Prologue: "You glow like Tinkerbell"
Parings: Buck Ryker Fleetman x Apollo!reader
summary: you can’t seem to remember why you’re here, all bruised and dirty. But you do know one thing.
Your dad was right.
Something changed.
And you did make a new friend after all.
author notes: Hey guys! I am hoping y'all love this first prologue. I know that Apollo is supposed to be a teen in the books/show, but in my version I wanted him to be a little bit older, like mid-20s! The actor that I had imagined was Sam Cliffian, his look in the second movie of The Hunger Games! I also did some research on how some campers get to camp, and I think I wrote a little less action because I still don't know how to write scenes like that. The end might seem rushed but other than that I hope you like it! I’m also so bad at summarizing a chapter. 😬
Tumlow, Missouri
In the middle of Missouri, there is a town known for one thing: runaway cases. Kids trying to escape into a world where they have freedom, instead of going house to house and being bonded by the law. These kids don't even get to experience the full effect of being in a family. Yes, they temporarily feel comfort and love, but just not enough to make their heart beat. They are just at a foster home for a certain amount of time, and once they get comfortable. They are ripped away from their "comfort".
Y/n's comfort never meant anything to her till now.
"Ugh~" You move around on the bed that your temporary foster parents have. You turn to one side and groan again; you use your elbow, bringing it up and pulling it back hard. The bed groans from your intrusions; the springs pop when you move a certain way. The springs feel like needles piercing your side. Hitting the bed for a good amount of time, you stop before your fosters wake up, asking questions you don't want to answer. You want this bed fluffy, but the bed is hard as stone. You roll to one side, then the other, still trying to find some comfort from this bed, but can't find any.
The sensation is so unbearable that you finally decide to sit up and let out a frustrated sigh. You let out an exhale so sharp, you're scared that it was too loud. You bring your hands up to your face, pushing away the strands that lay on your forehead. The thin layer of cool sweat sits on your skin from the exercise of shifting for so long.
You drag your hands back down your face, over your cheeks, and finally your eyes adjust to the darkness of the room. Your foster parents were kind enough to leave a night light in the room for you, since they heard from your case workers that you were scared of the dark. You turn to look at it to your left; it's a fairy, Tinkerbell.
Tinkerbell is spinning, slowly and smoothly, around and around on the small platform above the warm light. Her plastic green dress is shimmering with glitter; the warm light grants her a nice glow, and her wings slowly flutter behind her. She's plugged into the wall, but that doesn't stop you from getting up and going towards her.
You're like a moth drawn to a speck of light, your feet padding on the floor. Your blanket drags across the carpeted floor, like a cape of protection against the darkness surrounding the journey ahead.
You smile a little, loving the warmth that she gives off. Remembering the meaning of Tinkerbell's name, you smile a bit harder. You eventually sit down right beside the outlet. Just admiring the way she spins.
You reach out with your index finger and touch her wings softly. The heated plastic gives a nice touch to your cool finger. You move your finger back and forth, feeling the ridges of her wings.
You are glad that she is here with you. Seeing her here in a place you only knew for a few weeks. She is the closest thing you get to comfort.
During these past few weeks, you haven't heard from your dad. He had stopped visiting in your dreams and talking to you. You thought maybe he had grown tired of you from your conversations and multitasking to take care of you.
You never know how he does it.
How can he visit you in your dreams?
Why can he not come up to you in person?
Is he even alive? Is he even real?
Is this just some sort of mind play that you use to comfort yourself in times when you are desperate for comfort?
So many thoughts for your 12-year-old self. Your father always said you were the only one to ask so many questions.
The last time he came to you in a dream was months ago, before your birthday.
He had told you things were about to change for good. Saying he would see her real soon.
Your mind goes back to that exact dream; you even remember his smell. The dream was so vivid you thought you could even touch him. Maybe you could. But it's been so long.
He had said his name was Apollo; he had finally revealed his name to you. You swore you had heard that name before somewhere, but your mind always went blank. You had felt a little bit closer to your dad.
"I love you, y/n, including that bright smile of yours. You glow like Tinkerbell." Apollo had murmured, lifting his calloused hand to your chubby face. He playfully pinched your cheek, making it a tad rosier than it already was.
In your dream, the two of you are sitting on top of a hill. A tree sits behind you; a willow tree is what your dad had explained. Your back feels the rough ridges of the bark; you see the willow's leaves move back and forth from the gentle breeze that passes through. The sun rays peek in between the gaps, making it lighter in the cave-like tree. Your dad sits right beside you, legs crisscrossed like you.
You swat at his hand, embarrassed that he still treated you like a baby. "Come on, Dad, I am not a baby anymore." You pouted, crossing your arms against your chest; you scooted deeper into the tree. The tangled roots and grass created a pleasant cushion beneath you.
You knew you were still young, but you could make big-girl decisions…right?
"Oh, not a baby?" Apollo changed his facial expression to a more exaggerated seriousness. His eyes narrowed playfully as he crossed his arms and turned toward you.
"Oh yeah, my Tinkerbell is all grown up now. She can make her own decisions, yeah?" Apollo rolls his eyes dramatically, lifting his hand in a theatrical gesture. "Alright then, bell. If you can tell me what it means to get credit right now, then I will consider you an adult." Apollo looks at you and gives you a challenging smile. He leans down towards you and waits for your answer.
You stared at him with wide eyes, scrambling for answers. You uncrossed your arms. "Well, you get credit by doing go-good uh~." You avoided his gaze, scratching mindlessly at your head. "Good deeds. Yeah! By doing good deeds!" You exclaimed proudly, turning towards him, "Just like the video games I play! You know? Like Animal Crossing!"
You were so confident in your answer that you didn't realize that your dad was holding back a laugh. His lips were trembling, trying to contain what he didn't want to release.
"Hey! This is not funny, Dad. I know I got it right. Everyone says Animal Crossing is the key to adulthood." You crossed your arms again, cheeks burning with embarrassment. You leaned back against the rough bark and stared out into the hill-country landscape, trying to hide your flushed face.
Apollo finally let the laugh escape. His eyes watered as he tried to catch his breath, chest heaving, one hand over his chest, trying to compose himself. "Oh, Bell!" He wheezed, leaning back against the tree and reaching out to wrap his arms around you.
"Dad!" You shouted, covering your face with your hands as you tried to wiggle away from him.
"Oh~ I'm sorry, Tinkerbell," he chuckled, still shaking with laughter. "You were just so funny! I loved that thought of yours!" Apollo opened his eyes and quickly slipped an arm around your shoulders, pulling you close. You didn't protest this time, letting your head rest on his shoulders. His laughter softened, but the warmth of it remained.
You knew your answer was wrong, but you still stood by the idea that you were old enough to make your own decisions.
"Y/n, let me be frank with you." He moved his hand up to your shoulder, rubbing gently back and forth. "You will always be my baby. You will always be my Tinkerbell. I can't have you growing up on me too fast." He uttered with such a soft voice that the gentle breeze almost carried it away. He started to stroke your long hair.
"Just because your birthday is around the corner does not mean things will rapidly change for you. We need to take time in the present." Apollo pulled you slightly out of his embrace and gently held your chin between his fingers.
You looked into his blue eyes; his stare was serious but still held a gentle glow you had grown to love. His blond hair rustled in the wind, making you want to reach up and yank it. He held your gaze for a long moment, trying to be a serious parent.
Apollo knew what was coming. He wanted to prepare you. He didn't want this to change who you were. You're his baby; he couldn't hurt you, but he has to. Apollo must keep you safe.
'Maybe this is her growing up,' he thought. 'Close to adulthood, but yet so far.'
"Don't go wishing you were older," He murmured, "Or you'll reap what you sow." He brushed his thumb on your chin, steadying himself before the conversation took a turn he wasn't ready for.
"Sometimes making big-girl decisions takes a toll on you, Bell. I don't want you carrying that yet." Apollo leaned forward and pressed a kiss to your forehead. You smiled softly at the gesture.
"Yeah? You agree?" He asked, pulling back to look at you, waiting for your response.
You gave him a nod, words caught on your tongue. "I agree with you, Dad. No big-girl decisions just yet." You gave him a playful look, smiling at him.
"Okay, Tink, I believe you." He nodded, accepting your answer. He looked out over the fields stretching beyond the hill, shaking his head slightly as he searched for his next words.
"Y/n," Apollo looked down, messing with his fingers. "Since your birthday is coming up, I wanted to gift you something." He took something out from behind his back. You don't even know how, but he did.
'This is a dream after all.' You thought
Apollo pulled out a journal. You looked at him, confused. "How did you even get that here?" You said, pointing at it. The journal itself was leather-bound; on the front cover, there was a sun with 21 rays in the bottom right corner. It was dark brown; the paper had a yellowish type of color but mostly looked white.
"Dreams have a funny way of being spontaneous, y/n." He looks at her, his eyes now shadowed.
Shadowed with what? You don't have a clue.
"This," He holds it up towards her, "is a journal that fills itself with your dreams and visions," Apollo murmured at the end of his sentence. You don't question the last part; actually, you don't question anything.
"How does that work? Do I need to give it a piece of my hair?" You asked, grabbing the journal and sweeping through it. You touch the paper lightly, feeling the smooth layer underneath. "Are you some type of warlock? I heard other people at the home say warlocks exist." You say, looking up at him with bright eyes.
Apollo softly grins at you. His smile is crooked but somehow still looks natural on his face. But his eyes still held that look of something bothering him. You want to ask, but he usually avoids telling you anything about how he feels.
"No, no, none of that, Tinkerbell." Apollo grabbed the journal back. "With this journal, it will jot down every dream that you have, dreams that feel a little too real," Apollo answered, messing with the cover.
"This journal has to be shut the night before you go to bed, and after you wake, you will see what you have dreamt. Leaving it open at night is not an option." He looked at you with seriousness. You immediately nodded your head and grabbed the journal again.
"Whatever dreams you have, no one will understand. Only you can see the words that will be marked." Apollo tapped his fingers against the journal, making an emphasis on his words. "I won't be able to see it, but being your father, you can talk to me about it. When you don't understand, I will be there." He stared at you intently, his gaze never wavering.
You looked at him with the same stare. You are confused, but at the same time you understand him and trust him.
"Thank you, Dad!" You jump up from your spot and bring your arms around his neck. You bury your face in the gap between his shoulder and neck, trying to burn this moment into your mind and senses. He reciprocated the hug. His arms wrapped around your childlike figure. His warmth and cinnamon scent flooded your senses.
Your dreams had never been easy to remember, so you told your dad about them. Some ended up coming true like in the movies, and some ended up not making sense.
There was one time when a mean girl had fallen down a mud pile at the homes; earlier, she had been bullying other children there, including you. When you dreamt it at night, you thought none of it, but the next two days it happened. It was weird; things like that never happened until recently.
So having this journal gifted by your dad made everything easier.
"If I need you, Dad, I will call for you." You pull away from the embrace and look at him. Your smile is big enough to light up a whole forest.
"And I will always answer you, Tinkerbell." Apollo gave a kiss to your forehead and patted your back. You go back to your spot and pull the journal close to your chest.
"Tinkerbell." Apollo pauses; you see his smile drop to a frown. "Things are about to change." He looks at you, his hand gripping your shoulder firmly.
"Things that you will not understand at first, but you will learn eventually." You look at him with even more confusion than before. "Dad, what are you talking about? Is it a new home? Are they keeping me til im 18?" You grab the hand that's on your shoulder and hold it.
You desperately try to make sense of what is happening here.
'What does he mean?' Your eyebrows furrowed
"Dad, why don't you just come here and take me in?" You uttered. You don't want things to change this quickly; you just got here.
'Why doesn't he just come down here and take me with him?' You sadly thought.
"You know I can't, Bell. But for what's coming, you are going to love it." Apollo said, taking your hand more firmly in his hold. However, you didn't like this, so you pulled your hand right back. Feeling angrier and more betrayed, you stood up, gripping the journal tightly in your hand.
Your eyebrows furrowed even more with confusion; you started to pace back and forth. "You will make new friends, learn more about me, and ev-even learn more about yourself." Apollo desperately tried to make you better understand the situation that you are in. He didn't want to see you sad; he didn't mean to dampen the mood. But he had to tell you beforehand what's gonna happen in the days to come.
"No, y-you can't do that! I won't go!" You had yelled, pointing a finger at his seated figure. "You-you…" You stop pacing. You look at him with tears in your eyes; your hands are trembling with anger and fear.
Anger that your dad is not fully explaining this to you. Why would he put you in a situation that you know nothing about? A situation that he has already been through- at least that's what it feels like.
Scared that you will see things that you don't want to see. Things you don't want to experience.
You had already experienced going to different foster homes, having to restart relationships. You have a feeling this will be worse. Worse than being in that terrible stone bed.
"Daddy, please don't make me go," you plead, letting out a sob, your tears now fully falling down your face. "Please, you don't understand, s-something b-bad is gonna hap-happen!" Your hands end up in your hair, tugging at your strands, frustrated. Your chest is heaving; your breathing has rapidly become erratic. You beg like a toddler not wanting to go to sleep.
"No, my love, you have to understand." Apollo stands on his legs. He goes to hold you again, but you move away fast. "This needs to be done for your safety. For you to finally see the family you deserve, the friends you always wanted."
Apollo tried to make you listen, but you would not let up.
"Dad, please!" You shake your head; you feel your dad grab you by the shoulders. "Listen, Tinkerbell, this is for your own good. I will be there, always." Apollo promises, his eyes telling the truth.
He doesn't like seeing you like this; he hates when his children cry.
"Y/n, don't cry. Everything will turn out great in the end. I promise." Apollo kisses your forehead once or twice and pulls you into his embrace. You sob softly into his shoulder, trying to compose yourself.
You feel the dream starting to end, the surrounding land going fuzzy. You stop smelling the cinnamon scent that your dad gives off. "Dad, I- I love you. Please don't leave me!" You dig your head deeper into him, trying to feel him one last time.
"I will see you soon, my Tinkerbell." Apollo declared, pulling your face from his shoulder and looking into your eyes. "I promise you."
You feel his touch getting lighter and lighter. You take one last look at his face, his eyes, his hair.
You nod your head. Having no more words, you close your eyes and accept what is to come.
After that night, you woke with dried tears on your cheeks. You could still feel the breeze from the fields, the warmth of the sun, and your dad. You go to turn on the lights beside you, but stop. There is a journal, the one from the dream.
'How is it here?' You gasp lightly and sit up to look at it.
It is the same design as it was in the dream.
The same yellow-white pages.
The same sun; even the leather is the same.
"No fucking way!"
A choked gasp echoes through the room you're in.
You open your eyes, blinking hard; your eyes try to adjust to the dimly lit room. You let out a groan of pain when you shift. The bed feels like the stone bed that you had a few days ago.
Your back feels the sting of cuts and dried-up blood. You feel your legs sore and burning. You try to lift your head, but your neck stops you. "~ugh~" The pain in your neck is unbearable, so you lie back down.
You lift your hands instead and see a bit of dried blood left. Your left hand is warped; your nails have dirt under them. The sensation is not very pleasant; you left out a hoof.
You don't remember having these scratches. Or any of these pains.
"Where am I?" You softly rasp, your voice sounding like it went through hell. You try to look around you and make sense of where you're at.
You see, to your left, more cots; most are empty and white. Further down, you see a wall with all types of medicine, wraps, hospital tools, and even a jar filled with yellow squares. In front of the cases, there sits a desk with paper files, big piles of them. There are jars of suckers and grandma candy.
A lamp is turned on, lighting up what the nurse had left open. You can't see what it says, but it looks recent, like someone new came in here.
'Maybe me'
You see that its night time; you try to find a clock but don't see it to your left. So you prepare yourself to turn right and give even more pain to yourself. With a low, pained exhale, you turn slowly and see the door to this building, and to the right of the door there is a clock. You lift yourself with your elbows, which somehow have dirt caked on them too.
With a squint, you see that it is midnight. You let out a huff and fall back into the bed.
You try to remember how you got here. However, while you are trying to think of an answer, you hear someone. A sigh is let out to your right. How did you not see him?
You turned your head sharply to the right. You saw a boy.
Maybe the same age as you.
And he was already staring right back, sitting up against his propped pillows.
The boy had curls that were matted together, sticking up in random directions, as if he'd been in a fight. 'He might as well have been'. His hair was brown and dirty; his face had a cut going from the top of his cheekbone to his nose. His face was smudged with dirt, and he had a bruise blooming above his left eyebrow. You felt bad for him, but at the same time.
"He looks like shit." You had rasped out accidentally.
His response wasn't immediate, but he didn't seem offended. He gave a small smile, careful not to disturb his cut even more. He seemed a little nervous. However, with the first words you gave him all night, he felt a bit more comfortable.
Your eyes widened. You tried to sit up and explain yourself, but he beat you to it.
"Oh, I'm not the only shit-looking person here."
Relief washed over you, mixed with uncertainty. You tried to sit up again to get a better look at him. "I'm-I'm really sorry, it's just," a pained inhale stopped the next words from coming out of your mouth. You grab at your side and touch it lightly, hissing through your teeth as your eyes squeeze shut.
"Hey-hey," He sits up as well, "ar-are you okay?" He whispered loudly, then winced. Despite being in pain, he moved his legs over the bed to look at you better. His left hand reached out; you noticed through squinted eyes that he had his hand wrapped just like yours.
"No, no~" You pushed through the pain and propped yourself against the pillows. Your face was flushed now with pain and embarrassment. "No, I mean, yes, I'm fine. Just sore, I guess." You still held on to your side carefully.
"I'm fine, really." You shook your head and turned fully toward him. "You should be worried about yourself. Your arms look like you got scratched by a cat."
He looked down at his arms; his smile turned weary. "No, it's good, just a… few scratches." He looked back up, eyes bright with relief.
"I'm… I'm glad you're awake. That's… good." He stopped himself, eyes widening. "I mean, not good because you're in pain, good because you're not dead." He stammers.
If his eye could widen more, you'd be concerned. His hands came up, shaking back and forth, as he tried to fix his wording. "I-I mean…"
You let out a weak laugh. Your chest hurt, so you slowly stopped.
He lowered his hands and gave you a small grin, fidgeting with his wrapping.
Now that you really looked at him, you saw he was still in the clothes he'd been brought in. Torn, dirt-covered, ripped enough to show an undershirt with even more scratches. Yours are probably no better.
You exhaled softly, adjusting your spot. A smile grew, one of trust. "I know what you mean." You met his brown eyes. "I'm glad you're awake too…and not dead."
He chuckled and stopped fidgeting. He turned his head, looking around the room.
You mirrored him. "Do-do you know where we're at?" You asked, looking out into one of the windows across from you.
Moonlight shines through the blinds, outlining the trees surrounding the cabin. You hear the locusts singing into the night, obnoxious but also comforting.
You turned back to him and found him already looking at you. Uncertain, his cheeks tinted red. He quickly looked away, his eyes darting for something else to focus on.
"I-um- someone had told me what it was when I first got here," He said, staring down at his hands again. "But I was going in and out."
You turn away again. "Oh, well… do you remember some of it?" You asked gently. You look out the window again, fidgeting with the blanket over your legs. You tried to remember how you got here, but everything was fuzzy.
Silence settled for a few seconds, both of y'all searching for answers.
"I think…he had said something about a camp?" He stopped fidgeting. "He said that it's safe here, I- I um…" he looked back up at you. "Do you remember much? After that, I just remember being brought in here, see-"
He cut himself off. "Seeing nothing else? Yeah! Nothing after that. My head is just all over the place." He stammered, rolling his eyes playfully.
You narrowed your eyes. You sensed he was lying, but didn't question it. You didn't want to ruin a potential friendship.
"Hm, okay. I trust you." You stated, nodding your head. You pulled the blanket higher as cold air brushed your skin. Your hair fell over your face, blocking your peripheral.
"I don't remember much." You admitted, fidgeting more. "I just remember being at home…which I'm guessing was a few days ago."
You felt his burning into the side of your head. "I don't even remember arriving here. At a camp of all things." You lift your head, looking around in emphasis. Mumbling, you pouted and looked back at him. He gave you another reassuring grin.
His eyes held a warmth that you'd seen before. You struggled to remember, but you didn't have a clue.
"I'm sorry that you went through whatever you went through." You muttered, "It must have been hard remembering all that; I can't imagine trying to rack my brain for answers."
You looked back at his hand and stared at the same warping.
'Twins,' you had thought.
"Thank you…and I'm sorry too." He gulped, trying to calm himself. Trying not to explode and tell you what he'd seen earlier. "Not remembering can be comforting, but sometimes we have to face things." He avoided your stare, turning back toward the opposite wall. He leaned back into his bed again, getting comfortable.
"Yeah…" you sighed. "We do." You did the same, laying back down. You gently tried to put pressure on your back, but it still hurt. Your breathing grew heavy, but you pushed through.
You lay with your arms on your chest, staring at the wooden ceiling. You turned once again to look at him; he was still staring at the wall.
"So umm…I-uh realized I never got your name." You announced softly, "My name is y/n…if you wanted to know." Your fingers start tapping on your chest, a way to comfort yourself. You worried you were too bold.
He didn't respond at first. You started to turn back toward the ceiling when he finally spoke.
"Y/n~" he tested it on his lips. You quickly turned your head. "Umm, my name is Buck Ryker." He finally turned back towards you, voice soft.
"Buck Ryker." You tested it too. It fell easily from your lips. You smiled. "Is Ryker your last name or middle?" You shifted to lie on your side, grimacing but biting back a sound. You tucked your right hand under your head.
You saw Buck grimace with you, turning to his side as well. "Ryker is my middle name…Fleetman is my last." His crooked smile made him look adorable.
'Umm, what? Random thought…you barely met this boy.' You scolded yourself. 'Damn twelve-year-old mind.'
"Mmm, nice to know. My last name is Ellis," you continued. "I don't see it as very fitting, but it was my mom's last name."
Buck furrowed his eyebrows, wanting to ask about your mom, but decided against it. "I think it fits," he said with a grin. "At least it isn't as long as mine. My mom decided to name me after a baseball player."
Your smile grew. "How many games did he win for you to earn such a name?"
"…he hasn't won any," Buck said seriously.
You giggled, eyes shutting in contentment. "Oh wow…you poor thing!"
After your giggle fit, you sighed. "I think we are going to be matching, Ryker…" You nodded towards his left hand. He looked down, then held it up.
"I guess we are." He smiled at you and pulled it back.
Your eyes grew heavy. You sank deeper into your pillows. You opened your eyes again to see Buck fighting sleep.
You softly hum, "Buck…" you whispered
He opened his eyes slowly. "Yes…"
"Do you think tomorrow will be…" You paused, searching for the right word, your eyes shutting. "Better?"
Rustling sounded from his cot. "I think so…I hope so, y/n." Buck finally shut his eyes too, letting sleep take over his exhausted body. His breathing slowed.
"I hope so too…" You whisper, sleep taking over you.
Buck
Buck honestly didn't remember much from the fight; everything had blurred together, but he knew one thing for certain.
You.
Walking- more like dragging- Buck saw a cabin coming into view. His vision flickered in and out, but he knew he was inside now.
He saw the wall of medical supplies and jars of grandma candies. He saw the warm overhead lamps on and saw the rows of empty cots.
Except one.
A girl was lying down, still like a statue. The closer that he got to her, the more he realized he was being placed right beside her.
He felt blood running down his cheek onto the floor; he felt his right arm burn like hell. "Ugh…pl-please let me go." He groaned, letting out a sad plea.
"Don't worry, bud, we're almost there." The man dragging him assured.
Buck felt himself being dropped down onto the cot, the bed being firm and unforgiving.
"Lee, he needs…" The rest fades out; Buck turned his head to the left. His eyes blinked slowly, fighting the pull of unconsciousness.
He kept looking at her.
He sees that her chest rises and falls. Her hands were bruised and dirty. Her lip was swollen and turning yellow. Her hair looked like it hadn't been brushed for days, but Buck didn't mind.
Somehow, in his foggy mind, she was a light, bright, and warm in this cabin-like med-bay.
His light.
He felt it in his bones that he was supposed to be right here, beside her, despite being injured.
"Pretty…" he had murmured before passing out.
The people in the med bay turned toward him.
"Did he say something?" Lee asked, raising an eyebrow.
"No, I-I don't think so," the satyr answered.
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Dividers by @strangergraphics
Word count- 5,239
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