Written for Whumpmas in July, "Denial" (Day 24, but it fits today...)
Follows right after [Over].
[Angel Masterpost]
Dany changes cars.
Content / Warning: BBU, abduction, character death, a bit of dissociation (panic response), a lot of blood.
It took a while for the world to take shape again, for words to form over the shrill ringing in her ears, just drifting fragments of a broken reality.
"Dress", Dany made it out, then faces around her, the taste of metal on her lips, a hand pulling her upright, a sudden relief around her wrists.
"Get out of your dress."
Someone pressed her down again, into a puddle of sticky red on a metal ground, and her stomach lurched at the smell.
Hands roaming over her back, the noise of a zipper, a soft draft caressing the now bare skin of her back.
Frankie had helped her put her new white dress on, minutes ago.
Frankie, whose blood pooled on the floor and stained her dress red, now.
The fabric was pushed over her shoulders, a hand around her waist lifted her up, before the dress was swiftly pulled off.
She wondered how hard it was, to undress a tied up stranger. How often one had to do it, to become efficient at it.
She wondered, if it was the first time she'd tasted Frankie's blood on her lips.
She wondered, if she grieved him.
"She's dissociating."
Her hands were wrestled onto her back again, wrists zip tied again. Had she been free in between?
She didn't think it mattered.
"Good. Hold her down."
Somebody approached her, twisted her arm slightly.
Cold steel broke through her skin. Dany gasped. "Shhh," a voice hissed, as a hand pressed onto her shoulder. "Shhh, we're not hurting you, just drawing a little blood."
Wasn't there enough blood already? Not hers, she figured. Hers was more important, somehow. Better than Frankie's.
She felt the blood leave her body, watched it run into a clear bottle. It filled up fast.
Dany was dizzy.
The needle was pulled out. "Good girl," someone whispered, and petted her cheek. "All ours, already, aren't you?"
They turned around, left, vanished. There was no plaster being put on the wound. Strange.
"Where's the decoy?"
Dany blinked. Long golden hair caught the light outside the van. Hair just like hers. Hers, before it had become stained with her ex' blood. She wondered if it'd ever be clean again.
The hair belonged to a woman, tall and lean, who stood outside the van. She was naked. Then again, so was Dany.
The woman stared at her. Restrained panic spoke from from wide blue eyes. She wasn't a mirror. Dany's own eyes were light brown. Brown and empty.
There were more differences, on second glance. The woman's skin was lighter than Dany's. No freckles. Instead - scars. Over and over. On her breasts, her stomach, her thighs. Most were older, fading. Some weren't.
On the woman's wrist, stark black against pale skin, was a bar code.
Dany's stomach turned.
"No," she breathed. "No no no no."
"Well, Ms Hammond is back," the masked man next to her stated. "Don't worry, sweetheart. It'll pass."
Dany tugged at her restraints. "You can't do this," she begged. "They'll know, my Dad will know, he'll fucking obliterate you."
"That's why we make sure he won't know," the man replied.
"Don't do this to her. Don't to this to me. I have money, whatever they pay you, I can match it. Please."
The woman - pet - no, woman, held something in front of her. Short, white, spattered with red. Dany's dress. The woman swallowed. "Sir?"
"Put it on."
The pet didn't hesitate. The dress fit her perfectly.
Dany twisted to her side to get up, her bound feet scratching over the slick floor of the van uselessly, unable to find any footing.
"Tsk. I thought you were a clever one." All it took was a boot on her shoulder to pin her down. "No need to fight, Danielle. Your life is over."
"No," she yelled, tears springing to her eyes. "No. Run. Run, pet, please."
The pet just tilted her head.
"Don't listen to her," the man said mildly. "She's a pet, too."
"Run! They'll kill you!"
The pet remained silent, just tugged at the hem of the bloody dress.
Dany kicked at the man with her bound feet. Missed, by far.
With a sigh, he reached down and easily lifted her up, pressing her close to his body, as he stepped out of the van and into the garage. "In your line of work, princess," he mumbled into her ear. "I thought you'd have known. Death can actually be a mercy."
He pressed her elbow down, before she could jerk it into his face. "If not, you'll learn soon enough."
"No," she sobbed.
"Pets don't say that," he whispered. "But that's a lesson for another day. For today, your lesson is way simpler."
He stopped in front of a SUV. Hydraulics hissed, when the trunk opened, laid out with plastic.
"Good girl," a voice echoed, from back at the van. "Camera on. Now. Turn around, and run for the exit. You've practiced this, haven't you? Seen the videos of her? You'll do so good. Run, just like she would."
"No," Dany's voice broke.
The man's hand curled up into her hair and slammed her head into the edge of the trunk. Pain exploded behind her eyes. Her vision swam with tears.
A shot rang through the garage. Then another, a third.
Dany couldn't breathe.
"You don't get away from WRU," the man said softly. "That's your lesson, princess. Safe ride."
The hood slammed shut over her, plunged her in darkness, cut her off from the outside world. Left her alone, with her pain, with the taste of blood on her lips - and with the dawning realisation, that behind them, on the concrete floor of a parking garage, Danielle Hammond had just died.
So, a strange one. This would be very deep in Emmett’s timeline -- honestly, towards the end of his “plot” as it were -- but I couldn’t help working on it now. You know how an idea takes over and it won’t let go? That’s what this was. So, a huge helping of ANGST for @whumpmasinjuly day 24. Enjoy!
Emmett’s Master List
Tags: @lave-whump, @highwaywhump, @pebbledriscoll @whumpinggrounds (let me know if you’d like added or removed from the tag list)
cws: bbu general warning, memory loss, family reunion, disappointment, angst, emotional whump. Let me know if something’s missing
~*~*~
The bright light from the laptop screen was beginning to burn her eyes. Well, no, not beginning to. If Luna was honest with herself, her eyes had begun to itch and water and burn long hours earlier.
She rubbed her eyes for the ninth time that hour. The clock on her screen read 12:47am. Her husband had gone to bed hours earlier, resigned to her obsessions. It was just her and the dog now, illuminated only by computer light and the street lamps outside.
The long stagnant Reddit thread she had started years earlier suddenly had new life.
She was grateful she had forgotten to remove that notification alert from her phone back when the school counselor told her it was her only chance at closure. That funneling her life into her older brother who wasn’t coming back. She’d gotten rid of the notifications but not the apps. This had been an oversight, one Luna was grateful for. For hours now, Luna had been reading tips and chat messages from a man who thought he knew Jacks.
He was a few years younger than herself, a journalist attached to a small town local paper three states away. William “call me Liam” James -- a bland name but with good information. Luna had learned quickly that he had more than just a claim. He had photographs, a voice recording, a published interview -- anything she could want to prove his suspicions true.
It sent Luna’s hope through the roof.
So you talked to him?
yeah. for almost three hours, him + his wife.
Luna gaped at the screen. He’s married?
that’s what he called her. Liam stalled for a moment, then: 2 kids too, they’re in the photos. just an fyi.
Luna’s heart almost stopped. A wife? Two young kids? What in the hell had Jacks been up to for the last thirteen years?
Getting busy, apparently.
Liam James sent her the link to the published newspaper article, then one for a private cloud folder of all the photographs he took the day of the interview. Nearly eighty still and candid shots of a gallery opening and the artist at the center of it; a young couple with two small children in their arms. Luna went cross-eyed trying to commit to memory each and every detail.
Hair fell into her eyes from her sloppy top know. She rolled a chewed-up lollipop stick in her mouth. Picture after picture. A young man in front of simplistic charcoal and watercolor pieces, a plaid button up with rumpled sleeves rolled to the elbow, a soft smile on his lips only in the presence of a delicate looking young woman with a baby in her arms.
Luna sniffed and rubbed her eyes. She pulled up a photo of her Cesar from the previous Christmas to compare. The nose was the same. The curve of his jaw resembled Cesar, looked like their father in childhood photos. His smile had the same smug sarcastic edge to it that she remembered -- the very smiled Jacks had always flashed her before he did something bad.
She returned to the chat. What is he going by?
the name?
Yeah.
emmett kerr; he kind of showed up out of nowhere, married in. wife’s family has been local since the 30s, dust bowl people or something. he said Pittsburgh but who really knows.
Luna rolled the name around in her head, then her mouth. Emmett. Emmett Kerr. It didn’t sound right, not while she was still set on Jackson, Jacks, Jay. It wasn’t the right name. She didn’t know how he had come up with it. It wasn’t close to anything he had ever called himself or anyone they had ever known.
Luna realized with a blink that she wouldn’t know all that much about Jackson at this point. It had been nearl a decade and a half. Brother or no, he would be a total stranger to her. She would be a total stranger in his life.
Her heart sunk. Hey Liam?
yeah?
Is the gallery show still going? The article is from February.
I think it goes to the end of April.
Cool. Thank you
do you wanna meet him? i could set up a meeting or something if you like.
Luna bit her lip. She did but she didn’t. She wanted to see him, to hear his voice, see him take up space in a room. That’s the only way she’d know for sure if it was Jacks. That felt too close, too dangerous, running to close to an edge she had imagined all on her own.
She quickly typed back: I’m going to say no. I just want to see the art. He never drew when he were kids, if it is him I mean.
what did he do?
Soccer and skateboarding. Luna rubbed her eyes again. Damn dust on the photo frames was getting to her. Hey, thanks for all this. I know its weird but I’ve never felt so sure.
Liam took his time responding. As tired as she was, Luna wanted to end this the right way. He could help her later. His last message was longer than she expected it to be. More heartfelt than she had wanted, perhaps.
Hey, I know it isn’t my place and I might be getting too personal here, but I know the feeling. I’ve seen people go through the same thing. My brother went missing when I was really young. I hardly remembered him, but my parents never gave up. It took years but we found him and, when we did, he didn’t remember us. We’re close now but it wasn’t like that in the beginning. Just remember this is a guess, a really hopeful one, but be prepared for anything. As long as you’ve been waiting to see him again, be sure to protect yourself too Luna.
Luna smiled. It was too personal for her liking, but it made sense. WHy he was bending over backwards to try and help her. I will, Liam. Thank you. If I’m ever in time, we should get lunch.
~*~*~
She wasn’t expecting him to be there. Luna didn’t know much about art galleries and how they worked but she hadn’t thought the artist would be there, sitting around to greet visitors. Waiting around for someone to walk in, someone just like her.
Or maybe that was just him.
He had Jacks’ smile. “Afternoon. Welcome. I’m Emmett Kerr.”
Her hand quaked as she shook his. “It’s nice to meet you. I love your work.”
“You’re kind to say so,” he replied, smooth and warm and kind, if not a little shy. Kind and shy weren’t words she would have every applied to her brother. Smooth, yes; warm and inviting, sure when he wanted to. But shy? She let herself wonder what had happened to him. “Just looking or..?”
“Just looking,” Luna answered, suddenly feeling unsure.
She hadn’t told Andrew where she was going that weekend. At least not the truth. She had claimed to be meeting up with a few cousins for a girl’s weekend and would be back late Sunday. A knot forming in her stomach told her she wouldn’t confess it to him come Monday morning. The look he had given her when she showed him the photos read as tired, irritated, a little disappointed. He had thought she had gotten over it, the some stranger had gotten her hopes up without merit.
She wouldn’t tell him. She wouldn’t tell Cesar either. He had stopped caring years ago. He would only be snide and unforgiving now. Luna was alone.
“Well let me know if you have any questions or want to know more about any particular piece. I’ll be right here.” With that hauntingly familiar smile, Emmett Kerr sat back down and reached for an open sketchbook.
Luna returned the smile, heart clenching painfully in her chest. “I’ll let you know. Thank you.”
She didn’t want to walk away just yet, but she knew she was supposed to. She had a front to hold up. A chat with Emmett Kerr hadn’t been part of the plan. The art had been all she was there for, or at least that’s what she told herself. Whether it was true or she believed it in her core was another matter entirely.
She stared at the very first piece, positioned nearest to the door. She began working her way around the perimeter of the small gallery, becoming more invested in the hanging works with each passing second. Three in, she found herself inspecting each carefully placed line and smudge, each wash of water color and ink as if she could find something hidden underneath. As if she could find traces, faint glimmers of herself within them.
She knew she might over reach. His style was so clean and simple, the mind had ample room to wander. Each image was a gesture at something -- a feeling, a moment, a person. The torsos of ancient marble statues, headless and marked up and dripping green. The soft form of a sleeping woman, her hair a dark elegant curve across creamy white. That same woman in profile, in a sunset wash, holding flowers, one child, then two. A suite of hands in all manner of positions, small images set in. aline like their owners were sat at a diner counter.
Luna caught herself reaching out at several. She realized her instinct quick and tucked her hand into her jacket pocket to keep them still. One looked like their mother, another like a younger Cesar, another could have been her.
She shook her head.
They couldn’t be. She couldn’t pretend that, couldn’t lead herself into that most dangerous pursuit. They were just him, his wife, other people who had filled his life now that she wasn’t in it.
Not her. Not the family. Nothing recognizable.
Liam James’ words appeared again in his head. Be sure to take care of yourself.
Luna sighed and turned to the other wall. She would move through the last pieces quicker. She had to leave. This whole endeavor, the whole hare-brained trip was a mistake. An irrational fancy that she should have known would only hurt her in the end. She didn’t know what she had been expecting from this, what had compelled her to come here. Whatever it was, it would crush her before lunchtime. She had to leave.
“How’re you making out?” The man appeared at her side, startling her. He was still wearing Jackson’s smile. His eyes still show no recognition, no glimmer of acknowledgement that he knew who Luna was.
She tucked a stray curl behind her ear and offered him a frail smile. “Just fine. They have so much depth, you know?”
“Oh I don’t know about that,” Emmett Kerr chuckled, shoving his hands into his front jeans pockets. He gestured to the very next piece -- a four-square suite of hands, clearly his own, littered with streaking ink like paper cuts and bruises. “See this one?”
“Yes.”
“Guess what it’s inspired by.”
Luna stared at him. Her heart was doing flips over and over on itself. Her whole body tingled with elation, conviction, the deep-seeded knowledge that they had talked like this before, stood like this before, smiled at one another. Just like that, so many times before.
She shook herself from the grips of her fantastical hope. She looked closer at it and tried her best. “I... I get anger. Like someone punched through a wall or a plate glass window.”
Emmett Kerr nodded, then smiled. “I wish. I cut my hands up changing tire on the way home from a funeral.”
“You’re kidding.” Luna giggled. He nodded and she laughed more. “But, but it looks so, so. I don’t know!”
“It looks deep, doesn’t it?” Emmett supplied. He turned a finger in a circle in the air and ran a hand up the back of his neck. “They all look deep, especially if you walk into it expecting that. All of these are really very simple. My wife, my sons, friends, et cetera, but people look at them and want more so they find it. And I let them. Makes less work for me, you know?”
“People see what they want to,” Luna said with a twist in her heart. Her brain voicing the buried truth and spreading the pain around.
“I just realized I didn’t catch your name.”
“Luna.”
“What do you want to see there, Luna?”
“You really want to know?”
Emmett inhaled, interest all over his features. He was handsome, a bit of soft scruff on his cheeks and jaw, all filled out in a way that looked right on him. He wasn’t the scraggily, lanky teenager she remembered. “Humor me. I like hearing what people think. I ask people a lot.”
“Alright...” She turned and pointed to a piece further back on the wall. It was the shape of a man, hands behind his back, his head tilted up, and washed in a brilliant orange. She walked towards it, hearing his footsteps follow behind her in short order. She stared up at it, feeling her resolve unraveling. “I see my brother in this one, when he was eighteen. Over-confident, kind of a prick, but he always had a way of spinning it so you couldn’t help but love him. He did stupid things, got in trouble, but was only apologetic once.”
Emmett was watching her intently, curiously. “Why that one?”
“The color,” Luna answered simply, reaching for her phone. She opened it and flipped through to a specific folder of old photographs. Jackson’s seventeen year old face beamed up at her, bathed in the vivid pinks and corals of sunset, Miami beach stretched out behind him. She turned the screen to him. “This is my favorite photo of him.”
“I see...” Emmett took the phone from her hand, holding it up so he could look at the screen and the art at the same time. He expression sobered as he examined them, his head tilting one way then the other.
Luna’s heart leaped in her chest. She watched him, searching his face, hoping to find even the slightest glimmer in his eyes. Maybe this was the moment he remembered, the moment he knew. Maybe she could watch it come over him, see the moment the switch flipped and he knew her again. Luna felt as if she was standing on her toes, waiting to fall head first off a diving board.
She couldn’t help herself. “He went missing a long time ago.”
Emmett glanced sidelong at her, eyebrows raised.
“He ran away from home, after a fight. We tried to find him but he’s... he stayed gone,” Luna didn’t know where her heart was headed and prayed her brain might catch up. “His name was Jackson and he was almost nineteen when he left. I don’t know what happened to him, where he went, what he’s doing now. I always wanted to see him again. He’d, um... He’d be about your age.”
Emmett blinked, his face draining. He didn’t speak.
Luna held her tongue, just long enough for the floor to fall away under her. She had stepped off the diving board, eyes closed; her body in true free fall when the next words left her lips. “You look just like him.”
“I don’t.” His voice was flat, a small quiver underneath. He held her phone out back to her, a full arms length from her. She took it, clinging white knuckled to it. “I can’t.”
“Can’t what?” Luna said quickly. She stepped forward, unable to help herself. Emmett rushed to back away, nearly stumbling over his own shoes. “It’s been forever, all of it’s forgiven. You can come home now, Jacks. We want you h-.”
“I’m not your brother.”
“But you, you are.”
Emmett shook his head. He took another three steps back, putting at least ten feet between the two of them. “I’m not. I’m not your brother. I don’t know where you got that idea, but you’re mistaken.”
“I’m not!”
“You are. You are, you are, Luna. I was in foster care my whole life and I’ve been on my own since I was eighteen.” He spoke in a rush, all the words leaving him as fast as they possibly could. On the outside, he was a stone. Every word betrayed his shock. “I don’t know any family besides the one I’ve made. My boys, my wife. That’s it.”
“But--.”
“That’s. It.”
Luna swallowed hard. Swallowed all the words she had left to say, all the things she had planned and bottled up and waited to tell Jacks for thirteen years. They wanted to be said. They pushed at her, trying to get back out. She tore her eyes away from him, looking back down at her phone’s black screen. Tears clogged her throat, shame burned her cheeks.
“I just... I thought...”
“I’m sorry.”
“Oh god...” She coughed, inhaling deeply to recover. “I’ve just... I was so sure. I should go.”
“You should.” Emmett said quietly.
That stung. Her hope had gotten the better of her. Expecting comfort from a stranger -- a severely unnerved stranger, judging by his eyes. Wide and fearful, seeming to look past her instead of at her as he just had been. She wanted to reach out and touch him, rewind the clock and pull him back close again. Instead, she pressed a hand to her mouth and rushed past him. She all but ran to her car, brushing shoulders with a new visitor on the way out.
She had made a complete fool of herself. She shouldn’t have come, shouldn’t have talked to him, shouldn’t have indulged the imagining that she’d wrapped herself in for years and years. She kicked herself as she dropped into the driver’s seat, tears pouring over her cheeks. She shouldn’t have done this, shouldn’t have come here. She should have done this better or just kept her mouth shut.
day 24 of @whumpmasinjuly ! bro i really almost skipped this day because i was just feeling so uninspired and just couldn’t land on anything i want into...and then this scenario popped into my head suddenly and i banged it out in like twenty minutes
cw: memories of blood and death, emotional manipulation, terrible father figure, pov character/reluctant whumper is vaguely a minor (early/mid teens)
---
Amalia curls up in the corner of the stairwell, her arms wrapped around her legs, tears running down her face.
Stop crying. It’s not like this is the first time you’ve done this. It’s fine. She stares at her hands, and they’re clean now, but she can still see the blood coating them like a ghostly vision. She rubs them together, harder and harder, like if she can strip away a layer of skin then she could strip away all these feelings.
The stairwell door opens behind her with a creak, but she doesn’t turn to look yet. She knows it’s Mr. Davids, and she can’t let him see her crying. She scrubs at her face with one hand, but she can’t stop the stupid tears.
“Amalia,” Mr. Davids says, and she jerks slightly at the feel of his hand warm on her shoulder. “Why are you crying?”
The sound of a man’s desperate final chokes, the sight of blood pouring red from his slashed throat, the weight of the knife in her hand. I’ve done this before. It doesn’t matter. “It’s nothing,” she says, her voice shaky.
“It’s not nothing.” Mr. Davids’s tone is firm but not unkind as he turns her around to face him. She lets her head hang, still not ready to look directly at him. “Tell me why you’re crying.”
“I just…” Again she looks at her hands, and wonders if she’ll ever be able to look at them again without seeing blood. “It’s still so…” Scary, she wants to say, but that sounds so childish. She swallows. “I don’t know if I can ever be good enough.”
She can’t look at him. If he’s disappointed in her right now she doesn’t know what she’ll do, she’ll probably just die, she just can’t be a disappointment to the only person left who sees any sort of value in her.
He tilts her head up to face him, and in his eyes she’s sure she sees warmth, and love. “Amalia, you did such a good job today.” He pulls her into a gentle hug. “You are good.” She buries herself into the warmth of the embrace, almost enough to smother the memory of the man she killed. Her tears dampen Mr. Davids’s crisp clean shirt.
Tears of pain. Tears of fear. Tears of joy. Tears of grief. Why is your character crying this time? Let’s explore that!
Maybe you’re a contrarian and decided to read this prompt as “tears” as in, tears up the paper or tears up the dance floor or whatever. Go for it. Have fun! Language is fake do whatever you want
Write, draw, create—and don’t forget to tag us @whumpmasinjuly and #whumpmasinjuly when you do!
For @whumpmasinjuly today, I thought I’d post some Kieran and Eli. Y’all haven’t really met them yet, but they’re the whole reason I’m even writing Henry now. If I hadn’t started writing them, none of the rest of this would have ever been written. So I figured I’d give them their due today. For reference, Eli (short for Elisheva) is Caleb’s younger sister and Kieran is Felix’s older adopted brother. He’s the “brother in law” that Caleb thinks Henry looks like
Anyway, I hope you’ll let me know how you like them and enjoy!
cw: this scene takes place in the aftermath of a long therapy session for Kieran. So, situation warning for emotional exhaustion, therapy, denial, and self-deprication.
~*~*~*~*~*~
Kieran kept his distance from Eli as they walked to the car. His throat and jaw hurt from talking. Hawkins let him go a whole half-hour over his time because Kieran was on a roll and his next appointment had cancelled. Relief clouded Kieran’s mind leaving him unsure of the amount of deep dark secrets that had spilled out of his mouth. He reached the hospital parking lot, still clear as day after four years, and his brain relieved his consciousness of all responsibility. All he knew is that he had talked enough. More than enough.
“Kieran, wait a minute.” He felt Eli’s hand wrap around his wrist and he stopped in his tracks. “Let me drive. You’ve got to be exhausted.”
He weighed his car keys in his hand before holding them out to her. “Thank you.”
“No problem,” Eli shrugged, walking to the driver’s side of the beat-up red sedan.
Kieran dropped into the passenger’s seat, leaning forward to rest his head against the glove compartment. Eli was struggling to pull the seat forward, being almost a whole foot shorter than him. It would have been more than funny if they weren’t walking out of a very long therapy appointment. Kieran closed his eyes, feeling sadness well up in his chest and throat.
Damn it.
He’d made it all the way through an hour and a half of nasty truth-telling sober and steady as a judge, only to break down completely in the car with Eli watching. He fought it, praying that it would subside long enough for him to get back to his apartment. He clutched at his forearms, ground his back teeth together, ignoring the new wave of embarrassment washing over his body.
“Kieran?” Eli’s hand settled between his shoulder blades, rubbing small circles.
“Eli. Stop. Please.” He gritted out. He sat up, trying to show her he was fine. He was alright. They could do this, they could talk about hard things and be rational. He wasn’t going to push it all away just to keep it together for a third of the time. He sniffed and looked at her. “I’m fine. See? I’m fine.”
Eli stared at him, concern glazing her features. She moved her hand to Kieran’s shoulder and squeezed lightly. “Say it once more with conviction.”
“I-I’m… I’m fine.” Kieran’s voice wavered just enough for dread to spike through him. The voice in his head told him to try again, that a second time would do the trick. “Eli, I’m —”
“Kieran, you just spent an hour describing in detail wha — ”
“I know, I know, I know.” Kieran cut her off, knowing what a bad idea that was. He compensated by leaning his forehead to her’s. “I just don’t want to lose it in front of you. I’ve gotten this far today and it’s not any easier knowing that you know all of that now. I just, I just.”
Eli wrapped her arms around Kieran’s shoulders, his head coming to rest at the crook of her neck. Her fingers came up to thread through his hair. He hadn’t been this close to her in weeks. It felt like tempting fate. His eyes covered by her dark hair, his hands resting on the small of her back. Close enough to smell the orange and rose in her perfume, lingering detergent on her shirt, feel her steady breathing.
Every part of his brain screamed at him too close, too close. Too goddamned close, you idiot. Let her go, say you’re alright, and get the fuck home. Get yourself together.
But Kieran was exhausted, and Eli radiated warmth. Felt like home. So he gave up, letting the tears leak out on to his cheeks and down. Pressed against her small body, cradled like a toddler to her shoulder, too tired to acknowledge the growing sense of danger. His hands were on her. He was weak, crying. It could all go south in a minute, just like before, no matter how safe he felt right then. He handed over his fear for a moment and let himself be swallowed up in the feeble belief that Eli had loved him, maybe still did. It took more than a few seconds for him to realize she was talking.
“… let it go, Kieran. You’ve got to let it all go. That’s why you’re here.” Her voice was low, gentle. The same voice she used putting Rosie down for a nap. “You’ve got a lot of work to do, but you’re doing so well. You have to give yourself a break. This is hard stuff. You need to be gentle on yourself, cielo. Don’t put up a front for my sake. Please.”
Kieran sniffed, sagging under the weight of emotional exhaustion. “No?”
“No.”
“Okay, I won’t. Could I sleep while you drive? It’s not a long way, but I’m feeling it now.”
Eli pulled back, resting her hands on his face. She was smiling before she kissed his forehead. “Take your glasses off and sleep. I’ll wake you up when we get back.”
CW: mention of whump of minors (very vague), mention of starving, mention of war (and everything that comes with it), (maybe a little bit of guilt tripping - I´m not sure)
This happens one or two years before Vanya meets Kallias.
Together they were standing outside the camp deep enough in the forest to not be heard from the other soldiers sitting around the fire. Vanya wanted to scream and shout at her brother who just told her the dumbest and most foolish plan he ever had.
Vanya took a few deep breaths to calm herself down before responding. "That´s crazy. It is unnecessary dangerous and will lead to nothing. Do you really think people don´t know what´s really going on?", she hissed.
"Maybe they do know there´s something going on. You´re right, they are not blind nor brainless - at least most of them. But I´m sure they don´t know what really happens in these camps and how their government truely wages war." Aaris was passionate about this.
Vanya raised her face to the last rays of sun forcing back the emerging tears. Her brother had always been the good one, the idealist. Despite the war he was fighting in Aaris had always dreamt of a better world - and he was ready to suffer for it. Vanya on the other hand was the selfish dark and twisted sister without emotions only passionated about being the best in the unit.
"Don´t you think that people want to know how their children are trained, what they have to do? Don´t you think they are interested in where all the soldiers come from and how they are sacrificed in masses?", her brother continued.
"And don´t YOU think that it absolutely doesn´t matter to them? Whole families are starving or freezing to death; for them it is totally irrelevant what happens to the sons and daughters of others as long as they survive the next winter." Vanya had a hard time not shouting at Aaris. It had been a while since she had felt that much anger. Aaris went still, his face cold and repellent but unter the mask he looked guilty.
"There is more, isn´t it?", Vanya whispered.
"All the other nations, even the neutral ones, hopefully won´t tolerate the abuse of children and the fact that the government buys them just to let them die in the first row on the battlefield." There was a deadly silence between the two siblings. Vanya could feel all the colour draining from her face.
"That´s high treason", Vanya whispered with a trembling in her voice. Slowly, she released her breath and felt the first tear running down her face angrily wiping it away with the back of her hand. Aaris wore his guilt openly on his face now. This look made her so angry and all she wanted to do was beating this terrible idea out of her brother - and hopefully some reason into him.
"I´m not expecting you to help me. I just-"
"NO!", Vanya interrupted him louder than she wanted to. "No", she repeated - quieter this time. "I love you and I won´t let you do this. I won´t just stand there and watch you get yourself killed because that´s what it is- a damn suicide mission. You´re the only one I have left, the only one I can trust. I just- I just can´t let you get yourself killed; can´t watch them execute you." Her voice was husky from the suppressed tears. Aaris opened his mouth to say something but Vanya interrupted him again.
"And what about Micah? Didn´t you talk about marrying him just last week? Do you think he wants to marry just to be a widower soon after? Because if you do this they will get you and they will execute you and the whole nation will celebrate your death." Her anger was gone now and only the fear for her brother remained. She clung to his shoulders and whispered: "So please, please don´t do this. You´re the only one I have left. I love you and I can´t lose you."
Before Aaris could answer and voice interrupted them: "Aaris, Vanya, where are you? Are you okay?"
They returned to the fireplace and Vanya could only hope that Aaris would think about it again.
