Fascinated Scrawls

Not humans.

It's hard to test without a bigger sample size, but Ryland still watches movies and shows from Earth often enough that he can't fool himself for long. He knows these things. Knows the sounds they make, the motions they're capable of, the habits most form.

And Simon...

Simon he doesn't know.

Can't.

And he's not sure if he can even fully explain why. He has all these words, both human and otherwise, but there's something indescribable about him.

Other.

Simon who looks human. Mostly.

Simon who walks like a human, talks like one, eats, sleeps, breathes like one.

But, critically, isn't.

Oh, Ryland is sure he was once. He still doesn't know Simon's whole story, he's not sure if he ever will at this point, but he believes him when Simon says he's from a human colony.

He's even more certain that Simon is now beyond what he once was. Not no longer human, but more than human.

But, more than human or not, Simon still behaves enough like one on the surface to mostly pass and Ryland is familiar with running from problems. Both his and those belonging to others at times. He doesn't see the harm in helping Simon ignore this one.

So for now he smiles as warmly as he can manage and waves the man in so they can have dinner. He pointedly ignores the way something inside him shivers, cowering away as Simon takes his seat beside him at the little round table.

The dome has simulated days to keep a healthy sleep schedule for those inside it. At dinner they're always treated to some beautiful simulated sunsets. Orange bleeds to red as it slides across the table, shadows slowly creeping up the wall.

Tonight one shadow moves restlessly. Ryland is torn between watching it or meeting Simon's skittish gaze.

He blinks and behind the darkness of his eyelids Simon looks clearer.

So does his shadow. Shadows.

"You shouldn't do that." Simon warns him, hesitation bleeding from him as his expression firms into something foreboding. Anxious. Concerned. He looks right at Ryland and behind Simon the twisting shadows still and look at him. And they're joined by another. And anoth-

A hand grabs his and Ryland blinks his eyes back open. One set of mismatched eyes meet his.

He thinks he can still feel the other three sets watching him.

The grip on his hand is nearly crushing and the memory of whatever he imagined in that blink is slipping away like water from a wrung sponge even as he tries to recall it.

"You can't- fuck." Simon starts then looks away and it's like the rest of the world comes rushing back. The room is a darker red, dinner untouched between them, and Armando's servos are audible as their arms swivel.

"-rtrate is elevated. It is advised that you practice some calming actions such as meditation or-"

They both ignore him, Ryland shaking his head and shoulders to loosen them up a bit, feeling a bit like he just came up from a dip in the sea.

"I must be getting old." He tries to lighten the mood, taking as deep a breath as he can manage before huffing playfully. It doesn't slow his racing heart in the slightest. They haven't discussed these episodes before and he's not sure if he wants to. "I swear I wasn't that stiff before I sat down."

Ryland wants to know, but he's very aware of how sometimes simply knowing something can be risky.

And he doesn't know Simon, not yet, not really.

Simon's hand is still on his and it's making the hair on his arm stand on end. He swallows before wiggling a little to gently remind Simon if he forgot, looking at their joined hands before glancing back up at the man. The not-quite-human and his many-limbed shadow-

"Fucking stop it!" Simon leans forward and Ryland can't help the way his eyes snap to focus on his face the instant after the line of sight to that shadow is broken. "You need to stop, Grace. You have to."

"Stop?" It makes him sound like he's avoiding the topic now that they're addressing it, but he does know what Simon means. That he shouldn't keep looking at whatever he keeps seeing that makes Simon inhuman.

He should be listening to his own very human instincts to duck away. Hide. Run.

He's just not sure how.

He's not sure if he even wants to.

"It will break you if you keep this up." The hand in Ryland's holds on tight like a dying man to a lifeline, like a desperate attempt to bar a door against what waits on the other side. Ryland shudders in his grip, but refuses to let go even as his fingers start to tingle.

If this is a lifeline, Ryland wonders what he'd find on the other end if he reeled it in - a friend, a fish, or something else lurking in the murky depths.

"You keep looking!" Simon shifts again angrily and Ryland realizes belatedly his gaze was fixed on something he couldn't, shouldn't see. "You keep fucking looking into the abyss Grace! You can't - It will-!"

He cuts off with a frustrated noise and looks down at their hands, seeming to only just notice Ryland's holding his in return.

"Oh." Sitting back, Simon's face shutters into a stiff neutral. The pause seems to stretch forever and Ryland feels like he's standing at the edge of an airlock as Armando drones on about breathing exercises in the background.

"I need to leave."

Something unclenches in Ryland as Simon stands and instead of relief he feels fear. Not the kind that keeps him flinching at shadows (don't look, not right now, focus) but the kind of gut wrenching fear he felt when he found himself alone in a spaceship.

Some distant part of him clocks the way he clutches Simon's hand, curling around it as he leans forward sharply, as 'not healthy', but he's had to ignore so many similar internal warnings during the long trip to Erid and the time since that he doesn't really take note of it in the sudden panic that grips his heart.

"What?! No," the denial slips out in a panicked breath and he shouldn't be doing that, he said he wouldn't try to confine Simon for a reason, but heck if Ryland can remember what that is now as the room gets darker, colder. His chest feels tight. "Please, you don't need to. You could stay. I can-"

Oh, this is a panic attack, he realizes in the quiet part of his mind that absolutely can't stop the rest of it from descending into chaos. It's been a while.

His eyes burn and he forces a deep breath. Wipes his eyes with one hand. He can't - he can't let go of the other.

Behind his hand, with closed eyes he can see them.

The shadows.

He pulls himself back. His eyes are still wet and hot, but he anchors himself by holding Simon's hand between his.

He doesn't know Simon, not much, but when he feels that hand continue to cling to his even as Simon talks of leaving he thinks he understands him a little. Enough for Ryland to know that he wants to get to know him.

Simon has to stay for that. Hopefully he can convince him to stay.

"See? I can," he swallows and ignores the taste of iron at the back of his throat, the way his molars ache like he's clamped them around icy metal. He looks up at Simon with a weak smile. "I can look away, see? Not - not a problem."

Well, probably not a problem. Armando is beeping up a storm in the background, but his own panic has mostly subsided for now and the room looks brighter again, if still a bit red. A couple of stinging blinks is resolving that, so - no problem!

Except instead of grudging acceptance or even a disappointing outright refusal, Simon looks a bit devastated.

"Ah."

"What?" After all that, just 'Ah'?

"Fuck me." Slumping forward, Simon leans down over the small table presses his forehead to Ryland's, eyes closed in a pained grimace.

Confused at the sudden closeness after his previous plans to leave, Ryland awkwardly glances down at their cold dinner and joined hands, feeling a little guilty about how he's crying on them only to freeze.

That's not tears.

"Too late," Simon mutters, pulling their bloody hands to his chest. "I'm always too fucking late."

He looks over Ryland's shoulder to the shadow cast by the overhead light.

It looks back.

---------------------------

Still need to watch Iron Lung (maybe cause I'm a scaredy cat) so I hope this is mostly in character.

In case it isn't clear, the sun set when he was having the panic attack. The red after is because he started crying blood as he became infected with Eldritch Other.

There are no regular humans on Erid now. They're both just Mostly human :)

Moodily pushing the cyan crayon nub, Stiles tried to figure out what he was missing as he watched it roll back to him along the uneven surface. 

First, he'd thought it was just that he was missing the right crayon. His first set was pretty small with only one blue crayon, creatively named 'blue'. It took him a while to convince his mother to get him there larger set, weeks and weeks of her quizzing him about the names of the colors before she called and got him the one he had now with a whole six-four crayons. He wasn't quite sure why she thought telling them apart was so hard, it's not like she wanted him to know the difference between pastel blue and cornflower.

When the selection failed him individually, Stiles moved on to using some together. Two wasn't enough, so he moved to the, then four, all the way up to his most recent attempt with every shade of blue in his box! 

Even trying different paper didn't help. Printer paper and construction paper were both tested, even that shiny paper hasn't worked, only serving to make his dad sigh even more than usual. 

He flicked his finger and waited for the barely wrapped cyan to roll back to him. At this rate, he was going to run out of crayons. Then again, he looked back at the going holes in the tires of crayons, that might not be his fault. Not after those other kids at daycare had whined to the big person about sharing. He was still missing, he counted up on his fingers until he'd accounted for every missing creation. He was missing six whole crayons!

Wait! That must be it!

Crayon rolling into the grass behind him when he failed to stop it, Stiles was scrambling across the yard before he fully stood.

"Mom! Mom!" He stumbled, toes catching in the grass as he made his way over only to be caught before he could scrape his hands from the fall. Looking up, Stiles couldn't help but return the smile his mother was giving him before he tried imitating his dad's serious face. "Mom, those kids taked my crayons."

“They took them, yes. So you told me.”

“Took,” Stiles tried the word out a few times before remembering what he was here for. “Mom, tooking things is stealing. Dad says that's e-legal.”

“Taking things can be stealing, yes.” Stiles made a face at the second correction. Why did it change back only sometimes? His mom chuckled as she continued, “But I think the punishment they received for the crime was enough. An apology and time out should encourage them not to do it again.”

“But I'm missing ones I need!”

“The ones you need?” Eyebrows creeping up in surprise, his mom got that look in her eyes again. The one she had when she quizzed him about the colors. “What are you trying to draw?”

“The sky!” Stiles looked up at it again and frowned. 

“Well, maybe I can help you find the right colors.” She tapped his nose when he gave her a skeptical look. “Your mother is very good with colors, Stiles. I've been seeing them since I met your father after all.”

There she went again. Stiles couldn't understand why she always started talking about Dad when colors came up. Maybe Dad was the one to teach her the names?

Allowing himself to be dragged over to his table, he plopped down as his mother sat down next to him in the yard. 

“Oh, Stiles! These are beautiful!” His mother pushed his most recent set of attempts around so she could see them all at once. 

“No they're not.” Stiles frowned at her obvious lie. He wasn't a baby, he didn't need to be told everything was good when it clearly wasn't. “The colors are wrong, that's why I need the missing blues.”

“Wrong?” There was that look again, but stronger. “Stiles, honey, what color is your shirt?”

“What?” That didn't have anything to do with missing crayons or the sky.

“I'm trying to understand what you see,” she explained patiently in a way that Stiles felt didn't explain anything. “What color is your shirt?”

Stiles looked down.

“It’s tie dye.”

“What colors are there in the dye?”

“Um,” it was kind of a mess actually, but Stiles was able to pick them out without to much trouble. “Red, purple, blue, and green.”

He looked up from where he traced the spirals of color as he named them to see a pained look on his mom's face. Did she hurt herself? Maybe her chin sucked she was holding a hand to her face.

“Mom?”

“How long?” Stiles didn't understand the question and said so. His mom tried to look normal but failed, making him nervous. “How long have you seen colors, honey?”

“All times?” What kind of a question was that? It was always colorful. Why wouldn't it be?

He watched as his mother opened and closed her mouth, taking deep breaths before eventually sighing and seeing on, “Good. That's… good.”

Stiles looked at her a bit longer before looking back down at the failed art. Picking one of them up he showed it to her to try and get them back on track.

“Does that mean you can help me?”

“Oh! Oh, yes. Right.” His mother blinked down at the papers before nodding at them. “Art tips.”

A fresh sheet of paper was pulled from the small stack he'd trapped in a folder earlier that day. Mom then pulled over the dulled aqua crayon. Placing the paper between them, she started moving the crayon lightly again the paper in small circles.

“It looks like you've been throwing all the colors at the paper to see what sticks, but sometimes…” She trailed off a bit as she layered the small circles over themselves, darkening some of the areas as she did before she picked up another blue crayon to layer them further. Stiles watched as new hues blossomed under her fingers. “Sometimes you need to ease into it. Sometimes the best results come when you take it slow, hmm?”

Four year old Stiles learned a lot that day, but he wouldn't understand the implications of being able to see color until his parents say him down later that week and explained soulmates to him. It took over decade or so for him to feel any kind of dissatisfaction at not knowing who his soulmate was.

--------------------------

He wasn’t surprised.

Nothing in Peter’s life turned out the way he hoped and he wasn’t quite sure why he thought it might after all these years. 

Study to become a lawyer to defend the pack, get called back to act as a shadow enforcer. Perform said enforcer duties diligently, get suspicious looks and snide comments from the rest of the pack when you’re ‘too good’ at it. Survive the fire, lose everyone in the process as the only other survivors left him behind. Drag himself out of a coma only to be trapped in memories as his body refuses to respond. Gain mobility back through moon shift to enhance healing, nurse let’s the moon-crazed husk out to kill. Instincts lead to an invading alpha and he gained the alpha’s powers, only to realize it was his niece he’d bisected to get them.

After all that, this really wasn’t a surprise. Of course he would see his soulmate for the first time somewhere between the fire and now. Of course! Why not? Just another reason to hate that the superior healing of being alpha couldn’t restore his memories along with his faculties. Because now he was left wondering, which was just another form of torture as he sat immobilized in this wheelchair. Because any other meeting would be too easy!

Now he just had several years of his body blankly staring at anything and anyone when he could have possibly seen his soulmate to ponder over. Wasn’t that just lovely? 

After so many years of disuse, it shouldn’t be difficult to keep a straight face, but Peter was struggling to contain is already boiling rage. Taking a carefully hidden and controlled breath, he shielded his red eyes with a slow blink. 

The darkness behind his closed lids was familiar in both good and bad ways. He ignored the painful memories that tried to surge forward. This bothersome disappointment (never had a word seemed so inadequate) he was feeling. Peter had a mission, a goal, one that would only benefit from being able to distinguish colors more easily. Surely a soulmate would only distract him from the task at hand.

Logically, Peter knew that finding his soulmate would be like finding a needle in a haystack and he just didn’t have that kind of time. Better to have all the benefits without the pesky attachment. 

Deep down, however, it was a bit like trying to take away a dog’s favorite toy, or wolf’s as the case might be. The rage he felt towards those that had taken his family from him didn’t magically vanish, but the part of him that had always longed for a soulmate clung stubbornly to the idea that there was someone out there who could understand him. All of him. 

After growing up with Talia’s not-so-subtle taunts at finding hers in middle school (you’re going out looking like that?) and, later, the ‘knowing’ looks that the pack had sent him whenever the subject came up (with everything he does, it’s not surprising he doesn’t have one), Peter had never quite managed to bury the need deep enough. For years he’d watched the matching shows, the ones where hopefuls would go on live television to see if their soulmate would call in looking for them. Peter had been very careful about only doing so when others couldn’t see, the taunting from the first time his sister had seen him watching had lasted years, but none of the hundreds or possibly even thousands of potentials around the world had been his match.

No, that honor belonged to some other poor sod who’d visited the grounds of Beacon Hill’s hospital during his extended stay.

----------------------

Fire blazed hot and bright before red flew through the air. Stiles was too tired to roll his eyes at Derek’s overdramatic roar as he stood over the alpha that dragged most of those assembled into the world of the supernatural.

Tired enough that the world was going a bit dim actually.

Frowning, Stiles blinked a few times trying to wake himself back up. Maybe it was the smoke? He rubbed at his eyes as arguments picked up around him. No, that wasn’t helping - why was everything so dark?

Except, it wasn’t was it. The last of the flames weren’t quite dead and the moon was still clear of clouds. Scott’s angry face was just as clear as ever as he tried to pry some answers from Derek, not fuzzy from gloom or shadows.

Instead they were just -

Desaturated.

Oh.

The soulmate thing. The one he never really understood.

You’ll see colors the first time you see your soulmate, the textbooks said. And the colors will fade after their death.

He looked down at the smoldering corpse of Peter Hale.

Oh fuck.

“Stiles! Can you-” Scott cut off and a warm hand found Stiles’ shoulder. “Hey, are you okay?”

His soulmate was dead. His soulmate was little better than a rabid werewolf who bit Scott, dragged them into this, and just died. Stiles helped. And, like, he didn’t regret it, but at the same time.

That was his soulmate.

Stiles didn’t put much weight into what ‘society’ thought. He found that people were largely stupid and while he wasn’t an exception to that rule, he tried his best to not fall into the normative structures without first learning what they were. The jury was still out on where he succeeded in that, but for soulmates he had a bit of an edge.

Growing up in a colorful world where most people couldn’t see in color except for in small, coveted stints, gave him a strange sort of insight into how much everyone would not shut up about it. Sure, he didn’t have ‘the love of his life’ or ‘a platonic bond strong as steel’ or whatever, but he knew what many were missing and he was positive that colors - while great and incredibly useful - were not worth all the fuss everyone made about it.

Even with the loss of color he didn’t get it, but he was pretty sure Scott at least would think it was a big deal. And maybe it was, but not for the reasons his friend would likely think it would be.

Because, again, Stiles didn’t regret it.

Peter Hale was a threat that wouldn’t be stopped any other way.

Knowing everyone else’s views on soulmates, Stiles knew they’d want him to mourn, to regret, to be broken.

Fuck that.

So that really left him with one option.

“Okay? Are any of us okay after all that?”

Lie. More specifically - imply a more acceptable truth, seeing as there were at least two living lie detectors in the immediate area. When that didn’t seem to put Scott off, Stiles added a dash of one of his favorite tactics - distraction.

“Is your girlfriend even okay?”

Scott immediately looked to his own soulmate and while it wasn’t exactly the end of it, it was enough to keep that unexpected truth from coming to light.

-------------------------

Of course that wasn’t the end of it. It couldn’t be, because the universe loved making Stiles’ life complicated!

Because the next major hurtle was continuing to convince everyone he could see colors. Sure, he could tell a partial truth and say his soulmate must have died without them figuring it out, but only a day or two delay would be too suspicious a timing. To reduce suspicion he was going to need a buffer of a few months if not a full year.

A few months minimum of figuring out what clothes from his incredibly colorful wardrobe didn’t clash with only greyscale to work off of. Why the hell did he dress like this?

(It was a side effect of always seeing color. He didn’t need to stick to flat colors or monochrome pieces when he could see how everything worked together. Not that everything always matched, he wasn’t really trying to impress anyone and sometimes comfort or convenience won the day, but he could and he liked the option.)

Thankfully, losing your soulmate and the color they brought to the world wasn’t a new or even unusual occasion. There were a plethora of learning materials for those who experienced such a loss.

Conveniently, his dad never got rid of the ones he was given after his wife passed. It was easy enough for Stiles to dig them out of a drawer and finally put them to good use - a first, considering his dad solved his colorless vision problem by wearing his uniform full time instead of learning how to dress himself in regular clothes.

There was something odd about them though. Tucked into the mostly post-color materials, were a few preparatory brochures - some practice images comparing color images to black and white to let those who knew their soulmate would pass soon some opportunity to practice. They should have been mildly depressing and exactly the same to him.

Except, they weren’t.

One was black and white, certainly, but the one that was in color, that should look the same to him now - 

He could almost pick out the colors of it.

Taking another look around he tested the limits of his vision.

The world was depressingly gray. His favorite blanket now a muddy off white instead of yellow. His walls were as drab as his carpet, which nearly blended into the dark shade his desk now wore that he once saw as brown. 

That he still didn’t quite see as a simple shade of black.

Huh. That didn’t seem right. Time to see if the internet held any answers.

--------------------

Resurrection was both simpler and harder than Peter thought. Oh, the process was complex enough that he could see why it rarely happened and the loss of power wasn’t anything to sniff at either, but once he managed to get the ball rolling settling back into his body was as easy as breathing. Considering he then had to convince his nephew to both let him live and hive here where Peter could start picking up the pieces, he welcomed any small mercies.

So it was really just a minor annoyance that the colors of the world were muted again.

(Something ached inside and he told himself it was just part of the process of coming back to life.)

A minor thing when he lived more of his life without color than with it. 

Pushing the clawing need to try and find his soulmate again aside was easy from years of practice. Instead he focused on solving the problem of the Argents as well as the Kanima wrecking the place. Neither were going to be good for his continued health and upcoming efforts to retire comfortably.

Thankfully, it doesn’t take much to solve. Yes, yes, it’s something out of the storybooks when Miss Martin pulls her soulmate out of the Kanima transformation. They can thank him for killing the boy later once their done being sappy over it.

“I knew it.” Stiles’ quiet, flat comment caught Peter’s attention even as the others continue with their own personal dramas. Which was for the best, because Peter wasn’t a fan of flaunting his own personal life so flagrantly.

And this was personal, he knew it the second he saw Stiles’ dark eyes, the world clicking back into full color in the same instant.

“There was no way you were dead.”

His eyes flashed, he could feel it even as he viciously reigned in the suddenly pressing need to reach out and take. To have, to hold, to protect, to never lose his soulmate ever again. Possessiveness wasn’t attractive. Peter would hate anyone who tried to keep him that close and while his interactions with Stiles were limited, he knew that Stiles was incredibly independent.

No need to start them off on the wrong foot. Not when he already botched their interactions so thoroughly before his death.

So Peter bit his tongue on the first few things he wanted to say. Questions about how Stiles knew would almost certainly be soulmate related which he’d prefer no one else here knew (Stiles was a weakness and Peter had few allies these days). Reminders of how he died or Stiles part would imply an impending retaliation, which Peter never had any real intention of following through with.

“Such faith in my skills,” Peter settled on instead, taking a measured step forward with a slight smile. “I’m flattered.”

Stiles’ unimpressed huff was matched by a wary look, but he didn’t shy away as Peter prowled closer.

“Faith didn’t have a lot to do with it.” He glanced at the milling group of hunters, werewolves, and other assorted members in the know, but not for long. “This wasn’t exactly quiet. Are you going to be helpful for once in your life?”

“For once? I’m the soul of altruism.” That got him a disbelieving snort, which was fair, but Peter didn’t leave his soulmate to clean up this mess by himself even if that was sort of the plan before color bloomed back into his life. “I don’t think a full clean up is possible nor necessary, but there are a few things that I can do to help with some plausible deniability.”

“Good.” Stiles gave him one more suspicious look before necessity had him turning to face their upcoming project together. “Once this is settled we can have a little chat.”

“I look forward to it.” It may take a while, but Peter was willing to take it slow. He’d worked for longer at more hopeless cases than this. They’d find their way to whatever soulmate bond worked for them even if it took Peter years to wear down that suspicious look into something they could both live with.

---------------

This in no way can be considered a drabble lol This got way bigger than I expected, but I had a little jumping off point as I wrote a smidge of it like at least three years ago before losing it into my pile of drafts. Delighted to come back and finish it because I missed these two. I should go back and refresh myself on the og series because while writing this I realized how fuzzy parts were haha

Never really clarified in the fic - Stiles saw Peter just around town as a toddler. He was a kid beneath school aged Peter's notice so the color change was one sided and too young to realize the change was in any way important or be able to communicate that. Peter saw Stiles while catatonic because Stiles did some volunteer work at the hospital as a 'punishment', one rather quickly rescinded because it made Stiles act out more as he hates that place.

Thanks to those who voted! I hope you liked it! I'll edit and post this on AO3 over the next few days.

All ghosts have them upon creation. Something intrinsic to them, but not necessarily unique. Many found kindred spirits as they traversed the infinite realms, often settling their haunts with one another. Their aims and dreams aligning little by little until they built a place they could all enjoy.

It's why the lone ghosts keep to their lairs and have only doors to show for it and why like minded ghosts congregated in kingdoms, tribes, and acropolises. Most ghosts needed to rely on one another, consolidating their domains to collectively impose their will upon the realms. Because the domain of a knight, of a ruler, of a tailor, a jailer, a chef - they were only so large.

Ancients do not need that crutch.

Nocturn doesn't need subordinates or lackeys to thrive. Dreams are never ending with so many mortals out there, all of them needing sleep to survive. Truly, Nocturn could survive off of his own dreams if necessary, but it likely never will.

He does like to indulge himself with them though.

Which makes it all the more frustrating when the denial of a dream keeps him awake. Oh, he could ignore it. He has for the last few weeks, but the irritation is constant like it's stuck between his teeth. Not one to exert his influence directly unless making a point or performing perfunctory greetings, he hoped it would resolve itself.

It hasn't.

Restless and irritable, Nocturn slips into a living realm and makes his way across the starlit sky to the one keeping him up. He flies far enough that the sky starts to hide him less and finds the Phantom watching the sun set along the coast, looking even more exhausted than Nocturn feels.

"You should be dreaming," Nocturn ignores the startled turn and tense posture as he drapes himself over most of the rest of the roof. There's no need to tower over little Phantom when he isn't testing them. "Why do you resist?"

"Looking for a rematch?" The defensive question is unnecessary so Nocturn ignores it.

"You once dreamt so often and so clearly, but now they are muddled or denied entirely." Peering closer he only halts when the Phantom looks ready to run. That wouldn't help either of them. "Why?"

Green eyes squint suspiciously. Nocturn's edges flow like fog, curling back in on himself as the sun sinks lower. He can wait, though he hopes not for long as he really would prefer to be dreaming.

"Nightmares," Phantom finally admits, not quite turning away as the reds and oranges of the sunset make way for the dark, star studded night sky. As if that is any true answer.

Nocturn chuffs, because yes, he knows of the Phantom's nightmares, but they do not bother him. Sleep is sleep and the dreams that take place during the slumbering hours are rarely the dreamers choice. Both good and bad, stressful and relaxing, all nourish Nocturn equally.

"No, not those kinds of dreams, though you deny yourself those often as well." The dark expanse of his self spreads thinner as Nocturn dips his mask below Phantom's eye level. He lets the bright spots of the dreamers empowering him glow bright in a mirror of the sky above before standing tall and admiring the pinpricks of light he's imitating. "Your dreams of space, where have they gone?"

Nocturn remembers them. Faintly in the time before, when Phantom was just Danny, then bigger, bolder, brighter after he became Phantom. But much like a star going supernova, the dream guttered and died just a few weeks later. The black hole left in their place felt even worse up close, the despair of it only growing with time.

Phantom must feel it too as his shoulders hunch inwards and his chin dips down.

"I - You know why." He almost glances at Nocturn, but his eyes are drawn upwards before he can manage it, frown turning despondent. "I tried to fly up there, you know. Just after I got the hang of it. I couldn't even escape lower earth orbit."

Nocturn knows the term from dreams, just as he knows of distance and time and the mechanics behind both. Most of what he knows is from one dream or another, but some things he's learned from experience. As an Ancient, growth is one of them. Because while roles are stagnant, concepts are ever growing.

Once, when Nocturn was very young, the only dreams he could see, experience, and use were his. Just as he knows that at one point, the only time Clockwork could interact with or see were times he'd existed.

Neither of these are the case now. Not by a long shot.

"Where are we?" The question has Phantom blinking and giving him a strange look, but Nocturn's bed is calling and he only has so much patience. "I followed you Phantom, you should know the answer. Where are we?"

"The west coast." A gloved hand waves at the pacific ocean carelessly. "I don't know where, it's not like there's a town here. Washington or Oregon probably?"

Hm, knowledge without understanding. Perhaps more pointed facts will speed this along?

"We are currently over eighteen hundred miles from your home." When that gets him two uncomprehending blinks, Nocturn continues. "Medium earth orbit starts at two thousand kilometers."

A frown, then Phantom starts muttering numbers to himself. He reaches an answer then counts again as hope flares.

"That's - that's less." Counting off on his fingers as he does the math again and gets the same answer, Phantom's hands ball into fists again as he looks up at Nocturn. His stance isn't defensive, but victorious. "We're farther from home now than medium earth orbit is from sea level."

There. Nocturn readies himself to go home, more than ready for some sweet dreams only to feel the grating irritant that kept him up in the first place catch again. Sighing he looks at Phantom and finds him frowning at the sky.

"Is it just an altitude problem then? Or maybe gravitational?"

"No," Nocturn answers, because he's so close to a good night sleep he can almost feel his pillow. It's making him curt. He might care about that later. Maybe. "You're growing. You may find new limits, but be patient and you'll overcome them."

That gets him a surprised look that melts into a confused smile. "Thanks. You know, you're not so bad when you're not trying to take over the world."

"I know." Nocturn scoffs because that was a flimsy reason he used to come greet the newest Ancient as was only polite. He may have been a bit over-dramatic, but an artificial influx of dreams always makes him behave strangely. Something to remember for when the next one appeared.

Gathering himself, he takes to the night sky once again, more than ready to sleep in his lair once more. Phantom follows him up, but pauses as Nocturn starts heading east.

"Goodnight!" He calls before setting his eyes on the stars and continuing upwards, smile wide as he dares to dream of space once again.

Nocturn leaves him to it. He has his own domain to enjoy.

-------------------

As might be obvious, a slight difference from canon in that Danny doesn't think he can fly to space because he tried shortly after he realized he could fly and didn't get very far. Put some fun little headcanons here that I've been thinking about for a while. Great to explore even when it's not a perfect dovetail to the show!

Technically, this is a prompt fill for 2024's phic phight that I couldn't quite pin down and then (clearly) ran out of time to write. So @hippykattrs I'm not sure if you even remember prompting this, but thanks for the great idea, it has plagued me for years lol

Thanks to those who voted! I'll edit and get this over to AO3 in the next few days :)

“The truth at last!” Gracious in victory was clearly not one of Sam’s many virtues.

“I thought you said the tech scholarships you got would be enough for the rest of the year, what gives?”

Sighing, Tucker shook his head. “My lab is making us build some hardware I didn’t budget for.”

“That sucks, man.” A surprise additional charge happened to Danny last semester and it was such a pain trying to juggle part-time shifts with the soup kitchen's schedule. “I’m glad you’re helping out though. Today looks like it’ll be a busy one judging by the crowd out there.”

“Yeah, that’s gotta be like twice last month’s size.” The only windows on this place were pretty grimy, but they could all see the faint shadows undulate against the gritty surface. Sam turned back to the makeshift ‘kitchen’ they walked off using the abandoned crates someone left in the warehouse. “Let’s finish setting up so we don’t get completely overrun when we open.”

————————

“Red Hood, are you on patrol tonight?”

No. He only reminded them three to five times last night, nice of Tim to remember. Great use of that genius brain.

Jason stomped down on his annoyance and flicked on the mic, regretting for once that he installed it on his 'civilian’ helmet.

“Well, hello to you too and no I’m not.” He flicked it off again hoping that was the last of it.

“Right, the clothes shopping thing.”

The car in front of him barely moved and the one beside was enough of an asshole to keep riding the line. Frustrated by the ongoing traffic and Tim's comment, Jason flicked back on the mic.

“Yeah, not all of us can lean on the two extremes of buying everything online or bespoke suits. Unlike you we actually have to try things on.”

“I highly doubt you’re trying everything on, Hood.”

Pointedly ignoring that he was right, because Jason didn’t try on everything he got from the thrift stores he frequented, he brought them back on topic. “Did you need something?”

“There’s some buzz about a disturbance in your area.” Tim was back to professional instantly, with just a hint of smug that made Jason grit his teeth. “I wanted to check if you knew anything about it.”

“I got nothing from street level.” Jason grudgingly reported. Someone honked behind him and he could only assume it was because he wasn’t kissing the bumper in front of him like the guy was basically doing to his back tire. “The traffic is hell, but that happens at the drop of a hat so who knows-”

There was a set of bangs two or three blocks up. Not plastic explosives or anything big enough for structural damage in his semi professional opinion, but enough to set some thick liquid flying through the air.

A figure jumped across car hoods, shooting wildly in streams of red and yellow.

Jason gave an aggravated sigh as the Condiment King caked another windshield in ketchup before cutting down an alley a block up from him.

“Never mind. Captain Saucy just made an appearance. He’s headed east down Eleventh and just clogged up traffic enough that I may as well keep an eye on him.” Finally eating up that little extra space he left himself, Jason used the general confusion to loop back down the sidewalk and into a service alley to look for a place to hide his ride. “You better call in a clean up crew and someone actually on patrol though because I’m not finishing this shopping trip with fewer wearable clothes that I started with.”

“Roger that.” There was a courtesy click as Tim changed the frequency to the main line instead of Jason’s not-so-emergency one.

Hiding the bike was a pain, changing helmets and taking the time to mask up was a chore, but finding CK’s train was almost too easy.

Jason shoved away the ultra paranoid part of himself that sounded far too much like Bruce and followed the stripes of mustard on the walls until he reached one of the older warehouse districts.

“Always a fuckin’ warehouse with these bozos.” He complained to himself before sending his location to the cave.

That was all he said he’d do. Unfortunately, there was a group of civilians lined up at the door of the place that were now covered in the villains weapon of choice. Thankfully, they were only complaining instead of screaming in pain, but Jason couldn’t just leave them like this.

He glanced at the broken sign over the door and did a double take. Was it broken? Whatever, a soup kitchen was a soup kitchen and this guy was crossing a line by targeting a charity.

Jason was ready to throw down even without most of his usual reinforced suit, so it caught him off guard when he forced a side door only to find the Condiment King tied up at the feet of three twenty somethings he’d never seen before.

“-did you think would happen, huh?” The goth girl asked, literally kicking the man while he was down. The villain whimpered, wiggling in the strange fishing wire he was almost cocooned in. “You came out blasting weird goop at a charity event.”

“I think it’s ketchup and mustard.” The black haired boy reached down as if to touch it with his free hand, the other holding a bent ladle, only for his dark skinned friend to slap his hand away. “Dude, I’m literally wearing gloves.”

“And the hot sauce he threw ate through the table.”

“So could I,” came the nonsensical comeback as he crossed his arms (twice, the first try being foiled by the ladle), only to be ruined further with a muttered, “probably.”

“No.”

Beside them the girl seemed to be winding down her tirade as her final kicks shoved the villain into a corner made from crates. “Now sit there and think about what you’ve done.”

“But, this is my warehouse!”

“And you came in to trash it after we fixed it up for a one day charity event!” The girl swept her hand back to gesture at the mess slowly being cleaned up by the condiment coated customers in the room and then back to him. “Look at your choices, look at your life!”

Any further grumbling and protests were ignored as she turned to the others. “Let’s get back to it. Danny, I think you’re legally obligated to be on soup duty so we’ll handle the mess.”

The dark haired one gave her a thumbs up and headed back to the food lined tables that surprisingly seemed relatively untouched, straightening the metal spoon as he did with seemingly no effort. Behind him the other two grabbed some towels from a box of supplies and headed out to the small, condiment covered crowd as they started bickering about whether mayo was vegetarian or not.

Ignoring them and the strange joke about legal obligation, Jason internally debated his options.

He could stay to help (pass, he has enough chores lined up for the night), just grab the villain and go (double pass, he didn’t get many nights off and he wasn’t giving this one up for the Condiment King, ugh), or leave and let the bat clan handle it (ding-ding-ding, we have a winner).

Choice made, Jason was just about to slip back out the way he came when Danny looked up from cleaning the ladle and spotted him.

“Sorry about that, minor territory scuffle.” Picking up a bowl, the guy waved him over as if offering the Red Hood some soup was an everyday occurrence. “We still have plenty to go around, so make yourself comfortable.”

“I’m not here for soup, I was following him.”

That got him a frown as Danny looked him up and down before giving him an insultingly skeptical look. “You’re with him?”

Jason bristled. That was actually more insulting than any assumption about Jason’s abilities could ever be.

“No. I came to stop him.”

Just like that all tension was gone from Danny’s face again and he smiled. “Oh, well, problem solved then. And now you have time for a little soup!”

“I already ate.” Jason replied, voice flat even before it hit the voice changer on his helmet.

“Just a mug then?” Danny swapped the disposable plate for a cup and ladled in some greenish broth into it. It didn’t look appetizing.

What were they serving these people? Jason stepped closer to make sure these weren’t scammers in disguise.

“What is that, exactly? Asparagus broth?”

“Nah, it’s better than that. Here,” reaching down, Danny snagged a small spoon and scooped some out of the pot. “I’d say samples are free, but the whole thing is free so.”

He laughed at his own joke, but Jason wasn’t really paying attention to that because on closer inspection the broth was a lighter green. Like pea soup light but somehow brighter. He studied it for anything recognizable, and came up short.

Maybe celery? Looked too thick though.

It took him a moment longer to realize he was supposed to be taste testing the spoonful.

“The mask stays on.”

Danny blinked and looked confused. He really wasn’t local was he?

“That’s no problem.” He said, sticking the spoon further out.

Jason jerked back and grabbed at Danny’s wrist, resigning himself to getting some of whatever it was on his jacket only for his hand to close on nothing.

“Wha-” A mistake he realized a beat too late as the spoon phased through his helmet just like his hand passed through Danny and he found himself with a mouth full of soup.

It was indescribable. There was a taste, it wasn’t just water, but sweet? Sour? Spicy or bland? His brain wasn’t getting mixed signals so much as static. It was Soup, there was flavor, but damned if he knew what.

Warm was the only thing he could say for certain as he tried to spit it out.

Tried and failed.

Reaching back he pried off the helmet, thankful that he’d taken the time for the domino.

“What the hell was that?” There was nothing to spit out. His helmet was clean, but so was the spoon.

“I thought the helmet stayed on?”

Jason wanted to throttle him, but apparently he couldn’t touch the guy. Was this all an illusion? Are they promising food to the hungry and giving them nothing?!

“Just what the hell is going on here?” Jason growled, fingers itching to grab one of his guns. The only thing stopping him was the crowd of civilians behind him and that was fast becoming less important than stopping this. “What did you force feed me?”

“That is what I want to know.” A voice boomed from beside them as a large woman stepped out from the rearranged crates holding another pot. Swapping it with the pot Danny had served from, she gave her team member a severe look. “What did I tell you about force feeding customers?”

This was a habit? Jason knew finding volunteers was rough, but this one clearly needed replaced.

“To do it more often?” Danny offered.

What?

“Yes! But also, use the right size spoon for maximum efficacy!” Turning she grabbed Jason’s shoulder and held him in place as she took a larger spoon, dipped it in the faintly glowing (glowing!) broth and phased it through is protesting hands to serve him another mouthful.

He tried to spit it out again with similar results.

“What the hell is wrong with you people?!”

He glared up at the woman and froze.

She was green.

She wasn’t green before.

“Am I hallucinating?”

“You shouldn’t be, it’s just ecto-broth.” Danny said as he waved forward the line that pulled itself together while Jason was distracted.

The line of civilians that was no longer streaked with yellow or red.

Instead each and every one of them was glowing faintly green.

“Here you go.” Danny placed a bowl of the glowing broth on a tray and pointed the old-timer who looked to be wearing something straight out of the 1920s down the table to where some bread and drinks were waiting, then looked back at Jason. “You look just about starved for it and the fact that you can’t stop us proves it. If you had enough ecto we wouldn’t be able to phase through you like that.”

Jason was distracted enough that he didn’t see the large, green (Green!) woman’s next spoonful until it was already in his mouth. He didn’t even bother to try and spit it out this time as it instantly absorbed away into nothingness.

The soup, those in line, and the frankly enormous green woman glowed brighter with every spoonful.

Her grip on his shoulder was increasingly painful, but that didn’t mean anything. Jason escaped worse. He putting his back into it, contorting and flipping only to find he couldn’t even kick the table he was standing in front of as if he were the intangible one. He struggled to find purchase against anything, only to end up panting as he hung in her grip.

“Fuck. Fuck!” Well, if you can’t beat them, join them and stab them in the back later if necessary. “Fine, I’ll eat the damn soup, but I want some answers.”

“I have to keep serving and I don’t think that Lunch Lady’s going to let you serve yourself at this point,” Danny paused to hand out another bowl of soup, this time of the more stew-like liquid beside the first, then continued, “but, I can talk as we go. What do you want to know?”

————–

Over half an hour later Jason’s earpiece cracked with static as he accepted it back from Danny after the guy and his friends explained ecto’s effect on technology.

“-ed Hood, do you read?”

Putting it to his ear, Jason scooped another spoonful of soup into his mouth under the Lunch Lady’s watchful eye.

“Yeah, I read.”

Another burst of static made him wince, half a dozen wordless sounds crackling across the interference. 

“Even if you left the suspect to go shopping-” the angry accusation cut off as Tim spoke over it. “A location to pick him up would be appreciated, Hood. Where are you right now?”

Glancing at the sign, which wasn’t broken he was told, but simplified for those who had trouble reading. It was also, supposedly, in an interdimensional alphabet, or so Danny’s friend Tucker tried to explain, but Jason was taking that with a grain of salt. That absolutely wasn't how language worked

“I’m at Soup.”

There was a pause as even the two squabbling in the background stopped to process that.

“What do you mean you’re at soup?”

Jason’s capacity for the absurd was maxed out and the ecto was making him feel calmer than he had in years so he repeated himself.

“I mean I’m at Soup.”

A crack of laughter fizzled across the static filled connection.

“Why are you buying clothes at the soup store?” Stephanie asked, snickering even as Damian clearly tried to shut her up.

“Fuck you,” the curse had little heat as Jason checked how much he still had to go on the bowl. With all the insanity and revelations he’d almost forgotten his chores. “I’m still where the Condiment King ended up, it’s a soup kitchen called Soup.”

“Creative.”

“Yeah, I didn’t pick it.” He ignored Danny’s 'Neither did we’ even if some of the others didn’t. “I’ll get you the address so you can pick the guy up.”

“Got him then? Nice of you.”

“I’m always nice,” Jason snarked to Danny and Sam’s snorts of laughter and he let it pass because he was feeling pretty good.

Clicking the communicator off without bothering to sign off, he drank the rest of the bowl before standing.

“You’re positive I can contact you guys through this now?” He wiggles the earpiece and got a set of confident nods in return. “Good, then I should finish the rest of my chores before the places close. Think I could get a cup to go?”

The smiles he got from the Lunch Lady and her helpers were even warmer than the soup they served to ghosts in need.

-------------

This idea wouldn't leave me alone. Just really enjoyed the idea of Walker's justice not being wrong but handled outside of legal bounds. Eventually the whole prison gets to go through actual court hearings for appropriate sentencing and a few things Danny did are legitimately illegal so he got a little community service instead of crazy long jail time.

The growing agitation was Jason + hangry + being around food and not eating it. After some explanations he is suppressing a freak out so hard he went the opposite direction into chill and the dp crew is letting him (for now).

Slightly edited, may come back and do it again in like a month lol

"That is not what I meant and you know it. Is that her kid?"

Uncapping the mostly normal thermos and not even blinking as the little guy scrambled up his arm to sit on his shoulder (a little difficult as those tiny claws were sharp), Danny slurped a sip of his coffee just to be annoying only to choke on it a bit when Sam jostled his other arm trying to hurry along an answer. He managed to swallow the mouthful before coughing around his surrender.

"Alright, alright!" He coughed again. "It's not Dora's kid."

"Is it," Sam grimaced as she stopped mid-sentence, clearly unwilling to finish the thought of Aragon having a kid.

"It's mine." Danny assured her quickly, trying to keep his voice down so the other students in the room wouldn't start looking their way. Maybe too quickly as he heard it aloud and had to correct himself to his friends' shocked looks. "My dragon! Not my kid!"

The little guy sat up tall and proud, little wings flaring out as he gave what he probably thought was a mighty roar. Danny was too busy trying to not get smacked by the unfortunately tangible wing smacking his ear to snicker at the squeaking noise like his friends were.

"That's cool," Tucker managed to compose himself enough to look over his shoulder past some of their now curious classmates to check if Mr. Lancer was on his way. "But school doesn't seem like the best place to bring a dragon."

"It's better than leaving him at home."

"Your parents know about him?!" Sam leaned in to hiss, already looking ready to throw down if anyone hurt the foot long, ghostly lizard currently playing with his hair.

"He won't leave me alone," Danny explained, exhausted by having to go through this for Ancients who knew how many times since last night. At least he wasn't having to twist the story around like he had to do with his parents. "Did you know that all of Dora's Knights are dragon knights? Because I didn't."

He waited a moment as they both did their best to imagine the dragon turning into a similarly sized knight. Or, that's what Danny assumed they were doing as he tried to do the same when Dora first explained this, but it wasn't a transformation like she and her brother could do.

"So, it's protection?" Tucker asked, baffled.

"No, it's my dragon." Danny pointed to himself. "I'm the one who got knighted, remember?"

The dragons were companions.

"Honestly, not really. Too much stuff happens to you, dude."

"Fair." Danny didn't always believe he went through all of that either.

"How'd you get him past your parents? Do you need a place to stay?" Sam pressed, still focused on the biggest problem.

"I told them he's a blob ghost." He watched them both stare at him, then look to the little dragon that was determinedly reaching the peak of mount Danny via the footholds which usually found use as his nose and ear, then back. "I know, I'm not sure how I managed it either. Something clicked with them about 'post-human consciousness', ghostly shape shifting, and how I really liked dragons as a kid. After arguing about it for practically the whole night not going to question it. Hopefully, the little guy can learn to go invisible before they move on to experimentation instead of just observation."

"That almost explains how you can keep him at home, but what about-"

"Dragonriders of Pern, Mister Fenton!" Mr. Lancer sounded somewhere between aghast and resigned. "What is that?"

"It's my, er." Frowning, Danny put one hand up to keep the dragon from falling and reached down to pull out the form his parents filled out for him this morning to ensure the school wouldn't stop this 'experiment'. Holding it out, he read the reason off the page, "my emotional support ghost-dragon. I need him. For reasons. Sir."

Mr. Lancer's sigh was almost as long as Jazz's was when she heard.

Well, that was settled. Now he just had to figure out how to explain why the dragon was going to follow Phantom too.

Wes was going to have a field day.

--------------------------------------

Sooo I missed all of Phic Phight due to personal, real life reasons (most good, some not) but the ideas I started cooking up in that first week still need to be written down before they eat me from the inside lol Also, I guess this could count a little bit for Dannymay day 1, though I'm late for the dragon prompt there too haha

I maybe made the dragon a little younger and less capable of speaking than the prompt called for, but I like him anyway. Even if Danny refused to name him.

I hope you like this interpretation!

The jangling noises of his chains was distracting as he tried to find the right room in the maze of offices, but not because it was loud. Conversely, it was because he didn't have time to throw on everything he normally did and the fact he only had a wallet chain and his keys kept making him think he left something behind. 

(He did. He left them at home which meant he didn't need to keep checking his wrists for bracelets that weren't there, especially when it only brought attention to the fact he was only wearing two rings right now.)

Eventually he turned the last corner only to stop short when he nearly ran into someone.

"Whoa there." Eddie leaned back, hands up but not quite touching the slim woman in front of him, held there just in case she fell over as she stumbled back.

"Oh my gosh, I'm so sorry." He saw a flash of red rimmed blue eyes before she glanced over her shoulder at the door just behind her. Reading the 'Security' listed on the front, Eddie felt his eyebrows rise up. When the woman turned back her lopsided blond ponytail swung over her shoulder. "Do you need to get past? I'm just waiting on my manager and..."

She took a shaky breath, holding it as she blinked rapidly and Eddie's own worry diminished a little in the face of hers.

"Yours too?" Because that's what his terrible wake-up call was about.

"Too? Oh!" Hand coming up to cover her mouth, the woman looked more surprised than sad, which wasn't much better, but a step in the right direction. "You mean Miss Buckley?"

"That's my Birdie." Eddie confirmed with a smile that probably didn't look as relaxed as he tried to make it if the woman's sympathetic look was anything to go by. Not too sympathetic though, which meant Robbie was probably fine behind that door. Probably.

Christ, Eddie hoped so.

Robin was an old friend from high school, part of the marching band where he and the others went off the rails early to try and catch the crazy train to stardom. But even though she never wanted to trade her trumpet for a guitar, she helped them land gigs, set up their shows, and even followed them into the business when they first got signed. She couldn't just walk directly in and become their manager unfortunately, so she worked her way up through the usual routes, interning then assistant until she got enough experience that they could request her specifically.

He wasn't sure what they'd do without her at this point. Both personally and professionally.

Damn, he needed to call the others. Not right then, but after he got more information. He needed to remember that

"Wait, that means-" Frown turning around into an excited smile that only wobbled a little, the woman pointed at him. "You're the other CC! Oh, goodness! I've heard so much about you!"

Other CC?

Hang on.

Eddie blinked again and tried to wake up a little more. He thought the woman looked familiar, but he it was probably because he just wasn't used to seeing her in casual clothes instead of over the top stagewear or the high fashion she wore while modeling.

"Chrissy C?"

"You've heard of me?" The popstar looked surprised and delighted, as if there was anyone in the industry who hadn't heard of the rising star. She took home a Grammy last year for god sake!

"I'm more surprised you've heard of us." Eddie pointed out, completely reasonably.

"Of course I have!" Chrissy looked almost offended at the insinuation that she wouldn't even though their genres were completely different and the industry was huge. "I love Corroded Coffin! The Crawl is one of my favorite songs to listen to before going on stage!"

That, Eddie could feel the tips of his ears flushing a little, that was quite a complement actually. The anthem was one he and the others wrote together years ago, something to pump them and the crowds up as it literally screamed about never giving up even in the face of death.

He fought the need to grab a piece of hair to hide behind. It was an old instinct, one he tried not to do because it was all too frequently interpreted as flirting when really it was an old remnant of when he was a shy middle schooler. (And yeah, sometimes it was flirting, but relationships as a rockstar were insanely difficult, so he tried not to send mixed signals if possible.)

"Besides," she continued before he could find the words to thank her, "I'm not sure I could avoid hearing about you if I wanted to. My manager and his siblings all love your work."

Her joke was immediately cut off by a gasp before she backtracked.

"Not that I want to avoid hearing you! I love it!" She assured him, brows drawn together as if worried he was getting the wrong impression. "It's just, they were the ones to introduce me to it and they're always playing it when we're home and sometimes on tour and I'm going to shut up now."

That last part was so much like Robin that Eddie couldn't help the laugh it pulled from him.

"You talk to Robin a lot?" It sounded like it, if their mannerisms were starting to merge.

"A bit." A pretty pink flush rose to her cheeks and she looked back at the door to the security office again. "Only when we happen to be in the office at the same time. Well, when Steve needs to be in the office and Miss Buckley's in."

"Steve?" Eddie couldn't remember anyone signed to the label named Steve. Maybe one of the other ensemble bands or one of her backups?

"My manager, Steve Harrington." Waving a hand back to the security office, Chrissy bit her lip. "He has the office next to Miss Buckley's."

Oh! That Steve! Of course. Damn, Eddie must really be out of it, because not only did he have to put up with Robin griping about 'Stupid Harrington' this and 'you won't believe what Harrington said' that after she got her current possition, but after a few months it all turned around to be 'and you'll never believe what the dingus did today' in such fond tones. Whatever got Steve Harrington in Robin's good books Eddie may never know, certainly not from her.

Some best friend she was.

She wouldn't even show him a picture of the guy! Something about 'avoiding the inevitable' which was an ominous thing to say.

(Eddie did try to figure it out on his own, but he didn't really come here that often and the one time he tried checking the other offices he nearly ran into the hottest guy he'd ever seen and only missed tossing hot coffee on the poor unsuspecting man by inches. Needless to say he kind of avoided the place out of sheer embarrassment for the two months directly following that.)

"They're the only two that got trapped in the back elevator." Chrissy assured him.

The back elevator that got stuck for two hours before someone in Security realized something was wrong. The whole reason why they called Eddie in as Robin's emergency contact. Right.

"Do you know how they're doing?" And why Chrissy's manager didn't contact someone sooner? Eddie knew exactly why Robin couldn't - her cell broke just yesterday afternoon - surely it couldn't have happened to both of them on the same day, right?

"They were monitoring them on oxygen when they asked me to step outside." Reaching up, she tugged on her ponytail in a way that made it obvious why it was so lopsided. "The rooms a bit too small for everyone to fit."

"Oxygen?" That was more worrying than the rest of it. Aren't elevators ventilated? "Why would they need that, did they pass out?"

"Whatever broke gave off a smell or something?" She gave her ponytail another worried tug. "They couldn't say. Some maintenance person is looking at it now. Their Oh-Two levels were just low so they're being careful."

That was concerning, but not life threatening. Eddie could feel the tension lingering in his shoulders, but until he saw Robin whole and hale he wasn't going to be able to shake it. Maybe he could distract Chrissy before she tore her hair out though.

"Are you and Steve close?"

"Of course!" Chrissy looked confused for a moment before the question really clicked and he watched her face scrunch up into a mildly disgusted look. "Um, not probably the way you're thinking."

Well, it was certainly a milder version of Robin's usual gagging whenever anyone asked if she was dating Eddie or any of the other guys.

"He's my second cousin." She explained and oh boy, maybe she and Robin should swap reactions. Chrissy had way more reason to be grossed out by the implications. "We didn't really know each other well until my mother pushed me to try to go professional. He was already working with a label at the time, though as more of a runner than a manager, so our parents got us in touch."

Ah, nepotism. Eddie wondered how old this guy was to get her in to the biz. If he was in his forties and fifties it would narrow the pool of managers Eddie got a good look at up on Robin's floor. (Maybe the balding one?) Well, he'd be more mad if she didn't have the talent to back it up.

"Helped you get signed then?"

She shook her head so vehemently her hair tie started to slip.

"Oh, no. We actually kind of bombed with his original label. Well, I did." Pausing, she glanced over her shoulder and then over Eddie's as if there would be anyone else in this pace at four in the goddamn morning. There weren't any camera's to avoid either, not directly outside the security office (which felt like a huge hole in security actually). She even lowered her voice to say, "When they tried to, uh, ask me to convince them to sign me he basically quit on the spot."

Damn. Well, Eddie certainly knew why she was so cautious. Sleeping your way into the industry wasn't unheard of and he wasn't about to look down on those who wanted to try and do it to follow their dream, but Eddie knew he wasn't the only one to be disgusted by executives and producers who thought it should be the norm. If everyone involved consented it wasn't Eddie's place to judge, but anything other than explicit consent was never something he could get behind. 

(In fact, he was more than happy to take whatever steps necessary to ensure it would never happen to anyone ever again, but that was a whole other argument and the look on Chrissy's face said he'd be preaching to the choir right then.)

So, less nepotism and more heroics, huh?

"Sounds like a good dude."

"He is." She confirmed with a soft smile, that turned a little mischievous. "When he's not being a petty bitch, of course."

"A bitch?" Eddie prompted with a smile of his own, more than happy to keep them both distracted with this unexpected gossip session as they waited for that damn Security door to open.

"Oh, yeah." Nodding seriously, she ignored how her hair was practically down at this point to lean in like telling a secret. "He says it's a defense mechanism from having to look after his kids for so long, but I know it's just because he was a mean girl in high school. Babysitting probably didn't help it, but it definitely wasn't the start, you know?"

A heroic, bitchy babysitter? This guy was sounding a bit impossible.

"I'm beginning to think you're pulling my leg, Miss C." He grinned when she pouted at him. "Next you're going to tell me he's a handsome prince who loves long walks on the beach and getting caught in the rain."

Hand slapping to her face, Chrissy snorted loud enough to earn her a concerned look. Still choking on a laugh she shook her head only to laugh harder when her ponytail finally gave up the ghost and the tie hit the floor.

"While I do love making pretty girls laugh," Eddie admitted with a wink before leaning down to pick the hair tie up. "I didn't think that joke warranted all that."

"Sorry!" She squeaked out before taking some deep breaths to try not to laugh, her stress obviously bleeding into the happier emotion and making it hard to control. It mostly worked, but Eddie could still see her lips twitching as she explained. "Some of the other kids in high school called him 'King Steve' actually?"

The last came out as a question before she had to bite her lips against further laughter and Eddie let out a sharp laugh of his own because what were the odds?

"How do you even know that?" He asked, incredulous. Waving the hair tie, he motioned for her to turn around. Did her cousin like to relive his glory days or something?

"He was only one year above me," she pointed out like it was obvious, before doing as he asked. Eddie's hands were already pulling her hair back as the words sunk in and he paused for a moment. "It wasn't that hard to figure out."

So not some old guy then. Shit. That was most of Eddie's last defense against thinking that this random manager might be his dream guy.

Because the only other manager around their age on Robin’s floor was the guy he nearly scalded with coffee.

He tried not to think about that as he put her hair back up.

Tried not to think about tanned skin, brown eyes, plush lips. Tried not to think about the guilty dreams he had in the days and weeks that followed, the ones where he wasn't a klutz, where he was smooth enough to ask the guy out, to hear more than just a startled 'It's fine', to feel how soft those lips might be.

It didn't work.

Just the not thinking part. Chrissy's hair looked amazing once he was done with it.

"He single?" The question slipped out almost unconsciously. Actually, Eddie didn't really intend to ask it at all, but four o'clock in the morning made him a bit stupid. Again, it was a punishment even as the clock ticked closer to five.

He would have face palmed if it weren't for how quickly Chrissy turned to face him.

"Yes." Chrissy answered before he could take it back then jumped directly to a question of her own. "Is Miss Buckley?"

Oh. Oh. Someone's got a crush (and it's not just him on some guy he's probably only spoken to once).

Chrissy C, biggest popstar of the last three years, wore an expression so hopeful it made Eddie want to pinch her cheek.

"She is indeed."

Chrissy's smile lit up the hallway.

Actually, that was probably just the light from the Security room.

"CC?"

Eddie blinked away the spots caused by the brighter light and felt his breath catch at the sight of the man standing in the doorway.

It was him.

His brown eyes were concerned and his lips were set in a slight frown as he looked the other woman over. The guy looked tired, bags under his eyes and his clothes wrinkled, but none of that could stop Eddie from noticing the shape of his jaw, the curl of his hair across his brow, the size of his hands as he reached for Chrissy.

"Hey, TV," Chrissy reached out to take the offered hand, voice soft. "How are you feeling?"

"Better." Someone inside, probably Robin if Eddie was hearing it right, told him to sit back down and the guy rolled his eyes. "How about you? I thought I heard you out here?"

Dreams of that voice really couldn't measure up to hearing the real thing. Eddie wasn't sure if the guy's voice was rough from what they just went through or if it sounded like that all the time, but he couldn't quite stop the shiver working it's way up his spine at the sound of it.

"I was talking to - oh," Chrissy gave Eddie a guilty look before turning back to the man. "Oh, Steve help, you know I'm bad with names."

Those brown eyes met his and the introduction Eddie was going to make died on his tongue, because Steve's eyes were almost glowing in the fluorescent lighting and something about having that full focus on him made Eddie's mind go just as blank now as it did when he bumped into the man three months ago.

"Eddie Munson." His name slipped out of those perfect lips and Eddie couldn't do anything but smile in return, barely managing a nod, one hand tugging a lock of hair forward unconciously.

"That's it! Eddie!" Chrissy grinned at him, the sparkle in her eye only growing as she tugged Steve out of the doorway. "He was kind enough to keep me company while we were waiting on you."

"Really?" It looked like Steve was having as much trouble looking away as Eddie was, because his eyes only flicked down to Eddie's rumpled clothes once before settling on his face again as he offered a small smile. "Thanks."

"No problem." The words came out almost as a whisper so Eddie cleared his throat and tried again. "It was a pleasure getting to know the 'other CC'."

Chrissy threw him a grin and then grabbed the handle to the security office.

"I'm going to check on Miss Buckley, keep an eye on Steve, alright?" She said like that made any sense when Eddie came here specifically to check on his best friend, but he was also pretty sure Birdie would be in good hands and he hoped to god that Steve wouldn't mind being in his.

"Of course." The promise was unnecessary, seeing as the door was already swinging shut, but something about it had Steve raising a single brow, attention still focused on Eddie.

"You're going to keep an eye on me?" Steve asked, a smirk curling the edges of his mouth in a way that made it somehow more impossible to look away from. "After everything that Rob's had to pull you out of?"

"I see my reputation proceeds me." Grinning, Eddie tipped forward, tilting his head to one side teasingly. "Surely you don't think I could get in to anything in a back hallway, do you Stevie?"

When Steve didn't back up, didn't lean away, didn't try to hide the way his eyes tracked Eddie's tongue as he wet his lips, Eddie reached out with one finger to tug at Steve's belt loop with a grin.

"I think you could certainly try." The hand that covered Eddie's was warm and he still desperately wanted to know if Steve's lips were just as soft as they looked, as soft as his touch.

And maybe it was a really good thing there weren't any cameras here, because relationships were hard when you were a rockstar and hiding the way Steve backed Eddie up to the opposite wall to let him feel just how soft his lips were would be really difficult otherwise.

At least this way they managed to make it two weeks before some pap caught them holding hands in a restaurant a few blocks down the road.

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Thanks again for helping me with the prompt poll! Jokes a bit on you because this one kept asking to be written so I already had most of it done before the poll finished, but it's nice that my muse read your collective minds for once lol