#30 drabbles

[hannahchronism]

Prompt 2: Accusation

       "C'mon Tech, focus." Jack reiterated himself for what felt like the hundredth time as his sister made a wild strike, and he disarmed her again, throwing her into the sand. She growled, scattering the sand with her breath.           "I am focusing," her ruffled reply, muffled by the dirt she was laying face down in and twice as irritated as the time before, when he had disarmed her and thrown her on her butt. If he was losing patience with her, she had lost her patience for him long ago. With an irritated huff, she pushed off the ground, shedding pebbles, and snatched her knife up from where her brother had tossed it aside. Even in his carelessness he was ever accurate - the blade was buried in the ground, the handle standing up as if waiting.                   "No, you aren't," he told her as he reassumed his ready position, waiting for her to gather her wits and strike first again. "I've seen you fight- hell, I taught you how to fight, and this is not your best." He meant to chide her lightly, to help her shake whatever distraction was making her tactless.  It didn't help. She flew at him again with wide-angled slashes, and while her speed and agility had him turning circles for a moment, the second he caught her it was over. She went back in the sand, and her knife was caught up in his palm. When she sighed sharply through her nose and tried to sit up, she found her own blade just barely pressed to the skin of her throat, and her brother's steely gaze chiding her silently, an eyebrow raised. "Are you going to tell me why you're fighting like an angry three year old, or are you going to get thrown on your ass all afternoon?" he asked. She pursed her lips stubbornly, hissing a breath through her nose again. He shrugged, pulling away. "Alright, have it your way." He held the knife out to her handle first, a painfully patient expression smoothed into his features. She glowered at him as she stood, taking her time, dusting herself off deliberately. When she took the knife, it was as sudden as a snake's strike, and the whisper of the blade left a stinging trail in his palm. He yelped in shock, though it was a mild distraction at most. She went down again in a tangle of stringy limbs, spitting profanities about a skinned knee.                   "We're supposed to be sparring," she growled, dusting at the tiny rocks imbedded in the skin of her knee, "not beating me to shit."                   "Big talk for the girl who just sliced an unarmed man's palm open," his patience with her mood was fading. He flexed his fingers, shooting a scowl at his younger sister. "Maybe I should be beating you to shit. What was that for?" It could be worse, and in honesty it wasn't that bad, barely bleeding; a strip of cloth tied around it and he'd live to punch his little sister another day.                   "For calling me a three-year-old." she muttered, puffing a short breath to blow a strand of hair out of her eyes.                   "If you don't want me to call you a three year old, stop acting like one." She scowled at him. He ignored her, flipping the knife she had been using closed and pocketing it- he was fairly confident it was his anyhow. "Aside from it being a deserved name, I hardly think injuring someone for calling you a name is fair."                   "Screw fairness."                   "Hell of a philosophy you've got there."                   "Screw you."                   "What the hell is up your ass, Tech?" he turned to her sharply. She had her moods, but rare was the day when they were aimed at him. Perhaps it was childish on his part as well, but he couldn't help but to take personal offense.                   "You are!" she scrabbled to her feet, slipping for a moment in the loose gravel and sand, before stalking off towards the base.                   "I'm up your ass?" he asked, brows raised, attempting a weak joke. She threw a venomous glance over her shoulder at him; bad choice of humor. "Alright," he conceded, "that was dumb, but, seriously what's- Tech could you just-" He scoffed in annoyance, rushing forward a few steps to catch her shoulder. "Just hold on a second." She whirled on him, shirking his touch.                   "What?" she spat. At least she had stopped. Still, Jack shrank from her as if she were the older sibling, a foot taller and a hundred pounds heavier.                   "What's wrong? That's all I'm asking." he took a gentler tone- if it was him she was angry with, the last thing he wanted was to make it any worse. She was half his size but twice as vengeful and infinitely more complex, he thought. She could think of a thousand and one ways to hate a person to varying degrees, from tolerable to kill on sight, and he could only think of people in terms of friends, enemies, and the little grey in between that only existed as long as he hadn't gotten to know them. People were either with him or against him, that was how it worked, but with Tech you could be with her, against her, beside her, behind her, in her way, under her feet...the list went on, and here, standing off in the desert sun, Jack was clueless as to where he stood. Likely somewhere between in her way and under her feet, if her curdling gaze was anything to go by.                  "And I already told you," she pushed his chest, making him stumble backwards a step,  "you're what's wrong." She whirled again in a flash of auburn hair, resuming her purposeful stalk to the base.          "Me?" his hand moved without his consent to the place where she had shoved him, as if soothing an injury she couldn't have possibly inflicted, "What did I do?" He spoke as an afterthought, scrutinizing his own behavior the past few weeks during which she had gone back to staying with him and Colton. Naturally, as all those who mean well, he could find nothing in his behavior that would have drawn her ire. Suddenly reanimated, he chased after her a second time, catching her just before she crossed the threshold. "Hey, hey," he pulled her back by a firm grip on her arm, "talk to me, what did I do?"          "Let go of me," she demanded, trying to slip from his hold again, tugging away in a futile effort, and it was only by holding on that he was able to notice the beginnings of tears pricking at her eyes. Now confused, he refused her harsh commands to release her arm with gentle persistence.          "No. Tech, stop it, why- Hey, what did I do? Why are you mad at me?" Her lips sealed together and her gaze directed itself to the ground, avoiding him, ignoring him. The only part of her that acknowledged his existence was where she was was trying to pry his fingers off of her arm, to spry herself free so that she could curl up in some far away corner and coddle her own hurt feelings,whatever they were. Jack would have none of it. He pulled her hand away from his, then took up a second hold on her other arm, so that he held her by a wide hand each on either arm, and crouched some to get on her level. She was so small.. "Talk to me. I need to know, I can't fix it if I don't know what I did."          She was doing everything in her power to ignore her brother. She refused to look at him- unable to pretend he wasn't there, for he had her trapped, but fully capable of ignoring every word said, of denying him every question he asked. To her own detriment, however, she couldn't keep the tears out of her eyes. They pricked and stung like nettles in her eyes, and as stubborn as she was, they came spilling out anyways. She was all the more angry for it. She leaned all her weight against her brother's two-armed hold, desperate to be free.           "Let go," she pulled and pulled, seeking aid from gravity itself. Her brother refused them both. "Let go!" It was childish, she knew it was, but she didn't care. She kicked at him and pulled and whined when it did no good, still choosing not to look at him. "Let go of me, let go!"          "Tech, stop it." he spoke firmly, like she was a toddler in the middle of a tantrum. He almost couldn't believe what she was doing. She hadn't acted like this in years, nearly a decade.          "NO" she screamed at him, shocking him further. "Let me go, let me go!"          "No." he told her, four time calmer than she had yelled the same word at him. "Not until you stop this and tell me what's going on." She made this noise, like a growl and a whine and a scream all at once with her mouth closed, so that it ground up in her throat and sounded horrible.          "Tech-" he began to chide. She yelled wordlessly and kicked at him, at last managing to free one arm. She swung away from him like a door on a hinge, pulling on her other arm like it was the anchor determined to bring her down. "Tech!" He said her name this time like it was scalding on its own, without any lessons or chastisement to go with it. She howled at him, fingernails scraping his knuckles.           "Let gooo," she wailed. He did the opposite. Reeling her in by the arm he still held, Jack pulled Tech to him, catching her around the waist with his free arm and pulling her off her feet to sit in the dust with him. She tried for a few moments to climb out of his hold, scrabbling around like a pinned cat, but it did no good and she soon gave up, hanging limply in his arms with crystal tears glittering down her cheeks.          "Maddy, what?" That was it, the whole question, and it was a dozen-in-one. What had made her so upset? What made her keep it from him? What was bothering her so badly she thought there was some reason she couldn't tell him? What what what. Tell me what.           His patience had returned to him. Rude, angry, fussy Tech was something he had trouble dealing with, but upset, hurt, crying Maddy was everything wrong with the world that he could take the time to fix, even if she didn't want him to try. Especially if she didn't want him to try. He would sit with her wrapped up in his arms for hours if he had to, bearing the heat and sun blanched sand, tolerating the blistering lack of wind and long afternoon hours. He would sit with her until the sun disappeared and the moon took her place, lighting the sky in white and blue and telling the desert it was time to cool off, sending wind and stars and fireflies. He would wait, if that's how long it took. It didn't take quite so long. The stars had not yet began to flicker into view, but the first of the most adventurous fireflies had begun to dance of the dusty dunes.          "Let go." she grumbled meekly, her words muffled as she pressed her face into his arm to hide her tears. Jack just sighed gently, gathering her that much closer to his chest. At least she had stopped fighting him.         "Why?" he figured he might as well humor the idea at this point. She wasn't going anywhere unless he did let her go, and she had to know that he wasn't going to relent now, not without good reason. She was as caught as a mouse in a snap trap, and there was no slipping free short of chewing through her own tail, so to speak.          "Because."          "Just because?"          "Mm."          "A compelling argument."          Silence again, more waiting. She was certainly good at dissuading people, he'd give her that much. He briefly reflected that any number of people would have given up by now, thinking that if they hadn't gotten their answer by now, they weren't going to get one at all. He was glad he knew better. Trust takes patience, hours and days and years of patience. Trust usually comes just after you think you haven't got any patience left in you, and those who push themselves to be patient just ten minutes more are rewarded; those who cannot, miss their chance. So he hugged her, ticking off the minutes in his head. The longer he waited the less tense she was, the more she began to hug him back instead of pressing for a weakness in his hold. The longer he waited, the more she forgave him before she could even tell him what was wrong so he could apologize if he was sorry. It didn't matter if he was sorry, because he was willing to listen.          "Why am I here?" So there was a lead up; Jack blinked, puzzled by the question.          "Define here," he told her, "do you mean 'here' like the earth or 'here' like sitting in the dust with me?"          "Here ..like the base. Here staying with you again."          "You were upset that Neon disappeared again and..took his dog this time, and you told me you left him a note that said you weren't going to wait for him anymore, if he was just going to leave again, and I didn't want you to be alone, so I asked you to come stay for awhile." He explained it calmly, gazing up at the blue fading to pink sky and speaking of the situation like he was a spectator, not a participant. She had seemed unhappy and lonely, so he asked her to come back like it was old times, just for a little while, if she wanted. Here she was.          "...So I'm a chore."          "-What?"          "I'm a chore- a task. A- a burden." The words, though softly spoken, came each one sharp to his ears, chastising and challenging him to speak the truth. He heard her plainly; she felt like a responsibility, not a person. From her eyes, he had asked her to stay with him out of obligation, a mission directive with no thought behind it save that he had to do it, maybe even someone he didn't want to look after but had to anyways; obligated babysitting. He knew the feeling well. He had once expressed a similar hurt to a friend, fearing the weight he was on the other's shoulders.          "Madelyn Fae," he said her name sharply -like a shocked and disappointed parent- causing her to twist in his arms to look at him, startled, "in what universe are you a chore to me?" She didn't answer, simply looking at him wide-eyed, as if fearing she would give a wrong answer if she spoke. For the best- he could give her the right answer. "It doesn't exist." He tapped her forehead with his, bumping their heads together gently. "You are many things to me, a sister, a fighter, a friend, a-" he hesitated as the thought occurred to him, but spoke it nonetheless, "..a daughter," and in many ways she was, "but you have not been, are not now, and will never be a chore or a burden to me. When I do things for you, it's because I love you and worry about you and want you to be happy." She just looked at him, a strange sort of expression on her face. "What?" he asked her.          "You'd think I would've figured that out by now.." 

[hannahchronism]

Prompt 1: Beginning

   "Come here son, come and see."

          Jack did as he was told, creeping forward from the doorway on tippy toes, so he wouldn't disturb anybody. His dad had told him to be very quiet, on his best behavior, that the people here didn't need to be disturbed. Jack had been trying his very hardest, for a long long time too. Hours. It was very boring.           Jack's father beckoned again, pulling Jack closer with his excitement, the smile on his face. When he was close enough, Jack's father reached down and lifted the boy off his feet so that he could see over the edge of the hospital bed. "Say hello Maddy, your new sister."            Jack turned his head, peering curiously at the bundle of blanket wrapped up tightly in his mother's arms. She was smiling too, her cheeks flushed and her head sweaty, but her expression was practically glowing, proud. The bundle in his mother's arms wriggled, and a tiny, scrunched up face came into view. Jack stared in wonder. "That's a person?"             Both of his parents laughed. He didn't know why, it seemed like a perfectly valid question to him. "Yes Jack, that's a person," his father informed the boy good naturedly, "or rather, the very beginnings of one. She's barely a day old; it'll be a long time before we start to get to know her."             "You used to look like this too." his mother smiled, and was greeted with a dropped jaw from her young son.             "Really?" his lip curled as he looked at the little face peeking out from the blankets again. It was red and squished looking, like someone had sat on her by accident. The idea was less than appealing. They both laughed again.               "Yes really, silly boy." His mother said gently, beckoning him closer still. Jack's father set him carefully next to his mother, helping him to sit neatly by his mother. "Everyone looks something like this when they're very little. And then we grow, and our hair sometimes changes colors, and our eyes, and our faces take shapes and we all end up looking different."                "But you always say everybody's the same on the inside." Jack reminded his mother, as if she had forgotton. She smiled warmly at her son, proud he had remembered her words.                    "You're very right, I do don't I?" She looked to the child wrapped tenderly in her arms and smoothed her fingers over the blanket encompasing the girl's head. "We are the same on the inside. We're all people, no matter what we look like. Sometimes that's a good thing, and sometimes it's a bad thing, but it's always true."                   Jack pondered his mother's words for a moment, looking between her and the new life in her arms. The thought occured to him that his sister was very small, and if his mom wasn't very very careful she might hurt her. She looked so tiny and fragile, like a doll. He tenatively touched her cheek with his chubby fingers, still staring at her curiously. She looked like a doll, but she was softer. Somehow, that made her seem even more fragile. At length, he voiced his observations.             "She's so... little," he stated plainly, as if he had expected her to be some big grandiose spectical for all the fuss his mother's friends had put up when they visited, "and soft." His mother nodded, agreeing with her son.             "She will always be little to you," she told him, "maybe not smaller, but always little. She's your baby sister, so to you she will always be little." He tried to imagine that, a sister that was bigger than him but also littler. It was hard to picture. He soon gave up.              "You know what this means, don't you buddy?" his Dad spoke up, resting his hand idly on his son's back as he knelt down next to the bed. Jack shook his head.              "What does it mean?"              "It means you're a big brother. You've got someone to look after now, and she's going to look up to you all her life."                "Look after?" Jack looked to his dad, puzzled. "Won't you do that?" His parents exchanged glances.                  "Of course we will." his mother reassured.                 "But you're there whenever we're not looking. An extra set of eyes and ears." his dad tweaked his son's nose, prompting a giggle. "You're her big brother and her best friend, it's all part of the job. You'll be there when nobody else is. You think you're up to it, little man?" Jack looked at his sister, then at his parents. He nodded, shockingly solemn for a five year old.                   "Shake on it." his dad suggested, holding out a weathered hand to his youthful son. "Promise to always look after little Maddy for me, even when I'm around and especially when I'm not."                   Jack put his tiny hand in his father's, and as his father closed his fingers around the boy's hand and shook them, he made his vow.

                "I promise."

[minorcharactershavefeelingstoo]

Fic: Drabble: Tremble

Oh look at me try to write 30 drabbles in 30 days.

Thank you to Sam who edited it for me <3

Prompt: Tremble

___________________________________

Michael looked around his place. His Heaven. It had changed a lot since its creation, but Michael thought he was finally pleased with it. It wasn’t so much a room as it was a large structure, surrounded by stone pillars on all four sides; each pillar separated by space so Michael could freely come and go, and his view of the rest of Heaven was never blocked. The ceiling was also stone, though it was flat. Carved within it were creatures his Father planned on making eventually, though Michael didn’t know what they would be called. Some of them were fierce, while others weren’t.  The floor was covered with a thick blue material that only rivaled in softness to one other thing in existence.

A nest of the softest materials sat in the middle of the area. Michael didn’t need sleep but he would occasionally rest. It was also a place where he could go so he could be alone. His Father had been giving Michael a few things to think about. Despite not needing much rest, he’d started resting more frequently however, since the creation of his newest little brother.

Michael had quickly learned that, despite having his own Heaven, his own place, Gabriel preferred Michael’s space, especially when Michael was in it too.

Gabriel had been different from the very beginning and the oldest angel had quickly noticed that Gabriel seemed to struggle with things that Lucifer and Raphael had caught on to easily. He was small for one, his wings not quite developed, so flying was out of the question until they grew a little. There were things he didn’t know either, that both Raphael and Lucifer had been created knowing. It worried Michael that something was seriously wrong with his baby brother.

He finally went to their Father to voice his concerns, but God had just smiled upon him and explained. “There is nothing wrong with Gabriel. He is smaller yes, but that is because he is younger. He doesn’t know things because he needs to be taught. While he is growing, I want you to teach him. I plan to create many more siblings for you, and it will be your job to teach them, to train them, to show them everything. But above all else, Gabriel is yours. He was made using your Grace. He feels an attachment to you.”

Michael had gone away with more questions than answers and he had hid himself in his room. Which was where he was now, staring up at the swirling mass of time, thinking. Why him? Why was it his responsibility? But his answer was obvious. He was the oldest, and the thought of taking care of younger siblings and teaching them kind of made his Grace a little warmer.

During his deep moment a familiar figure had stumbled clumsily into the room and had made his way over to where Michael lay in his nest of blankets. Michael noticed the strain on Gabriel’s face, the exhaustion in his eyes and the slightly defeated stance to the small body.

“Michael?” He asked softly, which proved how badly he was drained of energy.

Without a word Michael unfolded his wings in invitation and the youngest’s relieved smile caused something to stir in Michael’s chest.  It grew and grew until it was almost painful, but it never quite reached that level. It was actually…pleasant, and it took Michael a moment to realize that it triggered by his little brother’s smile.

Gabriel climbed into the nest of blankets, trying not to trip as he settled down against Michael’s side.  His wings were askew as he still wasn’t sure how to control them, but with Michael’s help they tucked them back behind him and Michael was able to curl his own wings around them. The smaller form created a comforting warmth along his side and Michael’s hand immediately found one of Gabriel’s wings, his fingers gently petting the softest thing in all creation, Gabriel’s down.

He watched the smaller angel, wiggle as he got comfortable and it seemed that this simple act made the strain disappear from Gabriel’s face, despite the slight tremble of the younger’s body. Michael hadn’t realized how simple existence had been wearing on the other but he was determined to help lessen the strain. He curled his arm around his baby brother and brought the other hand up to hold the side of the much smaller face. “Things will get easier from now on.” He promised gently, that feeling in his chest growing even stronger as Gabriel gave him a bright smile. “You’re my responsibility and I will teach you everything you need to learn. You’re first lesson is that you’ll never have to do these things alone because I am here for you. I will always be there for you.

Because you are mine.”

[minorcharactershavefeelingstoo]

Fic: Drabble: Beginning

Oh look at me try to write 30 drabbles in 30 days.

Prompt: Beginning

___________________________________

In the beginning there was nothing. Nothing but plans for a future still far off and quite undecided. God was busy making plans left and right, planning on what to create and where to put it.

Michael stood in the middle of the emptiness, patient and quiet. He knew of his Father’s plans and knew that eventually the Creator would come back to him.

The universe was formed, vast and never ending as it stretched out through time. To brighten the darkness God created stars that lit up and chased some of the depressing black away. Galaxies were created, the exact number so high that it hadn’t been invented yet.

His Father took a break in his work, turning his attention to Michael. The all powerful decided that Michael would not be the only angel he created so he took the brightest star he’d ever created and formed another angel. He called him Lucifer.

Michael was pleased and he taught Lucifer all he knew of their Father’s plans. Their Father of course went back to creating because that’s what creators do. While God created suns and moons and the beginning of planets Michael and Lucifer learned to fly. They explored their Father’s universe and raced each other around floating rocks bigger than they were.

God took a break again, having a new idea for something a little different. It would be complex and would take a while to evolve but He was certain that it would be magnificent. His best creation. While He planned He created Raphael. He used a star not nearly as bright as Lucifer’s had been, but as close as he could. He mixed it with compassion and put in a healing touch. Raphael was calmer than His older two, thought things ahead more. He was pleased.

While He went back to planning and creating: an atmosphere, oxygen, trees, water and mountains, His three children raced around His structures, swam in His rivers and climbed His mountains.

He thought other creatures; other beings should enjoy what was obviously so much fun. He had more planning to do.

Michael, filled with love and joy, happy to have two siblings, thought nothing of his Father asking to speak with him, thinking that the Creator wanted to speak of His new plans like He so often did.  Instead He took a little of Michael’s Grace, the power which flows through an angel. Confused, Michael watched as his Father blended it with something bright and beautiful. Whatever it was, was more beautiful than the oldest had ever seen.

His Father called it a Soul and He had wanted to test it.

He moulded it, mixed it, until the Grace and Soul were completely absorbed into each other and He placed the result in Michael’s hands.

Michael looked down into the brightest eyes he’d ever seen, twinkling with joy and filled with life. His arms automatically wrap around the form tightly, protectively. He already loves the small one and he hasn’t even held him for a full minute. “He’s beautiful Father.” Michael whispered, “What’s his name?”

God smiled. “He is to be Gabriel. And he’s yours.”

[ladymakowski-blog]

30 Days of Writing (Drabble a Day) - Day Sixteen

[That's it. I can't do the 'once a day' thing. Sometimes I get urges to write a lot in a day, some days I can't bring myself to write anything, haha. I'll just do these... as I do them.]

Sometimes when she wakes up, Katsa gives thanks that she’s still alive and able to be happy.

Thanks to what? She doesn’t know. She’s never been religious, or even spiritual.

But she’s silently thankful for her moderately good luck nonetheless.

Sometimes, quietly, and only when she’s all alone, she lists, aloud, exactly what she hopes will always remain true, thanking no one in particular.

“I give thanks for my father.”

A pause.

“For my clever mind.”

Another pause.

“For my skills, and my ability to use them.”

A much longer pause.

“For my capacity for love and kindness, for my ability to be such a person, even when I feel like I can’t be.”

[ladymakowski-blog]

30 Days of Writing (Drabble a Day) - Day Fifteen

[I like writing about her past because wow gosh it is hard to figure her out otherwise, haha.

So here’s, “Katsa Learns How to Kiss” AKA “When Katsa First Noticed She’s Gay.”]

“Come here.”

It wasn’t a suggestion, but an order. Katerina knew the difference. It was all in the tone of voice with Dominika, and she made it clear when she wanted something done immediately.

So Katerina came, sat down next to her, looked at her expectantly and finally frowned.

And Dominika couldn’t tell what she was thinking at all, not that she ever really could with Katerina, but that was all right.

“A little closer.”

So Katsa moved closer.

“Have you ever done this?” Dominika asked, and Katerina shook her head quickly. “Well, he’s going to expect you to kiss him.”

Katerina nodded, knowing that was right.

“Sit up, hon.”

And Katerina did.

“He’ll be happier if you at least have an idea of what you’re doing. You want to make your new husband happy, right?”

He wasn’t her husband, not yet, she thought, but brushed that thought away. Her reluctance was showing, and she couldn’t have that.

And then Dominika was speaking again, and she had to listen, because Dominika was in charge. “Open your mouth, sweetie, and try to remember what I do so you can copy it later.”

[vanessasketch]

30 Drabbles - Promise

Thanks to Historymiss for half the dialogue, albeit slightly altered. I couldn't resist pulling something similar to yours. Shameless!

Collected at AO3.

[vanessasketch]

30 Drabbles - Letters

Referencing a lot of CS here, and using a letter I'd already written. Hahahaha, cheating.

Collected at AO3.

Betty, I am so sorry. I don’t know what happened. Something went wrong with the pulse, that’s as far as I can tell now. Everything’s in fragments, but I saw how much I hurt you, I know it went horribly. If I could have stayed, I would have. I wish I could be more specific but I can’t. Not now. Please, Betty, I need help. Whatever this is, I need to fix it. Cure it. I need to get it out of me so they can’t do what they want. Then I can come back home. It is so much to ask but I need your help once you‘ve healed. I can be where you need, somewhere out of the way. Somewhere they can’t find. I would understand if you didn’t forgive me for what happened, though. It must be so painful. I am sorry, Betty. Be well. Love, Bruce Out of all the letters Bruce wrote over the years (and he admitted to himself it was a pathetically large amount) that one was the only one he sent. It was barely a month after the accident, and for reasons he could never articulate, he had run back to Dayton. Its winters were the cold ones he remembered, the ones that came with a mixture of fear and nostalgia, but he had run into it unprepared. His jacket was too thin, all of his possessions held inside a fraying canvas backpack, and there was no house for him to seek shelter in. The house still stood, of course; the name on the thin metal mailbox outside the front stoop now bearing an unfamiliar name. While the front lawn was glittering in inches of white snow the driveway that had once been cracked (crack, he winced) was paved over. Smooth. Dark contrasting the wintry lawn. It hadn’t been home in decades. Staring at it only recalled ghosts that were already far too tangible in his dreaming hours. Now with the thing that lurked in the dark parts of his mind, bubbling up under the skin in ways that confused him (and frightened him which only made it worse, made the thing rise up faster), he needed to stay away. Away from the ghosts that twisted and curled like the puffs of breath in the bitter air, away from his memories. He had made one final stop before leaving town. It was brief, more ghosts, more vague recollections (crack again, he winced) and an emptiness that reminded him his life was once again grey. Grey, with sparks of red and blurred green. Bruce hadn’t been able to stand more than a few minutes in front of the worn stone grave, the cross an image he recalled with perfect clarity in his nightmares. The rest of the letters in the years that followed were scribbled on whatever paper he had handy and thrown out as soon as they were finished. Every letter was to Betty, every one of them contained an apology. Their brief reunion had only given him new reasons to apologize, new ways that he had gone in and messed up her life. I’m sorry would never be enough. The letters became more like confessions, one sided conversations of everything he wanted to say to her but was sure he never would get the chance. Joining the Avengers hadn’t changed this; Bruce wrote the letters now in a state of the art gleaming lab instead of a dirt covered flat, and the downtime meant the letters came with greater frequency. They became recounts of his exploits, rambling stories of their times together, all beginning and ending with that same tired apology. He crumpled every last one, each time swearing it would be the last, wanting to move on. Wanting to be better. The last one he wrote came once they had returned from Latveria, a rescue mission that had been successful but still left him and the Other Guy with a strong urge to pull apart “Doctor” Doom (he wasn’t really a doctor as far as Bruce knew, and honestly his name was von Doom). It was good to be back, good to know Tony was all right, but Betty…she was still gone. Still in a place unknown doing who knew what, still possibly in danger, and Bruce couldn’t stop worrying. His inability to help find her only made it worse. So, he wrote, hunched over his clean desk in the white gleaming florescent lab: Betty, Please be okay. Wherever you are, whatever you’re doing, please be okay. You’re brilliant and I need to believe you did this to get away from the General. I keep telling myself that had to be it, he was being overbearing again and you needed space. It doesn’t stop me from being concerned. You’ve managed to disappear from everyone’s notice and someone in SHIELD has to know where you are. They have to. I just don’t understand why Fury would do this. There’s so much manipulation, so many angles Rambling. Stop. You’re going to be found, Natasha is going to find you, you’re going to be fine and I will have no idea what to do after that will be happy just to know that. Part of me hopes that you’re angry with me, or better than that, that you’re beyond that and don’t care either way. Indifference, that’s it. Because how many times have I ruined your life, our lives? That’s what I do. Ruin good things. It’s only a matter of time before I do it to the others as well. I’m my father’s son, after all. I just want you to be all right and happy in whatever you do, Betty. I want you to live your life. Being with you meant the world to me. Be safe, Betty. Wherever you are. Bruce Note: Why don’t you just get a journal? You’re clinging. It isn’t right. She deserves better. You’re at the best you’ve been and you’re still an incoherent mess. Natasha will find her, she’ll be okay, and you leave it at that. Betty appeared so soon after, the best impossible dream made real. Face to face with her, frozen in place in the Tower’s kitchen as they cleaned up from a bit of needed fun, the words of the last crumpled letter echoed in his mind. Being with you meant the world to me. As they held onto each other, years of distance closed in mere seconds, a dead life brought back with a single spark once again, Bruce told her so. He told her what mattered, what he might never get the chance to say again.