[archester-creations]

Hurts Like Hell - Life One

If Cardin was given a choice- allowed to choose his birth class- he would’ve chosen peasant. A simple life. Warm family. Work he would enjoy. And maybe, he'd even find love. The love of someone bright and warm.

But no one could choose their lot in life. So instead Cardin was born to one of the richest families in Utopia. And one of the coldest men. His father was cold instead of warm. Calculating instead of feeling. If he didn’t know better he’d say he wasn’t human. Or that at some point, he’d been dropped in the dark god’s pool. No one would ever enter that, though. Not by accident, certainly not on purpose. No, his father was human. Even if he only acted so in front of those he deemed important.

His life wasn’t the one he would choose. But for everything bad. For everything he’d wish away in a moment. There was one thing he would never give up. Not for anything. Love.

Love was something he had. Not from his father. Never from his father- his only family. There was someone else. A servant of the castle. He was shorter than Cardin, but not by much. And he was brighter than anyone he knew. Bright like a star, fallen from the sky to live on Utopia. Just a smile could light up any place, no matter how large.

They had found him when Cardin was just a child. Small and fragile. Abandoned near the castle. Cardin’s mother had been alive at the time, and she’d brought the boy in. Healed him and feed him. Clothed him. She made him a servant. But Cardin made him his playmate.

At the time, playmate had looked closer to victim. He’d tormented the small boy who’d gained his mother’s compassion. Something that he hardly ever got, despite being her only son. The boy let him take out his anger. Even when it was unjustly against him. In a year something clicked and changed.

The boy didn’t deserve his punishment. Not for something neither of them could change. Slowly, over that year, his rage faded. And in its place rested something numbing. A melancholy, like he’d lost something he knew he’d never had to begin with.

And the boy was there for him when the change took place. With a kind word and a warm hug. After that they started to become friends. It was a slow process. Cardin would backtrack at times. Lash out. But the boy was patient with him. Always patient. Unreasonably patient. And at times, it angered Cardin. Made him scream and run. Because as time went, he’d found himself unable to hit the boy. So his only option was to run. He would go somewhere and cool off. And when he returned to apologize, the boy would always be there. All patient smiles, and a warm hug.

It was a friendship that stemmed from sorrow. Rooted in patience. Watered with shared experiences, and cultivated carefully by both. Until it grew strong and steady. A bond unable to be broken by anyone. Even them. But neither would want to break it. For Cardin, it was the best thing he’d ever had.

Then they got older. And something changed again.

Cardin’s mother died. Her body ravaged by disease, and unable to fight back. The loss hit him. Even without being loved by her, it still hit him. She was his mother, after all. And the servant boy was the only one there for him. Through it all. All the loss and pain, he was there. And when Cardin asked him why, ‘I love you’ was his only response. Quiet and weighted.

Cardin ran.

He couldn’t take it, and he ran. The weight of those words were too heavy for him. The boy’s eyes when he said them. How he looked at him. Careful and loving. The way his heart called back to those words. How it longed to sing out. Longed to return them. Everything. It was all too much.

It would be days before Cardin returned to him. And when he did, the boy was patient. Just as always. He didn’t take his words back. But he smiled. Let Cardin move at his own pace. Gave him love. Unfiltered, unconditional. Sometimes it would still be too much and Cardin would run again. But just as before. Just as when they were children, the boy would always be there when he returned. With a kind smile, and a warm hug.

And eventually, Cardin could return it. Every second no longer felt like too much. Though, sometimes it would return. Sometimes he would remember how little he deserved. How much the boy gave him. That he shouldn’t be given any of it. All through those times, though, he’d be there. The boy would be there. He’d hush his fears. Smile and hold him close.

If Cardin was given a choice on who would love him, he’d laugh. He’d laugh and ignore it. Because he could never choose. Could never find anything better than this servant boy who shone brighter than any star. Who’d chosen to love him.

Who, without a thought, he’d chosen to love back. Given his whole heart to, and everything else he had, without a regret.

Then his father ruined it. But that’s what his father did.

“I’ve found you a bride,” his father told him. Blaise, as always.

“What?” Cardin asked. He took a step back in surprise. This had come from nowhere, and his brain struggled to retain the information.

“A bride.” He looked up at Cardin like he was a child. Dumb and insignificant. A bother. But that was how his father always looked at him. Unless someone important was around. Then he’d break out the proud eyes.

“A bride?” Cardin repeated dumbly, and his father sighed.

“Yes, a bride. If you payed attention instead of wandering off all the time, you would have understood the first time.”

Cardin opened and closed his mouth a few times. A bride. “I don’t want to be married.”

“I didn’t ask your opinion. Her father is another lord. You should be overjoyed. After all these years, you finally have a purpose.”

Cardin’s head spun. A bride. His father was using him to gain more power. For a while he stood there. Frozen, unsure what to do. Then his body took over and he ran. Ran for the only person who mattered.

A week had passed when Cardin’s father brought it up again. And this time, he had the bride on his arm. She was objectively beautiful. Long blonde hair cascaded down her back and green eyes shone under long lashes. Her skin was pale, her complexion clean. Maybe in another life he could’ve married her. But just the thought made his whole being rebel. And he knew that thought was untrue. No matter what life he lived, it would always be the boy. Always him.

Together they came up with a plan. It was insane. But they knew if they ran, Cardin’s father would hunt them down. So death would be the only way. The only way they could find peace.

The servant boy was the one who suggested consulting the magician. Who’d thought of the potion. It would kill them. But it would also let them live again. In another time. Another life. One where they could be together.

They took it.

Together they went to the woods. In a quiet corner of his father’s property. Where the sun shone through the leaves. Painting the clearing green. It was a place they had went to often. A place they’d found as children. And where they’d had their first kiss.

It would also be where they have their last.

Cardin could feel tears when they pressed their lips together. When he pulled away, he was surprised to see they weren’t his. “Jaune.” The name fell from his lips easily. He lifted his hand to wipe the tear from Jaune’s cheek. It wasn’t often he saw him cry. And he’d never seen this look. This hopeless, last resort look in his eyes.

For what felt like the first time, Cardin had to be the one with all the faith. The one who showed that it would all be okay. It broke his heart. How this perpetually hopeful boy almost withered. But he brought out all the hope he could. Let it linger in his eyes. And smiled as reassuringly he could. Even if he didn’t truly feel it. He had to for Jaune. Had to.

So he did. Because there wasn’t anything he wouldn’t do for him.

To his joy it worked. A spark flickered in Jaune’s eyes. And Cardin watched as the hope reignited itself. It burned brightly. Like it had never left. Knowing Jaune, Cardin didn’t doubt that it hadn’t. Maybe it had faded. Clouded over by the knowledge of what they were about to do. But it was enough, and Jaune gripped his hand. They were together.

Hands clasped, they drank the potion. 

It went down smooth. But when it hit his stomach, it exploded. A heat roared suddenly. Flowing through his veins like fire. Jaune gasped. He’s sure he did the same.

“I’ll see you again,” Cardin whispered. Jaune rasped it back, a bright- though pained- smile on his lips. Then it was over.

Cardin knew it would kill them. But the knowledge still didn’t prepare him for it. For the way his heart twisted. How the light drained from Jaune. The sudden prayer that blossomed in the back of his mind that the potion would work. That he would see Jaune again. For the way Jaune’s grip slackened and his hand slipped from his grasp.

For the knowledge that he’d just watched the love of his life die.

The knowledge that he’d killed him.

Sure, he hadn’t forced him to drink. It hadn’t been his plan. But he hadn’t stopped him. Hadn’t found a better alternative. It was as if he’d done it himself. For a moment it felt like someone had thrust a sword into his heart. Tears pricked at his eyes.

Then his body went slack, and he joined him.

[archester-creations]

so ive been searching and i went through every avenue i could think of but couldn't even find how we got in touch (which is tragic, honestly) and i know the chances of figuring it out like this are SUPER low but its my only chance... so. at one point, i agreed to help make a magical girl comic. the folder that was shared with me (i no longer have access to it, which is part of why i cant find the person) was named "sailors". the main character was a trans boy named milo and it started with his first day on shift at a museum for superheroes. if i remember accurately, that is where he ended up getting his magical artifact. i remembers he was mad and ranting that just because he was born one thing doesn't mean hes not a boy and, during the rant, he transforms into a magical boy rather than a magical girl. and i just wanted to see if i could reach out to that person again, because ive actually thought about it constantly through the years. we first got in contact in 2016 so i know its a long shot but i wanted to at least try. in a few days, im gonna post the comic pages i made (and possibly a revision) just in an effort to find them

[archester-creations]

In The Dark part three: adventures and vacations

Rated: G

Ships: Drakepad (Drake Mallard/Launchpad McQuack), Drake & Launchpad & Gosalyn, megaliquiroot (Megavolt/Liquidator/Bushroot)

Word Count: ~9k

A/N: This took so long and I'm sorry, but I never forgot about ti!

These days Della flew for more McDuck adventures than Launchpad did. It left Drake feeling simultaneously grateful and highly annoyed. Grateful that he got his partner back for patrols and that he didn't have to worry about him being gone for days and possibly just never coming back because of getting stuck in a trap. Of course, the patrols were dangerous too. But at least with Launchpad by his side he'd know if he was hurt. Even if Launchpad tried to hide it. Again.

It annoyed him because Launchpad missed it. Not that Launchpad would say it. Instead he smiled and insisted everything was okay. But Launchpad didn't need to say anything for Drake to know it. He enjoyed going on those adventures with the McDuck clan. And Della stole that from him. So even though Drake wanted to thank her for returning his partner to him, part of him hated her.

Though sometimes Della couldn't go on the adventures. She'd be sick or need a break. Those times Launchpad would fly. It helped Launchpad miss it less. Of course it also meant nights where Drake patrolled alone again. Mostly alone. Every night since Launchpad went on his first McDuck adventure his phone greeted him with a barrage of texts. Like clockwork, they’d always appear around when his patrol would start.

It was almost like Launchpad was there, sometimes. The rambling nature of his texts. Hearing about the adventure. Drake never responded at first. But then after the fifth or so adventure he started to. Sometimes it let Drake pretend his sidekick was right there with him. Until he inevitably returned to a bed that felt bigger than usual.

So much bigger.

They didn't only appear at night, either. Launchpad made sure to keep him and Gosalyn updated constantly. Texts telling what they were doing. Pictures of various places and traps that had Gosalyn begging to get to go next time. There were plenty of calls, too. Gosalyn would scramble to his cell everytime Launchpad’s ringtone played. Sometimes, when Launchpad got home, Drake complained about how often he contracted them. Futilely; it never stopped Launchpad from doing it. (He's glad for that. All the texts make it so he doesn't have to worry as much and it kept Gosalyn from worrying as well.)

“We just got the other half of the map piece! We’re heading out for Wakka-Wakka in the morning,” Launchpad said, voice completely clear despite how high he must be. Drake could hear the plane engines in the background. It was amazing how Launchpad always had such great service. Gyro likely did something to his phone.

Drake hummed, the phone trapped between his ear and shoulder as he cut carrots for stew.

“Pops!” Gosalyn took the phone from him, put it to her own ear. “When are you gettin’ home? I’m not sure how much more of dad’s ‘cooking’ I can take.”

“What?!” Drake turned indignantly toward her.

He heard Launchpad chuckle over the phone. “Sorry, Gos. You’ll havta put up with it a little longer. Should only be a few more days,” Launchpad said.

‘Put up with’?! He didn't know what they were talking about. His food was great!

“Thank god,” Gosalyn sighed in mock relief.

Traitors. The both of them. Traitors with bad taste buds. Joke about his food being bad. He'd show them. Somehow. Drake cut the rest of the carrots angrily. At least, until the knife slipped and cut into the skin of his thumb. “Dammit,” he hissed under his breath as he dropped the knife.

“Dad!” Drake looked over at Gosalyn’s cry to see her staring at him.

“Gos!?” Drake heard from the phone, a quieter ‘McQuack watch the plane!’ in the background. “What happened??”

Drake shook his head. “I'm fine.” And he was, it hadn't cut that deep and he'd been hurt worse on patrols.

Gosalyn’s brows lowered, but she apparently trusted him. “Dad cut his thumb,” she told Launchpad.

There was a sigh on the other side. “Is he okay?”

“It's bleeding,” Gosalyn said as he walked over to the sink. He ran cold water over the cut.

“Gos, can you get me a bandaid?”

“Sure,” Gosalyn said. The phone poked into his shoulder. Drake took it and put it back to his ear.

“You okay?” Launchpad asked.

Drake scoffed. “I'm fine, stop worrying. It's not like you can do anything anyway.”

“I could come ba–”

“Launchpad.” Drake cut him off with an awkward laugh. His hand was shaky when he reached for a towel to stem the blood. Before Launchpad (and Gosalyn) he’d never had anyone worry about him. It was a weird feeling. Something that made his gut swoop in an odd way. He wasn't sure if he enjoyed it or hated it. Maybe a bit of both. “Scrooge would probably kill you and the kids would be disappointed. And you’d hate yourself for that. I'm fine, it's shallow, go have fun. I have to finish making dinner anyhow.”

There was a pause before Launchpad conceded. “Alright. Tell Gos I said goodnight and that I love her.”

“I will,” Drake promised.

“I love you, DW,” Launchpad said.

“Yeah, I love you too,” Drake said. The phone clicked and Launchpad was gone. He wrapped the towel tight around his finger for the time being. Then he picked up the knife to finish the carrots and add them to the stew. Gosalyn returned as he did.

“Here ya go.” She handed him a hello kitty bandage.

“Thanks, Gos,” Drake said and wrapped it around the tip of his thumb. “Launchpad said goodnight and he loves you.”

Gosalyn pulled a face, though he still saw a smile there. “He's so sappy.”

“He's your pops, he's allowed to be,” Drake said and put his hands on his hips. “We both are.” Gosalyn just rolled her eyes at him.

“Gee,” Drake said sarcastically, “I didn't know the teenage snark started right at thirteen.”

“I learned from the best, Dad,” Gosalyn smiled unapologetically with a shrug. Without a word she moved in next to him, grabbing a new knife to cut some tomatoes.

“At least you learned something from me,” Drake grumbled. Gosalyn gently elbowed him and Drake turned his head to see her profile. The smile hadn't really gone down. Somehow, she'd gotten older. Her red hair fell just over her shoulder in its long ponytail. Green eyes sparkled. The freckles she had in her dark feathers had doubled over the years. She was almost taller than him already. And it had all happened so quickly. Too quickly. Maybe Morgana could give him a potion or spell that would stop her from getting any older.

“What're you thinking about?” Gosalyn’s voice brought him from his thoughts. Her eyes were narrowed at him.

“Nothing,” Drake said.

“Riiiiiight,” Gosalyn said.

They cooked the rest of dinner together. Jokingly sniping the whole way.

(“Careful with the knife, Dad. I'll have to patrol without you.”

“Oh really? You think Megavolt would be willing to help you study for that math test you have tomorrow?”)

“I can't believe I let her patrol the museum alone!” Darkwing paced anxiously up and down the museum’s front steps. Launchpad only watched as he attempted to form a groove in the cement. Of course she hadn’t truly been alone. They each had a radio and Launchpad and he were right next door. That didn’t stop some dastardly criminal from stealing a rare gem and Gosalyn. Finally he collapsed with a huff. It’d been fifteen minutes since she’d disappeared. He hung his head, glanced over toward Launchpad through eyelashes and narrowed eyebrows. “How are you not worried?”

Launchpad chuckled. It sounded more strained than he'd ever heard it. He took a seat next to him and put a hand on his shoulder. Darkwing leaned into that comforting gesture. “‘Course I'm worried, DW. But worryin’ ain't gonna bring our girl back.”

“How can you be so calm?”

Launchpad didn't answer at first. He leaned back on his hands, eyes looking toward the sky. Darkwing almost thought it looked like he was searching for something. “Personality, I guess.” Was his eventual answer.

“I wish I had your personality,” Darkwing laughed lowly, something bitter and painful in the noise. In the corner of his eye Darkwing saw Launchpad look at him. He looked over as Launchpad sat back up.

“C’mon, DW. Let's get our little girl back.”

“Alright.” When Launchpad held out his hand, Darkwing took it. His partner pulled him up easily.

“So how are we going to find her?” Darkwing asked once they were in the Thunderquack. Because Launchpad insisted they head back to the tower for the jet.

“Uh,” Launchpad fiddled with a few buttons on the console. Some of his feathers pinked and Darkwing narrowed his eyes at his partner. The gps screen flickered before it came on. Darkwing frowned. The only times they really used it were the rare occasions SHUSH missions took them somewhere Launchpad didn't know. A flashing green dot appeared. It stayed still on the screen.

“Launchpad?” Darkwing questioned.

The jet started up. It taxied, slowly gaining speed until Launchpad pulled up on the yoke and they ascended. Launchpad still didn't answer his question. They started to move toward the dot.

“Launchpad,” Darkwing repeated, now a little annoyed. He didn't like being kept out of the loop. Especially when it had to do with Gosalyn’s potential safety.

Launchpad tapped a steady beat against the yoke. Finally he glanced over to Darkwing, flinching when he did so and quickly turning back to the sky. “I may've kinda made sure there were tracking devices in the radios.”

“You what?!” Darkwing barked and Launchpad flinched again.

“Sorry, DW, I jus wanted to make sure neither of ya got hurt or somethin’ where I couldn’t find ya,” Launchpad said quietly, eyes not leaving the skyline except to check the gps.

Darkwing studied his partner silently. Launchpad put trackers on them. Launchpad. He would expect the move from himself– there’d been a number of times where he’d almost done it– but not from Launchpad. Though maybe it made more sense that Launchpad would do it. The first mission they’d ever gone on together, he’d been blown up and would’ve likely died in the ocean had Launchpad not found him. Then there was that time Gosalyn completely disappeared when she’d snuck on a patrol with them and he’d almost had a panic attack before she found them. Their family had a habit of attracting danger. It was why they’d started teaching Gosalyn first aid last year. After she’d skinned half her leg on the road. “... alright.”

Launchpad turned toward him. “Alright?”

“Alright,” Darkwing nodded. “With our lives it was a smart move. I’m glad you did it.”

A happy, fond smile broke out on Launchpad’s face. He chuckled, and Darkwing could hear the relief in it. “No problemo, DW.”

It took longer than Darkwing would’ve liked to reach where Gosalyn was held. If Launchpad hadn’t insisted on parking the Thunderquack two blocks away it would’ve taken less time. But he had so they ran two minutes instead of taking thirty seconds to just crash into the warehouse. Ultimately, it was likely better. If the thief had known they were coming they could’ve done something with Gosalyn. Instead their arrival was a complete surprise. … Mostly a surprise. Darkwing had shown up like usual. Strong, bold words from a cloud of smoke. Launchpad was the surprise. He appeared from the shadows as Darkwing distracted the thief. Before the thief even realized it she was dangling, held up by the back of her coat. She kicked angrily and Darkwing heard one of them hit. But Launchpad didn’t drop her. Once she realized there was no getting out of his grip, her whole body slackened and she easily told them where she’d put Gosalyn. Before Launchpad put her down, Darkwing took the gem from her pocket. There was a protest, she tried to get it back and run, but Launchpad quickly grabbed her again. This time instead of putting her down, he carried her to one of the machines and tied her to it. Afterward, Darkwing and Launchpad’s eyes met. They nodded at each other and Darkwing went to the door first.

An arrow flew at them when he opened it. Darkwing barely had time to move. Air whizzed right by his ear. “Woah! It’s me, it’s me!” Darkwing had his arms up before she could loose a second arrow.

“Dad?” Gosalyn opened her other eye and blinked. “Dad!” Her body hit Darkwing’s with enough force to send him back into Launchpad, who easily caught them both. The hug only lasted a few seconds before Gosalyn pushed away. She brushed her hands down her costume. “What are you guys doing here? I had it taken care of.”

“Oh, did you?” Darkwing asked, pushing off of Launchpad as well. “Getting kidnapped by a criminal was having it ‘taken care of’?”

“I was working on it!” Gosalyn said. “I would’ve had her captured and the gem back if you would’ve just let me!”

“Let you–” Darkwing sputtered. “Quiverwing, you were kidnapped!”

“Yeah, so? You’ve gotten kidnapped before!”

“I’ve also been a hero longer!”

“So what, that makes you better at being kidnapped?!”

“It does!” Darkwing yelled. “I know how to get myself out of it!”

“Funny, cause the last few times Pops had to save you!”

“Well, yes,” Darkwing said. “But I had it taken care of.”

“So did I!” Gosalyn insisted.

“That’s different!”

“How?!” Gosalyn said.

“You’re thirteen, that’s how!” Darkwing said. “I was right, you’re too young for this!”

“Dad!” Gosalyn protested.

“No–”

Before Darkwing was prepared for it, his body was moving back. Gosalyn protested as she was moved at the same time. “Guys!” Between them stood Launchpad. Ever the mediator for their worse fights. Darkwing took a deep breath as he watched Gosalyn do the same. When he felt calmer, Launchpad’s arms were lowered.

“I didn’t start being a hero till I was eighteen,” Darkwing said. “I worry about you Gosalyn. When you disappeared… I didn’t know where you were or if you were hurt.”

Gosalyn sighed. “You don’t have to–”

“Of course I do!” Drake cut her off.

“Dad!” Gosalyn said. Her eyes were hard and he felt his beak snap shut. “You were alone when you started. But I’m not. I have you and Pops. I’m smart enough to call if I need you. She caught me off guard in the museum and just dragged me here, but she left me my weapons. I knew I could handle her. You don’t have to worry about me.”

Drake stepped around Launchpad to put his hands on Gosalyn’s shoulders. “You’re my daughter, Gos. Of course I’m gonna worry. It’s my job.”

“Eventually you’re gonna have to stop worrying so much,” Gosalyn said.

“Watch me.” Drake engulfed her in a hug.

“You’re gonna get more wrinkles,” Gosalyn said against his chest.

“Hey!” Drake protested, pulling back just enough to glare. It made Gosalyn laugh and he smiled. Launchpad joined them, arms wrapped fully around them both.

Darkwing coughed. “Alright.” Launchpad released them and he let go of Quiverwing, taking a few steps away. He took the gem from his pocket and threw it underhand to Quiverwing. She caught it easily. “Let's get this back to the museum. And Launchpad, could you grab us a certain crooked criminal?”

“Sure thing, DW.” Launchpad left the room to grab her.

“I imagine you'll want to take her in, Quiverwing?” Darkwing asked his younger partner.

“Hell yeah!” Quiverwing pumped a fist into the air excitedly.

“Language,” Drake admonished absently.

Quiverwing rolled her eyes as they followed Launchpad out of the room. “Daaad.”

“What?” Darkwing said, looking at Quiverwing while he walked. He puffed out his chest, pointing his finger upward as he didn't look away from her. “A superhero is ever vigilant, ever watchful for the public eye. They're a role model, upheld to the highest degree! They can't be seen with a potty mou–” At that moment, Darkwing slammed his foot into a metal contraption. It made him lose his balance and he went tumbling headfirst over it. Landing ungracefully on the other side. His foot throbbed and he grabbed it, curling slightly around it.

"“Fuuuuuck,” Darkwing groaned through clenched teeth. That had hurt. It took a few good seconds before it stopped throbbing so much. When he finally looked up he saw Quiverwing and she wasn't Quiverwing anymore but fully his daughter. Gosalyn smirked at him. Eyebrows raised smugly. “Not a word, young lady."

There’s giggling above him. It’s the tell-tale sounds of his daughter. Next is shushing from Launchpad. Drake smiled into the beach towel. An angel. His sidekick was an angel, making sure their daughter didn’t disturb his nap. This was one of the best parts of coming to the beach. Being able to take a nap, out in the bright sun. All while Gosalyn and Launchpad were kept distracted and out of trouble by the waves. With a content smile Drake let himself fade.

Later there was more giggling. Yet again right over top of him. Drake’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion. Then he started to feel it. On his toes. Rubbing between his feathers. In his swimsuit. Sand. Sand, everywhere. It scratched and it itched and it felt monumentally uncomfortable.

Dead. His sidekick was dead, along with their daughter. Drake sprang up, making sand spray everywhere.

“I am not your sandcastle, you two!” Drake said indignantly. Sand clung to his backfeathers, thighs, and legs. He wasn’t actually planning on getting in the ocean. Now, they’d given him no choice. Not if he wanted the grimy substance off. Something they didn’t seem to understand. Not with the way sand caked their legs and arms.

“Aw, come on, Dad! We were almost finished!” Gosalyn protested between snorts.

“Yeah, DW,” Launchpad agreed with a smile. In his hand he held up a tiny flag Drake hadn’t seen in the bag earlier. They must’ve snuck it in after he’d checked it. And by they, he meant Gosalyn.

“No! You can't just build a sandcastle on me while I'm asleep!”

Gosalyn smiled at him, waving her shovel. “Well you're not asleep now.”

“No!” Drake repeated.

“C’mon, Dad.” Gosalyn broke out her secret weapon. The puppy dog eyes and extra pouted lip. To make it worse, as soon as Launchpad noticed what she was doing he joined in. Drake tried to remain strong. But it was no use against double puppy looks. He caved, flopping back onto his towel.

“Fine. But just this once, got it?”

“Alright Dad.” “Sure thing DW.”

Drake settled down as they pushed sand up against his middle and legs. It got even more sand on his towel, but there was plenty already from their earlier venture so he decided he’d just deal with the worst of it before they left. As long as Gosalyn didn’t bring a mountain of sand back home with her it’d be fine. For a while he drifted in and out. He was already pretty tired. The hot sun and insulating sand pulled at him. A lullaby to sleep he didn’t feel like fighting.

What felt like just a minute later, he woke up to a camera shutter. He opened his eyes to see Gosalyn with her camera pointed at him. He frowned and the shutter clicked again. “You look like Neptunia!” Gosalyn said with a smile.

He lifted up on his elbows so he could look down. No longer was he a sandcastle. Now they’d turned him into a mermaid. A tail of sand enveloped him, swirling into the beach. Drake gave them both a flat look. “Ha, ha, now go play in the ocean or something. I would like to take an actual nap. And don’t forget your sunscreen!”

“Daaaaad,” Gosalyn complained.

“You’re both redheads, you burn easier and I’m not going to hear complaining when you get sunburn because you didn’t listen to me,” Drake said, pointing at his daughter.

“Fine,” Gosalyn grumbled before she rummaged through their beach bag for the tube of spf 100. Both her and Launchpad rubbed it into their feathers under his watchful eye. When Drake felt satisfied they wouldn’t get burned he nodded and lied back down.

“And don’t forget to add more in a few hours,” Drake said with his eyes closed.

“Will do,” Launchpad said and Gosalyn groaned.

Their footsteps got further away as they went further in and Drake listened to them until he couldn’t hear the sand crunching anymore. Then he stood up and brushed the sand from his feathers the best he could. With that done he picked up the towel and shook it out. For now it was the best he could do. He’d prefer to get in the water later, closer to when they’d have to leave. Right now he let himself sleep with the sound of Gosalyn and Launchpad’s laughter in the background.

“Dad,” Gosalyn’s voice drifted on a wave of consciousness. He grumbled and shifted, not wanting to get up. Sleep still pulled at his bones and he was willing to follow it. His daughter was not. With an annoyed sound she shook his shoulder. That had him up in milliseconds. Pain flared like fire along his skin where she’d touched.

“Don’t do that,” Drake snapped as the pain waned. Though it stayed just on the surface; red heat feeling like it radiated through his feathers.

“Dad?” Gosalyn questioned worriedly.

“He’s lookin’ a little red, Gos,” Launchpad said.

“No I’m not,” Drake said. Gosalyn looked at him disbelievingly. Even if he was red it wasn’t that bad. Really, he barely felt it. The only reason it’d seemed to hurt so much was because Gosalyn surprised him.

“Whatever you say, Dad,” Gosayn said. It was dismissive and clear she didn’t believe him, but Drake took it.

The sunburn didn't truly show up for another hour, sometime after they got back home. It had been getting steadily worse before then. But it's taken an hour for Drake to actually sneak away and check the bathroom mirror. He stripped off his shirt and turned to check his back. His back was absolutely glowing. With some hesitation he poked a finger against it. Pain rippled through him and he took a sharp breath through his teeth to prevent a scream. There was so much sunburn even his feathers appeared to be tinged red. The only bright side was he'd fallen asleep on his stomach, so the only burn was on his back and shoulders. Though that was barely a bright side. It still stung like a bitch.

“Drake?” A knock sounded on the door and before Drake could say anything, the door opened. “Woah.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Drake struggled back into his shirt. Launchpad was looking at his heated skin worriedly. That wasn't something he needed. He winced hard as the fabric brushed awkwardly against his feathers and the skin at his shoulder bunched.

“DW, wait,” Launchpad put his hands on Drake’s and gently removed the shirt from his hold.

“Launchpad–” Drake protested but was cut off when he felt Launchpad’s shirt drop over his head. The t-shirt drifted down, hanging low near his ankles. It was immediately clear the shirt was about three sizes too big for him. Which was perfect for his sunburn.

“... Thanks,” Drake said. Suddenly he felt extremely awkward. There was no real reason for it. Launchpad’s shirt was large and comfortable and didn't rub against his feathers. It was perfectly pragmatic. But Launchpad’s expression had suddenly gone a little weird and Drake’s face felt hot in a way he knew had nothing to do with the sunburn. How could it? His face hadn't burned. Thankfully. Wearing a mask with sunburn would’ve been hell.

He cleared his throat. “Can you help me with some aloe?” As much as he didn't want to need to ask for help, he knew there was no way he'd reach all the sunburn. Heck, he likely wouldn't reach half of it. Not by himself.

“Sure thing, DW,” Launchpad said, looking a bit like he'd been snapped out of a trance.

They walked out of the bathroom together, Drake behind Launchpad. Some traitorous part of his brain decided then was a good time to remind him, Launchpad was now shirtless. This wasn't the first time he'd ever seen Launchpad shirtless. Nor was it the third or fifth. Most of the time during summer Launchpad slept shirtless. But something about it now, with him being shirtless because he’d wanted to make Drake more comfortable, made it feel so much different. Like there was a new light that made Launchpad’s shirtless form more beautiful than Drake already found it. His hands wrapped around the bottom of Launchpad’s faded Ducky Momo shirt and his thumbs rubbed against the soft, worn gray material of the hem.

It was comfortable past the way it settled lightly on his sunburn, barely pressing against the feathers like an invisible shield kept it from getting too close. The knowledge he was wearing Launchpad’s clothes was comfortable. Something about knowing it was that big lug’s was comfortable. All of it was just comfortable. That was the most familiar feeling he had around Launchpad, comfort. In a way that felt like home.

Gosalyn gave him that feeling too, ever since he’d adopted her and gained this little family. It was different from when he was alone. Louder and nicer. It was incredibly different from his first ‘family’. Warmer.

“Dad!” Drake turned around to see Gosalyn ogling at him. She must've seen his neck. That was confirmed when she ducked behind him and he felt the collar being pulled down. Heat seared through him as fabric rubbed against raw feathers. “You look like you got attacked by a preschooler with a marker!”

Drake groaned as he wrestled himself from her grasp. “I don't understand how. I brought plenty of sunscreen.”

“Gee, DW. I guess ya spent so much time worryin’ about us you completely forgot to put on your own sunscreen,” Launchpad said.

“I was not worried,” Drake said, arms crossed over his chest.

“Dad I think I had like three coats of sunscreen in my hair,” Gosalyn said.

“Redheads burn very easily!” Drake defended. “Now if you don't mind I’m going to put some aloe on.” He brushed past Launchpad and into their room to escape their daughter’s prying eyes. Not long after he sat on the bed, Launchpad joined him in the room.

That night saw Drake sitting on the edge of the bed as Launchpad put more aloe on his back. The blue gel was cold, chilling his skin as Launchpad carefully scrubbed it past his feathers. He sucked in air through his teeth and Launchpad apologized quietly. Gosalyn had gone to bed a few minutes ago. For once she was actually tired, a day of swimming, playing in the sand, and roller skating down the boardwalk solidly exhausting her. Once Launchpad was done Drake got to his feet and went over to search Launchpad’s drawer. He shoved shirts aside in his search for one that was plain and dark enough to service him in the night.

“What are you doing?” Launchpad questioned.

“I am looking for a shirt,” Drake answered without looking back.

“DW, should you really go on patrol like that? We can miss one more patrol,” Launchpad said and he scoffed.

“The villains would really like that. Of course I can't miss patrol! A hero is ever vigilant! A tiny sunburn won't slow me down!”

Launchpad gently touched his shoulder. “Yeowch!” Drake jumped a foot in the air, pain crisscrossing along his skin. Once it subsided he glared at Launchpad. The sunburn still hurt. It still hurt a lot.

“Sorry, DW.” Launchpad looked apologetic, but he also looked worried. Drake knew he'd likely felt his heated skin through the soft fabric.

“I'm going whether you come with or not.” Drake went back to rummaging through Launchpad’s drawer, finally pulling out a black long sleeve shirt from the very bottom that he hadn't even known Launchpad owned. Proud of his find, he held it up. “I'll just wear this.”

Something odd flickered across Launchpad’s face. But he'd gotten odd looks from the other duck since Launchpad put his shirt on him earlier. So it was simple to just ignore it as another of those. He pulled the shirt on and began to roll up the sleeves. Unrolled, the sleeves hung down at least an inch past his hands. Hopefully the rolls wouldn't slip, he's not sure how well he could fight St. Canard’s criminal underbelly with sleeves that long. The one bunched oddly as he worked on it and he grumbled and undid it so he could try again. Before he could Launchpad was there. Folding the sleeve neatly over itself a handful of times.

Drake looked up at him. “Why are you helping me? You don't want me to go out there.”

“I don't,” Launchpad agreed. He did the other sleeve silently. After he finished he took Drake’s hands in his own to check his handiwork. Then he looked up at Drake. Drake’s breath caught at the serious look there. “But I’m not gonna let you go it alone, Drake.”

It was a promise. One that was heavy. Too heavy for Drake to breath under it. He felt like he was drowning. It sounded strangely like a wedding vow. Solemn and sober and honest. Heart wrenchingly so. “You mean Darkwing?” He choked on his own attempt to lessen the sudden tension.

“I mean both,” Launchpad smiled softly and Drake gasped in a breath like he'd suddenly broke surface. “Let's get dangerous,” his partner said with a twinkle in his eye like nothing had happened. Like he didn't just flood the room with heavy tension. Leaving Drake floundering. Launchpad squeezed his hands once before he let go. His motto matched with the sudden absence of Launchpad’s hands– after he’d squeezed them like the last preserver on the Titanic, like it was Launchpad who'd been drowning– helped Darkwing come back to himself a little quicker.

“Let's.” A corner of his beak curled up into a smirk.

Before today, he'd never actually been thankful that the Ratcatcher didn’t have a seat back. The wind made Launchpad’s larger shirt billow out slightly behind him. It hadn’t occurred to him that even past the sleeves the largeness of the shirt might make it more difficult to move. He'd never fought in anything bigger than his own clothes. This shirt was practically a dress on him. Briefly he wished he had the forethought to strap a belt of some kind around his waist. Then he remembered the burn. With the state of his back a belt probably would've been more hindrance than the large shirt.

Movement came from the building ahead of them. The empty building. Darkwing stopped the motorcycle on the sidewalk. “Someone sinister’s sneaking around in that shop.” He jumped to the ground, valiantly ignoring the flash of pain the movement caused with just a hiss through his teeth. As well as ignoring the worried look Launchpad gave him. He ran to the brick of the shop, next to a large, broken display window. Big, cursive letters were painted on the door, alternating between brown, pink, and white. ‘NeoBotany’.

With a singular look back to ensure Launchpad was following– he was, right behind him and soaked in shadow– Darkwing stepped carefully into the building, being ware of the broken glass. “Alright Bushie,” Darkwing started with the gas gun already pointed and loaded with plantspray.

“Darkwing?” A voice asked in response. A voice not Bushroot.

Darkwing stopped short. “Megavolt?! What are you doing here? Isn't this a bit out of your usual domain?”

“I could ask you the same thing, Dorkwing,” Megavolt said.

“Of course I'm here!” Darkwing said with an exasperated sigh. “I'm the hero, I'm supposed to be here to stop the likes of you! But isn't this normally Bushroot’s shtick?”

“Yeah, well I’m getting something for him,” Megavolt bit back, crossing his arms over his chest. Darkwing mirrored him. And immediately winced as his skin pulled. The villain gave him an odd look. “Are you sure you should be doing this tonight?”

Darkwing could feel the eyes on his back, burning into it like the sun had earlier. “Can it, LP,” Darkwing mumbled. To Megavolt, “And let you run free? Of course I should be doing this! Now spill, why are you here?”

Megavolt rolled his eyes. “I’m trying to choose a flower.”

“Roses are good,” Launchpad said and Darkwing turned to glare at him. Damn it, LP! Don’t give the villains ideas! His partner gave an apologetic shrug with a smile that said he wasn’t really that sorry. The older duck liked to give advice when he could. Even to the villains. It was his compassionate heart and loath as Darkwing was to admit it, he’d be lying if he said it wasn’t one of the things that drew him to the man. Despite his glare, Launchpad added. “Lilies, too.”

“Thanks, LP!” Megavolt said and he truly seemed like he appreciated it.

“What are you doing stealing flowers, anyhow? Couldn’t you just buy them,” Darkwing asked, though he already knew the answer.

“Of course not, Dipwing! As you keep reminding me, I’m a villain.”

Darkwing groaned and rubbed a hand down his face. Then winced in pain and immediately clenched his fist at his side instead. “Alright.”

Darkwing already had his jacket and mask off when he got in the house, but he still had his turtleneck on. With a wrinkle of his beak he peeled the material slightly away from his feathers. It reeked. Like burnt cabbage, moldy cheese, and something rottingly floral. Plus there was something wet and clinging. Despite the fact he'd made the plunge at least two hours ago. He held back a retch.

Earlier the criminal he was chasing– a petty thief, why they tried to escape through a roof, he didn't know– took a sharp turn he hadn't had time to follow. Instead he plummeted right off the roof into a dumpster. A full dumpster. Of course he'd gotten the criminal. But right now, covered in trash sludge, it felt more like a consolation prize than a victory.

The front door opened, but the person who opened it didn't come in right away. Darkwing paused to watch Launchpad shake… something out of his hair. His partner came in and grimaced almost immediately. A tight smile formed on his beak. “I know,” Darkwing said.

“What happened?” Launchpad asked. Just as he was about to answer, Darkwing caught a good look at him. His red locks were streaked with white–that must've been what he'd shook out, or tried to–, there was a surface wound on his cheek that'd been cleaned, and gray streaked the feathers on his arms and shirt. His jacket was absent.

“What happened to you?” Darkwing asked instead.

Launchpad shrugged nonchalantly. “Dew set off a trap.” When Darkwing gaped, he gave a tired smile. “No one was injured.”

“You have a scratch along your cheek!”

“No one was injured badly,” Launchpad amended. “The kids are all okay. None of them were hit.”

‘Yeah, but what about you?’ Darkwing thought, but knew better than to ask. Whenever he did Launchpad would just brush it off. For his partner, the kids’ safety was more important. It was admirable. It was also highly irritating.

“Alright,” Darkwing said instead. “I fell in a dumpster.”

“You fell in a dumpster?” Launchpad asked.

“Yes, yes,” Darkwing sighed and held his arms out away from his body. “Get it out, I know I smell like rotting garbage. Heck, I probably look like it. I know I feel like it.” The words grew lower, more mumbled, as he went on.

“Nah,” Launchpad said with an amused smile and chuckle, though his beak was still slightly scrunched from the smell. It didn't stop him from coming closer. Or from him pulling Darkwing into his arms. “Smell like a buncha daisies and look just as handsome as ever.”

Darkwing huffed a laugh even as his cheeks went red. “Har har. Now let me go so we can take a shower.” Launchpad’s arms loosened and Darkwing wiggled out of his grip.

“‘We’?” Launchpad repeated. Darkwing looked up to see his eyes were wide. It took a minute for it to register why.

Oh. He'd said ‘we’ without thinking. Implying… Well. There was nothing wrong with that. It'd be fine, they were friends. It wasn't even the first time they'd ever seen each other naked. Probably wouldn't be the last with the injuries they garnered. And Launchpad already knew all his secrets, seen the scars. There wasn't anything to hide from his partner. Decisively, he nodded. “Yes. We.”

“Like…” Launchpad trailed off, not finishing his sentence.

“Yes, LP,” Darkwing sighed. “Together. It's not like the tub’s not big enough.”

“O-kay,” Launchpad said haltingly, like it was something to worry about.

When Darkwing headed for the stairs he heard Launchpad say ‘Alright’ to himself with more conviction. It wasn't until he was about halfway up that he heard footsteps behind him, though.

“Are ya sure, Drake?” Launchpad asked again as they undressed– Launchpad slower than him, but he had more clothes and he wanted the sweater off– and Drake rolled his eyes. “Yes, I'm sure. Not only will it save time it'll save money too. Now will you get in so I can get this trash stench off me. I can feel garbage gunk in my feathers and it's very uncomfortable.” So much so that it currently outweighed any anxiety he may have felt sharing a shower with the man he had a crush on. Again, they'd seen each other naked plenty of times before. This should be no different.

It is. Of course it is, those other times they weren't standing close together inside a porcelain prison with warm water falling upon them like heavy rain.

Drake is in front of Launchpad. It's practical, Launchpad is huge and if he was standing behind him the water would never touch him, but it's also even more calculated. As long as he was in front he didn't have to look back or acknowledge the warmth behind him. Not that it mattered. They were barely under the spray a few minutes before Launchpad drew his attention.

“Shit,” Launchpad hissed quietly through his teeth. LP didn't usually curse.

“LP?” Drake questioned, worried as he carefully turned around.

“It's nothing, sorry,” Launchpad replied immediately but with the shirt gone it was too late. Drake noticed the wound before Launchpad turned away. The dark t-shirt had done a good job of hiding it but with it gone the dried blood at his shoulder was visible. It was on the same side the cut on his cheek was, but it was deeper and very obviously hadn't been patched up like the former. Which meant Launchpad had hid it from Scrooge. And lied to Drake, ‘no one was injured badly’ his foot. He shuffled closer to him with the rag.

“LP,” he clicked his tongue against his teeth. Gently he took the rag to his partner’s shoulder. “Don't hide this shit. Not from me,” Drake scolded gently. The first touch had Launchpad tensing but he relaxed quickly.

“Sorry,” Launchpad apologized again, but this one was sincere instead of dismissive. Drake examined him carefully now. If he’d hidden this, there might be other injuries.

Thankfully, other than a purpling bruise all down his side that reached like fingers to his back and luckily only bruised his ribs, Launchpad had no other injuries. “So what really caused this?” Drake asked.

“The trap released part of the ceiling above us,” Launchpad said with a shrug like it didn't matter, but his careful tone said he knew it would to Drake. “Lew and Webby were able to get out of the way and Mr. McD was further ahead, but Dew and Hue…”

“You shielded them,” Drake supplied.

“Yeah,” Launchpad said.

Drake sighed. Rather annoyingly, a fond smile twitched at the corner of his beak. He wanted to be annoyed at Launchpad. He really, really wanted to be. But the truth was that that desire, that need to help others first and care about himself absolutely last that Launchpad has, was one of the things Drake loved most about him. It was probably one of the things he fell in love with first. “At least the kids are alright.”

“Yep!” Launchpad said, and all it took was a bright smile for him to know Launchpad knew he wasn't really annoyed. “Not even a scratch!”

“Except now I have to patch you up. Again,” Drake huffed halfheartedly because he had to show that he was annoyed, because despite how proud he was that LP kept the kids safe, he still returned to him injured and the only person here who should be getting injured was him as he's the superhero, thank you very much. A true spark of annoyance went through him. “I feel like a housewife,” he mumbled, words not really meant to be heard by anyone else. But in the close quarters of the bathtub it was impossible for them to go unheard.

“I'm sure Mr. McD would hire you if you want to take on a job!”

“Ha!” Drake let out a bark of laughter that he immediately felt guilty for, their daughter asleep in a room close by. Hopefully Gosalyn hadn't heard him. Quieter, he said, “And work for that money grubbing geezer? No way!” After a pause, “Hey, wait a minute! Watching over St. Canard is a full time job, buster.” Drake stabbed a finger into Launchpad’s chest. His partner smiled at him and took his hand, lifting it to his beak and kissing the palm. Suddenly, Drake remembered just how naked they both were. It was an odd realization. They'd gotten in together.

“And you’re amazing at it.” Blush spread, Launchpad looking right at him. It felt like he was looking through him. The second his partner released his hand, Drake turned on his heel (almost slipping in the tub; Launchpad steadied him before he could fall out) and resolved not to look back until they were both dried and dressed.

“Alright, Launchpad you're in charge of the map. Do you remember the plan?”

“Yessir, DW!” Launchpad said with a smile that felt just a little too cheeky. But Drake let it slide.

“Aw, c'mon, dad,” Gosalyn groaned. “Do we reaaaally need to have a plan for the amusement park? Doesn't that take all the fun out of it?”

“No!” Drake answered from inside the trunk of the car, making sure he had everything they needed in his bag. “If we have a plan we can assure—

“We get the most amount of fun possible for our buck,” both Gosalyn and Launchpad chorused with him.

“Glad to know you're listening to me,” Drake grumbled into the bag.

“What was that?” Gosalyn asked and Drake looked away from the bag to see his daughter giving him a smirk she definitely didn't learn from him. He pointed at her.

“Watch it.”

Gosalyn raised her hands defensively, still smirking. Drake narrowed his eyes.

“So is that everything?” Launchpad asked as he took the bag from Drake, effectively breaking Gosalyn and Drake’s focus before it became a staring contest.

“Yes,” Drake said.

“And did you remember to wear your sunscreen, Dad?” Gosalyn teased. This time Drake would not rise to the bait. Especially from some teenager. He stuck his beak in the air.

“Of course I did. And there's extra in the bag so everyone can reapply when the alarm on my phone goes off,” Drake said and ignored it when Gosalyn groaned. “No one is getting sunburn this time. Not on my watch.” Because he cared about his family and one terrible sunburn was enough for him, thank you very much. It was practically the worst villain he ever had to tackle.

“If you say so,” Gosalyn said.

They trekked to the front gate and the ticket counter, which they skipped because Drake was smart and already had tickets. There would be no family haggling this time at the expense of the employee who ran it. Instead he metaphorically let Launchpad and Gosalyn run wild. Metaphorically because they would not be leaving his sight except to go on rides, like the roller coasters Gosalyn loved, which were more deathtrap than roller coaster.

The second they were further inside, Gosalyn and Launchpad started to look around like they'd never been here before despite them coming here every year since becoming a family. Nothing ever changed here, either. Everything was still in the same place it always was. He rolled his eyes, smiling slightly. Eventually, Gosalyn and Launchpad headed for the ride they always started with: a roller coaster with three loops that was so tall it felt like a violation. Drake practically got dizzy just staring at it. He gladly took a seat on the nearby bench, staying with their things. Somebirdie needed to watch it, after all.

The next hour or two went like this– Gosalyn and Launchpad went on rides while Drake sat with their stuff and watched. He may’ve also dozed a bit, arms crossed in front of his chest and head hanging in a way which would definitely give him a crick in his neck. Gosalyn laughed at him for it more than once. In his defense, he usually slept till noon.

“Alright, dad. It’s your turn,” Gosalyn declared and Drake looked up.

“Oh, no, you’re not getting me on one of those death traps of yours,” Drake said. Gosalyn grinned.

“Oh yes I am.” Gosalyn put her hands on her hips. Once more, Drake was very suddenly reminded of his daughter’s height. To think, she used to come up to his knees. Now she was taller than him. “It’s the rules. Everyone goes on at least one coaster.”

Drake sighed, because he couldn’t fight his own rule with a clean conscience. Not if he wanted her to listen to him, at least. “Fine, fine. But just one. I’d like to keep my stomach where it is.”

Gosalyn looked at him like his words were a challenge and very suddenly Drake realized Launchpad and her hadn’t gone on one of Gosalyn’s favourite coasters, as well as one of the main reasons this park has always been her favourite. The monster Behemoth. The actual tallest roller coaster here.

“Oh no. Oh no no no,” Drake said, his finger waving in the air.

“Oh yes,” Gosalyn chirped, her hand suddenly in his. She dragged him to the line for the coaster, Launchpad behind them. This time Launchpad was the one who stayed on the bench with their things. And Drake went on the ride. The entire time they waited, Gosalyn bounced with excitement like she was ten again and Drake fought between the warmth and fondness of seeing his daughter so excited and the absolute dread of what was coming. He hated rollercoasters. They were deathtraps with just enough safety measures to pass inspection, built for cheap thrills for people who don’t spend their evenings doing something more respectable like stopping crime. Not that Drake needed civilians to stop crime. It wasn’t exactly the safest profession. Hence his distaste for rollercoasters. If he wanted to feel unsafe, he’d give Launchpad the keys to the Ratcatcher. Actually, if he wanted to feel unsafe he’d give them to Megavolt.

By the time they got off the roller coaster, Drake didn't remember anything but Gosalyn with her hands in the air before he closed his eyes. He's lucky he didn't lose a feather. "I'm getting too old for this."

"What do you mean?" Gosalyn snorted. "Pops is older than you and he's fine."

"Pops is from a family of stunt pilots," Drake pointed out as he absently took the bags back from Launchpad. As long as he had them, he couldn't be dragged on anymore dangerous rides.

"And you regularly fly with him," Gosalyn said as she rolled her eyes, head tilted down slightly to look at him which is even more insulting than the eye roll.

"I trust him. Who knows what safety regulations have been ignored here?" Drake said darkly, though he did actually trust the rides here. If he didn't, there was no way Gosalyn would be going on them. Or Launchpad, for that matter. His partner getting injured was the last thing he needed.

"Whatever you say, Dad," Gosalyn sighed. But Launchpad looked touched, at least.

Of course, the rides could only go on so long. Finally, they hit where Drake really shone. The games. He rolled up his sleeves and handed the bag back to Launchpad.

"Watch how it's done, Gosalyn," Drake said as he walked up to a game where you threw baseballs at a pyramid of milk bottles. He took out a five dollar bill and set it down. "Three balls, though I'll only need one."

The dog running the game set down three baseballs. Drake picked one up, palming it in his hand. Testing the weight. He squared his shoulders, shifted his feet to be shoulder width apart, and focused on the very middle of the bottom row. As he breathed in, he drew his arm back. Then he shifted his weight forward as he threw the ball.

It hit the edge of the shelf the milk bottles were on with enough force to rattle the top bottle, but none fall.

"Only one ball, huh?"

"Well you have to fail a few times to make the success more exciting," Drake says with a strained laugh, throwing the second ball into the air and catching it a few times. "I'll get this one easy-peasy."

This ball hits the left pole keeping the stand up, bouncing off it and disappearing behind them. An angry shout rises from around the same area and Drake's shoulders raise. He laughs again, more strained than the first. "All in plan."

The third ball he picks up he mentally curses. It will not make a fool of him. He narrows his eyes, looking at the milk bottles. He licks his finger and checks the wind. Then he throws the last ball. It flies forward, hits the back wall, and falls to the ground.

"Step aside, time for a master to show you how it works." Gosalyn steps forward, pushing up the sleeves of her short sleeve tshirt. She turns to Drake who grumbles but gives the man another five dollars. Like Drake, Gosalyn picks it up, taking a moment to gauge the weight of it in her hand. This time when the first ball is thrown, it hits right in the middle of the milk bottle pyramid and all six of them fall to the ground. Drake grumbles, pretending to be annoyed rather than proud.

"Alright, what do ya want?" The dog straightens back up from his lean against the wall, going over to the section with the large prizes. He barely reaches it before Gosalyn is pointing.

"No, no, no," Drake is already protesting before the dog can pull it off the shelf. He pauses, hands on what must be three gallons of slime, to look at Drake with a raised eyebrow.

"Yes, yes, yes!" Gosalyn chants.

"Aren't you a little old to be playing with slime?" Drake says, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Aren't you a little old for your career choices?" Gosalyn mimics him with a smile. Drake narrows his eyes. The slime is gotten and tucked into the bag LP is carrying.

The games were more fun for Drake than the rides. The games are where he could really make his mark. Where he could show who he really is. Not just a superhero, not just a dad. A sharpshooter.

"Dammit!"

A sharpshooter who maybe, sometimes, when he wasn't in the mask, swore and lost his cool. All of these games were rigged, it's the only solution. The only reason he kept losing. If they weren't, he'd win at every single game he went up to because he's Darkwing Duck. If he could fight crime every night and manage to get Gosalyn to highschool, he could shoot a shooting target in a galley made for preschoolers standing on stools.

"Ya almost got it that time, DW!" Launchpad said and Darkwing narrowed his eyes at the targets. His partner's right, he did almost get it.

"Give me another." He put another few dollars on the counter. The girl behind it, a tall dog with too much lipstick and bubblegum, shrugged and hit the button that sets the minute timer on the fake gun. The targets start to move again and Darkwing lines up his shot.

A minute passed, then two more, and he was going to either break the gun or stop being a hero. He couldn't really be so bad that a mere rigged game beats him! He shot villains all the time. Granted, it was mostly with a smoke gun that has a different area of distribution. But still. He glared at the targets.

"Dad! We need that for lunch!” Gosalyn said and Drake paused and blinked, but continued to count bills.

"No we don't, Launchpad made us lunch.”

"Uh… actually, DW…” Launchpad sounded nervous. Drake stopped.

"Launchpad,” Drake drew the name out as he turned to his partner. “I thought I asked you to make lunch so we wouldn't have to spend an exorbitant amount of money on the food here.”

"I forgot. I'm sorry.” Launchpad frowned at him, mouth quirked. Drake stared. There might have been some screaming in his head.

-”It's fine. Fully fine. Absolutely amazingly a-okay.”

“You sure, Drake? You don't usually aliterate like that unless you're upset..."

Drake glowered at Launchpad. How dare he know how he alliterated in different moods.

"So what, we'll have to buy a few overpriced corn dogs and soda. It's the experience!" Gosalyn said.

"Experience smearience," Drake muttered. There went the money he'd wanted to save. At least Launchpad and Gosalyn won a few games, he guessed. And they didn't mean any more when LP got stuffed animals for both Drake and Gosalyn, along with that tub of slime and a few other odds and ends. He sighed and tucked the money away once more. "Fine, to the overpriced corn dogs and soda."

"And ice cream!" Gosalyn added and he looked at her.

"You don't need ice cream," Drake said.

"But daaaaaad," Gosalyn drew the word out long as she made her eyes big. "Ice cream!" Launchpad mirrored her, though neither of them actually looked at the other.

"Yeah, DW, ice cream!"

Drake sighed heavily through his nostrils. "Fine. But only small bowls."

"Yay!" A twin cheer. Drake rolled his eyes, the start of a smile hidden behind his hand. Launchpad looked back at him while Gosalyn led the way to concessions and smiled back.

"Wait, but don't you have to patrol?" Gosalyn asked much later, when the day started to fall so the night could rise. There was supposed to be fireworks and Drake knew his family would want to see them. It seemed a shame to go home and miss them, when they wouldn't be able to see the fireworks through the lights of St. Canard and the most they usually saw were explosions from experiments gone wrong when Bushroot got Megavolt to help in an experiment.

"I can wait a few hours to see the lights with my daughter and partner," Drake said, a hand on Gosalyn's back. Honestly, it was like they thought protecting St. Canard is all he did.

"Aw, thanks, DW." Launchpad smiled brightly and tucked both of them into his sides, his arms around their shoulders. At least Launchpad was still bigger than Gosalyn. He smiled as Gosalyn protested– moving to sit on Launchpad's shoulders instead for a better view– and looked up to wait for the fireworks to begin.

[archester-creations]

@plastic-grocery-bag I don't know if you're still around, but if you are, I finally made that third part!

[archester-creations]

In The Dark part three: adventures and vacations

Rated: G

Ships: Drakepad (Drake Mallard/Launchpad McQuack), Drake & Launchpad & Gosalyn, megaliquiroot (Megavolt/Liquidator/Bushroot)

Word Count: ~9k

A/N: This took so long and I'm sorry, but I never forgot about ti!

These days Della flew for more McDuck adventures than Launchpad did. It left Drake feeling simultaneously grateful and highly annoyed. Grateful that he got his partner back for patrols and that he didn't have to worry about him being gone for days and possibly just never coming back because of getting stuck in a trap. Of course, the patrols were dangerous too. But at least with Launchpad by his side he'd know if he was hurt. Even if Launchpad tried to hide it. Again.

It annoyed him because Launchpad missed it. Not that Launchpad would say it. Instead he smiled and insisted everything was okay. But Launchpad didn't need to say anything for Drake to know it. He enjoyed going on those adventures with the McDuck clan. And Della stole that from him. So even though Drake wanted to thank her for returning his partner to him, part of him hated her.

Though sometimes Della couldn't go on the adventures. She'd be sick or need a break. Those times Launchpad would fly. It helped Launchpad miss it less. Of course it also meant nights where Drake patrolled alone again. Mostly alone. Every night since Launchpad went on his first McDuck adventure his phone greeted him with a barrage of texts. Like clockwork, they’d always appear around when his patrol would start.

It was almost like Launchpad was there, sometimes. The rambling nature of his texts. Hearing about the adventure. Drake never responded at first. But then after the fifth or so adventure he started to. Sometimes it let Drake pretend his sidekick was right there with him. Until he inevitably returned to a bed that felt bigger than usual.

So much bigger.

They didn't only appear at night, either. Launchpad made sure to keep him and Gosalyn updated constantly. Texts telling what they were doing. Pictures of various places and traps that had Gosalyn begging to get to go next time. There were plenty of calls, too. Gosalyn would scramble to his cell everytime Launchpad’s ringtone played. Sometimes, when Launchpad got home, Drake complained about how often he contracted them. Futilely; it never stopped Launchpad from doing it. (He's glad for that. All the texts make it so he doesn't have to worry as much and it kept Gosalyn from worrying as well.)

“We just got the other half of the map piece! We’re heading out for Wakka-Wakka in the morning,” Launchpad said, voice completely clear despite how high he must be. Drake could hear the plane engines in the background. It was amazing how Launchpad always had such great service. Gyro likely did something to his phone.

Drake hummed, the phone trapped between his ear and shoulder as he cut carrots for stew.

“Pops!” Gosalyn took the phone from him, put it to her own ear. “When are you gettin’ home? I’m not sure how much more of dad’s ‘cooking’ I can take.”

“What?!” Drake turned indignantly toward her.

He heard Launchpad chuckle over the phone. “Sorry, Gos. You’ll havta put up with it a little longer. Should only be a few more days,” Launchpad said.

‘Put up with’?! He didn't know what they were talking about. His food was great!

“Thank god,” Gosalyn sighed in mock relief.

Traitors. The both of them. Traitors with bad taste buds. Joke about his food being bad. He'd show them. Somehow. Drake cut the rest of the carrots angrily. At least, until the knife slipped and cut into the skin of his thumb. “Dammit,” he hissed under his breath as he dropped the knife.

“Dad!” Drake looked over at Gosalyn’s cry to see her staring at him.

“Gos!?” Drake heard from the phone, a quieter ‘McQuack watch the plane!’ in the background. “What happened??”

Drake shook his head. “I'm fine.” And he was, it hadn't cut that deep and he'd been hurt worse on patrols.

Gosalyn’s brows lowered, but she apparently trusted him. “Dad cut his thumb,” she told Launchpad.

There was a sigh on the other side. “Is he okay?”

“It's bleeding,” Gosalyn said as he walked over to the sink. He ran cold water over the cut.

“Gos, can you get me a bandaid?”

“Sure,” Gosalyn said. The phone poked into his shoulder. Drake took it and put it back to his ear.

“You okay?” Launchpad asked.

Drake scoffed. “I'm fine, stop worrying. It's not like you can do anything anyway.”

“I could come ba–”

“Launchpad.” Drake cut him off with an awkward laugh. His hand was shaky when he reached for a towel to stem the blood. Before Launchpad (and Gosalyn) he’d never had anyone worry about him. It was a weird feeling. Something that made his gut swoop in an odd way. He wasn't sure if he enjoyed it or hated it. Maybe a bit of both. “Scrooge would probably kill you and the kids would be disappointed. And you’d hate yourself for that. I'm fine, it's shallow, go have fun. I have to finish making dinner anyhow.”

There was a pause before Launchpad conceded. “Alright. Tell Gos I said goodnight and that I love her.”

“I will,” Drake promised.

“I love you, DW,” Launchpad said.

“Yeah, I love you too,” Drake said. The phone clicked and Launchpad was gone. He wrapped the towel tight around his finger for the time being. Then he picked up the knife to finish the carrots and add them to the stew. Gosalyn returned as he did.

“Here ya go.” She handed him a hello kitty bandage.

“Thanks, Gos,” Drake said and wrapped it around the tip of his thumb. “Launchpad said goodnight and he loves you.”

Gosalyn pulled a face, though he still saw a smile there. “He's so sappy.”

“He's your pops, he's allowed to be,” Drake said and put his hands on his hips. “We both are.” Gosalyn just rolled her eyes at him.

“Gee,” Drake said sarcastically, “I didn't know the teenage snark started right at thirteen.”

“I learned from the best, Dad,” Gosalyn smiled unapologetically with a shrug. Without a word she moved in next to him, grabbing a new knife to cut some tomatoes.

“At least you learned something from me,” Drake grumbled. Gosalyn gently elbowed him and Drake turned his head to see her profile. The smile hadn't really gone down. Somehow, she'd gotten older. Her red hair fell just over her shoulder in its long ponytail. Green eyes sparkled. The freckles she had in her dark feathers had doubled over the years. She was almost taller than him already. And it had all happened so quickly. Too quickly. Maybe Morgana could give him a potion or spell that would stop her from getting any older.

“What're you thinking about?” Gosalyn’s voice brought him from his thoughts. Her eyes were narrowed at him.

“Nothing,” Drake said.

“Riiiiiight,” Gosalyn said.

They cooked the rest of dinner together. Jokingly sniping the whole way.

(“Careful with the knife, Dad. I'll have to patrol without you.”

“Oh really? You think Megavolt would be willing to help you study for that math test you have tomorrow?”)

“I can't believe I let her patrol the museum alone!” Darkwing paced anxiously up and down the museum’s front steps. Launchpad only watched as he attempted to form a groove in the cement. Of course she hadn’t truly been alone. They each had a radio and Launchpad and he were right next door. That didn’t stop some dastardly criminal from stealing a rare gem and Gosalyn. Finally he collapsed with a huff. It’d been fifteen minutes since she’d disappeared. He hung his head, glanced over toward Launchpad through eyelashes and narrowed eyebrows. “How are you not worried?”

Launchpad chuckled. It sounded more strained than he'd ever heard it. He took a seat next to him and put a hand on his shoulder. Darkwing leaned into that comforting gesture. “‘Course I'm worried, DW. But worryin’ ain't gonna bring our girl back.”

“How can you be so calm?”

Launchpad didn't answer at first. He leaned back on his hands, eyes looking toward the sky. Darkwing almost thought it looked like he was searching for something. “Personality, I guess.” Was his eventual answer.

“I wish I had your personality,” Darkwing laughed lowly, something bitter and painful in the noise. In the corner of his eye Darkwing saw Launchpad look at him. He looked over as Launchpad sat back up.

“C’mon, DW. Let's get our little girl back.”

“Alright.” When Launchpad held out his hand, Darkwing took it. His partner pulled him up easily.

“So how are we going to find her?” Darkwing asked once they were in the Thunderquack. Because Launchpad insisted they head back to the tower for the jet.

“Uh,” Launchpad fiddled with a few buttons on the console. Some of his feathers pinked and Darkwing narrowed his eyes at his partner. The gps screen flickered before it came on. Darkwing frowned. The only times they really used it were the rare occasions SHUSH missions took them somewhere Launchpad didn't know. A flashing green dot appeared. It stayed still on the screen.

“Launchpad?” Darkwing questioned.

The jet started up. It taxied, slowly gaining speed until Launchpad pulled up on the yoke and they ascended. Launchpad still didn't answer his question. They started to move toward the dot.

“Launchpad,” Darkwing repeated, now a little annoyed. He didn't like being kept out of the loop. Especially when it had to do with Gosalyn’s potential safety.

Launchpad tapped a steady beat against the yoke. Finally he glanced over to Darkwing, flinching when he did so and quickly turning back to the sky. “I may've kinda made sure there were tracking devices in the radios.”

“You what?!” Darkwing barked and Launchpad flinched again.

“Sorry, DW, I jus wanted to make sure neither of ya got hurt or somethin’ where I couldn’t find ya,” Launchpad said quietly, eyes not leaving the skyline except to check the gps.

Darkwing studied his partner silently. Launchpad put trackers on them. Launchpad. He would expect the move from himself– there’d been a number of times where he’d almost done it– but not from Launchpad. Though maybe it made more sense that Launchpad would do it. The first mission they’d ever gone on together, he’d been blown up and would’ve likely died in the ocean had Launchpad not found him. Then there was that time Gosalyn completely disappeared when she’d snuck on a patrol with them and he’d almost had a panic attack before she found them. Their family had a habit of attracting danger. It was why they’d started teaching Gosalyn first aid last year. After she’d skinned half her leg on the road. “... alright.”

Launchpad turned toward him. “Alright?”

“Alright,” Darkwing nodded. “With our lives it was a smart move. I’m glad you did it.”

A happy, fond smile broke out on Launchpad’s face. He chuckled, and Darkwing could hear the relief in it. “No problemo, DW.”

It took longer than Darkwing would’ve liked to reach where Gosalyn was held. If Launchpad hadn’t insisted on parking the Thunderquack two blocks away it would’ve taken less time. But he had so they ran two minutes instead of taking thirty seconds to just crash into the warehouse. Ultimately, it was likely better. If the thief had known they were coming they could’ve done something with Gosalyn. Instead their arrival was a complete surprise. … Mostly a surprise. Darkwing had shown up like usual. Strong, bold words from a cloud of smoke. Launchpad was the surprise. He appeared from the shadows as Darkwing distracted the thief. Before the thief even realized it she was dangling, held up by the back of her coat. She kicked angrily and Darkwing heard one of them hit. But Launchpad didn’t drop her. Once she realized there was no getting out of his grip, her whole body slackened and she easily told them where she’d put Gosalyn. Before Launchpad put her down, Darkwing took the gem from her pocket. There was a protest, she tried to get it back and run, but Launchpad quickly grabbed her again. This time instead of putting her down, he carried her to one of the machines and tied her to it. Afterward, Darkwing and Launchpad’s eyes met. They nodded at each other and Darkwing went to the door first.

An arrow flew at them when he opened it. Darkwing barely had time to move. Air whizzed right by his ear. “Woah! It’s me, it’s me!” Darkwing had his arms up before she could loose a second arrow.

“Dad?” Gosalyn opened her other eye and blinked. “Dad!” Her body hit Darkwing’s with enough force to send him back into Launchpad, who easily caught them both. The hug only lasted a few seconds before Gosalyn pushed away. She brushed her hands down her costume. “What are you guys doing here? I had it taken care of.”

“Oh, did you?” Darkwing asked, pushing off of Launchpad as well. “Getting kidnapped by a criminal was having it ‘taken care of’?”

“I was working on it!” Gosalyn said. “I would’ve had her captured and the gem back if you would’ve just let me!”

“Let you–” Darkwing sputtered. “Quiverwing, you were kidnapped!”

“Yeah, so? You’ve gotten kidnapped before!”

“I’ve also been a hero longer!”

“So what, that makes you better at being kidnapped?!”

“It does!” Darkwing yelled. “I know how to get myself out of it!”

“Funny, cause the last few times Pops had to save you!”

“Well, yes,” Darkwing said. “But I had it taken care of.”

“So did I!” Gosalyn insisted.

“That’s different!”

“How?!” Gosalyn said.

“You’re thirteen, that’s how!” Darkwing said. “I was right, you’re too young for this!”

“Dad!” Gosalyn protested.

“No–”

Before Darkwing was prepared for it, his body was moving back. Gosalyn protested as she was moved at the same time. “Guys!” Between them stood Launchpad. Ever the mediator for their worse fights. Darkwing took a deep breath as he watched Gosalyn do the same. When he felt calmer, Launchpad’s arms were lowered.

“I didn’t start being a hero till I was eighteen,” Darkwing said. “I worry about you Gosalyn. When you disappeared… I didn’t know where you were or if you were hurt.”

Gosalyn sighed. “You don’t have to–”

“Of course I do!” Drake cut her off.

“Dad!” Gosalyn said. Her eyes were hard and he felt his beak snap shut. “You were alone when you started. But I’m not. I have you and Pops. I’m smart enough to call if I need you. She caught me off guard in the museum and just dragged me here, but she left me my weapons. I knew I could handle her. You don’t have to worry about me.”

Drake stepped around Launchpad to put his hands on Gosalyn’s shoulders. “You’re my daughter, Gos. Of course I’m gonna worry. It’s my job.”

“Eventually you’re gonna have to stop worrying so much,” Gosalyn said.

“Watch me.” Drake engulfed her in a hug.

“You’re gonna get more wrinkles,” Gosalyn said against his chest.

“Hey!” Drake protested, pulling back just enough to glare. It made Gosalyn laugh and he smiled. Launchpad joined them, arms wrapped fully around them both.

Darkwing coughed. “Alright.” Launchpad released them and he let go of Quiverwing, taking a few steps away. He took the gem from his pocket and threw it underhand to Quiverwing. She caught it easily. “Let's get this back to the museum. And Launchpad, could you grab us a certain crooked criminal?”

“Sure thing, DW.” Launchpad left the room to grab her.

“I imagine you'll want to take her in, Quiverwing?” Darkwing asked his younger partner.

“Hell yeah!” Quiverwing pumped a fist into the air excitedly.

“Language,” Drake admonished absently.

Quiverwing rolled her eyes as they followed Launchpad out of the room. “Daaad.”

“What?” Darkwing said, looking at Quiverwing while he walked. He puffed out his chest, pointing his finger upward as he didn't look away from her. “A superhero is ever vigilant, ever watchful for the public eye. They're a role model, upheld to the highest degree! They can't be seen with a potty mou–” At that moment, Darkwing slammed his foot into a metal contraption. It made him lose his balance and he went tumbling headfirst over it. Landing ungracefully on the other side. His foot throbbed and he grabbed it, curling slightly around it.

"“Fuuuuuck,” Darkwing groaned through clenched teeth. That had hurt. It took a few good seconds before it stopped throbbing so much. When he finally looked up he saw Quiverwing and she wasn't Quiverwing anymore but fully his daughter. Gosalyn smirked at him. Eyebrows raised smugly. “Not a word, young lady."

There’s giggling above him. It’s the tell-tale sounds of his daughter. Next is shushing from Launchpad. Drake smiled into the beach towel. An angel. His sidekick was an angel, making sure their daughter didn’t disturb his nap. This was one of the best parts of coming to the beach. Being able to take a nap, out in the bright sun. All while Gosalyn and Launchpad were kept distracted and out of trouble by the waves. With a content smile Drake let himself fade.

Later there was more giggling. Yet again right over top of him. Drake’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion. Then he started to feel it. On his toes. Rubbing between his feathers. In his swimsuit. Sand. Sand, everywhere. It scratched and it itched and it felt monumentally uncomfortable.

Dead. His sidekick was dead, along with their daughter. Drake sprang up, making sand spray everywhere.

“I am not your sandcastle, you two!” Drake said indignantly. Sand clung to his backfeathers, thighs, and legs. He wasn’t actually planning on getting in the ocean. Now, they’d given him no choice. Not if he wanted the grimy substance off. Something they didn’t seem to understand. Not with the way sand caked their legs and arms.

“Aw, come on, Dad! We were almost finished!” Gosalyn protested between snorts.

“Yeah, DW,” Launchpad agreed with a smile. In his hand he held up a tiny flag Drake hadn’t seen in the bag earlier. They must’ve snuck it in after he’d checked it. And by they, he meant Gosalyn.

“No! You can't just build a sandcastle on me while I'm asleep!”

Gosalyn smiled at him, waving her shovel. “Well you're not asleep now.”

“No!” Drake repeated.

“C’mon, Dad.” Gosalyn broke out her secret weapon. The puppy dog eyes and extra pouted lip. To make it worse, as soon as Launchpad noticed what she was doing he joined in. Drake tried to remain strong. But it was no use against double puppy looks. He caved, flopping back onto his towel.

“Fine. But just this once, got it?”

“Alright Dad.” “Sure thing DW.”

Drake settled down as they pushed sand up against his middle and legs. It got even more sand on his towel, but there was plenty already from their earlier venture so he decided he’d just deal with the worst of it before they left. As long as Gosalyn didn’t bring a mountain of sand back home with her it’d be fine. For a while he drifted in and out. He was already pretty tired. The hot sun and insulating sand pulled at him. A lullaby to sleep he didn’t feel like fighting.

What felt like just a minute later, he woke up to a camera shutter. He opened his eyes to see Gosalyn with her camera pointed at him. He frowned and the shutter clicked again. “You look like Neptunia!” Gosalyn said with a smile.

He lifted up on his elbows so he could look down. No longer was he a sandcastle. Now they’d turned him into a mermaid. A tail of sand enveloped him, swirling into the beach. Drake gave them both a flat look. “Ha, ha, now go play in the ocean or something. I would like to take an actual nap. And don’t forget your sunscreen!”

“Daaaaad,” Gosalyn complained.

“You’re both redheads, you burn easier and I’m not going to hear complaining when you get sunburn because you didn’t listen to me,” Drake said, pointing at his daughter.

“Fine,” Gosalyn grumbled before she rummaged through their beach bag for the tube of spf 100. Both her and Launchpad rubbed it into their feathers under his watchful eye. When Drake felt satisfied they wouldn’t get burned he nodded and lied back down.

“And don’t forget to add more in a few hours,” Drake said with his eyes closed.

“Will do,” Launchpad said and Gosalyn groaned.

Their footsteps got further away as they went further in and Drake listened to them until he couldn’t hear the sand crunching anymore. Then he stood up and brushed the sand from his feathers the best he could. With that done he picked up the towel and shook it out. For now it was the best he could do. He’d prefer to get in the water later, closer to when they’d have to leave. Right now he let himself sleep with the sound of Gosalyn and Launchpad’s laughter in the background.

“Dad,” Gosalyn’s voice drifted on a wave of consciousness. He grumbled and shifted, not wanting to get up. Sleep still pulled at his bones and he was willing to follow it. His daughter was not. With an annoyed sound she shook his shoulder. That had him up in milliseconds. Pain flared like fire along his skin where she’d touched.

“Don’t do that,” Drake snapped as the pain waned. Though it stayed just on the surface; red heat feeling like it radiated through his feathers.

“Dad?” Gosalyn questioned worriedly.

“He’s lookin’ a little red, Gos,” Launchpad said.

“No I’m not,” Drake said. Gosalyn looked at him disbelievingly. Even if he was red it wasn’t that bad. Really, he barely felt it. The only reason it’d seemed to hurt so much was because Gosalyn surprised him.

“Whatever you say, Dad,” Gosayn said. It was dismissive and clear she didn’t believe him, but Drake took it.

The sunburn didn't truly show up for another hour, sometime after they got back home. It had been getting steadily worse before then. But it's taken an hour for Drake to actually sneak away and check the bathroom mirror. He stripped off his shirt and turned to check his back. His back was absolutely glowing. With some hesitation he poked a finger against it. Pain rippled through him and he took a sharp breath through his teeth to prevent a scream. There was so much sunburn even his feathers appeared to be tinged red. The only bright side was he'd fallen asleep on his stomach, so the only burn was on his back and shoulders. Though that was barely a bright side. It still stung like a bitch.

“Drake?” A knock sounded on the door and before Drake could say anything, the door opened. “Woah.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Drake struggled back into his shirt. Launchpad was looking at his heated skin worriedly. That wasn't something he needed. He winced hard as the fabric brushed awkwardly against his feathers and the skin at his shoulder bunched.

“DW, wait,” Launchpad put his hands on Drake’s and gently removed the shirt from his hold.

“Launchpad–” Drake protested but was cut off when he felt Launchpad’s shirt drop over his head. The t-shirt drifted down, hanging low near his ankles. It was immediately clear the shirt was about three sizes too big for him. Which was perfect for his sunburn.

“... Thanks,” Drake said. Suddenly he felt extremely awkward. There was no real reason for it. Launchpad’s shirt was large and comfortable and didn't rub against his feathers. It was perfectly pragmatic. But Launchpad’s expression had suddenly gone a little weird and Drake’s face felt hot in a way he knew had nothing to do with the sunburn. How could it? His face hadn't burned. Thankfully. Wearing a mask with sunburn would’ve been hell.

He cleared his throat. “Can you help me with some aloe?” As much as he didn't want to need to ask for help, he knew there was no way he'd reach all the sunburn. Heck, he likely wouldn't reach half of it. Not by himself.

“Sure thing, DW,” Launchpad said, looking a bit like he'd been snapped out of a trance.

They walked out of the bathroom together, Drake behind Launchpad. Some traitorous part of his brain decided then was a good time to remind him, Launchpad was now shirtless. This wasn't the first time he'd ever seen Launchpad shirtless. Nor was it the third or fifth. Most of the time during summer Launchpad slept shirtless. But something about it now, with him being shirtless because he’d wanted to make Drake more comfortable, made it feel so much different. Like there was a new light that made Launchpad’s shirtless form more beautiful than Drake already found it. His hands wrapped around the bottom of Launchpad’s faded Ducky Momo shirt and his thumbs rubbed against the soft, worn gray material of the hem.

It was comfortable past the way it settled lightly on his sunburn, barely pressing against the feathers like an invisible shield kept it from getting too close. The knowledge he was wearing Launchpad’s clothes was comfortable. Something about knowing it was that big lug’s was comfortable. All of it was just comfortable. That was the most familiar feeling he had around Launchpad, comfort. In a way that felt like home.

Gosalyn gave him that feeling too, ever since he’d adopted her and gained this little family. It was different from when he was alone. Louder and nicer. It was incredibly different from his first ‘family’. Warmer.

“Dad!” Drake turned around to see Gosalyn ogling at him. She must've seen his neck. That was confirmed when she ducked behind him and he felt the collar being pulled down. Heat seared through him as fabric rubbed against raw feathers. “You look like you got attacked by a preschooler with a marker!”

Drake groaned as he wrestled himself from her grasp. “I don't understand how. I brought plenty of sunscreen.”

“Gee, DW. I guess ya spent so much time worryin’ about us you completely forgot to put on your own sunscreen,” Launchpad said.

“I was not worried,” Drake said, arms crossed over his chest.

“Dad I think I had like three coats of sunscreen in my hair,” Gosalyn said.

“Redheads burn very easily!” Drake defended. “Now if you don't mind I’m going to put some aloe on.” He brushed past Launchpad and into their room to escape their daughter’s prying eyes. Not long after he sat on the bed, Launchpad joined him in the room.

That night saw Drake sitting on the edge of the bed as Launchpad put more aloe on his back. The blue gel was cold, chilling his skin as Launchpad carefully scrubbed it past his feathers. He sucked in air through his teeth and Launchpad apologized quietly. Gosalyn had gone to bed a few minutes ago. For once she was actually tired, a day of swimming, playing in the sand, and roller skating down the boardwalk solidly exhausting her. Once Launchpad was done Drake got to his feet and went over to search Launchpad’s drawer. He shoved shirts aside in his search for one that was plain and dark enough to service him in the night.

“What are you doing?” Launchpad questioned.

“I am looking for a shirt,” Drake answered without looking back.

“DW, should you really go on patrol like that? We can miss one more patrol,” Launchpad said and he scoffed.

“The villains would really like that. Of course I can't miss patrol! A hero is ever vigilant! A tiny sunburn won't slow me down!”

Launchpad gently touched his shoulder. “Yeowch!” Drake jumped a foot in the air, pain crisscrossing along his skin. Once it subsided he glared at Launchpad. The sunburn still hurt. It still hurt a lot.

“Sorry, DW.” Launchpad looked apologetic, but he also looked worried. Drake knew he'd likely felt his heated skin through the soft fabric.

“I'm going whether you come with or not.” Drake went back to rummaging through Launchpad’s drawer, finally pulling out a black long sleeve shirt from the very bottom that he hadn't even known Launchpad owned. Proud of his find, he held it up. “I'll just wear this.”

Something odd flickered across Launchpad’s face. But he'd gotten odd looks from the other duck since Launchpad put his shirt on him earlier. So it was simple to just ignore it as another of those. He pulled the shirt on and began to roll up the sleeves. Unrolled, the sleeves hung down at least an inch past his hands. Hopefully the rolls wouldn't slip, he's not sure how well he could fight St. Canard’s criminal underbelly with sleeves that long. The one bunched oddly as he worked on it and he grumbled and undid it so he could try again. Before he could Launchpad was there. Folding the sleeve neatly over itself a handful of times.

Drake looked up at him. “Why are you helping me? You don't want me to go out there.”

“I don't,” Launchpad agreed. He did the other sleeve silently. After he finished he took Drake’s hands in his own to check his handiwork. Then he looked up at Drake. Drake’s breath caught at the serious look there. “But I’m not gonna let you go it alone, Drake.”

It was a promise. One that was heavy. Too heavy for Drake to breath under it. He felt like he was drowning. It sounded strangely like a wedding vow. Solemn and sober and honest. Heart wrenchingly so. “You mean Darkwing?” He choked on his own attempt to lessen the sudden tension.

“I mean both,” Launchpad smiled softly and Drake gasped in a breath like he'd suddenly broke surface. “Let's get dangerous,” his partner said with a twinkle in his eye like nothing had happened. Like he didn't just flood the room with heavy tension. Leaving Drake floundering. Launchpad squeezed his hands once before he let go. His motto matched with the sudden absence of Launchpad’s hands– after he’d squeezed them like the last preserver on the Titanic, like it was Launchpad who'd been drowning– helped Darkwing come back to himself a little quicker.

“Let's.” A corner of his beak curled up into a smirk.

Before today, he'd never actually been thankful that the Ratcatcher didn’t have a seat back. The wind made Launchpad’s larger shirt billow out slightly behind him. It hadn’t occurred to him that even past the sleeves the largeness of the shirt might make it more difficult to move. He'd never fought in anything bigger than his own clothes. This shirt was practically a dress on him. Briefly he wished he had the forethought to strap a belt of some kind around his waist. Then he remembered the burn. With the state of his back a belt probably would've been more hindrance than the large shirt.

Movement came from the building ahead of them. The empty building. Darkwing stopped the motorcycle on the sidewalk. “Someone sinister’s sneaking around in that shop.” He jumped to the ground, valiantly ignoring the flash of pain the movement caused with just a hiss through his teeth. As well as ignoring the worried look Launchpad gave him. He ran to the brick of the shop, next to a large, broken display window. Big, cursive letters were painted on the door, alternating between brown, pink, and white. ‘NeoBotany’.

With a singular look back to ensure Launchpad was following– he was, right behind him and soaked in shadow– Darkwing stepped carefully into the building, being ware of the broken glass. “Alright Bushie,” Darkwing started with the gas gun already pointed and loaded with plantspray.

“Darkwing?” A voice asked in response. A voice not Bushroot.

Darkwing stopped short. “Megavolt?! What are you doing here? Isn't this a bit out of your usual domain?”

“I could ask you the same thing, Dorkwing,” Megavolt said.

“Of course I'm here!” Darkwing said with an exasperated sigh. “I'm the hero, I'm supposed to be here to stop the likes of you! But isn't this normally Bushroot’s shtick?”

“Yeah, well I’m getting something for him,” Megavolt bit back, crossing his arms over his chest. Darkwing mirrored him. And immediately winced as his skin pulled. The villain gave him an odd look. “Are you sure you should be doing this tonight?”

Darkwing could feel the eyes on his back, burning into it like the sun had earlier. “Can it, LP,” Darkwing mumbled. To Megavolt, “And let you run free? Of course I should be doing this! Now spill, why are you here?”

Megavolt rolled his eyes. “I’m trying to choose a flower.”

“Roses are good,” Launchpad said and Darkwing turned to glare at him. Damn it, LP! Don’t give the villains ideas! His partner gave an apologetic shrug with a smile that said he wasn’t really that sorry. The older duck liked to give advice when he could. Even to the villains. It was his compassionate heart and loath as Darkwing was to admit it, he’d be lying if he said it wasn’t one of the things that drew him to the man. Despite his glare, Launchpad added. “Lilies, too.”

“Thanks, LP!” Megavolt said and he truly seemed like he appreciated it.

“What are you doing stealing flowers, anyhow? Couldn’t you just buy them,” Darkwing asked, though he already knew the answer.

“Of course not, Dipwing! As you keep reminding me, I’m a villain.”

Darkwing groaned and rubbed a hand down his face. Then winced in pain and immediately clenched his fist at his side instead. “Alright.”

Darkwing already had his jacket and mask off when he got in the house, but he still had his turtleneck on. With a wrinkle of his beak he peeled the material slightly away from his feathers. It reeked. Like burnt cabbage, moldy cheese, and something rottingly floral. Plus there was something wet and clinging. Despite the fact he'd made the plunge at least two hours ago. He held back a retch.

Earlier the criminal he was chasing– a petty thief, why they tried to escape through a roof, he didn't know– took a sharp turn he hadn't had time to follow. Instead he plummeted right off the roof into a dumpster. A full dumpster. Of course he'd gotten the criminal. But right now, covered in trash sludge, it felt more like a consolation prize than a victory.

The front door opened, but the person who opened it didn't come in right away. Darkwing paused to watch Launchpad shake… something out of his hair. His partner came in and grimaced almost immediately. A tight smile formed on his beak. “I know,” Darkwing said.

“What happened?” Launchpad asked. Just as he was about to answer, Darkwing caught a good look at him. His red locks were streaked with white–that must've been what he'd shook out, or tried to–, there was a surface wound on his cheek that'd been cleaned, and gray streaked the feathers on his arms and shirt. His jacket was absent.

“What happened to you?” Darkwing asked instead.

Launchpad shrugged nonchalantly. “Dew set off a trap.” When Darkwing gaped, he gave a tired smile. “No one was injured.”

“You have a scratch along your cheek!”

“No one was injured badly,” Launchpad amended. “The kids are all okay. None of them were hit.”

‘Yeah, but what about you?’ Darkwing thought, but knew better than to ask. Whenever he did Launchpad would just brush it off. For his partner, the kids’ safety was more important. It was admirable. It was also highly irritating.

“Alright,” Darkwing said instead. “I fell in a dumpster.”

“You fell in a dumpster?” Launchpad asked.

“Yes, yes,” Darkwing sighed and held his arms out away from his body. “Get it out, I know I smell like rotting garbage. Heck, I probably look like it. I know I feel like it.” The words grew lower, more mumbled, as he went on.

“Nah,” Launchpad said with an amused smile and chuckle, though his beak was still slightly scrunched from the smell. It didn't stop him from coming closer. Or from him pulling Darkwing into his arms. “Smell like a buncha daisies and look just as handsome as ever.”

Darkwing huffed a laugh even as his cheeks went red. “Har har. Now let me go so we can take a shower.” Launchpad’s arms loosened and Darkwing wiggled out of his grip.

“‘We’?” Launchpad repeated. Darkwing looked up to see his eyes were wide. It took a minute for it to register why.

Oh. He'd said ‘we’ without thinking. Implying… Well. There was nothing wrong with that. It'd be fine, they were friends. It wasn't even the first time they'd ever seen each other naked. Probably wouldn't be the last with the injuries they garnered. And Launchpad already knew all his secrets, seen the scars. There wasn't anything to hide from his partner. Decisively, he nodded. “Yes. We.”

“Like…” Launchpad trailed off, not finishing his sentence.

“Yes, LP,” Darkwing sighed. “Together. It's not like the tub’s not big enough.”

“O-kay,” Launchpad said haltingly, like it was something to worry about.

When Darkwing headed for the stairs he heard Launchpad say ‘Alright’ to himself with more conviction. It wasn't until he was about halfway up that he heard footsteps behind him, though.

“Are ya sure, Drake?” Launchpad asked again as they undressed– Launchpad slower than him, but he had more clothes and he wanted the sweater off– and Drake rolled his eyes. “Yes, I'm sure. Not only will it save time it'll save money too. Now will you get in so I can get this trash stench off me. I can feel garbage gunk in my feathers and it's very uncomfortable.” So much so that it currently outweighed any anxiety he may have felt sharing a shower with the man he had a crush on. Again, they'd seen each other naked plenty of times before. This should be no different.

It is. Of course it is, those other times they weren't standing close together inside a porcelain prison with warm water falling upon them like heavy rain.

Drake is in front of Launchpad. It's practical, Launchpad is huge and if he was standing behind him the water would never touch him, but it's also even more calculated. As long as he was in front he didn't have to look back or acknowledge the warmth behind him. Not that it mattered. They were barely under the spray a few minutes before Launchpad drew his attention.

“Shit,” Launchpad hissed quietly through his teeth. LP didn't usually curse.

“LP?” Drake questioned, worried as he carefully turned around.

“It's nothing, sorry,” Launchpad replied immediately but with the shirt gone it was too late. Drake noticed the wound before Launchpad turned away. The dark t-shirt had done a good job of hiding it but with it gone the dried blood at his shoulder was visible. It was on the same side the cut on his cheek was, but it was deeper and very obviously hadn't been patched up like the former. Which meant Launchpad had hid it from Scrooge. And lied to Drake, ‘no one was injured badly’ his foot. He shuffled closer to him with the rag.

“LP,” he clicked his tongue against his teeth. Gently he took the rag to his partner’s shoulder. “Don't hide this shit. Not from me,” Drake scolded gently. The first touch had Launchpad tensing but he relaxed quickly.

“Sorry,” Launchpad apologized again, but this one was sincere instead of dismissive. Drake examined him carefully now. If he’d hidden this, there might be other injuries.

Thankfully, other than a purpling bruise all down his side that reached like fingers to his back and luckily only bruised his ribs, Launchpad had no other injuries. “So what really caused this?” Drake asked.

“The trap released part of the ceiling above us,” Launchpad said with a shrug like it didn't matter, but his careful tone said he knew it would to Drake. “Lew and Webby were able to get out of the way and Mr. McD was further ahead, but Dew and Hue…”

“You shielded them,” Drake supplied.

“Yeah,” Launchpad said.

Drake sighed. Rather annoyingly, a fond smile twitched at the corner of his beak. He wanted to be annoyed at Launchpad. He really, really wanted to be. But the truth was that that desire, that need to help others first and care about himself absolutely last that Launchpad has, was one of the things Drake loved most about him. It was probably one of the things he fell in love with first. “At least the kids are alright.”

“Yep!” Launchpad said, and all it took was a bright smile for him to know Launchpad knew he wasn't really annoyed. “Not even a scratch!”

“Except now I have to patch you up. Again,” Drake huffed halfheartedly because he had to show that he was annoyed, because despite how proud he was that LP kept the kids safe, he still returned to him injured and the only person here who should be getting injured was him as he's the superhero, thank you very much. A true spark of annoyance went through him. “I feel like a housewife,” he mumbled, words not really meant to be heard by anyone else. But in the close quarters of the bathtub it was impossible for them to go unheard.

“I'm sure Mr. McD would hire you if you want to take on a job!”

“Ha!” Drake let out a bark of laughter that he immediately felt guilty for, their daughter asleep in a room close by. Hopefully Gosalyn hadn't heard him. Quieter, he said, “And work for that money grubbing geezer? No way!” After a pause, “Hey, wait a minute! Watching over St. Canard is a full time job, buster.” Drake stabbed a finger into Launchpad’s chest. His partner smiled at him and took his hand, lifting it to his beak and kissing the palm. Suddenly, Drake remembered just how naked they both were. It was an odd realization. They'd gotten in together.

“And you’re amazing at it.” Blush spread, Launchpad looking right at him. It felt like he was looking through him. The second his partner released his hand, Drake turned on his heel (almost slipping in the tub; Launchpad steadied him before he could fall out) and resolved not to look back until they were both dried and dressed.

“Alright, Launchpad you're in charge of the map. Do you remember the plan?”

“Yessir, DW!” Launchpad said with a smile that felt just a little too cheeky. But Drake let it slide.

“Aw, c'mon, dad,” Gosalyn groaned. “Do we reaaaally need to have a plan for the amusement park? Doesn't that take all the fun out of it?”

“No!” Drake answered from inside the trunk of the car, making sure he had everything they needed in his bag. “If we have a plan we can assure—

“We get the most amount of fun possible for our buck,” both Gosalyn and Launchpad chorused with him.

“Glad to know you're listening to me,” Drake grumbled into the bag.

“What was that?” Gosalyn asked and Drake looked away from the bag to see his daughter giving him a smirk she definitely didn't learn from him. He pointed at her.

“Watch it.”

Gosalyn raised her hands defensively, still smirking. Drake narrowed his eyes.

“So is that everything?” Launchpad asked as he took the bag from Drake, effectively breaking Gosalyn and Drake’s focus before it became a staring contest.

“Yes,” Drake said.

“And did you remember to wear your sunscreen, Dad?” Gosalyn teased. This time Drake would not rise to the bait. Especially from some teenager. He stuck his beak in the air.

“Of course I did. And there's extra in the bag so everyone can reapply when the alarm on my phone goes off,” Drake said and ignored it when Gosalyn groaned. “No one is getting sunburn this time. Not on my watch.” Because he cared about his family and one terrible sunburn was enough for him, thank you very much. It was practically the worst villain he ever had to tackle.

“If you say so,” Gosalyn said.

They trekked to the front gate and the ticket counter, which they skipped because Drake was smart and already had tickets. There would be no family haggling this time at the expense of the employee who ran it. Instead he metaphorically let Launchpad and Gosalyn run wild. Metaphorically because they would not be leaving his sight except to go on rides, like the roller coasters Gosalyn loved, which were more deathtrap than roller coaster.

The second they were further inside, Gosalyn and Launchpad started to look around like they'd never been here before despite them coming here every year since becoming a family. Nothing ever changed here, either. Everything was still in the same place it always was. He rolled his eyes, smiling slightly. Eventually, Gosalyn and Launchpad headed for the ride they always started with: a roller coaster with three loops that was so tall it felt like a violation. Drake practically got dizzy just staring at it. He gladly took a seat on the nearby bench, staying with their things. Somebirdie needed to watch it, after all.

The next hour or two went like this– Gosalyn and Launchpad went on rides while Drake sat with their stuff and watched. He may’ve also dozed a bit, arms crossed in front of his chest and head hanging in a way which would definitely give him a crick in his neck. Gosalyn laughed at him for it more than once. In his defense, he usually slept till noon.

“Alright, dad. It’s your turn,” Gosalyn declared and Drake looked up.

“Oh, no, you’re not getting me on one of those death traps of yours,” Drake said. Gosalyn grinned.

“Oh yes I am.” Gosalyn put her hands on her hips. Once more, Drake was very suddenly reminded of his daughter’s height. To think, she used to come up to his knees. Now she was taller than him. “It’s the rules. Everyone goes on at least one coaster.”

Drake sighed, because he couldn’t fight his own rule with a clean conscience. Not if he wanted her to listen to him, at least. “Fine, fine. But just one. I’d like to keep my stomach where it is.”

Gosalyn looked at him like his words were a challenge and very suddenly Drake realized Launchpad and her hadn’t gone on one of Gosalyn’s favourite coasters, as well as one of the main reasons this park has always been her favourite. The monster Behemoth. The actual tallest roller coaster here.

“Oh no. Oh no no no,” Drake said, his finger waving in the air.

“Oh yes,” Gosalyn chirped, her hand suddenly in his. She dragged him to the line for the coaster, Launchpad behind them. This time Launchpad was the one who stayed on the bench with their things. And Drake went on the ride. The entire time they waited, Gosalyn bounced with excitement like she was ten again and Drake fought between the warmth and fondness of seeing his daughter so excited and the absolute dread of what was coming. He hated rollercoasters. They were deathtraps with just enough safety measures to pass inspection, built for cheap thrills for people who don’t spend their evenings doing something more respectable like stopping crime. Not that Drake needed civilians to stop crime. It wasn’t exactly the safest profession. Hence his distaste for rollercoasters. If he wanted to feel unsafe, he’d give Launchpad the keys to the Ratcatcher. Actually, if he wanted to feel unsafe he’d give them to Megavolt.

By the time they got off the roller coaster, Drake didn't remember anything but Gosalyn with her hands in the air before he closed his eyes. He's lucky he didn't lose a feather. "I'm getting too old for this."

"What do you mean?" Gosalyn snorted. "Pops is older than you and he's fine."

"Pops is from a family of stunt pilots," Drake pointed out as he absently took the bags back from Launchpad. As long as he had them, he couldn't be dragged on anymore dangerous rides.

"And you regularly fly with him," Gosalyn said as she rolled her eyes, head tilted down slightly to look at him which is even more insulting than the eye roll.

"I trust him. Who knows what safety regulations have been ignored here?" Drake said darkly, though he did actually trust the rides here. If he didn't, there was no way Gosalyn would be going on them. Or Launchpad, for that matter. His partner getting injured was the last thing he needed.

"Whatever you say, Dad," Gosalyn sighed. But Launchpad looked touched, at least.

Of course, the rides could only go on so long. Finally, they hit where Drake really shone. The games. He rolled up his sleeves and handed the bag back to Launchpad.

"Watch how it's done, Gosalyn," Drake said as he walked up to a game where you threw baseballs at a pyramid of milk bottles. He took out a five dollar bill and set it down. "Three balls, though I'll only need one."

The dog running the game set down three baseballs. Drake picked one up, palming it in his hand. Testing the weight. He squared his shoulders, shifted his feet to be shoulder width apart, and focused on the very middle of the bottom row. As he breathed in, he drew his arm back. Then he shifted his weight forward as he threw the ball.

It hit the edge of the shelf the milk bottles were on with enough force to rattle the top bottle, but none fall.

"Only one ball, huh?"

"Well you have to fail a few times to make the success more exciting," Drake says with a strained laugh, throwing the second ball into the air and catching it a few times. "I'll get this one easy-peasy."

This ball hits the left pole keeping the stand up, bouncing off it and disappearing behind them. An angry shout rises from around the same area and Drake's shoulders raise. He laughs again, more strained than the first. "All in plan."

The third ball he picks up he mentally curses. It will not make a fool of him. He narrows his eyes, looking at the milk bottles. He licks his finger and checks the wind. Then he throws the last ball. It flies forward, hits the back wall, and falls to the ground.

"Step aside, time for a master to show you how it works." Gosalyn steps forward, pushing up the sleeves of her short sleeve tshirt. She turns to Drake who grumbles but gives the man another five dollars. Like Drake, Gosalyn picks it up, taking a moment to gauge the weight of it in her hand. This time when the first ball is thrown, it hits right in the middle of the milk bottle pyramid and all six of them fall to the ground. Drake grumbles, pretending to be annoyed rather than proud.

"Alright, what do ya want?" The dog straightens back up from his lean against the wall, going over to the section with the large prizes. He barely reaches it before Gosalyn is pointing.

"No, no, no," Drake is already protesting before the dog can pull it off the shelf. He pauses, hands on what must be three gallons of slime, to look at Drake with a raised eyebrow.

"Yes, yes, yes!" Gosalyn chants.

"Aren't you a little old to be playing with slime?" Drake says, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Aren't you a little old for your career choices?" Gosalyn mimics him with a smile. Drake narrows his eyes. The slime is gotten and tucked into the bag LP is carrying.

The games were more fun for Drake than the rides. The games are where he could really make his mark. Where he could show who he really is. Not just a superhero, not just a dad. A sharpshooter.

"Dammit!"

A sharpshooter who maybe, sometimes, when he wasn't in the mask, swore and lost his cool. All of these games were rigged, it's the only solution. The only reason he kept losing. If they weren't, he'd win at every single game he went up to because he's Darkwing Duck. If he could fight crime every night and manage to get Gosalyn to highschool, he could shoot a shooting target in a galley made for preschoolers standing on stools.

"Ya almost got it that time, DW!" Launchpad said and Darkwing narrowed his eyes at the targets. His partner's right, he did almost get it.

"Give me another." He put another few dollars on the counter. The girl behind it, a tall dog with too much lipstick and bubblegum, shrugged and hit the button that sets the minute timer on the fake gun. The targets start to move again and Darkwing lines up his shot.

A minute passed, then two more, and he was going to either break the gun or stop being a hero. He couldn't really be so bad that a mere rigged game beats him! He shot villains all the time. Granted, it was mostly with a smoke gun that has a different area of distribution. But still. He glared at the targets.

"Dad! We need that for lunch!” Gosalyn said and Drake paused and blinked, but continued to count bills.

"No we don't, Launchpad made us lunch.”

"Uh… actually, DW…” Launchpad sounded nervous. Drake stopped.

"Launchpad,” Drake drew the name out as he turned to his partner. “I thought I asked you to make lunch so we wouldn't have to spend an exorbitant amount of money on the food here.”

"I forgot. I'm sorry.” Launchpad frowned at him, mouth quirked. Drake stared. There might have been some screaming in his head.

-”It's fine. Fully fine. Absolutely amazingly a-okay.”

“You sure, Drake? You don't usually aliterate like that unless you're upset..."

Drake glowered at Launchpad. How dare he know how he alliterated in different moods.

"So what, we'll have to buy a few overpriced corn dogs and soda. It's the experience!" Gosalyn said.

"Experience smearience," Drake muttered. There went the money he'd wanted to save. At least Launchpad and Gosalyn won a few games, he guessed. And they didn't mean any more when LP got stuffed animals for both Drake and Gosalyn, along with that tub of slime and a few other odds and ends. He sighed and tucked the money away once more. "Fine, to the overpriced corn dogs and soda."

"And ice cream!" Gosalyn added and he looked at her.

"You don't need ice cream," Drake said.

"But daaaaaad," Gosalyn drew the word out long as she made her eyes big. "Ice cream!" Launchpad mirrored her, though neither of them actually looked at the other.

"Yeah, DW, ice cream!"

Drake sighed heavily through his nostrils. "Fine. But only small bowls."

"Yay!" A twin cheer. Drake rolled his eyes, the start of a smile hidden behind his hand. Launchpad looked back at him while Gosalyn led the way to concessions and smiled back.

"Wait, but don't you have to patrol?" Gosalyn asked much later, when the day started to fall so the night could rise. There was supposed to be fireworks and Drake knew his family would want to see them. It seemed a shame to go home and miss them, when they wouldn't be able to see the fireworks through the lights of St. Canard and the most they usually saw were explosions from experiments gone wrong when Bushroot got Megavolt to help in an experiment.

"I can wait a few hours to see the lights with my daughter and partner," Drake said, a hand on Gosalyn's back. Honestly, it was like they thought protecting St. Canard is all he did.

"Aw, thanks, DW." Launchpad smiled brightly and tucked both of them into his sides, his arms around their shoulders. At least Launchpad was still bigger than Gosalyn. He smiled as Gosalyn protested– moving to sit on Launchpad's shoulders instead for a better view– and looked up to wait for the fireworks to begin.

[howdoyoudothedew]

Rated: G

Ships: Archester (Jaune Arc/Cardin Winchester), free falling (Jaune Arc/Sky Lark), and sollux (Sky Lark/Cardin Winchester), arkyster (Jaune/Sky/Cardin)

Word Count: ~3k

A/N: So the writing for this changes about a third of the way (probably less) through. This is because this is actually a very very old wip, and I decided I wanted to preserve the original instead of changing it to match my current writing style! This was also originally meant to be just archester, the Jaune/Sky/Cardin snuck up on me fjdlks

Jaune had been brushing his teeth, already clad in his blue onesie, when someone knocked on the door. The door opened a crack and a hand with a piece of paper that was folded in half was suddenly stuck through.

“This says it’s for you.” Pyrrha’s voice sounded from the other side. He took it from her hand and set it on the counter so he could finish up before he read it. After he was done brushing his teeth, he wiped his mouth on his sleeve and he picked the note backup, opening it so he could read it.

He read it silently to himself, confusion growing in his mind as he did so, “Dear Jaune, I’m inviting you to a sleepover. Be at my team’s room in thirty minutes. From, Cardin. PS- Bring markers.”

‘Well,’ Jaune mused to himself, ‘Since it’s Cardin I already know I have no choice in the matter, so I might as well go. If not only to save the possible pain that would probably come with not going.’ It had been awhile since he had told Cardin to not mess with his team. And since then, Cardin hasn’t done a thing to the team. Still, he hasn’t stopped bullying Jaune. Although it has become… different. Cardin isn’t as violent as he was before. Not with Jaune or anyone else. Jaune sighed, still anticipating horrible things for the night despite this and left the bathroom to get ready. Of course, it did take a bit of time to find the markers, but he eventually found some washable ones. As he left the room his teammates looked after him confused, hearing Jaune mumbling ‘Death slumber party’ as he closed the door.

He was quiet as he walked down the hallway. Something about the note and everything else felt slightly off. Instead of feeling like a man sent off to death row, he honestly almost felt like a kid going to their friends’ house for a sleepover. It was weird and he didn’t like it. His sleeping bag was adjusted and switched between arms multiple times during his walk.

When he made it to the door he knocked roughly. The walk didn’t feel long enough to mentally prepare him for whatever he may find beyond the door.

“Hey, Jaune.” The door swung open, revealing Russel in his pjs, “Come on in.”

Jaune looks around from the doorway, spotting the beds in the middle of the room where team crdl pushed them all together, and the dressers and desks at the sides. There are posters on the wall he recognizes– bands Russel and Sky like– and a blanket folded on the window seat he recognizes as the one Sky’s been knitting. There are only three people in the dorm: Russel, Sky, and Dove. Dove doesn’t even look up from whatever homework he’s doing at the desk closest to the door.

“Uh, where’s Cardin?” Jaune asks and Sky snorts.

“Out,” Sky says.

“Out?” Jaune repeats, eyebrows lowering. “But he told me to come here. For- for a sleepover?” His intonation tips up with his confusion, and he gets the distinct feeling Sky is laughing at him despite no noise escaping his lips. They’re very pretty lips.

“Oh, Cardin didn’t invite you, I did!” Russel says with a smile, making Jaune look over at him. “Sky didn’t think you’d actually come.”

“But I did,” a voice says from behind him, and Jaune turns to see Velvet in her own pjs. They’re flannel. He can not imagine why the faunus girl is here. Well, he has an idea, but- But- The flannel is purple. Its plaid is black and white. She smiles and he feels suddenly very self conscious in his blue Pumpkin Pete’s footie pajamas with their little white bunny mascot plastered over his heart.

“Wha- Why are you here?” Jaune asks. Velvet’s smile turns sharp, canines showing.

“You think Russel would host a mostly-impromptu sleepover without Cardin knowing and not invite their older sister so she can make fun of Cardin?” Velvet asks, throwing him for a second loop. Sister? But last he remembers, Cardin was pulling her ears and laughing. As far as he knows, Russel is the closest thing to a sibling Cardin has.

Russel yelps. “I didn’t invite you to make fun of Cardin!”

“But I’m gonna do it anyway,” Velvet says. She pushes Jaune into the room and Jaune goes easily, though not because he’s willing. There’s just so much happening Jaune feels as pliant as a cheap piece of furniture.

“Okay, you two are a surprise,” Russel says, taking Jaune and moving him over to a spot Cardin supposedly won’t notice him in until Russel wants him to. Or perhaps until it’s too late. Velvet shuffles herself in next to him. They’re not really in a great hiding spot—the bathroom would be better. But Russel put them in the corner near the door, next to a dresser, and there they wait. Until Cardin comes in through the window. Team crdl’s leader locks eyes with the both of them and he nearly falls backwards out the window before Russel catches him, speeding from the bed to grab his arms in seconds. Jaune watches Sky sigh, his eyes still wide and half standing until Cardin is safely on the window seat.

“What are you two doing here?” Cardin asks once he’s settled. Like the others, Cardin is already dressed for bed, wearing a red flannel shirt and hair free of the gel he uses. It looks soft when it’s not spiked. Jaune had forgotten and the urge to run his fingers through it surprises him because of it.

“We’re here for the sleep over, duh,” Velvet says, rolling her eyes like it’s obvious as she walks over to him. “I brought snacks.”

“You brought-” Cardin repeats, staring up at her. “That’s not gonna make me let you stay here.” Velvet snorts.

“Sure fuckin’ thing,” she says.

“I brought markers,” Jaune adds, before he clamps his mouth shut. Why is he helping? He doesn’t even want to be here.

“... why?” Cardin asks, staring at him.

“I don’t know,” Jaune says, deflating. “It was on the invitation.”

“Invi- Russel.” Cardin’s tone is flat. He looks over at his team mate, who is smiling awkwardly.

“Surprise?” Russel says.

“Get them out of my room.”

“Wha- Car!” Russel protests, pouting with his entire body, shoulders lowered and lip pushed out.

“Technically it’s our room,” Sky says.

“Technically shut up,” Cardin says.

“Technically you’re a dick,” Sky says.

“It’s just one night,” Dove says, cutting them off at the knees.

Cardin glares and Sky glares back. Eventually Cardin huffs through his nose. “Fine.”

“Thanks!” Russel says, bright. Cardin rolls his eyes in much the same way as Velvet did earlier. Maybe those three really are siblings. It feels weird. He can still remember Cardin pulling on her ears, laughing, on their first day of school. Of course, he also remembers all the times he’s spotted them together in between classes and in the lunchroom, Cardin looking decidedly annoyed as he punches her in the shoulder while she laughs.

“So who’s picking the movie this time?” Velvet asks, making Jaune wonder how often they’ve had sleepovers and movie nights with her.

“Jaune’s the guest,” Sky says.

“Not Velvet?” Jaune asks, the implied familiarity with the older student making his head spin. Sky and Cardin give a simultaneous snort; both of them look less-than-pleased about it immediately after. It amuses Jaune, though not enough to remove the confusion about the everything.

“Like I said, I’m their sister,” Velvet says, putting the snacks on the desk closest to the group beds. “‘Their’ being that idiot and that idiot.” She gestures to Cardin, who gives her the flattest look, and Russel, who pouts.

“But you don’t-”

“Look like them?” Velvet wiggles her ears. “Things changed after your little shared stunt in the woods– yes, Cardin told me about that, which I haven’t shared with another soul.– Cardin finally got his head mostly out of his ass thanks to you.”

“Hey,” Cardin says, but the protest sounds half-hearted even to Jaune’s ears and Velvet simply ignores it.

“Uh, you’re welcome?” Jaune says, unsure, and both Velvet and Russel nod. The oddest thing is, they really look grateful. For the first time, he wonders what chain reaction he made by finally standing up to Cardin that day.

“Heart touching. Are we gonna pick a movie or continue to have Hallmark moments?” Sky says, quite a bit flat in the midst of all his sarcasm and Jaune blinks. He looks over at Sky, who is staring at him expectantly.

“Uh,” Jaune says, eloquent. Suddenly, every movie he has ever known seems to have left his head. Typical. This is why Marion usually chooses when it’s their night to pick. Pretty lips curling into a thinking frown, Sky grabs five movies, flicking through his scroll.

“Here, pick one from these,” Sky says and Jaune looks through them gratefully, before stopping on the first Night at the Museum. Sky smiles, “Russel’s favourite.”

“Ooo, Night at the Museum?” Russel perks up, looking over, as Sky takes the scroll over to a projector Jaune definitely didn’t think they had before. Jaune’s pulled down to the bed by Russel as Sky gets the movie started.

It feels… surprisingly normal having a movie night with team crdl and Velvet. Somehow. It kind of reminds him of watching movies with his own family. Eating popcorn and anything unhealthy, commenting on things they haven’t noticed before or their favourite parts of the movie. And then the movie ends and they’re wired and Velvet recommends spin the bottle.

“Absolutely not,” Cardin says immediately. “Dove stop.”

Dove does not stop. He places an empty soda can on the floor and Sky plops down next to him, folding his legs under himself. Velvet and Russel join the next moment, with only Cardin and himself left on the bed. Jaune looks at Cardin, feeling hot, though apparently not as much as Cardin whose ears have gone red. Looking back at the others, Jaune sees Velvet patting the carpet next to her with a grin directed at Cardin.

“If you sit right next to me you’re more likely to land on me,” Velvet says, bouncing her eyebrows.

“I wouldn’t want to kiss you even if I did like girls,” Cardin says dryly.

“How rude!” Velvet gasps, hand on her chest. “Just for that you get to sit next to Jaune.”

Cardin gapes, going even redder, though Jaune is a little busier with 1) Cardin not liking girls and 2) whether or not Velvet is right. The next moment the others are scooting away as Cardin wrestles Velvet for the seat next to her. There is a lot of elbowing. Wary, Jaune sits down next to Sky. The first kiss has already happened– Dove and Russel– by the time Cardin and Velvet settle, one of Velvet’s legs draped over Cardin’s lap and Cardin frowning like it was one of those safety bars put on rollercoaster cars.

“You go,” Sky says, handing Jaune the can, and he looks at it a bit pinched before he sighs because it is just kissing. It doesn’t have to mean anything.

He wishes Cardin would stop looking at him like that so he could believe it. Or, rather, stop not looking at him.

Jaune spins the can and watches go round their little half-cocked circle. It rolls a bit, because of course it does, starting close to Jaune but ending up closer to Dove. The tab, pointed out, ends in Sky’s direction. Sky meets his eyes with a smirk, head turned and tilted slightly to look at him.

“You know,” Sky says, tapping his lips. Jaune’s eyes follow the movement, darting down to the swell of them. They’re glossy and Jaune thinks Sky must be wearing lip gloss. He wonders what flavour it is. “I think partners should kiss. Since we’re supposed to be working together.”

“But Velvet and I don’t have our partners here,” Jaune says, swallowing hard, forcing himself to look up at Sky’s mismatched eyes instead. It is not better, the way the blue and brown sparkle like they’re laughing at him. He should’ve said Dove and Russel have already kissed, but he doesn’t.

“No, no, I agree with Sky,” Velvet says, leaning forward, and Cardin glares at her looking quite betrayed. “Cardin should also kiss you. For team building. He sorely needs it, afterall.”

Sky nods slowly, lips pursed slightly like he’s thinking. At least he’s no longer touching them. “See? She gets it. Besides, you’ll have to kiss each other sooner or later. Wouldn’t you rather… sooner?”

Jaune looks between Sky and Velvet, unsure, before looking at Cardin. Cardin is flushing red, much worse than before. It makes Jaune’s own cheeks heat, unfortunately.

“Unless you don’t want to,” Velvet says and it sounds like a challenge. It feels like a beast clamping their jaws around his throat, daring him to move. He swallows, eyes still on Cardin.

“Okay,” he says and he isn’t sure if Cardin’s shoulders tighten or relax.

“Rules, though,” Dove pipes up, barely even glancing at Jaune before focusing on Velvet and Sky. “Velvet and Jaune will act as partners. If you spin your partner, you only have to kiss each other.”

“That seems fair,” Velvet nods and Sky grins, turning to Jaune.

“Ready?” He asks, eyes bright, and Jaune’s eyes glance down again before he nods. Sky kisses with enthusiasm. With the easy grace of someone who’s definitely done this before, a hand moving to brace against the floor next to Jaune’s hip while his other holds Jaune’s face. As if Jaune could go anywhere else when Sky is licking into his mouth. It goes on for much longer than he thinks a friendly kiss would, longer than he’d kiss most of his friends. Unless discussed first. When Sky pulls away, Jaune wets his own lips unconsciously. Sky is definitely wearing lipgloss. It tastes like raspberry soda. Jaune’s still staring when Sky nudges him with a grin, pointing to Cardin who is also staring.

Jaune swallows and crosses the circle on his knees. When he first saw Cardin, admittedly, he’d thought he was attractive. Possibly considered doing this. And then he saw Cardin picking on Velvet and swiftly decided against it. He’s not sure when the pendulum swung back the other way, only that he reaches up to cup Cardin’s cheek. With each inch he moves forward, Cardin seems to stiffen more, eyes wide, and Jaune pauses with an inch still between them. When Cardin breathes, shaky, Jaune can feel it.

“Are you sure? I don’t actually have to do this,” Jaune says, voice low to give them at least the illusion of privacy. Instead of answering, Cardin yanks him the final inch, pressing their lips together. It’s quick, barely lasting a few seconds. When Cardin pulls back, the blush has gone down to his neck, disappearing below his collar. Jaune is unable to move until Cardin turns his head, breaking eye contact. He crawls back to cheering, though he doesn’t know when it started.

After, Sky spins next and lands on Cardin. Cardin seems a little less stiff, though that might just be because Sky plants himself in Cardin’s lap and is just as enthusiastic as he was with Jaune.

By the time they call it, Jaune has kissed and been kissed by everyone in the group at least once, though he has kissed (and been kissed) by Cardin and Sky the most. The way Sky is looking at him, Jaune half thinks it was rigged. He has no idea how anyone except maybe Pyrrha could rig spin the bottle/soda can.

Dove crumples the can and the group of them start preparing for bed, crowding into the bathroom without care. It’s not really a place meant for more than two people, but Cardin goes in and the rest all follow, brushing their teeth together until Cardin shoos them all out. Seemingly so Jaune can brush his without being so crowded. He ducks past knowing looks as he goes.

They’re drawn into another lopsided circle when they’re all finished, this time by Russel, to tell ghost stories. Dove places his scroll in the middle of them, a video of a fire playing. Jaune leans closer to Velvet as Russel and Dove get things set up, something occurring to him now they’re so close to bed. “So what are the markers for?”

Velvet frowns at him, before realization flickers over her face, lips forming a small circle. She grins. “That’s to punish whoever falls asleep first.”

Jaune looks at her, blinking. The problem is, he can’t tell if she’s serious or not. He thinks she might be. Cardin sighs, drawing him away, and begins the first story of the night. Admittedly, even when he spent a lot more time with crdl, he never heard Cardin tell a story. Russel shared plenty of memories and Sky gave his own, but Dove and Cardin were quiet in similar ways. The only reason Jaune knew anything about Cardin prior to Beacon was because of Russel. For Dove, he knows nothing. Now they all take turns speaking: Dove’s monotone voice surprisingly good at building tension; Russel going on tangents; Velvet’s supposedly a hunt from her first year; Sky’s oddly specific. And Cardin, his voice going soft in a way Jaune hasn’t heard it before, deep and soothing. He tells a second story, one that isn’t a scary story, before they all curl into crdl’s pushed together single bed.

When they fall asleep, it is with Jaune in the middle. Cardin and Sky are on each side of him, sandwiching him between their bodies. He hasn’t slept like this since he was younger, having nightmares and crawling between his older sisters. He doesn’t think he’s slept so well since he left home. Russel curls behind Sky, with Dove behind him, and Velvet snuggles in behind Cardin. Jaune is both surprised and unsurprised when Russel and Velvet link hands over them, Russel’s arm stretched out further so their hands rest just below Cardin’s ribs.

In the morning, all of them have stars drawn in marker on their hands except for Dove. Though he doesn’t say anything when asked, only leaving them behind to get breakfast. The corner of his lip lifts, though.

[howdoyoudothedew]

Rated: G

Ships: Archester (Jaune Arc/Cardin Winchester), Weiss Schnee & Cardin Winchester, minor nordic winter (Weiss Schnee/Nora Valkyrie)

Word Count: ~5k

A/N: Fake dating trope ahoy! I actually love this trope so much, even if there is one part of the trope that makes me incredibly uncomfortable every time it shows up (which Weiss actually addresses for me, it was unplanned but she wanted to and I'm certainly not complaining!)

An annoyed huff is Cardin’s only warning before a pile of books is slammed down onto the table in front of him. His papers flutter with the force. Cardin looks up to see Weiss with a dark, distracted look on her face. “I can’t deal with him anymore,” Weiss hisses lowly.

“Deal with who?” Cardin asks, despite having a pretty good idea. It’s been awhile since he’s bothered her, though. Cardin’d actually thought he was done.

“You know exactly who, Winchester,” Weiss says through her teeth like she’s just spit expletives and not normal words in a relatively normal order. “The same boy you’ve got a stupid crush on.”

Cardin’s eyes widen and he hushes Weiss, despite her voice not being overly loud. It’s not exactly movie-library quiet, either, but it is real world-library quiet and there’s no one around to even look over in curiosity at her tone. Still, it doesn’t quite stop the shot of fearing going through him at the possibility of being found out. It’s hard work, keeping ill-advised crushes secret.

“Oh calm down, I doubt he’s ever stepped into a library in his life,” Weiss waves him off, finally sitting in her seat across from him. She crosses her arms on the table then drops her head into their cradle with a dramatic sigh worthy of a prize actress. Why she never joined drama is a mystery to him. She was certainly made for it. (Or, maybe, she really has spent too much time around him.)

“We both know he has,” Cardin whispers, rolling his eyes.

“I know,” Weiss groans into her arms. They’d nearly been ambushed by him a few weeks ago, though it wasn’t on purpose. Jaune’d simply been here before them and caught Weiss as she tried to sneak out. Both Cardin and Nora had to witness the resulting painful conversation as Weiss desperately tried to get out of it. “But I doubt it’s for anything useful. Just for… comic books and fiction.” She removes her head from her arms just long enough to wave them for emphasis before returning.

“He’s just dense,” Cardin says, not bothering to defend Jaune on a point both of them know doesn’t actually matter to her. “You have to spell it out more clearly to him.”

“How much clearer can I get!” Weiss near-shouts and this time a librarian actually shoots them an admonishing look. She quiets immediately, sinking deeper into her arms. “You can't get much clearer than ‘I can't stand the sight of you and would love it if you walked into a volcano’.”

Cardin’s eyebrows raise. “Did you really say that?”

“No,” Weiss grumbles. It sounds a bit like she wishes she had. “But it was pretty well implied when I told him to leave me alone.”

He rolls his eyes. “Was it really?”

“Look,” Weiss says shortly, because both of them know it was but also wasn’t. Both of them know she can be insanely rude, especially when the situation calls for it, but she’s also nice and getting better at biting back the ruder stuff when the situation doesn’t call for it– much better than Cardin, who doesn’t always understand how she can parse it out so well. Maybe it’s a middle child thing– and she really does see Jaune as a friend even with the unwanted flirting. Everything would possibly be better if Weiss wasn’t so closeted. (Both of them are so annoyingly closeted. Neither of them want to be, not anymore, but a name and past can be so hard to escape sometimes and names like “Schnee” and “Winchester”, names with money and power and even fame, are so heavy it feels sometimes like they are drowning without a preserver.) “How about you speak clearly to him. ‘Oh Jaune I've loved you since I've seen your stupid blue eyes like the sky and your hair like the morning sun’,” Weiss flutters her eyelashes extra dramatically.

“I don’t talk like that,” Cardin protests.

“I've had to sit through enough of you talking about him to know that you really do,” Weiss says.

“Alright, fine. What about you and Nora?” Cardin looks at her pointedly for a second before clasping a hand to his chest and pitching his voice up. “‘Oh miss Valkyrie every minute we are apart is agony, every second I don't get to spend staring at your large muscles an endless torture on this poor soul.’”

Weiss gives an undignified snort which she immediately stifles behind a hand. “I don’t sound like that.” Her words are muffled.

“You really do,” Cardin says.

For a moment they sit there in dead silence, simply staring each other down. Then they both laugh loud enough for a passing page to shush them, causing them both to clamp their mouths shut so their laughs puff out in snorts and quiet noises instead. Once they sober, Weiss places her head back on the table. “I just wish there was something I could do about it.”

“Couldn’t you just,” Cardin rotates his wrist, searching for the words. “Ask Nora out or something?”

Weiss snorts. It’s muffled against the fake wood grain. “Yeah, right, I’m gonna do that. Tell you what, I’ll come out of the closet when you do. We’ll have a big party about it.”

“Well he can’t think he has a chance if you’re dating someone,” Cardin grumbles.

“Wait.” Weiss sits up and points at him. Her sweater sleeve sways with the movement. “Yeah! That’s a genius idea! You date me!”

Cardin’s mouth falls open. “What?” How’d she connect those dots and where’d she even find them? Professional stuntmen might want to know for when they study her technique on jumping to conclusions. “You’re joking.”

“No, no, don’t you see? It’s perfect. If you date me, he’ll have to leave me alone. And if I’m dating you, he’ll realize he’s jealous of me and not you and he’ll finally recognize his frankly rather questionable crush on you! We’ll kill two birds with one stone,” Weiss says, ignoring his noise of protest at being considered a “questionable” crush.

“He does not have a crush on me.”

“Please,” Weiss rolls her eyes. “You may need glasses, but I don’t.”

“Weiss, he’s not- No,” Cardin says firmly, moving his hand in a small arc in front of him like the suggestion was written on a chalkboard and he could simply wipe it away, the words smudging against the green.

“Yes,” Weiss says. “It’d be perfect, he’d see us together and get jealous and be absolutely gobsmacked to realize he’s jealous of me and not you and then he’d have to admit he’s head over heels for you. And then because it’s Jaune, you’ll get to deal with his annoying ideas of wooing.”

“If Nora serenaded you, you wouldn’t be calling it annoying,” Cardin feels it’s necessary to point out, mostly because he’s not sure how else to get out of this horrible idea. The thing with Weiss, is she can be incredibly stubborn when she actually wants to be. Sometimes distraction tactics are the only way to get her out of something. And thankfully, ending up with siblings like Velvet and Russel, Cardin has learned quite a bit about distraction tactics.

Weiss hums, “Maybe.” and Cardin rolls his eyes. “But I’d still prefer to dump him on you.”

Apparently he hasn’t learned enough.

“What about Nora?” Cardin asks, with maybe just a tinge of desperation.

“I’ll figure it out then,” Weiss says with a flippant wave of her hand and Cardin is getting real tired of his friends only ever having half baked plans. Especially since they always seem to drag him into the middle of them.

“At least tell me you have a plan for the unlikely scenario Jaune actually gets jealous,” Cardin sighs, rubbing at his eyes under his glasses. Weiss gives him a smile that makes him press his fingers into the sockets until his vision checkerboards.

“I break your heart and he swoops in to fix it,” Weiss says, making Cardin drop his hand just to stare at her.

“Okay, so which romance novel did you get this from?” Cardin snarks, mouth twisted with it. The smile Weiss gives him doesn’t drop, only curls at the edges so it looks dangerous. Cardin thinks he should keep Weiss and Sky from interacting for a while, he’s clearly a bad influence on her.

“One of the ones you let me borrow, of course,” Weiss says sweetly. “So?”

Cardin buries his head back in his hands, like the action could stop any of this. But he knows the only way out is through. In the silence, Cardin can feel Weiss’ eyes on him. “Fine,” he grits out, rubbing his hands down his face, pulling at his cheeks as he does. It’s no big deal. After all, it can only go wrong in every way possible. He swears Weiss is usually smarter than this, doesn’t usually have the worst plans, but desperation can make any idea sound sweeter and Weiss really wants Jaune to leave her alone on this front. Tragically, the beautiful idiot is too stubborn for any other plan to work. Except of course if Weiss actually bucked up and asked Nora out.

Or if he asked Jaune out, but he knows that path only leads to lunacy and choice of friends aside, he’s smarter than to put his heart on the line with only heartbreak waiting for him.

“Great!” Weiss holds out her hand and he takes it, shaking on the plan despite the bad feeling in his chest. This can only go badly for him, he just knows it.

Of course their first test is their friends, who Cardin thinks Weiss must've forgotten about because there is no other way she could've thought this was a good idea. Sure, they're closeted, but not to the people who knew them best. Or rather, to the people who know him best. Since he only gets along with a handful of Weiss' friends.

"So when did this start?" Sky asks, looking suspiciously at their joined hands resting on the table. According to Weiss, the best time to start is during lunch. That way other students can notice while they walk by and, since Weiss and Cardin are both from well-known families, rumours are bound to spread. Especially because their families have never gotten along. (When it became clear Cardin and Weiss were friends, not enemies, rumours started to spread then, too. Thinking about it now, Cardin remembers a few of them did say they were secretly lovers, torn apart by their families like Romeo and Juliet. He guesses that will help bolster the rumours Weiss currently hopes for.) When the rumours spread, Jaune is bound to realize. After that, they'll spend a few days lovey-dovey, then a few days fighting like the rumours are tearing them apart, until finally Weiss breaks up with him in a huge, public fight. Since Weiss loves drama, this is perfect for her.

"Last month. We wanted to keep it quiet, since it's new and you know how everyone was when they realized we became friends," Weiss says. Russel, Sky, and Dove all nod—or do something approximating one. It was a bit of a strange time, then.

"And this was your idea?" Russel asks, eyebrows drawn in worry and Cardin nods, letting go of Weiss' hand to assure him, because another consequence of those friendship rumours was a collaboration between their fathers. Something incredibly short lived in part because it reminded the two men how much they hate each other and in part because combining weapons– albeit medieval weapons– and alcohol isn't very wise, even to ride the publicity wave of the friendship between the company heirs.

"It is," he says. And it's not a lie, because it is Weiss' idea, gone over with him so it's a little less halfbaked. After the public breakup, Weiss will go to Nora and admit the whole thing was a plot by their fathers. Meanwhile, Cardin is supposed to wait for Jaune. He does not have the hope Weiss seems to. When they break up, Jaune will find Weiss and Cardin knows it, but at least he'll get to say 'I told you so'. Really, it's a small victory, but it's something.

The thing about Jaune is that Cardin has always been more rough around the edges than others. He's mean, impatient, and violent even if he wouldn't raise a hand to anyone (anymore). No one knows this better than Jaune, who he bullied the singular year he went to high school, before he even truly internalized what it all meant. It's one thing to elbow your friends, especially when you know they'll just elbow you back. It's another thing to panic when another boy sits next to you and the only thing your brain can think to do is elbow them into the person on their other side hard enough they leave.

Of course, Cardin's been working on being mean and impatient and anytime he feels violent or too upset, he slips away. He hasn't hurt anyone since he hurt Velvet by accident years ago. Not that Jaune knows any of that, even if he is friends with Velvet, too. (He's in one of her art classes. It turns out he's genderfluid now.) And he doesn't bully crushes anymore, he thinks. (After that single year he was homeschooled and was only ever around Russel, when he could be. Any other crushes… Well, college keeps him busy and he doesn't share any classes with Jaune, even if his sister does.)

"As long as it is," Russel says, looking doubtful, but they all do. All of them know the two of them wouldn't date without a reason behind it, and that the reason wouldn't be because they suddenly caught feelings for each other. Unless they got cursed or spelled somehow, like in a comic. Fortunately, this is not a comic. Unfortunately that does mean this truly is just Weiss' incredibly stupid idea. Weiss nods firmly, squeezing his hand, and Cardin smiles instead of sighing like he wants to.

It's several minutes later when Weiss nudges him, gesturing to her side with her head. He looks, only to quickly look away when he sees it's Jaune. Everything is going to fall apart, he just knows it. Looking out of the corner of his eye, he sees Jaune eyeing their hands with a frown. As Cardin expected, most of his attention is on Weiss. The only reason he doesn't pull away is because Weiss tightens her grip before he can, interlacing their fingers so even pulling won't work. Cardin aches when he sees the way Jaune's face twists at it.

The rumours fly by Cardin's last lecture. He even passes two teachers mentioning it, which really this is a college. Cardin would think all these people– especially the teachers– would have better things to do than gossip about two students and their love life. Some of the rumours echo the concerns his friends had, stating the dating was forced by their fathers as another poorly thought out pr stunt or as the start to an arranged marriage for a future merger to expand their profits. As if either company needs more money. Of course, Weiss is happily eating it all up while Cardin suffers.

He knows nearly the second it reaches the art department, because Velvet decends like a vulture the day after.

"You'd never guess what I heard during the still life class," Velvet says with a wide grin, accentuating her sharp canines. Velvet told him before that she picked that name because she loved the Velveteen Rabbit. In moments like this, he thinks she should've picked something else because she seems a lot more like an animal of prey than a rabbit.

"What?" He says, despite knowing what it is. Velvet smile turns somehow sharper.

"Apparently you started dating our little miss Schnee without telling me," Velvet says, using her height to her advantage to lean onto him more. "Care to explain?"

"Not really," Cardin says.

"This is a bad idea, you know," Velvet says back, pushing off of him. Cardin barely moves.

"I know," he sighs. All he could think of last night is the idea of his father messaging him, torn between the horror of being congratulated for "finally doing something proper" or being ridiculed for "being with that Schnee brat". At least his father rarely messages him, unlike Weiss who has to deal with Jacques making a point of having a monthly phone call.

"Good luck," Velvet says, ruffling his hair, and he swats at her but she's already bounded away toward her next class. He looks after her and wonders once more about what he's gotten himself into.

Thanks to the rumours from last year and how close of friends they are, it's not difficult to convince anyone who doesn't truly know both of them that they're dating. Most of their behaviours even stay the same. The only change is that, sometimes, they will hold hands during lunch. So Jaune can see a change in their normal. Cardin spends a lot of time watching Jaune, more than before, whenever he spots him. Most of the time, Jaune's eyes are already on him.

On them.

On Weiss.

"Of course he's looking at me," Weiss scoffs when Cardin mentions it. "He's upset I stole the object of his affections."

Cardin's nose crinkles. "That makes it sound like I'm a painting."

"Then maybe he'll pin you to the wall like one," Weiss says without missing a beat and Cardin thinks he should find a way to stop her from hanging out with Sky so much.

"Anyway," Cardin says, and Weiss' lips twitch up into a smirk for a few seconds, "He-"

Cardin cuts himself off, eyes moving back to Jaune like he's a flower drawn to the light. His heart lurches, because Jaune definitely isn't glaring at Weiss. Really, Jaune isn't glaring at either of them. He just looks sad. Cardin bites his lip, forcing himself to look away. When Weiss looks over, her own face does something complicated, though her expression smoothes over before he can pick out any emotions.

"It's fine," she says quietly and he forces himself to believe her, because he knows at this point the only way out is through.

While hurting Jaune– they're hurting him, Cardin knows it, he's sure of it, and he hates it even if he can't understand why it's happening– is hard, the next hardest thing is Weiss' friends. While they don't know him very well, at least one of them knows her as well as his friends know him.

Yang Xiao Long. Cardin knows her, mostly in passing, from both Weiss and Sky. She's one of Weiss' other best friends as well as Sky's boyfriend. In another world, perhaps they'd be friends. But despite their mutual aquaintances, they never really hit it off. And Cardin wasn't interested in forcing it. She looks between the two of them, not saying anything about how she knows they definitely aren't dating, because Weiss told her that in confidence and Yang may be a lot of things but she's not the type who'd throw secrets around.

Unfortunately, she is the type to do stupid 'jokes'.

"I'm just not believing it," Yang says, tapping her lip, likely to hide the way it is twitching, trying to form a grin. "Maybe you should kiss, to really sell it to me."

"Gross," Ruby complains, nose crinkling. Meanwhile, Weiss gives her a disgruntled look, knowing she's not serious, and Yang grins at her.

"You know I'm not doing that," Weiss says dryly and Blake looks at her, eyebrow raised.

"Why not?" She asks, suspicious like she has an idea what they're saying isn't true. For some reason, it grates on Cardin. Perhaps it's because everyone else has believed them. But this is one of Weiss' friends, it's not strange that she knows Weiss well enough to assume there's something wrong with this picture.

"Because I'm not comfortable with that level of pda," Weiss says primly, looking at Blake with both eyebrows raised, as if to challenge her to argue with it. "Plenty of people aren't and it's honestly disgusting to demand someone to kiss just because you decide they can't really be dating, no matter their comfort level for public affection. Or for affection at all, for that matter."

"Of course," Blake says, seeming to deflate, and Cardin is rather uncomfortable at the idea anyone might actually demand that of them. Not even because he wouldn't kiss Weiss, because he would. She's a really close friend. But he couldn't see doing it in public. As the four of them talk, Cardin looks down, trying to figure out whether or not he'd be comfortable even kissing Jaune in public. Kissing a friend in a public place is definitely less stress, less weighty, and he knows he wouldn't be upset if Russel or Velvet kissed him. He hums, thinking it over.

As thought, it just gets worse. Cardin tells Weiss he wants to stop and she urges him just a few more days. It's a mistake to listen to her. Really, it was a mistake to agree from the beginning, but Cardin knew that. He doesn't know why he's gone along with it for so long. Maybe just to get Jaune's eyes on him.

Maybe he isn't so different from that kid in high achool, nicking Jaune's things and pushing him around just so Jaune would look at him.

The fight is, of course, an absolute blowout. It's in the lunch room while Jaune is there and Cardin is half expecting Weiss to throw a chair at him, the way she's yelling. He knows it's fake but it's… rough. He also knows she doesn't mean it to be, that she simply gets caught up in the moment, but having all of that energy directed at him makes him want to leap out of his skin and perhaps just go back to his dorm. Of course, he doesn't do either. The one good thing is he's not supposed to respond, and Weiss certainly doesn't give him room to, yelling at him then storming out of the room after saying clear enough for the room to hear that it's over.

Cardin holds his breath, waiting. Every single eye is on him, wondering what he'll do, and this is why he went into writing instead of theatre. No one stares at you when you're just the writer. Eventually, he settles, sitting back down with his shoulders slumped, looking down at his half eaten food. He pushes it away from himself. Thanks to Weiss, he'd actually gotten more than he usually eats, a suggestion she made because they knew he'd end up leaving some behind and he wanted to actually be full. He glances up through his eyelashes, not enough to be noticeable but enough to see what Jaune does. Russel puts his arm around his shoulders. The three of them were warned, so they wouldn't be caught off guard. Through his lashes, he watches Jaune waver uncertainly. He takes a breath, knowing what he has to do.

Glancing at Russel, Cardin stands up from the table and makes his own way out of the room, leaving his things behind. No matter how Jaune feels about someone, he's still a good person. Cardin thinks he hears him stand up and is sure he hears him talking to Russel, before the door closes behind him. He's a few steps into the hallway when Jaune calls out. He turns around and at least he doesn't have to pretend feeling reluctant.

"I… saw what happened in there," Jaune says, hesitant, and Cardin raises an eyebrow because everyone saw what happened in there. It makes Jaune flush, obviously catching the unspoken. He holds out Cardin's books, clearly a last resort. "You left these behind."

Cardin looks at them for a moment, before stepping forward and taking them from Jaune's hands. He hesitates as well. Really, he'd expected Jaune to follow Weiss. But he guesses Jaune's nature overcame his instinct to check on his crush. "Do you-" he scrunches his nose. "want to talk."

Jaune blinks at him, but nods. Despite Cardin being the one to ask, it's Jaune who leads them to a quieter place on the campus, where trees keep them hidden away. Couples often come here, Cardin can't help but absently note. It's a good place to have an uninterrupted talk with someone you're not comfortable taking to your dorm or for a conversation that needs to happen in more neutral ground. He feels like his dorm would've still been more neutral than this.

"So," Jaune prompts, sitting on the ground. "That was pretty rough." Cardin laughs at the understatement. When Weiss told him she'd make it loud and obvious, he was not expecting that. It felt like she had a lot of unworked issues, though he knows she does. He does, too. Jaune laughs as well, ducking his head.

"Okay, so I'm bad at this," Jaune admits. "But it narrows down to: are you alright?"

"I am now," Cardin says.

"Now?" Jaune asks, raising an eyebrow, and this time Cardin is the one flushing. The whole flirting thing others do has never really come naturally to him. But Jaune does it like breathing and Cardin follows his lead, leaning in hesitantly as Jaune does. Until Jaune seems to realize what he's doing. Cardin freezes, feeling unmoored and strange because he wasn't expecting… That was nearly a kiss. Meanwhile Jaune is apologizing, the words nearly inaudible to Cardin's ears.

"Jaune," Cardin says, firm even if he feels shakey inside, placing his hand on Jaune's knee. Jaune looks at him, eyes wide. After a moment, he takes a breath.

"I shouldn't have done that," Jaune says, "I'm sorry."

"It's fine," Cardin says, shaking his head and thinking Weiss might be right. Somehow.

"But Weiss and you. The breakup happened so suddenly and the two of you are so close, you'll probably end up together again." Jaune pulls further away, looking ashamed. Cardin swallows.

"We weren't dating," Cardin admits quietly.

Jaune freezes, staring at him. It makes Cardin shift in the seat, wishing he had anything to look at that wasn't just the rows of shelves. It's omly biographies back here. "Then why?"

"Weiss wanted to get you to leave her alone," Cardin says and Jaune frowns.

"What do you mean? I gave up on Weiss like a month ago," Jaune says.

Cardin looks at him with surprise, then ducks his head, laughing. Of course. Weiss had more ulterior motives, which is why she was so insistent on the plan. "It seems she was playing both of us."

Jaune raises an eyebrow and Cardin ducks his head, wishing he didn't say anything. "The other reason for the plan was to make you jealous of Weiss. Supposedly to make you realize you like me, instead of her."

"Oh," Jaune says slowly. "And your feelings on it?"

"It was a stupid and flawed plan," Cardin admits, looking at Jaune who's eyes hasn't left him. "I didn't think you'd- You know."

"Like you," Jaune says and Cardin nods. Jaune smiles, just the right corner of his mouth going up. "I do."

"I got that idea when you nearly kissed me." Cardin laughs, strangled by disbelief. And Jaune moves closer again, his chair moving over the carpet.

"Can I try again?" Jaune asks, and Cardin's eyes widen, the what? on his tongue. But Jaune only smiles a little bigger. "I want to kiss you, this time. Not nearly kiss you."

Mute, Cardin nods. He watches as Jaune cups his cheeks, moving to the edge of his seat to lean on. There's barely an inch between them when Cardin's eyes flutter closed. He can nearly hear Weiss' "I told you so" when the inch closes.

“No. I hate Weiss for this but I'm not- I'm not-”

“Jauney. Arc. Jaune!”

“What?” Jaune turns on him fast enough Cardin's heart leaps.

“We’re not dating.”

Jaune freezes. “What?” The question has no inflection.

“Weiss and me. We’re not dating. It’s all fake.”

“It’s… all fake.” Jaune repeats. There's still no inflection and it has Cardin worried. Either Jaune is mad, or they’ve broken him. Possibly even both.

“Are you…”

“Alright?” Jaune asks. Cardin nods and Jaune gives a high-pitched, strangled laugh. “Not really, I don’t think.”

Cardin shrinks slightly, feeling bad but also feeling like he has no right to feel bad.

[archester-creations]

i was searching for something and found a bunch of old art ive never posted. ill probably do a few mass posts at some point but this made me laugh the most so

[howdoyoudothedew]

Rated: T

Ships: Archester (Jaune Arc/Cardin Winchester)

Word Count: ~3k

A/N: @whumptober-archive for NO. 20 Fancy Event, NO. 27 Bedside Vigil & NO. 28 Creative Restraints, features (fairly) non descript torture, blood, and a medical bed and hospital mention

It’s not very often that Jaune gets invited to large events. While his family is important, there are so many siblings that come before him in the birth order that people don’t really think to invite him. (As far as he can tell, people typically forget every kid after the first set of twins. Though he supposes remembering four kids is pretty good for these fancy rich people.) Because of this– of never really getting invited– he never truly knows how to act. His mam says to just be himself, but hisself is strange. There’s a reason he only had two friends when he went to boarding school. At this age, he thinks he should know better, but the friends he has are more laid back than these people could ever be. Being in the room feels like wearing clothes that are too tight. Uncomfortable and clinging to his skin in a way he’s sure everyone notices. He spends as much time at the wall as possible. The second he thinks he’s been in the room for long enough to be appropriate, he ducks away to “find the bathroom”.

He walks the halls quietly, trying not to draw attention to himself, avoiding everyone. It’s easy, at least. The house is large and no one seems to have wandered past the ballroom like he has. Hallways stretch out in front of him, with doors leading to different rooms embedded in their walls like teeth. Jaune opens several as he goes, making sure he can't sense any aura from inside first, finding bedrooms, bathrooms, sitting rooms, and even a full library. If the ballroom didn't show this as the house of someone very well off, these rooms certainly do. He barely notices when he gets so far away the volume of the party has softened to the point of nonexistence.

He does notice when he opens the next door, and hears very different sounds. There is a short hallway, all lights off except for the white glow of a bulb in the distance, casting shadows. It shows a glimpse of the white walls, the creamy colour of the baseboard. Like outside this door, the flooring is wooden. Jaune sees traces of aura- two people- past the halo of light. One is much weaker than the other. His huntsman instincts kick in and he crouches, sliding off his shoes and suit jacket before slowly making his way down the hallway.

The first noise to hit him is the deep voice of the estate's owner. Jaune only met him briefly, when his M'man was introducing them. The first smell is the very familiar scent of blood. Biting his lip, Jaune raises his hand to his nose. Even after all this time, he hasn't quite gotten used to it. Yang laughs at him for it sometimes, because his team so often works search and rescue missions rather than handling grimm like team rwby does. Because he is so often there, the first one to touch wounded bodies before they get to the proper healers.

But this is different. It's not blood filtered through dirt and mud and debris. It's raw, unfiltered. There is nothing but the metallic rot coating the back of his throat when he breathes in. Biting his own lip, Jaune inches closer, squinting past the bright light to peak inside the room. There's a choked cry, like the occupant wants to make it easier for him to locate him.

There is a man on a bed. It's one of those beds they have at hospitals, or some have in their homes, that moves when you press a button. Currently, the man is positioned to be sitting up, legs outstretched in front of him. Fabric keeps his ankles and wrists tied to the bedrails, bars screwed into the frame meant to keep people from falling out if they roll. Jaune can hear the crinkle of plastic and knows whoever placed the man there must've also covered the mattress to save it from being stained by any blood. It doesn't save the floor, where the blood rolls and drips like a facet that hasn't quite been turned off. Slow and sluggish, each drip building before separating from the main stream and falling slowly to stain the wood more.

The sight of the man is worse.

He pants, face pale and sweaty from bloodloss and pain. There are tracks of red on nearly every inch of exposed pale skin, a shade that seems to blend in with the man's aura. Not hard when Jaune can tell it's blood red. It's a good thing he can still see the shade of it, though it's faint. Jaune can't even imagine how long he's been here, locked away in this room. At least as long as the party's been going. As Jaune watches, the estate's owner slices down his thigh once more. The man doesn't even whimper, barely flinching at his flesh tearing open like a tender meat dish and Jaune thinks he might be sick.

"See how well he takes it?" The estate owner says, praising the man for the camera. As if he's not simply recording it, but rather livestreaming. It's a special kind of insult to injury and one he's sure the man doesn't notice. His eyes are glazed over and unfocused; Jaune isn't sure he's aware even of the camera. Smiling like an auctioneer, the owner's eyes move over the laptop screen before he laughs and turns to a table on the man's other side.

"Yes, that is quite doable. And a fantastic way to show just how good he will be, for whoever buys him," the owner says and Jaune's stomach twists anew. Not only is it a livestream torture, it's an auction. Auctioning off someone to be tortured in all new ways. "Remember, bidding ends in an hour!"

When the owner turns back, it is with a hook in his hand, and Jaune turns away. He can't bear to watch whatever the owner plans to do with it. The man barely makes a sound, a sole whimper leaving him before Jaune hears footsteps again, the owner's speech audible but nothing he's able to focus on now. Now, he has to move fast, before the owner turns back around.

Jaune stalks forward, half crawling for speed, moving to the man. He glances up at the camera. For now, he's hidden from it, the camera positioned at just the spot to focus on the man, the table of tools next to him, and the owner using those tools. The second Jaune pops up to grab the man, he will be visible too. Of all the days to not bring a weapon with him. It nearly makes him wish his semblance was more offensive, but he knows the supportive nature of it will be more important once he gets the man free. He slips underneath the bed, wary of the mechanics and praying the owner doesn't decide to adjust it. It kills him to wait longer, but he does, knowing it's better.

Whatever the owner does it is shorter than before, at least. The second he sees the shoes– fancy dress ones, with spots of blood staining the crimson leather– turn away, he pops up and undoes the straps, one eye on the owner and trying to stay out of view of the camera as long as he can. He can't help but think of how much easier this would be if he had Ren. If Ren was here, he'd have him simply make the owner not care about what was happening. He could've come in immediately instead of waiting. The owner looks over right as he is pulling the man from the bed, the man's soft groan alerting him, and Jaune's heart freezes in his chest for a moment.

"Who are you?" The owner snaps, eyes narrowing dangerously at Jaune before realization dawns. "Elouan's brat. Figures a huntsman couldn't keep his nose where it belonged."

"I wouldn't have to hunt around if you didn't keep yours out of trouble," Jaune says, carefully pulling the man closer. The older he gets, the more Jaune hates rich people. Especially the kind who can do something like this without flinching.

"What trouble? He's my property," the owner says calmly, crossing his arms. There is a knife in his hands. It's stained with blood and Jaune knows it's the blood of the man he is holding up.

"What?" Jaune snaps, eyebrows furrowing. He shouldn't still be here. Shouldn't be talking to this man. And yet. His feet don't move.

"The boy's father sold him to me. Said he was worthless. Turns out the poor boy doesn't have a semblance at all, isn't that sad?" The owner coos with a smile that turns Jaune's stomach. Without thinking about it, Jaune glances at the man in his arms. Not everyone unlocks a semblance, of course. And some couldn't even if they wanted to. He wonders how much aura the man usually has, looking at the scraps that seem to flicker with each shallow breath. Something in his expression must show Jaune's thoughts, because the owner smiles like he is sinking his teeth in, stepping around the medical bed. "Especially since the boy's mother was a maiden."

A maiden.

Jaune wonders which it was, remembers the pain Pyrrha went through to gain and keep her own maiden powers. Now she leaves the team occasionally, sometimes to go on special missions and sometimes to meet the other maidens. He wonders when it was that this man's mother died.

"So that's why you're doing this," Jaune says, cold. The man hums.

"You'd be amazed how much certain groups of people are willing to pay, to see the son of a maiden brutalized."

"You're sick," Jaune snarls and the owner laughs.

"I'm rich," he says. "There's a difference. One would think you'd know that, kid."

When the owner lunges for him, Jaune kicks the side of the bed hard, sending the end of it into his knees. It cripples him, just for a moment, just long enough for Jaune to get his arms under the man's knees to bridal carry him. With the man in his arms, there isn't much Jaune can actually do. Everything that can be used as a weapon– anything which isn't tied down or too heavy to move with just his feet– is on the other side of the bed. So he does the only thing he can think of.

He kicks up, between the owner's legs, the second he turns back to them. Then he bolts for the door. So long as he makes it to the hallway, the owner has lost. The second he is through the door, the owner has lost. The first hallway is short and Jaune clears it quickly, shouldering the door to get out into the main one and whispering apologies to the man in his arms. He wishes he could stop right here and get his hands on the guy. Though he can mostly use his semblance while doing other things, it's always better when he actively concentrates on the way his aura weaves with other aura and with how badly the man is injured, Jaune doesn't want to risk doing it without his full attention. The second hallway is longer, and Jaune hears the door open but doesn't turn. It won't be the first time his aura has acted as a shield and he can hear an object bouncing off, knowing the knife must've been thrown.

Jaune skips the party entirely. It's being held off of the main entrance and, luckily, Jaune tends to absently map anywhere he is these days. If he was younger, he's sure he would've gotten lost. He's glad he took his own car here, instead of riding with his mam like she'd suggested. He gets the man into the passenger seat of his car, buckling him with quick movements, checking behind his shoulder for the owner of the house or any staff that might be sent after him. The party is apparently more important, though. No one else leaves the house as they drive away and, halfway to the huntsman hospital, Jaune messages his mam's scroll to tell her he left early. The entire ride, he keeps one eye on the man, tracking his aura. It doesn't rebuild like Jaune knows it should, not even a little, but at least the man is sleeping.

  At the hospital, Jaune takes point, sitting on a squeaky chair next to the man's bed. There are plenty of nurses and doctors, but Jaune feels responsible for the man since he's the one who found him and, because of his semblance, he is specially equipped to deal with the man's dangerously low aura so none of them chase him off. A few are even used to him, since he does the same for his team members. So he sits, hand in the man's, weaving golden aura into blood red.

  When Cardin wakes, he feels numb. The lights are too bright, the room to sterile. It reminds him vaguely of at least one of the places he's ended up in, the smell of bleach and cleaning products heavy in the air. Squinting, he focuses first on the bag attached to his arm. Then on the warm hand in his. While the bed is the same as the one he was strapped to before, the head of blonde hair fanning over the blankets is new. He think he remembers blonde hair from last night. Vaguely.

"Who…?" He croaks, uncomprehending, thumb moving over the back of the other man's hand. There are bandages wrapped around his arms and the rest of his body. He can feel them, tight against his skin, and he doesn't even want to imagine what it must look like underneath them. The person at his side breathes in, a little hitching thing, and sits up.

"You're awake," he says, rubbing at his eyes. "How do you feel?"

"Fine," Cardin says. The blonde looks unconvinced, but doesn't say anything, only sits up and takes his hand in both of his rather than just one, looking at him. It feels like the blonde is seeing deeper than anyone has and Cardin squashes the instinct to squirm.

"What's your name? You had no form of ID," the blonde asks.

"Cardin," Cardin says. The blonde doesn't raise an eyebrow at the lack of last name and Cardin isn't sure what that says. It doesn't help with the discomfort. "Yours?"

"Jaune. I'm a huntsman," Jaune says and Cardin pulls his hand away. A huntsman. Of course, because it seems like everytime he thinks it will finally be over, a huntsman shows up. Yet never when he truly needs them. Jaune frowns at him, but lets his hands settle in his lap instead of saying anything about it.

"Thank you," Cardin says, because Jaune did save him despite everything. He looks away, expecting Jaune to leave now that he's here in this hospital, but Jaune doesn't. Slowly, he retakes Cardin's hand, leaning back into the seat. Making himself comfortable for the long haul. Cardin frowns but doesn't say anything about it. The touch is firm; not tight enough to hurt but not treating him like he's made of glass. It's something Cardin can appreciate, at least, even if he doesn't know why the blonde does it.

He falls asleep before he can convince himself to ask.

  "Why are you still here?" Cardin asks when he wakes up next with Jaune still sitting on the chair next to him, fingers threaded with Cardin's and reading a book with glasses perched on his nose. Anyone peeking in would mistake them for a couple, Cardin thinks, and flushes. He removes his hand from Jaune's, so no one does, because he can't imagine the blonde would want to be mistaken for being with the heavily bandaged guy. At least, he tries to remove his hand. Jaune holds on and Cardin is too physically weak to break the connection.

"I'm helping them," Jaune says, putting the book down to face him, reading glasses folded on the cover. It looks like a fantasy novel he's never seen. The armoured ladies on the front are pretty, he guesses. "My semblance lets me boost aura so I can help you heal and I just…" Jaune looks down at their hands, thumb playing with Cardin's pointer finger. "I don't want to leave you."

Cardin scoffs derisively, turning his head away. "I'm a charity case," he summarizes.

"If you were a charity case, I would've taken you to a normal hospital, paid the bills, and left," Jaune says and Cardin looks back at him, eyebrows furrowed.

"This isn't…"

Jaune shakes his head. It makes his bangs fall into his eyes, and Cardin gets the strangest urge to brush it away. He holds himself back and Jaune does it himself. "It's a huntsman hospital. With your injuries, and wanting to keep an eye on you myself… I figured it'd be better."

There's a heat in Jaune's cheeks, but Cardin must be seeing things. Huntsmen don't get embarrassed for helping someone. In his experience, most of them just seek glory for it. And you don't form feelings for someone after only the first meeting, no matter what his heart is doing in his chest. It's just not how things work. Especially not for him.

"How long have I been asleep?" Cardin asks.

"A few days," Jaune says, and Cardin is floored once again at Jaune still being there.

"You're- you're a huntsman," Cardin says, halting. The blonde looks his age and something tells Cardin he's not retired. Not if he just came in and saved him. "Shouldn't you be on a mission or somewhere more-" important.

"My tean could use the break," Jaune says with a smile, shrugging his shoulders, and all Cardin can think is how strange this huntsman is. Jaune squeezes Cardin's hand before untangling their fingers.

"Stay here, I'm going to get you something to eat, if you think you can stomach it."

Cardin nods and watches Jaune walk away. The book stays behind, as do the reading glasses, and Cardin thinks it might be purposeful. Like Jaune knows what's happened and is making sure Carding knows he isn't simply going to leave. Somehow, he doesn't think he's ever going to be rid of this particular huntsman.

Cardin sits up carefully, wincing a little at the pull of healing wounds– wounds he knows are more healed than they usually would be– and fails to find it in himself to mind.

[howdoyoudothedew]

Rated: G

Ships: Archester (Jaune Arc/Cardin Winchester)

Word Count: 114

A/N: For the fourth day of @rwbyrarepairweek, history

There are plenty of knights in Hallownest. Meeting one you know isn't unlikely, but it's rare, which Jaune wants to say is the only reason he hesitates when he stumbles on Cardin. The other knight is backed into a corner, doing what he can to shield himself from the venom being spit at him. Jaune doesn't know why anyone would be here, but thoughts of that are secondary to what is before him. It's clear Cardin is swiftly flagging. A part of Jaune doesn't want to help. It's an instinct that makes him feel guilty as hell, but is there nonetheless. He advances forward the next second, because of course he's going to help.

[howdoyoudothedew]

Rated: T

Ships: Archester (Jaune Arc/Cardin Winchester)

Word Count: ~11k

A/N: Past mpreg with Volume One-era Jaune several decades in the future

Between one blink and the next the room around Jaune changes. Sudden like a freefall with no warning. He shivers, being reminded of getting thrown from the cliff during initiation last year. There is no spear or tree this time. Just a man he doesn't recognize. He is a little taller than Jaune is, with brown hair and mostly green hazel eyes. The orange outfit he is in isn’t a suit, but it almost has the air of one. Like this is someone important and his wardrobe is doing its best to show it, despite the awkward way the man shifted and the baby face making him appear younger than Jaune guesses he is. In all, it sits as more uncanny valley than Important Adult. Not that Jaune can say much. If he wore the same thing, he has the feeling he would give off the same effect. Looking at him, there is no definitive answer on if Jaune is older or not.

“Who are you?”

The young man’s eyes grow wide. Jaune's question seems to throw him into a surprised panic. As if the question is an unexpected one or one Jaune isn't supposed to ask, which is kinda unfair given he just appeared out of nowhere. “O- oh shit.” Aura flashes worriedly around him– mottled colours swirling. Orange and green being the strongest, with the orange right at the surface and the green close behind. Jaune pauses just slightly, squinting like that might get the green to show better, because he swears the green looks familiar. Which is… weird. Since he is pretty sure he's never met this person before. The man puts a hand to his own chest. “I'm, uh, Oscar.”

That… doesn’t help. Some part of him thought it would and he honestly doesn’t know why. His eyes go to the room instead. Which is a lot easier to figure out why it looks familiar. There’s a large window right behind a desk, overlooking a front courtyard with a statue dead center. A place to watch the beings below like a commander looking out for their soldiers. The thought sends a shiver down his spine, an uncomfortable reminder of what almost happened at the tournament last year. Of robotic soldiers and Maidens. Of Ozpin dying and rebuilding the school. Thank Oum it didn't go as bad as it likely could've. The school held and Pyrrha received Maiden powers- and, with it, extra duties that as her partner he helped with as much as possible. All of team JNPR helped as much as possible. This is Headmaster Glynda’s office. Yet, it also isn’t. Smaller things look different. The desk isn't the same. It’s smaller, the wood darker. Covered in papers. The plotted plants are in different places; tomatoes ripening on their vine in a corner. If this is both her office and not, where is he?

There's a rattle at the doorknob and Jaune feels his instincts kick up when Oscar tenses at it. He doesn’t have his sword with him but that’s okay. Nora had started them practicing hand to hand. Sure he wasn't great at it. But it'd do in a pinch.

“Hey, ma?” A voice he doesn’t recognize enters the room before the person does. Oscar visibly relaxed at it. Short, blonde hair on a short teen catches his attention. Then eyes the colour of cherry blossoms meet his own. And it feels strangely like he’s seeing double. Because outside the eyes, the body shape-- that’s Marion. Marion’s hair, Marion’s nose, Marion’s complexion. Which means it’s his too. “What the fuck?” Glasses were pushed up. She blinks, takes them off, cleans them, puts them back on. “What the fuck. Oscar, tell me this is some… weird magic thing.”

“Uh…”

“Oscar!” The girl snaps. Despite being at least ten years older, Oscar jumps.

“We were testing my semblance and they swapped!” Oscar rushes out. The nervousness from when Jaune first got here returned. Not that it'd really left.

“Oh Brothers,” she sighs and it’s like he can see the years drain from her. Tiredness and worry swirl together in a pink aura. It isn’t a lot of aura. “Papa’s gonna lose his shit.” Jaune looks between the two of them as the girl seems to gather herself before she shoves her hands into her hoodie pocket. “How long?”

“I'm not sure?” Oscar says, voice tilted up awkwardly. “We just wanted to see what'd happen if he gave me as much aura as possible. We… weren't expecting this.”

“No shit!” She laughs and that is not a sound he knows from Marion. It’s something more similar to one he knows from someone else. Someone he'd found himself paying more attention to lately. And now that his mind is there, he can’t help but notice the similar body types. Or the sudden connection of the way her expression pinched earlier with how his would sometimes do the same thing around his team and Velvet.

“He'll find a way back,” Oscar assures.

“I know,” she sighs again, and it is a less aged sound. “Try explaining that to Papa, though.” That has Oscar wincing. Finally Jaune decides to butt in.

“What's happening here?”

Both startle like they'd forgotten he’s here. It was possible. Because Jaune knows his own mind is awhirl. This girl seems so worried. But in a tired way, like his m’man would sometimes get. For some reason, Jaune wants to reach out to her and just… stop that. She is obviously younger than him. Yet she seems older and he just wants to wrap her in a hug. It’s probably how much she looks like family. If she wasn't at least part Arc, he'd eat his own left shoe and sock.

She blinks at him. Big pink eyes behind black framed glasses. “Did you tell him anything?”

“I was getting to it,” Oscar says.

“Well.” The girl turns to him, a wry smile curling her lips. “Welcome to the future, ma.” The ‘ma’ thing doesn’t surprise him as much as he feels like it should. The girl looks enough like him. The future part has him reeling, though. You'd think if he could accept being this girl’s ma it wouldn't. Daughter = future. It was the logical leap. And yet. His brain turns and turns and turns and can’t wrap around that he's apparently been sent to the future.

“What?”

“Yep.” The girl plays with the sleeve of her pink hoodie– a nervous habit. A nervous habit very similar to one he's seen before. It plays in his memories, overlaid on his… daughter. Suddenly he has an idea of who ‘papa’ could be. Though how he ended up married to him, he has no idea. He doesn’t even like him that much. It was simple curiosity which even made him look at him, when he does. Sometime before second semester Cardin had formed an odd relationship with Velvet, the second year who Jaune once saw him pulling the ears of. Jaune watched as the two seemed to grow even closer over the year. Curious. Because it seemed unusual. There are so many things he suddenly recognizes in this girl, though, now that the idea has popped into his head, and none of them are from Marion or himself. Things he very likely wouldn't recognize if he hadn't been staring. Firmly, he throws that idea out of his head. No way.

“I have a kid.” There's no inflection to the words. They're just a simple statement, a confirmation of what she said.

“Three.” The girl holds up two fingers and a thumb and smiles, something more teasing than happy. Though definitely not devoid of joy.

“Three kids?” Now his voice almost sounds strangled. And the girl has the gall to laugh at him. At least someone is getting joy out of his confusion.

“Yup,” she pops the ‘p’, rocking back on her heels. “I'm the eldest. Cherry Cathal Arc.” She follows it up with something he never thought he'd hear parroted back at himself. “Short, sweet, rolls off the tongue, ladies love it.”

Jaune blinks, and laughs. It definitely sounds a little strangled now.

(It finally occurs to him a little later, as Cherry leads him out of the room, why the green in Oscar’s aura looked familiar. Ozpin. It was headmaster Ozpin’s aura, which meant somehow Oscar has taken him in like Pyrrha took the Maiden powers last year. And honestly, Jaune doesn’t want to question it further. He’ll leave that for whenever he’s actually supposed to learn it because boy ishe having a fucking day already.)

Somehow, Jaune can believe he lives here. The house Cherry brings him to actually looks pretty much like the house he imagined living in one day. A wooden cabin, with windows and a small porch lined by a red railing. There’s a garden in the front and one at the side. He wants to walk around the cabin, to see the bits which he knows must be from his future self and those likely placed by his future spouse, but knows he wouldn’t be able to. Not with Cherry pulling him along. The cabin is nestled close enough to civilization to walk if you wanted to– exactly how they got here– but far enough away to still be considered remote in its nook of the woods. Though, the placement of it is a little odd. He didn’t expect anyone to ever live in Forever Fall. It feels like more evidence to his thrown away idea. An idea he refuses to entertain because the other boy doesn’t even like him like that. Doesn’t even pay attention to him. As far as he knows, after that day in Forever Fall, he’s been completely forgotten about. Which is perfect! Because Jaune doesn’t want to be remembered, nevermind that he’d saved the other’s life or that his team had won the Vytal Tournament last year. (Circumstantially. They kind of canceled the tournament for that year after the incident and the almost-fall of Beacon. But before that, Pyrrha had technically won her 1v1 match. Though… they still didn’t really talk about that. Still, being the only student to compete in and win her 1v1, their team was declared the winners after everything calmed down.) But Jaune is fine with that. He’d told him to fuck off, and he’d fucked off just as Jaune had asked him to. Fucked off so hard that Jaune doesn’t even really know anything that’s going on, even with the other’s team, except what he saw from the distance when he observed them. (Observed. Not watched creepily. Nora and Yang.)

Except… maybe he should have entertained it a little more. Because the door opens before Cherry completely reaches it and… It is Cardin. It’s Cardin and he stares at him and Cardin stares back. Time has definitely passed. This Cardin seems more worn down than his— Than the other, in his time. The sleeves of his shirt are rolled up, but still damp. There are dark circles that aren’t supposed to be there under glasses that also aren’t supposed to be there and his hair is tied back in a bun that has so many fly-away strands, he doesn’t really see the point in even having it up. Stubble is dark and red on his face, practically making up half a beard, and Jaune wonders how long he’s gone without shaving for it to look like that. The sides of his head seem to be shaved pretty cleanly, though. And even with all the markers of tiredness… he seems happier. Like there was a weight that has left his shoulders in the years that have passed. Even his aura seems somehow lighter. Though, the curious thing, there is noticeably less of it. Like he's just come from a fight or something. If Nora or Ren or Pyrrha’s aura looked like that, he wouldn’t even let them participate in a fight. He'd make them take a break, even though with Pyrrha especially it'd likely turn into another, smaller fight. (Though she was getting better with that. It was… hard for her, to allow herself to be sidelined when she'd spent so long telling herself that she not only could but had to handle everything.) All in all, he looks… good. Objectively, for his age.

Finally, Cardin blinks at him, though he doesn’t say anything to him. Instead he silently turns to Cherry.

Cherry shrugs. “I don’t know. He was here when I got there.”

“Cherry?” Cardin says, eyebrows raised.

“I swear!” Cherry says. “Ma and Oscar were doin’ some semblance shit and apparently ma got swapped with this chump.”

“Hey!” Jaune protests.

Cardin slides a hand over his face with a sigh, briefly disrupting his glasses. “I can’t beli-” He cuts himself off with another sigh that sounds like ‘nevermind’. “Alright, idiot, get in here.”

“Hey!” Jaune protests, again. But was once again ignored. For the most part. Cherry ushers him in when Cardin moves away from the door and further into the– their– house.

“Why am I an idiot,” Jaune mumbles as he moves.

“Because you're the one who'll turn into the moron who decides it's a good idea to boost a time semblance,” Cardin snaps, eyes turned back to them. “I thought you would’ve learned with Nora, but no!” His aura flashes weakly in annoyance. Once again Jaune can’t help but notice how drastically low it is. Just what had Cardin done while Cherry was away? While his future self was with Oscar? And whatever it was, had his team helped? He can’t imagine they wouldn’t want to. But the impression he’s gotten from the brief time he actually spent in Cardin’s presence… Well, he can’t imagine Cardin would ask for help, either.

Jaune raises his hands in a hopefully placating gesture and wisely decides to not say anything else about it. “So,” he hedges instead, “did you get into a fight?”

Cardin snorts and looks away. “Guess you could say that.”

“Twins give you trouble while I was away?” Cherry asks.

“Bath time,” Cardin says and Cherry makes a sound of understanding.

“What?” Jaune asks as he toes off his shoes and leaves them next to Cherry’s white sneakers.

“Lotus wanted to help weed my husband’s garden,” Cardin says. And Jaune is not prepared for the fond sort of way Cardin says ‘my husband’. Or for the way his own face lightly heats as it feels like his heart does a backflip at the words. ‘My husband’ sounded… good. On Cardin’s lips. Better than he thought it would.

If he’d ever thought about that.

(Can denial still work, if he is literally in the future?)

“I have a garden?” Jaune asks.

“One day,” Cardin says.

“Lotus helps out a lot,” Cherry says. “When and where he can, at least. Since the twins’ are still pretty young.”

“How old are they?” Jaune asks. Then, in quick succession, as he realizes he doesn’t know any ages, “How old are you? How old am I?”

Cherry opens her mouth to answer, but Cardin cuts in. “Nope.”

“Aw, Papa, why not?” Cherry asks and Jaune silently wonders the same.

“He’s from the past, he’s already going to learn a bunch just by staying here for however long that’ll be,” Cardin replies.

“Do you really think our ages could mess with the timeline that much?” Cherry asks and Cardin shrugs.

“I’d rather not risk too much.”

Much as Jaune agrees with Cherry, he can see what Cardin means. Their house is nice, there is apparently a garden in the back, and even when Cardin snapped at him he could see the affection and-- dare he say-- worry that underlined it. Not to mention, the singular kid he’s met already seems cool. And he really wants to be able to meet her again in the future-- along with her younger siblings. “Alright,” he says and definitely doesn’t pout. Cardin nods, pleased at his acceptance. “So what can I know?”

“Everything you currently do,” Cardin says. Translation: nothing. Jaune rolls his eyes, in the time away from Cardin he's forgotten how careful he could be. Which he understands! This here is Cardin’s life. But fuck is it boring to be in his own future and have someone tell him he can’t even know anything. Nothing past what he already knows, of course. Some kid named Oscar will take over for Headmaster Goodwitch one day. Somehow, he will end up married to Cardin. And together they will have a house in the woods like he's always wanted (though he still questions the choice of Forever Fall) and three children.

“Can I at least know the third kid’s name?” Jaune asks.

“What?” Cardin asks.

“The third kid,” Jaune repeats and expands, “I know Cherry and Lotus, but Cherry said Lotus is a twin?”

Cardin squints at him, like he’s deciding if there’s some other, hidden reason behind his question. Apparently finding none, he answers. “Amarante.”

The name seems familiar to him, and he frowns for a second before he has to bite his lip to keep from laughing. Cherry, Lotus, Amarante. All three are named after flowers. Apparently they have a naming theme going on for some reason. Though only one of the names was French— which he'd thought he would continue the Arc tradition of French names but apparently he didn't. It was likely something they'd talked about, when pregnant.

Which… is a weird thought. It is clear Cherry wasn't adopted, so one of them… He can feel himself get red but he doesn’t want to think about the possibilities of why. The knowledge he marries to Cardin is enough, he doesn’t want to think about all the implications kids brought with that. The question of who'd gotten pregnant. (It’d probably been him. Be him? Not thinking about it!) And everything that… goes with it.

“So,” Jaune squeaks and frantically clears his throat. Cherry gives him an amused look. “Flowers?”

“Not happening, Arc,” Cardin says and leaves the room, though not without giving Cherry a pointed look. Cherry shrugs at him. It looks much less understanding and a lot more amused. Honestly, Jaune is just glad Cardin had called him ‘Arc’ and not something else. At least that hasn’t changed. Or, maybe it has and Cardin has simply fallen back on his last name, to keep even the future nicknames from him. He frowns.

… Cherry Cathal Arc.

Well, he knows who takes whose last name in the future.

...

Cardin Arc isn’t too bad.

Come dinner time, Cherry and him are relegated to ‘twin roundup duty’. Luckily they haven’t really had to explain what happened to their mam. A simple ‘this is him right now’ and the twins are set. The joys of being young.

Because they are young. Two tiny beings that barely look like each other outside shared freckles but look so much like Cardin and him. The boy, Lotus, has Cardin’s exact hair colour, Cardin’s eye shape and nose, and Cherry’s pink eyes. The girl, Amarante, has Jaune’s hair and nose and he thinks even his eyes, though the colour was so in between Cardin’s and his own it’s hard to tell, but she has Cardin’s eye shape. He wonders how the features will grow with them.

Saphron and Terra met when Adrian was two, three years ago now. For that first year before Beacon Jaune had taken care of Adrian occasionally. Really all of the Arc kids had. Lotus and Amarante look to be about that age. Maybe younger. He doesn’t really remember Adrian being this rowdy back then, though. Not that they’re bad or anything. They just move. Everywhere. So quickly. He’s honestly starting to think they've gotten their semblances already. It sure feels like they have speed semblances. But… their aura is still small and it flickers in a way Jaune hasn’t really seen since before he finally realized just what he was seeing when he saw similar flashes of colour around friends. He assumes it is because of how young they are.

Cherry scoops Amarante off the floor and tosses her into the air. A loud, high pitched giggle fills the air as she falls back down and into Cherry’s arms. When Cherry throws her again, Lotus stops to stare expectantly at him. Jaune laughs and copies Cherry, picking up Lotus to throw him in the air before catching him when he falls back down. Soon there is a pair of squeals, happy noises in harmony. For a short time they entertain the twins like that. Cardin has them watch and entertain the twins while he cooks. But Jaune finds his eyes wandering back to Cardin more and more. More than he usually did, back at school. When he was distracted by his interactions with Velvet and the rest of team CRDL. Now it’s because he knows what Cardin’s aura should look like. How much there normally was. There is still a lot he doesn’t know about aura. But he is fairly certain you don’t lose aura with age– that your ‘full amount’ never changes. From the time he first spotted this Cardin to now, Cardin’s aura is so low. The amount had crawled upward since he got here but it still wasn't anywhere near where Jaune knows it should be. Still, Cardin cooks and whistles something that definitely isn’t a tune despite how his shoulders minutely sag with what Jaune can only guess is aura exhaustion. Also probably just plain exhaustion.

“Are you sure I shouldn't cook?” Jaune asks as he tears his eyes from those broad shoulders again, over to Cherry. She has the same broad shoulders.

Cherry rolls her eyes. It’s weird how much of Marion he sees in that action. “Ma, we want him to rest, not stress out.”

Again, Jaune’s eyes go to Cardin. Like there is a string that pulls him to the other boy. His future husband. Abruptly the string breaks and Jaune’s eyes snap away, to Lotus who squirms in his arms to get more comfortable. He adjusts his grip for Lotus. “But are you sure?”

There's a snort. Jaune frowns at Cherry. “I'm sure. You're kind of banned from the kitchen, anyhow.”

“Wait, what?” Jaune gapes at her. Yeah, he knows he isn’t a great cook now. Like at all. But he can’t still be that bad, can he? “Why?”

“I don’t know. Papa won’t talk about it.” Cherry shrugs. She tucks Amarante under her arm like her little sister is a football. Jaune’s mouth remains open. There is at the very least a decade between now and then, given how old Cherry looks, and he really still hasn’t gotten better at cooking. It had been a joke-- and it had hurt, at the time-- but maybe Gwendoline was right. Maybe he just wasn't made to cook. Or bake. Or operate in the kitchen in general. He looks forlornly in the direction of the stove like that would actually change things.

“Ah, come on Ma,” Cherry says, obviously catching it. “There's plenty of things you can do that Papa can't. Like sing!”

“Are you telling me Cardin doesn't have a good singing voice?” Jaune asks.

Another snort. “If you call cats in a cheese grater good, sure.”

“I can hear you both,” Cardin says, the whistling pauses for a moment.

“I have no idea what you're talking about,” Cherry says back. She winks at Jaune, who bites back an amused smile. Though he isn’t technically her ma yet, he isn’t sure he should be supporting her antics. It’s kind of hard not to. Especially when Cardin sends a glare that doesn’t really seem that upset their way. Jaune shifts Lotus to sit on his hip so he can have a hand unoccupied to raise in a defensive gesture. A silent ‘I didn't say it, I just got here’. Cardin rolls his eyes and turns back to whatever he is making. The twins have him occupied enough that he doesn’t know what it is. So the only solution is to head over and snoop. He holds a finger to his lips so Lotus will hopefully be silent and sneaks over, ignoring Cherry’s amused look.

He stands on his tiptoes to look over Cardin’s shoulder. There is a pot of red bubbling on the stove. Without even turning around, Cardin holds the spoon up to his lips. “Taste this.”

Jaune does so without thinking. He licks a bit from his lips afterward with a hum. It is good. Even when he’d been around Cardin more than his own team, there’d never been any indication Cardin could cook. It makes him wonder if this is a recent thing. Lotus reaches for the spoon and Cardin lifts it without a word so Lotus can taste it as well.

“Yum,” Lotus says, and Cardin smiles.

“It's good,” Jaune agrees. Cardin nods and lowers the burner to just keep the pot warm. Then he pours spaghetti noodles into it and stirs till they mix together.

Cherry walks up with Amarante on her hip to look in the pot. “Mmm, pasta.”

“Patha,” Amarante echoes. Jaune smiles at her little lisp.

“Cherry, Amarante, set the table for me,” Cardin says and Cherry throws up a salute that Amarante sloppily copies. When she sets Amarante down they march to the cabinets to grab everything. Cherry hands Amarante the forks, which she takes to the table and stands up on tiptoes to place on the different spots. The bowls and cups are set down by Cherry.

“What do you want me to do?” Jaune asks.

“You can grab the pot!” Cherry says, before Cardin can answer. Cardin groans. There is annoyance there, and Jaune doesn’t know what for, but he shrugs it off and takes the pot to the table after setting Lotus down. Lotus scrambles over to place a potholder down for him to place the pot on.

“Thanks,” Jaune says and Lotus nods.

Cardin… is a good cook. He is actually surprised by this. In the time he had spent with Cardin, he's never had food he'd made. But he knows he was rich– thank you, Dove– so he kind of assumed he couldn't cook. The closest that ever came to Cardin making anything for him was the few times Cardin made him coffee to help him focus. Jaune ends up eating two bowls. By the time everyone is done, Amarante’s hands are red with sauce. As she licks her fingers (and Jaune holds in his amusement), Cardin picks her up from behind and settles her on his hip.

Jaune watches the motion without really thinking about it. Right now, with hair mussed and dark circles and askew glasses, a small child (toddler maybe? The twins-their twins- are short for toddlers, but maybe.) propped up on his hip and a red handprint on his cheek, Cardin looks incredibly domestic. He bites the inside of his lip and tries to press down the warmth threatening to burst his chest open. It is attractive. As just a general observation. To help Cardin (not to distract himself), he starts to gather the dishes for the sink.

“Oh! Hey, Ma, I'll help you clean,” Cherry says and grabs the cups.

“Thanks,” Jaune pauses for a second before adding, “kid.” Cherry smiles at him when he does, and Cardin looks back with a raised eyebrow and an upward tilt to his mouth. It makes him feel strangely like he did something right.

Together they get the dishes done pretty quickly, putting the leftover food away and then Cherry rinsing and drying as he washes them. Halfway through, Lotus appears and Cherry helps him put away the dishes, lifting him up so he can put the plastic cups in the cupboards above the counter. When they are done, Cherry hops up on the countertop with Lotus on her lap. Jaune raises an eyebrow at them while he wipes the soap bubbles from his arms. Lotus kicks his legs and his heels make noise against the countertop. It makes Jaune snort. It’s the same thing Marion and he did, younger siblings included when they were born. Though the age difference between Cherry and her siblings looks to be much closer to Jaune’s own age difference with Gwen. Cherry smiles at him.

“TV?” Cherry asks.

Jaune checks the time, despite having no idea when any bedtimes are. Right now, Jaune tries to sleep by one. But that is only because of waking up for classes. And something tells him Cardin won’t approve of a curfew that goes anywhere past midnight for his kids. “We have time,” he says anyway. At the very least it might help the twins settle for the night.

Cherry nods and sets Lotus down on the ground before sliding off the counter herself.

Jaune does not sleep much. It was like that even before Beacon, with his mind demanding he stay up half the night. But Beacon did not help. Even if it helped focus his attention. There was so much work he had to do to make sure Marion’s faked transcript was worth it. History lessons, dust lessons, science lessons, strategy lessons, sparring, aura and semblance training. All with the leader lessons he had to go to with the other team leaders. Also the more basic classes like math and english that he hadn't expected to have to take at a combat school. At least he likes math.

The lack of sleep is why he drifts after the first two episodes, though. Next he’s aware, Amarante is curled on his lap. Cherry nudges his shoulder.

“Ma, wake up,” she says.

Jaune blinks a few times. “‘M awake.” Now, at least. Probably for a few more hours, too.

“You were snoring,” Cherry says.

“What? No I wasn't,” Jaune frowns at her. Cherry nods, even as she hums a disbelieving note.

“Some things never change, huh?” Cherry pauses. “Would it be ‘never change’ if you're younger?”

He is being bullied. By his future daughter. The family bullying would never stop, would it? Though he isn’t actually mad about that, it is another bit of extra familiarity in a very unfamiliar place. A body appears in front of him and lifts an already asleep Amarante out of his lap. Her head lolls against Cardin’s shoulder. The one unoccupied by her brother, who Cardin has in his other arm.

“Come on, Cherry,” Cardin says quietly. “Get ready for bed, you have to be up early.”

“Papaaa,” Cherry whines, not quite as quiet as Cardin. Despite the protest she still stands up and takes Amarante from him. Being moved again doesn’t even stir her. She just lets her head flop like dead weight against Cherry’s shoulder. Jaune laughs quietly at it, just an amused huff of breath out his nose.

“I've got her, get,” Cardin says.

“I’m fine, I’ll take her to the room and then head straight to my own. Huntsman’s honour,” Cherry says.

“You’re not a huntsman yet,” Cardin says.

“Yet,” Cherry repeats with a smile, and Cardin gives her a flat look. Jaune shifts as he watches this, unsure what to do himself. Obviously he isn’t going back to his time tonight, which means that sleeping arrangements have to be figured out. The couch is definitely comfortable enough. Though Jaune isn’t sure if he can even sleep, in this new place. There is just so much information; it’s just so weird.

"Take him to the guest room," Cardin gestures to Jaune and Cherry sighs.

"Papa," Cherry says.

"Cherry." Cardin raises both his eyebrows. After a long moment Cherry huffs at him, rolling her eyes, and gives him back Amarante. Once again, Amarante doesn’t stir.

"C'mon, Ma. Follow me," Cherry says. She leads him out of the living room to a short hallway with five doors. She points to each of them:

First on the right, “This is the bathroom;”

Second on the right, “Amarante and Lotus’ room;”

First on the left, “guest room, where you'll sleep;”

Second on the left, “my room, if you need anything during the night ask me;”

The door at the end of the hallway, “Ma and Papa’s room. Got it?”

Jaune nods absentmindedly as he repeats each room in his head. Though he gets a little stuck on the last one. Just another reminder that this is his future and it is different than he thought it’d be. That it… is rather close to how he thought it’d be. Not who he lived with, obviously. Obviously he’s never imagined a future with Cardin in it. In any capacity. Even before Cardin blackmailed him and he stood up to him and then Cardin disappeared from his life except for at the very edges where he could see him with the rest of team CRDL and Velvet. He closes his eyes, shakes his head, and reopens them. Cherry’s eyes are on him.

“Everything you need should be in there. I’ll grab you a new toothbrush, unless you want to use Ma’s,” Cherry says. She looks amused with an eyebrow raised and a smirk. Why she would look amused, he doesn’t know. It certainly has nothing to do with him.

“... a new toothbrush,” Jaune says after a moment of thought.

Cherry nods.

“Hey.” Before she leaves, Jaune has to ask because it simply popped into his head. “If you were in my position, which would you do?”

She pauses. “... huh. I'd probably use mine? I mean, it's my own mouth.”

Jaune nods.

“That has to be the weirdest time travel question to come out of this,” Cherry says and Jaune has to agree with her. “Alright, I'm getting you a new one and I'll grab some of Papa’s pjs for you.”

“Why not mine?” Jaune asks.

“Because you're smaller than Ma,” Cherry says and walks away to do what she said. So he gets taller. Will he get taller than Pyrrha and Yang? Maybe. … this means that he will grow taller than Cardin, if he isn’t already with the recent growth spurt he had.

He brushes his teeth and runs his fingers through his hair with those two thoughts still in his head after Cherry returns. Once he gets in the bedroom, he changes clothes. There is just something about being in the future and in an unfamiliar environment that makes him not want to change just yet. For a little longer, he wants to keep everything he has from the past with him. On him. Jaune also just doesn’t really want to see himself wearing Cardin’s clothes just yet. Or to feel how soft they probably are (they felt soft when he took them from Cherry and when he picked them back up from the counter to carry to the guest room). It’s enough to know he was married to Cardin. Apparently.

That is still a thought to get his mind around.

As he walks across the hallway to the guest room, he catches the twins’ open door in the corner of his eye and pauses. Cardin sits next to their bed, a hand against Amarante’s chest as both the twins sleep. There is a soft smile on his face. The tiredness seems to disappear with it. Jaune drinks in the image. A pink night light casts lines of light and shadow across the planes of Cardin’s face. As he watches, Cardin briefly moves his hand up to remove Amarante’s wispy bangs from her face before he moves it back to her chest. He presses down against the sudden warmth that threatens to burst his chest open as Amarante snuggles sleepily into the bed and Cardin’s smile gets fonder but no less soft at the action. As Cardin’s aura pulses gentle and content. It feels quiet. Not the uncomfortable kind, but the peaceful one. Cardin’s aura spreads out from his hand and Jaune watches the red lighten until it matches Amarante’s and settles against the rest of her aura, becoming a part of it.

“He’s doing with them what he did with me,” Cherry says, arms crossed and hip against the hallway. Her eyes on Cardin.

“What?” Jaune just barely turns toward her.

“Papa doesn’t… have a lot of aura. It’s kind of genetic. So he’s hoping that if he gives them aura for long enough, it might change for them.” Cherry turns to him with a half shrug.

Jaune pauses and turns to look fully at her. “You say that like it didn’t work for you.”

She laughs, though it’s not bitter. “You tell me– you can see it.”

“You already know,” Jaune says, surprised.

“Yeah,” Cherry looks away. “Papa doesn’t, though, You– er, Ma– doesn’t want me to tell him. Ma’s sort of afraid how he’ll react, since I wanna be a huntsman.”

“Oh,” Jaune says. “... can I know why?”

Cherry shakes her head, wetting her lips. “I think that’s something Papa should tell you.”

“Alright,” Jaune says. He has to admit, that is one mystery which should probably be left to learn with time. When he’s supposed to, not because of a surprise trip to the future. Especially since Cardin doesn’t currently know. He’d rather not risk it when he doesn’t even know what the risk was. The way Cherry said it made it feel important.

“I’m going to bed.” Cherry pushes herself off the wall. She glances back over at Cardin and her younger siblings, before she moves toward her room. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight,” Jaune whispers back. Once her door is closed, he looks back at the twins’ room. He’ll watch Cardin and his aura just a little longer. It’s honestly a really pretty shade of red, which he never considered he might say about blood red. It draws him like a moth to a flame, looking across rooms, and even now he finds himself entering the room, standing off to the side so he doesn’t break the peace. Eventually Cardin moves away from Amarante to stand next to Lotus on the other side of the bed. Blood red seeps into a bright purple, until Cardin’s aura starts to flicker. It’s dipped too low, Jaune knows. He moves closer, nudging Cardin as his aura flickers again, breaking the connection. Cardin doesn’t even grumble about it, only tipping to the side for a moment before he scoots over.

Jaune takes Cardin’s place, settling his hand against Lotus’ heart. As his hand begins to glow faintly, golden aura coming to life along his skin, he glances over at Cardin. Cardin had lied down partly on the mattress, his head pillowed by his arms. His position made his glasses go askew, but he doesn’t seem to notice. Or, perhaps, care. As Jaune watches, Cardin’s eyes slowly slip closed. By the time he thinks he’s done, Cardin seems to have fallen entirely asleep. Jaune feels a little bad waking him– Cardin really seems to need whatever sleep he can get– but it can’t possibly be a comfortable position, so he nudges him again.

“Cardin, come on. You should move to the bed,” Jaune whispers. Cardin grumbles a noise, eyes opening partly. It doesn’t seem like he’s actually awake, but he stands up anyway, bending to press a light kiss to Jaune’s cheek. Everything inside Jaune seems to freeze immediately. His blood, bones, muscle, everything is frozen solid. All but the spot on his cheek where Cardin’s lips brushed, which radiates pure warmth. His heart beats frantically to spread what’s no doubt blood turned to frozen sludge.

“Ma?” Cherry nudges him and he jolts so hard he almost hits his head on her jaw. He realizes his hand is on his cheek, right over the spot Cardin kissed him, and rips it away. Oum, Cardin kissed him. The previously frozen blood suddenly heats like lava. He definitely can’t deny his crush anymore, can he? When he looks up, cheeks no doubt pink, he is met with an amused smirk. The look reminds him half of Marion and half of Cardin. It would've been unsettling if it didn't seem to fit so well. “You should go back to the guest room now, unless you want to sleep on their floor.”

“No- no,” Jaune stutters and scrambles to a stand so quickly he almost tips over. Which just seems to amuse Cherry more. There is no way his cheeks are simply pink now. It feels like he's sat right next to a campfire. At least Cherry doesn’t actually say anything, even if the knowing look says quite enough. Once more, the look is a combination of Marion and a look he's never seen but is sure came from Cardin. He nods, because he doesn’t know what else to do– nothing can possibly salvage his embarrassment– and makes a hasty retreat to the guest room, clothes in hand. It isn’t until he is in the guest room with the door closed behind him that he remembers the clothes were Cardin’s. The clothes are innocent in his hands. Because of course they are. They're clothes. But as he looks down at the dark fabric, he swears he can feel it heating.

Frantic to stop thinking about it, Jaune hurriedly dresses. There is no mirror in the room, but he can feel the way the clothes rest baggy on his body; the top hanging off his shoulders– every time he tries to readjust so it doesn’t, it simply slides back down, the bottoms sling low on his hips– thankfully not enough to be indecent, but enough to feel it. Embarrassingly enough, Jaune can feel his cheeks heat. At least this time he's alone. It’s just the thought of it, the knowledge that these clothes are baggy because they're Cardin’s. Not just any Cardin, either. But the future Cardin. The one who likes him somehow and marries him. Cardin Arc. Once again, he swears he feels the fabric heating. Jaune glances around the room, just to double check he is alone and has closed the door. It’s silly and makes him feel a little like a criminal, but he can’t stop himself. It’s too embarrassing. Still, once he is sure no one can see him, he lets himself imagine that the pajamas are from the Cardin currently at Beacon. That that Cardin likes him and really could be the future one, one day. He gets comfortable on the bed, under the blankets, and snuggles into the borrowed clothes with that thought in his head. Sleep comes surprisingly quickly.

Jaune yawns as he walks into the kitchen. For being in the future, he slept really well. Though he guesses time travel doesn’t really affect sleep. Or maybe it does. What does he know; time travel jet lag could be a thing. He sits groggily at the table, head held up only by his open palm and even then he barely keeps it from slipping to the wooden surface. The chair next to him is pulled out, another tired body collapsing into it.

"Morn' ma," Cherry says, her voice a creak. Jaune grunts back his own gravelly 'morning'. It seems their oldest daughter woke late, just as he does. The thought doesn’t cause as much distress as he thinks it might if he were more awake. The next to walk into the kitchen/dining room are Lotus and Amarante, Cardin right behind them. His hair is down, long and floppy so it partly covers his face. Jaune watches as Cardin pulls it back, tying it absently into a wolf tail as Cherry helps him get the twins into their seats.

“Alright, who’s up for pancakes?” Cardin asks in a quiet voice, half a yawn in his throat.

“Us!” The twins say loudly, both all smiles, and Cherry nods in agreement. Jaune folds his arms onto the table so he can tuck his head between them, just barely hiding his smile.

“Arc?” Cardin turns to him, eyebrow raised. Jaune sits up a bit in surprise. He didn’t exactly expect to get an opinion on breakfast.

“Uh, yeah, that sounds great,” Jaune says. “Do you want any help?”

Cardin snorts. Jaune glowers at it. “I’m good, you just sit there and look pretty.”

Jaune feels his eyes widen, his cheeks heat, his chest stop. Just sit there and look pretty. Cardin’s shoulders stiffen belatedly and his own cheeks darken. Cherry groans.

“Great. You guys are still like this,” Cherry grouses.

“Like what?” Jaune asks, nearly jumping on the distraction. It’s a mistake.

“Gross, what else,” Cherry says, lip curled in a dramatic show of disgust as she gestures between Cardin and him.

Jaune darkens more, cheeks going from a faint pink to a rosy one. Apparently their marriage is rather loving, if they flirted enough to still annoy their oldest. Despite the embarrassment, Jaune rather likes the knowledge he’s one of those parents. “Oh.”

“Yeah, oh,” Cherry complains, but at least she seems fond of it. “You’re in-fucking-sufferable.”

“But you love us anyway,” Jaune says, unsure if it’s a question or a statement, and Cherry sighs, long and dramatic.

“I guess, if I must,” she says, the corner of her lip twitching betrayingly.

“You must,” Cardin hums. Cherry groans again as she sits in the chair, slumping like she’s gone days without sleep. This time, it is Cardin’s lip which twitches upward. Jaune does as told, staying at the table and just watching Cardin, though he isn’t really sure he is being pretty in the baggy borrowed clothes. He still feels sleepy, but he thinks he is slowly waking up. Once again, he is caught by how domestic this all is, Cardin making breakfast, flipping pancakes while humming a tune he doesn’t recognize. Some song which had come out in the however many years separate Jaune is from all of this. Jaune closes his eyes and must’ve unintentionally dozed.

“You’re wearing my clothes.” Jaune wakes with a hitched breath, looking at Cardin who is staring at him, frozen with the plate of pancakes in his hand. This time, Jaune knows he is definitely fully awake.

“Uh, yeah,” Jaune says as he sits up. His hands knocking the table as he does, fumbling, a sound of flesh hitting wood he barely feels. “I’m sorry, I forgot, Cherry gave them to me since I didn’t have pjs and apparently future me- current me- whatever me is bigger than I am? I can go change back real quick, though!”

“No, no. It’s fine” Cardin looks away quickly, pink staining his cheeks. He doesn’t look up at any of them as he places the pancakes in the middle of the table. Meanwhile, Jaune doesn’t think he can stop looking at Cardin. Messy hair frames his face, hiding the blush. The plate rattles on the table. Pale hands with chipped whiteout catch in Jaune’s view and he looks over to Cherry as she grabs two pancakes, the chair scraping across the floor while she stands.

“This is actually worse than usual. Somehow,” Cherry announces, taking a large bite from one of the pancakes. Chocolate stains the corner of her mouth. “I’m heading to Aunt Velvet’s.”

“Take some for her, it wouldn’t surprise me if she hasn’t eaten yet,” Cardin says, abruptly snapping out of it. Jaune swallows and ducks his own head to pull a few chocolate chip pancakes to his own plate. There is a dip in Cardin’s words, like a pause, and Jaune glances up through his eyelashes to see Cardin’s eyes already on him. Cardin frowns, thin, and looks back at Cherry. “You know why.”

Cherry rolls her eyes, “Yeah, I got it. No future stuff, whatever.” She stuffs a few pancakes into a ziploc before stuffing those into a pink backpack which she flings over her shoulder. There is a tassel on the one zipper, a sunflower braided to it. Somehow, the sunflower looks real, but Cherry presses a kiss to Cardin’s cheek and runs out the door shouting goodbyes before he can get a better look. And now it is him, and Cardin, and two young twins.

He doesn’t know what to think about it. Aunt Velvet. It is very possible it doesn’t mean anything and there is another Velvet out there somewhere, one Cardin is related to or one one of his sisters marries. But Jaune sees how Cardin and Velvet interact these days and he, deep down, knows it was her. After all, the simplest answers are often the correct ones. It feels weird to think about, that one day Cardin and Velvet will be so close their children will view her as their aunt. If, of course, they’re not so close already. Maybe they are.

There is a tree swing in the front yard, right outside the kitchen window. Oddly enough, it isn’t the red leaves and sweet smell of sap that reminded him just where the cabin stood, but the tree swing. Safe, positioned right where Cardin or his future self can keep an eye on the kids. Closer to the house is the garden he noticed before, tucked behind a small fence to keep creatures away. On the other side of the fence is a different garden with different plants, without the fence. Jaune can see where some of the leaves have been eaten by some animal or another. Lotus walks over to the unfenced plot, kneeling down, getting his hands messy with dirt as Amarante guides him to the swing to push her.

“So, uh, Aunt Velvet?” Jaune questions as he picks up Amarante to put her on the swing. There’s no answer and Jaune sighs, glancing away to look for Cardin. Cardin holds a watering can in his hand, taking care of the plants inside the fencing silently. It doesn’t even seem like Cardin hears him, but Jaune knows he must’ve. “Come on, you have to tell me something.”

“I don’t have to tell you anything,” Cardin says and Jaune grumbles in frustration. He doesn’t understand why Cardin won’t tell him even the smallest of things. It’s not like Jaune asked when they got married or started to date or who asked who first. (The way Cardin is now, Jaune bets it was him. Only because he can’t see the tight-lipped man actually ask him anything.)

“Can you at least tell me why Forever Fall?” Jaune asks. “I mean, out of all the places to build a house, out here?”

Cardin blushes and his mouth opens just slightly, but no noise comes out. Jaune waits as patiently as he can muster. “... the Ursa Incident.”

“The Ursa Incident?” Jaune questions. Cardin’s cheeks and ears get redder as the blush spreads further. But Cardin doesn’t look away or even explain. Jaune isn’t sure he will. He closes his eyes to think about it and to force his eyes away from that pretty blush. (Will he be able to make the Cardin of his time blush like that, even with their current lack of relationship?) Something clicks and he opens his eyes in surprise. “When I saved you?”

Cardin nods.

A laugh almost forces its way from Jaune because it is so unbelievably dorky. Apparently Cardin can tell because he scowls. “It was your idea.”

“That makes sense,” Jaune says and he is proud it only comes out sounding a little like a laugh. “And I didn't say it's bad. Just dorky. I mean, I saved you here and now we live here. It's cute too though, I swear!”

Jaune smiles widely, unable to not find humour in it, to not feel warm because of it, and Cardin glares, but his aura seems happy and amused. He bites his lip and looks back at Amarante to push her higher. As high as she begs him to. Blonde hair trails behind her, long like her brother’s, and Jaune’s smile softens. It feels strange still, to imagine. These are his kids. Actual children, all with the man who’d bullied and blackmailed him and yet made his heart do funny things he can’t really deny anymore. “Thank you,” Jaune says quietly. “For telling me that, at least.”

Cardin huffs dismissively. “You’d never shut up if I didn’t give you something.”

“That’s true,” Jaune admits with a laugh. He’s always been pretty stubborn, especially when he really wants something. And information makes things at least a little less confusing, let’s him see things more clearly. It’s part of why he likes math. Math makes sense, it’s information and numbers Jaune can put together and get an answer from.

For two days (counting his first), Jaune sleeps in the guest room. He helps Cardin where he can with giving the twins’ aura, but it doesn’t seem to do much. Cardin’s own aura continued to dip lower, the circles under his eyes getting darker. It doesn’t look like Cardin slept at all. The third night, Jaune sneaks out of the room and presses his ear to Cardin’s door. He doesn’t hear anything through the wood, no snoring or shifting like he expected from someone sleeping. There isn’t a light on when he looks under the door. Concerned, he slips out of the house all together. He finds Cardin in the back, sitting beneath a tree and looking up. He’s far enough and quiet enough that Jaune knows Cardin doesn’t know he’s there and for a long moment, Jaune just watches and wonders. Is this what Cardin has been doing the entire time he’s been there, just sitting outside watching the stars? He remembers Cardin doing it in his time, too, back when he still spent time with team crdl, on the nights he couldn’t sleep. Sometimes, rarely, Cardin would text him to go to the roof and Jaune would sit with him, close to the edge and silently watch. Now, Jaune slips away, back into the guest room, present and future interplaying in his mind.

In the morning, Cardin sways on his feet making breakfast, Cherry steadying him so he doesn’t tip over. Jaune watches with a frown, the concern chipping away at him. This is a way he hasn’t seen Cardin before, tired with his aura reserves so low he’s not even sure how the man is standing. Cherry forces him over to the table despite Cardin’s protests, glaring at him. “You’re not sleeping enough.”

“I’m fine,” Cardin argues, shifting away, moving to stand up. Cherry glares harder, pressing him down, and the most concerning part is that Cardin actually remains sitting. If Jaune knows anything, it’s Cardin’s strength. At this age, their daughter shouldn’t have been able to stop him at all.

“You're putting yourself at risk, again,” Cherry says, words tipping up.

“Again?” Jaune asks.

“Yeah,” Cherry says, looking over at Jaune before looking back at Cardin. A flicker of pain moves through her aura before it smooths over. “There were some really… rocky moments, during the twins’ pregnancy.”

“And everything turned out fine,” Cardin says. Cherry’s aura flares out in anger, puffing like a bird trying to make itself seem bigger. She breathes, reigning it back in, close to her skin but lacking the comfortable quality calm has. She slowly clenches and unclenches her fists.

“But it could’ve gone badly,” Cherry says evenly.

“Oh,” Jaune says quietly, mind reeling slightly from the answer to his unasked question. It’s Cardin who got pregnant, at least with the twins. Cardin who went through all the symptoms and the pain, with a different Jaune by his side. Cardin who apparently got sick enough during it, it scared their daughter. He looks at Cardin, biting his lip, wanting to reach out but holding back because he’s not that Jaune. And he doesn’t really know how to fix it. What was Cardin’s Jaune doing that he can’t see to do? How was he helping Cardin? He wonders if Cherry would be able to tell him. He knows Cardin wouldn’t. And for the first time the annoyance feels different, because this isn’t just some random bit about the future, but something Cardin definitely seems to need, and he knows the man is too stubborn to do anything about it.

Cherry steps away, moving to finish cooking the eggs Cardin was making, movements stiff. As she does, Cardin watches her but doesn’t argue again. Jaune watches Cardin more than before, tracking the weakness of Cardin’s aura. When he first arrived, it looked like Cardin was in a fight. Now, Jaune sort of thinks Cardin should be in the hospital. If he was still at Beacon, there’s no way Miss Goodwitch would let him in any of the combat-oriented classes. It’d be too dangerous.

“You need to sleep with him,” Cherry says later, when Jaune is kneeling next to Lotus’ bed, weaving his aura into the toddler’s. He looks up at her and she sighs, sitting on the edge of the bed with her arms crossed. Lotus barely shifts despite the mattress dipping. “He sleeps better when ma is home.”

Jaune nods. It makes sense, he thinks. It’s easier to sleep when you know the people you love are safe. He frowns, practically kicking himself, because of course Cardin hasn’t been sleeping. Of course they know where his future self is– Beacon, where he’d been– but they don’t know what he’s doing now. If he’s fixing things, because Jaune can’t fix things himself, or if he’s waiting it out like Jaune is. “I will.”

“He’s going to make it difficult,” Cherry warns.

“I can handle him.” Jaune smiles and Cherry sighs, muttering a good luck under her breath.

After he’s done in the twins’ room, he heads back to the guest room, putting on the borrowed pajamas. There’s no mirror, so he just looks at his reflection in the window, thinking about what he’s going to do. He figures Cardin isn’t outside yet, since it hasn’t been long since the twins and Cherry went to sleep. He chews on his lip, nervous, because this is… intimate. Intimate in a way he’s been with plenty of people, sure, but this feels different. It’s a person he knows but doesn’t know, who he doesn’t have a relationship with but will one day. Someone who makes his heart feel weird, and has only made his heart feel weirder now he’s been stuck with him like this for several days. But he can’t avoid it forever. That won’t help anyone.

He steps out of the guest room and walks across the hall to the room he knows he’ll share with Cardin one day. As he does, he can feel his heart slowly crawl up his throat and he knocks on the door not knowing what else to do. Not knowing what he’ll say when Cardin opens the door. (Because in a house with three kids, he knows Cardin is going to open the door.) The door swings open, Cardin looking down with a confused furl to his eyebrows until he notices it’s Jaune.

“Arc? What do you need this late?” Cardin asks and Jaune attempts a weak smile.

“Late? Does that mean I start sleeping earlier?” Jaune asks and Cardin huffs, rolling his eyes.

“If all you’re going to do is ask questions you know I won’t answer, I’m going back to bed,” Cardin says and Jaune places his hand on the door before Cardin can close it on him. The most telling thing, to Jaune, is that he gets the idea he really could stop Cardin from closing it if he wanted to.

“I want to sleep with you,” Jaune rushes out, and nearly slams his head into the door after. Shit that sounds bad. “I mean! Not like that! Like, sleep-sleep. I wanna sleep in your bed. With you. Platonically!”

Cardin’s eyebrow raises and Jaune feels incredibly hot under the collar. At least Cardin doesn’t touch his embarrassment. “You want to sleep in my room?”

“Yes,” Jaune says, nodding like a bobblehead. “You look tired lately and I thought it might help?”

“I don’t need your help,” Cardin says, expression flattening out, and Jaune knows immediately he has made a mistake. Really, he should’ve known better. Cardin in his time is just as stubborn. The only reason he’d once been able to help Cardin was because the blackmail basically gave him an excuse. It’s like Pyrrha, who is very free with giving help but so very slow to ask or accept any for herself.

“I know you don’t,” Jaune says, wheedling. “But I need yours. I’m right in the midst of Beacon, and you know how many siblings I have, the room is too quiet for me to really sleep. So can I sleep in yours? Just for tonight? I’d feel better if I was with someone else.”

Cardin looks him over and Jaune can feel the doubt in his stare. It makes his pulse tick up a bit, thrumming in his wrist, but he only smiles. Finally, Cardin sighs and opens the door fully. Jaune slips inside before he can change his mind.

“Thanks for this,” Jaune says with a smile, looking around the room he hasn’t actually seen until now. There are bits he knows definitely have to be his and bits he thinks might be Cardin’s. A knitted blanket is folded over the end of the bed, a golden orange with a symbol he can just barely see on a corner that makes him bite his lip because even just the small portion is enough for him to know what it is. Cardin’s emblem and his own, interwoven together. It’s likely Sky’s doing. Dark green curtains cover the window, likely a compromise because green is his favourite colour and Cardin probably thought it was too bright for the room. The rest of the room is done in browns, minus the golden comforter. A glasses case sits on the bedside table next to Cardin’s side– Jaune restrains himself from poking fun at Cardin for putting his glasses away in a case every night before bed– along with a lamp and a book. There’s a desk with a stack of papers Jaune hopes isn’t his that Cardin picks up before he can even look, storing them away in the desk. There’s no lock on it, so Jaune guesses Cardin trusts him not to look at it. Which really, Cardin should know him better.

He turns to his own side. The place he’ll occupy in the future. There’s another table, one with hairbands scattered across the top and a charger for his scroll. It seems rather empty and Jaune wonders if Cardin planned for this eventuality. Honestly, he probably did, and Jaune is starting to get annoyed at his insistence. Knowing what he keeps on his sidetable won’t cause Remnant to crumble. Rolling his eyes, Jaune gets into the bed, lying with his back to Cardin’s side. He listens to Cardin putz around for a while before finally going to bed as well.

Once Cardin has been asleep long enough, Jaune slips from the bed. Cardin stirs and Jaune holds his breath, but he doesn’t wake up. It’s probably the lack of sleep, which does make Jaune feel a little bad, but he’s too curious. He needs to know at least something. Something more about this life he’ll have one day. He doesn’t even know if he’s still a huntsman. So he sneaks over to the drawer, opening it slowly, and takes out the first paper.

It’s a test. An english test, similar to the ones given at Beacon and Jaune frowns, looking it over. The ink is red, the markings seeming fresh, and Jaune looks over at where Cardin is sleeping. Since he’s moved over here, Cardin has shifted more into the middle of the bed, arm stretching out. He feels his chest clench. So during the days Cardin’s been taking care of the twins, Cherry, and even Jaune himself here and there and then he returns to his room and spends the nights grading. Somehow, Jaune can actually see Cardin as a teacher. He bites his lip and puts the paper back, closing the drawer.

When he gets back into the bed, Cardin wraps around him like an octopus. Jaune stares at the ceiling for a long time, thinking. Finally realizing that when he called this Cardin’s life when he first got here, he was wrong. Well, he was right, of course, but he was also so very wrong. This isn’t just Cardin’s life, like it’s a thing he can take apart and change. It’s his entire life. All of this is everything to Cardin and it makes sense why Cardin is protecting it so carefully, like the entire situation is glass he’s being forced to juggle while he walks across a tightrope. Jaune frowns and turns in the bed, wrapping his own arms around Cardin’s waist and feeling much worse than he did before. As he does, he weaves his own aura into Cardin’s, guiding it to replenish a little faster.

It finally happens a day later. Jaune doesn’t know what triggers it, though he barely understood what triggered the first swap. But one moment, he’s in the garden with Lotus, and in the next he’s surrounded by his team and Cardin’s. He looks around, confused once more. Though he’s only allowed a second of quiet confusion before he’s being squeezed by Nora in one of the world’s tightest hugs.

“You’re back!” She says, lifting him up, and Jaune barely even struggles.

“I am?” He says.

“Yeah!” Nora puts him down, smiling brightly at him. He blinks in the face of it, feeling like he just woke up from the world’s weirdest dream. Only he’s standing up and most definitely not in Beacon. He has no idea where he is. “How was the future?”

“Uh,” Jaune looks around, catching Cardin’s eyes without really thinking about it. Cardin, multiple years younger, with shorter hair and less grays, meets his eyes for only a moment before looking away. But Jaune catches the soft pink on his cheeks and finds himself smiling. “It was good. Really good.”

[archester-creations]

i got bored

yes i drew all this in imgflip

[howdoyoudothedew]

Rated: T

Ships: Merwainethur (Arthur/Gwaine/Merin)

Word Count: ~4k

A/N: this is the final chapter, im marking them all under the tag 'merlin dangerous devotion'. Gwaine gets hurt in this one >:3

“I don’t understand why we have to entertain the brat,” Merlin mutters and Arthur sighs.

“You can’t call him a brat,” Arthur says, though he has to agree with the sentiment. He has no idea how Prince Fredrick became such a brat when his father is such a good king, except he sort of does. He knows personally the spoiling quality royalty has about it, especially when you’re young. And the tragedy is, King Richard’s good rule means occasionally his son falls by the wayside. Like now. Merlin rolls his eyes. “I just need someone to entertain him while his father and I speak. I figured you could do some of those parlor tricks of yours.”

“Parlor tricks?” Merlin repeats, voice just shy of high-pitched with indignation. Arthur just barely misses hiding his smile, but Gwaine doesn’t bother to smother his snort. Merlin gapes angrily at him.

“We’ll be happy to,” Gwaine says, throwing his arm over Merlin’s shoulders, and Arthur narrows his eyes at the knight.

“You are not to take him to any taverns or give him alcohol of any kind. The last thing we need is the two of you making fools of yourselves in front of him,” Arthur says. “Or, triple goddess forbid, get him in trouble.”

“I don’t need alcohol to make a fool of myself, you know that,” Gwaine says and Arthur pinches the bridge of his nose. “And Merlin doesn’t need it to find trouble.”

“Hey!” Merlin protests, “I don’t find trouble, I get the two of you out of trouble.”

“I know,” Arthur says to Gwaine, ignoring Merlin– Merlin makes an offended noise– and suddenly questioning his decision to leave Richard’s son in the hands of these two. He could’ve left him with Leon or Lancelot. Or George. But no, he picks these idiots for some unfathomable reason. “Richard’s a friend, so please just take care of Fredrick, yeah?”

“We’ve got it all handled, Princess,” Gwaine says and sighs and nods. Arthur thinks it’s all rather dramatic of him.

“Alright, I’ll meet you two on the training grounds as soon as we’re done,” Arthur says. Truth of the matter is, he wishes he could be with them instead of talking to King Richard. Even if he does rather enjoy his talks with the other king. Richard is the first king who recognized his rule after he took over from his father. Richard is the first king he made peace with by himself, repairing a relationship broken by his father, instead of relying on old treaties.

“If you actually think of my magic as parlor tricks, Arthur, we’re having words when this is all done,” Merlin says, pointing at him.

“Yes, yes,” Arthur says. He takes Merlin by the shoulders, turning him around and pushing him out of the hallway he’d paused them in and toward the courtyard where they’re to meet their visitors. “Scold later, dignitaries now.”

Merlin huffs in annoyance and twists so Arthur’s hands fall from his back. The three of them fall in step, walking side-by-side to meet King Richard’s party. Arthur can feel nerves curling in him. It’s been years since he’s met the other king. The last time Richard was here, the anti-magic laws were still intact and Arthur wasn’t aware of even Emrys’ existence. The three of them pause at the top of the steps, Gwaine standing to Arthur’s left with loose limbs and Merlin standing to his right and worrying at his lip. Arthur crosses his hands behind his back and looks out to where King Richard’s horse will ride up, where the sun is rising, painting the sky and courtyard in beautiful shades of pinks and oranges. They wait there for several minutes, the sun slowly climbing, Gwaine humming whatever song is stuck in his head, until Arthur spots King Richard’s white horse.

King Richard is just as imposing a man as he remembers. He is large like an old oak, sturdy and of a stocky build. His hair is golden like Arthur’s, though his eyes are a deep brown. The lines on his face tell stories of both the stresses of a king and a lifetime of smiles— smiles which are warm and freely given, as if everyone he meets is an old friend.

“Welcome, King Richard,” Arthur greets, walking down to meet his mare. King Richard swings off it with grace and grasps Arthur’s forearm when Arthur holds out his hand.

“It’s nice to see you again, King Arthur,” Richard says, before bucking convention in a way Arthur’s never experienced with another ruler but is quite familiar with when it comes to him. He uses his grip on Arthur’s arm to pull him into a tight hug. Arthur returns it gladly.

“It’s nice to see you again, as well,” Arthur says.

“You may remember my son, Fredrick.” Richard says and places a hand on the shoulder of the boy next to him. He’s taller than the last time Arthur saw him, but five years will do that to a still growing child. Arthur smiles.

“Of course,” he says. “Though he’s grown since we’ve last seen each other.”

Richard smiles proudly. “Yes, I’m fairly certain he’s going to overtake me in height soon. And he’s looking more like his mother every day as well.”

“Lucky him,” Arthur says with a smile and Richard’s eyes twinkle at his words in a silent laugh. Any other king and Arthur would worry about offending him, but never Richard. The man held a good humour Arthur’s little seen in other nobles.

“His mother would agree with you,” Richard jokes, turning to Merlin and Gwaine, his smile widening as he places his hands on his hips like an assessing parent. While he may not be Arthur’s own parent, Arthur knows well he truly is assessing them. Arthur’s own smile turns proud as he also looks toward them, Gwaine as seemingly unbothered as ever while Merlin’s fingers curl nervously into his sleeves at being made the center of attention. “Now, who are these young men by your side?”

“This is Merlin, my Court Sorcerer, and Gwaine, our personal knight,” Arthur says, gesturing to each in turn. Richard hugs both of them, just as he’d hugged him, and Arthur nearly laughs at the look of surprise on Merlin’s face and the way Gwaine wheezes at Richard’s grip. With the way Gwaine smiles afterwards, Arthur is fairly certain Richard has endeared himself to the knight faster than Arthur did. (An easy feat, Arthur thinks, with a bit of embarrassment.)

“It’s nice to meet the both of you,” Richard says.

“It’s nice to meet you as well, sire,” Merlin says, inclining his head as if he’s ever held a shred of propriety in his body. At least Gwaine doesn’t pretend.

“Now,” Arthur says. “I’ve asked them to keep watch over Fredrick as we talk, if that is alright with you?”

“It would be quiet alright, Arthur,” Richard says with a smile, and Arthur can see the grumbling in Merlin’s eyes as Richard tells his son to go with them and to behave. Arthur suppresses his own smile at Merlin’s reluctance. Much as Merlin would deny it, he is strangely adept with children. Even the older ones, such as Fredrick is. Once they’ve left, going off who knows where but hopefully nowhere they’ll find trouble, Richard turns back to Arthur.

“They aren’t just your Court Sorcerer and knight,” Richard says, soft and knowing, and Arthur ducks his head.

“They’re not,” Arthur says.

“You love them a lot. And they you,” Richard says and Arthur turns to him, eyebrow raised. “It shows. Are they your consorts?”

Arthur nods. “They are.”

“You’re a very lucky man,” Richard says and the approval in his eyes is a balm Arthur knows he’d never get from his own father, were he alive. “To have two people who love you as much as they do.”

“I am,” Arthur agrees.

This visit with Richard is something Arthur wasn’t aware he needed, but he did. For more than just the official political reasons the other king was there for. It was nice to have a friend who understood the more kingly duties Arthur holds, the challenges of holding a kingdom on his shoulders. Someone older and, Arthur readily admits, wiser.

Arthur parts ways with Richard after the meeting and a short tour of the new things Merlin and Gwaine have brought Camelot, heading towards the training grounds. He knows his knight and sorcerer well enough, as does he know what it’s like to be a young king-in-training, to guess that is where they’ve likely ended up. He is not disappointed. Rounding a corner, he spots them up ahead, a gaggle of knights and Merlin watching as Gwaine fights Fredrick. Smiling to himself, Arthur leans on the fence surrounding the training area to watch as well.

Fredrick isn’t bad, if untried. He stumbles more than a knight should and Arthur knows from the way he moves the knights in Richard’s kingdom likely go easy on him often. Understandable, but damaging in the long run. He should bring it up when he sees Richard later. As he watches, Fredrick stops moving like a knight and Gwaine follows suit, the fight looking less and less like a duel and more like a tavern brawl and Arthur gets the idea Fredrick also knows the knights go easy on him. He wonders if the young prince has found other avenues to learn fighting. Less honourable ones. If he does, the thoughts very quickly become unimportant.

Fredrick slashes and Arthur sees red hit the dirt. It’s clear everyone does, the way even the knights go silent. The sky rumbles with thunder, Camelot’s sky darkening so fully of clouds there’s no sky to be seen in any direction. The knights shift, knowing the danger it heralds. Merlin has lived in Camelot so long now, he feels like a fixture of the castle. So does Gwaine. The image of the knight falling seems to sear itself into his mind in a moment, interwoven by dark clouds. Arthur jumps over the fence, running toward Gwaine as he slips to the ground. He slides to his knees barely a moment before Gwaine lands, catching the other man in his lap and guiding him to lean back into his chest to keep the weight off the wound. He looks over Gwaine, taking in the harsh slash dug into the side of his leg. It’s bleeding badly and Arthur makes quick work removing his shirt to press it against the gash. George is sure to have a fit about it later, when he discovers the blood seeped into one of Arthur’s best shirts. Especially when he made such a fuss, dressing all three of them in their best to meet Richard. Gwaine hisses, flinching as Arthur presses the cloth into the wound and Arthur sees Merlin flinch as well, glancing back at them, eyes nearly molten from how brightly the gold shines in them.

If Fredrick were wise, he’d be scared. But instead he is laughing, sword pressed into the dirt and stained red with Gwaine’s blood. The second he notices the beautiful, terrible gold, he scowls. As if Merlin is just a speck Fredrick can’t believe would dirty his shirt. It angers Arthur, partly because he would’ve been the same– was the same– at Fredrick’s age. Raised on his father’s bigotries. He knew Uther’s bigotries still lived in the hearts of some men, but he didn’t think it extended even to King Richard’s kingdom. Not when Richard was always kind to magic users, refusing to bow to Camelot’s laws when they changed. This is something else he’ll have to bring up when he sees Richard again. The other king has to know the dangerous thoughts which live within his own house. For the good of his people.

“Gwaine?” Arthur says, focusing back on his knight. There are bruises forming where he’d been hit during the mock fight. What was supposed to be a mock fight. Gwaine grunts, voice softer than it usually is. Merlin makes a savage noise at the sound.

“‘m fine, Princess,” Gwaine says. “I’ve had worse.”

“You shouldn’t have,” Merlin says, acerbic, and Arthur mentally agrees. It’d be preferable to never see Gwaine injured like this, to never see it at all, but he knows their reality means it’s inevitable.

“Merlin’s right, at least in this instance,” Arthur says. “Wounds like this aren’t supposed to happen during training. Who even suggested using real swords?”

“Who do you think, Arthur?” Merlin growls. It’s the kind of noise Merlin seldom makes, the one that sends a shiver up even his own spine. Merlin makes it easy to forget he’s more than just an idiot with a bright smile, that he’s also the world’s most powerful warlock, magic itself, and could’ve caused the entire castle to simply crumble to the ground around them all the very first time he entered Camelot. He makes it easy to forget how very lucky they were that destiny called him here in the beginning, not revenge.

The worst part is, a very real part of him wants to see Merlin unleashed. Wants to see Merlin return hurt for hurt. But it’s not who Merlin is, to hurt a child, even one as foolish as this. It’s not who Arthur is, either. He’s very happy for that, because he knows it easily could’ve been.

Fredrick trembles, ignoring Arthur entirely, focus clearly torn between the pissed off warlock in front of him and the knight he hurt. It nearly makes Arthur feel sorry for him, but the blood seeping into his hands through the cloth dampens the feeling. Being a knight since he was old enough to hold a practice sword dampens the feeling, weapon safety hammered into from even before he could hold the practice sword. Fredrick should’ve known better. There is a lesson he sorely needs to learn, and it’s better for him to learn it here than elsewhere. With them, rather than someone crueler. “Le– leash your dog,” Fredrick’s voice shivers, skipping through fear.

“Merls,” Gwaine calls, fingers digging into Arthur’s arm as he moves to sit up better, Arthur helping guide him. It’s the first thing which gets Merlin to look away and Arthur watches the gold dim slightly when he looks at Gwaine, recognizes in Merlin the same thing he already internalized himself. A force of nature, muzzled and waiting. When Gwaine shakes his head, the gold leaves Merlin’s eyes entirely.

“You will return to your father and inform him you’ve been confined to the guest chambers for the rest of the night and tomorrow,” Arthur says, voice firm. It’s the voice Merlin’s mockingly called his ‘king voice’, the one he learned more from Morgana than their father and perfected in council meetings over the years. The one which gets people to shut up and actually listen. “You may roam Camelot again after tomorrow, but if you pull something like this again, you will be banished back to your kingdom and you will never be allowed within her walls again.”

A warlock’s love can be a dangerous thing.

And so can a king’s.

The child glares at them and leaves in a huff, but doesn’t talk back, knowing if he does he may find himself in much more trouble with his father for angering the king of the kingdom they’d come to visit. Fredrick is lucky Arthur won’t throw away an alliance and– more– a good friendship just because the son made a mistake, as long as the father doesn’t make one as well. (He trusts King Richard won’t.) He turns back to Gwaine, Merlin already kneeling at Gwaine’s other side.

“Are you okay?” Merlin asks, checking Gwaine as best he can with the way Gwaine’s leaning against Arthur.

“I’m fine,” Gwaine waves Merlin off, only to wince. Arthur scoffs.

“Fine indeed,” Arthur says. He stands carefully, slowly, and Gwaine groans as he’s forced to stand as well. “We’re taking you to Gaius.”

“But-” Gwaine starts, only to be cut off by Merlin’s sharp “No buts, Gwaine”. Gwaine shuts his mouth after, but he looks more fondly annoyed than chastized. Merlin places Gwaine’s other arm over his own shoulders so the two of them can support Gwaine while they slowly make their way towards Gaius’ chambers. It’s too slow for Arthur, impatience eating at his guts, but he knows any faster would be worse. Every few limping steps, Gwaine flinches and both Arthur and Merlin flinch with him.

Arthur opens the door and Gaius looks up, spectacles perched on the end of his nose, chain keeping them in place. He knows the moment Gaius notices Gwaine as Merlin and he carefully maneuver the knight into the room by the way Gaius stands, quickly clearing the wooden table.

“Set him here,” Gaius instructs and they quietly do as told, helping Gwaine sit up on the table, his legs hanging off it. Merlin moves the bench so Gwaine can rest his feet on the wood. Gwaine settles back on his elbows as he does, closing his eyes, leg stretched out and heel on the end of the bench. “Alright, let’s see.”

Gaius sets a bucket of water next to Gwaine which Merlin heats without a word or even looking at it as Gaius cuts away Gwaine’s pants, carefully pulling the material away from his skin where the blood has dried and where it’s still tacky. It looks worse than it is, Arthur thinks. But Gaius still grabs needle and thread, asking Merlin to sterilize it.

“Will you need to amputate it?” Gwaine asks, opening his eyes to smile at them. Merlin looks annoyed, but Arthur can see the way his shoulders relax.

“No, I’m afraid you’ll just have to make due with the same old leg,” Gaius says, dipping a rag in the bucket and wringing it out to work on cleaning the wound before doing anything else.

“And here I was hoping Merlin would get to outfit me with a cool tree leg,” Gwaine sighs, before yelping when Merlin whacks him with a cloth. “What was that for?”

“For being an idiot,” Merlin says, bright, turning away to sterilize the needle as asked. He’s quiet as he does, washing it in steaming water. It doesn’t escape Arthur, how his eyes aren’t bright and his smile is strained. It doesn’t escape Gwaine, either.

“Merls,” Gwaine says, softer, catching Merlin’s free hand. He brushes his thumb over Merlin’s palm. “I’m sorry.”

Merlin sighs, shaking his head, but he squeezes Gwaine’s hand back. It unfurls something in Arthur’s chest and he takes his own breath, stepping closer, settling his own hand on Merlin’s shoulder.

“The important thing is you’re okay. And that you don’t do this again,” Arthur says, shuffling to the side so Gaius can stitch Gwaine up. The movements are sure and quick, the hands of someone who has stitched many a wound. Arthur’s always been glad he has someone like Gaius in his court; has been since he was a child and Gaius was patching his broken bones and healing the fevers he was prone to at a younger age. Not just for Arthur himself, but for Morgana as well, caring for injuries only he could care for. Caring also for those smaller injuries which could only be healed by pressing a kiss to them, in a child’s mind.

“Talking about doing this again-” Gwaine says, earning a sharp look from Merlin. He raises his free hand. “Not that I mean to, I assure you. Arthur, what you said to Fredrick. You’d really break the peace between you and Richard, just for me?”

“Yes,” Arthur says immediately, causing Gaius to turn sharply toward him. Gwaine hisses as the wrap pulls too tight.

“Sire!” Gaius gasps, chastising.

“Son of a good king or not,” Arthur says seriously, “I will not stand by as he injures one of my consorts then mocks my other.” Merlin squeezes his shoulder; a thank you. Arthur reaches up to squeeze his hand back; an of course. Gaius shakes his head at them, though it is with exasperation rather than anger.

“Dogs, all three of you,” Gaius mutters and Gwaine snorts while Arthur grins, teeth feeling oddly sharp in his mouth.

“Perhaps we are.”

[howdoyoudothedew]

Rated: G

Ships: Arwaine (Arthur/Gwaine)

Word Count: ~3k

A/N: this is the fifth chapter, im marking them all under the tag 'merlin dangerous devotion'. Canon typical violence

The night is late when Arthur finds himself wrapped in Gwaine’s cloak, wearing Gwaine’s clothes, and traveling under the cover of darkness away from the house they’re staying in with Merlin and Lancelot. Gwaine wanted to go out for a nightcap before bed and Arthur agreed, because he is a fool. He’s wearing Gwaine’s clothes and cloak because he doesn’t want to be recognized as a king if he’s to drink and because they are the only clothes which fit. Arthur forces himself to breathe lightly, because if he didn’t he’d breathe in deeply of Gwaine’s scent: sweat and dirt and warmth. He bundles the cloak close and wonders absently of the implications wearing a druid’s cloak might bring.

“This is just what we need,” Gwaine whispers, looking back at him with a wild grin. “Some mead to warm us.”

“Yes.” Arthur nods his head, agreeing. It’ll also be nice to go somewhere as simply Arthur. Somewhere as just a peasant, and not a king. Gwaine holds the door open for him, bending at the waist in a loose bow.

“Maiden,” Gwaine says and Arthur rolls his eyes, but goes through the door. At least he didn’t call him the usual nickname. Gwaine walks in after him at something close to a swagger, dark hair bouncing with his steps, and smile easy on his lips. Arthur looks around the tavern. It’s a small, cluttered place, well lit with candles flickering on a few tables and in the windows but with plenty of shadows eating away at the wood, reaching from the bodies and tables pushed together. There’s one large table in the back, where Arthur is pretty sure he catches a flash of dice. The people clustered around it, shoulder to shoulder, make it hard to tell while also making it easier to guess. Gwaine heads immediately to a table in the back where they will be able to watch the door, backs against the wall. Neither of them are waiting for anyone, but Arthur recognizes the instinct for what it is. After so many years of Merlin and him living alone, traveling from place to place, it’s not surprising Gwaine still heads for an advantageous spot. Arthur appreciates it. He follows him and takes the chair on the right, where he has a good view of the place. There are circular water stains on the table and Arthur circles one absently. Gwaine sits with one foot up on his chair.

They’re not there for very long before a woman comes over. She’s older and stocky, graying hair tied back in a bun and brown dress dirtied with flour. She navigates all of the tables, chairs, and people like she’s done it every day for decades. An action which handily signifies her as the owner of the tavern.

“‘Ello. Your friend is rather handsome,” she says once she reaches them, and Arthur is inclined to agree, though he wouldn’t speak it aloud.

“He is,” Gwaine says brightly and she laughs while Arthur feels his cheeks heat.

“I wasn’t talking about your friend,” the keeper says and Gwaine smiles cheekily.

“I know,” Gwaine says. “But I think you should be. He is quite handsome, after all. Especially wearing my clothes as he is.” Gwaine winks at him, and Arthur feels his cheeks heat even more. The tavern keeper looks between the two of them, eyebrows raised, before she laughs lightly. The sound is pleasant, if not a touch surprised.

“What’ll it be for the two of you?” She asks.

“Just some mead,” Arthur says.

“And some bread and cheese,” Gwaine adds. Glancing to Arthur he says: “It’s good to eat as you drink, too, sometimes.” Arthur nods. Gwaine’s right, it is better to eat when you drink, especially if you don’t want to get drunk. Which means Gwaine’s not going to even attempt getting drunk. Arthur’s not entirely sure what to think of that.

“Drink is always better with good food and good company,” the keeper agrees with a wink to Gwaine.

“Exactly,” Gwaine says, smiling. Arthur ducks his head slightly, though he knows Gwaine must’ve long seen the redness of his cheeks.

Even sober, Gwaine can’t keep himself from gambling when they notice a new game starting. Arthur watches as Gwaine plays, declining to join in when asked. Arthur makes bets, sometimes, but he’s always been more for bets between knights than gambling in taverns. As he watches, he’s near glad for it. Gwaine plays like he has something to prove. Hand after hand he wins and Arthur is sure Gwaine would take him for everything if Arthur ever tried to play against him. It’s a thought that makes him oddly fond, like Gwaine gambling the very clothes off Arthur’s back is something amusing. Mayhaps it is. The knights, Merlin, and Gwaine himself would certainly think so. It’s noticeably less amusing for the three who let Gwaine join their game. He watches as they slowly become more and more agitated at Gwaine’s constant winning until the agitation bubbles over into an anger Arthur knows well will bubble even more, until a full fight breaks out. Arthur shifts, abandoning his lean against the empty table next to them to place a hand on the back of Gwaine’s chair instead. It’s not threatening, per say, he doesn’t really even mean it to be. It’s more a protective measure. If anything, it may even be a warning. The three take no notice of it, anyway. But Gwaine readjusts in the chair, pulling a leg up under himself so his back is closer to Arthur’s hand, and he knows the knight noticed his actions even without looking. The corner of Arthur’s mouth lifts, the inside of his chest expanding.

Gwaine wins another hand and the dam starts to crack. One of the three, someone thin with bright blue eyes, throws his cards down face up. Arthur’s not sure why he’s the first to break. The hand he has wasn’t even close to good enough to win. “You’re cheating,” he accuses with a growl that makes his nose scrunch and his dark mustache twitch like a rabbit’s whiskers. Gwaine laughs, because of course he does, and the man’s mustache twitches more angrily.

“I assure you, friend, I’m not.” Gwaine lifts his hands, pulls down his sleeves one at a time and even shakes them to show there are no extra cards. The bright eyed man scoffs, leaning back, crossing heavily tattooed arms over his chest. His eyes are narrowed, flashing dangerously. He shoves his cards into the middle of the table, the other two following suit after a moment.

“Deal again.” The man leans back in his chair, nodding at the cards.

“Alright.” Gwaine shrugs, but the man holds out his hand.

“Not you,” the bright eyed man says. When his eyes flicker to Arthur, he finds the blue oddly cold. There’s nothing like the laughing warmth he’s grown used to finding in Merlin’s. Arthur finds he doesn’t like or trust this man. “Him.”

“Alright.” Gwaine adds his cards to the pile and the red haired woman at the bright eyed man’s left takes them up without even a word, shuffling them together into a single stack before handing them off to Arthur. Gwaine doesn’t turn to Arthur as he takes the cards from the woman, or when he shuffles them, or even when the woman cuts the deck twice before he deals them out. But his fingers do brush over Arthur’s wrist when he picks up his cards after Arthur places the last in front of him. The remaining stack is placed in the middle of the table, and Arthur watches as Gwaine once again wins.

“Again.” The man says, and the process repeats. The crack in the dam widens. Arthur can see it happening and is sure Gwaine can as well. The only problem is, he doesn’t think Gwaine cares. Or maybe he does, and simply understands something Arthur doesn’t. Gwaine wins this hand as well. It’s like watching the beginnings of a flood. The bright eyed man’s hands clench around his cards, black tattoos stark on his pale fingers. The woman’s eyes flit to him, like she knows what is coming, and Arthur sees the other man watching him.

“Again,” the man says, dark.

“Geoff,” the woman says, but the man doesn’t respond, mustache twitching. The woman sighs; the long suffering sigh of someone used to their partner’s antics. The cards get dealt again, the man’s bright eyes flinty.

When the words “search him” come and the silent man in the group goes to move, Arthur moves first.

“Surely this is unnecessary,” he says, arm out in front of Gwaine, and the entire group looks at him like they’re laughing at him. Arthur frowns. The bright-eyed man looks at him, really looks at him it seems, for the first time. His eyes are flinty, and his mustache twitches like rabbit’s whiskers again.

He dismisses Arthur with a scoff. “Keep your guard dog on a leash, knight, or things may get ugly.”

Gwaine leans back, lacing his hands behind his head, obviously amused at being the only one who knows just who his dog is. “Arthur?” He calls, and Arthur turns to him, expectant as the guard dog he’s been likened to. Ready. Gwaine smiles at him, all teeth. “Sic ‘em.” And just like that, Arthur moves.

The cards on the table scatter as it tips over, Arthur launching himself across it to get to the bright eyed man, all grabbing hands and teeth. They are both on the floor, the man on his back, before any of the three realize it. Arthur feels nearly feral in a way he hasn’t before. Not since he was twenty, his brain flooded with the conflict between power and responsibility and enough rage and sorrow to kill the gods themselves in his veins. There is simply something about knowing Gwaine is behind him, watching him. That Gwaine told him to attack, sending him off like a dog after a rabbit. His nails scrape against the man’s neck. The man’s mustache twitches, rabbit whiskers moving as the man glares. He can see the other two staring at them, frozen in shock. More, he can feel Gwaine’s eyes on his back, and the knowledge curls up his spine, settles in his gut and throat like dragon fire. His fingers twitch, curling tighter, and the man chokes. The noise jolts the other two out of their frozen state. Arms wrap around his waist, pulling at him, lifting him and the bright eyed man until his fingers are forced to slip from the man’s neck so he can breathe in gasping breaths. Arthur flails, striking out with elbows and heels. One or several of his strikes connect; the woman holding him curses and drops him.

Arthur lands on his knees and twists to sweep his leg under the woman and second man, making them drop to the floor as well. Tavern fights, as Arthur has found, don’t really call for a lot of finesse. Not like a more traditional spar between knights, whether it be training or a tournament. So Arthur doesn’t bother with technique. Instead, he focuses on the fight, on knocking them out before they can knock him out.

A hand clamps around Arthur’s ankle before he can stand up, pulling him back across the floor with enough strength to sting. Already Arthur knows he’ll have a hand shaped bruise there. He turns and sees the other man, someone blonde and broad shouldered, for just a moment before the man punches him. It’s a strong punch, rattling Arthur and making his ears ring a moment. Arthur shoves against the man while his ears still ring, flipping them over and punching him in return and blinking when the man is unfazed. Usually, his punches seem to hold more weight. The blonde grins wickedly and brings their foreheads together, causing Arthur to stumble up and back onto his feet. Arthur shakes his head. At least he’s standing again. The man moves to follow and Arthur searches the table quickly, grabbing the pitcher of alcohol the bright eyed man was drinking from and bashing it into the man’s skull. This time, the man falls back, clearly dazed. Before Arthur can continue his assault, a flash of light sparks before his eyes.

Arthur stumbles back at the bright light. He looks around, spots the woman and sees her eyes aren’t brown but gold, and curses. Of course the trio had to have a sorcerer among them. This is the last time Arthur ever listens to Gwaine and fights (it’s not). The light fades, the woman’s eyes returning to brown, and Arthur dodges a moment before a body would’ve crashed into him. The blonde man runs into one of the tables instead, upsetting the drinks on it and causing a ruckus. Well, more of a ruckus than they already have. Arthur spares a moment to mentally apologize to the owner. Then, he throws the pitcher at the woman.

Magic users have at least one reliable weakness– except maybe for Merlin–; they need to maintain concentration for any spells. While the woman focuses on the pitcher, Arthur attacks, getting as far as a punch in her stomach before the blonde man grabs him by the arm, spinning him back. Arthur ducks the first punch to his jaw, using the blonde man’s grip on him to attempt yanking him down as Arthur drops to the ground, sliding under his legs. The man releases his grip, deciding his balance is more important than his hold on Arthur. Arthur rolls to his feet behind him, and the man twirls to the side, facing Arthur once more without being directly in front of him. Both of them narrow their eyes at the other, watching quietly without interference from either the bright eyed man or the woman. They circle, the floor miraculously cleared so neither of them trip on anything.

The man attacks first, striking vicious and fast. Arthur barely manages to dodge, feeling the air go past his ear as he does. Returns are slower, and Arthur grabs the man’s arm as it passes back by his ear, gripping it and ducking behind him, twisting his arm behind his back. The man hisses and bends forward, forcing Arthur up and over his back. When Arthur lands, the man wraps his arm around Arthur’s neck and applies pressure, making Arthur release his hold on the arm he’d twisted, replacing it to hold onto the arm around his neck instead.

Arthur grips onto the arm around his neck, rough cloth bunching under his fingers, and stomps his heel onto the man’s toes. Knights don’t play dirty, but it doesn’t mean they don’t know how. The man hisses; Arthur realizes it’s the first sound he’s heard him make. But he only tightens the arm around Arthur’s neck and Arthur realizes he has to drop once more, hoping his sudden dead weight is enough to unsteady the blonde man. He drops, letting his entire being go boneless, and the man stumbles. Arthur rolls behind him once more, and this time when he pops up he kicks the blonde man in the back and sends him stumbling forward, over a knocked over chair.

With the blonde man out of the way, the bright eyed man rejoins the fray. Or, tries to. He’s slower than the other man and Arthur catches his hand on the second attempted punch. Arthur tightens his grip, forcing the bright eyed man to his knees, and punches him. Three punches hit before Arthur’s hand freezes like it’s being held back. Immediately, Arthur looks around for the woman. It’s a mistake.

A fist collides with Arthur’s cheek and his ears ring. Tomorrow, when the bruises bloom, because they will bloom, Merlin is going to give both Gwaine and Arthur the most scathing look. Arthur stumbles to the side, turns just in time to catch another fist to the face. The next blow, Arthur manages to block. He returns the blow with one of his own to the blonde man’s chest. It’s annoying just how little the blonde man stumbles when he knows most of his knights would’ve. Fighting him reminds Arthur of Percival, firm and steady, except the man is smaller than Percival by at least half. It feels less like punching a wall, and more like punching a pillow in the way the blonde man takes it. The way he barely stumbles, absorbing the shock of Arthur’s fists. The only things the blonde man hasn’t absorbed were the kick he delivered behind him, and the force of the metal drink pitcher. Which tells Arthur his fists alone aren’t strong enough. Not for this one.

Arthur backs away, looking around, keeping space between them. The other patrons of the tavern have afforded them a wide berth– with the exception of Gwaine, who sits watching in his chair at the outer edge– and there are two knocked over tables as well as five knocked over chairs. The cards they were using litter the ground. Several are bent. The man moves forward to punch him again and Arthur rolls to one of the chairs, grabbing it as he stands. Before the man can turn around, Arthur hits him with it. The heavy wood collides with the man’s back, making him crumple forward to his knees. He grunts as he does.

“Okay, enough,” the woman steps forward, holding up her hands. Arthur hesitates, unsure, looking over toward Gwaine for guidance. The other man, the blonde, stands up with a stagger. But he doesn’t go to hit Arthur again, only straightens. Gwaine nods and Arthur slides out of the ready position to something more casual, even if he’s still on guard.

He can tell the other man is also still on guard.

The woman sighs, walking over, checking the blonde’s face. She’s shorter than him– about the same he is to Merlin– and she reaches up to cup his cheek, turning his face this way and that. Arthur can hear her click her tongue over the din of the tavern righting itself once more. “We’re going home,” she says, waving the bright eyed man forward, who tucks himself under the blonde man’s other arm so they can both support him on their way out.

Arthur watches them for a moment, then turns to Gwaine, huffing a laugh when he sees he’s still on that damn chair. “Are you comfortable?”

“I’m always comfortable, watching a handsome man fight for me,” Gwaine says with a wide smile and Arthur rolls his eyes, righting the table it all started at.

“Of course you are,” Arthur says, but his tone isn’t admonishing enough and he gets the idea it wouldn’t have mattered even if it was. Gwaine stands up, moving chairs back to the table while Arthur picks up scattered cards. He pauses as he does, glancing at Gwaine, curious. “Did you cheat?”

“Of course not, Princess. I only cheat when the other players are better than me,” Gwaine says with a smile which makes Arthur narrow his eyes in a way he definitely learned from Merlin. Then, unbidden, Arthur finds himself laughing. He doesn’t doubt Gwaine would cheat if it suits him, but he believes him that he didn’t in this instance. Gwaine wraps his arm around Arthur’s waist in a way which mirrors the others, and Arthur leans his weight on his knight, both of them chuckling like madmen in the center of the damage they helped cause. Arthur pays extra before they leave, as an apology for the fighting and damage it caused, and Gwaine supports him on the walk back to the camp. The bruises are already starting to bloom, and he knows they’ll be dark and obvious tomorrow. Arthur and Gwaine laugh quietly together, two people bonding over the scolding they know they’re bound to receive come dawn.

[howdoyoudothedew]

Rated: G

Ships: a bit of arwaine (Arthur/Gwaine)

Word Count: ~3k

A/N: this is the fourth chapter, im marking them all under the tag 'merlin dangerous devotion

Out of all the things Arthur hates about being king, council meetings sit at the top of his list. Sometimes he thinks he’d thank someone if they actually succeeded in assassinating him, solely because it would mean he wouldn’t have to attend the damned things anymore. Alas, it would also leave the kingdom kingless since he doesn’t have anyone to take his place. He’s tried to set Leon or Lancelot as his successor but both men refuse. If Morgana were here, she’d be the obvious choice but that ship sailed many years ago, as she made clear. One of these days he’ll have to find someone. Someone who will be good for the kingdom, who loves all of her people, who would be willing to live or die to protect it. (There is a person who comes to mind lately, when it’s late at night and his mind decides to circle the question without his approval, but he dares not let the name sit on his tongue yet. It’s still too early and there is still too much to be done. The name also feels strange as well as unsettling in how right it tastes. In how much it feels like the correct answer for Camelot.)

George wakes Arthur early in the morning, breakfast waiting and clothes for the day already picked out. He has a list in his hands and Arthur already dreads the meeting he knows is on it.

“Morning, Sire,” George says with a polite smile and starts to dress him, laying out his schedule for the day as he does. It’s honestly an awful way to start the day; he’s been awake for less than a minute and he’s already being bombarded with every duty under the sun, but this is how every morning’s been since he inherited the throne. (Arthur stopped trying to stop George long ago. For such a proper servant, he gives a scary cold shoulder.) He wishes he could say he was used to it after several years. Alas. Arthur nods along to what George is saying, lifting his arms and legs when directed and not taking a thing in. It’s why George brought the list, though. Once Arthur is more awake, and has a bit of food, he’ll have a look at it.

“Thank you, George,” he says once George steps back, hands behind his back and quiet.

“Of course, Sire. Will there be anything else?”

“I’m good for now,” Arthur dismisses him and George bows his head. He leaves just as quietly as he likely appeared, like a ghost haunting the castle. Back when he was just the crown prince and Morgana was still living in the castle, Arthur actually had a time where he suspected George was a ghost. A spirit trapped forever in the winding halls of Camelot. He never really disproved it, either.

Arthur takes up the schedule George left him as he eats, scanning it absently. There is a council meeting, sitting near the top of the list, and Arthur chews his bite of fruit slowly as he thinks. It will be the first of what will no doubt be many meetings to do away with the ban on magic. He hopes it will be easy, though he knows it won’t be. He hopes the kingdom will take to it kindly, and thinks they will, with how Merlin and even Gwaine have endeared themselves to her people.

Once he’s done, Arthur walks over to his window to stare out at the castle grounds. There are words he’s rehearsed to say to his council, arguments he’s already went through both in his head and with Morgana before she returned to Gwen and the druids. He thinks them over as he watches his people– servants and knights and squires going about the start of their day, just as he is– and he knows this decision will drastically change the lives of all of them. It will be for the better, he is sure. But once this is done, it will never truly be able to be undone. It is a Pandora’s box Arthur is about to open. George comes into the room quietly and gathers the dirty plates on a tray to take back to the kitchen. Arthur turns to watch him as he goes and George pauses at the door. He looks back at Arthur with the closest thing to a smile Arthur thinks he’s ever seen George give.

“I pray the meeting goes well, Sire.”

“So do I,” Arthur says, hearing everything George doesn’t say in his words, and he feels something like confidence well in his chest. It settles his heart in a way he knows no one else could’ve done. If even George is excited about the future finally overturning his father’s ban will bring, then Arthur truly has nothing to worry about. He turns back to the window, heart lighter.

Lately, Gwaine has developed the habit of being around Arthur whenever Merlin doesn’t need him or is busy. It’s a habit which felt strange at first– and still does, often– but one Arthur finds he doesn’t particularly mind. Anymore, Arthur finds Gwaine in the spaces he is used to finding Lancelot or Leon or a number of the other Round Table knights. He’ll step into the throne room and Gwaine will already be there, lounging against the throne, whittling a piece of wood or slicing up an apple. Arthur will admit with embarrassment there have been a few times Gwaine has passed a bite of food to him and Arthur has taken it without a thought.

Now, Arthur steps into the council room and Gwaine is already there, lounging on the table, sword across his lap. There are only a few councilmen in before him and all of them stare at Gwaine with varying levels of contempt and worry. None of Arthur’s own knights carry themselves quite as Gwaine does. Leon has too much decorum to ever look relaxed in front of anyone not part of the Round Table, which Arthur assumes is part of why Leon’s reports are always droning. Percival is too awkward to be found in a place like this, feeling himself too large to not be in the way. Lancelot and the others are all silent companions, found only at his side, never proceeding his own entrance into the room. But Gwaine relaxes and eats and generally acts like every area he is in he belongs in. Like rather than Arthur, he is the one who presides over Camelot. It doesn’t bother Arthur, because he knows it’s not disrespect from Gwaine. Or, not more disrespect than Gwaine– and also Merlin– show him on a daily basis. Despite how much he has done and how little he deserves from the two of them, they have proven themselves as two of his most loyal supporters. What’s more, they don’t fear calling him out and correcting him when he is wrong. And that, he knows, is something he sorely needs.

But it bothers all of the councilmen. All of whom are old men who believe the king should be unquestioned except by them. Arthur would’ve replaced them long ago, but he has found them to be trustworthy and to care for Camelot in their own ways, even if he disagrees with those ways. The councilmen stand, several watching Gwaine as he moves from the table to take his place just behind Arthur’s chair. All sit when Arthur does, Gwaine pushing Arthur’s seat in for him.

“Princess,” Gwaine greets as he does, leaning down for Arthur’s ear. Arthur sees several eyebrows twitch. The others file in and Arthur waits a moment for everyone to be seated before beginning, Gwaine watching from right over his shoulder. He stands closer than any of Arthur’s knights do and it doesn't bother Arthur like he might expect it would. It feels right, even if he could do without the nickname. Instead of responding to Gwaine, he waits patiently, letting Merlin's knight straighten up to watch the proceedings.

“I don’t know why we have to suddenly change this law,” John says, nose raised into the air, and Arthur nearly groans at hearing those exact words for the third time. It’s like pulling teeth nearly every time he holds a council meeting, but it is worse now. With the laws against magic on the table, half of the council are digging in their heels, no doubt hoping he will simply drop it if they are annoying enough. But they are at a disadvantage. He grew up with Morgana.

“Because,” Arthur says, measured and calm, like he were talking to a young child who is having trouble understanding a concept a bit too complex for them. The councilman bristles, but lets him speak. As if he could do anything else, since Arthur is king and no longer a prince like so many years ago. At any other time the thought would make him uncomfortable, but in these meetings he is grateful for it. “This law, acted upon by Camelot or not, has harmed Camelot’s people for many decades. Something it will continue to do, so long as it’s written.”

One of the councilmen scoffs. Arthur recognizes them as Piers, an old, wiry man with wisping hair. “The only people “harmed” are those who set themselves up to be harmed. They know full well our laws.”

“Maybe, when they’re truly sorcerers. But what about the people who are unjustly accused? Or what about the people who only use magic because we’ve left them no other choice? The ones who do so to save family from sickness or hunger? What of the people like Merlin, who are born with magic, or the druids? What of the magical beings and creatures who do no harm, which simply have magic in their nature? What do any of them care for laws?” Arthur says. “This law is unjust, so it must be undone.”

“If it’s so unjust, why wait till now?”

“Because I didn’t realize just how unjust it was, but I have learned,” Arthur says, thinking about his sister and Merlin and Gwaine. Of Gaius and Mordred, who have also been kind and patient in answering his many questions.

“Your father never would’ve backed out of one of his rules,” Piers sniffs.

“Then it’s a good thing I am not my father and the magic ban not a rule I made,” Arthur says, barely keeping the sarcasm from his tone and his words from coming through clenched teeth. If one more of them brings up his father, he may lose it. He hasn’t had his father’s name and rule levied against him this much since the first year of his reign. Perhaps it’s better he hadn’t held the desire to do away with the magic ban back then. If he did, it probably would’ve never been passed. If it was back then, he likely would’ve grinned and bore them tearing apart his plans until he could storm out into the woods and hunt with Leon and Lancelot by his side.

The councilman glares at him. “That you are not. Your father was actually wise, doing away with the dangers of magic. Meanwhile you wish to bring the atrocity back.”

“The only atrocities are the things Camelot has done to both her people who practiced magic and her creatures which were made of magic. I’ve been told stories of the ways the plants flourished before my birth, the land itself ripe with magic. I think it’d be more foolish to keep those stories in the past, instead of letting those days reign again,” Arthur says, thinking of the ways Camelot has begun to feel brighter since Merlin and Gwaine’s arrival. He now understands it’s her response to having magic within her walls once again, just as it’s meant to be. Camelot and magic, together. Albion, as Merlin and Gwaine and Morgana and even Mordred, once his tongue loosened, have all called it. A land of magic.

One of the councilmen scoffs. “Tall tales. We all know magic is nothing except a poison which corrupts and destroys everything it touches.”

Arthur stops himself from pinching the bridge of his nose. “We’ve all met Merlin, yes? I’d say he’s proof enough of the falsity of those claims, unless you’d call him corrupt. Magic destroys as much as a sword does– horribly or not at all, depending upon the hand wielding it.”

Arthur can see the way the councilman grits his teeth even from where he is standing. The grimace on the servant’s face behind him makes Arthur think his teeth grinding together must’ve made quite the audible sound.

“If you truly believe that, maybe our kingdom is doomed, as we all feared when you first took the throne those years ago,” Piers said, managing to look down on him despite the chairs bringing them all to about equal height.

“You haven’t brought an heir to us, either,” the man continues, touching unknowingly on Arthur’s earlier thoughts. Arthur briefly entertains the thought of sharing where his own musings ended, telling the councilman just who he considered applicants for his replacement when the time came and inwardly smiled with the thoughts. “Despite us very generously allowing you not to marry, on the condition you'd secure an heir yourself some other way. Quite some time has passed since then and you haven’t even tried, too busy flouncing around with your knights. And now you're attempting to change long-standing laws, instead of worrying about the instability of your kingdom?”

“If you remember, councilman– and I’m sure you do– the laws were changed not long after my own birth. And I wouldn’t consider myself to quite be at a long-standing age yet. You may see here, in fact, that Camelot’s history and tradition of magic is quite older than I and even you,” Arthur says, calmly, not falling to old and well-trodden ground. He holds up the research he spent days on instead, papers and papers bought from dozens of hours pouring over tomes Geoffrey squirreled away during the Purge and speaking to people like Gaius, who have lived in Camelot much longer than he has. The councilman sniffs but nods. If Arthur had thought that was all– he doesn’t, of course he doesn't, he has dealt with this councilman since the beginning and knows the nod not for a consent but a promise for further words on topics best ignored, at least in this room– he would’ve been a fool.

“Then perhaps we should simply find someone else to rule in your stead. One who would be willing to provide everything Camelot needs and not turn his nose up at laws that have served us well for many decades," he says, rote by this point. Arthur sighs, head falling to be held up by his hand with the release of air, largely unconcerned. This expression means it is time to rest, nothing more and nothing less. Arthur goes to call the meeting to adjourn, when he hears a growl behind his chair and nearly jolts with the surprise of it. Instead he schools his expression to be as empty as a king’s should be, staring forward at the councilman who just spoke, even as the councilman stares past him to where Arthur knows Gwaine stands. At the person the sound no doubt came from.

“Keep your dog on a leash,” the councilman snaps, but Arthur can hear the tremor in his voice underneath the false bravado. Can see the way his hands shake like he wishes for a weapon despite never holding one in his life. Only now does Arthur allow himself to look back. He takes in Gwaine, warmth filling his chest, bright and calming as a campfire and just as capable of delivering terrifying consequences if left to it's own devices. Arthur's heart beats harder, a steady rhythm in his chest. Gwaine isn't even looking at him, eyes trained on the councilman who spoke and mouth twisted into a dangerous snarl. And yet, Arthur is certain Gwaine would take immediate notice of any movement Arthur may make. His hand is on the hilt of his sword, ready to strike at a moment's notice. Ready to kill with just a word. The breath in Arthur's chest stutters and sticks. This is something he's only seen from Gwaine with Merlin, a man so calm and unassuming suddenly protective and unhinged. A dog, foaming at the mouth, snapping and waiting to close its jaws around the throat of a beast. Arthur waves his hand and Gwaine stands down immediately, though his eyes remain hard and unwavering. It's difficult to keep the air from leaving his chest at once, breath suddenly unsticking. Arthur barely keeps himself from clearing his throat. He turns calmly back to the man.

“My father taught me only a provoked dog bites,” Arthur says. “Perhaps you should watch your tongue better next time, instead of uttering treason.”

The councilman bristles, but keeps his mouth shut.

“Now if we may continue…?” Arthur says, leading. When no one else speaks, he nods. The rest of the meeting goes by without incident.

“Gwaine,” Arthur calls after the room is empty of all but them. Gwaine turns to him with a cocky smile, not a trace of the man who’d nearly bitten off a councilman’s head in him.

“Princess?” Gwaine says. Arthur sighs, but leaves the nickname this time. There are other things for them to discuss. He starts to gather his things from the meeting.

“While I appreciate your devotion, you can’t fight every councilman that says something crude or mutinous about me,” Arthur says, tapping the gathered papers against the table to straighten them.

“Watch me,” Gwaine says, all subtle fury and clenched hands.

“Gwaine,” Arthur sighs again, putting his papers down so he may rest his head in his hands instead. As much as he likes knowing Gwaine will defend him the same as he defends Merlin, he can’t exactly have it turned against the many people in his council every time they disagree with him or say something stupid. At least they weren’t here in the beginning of his rule. If they were, Arthur has a feeling the council would’ve seen bloodshed numerous times. He wonders how quickly the council would’ve shut up then, though.

Gwaine crosses his arms, looking Arthur up and down. It makes Arthur want to squirm, but he holds himself still. He feels like one of Gaius’ samples, placed under a magnifying glass to try and see what it is and how it ticks. “Then that goes both ways,” Gwaine says eventually.

“No,” Arthur says immediately, slightly shocked. Is Gwaine calling him out for defending him? That is not how this goes. Arthur is the king, it’s his job to defend his knights as much as it’s their job to defend him. Moreso, even. “because if they insult me that’s one thing. If they insult you, they’re insulting my kingdom.”

Gwaine raises an eyebrow and Arthur knows he doesn’t believe him. Which is rather fair. Arthur doesn’t think he’d believe himself, either, if he were in Gwaine’s shoes. It’s just so easy, so ingrained, to bite his tongue at the nocks against him. But against Gwaine… Suddenly, it feels quite impossible. He’s not sure he wants to examine why.

“Just save the sword for actual threats against me, yeah?” Arthur says, picking the papers back up and shifting to leave. Gwaine smirks at him and Arthur suddenly feels like he’s fleeing. Except he’s not, he reminds himself. There are things he needs to do other than telling Gwaine not to kill his council. He leaves without looking back. He can feel Gwaine’s smile at his back as he does.

[howdoyoudothedew]

Rated: G

Ships: a hint of merthur (Merlin/Arthur) and also merwaine (Merlin/Gwaine)

Word Count: ~6k

A/N: this is the third chapter, im marking them all under the tag 'merlin dangerous devotion

There’s a sorcerer in his castle. It’s not the one– the warlock– he’s begrudgingly grown used to. Arthur would very much like to know just when he invited all these magic users to Camelot, because he doesn’t remember doing so. In fact he’s pretty sure he did the opposite. He wonders if asking Merlin if he was the one to invite them would be rude, then remembers he’s king and he doesn’t care. He stomps through the castle after his wayward warlock. It takes an absurd amount of time to find him, but it usually does now. At any point in time, Merlin could be in more places than a house servant would be and Merlin isn’t even a servant. Merlin might be helping the maids fix beds one moment only to be in the woods the next gathering herbs for Gaius and then in the middle of town the very next. Sometimes Arthur wonders if he can fly or duplicate himself and honestly so far he has found no evidence to the contrary. Though he really hopes he can’t duplicate himself, because he doesn’t think he can handle two Merlins. A singular Merlin (especially with added Gwaine) is quite enough. Sometimes, more than.

“Have you seen Merlin?” Arthur asks a girl as she walks by, taking the basket of laundry from her as he might’ve once done to Gwen before she disappeared so she doesn’t have to hold it as he questions her.

“Uh,” the girl flounders, looking confused, hands curling around nothing. “I think he may be doing something for Gaius, Sire.”

Right. Of course. Arthur nods his head and thanks her, before handing the laundry back to her. He heads off with her staring after him, eyebrows furrowed, before she slowly continues on her own way.

Arthur opens the door of the Court Physician’s chambers, expecting to ask Gaius for the location of his wayward warlock, but stops short at a room empty of all but Merlin. He stares for a moment. He’d been expecting to traipse through the forests of Camelot for him. Or to send a messenger through them, at least. This was much easier. “Merlin.”

Merlin hums, not bothering to look away from his work. There are plants in his hands, no doubt herbs he’d picked earlier. Arthur recognizes one as mint, but not much else.

“Are you aware there’s a sorcerer in my castle?” Arthur asks, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning against the wall next to the door. It’s the perfect spot to watch Merlin as he works and to seem rather impatient as he does.

“... what?” Merlin asks, looking up at him rather confused. Which is kind of fair, because Arthur himself is also a bit confused. But it’s also not fair because Merlin is also a magic user who simply invited himself into his castle and life.

“There is a sorcerer. In my castle,” Arthur repeats, slowly like Merlin might be stupid.

“... yes?” Merlin says slowly, like Arthur might be stupid. “I’ve been here for a while, Arthur. In fact you gave me express permission to be here. Are you just now noticing?”

“Not you, you dimwit,” Arthur snaps. “There’s another sorcerer in my castle.”

“Did you only just now find out about Mordred and Gaius?” Merlin asks. “Because they haven’t exactly been hiding it since I’ve gotten here and honestly I’m not sure Gaius ever fully hid it. He’s very stubborn and it’d be quite foolish of your father to completely remove Gaius’ spellcraft from the job, though he was phenomenally stupid-”

“Wait, stop, what?” Arthur waves his hands in front of himself, pushing off the wall. Merlin clamps up, right in the middle of what was no doubt going to turn into an insult about Arthur himself. “You mean to tell me, one of my own knights is a sorcerer?”

“No?” Merlin says, drawing it out, looking a little ashamed of himself. Arthur sighs. Alright, so it turns out two of his trusted people have been hiding magic from him for years. The person who damn-near raised him has hid magic for years, though Gaius is a little less surprising with everything that’s run rampant through Camelot over the years. Merlin is right, it would’ve been foolish to remove all spellcraft from the Court Physician’s job. There’s enough Gauis does that looks like magic, it would’ve been hard to do so even if his father tried. He wonders suddenly if it’s just Gaius and Mordred, or if there are other people Arthur knows who also have magic. Did they also use it in their jobs? Their lives? The year a good harvest was desperately needed or they risked casualties, and the farms of Ealdor pulled through—some of the servants called it a miracle before his father put a stop to it, even the hopeful word darkened by sorcery. But was it magic? All the possibilities make his head throb a little, a warning of an impending headache if he goes any further down that road, so he ignores it for now.

“There’s a strange sorcerer. They just got here,” Arthur says.

“Oh,” Merlin says, nodding. He goes back to the herbs he is no doubt sorting for Gaius, like a sorcerer in Camelot is just every day business. Arthur guesses perhaps it is. If his father knew, he’d be turning over in his grave.

Actually, if his father knew, he’d probably burn the entire castle to the ground and start over.

Arthur sighs again. “Do you know this sorcerer, Merlin?”

Merlin looks over at him with an offended look. “Am I just supposed to know every sorcerer?”

“Well you did say they were “your people”,” Arthur says derisively, quoting the day Gwaine and Merlin first arrived.

“Yes- Well I-” Merlin flounders a bit. “I didn’t quite mean it like that.”

“Well then how did you mean it, Mer-lin?” Arthur asks.

“I mean, the druids think of me as some kind of lord,” Merlin waves his hand around in the air in what Arthur guesses is supposed to be an approximation of something “lordly” but really just looks silly. “And I am magic, so killing magic users is like… killing…” He trails off and his ears flush red, like two strawberries poking out from his head. “Anyway, I meant it more metaphorically and you must be stupider than you look if you didn’t understand that,” Merlin finishes, putting his nose in the air before he returns to the herbs. Arthur raises his eyebrows.

“Oh, I’m stupid?” He drawls.

“Quite,” Merlin says.

“And yet I had to be the one to come find you about the new sorcerer, instead of your magic powers telling you?” Arthur says, wiggling his fingers in a mocking approximation of doing magic. Merlin splutters, dropping the greens from his hands. There are purple flowers attached to them, and some small petals fall from the stems when they land on the table amidst the already tied bundles.

“Magic powers?” Merlin repeats, looking at him again. Arthur smiles, he can feel it pulling smugly at his cheeks.

“Yes, magic powers,” Arthur says. “Like a faerie.”

“A faer-” Merlin glares at him, mouth open, for several seconds before it snaps shut. “Well I’d rather be one of the fair folk than a donkey-faced clotpole.”

“A clotpole?” Arthur asks. This is a new one. Usually, the warlock calls him a prat or an ass or something else he hasn’t quite figured out how to pronounce just yet but knows must be an insult in the language of wherever he appeared from. “And what, exactly, is that?”

“In two words?” Merlin asks, tilting his head. He gives a tight-lipped smile, mischief glimmering in his eyes. They seem very blue, all of a sudden. Like the sky after a rainfall. “King Arthur.”

“Very funny, Merlin,” Arthur deadpans. Merlin smiles at him, wide enough his ears move, before he stands. Arthur watches as Merlin puts the herbs in their different places; clipping and hanging and shoving bundles in drawers. It’s a madness he doesn’t understand, but is sure Gaius and Merlin do. After he’s done, Merlin thrusts his hands into a bucket of water and scrubs off whatever the plants may’ve transferred to his skin.

“Now let’s see about your new sorcerer,” Merlin says, turning to him, still with a smaller– though no less dim– smile on his face as he dries his hands on his pants.

“She’s not my anything-!” Arthur protests and Merlin’s smile goes cheeky again, something warm in the blue of his eyes. It does something strange to his heart and Arthur turns to the door, ignoring it as he has every other time his heart has gone strange around the warlock and his knight. An entire life of being taught magic was something evil and to be afraid of is a lot to overcome, afterall.

They travel through the castle in relative silence, walking through her stone halls and hearing echoes of the staff like whispers from her walls. Ever since Merlin arrived, the castle has seemed louder. Arthur isn’t really sure why that is, but he knows it is. He knows with the certainty of someone who’s seen every corridor, knows every secret passage. She’s never been as lively as she is now with a warlock in her walls. Arthur finds he likes it.

“She asked for you specifically,” Arthur says once the doors are in sight. It raised flags in his mind, of course, but for Merlin’s sake he pushed them down. As far as he knows, she is a friend of the warlock. Of course, he still left Leon and Lancelot to watch her as a precaution. He may be willing to give the benefit of the doubt to magic users now, but he hasn’t grown stupid. Merlin comes to a sudden stop, turning to Arthur, and Arthur stops with him.

“She asked for me?” Merlin asks.

“Yes. Are you going deaf? I can speak louder,” Arthur says, then notices the way Merlin’s face has gone serious, his eyes like stone instead of sky. “Yes,” Arthur repeats, quiet, tone as serious as Merlin is.

“Me Merlin, or me Emrys?” Merlin asks. As far as Arthur knows, there is no true distinction between them, but the way Merlin speaks the names now it is as if one is a mountain and the other a valley.

“Merlin,” Arthur says after a moment’s thought and Merlin goes very still. Before this moment, Arthur didn’t even notice the typical small movements Merlin made. It was like the warlock could never stand even a second of standing in place, his body constantly reverberating movement, vibrating for anything to do even while holding itself still. Sometimes his fingers tapped, or his feet, or he’d sway softly like a piece of grass in a breeze. There is none of that now. Merlin stands like he’s not breathing and Arthur has to watch his chest very closely to ensure he is. Then Merlin abruptly turns, striding through the doors into the throne room. The castle rattles like a warning.

The sorceress is on his throne, something which sits wrong on Arthur’s tongue. She’s reclined like she belongs there, though once she notices their approach she uncrosses her legs and sits up. Her smile is the kind of polite being forced to deal with people you don’t like since childhood trains into you and her eyes look more dangerous than before. It has Arthur standing a little straighter, watching her a little closer.

“Merlin,” she says, a weight to her words. It makes Arthur’s hackles rise more than anything else about her has. She suddenly seems vicious in a way she didn’t initially. The deep red of her dress flows like blood along the stones and he half expects it to seep into them, to mar the throne and the platform it rests upon. “How has Camelot been? They kill magic users like us here, you know.”

Merlin puts his hands up like he’s interacting with a wild animal. Her brow quirks briefly at it. “I know. But I’m here trying to change that.”

“Change would come much easier if you simply raze it all to the ground and start over,” she says airly, tone belied by the way she glares at the stone walls and the tapestries and the windows beyond them where the sky shines a bright blue with the sun and where Arthur knows his people are going about their days. She glares at it all like she wishes to tear it apart, brick by brick, with her very hands. Then she looks back to Merlin, head tilting. “Surely you are powerful enough to do it, if you wanted. Tear down the entire castle, every house, and start anew.”

“I could,” Merlin says and Arthur nearly starts. Even now, months after Merlin and Gwaine joined Camelot, Arthur has only seen a fraction of Merlin’s true power. He knows that after the time with the bandits. But the idea Merlin could take apart the entire castle he’s known since birth, could destroy the town below her, all presumably with just a word, fills him with an emotion he cannot name. “But I think we both know I won’t. Camelot doesn’t deserve to fall for the mistakes of a foolish king. Especially when I know her new king can do much, much better if he’s only given a chance.”

The sorceress scoffs. “He’s had the chance since his father died, and yet the rule remains.”

“All he’s known is to fear magic. All he’s known magic to be used for is to kill and hurt,” Merlin says, making Arthur think of their late night chats, of speaking quietly with Merlin and Gwaine about the things his father told him growing up. About the many assassination attempts Arthur still isn’t sure how he lived through.

“And you believe you can change that? You can, what, make him see the light?” The sorceress asks, eyebrows raised, face painted in disdain. When Merlin says he can, says with full confidence he already is, she laughs.

“So you would defend them?” The sorceress asks.

“With my life,” Merlin says, and Arthur’s heart beats a little harder, a little faster.

“Well if the great Emrys is truly standing with Camelot, maybe it’s too late…” She stands from the throne, paces across the landing. She walks confidently, without looking, like she knows where to step to not fall. Her gaze moves to Merlin. “Perhaps I should kill you and take care of it myself instead.”

Arthur feels his chest go cold. For someone who threatened Merlin in the very same way when he first came to Camelot, hearing someone else say those words makes something inside Arthur clench. He nearly wishes he could go back in time simply to throttle himself for not killing her where she stood when she first entered his throne room. She continues, oblivious to Arthur’s mental processes.

“Yes.” She nods to herself. “I think perhaps the world needs a new magical leader. One willing to make more definitive choices.”

Despite the smell of ozone entering the air, Arthur feels as if all the oxygen has suddenly been sucked from the room. Perhaps it has even been sucked away from the entire castle; reaching every floor, every stone, every tapestry until there is nothing left to breathe. Arthur breathes anyway, because he has to. He can feel the tension rising, warlock and sorceress both staring each other down, playing the most potentially deadly game of chicken he’s ever seen. His hand goes to his sword and it occurs to him in the back of his mind, like an afterthought, that it’s strange he’s only now reaching for it. There’s the quiet sound of metal on leather as he removes Caliburn from his sheath. It’s soft like a whisper, but feels loud in the strange emptiness of the room.

The sorceress pauses her steps, taking in Arthur for what feels to him like the first time since he returned with Merlin. Her eyes flicker over his form and he recognizes something in them, but he doesn’t know what it is. Then she begins to laugh. “Really? You’re going to hold a sword to me in defense of a magic-user, oh noble Son of Uther?”

Arthur growls, low in his throat, and waits though he is not sure what for. His eyes flick to Merlin. The sorceress’ eyes follow.

“It seems you’ve acquired another pet dog,” she says softly. Her demeanor changes for just a moment, eyes no longer dangerous and features softening as her head tilts to examine the two of them. For that moment, Arthur nearly believes she will stand down. Then she laughs again, hard and jeering, dismissing Arthur as any threat to her. “Put your little guard dog on a leash before he gets hurt, Merlin. You know it is better to keep this just between us, as it should be.”

“Arthur.” Arthur hears his name, soft under the jeering laugh, and turns to the man beside him. Merlin’s hand is held out to him in the same way he once saw him do to Gwaine. “Heel.” Arthur feels his heart skip a beat in surprise. Merlin is there, trusting him to back down because he asks. Because he told him to. He feels his body loosen, his limbs shift out of combat and into something more casual, and Arthur isn’t entirely sure if his mind is active in his body’s compliance or not. Did it simply stop processing when Merlin whispered his name? His chest expands and contracts with his breathing. When did he become one of Merlin’s dogs? Because there is no doubt about it now, not after he’s followed Merlin’s instructions– waited for Merlin’s instruction, he realizes with a start– without even a thought. He is one of Merlin’s dogs, just as Gwaine is. There is a rushing like the ocean between his ears as his mind tries to wrap itself around it. When had that even happened? The thoughts keep him from hearing the rest of the confrontation between them; he is underwater and the words they speak are garbled. Merlin makes grand hand gestures, as if he is about to take off. The sorceress stands tall and imposing, until Merlin makes one gesture that has her rolling her eyes in a move which feels very familiar, but his brain refuses to parse it. Both of them pause and turn toward him; Arthur blinks woodenly as Merlin steps closer to him. Once Merlin is in his space, he takes him by the shoulders, then shifts to take him by the cheeks, moving his head to look at him properly when Arthur doesn’t move it himself. The warlock seems worried, all clear blue eyes and pouty lip.

“Did we break him?” The sorceress asks in what is suddenly a very familiar voice and Arthur blinks, coming up from water to swivel his head toward his sister.

“Morgana?” He asks, feeling stupid with it. His tongue has gone thick in his mouth. Every feature of the sorceress has been shed to reveal his sister. All except the blasted dress. He recognizes it now. It’s one of her favourites. It's the last thing he saw her in.

Morgana smiles at him like she hasn’t been gone for years. She looks the same as he remembers her, only older. There are laugh lines where there’d never been before. It makes her look more beautiful than she ever did while she lived within the walls of Camelot. “Hello, brother dear.”

He shakes Merlin off, taking a few trembling steps toward her like she may disappear into smoke if he dares get too close. He points a shaking finger at her and she waves. The finger swivels to point at Merlin instead, who’s gone sheepish. Arthur drops his arm, stomps his foot. “What in the hell is going on here!”

“Well I couldn’t just let Merlin stay here for months without checking up on him, could I?”

Arthur feels the words like a stab to his chest, though he knows he shouldn’t. She truly had no reason to trust him, despite their childhood. She had no reason to trust him because of their childhood. Because they both still know what it was like to grow up under Uther. They both saw each other’s worst moments when they were still too young to fully know better and yet were expected to anyway, simply because they were the heir and ward of the king. Still, he can’t help himself. “You didn’t trust me.”

“We both know how Uther was, and how much you wanted his approval.” Morgana smiles sadly, spreads her palms. “And was I wrong? You were the one who chose to keep the laws even after his death, afterall.”

“No one’s been executed since then, either,” Arthur feels the need to say. “The laws haven’t been enforced in Camelot in years.” Because they haven’t been, not really. It’s true Merlin is the first magic user in years to show himself, the first since that first year after his father died, but Arthur hasn’t taken up any of the mantles Uther had. He hasn’t hunted magic users, hasn’t sought the druids. There have been no trials since Uther fell ill.

He tries not to think about the threat he made to Merlin and about whether or not he would’ve followed through, even without executions of his own under his rule. (He would’ve. He would’ve told his knights to run Merlin through, if not for Gwaine. If not for Merlin’s soft words and the loyalty the knight and warlock hold for each other.)

“Executions or not, enforced in Camelot or not, they’re still laws that get people killed, Arthur.” Morgana’s words are hard, her eyes doubly so. Arthur knows she’s right. He bows his head.

“You’re right.”

Morgana’s eyebrows raise in surprise. “I’m what?”

“You’re right,” Arthur repeats, glowering now, and Morgana looks delighted in the way only a little sister can look.

“You really have changed since I’ve been away. I wonder, is it natural or did Merlin have a hand in you not being such a pompous arse anymore?” Morgana asks, smile unwavering and annoying, and Arthur would be more annoyed at her in turn if not for the fact he’s seeing her again, finally, for the first time in so long. If not for the fact he finally has confirmation she’s alive and clearly happy. If not for how, even with her ribbing, her eyes seem proud of him for this, at least.

“And I see you haven’t changed at all, sister,” Arthur says, smiling all the while, just to be a shit. Her smile morphs into a glare immediately.

“Maybe you didn’t change as much as I thought,” Morgana grouses. It makes Arthur laugh for some inexplicable reason and Morgana bites her lip before she ends up laughing as well. Only then do they hug, holding each other as close and tight as they can after so many years apart.

“I’ve missed you,” Arthur whispers, a confession just for Morgana.

“I’ve missed you, too,” Morgana whispers back, a confession just for Arthur. Arthur smiles into her hair and squeezes her a final time, Morgana squeezing him just as hard in return, before he pulls back, holding her by her upper arms to simply look like he is a mother examining his child for changes and health after a long trip. It makes amusement dance on her features, but she says nothing. He knows it’s because she’s doing the same. Her eyes scan him as he scans her; her eyes are brighter, her dark circles are lighter, she holds herself taller. She smiles easier. A part of Arthur hopes she finds similar changes in him, hopes she finds him smiling easier, holding himself more confidently. Hopes she looks at him and finds someone worthy of being a king.

“Where did you go?” Arthur finally asks, pulling away fully. Both of them still stay within arms length of each other.

“Gwen and I traveled for a bit at first. We visited villages and some border kingdoms before we finally ended up with a group of druids in Camelot’s territory, so they could help me learn to control my magic,” Morgana says. “That’s where we met Merlin and Gwaine the second time. The first time we had to save them from a tavern brawl Merlin here started,” Morgana teases, looking sideways to Merlin.

“The guy was being a complete ass,” Merlin says, an excuse, not a defense. Morgana snorts, but nods in assent.

“When did you end up developing magic?” Arthur asks, bringing the conversation back. It’s a question his brain maybe should’ve thought of before now, and would have if not for being occupied with Morgana’s return and her utter dramatics. It’s something he’s suddenly desperately curious about. How long did his own sister hide, before escaping? Morgana tilts her head.

“You’re not gonna question me about learning magic under Uther? Tell me about the dangers and scold me for doing so?” Morgana asks. Arthur shrugs.

“You fought with him all the time, but even you weren’t foolish enough to actually attempt teaching yourself magic just to spite him. If you were, then you wouldn’t have bothered to escape to the druids with Gwen,” Arthur says. “I figure if Merlin can be born with magic, why not you?”

Morgana blinks, then smiles. “Arthur, you’ve finally gotten a brain in that big head of yours.” She sobers slightly as he frowns at the insult. “Do you remember my nightmares?”

“Yes,” Arthur says, remembering nights of Morgana waking up screaming. Nights where he’d stay with her, or alternatively stay close by, in the hopes it’d help her sleep easier. He still remembers how foul the sleep aid Gauis made for her smelled, even with the added lavender.

“They weren’t nightmares,” Morgana says, eyes far away, no doubt remembering those nights herself. “They were prophecies. Horrible, horrible prophecies. They’re one of the things the druids and eventually Merlin helped me learn to control.”

“So you don’t have them anymore?” Arthur asks.

“I do,” Morgana says. There is a resigned melancholy as she shrugs. “But they’re not as bad now. I don’t wake up screaming nearly as often.”

“Wouldn’t you rather not have them at all?”

“I’d rather have them than be caught unawares,” Morgana says and Arthur nods. He’d make the same decision, if he was the one with the nightmares.

“How long did you know their true cause, before you left?” Arthur asks and very pointedly brushes away any thoughts of asking why she hadn’t told him. He was always more Uther’s child then she was, though she had more of his anger. There’s no way he would’ve given her up, even then, but he’s not sure he would’ve been able to understand. Magic was evil, cruel, consuming and damaging. If she brought her concerns to him, they would’ve increased each other’s fear and tried to find a way to stop it instead of control it.

“About a few weeks. I’d had a nightmare about the snake in the shield. You remember, from the tournament?” Morgana says, and Arthur nods, remembering how he may’ve died that day if not for Morgana. It was soon after when Arthur woke to Morgana’s room being empty and the servants frantic search for the king’s ward. Uther only searched a day for her. It was the decision which created an inescapable wedge between them, especially after Uther punished him when he’d found him poring over maps a week after the search was called off. Morgana continues, “Two nights later, I lit a candle in my sleep and nearly set my bed curtains on fire, if not for Gwen.

We realized it must be magic then, and I knew I couldn’t stay much longer afterward. I planned to sneak out in the dead of night alone, but Gwen wouldn’t let me.” Morgana smiles, small and full of love. Arthur smiles, too.

“Well.” Arthur stands straighter, shoulders back, looks at his sister, looks at Merlin. “It’s about time I made some… definitive choices, wouldn’t you say, Morgana?”

Morgana’s lips stretch in a wide smile like the cat that got the cream. “I’d say our people deserve it after all this time.”

“I agree,” Arthur says and means it. He’s always wanted to be a good king. A just king. Now, he will finally be good and just to all his people. Not just halfway, but fully. Merlin looks at him with pride and Arthur feels it fill his chest.

“If we’re going to look at the magic laws, maybe we should head to the Round Table. That way we could talk more comfortably, too, unless you two want to keep standing,” Merlin offers and Arthur and Morgana give him twin eye rolls which leave him staring, but they assent.

“Will you return to Camelot now?” Arthur asks later, hands stained with ink and papers spread on the table between them, the beginning of a draft made from the merits of all three of them.

Morgana smiles sadly and takes his hands. “No. Gwen and I are quite happy with the life we’ve made. I will visit, though. I have to make sure you’re not running Camelot into the ground or getting into too much trouble with Gwaine and Merlin, after all.”

Merlin squawks in indignation. Arthur and Morgana share a look Arthur is nearly surprised he can consider knowing, it tells him just how long Gwaine and Merlin have been here, better than any time-keeping device could.

“Next time I’ll bring Gwen,” Morgana promises and Arthur nods. He’d love to see Gwen again, too. He didn’t appreciate her enough before she was suddenly gone, whisked away in the night with Morgana. Arthur never doubted they’d take care of each other. It’s good to have confirmation they’re still together. And in a way he hadn’t expected, too. (He should’ve.)

“I’d love that.”

Arthur sees Morgana off late that night, after they’ve supped and talked until the candles nearly burned to their holders. Neither of them cry, but Arthur notices the wetness of Morgana’s eyes and can feel the wetness of his own.

After, as he is returning to his chambers, Arthur is nearly ambushed by Gwaine. He shows up seemingly out of nowhere, appearing out of the shadows as Arthur opens the door. It nearly makes Arthur jump. But Gwaine doesn’t laugh at him for it. He only stares. Arthur stares back, feeling off-footed, and gestures into his chambers.

“Did you want to come in?” Arthur asks.

“You protected Merlin,” Gwaine says, in what is most certainly not an answer. Arthur blinks at him.

“What?”

“A sorceress threatened Merlin, and you protected him,” Gwaine says, and Arthur feels embarrassed heat flood his cheeks, his chest. It’s nearly silly. He’s saved and protected many throughout his life, both as prince and king, and he’s rarely felt weird at getting thanks for it. But this time it curls around his insides like shyness.

“It was just my sister, she wouldn't have hurt him,” Arthur attempts to brush off, but Gwaine shakes his head, apparently not having it. Occasionally, the stubbornness of Merlin’s knight knows no bounds and Arthur knows this is one of those moments.

“You didn't know who the sorceress was, though, did you?” Gwaine asks. “You didn’t know it was Morgana.”

“I- No, I didn't," he admits quietly. Gwaine smiles.

"Exactly. So thank you, Princess." And this time, Arthur simply ducks his head instead of protesting. It’s not like he exactly planned to protect Merlin, but he feels like those words would fall on deaf ears. Gwaine treats him like he actively fought, instead of backing down just because Merlin told him to heel. Gwaine looks at him with pride, looks at him like he’s defended the entire kingdom single handedly against a dragon attack instead of simply being prepared to fight for one warlock.

He suddenly realizes the answer he thought he’d gotten back in the woods to why Gwaine protects Merlin was wrong. It’s not just safety. It’s devotion and loyalty, like he first saw in his throne room. It’s love.

Arthur swallows heavily, throat dry. “Any time.”

[howdoyoudothedew]

Rated: G

Ships: merwaine (Merlin/Gwaine) with a hint of arwaine (Arthur/Gwaine) crush

Word Count: ~5k

A/N: this is the second chapter, im marking them all under the tag 'merlin dangerous devotion

Every so often, Arthur takes hunting trips. It’s something he’s done since he was a prince, to cool his head and calm his heart. Even now, Arthur never feels more at peace than he does in the forests of Camelot. At least he normally finds peace here, tracking animals and hunting what he might find. With this particular hunting trip, Arthur is having difficulty finding it. Nearly all of his attention has been diverted to Merlin and Gwaine instead.

Usually, when Arthur takes these trips, it is with only the Round Table knights by his side. A few days of comradery does good for more than just Arthur, he knows. It’s a time they can all relax, can forget about titles and classes and the lines of propriety which stand between knights and king. The knights seem to be relaxing just fine, which Arthur is thankful for. All of them work hard and they deserve the break. But he finds it impossible for himself. He brought Merlin and Gwaine on the hunting trip with them, entirely unwilling to let either sorcerer or knight out of his sight for even a moment. He may be willing to let them stay in Camelot– as willing as can be, for a decision as senseless as this– but he’s not dumb enough to trust them any further than he can throw them and Arthur learned long ago to keep people like that close. Especially since Lancelot, though following orders and keeping his own eye on them, seems to be compromised. Arthur’s not even surprised. Lancelot has one of the biggest hearts of the knights from the Round Table; the first time Arthur had to fetch Lancelot from Gauis because he’d ended up getting caught in a drinking contest with Gwaine, all he could do was sigh. The fact Merlin seemed to respond in kind wasn’t exactly assuring. Leon watches Merlin and Gwaine as well, eyes wary as the two ride close to Lancelot, engaged in conversation with him.

Another thing which Arthur finds unsurprising: Gwaine and Merlin share a horse. It’s not surprising because Arthur has noticed the two share a lot of things: a room, supper, laughs. He’s even seen them wear each other’s clothing on occasion, despite them having two separate builds. But right now the horse is in front of Arthur and he watches as the two trot along, Gwaine holding the reins and laughing with Lancelot as Merlin rolls his eyes from his spot between Gwaine’s arms, resting back against Gwaine’s chest. It’s an easy kind of intimacy Arthur hasn’t seen or shared with any of his own knights, yet Merlin shares it freely with his own. Arthur frowns at them, though they’ve given him no reason to. Leon nudges his own horse closer to Arthur’s.

“If you keep glaring at them, the knights will never trust them,” Leon says quietly. Arthur scoffs, but looks away from the sorcerer and his knight to focus on the woods instead, scanning the underbrush for prints. Though he doesn’t know how much he actually sees as one should see while hunting. All he can focus on is the sound of Gwaine’s laughter in front of them. He sighs, looking back at Leon.

“It’s for the best they don’t get comfortable around a sorcerer or his knight,” Arthur says. Leon gives him a Look at it, lips thin and eyebrows so low they cause the corners of his eyes to crinkle. But he doesn’t question him. Both of them know how dangerous men like Merlin and Gwaine can be. Even if Merlin seems more like a rabbit than a man, especially the way he’s disturbed the hunt a few times already, and Gwaine spends more time in the tavern than any respectable knight truly should. The two of them proved themselves in the throne room that day, even if Arthur hasn’t seen anything its like since. There’s something about them, something about Merlin and Gwaine which pulls at Arthur, tells him he needs to watch a little closer. To keep them both on a short leash, whatever that entails. (And Arthur tries not to think of Merlin and Gwaine in his throne room on that first day. Of Merlin holding his hand out toward Gwaine and telling his knight to heel with an unwavering expression; a look so emotionless Arthur’s only seen it’s like two other times, once on Gaius and once on Morgana, before she went missing. Of Gwaine stepping down while the word still lingered in the air, barely off Merlin’s lips, command hovering like ash. The ability to turn into a flame, to bite and tear with the sharp edge of a sword and all the ferocity of an attack dog.) Arthur watches them, wary, emotions he doesn’t quite recognize under his skin.

The knights got along with them quick enough, folding them into the group like they’ve always been there. Arthur fears the two have been adopted into his Round Table like strays without his say-so, the knights growing affectionate far too fast. He’d fear sorcery for it, but for the way the entire castle is with sorcerer and knight. It isn’t just the Round Table which has brought the two into their lives as if they were simply an addition waiting to be found. And much as he wants to, he can’t truly see Gaius’ nephew using sorcery to sway emotions. No, Merlin and Gwaine are simply able to bring people to them with an ease Arthur has spent his life learning. He wonders how long they’ve spent learning the same, remembers Merlin called the druids his people. A king for a king. His grip on Hengroen’s reins tightens minutely. Leon frowns at him but continues to stay silent.

“Besides,” Arthur says, distancing himself from his own thoughts, loosening his grip. He stretches his fingers, letting them rest against his palm. “you watch them just as closely.”

“But I’m your first knight. It’s my duty to keep an eye on every knight, doubly on new recruits like Gwaine. You’re the King, Arthur. The knights will take cues more readily from you,” Leon says calmly.

Arthur snorts, watching as Merlin shifts closer to Lancelot and one of Gwaine’s hands drops smoothly to his waist to keep him steady so he doesn’t tumble from the horse. “Tell me when they start doing that, because I don’t think they ever have.”

“Well, the ones not in our group.” Leon shrugs, not even bothering a defense of his fellow knights. “Do you really think they’ll try to overthrow you or something?”

“I don’t know,” Arthur says, knowing it’s a lie as soon as it hits his own ears. Leon’s hum tells him his first knight doesn’t believe him either. Arthur tries to believe it, to close his eyes and make it so, but he’s already seen Merlin and Gwaine playing with the servant’s children in the courtyard, seen the way they get on with Galahad and Percival and even Mordred who mostly stays to himself. In the past few weeks they have done nothing except train with the knights, help Gaius and the castle staff, and entertain. He’s even heard some of the staff speak in the halls about the “bright new apprentice” Gaius has picked up and how helpful he is. He’s also heard several speak of his handsome companion, both women and men alike. Arthur doesn’t stay long when he hears those chats, leaving the castle staff to gossip amongst themselves. Not a single person has complained about magic, despite Merlin not hiding or suppressing its use. (Rather, plenty of the older maids have complained to the younger about the ease which the job used to have, before its use was banned, speaking with a freedom Arthur imagines they never did when his own father was still on the throne. The dual emotions the thought inspired in him is one of many things Arthur chooses not to think of.)

A larger bout of laughter draws Arthur’s attention back to the trio ahead of them in time to see even Gwaine’s grip is not quite enough to keep Merlin balanced on their horse. Merlin is half hanging off the saddle, one hand gripping Gwaine’s leg to attempt staying on the other holding onto Lancelot’s shoulder. Lancelot is helping Gwaine reseat him, hand on Merlin’s back as the three of them laugh. It’s not going very well, their humour making it so none of them are very steady, Merlin slowly slipping further and Lancelot seconds from following and Arthur sighs as he rides ahead to grab Merlin by the side of his shirt to yank him back into the saddle. This brings them out of it, the trio looking at him in surprise.

“Thanks,” Merlin says, eyes wide before his grin goes dopey. Arthur scoffs, putting distance between the horses once more.

“Well I didn’t want to stop just because you fell off like an idiot,” Arthur says.

“I’m sorry to almost inconvenience you,” Merlin says, somehow dry and lofty at once.

“As you should be,” Arthur says. Merlin snorts and Gwaine gives him an unimpressed look that’s honestly a little weird to see, given the way he usually looks at everyone else. But he is the king, so he shakes it off like he does every such look he’s received his entire life instead of dwelling on it. Instead of letting it itch under his skin, like it apparently so desperately wishes to do. He falls back to rejoin Leon, not stopping the frown as it pulls on his lips, and Leon gives him another Look. This one is more knowing than the first, the way his eyes narrow accentuating the dark circles under his first knight’s eyes. Arthur wonders how he got the dark circles, if Leon is sleeping properly. If Leon ever has.

The hunt continues on, just as unsuccessful as it has been since they entered the woods early that morning. Despite– or, perhaps, because of– Merlin being a sorcerer, he is absolute rubbish at hunting. Several rabbits have been lost because of Merlin’s insistence on scaring them away and it annoys Arthur more than he wants to admit, mostly because he is more okay with it than he would ever admit which is much worse. But they will need to catch something eventually, just so they have something more to eat than the provisions they’ve brought with them to cook. Something Arthur makes sure to inform the sorcerer of.

“I doubt you’ll starve,” Merlin says, looking at him from over Gwaine’s shoulder and Arthur gapes at him. Doubly so when Leon gives a little puff of amusement.

They ride around near aimlessly until the beginning of sunset, when Merlin does indeed stay behind with the horses and allow Arthur to finally catch something without him traipsing around the forest like a dragon. He catches one rabbit and Gwaine catches another, smiling as he holds it up for Arthur to see, and Arthur nods back at him. There is the warmth of camaraderie in his chest as he looks at Gwaine’s smile. It blooms bright and strong as it does for any of his knights– for his Round Table– when he interacts with them, before he registers the feeling and stomps down on it. This is not one of his knights and he’s definitely not a part of his Round Table. This is the knight of a sorcerer. Strong, and attractive, and tasked with the protection of a magic user. One who remains in Camelot because of Arthur’s kindness, not because he wants either of them there.

Despite their earlier words, Leon talks with Gwaine as if he is part of the Round Table while they walk back. If this is how even his first knight interacts with someone who protects one who is a criminal under Camelot’s laws, it is a miracle Camelot herself still stands.

Merlin smiles at them when they return and Gwaine speeds up to reach him first, proudly handing him the rabbit he caught. There are berries lying on a cloth next to Merlin and all of their bedrolls have been set out around an unlit campfire. The two bedrolls lying side-by-side so they are one do not escape Arthur's notice. Looking around more, he also notices none of the horses are tied to the trees. All of them roam free as if their small camp is fenced. He's not sure which surprises him more, their free-roaming or the fact none of them have taken the opportunity to wander out of sight.

"Merlin?" Arthur calls, making Merlin turn away from Gwaine and toward him instead. He smiles at the sorcerer, mouth thin. "Why aren't the horses tied up?"

"Because they don't need to be?" Merlin raises an eyebrow. He gestures around them as if to say 'see? all here'. Which, while it’s true they haven’t left, it’s the principle of the matter. It’s the fact that these are animals, trained, yes, but not to be trusted to be alone without simply wandering off. The fact they haven’t is simply dumb luck.

"So you just left them here, by themselves, as you waltzed off and picked flowers?" Arthur asks. Merlin gives him a flat look.

"First, waltzed? I think you'll find I didn't waltz anywhere-" "I don't think you even can waltz," Gwaine adds, something Merlin only gives a look to as he continues like the interruption didn't occur, "second, I didn't pick flowers, I gathered fruit so you might have something equating a healthy meal, sire."

“Oh. Well if you’re so equipped to cook, then I guess you can take care of this,” Arthur says, throwing the rabbit to Merlin. It nearly hits him in the face, but Merlin throws up his hands and his magic stops it midair. Arthur’s too surprised to see Merlin’s eyes, but they’re blue when the rabbit drops into his hands. Merlin glares at him. Gwaine gives him the same unimpressed look he’d given him earlier. Stupidly, Arthur wonders if the horses staying wasn’t luck, but instead an aspect of Merlin’s magic. He knows sorcerers can affect nature, he’s seen it already with Merlin when he guides the flowers to bloom for the castle’s servants and children. If he can do that, couldn’t he also keep horses tethered without need of rope? When Merlin holds a hand out, Gwaine places a small blade in his palm, keeping eye contact with Arthur as he does.

Arthur absently watches Merlin as he skins both rabbits, making conversation with Gwaine the entire time. The sorcerer and knight bounce off each other with long familiar ease. Arthur turns his eyes to the woods around them instead, feeling suddenly out of place. The night is settling in more, a few stars showing faint in the violet sky through the treeline. It feels stretched out in the woods where no candles are being lit and no stone creates a false dark. Like a wheel slowly being turned, colours slipping by in the endless sky as a very long tapestry. The knights around him make their own conversations, stripping bits of their armour and resting. As Merlin begins on the second rabbit, Arthur stands to stretch, bending backwards till his spine makes a horrid noise Leon always flinches at but feels fantastic. (At least he doesn’t pop his neck like Morgana used to do, before she disappeared in the night with her maidservant. He hopes she’s still out there somewhere, laughing with Guinevere and making others incredibly uncomfortable with the sounds her neck makes.) Once he feels loose again, he wanders over to where Hengroen has found herself to take her brush from her saddlebag and give her some attention. He could talk to the knights, of course, but he’s ridden with them all day. For just a short while, Arthur wants to be alone. Hengroen seems to appreciate it. She nuzzles him as he runs the brush over her flank. The repetitive action is as soothing for him as it is for her; Arthur can feel his body relaxing and his heart slowing like he’s released a long held breath. It’s calming like hunting is. Like being outside with the breeze and the stars and the grass is. Arthur breathes, for no reason other than he can.

It’s a respite he needs, away from thoughts of the sorcerer and his knight. But as all kingly respites seem to be, it is far too brief.

“Did you at least think to bring a pot or anything else to cook with?” Merlin calls over to Arthur. The only thing keeping him from showing vocal annoyance is years of courtly practice. Instead he simply turns a thin smile on Merlin and shrugs. It’s as if the sorcerer thinks he’s an idiot, planning a trip and not bringing something as simple as a cooking pot. Though it was Leon’s prepping which reminded them all to bring the bedrolls, Arthur’s mind too focused on other things to remember himself. Merlin rolls his eyes and turns to ask Gwaine for sticks so they can roast the rabbits rather than search through bags for the cooking pot. While Gwaine is gone, Merlin turns to the campfire and holds a hand over the wood. With quiet words and a flash of golden eyes, the wood sparks and comes to life. Unlike the first few times Arthur witnessed Merlin’s casual display of magic, he doesn’t instinctively flinch back. Instead he raises an eyebrow at the use of magic for something so easily done without.

“Could you not do that without magic?” Arthur drawls.

“He absolutely couldn’t,” Gwaine says, a few long sticks in his hands and a smile on his face. Merlin grumbles something Arthur can’t quite make out, but the annoyed pout on his face gives him a fair approximation. Gwaine responds to it with a chuckle, ruffling Merlin’s hair like he’s a favourite pup once he’s dropped the sticks. The curls stick up everywhere when his hand is removed, giving the impression of bedhead. “Merls is rather useless at making fire without his magic, even with all the travelling we do. He never got the hang of it.”

“When did this become ‘pick on Merlin’ day,” Merlin grumbles.

“Cheer up, Merls,” Gwaine says, knocking his shoulder against Merlin’s as he sits down beside him. “We can pick on the Princess, too.”

“Gee, thanks Gwaine,” Merlin says flatly, placing the rabbit meat over the fire with the sticks. Arthur frowns at Gwaine.

“Anytime dear,” Gwaine says with a smile that makes his eyes glow. Combined with the light of the fire, it turns them to honey. Arthur swallows and looks away. By the knight’s own admission, he holds no magic, but the look of him with gold in his eyes twists Arthur’s insides like he might. Letting one sorcerer into his kingdom is enough, Arthur’s not sure he can handle the thought of letting in more quite yet. He misses the way Gwaine’s eyebrow rises as well as the look which passes between Gwaine and Merlin.

Arthur is the first of them to stir, his body shifting to wakefulness between one breath and the next, all by itself. There is something wrong. He doesn’t know what it is, but the knowledge banishes all the grogginess he would usually feel upon waking.

“Gwaine.” Arthur hears Merlin whisper, the sorcerer and his knight’s combined bedroll close to his own. He shifts to watch as Merlin smacks Gwaine, who gets up blurrily. “Bandits.” This one word wakes Gwaine quickly and he crouches low to the ground, moving quickly to the knights of the Round Table to wake them. While Gwaine does that, Arthur reaches for his sword.

“Are you sure?” He whispers, despite knowing with certainty Merlin is correct. The silence which woke him reaches his ears now; the forest holding its breath. Arthur stands up slowly, watching their surroundings and listening for any sound. From the corner of his eye, he can see Merlin doing the same. Even the wind seems to have stopped and anticipation lights his veins, body preparing itself for the threat it knows is coming.

“Yes,” Merlin says quietly. Arthur expects there to be at least some annoyance in the word, a distaste for Arthur’s doubt, but there’s none. The sorcerer’s eyes are serious as they watch the trees and undergrowth for movement. The spot they chose is open with part of a stream close by on one side and the forest flanking them on the other. The river is the only thing currently making noise, burbling away as it flows past them. Arthur looks around for his knights, sees Leon and Lancelot and Percival with their swords out and nods as they meet his eyes in turn. Then his eyes find Gwaine’s, who looks him up and down before he turns to the trees as well. Unlike the rest of them, Gwaine’s posture is calm and open and Arthur would think him a fool if he hadn’t seen Gwaine prepared to kill at a word from Merlin before. If he hadn’t sparred against him himself.

“How far away, Merls?” Gwaine asks softly and Merlin replies without looking at him, a brief flash of gold appearing in his eyes as he scans the forest once more: “No more than a minute.” The knights look at each other and silently move closer to each other, Arthur moving with them to form a loose circle. Merlin glances at their movements and something in what he sees causes a glimmer in his eyes Arthur sees echoed in Gwaine’s.

“You seem pretty used to this, Sire. Do you get threatened every time you leave the castle?” Merlin asks, his mouth curving upward. Lancelot barks a laugh, a little louder than he should, clearly caught off guard.

“Nearly,” Percival says quietly, his own mouth twitching with a smile.

“You two also seem rather used to it,” Arthur points out, turning it around on them.

“Well we did live in the forest,” Merlin says like Arthur’s an idiot. He thinks it may be an unintentional answer to a question he’s never asked— Why does a knight protect a sorcerer? The forest does seem like a dangerous place to live alone, even if one is a sorcerer, and especially so if you’re not settling in one place. Between Camelot’s laws and Cenred’s thirst for power, Arthur thinks he’d prefer to travel with protection too if he were a sorcerer rather than a knight. He doesn’t even really know how Merlin’s magic works, if he has to rest after using it for bigger things like when the knights take a break after training or how powerful it even is.

“Oh, well excuse me for not knowing that, Merlin,” Arthur drawls.

“You’re excused, Sire,” Merlin says airily and Gwaine throws them both an amused look. Or at least, Arthur thinks he sends it to both of them. The inside of Arthur’s chest warms pleasantly and he looks away from knight and sorcerer, thankful for the night.

“Shut up, Merlin.”

Somehow, he thinks he feels both of them smiling at his back, but he refuses to look back and check. Instead he focuses on watching for the bandits, as they should be. Nevermind Merlin apparently being able to sense them or divine them or whatever magical nonsense it is Merlin’s able to do.

A few seconds later, Arthur hears the first noise he’s heard since waking, outside of their own voices and the gentle river. A branch snaps in the woods. It’s too big, too loud, too oddly quiet, to be caused by anything but a person. He catches Leon’s eye, who nods and moves forward in tandem with him toward where the branch snapped. The second Arthur and Leon are far enough from the others, three bandits leave the trees to their right and another three exit the trees on their left to flank them. Arthur has a moment to consider the branch snap was likely purposeful as he looks between his Round Table, Gwaine and Merlin, and the bandits before three more step out directly in front of Leon and him, weapons drawn and sneering.

“Seems like someone’s a lil’ far from home,” the one in the center of the three in front of them says and Arthur takes in the scars on the man’s arms and the comfortable way he holds his sword. It’s not a fancy weapon, but it’s obviously well cared for, not a bit of rust or dullness on its blade. This is a man who is a trained fighter and may have even been a knight at one time, given the state of his blade and the annoyingly clever idea of separating them– for he’s clearly the leader of the group–, before deciding upon a life of crime instead. Arthur wonders what could’ve led a past knight to decide banditry was more appealing.

“I think you’ll find I’m rather close to my home,” Arthur says, waving his free hand in the direction of Camelot, and the man barks a laugh. A few of the others laugh as well, shutting up only when the man does. It marks his spot as leader as clearly as anything else has.

“Trust me, I know, sire,” the bandit leader says, the title denigratory and his smile cruel. It’s a strange thing to realize, that though Merlin often uses the title mockingly, it has never been with such sneer. Even when Arthur deserves nothing less. He gestures to the other eight, who start to close the circle around them, pressing the group closer to the river. “Fancy king and knights that you are, you must have some trinkets with you that’ll fetch a fair price. I’d hand them over unless you’re feelin’ up to a dip.”

The way the others smile, and laugh, and shove their weapons closer, Arthur knows it won’t end in just ‘a dip’. They will trap them in the river and kill them while they are too busy getting acquainted with the current and depth to fight a foe on higher ground, if they have their way. Arthur’s never been one to let bandits have their way, especially when it’s his people on the line. He gestures to Leon, Lancelot, and Percival so they know to be prepared for a fight, Leon taking two from the right, Percival two from the left, and Lancelot the two who stand the closest to the back while he handles the three in front of them. He trusts Gwaine will protect Merlin, so they don’t have to worry about the sorcerer while contending with the bandits. But before any of them can move, the bandit leader growls, the hold on his sword tightening till his knuckles whiten. His eyes are where Arthur knows Merlin was standing, his expression thunderous and offended. And Arthur frowns, because while he knows Merlin has the special talent to offend with just a facial expression, he can’t imagine the sorcerer would be so monumentally stupid as to gain the attention of the bandit leader. Except whatever Merlin has done, he certainly has caught the bandit leader’s attention, the man disregarding the rest of them near entirely.

“Leash your dog,” the bandit leader snarls at Arthur, looking back at Arthur and Arthur himself turns to look at Merlin. He doesn’t know if “leashing” is something he can even do to Merlin. He’s a sorcerer, not just some pup Arthur adopted along the way, no matter how his knights tend to treat him. Arthur isn’t even sure how powerful he truly is. Yes, Merlin claimed to hold some form of dominion of something over magic users; a king like Arthur is, though Arthur’s never heard of such a thing. As far as he knows, the druids are entirely nomadic, and what need would nomads have for a king? And he has seen Merlin performing bits of magic, making lights and flowers appear like some fool, but nothing large. Nothing he thinks might be impressive or a particularly powerful feat. He is a warlock, as he calls himself, with a knight who clearly protects him of his own free will traveling alongside him. How powerful can he truly be?

Except looking at the sorcerer and his knight now, Gwaine is not protecting Merlin as Arthur would expect him to be. Gwaine is close to him, just as Lancelot is, but he is on guard like every other knight. He’s positioned slightly behind Merlin rather than in front, like a guardian would be. Arthur looks again at the bandit’s leader, unable to form words to command Merlin, too surprised and confused to tell Merlin to heel or attack. But he must say something. He is king, and Merlin has called him so even if he says it with that sparkle in his eyes, and Arthur feels a weight over his chest. Arthur swallows. “Merlin,” comes out of his throat, rawer than he would like, perhaps more trusting than it should be between sorcerer and King of Camelot. When Merlin steps forward, Gwaine does not move an inch, and Arthur can’t help but think it’s not what a protector would do.

“Leave.” Merlin’s voice is firm and his eyes glow golden, yet as far as Arthur is able to tell no magic happens. There are no other words from Merlin’s mouth nor hand movements nor potions to facilitate anything magical happening. Then the bandits laugh as one, shifting closer, and the wind howls. It howls with an intensity Arthur has only heard a few times in his life, loud and hungry like a starving beast. Like they’ve been surrounded by wolves while their focus was on the bandits and the wolves have begun to circle, holding themselves back through sheer willpower, waiting for them to do the dirty work and kill each other so they may have an easy meal. Arthur shudders, because only death follows such a sound. Except the bandits scramble and scatter, fleeing, and the gold bleeds from Merlin’s eyes. The golden colour is the only thing that bleeds— not a drop of blood was spilt upon the grass and dirt of the forest. The birds twitter overhead like the wind was just a bad dream, but the way the leaves now litter the ground in a circle around them and the ones still attached to their branches have gone askew tells him it was not. Merlin turns to Arthur, smiles as dopey as it was when Arthur pulled him back into the saddle, and Arthur isn’t entirely sure if what he feels is whiplash but he thinks it may be.

[howdoyoudothedew]

Rated: G

Ships: merwaine (Merlin/Gwaine)

Word Count: ~1k

A/N: this is the first chapter, im marking them all under the tag 'merlin dangerous devotion'. this was for the after camlann bang though i didnt quite make the requirements (sadly)

The throne room is unsurprisingly quiet. One doesn’t expect a lot of noise when a warlock reveals himself, and when it is to a kingdom like Camelot who has a history of killing at even a whisper of magic they’d understandably expect complete silence. But it’s much deeper than Merlin expected it to be. It’s not the silence of a room where everyone is holding their breath, waiting for the next move. It’s the dead silence of a dangerous forest; like all the air has been sucked out till there is nothing left, not even the smallest of lives. Nothing moves. Even the tapestries don’t whisper, still as they cling to the walls. Merlin clears his throat, loud in the silence, a sliver of anxiety running through him. The feeling of this place is something he’s only witnessed a few times, in the deepest most ancient places, and it’s one he’s never quite gotten used to. Maybe eventually he will. He has lots of time to become acquainted with it. He breathes, allowing the feeling to run through his veins even as he keeps it from shivering through his skin, his posture straight and strong and his grip on his staff tight.

“King Arthur,” Merlin says, loud and clear. Someone shifts and it sounds in the room like a thunderclap. He looks to his side to see Gwaine standing loose like he hasn’t a care in the world, though Merlin knows him well enough to know the bored expression will snap away in a moment should the need arise. Gwaine smiles and winks at him. It’s all Merlin needs to continue. “I am Merlin, though the druids know me as Emrys. I bring with me a request to return magic to its rightful place in Camelot.”

The room erupts into murmurs like a sudden storm. The tapestries sway in its wind, brushing against the wall like agitated beasts woken from a long hibernation. Merlin feels the castle itself tremble and a heartbeat in the stones under his feet, the first signs of life after what seems like years, a sudden breath of oxygen in an ancient place. His magic swirls inside him, responding to it, goading it, and he can feel the tentative relief within the walls of Camelot like a welcome home after a long journey, like the return of a victor after a hard war. It’s the same as he felt in the woods while Gwaine and he rode closer, anticipation seeping through every piece of Camelot at the thought of her magic returning to her.

King Arthur scoffs and the masonry creaks. The entire kingdom holds its breath, the deprivation of it after such a sudden gasp oppressive.

“You came into the heart of Camelot just to ask that? You are aware of what we do to sorcerers, aren’t you?” King Arthur asks, raising an eyebrow. Merlin breathes in, long and slow, reminding himself that he is not the building around him. He is magic, and magic touches the stones and dirt of this place, it reaches to its darkest corners and lingers like dust, but he is not the dust. He is not the trees outside nor the wind held still, even if he awaits King Arthur’s words as much as they do. He is magic and Arthur’s rule affects that magic, effects all of Albion as its pumping heart, but Merlin is more than the blood, he is more than Emrys. He is Merlin, son of Hunith and Balinor, husband to Gwaine. He breathes out, just as slow, realizing the room is awaiting his answer just as much as King Arthur’s.

“Of course I am,” Merlin says. “that is why I am here. It has to stop. I can’t let you kill my people anymore. I can’t let you deprive Camelot of her magic anymore.”

“Let?” King Arthur leans forward, a chuckle on his lips. “That’s a bold word. And how are you going to stop me if I don’t? If I continue to “deprive Camelot of her magic”, as you say. Perhaps I’ll kill you where you stand, instead of dealing with your trial, if they’re truly your people.”

Merlin nearly sighs, though he’s not very surprised. When you’ve had your heart hardened for so long, it is hard to react in any other way. He feels Gwaine shift behind him and he doesn’t have to look to know the position he’s taken up. Neither of them know if King Arthur will truly attempt it, but Gwaine is prepared for the possibility. The knight at King Arthur’s side shifts as well, taking a step forward, his face dark and serious. He must care for his king greatly. Not a lot of people are willing to stand against Gwaine when he shifts like this. The people who know Gwaine typically just move out of his way. Even the powerful ones, like Morgana.

“Keep your dog leashed,” Leon says, a hand on his sword’s hilt and ready to pull out at a moment’s notice.

Arthur raises an eyebrow, watching the sorcerer. The sorcerer who doesn’t flinch or move, except to hold a hand out to his knight. “Heel,” he says, face straight. To Arthur’s surprise, the knight steps down immediately, posture loosening like an empty bowstring, faster than any of his own knights. He’d think it was magic, except the sorcerer’s eyes didn’t even flicker gold. Leon relaxes seconds later, though his hand doesn’t leave the hilt of his sword. Meanwhile, the sorcerer’s knight has gone back to the same posture as before, loose and open like he hasn’t a care in the world. If Arthur hadn’t seen the change himself he never would’ve believed it happened.

One of the younger knights snickers at Leon’s words and the sorcerer’s reaction, but Arthur doesn’t share his sentiment. There is a dogged loyalty between the sorcerer and his knight; a devotion shared between them like master and pet. A loyalty like this is dangerous, Arthur knows. It’s teeth sharp as knives and words with the power of swords. And when both parties know– when they acknowledge it and even lean into it– it can be a weapon as dangerous as magic. If this leads to a fight, Arthur is quite certain he will lose several knights before they even reach the sorcerer. He sits back in his throne, wary of both.

“All I ask is that you allow us to stay here for a time, so I can show you magic isn’t something to be feared,” the sorcerer says with an earnest expression. It’s a stark difference from just seconds earlier, as open as his knight. It’s so earnest Arthur nearly finds himself wanting to believe the sorcerer right then. Blue eyes stare at him, large as the sky. Arthur sighs and waves a hand. Maybe it will be safer to just let them be for a time, to keep them close where he can watch them.

“Fine,” Arthur says and Leon glances over in surprise. The sorcerer’s eyes widen as well, before a soft smile overtakes his face. It nearly looks like relief. “I’ll allow the two of you in my kingdom without punishment, but you will both remain under strict guard. Lancelot?”

Lancelot steps up immediately, looking between their two… guests… and Arthur. “You will be the one to watch them.”

“Yes, Sire,” Lancelot says, moving toward the two.

“What about when we sleep?” The knight asks, smiling. “Or will we be bunking with you?”

Arthur glares at him. “You will room with my knights.”

“Oo, sleepover,” Gwaine says and Merlin smiles just slightly at his antics, unable to help himself, before he clears his throat.

“Thank you, Sire,” the sorcerer says and an odd feeling passes through Arthur, not entirely pleasant but not entirely horrible either, at a sorcerer calling him sire. Arthur nods, pushing it down.