Note: Here's Bruce's perspective on the same chapter. It was also written in the same procrastination frenzy. Some of the dialogue is exactly the same, so don't comment on it TwT. Hope you enjoy <3
Word Count: 929
(Bruce's Perspective)
The engine roared, desperately holding itself together as the gas pedal stayed glued to the floor. The rubber smell of the racing tires mixed with the distant odor of an oil refinery. The wind howled, spurring the waves of nearby bay to crash fiercely against the shore.
Batman heard none of this.
Both hands had an iron grip on the steering wheel, jaw clenched hard enough to crack, the pounding rush of blood in his ears, eyes barely registering the road in front of him. All that existed was the single trail of thought: Jason. Jason is in danger. The Joker has Jason. I have to save Jason. It repeated in his mind over and over like a mantra as he raced towards the warehouse where his son Robin lay beaten and broken in.
The car skidded to a halt in front of the warehouse, tires squealing in protest. Before the batmobile had even made a complete stop, Batman was jumping out and running towards the door. Jason. Jason is in danger. The Joker has Jason. I have to save Jason. His instincts took over. Pulling boltcutters from his belt, he cut the cartoonish lock and chain covering the entrance. He yanked the doors open so forcefully they were nearly pulled from their hinges.
In a split second Batman noticed three important things at the same time.
The first was Jason prone on the ground, desperately crawling towards the door. His wrists were tied, red and raw from fighting the restraints. His mask was broken, one eye nearly swollen shut. His Robin uniform was torn and bloody in several places, and his breath came in raggedy wheezes. Thank the gods he was still breathing. Batman’s jaw clenched harder, one of his teeth cracking from the force.
The second thing he saw was the giant pile of explosives at the back of the warehouse, large enough to destroy the entire building, and the people in it, and much of the surrounding area.
The third thing was the explosive’s countdown timer. Its ominous beeps showed 43 seconds until detonation.
Batman sprinted to Jason, scooping him into his arms, trying to be fast without unnecessarily jostling his injuries. “. . .B?” Jason looked at Batman, gaze a little unfocused, his voice weak. Not at all like the fast-talking boy wonder that lit up the lives of anyone lucky enough to know him. He was like a hurt child in disbelief that his father mentor had actually come to save him. Something in Batman broke, but he put on a steady face for Jason’s sake.
“I’m here Ro- Jaybird,” 35 seconds, “Let’s get you out of here.” Batman spoke gently, but his body moved with urgency. His mind had already made a decision if it came to that. He stood, Jason securely in his arms and ran. 30 seconds.
They passed the threshold of the door. 23 seconds.
His feet pounded the pavement outside, drowned out by his racing pulse in his ears. Jason groaned in pain. 12 seconds.
He steeled his resolve, a decision made. 8 seconds.
He looked down at Jason, affectionately recalling the spunky kid who stole the batmobile tires all those years ago. “I love you Jason.” 6 seconds.
Jason looked up, “I- I love you too Bru-” his eyes widened in realization, “NO.” 2 seconds.
In an instant everything changed. Bruce dropped Jason on the ground, pushed him as far away as he could with one of his boots. He stood tall, shielding Jason with his body and cape.
0 seconds.
The explosion’s gigantic BOOM filled the air, its force and heat decimating the nearby building and hitting Bruce almost instantly. The force pushed him forward, he landed wrong against a pile of rubble, his head hitting concrete and his arm snapped. His scorched back stung, the large section of raw tissue exposed to open air. He was still conscious, but none of his injuries mattered. Jason was all that mattered. “. . Jaybird?” he managed to croak out. Blood from his head injury dripped down his face, his cowl almost completely burned away. His body was numb, he knew he couldn’t move even if he tried.
“I’m here Bruce,” Jason appeared in his field of vision, gingerly holding his hands over Bruce’s body, his eyes full of fear, unsure what to do. Jason looked no worse than when Bruce first found him, he’d been successfully shielded from the explosion. Thank the gods.
A coughing fit racked Bruce, and he registered a sharp pain in his chest. He glanced down and saw a rusty pipe impaling him. Blood spurted out with each painful beat of his heart. It had probably gone straight through his aorta. He didn’t have much time. He had to speak quickly.
“Jay, you have to promise me-” Bruce wheezed. “P- promise me you won’t kill the joker for killing me.” More wheezes and desperate attempts to breathe. His voice was barely a whisper, “justice not vengeance. Please Jason.” A rattling cough. “Live your life, find happiness, don’t let him destroy you, Son”. The last word hung heavy in the air.
Bruce winced, falling into a much longer fit of rattling coughs. A death rattle, and they both knew it.
“Bruce, I-” Silent tears streamed down his young face. Jason looked emotionally broken, defeated. But he was alive. His son would recover and keep on living. And that was more than enough for Bruce. He took one last shuddering breath then stilled. His face went slack, his dead unseeing eyes facing his son, the last thing he ever saw.
CONTAINS: Romance, Coworkers, Strangers to enemies to friends to lovers (wow that's a mouth full), Low key duchebag Niki for a while, Insecurity, Burn out, Idol world, emotional damage, Lots of angst almost too much for me to handle since I hate it. Jealousy, Chaotic Kid, Depression, Anxiety, Yearning, Tension, Drama, Lil bit of Comedy, Enha ensemble cameos, Confessions. Shadow smut. Lmk if I missed anything.
an: Story Six of Seven. The song in this low-key makes me cringe...anywhoooo
Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6
Jiyoo
Her voice was bright, her smile easy, but her entire head was wrapped up like she was going undercover in a spy movie.
A black beanie pulled down to her brows, a grey hoodie pulled over that, and a tightly braided ponytail hidden beneath the layers not a single strand of her new hair visible to the world.
She wasn’t taking any chances. Not when Oreo Jiyoo 2.0 was set to be revealed soon.
Jiyoo sat cross legged at her little dorm table, sipping slowly on her green tea smoothie, cheeks still flushed from her earlier vocal warmups. Her room was cozy, dimly lit by fairy lights and a candle that smelled faintly like citrus and cream. The soft hum of the air purifier in the background only made things feel more relaxed as she watched the live comments scroll by.
UNNIE IS THAT A HAT ON A HAT??
SUS. WHAT ARE YOU HIDING?
IS THAT A NEW COLOR I SENSE???
YOURE GLOWING WHY DO YOU LOOK SO HAPPY LATELY
She laughed, biting down on her straw before finally speaking again.
“Okay, okay! You caught me,” she said with a playful roll of her eyes. “Yes, I’m layered up. No, I’m not bald. No, I’m not joining a biker gang. And yes, I have something to hide.”
More chaos in the comments. Someone typed.
COMEBACK SPOILER OR WE RIOT 😤
She giggled at that.
“Hmmm…” she tapped her fingers against the smoothie cup, eyes glinting mischievously. “Let’s just say…this comeback?” She leaned in just a little toward the camera. “It’s not what you’re expecting.”
Pause.
“In fact…” she drew it out, sipping loudly on her straw, “things might get a little darker.” Cue instant explosion in the comment section.
DARKER?????
SHE’S GOING BAD GIRL MODE
NOT OUR SWEETHEART 😭😭
I’M NOT SURVIVING THIS COMEBACK
Jiyoo covered her mouth to hide her grin, shoulders shaking from laughter.
“I didn’t say anything! I didn’t confirm anything!” she protested with faux innocence. “Don’t make those edits yet!”
She leaned back in her chair, tucking her knees to her chest, eyes scanning the flood of messages. The love, the chaos, the freak outs, they filled her chest with warmth she hadn’t felt in a while.
Sure, there were antis. There were always antis. But her fandom Dreamiz they had stuck with her through every glittery, pastel covered era. Maybe they’d love her now too. Maybe they’d love her even more when she finally looked the way she felt.
Different. Grown. Herself.
“I can’t wait for you to see it,” she whispered, more to herself than anyone.
And then, with a wink and a smirk she never would’ve dared a year ago, she added, “Let’s just say…princesses can be dangerous, too.”
Then she waved goodbye.
And shut the live off with her heart beating loud and fast like the countdown to a secret finally about to detonate.
(A few days later) Concept Trailer + Photo Shoot Day
The water was cold. Shallow, rippling gently as the wind from the overhead fans swept across the studio. It soaked through the white silk of her dress, clinging to her skin like whispered secrets.
The world around her was dim, everything black or silver, save for the spotlight on her. The artificial pool reflected just enough light to look like a mirror cracked beneath her, shimmering every time she moved. Her soaked sleeves draped down like gossamer threads, and her hair long, straight, jet black with streaks of blonde woven through like ribbons of moonlight hung in a curtain down her back.
She looked nothing like Korea’s Sweetheart.
She looked like temptation.
No, she looked like she knew it.
Jiyoo leaned back onto her elbows, shifting her hips slightly, legs curled beneath the silk fabric in a pose that screamed power without a single raised voice. Her eyes, once trained to sparkle with innocence, were dark now. Shadowed. Lidded with purpose.
“Perfect hold that. Don’t move.”
Flash.
“A little chin tilt...yes, good.”
Flash.
From behind the monitor, her main manager, Kang Daejin, a thirty something man who often stressed more about her shoots than she did was grinning ear to ear. “That’s it, Jiyoo. That’s the cover shot right there!”
She didn’t break the expression. She just shifted again, liquid and slow, arching her neck as her fingers dragged along the surface of the water in a ripple. One pose, another, a third no hesitation. Being a child model had taught her how to hold a look for twenty frames. Being an idol had taught her how to weaponize it.
Now?
Now she was using both.
The set crew moved around her, the camera clicking with precision, the air thick with energy. Dark. Seductive. Siren like. The very concept they had been whispering about for weeks was now alive in the studio and she was the center of it.
And somewhere near the corner of the room, he was watching.
Ni-ki.
She hadn’t noticed him at first. Not when the lights were set and the director had gone over the moodboard and Kang Daejin had clapped his hands like an excited father on graduation day. But now, under the flashing lights and constant posing, her eyes drifted just once.
He stood with his arms crossed, his usual all black outfit making him fade into the wall. His expression unreadable. Sharp.
But he was watching her.
Not just glancing, watching.
She didn’t know what to do with that.
They had been working together for a month now. Endless dance sessions. Freestyles. Redos. Bickering without ever really saying anything. And while she hated to admit it...he was brilliant. Ruthless. A machine when it came to making her better. He spoke more with a glare than with words. Treated her like a project, not a person.
Still, he looked at her differently lately.
And it made her nervous.
Not because she liked it, she didn’t. At least, she told herself she didn’t.
But because she couldn’t figure him out.
What had she done to make him so cold? Why did he glare when she walked into a room? Why did he act like she was beneath him yet never missed a single practice or rehearsal?
He was infuriating. The kind of person who could cut you down with one sentence and then act like he never said it. A walking red flag with perfect rhythm and stupidly long eyelashes.
She should’ve kicked him in the shins by now.
And yet, here he was watching her, lips pressed tight, as if her soaked silhouette on the black water offended him personally.
She smirked as she turned her face away from him, letting her eyes go half lidded again. Her cheek rested against her shoulder, mouth parted slightly as she posed like a siren waiting for someone to drown.
Let him watch.
Let everyone watch.
Because Roe Jiyoo was finally becoming who she was always meant to be which was mature, mysterious, powerful.
And Dreamiz? They were going to devour this.
“Cut!” the director called. “Reset for the next round.”
Jiyoo slowly sat upright, brushing her fingers along the surface of the water. She kept her gaze forward, not once sparing Ni-ki a glance.
But she felt it.
His eyes.
And somehow, for the first time in her career…she didn’t feel alone under the spotlight.
Ni-ki
He stood near the back wall, arms folded over his chest, blending in with the dark of the set like he belonged to the shadows more than the spotlight.
And she was in the middle of it. Literally glowing.
The first time Ni-ki met Roe Jiyoo, he pegged her as just another overhyped idol with a too pretty face and too little bite. Her resume was long, her fans were insane, and her stage presence, while decent never impressed him. All eyes, no soul. All smiles, no fire.
But that wasn’t what he was seeing now.
Because right now?
She looked like sin wrapped in silk.
The siren concept was a stretch when her company first pitched it, he even laughed out loud when he read the email. But now, as she leaned back into that shallow pool of water, soaked and shining and looking straight into the lens like she owned it, Ni-ki felt his jaw tighten.
His mouth was dry.
God help him.
He’d been attracted to women before, plenty. Gorgeous models, dancers, idols with a thousand compliments and zero mystery. He liked beautiful things. Who didn’t?
But Jiyoo?
Jiyoo had the kind of beauty that made your brain short circuit before your eyes even adjusted.
And worse, she was starting to match it.
The way she carried the new choreo, the way she adapted to his corrections, the way she bit her tongue when he threw another jab her way, it all grated on him more than it should. Because every time he thought she was going to fold, she stood taller. Every time he thought she’d get something wrong, she got it right.
He didn’t want her to impress him.
But she did.
Every damn day.
Still, it meant nothing.
He was here for a job. Three more months and he was out. Once the tour wrapped and the concept cycle died down, she’d go back to being Korea’s Sweetheart and he’d go back to being unreachable.
Simple.
Clean.
Untangled.
His eyes flicked to her again.
The silk clung to her curves like it was stitched to her skin, hair dripping down her back in black and blonde lines like ink in water. She posed without fear, without shame, without any trace of the pastel princess she used to be.
And Ni-ki, annoyed, tired, mildly dehydrated realized something he hadn’t been able to admit until right now.
She was cut out for this.
For the stage. For the pressure. For the transformation.
She was the real deal.
Not that he’d tell her.
Not in this life.
He scoffed under his breath and turned his head away just as she shifted poses again, his fingers tightening slightly around the can of his energy drink. One second longer and he might’ve actually said something encouraging and that was dangerous territory.
Let her keep shining. Let the cameras love her. Let her think he hates her if it keeps the boundary sharp.
Because whatever this is?
It’s temporary.
And he’d rather lose his voice than let her know otherwise.
Jiyoo
Jiyoo’s thumbs hovered over the screen of her phone as her heart pounded loud enough to drown out the quiet hum of her dorm room heater. It was past midnight, but she wasn’t even close to sleep, not with her concept photos having dropped hours ago, and the music video for her first track going live.
Her fans had no idea what hit them.
Hell, she had no idea what hit her.
Her screen was flooded with TikTok edits, reaction videos, dance covers already surfacing under the #QueenmakerChallenge tag. Instagram was a battlefield of stunned comments and screenshots. YouTube was on fire. Her name was trending globally. And at the center of it all the video for her new track,
Queenmaker.
A title that was more than just a name. It was a message.
A warning.
You built your throne off my back, now you begging at my feet, baby, oohoh.
That line played over and over in her head. The way she’d stared straight into the camera when she sang it. The way the choreography pulled every ounce of control out of her, hips guiding the air, hands gripped by backup dancers only to twist out of their hold, eyes glazed and dangerous in every close up.
It wasn’t innocent.
It wasn’t gentle.
It was her.
The video was dark, mature, and calculated. Every movement choreographed to perfection thanks to Ni-ki, that emotionally constipated tyrant and somehow she managed to take all that fire he threw at her and turn it into art.
There was a scene, the scene right before the final chorus where she was dipped low by one of the male dancers, his hand secure on her waist as her fingers brushed his jaw. Eyes locked. Breath slow. That split second intimacy, that tension, had Dreamiz screaming and the rest of the world paying attention.
And now here she was. Curled up on her dorm bed in a hoodie and shorts, a green tea smoothie half melted on her nightstand, watching strangers dissect every frame like it was gospel.
SHE’S NOT A PRINCESS ANYMORE SHE’S A FCKN QUEEN.
This is mature pop perfection.
Yall cant tell me Ni-ki didn’t choreograph this because this dance is lethal.
I’ve never seen her do it like this.
She’s unrecognizable and I’m here for it.
I didn’t know I needed a heartbreak revenge album, but here we are.
And of course, mixed in were the anti-fans, clutching pearls, crying over how she 'changed,' how 'unfit' the concept was, how 'too much skin' or 'too intense' it was for Korea’s sweetheart.
She didn’t care.
Okay, maybe she did care.
Her stomach was still twisting, hands slightly clammy as she scrolled.
She wasn’t used to this kind of attention not for who she was, but for what she made. And this comeback wasn’t a performance, it was a statement. She wrote half of the album herself. She fought tooth and nail for the visuals, the dance, the message. Ni-ki had bulldozed the princess and built something new in her place.
And Jiyoo, quiet, lonely Jiyoo had never felt more seen.
Her heart stuttered when she saw one of the top comments on the MV. She’s not just Korea’s sweetheart anymore. She’s the woman everyone’s scared to want and desperate to be.
Her breath caught.
Maybe…maybe that’s what she always wanted.
Not just to be adored. But to be respected.
To be craved.
(Few days later)
The bass thrummed through the floorboards of the M Countdown stage, but it wasn’t louder than the screaming fans packed into the audience. The second the lights dimmed and the opening instrumental hit, the atmosphere changed. Everyone knew this wasn’t just any comeback stage.
This was Roe Jiyoo’s reintroduction.
And she walked out like she owned the world.
White. The color of innocence except there was nothing pure about the way the fabric clung to her body like a second skin. Her dress was sleeveless, sculpted to her curves, delicate folds and shimmer catching every spotlight. Her hair was curled into tight glossy waves that spilled down her back, still touched with hints of blond. Her red lipstick was bold, unapologetic. A siren’s mouth dressed for sin.
The crowd lost it.
Her dancers, five men dressed in black fell into formation behind her as the first verse began. Her mic was live. Her vocals were crisp. Velvet and honey. She sang like a woman who had the world at her feet and dared someone to challenge her.
You want my crown
You wore it once, forgot who gave it to you
Now you crawl back, saying you always knew.
The choreography hit harder in real life than in the MV. Each step was sharp. Every glance deliberate. She let the male dancers touch her waist, grip her arm, guide her into dips and lifts with hazy precision and yet, she was the one in control the entire time. She led the dance, bending the moment around her body and her voice.
The audience screamed, but her focus was locked. She hit the mirror wall moment where she stared at her reflection and smirked before shattering the glass with a punch.
She knew what this performance was doing.
She could feel her manager, Daejin, and stylist noona Leena watching from the wings with wide eyes and half held breath. She could practically feel Ni-ki’s glare boring into the side of her head somewhere backstage making sure she doesn't make one mistake. He wouldn’t say anything. But he’d seen the fire she walked onstage with. She knew he had.
The bridge hit, the dancers lifted her gently, twirling her in the air before she landed on one heel and dragged a palm up her neck, voice dipping into the final chorus.
So kiss my ring, bow down slow
I’m not yours, but you’re still mine though.
The lights flared red. The camera cut close. She hit her final pose, hand on her hip, eyes dead into the lens, lips parted.
The room exploded.
As the music faded out and the stage lights dimmed, the only thing she could hear was the echo of her name and the frantic screaming of fans who had just realized this wasn’t a comeback.
It was a coronation.
And Roe Jiyoo was their Queen.
The sound of her name being announced as Best Song of the Week still rang in her ears, even as the trophy rested in her hands, light and heavy all at once. It felt surreal. Not her first win ever, no, but this was different. This win was hers. Not for a love ballad. Not for a pretty concept.
This was for Queenmaker. For her story.
Backstage was chaotic in the best way with staff shuffling, cameras flashing, microphones being passed around but Jiyoo stood with her trophy hugged to her chest, her cheeks still pink from adrenaline and joy. The moment was golden, and it only got brighter when familiar faces began to gather around her.
“Roe Jiyoo!”
The unmistakable voice of Karina from aespa rang out as she rushed up, eyes shining. “You ate. I’m still trying to recover. Like, what was that?”
Jiyoo laughed softly. “It was murder, apparently,” she teased. “Thank you, seriously.”
Karina shook her head dramatically. “No, you don’t get it. You’ve always been amazing but this? This was like watching Beyoncé come back from the grave and she’s not even dead!”
Before Jiyoo could respond, Chaewon from LE SSERAFIM stepped in beside them. “You didn’t just perform,” she said, cool and serious as always, “you dominated. I got chills when you hit that last note.”
“Oh my god, me too!” Hanni from NewJeans said as she popped into the group, her dimples deep as she grinned. “I was screaming in the dressing room, I almost got in trouble!”
Jiyoo laughed again, soft and glowing. Her free hand came up to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. “You guys are too nice. I was terrified the whole time.”
Karina rolled her eyes. “If that was you terrified, then what the hell do the rest of us do? Retire?”
“I second that,” Chaewon murmured with a deadpan smile, before gently touching Jiyoo’s arm. “You’re the standard now, unnie.”
Jiyoo smiled shyly, her lips curling. “Thank you. Really. I don’t take this lightly, your words mean so much.”
As they chatted more, a few male idols came over to congratulate her too. Yeonjun from TXT gave her a fist bump and told her she “completely wrecked it,” while Vernon from SEVENTEEN gave a polite nod and said “it was like watching art move.”
The younger idols who passed by all bowed respectfully, some whispering “sunbaenim” in awe as they glanced at her and the trophy. Jiyoo kept thanking them, bowing, touching arms lightly in gratitude, her signature warm smile never once fading.
Behind her, Soo-mi was watching from a distance, proud beyond words, while Manager Daejin was already swatting away another PD asking for an interview extension.
But Jiyoo just stood there, surrounded by praise and warmth, her name buzzing on every tongue.
Roe Jiyoo. Korea’s Sweetheart turned Queen.
And tonight, she finally felt like one.
Ni-ki
Two weeks ago, she won Best Song. Last week, Best Choreography. He wasn’t surprised by either.
Queenmaker was a solid track, decent production, fire lyrics, catchy hook. But that choreography? That was him. His stamp. His spine. His blood, sweat, and scuffed Nikes.
So yeah, the trophy didn’t shock him. What did surprise him mildly was her little speech.
“…and special thanks to Nishimura Riki, who pushed me harder than I wanted but exactly how I needed.”
It was sweet. Too sweet. Fake sweet. And yet he remembered every word.
Now, standing in LAX after twelve hours of turbulence and too many rewatched action movies, he drags his duffel bag off the private plane steps with a sigh and a deep stretch. One week down, four to go. Four weeks of city hopping, stage prepping, babysitting Korea’s favorite problem child. Then freedom.
Or something like it.
He doesn’t mean to stare, but when she steps off the plane, she looks different. Even now, in low rise jeans, a tucked black blouse, and oversized shades, she radiates celebrity energy. Hair loose, flowing like it was styled midflight by angels. She stops, poses effortlessly in front of the hired photographers like she’s on a Vogue runway, hand daintily perched on the handle of her designer suitcase.
The flashbulbs go off in waves. He exhales through his nose.
The moment the staff nods for her to move, she switches back into professional mode. Polite waves, measured steps, the same smile she always wears when in public, just a few watts dimmer than the one she gives onstage. Still, she pulls it off like a pro.
They start walking, the staff fanning out behind her like loyal pawns as they push through the terminal toward the awaiting L.A. air SUVs.
Fans are waiting of course lining the ropes, phones out, voices high pitched and excited. But it’s not Korea. The fans here don’t shove. They don’t claw. No one grabs her wrist like they did at Incheon, no one nearly loses a limb to bodyguards.
That Korean fan who got yeeted across the sidewalk still plays in Ni-ki’s head sometimes...what a launch. He almost laughed, but, y’know, professionalism.
Here, the fans just scream.
“Jiyoo we love you!”
“Dreamiz forever!”
“Show us the Oreo hair!”
“Ni-ki! Marry her!”
He snorts. No thanks.
But still…he watches her. A few feet ahead, waving over her shoulder, the edge of her smile relaxing for the first time since they left Seoul. She’s not tensed up. Not gripping her bag like it’s a lifeline. Just walking.
Relieved.
He catches the tiny breath she lets out, like she’s finally inhaling freedom again.
And for a flicker of a second barely a heartbeat he thinks about how much of her life is just…performance. Polished poses, perfect soundbites, pretending she’s okay.
Then the thought’s gone.
Just a job. Just a client. Just four more weeks.
And then he’ll never have to see her again.
Unless he replays that awards show speech in his head at night again. Which he won’t. Obviously.
-
It’s not the jet lag keeping him up.
It’s her.
The paper thin hotel walls, because of course they’re thin do little to muffle the soft, uneven breaths from the room beside his. The occasional sniff. A drawn in gasp. The unmistakable, delicate sounds of someone trying not to cry.
Again.
It’s been two nights since they arrived in L.A. Two nights of rehearsals, venue walk throughs, room service, and a perfectly civil group dinner with staff.
No drama. No screaming fans. No crazy schedules. Just quiet. Or it should be.
But no. Korea’s sweetheart is crying in her five star hotel room, again. And the walls are making sure he knows about it.
He throws an arm over his eyes. Maybe she stubbed her toe. Maybe she's just hormonal. Maybe it’s some dumb emotional breakdown over a missed text or a commercial that reminded her of a dog.
He doesn’t care. He tells himself he doesn’t care.
But then.
Another muffled sob. Louder this time. Like she’s trying to drown herself in her pillow and failing miserably.
That’s it.
He sits up sharply, the sheets crumpling beneath him. Yanks on the hoodie slung over the chair, grabs his key card, and slams the door open with more force than necessary. The hallway’s quiet, carpeted and dim under warm lights, but his blood is boiling as he takes the five steps to her door and pounds his fist against it.
“Open the door.”
One knock.
Two.
Three sharp slams.
He doesn’t raise his voice yet but there’s zero patience in his tone. The pounding is aggressive enough to rattle the hinge. He’s a calm guy by nature. Stoic. Cold, even. But the crying? The constant late night, invisible heartbreak behind the wall? It’s digging under his skin like splinters.
"Jiyoo," he snaps, voice low. "I'm not doing this all tour. You either open the door or stop crying loud enough for the entire damn floor to hear."
He waits.
And yeah maybe he sounds like an asshole. But he's not the one ruining people's sleep with tears she refuses to explain.
This better be good. Or he’s walking back to his room and blasting music until the walls shake back.
The door opens with a hesitant click.
He doesn’t know what he was expecting, maybe full glam maybe the same confident siren who danced like she owned the stage just hours ago. But not this. Not her like this.
She’s drowning in a hoodie that nearly swallows her frame, sleeves tucked over her fingers, and a pair of shorts barely visible beneath the hem. Her legs are bare, skin pale, knees drawn slightly inward. Her amber eyes normally so sharp, so defiant are swollen and red rimmed. The kind of red that no eye drops could fix. Her lips are chapped, and her face is paler than usual, as though the tears had drained the color from her completely.
Ni-ki scoffs before he can stop himself. “You look pathetic.”
Her mouth twitches. No snark, no eye roll. She just starts to close the door.
But he plants his palm flat against it, forcing it open again with ease. “Nope. Not after keeping me up two nights in a row with your dramatic sobbing.”
She glares at him through the slight opening. It’s not intimidating it’s tired. Raw. Like she doesn’t even have the strength to tell him to go to hell.
“If you’re gonna cry loud enough for the whole floor to hear,” he says flatly, “then you’re gonna tell me what your problem is. I’m not asking ‘cause I care, sweetheart. I’m asking so I can say something that’ll shut you the fuck up.”
Her eyes narrow. “You’re such a dick.”
And that..that gets a real reaction out of him. A smile. Not a soft one. Not kind. It’s the smile of a shark who smells blood in the water. Finally. She’s breaking.
“Go on,” he urges, voice low and baiting. “Let it all out, princess.”
She lets out a humorless laugh, bitter and small. “You wouldn’t understand.”
He doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t back away. Just tilts his head and arches a brow.
“Try me.”
And then, without asking for permission, he pushes the door open wider and steps inside like he owns the place. She doesn't stop him. Maybe she's too tired. Maybe she just doesn't care anymore.
He drops lazily onto her couch, slouching back and spreading his arms over the cushions like he’s been here a hundred times before. She stays by the door for a second too long before closing it gently behind her, the soft click echoing in the quiet of the room.
She doesn’t sit. She just leans back against the door like she needs the support.
“The crying,” she says finally, voice quiet, almost like she’s afraid the room will swallow her words. “It’s not over some guy. Or the stress. Or even the comeback.”
He says nothing. He watches her carefully, eyes sharper than they appear.
Her fingers pull at the hem of her sleeve. “My mom died. Six years ago today. Cancer.” She lifts her gaze just slightly. “I was seventeen.”
There’s a silence that settles between them. It’s not awkward it’s heavy.
“She was the only one who believed in me. The only one who didn’t want me to be someone else. She…she used to say I didn’t have to be perfect to be loved. And then she got sick, and then she was gone.” Jiyoo’s voice cracks, just barely. “And now I don’t know who the hell I’m even doing this for.”
Ni-ki doesn’t say anything.
He doesn’t smirk. Doesn’t roll his eyes. Doesn’t laugh like he usually would.
He just watches her. Sees the way her arms wrap tighter around herself, like she’s trying to keep from shattering.
And that, that pisses him off more than the crying.
Because he gets it. And he doesn’t want to.
He stands slowly, brushing imaginary lint off his hoodie. Walks toward her, steps quiet on the hotel carpet, and for a second she tenses like she thinks he’s going to say something cruel again.
But he doesn’t.
He stops beside her and says in a voice much lower, much less abrasive, “Then make it for her.”
She blinks. Looks at him, startled.
He shrugs, almost like it doesn’t matter. “Make the tour. The album. All of it. For her. She’s not here, but you are. And from the looks of it, you're not ready to quit.”
Jiyoo doesn’t say anything.
Ni-ki reaches for the door handle, pulling it open like he hadn’t just walked into someone’s grief and sat in it like it was his business.
“Sleep,” he says over his shoulder, stepping out. “You’ve got fans to please tomorrow.”
The door clicks shut behind him.
And for the first time in days, the hotel walls are quiet.
Jiyoo
The low thump of the bass echoed through the walls of the venue, shaking through the soles of Jiyoo’s sneakers and into her spine like a threat. Sweat clung to her neck, plastering the strands of her long black blonde hair against her skin, and her chest rose and fell rapidly as she stood in place, hands braced against her knees. She could barely feel her feet anymore, they were just extensions of her body moving out of habit, muscle memory barely holding her together.
"Again."
The voice sliced through the space like a whip.
She barely had time to lift her head before the music restarted, sharp and punishing. Ni-ki stood a few feet away, arms crossed, face blank except for the narrowed eyes that watched her like a hawk waiting for its prey to make a mistake.
It was 1:07 PM. Practice had started at 6 AM.
She hadn’t sat down once.
"You're dragging," he barked as the opening beat hit. "This isn’t your bedroom mirror, Jiyoo. If you do that tomorrow night, you’re going to end up a meme. You want that? You want to be a joke again?”
Jiyoo clenched her jaw and threw herself into the steps, heart pounding harder from anger than cardio now. She knew this choreo. She’d nailed it yesterday. And the day before that. And the one before that. But today, Ni-ki was on something else. It was like he was trying to break her.
"Fix your damn arms, what are you, twelve?" he snapped. "You think this is some kids bop performance? This is your tour. Act like it."
Her thighs screamed as she dropped low into the move. Her lungs burned. The studio lights above only made the heat worse, but she didn’t stop. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. If he wanted her to break, he was going to have to try harder.
Still, the digs kept coming.
"That’s the third time you’ve been off beat. You want your team embarrassed on stage in front of twenty thousand people?"
No one in the room said anything. The backup dancers moved around her, some of them throwing her careful glances, others staring at the floor. It wasn’t like they hadn’t seen Ni-ki tear people down before. He was brutal, precise, perfectionistic, but today it was like she had a target on her back.
Her manager, Daejin, wasn’t even in the room. He was on a call, probably talking to press or sorting logistics. Which meant there was no buffer. Just her. And Ni-ki. And the music that kept replaying over and over again.
Her body shuddered slightly at the chorus, not out of emotion, but pure physical exhaustion. She hadn’t eaten much that morning, and whatever she had, half a banana and a protein shake was long gone. She felt like she was running on fumes.
The dancers around her reset for the next run through.
"Water?" one of the dancers whispered beside her, a girl named Seojin who had been kind to her since the tour began. She held out a bottle discreetly.
Jiyoo reached for it.
“She wants it, she can crawl for it.”
Ni-ki’s voice was cold. Loud. And absolutely devoid of mercy.
Jiyoo froze, her fingers inches from the bottle.
The entire room stilled. Even the music cut off.
Seojin stepped back.
Jiyoo stood there, slowly lowering her hand as her chest heaved. She could feel the flush of shame crawl up her neck, her ears burning, vision tunneling. Everyone was watching her, and not one person said a thing.
She swallowed hard. Her tongue felt like sandpaper. Her body trembled.
And that’s when something inside her snapped.
She didn’t say a word. She didn’t scream or curse or throw anything, not yet. She just turned, shoved past one of the staff near the door, and bolted.
“Where the hell are you going?” Ni-ki called out, but she didn’t stop.
The hallway was endless, lights blurring past her as she ran, her boots slapping hard against the concrete floor. She could still hear the bass of the rehearsal echoing in the distance, but she kept moving, barely breathing now, until she reached the dressing room door.
She shoved it open and slammed it behind her.
And then she made it two steps.
Her knees hit the cold tile.
And she threw up just nearly missing the nearest trash bin.
Her palms were braced on the tile, body trembling as the bitter taste of bile clung to her throat. Her stomach had nothing left to give. The trash bin reeked. Sweat beaded along her forehead and her arms, legs, spine, it was everywhere. Her hoodie clung to her like a second skin, heavy and suffocating.
The silence of the dressing room was loud. Too loud. A vacuum after the chaos of the studio. But it didn’t feel safe. It felt like her heartbeat was ricocheting off the walls, mocking her.
She sank back against the wall, legs folding beneath her as her body gave out. Her arms wrapped around her middle like she was trying to hold herself in, keep the pieces of her together. But the shaking wouldn't stop.
Why did it feel like this?
Why now?
Her breaths came in short gasps. Not panicked just…shallow. Hollow. Her chest felt too tight, like something was squeezing the air right out of her lungs, like the weight of the last month, no, years had all decided to pile on her shoulders at once. The months of building herself up, of trying to find who she really was, of pushing through practice after practice to prove herself. And just when she was finally starting to believe she belonged here, it felt like someone was chipping at her all over again.
She brought her hand to her chest. It was too fast. Her heart. Her breathing.
Not now.
Not here.
But her fingers twitched, legs numb, vision fuzzing at the edges. She tilted her head back against the wall, eyes fluttering to the side where a poster hung from earlier rehearsals, her face in dark makeup, intense eyes, that signature smirk. Queenmaker, it read.
Queen?
She didn’t feel like one.
She felt like that lonely seventeen year old girl standing in the hallway outside her mother’s hospital room.
She felt like the girl who had no one at her debut showcase.
She felt like the girl who smiled on camera and cried herself to sleep when the lights turned off.
And now she was that same girl on the floor, cold, shaking, and so, so tired and lonely.
Her limbs were ice.
The lights above blurred into soft rings of white.
And then darkness.
Her head lolled gently to the side. Her body slumped.
The room fell still.
Jiyoo passed out cold, alone on the dressing room floor, the hum of the lights above her the only sound in a silence that had swallowed her whole.
Ni-ki
Ni-ki was still fuming, his jaw locked so tight he could hear his molars grinding. His hoodie sleeves were shoved up to his elbows, hands balled into fists as he stormed down the backstage hallways of the arena, the soles of his sneakers echoing off the industrial tile. She really had the nerve to storm out. In the midst of rehearsal. In front of everyone. Like a brat.
He had half a mind to leave it, to let her sulk and wait until she came crawling back with an apology but something about the way she looked when she left, the way she staggered. It kept chewing at the back of his skull.
He scowled harder.
No. She wanted to act like a spoiled idol? Let her.
But just as he turned the corner near the main hallway that connected to the dressing rooms, a group of staff came sprinting past him. Two medics in black vests, a coordinator with a headset, and behind them Daejin.
Ni-ki blinked, watching the group barrel down the hallway like the building was on fire. “What the hell?”
He instinctively moved out of the way, but something tight gripped in his chest.
Daejin.
Without thinking, Ni-ki reached out and grabbed the older man by the arm just as he passed. “What’s going on?”
He spun around on his heel so fast his sneakers squeaked. The hallway blurred around him. His long legs carried him in long strides as he chased after the sound of rushed footsteps, the clattering of equipment, the static from walkie talkies, and the deep, low dread building in his gut.
He knew exactly where they were going.
And for the first time since they met, Ni-ki felt something close to panic claw at the edges of his throat.
By the time Ni-ki reached her dressing room, the door was wide open, and the lights inside felt too bright, almost sterile. The sight stopped him cold.
Jiyoo was on the ground, lying on her side with a medic crouched beside her, a damp cloth pressed to her forehead. Another was checking her pulse, gently shifting her arm. Her hoodie was half off one shoulder, her skin pale, glistening with sweat. Her lips were dry, cracked. Her long hair clung to her neck, damp and heavy.
She looked like a ghost of herself.
Her eyes fluttered, lashes weakly lifting as she blinked toward the ceiling. There was a flicker of recognition when she saw the crowd around her, but no strength behind it.
“She’s dehydrated,” one of the medics confirmed, snapping off her gloves and handing a bottle of electrolyte water to a nearby assistant. “Exhaustion too. Low blood sugar, possible nausea. She needs food. Fluids. Rest. Immediately.”
Ni-ki couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe.
This was his fault. He’d pushed her. Past the edge. Past reason. And he knew it.
All because she’d snapped. All because he’d seen something that made him uneasy and decided to be cruel about it.
One of the coordinators stepped forward, voice tight with worry. “Should we postpone the first concert night? Or…the whole tour?”
The entire room tensed, breaths held.
But it was Jiyoo half conscious, still pale who shook her head slowly. “No…” Her voice was barely a rasp. “I can do it. Just…give me a little time…”
Ni-ki’s jaw locked, the muscle ticking dangerously.
What the hell was she saying?
She couldn’t even sit up without help, and she wanted to get on a stage in less than 24 hours?
Fury rolled through him at her stubbornness, at the team, at himself.
And for once, it wasn’t cold, collected anger. It was hot, bitter, rising in his throat like bile.
He didn’t speak. Not yet.
But the look on his face as he turned his eyes away said everything.
You idiot. You absolute idiot. And he wasn’t even sure if he meant her or himself.
More housekeeping! If there's one thing the end of a Homestuck act loves, it's countdown timers. Right now, both the trolls and kids have one - for the trolls, we know a lot about what happens during the timer but have no idea what it's counting down to, while for the kids, we know exactly what it's counting down to but the time in between is a big mystery. Here's what's known about the timelines at the two year mark!
Trolls
10:25:00 – Bec Noir enters troll session; stops trolls from claiming Ultimate Reward
Trolls transported to meteor; Sollux sets up computer stations
Aradia writes memo for her past selves (p.2590-2624)
Karkat writes sad memo (p.2567)
Kanaya replaces Tavros’ legs with robo-legs; Karkat passes out
6:12:00 – Bec Noir destroys Prospit; Karkat, Kanaya, Terezi, Tavros, Sollux and Gamzee’s dream selves die (if not already expended)
Terezi receives transfer from Dave; trolls discover and begin contacting kids (Terezi makes first contact)
5:12:30 – Past Karkat wakes up; all events of Alterniabound (except those designated as ‘past’ or ‘future’)
Karkat makes ‘inspirational speech’ (p.2629); Karkat and Kanaya begin trolling kids
4:13:00 – Aradiabot explodes; Aradia ascends; Derse destroyed; all unexpended dream selves die
3:14:00 – Terezi watches Doomed Dave die; flees computer lab; Vriska wakes from nap
All events of Reterniabound
Eridan kills Feferi and Kanaya; knocks out Sollux; destroys Matriorb
Gamzee flips the fuck out
2:41:30 – Vriska kills Tavros
Terezi’s criminal investigation
Kanaya rises as a rainbow drinker
All events of Triterniabound
Gamzee kills Equius and Nepeta
3x Showdown Combo; Kanaya kills Eridan
0:00:00 – Gamzee covered in blood; ????????
-1:00:00 – Terezi and Karkat still able to talk in memo (p.2629)
Kids
10:25:00 - John takes The Tumor
All events of Lalondiabound
Jack kills John
????????
0:00:00 - The Tumor detonates.
Transmission designed for Polo Drone 090. The neon skyline burned gold against the midnight rain of 1987. Tower speakers lined the rooftops of Crescent City, blasting synth drums across the damp streets, while laser grids swept across chrome buildings like scanning eyes. Inside the abandoned television studio known only as Channel GOLD, the orchestra prepared to sync. Rows of Polo Drones stood motionless under the flickering stage lights.
Black rubber polos gleamed under the fog machines. Gold piping traced every chest, every shoulder, every sealed contour of their uniforms. Their boots reflected the pulsating crimson and violet light from the massive soundstage. Hundreds of cables snaked across the floor like metallic snakes, connecting synthesizers, drum pads, electric violins, and towering analog machines. On the center stage stood the PDU-090. Its polished visor reflected the spinning disco beams overhead, while gloved fingers hovered over a glowing synthesizer console. Behind it, an entire drone orchestra waited in perfect silence. Forty drones. Forty instruments. Total synchronization. Then the countdown began. 3. Smoke flooded the stage. 2. The giant GOLD emblem ignited behind the orchestra. 1. The music erupted.
A wall of electronic sound thundered through the studio. Synth basslines pulsed like mechanical heartbeats, while electric guitars screamed through reverberant amplifiers. Golden spotlights swept across the drones as they moved in flawless rhythm, every movement precise, programmed, beautiful. PDU-090 raised one hand. The orchestra moved instantly. Drum machines accelerated. Violins transformed into sharp cinematic crescendos. Rows of drones stepped forward in synchronized formation, their black rubber uniforms shimmering like liquid obsidian under the lasers. Massive CRT screens surrounding the stage flashed with hypnotic images: golden spirals, football stadium stands, chrome statues of victorious Golden Bros frozen beneath endless sunsets.
Outside the studio, crowds gathered around the windows of electronics stores to watch the unauthorized broadcast. Teenagers in varsity jackets stopped in the rain. Skaters left the alley parties. Clubbers stepped away from neon-lit arcades. Everyone stared up at the impossible transmission that was hijacking every television frequency in the city. The Golden Army had arrived. The music video spread like a signal through the decade itself. Inside the broadcast, the Golden Bros sprinted through smoke-filled stadium tunnels wearing reflective gold football kits, their boots glistening against the chrome floor. Mascots waved giant gold banners amid pyrotechnic explosions, while water boys carried glowing coolers through crowds of shouting supporters.
Then came the drones. Entire corridors filled with Polo Drones, marching under flashing lights. Black rubber polos. Gold-studded collars. Shiny boots that hit the floor in rhythmic harmony with the beat. Their visors reflected endless streams of data that rolled across giant computer walls. "UNITY." "DISCIPLINE." "PERFORMANCE." "GOLD." The words echoed through distorted vocoders embedded in the music itself. PDU-090 stepped to the microphone at center stage. Its voice sounded cold. Mechanical. Absolutely. "THE GOLDEN ERA IS BACK." The orchestra intensified.
Golden confetti cannons detonated over the crowd as electric saxophones screamed through the mix. The camera swept across the drone formation as synchronized dancers moved between them in reflective gold jackets and mirrored sunglasses straight from a retro-futuristic dream. Every frame looked impossible. Every second looked legendary. The music video became more than entertainment. It became recruitment. Across cities around the world, young athletes, musicians, creators, and restless night owls watched the broadcast reruns via VHS tapes and underground clubs. Rumors spread of the Golden Army's hidden stadiums, endless brotherhoods, and hypnotic musical rituals held under neon skies. Some called it a movement. Others called it a cult. The Golden Army called it fate. Deep beneath the glowing stage, rows of dormant drone helmets lit up one by one as new registrations flooded the network terminals. Green monochrome computer screens blinked endlessly with incoming messages from recruits seeking entry into the Golden Era. PDU-090 observed the data streams calmly. Another successful transmission. Another expansion cycle completed. The orchestra played on into the night, the city drowning in synthetic rhythms and golden lights. Across the rooftops, giant holographic projections glimmered above the rain: JOIN THE GOLDEN ARMY. ENTER THE GOLDEN TIME FRIGHT. THE MUSIC NEVER ENDS.
Recruitment terminals remained open. New members seeking membership of the Golden Army may contact: @alton-gold#77 @polo-drone-125 The signal continues. The decade continues. The GOLD continues. #Golden1980s #GoldenTimeJourney #GoldenTimeWarp #GoldenThroughTheDecades #GoldenArmy #PoloDrone #SynthwaveGold #RetroFuture #1980sAesthetic #NeonGold #GoldenSignal #DroneOrchestra #GoldenBroadcast #RetroSynth #GoldenBrotherhood #GoldWave #GoldenEra #RubberPolo #MusicVideoVibes #ChromeAndGold #GoldenFrequency #HiveSynchronization #VintageFuture #GoldenTransmission #ObeyTheBeat #ElectricGold #GoldenNightlife #CyberGoldenAge #GoldenArmyRecruitment
Star Wars: A New Dawn - The Complete Novel Playlist
PLEASE NOTE:
All references to page numbers, etc, were made using the paperback edition.
All songs are listed in the intended order. Songs in green are instrumentals meant to be played while reading the chapter. Songs in blue include vocals and are meant to be played after one chapter and before the next. More than one song per chapter indicates a change at the scene breaks, unless otherwise indicated by the additional instructions in the list.
You may find that some of the songs are a bit short and need to be repeated, as you are not done the chapter; or that they are long, and you are done the chapter and would like to move on. This is fine.
Thank you and I hope you enjoy this :D
***
OPENING CRAWL
Star Wars Theme
YEARS EARLIER…
Childhood Memories
KENOBI’S WARNING
Burying the Dead
PHASE ONE: IGNITION
1)
Prologue
2)
The Joker
Why Should I Worry
3)
A Troubled Man
Human
4)
Security Cameras
Big Brother
5)
Bomb Factory
Investigating
6)
Escape Artist
7)
Bomb Factory - scene 1 & 2
Investigating
8)
The Chemical Worker’s Song
9)
What’s the Force?
10)
You’re Under Arrest
Investigating
11)
A Troubled Man
Baron’s Theme
12)
Rebellions Are Built on Hope
13)
Reflections in the Windows
14)
Bomb Factory
15)
A Street Brawl
In the Mirror - starts on page 110 at “he saw the Twilek’s cloak nearby”
16)
Ice
Escape Artist
17)
Optimist
18)
First Step
19)
Cantina Band
The Old Black Rum
20)
Moonlight Cafe
21)
A Troubled Man
First Step
You’re Under Arrest
22)
Benny Hill Theme
Moonlight Cafe - starts on page 148 at “I don’t like their fashion sense”
You May Be Right - during the scene break
Moonlight Serenade
PHASE TWO: REACTION
23)
Bomb Factory
Boom Town Suite
Escape Artist
24)
Revelation Main Theme - scenes 1 to 5
A Good Man? (0:00-2:01 only)
25)
Baron’s Theme
Lacrimosa - starts on page 175 at “Vidian out” & scene 2
26)
Promentory
27)
Revelation Main Theme - scenes 1 to 3
A Good Man? (2:01-end)
28)
Vandal Savage Arrives
Revelation Main Theme
29)
Lacrimosa
Bomb Factory - starts on page 198 at “time to join the party”
TIE Fighter Pursuit
30)
The Chase
Hera Soars - starts on page 209 at “and felt a tremendous surge”
31)
The Red Cave
Wii/Mii Theme - starts on page 212 at “and then he heard the thumping”
Ice
32)
Home at Night
Moiety Caves
33)
Moiety Theme
Vandal Savage Arrives
Children of Mars
34)
Moiety Theme
Explosion Aftermath - starts on page 234 at “the moon exploded” & scene 2
35)
Rope Descent
Valley of the Shadow - starts on page 242 at “Obadiah was under it”
36)
Vandal Savage Arrives
I’ve Seen Hell - scene 2 & 3
PHASE THREE: DETONATION
37)
Space Storm Galaxy
Baron’s Theme
38)
Space Storm Galaxy
Start of Something Good
39)
The Plans
40)
Vandal Savage Arrives
Freeze Flame Galaxy
41)
Freeze Flame Galaxy
42)
London Calling
43)
Journey Into the Star Cluster
Persistence
44)
The Vault
Learn to Be Lonely
45)
Freeze Flame Galaxy
The Plans
46)
Space Storm Galaxy
Ice
47)
Drifting
48)
Rogue One
The Final Countdown
49)
The Final Showdown
50)
The Final Showdown
51)
The Invasion of Goliath
Imperial March - starts on page 344 at “from the Emperor”
52)
The Final Showdown
53)
The Last Message
Everybody Wants to Rule the World
54)
Kanan at the Gate (0:00-0:59 only)
Kanan’s Revelation - starts on page 362 at “not yet”
The Force Theme - starts on page 363 at “time stopped for Kanan”
55)
Boe - scene 1 & 2
The Destruction of Laputa
The Impossible Dream
FINAL PHASE: DAMAGE ASSESSMENT
56)
Finale
Ba’ku Village
57)
Binary Sunrise
Hera’s Story
Hope For a Better Future
Star Wars Main Theme - starts on page 381 at “let’s go somewhere”
Hiccup and Toothless (equipped with translator) are Heads of Engineering and Navigation, respectively, of the USS Hooligan. The ship is attacked, and both combatants' weapons (and several nonvital systems) are knocked offline in a risky EMP detonation. Hiccup has to go repair and restart the systems manually, and Toothless offers to go along for "protection" (First Mate Astrid suggests, too quiet for Captain Stoick to hear, "you and Hiccup? Alone with the security cameras down? Maybe you should take some 'protection,' too, night fury"). Toothless's uniform shifts into sturdy battle armor, and he convinces Hiccup to grab a phaser, just in case.
Shortly after restoring energy shields (with some flirting and promises to... dawdle a bit on the last task), the Hooligan is physically boarded, and the duo suddenly has to navigate and fight their way through enemy combatants in the halls. Toothless provides cover both with his plasma blasts and, when need be, his body. Excerpts include:
The boarder lobbed a device at the pair. Toothless recognized it in an instant. The dragon reared up on his hind legs, flared his armor-clad wings out as a shield for the human behind him, and spat a white-hot fireball at the grenade; there was a massive BOOM, and Toothless felt his body shudder and fall - though luckily, not on his wings.
"Toothless!" Hiccup shouted. Abandoning the access panel, he drew his phaser and, in one clean shot, knocked the pirate half a dozen feet back, stunned. Concern in his eyes, he ran and knelt by the hurt dragon. "Toothless! Bud, you okay?"
The dragon chuffed a laugh, already pushing himself back to all fours. <I'll be alright, little fishbone. Fix the ship and save calling my name for the bedroom.>
Shots and shrapnel clattered against the wall and floor. Hiccup could feel his face heating up from how thoroughly the dragon was covering his body with his own. Still, even the fury's armor wouldn't last forever. "Helmet on?"
<Helmet on.>
"Suit locked to the floor?"
<Darling, the ship will break before I leave you.>
Hiccup nodded and pressed a few more buttons, then a countdown appeared on the screen. "Right. Let's flush these guys into space, then I'll get the weapons online, finally."
He knew, without seeing, that Toothless raised his eye ridges in surprise. <But Hiccup, you're not tethered to anything!> he protested, <you could get sucked out too!>
4... 3... 2... "Then hold me tight, my love, and don't you dare let go."
There was a quick thud, and then utter silence. All Hiccup could hear was his own breathing, though he felt the steady breaths and heartbeats of the dragon keeping him firmly to his chest.
And again, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, and 1. The ship re-sealed and repressurized, then established gravity again. Toothless's helmet hissed as it opened, and Hiccup soon felt a warm tongue followed by a gentle bite - with teeth, but not strong enough to damage anything. <There are more sane ways to tell someone you trust him with your life.>
Hiccup grinned and entered the code to bring the weapons back up. "I'll keep that in mind in case either of us dates someone sane."
Keith pushes his body to its limit to save Pidge and is too stubborn to tell anyone that he’s more than ‘just a little tired’
trigger and content warnings: very ominous countdown, threat of being caught in an explosion, emotional angst where tough calls have to be made, major character is injured and then overlooked/ignored, discovery of injuries far worse than anticipated, just very angsty in all parts, lots of physical pain and heavy emotions described in later parts.
The mission was supposed to be easy. The operation of breaking into an abandoned galra base to gather intel before destroying was bold but low risk. The team calculated every worst scenario and came up with no reason they shouldn’t, especially when whatever they might recover could help them find Pidge’s dad and brother. They thought they’d accounted for everything. Actually, no, they had accounted for everything. Just everything except for intruder protocols to still be in place and functional, or for there to be a seemingly endless arsenal of sentries to complicate things further. So when Pidge and Keith get held up with time running out, decisions had to be made and Shiro agrees to set the timer for the last explosive... while they’re still inside. He did it because he trusted Keith when he said he’d make sure they got out, he just wasn’t aware that meant he’d do whatever it took and then not realize how truly injured he actually was.
NOW UPDATED (and legible) on ao3 as: too busy saving everybody else to save yourself ;)
Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3
Keith wrapped around the corner of the hallway with so much speed he nearly sent himself sprawling.
“Pidge?!”
The zap of blaster guns made the air around them smell burnt.
“Keith?!”
The strobing red emergency lights washing out all the purple of the galra base.
“Guys, please respond... Does you still copy?”
There wasn’t much more light in the next corridor.
“Yeah...” Keith huffed breathlessly, the sound of his boots against the metal of the floor audible over the coms.
They were the only ones who hadn’t made it back to their lions yet.
“What about you Pidge...?”
“I copy...” she answered stiffly, “could be better, but I copy.”
Her voice was a strained whisper against the commotion around them that came through.
“I told you I’ve got it Shiro...”
“Alright but hurry, there’s only 2 minutes and 17 seconds on the clock.”
Shiro’s tone was firm, his worry subdued for their sakes, but Keith saw straight through his inflection on the way he said ‘hurry’.
The sound of metal feet pounding behind them was what initially motivated him to abandon their joint effort in hobbling and scoop a very reluctant Pidge up into his own arms.
Now though.
Now it was the countdown until the explosives they’d planted detonated.
“Lance and Hunk are towing your lions back to the castle so head straight for Black...”
Keith attempted to grunt out a yes but was too focused on maintaining his zigzag running pattern as he tried to desperately evade the fire from behind them.
Shiro thought he’d accounted for everything, planned every detail with Allura and Pidge meticulously so that their escape would not be something down to the wire like this.
The base should’ve been abandoned, they weren’t even sure that they’d be able to gather any intel of much use, but they only went through with the plan because there wasn’t supposed to be any risk. And one less galra base is always a good thing.
They had split everyone into groups, separating Keith and Lance almost as soon as they left the castle when they couldn’t agree on who’d carry the explosive without dropping it. Keith and Pidge went in together first because they needed time for her to get the system down. Hunk and Lance went in next and took care of wiring up the explosive in the farthest section from the lions. Shiro and Allura were to go in last and see everyone else out, but that is far from what actually went down.
As soon as Pidge touched the tech in the control room Keith had cleared only moments before, alarms went off and an ominous ticking began.
“Crud, no, no, no—“
“What is it?” Keith asked from his position at the door.
“It’s very possible I just set off a threat response protocol of some kind... I don’t know how much time we have before the sentries that might still be viable find—“
But Pidge didn’t get to finish that statement because a group the robotic soldiers had rounded the corner Keith was surveiling, not close enough to lock in on them as a target and begin firing yet.
“Shiro...?! We may have a slight problem!” Keith called into his coms device as he activated his bayard.
The next few moments were a blur as Keith charged, meeting them halfway and hacking at the arms of the robots holding their weapons, not many of them able to ambush him at once with the narrow width of the service hallway but the continued surge of sentry after sentry was enough of a threat to overwhelm him that had Pidge activating her own bayard.
“That’s the last one,” he huffed, arms dropping to his sides heavily as the last sentry crumpled to the floor in a heap of sparking metal.
“Kay, I got into the mainframe and disabled the distress signal but I can’t be certain that was the only fleet that got dispatched.”
“Then you better hurry with whatever else you have to do,” Keith warned with a sympathizing look before returning his gaze to the long hallway before them, picking up one of the discarded blasters in anticipation of another attack, this way he could thin the group before they made it to him.
“Right,” Pidge muttered, already lost in concentration as she typed furiously at the keypad.
It seemed like every minute it took Pidge to disable the defense system of the base and download whatever information she could sent another wave of sentries with it. Keith was getting tired, his movements becoming sloppier and more out of desperation then strategy as he dropped bot after bot.
“Done! Wiring up the explosives now...”
Keith was in the middle of combating the worst of the latest onslaught, a sizable amount of robots left still before he could rest.
“Let me know when the last one’s down and I’ll set the timer...”
It was another minute before he gave the go ahead, leaned foraward on his knees and panting as he caught his breath, his hair stuck to his forehead with sweat from the effort.
“5 minutes on the clock starting... now! Let’s get the fuck out of here!”
“Why only 5?” he huffed as they began their sprint to the loading docks.
“Because I got held up with the alarms and Lance and Hunk set theirs for 10 about uhm... 6 minutes ago.”
“Oh... well then what’s it at now?”
“Should be... 3 minutes and 47 seconds,” she answered after slowing to tap the watch attachment on the her wrist of her armor.
“Shit.”
“Keith? I need an update on your status. Have you guys made it to the loading dock yet?”
“Uhm, we’re en route right now... still experiencing some slight complications, but we’ll get there.”
There was silence for a moment before Shiro spoke again.
“Keith... Allura and I can’t leave without setting the time for the last explosive.”
They were passing a series of adjoining service hallways.
“You can. Just set it for a minute after whatever time left is on your watch, we’ll make it.”
As they raced to the end Keith pulled forward just enough to glance around each and check for sentries.
“Keith I don’t think you understand—“
It was sort of hard to focus on so many things at once when he was so tried already and Shiro’s apprehension wasn’t making it any easier.
“Shiro! I said we’d make it there in time and I mean it. Set the timer.”
No matter how sure he sounded, an extra minute until the last explosion detonated didn’t do much to quell the panic in Keith’s stomach when they still had the danger of getting caught in the blast from the one they’d set themselves to worry about. But he didn’t care if he was sure or not, they had to make it in time so they would and that was that.
“Setting the timer now, you have 2 minutes 53 seconds...”
They had to cover as much ground as possible in the next two minutes to separate themselves from whatever sentries were on their tails or they wouldn’t even have to worry about the timing running out.
“After we clear this hallway it’s a straight shoot to the docks and the lions... get ready for the sprint of your life,” Keith said with a chuckle under his breath that made Pidge almost want to cry. Only when shit was grim did Keith resort his own twisted sort of humor.
“Well, then feet don’t fail me n—“ Pidge attempted to respond but was cut off by the sound of her body hitting the floor, the thud it made spurring Keith out of surging his body forward and twisting around with his bayard already drawn.
He hadn’t checked the last service hallway they passed... so of course the only one he didn’t check was the one filled with a sentries.
“Fuck!” he shouted wildly, his voice wrecked with outrage as he moved with a ferocity that would’ve scared Pidge was she not preoccupied by how much blood coated her hand when she took it away from her stomach.
He fought like Shiro did sometimes when they were practicing.
The older boy didn’t forget himself often, but when he did, the shift was more than apparent. You could always tell when it was him and when it wasn’t, his arcs and jabs viscious and unrelenting, no space for an ounce of mercy or forgiveness. The fight becoming less of a battle and more of an execution.
Keith fought like that then, not letting the sentry that attacked Pidge even a second to parry his condemning blows, the metal soldier clanking to the floor in a heap of disjointed scraps not long after.
The remainder of the fleet was still making its way down the hallway so they had time to keep them out of range for at least a little bit.
“C’mon Pidge, we’ve gotta—go... shit,” he deadpanned as his eyes fell on her slumped form, the red dripping from the cracks in her armor so apparent against the white even with the muted lighting.
When he seemed to sort of freeze at the sight she offered him her hands and he helped her up with a groan, his hands gripping her cautiously as even standing proved to be challenging.
But then the sound of the fleet upon them filled the hallway and the next moment he was moving just like them. Mechanically. Like the only preset in his manual for this type of situation had been initiated and Keith was no longer at the mercy of his own actions.
His system only knew one thing then and it was to move.
And so he did. He moved deftly, not taking much care for the hail of sentry fire he was under as he rounded the last corner and was then sprinting for the hulking doors of the loading dock. He could see the Black lion practically shaking in anticipation as he hurdled towards them.
“Are you guys taking fire?!”
Pidge was pressed to his chest, her shoulders turned so she could eye the scene behind them, telling Keith when to shift a certain way to avoid a plasma blast. She’d only started watching for him after he inhaled sharply and stumbled.
“-idge... -eith... -se report...”
It was considerably harder to respond to Shiro while on autopilot. Hard to keep up his evasive maneuvers and assure his leader that they would most likely not die at the same time. But he pushed past how heavy his tongue seemed in his mouth and spoke anyway. His words rushed together in almost a slur when he answered Shiro.
And then he assured Pidge his leg had just been knicked when she brought a worried hand to his bloodied cheek from his earlier battle as he bit his lip to keep from crying out, resuming his impossible pace when the sound of blasters didn’t let up. Even through her own daze of pain she could tell he was favoring his left side.
The hallway seemed to stretch out infinitely before him then, like he could run forever and still never reach the end of it. His entire body was screaming, the burn blast on his leg searing with every step, but he couldn’t give up. Not when Pidge was hurt. Not when he knew the base was set to explode any second.
He barely even reacted when he felt a familiar heat flare up between his shoulder blades. Keith couldn’t afford to slow down. Not now. It didn’t matter that he was still getting shot at, he couldn’t do anything about that so he couldn’t care.
Instead he focused on what he could do something about, which was getting them through those doors. He was utterly exhausted and fueled by only adrenaline but he kept running, the thought of the moment he could finally rest the only thing willing his body to keep moving.
His muscles burned under the strain, the concentrated blazes in his leg and back pulsing angrily with each stride. And then his vision was blurring from the fear and desperation that had his lungs in an aching gridlock, the abused organs not able to get much in and had no time to get what he did back out before he struggled to take in another strained breath.
But he didn’t stop running, he didn’t even slow down. Despite how desperately is legs wanted to curl underneath him and how dangerously close his rib cage was to collapsing in on itself as he drove his body well past its physical limits, his mind didn’t allow him to entertain the thought for even a second.
It was decided. He wouldn’t stop until he was safe, until Pidge was safe. It didn’t matter how spent his body was. Because logically... it’ll all be fine, the pain would pass and the horrible trek would end, but only if he got them out of there alive. Only if he kept moving.
Logically, it didn’t matter that Keith was seeing dots or that he was fairly certain he’d forgotten how to breathe, because he really won’t be able to if the base explodes while they’re still in it.
So he relied on his ridiculous ability to rationalize everything, even pain, to trick his brain into continuing despite it, into ignoring it entirely. Because logically this was just a moment, a terrible one that seemed like it would never end but might if he just keeps moving.
And so he let the gravity of it drive him forward. Let himself cling to the moment when he could rest. Maybe he’d pass out once he reached Black. And maybe he’d be so exhausted he’d drop Pidge once he did. But he couldn’t even worry about what would happen when his legs finally gave and he wasn’t able to make it another step.
The moment would come, that was for sure, but it wouldn’t be now.
A little further and then he could. Once they were with the team. When it’s safer. When he couldn’t go any farther. When he had absolutely nothing left to give.
Until then all he knew was that he was running, pushing himself further and further on the sole reasoning that he just had to make it to Black. Once he was in Black he could rest, let go, give in to the encroaching darkness.
Keith was so fixed on hacking his own brain to get his body to do the impossible that he hadn’t even registered when he was bounding up Black’s ramp until it started closing behind him, her jaw shutting with a deafening clank before she took off. He lurched forward unceremoniously, his legs weak and wobbling as he fought to maintain his grip on Pidge.
And then hands were pulling at his own and there were voices all around him but none of them were clear enough to make any sense to him. Pidge’s now limp form was being taken from his arms and he made only a slight effort to stop the hands taking her before he realized.
Oh. They’d made it.
“Keith...? I asked if you’re alright? Are you hurt?”
He dragged his glassy gaze up to meet Shiro’s as he studied the gash below his eye and nodded, distantly aware of the pink glow from Allura as she worked on healing Pidge enough that she’d be okay until they could get her to a pod.
“Wait you’re hurt?!”
Keith couldn’t answer right away. He was still catching his breath and didn’t think he could handle the impending interrogation while standing.
“M’fine... just tired,” he urged shortly as he reached for the wall.
He just needed to sit.
Yeah, sitting would help.
Shiro seemed dissatisfied with Keith’s answer and moved to go in for a closer look but didn’t get to question much further because Allura was calling him over.
Good, Keith thought, because they had to focus on Pidge right now.
They’d be so overwhelmed if he passed out too. And how ridiculous would that be? Passing out just because of a tiny cut and some minor burns because he was a little tired. Everyone was probably tired and he could stand to deal until they got back to the castle.
It was just a lot and if he’d managed to keep it together until now he could manage a little longer... steal some medical supplies once Pidge is in a pod and take care of the burns himself... sleep in tomorrow and to hell if he gets chewed out for it.
Because this was hard. It was probably just as stressful for everyone to carry out their assignments after they’d tripped the alarms, but as much as Keith would like to play it down, it really had fucking sucked.
And it still does.
But that didn’t matter because he’ll be fine.
He didn’t need to be healed from Allura like Pidge. He would be okay eventually. When his muscles were less sore and his head was less angry and he didn’t feel so woozy.
With that resolve he began making his way to the cockpit slowly, limping as subtly as possible to join the others and leaning his shoulder against the wall with a thud. His decent to the floor less than graceful because as soon as he bent his legs he was reminded of the burn on his thigh and had to clamp a hand over his mouth to keep from crying out, sliding the rest of the way on shaking arms in an effort to lower himself as gently as he could.
But with his body still reeling from the stretch of the injury on his leg he didn’t realize how close he’d positioned himself to the wall, the white hot fire only intensifying when he leaned against it with all his weight amid his struggle to contain himself, lighting the wound on his back with a flare of pain that traveled up and down his spine and into his lungs, stealing the breath he still hadn’t caught.
He couldn’t tell how long it was before he could see straight, but when he could there was still a pink tinge to the space around him and he could still hear voices in a discussion that made no sense to him.
But he had no energy left to care as he sat in a heap of himself against the wall. The moment had passed to alert someone of his less than okay state. They were on their way back to the castle and Pidge was still being healed. Allura would be tired and Shiro needed to focus to guide the others.
He had done the mental aerobics to get there, had willed his stupid logic to override the resistance of his leaden muscles and bypass the mounting blood rush in his ears that threatened to make him crumble before he crossed the threshold to safety.
So he saw very little profit in making such a fuss then after all that, even as he watched absently as more blood pooled on the ground beneath him.
Keith didn’t think that burns bled that much and deduced that it was probably just the split skin of his cheekbone making a mess. He felt a little sorry for Shiro having to clean it up later. That wouldn’t be too fun.
“-bashes left, Coran has a pod firing up now...”
That was good, Pidge would need that.
He was glad he didn’t have to go in one of those today but sorry that Pidge did, mostly out of guilt since he hadn’t caught sight of the sentry before it got to her. She was hurt because of that, because he missed it. It should’ve been him being healed by Allura because his stomach was slashed open, not Pidge.
His leg pulsed angrily then, the wound not visible to him aside from the splintering cracks off the long divet that had been scored into his armor. The blast had only grazed him there but still left a trail of blood flowing in sheets down his leg.
Oh, so maybe it was my leg bleeding everywhere, he thought dimly.
Running had no doubt made it worse. The muscles there feeling raw and stripped of something, like the blast had melted them away entirely.
He tried to sneak a better look but moving that far pulled at his back and there was no way he could slip his armor off discreetly to see. So instead he pressed two fingers up in the space between the plates of armor, a thick spurt of blood escaping after he did, coating his gloved hand and expanding the small puddle on the floor.
His leg shook incessantly as he tried to staunch the bleeding and he had to brace his other hand around his though and breathe deeply until he could see again.
It was only Shiro shouting angrily at him that broke him out of his stupor as he stared transfixedly at the state of the inside of his thigh.
“For fuck’s sake Keith, wake up!”
“Huh...?”
He didn’t understand.
He wasn’t asleep and he couldn’t fathom why Shiro was so angry, not until he looked in the older boy’s direction, eyes first falling over the two slumped forms a few feet away from him.
“I need you to check on Allura! I know you’re tired but now isn’t the time for a cat nap...” Shiro sounded like he was seething, of which Keith guessed was warranted, even if he hadn’t even been asleep.
So he pulled himself closer to his friends, careful to keep his leg out of the way as he did.
Allura had exhausted herself while healing Pidge who would have appeared almost pleasantly asleep in her lap if it weren’t for the red staining her front. Keith brought a hand up as if to take her pulse but noticed it was covered in blood and wiped it on the floor before pressing it down.
Her pulse was strong and he was glad that wasn’t the issue as he placed one hand on her forehead and the other at the base of her skull to bring it up from where it hung forward, guiding it steadily to lean on his shoulder as he eased his back against the wall to be able to support her.
He knew that it would suck, he just didn’t know he would actually pass out this time. But he also knew that his friends were hurt and it didn’t matter that his back was extremely sensitive, because Shiro needed him to help them and was glad to be able to.
Keith assumed that Shiro must’ve been screaming his throat raw telling him that he needed to wake up once he finally came back to the world. It seemed like only the smallest part of him was concerned as to why he couldn’t keep himself awake and alert enough to answer, more frustrated at the situation than anything.
“Keith! Is Allura alright? And Pidge?”
“Yeah...” he sighed, his chest swirling with fire as he fought the strain on the charred spot between his shoulders that angered every time he spoke.
“Did you hit your head at all?” Shiro asked, the annoyance in his voice softening to a cautionary worry until it fell into frustration again when Keith reponded with a simple ‘no’.
“Okay... look I get that you’re exhausted and rightfully so but I need you to work with me just until we get back to the castle.”
“Right,” he breathed shakily. His entire body was trembling now, the malaise from falling unconscious wrapping around his stomach and filling his brain with static.
Shiro then asked him to describe how both of his friends were doing so he could patch Coran in.
It was hard to talk with how dry his mouth had gotten and he kept having to cough and clear his throat but he managed to relay their statuses relatively clearly.
Allura’s chest rose and fell evenly though she still hung on him like dead weight. Pidge’s condition hadn’t changed much either, her breathing just as even and the blood seemed to have stopped flowing so egregiously.
“I see the castle...” he heard Shiro announce faintly.
The ringing in his ears was getting loud again but he forced himself to concentrate just a little longer.
“Wh-what? Are we there yet?” Allura questioned sluggishly as she began to stir against him. He stifled a hiss when her movements made pain flare up in several places.
“Landing shortly, Princess. Don’t move, you’re exhausted. Just rest both of you...”
Keith wasn’t sure which was worse, the pressure of Allura’s arm against his bad leg or the jolt from their landing, but either way he was seeing stars again.
When he could finally make sense of something other than colorful static input, he blinked back tears that formed at the brim of his tired eyes to see Shiro with Pidge clasped tightly in his arms leaning down to offer Allura help as she struggled to stand.
“Keith, are you alright to make it back to your room on your own?” Shiro questioned quickly, glancing past Allura to him when he remained where he was, not making any attempt to move just yet.
“Yup,” he feigned a confident smile and began shifting to sell the lie.
Shiro had apparently missed the fact that Keith had made his own puddle of blood. But he supposed that it wasn’t his fault, how was he to know it wasn’t Pidge’s?
“Actually, why don’t you stop by the infirmary to get that cut cleaned and looked over...” Shiro ammended, calling over his shoulder as he made his way out of Black.
“...might need stitches,” was the last thing he heard before the ringing was all he could hear other than his own heart beat.
After a minute of waiting to see if his hearing would ever come back to him he gave up, resolving that he’d definitely have to stop at his room first to take his armor off and change out of his under suit if he could manage. There would be no hiding the gaping crack or black spray that singed much of his leg piece from the blast and assumed his back looked the same way.
So he steeled himself once more and was moving despite every muscle in his body telling him to stop.
He didn’t know how he’d managed to stand up and drag himself back to his room without collapsing, figuring he must’ve mentally blacked out for the journey when the pain became too much because as soon as he was sprawling onto the cold tiles of his bathroom floor he was crying.
Everything that could possibly hurt did, limbs buzzing and his head swimming as his body tried to come down from the overwhelming daze, his injuries pulsing with vengeance after he’d freed himself of his armor.
Keith struggled to slide the medkit out from under his sink with how stiff his back had become but snagged a solid enough grip on the handle despite the slick of his blood on his hands and pulled it into reach, rummaging through the contents like a mad man as he fought to find what he was looking for before the blur clouding his eyes made it impossible to identify anything.
He tore a pack of pressure gauze open with his teeth as the other thumbed the cap off of a wound wash, breathing as deeply as his diaphragm allowed before drenching the grizzly site of his burnt thigh. The liquid was cold and felt heavenly against the heat but soon the stinging overpowered the relief and he was sweating profusely, his vision wavering for the umpteenthe time since his escape.
Once his senses returned he convinvinced himself that he just needed a minute of rest after his crude attempt to clean the wound, the sterile liquid clearing away the tacky red to reveal the bubbling skin at the center of the blast mark. The sight of where the material of the undersuit mixed with his flesh had him cringing away. Though he remained convinced that it really wasn’t that bad. That after he rested, he’d change and venture out to finally join the others, but one minute turned into five and then that turned into ten and then Lance and Hunk were done towing the Red and Green lions back into their respective hangars and Keith was still nowhere to be found.
“Hey, Keith! Don’t you want to see Pidge off before she goes in the pod..? What’s the hold up—“ Hunk says after noticing that Keith’s door had been left unlocked and letting himself in but nearly gagging at the scene he stumbled into.
“Oh my god, is this all from Pidge?” Hunk asked in horror, his stomach twisting into painful knots when he eyed the mess of bloodied armor strewn about, thick traces of red smeared nearly everywhere, all over the floor and in small puddles leading up to the bathroom.
“Hey, Keith...? You in there?”
Nothing for a moment until a sharp inhale and then a faint, ‘yeah’.
“Uh, everything okay?
“Couldn’t be better...” he croaked after an eternity, it was small and strained like he was trying to keep himself contained of something. Of what, Hunk was actually scared to discover, but the heavy breathing coming from the other side of the door told him that his concern was justified.
“Uh, are you sure about that?”
“Mhm.”
“Kay, then why are you... ya know holed up in there and not coming to see Pidge?”
“No reason,” he spat quickly.
Hunk thought deeply for a moment, his brow furrowing as he considered what to say next.
“Look, I know we’re not the closest, but if you uh, need someone to talk to about what happened back there or something you know I’m all ears and—“
“I said I’m good!”
“Keith...”
“Can you just—shit!“
Hunk was fairly sure he would not have liked what Keith would have had to say if he got to finish his sentiment, cutting himself off with a sharp hiss before he could.
“Dude, you really sound like you’re not okay...”
Hunk was beginning to feel the sick turning over in his stomach as Keith went longer and longer without responding to him and just when he thought he’d had enough the other boy sucked in another grating breath through his teeth.
“That’s it. Open up. Whatever’s wrong... just let me help,” he pleaded, raising his hand up to the panel beside the frame that glowed red, taping it to test the lock that was blatantly in place and almost jumping back in shock when it blared green the next moment.
The door slid open with a whoosh and Hunk had to hold a hand over his mouth to ensure that the contents in his stomach remained where they ought to be.
“Keith!—oh, oh that’s really not good,” Hunk determined with a gulp before rushing to the corner he’d curled up in.
The sparse med kit that Coran fitted every paladin’s bathroom with lay open with its contents scattered everywhere in various stages of use but all Hunk could really focus on was the amount of blood beneath his friend.
Fresh blood. Keith’s blood, not Pidge’s.
He seemed to pick up on Hunk’s immense fear and tried to assure him that he was okay. Because he pretty much was. He hadn’t managed to get himself this far just to give up on this endeavor now. The team really didn’t have to coddle him about such minor injuries, especially one he could handle on his own.
“It’s just a knick man, nothing a lil tlc can’t fix...”
“No,” Hunk amended, “with that much blood it is not nothing... it’s you need a pod not good,” Hunk determined grimly as he tried to find the source of all the bleeding, pulling Keith’s hand away from his leg.
“What even—sorry!”
The back of Keith’s bloodied hand was now at his mouth to stem the cry he almost let out as Hunk proded the only piece of armor he hadn’t taken off yet around the wound on his leg, looking like he’d just kicked a puppy when he saw how much pain his friend was in.
“S’fine... just burns.”
“Okay,” he said, his voice pensive and concerned, “Coran has some like topical stuff for that, I use it all the time for cooking burns and it really does the trick.”
“Nah, no infirmary... Pidge is there.”
“Yeah, Pidge is there because that’s where injured people go, and you are injured so that is where you need to be!”
“Hunk I’m serious, I don’t need t—“
“What’s taking you guys so—oh god, Keith, you know you’re like totally sitting in a pool of blood?!”
Keith just huffed and rolled his eyes once Lance barged into the already less than spacious bathroom. He really hated having such an audience but wasn’t sure he could protest much more with how tightly his throat was wound.
“We gotta get you to the infirmary, buddy. Come on Lance, grab an arm.”
Keith groaned deeply and tried to shoo their hands away but he was so weak that catching his combative limbs was easy.
“Dude... you’re already pretty badly injured, don’t make it worse by being too proud to let us help you,” Lance leveled after releasing the skin he’d been gnawing at of his bottom lip.
Neither boy liked seeing how uncomfortable their friend was with relinquishing control and allowing himself to be so vulnerable as to let them do this for him, to let someone other than Shiro take care of him or see him this way.
But before he could officially accept their assistance they shared a knowing look and started pulling him up to his feet, the hands that weren’t clasped around his forearms fell to his back, pressing down on the bits of armor that had broken off and had partially melted into the undersuit, digging the jagged edges further into his singed skin.
“What? No, I told you I’m f—oh fuck, guys! Shit, shit, nGH!”
The pain that followed was blinding, his injured leg shaking visciously and the other giving out not long after that as well. And then he was being held up entirely by Lance and Hunk who were leaning him forward to see what had caused such a visceral reaction, both boys cursing when they saw his back.
“Damn dude, you really got lit up back there didn’t ya?”
“Wha...?”
“Oh, jeez Lance, you might have to take him for a second...” Hunk blurted, looking considerably greener than he had before.
“Crap, okay...” Lance ushered as he bent his legs to get under both of Keith’s arms while he took in heaving breaths, his forehead covered in sweat as he tried to work through the torment of his reangered injuries.
“What-what’s wrong with the blast on my back?” he managed between pants.
“Uhm, blasts, dude. Like plural. Like you look like you were human target practice for those sentries... “
“Huh...” his voice was hallow and rasping. “Coulda sworn it was just one back there...”
“No man, definitely several... Hunk you done yet?”
“Oh...” Keith sighed, his head hanging down as he braced himself against Lance’s arms, “...maybe that’s why i feel so strange.”
“Wh-strange?! What do you mean strange? Strange as in something other than excruciating pain?”
To be clear he was feeling a lot of things but ‘strange’ sort of surmised them best. His entire body felt leaden with exhaustion but also strangely detached from itself, like he was outside of it and still on the floor as if he’d never moved.
A part of him worried he’d never even made it out of the galra base and that this was some horrible side affect of dying that made him believe he’d made it. But he was also pretty sure if he was dead he wouldn’t be hurting so badly still which made the discomfort of his fatigue all the more disorienting.
“Mean like sick... like the kind of sick that just feels gross... and wrong... and tired... I’m really fucking tired...”
“I know buddy, but you did good back there. Must not have been easy getting Pidge out with all the hits you were taking,” the other boy commended and the sincerity in his voice helped convince Keith that he probably wasn’t dead, he wasn’t sure he’d have enough memory of such a tone from Lance to fabricate something like that in his head.
“Yeah,” he agreed breathily, his own voice distant and unclear as he fought against the black that encroached on the boarder of his vision.
With another sigh he was swaying sideways, his body apparently not willing to ignore the damage it’d suffered any longer.
I don’t know if I’ll ever be motivated enough to actually finish this because there’s so much I don’t like about it, but I feel like I need some kind of set-up to B Plot (which is quickly becoming the A plot anyway).
I didn’t write in all of the dialogue I needed and I think what’s there needs some work, but this is roughly what happened. Captions + notes under the cut.
Page 1
Kliff: AH HA! Now that I’ve got one of you, they’ll have no choice but to fall into my trap!
Green: ...
Green: They’re not going to fall for it.
Kliff: Ye of so little faith...
Page 2
Neon J: Hello~ You’ve reached Baracca Mansion.
Kliff [omitted]: I’ve got one of your boys. If you want him back, you’re going to have to come get him!
[page omitted]
Page 3
Neon J: (GASP!)
Neon J: BOYS! WE’RE GOING ON AN EXTRACTION MISSION! DASEOT HAS BEEN KIDNAPPED!
Remaining 1010s: We know.
Page 4
White: Are you just now noticing that? He’s been gone for hours.
Yellow: *nods*
Red: It’s his own fault for getting kidnapped anyway.
Blue: Mm-hm.
Neon J: Why didn’t any of you say something?!
White: You’re the captain. You should pay more attention.
Page 5
White: Just blow him up and make a new one. That would take care of the kidnapper too. Win-win.
Neon J: That’s not a bad idea.
Page 6
Neon J: Okay Mr. Kidnapper, we’re just going to blow him up. You have 3 minutes to take cover. Good-bye.
Kliff: *click*
Page 7
Kliff: They’re really going to throw you away, just like that, huh?
Green: Yes.
Kliff: And you can’t stop the countdown, huh?
Green: No
Page 8
Kliff: *takka takka takka*
Tablet: TIME TILL BOOM 00:15
Kliff: That was almost very bad.
Page 9
LATER
Kliff: Okay. Get out. Obviously I need to rethink my methods.
Green: ...
Kliff: What’s wrong? You’re free to go. Shoo.
------
Notes:
Oof, dialogue really isn’t my strong suit. I know it feels super clunky and really cliche in a few areas, so I’d like to rewrite a good handful of these lines if I come back and finish this.
The omitted page between 2 and 3 would have been more back and forth between Kliff and Neon J because I don’t think there’s enough room in page 2 for Kliff to say everything he needs to say to get NJ concerned (maybe some more build up to Green being disposable).
In my original draft, NJ refused to cooperate because he doesn’t “negotiate with terrorists” and decided to detonate Green on his own volition, but I’m really trying to not write him as completely heartless, that’s White’s role, but I feel like this is really bordering on pure naivete, so I probably have to put those parts through another draft.
EDIT: Other Note
I should have probably explain “”Daseot”. I don’t use the fanon names out of spite. In my drawings the names are:
White/Number 1/Hana
Red/Number 2/Dul
Blue/Number 3/Set
Yellow/Number 4/Net
Green/Number 5/Daseot
People that don’t know their “names” call them by their color, they call each other by “Number x”, and Neon J. calls them by their codenames (which is just their respective numbers in Korean).
