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thereddeadredeemed · 3 years

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An Ironwood meta that just randomly popped into my head.

So I’ve been skimming over a lot of the observations on RWBY from @bionic-jedi and aside from the glurge of absolutely adorable Nuts ‘n Dolts stuff (Which I appreciate, I ship it now), the part that really got my attention was all the shit going down around Ironwood. I don’t watch the show anymore, not that I hated it or anything I just sorta lost interest in the show itself, decided it ultimately wasn’t really for me and mainly just enjoy it through fanart and shipping now, but from what I gathered from bionic-jedi’s Let’s Watch Ironwood sounds absolutely fascinating in all the ways that I don’t think was intentional by the CRWBY but is still pretty awesome that it’s there.

Forgive me if I get the details wrong since I haven’t kept up with the show and all my info is coming second hand from @bionic-jedi, but from I could gather Ironwood comes across as a man who:

- Is an experienced veteran fighter who individually is very badass with a proven tactical record on the battlefield

- Has the natural charisma to instill genuine loyalty and belief in his cause into his subordinates (To paraphrase Mass Effect 3 for a bit, you can pay a man to fight, you can pay him to charge up a hill, but no amount of money in the world will ever convince a man to believe in you), and does possess a genuine care for the troops under his command

- Will nonetheless still engage in abusive behavior if a subordinate is not performing in a way he believes is proper for their duty (Yeah I would consider forcibly hacking a sapient being to count as that)

- Carries around a very cool badass revolver as a signature weapon

- While brilliant tactically, possess horrible long term strategic assessment skills that if allowed to be acted upon could have/did end in disaster

You know what that sounds like? Ironwood is almost a perfect RWBY equivalent for George R. Patton (with maybe a bit of Bernard Montgomery thrown in).

Like, I think that the CRWBY may have accidentally written a scenario that asks “What if Patton was the Supreme Commander of the Western Front instead of Eisenhower?” And the results are an absolute clusterfuck unfolding in real time, but I feel I gotta clarify this.

Patton is one of America’s most celebrated and respected generals, and for good reason. Dude was a badass with a keen sense of armor tactics and mobile warfare that proved repeatedly that he could beat the Germans at their own game. His personal bravery could also never be called into question, having proven his mettle in direct combat during both the Hunt for Pancho Villa and WW1, as well as putting his own life in danger being very close to the front lines numerous times during WW2, one time even riding a tank into a German-occupied village to inspire his men. He also did genuinely care for the lives of his men, only ever seen openly weeping when mourning for the lives of his fallen soldiers, treating his wounded troops with the highest respect, and properly giving praise when they did a good job.

For all of Ironwood’s faults, his own mettle is certainly not into question given he suffered such grievous injuries that half his body is now cybernetics, and the man for sure knows how to fight and fight well, so that’s one similarity with Patton. He has also inspired real loyalty in Winter and the Ace Operatives, and in turn he does seem to actually care for them, and he had no real reason to give Yang a new prosthetic arm (and rather quickly fast tracking her an incredibly advanced one at that), so he’s not completely heartless or devoid of empathy.

However, Patton was a man focused on the tactical short term in lieu of long term strategic planning, and possessed with some horrendous character flaws that bit him in the ass on several occasions. One of them being the, even by the standards of the 40′s, deplorable manner in which he treated soldiers wracked with what we in the modern day would diagnose as PTSD. The man flat out did not believe PTSD was a real thing, thinking of it as cowardice and...you know what? I’m just gonna let the Wikipedia quotes say it all, I bolded some choice quotes for convenience:

Private Charles H. Kuhl, of L Company, U.S. 26th Infantry Regiment, reported to an aid station of C Company, 1st Medical Battalion, on 2 August 1943. Kuhl, who had been in the U.S. Army for eight months, had been attached to the 1st Infantry Division since 2 June 1943. He was diagnosed with "exhaustion," a diagnosis he had been given three times since the start of the campaign. From the aid station, he was evacuated to a medical company and given sodium amytal. Notes in his medical chart indicated "psychoneurosis anxiety state, moderately severe (soldier has been twice before in hospital within ten days. He can't take it at the front, evidently. He is repeatedly returned.)" Kuhl was transferred from the aid station to the 15th Evacuation Hospital near Nicosia for further evaluation.

Patton arrived at the hospital the same day, accompanied by a number of medical officers, as part of his tour of the U.S. II Corps troops. He spoke to some patients in the hospital, commending the physically wounded. He then approached Kuhl, who did not appear to be physically injured. Kuhl was sitting slouched on a stool midway through a tent ward filled with injured soldiers. When Patton asked Kuhl where he was hurt, Kuhl reportedly shrugged and replied that he was "nervous" rather than wounded, adding, "I guess I can't take it." Patton "immediately flared up,” slapped Kuhl across the chin with his gloves, then grabbed him by the collar and dragged him to the tent entrance. He shoved him out of the tent with a kick to his backside. Yelling "Don't admit this son of a bitch," Patton demanded that Kuhl be sent back to the front, adding, "You hear me, you gutless bastard? You're going back to the front."

Corpsmen picked up Kuhl and brought him to a ward tent, where it was discovered he had a temperature of 102.2 °F (39.0 °C); and was later diagnosed with malarial parasites. Speaking later of the incident, Kuhl noted "at the time it happened, [Patton] was pretty well worn out ... I think he was suffering a little battle fatigue himself." Kuhl wrote to his parents about the incident, but asked them to "just forget about it." That night, Patton recorded the incident in his diary: "[I met] the only errant coward I have ever seen in this Army. Companies should deal with such men, and if they shirk their duty, they should be tried for cowardice and shot."

Private Paul G. Bennett, 21, of C Battery, U.S. 17th Field Artillery Regiment, was a four-year veteran of the U.S. Army, and had served in the division since March 1943. Records show he had no medical history until 6 August 1943, when a friend was wounded in combat. According to a report, he "could not sleep and was nervous." Bennett was brought to the 93rd Evacuation Hospital. In addition to having a fever, he exhibited symptoms of dehydration, including fatigue, confusion, and listlessness. His request to return to his unit was turned down by medical officers. A medical officer describing Bennett's condition

And yet another incident like this:

The shells going over him bothered him. The next day he was worried about his buddy and became more nervous. He was sent down to the rear echelon by a battery aid man and there the medical aid man gave him some tranquilizers that made him sleep, but still he was nervous and disturbed. On the next day the medical officer ordered him to be evacuated, although the boy begged not to be evacuated because he did not want to leave his unit.

On 10 August, Patton entered the receiving tent of the hospital, speaking to the injured there. Patton approached Bennett, who was huddled and shivering, and asked what the trouble was. "It's my nerves," Bennett responded. "I can't stand the shelling anymore." Patton reportedly became enraged at him, slapping him across the face. He began yelling: "Your nerves, hell, you are just a goddamned coward. Shut up that goddamned crying. I won't have these brave men who have been shot at seeing this yellow bastard sitting here crying." Patton then reportedly slapped Bennett again, knocking his helmet liner off, and ordered the receiving officer, Major Charles B. Etter, not to admit him. Patton then threatened Bennett, "You're going back to the front lines and you may get shot and killed, but you're going to fight. If you don't, I'll stand you up against a wall and have a firing squad kill you on purpose. In fact, I ought to shoot you myself, you goddamned whimpering coward." Upon saying this, Patton pulled out his pistol threateningly, prompting the hospital's commander, Colonel Donald E. Currier, to physically separate the two. Patton left the tent, yelling to medical officers to send Bennett back to the front lines.

As he toured the remainder of the hospital, Patton continued discussing Bennett's condition with Currier. Patton stated, "I can't help it, it makes my blood boil to think of a yellow bastard being babied," and "I won't have those cowardly bastards hanging around our hospitals. We'll probably have to shoot them some time anyway, or we'll raise a breed of morons."

There were serious cries for Patton to get sacked after theses incidents, his reputation and job only saved because Eisenhower knew his tactical command abilities were simply too valuable to give up and so was only temporarily relieved of duty instead. Point I’m trying to make here is that while Patton could definitely hold sympathy and understanding for his men, it was contingent on them acting in a way he believed was properly honoring their duty. If they erred from his ideals of a how a proper soldier behaved, he could lapse into some seriously abusive behavior disturbingly quickly.

I can’t be the only one that sees some parallels between this and Ironwood hacking Penny am I? A man who cares for his troops but as soon as Penny acted in a way he deemed to be out of line, immediately sought to violate her autonomy and rights as a sapient being to force her back into line and back into his ideals of how a proper soldier should behave. Perhaps he wasn’t as violently physically aggressive about it as Patton, but arguably what Ironwood did was ethically much worse than slapping the shit out of and threatening people.

Patton also wasn’t the type to worry about the long term consequences of his actions. Before he died in a car accident shortly after WW2 he was unceremoniously sacked from his job after making one too many aggressive comments towards the Soviet Union, potentially nudging towards a potential Operation Unthinkable, and carelessly allowing former Nazis back into political power. Both of these were unthinkably horrible for obvious reasons.

There is one key difference between Patton and Ironwood however. Eisenhower was keenly aware of Patton’s potential shortcomings and he was kept on a leash and out of the highest levers of power, thus preventing him from ever being in a position where his worst traits would allow him to truly fuck up. Ironwood however I feel got Peter Principle’d hardcore and was promoted way above his level of competence (Always a risk for men who gain a reputation as “fightin’ generals”, see: John Bell Hood), where his positive qualities of personal physical bravery, combat skill and tactical leadership is wasted and his worst qualities of hyper-focus on short sighted tactical victories over long term strategic goals, paranoia and distrust leading to an excessive need for control, and moral cowardice are allowed to flourish.

And we see the consequences of it. He may have started with solid pragmatic ideas, but his insanely one-track minded obsession with short term strategic goals like making sure he has control over the Winter Maiden is costing him big long term strategically by burning bridges with potentially valuable allies and isolating himself and his command. Valuable time and resources that could have been spent coordinating forces against Salem wasted on various shenanigans involving Penny, RWBY and JN_R. Especially devastating given that Atlas is the only industrialized military power worth a damn in this world and isn’t reliant on mostly independent and unorganized Hunters and Huntresses (individually skilled but too few in number and takes far too long to train each one to reliably stop a Grimm invasion), and he’s just wasting the resources of the world power best able to hold the line against the Grimm.

Next part is a bit of a non-sequitur and really long so I put it in between the dotted lines if y’all ain’t interested and want to skip on over to the relevant Ironwood parts.

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Getting a feel for the strategic situation in Atlas, I get a strong sense that what Atlas needs more than anything else right now is a Dwight D. Eisenhower. Eisenhower the the exact man needed to lead the Western allies, and I can’t see anyone else doing as realistically as good a job as he did, this is a hill I’ll die on. It wouldn’t look like it at first, the man had never once commanded a unit in battle (a fact that made many of his “actually seen combat” rivals bitter), and his softer, more easy going disposition would seem at odds with the alpha-male take charge image cultivated by men like Patton and Montgomery that would be stereotypically expected of a general, much less a Supreme Commander.

However, that calm exterior hid a man with a sharp eye on the necessary strategic goals needed for victory, expert resource and personnel management skills, the humility to listen to his subordinates and admit his own mistakes, and most importantly, both the smooth negotiating skills and the iron will necessary to deal with larger than life figures.

The western allies were made up of many different nations and factions and filled to the brim with what I would call (to put it lightly) strong personalities. This was an organization that involved:

- Franklin D. Roosevelt

- Winston Churchill

- Charles De Gaulle

- Bernard Montgomery

- The aforementioned Patton

- Occasional dealings with Stalin even

All of them larger than life personalities, all of them strong willed and possessed of their own ideas of how to win the war as well as their own political/personal motives, and all of them vying for dominance in the strategic decision making of the Western Allies. It was like herding a clowder of cats, but all the cats had frggin tanks and bombs. Eisenhower actually managed to cut through the bullshit and resist all the arm twisting and actually got all the different countries, armies and leaders together to act upon a united plan. He did this while still being able to control his subordinates worst impulses and (mostly) was able to resist the shitty plans put up and embrace the good ones (for the most part, Montgomery did manage to convince him to approve of Operation Market Garden, and it was the last major German victory of the war mostly due to Monty’s mishandling). Tactical battle ability was largely irrelevant for Eisenhower’s role, and his ability to see the big picture clearly and being able to maneuver through the internal politics meant everything to his success as a Supreme Commander.

If Eisenhower or an Eisenhower-esque figure was in charge of Atlas during this latest season, you’d probably get a drastically different turn of events. An Eisenhower would not be so quick to drastic action as Ironwood was. An Eisenhower would probably sit down with their subordinates, hear out all their arguments for why or why shouldn’t a specific action be taken, then calmly consider their actions. An Eisenhower would probably then say “Working with an enemy agent to hack into the Winter Maiden is a dumb idea” and proceed to create plans on how to coordinate all available forces in Remnant to best fend off Salem.

Atlas as a whole doesn’t really strike me as the type of organization that would raise an Eisenhower though. Militaries are always offshoots of the cultures that create them, and I don’t believe it to be a coincidence that a Supreme Commander like Eisenhower would be American. The country was literally founded on democratic ideals and it was enshrined very early into its history that the military would always be subordinate to the civilian government. This precedent makes it necessary that anyone that rises high enough in the military must be able to respect a strong civilian presence and be able to work with both internal and external politics. Any general that rises high enough must be half-general half-politician by necessity (there’s a reason why former military often do have successful political careers after retiring from service, including the aforementioned Eisenhower who eventually became the 34th President of the United States).

Atlas just doesn’t strike me as having that same sort of cultural framework. If anything the Atlas military strikes me as having a cultural framework closer to WW2 Germany where tactical efficiency and high tech weaponry/tools is prized above all else, often at the cost of long term strategic goal setting. Nazi Germany and Imperial Japan never set realistic goals for themselves and predictably got steamrolled eventually. Occasionally you’ll get an online thread asking “What if Germany/Japan had smart top leadership during WW2?” But that’s a trick question. A WW2 Germany/Japan with sensible leadership...just isn’t WW2 Germany/Japan at all, it was intrinsic to the identity and character of those nations in that time period. Similarly, I just don’t see an Atlas military that sees a potential Eisenhower in their ranks and thinks to promote them to High Command as opposed to just shuffling them off as an aide to some random officer and never consider them for higher promotion. An organization that prizes short term tactical victory over long term strategic goals just isn’t the type of organization to do that.

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Thing is though, I think just from what I gathered, Ironwood just shot up to be my favorite RWBY character because of how frigging fascinatingly horrible he is. He’s not an entirely awful person (at least not at first), but his own paranoia and fear combined with his habit of confusing short term tactical advantage with long term strategic goals leads him down the path of utterly despicable actions while convincing himself that it’s all for the greater good. All while being an idiot and wasting the legitimate game-changer resources of having an actual army when everyone else is still dicking around with hunters and huntresses as their only defense.

Smart money is he’s gonna die, it seems to be where he’s heading. If CRWBY’s writing staff has some serious cajones however, it’d be really cool if they pulled a Catra on him and see how low they can make him sink before making him hit rock bottom, realize his mistakes and force him to work hard for a redemption arc. I dunno, maybe I’m giving him too much slack but I actually do feel for him a little bit. The dude was clearly an alright guy that had the world fall down on him and just wasn’t suited for the massive responsibility that circumstances forced on his shoulders. He’s still a soldier that genuinely wants to protect Atlas, he’s just too short sighted to see how his actions just aren’t what Atlas is gonna need in the long term. Maybe a harsh talking to by Glinda would do him some good (I still ship IronWitch don’t @ me). I dunno, I just think that a redemption arc would be a lot harder to write than just killing him off, and thus would be that much more satisfying to see it pulled off right like what Noelle Stevenson did with Catra’s character in She-Ra.

#RWBY #bionic-jedi #ironwood #rwby meta #long post #george r. patton #dwight d. eisenhower

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trashmagines · 5 years

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Invitation: Various Mutants x Mutant!Reader

TrAshy Says: Heyo lovely people. Felt angsty, might make a part two if it comes to that, idk. Reader has the power of hemokinesis (bloodbending anyone?)

Warnings: Violent themes, takes place after X-men: Apocalypse

You heatedly make your way to your dorm room, Kurt hot on your heels. You’d been watching the news with him, Jubilee, Scott, and Jean; the world had been in disarray ever since the Apocalypse event, and more crimes against mutants were being committed every day. The latest one had been violent, and the young boy hadn’t survived the attack. Your blood ran cold just thinking about it; people were already calling the perpetrators ‘heroes’.

It made you sick. It made you angry.

“Y/N, are you okay? Jean changed the channel...” “I’m not okay, Kurt, and I’m not sure how any of you are okay after seeing that either.”

Your arms were crossed and you were staring pointedly at the wall, willing yourself to calm down. You hadn’t meant to answer so harshly, and you felt a little bit of regret when you heard the light shuffling behind you. Sighing heavily, you drop your arms to your side but you don’t turn around.

“I’ll be fine, Kurt. Just let me cool off, okay?”

A hand lightly squeezes your shoulder before you hear the distinct sound of Kurt teleporting away. Defeated, you walk to your dresser and rummage through the top drawer until you find the envelope. The message inside was simple and to the point.

‘When you’re tired of hiding, when you want to fight, you have a place with us.’ -Magneto

You didn’t know much about the history between the professor and Erik Lehnsherr, but you knew they had a difference of opinion regarding the coexistence of humans and mutants. You’re still not sure how Magneto found you and you assumed you weren’t the only person to have received this message, but the fact that you had made you feel...special. Powerful, even.

“Y/N, may I come in?”

You’d been so lost in thought that you hadn’t heard the soft whirring of Charles’ wheelchair. Kurt hadn’t bothered to shut your door, but the professor respected his students’ privacy enough to wait in the hallway instead of just barging in. You quickly tuck the envelope under your pillow and sit on the edge of your bed before answering ‘Sure’, and Charles wheels his way into your room to sit before you.

“I’ve been informed that you saw something upsetting on the news today.” ‘Damnit guys...’ “Yes, I did.” “Would you like to talk about it?”

You shift uncomfortably under Charles’ gaze; did you really want to open up this can of worms?

“Why do you have so much faith in humanity?”

Charles contemplates his answer for a minute, his eyes boring into yours as if he’s trying to read your mind without actually reading your mind.

“I suppose it’s because not all humans are bad, just as not all mutants are good. But there are grey areas, Y/N. Most people, human and mutant, are not just either or.” “Yeah, but... doesn’t it, like, piss you off? Knowing what’s happening to people like us?” “It saddens me. People fear what they don’t understand, and that fear usually leads to acts such as what you saw earlier. The world has become more hostile since the Apocalypse incident, but it is my hope that we can get things back on the right track.” “That’s all fine and dandy, professor, but while we’re all here hoping, mutants are being targeted. It’s not fair; I don’t want to just sit and watch people get hurt, I want to do something about it.” “And what is it that you’d like to do?” “Fight back.”

You answer before you have time to stop and think about what you’re saying, but both you and Charles are aware that those are your true feelings. Charles exhales softly, his expression a mix between sad and disappointed, as he glances over to where your pillow is resting.

‘Oh shit, he knows.’

“I do. These...invitations have been popping up randomly under students’ doors. Most were given to me as the recipients found them to be unsettling, yet you still have yours.”

Suddenly you feel very out of place, and you can’t bring yourself to respond. You knew why you kept it, and you suspected the professor knew too.

“Y/N, Erik’s crusade has only one outcome, and it will not end well for either party.”

Charles holds out his hand and you reluctantly give him your invitation. He offers you a soft smile and then exits your room to leave you to your own devices. You shut your door behind him and lie on your bed, the conversation replaying in your mind as your eyes drift close.

The knocking on your door is what awakens you, and judging by your clock you’d been asleep for a good few hours. The door opens to reveal Jean and Jubilee, the former holding a paper plate and the latter cradling a few drinks.

“You missed dinner so we thought we’d bring you something.” Jean smiles.

You’re grateful as both girls sit on either side of you, Jean handing you the plate in the process. They’d ordered pizza, most likely to appease Peter, and your stomach thanks you for the large bite you take.

“Thanks, guys.” you say when you’re about halfway through your second slice.

Both girls nod, and Jubilee pops the tab on one of the cans she’d been holding before handing it to you. You smile and chug half of the fizzy liquid, and out of the corner of your eye you can see Jean looking at you.

“What?” “Nothing, it’s just... Well, are you alright?” she questions. “Yeah, we heard the professor came to talk to you.” Jubilee adds.

You’re not really alright, but you’re prepared lie anyway, mainly so everyone will drop the subject. Unfortunately, Jean had already tapped into your thoughts before you could answer.

“I got one of those envelopes too. Charles is right about Magneto, you know. The guy is bad news.” “At least he’s doing something. Yeah, most of the things he’s done are awful, but at least he’s not hiding and pretending that things are just peachy. I mean, you guys saw the news; it’s chaos.”

The room goes silent as you toss your now empty plate and pop can into your bedside trash bin. You look between the both of them and they eye you back, contemplating your words.

“So yeah, it’s like super bad, but anything Magneto would do would just make things eleven times worse. I’m glad I didn’t get one of those invites; I’d be creeped out!” Jubilee exclaims.

She picks up the other unopened pop cans and stands, motioning for Jean to do the same. Jean offers you a half-smile, and they both tell you goodnight before exiting your room. Alone yet again, you change into your sleep wear and climb back into your bed, your mind now on the state of mutant affairs. The others either just didn’t get it, or they truly believed that things would improve with a peaceful approach.

But you understood. The war had already begun, and you knew which side you were on.

#Kurt Wagner #Kurt Wagner x reader #Charles Xavier #Charles Xavier x reader #Jubilation Lee #Jubilee x reader #Jean Grey #Jean Grey x reader #X-men #X-men x reader

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orangeoctopi7 · 5 years

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A Familiar Hero

Part 1

Part 2

Seeing the Spider Man in action, Ford’s previous theory that this was a visiting extraterrestrial seemed ludicrous. His every movement, his posture, even his voice exuded familiarity. How could he be anything but human?

But at the same time, how could any human do these things? The Spider Man disarmed two gunners before either of them could fire, pulling the guns out of their hands without even closing his fingers around them. Their male attacker swore, and in one swift motion tried to stab the Spider Man. No one could have seen that coming, and yet the Spider Man pulled away and to the side, easily dodging it as though the assailant had clearly telegraphed the move. He retaliated with a powerful left-hook, knocking the man to the ground like a sack of potatoes. When he turned his attention to the woman, she was already running back out the alley-way. The Spider Man shrugged, obviously deciding chasing her was not worth it. He picked up the man like he was nothing more than an awkwardly shaped sack of flour, and not a sack of flesh and bones coming close to thee hundred pounds.

“What were you idiots thinkin’?!” The Spider Man demanded. “Are you trying to get yourselves killed!? I’m lucky– I mean you’re- you’re lucky I was nearby. What would I have– uh, what would you have done if I wasn’t here?”

The two researchers were too stunned to say anything. They just stared at him with slack jaws.

“I-I gotta dump this guy someplace the cops’ll find him.” He made to leave.

“It’s really you!” Ford blurted out, finally finding his voice. He thought they’d be lucky if they just got to see the Spider Man, and not only had he saved their lives, he was talking to them now!

“You… you know who I am?” The Spider Man tugged nervously at his mask.

“Of course I do! I’ve been following you since the beginning!” Ford grinned. There was something nagging at the back of his head, something about that familiarity, but he was too excited to stop and really think about it right now.

“Wait, seriously!?”

“Ah, well, not literally following you!” The researcher backpedaled, realizing that may have come off as stalkery. “But ever since that first article I found in Peculiar Pennsylvania, I’ve been following every publication and story about you I could find! I can’t believe we were lucky enough to find you!”

“You’ve been looking for me?”

“Well, just since you were sighted here in Portland, it’s the first time there’s been a sighting near enough for conducting a search to be feasible.”

“But… why? Why would you bother lookin’ for me?”

“Are you kidding? You’re amazing! All those people you’ve saved, all those criminals you’ve apprehended, you’re a hero!”

The Spider Man made a sound half-way between a laugh and a sob. “Ford, you really do still care!”

The second Ford heard the Spider Man say his name, that nagging familiarity in the back of his head clicked into place, and he realized who he was talking to just a split second before his brother pulled off the mask.

“Stanley!?”

Stan’s expression of euphoric joy quickly dropped to annoyance. “You said you knew who I was!”

“I was talking about the Spider Man! I know all about the Spider Man!”

“Well obviously not, if you didn’t know he was me!”

“What are you even doing here?”

“What am I doin’ here? What are you doin’ here!?”

“I already told you, you knucklehead!”

“What in the name of Charles Babbage is going on here!?” Fiddleford finally shouted, interrupting the brothers’ argument. “Why does the Spider Man look like you? How do you know him!? This ain’t some, I dunno, shape-shiftin’ sorta thing-a-ma-bob, is it?”

“…Oh. Right. Sorry.” Ford apologized.

“Yeah, that’s another question, who the heck’s this yahoo?” Stan demanded.

Ford gestured towards McGucket, “Stan, this is my research assistant, Fiddleford McGucket.” he then pointed to Stan, “Fiddleford, this is my twin brother, Stanley.”

The two of them just stood there, looking the other over.

“I thought you said you hadn’t talked to yer brother since you was a teenager.” McGucket eventually said.

“I hadn’t, until just now.”

“Well, ain’t that just the craziest coinky-dink you ever heard of.” Fiddleford gave a low whistle.

“Research assistant, huh?” Stan scratched the back of his head with his free hand. “What, uh, what’re you studying?”

“You”

“The Spider Man”

McGucket and Ford said simultaneously.

“Huh. Well, uh, you want me to, I dunno, pose for a photo or somethin’?”

“Yes!” Ford said quickly. “Mask on, of course.”

“An’ then I can dump this guy someplace the cops’ll find him.”

“And we’ll go our separate ways.” Ford nodded.

“Really!?” Fiddleford exclaimed, “We jus’ randomly ran into yer brother who ya haven’t seen in over a decade, he saves our lives and turns out to be the very cryptid we came here to study, an’ yer jus’ gonna go yer separate ways? Jus like that?”

“There’s a reason we haven’t spoken in so long, Fiddleford.” The young researcher said stiffly. “Besides, I’m sure Stanley has his own life to get back to

Stan harrumphed, folded his arms and looked away. “Yeah. Yeah, sure I do.”

They walked a few blocks until Stan found a dock he said the Coast Guard frequented. McGucket asked him to pull his mask back on and Ford took a few pictures, one of the Spider Man carrying the unconscious man like he was nothing, and a few of him climbing up the warehouse walls. Unfortunately, Ford didn’t get the thrill out of it he’d been expecting. Maybe it was because all the pictures were posed. Maybe it was because, now that he knew who the Spider Man was, there was no longer the thrill of the mystery.

“…Thanks…” Ford said awkwardly when they were done.

“Don’t mention it.” Stan grunted in reply.

McGucket glanced between them, his expression stuck somewhere between perplexion and annoyance. “Well, I guess we’d better head back to the hotel.” He finally sighed.

The two groups had walked maybe ten feet away from each other when Stan turned around and shouted. “Wait! Uh… how far’s your hotel?”

“Downtown, just off the interstate.” Ford replied. “Why?”

“You yahoo’s aren’t gonna walk that whole way yourselves, are ya?”

“We’re taking the bus.”

“That’s still far enough you two could get mugged. What’s the point of me savin’ your lives if you just go an’ get in trouble again?”

“I-is that likely?” Fiddleford stammered nervously.

Stanford sighed in irritation. It didn’t matter how likely it was, because now that the idea was in Fiddleford’s head, the inventor’s anxiety would latch onto the possibility and send him spiralling until he would jump at any little sound or movement.

“My car’s parked not too far from here. Lemme just give you guys a lift back to your hotel.”

Ford sighed. “Fine.” For Fiddleford’s sake, he told himself.

***

“I thought you said your car was close!” Stanford complained ten minutes later.

“It is close, if you can climb straight up an’ over buildings.” Stan defended.

“Well how much further is it?”

“Uh, I think another block.”

“You think?”

“Hey, I don’t usually take the street!”

Ford huffed. “It would have been faster to head for the bus stop.”

“Yeah, and you would’ve wandered through the roughest part of town at 11pm.”

Fiddleford shivered and took a step closer to Stanley. “Let’s talk about somethin’ else! Say, this gives us a chance to ask ya some questions, Stanley! Like, uh… how d’you stick to walls?”

“Uh… I don’t really know. I just sorta think about it, I guess.”

“Well, how’d you know that thug was gonna pull a knife on ya?”

“I dunno, sometimes I just sense danger.”

“How would you describe this sense?”

“I don’t know, ok? It’s like tryin’ to describe colors to someone who was born blind. Look, I don’t really get how my powers work, ok? I just know that they do.”

“Ok, that’s fine.” Fiddleford assured him. “I can ask some different questions. Like, hmm, where’d ya come up with that nifty outfit?”

Stan laughed awkwardly. “Heh, what, this? Just some stuff I’ve slapped together from thrift stores, honestly. Like, these pants’re just workout sweats. They got pockets an’ fleece linin’ and everything. I got another pair that’re lighter for the summer. An’ the mask? Got it at a yard sale in Mazatlan. Just cut some eyes out of an old black basketball jersey I picked up at the same time. Don’t really remember where I picked the gloves up at, probably some bargain bin at like, Walmart or something. And they gave me the coat at this homeless shelter I stopped at in Denver.”

“What?!” Ford exclaimed, turning to face his brother suddenly.

“What?” Stan repeated innocently.

“You said something about a homeless shelter!?”

“Oh! Ha!” Stan forced a laugh. “Did I say homeless shelter? I don’t… I don’t know why I said that. What I meant was– Look, there’s my car!”

Sure enough, across the street behind a gated chain-link fence was the familiar red El Diablo Stanford remembered from his teenage years. It even had the old STNLYMBL license plate. They reached a gate that was closed not with a chain and padlock, but a stout copper pipe bent around the end of the chain-link fence and the side of the gate. Stan grabbed the pipe and unbent it as easily as a normal person would unbend a paperclip. He pulled the gate open wide enough to allow the car to drive out and motioned for the two friends to enter.

Stanford struggled with a whirlwind of emotions and thoughts as he got in the car. Stanley had been in a homeless shelter!? No, no, Stan said that wasn’t what he meant! But he was obviously lying, wasn’t he? Or maybe not. Maybe Stan was helping someone else get to the homeless shelter? Stan was the Spider Man, and the Spider Man helped people, after all. And even if Stan had spent some time in a homeless shelter, it was his own fault, right?

“Hey, uh, sorry it’s such a mess.” Stan apologized, quickly grabbing as much junk as he could out of the front passenger seat and shoving it into the trunk. “I don’t normally give rides.” He moved to the back seat and shoved everything to one side, trying to make room for someone to sit back there.

“You go ahead and sit shotgun McGucket.” Ford insisted. “I’ve at least lived in Stan’s mess before.”

“Hey, I don’t remember you bein’ any cleaner!” Stan protested.

McGucket chuckled. “Yer cabin was a disaster area when I showed up, even fer a bachelor pad.”

Ford rolled his eyes and got into the back of the car without further comment. Sure, he often got so caught up in his research that he forgot to clean, but at least he didn’t leave his clothes laying around in the back seat of his car! Or towels or toothbrushes or… was that a pillow? Then it dawned on him: Stan had been living out of his car. He really was homeless!

The young researcher immediately tried to rationalize things. It made sense, really, with what he knew about the Spider Man. The Spider Man had been traveling all over North and South America, moving from one city to the next, with little rhyme or reason, never staying in one place for too long. It made sense that the Spider Man would live out of his car if he was traveling around so much! …Or was he traveling around so much because he had to live out of his car?

Ford was about to ask his brother if he was homeless, but McGucket beat him to the punch with another question.

“So how’d ya come to be the Spider Man?”

“Well, I didn’t just wake up one day and decide to become a superhero, I can tell ya that much.” Stan replied. “It kinda just happened. I got spotted by a few obsessive nerds like my brother here, sent a few jerks to jail, saved some innocent people, and the next thing I know I’m hearin’ AM radio shows and readin’ obscure articles about my exploits, callin’ me ‘The Spider Man’. And, y’know, I decided to just run with it.”

“Ah. Suppose that makes sense.” McGucket nodded. “But I mean, how’d ya come to have these powers? Obviously ya weren’t born with ‘em, or else Stanford woulda known about ‘em.”

Ford perked up, listening intently. He’d been wondering that himself, but hadn’t quite had the courage to ask. He had an uneasy feeling he wouldn’t like the answer.

Stan stared Ford down through the rear-view mirror for a long moment, almost as though he expected his brother to say something, before finally answering. “What, y’mean the almighty genius Stanford Pines hasn’t figured it out yet?”

“Enlighten us, Stanley.”

“It’s drivin’ you crazy that I know something you don’t, isn’t it? Y’know, I might just revel in this moment a little longer, really let it sink in.”

“Stanley!”

“Alright, alright, fine, but only ‘cuz your friend here’s on the edge of his seat.”

Fiddleford was indeed giving Stan his full attention, a notebook and pen already in hand. “Golly, I wish I had my portable computer with me. Ah well, go on!”

Stan took a deep breath and fixed his brother with another hard look through the rearview mirror. “My brother ever tell you about his senior science fair project?”

“Uh, only that it was an unqualified disaster.” Fiddleford murmured awkwardly. He knew it was a touchy subject for his friend.

“What on earth does that have to do with your powers?” Ford growled.

“Just lemme finish! Anyway, Ford had genetically mutated a bunch of spiders using radiation.” Stan explained. “An’ it was winnin’ all the awards! Best in the school, best in the district, the works. Once it got to state, it got the attention of some big wigs from this fancy school called West Coast Tech. They wanted to offer Ford a full-ride scholarship if his project lived up to the hype when they came to see it. And I… I was scared ‘cuz my bro was movin’ on without me an’ I was statin’ to feel like I was gonna be stuck in Glass Shard Beach forever. I needed someone to blame, so I blamed the spiders.”

“Ahah!” Ford exclaimed, “So you admit it! You sabotaged my project!”

“That’s not what I said!” Stan defended.

“You blamed the spiders, so you smashed their containment unit and killed them all!”

“That’s not what happened! It was an accident!” Stan pleaded.

“How do you accidentally smash a containment unit?”

“Just hear me out!” Stan shouted, slamming on the breaks as they came to a red light. Ford glared at him, and McGucket just watched them both like they were a particularly volatile mixture of chemicals just waiting for the right activation energy to explode.

“Like I said, I was mad.” Stan continued. “And I blamed the spiders. I went into the gymnasium and ranted about everything I was feeling to them. I shoulda talked to you instead, but I didn’t. Once I was done gettin’ all that off my chest, I slammed my fists down on the table to let off some steam. But I hit it too hard. The containment unit tipped off the table and cracked open when it hit the floor. I picked it up right away and tried to cover the crack with my hand to stop them from escaping, but one of the spiders bit me. It startled me, so I dropped it again. And I guess the shock of gettin’ dropped twice in such a short amount of time must’ve killed ‘em or something.

“I shoulda found you and told you right away, but I panicked, and I was already startin’ to feel weird. My vision was swimmin’ and I had a killer migraine, the kind where you feel like all your senses have been turned up too high. So I ran home. After that… well, you remember.”

“I don’t.” Fiddleford reminded them.

“When the representatives from West Coast Tech arrived, all I had to show them was a broken glass globe full of dead spiders.” Ford growled. “I looked like a fool in front of the people I was supposed to get a scholarship from! And what’s worse, when I returned home, Stan tried to shrug it off like it wasn’t a big deal! Like it was a good thing I missed out on the scholarship because now we could go treasure hunting like we’d dreamed of when we were kids! And he had the gall to fake sick so Dad wouldn’t kick him out! Not that it worked.”

“I wasn’t faking it!” Stan insisted indignantly.

“And I still don’t understand how this has anything to do with your powers!” Ford glared at Stan through the rear-view mirror.

“You seriously still haven’t figured it out!?” Stan huffed exasperatedly. “What kind of idiot genius are you?”

“I’m not seein’ the connection either.” Fiddleford admitted.

Stan rolled his eyes. “I get bit by one of those radioactive spiders. Right after that, my vision starts swimmin’ an’ I get a headache like my senses got turned up.” He repeated. Still all he got were blank stares. “The next morning I realized I didn’t grab my glasses when Dad kicked me out. But I didn’t need ‘em.”

“Because you never wore them anyway?” Ford asked flatly.

“I didn’t need ‘em 'cuz I didn’t have eyesight problems anymore!” Stan corrected. “An’ less than a week after that, I started stickin’ to stuff! All my powers developed within a year of that day I got bit by one of your spiders.”

“Sweet sarsaparilla! Stanford, this is unprecedented!” Fiddleford exclaimed, “Do ya still got the notes on them spiders? Imagine if’n we could replicate these results!”

The inventor continued to prattle on excitedly, but Ford was barely listening. He’d just been presented with evidence that completely changed his world-view. Whether or not Stan had been lying about the 'accident’ at the science fair, this was proof that Stan hadn’t been making up his sudden illness. It hadn’t been an unsuccessful attempt to garner sympathy, it had been the early stages of a major postnatal genetic mutation. And that meant Stan had gone through all these probably horrifying changes alone, with no idea what was happening to him. And probably homeless.

Ford was struck with a sudden sense of guilt. All these years he’d held a grudge against his brother, but now he realized Stan had just as much a reason to hold a grudge against him! But… could he really have made any difference? He imagined what would have happened if he’d known his brother was really sick; if he’d tried to stand up to their dad. At best he would have been sent to his room, and at worst he would have been invited to join his brother on the street. No, he couldn’t have changed things then… but maybe if he hadn’t held a grudge for so long, if he’d tried to reach out to his brother as soon as he left home himself, maybe he could have helped his brother then.

“Alright, we’re downtown near the interstate.” Stan said as he stopped at another stop light. “You two see your hotel from here, or is it further down the road?”

“It’s that one with the big green sign.” Fiddleford pointed to a building to their left.

Stan pulled into the drop-off zone and parked in front of the door. “Glad I could help you two get back here safe. I know it’s hard for you, but try not to get into any more trouble for a while.”

He was rolling up the window and putting the car back into drive when Ford made a split second decision.

“Stan, wait!” He raced forward and grabbed the closing window.

Stan stopped cranking the window up and shifted back to park. “What?” he asked apprehensively.

“I-I think we could have a mutually beneficial situation here.”

“English, Sixer!”

“W-we could help each other! You’ve gained remarkable control over your powers on your own, but you don’t really understand how they work, correct?”

“Yyyyeah….” Stan said slowly, not quite catching on to where his brother was going with this.

“Think how much more you could do if you learned the ins and outs of what your body can do now! There might be things you’re not even aware you’re capable of yet! And even beyond your powers, we could help you become a better crime-fighter! Fiddleford’s a real whiz with gadgets, and just a while ago I was working on a device I couldn’t quite get to work, but I think it’d be perfect for you.”

“You… you want me to come back with you guys? So you can do experiments on me?” Stan asked warily.

“Not like that!” Ford assured him. “We’d just like to study you and run some tests…. Ugh, there really isn’t any way to make that sound better. What I’m trying to say is, I wouldn’t ask you to do anything you wouldn’t feel comfortable with.”

Stan still looked skeptical.

“And you’d have some place to stay! I might even be able to pay you if the grant committee accepts my proposal for another research assistant.”

Stan sighed forlornly, and for a terrible moment Ford was afraid his brother would turn him down, but instead he asked. “What time are you leaving?”

“Around 11am tomorrow morning.”

“And where is it we’re going back to?”

“Gravity Falls, Oregon.

“Never heard of it.”

“Well, most people haven’t. It’s a small logging town in the backwoods.”

“Alright. I’ll meetcha back here at 11 tomorrow an’ follow you back to Gravy Falls.”

“Gravity Falls.”

“That too.”

Ford tried to stop himself from grinning. “Thank you, Stanley.”

“Yeah, well, I’m only goin’ so I can keep an eye on you an’ your scrawny friend. Last thing I need is a postcard from Ma sayin’ you’ve been eaten by bigfoot.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Stanley, the largest prey a Sasquatch will bother with are beavers.”

Stan quirked a small smile. “See you tomorrow, nerd.”

#Gravity Falls #Fanfiction #Spiderstan AU #Stanford Pines #Stanley Pines #Fiddleford Mcgucket #spider Stan au #My writing

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writtenwordsoffic · 6 years

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Foregoing - Reader x Reggie Mantle

Masterlist

@idle-lanes@sgarrett49 @murderyoursoul@moonlight53@redhairedoddity@the-achievementhunter @superoptimist1997 Reggie Mantle x Reader words: 3,217 warnings: none

This came to me the other night and while I plan on doing a new Jughead series - I thought I would give y’all a one-shot first. Thanks for those who sent sweet messages and thanks for being okay with my long break. It was needed. Thanks for reading as always.

Some things in life are simple. And when it came to high school - some things were just a law that everyone knew.

That the popular kids had life a little bit easier - that the outsiders had moment of loneliness - and that it was few and far between that these two could be friends - or ever were for that matter.

But for Y/N - in her senior year - she was finally beginning to understand herself. Knowing where she wanted to go to college - accepting how she was perceived in high school and being okay with it. But most of all, knowing - or hoping at least - that the last few months of senior year would go as planned and that life for her in college would be a little simpler and easier.

And as she walked down the corridor, blasting her music, walking a lonely hall - it had changed in a moment.

She saw him walking. For that semester she always walked the same way to every class - as did he.

But he never acknowledged her - and she had gotten used to that.

However, today was different. He locked eyes with her, gave a gentle smile, and although her music was shouting in her ears - she was quite sure he gave a small “hi”.

She slowed in her tracks, slightly turning behind her - and from there noticed Reggie Mantle clearly focused on the hallway before him.

“What had changed”, she thought. Reggie hadn’t talked to her in years. Albeit with good reason for him.

The second he entered high school, he was on the football team. Changed his hair and his friends that he had known for years. Took advantage of being seen as just another jock after gaining some muscle tone from the summer before.

The first year of high school - Y/N had felt pushed away. Knowing Reggie’s true nature as well as his hopes - thinking that they could be in each other’s lives for quite some time. Nonetheless - high school would and always be a place where status was more than friendship.

“You’re doing that wrong”.

Y/N sighed as once again an annoying Reggie Mantle sat behind her in 3rd period algebra.

“No I’m doing it right. It’s a quadratic equation...”.

“Ohhh....well guess another wrong one for me...”.

“Shhhhh” - the large woman draped in a long flowered dress irritated by the sound of students during a test seemed to scare Reggie enough from furthering his conversation.

But that was the relationship that started it all for Reggie and Y/N - pure annoyance.

Middle school was a time where teachers seemed to be unoriginal with seating charts and would organize students by last name only.

In their next class - one of Y/N’s favorites - English - Reggie found to disrupt her again. Granted today was a substitute. And instead of following any type of outline regarding “The Cask of Amontillado”, the sub thought it more adventurous to do something creative with the students.

“All right - instead of going over more Poe for you guys - we’re going to do something different. We are pairing up, with the person next in alphabetical order”, Y/N gently murmured something under her breath, “and we are going to create silhouettes of each other with the overhead”. The sub started to go into detail of how to create an outline of the other’s partner and how a cutout of the head would all work.

“Well. This is dumb. And I don’t even like Poe...”. Y/N heard the grunted statement behind her.

With keeping her eyes forward - Y/N began to whisper. “That’s probably because you haven’t done the reading”.

“Hey now. You don’t know what I do and don’t do”, Reggie sounded mildly offended.

“You copy off my tests, you peer over whatever I’m writing down and you never seem to know the answer to anything. I’ll take my assumptions with this class as well”.

“Fine. But you’ll be proven wrong”.

The substitute’s “art project” for the class began to start as others would face their partner and take turns using the overhead while taking gaps of time talking about whatever suited their fancy.

Y/N however, kept her nose in a book, knowing it would take a bit until it was Reggie and hers turn to use the overhead light.

“Don’t you get tired of that? I mean there’s never a moment you’re not reading...”.

Y/N slightly huffed her breath but Reggie wasn’t wrong. Y/N took pride in the fact that she knew her path to class so well that she could keep her nose in a book the entire time between classes. That she had her own summer reading list and books she wanted to learn from. And right now, it was with Charles Dickens that she found solace. “We never tire of the friendships we form with books”.

“See. When you stay stuff like that, I know you don’t have friends”.

Y/N began to get irritated with Reggie, closing her book in a huff of exasperation - and finally, to Reggie’s pleasure, Y/N turned around. “I have friends”.

“Oh yeah? Where do you guys hangout? It ain’t Pop’s and I don’t see you at the theater”.

“I have friends I sit with at lunch”.

“Uhuh. You mean that red-haired girl that’s quieter than you and you both just read while you’re eating...”.

“It’s better than someone getting me in trouble all of the time”.

Reggie slightly heaved a short breath as he knew she was right. The only friends he had, acted up in class more than he did. But Riverdale was a town where kids were perceived a certain way. And with hand me down clothes and wearing the same thing every three days - Reggie knew how he was perceived even though he hadn’t been living on the South Side of town.

“We can’t all live behind white picket fences and have perfect parents like you Y/N”.

This is where Y/N had finally broke her strife. “The last thing my family is, is perfect Reggie. I figured you would know there is more to people than what they let others see”.

Reggie sat there a little shocked. Not expecting that retort by Y/N but also seeing that she viewed him different that he let the rest of Riverdale seem. And while it took a few weeks for them to see more in each other - Reggie knew that he would make Y/N see more of him than he had let the world.

*a few weeks later*

“Alright. Pair up with your lab partner and begin to label the atomic structure on page 53″.

Y/N slightly rolled her eyes as the unoriginal partnership of Reggie Mantle sat next to her. Y/N could feel the smirk of Mantle finding pleasure in knowing this partnership in class was helping keeping his grade up in this class at least.

As Y/N tried to remain quiet to do the work requested - knowing that Reggie would be absent in helping - Reggie leaned back in his chair while other partners conversed around them.

“You ever get tired of all this?”.

Y/N sighed. “Of what Mantle?”.

“Being Miss Perfect? Always doing what’s expected of you?”.

“This isn’t what is expected of me. Trust that”.

Twenty minutes later and the bell rung for the end of class. Students placing papers on the teachers desk while the older gentleman gave a grunt. “Mantle. Y/N. Stay behind please”.

Great, Y/N thought. Mantle had finally talked too much for the both of them.

“So, Miss Y/N. I think sitting next to Mantle has been helping him. Sadly, not enough for his test scores to be where I expect.”. Mantle stayed quiet as he stared at the teacher that seemed to have hopes for him.

“Now. I’ve talked to both your advisement period teachers and as long as your up for it, I would like you to help Mr. Mantle her catch up with his class work”.

Y/N knew that it was more than a favor being asked of her. Funny how the teacher wanted to help a student get better grades - but enough for them to do the actual helping.

“Okay”. Mantle’s ears perked up to Y/N’s answer. Surprised but figured unwarranted.

Wednesday morning rolled around quickly and instead of going to their aforementioned rooms - they were directed that day to go to the library. And with no one else really insight for the morning - they took the opened area of the computer lab.

Y/N’s tutoring included online quizzes to have an idea where Reggie was at - at least for science anyway. “Okay so just take the quiz - ACTUALLY ANSWER - and we’ll see where you’re at”.

Reggie put his school ID in, giving a murmur of agitation.

“I’m sorry. What was that?”. Y/N’s head tilted as she looked up from her copy of Little Women.

“I don’t get it”.

“The quiz?? I mean you’re not even on a question yet. You just need to...”.

“No not that Einstein. I don’t get why you’re doing this. We aren’t in the least bit nice to each other”.

“Ah and that’s my fault is it? You’re the one randomly tripping me in class when I get up and calling me names last I checked”.

Reggie had a guilty look on his face. “That kind of just proves my point further”. Out of nervousness, Reggie put his feet up on the table in front - partially knowing that this would help delay his quiz.

Agitated and annoyed as she was with Reggie - she still felt some sort of level with him. That maybe they weren’t so different. She was only sure that Reggie could never see that. “I was asked to”.

“Do you always do what the ‘grown ups’ ask?”, Reggie sneered.

“No”. Y/N lamented in her breath. “You needed help”.

Reggie’s ears perked up as he put his feet back on the ground. “Hooohhooo. Interesting. You did it for me?”.

“I didn’t entirely say that. I’m good at this. You aren’t so I’m helping you. Don’t think I wouldn’t say yes for anyone else either. And I don’t plan on doing this for no reason”.

“Oh well now this has gotten riveting”.

“When did you start doing the weekly vocab assignment eh?”. Somehow between all of this chatter - the library aid could have cared less.

“oooohh. So she does have a backbone!”.

“Is this why you pick on me then? A reaction? What’s the point of that?”.

Reggie smirked. “I have an ultimate goal in mind. Now. For this test. Do I click start?”.

Weeks of banter had gone by while studying in between conversations seemed to become routine. And with that, conversations about life soon happened. Reggie learned that just because someone has a nice house on the outside, it doesn’t mean it is so happy on the inside.

For Y/N, it was learning that Reggie had actual hopes and dreams. He wanted to be a writer - and it seemed that English was the only class he wasn’t failing. He just wasn’t so forthcoming when it came to all of his secrets.

Soon Reggie got the nerve to get his buddies to sit at the same lunch table with Y/N. Making it seem that he was just messing with her - but Y/N knew it was out of friendship. To make her lunches a bit more exciting than just another novel at her fingertips.

And with that - a friendship began. Reggie would invite Y/N to his house - to go dirt-biking in Greendale.To help Y/N watch her dog while her parents left for the weekend. And, to much of Y/N’s amazement - to study more at the town library.

As Y/N watched Reggie walk steadier down the hall - she remembered all of these things. And had wondered in that moment what had changed. What had made him finally say hi to her after all these years. One’s where he ignored her and one’s where the last time he said a single word to her was the week of freshmen homecoming. When his new friends were making fun of him for even socializing with the likes of her.

The following day, Y/N went her same route as usual. Nervous more in her steps - knowing that Reggie would soon come down the stairs in front of her. This time, she took her earbuds out.

“Hi”. Reggie gave a nod to her while saying the word.

Y/N stopped moving, and Reggie did the same. “Hi”.

There was no one around them - it felt like it was four years before. A silent comfortability between the two.

“So”. Y/N broke the tension. “Why now?”.

Reggie bit his lip as if he were trying to say something hard for him. “I’m sorry”.

Y/N moved passed. As she realized she was still angry at him for treating her less than. She made her way for the stairs.

“I was being dumb!”, Reggie yelled back at her as he tried to catch her step.

“For for years?! I mean, I know you like to play thick Reg but...”.

Reggie smiled for a sec. “You know you just called me Reg”.

“Doesn’t mean I forgive you. You know picking on me in the 8th grade? I thought that was how you showed being mean. I was wrong. This silent treatment - or acting like we don’t even know each other...that was much worse”. Y/N held back any feeling that would make her cry like it did years ago.

“Y/N. I’m sorry I was just...”.

“It doesn’t matter, it’s just convenient for you now...”.

Reggie grasped Y/N’s hand and pulled her back. “Convenient?”.

“It’s the end of senior year Reggie. Summer is coming and you can be whatever you lost years ago again. So, here you are waiting for me to be your friend again. Too bad you’re two months early right? Or maybe that was the plan? Try to be friends slowly and gain me back as your confidant?”. Y/N’s voice was cracking but she wasn’t going to let her pain for Reggie Mantle get the best of her in that moment.

“No that isn’t it. I owe you. I was wrong for years and I owe you”.

“Owe me? For what? Being myself when you couldn’t. I just don’t...”.

“No. I got into college”.

“I’m sure you owe football...not me Mantle”. Y/N huffed as she began to calm down.

“I got in on a writing scholarship. And I never would have tried if it wasn’t those words you told me years ago. That I was more and I could do more than what was expected of me”.

“Well I was wrong. You turned into the jackass everyone else thought you were...”. Y/N stared at her shoes as she crossed her arms. Part of her wanting to leave the hallway and the other part, on some level, happy for Reggie.

“It’s been years. Let’s just leave it Reggie. I’m going away - getting out of this town. Apparently so are you, so lets just leave it where it is. I mean what’s the point?”.

“The point is - you looked amazing at homecoming. That I saw you just talking to someone the entire time versus trying to enjoy yourself. That whenever you give a witty answer back in class, it’s hard for me not to want to join in or cheer you on. That when you pass by me in any hallway, it’s hard for me not to say everything I want to”.

“You don’t just get to choose when you want to be friends with me Reg. It’s not fair to me. And don’t expect me to start being friends with you when the rest of this year is over. Lord knows Mr. Mantle couldn’t let his football buddies see him with the likes of me...what are the rest going to be in summer school?”.

“No”.

The bell began to ring and Y/N knew she was going to be late for class. “Bye Reg. Be pleased there was at least a small conversation”.

“No”. Reggie pulled on Y/N’s hand again. But this time they weren’t alone in the hallway. People were slowly coming from all halls, some realizing that the two were talking - and that it was odd. “I was wrong and I’m sorry it’s taken me this long to say something - to have the courage to say something”. Reggie entwined his fingers with Y/N, hoping that it would calm her down.

Y/N had a face of confusion as Reggie came closer to her - and while more students began to surround them in the hallway. To be fair, it was possible some of the didn’t notice or care for that matter - but Y/N could feel some eyes on her. It wasn’t everyday that a jock in his varsity jacket was holding the hand of the social pariah of the school.

“I’m really sorry Y/N. Please. Believe me”. This time Reggie brushed her hair a bit to her ear - noticing that she had both fear and hurt in her eyes. Y/N’s hand began to quiver a bit as she looked in Reggie’s eyes. It was something she hadn’t seen in years - a small amount of glee behind some very hurt eyes. One’s that she hadn’t really recognized in years. Reggie rubbed the back of his thumb alone her chin - not caring who was around them. Not caring that there were still a few months left until graduation, and the last thing he cared about was what the other guys would say at lunch.

All he cared about was Y/N in that moment. And to show her what she meant to him - and what he felt right then. Reggie pulled her even closer, bringing his lips to her as instead of a planned peck that he had played in his head a thousand times - he gave passion in the kiss. Knowing that this was the only girl for him - the only person that had ever believed in him.

Y/N’s eyes were closed as she felt the soft pout on her mouth - she could feel a shiver go up her spine. Not realizing that long felt feelings had lingered for years. With the meeting of lips, Y/N lost her anger. She could feel Reggie’s hand slightly sweat as they began to part. Her blinking a bit out of amazement for a moment.

“I’ve wanted to do that for years”, Reggie gave a breath of relief that he wasn’t slapped immediately after they parted.

“This doesn’t mean...”.

“I know I have a lot of time to work for. It’s okay. Um, by the way. I heard you got into NYU”.

Y/N’s look was questionable but she nodded.

“So did I. So what’s your major? Social justice? Psychology? Unearthing people’s deepest secrets for their own realization?”.

“Funny”. Reggie began to walk Y/N toe and toe to class as their old banter seemed to be back in play. “I don’t recall you ever telling me your deepest secret though Reg”.

“I thought you had figured it out. It was caring about you”.

#riverdale #riverdale imagine #riverdale reggie #riverdale reggie mantle

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snickerl · 6 years

Text

The Return

XF Fanfiction

Now that season 11 is on hiatus, I hope the fandom is ready for a (sorry!) loooong background story about an almost unknown family member.

tagging @today-in-fic

He looks out the window and sees her sitting outside on the porch alone, deep in thought, her eyes fixated on something in the distance. She looks so lost and despite the still existing chasm between them, he feels the strong urge to console her. She said goodbye to her mother today, scattered her ashes to be reunited with her father's just as the last will stated, and he's utterly surprised about how deep the impact of all of this is on his own soul.

Charles Scully has been distant from his family for he doesn't know how long. Very long. The last time he had personal contact was when they were mourning another family member, his sister Melissa. She had been shot by a cold-blooded killer and the news had toppled the house of cards he'd been constructing so conscientiously around his family history and his reasons for cutting the ties. He had booked the next available flight out to become one of the mourners. Everyone, including him, was too shocked by how a young woman's flame of life had expired so very suddenly and randomly that nobody, including him, questioned his being there. And now he's in this house once again because of a funeral.

He'd spoken to his mother on the phone seconds before she drew her terminal breath. Bill had called him, informed him that she was in the hospital suffering from a heart attack and that she had asked for him before she had slipped into a coma. He had given him the number to Dana's cell phone and more or less commanded him to give her a call as if Charlie was one of his plebes from the Academy. It was a short, awkward, and one-sided conversation, reminding Charlie of the ones he used to have with his father before he turned his back to his family.

Being on the phone with Dana was different. She sounded so relieved when she realized it was him. Charlie could hear in her voice how desperate she was, how she was overwhelmed by the fear for her mother. She begged him to talk to her, didn’t order him like Bill. When her voice broke in the end, it touched a heartstring he already believed to be numb.

He can't remember what he said to his mother, something about why all of a sudden he was willing to reconnect probably, but he remembers the fuzz he overheard when his voice had obviously really caused her to open her eyes. He heard Dana's sharp intake of breath, he heard a man's voice asking his mother if she knew her name and where she was, he heard his mother say something but couldn't make anything of it. Then he heard Dana calling out to her in panic, the faint sound of the heart monitor indicating a flatline followed by his sister's heartbreaking sobs. Eventually, someone picked up the phone and talked to him. The words he heard only confirmed what he'd already suspected, feared even.

"Hello, Charles, this is Fox Mulder. We haven't met, I'm, uh...I'm a friend of Dana's." "I know who you are, Mr. Mulder." "Oh, okay, well...I'm very sorry but I have to tell you that your mother just passed away. My deepest condolences."

Charlie didn’t reply, he just killed the call without even saying goodbye, and when Dana called a few days later to inform him about the funeral arrangements, he didn’t want to attend at first. He talked himself into believing that he had paid his dues as a son by fulfilling his mother's last wish and that this was it for him, that he was through with his family for good now that both his parents were dead. Three sleepless nights and an earnest conversation with his better half later, he booked a flight to Washington.

And now he's here, in his mother's house, shaking hands with people he's been alienated from for a long time. The only person he feels slightly connected to is his sister who hugged him fiercely instead of clumsily holding out a hand like his brother. She thanked him for having talked to their mother, for having brought her back if even only for a split-second.

Dana's forlornness and grief don't leave Charlie cold, and so he opens the back door and joins her on the bench outside. He gets her attention by leaning to the side and nudging her shoulder. "You and Mulder are back together?" he asks to start the conversation.

"What makes you think we are?" Dana tosses over her shoulder without looking at him.

"He was at the hospital with you when mom died and today he's here, observing your every move like a bodyguard. He looks like he wants to wrap you in cotton wool. I'm surprised, that's all. The last thing I heard was that you'd left him."

His sister turns her head now and looks at him. "Heard from whom? I was under the impression you didn’t care to know anything about us."

"And yet, people have been telling me things."

"People?"

"Old high school friends. Navy acquaintances. Aunt Roberta calls once in while. You remember her? She's our father's half-sister's out-of-wedlock daughter. We met her once at a Scully family reunion out in Portland when we were kids. She was never really accepted as a member of the Scully clan but she has her sources when it comes to what happens in this family."

"Yes, I think I remember her. And she's telling you things about us? What things?"

"For example that Dana and her FBI agent with the funny name broke up."

"I have an FBI agent with a funny name?"

"At least Aunt Roberta thought so." Charlie chuckles when he thinks back to the more than peculiar conversation. He tries to imitate her Southern accent and her slight sigmatism which had amused them already when they were kids. "Charles, honey, have you heard about Dana and this FBI agent of hers? The one with that funny name I can't remember. It was some native flurry four-footed species with a bushy tail and pointed ears." His assumed voice makes Dana laugh and the unexpected joy he managed to bring to her urges him to continue. "She went through the whole list: lynx, coyote, raccoon...jackalope."

On the last one, her head turns slowly toward him and his ever-suspicious sister only needs to cock an eyebrow to make Charlie understand that she is questioning his story.

"Okay, I'm kidding on the jackalope, but I swear she mentioned the other three!"

"I wouldn't have thought, I bet if I browsed through the cabinet long enough I'd find an X-File involving someone named Jackalope," she retorts and her deadpan expression makes Charlie chuckle now.

The amusing twist their conversation has taken helps Charlie cover what he doesn't want to tell his sister about his telephone call with Aunt Roberta. For example, how troubled he was by the news of her failed marriage, partnership, romance, or whatever it was. The family had been discussing the state of her relationship to this man for years. Aunt Roberta once reported a 'friend of a friend' who was with the IRS had seen them file their income tax as a married couple. Those rumors coming from a questionable source were never confirmed and it didn't matter anyway if they were married or not, when a relationship fails it hurts, that much Charlie knew from experience. So when Aunt Roberta told him Dana and her FBI agent had separated, he felt an instant pit in his stomach. He later identified this as a mix of compassion and sympathy. He was sorry for his sister that she suffered from another setback in her life. He also doesn't want to tell Dana how conflicted he was when Aunt Roberta offered her new address, also obtained through rather murky means. He had declined and regretted it later on, because at that moment he had felt that one day, maybe, he would want to reach out for her.

Charlie doesn't fail to see that Dana isn't particularly generous with information about her relationship to Mulder, a trait which isn't new to him. When they were kids, she already hated being interrogated by her family about her teen romances, especially by her mistrustful father and concerned mother, but also by her siblings who, of course, teased her more than they really wanted to know what was going on in her heart.

Charlie wants to assert her now that they don't have to talk about Mulder if she doesn't want to, but then she picks up his initial question on her own accord and clarifies, "we didn't break up, at least not with finality. I moved out of our house about a year ago, but it was meant to be only a temporary separation. Mulder needed space to....ugh, well, it's too complicated to explain. We're both back at the FBI and have gotten closer again working alongside each other. Besides, he's still my best friend. I don't know how I would be able to survive all this without him."

"You call him by his last name too."

"I do."

He's heard the man his entire family has been gossiping about for years call his sister 'Scully' today a few times and at first, it bothered him a bit. Calling someone by their last name usually was a put-down, a means to create a distance. But the way he says it doesn't sound rude by any means, rather gentle, more like a term of endearment. And now he's just heard Dana call this man 'Mulder' for the first time as she hasn't spoken much during the service, and it also sounds so affectionate.

"A very special relationship you have there."

"Yeah," Dana huffs, "as if you knew anything about it."

"For someone to follow a convicted murderer underground, I'd say the relationship has to be very special. He's your son's father, I assume."

Her pinched mouth clearly indicates he's reached the limit now of what she's willing to share of her love life, and she doesn't hesitate to verbalize it either. "I don't want to talk about it. Besides, it's none of your business."

"Sure. Sorry. I didn't mean to intrude. It's just good to know that you have someone who looks after you."

Dana's head whirls around to look at him so fast, he fears it might give her a whiplash. Her steel blue eyes pierce through him and an ice-cold draft wafts off of her. It gives Charlie an idea that what she's going to say won't be very pleasant for him to hear and the sharp undertone she spits the words out with strengthens the impression.

"Is it, Charlie? You worry about me all of a sudden? I haven't heard from you or seen you in ages. You didn’t care if someone looked after me after my abduction, when I had barely survived a gunshot wound to the abdomen, when I buried Mulder, or when I had my baby, your nephew. You didn't even care when I was dying of cancer."

There's going to be no warming up, he realizes with a start. No getting reacquainted first after so many years of separation, no holding back, no fence time. She throws the accusations right at him and every word feels like a slap across his face.

"I cared," he replies flatly, a bit shocked by the list of terrible things that happened to her. He's heard about all of them. Sometimes only years later, but he knows that she's been at death's door too many times in the line of duty, he knows he once had a nephew called William, and he's heard a lot about one Fox Mulder playing a decisive role in almost everything. He also was in the loop when she was ill with terminal brain cancer. His mother had told him, had left a message on his answering machine pleading with him to visit his sister at the hospital. It was the time she still tried to bring the lost sheep back to the herd. It was only after the umpteenth message he'd left unanswered that she gave up and left him alone. Probably to save herself from more hurting. Even a mother can only take so much rejection.

"Why didn’t you come to the hospital? I was waiting for you, Charlie! Day after day after day, I told myself that tomorrow you'd show up with a good explanation why you hadn't been able to make it earlier, until one day I realized you deliberately stayed away. I can't say it didn't make me sad."

"It would've been a sorrowful cause for a family reunion."

It's the only explanation he can think of this quickly, fully aware that it's a lame excuse. It's a pretext he tries to hide the real motives behind. It's not going to help him out of the confrontation lurking right in front of him, he figures. He sees the determination in his sister's eyes to get to the bottom of the matter and the bundle of questions she's been waiting so many years to ask him.

"I was dying, Charlie. It was your last chance to ever see me alive. Didn't this have any effect on you?"

"You didn't die."

Another useless remark. The fact that she didn't die doesn't lessen his wrongdoing in the slightest.

"No, I didn't, but nobody was able to foresee that at the time. My body was weeks away from shutting down, maybe only days."

He has nothing to say to this. Not even some senseless, placatory words. He's getting more and more uncomfortable. His pulse rate must have risen significantly, the lump in his throat is growing, and the air around him feels sticky. Beads of sweat start forming on his forehead, although the temperature is moderate and a light breeze is blowing in his face.

"Don't you have anything to say? Any explanation, any excuse?"

"There is no excuse," he admits meekly to his sister and actually the first time to himself, he realizes. Deep down at the bottom of his heart, he knew he was making a terrible, irrevocable mistake, but he never had the guts to concede this fact to himself.

"You're damn right there isn't! I don't get it, Charlie, your surviving sister being at death's door wouldn't bring you to put aside the family dispute for just once? Huh? Didn't it matter just a tiny little bit that I was diagnosed with a terminal illness?"

He sees the hurt in her eyes, the wound he caused that has never healed completely and still oozes.

How is he to make her understand that both Ahab's and Melissa's sudden deaths had paralyzed him? He felt strong and invincible having dissociated himself officially from his family, a family whose paternal structures of command and obey had suffocated him. But when his father had died unexpectedly from a heart attack, he felt deprived of the possibility to ever set things right. The family he had left was never going to be the same with its head being gone, the person Charlie had rubbed against the most. There seemed to be no way back to where he once had been. There had been no doubt that Bill would take over, moving upwards in the chain of command from being someone receiving orders to giving them. The friction that had existed between his older brother and himself would increase tenfold with their father gone, of that Charlie had been sure. And things got even more complicated for him when with Melissa another pillar of the family structure was eliminated without a warning. His place in the remaining mesh of relations was evermore undefined and Charles Nevin Scully, youngest branch of the pedigree, departed more and more from his family, even from the ones he never had a reason to be at odds with other than that they belonged to that particular family: his mother and living sister.

Charlie's sinister flashbacks leave him silent which leads Dana to voice her very own interpretation. Misinterpretation, that is. What else?

"You were of the same opinion as our older brother, weren't you? That it was all my fault. That only I was to blame for everything that happened to me because it had been my choice to join the FBI. A choice which killed our sister."

"Bill said that to you?"

"Yes."

"When you were in the hospital?"

"Yes."

"What an asshole!"

Dana narrows her eyes and furrows her brows. "That wasn't what you thought of me?" she asks, surprise evident in her voice.

"No. Never."

"Then I understand even less why you completely ignored my being ill. If a hospital bedside visit was too much to ask for, why didn't you call or at least write a few lines? Something. Anything. I was longing for a sign that you cared about me, Charlie."

He would like to tell her that he cared. He cared so much that he called the hospital every day to ask how she was doing. He had been able to convince a nurse that he was a family member authorized to get next of kin information. Her name was Estelle, and she reported to him every up and down of the course of his sister's illness. How she battled her way through the aggressive treatment, how the hopes everyone had pinned on chemo and radiation were disappointed, how she became a little less every day. He knew of the mysterious chip Dana's FBI partner had come up with even before his mother and brother heard about it. The last time he spoke with Estelle was when she called him the day the cancer had gone into remission to tell him about his sister's miracle cure. He cried when he put the receiver back into the cradle. A few days later, Dana was discharged and Estelle received a huge bouquet of flowers.

Why he can't tell his sister this, Charlie doesn't know. Instead, he gives her some other reason, one that is equally true though. "What good would it have done to rekindle, Dana? Tell me. Why get close to someone you're going to lose again?"

Her eyes wide and gasping for breath like a fish out of water, her indignant reply isn't long in coming. "Pardon, I'm not sure I got this right. Are you saying it wasn't any use? That it wasn't worth the effort because I would be gone soon after anyhow?"

Tears flood her incredulous eyes and Charlie hates how he is making things worse instead of better.

"No, that's not exactly what I meant."

"Then what did you mean, Charlie? I don't understand a word you're saying. I never really understood why we were estranged in the first place."

"We," he fidgets with his hand between them, "were never estranged, Danes."

"No? Then how come you didn't get on a plane and pay me a sick visit as long as you still could?"

Maybe it's time to finally be honest, his mind supplies, to finally explain his state of mind at the time. If it only wasn't so damn difficult to pour his heart out to someone he had taught himself to cut out of his life. But she is his sister, and back in the days as kids, they were like two peas in a pod. The two youngest Scullys were inseparable and always attached to one another. He owes her an explanation, she deserves to understand why his behavior as an adult differed so much from when he was a child.

He musters all his courage and clears his throat, then starts to explain, his powerless voice revealing how hard it is for him to speak the words. "I had already lost one sister, I wasn't ready to lose another. It had been hard for me not to be able to say goodbye to Melissa, but to watch you die, Dana, simply seemed impossible for me to handle. I thought that if I pretended that the family drama didn’t have anything to do with me, it would be easier for me to cope with the inevitable, which would be the...the, uhm..."

"My death," Dana supplies unmoved.

"The loss of my second sister."

It doesn't take her long to understand the essence of his profession. "So you're saying you ignored my medical condition to protect you from the pain my passing would eventually inflict on you."

"I know that was selfish of me."

"It was. Very selfish. Incredibly selfish." She hesitates a moment until she goes on, probably because it takes her a moment to grasp the whole concept, something that took him years to accept, and he sees it coming, she won't spare him his shortcoming. "All you saw was your loss and how you would have to deal with it. The situation I had to fight with at that very moment didn't even exist in your imagination. Do you want to know what I had to deal with, Charlie?" She doesn't wait for him to answer. "There was no hope for a cure but I underwent treatment anyway just to buy myself a bit of time. Chemotherapy made me vomit my insides out, radiation gave me gum sores and made it difficult for me to swallow. I suffered from constant fatigue and lost so much weight they gave me nutritional IVs so I wouldn't die from malnutrition. I was terrified, Charlie, I didn't want to die. I was too young to die, and I didn't deserve to die. I was so scared. I could've used you to help me through this, little brother."

Scanning his face, her eyes tell him how hard her struggle was, how it had taken every bit of strength she had within her tiny body. Charlie feels the same horror as all those years back when Estelle gave him the minutae medical reports of her ordeal, and he's employing the same whitewashing technique to justify his failure as a brother, only it was much easier back then to convince himself that he wasn't doing anything wrong than it is today.

"You had people taking care of you much better than I would've been able to. You had mom and Bill. Your partner."

He had heard from Estelle that there was an FBI agent who moved heaven and hell to be allowed to sit at his sister's bedside outside visiting hours, that he spent the nights either holding Dana's hand or in her bed spooning against her. Estelle had never witnessed so much compassion from a patient's work colleague before. Charlie didn’t have to be a psychic to be able to conclude that this man had to be the infamous Fox Mulder, of whom his mother had spoken so dearly during Dana's abduction, but his brother had called a joke figure unworthy of being in law enforcement.

"Mom's sad face only reminded me of how much fear and worry I had caused her since the day I joined the FBI. She tried to hide her tears from me, but there were days her eyes were so red and puffy, I knew she'd been crying until she stepped into my room. I was grateful to her for her love and care but sometimes the way she clung to me made it difficult. Mulder also tried to put on a show for me and acted as if there was nothing to worry about, but I knew him too well not to see the underlying fear. I noticed how he tried to keep a calm face as long as he was in my room but deep inside struggled with the idea of going on without me. I wanted a pledge from him that he would continue our work but he refused to even talk about it. He tried to keep from me that he was searching for a cure, breaking every FBI rule there was, but I looked right through him. He reminded me of a duck that floated serenely on the water but paddled frantically underneath. There were days I worried more about him than about myself. And Bill, well...you know him, he's not really good at displaying his soft, compassionate side, although he has one. When he said he wanted to come to terms with me, he just did not go so far as to add 'as long as you're still here'. He's never forgiven me my decision to join the Bureau. He's been more unforgiving in this than dad ever was. Mom told me that Ahab had eventually accepted my choice before he died."

Charlie isn't so sure about it. Their father could be very stubborn and unrelenting. He himself had been at the receiving end of the paternal pressure, they all had. Their mother had always been the balancing force and of course, she wanted Dana to believe that her beloved father had finally made his peace with her career choice. That Bill had taken over Ahab's role as her stern critic also fit into the mold of how he pictured the family dynamics from the distance he had been keeping so eagerly.

"I don't understand it, Charlie, we'd always been so close. I loved how you lived for the moment, how you looked at your life so differently from how I did. You were always so carefree and confident. I could've used your optimistic attitude to cheer me up, your inappropriate jokes to lift my spirits, your positive thinking to assure me that everything was going to be fine. I badly needed someone to distract me, to take me away from all these people with their worried faces and sinister forebodings."

He doubts he could've been this someone for her, given the worry and sinister forebodings he was hatching inside himself at the time, but he would never admit it. He's already told her so much more than he ever thought he would. There was something else though he needs her to understand.

"Danes, I may have been a selfish bastard...correction, I was a selfish bastard...but there's one thing you have to believe. There never was a time I did not care about you. You've always been my favorite sibling. I mean, Bill and I never had a lot in common. Being so much older than me, he always thought he could boss me around when dad was away. Melissa was fun and easy-going but too occupied with herself to pay a lot of attention to her baby brother. You, Dana, you were the only one who looked after me. Do you remember how you once intimidated some boys who bullied me in school?"

Dana shakes her head in disbelief as if his well-meant words don't make any sense to her, probably because they contradict his behavior during these past years, but he needs her to understand that he's always loved her dearly. The distance he put between them has only been physical, never emotional. The happy childhood they had shared wouldn't let him dissociate completely from his sister, even if he had tried.

"They were taller than me, and a lot taller than you, but you put your hands on your hips and told them to leave me alone if they didn't want you to give them a lesson of a girl's secret combat strategies. Your flaming red curls and fiery eyes put them to rout alright. You were my heroine then, today, and always."

"Your heroine?"

"Yes, my heroine. Geez, you never avoided a confrontation, never abandoned your beliefs. You were the only one of us who dared to argue with dad, and I adored you for that. Not even our older brother would've had the guts to do what you have done: choose a career against our father's explicit will. I asked myself if the Navy really was Bill's first choice or only dad's. You were the tiniest of us four but also the strongest and most courageous."

"Overpraise."

"Oh no, not at all. I couldn't have wished for a better big sister."

Charlie watches her with silent scrutiny and when his eyes find hers, a little smile sneaks from the edge of Dana's lips. Her voice becomes softer with every sentence of the childhood memory that leaves her lips.

"I was so happy when mom and dad told us we would have another brother or sister. I'd always wanted to be a big sister like Melissa. Mom told me years later that she had two miscarriages after me and didn't dare to try for a fourth child for quite a while. That's why the gap between you and me is somewhat larger than between us other three. When you were born and dad took us to the hospital to visit you and mom, I was allowed to hold you although I was the youngest. I remember that dad said it was Bill's right as the firstborn but mom insisted I should hold you, and of course, Bill didn't mind. He had his hands in his pockets the whole time to keep anyone from placing the fidgeting baby in his arms. Melissa was too occupied with the current book she was reading to bestow as much as a glance on you, so I held you the entire time. You looked at me with wide eyes, then fell asleep in my arms. Mom said that you'd been crying all day, that she'd thought you were never going to stop, and that from now on she would call me to help her soothe you whenever you were upset. I almost burst out of pride. I had fallen in love with my baby brother at that very moment and I felt that nothing and no one would ever come between me and him...until I was lying in a hospital bed, sick and scared, yearning for my brother to hold me for a change. And he didn't show up."

The way her voice breaks at the end is stealing Charlie's breath. "God, Dana," he groans. His stomach churns and he feels like he is being stabbed in the heart. It's not easy to be told so plainly how wrong he had been.

"I'm sorry, Charlie. I shouldn't have said that."

"No, it's alright. I deserve every word of it."

"Maybe, maybe not. I mean, I guess you had your reasons to distance yourself from the family. Seriously, how many fights did you have with dad about scholastic merits, majors, and fields of study? About the so-called serious sides of life?"

"He wanted me to become a second Bill Jr., one more son he could push into the Navy to follow his footsteps. Why did he never argue with Melissa like that? She wasn't exactly an industrious, determined student either, was she? When she told him she was going to move into this esoteric commune to learn how to free her spirit from the shackles of the performance society he only shook his head, shrugged and continued reading the paper. I didn’t get it. If it had been me, he would've given me an hour-long lecture."

Dana has to chuckle now. "She was a girl, Charlie. Dad probably thought she'd get married one day and left it to the future husband to put up with those silly ideas of hers."

"And he had you, of course. Bright, ambitious, A-student Dana at the onset of a career in either science or medicine. You raised the bar to unreachable heights for us ordinary mortals."

"That was never my intention. I just loved to study and I found joy in being the best possible in everything I did. I still do actually. Mulder can tell you a thing or two about it."

"I knew you didn't become daddy's pet on purpose, but you were, and at a certain point there just was no valid place for me to settle myself in. Bill was his golden Navy boy, you were the brainiac, Melissa had already taken the role of the black sheep, so what was I going to be?"

"Is that why you went away?"

"I couldn't do anything right by him, he was always on the lookout for mistakes he could blame me for. Mom always tried to make up for it but let's face it, dad wore the pants in that marriage. One day I realized I was happy and satisfied as long as he was away. The nearer his homecoming, the more uncomfortable I got. The family was thrilled about his return, whereas I dreaded it, and when you cried when he left us again, I had to feign being sad. At a certain point, it had become so obvious for me that I was an outsider in this family that I decided I would move out as soon as possible."

"And so you did," Dana states.

So he did. On the morning of his 18th birthday, he let his mother and siblings know over the birthday breakfast they had set up for him that he was going to move in with a friend. His father was at sea, luckily. Charlie wouldn't have had the guts to go through with it probably if Ahab had been sitting at the table with them. His mother was utterly aghast, his brother ridiculed him, the older of his two sisters babbled something about how one must pursue the path being offered, the younger cried, pleading with him to stay.

"Please believe me when I tell you that it wasn't you personally I needed to get away from, it was this family dynamic I couldn't cope with any longer."

"A dynamic I was a part of."

"Yeah," he sighs, "you were. It wasn't easy for me, especially in the beginning, but I needed a complete cut. It wouldn't have worked any other way for me."

"I hear you using 'I' and 'me' a lot, Charlie. Have you ever wasted a single thought about what your leaving did to us? Mom especially?"

He had. He thought a lot about his mother and it felt terrible to turn her down in her persistent attempts to reestablish contact. He can't explain what made him react to this last effort of hers. Maybe he'd realized that even if it was too late for him to reconcile with his mother, he didn't want to lose a third family member without even saying goodbye. Fate had been so courteous to him as to give him a second chance with Dana, it didn't offer him a second one with his mother, but at least he got to show her he still cared about her before she died.

"I did think of her, more than I would want, but, well...it's just that you can't make an omelet without breaking the eggs."

Dana cocks an eyebrow, a gesture Charlie is familiar with since early childhood. "Weird analogy here," she snorts. "It means you accepted you hurt her, I guess. "

"I'm afraid I have to say yes."

Dana presses her lips into a sharp line and nods slightly, processing his painfully honest words. "Well, thank you for taking the time to ease her heart at her last moments on earth." If she tried to prevent sounding sarcastic, she's not succeeding.

"Even at the risk of you not believing this, I'm glad I did. She was my mother, I owed it to her. I, uh...I did love her."

He's rendered his sister speechless for a moment with these last words. A tear escapes her eye when she finally says, "I believe you, I only wished she would've had more time with you."

Charlie swallows hard. His voice is small when he replies, "I'm sorry, Dana, I know I should've come back earlier. I should've been there for you, and for mom, when you needed me."

"You're here today, Charlie, and that's all that matters now."

They turn toward each other and after a moment of hesitance they hug, long and tight.

"Mmmm," Dana hums and the sound vibrates comfortably in Charlie's ear, "I'm so glad to have you back, little brother."

"It's good to be back, sis."

"You won't hide anymore?"

"No. I promise."

After a moment of significant silence they spend with Dana clutching Charlie as if her life depended on it, he breaks the embrace. To his dismay, the moment he lets go of her, his sister collapses. Her shoulders start trembling and when her chin falls to her chest, he hears the first sob escape her throat. He looks at her, not knowing exactly what she is crying about. She has so many reasons to cry. There were so many losses in her life she had to deal with, starting with a brother who vanished from her life without leaving a trace. Guilt crawls up his spine for having left her in the lurch for so long. He places himself right next to her, their thighs touching, and puts an arm around her shoulder. She instantly falls into him and the dam breaks. Her body is shaking from heavy sobs and soon Charlie feels his shirt getting wet from her tears. It's as if she's bottled up her sadness for too long that it now gushes out of her unchecked.

It takes Dana several minutes to recompose herself, minutes in which she's being rocked and comforted by her long-lost brother until the sobbing subsides eventually. She disentangles herself from him, pulls a tissue out of her pocket and blows her nose. Looking at him with red and blurry eyes, she manages a weak smile when she says, "seems you've returned the favor now."

"What favor?"

"To hold me until I stopped crying like I did when you were a newborn."

Charlie can't keep the sour chuckle down which is climbing up his throat. "Superb, it only took me 46 years. Well done, dude!"

Now Dana chuckles too, but hers is full of relief, not reproach. "Better late than never."

The sudden realization strikes him hard. How he wishes now that he'd been her rock also back then. Hell, how often had she stood up for him when their father had told him off, justifiably or not? How often had she covered for him, both in school and at home? She'd helped him out of more than one predicament, and he had only taken, taken, taken. He'd taken his unselfish, giving sister for granted and he'd never given her anything in return but his outright admiration and brotherly affection. As a kid, it had probably been all that could've expected from him, but as an adult in his mid-twenties, he should've had the decency and morality to swallow his personal sensitivities and shove his pitiful ass all the way from Fresno to her bedside in Washington to hold her hand.

"I'm so glad you got cured, Dana. I would've never been able to forgive myself."

In his state of harsh self-flagellation, Charlie fails to recognize that Dana's mood has already shifted from reproach to reconciliation. If he wasn't so self-centered once again, he would be able to read it in her face, in her open look and appeasing smile. She lays her hand on his forearm and squeezes it gently.

"Let's not talk about it anymore, Charlie. The cancer is gone, I'm fine. I've been cancer-free for years. We have all the time in the world to make up for the past years."

"What? That simple? You're forgiving me just like that as if I'm belatedly returning a book I borrowed from you? I failed you in the moment of your worst distress and you're saying 'let's forget it'?"

"If I learned anything during my illness, it has to be that it's no use trying to redo what's past. The past can't be changed, only the present and future. When I was still in the belief that my remaining days were numbered, I struggled with what I had missed doing in my past and it was hard to accept that there were some things I would never be able to catch up with. Then a miracle happened and I got cured. I was given a second chance and I swore to myself I wouldn't waste it with regretting the mistakes I'd made in the past."

"You got cured thanks to a...erm, somewhat alternative approach, so I heard."

Dana's hand goes to her neck, her fingertips reaching for the spot where an implant had first been taken out and later on another one put in. He heard the whole story.

"Mulder's chip, well...it certainly led to some discussion with mom and Bill. They thought I was being crazy to even try it, but I had nothing to lose. And I trusted Mulder."

"Are you still carrying it?"

"Yes, I am. It seems to have kept me in remission ever since."

"That's wonderful, Danes. How did Mulder know it would work?"

"He didn't, but he is a believer. And he taught me to believe."

"What a great partnership. How long have you been together now?"

"More than 20 years."

"Wow."

"Yeah, it's quite a time span. What kind of life are you living, Charlie? Do you have a significant other? Are you married?"

"Divorced. Twice."

"Children? Any nephews or nieces I don't know of?"

"No children, no. At least no biological ones. Carrie, my second wife, has two boys, and we get along pretty well. Once in a while, I take them to a football game or out for burgers. They're cool kids, but it seems I'm not made to be a family man. I'm not good at playing house. I definitely won't marry again. I'm living with someone though. Haley. She's 32, a free spirit, artist. She reminds me of Melissa at times. She's very open when it comes to addressing my flaws," he adds with a grin. "She's good for me."

"Sounds wonderful. It's good not to be alone."

"What about Mulder and you?"

"We're not living together at the moment."

"You already said that, but will you again? One day?"

"Maybe," she says, and with a little more emphasis, "probably."

"He seems like a good person. Quite different from what I've been told by Bill."

"How come Bill talked to you about Mulder?"

"Well, you're not going to like it, but uhm...he wanted me to help bring you to your senses. Back in the day. I think by now, he's given up on the endeavor to eliminate him from your life."

"Bill and Mulder have never really connected. Bill blamed him for dragging me into this dark world of his, into his quest of finding the truth. He completely neglected the fact that I was a grown woman who made her own choice when I decided to follow him. One day, his quest had become mine."

"And you had fallen in love," Charlie points out.

"It's a very long and very complicated story but yes, somewhere along the road we fell in love with each other. I think neither of us can pinpoint the exact moment when it happened, one day we simply found ourselves being in love. When you've found your perfect other, you don't let them walk out of your life just like that, even though not everything is always perfect."

"I like him."

"You do?"

"Yes, he seems kind and decent, and absolutely devoted to you. He guards you like a mother bear."

"He's always been very protective of me, unlike what Bill thinks."

"He was in the hospital with you. When mom died."

"He was. I received Bill's call at a crime scene and Mulder sent me to go see mom right away, saying he'd cover for me. He came to the hospital later. He knew I needed him. Apart from that, he liked mom and was worried about her. She liked him too. She liked him a lot. Her last words were to him. I guess she said them to both of us, but she was reaching out for Mulder and looked him in the eye when she said what she said."

"That she also had a son named William."

"Her last thoughts were of the two people that were lost to her - William and you. She loved you, Charlie, despite everything, and she needed to know you were alright before she was ready to go. As a mother, she never gave up on her child."

He's surprised about the warm feeling spreading inside. Maybe as a son, he also never gave up on his mother. Maybe even if the umbilical cord is cut there's an invisible bond between a mother and her child that never ceases to exist. He thought he had burnt all bridges behind him but that obviously wasn't true. He's glad he made that last phone call and talked to his mother. It not only gave her peace but also him. He missed the chance to make full amends with her, but maybe she'd known what their last-minute reconciliation would do for him. A mother always knows what's best for her child.

"But why did she tell you she also had a son named William? She should've known you were aware you had a brother with that name. It seems a little peculiar to me."

"I don’t think that was what she was trying to remind us of."

"Of what then?"

"That we, Mulder and I, have a son named William too."

"Huh? She thought you forgot that?"

"No. She knew we missed him every day of our lives. She wanted to tell us to never give up hope, to keep believing that we will reunite with him one day, just like she had reunited with you after so many years of separation."

"Well, reunited is probably too big a word. I spoke two sentences to her. She didn't even answer."

"She felt the connection re-established, Charlie. Your two sentences pulled her out of the coma. The fact that her prayer for you had been answered, that you had come, even if only through the speaker phone, gave her peace, and she wanted the same peace for us."

"Awesome. I never would've thought."

"It took me a while to figure it out myself. At first, I was confused and even a bit angry at her. I asked myself why she had to remind us of the child we had lost. What was the use of hurting us? Only days later I understood what she was trying to tell us."

"To look for him?"

"To always feel responsible for him. We are his parents, even though he's not living with us. Mulder and I created this life, and for as long as we live, our obligation is to assure he's safe and happy. If it means we have to stay away from him, so be it, that's what we have done the past 15 years, but maybe the day will come when we can dare to contact him. She told us to never stop hoping for this to finally happen."

"With saying she also had a son name William she put herself in your shoes."

"She acknowledged my motherhood, something I've had difficulties with since I gave him up. She always saw the mother in me, never the woman who gave her son away. I can't tell you what this means to me. Especially because she disapproved of my decision to give him up for adoption, and very strongly so. She loved William and didn't want to lose her grandson. I've been told many times by people who didn't know better that I would understand a certain situation better if only I was a mother. Working at the children's ward does that to you, it puts you in a situation where you have to talk to parents making tough choices for their sons and daughters. The choices I made for my children-"

Dana stops mid-sentence, takes a deep breath and bites her lower lip for a moment, then turns toward her brother. "Do you know that I had a daughter? A beautiful girl. Emily. Begotten with my ova, carried and given birth to by another woman."

Charlie nods. He has never fully understood the whole story of that girl's existence, but his mother, God bless her, had written him a letter back then giving him the news of how her first grandchild had entered her life so miraculously and then left it again within the blink of an eye. The letter even contained a picture of a little girl that looked so much like his sister it had taken his breath away, but he had been in a phase where a lot of things were going on in his own life, so he had never really allowed this story to get at him.

Dana's eyes become unfocused and she looks beyond her brother to an image only she can see. Charlie is aware that she hides the full depth of her pain. To her questioning look as how he'd come to the knowledge of that other child of hers, he only answers taciturnly "mom". A fleeting smile crosses Dana's face at the mentioning of her mother, then she takes on from where she left a moment ago. "I didn't know Emily existed until she was three years old. She was so terribly sick when I found her. There was no hope for a cure, and I decided to accompany her on her way of death instead of prolonging her suffering just to have her with me a little while longer." The last sentences come out in a staccato without drawing a single breath in between them as if this was the only way for her to be able to do it.

"Jesus, Dana, there's been so much suffering in your life, so much pain and loss."

His sister heaves a bitter chuckle. "Yeah, it seems that my adult life has been one long master class in death beginning with my choice to go into forensic pathology. Fate would've had it that I not only studied death but gathered a lot of personal experience to add to the scientific approach. God, there are so many deaths, one after another, it's almost difficult to put them in a chronological order." She squints her eyes for a second, then starts the morbid list. "Dad, Mulder's father, Melissa, Emily, Mulder's mother, Samantha, Mulder, the Gunmen, and almost myself now and then. Now I have to add mom to the list."

Some names don't make sense to Charlie, like Samantha and the Gunmen, and he asks himself how Mulder made it onto the list, but he won't dwell on it. There's no use in deepening the cuts in her heart. His sister is a textbook definition of a strong person but where is her breaking point? When would all this death be too much for her to take?

"Well, anyway," she shakes her head as if to push the thoughts about death out of her mind, "what I wanted to say was that the choices I made for my children left me at a point where I wasn't seeing myself as a mother anymore. All I felt I was, was being the biological origin of two human beings who lived, or had lived, their lives far away from me with other women raising them. Mom never saw it that way. Every Mother's Day she sent me two white lilies and a card, thanking me for the two grandchildren I gave her. In her eyes, I never ceased being a mother, and I'm so grateful she reminded me of it before she left us."

As a man, not even a father, Charlie can only try to imagine what it was like for his sister to lose two children, and, to make matters worse, under such unfortunate circumstances beyond her control. From the way she so fondly speaks of her emotions connected to her motherhood, he feels safe enough to ask her a question that has been on his mind for a while.

"How was he? My nephew?"

Dana's self-containment is gone for a moment. She sucks in her breath deeply through her nose while her eyes slide closed. Charlie already fears he's gone too far, but then a slight smile tugs at the corners of her mouth. When she opens her eyes, they are filled with tears, but they don't seem to be sad, rather dreamy.

"How was he? Let's see. Hmmm, he was such an easy baby. He didn't cry a lot, he was happy and satisfied most of the time. As difficult as the pregnancy and childbirth were, it didn't have any negative influence on him. He smiled mostly, ate and slept well. He would look at you with his big, curious eyes and melt your heart. He was a godsend for a first-time mother."

"Did he look a lot like you? Like a Scully? Bill's kids all looked so much like him when they were babies, I almost pitied them," Charlie deadpans.

"It's what nature intends. Fathers don't share a mother's certainty that a baby is theirs, so newborns resemble their fathers early on to assure men they invest their resources in their own offspring."

"So he resembled Mulder more than you?"

He can't stop himself from asking the trick question. So far, she has spoken of her partner's fatherhood only in casual half-sentences and Charlie wonders why. At this point, he's certain that no one else can be her son's father but Fox Mulder.

"Well, he had blue eyes like most babies have and only peach hair when he was born, but whenever I looked at his face I saw Mulder, especially after he had to leave us. William was all I had at a time I didn't even know if Mulder still lived." Leading her yet again to a sad chapter of her life story hadn't been his intention but she seems unfazed and Charlie doesn't even have to voice another question for her to continue and eventually answer his question. "When I picture him now, I see a mixture of the both of us: a lanky teenage boy with Mulder's brown unruly hair and my blue eyes. I hope he's been spared the red hair, I remember how Bill and you wrestled with the color of your hair as kids. And you're dying it now, I see." She rakes her fingers through her brother's hair with an amused smile on her face.

"I've tried more or less every single color, I can tell you as much. It was green for quite a while," he quips.

The information makes her laugh. It's a wholehearted laughter, taking a bit off the edges of their sad conversation. "Well, you were far away enough from home to be allowed to experiment. Imagine Bill with green hair. Dad would've been mad as hell."

Charlie joins in her laughter and they both can't hold it, they laugh until the tears stream down their cheeks. It's a good laughter which puts an end to the heavy talk and lets them both cherish their togetherness. This is how it used to be between them when they were kids, light and easy.

Dana and Charlie are both so absorbed that they startle when the back door opens with a creak and Mulder pops his head out.

"Sorry to interrupt but there's an Aunt Roberta on the phone who wants to pass on her condolences to you, Scully. She says she's a distant relative, the second daughter of your father's cousin or something like that. She asked me if I was the FBI agent with the funny name. What am I supposed to make of that?" Dana and Charlie look at each other and burst into hysterical laughter, much to Mulder's bewilderment. "Well, I'm glad to see you're having fun," he growls with a hint of annoyance in his voice.

"Sorry for that, Foxxx," Charlie says, stretching his name for emphasis and gritting his teeth at the same time in order to keep himself from laughing. He gets up and puts a hand on the taller man's shoulder. "I'll talk to her."

After Charlie has vanished into the house, Mulder takes the now empty spot next to his partner and mumbles under his breath, "agent with the funny name...moi?"

She also tries to suppress a grin but is only half successful. "There's obviously been some talking about us within my family and Aunt Roberta has been adding her own anecdotal details to the stories."

"Anecdotal details, I see. Well, as long as she calls me funny and not spooky, I shouldn't complain."

"I never thought you were spooky, Mulder."

"Not even when we first met and I showed you the slides to our first case?"

"No."

"I can't quite believe that, Scully. Everybody thought I was spooky."

"First of all, I'm not everybody...." Mulder smiles consentingly, "second, I thought you were nuts when we first met."

"Ouch." Mulder's face contorts in feigned hurt for a second before he shoots back, "and I thought you'd last a week maximum. I guess we've both changed our minds."

"Who said I have?" she deadpans.

"Funny. Very funny, Scully." Mulder's face is empty now, whereas Dana's lightens up upon their banter.

Inside the house, Charlie isn't listening very closely to what Aunt Roberta is saying. He tries to follow the interaction outside on the porch and strains his ears to get at least some of the conversation. Casually, he tells her now, "stop calling him that, Aunt Roberta. His name is Fox, and forget what you've been told about him, he's a good person." It only takes his aunt, who's probably a second or third cousin or actually not a real relative at all, a brief moment to process this new information before she showers Charlie with more questions he chooses to ignore. His attention is again directed outside when he hears Dana and Mulder resume their conversation after a few moments of silence. He takes the receiver away from his ear to be able to follow what's being said outside.

"Did you two have a good conversation?" Mulder asks

"Hmm, yes, we did. A long overdue conversation, but a good one. I lost my mother, but I got my brother back."

Charlie's heart swells.

"That's good, Scully. I'm happy for you. He seems like a nice guy."

"He said the same about you."

"Seriously? Should there really exist a male Scully on this planet who doesn't hate me?"

Instead of commenting, Dana places a gentle kiss on Mulder's cheek. It elicits a delighted smile from the man who in Charlie's head had been an ego-driven, reckless, unhinged sorry son of a bitch destroying his sister's career in his stubborn pursuit to find little green men until he was able to form a view of his own on the infamous Fox Mulder meeting him personally today for the first time.

"What was that for?" Mulder asks, obviously surprised by Dana's gesture of affection.

"For helping me through this, Mulder. For being my friend."

"Anytime, Scully."

"Yes, I know. That's what I mean."

Charlie watches his sister lean into her partner, and he can see that he is so much more than just an FBI partner - with or without a funny name. She puts her head on his shoulder and he pulls her closer with one of his long arms. What a cute couple, Charlie thinks. This is how she's been able to survive all this, with Mulder at her side. That she'd been taken care of by this man while he had been absent from her life makes it a little easier for Charlie to come to terms with what he'd done wrong. He smiles and puts his ear back to the receiver, his eyes still locked on the display of human compassion and love outside.

"Pardon, Aunt Roberta? The connection is a little wonky. What did you just say?"

He listens to her babbling some more and doesn't deem it worthy to interrupt her flood of words, but then she asks him something meaningful and he's happy to give her an honest answer.

"Yes, it definitely was the right decision to come back."

#dana scully #charles scully #fox mulder

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