part two, COMPLETED!
rating / archive warning: mature, graphic depictions of violence
relationships: Luke & Kieran & you, mostly, with some Sylus/you on the side (crow family)
tags: spoilers for world underneath: mischief, blood & violence & injury, torture, medical trauma, hospitals, panic attacks, parenting, family dynamics, domestic fluff, themes of motherhood, trauma bonding, vulnerability, kidnapping & recovery, angst with a happy ending, telepathic twin bond, the twins need a parent and it's you, it's always been you, (and sylus)
summary:
It takes approximately twenty-four hours for you to become a mother.
It begins with a bloody ambush in a dark alleyway, and you’re not even there.
a drag path, on ao3 (entire work, completed)
on tumblr:
chapter one
chapter two
chapter three
chapter four
chapter five
chapter six
chapter seven
chapter eight
chapter nine
chapter ten
chapter eleven
etched in the surface, on ao3 (entire work, completed)
Summary: Fem!Sylus and fem!reader go shopping and talk fashion. (ao3) (fic masterlist)
Notes: Prompt is about expressing yourself but I don't know how to do that so neither can reader ope. Discussions of insecurity, particularly re: fashion. Fem reader, unspecified orientation. Reader could be MC or not. 1.7k words.
I wanted to do art for this event but travel came up so we're pivoting and doing some oneshots because I still want to participate 🫶 ty for @sapphic-lads for organizing this!
Shopping had always been an uncomfortable endeavor for you.
It started when you were young, and it just never really got better. More manageable, sure, when searching for clothes was done solo instead of with prying eyes and dressing room side comments.
As a result, you’d never put much care into your clothes. Get something that fit enough to be able to comfortably move, try not to think about how your body looked different or sometimes just wrong, and move on with your life. Preferably it was on sale or at a thrift store so you weren’t breaking the bank for something that thinking too hard about made you feel… icky.
You’d gone years getting away with just not thinking about it. It worked pretty well, and if asked about your lackluster sense of style, you could always use the excuse of saving your wallet.
But now your wallet was 6’2” with gorgeous white hair and shimmering red eyes, and she could read you like a book.
So when you were walking through an indoor mall at the heart of Linkon, zoning out at window displays while listening to the quiet patter of rain on the roof, she noticed immediately.
“Is there something you like?” Sylus asked, shifting the bag in her hand from the jewelry shop you two had just visited.
Well, Sylus had visited. You had trailed next to her like a lost pet, too unsure in your own taste to look at anything Sylus didn’t point out first.
(The store was far below her usual price range, but she said she’d wanted some more “low-key” pieces for when she was out with you and could potentially run into people you know. The “budget” jewelry’s prices still had you seeing stars, though.)
“Hm?” you hummed, taking a moment to process what she’d asked. “Oh, no, it’s okay. I’m good.”
She raised an eyebrow and looked back at the window display. Mannequins displayed soft feminine styles, sundresses and long, flowing skirts and shoes that looked equal parts gorgeous and dangerous.
“Let’s look around,” she said decisively, turning toward the entrance, and you could rarely tell her no when she did this, moving with confidence and purpose you envied.
You followed her inside and looked around. It was one of the mall’s higher-end stores, and you suddenly felt self-conscious about the simple shorts and t-shirt you were wearing. You felt out of place.
But you wanted to try some of these styles. You wanted to feel flowy and pretty. It just… didn’t feel possible. You wouldn’t look right, you were certain, and the last thing you wanted was to look ridiculous in front of your girlfriend.
But then Sylus turned to you, a small smile on her face and eagerness in her eyes as she gestured forward.
“Well? Go on, kitten,” she said, in that way that made your heart stutter for a moment.
“Um, I’m not really sure what I’m looking for,” you admitted, looking around at the intimidating mannequins and racks. “I’m no good at this, you’re the one with the sense of style.”
You looked her up and down. She wore dark slacks and a red blazer over a black turtleneck. A silver necklace glittered around her neck, complimenting the silver rings on her hand. Her long, silvery white hair was draped over one shoulder. She was, in every sense, the embodiment of class and style.
Sylus’s smile ticked downward at your comment, and she opened her mouth to reply, but a saleswoman walked up with a bright smile.
“Hello! Can I help you with anything?" she asked. Before you could say anything, Sylus stepped forward.
“She’ll need a dressing room, please,” she said, nodding down at you. Your face pinkened, but the woman simply nodded and kept her bright smile.
Oh boy.
A short while (that felt like an eternity) later, you were in the dressing room. Sylus had opted to sit outside to let you change, tipping you off that she’d sensed some of your discomfort and wanted to let you have your own space.
You were glad for it, but it would have been nice to have her in there with you. You were just standing in front of the mirror, staring at yourself with a frown, before a gentle knock shook you from your thoughts.
“Everything alright, sweetie?”
“Yes!” you replied immediately, practically throwing your clothes off and grabbing the first dress from a hanger.
It was a beautiful shimmery pink dress, with thin straps and floral designs. It was beautiful. But when you shimmied into it and looked at yourself in the mirror, doubt gnawed at you. Was it too girly? Not girly enough? Did you do it justice?
“Are you dressed?” came Sylus’s voice again. You sighed and opened the dressing room door, stepping out into the secluded hall where Sylus waited.
You fiddled with the fabric for a moment before forcing yourself to look up at her, and were surprised to see her staring at you with wide red eyes, her lips slightly parted.
“Um. What do you think?” you asked meekly. Sylus blinked a few times before her expression settled, but the admiration never left her face.
“You look beautiful, kitten,” she said, as if it was a known fact, like the sky being blue or Mephisto loving gems. A simple and clean truth of reality.
Leaning back and forth, watching the fabric sway around your legs, you weren’t so sure.
“I don’t think I look right in it,” you said carefully. “I’m… not sure I’ll look right in any of these. Maybe we can just go?”
Sylus’s smile faded and her brows furrowed.
“I won’t make you try anything you don’t want to, sweetie, but why do you say that?” she asked. “When we were picking dresses out, you said this one was your favorite. I can always get it adjusted if there’s something about it you want to change.”
“The dress isn’t the problem,” you said quietly.
She hummed and thought for a moment, before ushering you back into the changing room. This time, she followed you in, closing the door behind you. Sylus reached forward, resting her hands on your bare shoulders and letting them trail down your arms before settling on your waist. You fought not to shiver under her touch.
“What’s this about?” she asked gently. You bit your lip, trying to think over your response, but before you knew it, words were spilling out and you couldn’t stop them.
“I just don’t know what I like when it comes to fashion. I never explored it because nothing ever felt right, and it always felt like there was some expectation on how I should dress because of- just, whatever. Like, because of how my body looks, or because I like women,” you explained, wringing your fingers. “I want to express myself more, but I don’t know how, and whenever I try, I just feel ridiculous. And it’s hard because I look like a background character and you look like… you.”
“I look like… me,” Sylus repeated, raising an eyebrow. You sighed and gestured to her.
“You know, you always look so amazing. It doesn’t matter what you wear. Suit and tie, dress and heels, hair up, hair down, you make it look effortless,” you explained. “And I love it, a lot, but I just don’t think I could ever match up to that.”
Your face heated up as your rant came to an end. You’d really just said all of that in some dressing room, responding to a simple question. Embarrassment crept at your throat, but Sylus just shook her head fondly.
“First of all, thank you for the compliments,” she began, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “But don’t ever call yourself a ‘background character.’”
With a small sigh, you leaned forward, resting your head against her shoulder.
“Supporting cast?” you suggested with a shaky laugh. Her chest rumbled with a small laugh and one of her hands came up to rest in your hair.
“The main character, in any feature,” she corrected. “And I seem the way I am because I feel comfortable, sweetie, not because of some fashion superpower. You just need to find what makes you happy. If that’s jean shorts and a t-shirt, fine. If that’s dresses and heels, there you go. But you have to give yourself the chance to experiment, or you’ll never find what you love.”
You pulled away, looking up at her.
“What if I never find out, and I’m just always doing something different?” you asked. You pointed to the pink dress you wore, then a black lace one that was on a hanger to be tried on later. “What if one day I’m all pink and one day it’s black? And then I don’t like either of them and I go back to my jean shorts?”
“Then I’ll buy you all the jean shorts in the world,” Sylus replied with a shrug. “Are you implying I’m broke, sweetie?”
“No, never,” you laughed, reaching up and tucking some of her hair behind her ear. “But I’m implying that you might be stuck dealing with an indecisive mess that can never figure out how to express herself.”
This time, Sylus’s kiss landed right on your lips, gentle but fleeting.
“Every day ‘dealing with’ you is a blessing,” she said quietly. “Experiment all you want. Be indecisive. As long as it’s you, and you feel like you have the freedom to be yourself around me, I’ll be happy.”
The words settled in your chest and left you even more head-over-heels for her, if such a thing was possible. With a nod and a quick wipe at your eyes, which you hadn’t even realized were watering, you confronted your stack of clothes with renewed determination.
This time, Sylus stayed in the dressing room, watching you try on each dress and gently getting information out of you about what you liked and didn’t like, making sure to compliment you with each comment and suggestion.
You left hand-in-hand with Sylus carrying a new bag filled with half a dozen new dresses, all in different styles, and for the first time since you could remember, you left the mall feeling excited to wear what you’d gotten.
Hi hiiii, just read "a drag path" and I just want to say: thank you for giving Luke and Kieran so much depth in this story 😭 it's so heartwarming seeing them interact with MC and Sylus in different ways, even more so when I think about how murky MC's position as their mother is from beginning to end. You writing style is so charming (and the banter!!!) and vulnerable. Thank you for sharing your writing with us 🥹
AHHHH this is SO kind, what a lovely ask to receive!!! i felt like there was SO MUCH in world underneath: mischief that could be expounded upon, i really couldn't resist! it brings me so much joy to see it all again through your eyes ❤️
thank you thank you!!!! i can't wait to reply to your comments bc boy do i like to yap 😂
Jas i just finished the l&k series you wrote on AO3 and while i commented on the chapters there i HAD to come by here and give you hugs and kisses🫂🫂🫂💋💋💋 because it was so beautiful. Thank you for sharing your work, we're so blessed to read it!!!!
Have a good day, sweetie😘
🥰🥰🥰oMG thank you so much, i accept the hugs and kisses thank u thank u
you honor me, i can't wait to read your comments!! please know that i write for people like you <3<3<3
speaking of, now that the album is out i can finally link the song i listened to that inspired the second series (other than the titular drag path): EVERYTHING I'VE EVER WANTED by Tiffany Day
Fic Summary: After resonating with Sylus and returning home from the N109 Zone, MC's hair slowly begins turning white. Those around her take notice.
Chapter Excerpt: In the time since she’d met Sylus in the park- and she’d met him a couple times since then- the white had finally overtaken what little remained of her old hair color. There had been no fanfare, no change in her Evol, and no sudden understanding of why exactly her body had reacted the way it did to resonating with Sylus. Just a quick glance in the mirror before work and the realization that the change was now complete.
There was literally no way Caleb didn’t notice.
Notes: MC & Caleb, this is during Homecoming Wings so the vibes are a little awkward
Chapter Word Count: 2,552
Maybe it was time to re-evaluate her work habits.
She went solo in the N109 Zone and the chain of events with Sylus happened. The ending to that chapter of her life was still unwritten, but no matter how she felt about the outcome, she couldn’t deny that the whole debacle had been a bumpy ride.
Now, she’d gone alone to the Farspace Fleet base on Skyhaven, and having just watched a man vanish into a miniature black hole and now being held in place by a crushing weight with the footsteps of the Fleet’s Colonel approaching behind her, the hunter began seriously questioning her current “go in solo” model of Aethor Core field work.
All doubts instantly vanished from her mind when she turned around and saw Caleb’s face looking down at her, though.
Her heart was beating hard enough for her to feel it in her hands throughout the entire interrogation process while her brain moved a hundred miles an hour, trying desperately to reconcile the memory of her Caleb to the intimidating man in front of her.
But then the interrogation room lights brightened, and Caleb- because yes, this had to be her Caleb- worriedly asked if he’d scared her, and the hunter didn’t think before launching herself forward into his arms. Tears streamed down her face as Caleb wrapped one arm around her tightly. His other arm rose toward her head, hesitating for a moment before carefully resting on her white hair, cradling her against him.
The next hour passed in a flurry of emotions. She was pretty sure she’d felt every emotional humanly possible in the last few hours, actually. The confusion and heartache when Caleb described his mysterious survival of the explosion and subsequent enlistment into the Fleet. The knowing sadness when he confirmed that Grandma hadn’t miraculously survived with him.
The unexpected nervousness she felt when Caleb asked what she’d been up to after his dea- disappearance.
Framed in golden sunlight as he piloted his personal aircraft away from the Fleet and to his home, she found herself thinking over her words before answering, careful to avoid discussing the Association’s current involvement with Aether Cores and the Spatium Core. She described her adventures, including her time in the N109 Zone, given that he revealed during the interrogation that he already knew she’d been there. Caleb nodded along to each story, keeping his gaze on the aircraft’s instrument panels, but clearly hanging onto every word she said.
And when she mentioned that she knew Ever was the mastermind behind so much, he had only given a nod, his expression unchanged, and told her to leave it to him for now. When they were kids, she could rest easily when Caleb said things like that, knowing he would handle things and help her. Why didn’t she feel that same comfort now?
Things just felt wrong, even though she was beyond joy that Caleb was back. Too much had changed too quickly, and she didn’t know what to do with herself other than just coast through this bombshell of a day.
The aircraft landed on a small floating island on the outskirts of Skyhaven, passing through a shimmering barrier and resting on a small launchpad in front of a modern, dark gray house. Caleb led the way inside, and she frowned when she was met with a dusty, lifeless home. It looked like a display from a furniture store, with everything just a little bit too staged to feel natural.
Caleb ushered her off to the bathroom to freshen up while he made dinner, and she gratefully took the excuse to take some time alone to gather herself (and get out of the stiff Fleet uniform she’d been disguised in). She quickly closed the door behind her and shrugged the black jacket off, letting it fall to the floor, and beelined for the sink.
After splashing water on her face, she looked up and met her eyes in the mirror. Enough time had passed since she’d cried into Caleb’s shoulder that they weren’t red and puffy anymore. Her gaze drifted upward to her disheveled hair.
In the time since she’d met Sylus in the park- and she’d met him a couple times since then- the white had finally overtaken what little remained of her old hair color. There had been no fanfare, no change in her Evol, and no sudden understanding of why exactly her body had reacted the way it did to resonating with Sylus. Just a quick glance in the mirror before work and the realization that the change was now complete.
There was literally no way Caleb didn’t notice.
He hadn’t said anything yet, but he’d looked her up and down several times since the interrogation, when he was treating her wrists in the med bay and then when he’d worriedly asked if she’d been eating fine. (She was glad she didn’t look quite as bad as she had shortly after the explosion - he didn’t need to see her like that.)
After her experience with Zayne, she knew better than to think he just wouldn’t bring it up at all. No, he was just waiting before springing the question on her. She sighed as she ran her slightly damp hands through her hair. Would it be worth trying to convince him she’d gotten it dyed?
As soon as the thought crossed her mind, she shook her head to dismiss it. This was Caleb, there was no need to lie to him. Omitting some of the Hunters Association business was different.
A quick shower later, she was out of the rest of her Fleet attire and in comfy clothes, patting her silvery hair dry before meandering back out to the house’s living area. Her mouth watered at the smell coming from the kitchen- she immediately recognized the scent of braised pork. The excitement of getting to eat Caleb’s cooking again almost dispelled the nauseating memory of what happened shortly after the last time she’d eaten his food.
“Hey, pipsqueak,” Caleb greeted when she rounded the corner. He nodded toward the kitchen island, where most of the meal- main course, sides, and all- was already plated. “Perfect timing. Help me take everything to the table?”
She nodded and started carrying dishes to the too-big, but obviously recently dusted, dining table. Just as Caleb came over, carrying the rest, her stomach growled loudly. He laughed and set the dishes down, and reached up to ruffle her hair before stopping and pulling his hand back, straightening out the plates instead.
“Are you sure you’ve been eating well? I think they could hear your stomach growl all the way in Linkon,” he teased. She stuck her tongue out in response, but still sat, eager to start dinner.
“I’m sure. Now hurry up and sit, I’ve literally dreamt about this,” she said, eyeing the braised pork. Caleb laughed and pushed a plate in front of her.
“Go ahead, let me know if it lives up to expectations,” he said, looking the most relaxed he’d been since she’d first made eye contact with him at the Fleet base.
Live up to expectations it did. At the first bite, the hunter’s eyes instantly watered up, but she quickly blinked the tears away. No more crying. If Caleb noticed, he politely didn’t point it out.
“So, you got me almost caught up with everything you’ve been up to lately,” Caleb started.
Here it comes, she thought, but she didn’t stop eating, only nodding to encourage him to continue.
“But you didn’t bring up your hair. That’s definitely new.”
She faltered for a moment before managing to chew and swallow her food. He didn’t sound angry, but his voice was a little too neutral.
“Yeah, it’s a more recent thing,” she said, trying to come off as nonchalant. “Do you like it?”
He hummed noncommittally, poking at his food with his fork and resting his chin in his other hand, glancing up at her.
“It’s definitely different. I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone’s hair look that way when it’s dyed,” he said bluntly. “Looks natural.”
She shifted back and forth in her seat before sighing and setting her fork down. He clearly knew something was up. There was no point in hiding anything, and frankly, she didn’t want to hide anything. Not from him.
“It kind of is,” she admitted, looking down at her plate. “I didn’t dye it. It turned white, bit by bit. It only recently finished spreading.”
Caleb sighed and she looked up, her shoulders dropping at the distraught expression on his face.
“What happened? You can tell me,” he said gently. He winced and leaned back in his seat, fiddling with his fork in his left hand and dropping his right to rest on the table. “Don’t tell me it was from stress after I… left?”
She shook her head, waving her hands frantically.
“No, no, that’s not it,” she assured. “Well, yeah, that was stressful, of course, but, no, that’s not what caused it.”
Caleb sighed in relief and leaned forward, still looking concerned, but not quite as anguished.
“Then what happened? Was it stress from something else? Have you talked to a doctor?” he asked. “Did you run into some crazy Wanderer, or have a Protocore Syndrome flareup?”
“Nothing like that, don’t worry,” she interrupted, forcing a small smile. Not that Caleb would find the start of her journey to the N109 Zone much better than those options, but he didn’t need all the details. “It was just a weird resonance is all.”
Crossing his arms, Caleb raised an eyebrow, staring her down like he could find the truth if he just looked hard enough (a tried and true tactic, given how quickly he could get her to admit to things when they were kids).
“What kind of resonance would do that? Who was it?” he asked warily.
I’m not about to tell him about the boss of Onichynus.
“Nobody you know,” she said casually, picking up her fork again to have something in her hand. “I still don’t know exactly what happened, but after resonating, my hair started turning white. Everything’s fine, though, Zayne said the changes in my Evol were still in a healthy range-”
“Changes in your Evol?” Caleb interrupted, worry clouding his features again. “So your protocore is acting up? That doesn’t sound like ‘nothing.’”
“Well, technically, I guess so,” she said, floundering. She felt like she was losing control of the conversation. “But the fluctuations aren’t anything to worry about, I promise. I’ve resonated just fine since then, and everything else is normal. It’s just my hair.”
Caleb looked unconvinced. He sighed and looked down, strumming the fingers of his left hand on the tabletop. She watched him carefully, fiddling with her fork.
“What’s wrong?” she asked tentatively. “Caleb, I promise everything really is fine.”
Caleb didn’t answer right away, mulling over his words before looking up, his eyes looking almost… flat, or unamused.
“I’m just worried about what you’re getting yourself into. You’ve had some physically altering resonance and you won’t give me all the details. And on top of that, you’ve been up to a lot lately, including dangerous stunts like going to the N109 Zone,” he continued.
She felt herself tense up at the mention of the N109 Zone and immediately forced herself to relax, paling a bit. If anyone could read her tells, it would definitely be Caleb!
Sure enough, he paused, his eyes widening just barely.
“There’s probably a lot going on that you don’t even know about,” he said carefully. “I’m worried about you just charging in and getting involved.”
“It’s my job to get involved, Caleb, I’m a hunter,” she argued. She didn’t add that a big part of why she got involved in the N109 Zone was because of Caleb, and Grandma, and her false blame on Sylus for the explosion.
“This doesn’t seem like a hunting thing, it seems like a you thing,” Caleb countered. “Why can’t you at least tell me who it was?”
“Why do you need to know? I’m allowed to have my own life, Caleb,” she retorted, quickly shutting her mouth when she heard the bite in her voice. She didn’t want to fight with him, not when she just got him back. But where could she even begin to describe what happened with Sylus when she was still trying to figure things out herself?
She wanted to envision a future where she could talk to Caleb about Sylus. She didn’t know exactly what things would look like, but she knew deep down that Sylus was going to continue becoming an important figure in her life. But right now was not the time to dive into things, not when her life was once again being flipped upside down.
Caleb looked like he wanted to argue back, but he stopped and sighed, taking a deep breath and closing his eyes. When he opened them, he looked more relaxed, more like the Caleb she was used to. He nodded and turned his gaze back to his food.
“I know, I know. It’s just hard to see how you changed when I was gone,” he said lightly. “Alright, pipsqueak, I won’t keep asking about your mystery resonance. I just want you to be able to talk to me, and rely on me to help you.”
“I know,” she said quietly, relaxing and smiling back. “I promise if it reaches that point, I know I have Caleb to back me up.”
She knew it wouldn’t. Things with Sylus had still been tense, and often involved bullets, just not at each other. But she just knew that she wouldn’t ever be at a point with him again where she was scared or would need help getting away from him.
The rest of dinner passed without issue, with Caleb carefully steering the conversation away from her hair and onto lighter topics, and she gladly followed. Even when she saw the skies darkening outside and heard the distant rumbles of thunder, and even though she knew deep down that things in Skyhaven were about to become very complicated, she couldn’t help finding relief in Caleb’s return.
This new… friendship? Acquaintanship? Something with Sylus would probably only get more complicated, but she couldn’t help but be enthusiastic about the road ahead. Caleb would take more time to warm up to her new normal, but she knew that she would have his support just like she had the support of others in her life, because at the end of the day, he cared about her.
--------
That was what Caleb kept repeating to himself that night, when she was asleep and the house was quiet. Thunder rumbled every so often, but the storm wouldn’t hit Skyhaven tonight. Only the edges, a potential taste of what was to come.
He sat on the edge of his bed for a while, his mind racing as he mulled over the unexpected events of today.
Much bigger things were in play. He couldn’t get caught up on something as trivial as her hair, even though he knew the story behind it was more than it seemed. For now, all he could do was damage control, and try to prepare for whatever was to come.
here’s a meta analysis of eits and a bit of world underneath: mischief!! thanks to ultravioletlites on ao3 for the inspiration <3 beware, spoilers ahead, and tw for talking about suicide / self harm (related to world underneath: mischief)
i have so many thoughts, but i’ll try keeping it brief – apologies for how disorganized this is! if you read any of this, know that i appreciate u
going into this story, i wanted the memories the twins experienced to act as the unavoidable proof of love that the mc has for them. not only that, i wanted the memories to refute the unhealthy coping mechanisms and the unfair / untrue self-images the twins had about themselves. and because i like to write from a third-person pov, with the main character’s voice sprinkled in the narration, the twins often didn’t – and couldn’t – reconcile what they were seeing with the truth – that they were, and are, loved deeply.
everything happens so fast in eits that the boys could hardly even react to the memories, other than with pain and grief and rage. there’s a reality where the memories were actually comforting on the path to rescue mc, but because neither luke nor kieran could feel safe enough to accept that the mc was sticking around, all they did was bring up cognitive-dissonance mid-crisis.
and yet, each memory had a purpose! you may interpret them however you like, but these were my intentions when writing them:
i think it’s interesting how in world underneath: mischief, the twins almost immediately pivot from wanting to kill sylus to wanting to work for him. for me, that speaks volumes about how they view safety and their own worth – after their near death experience with the crystal transformation, they try to attach themselves to the biggest, baddest thing nearby, promising him that they’d be of use.
it's the first relationship they form since being experimented on; or maybe even the first since childhood, and it’s utterly conditional. it’s all a play for control, imo, and they’re so deep in denial about why they would go for sylus that they tell him that they just want to see if someone can kill him. it’s fucked up, but i really believe that it’s because sylus didn’t kill them, and showed them that they didn’t want to die, and that was such an anomaly that they immediately and impulsively trusted him.
So THEN even as the events in a drag path begin this journey, the twins have no confirmation, no idea, that what the mc offers is /un/conditional. they operate under the assumption that your good will has to run out eventually, and that they must continue to be useful. there’s a cyclical sort of reasoning that i think drives the twins, and it’s that: if we aren’t useful, we will be abandoned. if we are abandoned, we will be vulnerable. if we’re vulnerable, we will die. therefore, they will die the moment they cease to be of use. it’s not a rational line of thought, but it is based on the historical evidence of their lives.
but here comes mc! and she’s the quiet but profound evidence to the contrary.
to be honest, i almost didn’t go with another kidnapping this time, because i was like, why does love have to be recognized after violence? why can’t it just be learned gently? but then i realized: it has been learned gently the past six months in between a drag path and eits. it’s just that – the twins are so wrapped up in their own dialogue, in their own method of being, that, without a catalyst, they would continue to doubt their place with sylusmc. this is why the memories they re-live are so important, and each are tailored to fight their fears / that cycle of faulty reasoning.
i fear i’ve already yapped enough, so if there’s any interest in going into each of the memories individually, lmk! for now i’ll end it on this note:
in chapter eight of eits, the twins have the mutual thought that they were never kid-sized. i thought it was important to include this because trauma tends to rewrite how brains think. for the twins, this is evident in how they refuse to see themselves as young and helpless, because that would mean they weren’t brought up normally. and that’s all so very sad! and they don’t want to be sad. it’s common within survivors of trauma to feel broken because of this – mourning the fact that they’ll never be ‘normal’.
the twins don’t have this broken feeling because they’ve never had anything to compare it to, and because they are in denial of it, but i wanted it to be clear to those reading this that – the echoes of trauma that reverberate in the mind do not equal a less fulfilling life. even if they never fully come to terms with their childhood, their relationship with sylusmc will always be enough. it was important to me that this feeling (avoiding picturing themselves as small) wasn’t resolved, so as to illustrate the tension of feeling less-than, and to show mc loving them anyway, and loving them easily.
Relationships: Luke & Kieran & You, Sylus/You, Crow Fam, additional tags below the cut!
The bedroom is dim on purpose.
He was always the one more adapted to the dark. It’s where Kieran usually belongs, most of the time. But it’s hard to feel that way, here and now. Even though it was his brother-delegated shift.
The curtains are half-drawn, as if it matters in the N109 Zone. The lights in the room are low enough that edges blur.
Kieran watches the lines of your heartbeat on the silent monitor as if it’s riveting. As if it’s their TV show; as if he can’t trust that things won’t change the moment he looks away. You’re breathing softly. That doesn’t stop him from getting up close every few minutes and holding trembling fingers inches from your nose.
He notices the shift in you right before you wake.
Additional Tags: Blood and Violence, Medical Trauma, Slow Burn (emotionally), protective MC, Angst, Catharsis, Vulnerability, Parenthood, Found Family, Family Dynamics, Domestic Fluff, Angst with a Happy Ending, kidnapping recovery (again) (in my defense they're so kidnapable your honor), telepathic twin bond, "would it be so terrible?", "if it were me?"
He freezes – caught. His body is crunched up on the chair next to the bed, the one reserved for Sylus. Kieran lets his leg drop off the edge, quietly, biting his nails.
Your brow furrows, and just as he thinks he can silently escape, your eyes open.
It takes several rounds of wincing and blinking for you just to see him.
When you do, everything about you eases. Your body, your expression. You look less like a patient, and more like –
“There you are,” you rasp, smiling.
His gaze drops.
He doesn’t speak for a while.
“You should sleep,” he goes, at some point, equally as hoarse. He clears his throat.
He catches you moving in his periphery. “Don’t –” he exclaims, softly, reaching automatically to stop you. It’s too late – you’ve already shuffled over on the enormous bed, pushed yourself upright, allowing enough space for another.
You lift a hand, palm up, fingers outstretched.
It takes effort that you shouldn’t expend. Your arm shakes with it.
He stills instantly, eyes snapping back to your face like he’s been called by name.
Kieran swallows.
And he reaches back.
You curl around his hand and pull. Not hard – just enough for him to know where you want him.
He stands, careful where he places his weight, unsure whether the floor might give in beneath him if he’s not gentle enough. Slowly, he sits, legs up on the bed. The mattress dips beside you.
He feels your warmth even before your shoulders brush.
You sigh, like it’s a relief. “I am,” you reply, far too late, as you tip your head to rest your head against his. Your eyes must be closed again.
This is better, and this is worse, for so many reasons. He’s hyper-aware of your presence, though it isn’t as if he wasn’t before. He can’t look at you without disturbing your rest, and it’s nice to not have to meet your gaze.
He didn’t know. He didn’t know it could be like this.
You both breathe, together, for a time.
After, you twist your head slightly against his, as if to look at him. He tilts, too, for your benefit.
“Are you okay?” you ask.
He chokes on an answer. He wants to yell at you.
His eyes burn. “Yeah, mom.”
“And Luke?”
“He’s fine.”
You pause. Quietly, “...Sylus?”
He nods. The motion musses both your hair. “We’re all okay,” he croaks.
You think on that.
Everything he had wanted to say has flown away from him. He thought he had so much, but it turns out – he doesn’t. Not really. Save for the apology they’ll never stop owing you.
Words cease in the spaces between heartbeats.
Your voice is soft when you choose to speak next. “What happened? While I was gone?”
Kieran closes his eyes. Again, he doesn’t answer immediately. Shame bubbles up in his throat like bile.
Don’t say it.
Don’t say it.
“We – fought,” he admits.
He can feel the way your body falls, like a part of you has collapsed at his words. Your fingers close around his hand lying next to your thigh.
He presses his lips together in a tight line, and grits his teeth.
“I’m sorry,” you say quietly. “You must’ve been so worried.”
He shakes next to you.
You’re back to silence. The holy kind, where the feelings are bigger than the body he inhabits; flowing out of him as if he were the one leaving threads of light behind.
He’d never want anyone else to witness this, except for maybe you. His brother. The ones already present.
“Sylus stopped us.” It comes out as a gasp.
Before grief could kill them both, he stopped them.
You stay quiet, just listening.
“We didn’t – we didn’t do what he told us to,” he goes, swallowing again; encouraged by your thumb stroking the side of hand absently. “Because there was this – trail you left behind.”
His jaw tightens. “We couldn’t figure out what it was, really, but – we knew it was you. So we followed it.” His voice is barely above a whisper. “S-Sylus said to stay put, when we found you.”
He forces himself to keep going.
“We didn’t.”
You don’t pull away.
His voice cracks. “We – we should’ve saved you.”
He’s breathing hard. “At the s-safehouse. We were r-right t-there, and – we didn’t –”
He finally drowns in it. He tries turning away from you to bury his face into his sweatshirt.
You don’t let him.
Your hand leaves his, slow; on purpose. He panics for half a second – until your palm meets his jaw.
You’re shaking your head. “No,” you say.
Your face is shining. With tears, with something impossible and true.
He’s stricken. “You don’t get it –”
“I do,” you interrupt, smiling so wide. Unyielding. “I do.”
You lift your other hand up, turning painfully toward him, thumbs wiping away the tears that keep falling down his face.
“Thank you. Thank you both,” you say, finally, eyes searching his. “For finding me.”
His face screws up. Mouth opening, closing. And then – without thinking – with neither armor nor deflection – it just slips out of him.
“You – found us, first,” he says.
You don’t say anything. You just knock your forehead against his, the weight of you grounding. You must be in so much pain. When one of them woke up from their last surgery, they were so thirsty, so weary. But here you are, comforting him – comforting them. Asking for nothing, giving everything.
A light knock at the door.
Neither of you flinch.
He knew it was coming well before the door partially opens.
The first thing he sees is Luke. His awareness slides into place like a missing piece of himself, warm and electric. His eyes are sharp, red-rimmed, and his attention snaps directly to you.
Sylus stands in the doorway, one arm slung around his brother’s shoulders.
Sylus’s gaze flicks from the two of you – your foreheads still together, shoulders touching, your hand dragging away from him as you turn – to your face. It looks like the sight catches his breath; like he can’t believe his luck. The tenderness remains when he finally exhales.
“Are we interrupting?” he asks, voice low.
You speak first. “No, come in.” You try to sit up more upright, and Kieran immediately goes to help you do it. He feels it when Sylus gives Luke’s shoulder a brief squeeze before guiding him forward into the room.
As soon as he does, an ominous feeling enters with them. The sense that the words that needed to be said would carry more weight with both you and Sylus together.
In the back of their heads, they think: this is what it must feel like to be caught in some wrongdoing by one’s guardians.
"Sit," Sylus directs at Luke, gesturing to the chair. Sylus himself sits on the side of the bed, a hand moving up your blanketed leg, meeting your gaze. When you nod back to him, he continues.
"It has come to our attention," he murmurs, "that you may not be aware of… what you mean to us."
Their jaws drop.
His tone is vicious, but Sylus's eyes retain that old tenderness that’s usually reserved for you. "So allow me to lay it out, in no uncertain terms."
He looks at them both.
"You – are – ours,” he growls.
"To be clear," you say, swallowing, "this does not restrict either of you, in any way. You are free to do as you please. And –” Sylus crosses his arms while you go on. “We're not punishing you for acting as you have."
Much as I would like to, Sylus doesn't say, but they hear, anyway.
"You both deserve to know," you say, and you look weary as you say it. Maybe a little guilty, too, like this is some secret you've kept from them, all this time. And it is, if they're being honest. But you smile, and they know – you're not tired of them. You're just tired. "We didn't tell you because we didn't want to pressure you, or make you feel obligated in any way."
You continue, "All we can do is… hope that you choose self-preservation."
Luke folds his arms, too, brows raising.
"Just like how we hoped you wouldn't jump in front of a bullet?"
His words are sharp. But if it's all true – if you both meant it; really, actually meant it – this was their way of testing. Because you can't mean it. You don't realize what you're getting into.
You wince, and Sylus looks at you, pointedly.
You avoid his gaze.
"If you're looking for apologies," Kieran goes, "you can start with that."
You're silent.
Then, "Okay, so maybe it runs in the family," you mumble, picking at your blankets.
Sylus snorts, taking your hand in his. Kieran rolls his eyes, sighing, but neither of them can hold back the growing grins on both their faces.
Luke groans, throwing his head back; rubbing his knuckles into his eyes. "Does this mean we have a curfew now?"
"Weren't you listening?" you tease, just as Sylus lets out a spiteful, "Yes."
They both grumble, complaining, "Aw, fuck," and "Come ooon."
Their hearts are soaring. It's probably obvious in their expressions, which is why Luke piped up in the first place – to hide the pure elation that's overwhelming them. They had chosen you months ago; they had chosen Sylus when they were sixteen. But they never thought – never expected –
To be chosen in return.
They were always the tag-alongs. The rejects. Failed experiments; to be tossed in the trash once things got boring.
And the worst part – the best part about it, is that – they've already seen the proof. A hundred times over. In every memory, every thought – every moment made worthwhile by your presence. It was never a question of whether they loved you – that much was obvious. But now, they know. They know it for certain.
You love them.
They are loved.
And maybe they were stupid for not seeing it earlier, when it shines so brightly; like golden threads of light, tying you all together.
Or maybe they were just – survivors. People who never learned the things that others knew unquestionably, like how to be held gently, or how to hold others, in softness.
So maybe they can forgive themselves for not knowing.
Just this once.
They're still mad at you, for reasons both logical and irrational, but you'd be mad at them if they did the same things. It seems appropriate.
The only doubt left in their hearts is about how they got off basically scot-free. Of course, if Sylus was serious about curfew, then that would be different, but – now that they think about it –
"Don't we already have a curfew?" Luke asks, dubious, but Kieran is already shaking his head.
"You're thinking of the 'No Explosions after five AM' rule."
"That shit never made sense, though. Four AM is still twenty-three hours after five," he points out. "So, what? We're just not allowed any controlled explosions, at all, in our own home?"
"They're never controlled," Sylus retorts, fondly. "Don't be obtuse."
"Wow," Luke says.
Kieran scoffs. "Are you hearing this, mom?"
You're laughing, clutching your side: all three of them look at you attentively, ready to steady you, to get whatever you need, anything. "We've done everything backwards," you say, your smile infectious. "But… we probably should still ask."
For the first time, you look a little cautious. "Luke, Kieran," you go, voice firm, yet soft. "You chose us to be your family. So would it be okay… if we chose you, too?"
A million different responses flood their minds. They're encompassed in the cacophony of noise; in all the answers that spring forth and threaten to spill past their tongues.
A shrinking part of them wants to cower from this. Wants to avoid, deflect, joke around: to find some measure of protection against the ways in which this could hurt.
But overwhelmingly amongst the replies is wonder. Happiness.
They don't have to worry anymore, or pull away.
This can be theirs.
So they say simultaneously, and quite simply:
"Fuck yeah."
epilogue:
When morning comes around again, you're swathed in tolerable and loving warmth.
Not the feverish kind of heat, but the kind that's soft. The sheets cling, and the air feels thick with sleep. Blinking, you watch dust motes drift lazily in the bare light of the base's bedroom. Flowers sit on the bedside table.
The house is quiet, except for the sounds of breathing.
Time moves again. Slowly. It stretches, but does not stall. Your side aches, and it's proof that this is real.
It's impossible to know who fell asleep first, or who followed after. At some point, exhaustion simply won.
You're not as tangled with them as you might have been had you not been injured, but you're still held in multiple ways. By your hand, your head on a shoulder, your back against Sylus's chest. Luke is sprawled out below, snoring lightly, while Kieran snoozes, his head tilted against the headboard in a way that's sure to give him a neck ache.
You shift, and you feel Sylus's lips in your hair once you do.
You tilt your head up to look at him, but you catch only the tip of his nose.
"When did the flowers get here?" you murmur quietly, careful not to wake the boys.
His arm tightens around you – and he breathes into your ear, "Yesterday morning," while stroking the skin of your neck. Like he can't get enough of you.
You know the feeling.
"How are you feeling, sweetie?" You can't read the tone of his voice, so you try to spin around to see his face – only to let out a soft groan. Immediately, Sylus is helping you upright, slowly; passing you a myriad of pills left in a cup beside the bed. You swallow them down with a gulp of water, and Sylus settles you back down, in his arms.
"Thank you," you go, eyes closing again. Kieran snuffles in his sleep, twisting out of the awful position.
Thoughts seem to appear before you like the dust motes, swirling with your breath.
This was not over.
Maybe it will never be over. Perhaps you'd spend the rest of your life being hunted like this. The thought should fill you with fear, with dread, but all you can feel is peace in this quiet moment between.
So be it.
At least you have this.
"I can feel you thinking," Sylus whispers.
You don't want to break the moment; the holiness of what you've been given, today and yesterday. You don't want to bring up the wild hallucinations you've endured, or the pain that you've suffered.
So instead, you ask, "How… yesterday morning?"
He's silent for a beat. "They were meant to be delivered to the safehouse," he says, and you can hear the frown in his voice. You frown, too, confused. "Did they not tell you?"
You're almost back to sleeping again. You breathe out, "Hm?"
He holds you tighter. You hear his last words in your ear, hazy and drifting, as you nod off.
“It was yesterday. Happy Mother’s Day, kitten."
The warmth settles over you again; gentle, indifferent.
As if nothing had changed at all.
author's notes:
everyone say THANK U NEVS for everything, mostly, but more specifically for her suggestion that i include that it was mother's day in the story. otherwise, it would have just been a footnote, and this story would've taken MONTHS longer to get out
and thank you thank you THANK YOU for reading. this has been a treat!! i've loved chatting with everyone, and seeing your reactions. my heart is full when i think of u
but tumblr user jasminished, you say, why did you leave some things ambiguous, open-ended? to which i answer, why indeed? :D
Relationships: Luke & Kieran & You, Sylus/You, Crow Fam, additional tags below the cut!
If someone would have told them that, today, they would be jumping out of a building, at least ten stories up, they would've said:
Yeah.
That sounds about right.
For one heartbeat, there's only weightlessness.
Just wind. Air, shrieking past them, the city rushing up in a blur of motion and color.
Luke laughs.
He can't help it. It rips out of him, wild and unrestrained, as he yells out in pure elation.
Kieran's laughter joins in, bright and sharp, carried away by the wind.
Additional Tags: Blood and Violence, Medical Trauma, Slow Burn (emotionally), protective MC, Angst, Catharsis, Vulnerability, Parenthood, Found Family, Family Dynamics, Domestic Fluff, Angst with a Happy Ending, kidnapping recovery (again) (in my defense they're so kidnapable your honor), telepathic twin bond, "would it be so terrible?", "if it were me?"
Then, red-black energy coils around them mid-fall, snapping taut like a net. Their momentum halts in an instant, replaced by the solid, unmistakable grip of power.
He deposits them on the pavement below with far less grace than he probably used for you, boots skidding as they land hard but upright, the world coming back into focus around them.
Sylus releases them. "I told you to wait," he hisses.
They don't hear him.
They're too busy – breathless, giddy, half-mad with relief. Kieran doubles over, hands on his knees. Luke tips his head back, staring up at the distant, broken window far above them, chest heaving.
They're alive.
You're alive.
They're going home.
__________
The third time you wake that day –
Not the little jolts of consciousness, or the hazy moments in between, or by the pulse of your evol misfiring – but real, actual wakefulness –
You're in the arms of your beloved.
You must have been given some sort of medication. You feel floaty, airy. That's the first thing you notice: the absence of pain.
The second thing you notice is that you're warm.
Held.
"Sylus," you mumble.
"I'm here," he murmurs back immediately, his warm breath in your hair. "I've got you."
Your heart swells, even with how muted you feel. You hum softly, the sound vibrating in your chest.
You're not strapped down, or being pulled apart anymore; visions don't plague your sight.
It occurs to you, then. "Where…?"
"They're here," he replies. "We're home."
You can feel Sylus slow, adjusting his grip gently while your fingers tighten around his neck. You shift, trying to see past his shoulder, eyes unfocused but intent.
"Easy, kitten," he says, quietly. "You're safe."
You blink up at him. For a second, you're sharp, and it seems to startle him.
"Are they?"
Sylus exhales through his nose, careful not to jostle you.
He has a wry, tired smile. "Debatable," he says, and you know he's teasing, and that he could only tease if they were fine. He clears his throat, but his voice is still soft. "They jumped out of a building."
A corner of your mouth lifts. You lay back on his shoulder, curling into his neck.
"But… you caught them, right?" you whisper.
He kisses your head.
"I always do.”
Your gaze drifts again, and you're astonished at just how exhausted you are. Perhaps you should give yourself a bit more grace, but – there was so much more to say, so much more to do.
"Sy," you go, "we have to tell them."
Sylus halts. You take in your surroundings, finally, and it fills you with determination and resolve. And bone-aching weariness, too, but you fight that with all your might. You're home, but that doesn't mean you're ready to give in.
He waits for you to continue.
"They didn't know…" you mumble, closing your eyes. "It wasn't obvious."
Your brow furrows. Your mind hurts, in that distant way that comes with thinking too hard through painkillers and exhaustion.
But you'd been thinking of it, in the quiet between.
You wondered if you were going to die. Or worse, you were going to live like this – in this half-state of being, hallucinating, out of your mind; your brain concocting impossible stories that broke you.
All you could think of, in the times in which you could think, was your family.
How you loved them.
And how you never told them.
Sure, you tried to show them, over and over again. But how were they supposed to extrapolate meaning from action, without having the words to describe it? They weren’t children, not anymore, and they’re clever enough that they could figure things out, but why make love a puzzle? Why make them work for it, when they’ve worked so hard for everything else?
Your fingers curl in Sylus's collar, grounding yourself. Pulling yourself up from unconsciousness, you look at him once more. His lips are parted; eyes hooded. He doesn't interrupt.
"Whatever they did," you whisper, "they did because they didn't know."
You sigh, and repeat, "We have to… tell them…"
Before you drift away again, you hear his last words.
"We will."
__________
Neither of them would remember falling asleep.
One moment, there's the low, constant hum of the engine beneath them, the smell of blood and sweat and dust still clinging to their clothes; the city sliding past the tinted windows in streaks of light – and the next, Luke's head is tipped against Kieran's, and they're out.
It's the kind of exhaustion that flattens thought. The kind that comes after adrenaline burns out everything else.
They don't feel it when the car slows, when Sylus gets out and carries you inside. But he must've, because then – they're both jolting awake as the car door opens – the car that Sylus had 'borrowed' for the escape ride home –
And you're nowhere to be seen.
Cooler air rushes in.
Sylus stands there, framed by the open door, his expression unreadable in the low light. He doesn't speak.
He just looks at them, once – long enough that something prickles uncomfortably along their spines – and then turns away, already walking towards the house.
The twins exchange a rapid-fire series of thoughts.
We're screwed –
– So, so fucked –
– There will be nothing left –
– Finally finishing the job –
They unfold themselves from the car, joints protesting and bodies aching. Distantly, beneath the mortal dread, they realize they might be sunburned.
Inside, the house is quiet. Somewhere deeper in, there's the faint murmur of voices, careful and professional. Medical staff. They wander in further.
Sylus is just outside the bedroom door.
Luke coughs as they approach, air flowing raggedly in his throat. He asks, "How is she?"
Sylus doesn't look up. His head is bowed just enough that his hair shadows his eyes. His voice, when he replies, is even. Too even.
"She's stable," he says. "Sedated. Being monitored."
Kieran nods once. "Is she –" he starts, then stops. "Was she… aware?"
Sylus's jaw tightens. "Briefly."
The silence stretches. It's thick. Charged; the kind of silence that belongs in a room where nobody survives.
Their bodies are in defensive positions before they can stop themselves.
Sylus’s voice is a rumble when he finally chooses to speak again.
“You disobeyed me.”
Nothing about it is sharp, or loud. It’s a simple statement of fact.
They both tense up further.
He isn’t finished. “Not once,” he goes, lowly, head tilting, “but twice.”
There’s no reasoning, no justification, that comes to them in this moment. It’s irrefutable.
And they’d do it again.
Unrepentant.
Sylus studies them, finally, and the sensation is like pulses of electricity coursing over their bodies. Not unpleasant, but their blood sings with it. As though they’re being sized up by a predator much, much larger than them.
He approaches, slowly, arms lax at his sides.
They watch him, brows furrowed.
Sylus’s hands suddenly thrust out – one curling around Luke’s nape, the other grasping Kieran’s shoulder. Tight. Not enough to be painful, but enough to hold them in place. Their minds can’t help but remember the last time they were held in this way – in the driveway of the safehouse.
“You understand,” Sylus hisses, “that had you been wrong –”
Their breathing hitches. The words tumble out of Kieran’s mouth.
Audacious.
“But we weren’t.”
His grip on Kieran turns into his fist clutching his sweatshirt, and they both tilt their heads up – and just as Sylus growls, and they prepare for the worst –
He hauls them in.
For a moment, nothing.
Then –
“Thank you,” Sylus says, roughly.
His hand cups the back of Luke’s head; his arm scooped around Kieran’s back.
They’re – stunned.
“But –”
“ – we went against –”
Their hands are raised up, as if ready to push him off; as if they’re about to return the embrace.
Sylus pulls back, scowling at them, his grip around them tightening. “I’m well aware. You’re never leaving this house again, and neither is your mother.”
He looks like he’d wanted to knock their heads together. He looks like he still might. But for a time, Sylus just takes in the sight of them. Really looks at them. As though –
They were precious.
Sylus exhales through his nose. Then, more cautiously, more in control – deliberate – he pulls them back in.
They can feel it when he swallows.
“You,” he whispers, hoarse, “are not expendable.”
It hits them, then.
They’ve always been able to kill Sylus.
…They’ve been killing him the entire time.
Without thinking about it, without communicating with one another, the arms on each side of Sylus’s torso rise again. Their bodies tilt in. They squeeze their eyes shut.
Relationships: Luke & Kieran & You, Sylus/You, Crow Fam, additional tags below the cut!
They find you – after an endless number of locked doors, after numerous blockades set up by the EVER researchers, after dodging and weaving through competent teams made dumb by two very slippery twins – they find you.
You're on the top-most floor, in a place much like the one in the last memory they saw. Only, you're strapped down, fully prone on the hospital bed, the groans of fallen scientists echoing throughout the room; harsh, medical lighting marking the floor-to-ceiling windows in complete blackness.
Something about you is not quite right – you look at them with hazy eyes, and your face lights up, tiredly, at the sight of them.
They waste no time in freeing you from your constraints, helping you sit upright, slowly, your legs thrown over the side of the bed.
You're not wincing in pain, but your waist is heavily bandaged.
“My boys,” you're saying, cupping their faces in your palms. “My beautiful boys.”
Luke can’t swallow. He wants to cry. He wants to collapse into you like a child, as though you had been lost in the park and he couldn’t find you.
But this is why he has his brother. So it can be Kieran who says, lowly, “Tell us – tell us which ones did this to you.”
Additional Tags: Blood and Violence, Medical Trauma, Slow Burn (emotionally), protective MC, Angst, Catharsis, Vulnerability, Parenthood, Found Family, Family Dynamics, Domestic Fluff, Angst with a Happy Ending, kidnapping recovery (again) (in my defense they're so kidnapable your honor), telepathic twin bond, "would it be so terrible?", "if it were me?"
You don't seem to be aware of what he said. Your brow furrows. "Where is your father?" you go, blinking. "He didn't send you to come get me, did he?"
The twins exchange a glance, deciding: all. All of them did this to you.
That's fine. They can make that work.
It's why they didn't kill the scientists outright.
Immediately, they both know their roles: Luke would stay with you, looking for the way out, while Kieran –
Kieran would have some fun.
So to distract you, passing Kieran the gun behind his back, Luke opens his mouth – and what comes out, soft, reflexive, is, "No, mom. He… he didn't."
But that just confuses you more. "Luke," you mumble, hands transferring to his shoulders as he faces you, fully. "How – why are you –?"
Your grip isn't tight. It wavers, like your sense of balance does, fingers slipping against the fabric of his t-shirt. As if you're afraid he'll drift out of reach if you let go, for even just a second.
Luke doesn't answer right away. There are too many answers to those questions, and all of them feel wrong.
Instead, he looks you in the eye, and says, quietly, "We're here. Okay? We came to get you."
This seems to distress you further.
"You shouldn't be here," you insist, breath catching, voice cracking. "This isn't –"
Behind him, somewhere down the corridor, there's a sharp cry that's cut off, abruptly. A sound that would make anyone flinch.
You don't react.
"It's okay," he says again, faster now, before you can spiral. "You don't have to worry about that. Kieran's just –" Luke stops, swallowing. "Kieran's handling it."
Your gaze drifts past him, unfocused; as if you're seeing something through the walls; as if they don't make sense to you. "They were asking so many questions," you murmur. "They kept saying I needed to remember… something." You close your eyes. "But what if remembering… makes me forget…" you trail off, and Luke goes to get your arm around his shoulder, holding you up.
There's a metallic crash nearby – loud, jarring. Luke knows what it is: the sound of a chair striking glass. Once. Twice.
You startle this time, mildly, body tensing. "What was that?"
"Nothing," Luke lies, smoothly. "Just – building noises."
As if on cue, the third impact comes. A sharper sound this time, followed by the unmistakable crackle of something giving way. The air shifts; there's a distant rush, like the building itself is exhaling.
Luke shifts you away, body blocking your view of the far wall where the window is slowly, violently, failing. He doesn't want you to see the spiderweb of fractures spreading outward; the laminate glass bowing and whitening.
He doesn't want you to think you're about to fall.
"Hey," he says, softly, drawing your attention back to him. "Can you look at me, for a sec?"
Your eyes refocus, sluggish but obedient. "You look tired," you tell him with sudden concern. You place the back of your palm on his forehead. "Are you eating?"
A hysterical laugh threatens to claw its way up his throat. He stomps it back down.
"Yeah," he says. "Yeah, I am."
You seem satisfied with that answer. Your hands pat his shoulder once. "Good. You – you have to take care of yourself. Both of you." Your expression tightens, fear flashing through the haze. "Where's your brother?"
Luke doesn't hesitate this time. "Close."
Another cry from the hallway.
You frown, but it doesn't quite connect. Instead your eyelids flutter, exhaustion finally catching up to you. Your weight leans forward, trustingly, and Luke shifts instantly to brace you, keeping you upright.
"I got you," he whispers.
Behind him, the glass finally tears, and air flows into the room.
Almost there. Luke closes his eyes for half a second, holding you.
His brother's voice breaks through the quiet.
"Yo, bird!" Kieran shouts into the hole in the glass. "Tell Bossman to come get us!"
For a second, nothing happens.
The wind pours in through the torn window, sharp and blessedly cold, tugging at loose fabric and sending papers skittering across the floor. Below, the city roars on, lights glittering in the dark.
They both hold their breath.
They hadn't expected this to work. This high up, with the building's interference – Mephisto would be unlikely to pick up any noise they made.
Kieran snorts, stepping back from the opening, his boots crunching on the broken glass. "Figures."
What now? Luke asks, eyes darting over to the makeshift barricade that the scientists made, the one they remade to keep the assault teams from coming up. With everything they unleashed below, going back down is a futile option. And yet –
A black shape arcs up from below the building's edge, banking hard, metallic feathers catching the light as it climbs impossibly fast.
Mephisto crests the window line in a rush of wind and noise, cawing once, triumphant.
The relief has them both laughing.
Mephisto hovers just outside the opening, riding the updrafts, eyes bright and unblinking. He caws again, sharp, insistent, then tilts once – twice – three times – like he's counting heads.
"Yeah, yeah, we're all here," Luke says as something in his chest loosens painfully. "Can you get us out of here?"
Mephisto's wings beat harder, feathers rapping against the fractured frame. He circles, then swoops inside, perching on a nearby desk, head cocking, watching.
From the stairwell, the first impact hits the barricade. A heavy thud. Shouts, boots pounding up the concrete steps.Kieran moves fast, crossing back to Luke's side. Okay. So. Some fun facts, while we wait.
Luke doesn't look away from you. You're still braced against his side.
Now?
Yeah, now, Kieran goes, grim. These guys are standard EVER.
Luke finally glances up.
They're some splinter group, Kieran replies to the unspoken question. They broke off a while back. Ideological bullshit. His mouth twists. They think she's a holy weapon.
Luke stills. Rage, powerful rage, grows steadily within his heart.
They weren't trying to extract data, Kieran continues. They said they were trying to… reveal her. Said, EVER was wasting time, treating her like an asset instead of a – a miracle.
They're both quiet, listening to the sounds of their own breathing and yours, as well as the rising noises coming from down the corridor.
The information settles. That's what the gas was. A means to disorient them, and a means to affect you, in some peculiar way. Only, they couldn't have predicted what you left behind.
For them.
Maybe this group was right, but not in the way they think. Maybe you are some kind of divinity, and that’s why you could leave traces of your memories behind for them to follow. But you're also – you. Human. Fallible. Holy, only in the sense of what you mean to them.
Luke's jaw tightens. How long?
Kieran exhales through his nose. Longer than us. For over two years. They hired the ones who got us six months ago.
Something dark hums through the bond. The bangs are louder now.
He's going to be so pissed.
Violently, Kieran agrees. His gaze flickers back towards the window. Mephisto has taken flight again, circling wider. "How do you think he'll show?" he murmurs.
Luke risks a glance outside. "Helicopter?"
"I bet a plane. He'll land on the roof and repel us down."
Another crash from the stairwell. The barricade groans.
"You're on," Luke goes.
Mephisto lets out a piercing caw and suddenly veers away from the building, shooting downward like a black arrow loosed from the sky.
Both twins feel it at the same time.
It's subtle at first – pressure, like the room is being pulled inward, toward the giant hole leading out to clear, darkened skies. The lights flicker; the wind stutters.
Red-black energy coils along the exterior wall, carving a path straight up the side of the tower. The air shrieks as something tears through it – and Sylus steps out of nothing, shoes on the fractured floor as if he'd simply walked through a door.
His eyes sweep the room once. When they land on you, his breath hitches.
Then he exhales, sharp, controlled.
"I had a helicopter," he says, flatly. "It was too slow."
He doesn't wait for a response.
He crosses the room in three strides, the air still warping around him as the last of the teleportation energy bleeds off. His hands are already reaching for you, careful where Luke had been bracing you, mindful of the bandages, the IV bruising, the way you are sagging against him.
You make a soft sound when he lifts you – surprise more than pain – and your fingers clutch weakly at the front of his jacket.
Your voice is so soft, they barely catch it.
"My dragon," you're whispering, reaching, smiling. "You're here. You’re here."
Sylus is already looking at you, something unreadable flickering across his face.
His voice, when he speaks, is low and steady. Just for you. "I'm here."
He bows to let your hand pat his head – as if you're searching for what's real.
Your shoulders loosen, tension draining like someone pulled a plug. Your head tips against his chest, breath evening out.
Behind him, the barricade splinters.
Wood gives way with a sharp, ugly crack. Metal screams. The voices are closer, now – too close.
Sylus turns his head, slightly. "Stay," he tells the twins. "Mom first. Then I'll come back."
Luke opens his mouth –
– And the world bends.
Sylus is gone, taking you with him in a rush of displaced air and heat, the space where he stood snapping back into place with a hollow thrum. The wind howls through the broken window.
For half a second, there's nothing but that.
Luke blinks.
Kieran exhales.
They don't have long.
The barricade finally gives way in a shower of debris, collapsing inward as a squad pours through the stairwell entrance – dark uniforms, raised weapons, faces tight.
And then –
Ding.
The elevator chimes cheerfully behind them. They both turn as the door slides open.
More of them. Much, much more of them.
They don't think. The twins move as one.
Their shoes pound over the broken glass, over cables and scattered equipment – straight for the gaping hole in the wall where the city yawns below them, vast and bright in the night and impossibly far away, but not for long –
Relationships: Luke & Kieran & You, Sylus/You, Crow Fam, additional tags below the cut!
They do the unthinkable.
The twins just – walk inside.
The lobby is cavernous – clean, and open, in that purposeful way that busy, high-end offices tended to gravitate toward. But it isn’t the polished floors, or the muted walls that catch them. What’s really striking about the space is the number of light traces, glowing enticingly. Beckoning them.
It means – or at least, they think it means –
– They walked you through the front door, too.
And that means – it’s building-wide, whatever this scheme is. And there’s only one group this meticulous, this dangerous.
EVER.
Additional Tags: Blood and Violence, Medical Trauma, Slow Burn (emotionally), protective MC, Angst, Catharsis, Vulnerability, Parenthood, Found Family, Family Dynamics, Domestic Fluff, Angst with a Happy Ending, kidnapping recovery (again) (in my defense they're so kidnapable your honor), telepathic twin bond, "would it be so terrible?", "if it were me?"
The office building ruse cracks under militant pressure. Security is already in motion; there's the sound of boots and clipped voices; hands hovering over weapons. Yet, in all the noise, no one notices the presence of a few more.
They probably have only seconds before the cameras identify them as a problem.
Luke laughs out loud, quietly. It slips out before he can stop it.
Look how ready they are, he says, delighted.
Kieran feels it ripple through the bond – the sudden loosening, the relief of motion after being frozen for so long.
The phone call with Sylus changed them.
They’re – freer than they were before. No less tense, but –
They are themselves again.
Kieran walks straight into the chaos, dodging converging patrols and ignoring barked orders. He approaches the most official-looking one, and taps them on the shoulder.
“Excuse me,” he says, quiet but firm, and somehow also pleasant, “I think you were looking for me? And doing a bad job of it?”
Recognition flashes in their eyes, but it’s already too late. Just as they go to draw their weapon, they come up empty – and the room fractures into pieces – as Wanderers suddenly pour out of a rift, and a series of explosions shake the ground floor.
Alarms sound.
He ducks swiftly to avoid their grapple, sliding behind a tasteful barrier and hiding out of sight in the ensuing chaos.
Luke reappears, grinning, and Kieran tosses the handgun to Luke, who passes him the grenade pins; souvenirs of their glorious work. Next, they’re vaulting over the biometrics scanners without breaking stride, their boots skidding on the marble. Different alarms go off, and they split apart, sprinting down opposite hallways for the stairwells. When Kieran finds the elevators, he presses all the buttons in one sweeping motion of his hands, laughing.
EVER would expect intruders to push inward; to beeline for the thing most valuable.
They don’t.
They ricochet.
The bond between them hums, electric and giddy. For the first time since you were taken, the static clears enough for something like flow – joyful, and loud – to spark through it. It’s their first real mission since one of them got injured.
And – the first time they’ve had something worth fighting for.
In this burst of adrenaline, he’s taking the steps three at a time when Luke finds the first trace since the ground floor, located at the top of the stairwell.
The light isn’t bright. Just there – threaded through the walls like veins beneath skin. Subtle enough that he almost misses it.
He stills for half a second. And then –
– The race to the top of the stairs in the safehouse has one of them tipping back dangerously, arms pinwheeling, while you yell from below, "What did I say?" His twin grabs him by the shirt and hauls him back before he can fall, only for them to tumble on top of each other. The one who almost fell pushes his brother's face down into the hardwood so he can sprint through the nearest door, laughing, proclaiming, "Mine!" to his brother's chagrin and your chuckling –
From the lobby below, shouting. A team rises the stairs, spilling up towards Luke in an echoing barrage of bullets, hitting concrete instead of bone as he ducks out of the way.
Luke grins.
While the Wanderer meets the team head on at the top, Luke is already running, following the twisted hallways for the other side of the building.
He tries the handles of what seems to be a million locked doors in between him and his brother – up until one jiggles back, with the hint of laughter just beyond. They both kick and kick, and then – when the door bursts open, they're back to running together, again, headed towards the western stairwell, where Kieran came from.
The multitude of threads on this floor alone make them sick, especially when, on their way up and out, Kieran catches the edge of a memory where you're paraded around the building. Like a prize. Like a trophy. You spit at the armed guards; roll your eyes at the researcher who forces you back under the influence of the same drug they had used before, promising to "Reunite you with your memories."
Whatever the fuck that means.
The twins ascend floor after floor after floor. Sometimes, they take the stairs up; one time, they commandeer an elevator, and when that powers down, they climb the worker ladders. They're both covered in sweat, their wounds from their fighting stinging and burning.
Then – things start to become more difficult.
The earlier levels had the hollow quiet of an office after hours – the upper floors, however, are occupied. On lockdown. Footsteps echo, not their own, when no one is visible. Doors close somewhere above them. A terse voice murmurs through a wall, distorted enough that it could be bleeding through a memory thread, or it could be real, or neither. The rooms shift from cubicle to laboratory-oriented, the equipment droning and buzzing.
There are endless clusters – they're unable to even walk through without touching a few. And they've created enough chaos below that they should be covered for a couple minutes.
But they needed more intel without summoning more Wanderers, now, so – they split up again, and the memories begin to mix together.
You're washing dishes in the safehouse kitchen, from this morning – sleeves rolled, hip braced against the counter – you and Luke are fixing the circuit breaker after the power goes out the night before – he's holding the flashlight, muttering under his breath – Kieran puts a blanket over you while you pretend to sleep on the loveseat –
It's all starting to pile up. Not just physically, but – the feelings, too.
They've been doing this for so long, and you're so close.
Memories upon memories are pouring out of their psyches from the overflow, mixing and melding together into a reconstruction of a life well-lived.
Only it wasn't well-lived, not completely, because you have so much more to do: plans and dreams and ideas that the twins had never thought to ask about; never felt the need to know, until now.
And god, they want you to live. More than anything, they just want you to live.
So even as they become over-encumbered with memories, they still reach for more.
Because maybe what you wanted is hidden in the plethora of visions they've endured. Maybe when they find you, they can make what you want into a reality. If they can just pull on the next, and the next, and the next, maybe, just maybe, what unravels before them will be a way to finally be able to pay you back.
Because violent, disruptive things don't get to have memories like this.
It's above their paygrade; beyond their scope.
It's another reason why they chose you, why they chose Sylus.
They weren't going to have this, with you, or with him, forever. It's selfish, and cruel, but why not hold on tight until the end? Until you, inevitably, push them away?
And yet –
Something rises within them.
Not memories. Not despair, or overload, or rage. Something that grows and grows, unbidden and true, like the tree of light that exists within and bursting out of the building they now find themselves in.
It starts with a memory that neither twin touches. It just sparks to life in their minds, like the strike of inspiration.
You're babbling on, and the twins are just – silent. Speechless. All four of you, standing in the living room of the base, surrounded by wrapped and unwrapped parcels and bags.
"– And I know it's a lot, so you don't have to keep anything you don't like, especially the ones for –" your face flushes, and you press a hand to your forehead, words halting. Sylus wraps his arms around your waist. "Anyway, you can just –"
Luke goes over and picks out something. It's a blanket, soft, and tiny; barely the size of a hand towel.
"…That's for one," you say, quietly.
Kieran bends and pulls apart the wrapping on another. It's some kind of model plane.
"For twelve," you say.
They point out each and every one of them.
"I think – for eight? No, it says nine plus on the packaging…" you say. "That's –" you laugh, "yeah, that's Luke's, for sixteen. No, that one is Kieran's."
They stop tearing through them like ravenous, wild dogs at some point so they can look up at you with wide eyes.
You are still embarrassed, but – much more at ease as they went through the presents. "I just – missed a lot of birthdays, so…"
And fuck, they wish they could change how they responded, then. Wish they could've – reacted, like real people do.
Because instead, Luke clears his throat. "It's – good," he says, hoarsely, and Kieran pipes up, "Y-yeah," like that could even come close to how it all feels.
But you – you smile like what they said was enough, and they know the truth.
You won't push them away.
You haven't been pushing them away, and you aren't going to start. No matter what they do, or how they act.
Have you chosen them, too? Like how they chose you?
They called you ‘mom’ all the time now.
Did it mean the same thing to you as it did to them?
And it's these questions that send them careening into the last traces – into the next memory, and the next, and then –
Sound comes first. Soft, irregular breathing that hiccups and hitches.
Sight comes second.
And… you’re…
Small.
They'd never seen a memory like this one. A memory where you weren't the fully-formed being who stands between them and bullets, or who laughs at their jokes, or who curses and cries when they're hurt.
You're sitting on the edge of a bed that's too big for you, feet dangling; toes barely brushing its metal frame. The hospital gown swallows your shoulders. Your hair is short and uneven.
You're alone.
Your hands are folded in your lap; your knuckles white. There are marks all over your arms and wrists – blooming patches of yellow and purple beneath thin skin. A tube is connected into your vein, disappearing into a series of bags hanging from an IV pole.
And – they're not thrown into the memory the way they usually are. There's no role for them to inhabit, no sensation that overwrites where their body is, how it acts.
It wouldn't matter, anyway. They're frozen in place.
He doesn't remember which one he is, anymore; doesn't know if there's a difference between him and the other him.
All they're aware of are the tears falling silently down your cheeks as you stare at the floor.
Are you… like them? Did your early life begin in the same way theirs did? Why didn’t you say anything before?
Before they can come to any conclusions, you look up.
At them.
At them.
"Oh," you mumble, wiping your eyes. "You're here."
Their muscles all tense at once. Distantly, they can still hear the alarms blaring in the background; still feel the desperate need to go and break out of this memory. But nothing had prepared them for seeing you like this.
All they can do is look at you.
You pat the bed.
Their feet move forward, slow, and they sit down.
How is this happening? They weren't here – they didn't know you when you were young. Couldn't have known you. How could this be possible?
How could you remember a time with them when you were a child?
It's with a jolt that they realize it.
They thought it was just them.
They still didn’t know what it is about you that makes them so soft. Neither of them have cried since they were very little, and even then, they barely remember it. It’s all a fuzzy haze of white coats, and hospital gowns, and feeling too many things at once.
But with you – the moment they see you, it’s almost as if their memories have been altered. Where all the hard parts of their life hurt, you were there. As though those short hours on the couch had stretched out wide to encompass the whole of their existence.
It’s something foolish, impossible, but also – the truth. And what’s more, it’s almost as if you know this. They look into your eyes, and they see a reflection of something that was sad, and now – is not.
It’s the real reason why they chose you, all those months ago. That look. As though you knew how hurt they’d been – knew it, and still, never saw them as the sum of their pain. They were just… them.
You let them be them.
But those were just memories, squashed together into one just piece of their fragmented minds. Kept secret from you, from even themselves.
And – they never thought that you'd find strength from them in the same way they found strength in you.
You reach up, fingers touching below their eye.
"Are you scared?" you whisper.
They shake their head, sniffling; wiping their nose on their arm.
