt’?” His eyes searched his face for positive affirmation of his decor choices.

Raven looked around. It was just a normal room, a bed, a dresser, a desk, a shelf, posters on the walls, and toys scattered about. Nothing really stood out as abnormal. save for some rubber bats hanging from the fishing wire by the windows, anyway. Sometimes Raven forgot Butters was suppose to be a dorky Vamp Kid until little bits of their subculture poked through like this.

Instead of commenting on the extreme dorkness of the bats, Raven walked around, pausing to look at all the knick-knacks and pictures on the shelf. When he passed the dresser, he stopped to peer into the cage settled there. Attached with clothespins, a note card with glitter and stickers on it labeled the creatures within as 'Evil Minion 1’ and 'Evil Minion 2’ and 'Miss Alice Cullen.’

A small brown and white hamster poked its head out from under a fake log. It eyed Raven for a moment then crawled back under after deeming him uninteresting. The other hamsters didn't even bother to come out from hiding to examine him.

“You can take a seat on the bed if you want, or the desk chair,” Butters offered when Raven stepped away from the cage.

Raven took a seat on the bed, sipping his cocoa. It was watery but hot, so he didn’t complain.

“Thanks, Butters.” Raven leaned scooted until his back rested against the wall. His arm brushed against the thick blackout curtains that covered the window. Butters claimed that, while direct sunlight didn’t hurt him, it made him itchy and tired.

“So, whatcha doing out in weather like this?” Butters hopped down on the bed. “The weather report said it was gonna be a snowstorm.”

Raven stared down into his drink a moment before muttering, “Got into a fight with my dad. I don’t want to head home, and didn’t have anywhere else to go.”

Butters made a small sound of surprise before scooching to Raven’s side. He set a hand on his knee and offered a small, reassuring smile. Raven eyed his face a beat, then smiled back.

They stayed in silence. Raven greatly appreciated this. If it had been the other Goths, they would be biting at the bit to hear what happened, then proceed to bash his dad and his actions.

Any other time, Raven would be fine with that and feel validated, but not tonight. Tonight he just wanted to sit and warm up in the quiet of his thoughts.

The silence was broken sometime later when someone knocked on the door.

Mrs. Stotch peeked in.

“I made you boys some popcorn.” She pushed open the door. In her hands was a bowl of hot, buttery popcorn. Mrs. Stotch set the bowl on Butters’ desk then asked, “Do you want anything else? Have you have dinner yet, Raven?”

Her voice sounded a little too automated for Raven to reply with more than a shake of the head.

“I’ll cook you up something,” She said, then left.

As Butters went to retrieve the popcorn, Raven asked, “Ok, what is, like, up with your parents?”

Butters shrugged. “They’re being good parents. Caring, loving, respecting.” He turned back and his good eye flashed red. “Like I told them to be.”

He set the bowl in Raven’s lap before taking his seat again. Raven took a hand full and greedily shoved it into his mouth. He really had been hungry. No amount of angst and anger could cover that.

Around the popcorn, he said, “Oh, right. That persuade thing. I forget you can do that. You never do it around me, and you seem a little too nice to make someone do something they wouldn't want to anyway."

Butters pulled his legs up to cross them. He looked to the left like he was embarrassed. “Yeah, I don't like to use it. It's tiring and makes me feel kind of like a mean old bully if I use it on nice people. That's why Mom and Dad are the only ones I use that power on.” He smiled solemnly down at his hands. “It took becoming an unholy, blood-drinking monster to finally get my parents to respect me and treat me right. Kind of ironic, huh?”

There was a touch of sorrow in his laughter. Raven didn’t point it out. Of course Butters wouldn't use his power on normal, good people. His heart was too kind for that.

That sour taste filled his mouth again. A few more memories of Butters parents yelling and scolding their son in front of everyone rose up from the depths of Raven's mind, Butters wouldn't use his power on good people, but his parents weren't good people. They never had been.

“You’re not a monster, Butters,” Raven told him after swallowing down the taste. “You’re just different.”

Butters’ cheeks went pink, and he looked away. “Ah, shucks, Raven. It’s ok. I know I’m a monster. I accepted that a long time ago. Besides,” he grinned, “if I wasn’t, I wouldn't have become best friends with you again.”

Raven’s heart skipped a beat, and he suddenly remembered why he’d never taken Butters up on any of his sleepover offers.

Butters’ brow knit together.

“Raven, you ok? Your heart is beating like crazy. Is it because I called us ‘best friends’? I'm sorry if I offended you about it, but you are. You're my very favorite person.” He beamed at Raven and made Raven's heart beat even faster.

Raven felt his throat clench as he looked at Butters' soft, round face smiling right at him. Any solely platonic feelings he held evaporated away with the heat of his blush.

Butters, the kind, sweet, chatty ray of sunlight, thought Raven was his best friend, his very favorite person.

Did that mean Butters liked him back then? Could this be the foundation of something so much more?

Swallowing the lump forming in his throat, Raven made a snap decision.

“Do you have a quarter?” He blurted out. His volume took them both by surprise.

“Um, yes? I think so.” Butters rolled over to his bedside table and began to search the drawers. As he did, Raven swallowed down the rest of his cocoa then set the cup and bowl of popcorn carefully on the window sill.

The snow came down just as thickly as before, maybe even more so. It covered the road to the point it was impossible to tell where the sidewalk ended and the street began.

“Got one!” Butters announced as he held up the coin. Raven held his hand flat to take the quarter. Butters dropped it in his hand.

“Alright, just for tonight, I’m giving you a deal,” Raven said as he closed his fist around the coin. “Ninety-percent off the original price.”

Butters cocked his head to the side. Raven watched him do the calculations in his head for a few heartbeats before Raven’s offer clicked. His eyes grew wide.

“Raven, you...” His voice puttered out. He took a shaking breath, looking away, “Ha-ha, um, not to be rude, but a quarter wouldn't be ninety-nine off of fifteen.”

"It's not off of fifteen. It's off twenty-five."

Butters mouth opened into a large o-shape before he laughed again. "I don't think that's quite right either, math-mathemat...tical...ly...errr." His knuckles bumped against each other in front of him. He didn't turn his gaze up at Raven. He didn't look upset, only flustered.

“Either way, that’s my offer. Take it or leave it.” Raven pocketed his payment. He didn’t plan on giving it back, no matter what he chose.

“Take it! I take it!” Butters lunged forward, planting his hands on either side of Raven. Their faces were inches apart. From the end of his nose to the tips of his ears, every part of Butters' face was red. Raven's face wasn't much better.

As Butters moved in to press their lips together, Raven raised his hand and put it between them.

“I have one question.” He took a breath. “No matter what you say, we can still make out or whatever, I don’t care, but I have to know.”

“What is it?” Butters asked, falling to his knees.

“Do you like me? Like, not as a friend. Is that why you keep paying me for hugs and kisses? Or is it because I’m your only option?” He braced himself for the impending disappointment.

Butters’ lips twitched up before he snickered into his hand. “Well, of course, I like you more than a friend! I wouldn't pay for kisses if I didn’t. I just wasn't sure if you liked me back, you know? I mean, golly, Raven, you’re really handsome and down to earth, and you're the sweetest guy I’ve ever met, even to a nasty, old, cat killer like me. What isn’t there to like?”

A weight Raven hadn’t realized he was carrying fell from his shoulders. He lowered his hand a few inches, before slipping it around Butters’ head and pulling him close.

The kiss was different from every other they shared. This wasn’t a peck on the lips where they both held back their feelings. This had emotion behind their lips and Raven loved it. Butters lips were warm and soft and he never pushed himself too hard onto Raven. In fact, it was Raven who kept pulling him closer.

He found himself almost wanting to risk blacking out from loss of oxygen rather than end their deep, if somewhat clumsy, kissing.

Finally, he pushed Butters back by the shoulder, panting. In the end, his lungs won and he had to breathe again.

Butters seemed unaffected by the lack of air. His eyes sparkled and a goofy grin spread across his face. He wiped the saliva off his chin as Raven reached up to do the same to his own.

“Can we do that again? I have another quarter.” He started to twist around, but Raven shook his head.

“You don’t have to pay any more,” Raven told him.

“I don’t?” Butters practically shook with excitement. “That’s so great! So we can do that again, right? Can we kiss outside of my room? Like at school, or are we going to pretend we don’t know each other still?”

Raven thought on that a moment. A vamp kid like Butters and a hardcore Goth like Raven dating would cause a real stir amongst both their social circles. With any luck, he might be able to convince his friends that Butters was at least softcore Goth enough to be worthy of joining them.

As for what the vamp kids would say about it, well, Raven didn’t care. They can get along with drinking their Clamato juice and writing their Twilight fanfiction without Butters around.

“It’s whatever.” Raven raised a shoulder. “I don't care, and if I ask them, my friends — ” He winced, suddenly remembering his phone was dead. Now that he thought about it, his mom was probably worried too, and his dad was probably feeding her lies how Raven was overreacting and his dad wasn't being a complete ass.

“Butters, can I borrow a charger?” Raven pulled his phone out of his pocket. “My mom doesn’t know where I am. I don’t want her calling the police.”

Butters nodded, handing Raven his own phone, then took Raven’s from his hand. As Butters searched off the side of the bed for the charging cord, Raven dialed his mom’s number. It rang twice before she answered.

“Hey, Mom,” Raven said before she could speak.

“Raven! Oh, thank God, you’re ok!”

“Yeah, I’m at Butters’, um, the Stotch’s.” Raven crossed his legs. “It started snowing really hard, and Butters invited me in.” He caught Butters’ attention with a wave, making sure he knew the lie they were sticking to.

“So you’re alright? You’re not hurt?”

“No, Mom.” He took a breath. “Physically, I’m fine.”

From the other end of the line, Raven heard his mom shout the news. He heard his sister call him a ‘turd,’ but there was affection behind the muffled insult. He heard a few other voices he knew, like his Uncle Jimbo and Ned, but he didn't, however, hear his dad's through the din.

“Hey, is Dad there?” Raven asked.

“He is, in the living room, calling your friends. Do you want to talk to him?”

Raven wrinkled his nose up in disgust. “Hell no. I wanted to see if you could hold off telling him I’m safe. He deserves to feel horrible after all his bullshit.”

A heartbeat of silence then his mom questioned, “What did he do?”

Raven scoffed, “Same as always. He was a selfish prick.”

An exasperated sigh came through the phone. His mom knew how her husband acted all too well and didn’t need an elaboration more than that.

“I’ll talk to him,” She promised, though Raven knew nothing would change. “The storm is getting worse outside. Are the Stotches ok with you staying over tonight? Let me talk to an adult.”

Raven covered the phone with his hand. Butters simply nodded. He could hear the whole conversation as it happened. After shuffling off the bed, he darted to the door.

“Mooooooom,” He called, “can you come up here? Mrs. Marsh wants to talk to you on the phone.”

A few moments later, Mrs. Stotch stood in the door, Butters’ phone to her ear.

“Really, Sharon, it’s no trouble. No trouble at all,” She assured. “Raven can stay as long as he wants. I’m happy that Butters is spending time with a sweet boy like your son.”

“Ah, Mom,” Butters muttered, more to himself than to her. Raven wasn’t sure he would call ‘embarrassing your son’ good parenting. Maybe that was what Butters thought parenting entailed. Or maybe his powers didn’t go as far as Raven had thought.

Once their moms came to an agreement that Raven would stay until tomorrow when the storm was over, Mrs. Stotch passed the phone back to Raven. His own mom told him to behave, be safe, and that she loved him.

He told her he loved her too, refusing to meet Butters eyes as he did so, then hung up.

Mrs. Stotch clasped her hands in front of her. “I need to get back to the kitchen.” She began to leave, only to pause and look over her shoulder. The haze that hung in her eyes faded for just a moment, and in the most human, and authoritative, voice Raven had heard from her, she ordered, “You two keep your hands to yourselves, young men.”

With that, she left.

Butters actually looked surprised. “Huh.” He said. “She actually did some good parenting on her own. That’s unusual.” Butters pressed his side against Raven's, kissing under his ear. “Too bad I ain’t gonna listen.”

He paused, lips still pressed against Raven’s skin, before nervously asking, “If you’re alright with that.”

Raven turned his head then gave Butters a peck on the forehead. He wrapped an arm around his waist before resting his cheek against his hair.

Of course, this was all right with him. Might as well give his dad some real hickeys to flip shit over anyway.

~~~~

When Raven turned his phone back on a few hours later, he was bombarded with message after message, demanding to know where he was, if he was alive, and threatening him with violence if he was dead.

Ignoring the ones from his family, and flat out deleting those from his dad, Raven went to the Goth group chat.

“I’m alive. Fucking Dad was being an asshole and I left and my phone died. Sorry for worrying you.”

He didn’t think the last apology was all that Goth, but it seemed appropriate nonetheless.

Firkle was the first to reply.

“I’m getting you that replacement knife and stabbing you in the still beating heart.” His text held no emoji or indication he was joking. Knowing him, he probably wasn’t.

Michael and Henrietta’s messages came at the same time.

“what did ur dad do this time?” Asked Michael’s.

“Where are you now?” Was Henrietta’s.

Leaning against Butters, Raven replied, “He was a being a dick, as usual. And I’m at,” here, Raven paused in his typing to look at Butters. Butters was playing some point and click game with a cheerful anthropomorphic frog waving its arms in the corner. The game didn’t seem particularly hard, and Butters looked like he was enjoying himself.

“my boyfriend’s,” he finished, then sent the message.

That is what they were now. They both agreed on it a half hour ago. Raven Marsh and Butters Stotch were boyfriends. It still felt a little weird to wrap his head around, but he couldn't say he was displeased with this label on them.

At this point Pete joined the chat, being the first to see the message.

“Gross,” He sent, and Raven felt his heart sink until his second message came, “Who would want to date your sorry, flat ass? lmao”

Raven chuckled, earning a sideways look from Butters.

“Butters, you show up in selfies, right?” Raven asked.

Butters nodded, a little too enthusiastically. “Yup!”

“Good.” Raven slipped his arm around Butters’ shoulders then held the phone at an angle above them. Butters flashed a smile while Raven’s lips turned up just a fraction.

“Are you gonna put fun filters on it? I know a site you can put a sparkly filter that makes everyone look like an anime character,” Butters suggested brightly.

Raven sent the selfie. Never breaking eye contact with Butters as he did so. Sparkly filters weren’t Goth, and a sparkle filter on a Vamp Kid would be a little too on the nose.

Everyone’s reply to the selfie came all at once, talking over each other as much as they could in a text-based conversation.

“WTF”

“You have fucking weird tastes, Rav.”

“is that a VAMP kid?”

“is he paying you?”

“Dude of all the people”

“That’s my brother’s friend”

“Why a douchy vampire wannabe?”

“who played that hello kitty game.”

Raven rested his head on Butters’ shoulders. “Butters isn’t that bad once you get to know him. I like him. He's cute and very nice. You'll like him too.”

He hoped his friends took the hint. He would be bringing Butters around regardless. Butters deserved better than those weirdos he hung around with now. At least his friends would talk to him and include him in their conversations. Raven would make sure that happened himself.

“Is this going to be a Romeo and Juliet thing? Are you two going to die at the end? I’ll supply the poison.” Henrietta sent.

“Can I stab Rav then?” Pete asked.

“i think hes supposed to stab himself,” Michael commented

“Do I die in this?” came Firkle’s reply. "Hope so.”

Raven relaxed. If they were wholly against the idea of Butters joining them, they weren’t going to make their feelings known in the chat.

“Butters, do you want to start sitting with me and my friends at lunch?” He asked offhandedly.

Butters looked up in surprise. “Golly, would they be ok with that? I don’t think they like me much...” His expression held more discontent than disappointment. Considering The Goths — Raven included — had often mocked both Butters and the Vamp Kids, Raven couldn’t say he found that too shocking.

“They’ll like you. I can see you have a Goth side in you. We just need to scrape off the bats and vampire shit.”

“You can’t get all of it, but you can sure try,” Butters said with a smile and laugh. He then added, “And, if you think they’ll like me there, sure! I’d love to sit with you! We can hold hands in the lunch line, and I can carry your tray for you!” His eyes sparkled.

Raven almost burst his bubble that, no, Butters would not be carrying his tray, when Butters continued with, “It’ll sure be swell to sit with people who actually want to talk to me for once.”

Raven let out a suppressed sigh through his nose, before nodding. Maybe having your boyfriend carry your tray for you was more of a preppy relationship mood than a Goth one, but he supposed he could allow it. He would just need to remember to bring a large book or something with him so it looked like his hands were too full to carry it himself.

More than satisfied, Butters when back to his game and Raven adjusted himself against his shoulder.

At least his worries were put to rest, for a few hours. Once he had to go home, his life would be a nightmare. He didn’t want to deal with the fallout. He didn’t want to admit he had a boyfriend to his whole family and answer all the questions that would bring. He really didn’t want to have his Dad mutter forced apologies that to he was expected to return. He would so much rather stay at Butters, doing nothing and enjoying each others company.

Instead of dwelling on that, Raven sent a message to the Goth chat that he would be going to bed then idly watched Butters play on his laptop.

The frog in this mini-game was playing a swamp themed version of Pong, and Butters was beating it with ease. Raven's eyes wandered down to Butters’ hands as they zipped lightning fast across the keyboard.

“You’re good at this,” Raven commented.

“Thanks!” Butters chirped. “You can try next if you want.”

He declined, “No, I’m actually tired. Today was...a day.”

All of a sudden, he realized just how exhausted he actually was. His whole body felt heavy and a haze of sleep clouded his thoughts. His eyelids started to droop.

Seeing this, Butters jumped into action. He closed his laptop then scooched over, careful to make sure Raven didn’t fall down. With a smile, Butters proudly swung out his arm to offer the bed.

Raven blinked tiredly a few times before asking, “Where are you going to sleep?”

Did Butters want to sleep together? Would that be weird? They only started dating a few hours ago. Wasn’t Butters the kind of person to hog the bed? Or was that Kyle? Raven couldn’t remember.

Butters shook his head. “I don’t need to, but you do. Go on. My bed’s really comfy, and I washed the sheets just yesterday.”

Raven didn’t protest that. Instead, he kicked his shoes off before crawling under the covers. Maybe it was just because he was dog tired, but Raven had to admit, Butters was right about how comfy the bed was.

“I’ll get the lights for you.” Butters walked backward a few steps to the switch.

“Thanks,” Raven muttered with his eyes slipping shut. All the stress of the day melted away under the warm blanket, taking his conscience with it.

~~~~

His mom nearly crushed him in her embrace the next morning with his sister standing close behind. His dad hadn’t come to the Stotch’s to pick him up and Raven was ok with that.

After taking a second to look around and deciding that it was safe, he raised his arms and hugged her back.

“Don’t you ever worry me like that again,” She ordered when she pulled back. His mom placed a hand on his cheek, looking into his eyes.

“Sorry,” Raven muttered, but he didn’t go to move her hand. He let himself enjoy the maternal worry and affection he’d been avoiding for the last few years.

With a breath, he asked, “Did you talk to Dad? What did he say? This isn’t my fault.”

His mother sighed. She opened her mouth to speak, but his sister beat her to it.

“He said you were gay and that’s why you’re acting like,” Shelley gestured to him, “this.”

Raven’s face heated up. He took a step back, nearly bumping into Butters and Mrs. Stotch.

He grabbed for Butters’ hand, squeezing partly for support and partly as a point, before he stated flatly, “Just because I have a boyfriend doesn’t make me gay. Labels are stupid and for conformists anyway.”

A mild surprise crossed his mom’s face. She stood, shaking her head, as Shelley snorted into her hand and muttered, “Called it.”

“I hope he wasn’t too much trouble, Linda,” His mom said to Mrs. Stotch.

“Oh, he was a perfect gentleman all night,” Mrs. Stotch waved her hand. “Wasn’t too loud and didn’t make a mess, unlike the last time Butters brought over any of his little vampire friends.”

“Mom, stop, please!” Butters hid his face in his hands. Raven could see the tips of his ears turning pink.

“He was just wonderful,” she continued as if she didn’t hear her son whine. “There wasn’t one spilled glass of tomato juice anywhere.”

Raven tapped Butters’ side with their connected hands in a comforting display. Maybe Butters let his parents do this so he had someone to keep him humble, or maybe not. Raven would try to remember to ask later.

“Thank you again for letting him stay,” his mom replied. To Raven, she said, “Come on, honey. It’s time to go home.”

Raven nodded, disentangling his hands from Butters. He didn’t have mittens, but his mom had brought a coat with them. As he slipped the warm coat on, Shelley stepped closer.

She whispered, “He’s not going to try and break in through the window to suck your blood, is he?”

Raven nearly choked on air. His brain floundered for a reply until Shelley continued, “Eric told me when I was babysitting him, Butters did that to him once.”

Raven turned the sigh he let out into a dismissive snort halfway through. “Of course not, vampires aren’t real, Shelley. Get your head out of those trashy wastes of paper you read.”

Shelley put a hand on his shoulder and then shoved him roughly towards the door.

He stumbled but rolled his eyes in the end. This was still a step down from the fights they got into when they were younger.

As his family shuffled out with his mom yelling one more thank you to Mr. and Mrs. Stotch, Raven took a few steps off the porch. The snow came over his shoes and to his ankles. He could feel some of it fall into his shoes and melt on his socks.

He shuddered, trying to imagine what would have happened if he’d actually spent the night outside in that storm.

A few steps into the Stotch’s yard, the door opened again and Butters hurried out. He wasn’t wearing shoes, but the cold didn’t seem to bother him.

He pulled Raven into a hug then kissed his cheek before turning back on his heels and headed back to the house. Over his shoulder, Butters chirped, “Text me when you get home!”

Raven placed his hand over his cheek, smiling softly. Shelley looked over his shoulder at his face then snorted.

“Wow, just went right head over heels, huh? Didn’t know you had a kink for short, dark, and dorky,” She taunted, earning a glare. Raven shoved his hands into his pockets and marched past her.

“Screw you, at least I have a boyfriend,” Raven grumbled. He heard the low, threatening rumble in Shelley’s throat and picked up his pace, only to find himself tripping over the sidewalk and falling face first into the snow.

~~~~

He knew it was stupid to think that, now that they were dating, feedings would be a less disgusting and uncomfortable chore, but he did it anyway.

It was Sunday. Usually, Sundays were off days, a side effect of Raven tasting, as Butters claimed, “too Holy and Churchy.”

Raven didn't know what that meant and didn't bother to ask.

But Raven had been too tired the day prior and church had been canceled the night before due to the weather, so they agreed it would be best for Butters to just come over on Sunday night.

The moment Butters snuck through his window, Raven made a vow to somehow get revenge on his sister for how correct her joking prediction had been.

Raven leaned slight back against Butters. Butters wasn’t all that warm from his trip between their house, but he was soft. Reciprocating the affection, Butters tighten his grip around Raven’s middle.

Raven then eyes rolled over to his door. He locked it the moment Butters came tapping against the glass, as he didn’t want his dad trying to have a ‘bonding moment’ by bursting in when Raven was supposed to be in bed.

He nearly winced thinking about his dad. When he returned home Saturday, his dad offered a begrudging apology, and Raven accepted it just as begrudgingly. He knew full well that his dad wouldn’t stop whining about him being Goth, but at least the current familial drama had subsided.

Until next time...

Before Raven could dwell on that thought, Butters pulled back.

He licked his lips. “Ah, that’s good stuff.”

Raven grunted, scooting back farther between Butters’ legs until his back was pressed against his front. Butters snuggled against him, slightly too warm breath on Raven’s shoulders.

Nonetheless, this was peaceful. Raven shut his eyes, listening to the ticking of the clock on the wall, the wind outside, and his own breathing.

He tried to hold tight to the feeling of ease and store it away. School, he knew, would be more of a nightmare than usual. While Raven wasn't one of those preppy, conformist popular kids, a shake-up of the status quo between the Goths and the Vamps would definitely cause waves that would spread throughout the school.

Not that he cared about what everyone else would think. He was way to Goth for that.

The only problem he should be focusing on would be giving Butters a list of every topic he wasn’t allowed to talk about, now that Raven decided to turn him from a wannabe to an actual, independent, nonconformist Goth — like him and his friends.

But that could wait until the morning — all the repercussions and preparations could wait until the morning. For now, Raven wanted to just enjoy the moment of peace with his boyfriend.

~~~

I hope everyone enjoyed! This was a lot of fun to write. I really loved the artist's work and how Raven looked just 100% done and begrudging in their art! =D

Feel free to follow me here or on Ao3 (UAs_fics) for more of my written works if you enjoyed. :)

#sp stutters #stan marsh #Butters Stotch #fanfiction #goth!stan #raven marsh #multi-chapter #vampire butters

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little-red-beret · 6 years

Note

Something with a vomiting V and Jumin as a caretaker please. P.S. I love you

A/N: Happy new year, everyone! Welcome to 2018 and I hope all your New Years resolutions go well! My resolution is to be more organised, which includes completing and keeping on top of requests (we’ll see how that goes)! Even my sister wants me to get my shit together and bought me a planner to organise my life! Anyway, here’s my first story of 2018! I feel like I was so harsh, poor V… enjoy~!

V’s New Year’s Eve was fairly quiet this time around. He spent it in a bar with Jumin, sipping wine and talking, and then they had found their way to the rooftop of the bar to watch the Lotte World Tower fireworks go off at midnight. Compared to some of the previous years of heavy drinking and dancing with the rest of the RFA, this New Year’s Eve had been very peaceful and relaxing. Of course, V did not mind parties, and he was quite a heavyweight with his alcohol. But tonight he had only had one or two glasses of wine, certainly not enough to make him feel this nauseous.

Jumin was driving him home and already V had an inkling that being sick at some point tonight was inevitable. His stomach was flipping as though it were filled with live fish. His eyes were squeezed shut and he gripped the side of the car with a clammy hand as Jumin roughly navigated the bustling New Year’s traffic in a black Mercedes. While his body battled the nausea, his self-preserving instincts were at war with his humble consciousness:

I can’t stand this any longer.

Yes, I can. I must!

But I think I’m going to be sick. I actually might be soon, so I should get out of this car.

Alright, I’ll wait only a few more minutes.

Can I last that long?

V was extremely dubious about the answer to the last question. He was actually suppressing tiny lurches right now, his whole body tensing against the nausea that threatened to rise into his throat. Jumin’s terrible driving certainly was not helping the situation. He had given his chauffeur the night off due to the special occasion, even though that meant Jumin driving himself places. They had had three near death experiences in this trip alone, and V’s apartment was only a short distance from the bar they had gone to. The anxiety of it all was bringing a bad taste to V’s mouth, and the swerves and sudden stops made his stomach roll queasily.

A particularly dangerous wave of nausea sent burning acid creeping into V’s throat and his hand flying to his mouth. The sudden move must have caught Jumin’s attention. “Are you alright?” he asked calmly. If V hid it any longer, something catastrophic might have happened, so he decided to be honest: “Will you please pull over?” V asked politely, but his voice was raw and choked with acid, and the effort of speaking caused him to gag and cough at the end of the simple request. “Huh??” Jumin cried in alarm when he heard his friend’s frail voice. He veered quickly into the right lane, hopefully looking for a place to stop the car. V was too preoccupied with keeping his stomach settled to care. His body was trembling and his hand was the only thing keeping the vomit in his mouth separated from the expensive leather interior of Jumin’s car.

V wanted nothing more than to spit out the horribly sour taste in his mouth, but instead he focused on taking deep breaths and not throwing up again. If a second wave of vomit were to make its way up his throat, it would all be over. He gagged and convulsed as the car came to a screeching stop, but he refused to give in until he had undone his seatbelt. V opened the passenger door and tore his hand away from his mouth just in time, leaning away from the car and loudly gagging up everything that had been trapped inside him. Luckily the rush of traffic and impatient honking of horns muffled what would have been a rather disgraceful sound as vomit splashed into the gutter.

“V!” Jumin cried in horror. V did not blame him for being worried— a ridiculous amount of sick was pouring out of him right now, with violent coughing and retching to match it. When the ordeal was over, V hung over the mess in the gutter, gripping the doorframe for support. He felt no better than when he had needed to throw up. The whole scenario was very suspicious.

“What’s wrong? Why are you sick?” Jumin inquired, his usually smooth voice edged with worry. “I—“ V swallowed and tried again. “I’m not really sure. I haven’t been feeling that well since midnight.” “I’ll get you home.” Jumin promised gently. They were only a block away, but V was uncertain about his ability to actually travel any further when he felt so sick. As if reading his mind, Jumin opened the glove box and produced a sick bag. V looked at it in surprise, and then lowered his sunglasses to give Jumin a judgemental side-eye that said ‘of all the things, why do you have a sick bag in your Mercedes’. Jumin replied with a facial expression that read something like ‘I don’t know, leave me alone’.

V decided not to question it anymore and accepted the bag. Then he shut the door, and they resumed their journey home. He laid back against the seat, closing his eyes once again. Drops of sweat slowly rolled down his face, and his stomach was churning as though he had never been sick. The bitter taste in his mouth told him otherwise.

“What might have made you sick?” Jumin pondered as he sped back out onto the road. “That’s a good question,” V replied weakly. He really was not in the mood for this kind of conversation. “I certainly didn’t drink much.” “Food poisoning?” Jumin suggested. “Ah, but I ate the same thing as you and I’m alright.” V’s mouth was becoming slick with bile again. “Um…. Jumin….” he uttered shyly. “Can we please discuss this topic later? Right now…. I still….” “Oh! How insensitive of me, V!” Jumin cried. He braked quickly to avoid ramming into the car in front of them.

The rest of the ride was spent in silence, aside from Jumin regularly checking up on V to make sure he was feeling okay. V answered with a yes every time although he felt just as rotten as before. Jumin could probably see through the hollow lies, anyway. They knew each other like bread and butter. When they arrived at V’s apartment block Jumin walked alongside his friend, eyes scanning him cautiously and gauging his condition. V was rather impressed with himself for making it this far, but when they entered V’s apartment he promptly rushed to the sink.

V hovered over it for a moment, gagging and lurching, but in no time at all he was throwing up again. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Jumin fretting in the doorway, unsure of what to do. Even in this condition V actually felt guilty for making Jumin worry about him, but there was nothing he could do to reassure him right now.

V retched and vomited for almost five minutes. In a brief moment of reprieve he gasped for air. His body was shaking like a leaf and his turquoise hair hung around his face, damp at the edges with sweat. Jumin was now sitting on a stool on the other side of the kitchen bench, drumming his fingers anxiously against the counter. Finally able to speak, V took the opportunity to comfort his friend. “I’m sorry for making you worry,” he panted thickly. He could sense a stunned pause emanating from Jumin’s rigid, alert figure. “V, please worry about yourself for a second. You should be in hospital!” Jumin exclaimed in disbelief. “You don’t think the hospital is a bit much?” V asked the sink. “It’s one o’clock.” “You should go, just to make sure this is nothing serious. I’ll take you.” Jumin insisted. “I suppose I’ll go,” V concluded. “but is it alright if I rest first?” “Of course, V.”

Instead of resting, V moaned and belched into the sink. Jumin’s eyebrows were furrowed with sympathy and concern. He walked around to V’s side of the sink and stopped beside him. As V gagged and spat up a mouthful of sick into the sink, Jumin began patting his back awkwardly. “It’s okay, Jumin—“ V choked. “You don’t have— to do that—“ he continued to retch uselessly, but he was glad to have gotten his words out. Jumin was not particularly good with comforting sick people and was probably uncomfortable.

As expected, Jumin’s hand left his back immediately. “If there’s anything else I can do to make you feel better, just tell me.” V’s shoulders heaved as he caught his breath. “Just stay by my side, okay?” Even that was asking for a lot. It was not easy to be around someone who was constantly throwing up. And yet, the gentle promise that came from beside him was enough to give V hope. “Okay.”

#sickfic #mystic messenger #v #jumin han #vomiting #stomach bug #food poisoning #virus #new years eve #mysme #mysme v #mysme jumin #kim jihyun

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trash-the-tozier · 6 years

Text

The Disappearance of Georgie Denbrough (6/10)

Title: The Disappearance of Georgie Denbrough

Length ~60.8k (~5.4k for this part)

Summary: The summer between junior and senior year of high school, Bill’s little brother Georgie goes missing.

Warnings: It’s relatively canon-typical in terms of content. For this part there’s explicit language, violence, and some kisssssssing and a lil cheesy villain dialogue

Pairings: eventual Richie/Eddie and Ben/Beverly

A/N: oh h*ck this is one of my fave chapters I hope you guys like it! also posted to my ao3 here (much more readable tbh) Previous Parts: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5

“Richie, why the hell are you here? It’s barely after eight. I didn’t know you woke up any later than ten-thirty.”

Stan had already been dressed for the day for a little while, so Richie didn't really get why his friend was so surprised to see him. Besides, the words weren’t true anyway; Richie had to be conscious at five forty-five to make it down the trellis in time for Sonia Kaspbrak’s Six O’clock Son Check-in Ceremony. He couldn’t be there for that.

“I'm here because I know you already went to the Jewish Church--”

“Synagogue.”

“--for all your religious fun time, but your parents are gonna be there for a couple more hours. So I figured we could hang. Chat. Plus!” He adjusted an invisible monocle. “I am absolutely smeckish, my old chap! You do have sustenance, I presume.”

“Peckish.” Stan corrected, standing back to let Richie inside. “I don't think 'smeckish’ is a word in any version of the English language.”

“My dear Stanley, didn't you know I was speaking French?”

Stan gave him a grin and let out a fast breath through his nose, which in Richie's book, was completely raucous laughter from his friend, turning to head to the kitchen.

“That’s been a French accent this whole time?”

Richie bounded up to walk next to him, turning up his palms and shrugging.

“Who's to say?”

Stan laughed properly at that. Richie helped himself to the half-full pot of coffee Stan's parents must have left behind, counting the number of teaspoons of sugar he put in, able to point at Stan without looking when his expression changed to one of vaguely disgusted disbelief.

“I can't just drink it plain.” He protested. “I refuse to drink plain bean water.” It was too bitter and acidic.

“Okay, but all that sugar can’t be any better.”

“Whatever, it’s manlier than the hot chocolate you drink all the time.”

“Debatable.” Stan ran a hand through his curls. “This is what Eddie has to deal with constantly? He must have been a saint in his past life.”

“That little firecracker? Nah. He was definitely a stripper.”

Stan’s eyebrows shot up his forehead.

“Nobody wants that but you.” He said, and while Richie hadn’t genuinely been thinking about it before, just saying something he thought would be funny, he was definitely thinking about it now. He pushed the mental image from his mind, willing his face to stay a neutral color and scoffed, keeping his mouth covered by his mug.

“What, would you prefer Bill?”

Stan promptly choked on what Richie could only assume was his tongue and Richie grinned in satisfaction. Stan hastened to change the subject.

“This is stupid. Didn’t you say you wanted to… Chat, or something? About what?”

Richie swallowed. This was as good a time as any, he supposed. Nerves sat heavily in his stomach, churning like molten lead, and he placed the coffee back on the kitchen counter without having drunk it. He suddenly felt as though he just might throw up on Stan, but he reminded himself that he wanted to do this.

“Stan. The. Man.” Richie sat down slowly next to him, his feet in cadence with his words. Right foot, left foot, then his butt touched the chair. “I have something I need to tell you. Or… I just wanted to tell you first, because if I don’t say something to someone soon I think I’m going to explode.”

“Then talk, because I don’t want Richie guts all over my kitchen.”

“Eh.” Richie made a show of looking around. “Might liven up the place.”

Stan simply looked at him, expectant, and Richie could tell Stan knew he was stalling. Richie was nervous to talk to Stan about as often as Bill managed to say a full sentence, so Stan must know something was up. The last time Richie remembered feeling this way was years ago, after meeting Stan’s parents for the first time and wanting desperately for them to like him. He’d asked Stan what they’d thought, and Stan had been honest--“loud and messy, but he seems okay”--and Richie realized he appreciated the honesty more than a lie that could perhaps have been kinder.

Stan would be genuine with him; that’s why Richie was here. His fingers twitched, and he wished he had something to busy his hands with.

“I’ve been… I dunno, thinking lately.” He began.

“Hurt yourself?” Stan asked him. “It’s usually hard to do things for the first time.”

“Fuck off.” Richie grinned back, but the expression dropped off his face almost at once. “A couple of days ago, I kinda… Well… I’m in love with Eddie.”

There, he said it. He’d repeated it over and over on his own the day before, until there was a stupid smile on his face, but this was different. This was a confession. He swallowed, waiting a beat, gathering the courage to look Stan in the face.

Stan had barely reacted, simply staring at him, the minor tilt of his eyebrows making him look slightly incredulous. Silence stretched between them--it probably didn't last for more than a couple seconds, but to Richie it felt like years--before he couldn’t take it anymore, nausea curling in his stomach, heat rising to his face in a splotchy flush as he sprang to his feet.

“Fuck Stan, if you’re so goddamn disgusted then I’ll just let myself out.”

He turned to the door, Stan’s hand closing in a vice-like grip around his wrist before he could take a step. He wheeled around to face his friend, wrenching his arm back.

“Don’t touch--”

“Shut up, Richie. I didn’t fucking say anything like that. I just… You really are an idiot, aren’t you?”

Richie kept his mouth closed, his lips pressed into a thin line, but his nostrils flared.

“I just thought you already knew.” Stan explained. “I mean… If I could tell, I thought it would be obvious to the person actually in the situation.”

“You could tell? Since when?”

“When was the first time you called him cute? That was like…” Stan pretended to think back, counting on his fingers to nothing in particular. “...what, the first day you saw him?”

“Fuck off.” Richie said again, the phrase holding about as much malice as it had the first time: none, with a side of embarrassment. “Is this going to be old news to everybody but me?”

Stan shrugged. That was a question he didn’t have an answer for.

“Either way, we all love you back, Richie. Even Eddie, I think. So don’t worry so much about it.”

Richie’s stomach flipped over itself and he sat back down for a moment, going over each of Stan’s words, letting them wash away all of the pent up anxiety in his chest. Stan gave him an amused, sympathetic sort of look and put an arm awkwardly around his shoulders, giving him a quick squeeze before walking towards the stove.

“You said you were hungry?”

“Always!” Richie called back, loud to an unnecessary degree, hopping to his feet to help. He couldn’t stop grinning, the aftershocks of his nerves making him shaky and jittery for a solid twenty minutes, despite Stan’s reassurances that really, he was stupid to be so concerned in the first place.

“What had you so freaked out?” Stan asked as Richie took a huge bite of toast, using his other hand to stab scrambled eggs onto his fork. “Have any of us ever given an indication that we would be less than completely okay with it? I mean, Eddie came out to us a couple years ago, and we were fine then.”

The toast suddenly felt like cardboard in Richie's mouth, Stan watching his expression critically. Richie watched his friend put his fork down in realization.

“You aren't okay with it.” He remarked.

“No, no, it's not that.” Richie said quickly, and for once Stan didn't criticize him for speaking with food in his mouth. “I just… Didn't think… It's just different, you know, than what I thought about myself. I talk about macking on girls all the time, and my parents have made it pretty clear how they feel, and…”

“Eddie's mom.” Stan added, and Richie swallowed.

“Yeah, Eddie's mom. D'you think this is why she hates me?”

“No.”

The bluntness in Stan’s answer made Richie laugh a little, shrugging needlessly and leaning back in his chair. He kept his eyes on the table.

“But anyway, I dunno. I'm pretty sure I’m still into girls and stuff, but I just had this moment where I really wanted to kiss him the other day, and…” Richie was back in the moment, Eddie's body pressed against his in the darkness, Eddie’s head resting against his shoulder, Eddie’s lips light, just barely there against the side of his neck. “I don’t even know what to do. I’m a fucking smitten kitten.”

“Yeah.” To Richie’s surprise, there was a smile on Stan’s face. “You are.”

“Fuck off.” Richie told him for the third time that morning, Stan laughing a little bit. The house phone rang and Stan got to his feet to answer it, and Richie going back to finishing up his breakfast.

“Oh, hey Bill. What happened?”

Richie watched Stan’s expression, frowning as he watched Stan do the same.

“Nothing? Are you sure? But--” Stan’s eyes went wide. “Bill, if he was in your house--no!”

“What’s going on?” Richie asked, but Stan disregarded him.

“I know what I said, but… No, you aren’t going by yourself. No, you and Beverly aren’t going alone.”

“Whatever it is, I’ll come too!” Richie yelled, Stan turning to him with a look that clearly told him he wasn’t helping.

“...yes, Richie’s here. No, because this is stupid.”

Then Stan was silent for a long while, his face becoming increasingly unsettled.

“Bill… Fine. We’ll meet you there.”

“What’s up?” Richie asked. Stan looked a little too green to finish his last piece of toast so Richie ate it for him, talking around the buttered bread. “Where are we going?”

Stan looked as though even saying the name was a bad idea, but he did it anyway.

“The Neibolt house.”

Mike hadn’t ever been to the Neibolt house, but upon first glance he knew that he would be happy to never see it again. It was dark and scary, and he found himself wishing he’d brought something--anything--to defend himself with. He was second to last to arrive, standing in the front yard with the rest of his friends, Beverly approaching just as Bill finished his explanation of the previous day’s events.

“We really shouldn’t be here.” Eddie said quickly. “I mean… A guy died here, Bill. Yesterday. Doesn’t that freak you out?”

“Besides, the message told you to stay away. This is the exact opposite.” Ben pointed out. “Couldn’t that be bad?”

“If I-I-I don’t t-try to get G-Georgie out, no one e-e-else will.” Bill said. His fists were clenched. “I’m going inside, w-w-whether you’re with m-me or not. But…” He looked around at them. Richie, who was already standing by Bill’s left side, stepped closer and put an arm around his shoulders.

“Lead the way, chieftain!”

Bill gave Richie a hesitant smile. Beverly stepped up too, then Eddie, then Ben. Mike glanced over at Stan, who looked back. It was fairly evident that Stan didn’t want to do this, and didn’t want to be here, but he looked painfully conflicted. Mike felt the same way, but he knew they had to help.

“We’re all in.” He said, keeping eye contact with Stan until he nodded. Then he turned to Bill. “Let’s do this, I guess.”

Bill nodded, then led the way up the front steps. Ben and Beverly were stationed outside the front door, mostly to keep a lookout in case any cops showed up. Stan and Mike himself were in charge of looking around the first floor, while Bill, Richie, and Eddie were headed for the stairs.

“B-be careful.” Bill warned them all. “Watch y-your step, and stuff.”

The only inside light was the sun coming in through cracks in the boarded up windows. The floor creaked as they crossed the threshold, and Mike looked around. Aside from some blood on the floor that looked fairly new, it was apparent that everything else about the place was incredibly old. The house looked as though it had been abandoned for longer than Mike had been alive. The three exploring upstairs continued on, and Mike was left to pick through the dusty kitchen with Stan.

“Be careful.” Stan was murmuring to himself, his voice disbelieving. “Right. In this place.”

“I didn’t misread that, did I?” Mike had to ask. “You did want to come in, right?”

“Well, ideally, none of this would be happening. It would be a normal summer, and we'd be out at the quarry, or dragging Richie out of the arcade to see a movie, or…” His voice was increasing in pitch as he spoke, so he stopped to calm down, letting his shoulders fall. “But yeah. I want to help, this is just…”

“Just fucking insane.” Mike offered. “I know.”

Stan sighed, walking over to the fireplace and looking in.

“This place really does seem empty.” He remarked, just as a bang and muffled curse sounded from upstairs.

“Richie?” Stan asked loudly.

“Fuck. Shit! That hurt.” Richie continued loudly, the gaps between the old floorboards making it easy to hear. It was Bill that called down to them.

“Watch for t-t-tripwires!” He said, Stan closing his eyes.

“Fucking tripwires. Who set all this shit up? There’s a bear trap over here next to the couch.” He gestured, Mike walking over to look, frozen in place when another noise came from the second story of the Neibolt house. That one was an obvious door slam, a strangled scream being very quickly cut off.

“Eddie!” Richie’s voice, frantic, then more slamming sounds. Both Bill and Richie started yelling Eddie’s name, Mike turning towards the stairs to help when Stan grabbed his arm. He pointed up, directly above them, and when Mike fell silent he could hear it. Heavy, cadenced footsteps, with the steady sound of something being dragged across the floorboards. Eddie.

Then the spot where Eddie was became a mass of pounding noises, the sound of a struggle, so sudden and violent that Mike nearly jumped out of his skin. Wood splintered and the floor above them cracked, pieces of debris crashing onto the dining table next to them. Mike shoved Stan one way and ran the other as an entire chunk of ceiling collapsed, Eddie falling through on his back, a figure overtop of him. They completely flattened the table in a tumultuous amount of sound, dust exploding out in a blinding haze.

For a moment, as the air settled, everything was silent. Mike was able to see the scene in the kitchen as the dust cleared, a sickening jolt of fear lurching in his stomach. Stan was standing, wide-eyed and trembling, no less than a foot away from the collapsed dining table. Aside from a few stray cuts though, he seemed mostly unscathed. Eddie was on his back, looking dazed and barely conscious, his right arm unnaturally bent and held aloft by the person standing over him. It was a man, his feet planted solidly as though having landed that way, his outfit dirty grey and ruffly, with a flash of cartoonishly bright orange hair.

The clown turned to look at Stan in a slow, mechanical movement.

“Hello.” He said, grinning wildly.

Stan scrambled backwards in panic, the clown giggling loudly and turning back to Eddie. He shook Eddie’s broken arm, but only a faint sound came from Eddie’s lips as he kicked his feet, still fighting, trying to twist away.

“No more screaming? That’s just no fun.” The clown--Pennywise, it had to be Pennywise--let Eddie’s arm fall, the limb hitting Eddie’s chest uselessly. A crash came from the staircase and Bill and Richie were there, Richie vaulting over the banister with Bill fast on his heels.

“Eddie--!”

Pennywise turned on his heel, Mike taking advantage of the distraction to lunge forward and grab one of the disconnected table legs. Before he could talk himself out of it he swung, cracking the wood across the back of the clown’s head. It splintered on impact and Pennywise stumbled away, giving himself a few good shakes. When he turned to the five of them, there was a smile on his lips but his eyes looked murderous.

“Who thought that would be funny?” He asked. “That wasn’t funny.” He took a step towards them and Mike began backing away, tripping over Bill’s legs and grabbing at the wall for leverage. Pennywise set his eyes on Eddie, whose eyelids were fluttering, his grip tight on Richie’s shirt.

“At least let me finish what I started.” He said, almost as though the request was something reasonable, picking up an oversized serving fork from a pile of silverware that had been lying on the counter next to him. He bent, as though trying to lower himself to their level, then began to advance.

He didn’t get far. With a wild yell, Ben and Beverly jumped into the house, Bev holding a rusted metallic rod. It was pointed at one end like a picket for a fence, and she took the spiked end, plunging it in the clown’s direction. It pierced through his thigh and he roared in anger, swiping at her. Ben stepped in the way, the fork sharper than it looked, ripping through the fabric of his shirt and into his chest. Pennywise was bleeding badly, limping as he retreated backwards from the kitchen, and once he had left the room the air felt incredibly still.

“Don’t let him get away!” Bill shouted desperately, scrambling to his feet and running after the clown, ignoring Beverly’s call after him.

“We need to get the fuck out of here.” Richie’s voice was high in panic. He’d pulled Eddie into his lap as much as he could, the smaller teen now unconscious. “Bill’s the only one that drove here.”

Nodding in understanding, Mike rushed off the way Bill had gone. He found him in a dark back room, pounding at what looked like a manhole cover.

“H-h-h-h-he’s down here!” Bill protested when Mike grabbed at his shoulders to pull him away. “H-h-he--”

“We need to leave.” There were tear tracks through the storm of dust on Bill’s face, his eyes wide, and Mike held his gaze. “Listen. We need to go. Eddie needs help, and you’re the one that drove. We need to get him to a hospital, do you hear me?”

Bill was breathing rapidly, but after a few seconds he let out a shuddering breath and nodded. They returned to find everyone leaving, Eddie in Richie’s arms, Stan helping support Ben down the front steps. Bill offered up his keys, and he looked so unfit to drive that Mike took them. Mike didn’t know how to drive though, and eventually the keys made their way into Beverly’s hands, and they were speeding down the street.

Everyone at the hospital knew Eddie by name, and when Sonia Kaspbrak arrived none of them were allowed to stay. She cursed them all thoroughly in the parking lot, their feeble protests only infuriating her further before she stormed inside.

“O-o-okay.” Bill was taking breaths, looking as though he was processing and calming down, his chest still heaving slightly. Stan looked like the exact opposite was happening to him, his body stock still, his eyes a little too wide. Ben had stopped bleeding, and Richie was a desperately anxious, restless mess. “Okay.”

Everyone looked at him, and he looked back until he realized they were waiting for him to speak.

“I saw the w-well he went into.” He said. “So now w-w-w-we know where he is. When we g-g-go back--”

“Go back?” Richie echoed. He sounded stunned. “Go back? Are you fucking insane?!”

“Richie, n-next time--”

“No! No next time, Bill! You know that I would follow you blind into a minefield but this was a fucking shitshow! We are not doing this again.”

“Rich--”

“No!” Richie said again, even louder. “What part of this are you not getting, Bill? Ben's all ripped to shit again, that monster could've gotten any of us, almost killed Eddie… How could you possibly be thinking--”

“What about G-Georgie?”

“What about him?”

The question caught Bill off guard, simply staring at him for a few moments in disbelief. Tension hung dangerously in the air.

“H-h-he’s there, he's in that house--”

“No, Bill. You're fucking delusional. No one is there except that goddamn clown. It's been weeks, okay? Georgie's dead, and you will be too if you keep this shit up.”

The entire group was wide-eyed. Bill's lips twisted in anger and he shoved Richie in the chest, sending him stumbling backwards into Stan.

“You fucking t-t-t-take that back.”

Richie pushed him back, following up and getting in Bill's face. Mike felt his arms tense, readying himself to grab Richie if it looked like he needed to be held back.

“You couldn't save him Bill, but you could still save yourself.”

“Take it back!”

“Stop it!” Beverly shouted, but before any of them could react, Bill swung and punched Richie in the face. Richie stumbled backwards and fell, looking enraged, leaping to his feet like a bottle rocket and lunging in Bill's direction. Mike grabbed at him, Stan doing the same on the other side. Richie struggled, his elbow nearly hitting Mike in the nose.

“Fine! Hunt down a fucking clown! But stop trying to get us killed too, and if you care at all, about any of us, don't make us watch.”

Then he wrenched himself free and was gone. Stan followed after him, though Mike doubted he would be able to catch up. As much as Mike hated to admit it, he felt himself siding with Richie; there wasn't a logical way to look at this situation and think that going back to Neibolt was a good idea. He made to leave as well, Beverly calling after him in surprise.

“Mike?”

“This is bad, guys.” Mike shook his head. “I'm an outsider. Always have been. And it's pretty obvious that this town doesn't want me, either. I'm sorry.”

Knowing he wouldn't be able to stand the expression on Bill's face, Mike didn't look back as he walked away.

The first thing Eddie registered was pain. It started as a dull ache in his right arm, but the more his brain returned to consciousness, the more it hurt. His face twisted slightly into a wince but he didn’t want to wake up yet, remembering that his arm was broken. He thought back, remembering his mother stuffing him with pills and leading him up to his room to sleep. A little further back, he remembered leaving the hospital. He remembered opening his eyes in a hospital bed, his mother’s face looming over him. The longer into his memory he searched, the hazier the moments got, and he nearly gave up.

Then the clown was there, right behind his eyelids, grinning madly and closing a gloved hand around Eddie’s throat. He gasped, his eyes flying open, trying desperately to sit up. Pain shot up his arm when he attempted to use it and he fell back against his pillows, struggling breaths in through gritted teeth.

“Eddie! Eddie. You’re okay. You’re home. It’s fine.”

Richie’s voice, fingers tangling with his own in the darkness. Lips pressed gently to his knuckles and Eddie looked around, seeing Richie sitting next to his bed on the desk chair he’d pulled up. He was doused in the silver moonlight streaming through the open window blinds, reaching up with his free hand and brushing Eddie’s hair back from his forehead.

“You’re okay.” He murmured, his breath warm against Eddie’s knuckles, Eddie feeling the panic in his chest subsiding.

“Richie.” He said quietly, loosening his hold on Richie’s hand, hoping he hadn’t hurt him, and Richie gave him a small sort of smile.

“The one and only.”

Then he broke eye contact and sat up straighter, trying to pull away, but Eddie gripped his hand again, unwilling to let him go. Richie resigned himself to the contact and let their hands rest on Eddie’s bedspread, looking at him with concern.

“How are you feeling, Spaghetti Man?”

“I’m fine.” Eddie lied. Richie’s gaze flicked pointedly to his cast. “Okay, my arm hurts. But other than that I really am fine. Stop looking at me like I'm dying. I don't have cancer or something dumb like that.”

Richie chuckled a bit, his voice incredibly soft.

“What about everyone else?” Eddie assumed they were alright, thinking that otherwise Richie would have already told him, and Richie shrugged a little.

“Okay. Nothing too bad. Stan has a few splinters in his face from when you did that swan dive through the second story floor and scared the shit out of everyone.”

Richie’s mention of the moment drew Eddie back into it, the clown gripping his arm and knocking his feet out from under him, Eddie able to regain his wits just enough to kick and flail, not that it had helped much. Richie squeezed his fingers gently, bringing him back to the present.

“Ben kinda got cut up again, but not as much as the first time. Come to think of it, he’s probably going to have some pretty badass scars when everything heals over. Maybe I should get on that, see if I can get Bowers to try to kill me so I can look badass too.”

“It wouldn’t take much persuading.” Eddie remarked, and the little jab had Richie beaming at him. The motion caused his cheekbones to catch the light and Eddie noticed something, frowning.

“What happened to your face?”

“This handsome mug? It’s a blessing and a curse.”

“No, you have a bruise.” He pointed. Richie reached up and touched the injury, making himself wince. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah Eds, I’m fine.” Richie both looked and sounded slightly incredulous. “You aren’t in any state to worry about me.”

“What happened?”

“I…” Richie looked down at their entwined hands. “I had a fight with Bill. He punched me. Knocked me on my ass, to be honest.”

“Wait, what?” Eddie tried to sit up but couldn’t, Richie letting him go to help him upright. “When? Why?”

“It was after we’d dropped you off at the hospital.” Now that Richie's hands were free his fingers were searching for something to fiddle with, restless. “I was scared. We all trusted him, and he led us into that place. He let this happen to you.”

“He didn’t let this happen to me.” Eddie said sharply. “We all knew it wasn’t safe. And I’m fine, remember?”

“But he wants to go back!” Richie ran his fingers roughly through his hair, tugging at the curls that didn’t cooperate. “That fucking clown almost killed you, and he wants to go back.”

“His brother…” Eddie began, but Richie was biting hard on his lip, shaking his head.

“I want to help him, of course I do, but… I can’t lose you, Eds. I love you too much. I couldn't take it.”

“Richie…” Eddie wanted to comfort him, but didn’t know what to say. That was usually Richie’s job; they’d reached the point in any serious conversation of theirs where Richie would crack some stupid joke, break the tension, ruin the moment. But when Richie continued to stay silent, simply searching his eyes, Eddie felt the words crash over him again. “You’re serious.” He breathed.

Richie nodded, looking nervous, his eyes falling to Eddie’s blankets where he found a stray string, picking at it.

“I’m in love with you. I think I have been for a while, but I'm just a fucking idiot.” He laughed a little, looking beautiful and vulnerable all at once, and it was so surreal that Eddie felt tears stinging his eyes.

“I swear Tozier, if this is some fucking joke, or--” His voice was thick and choked up and he cut himself off, hating the way it sounded. Richie looked worried, his hands hovering around Eddie's face as though wanting to console him but not knowing how.

“Shit, am I not doing this right?” He asked. “I'm not just saying this because some chucklefuck bastard tried to kill you. I was going to tell you anyway. I talked to Mike, and Ben, and Stan about it, and… I'm in love with you, Eddie, and I wanted you to know.”

Eddie didn't know what to do. He didn't know what to say, not trusting that his voice would work even if he tried. He'd never allowed himself to fantasize about “what if”s, thinking it was too unrealistic and that it would hurt too much, and now he was completely unprepared.

Richie, always bad with silences, was already backing away. He was retreating into himself, the beginnings of panic starting to show on his face. Eddie, still hopelessly stunned, did the only thing he could think of. He grabbed Richie by his shirt front and kissed him.

It was clumsy. Eddie pulled him in with too much force, their noses smushed together uncomfortably, and with Richie completely still against him, Eddie was suddenly terrified that he’d gone too fast. Pushed too hard. But he didn’t want to pull away, desperate not to ruin this moment, and a heartbeat later Richie completely melted against him.

First kisses weren’t perfect, but at the same time, this one was. Richie’s lips were slightly chapped, rough as they slid over Eddie’s, and it was all Eddie had not to sigh against his mouth. He reached up to thread his fingers softly through Richie’s hair, and at his touch Richie drew back, speechless.

“Wow, Eds.” He finally said, and Eddie had to blush at the coarseness in Richie’s voice. “You kiss almost as well as your mom.”

Eddie stared him in the face for a full ten seconds, Richie breaking down into giggles five seconds in.

“Fuck you, Trashmouth.”

“Is that an invitation?”

Eddie punched him in the arm and Richie jumped him, wrapping him completely in a hug. They collapsed on the bed together in a messy pile of limbs and Eddie heard himself laugh, Richie pressing a few kisses to the side of his head.

“Richie--”

“You need to sleep.” Richie interrupted. “I kinda woke you in the middle of the night. I’ll have to be gone in the morning--you know, your mom and all--but call me when you wake up, okay?”

“Richie--”

“And make sure you take your meds.” Richie was nervous, talking quickly, and Eddie really wasn’t sure why, but he could feel Richie tensing up next to him. “Especially painkillers for your arm.”

“Richie--”

“And--”

“Richie!” Eddie flicked Richie in the forehead to shut him up. When it worked, he pressed a chaste kiss to Richie’s cheek, situating himself comfortably by his side, under Richie’s arm. “Richie, I love you too.”

“...oh.”

Eddie enjoyed the starstruck expression on Richie’s face for a few seconds, realizing a moment later that his eyes were welling up, the tip of his nose turning red. Unable to give him a hug, Eddie just buried his face into Richie’s chest.

“That was supposed to make you happy.” He mumbled into Richie’s shirt, feeling Richie shake his head.

“I am happy.” He said, his voice rough and he swallowed thickly, Eddie looking back up at him. “I’m so damn happy Eddie, I--”

He cut himself off, tilting Eddie’s mouth to meet his own, kissing him. There was so much intensity behind the action, so much emotion behind the pressure of his lips as they slid across Eddie’s own that Eddie felt something in his chest ache. He pressed closer and Richie pulled him in, wrapping an arm around his waist, holding him even after the kiss had broken. Eddie felt completely breathless, Richie taking a deep breath of his own.

Then, to Eddie’s astonishment, he began murmuring out apologies, something about not asking if a kiss was okay, Eddie simply shaking his head and pulling Richie’s lips to his again.

“You are not actually trying to apologize for the best kiss I’ve ever had.”

Richie grinned a little, resituating the both of them on the bed, and Eddie somehow found himself on top of Richie, laying against his chest.

“But aren't I like… The only kiss you’ve ever had?”

“Hey, Richie?”

“What?”

“Shut the fuck up and just let me kiss you.”

Richie flushed, laughing at him.

“Anything for you, Eds.”

“And don’t call me that.” Eddie muttered, and he leaned in.

#it 2017 #reddie #reddie fic #benverly #benverly fic #bill denbrough #beverly marsh #ben hanscom #mike hanlon #stanley uris #richie tozier #eddie kaspbrak #tdogd #myfic

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