Fic number three in my Endless x reader series. I’m still convinced I have no clue what I’m doing, but here goes I guess... Hope you like it! :D
This was the last thing you wanted to do, but you were desperate. After walking for so long and having to spend numerous nights in a tent, it was relieving to see some form of civilisation, even if it came in the form of a small log cabin.
You eyed it from a distance, looking for signs of an occupant. Staring closely, you notice muddy boots on the front porch that looked recently worn. Scanning over the windows you don’t see much, but you catch a brief glimpse of a figure move past one.
Someone was definitely home. You considered this both a good and bad thing. Good because if they were nice they might offer you some food, maybe even a place to sleep for the night. Though bad because he might be a decent human being and try and get you home.
After your last encounter with another friendly bystander, you know that some people try and “help” runaways like you get back to where you belong. But since then, things have got a lot different.
First you made your way along the motorway, hitch hiking when you could. Then you were ambushed by some guy who made off with some of your food. You had to talk your way through a conversation with a policewoman who almost worked you out as a runaway. Eventually you make your way to this wood, and you’ve been wandering it for two days now, sleeping in a tent each night and you were almost at the end of your limits. So, upon seeing the cabin, you had caved.
Mustering your courage, you walk up and knock on the door, mentally preparing the story you will go for. As soon as your fist meets the wooden entrance, you hear a sudden clattering of something from inside. Clearly the occupant doesn’t usually get visitors.
The sound of heavy footsteps on the hard floor walk up to the door, before it swings open and you are met with the man who lives here.
He looked like he was in his forties with a with a scruffy ginger hairstyle and even scruffier boxed beard. His body was quite muscular and he wore a simple white t-shirt with khaki cargo trousers. As soon as his hazel eyes looked down to you, he seemed to relax a small amount.
“Well hello there, are you alright?” he asked you, his voice bearing a higher-class tone to it. He addressed you the same way a chivalrous knight would.
“Yeah, I’m kind of lost and was wondering if I could help me?” you replied in as innocent a voice as you could, without trying to sound like you were a threat to this man. He looked you up and down, quickly assessing you and your gear before answering.
“Of course! You also seem quite hungry so please come in!” he stood to the side and waved you in. You nod and accept his invitation, silently surprised that he let you in so easily. Shouldering your pack and removing your shoes, which you place to the side in the entrance, you walk in.
The interior to the cabin isn’t anything special. Though there were various projects around the room, ranging from sculptures to paintings, to models and piles of paper with scripts and other creative works. There was a faint smell of some form of bakery in the air too, which was heavenly to you after living off petrol station food for days.
“Please take a seat. You’re just in time, my latest batch is almost finished,” the man said, rubbing his hands together and making his way to the kitchen area. He gestures to the living area, where there is a sofa for you to sit.
Taking a seat, you relax, making yourself more at home than you probably should considering it isn’t your place. You just couldn’t help it. It had been so long since you had a chance to properly loosen up, and you oddly felt at home here, at least more so than your actual home.
Whilst the man was busy, you had a closer look at your surroundings. Behind a couple of boxes, you made out a dog bowl that was caked in dust, which meant it mustn’t have been used in a while. You could just about make out the name “Barnabas” on the side.
Leaning against a wall nearby was a picture frame with a sword in it, which looked beaten and used, though you couldn’t tell what from. In front of you there was a simple fireplace. It was unlit, and on the mantle, there lay a bindle. An honest-to-goodness stereotypical hobo pack, complete with stick and red and white chequered cloth tied at the end. You almost snicker at how cartoonish it was. Your observations are interrupted by a sharp ‘ding’ from behind you, and you gaze over to see your host holding a baking tray of steaming hot brownies.
“And they’re done!” he exclaims triumphantly, presenting them to you.
“They look good,” you respond, oddly amused by the genuine joy from the man. Grabbing a couple of plates and forks, he slices up two pieces for each of you and brings them over, taking a seat next to you.
“Please have some, you have to tell me how they are!”
You accept the food, and immediately take a bite. As soon as you put it in your mouth, you are overwhelmed with bitterness. Feeling bad though, you keep a straight face and swallow the mouthful, resisting the urge to shudder.
“Well?” he says expectantly, “how was it?”
“Um… yeah it’s actually quite good,” you respond, not convinced with your own lie. He eyes you for a second, before arcing back and letting out an enormous laugh. The unadulterated guffaw in his exclamation almost makes you jump. He eventually quietens down and wipes away a tear.
“Ah I appreciate the kindness, but after living with my family, it’s easy to see when one isn’t telling the truth. After all, I can’t get better if you don’t give me criticism, and it’ll be nice to hear genuine critiques rather than the condescension I’d have gotten from Barnabas”.
You pause before answering. Wasn’t Barnabas the name of his dog?
“Well, to be honest I think you went overboard with the cocoa powder,” you respond, shy at first.
“Really? But I figured that would make them more chocolatey?” he asks you, puzzled.
“Not quite how that works unfortunately”.
“Ah well, better luck with the next batch then I guess”. He takes your plate and puts to one side. “Now then, what is your name? Since we seem to have skipped formalities”.
You almost respond automatically with a fake name you came up with weeks ago. But you stop yourself, as you feel kind of safe around this person.
“It’s (Y/N),” you answer. “You?”
“You can call me Destruction,” he says simply, though he doesn’t seem pleased when saying it.
“Um… no offence but that’s an odd name”.
Destruction chuckles in response. “Yes, well it’s actually more of a title, but at this point it’s pretty much become my name. Now, is there anything I can help with?” he asks, smiling as he does. Not in a creepy way. But a warm and friendly way, as if he were long last father.
“Yes. I’m kind of lost and a little bit tired, so if it’s ok can I rest here a little while? Then could you offer me some directions?” Unintentionally you put on your ‘lost innocent child’ voice, which you feel bad for because there was no need to guilt trip this guy. Despite this he answers.
“Of course! I know this wood can turn you around occasionally, and you’re welcome to stay a few hours if you wish”.
“Oh, thank you!” you respond.
“However, I will need something in return”.
You tense up slightly. Though he didn’t have any cynicism in his voice, you couldn’t help feel sacred. You’d seen enough films to know where this could go.
“And that is?” you ask, showing your nervousness a bit too much.
“Calm child, you won’t come to any harm here. I only wish to hear your story,” he tilted his head slightly, regarding you as if you were a new book.
“Yes. It’ll be refreshing to hear something new. Don’t spare any details either, tell about what you enjoy and hate, and more importantly why you’re running away,” he says this simply, but it hits you like a beanbag to the stomach. Your brain goes into defensive mode.
“Who says I’m running away?” you retort, narrowing your eyes at him.
“It takes one to know one,” he counters, smiling with a wistful melancholy, “And I as I said, I’m good at telling when someone is withholding the truth”.
There is a moment of quiet between you. You’re trying to judge whether or not you could trust him. He could have called the police and they could be on their way here to drag you back home. Then again, Destruction hasn’t done anything to suggest he would do something like that. Even though you’ve known him minutes few, you felt like he wasn’t here to make fun, or anything of the sort. Taking a deep breath and a sigh, you tell him. You describe how your mum died when you were young and how it affected you dad. How he became more and more unstable, slowly neglecting you more and breaking down in anger or sadness. Eventually you couldn’t take it. You didn’t know how to help and you were scared. So, you ran. As you described it all, Destruction took in every detail. To his credit he was a good listener, not interrupting once or breaking eye contact. He didn’t make any indication as to what he was thinking. You hadn’t realised how long you had been talking after a while. You spoke about your life in school and how you had one best friend. You mentioned the sports you played and the writing you did. Despite being an introverted person, you found yourself venting quite a bit. So much so that you eventually stopped and noticed a single tear was streaming down your face.
Destruction produces a small handkerchief from his pocket and passes it to you.
“It’s ok, but please, finish your story”.
You give him a confused look. “But I’ve told you everything, up until today”.
“Yes, but has the story ended? No, you’re still going. So, tell me, where are you going? What are your plans?”
You open to your mouth to answer, but you realise you don’t have an answer. “I don’t know I guess. Just away at the moment. I don’t really have a plan”.
Destruction went into a far-away gaze. “Much like you, I ran away, though for a different reason. I had a job, some may have called it important,” he shrugged. “I however… disagreed with it”.
“What was it?” you asked.
“Directing all the destruction in the world,” he said simply, with an expression as if he’d eaten something bitter.
You were left speechless however. Only able to muster a simple, “Ok?” in response. “So, what exactly? You built weapons or something?”
“In a manner of speaking. Any form ruin, damage or annihilation in the world, I had orchestrated. Every building that collapsed, any fire that scorched, any weapon that killed, I was the one that set it into motion”.
Despite his unthreatening tone, you couldn’t help but feel uneasy. Was this guy crazy? What did any of this mean? You must have had a dark expression on your face because he chuckled suddenly.
“You need not be afraid (Y/N), I’m not that man anymore,” he said, smiling with a clear pained melancholy.
“So… you were a…” you pause for a second, at lack of a better term, “a god?”
Though you gave your question in a serious tone, Destruction laughed slightly.
“Hardly. In fact, I might have the gall to say I’d be above what you consider a god, but frankly that is a very deep and difficult to answer concept that isn’t important right now”.
Once again, he simple waved aside this comment. ‘Above… a god?’ you thought to yourself. ‘What does that even mean?’
“Right, and you were responsible for all destruction?” you ask. He nods in response, giving no emotion away.
“So, things like the plague? The sacking of Rome? The Spanish ransacking the Aztecs?”
Destruction closes his eyes and grimaces. “Yes, I was”.
“What about the two world wars? The atomic bombs and-”
“No! I refused to be involved in that in any way!” he said suddenly, with a sternness in his voice that didn’t seem possible from him when you first met. The hearth-like warmth in his eyes had been replaced with a heat that you might experience in the immediate aftermath of a nuclear detonation. You recoil slightly, scared of the different person who stood before you. Seeing your reaction, he seems to scold himself.
“I… I’m sorry. I had nothing to do with these sort of events as of late,” he begins, having calmed down and was back to his usual gentle tone. “I saw that the path of destruction would eventually lead up to atomic weaponry, and the other inventions that would come about as a result of your human ‘age of reason’. Seeing this, around about three hundred odd years ago, I decided to quit”.
You decided to gloss over the ‘three hundred years ago’ statement. “So, who took over from you?”
“No-one. Usually when one of my kind is killed the universe replaces us with another, but I didn’t die and I kept my symbol, so that no-one else had to bear the burden of my task. Now, the world creates its own destruction,” he explains, after which there is a long silent between the two of you. Though this felt like a world shattering stuff to hear about, you oddly only felt sorry for him. Having to be tasked with such a degrading thing must be horrible.
“What do you do now then?” you break the quietness with your small voice. The question seems to make him happier.
“Well, at the moment, as you’ve seen, I’m trying to learn to bake. It something that keeps alluding me when I try”.
You can’t help but laugh at this statement. “You’re an all-powerful being and you’re struggling to bake?” you tease.
“Well my sole purpose was to destroy, so creating is a challenge, even it is something simple. But I won’t stop me. I have had several hobbies over the years as you can see,” he gestures to all the clutter of various projects around the cabin. “I’ve found a purpose to aim for, which brings me to my original question, where are you going?” he fixes those warm eyes on you again.
“I don’t know, I’m just running at the moment”.
He sighs, much like that a chastising father would. “Running for the sake of running isn’t good for you. It can help in the short term, but eventually what you’re moving from will catch up to you”.
“No-one is going to find me,” you mutter.
“We both know that isn’t what I mean”.
You stare him down, frowning at his statement. “Then what am I running from then?”
Destruction lets a sigh. “You aren’t running out of fear of your father, or out of grief for your mother’s death. You’re scared of having to deal with the responsibility of saving your father, and scared of people viewing you as a broken.”
The words hit like a punch to the gut. Not out of offense, but because it shocked you to hear someone else say it. You kept convincing yourself in your own mind that it wasn’t that. That it was simply out of fear and grief. But being confronted by those words you couldn’t deny it. Destruction lays his hand on your shoulder.
“It is your life, you can decide what you want. It isn’t responsibility to do anything you don’t want to, I’m proof of this. However, running won’t solve anything unless you have a goal”.
You are slightly confused by his advice. “You… don’t think I should go back?”
Destruction shakes his head. “Stop thinking about what others would want, focus on yourself. You can go back if you want, face the consequences of your actions, but you will have a chance to mend your relationship with your father. Or you could keep going, but instead of running find a purpose to better yourself. Your life is your own, so make sure you do what YOU want”.
You aren’t sure how to respond. You can find no fault with his words, but at the same time you don’t know how to answer them. What DO you want? Though you’re scared of him, you really want to have your dad back, and you miss your old life. But the potential for your future is greater if you keep moving. You ponder for a good few minutes. Before you look up at Destruction.
“So? Have you decided what you need?”
You open your mouth to speak, but stop yourself, instead simply nodding. He nods back, standing up, with you joining him. He reaches out and shakes your hand.
“It has been a pleasure talking to you (Y/N), I wish you the best” he says.
“Thanks. Best of luck with your baking,” you reply, smiling at him.
He gestures to the door and hands you your pack. You push open the door and walk out into the wood, not looking back and with a purpose to drive you.
