Trick or Treat! Your mismag drabbles are giving me life!
If you're not too busy, I'd love some EvSam..
I feel like a lot of discussion of their relationship centers around Sam comforting Evan... I'd love to see some Evan comforting/protecting Sam!
Hand shaking, she struggles to not drop the phone.
It rings.
Once.
Twice.
A thi-
“Hello?” his voice is groggy from sleep and she almost sobs in relief at the sound.
“Hi,” she says, trying her best to sound like she hasn’t just been crying. “Hey, Ev’.”
“Sam?” he asks, suddenly sounding infinitely more alert than he was a moment ago. “What’s up? Everything okay?”
“Yeah, it’s- I’m fine,” she reassures him quickly, rubbing at her nose with the back of her hand. It’s wet from snot and she feels gross.
“Where are you?” he asks. She can hear the noise of something in the background, rather like air rapidly decompressing from something.
“Why?” she asks. “You don’t need to- you don’t have to come.”
The sound of a window opening and a deep breath in. “Sam,” he says, his voice dangerously low. “Either tell me exactly what happened or tell me where you are, so I can make sure you’re safe.”
“London,” she says, “Outside a pub. In- the West End? I’m- I’m not sure.”
“Got it,” he says. She can hear the sound of his fingers flying across the screen of his phone. For a guy who only had a flip phone for the longest time, he took to screens really well. “I can be there in five. Is that soon enough?”
A door opens behind her and she holds her breath, taking the phone off speaker and turning the sound down so Evan won’t give her away. “Sam?” a voice calls. “Samantha? I know you’re out here.”
She doesn’t respond.
Faintly, through the phone, she can hear whooshing wind - the sound of him on his broom. Just knowing he’s coming is enough to turn her stomach into knots and make her feel safe at the exact same time. It’s stupid, this is stupid. He’s going to think she’s stupid for calling him crying over something this ridiculous.
“Ugh,” the voice says, the door slamming again as they go back in.
Sam breathes out sharply, peeking out from behind the dumpster to make sure they really left and aren’t just faking it. It’s what Evan would do, if he were here.
They’re gone. She turns the volume back up. “Sorry,” she says. “I -"
“Sam, who was that?” his voice is a little tinny but she can make it out okay.
There’s wine all over the front of her dress and T2’s going to kill her over the dry-cleaning bill. She doesn’t answer. “I’m okay,” she says. “It’s not- I’m not in danger. I promise.”
The sound of rushing wind stops and then his voice comes through clearer. “If it’s safe, can you walk out into the street for me?”
She pushes up from her seat on one of the small crates and brushes off her dress, though it’s a futile effort. Most of her things are still inside, she’d only had her phone on her when she rushed out, and now she’s kicking herself for it. She’s going to have to go back in to get her stuff or give them up and hope someone turns them into the bartender so she can maybe get them back in the morning.
Stepping out under the streetlights, Sam gives the street a quick look around. “Okay,” she says, “I’m on the street.”
“Thank you,” he says politely. “I want you to pick something and think about it as hard as you can. Focus everything you have on thinking about it.”
A little confused, Sam closes her eyes, and thinks about Evan.
After about fifteen seconds, she hears, “I see you.”
When she opens her eyes, he’s walking up to her, his broom already stashed away in his backpack. The final few paces, he jogs to her, reaching out in concern at the stain on her dress. “Is that -"
“Wine,” she says quickly, not sure what to do with her phone now. Not waiting for him to open his arms, she throws hers around him, latching onto him. Her face buried in his neck, she breathes the smell of Evan. Warm, a little like the forest after a spring rain, and perfectly him.
His hand comes up to cup the back of her head, his other hand not so subtly checking her for injuries.
“What happened?” he asks. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah,” she says, pulling away to sniffle. “I’m sorry- you shouldn’t have- I shouldn’t have called. It’s just -" she stuffs her phone in between her boobs for lack of a better place to put it. “Did I ever tell you about my dad?”
-
With Evan’s coat wrapped around her to cover up the stain on her dress, Sam feels like she’s been wrapped in a spell of protectiveness. They walk back into the pub, him just a few steps ahead of her. “Which one?” he asks, his voice low.
Sam points.
“Wait here,” he instructs, passing over his backpack for her to hold.
She waits.
He strides up to her father, clasping him on the shoulder to get his attention. She’s too far away to hear what’s being said but it’s less than a minute before Evan’s widening his stance and she knows exactly what he’s going to do. Too bad that no one else does.
Her father hits the floor like he’s been slammed into by a cannonball, sliding backwards several feet. He looks up at Evan in a daze.
The rest of the pub falls completely silent, no one daring to move or even thinking to intervene.
Evan steps up over her father, his foot coming down to the man’s wrist to hold it in place. Crouching down, he removes her purse from his grasp.
He opens it, checking to make sure everything she carries is in there, and then digs his heel in for good measure. “Stay the fuck away from Sam,” she hears Evan say, his voice dangerously serious.
“C’mon,” he says, pulling Sam in close with one arm hooked around her shoulder. He kisses the side of her head. “Let’s get you home.”
Sam cries a little again, but for a whole different reason this time.
Admittedly, deciding spontaneously that he wanted to be six and a half feet tall meant that he didn’t necessarily put a lot of thought into the logistics of it.
Previously, Whitney Jammer had been straddling the line of only-fully-six-foot if he’s standing fully straight and upright, otherwise he’d always been just a little bit under. It’s made his chosen career and passion for basketball a little more difficult than it might otherwise be if he were taller. He’s still good. He’s still really good, but it’s the only thing keeping him from going over the edge of greatness.
So, when he’s imbued with the powers of creation magick itself, he does the first thing that comes to mind.
He makes himself taller.
It’s more normal feeling that he’d expect it to be, no great new awareness of the world around him from this new height of his, except for the fact that his friends are either actually shorter than him now - Evan - or even shorter than him than they already were - K and Sam - which is equal parts thrilling and strange.
Of course, not having a newfound awareness of the world also means that he forgets that he’s too tall for things that never would have gotten him into trouble before.
Doorframes are no longer automatic passes. He hits his head on more than a few as he’s adjusting to the change, until he finally gets to the point where he starts walking into rooms with his hand up on his forehead to automatically block any impact.
It’s a little embarrassing.
More than a little, really.
The clothes he’d been wearing when he’d completed his upgrade had grown as well, fitting his new form, but none of his other clothes fit anymore. He didn’t wear a lot of pants if he could help it, but his sweatpants are all a few inches above his ankles. All the new height isn’t stored in his legs, but based on how much shorter his shorts are, it definitely feels that way.
The shirts he had packed in his duffle bag and the ones back home all expose his midriff a little and somehow they’re a bit tighter on his shoulders, as if they’re a full several sizes too small now.
He has to buy a full new wardrobe, which gets him some looks of confusion from other shoppers when he goes to check-out, wearing ill-fitted clothes. It was this or the jumpsuit.
“Unexpected growth spurt, hon?” the kindly lady at the register asks with a look of understanding.
“Something like that,” Jammer says, a little red in the face. At least he’s found a way to keep his wings hidden from sight most of the time, so she’s not staring at them.
He has to relearn so much that he’s almost just teaching himself how to play basketball again. With newer legs and a different sized torso means slightly longer arms, the rest of his body developing as well to keep him proportional, and that means that even things as simple as picking something up and throwing it suddenly requires conscious effort.
It’s exhausting.
He wouldn’t trade it for the world, though. Not with the way Evan’s eyes darken when he stands over the man, tall enough to tower over him for once.
“Can you reach that for me?” Evan asks, the question light. He doesn’t gesture, but Jammer knows he’s referring to the box of dried noodles that are just out of reach in the very top cabinet. He’s braced against the counter, looking up at Jammer with dark, intense eyes.
“Sure thing,” Jammer says. He doesn’t break eye contact as he reaches up for it.
He hands them over. “Anything else,” he asks, licking his lips before he adds on, “big guy,” to the end of it.
Evan makes a soft, hungry noise for something more than the noodles.
Jammer obliges, dropping the box down to the counter to hold Evan’s face in his hand and tilt it up until it’s the perfect angle for a kiss.
Since he’s kissed Evan, he’s going to have to kiss K and Sam, too, or they’ll both get jealous, but that’s not exactly a hardship.
For now, he gets to enjoy how much Evan likes to be the smaller one and how much he likes being like this.
Hi coming to you bc idk how to write but this idea has been bouncing around in my head for a while. Picture body swap pilotcule. Evan in K’s body getting to be the smallest. Jammer in Evan’s body dealing with The Things. Sam in jammers body trying to still move gently through the world. The list goes on.
You have no idea how much I waffled over what setting would make this the most fun.
Something doesn’t feel right, though he’s not entirely sure what it is yet. It’s hard to see, something rather like a thick fog filling the air around him. It clouds his vision and makes it impossible to see his own hands let alone where he’s going.
The first thing he remembers is walking through the fog. Everything before that is vague and unclear, his memories fuzzy. “Guys…?” he asks. There’s something wrong with his voice. Even though he can feel it as it rumbles from his throat, spills from his lips, it’s not him talking.
“K?” a shaky voice calls out through the fog. It’s a masculine voice, one that’s familiar to him.
It takes a moment to remember who K is. “It’s me,” he responds warily.
“Oh, thank god!” Jammer says. “Follow my voice, honey. I think I see a way out.”
Feeling blind and completely discombobulated, Evan follows the sound of Jammer’s voice. He's not sure why Jammer is calling him honey, but he's hardly going to complain. “Who else is here?” he asks. “Is it just us?”
“I haven’t -” he takes another step and the fog clears, revealing a large, muscular man who’s considerably taller than Evan remembers him being. “Oh, thank god,” he says, moving towards Evan with his arms outstretched. “Holy shit, K,” he says. “What do you remember? Do you know what’s going on?”
Feeling frozen in place, Evan stares wide-eyed as he’s embraced by arms that are absolutely massive around him and he’s lifted up off the ground. It’s too shocking to react with anything but a gasp, his hands coming up to paw at Jammer to keep from slipping from the man’s grasp. “Jammer?” he asks.
“What?” Jammer says. “No, it’s Sam, silly.”
Jammer puts him back down and he goes back to staring up. “Uh,” he says. “Are you- are you sure about that?”
Before Jammer can answer, Evan comes charging out of the fog. “Guys,” he cries, stopping to rest his hands on his knees, hanging his head as he struggles to breathe. He hasn’t looked at them. “Something- something’s the matter,” he stammers. “Has anyone seen Ev’?”
“Uh,” Evan says, his heart beating rapidly now. “Jammer?” he asks tentatively, glancing between his friends.
Jammer doesn’t respond, but the other Evan does. “Yeah?” he asks, still not looking at them.
Evan swallows hard and glances between the two of them, mouth open as he struggles to compute what’s happening. He doesn’t say anything for a long moment, looking down at his hands. They’re considerably smaller than his own, but still familiar enough to make him narrow his eyes. Flexing one into a fist, he turns his wrist to get a better look at it. On his arm, he can see the sleeve of a red jumpsuit - starkly different from the one he remembers wearing.
“I- I think something’s wrong,” he offers weakly. “I, um. I think I’m in K’s body?”
“What?” Jammer-Evan and Sam-Jammer say at the same time, Jammer-Evan lifting his head.
It’s unsettling to watch his own head rise, to meet his own eyes. They widen in confusion, horror, and no doubt revulsion over realising what’s going on, at seeing himself stand next to Evan-K.
“You -” Jammer-Evan points. “You- no, what?”
“If you’re Evan and not K,” Sam-Jammer says in disbelief, “And he’s Jammer and not Evan, then does that mean -” Sam-Jammer looks at his - her - own hands in shock. “Holy shit,” she murmurs, sounding stunned.
“WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON?” Sam yells, coming charging out of the fog like she's being chased by something. She skids to a stop almost comically fast several feet away from Evan. “You can’t be me,” she sputters. “If you’re me, then who am I?”
Evan swallows. “You’re in Sam’s body, K,” he says, fairly confident he has everyone sorted properly in his head. It’s not an explanation for why this has happened, nor is it a solution for them, but it’s at least the start of an understanding. “I’m Evan,” he continues, “Sam is in Jammer’s body and Jammer is in mine.”
“What the fuck?” K says, immediately feeling themself up. “Holy shit, I’m so fucking hot, oh my god.”
Sam-Jammer goes red, ducking her head in embarrassment. “I’m not that hot, K,” she mutters.
“Bull-fucking-shit you’re not,” K-Sam counters, not looking up from their exploration of Sam’s generous assets. “Hope you don’t mind,” they chirp belatedly.
“Have- have at it,” Sam-Jammer says.
“Why didn’t you tell anyone?” Jammer-Evan asks Evan.
Blinking at him in confusion, Evan finds himself shifting on his feet. He feels light and more balanced than he can ever remember being, something that he wouldn’t have been been able to properly articulate before this moment. This body - K’s body - is lighter and more limber than his own. There’s something beyond the obvious that feels wrong, but he can’t put his finger on it. “Tell anyone?” he asks.
“That you were injured, man,” Jammer-Evan says. “Like, holy fuck. This body hurts, big guy.”
“Oh,” Evan says. “That makes sense, actually,” he swallows. That’s what’s wrong. It’s not something that’s different, not exactly. It’s something that isn’t there.
“It makes sense?” Sam-Jammer asks. “What makes sense?”
“It’s fine,” Evan tells his friends. “I’m not injured, I promise. That’s just- that’s my body’s normal. Whatever you’re feeling, it’s normal for me.”
“It’s- it’s normal for you,” Jammer-Evan repeats back incredulously, wheezing a little. It must be a shocking difference to go from wherever his own body is at - in peak physical condition, taller now and far more in-tune with his physicality than Evan could ever dream of being - to Evan’s body. “This is normal?” he asks. “You feel like this all the time?”
“Sure,” Evan shrugs. “You get used to it after a while.”
“Jammer,” Sam-Jammer asks, “Would it be weird if I stuck my hand down our pants? I’ve always wanted to know what it felt like to have one.”
“Uh,” Jammer-Evan says, “Um, would you mind like, turning around at least?"
“Absolutely!” Sam-Jammer chirps, turning around to presumably feel her body up. “Damn,” she says. “I really want to find somewhere to pee right now.”
Evan laughs lightly, shifting as he’s suddenly drawn to the awareness of what’s also absent from this body. He’s tiny, nothing particularly hurts, and he’s missing his dong. He shifts in place again, enjoying the way it doesn’t shift and rub against his clothes as he does. Of all of them, he has the least reason to feel up this body, since he’s already felt it in every way possible previously. Still, it’s strange to think that a body he’s been inside of in a sexual sense is one he’s inside of now in a literal sense.
“Your body is amazing, Jammer,” Sam-Jammer says, turning back around. She stretches her arms out around her, feeling the span of her arms. “God, I want to do jumping jacks or something. Do you always have this much energy?” She takes a step forward and then another, carefully measuring her movements as she tries to adjust to the body. Her feet come down too hard, making stomping noises as she does that draw a giggle out of K-Sam.
Finally done feeling Sam up, K-Sam says, “Do we know how to fix this?” they ask. “Or are we going to have to like, be in these bodies for a while. Asking for a friend.”
“I have no idea,” Evan admits.
“What about the -” Jammer-Evan starts to ask.
“Yeah,” Evan answers. “That’s part of it.”
“Huh,” Jammer says. “Man, I say this with love, but we have got to get you to like a doctor or something.”
Before Evan can respond, the fog around them clears completely, revealing that they’re standing on an iceberg.
“Well, fuck,” a goat says. “This one’s on me. I definitely fucked this one up. Sorry, Sam.”
The goat stomps his little goat hooves and everything goes black.
“The Qohlye?” K-Sam asks.
“That’s me,” the goat says pleasantly. “Please hold.”
“We’re gonna call this take 3.5,” the goat says no one in particular. “I swear, though, if Sam doesn’t figure this one out…”
three times someone kissed Evan on the forehead (and three times he gives the forehead kiss)
Evan Kelmp can count on one hand how many times someone has kissed him on the forehead.
It’s a thing people do, he’s seen it. Other kids on the playground got them when they were being picked up from school or when they’d scrape their knees, they’d get a two-for-one: a kiss on the knee and a kiss on the head.
He’s never had one of those. There wasn’t ever a concerned parent or guardian, no adult in his life who cared enough to comfort him beyond making sure he wasn’t bleeding out. Eventually, he decided the window for it had long since closed.
People don’t go around kissing teenagers on the head, and they certainly don’t do that to young adults.
To his surprise, he gets his first one at seventeen.
It’s a quick thing, a soft, absent-minded brush of lips, with a whispered, “you’re alright,” to go with the touch.
Evan freezes up. A second ago, he’d been dead-tired, his body sore and aching from the rough tumble he’d had at Scuppers practise, not particularly paying attention as Nurse Stitchnit had worked at fixing him up. So that’s what it’s like, he thinks, dazed.
He’s only here because Sam and Dream ganged up on him, insisting that he needed to. They’re waiting outside the door for him, probably with Jammer now, too, who he hadn’t even tried to get on his side about the matter.
“I apologise,” Nurse Stitchnit says after a second, pulling back to give Evan a look of concern. “That was- I’m sorry, Evan. I- I you remind me of Maddie quite a lot and I think I forgot you weren’t my child.”
The explanation sends a pang through him and Evan ducks his head so Stitchnit won’t see the complicated series of expressions that spill out onto his face. “It’s- it’s fine,” he whispers, his heart thudding in his ears at the idea that Stitchnit would think about him like that, even if only for a second. “It just surprised me, is all.” He pauses, swallowing. “It was nice. Thank you.”
Stitchnit lets out a booming laugh of relief and claps a large hand on Evan’s shoulder, his thumb rubbing along the crook of Evan’s neck. “You’re a good man, Evan. I hope you know that.”
He’s still thinking about it when he goes to bed, his forehead tingling slightly with the afterimage of the man’s brief moment of affection.
His second forehead kiss happens exactly a week later, to the day.
Sam’s been struggling with some of her homework recently, since a couple of their teachers have banned their assignments being turned in with pen-ink and lined paper, so they’ve been stuck painstakingly copying their essays and answers onto the approved parchments with approved writing utensils, and it’s been hard on her hands.
He’d offered to write hers out for her. If she handled the writing part, he’d transcribe in quill.
Whether she thought he was just offering to be nice or not, she genuinely seems surprised when he hands her over the completed parchments. “Oh, I could kiss you, Evan Kelmp,” she says with a cry of delight.
Taking a step towards him, she ignores the sheets he’s got in his hands for her, reaching up to grab his head. She plants her lips on the middle of his forehead with a wet, smacking sound. It’s brief but it’s twice as long as the time with Stitchnit and Evan’s able to focus in one the point of contact, his entire bodily awareness suddenly shrunken down to that one, no longer lonely patch of skin.
She doesn’t hear his gasp, making another happy noise as she pulls away. “Thank you,” she says. “You have no idea. Thank you so much.”
Since she doesn’t address the kiss, he doesn’t either. He feels warm all over, content and happy in a way that’s still mostly unfamiliar. “You got it, Sam,” he offers weakly.
Taking the papers from his hands, she settles onto the bed to look them over, smiling broadly. She’d done good work, better than he’d thought given how much she acts like she isn’t smart, and he hadn’t even really made any edits other than a couple spelling things. If it earns him things like that, he’ll help her with her homework any day of the week.
The third time Evan Kelmp is kissed on the forehead, it’s the day that Jammer leaves Gowpenny.
There are tears in his eyes that he’s trying desperately to blink back.
There’s an adage he heard once that he never really understood. If you love someone, let them go. He gets it now; in a way he wishes he didn’t. They’ve only known each other a few months, him and Jammer, but it feels like their souls are connected. It’s hard to imagine a life without the other boy’s direct presence in it and he’s not ready for that to happen.
“Come visit me in Chicago, yeah?” Jammer’s saying.
“Sure,” Evan says, knowing he’ll never set foot back in America if he has any choice in the matter. “We’ll hang out.”
Jammer gives him a sad smile, clapping him on the shoulder. He’d made up an excuse to not walk down to the entrance hall to see the boy off so they’re saying goodbye in the dorms. He’s sitting on Jammer’s bed, hands clenched in the blanket Jammer’s slept under the past few months.
Pressing their foreheads together, Jammer squeezes the back of his neck.
“Love you, man,” Jammer says. “Family on six.”
“Family on six,” Evan agrees, miserably. He opens his mouth to return the sentiment but the words won’t come out.
He shudders when Jammer pulls away and replaces his own head with his lips. His mouth is firm and hot against Evan’s skin, pressing down hard. “You’re going to see me again,” he says. “That’s not an if, it’s a when. You got that?”
Evan wants to believe him.
The first time Evan kisses someone on the forehead, it’s K. They’d found a way to magick their beds together so instead of having two skinny cots with a split in between them, they have one moderately large bed that’s big enough for them both to lie on together.
They haven’t gone past kissing yet but having dated for several months now, they’d long since decided that it was silly to sleep in separate beds when it’s so much warmer to have company. Occasionally, on the especially cold nights, Sam drags her blanket over and joins them.
They’ve been whispering, talking in hushed tones about what kind of magickal creatures they think are out there. K swears there’s got to be a magick goat, since it’s the symbol for their house, and Evan’s pretty sure there’s got to be vampires or maybe magick eaters of some kind somewhere in the world, since there’s so many pieces of folklore that includes them.
“I just think it would be cool,” K murmurs. “You know? Goat House on three but like, with a hoof instead of a hand.”
Snorting, Evan rolls his eyes and turns his head. He doesn’t think about it as his lips brush against K’s forehead, where they’re tucked into the crook of his neck. “Yeah,” he agrees. “That would be pretty cute.”
“Mm,” K says, nuzzling deeper into his chest. “S’nice.”
“Hm?”
“Your lips,” they murmur, “on my head. S’nice.”
It takes a moment to replay what they’re talking about and his heart stutters. “Oh,” he says. “Um.”
“We don’t have to talk about it,” they assure him. Their hands flex against his shoulder, their head turning just enough to press a kiss to his chest through his shirt. “Love you,” they say.
His lips form the words, but no sound comes out. They fall asleep.
The next time he kisses someone on the forehead, it’s in London, over a year later.
Sam’s twisted his arm into visiting, since he’d accidentally let it slip that he was going to be nearby, so he’s sitting across from her in a small cafe, watching her eat a croissant sandwich. He’s already eaten his lunch but if she wouldn't give him a funny look for it most likely, he'd order another one. He's always hungry but especially now, after the week he's had.
He glances at the entrance to the cafe, trying to decide how long he has to stay before he can politely excuse himself. It’s been a long day and seeing Sam makes him sadder than he’d like it to, because it makes him miss K and Jammer all the more, unable to think about anything other than when it was the four of them.
“You gotta go?” she asks, looking disappointed.
“No, uh,” he glances down. “Was trying to remember if they had a bathroom.”
“Oh!” she looks around and her face lights up when she sees the girl who had brought their food. “Hi! Do you have a restroom that’s open to the public?”
“Yeah, sure,” the girl says, looking bored. “Through the doors and on the right, past the door marked ‘Storage’.”
“Thank you so much!” Sam says.
Having no excuse but to go, Evan gives her an appreciative smile and disappears.
He stays splashes water on his face, braces his hands on the counter, and stares at himself in the mirror. “You can do this,” he tells his scowling reflection.
When he emerges a few minutes later, there’s a new plate of food in front of his seat. He stops in front of it and frowns. “Did you -?”
“Figured you might still be hungry,” she says with a shrug. “And if you’re not, you can always take it to go.”
Evan blinks back the sudden emotion, feeling wracked with guilt over having just been thinking about telling her goodbye and leaving. Sam deserves a better friend than he is, she deserves so much more than he can give her.
“Thank you,” he says, a little hoarse. Instead of walking to his chair, he steps up to her and touches her on the shoulder, ducking his head to kiss her lightly on the forehead, the way she had for him once upon a time.
When he pulls back, she’s glowing.
“Love you, bud,” she says.
“I -” he swallows. “Me, too.”
The third time Evan kisses someone on the forehead, it’s on their second visit to Fire Island 2.
Jammer isn’t just glowing with the magick of creation, he’s growing with it. In front of their very eyes, he steps forward, and he’s east least several inches taller than Evan now.
Before, Evan to look down to make eye contact with the man.
Now, he has to look up.
“You’re incredible,” he tells Jammer, pulling the man’s head down to press his lips against it. Jammer’s forehead is feverishly hot and his eyes are wide, his pupils dilated when Evan finally pulls back.
“We’re going to fucking do this, man,” Jammer says, sounding caught between hysterical and confident.
“We’re gonna fucking do this,” Evan agrees. “God, I love you guys so fucking much.”
Sam knocks her head against his shoulder and K leans in, too, and suddenly they’re having a group hug.
“Love you, too, bud,” Sam says.
“Love you, big guy,” Jammer says.
“Love you,” K says, a little hoarse.
He and his friends can do absolutely anything. There’s nothing that can stop them.
For a very brief period of time when the four of them were at Gowpenny together, when it was the Full Pilot Program, and not just 3/4s, Jammer had instituted a twice weekly occurence known as The Huddle.
Evan always had always suspected that The Huddle was specifically geared towards him - it had been first suggested within days of Sam's rather dramatically exclaiming that Evan was so obviously touch-starved - and named the way it was so that he wouldn't be able to accuse them of exactly that.
The Huddle, was a simple enough thing. Evan and Jammer would push together two of the bunks, so that there would be enough space for a pile, and everyone would change into their pyjamas, bring a pillow, and climb into bed. Pretty much anytime it happened, there would be at least some part of everyone's body touching Evan's at any given moment. An arm, a leg, a torso, or just a head tucked into the crook of his neck.
Sometimes, if he was having an especially bad day, one of them would opt to lie across his body like an extra-heavy blanket.
Instead of making Evan feel weighed down and trapped, it made him feel safe, grounded.
The feeling of I don't belong here would turn into I'm allowed to be here. It's safe. Sometimes, he'd have to wipe away tears, pretending that he hadn't been crying. If anyone ever noticed, they never said anything about it.
After Jammer left, The Huddle became first a weekly thing, and then a monthly, and then eventually, they just didn't do it anymore. It was always something that someone else would declare, never Evan, and he couldn't bring himself to ask for it - no matter how much he might wish to.
Years later, Evan will begrudgingly agree to be transported back to the USofA to watch one of Jammer's games. The others will be joining later, having gotten a hotel room to share, but Evan had arrived first.
"It's okay," he says almost immediately upon walking into Jammer's one-room apartment, realising there isn't space for him. It's a nice place, nicer than any of the places Evan's ever gotten for himself. "I've got my air mattress; you don't gotta put me up."
Jammer gives him a look. It's one of the Jammer Patented Looks, that Evan's long since learned means some variation of, 'WTF, Big Guy'.
"Nope," Jammer says. "I've got a double, we're gonna share."
"Jammer -"
"Not a discussion," Jammer continues. "C'mon."
Feeling like a man walking to his doom, Evan follows him to the small room, decorated with various basketball paraphernalia for few different teams, but predominantly for the one he's playing on right now, having been drafted right out of college.
Begrudgingly, he sits his bag delicately in the corner of the room, somewhere out of the way.
"Hey, Ev'?"
"Yeah, J?"
"You know that thing you do somethings, where you make eye contact with someone, and you go into their head?"
"...yeah?"
"You can do it without killing them, yeah? Just walk around in their head instead of turning off all the lights?"
He's never really experimented with it before, but he'd imagine it wouldn't be too difficult. "Sure," he says.
"I want you to do that with me," Jammer says, as if he's asking Evan to bring him a soda, and not invade his mind. Before Evan can protest, he continues, "There's something I been trying to tell you since we first met, big guy. And I'm starting to think the only way you'll believe it is if you see for yourself."
It's a nice place, Jammer's mind. Where Boudicca's mind had been more akin to a dark and stormy castle, Jammer's is like a basketball field in the middle of a park, on a perfect summer day. When he looks around, he sees that there are various murals throughout the open space. Some of them are people Evan doesn't know, some of them he knows only from pictures and stories, and some of them - a lot, actually - are of Sam, K, and Evan at various stages of life.
Some of the Evans have long hair, some have it pulled back into that stupid looking ponytail on the top of his head, and some of them are as he is now - all clad in black, with the shortest hair possible.
"Hey, big fella," Jammer says, from next to him. He has Spalding on his hip. "What do you see?"
"I-I see -" he doesn't know how to explain it. There are tears in his eyes, but he can't wipe them away.
"Something about me you should know," Jammer says softly, "Is that while team means family, and family means everything to me - I don't invite just anybody into my family. If you're family, that's because I chose to make you family."
"I -"
"You're more than just one of my bros, Evan. You're my brother."
When Evan opens his eyes again, Jammer's laid out across his chest, idly tapping away at his phone. He looks over at Evan and smiles, reaching over to pat his shoulder rhythmically. "You got what you needed?" he asks.
Evan doesn't have any tattoos, except for the smiley face with the pen, and most of the things he has imprinted on his psyche are bad and wrong and awful. But when he closes his eyes, he's surrounded by an all-encompassing awareness that's been imprinted into him.
In the layers of his brain, the dermis of his skin, the edges of whatever calls itself Evan's soul - there is a little piece of Jammer, that's saying you belong here, Evan.
The next day, when they go to pick Sam and K at the airport, Evan's the one to sling his arm around the back of Jammer's shoulder and lean into him. "Thanks," he whispers.
For the first time in his life, when they're all together again, Evan doesn't think - they'd be better off without me or they don't really want me here.
Instead, the only thought on his mind is, I belong here.
"Huddle?" he asks, back at the apartment together.
Cheering, Sam and K shout, "Huddle!" and pile onto him.
trick or treat! maybe... another evsam (ik you written two already but 😩🫴 can't get enough). prompt: "calm before the storm"
Sorry it's late! TBH - you can't really have too much EvSam. I had like four false starts on this one before I settled on what, exactly, I wanted the "storm" to be.
“Hey.”
“Hey! You picked up!”
Evan snorts. “When have I ever not picked up?” She doesn’t call all the time, there will often be weeks where he doesn’t hear from her at all, and sometimes it’s just texts, but since he and K broke up, they’ve been in a lot more contact. She feels bad for him, he’s pretty sure. But he can’t bring himself to push her away, not when he wants so desperately to pull her closer.
She huffs out a soft laugh on the other end and he can picture her rolling her eyes at him. “You know what I mean. It’s like, midnight. You could have been asleep.”
I don’t sleep much, he doesn’t say. It’s one of the items on the make sure never to tell Sam because she worries list, though he suspects she already knows at least half of them and just hasn’t had an excuse to grill him on them yet. “Sure,” he says, getting up from his perch on the air mattress to look into his mostly bare kitchen cabinets. “What’s up, Sam? How’s the show?”
As if he doesn’t watch it religiously, as if he doesn’t have news alerts set on his phone for her many names - he has ones for Jammer as well, but those pop up in his notifications considerably less often than Sam Britain does, and lords of the underworld help them if the news ever learns who K Tanaka is - so that he’ll always know when something happens.
Usually, it’s that she’s dating someone new, or she’s been invited to make an appearance on another show, but he likes to be in the know - even if it’s something that hurts to hear about.
“The show is good!” she says. There’s a long pause and then she says, “So. Have you gotten yours yet?”
He freezes halfway through opening a box of instant macaroni. It’s a deal he made with Sam, where he doesn’t keep all his food in his backpack. “My what?”
“It’s a, uh -" there’s a rustling sound, “a letter, from Dr B. It was in the shape of bird. Like, a tiny, grey seagull?”
“Storm Petrel?”
“Storm pet-? Hang on,” he hears the sound of her fingers clicking over the screen of her phone and then she makes a noise of excitement. “Yeah! One of those. It was very cute. So, did you get yours?”
“Uh, no,” he glances at the cracked open window, to verify that there isn’t one resting on it, waiting for him. There isn’t. “What did it say? You said it was from Dr Boodle?” It’s been a while since he last heard from the man and he’d assumed it most likely to be the result of either another research deep dive or he’s hit a dead end and hasn’t figured out what his next steps are yet.
Evan hears rustling again and then she says, in her very best Boodle impression, “Hi, Samantha. I hope you’re doing good. This is Dr Boodle, though I’m sure you’ll have realised that if you’ve looked at the end already - look, it doesn’t matter -" she clears her throat.
He snorts, it sounds exactly like the letters Boodle used to send him, back when they first started working together.
“- I would love for you to come visit to hear a proposition I have for you,” she continues, “A request, really. The others will be there - at least, I hope they’ll be there. I’ve invited them, too. There’s a code at the bottom of this letter, after my name, that should create tickets for you, to the Faroe Islands. I’ve also included the coordinates, in case you wish to look it up ahead of time. I’m looking forward to seeing you, I hope you’re doing well. Sincerely, your teacher from Chimeron, Dr Boodle.”
Before she’s even done talking, there’s a chill running down his spine. It means something, that he’s calling them all. He just doesn’t know yet what it means.
As if on cue, there’s movement out of the corner of his eye, and he sees a tiny head peek around the pane of glass.
“There’s mine,” he says, a little hoarsely. “Just arrived.”
“What do you think he wants us to do?” she asks quietly.
“I- I’m not sure.” When he opens his note, it’s considerably shorter than hers though it communicates the exact same amount of information. “Listen, Sam -"
“Yeah, Ev’?”
He presses his fingers to the bridge of his nose. “You don’t have to. You can pretend you never got the note. Burn it, shred it, whatever. Just keep going with your life.”
A long pause. Then, very softly, “Do you not want me to come?”
I want you safe, he doesn’t say. “No, it’s not that. It’s- whatever it is, it’s going to be dangerous, Sam. He wouldn’t call us all together like that if it weren’t.”
With one hand, he scribbles the response on the little bird, and sends it back out the window. He’ll leave as soon as he’s off the phone with Sam. Boodle usually has food in the house but even if he doesn’t, Evan’s got two months worth of emergency rations tucked away in his pack. They’re not the tastiest, but they’re enough to keep him going.
She laughs hollowly. “When is it ever not dangerous? When we’re involved, it’s always something.”
He thinks about the way she charmed his blood snakes, the way she talked down his Passengers. The look on her face when she’d stared Talulah and Boudicca down, even after realising they wanted to see The Pilot Program dead.
And, he thinks about the way his elbow aches a little when it rains - which is often, in this corner of the planet - and the almost-smiley face stabbed into his skin, both of which he earned fairly recently while assisting Dr Boodle with various requests.
“You’re right,” he tells her. She usually is. “But I mean, I think it’s worse than that. I think it’s going to be dangerous. I’m not sure if -" the words catch in his throat and he has to push past it, “I’m not sure if we’ll all make it out on the other side.”
If anyone’s going to die, it’s going to be Evan - most likely to protect her or one of the others - he hopes to everything that his death will be enough to guarantee their safe return. Guarantee Sam’s safety.
“Hey, now,” she scolds gently, in the voice she uses when she wants him to know she’s teasing him. “None of that pessimism. I thought we were working on producing our very own brand of Evan’s Optimism? Or did you back out of that deal already?”
He huffs out a laugh, smiling despite himself. There’s so much he wants to tell her, so much he wants to say, but it’s hard to find the right words and it never feels like the right timing to try.
“I’ll see you there, yeah?” he says instead.
“You will,” she assures him. “I’m about to leave for the airport.”
Fuck, it’ll be good to see her. “Okay,” he says. “I- it’ll be good to see you.”
“You, too, Ev’,” she says softly. “We should talk, okay? I mean, in person.”
It would be weird if they didn’t talk while they’re in person together. Evan frowns at the phone, not sure how to respond.
She doesn’t wait for him to respond, just chuckles and says, “Bye, Evan.”
“Bye, Sam.”
On the flight over, with the hood of his rain slicker pulled up over his head, he tries to hype himself up for this. It’ll be awkward with K, but then that’ll pass. He’ll find out whether Jammer still considers him a friend, and he’ll get to see Sam again. The good outweighs the bad, if only by a little.
Oh gosh, am I too late for drabbles? I'd love Evan and whoever you'd like with the prompt "I've got you, sweetheart."
“Like this,” Evan says patiently. Like they taught him a lifetime ago when he was at Gowpenny, he gently redirects the broom, enough to get them back on course.
There’s an excited squeal in response.
“Am I doing it?” a tiny voice asks. “Am I flying prop-properly?”
“You’re doing perfect,” he answers honestly, leaning forward to kiss her on the top of her head. She starts to lift her hands up from the center of the broom and he goes, “ah, ah, hands on the broom, sweetheart.”
“Sorry!” she cries, her knuckles going white with how hard she’s grasping it. After a second, she asks, “why can’t I fly with just my knees, like everybody else can?”
“You’ll get there,” he chuckles. “But don’t you dare try flying without your hands before you master it with them first.”
She’s facing forward so he can’t hear it, but Evan knows she’s pouting. “Alright,” she says, a little sullenly.
“You ready to go down?” he asks, sensing that she’s getting tired.
“No,” she whines, “I wanna keep flying.”
“Okay,” he says with a smile. “How’s this sound- let’s fly like old times.”
“Oh! Can we? Can we? Pleasepleaseplease!”
Evan chuckles, wrapping one arm around her middle to lock her firmly in place against his chest. The carabiner has her hooked against him and the broom, but the last thing he wants is to have to catch her if they both go tumbling. “Okay, baby,” he says, “You can let go now. I’ve got you, sweetheart.”
She snuggles back against him, her tiny body feeling so small and fragile against him. He didn’t think there could be anyone in the world this precious to him, but the first time he’d laid eyes on her, felt her tiny fingers wrap around his thumb, his heart had been stolen permanently.
“Hey, look,” he points down at the ground. “You can see your mama down there.”
“Mama!” she cries, suddenly with enough energy to wave frantically down at the ground. “Can she hear us? Mama! Mama, I was flying!”
Smiling, Evan dips them down low enough so they can see Sam more clearly. They fly around her in wide circles, giggling when it makes her plant her hands on her hips and give them a mock stern look.
When they finally land, she’s full of energy, bouncing with it the moment he unhooks her. She goes flying at her mother, straight into Sam’s arms. “Mama, mama, I was flying!” she cries. “Did you see?”
“I did see, young lady,” Sam says, giving their daughter a firm smooch on the forehead. “Why don’t you run inside and clean up and help your papa set the table? Your mom’s gonna be home with dinner soon and then you can tell us all about your flight with your daddy.”
“Okay!” she slams open the patio door and forgets to close it behind her. In the house, Evan can hear her shouting, “Papa, papa! Did you see me and daddy! I flew him around!”
Evan carefully disassembles the broom and then walks over to Sam, wrapping an arm around her shoulder.
“Hey, babe,” she says, smiling up at him. “You two have a good flight?”
“Perfect. She’s a natural,” he says. “Just like her mama.”
The words sound almost like they’re outside of his head, not inside it. He flinches, covertly looking around.
He’s been a bit paranoid - has been ever since waking up on the piss iceberg, to be perfectly honest, and it’s only gotten worse since - but the others already have a difficult time trusting his instincts and the best of times. They always think he’s reacting because he has trauma and because he has PTSD but they don’t understand that he can have trauma, PTSD, AND also be right about things being dangerous.
Open the book.
Every place they’ve been on this adventure has been steadily more terrifyingly creepy than the last. There were magical lava creatures, magical cannibals, fucking tropes, and now this rancid, creepy, hellscape of an island.
An island that makes him want to do the one thing he’s been fervently trying to not do. Opening the book sounds like such a good idea. It sounds like the best idea.
Here they are on an island where magical effects are magnified to an almost astronomical degree.
And he has a book with magic in it powerful enough to reshape entire worlds.
He should open the book. He should open the book and use the book and remake the world into a better place. End capitalism once and for all. Bring about world peace. Make magic accessible to everyone and not just a select few. Make sure no one is ever lost or scared or hungry again.
He could do so much good with the book and this island would help him do that.
Open it. Open the book.
He gives the backpack to Jammer. It’s the only way.
I trust you, he doesn’t say. I trust you to do the right thing.
His entire life is in the backpack. Everything he owns is in it. Without that backpack, Evan might as well be on a highway in Iowa, barefoot, hungry, and half-dead.
But he trusts Jammer more than he trusts himself right now. And he trusts that Jammer won’t let him open the book.
Open the book, the voice growls.
No, Evan thinks back as hard as he can. You don’t control me. Fuck you.
