✨𝖌𝖍𝖔𝖚𝖑𝖋𝖗𝖎𝖊𝖓𝖉✨

buck raises an eyebrow at him. "wow, in your own home, howard?" he asks, with exaggerated affront. "in my sister's home, you are propositioning me for an affair? what will maddie think?"

"maddie would've just pulled your shirt off," chim says, and buck grimace-pouts because he can't deny it. chimney wiggles his hand at buck. buck glares at him.

"you can't tell me what to do," he says.

"i'm your senior."

buck rolls his eyes at him, and, fair enough, chimney isn't sure why he thought that would work.

"i'll text maddie."

"maddie has eight more hours on shift, i can deal with her later."

"i'll text eddie."

buck actually snorts at that. "eddie knows not to worry."

that does make chim feel better, because if eddie knew what this was and was letting buck get away with it, it couldn't be too bad. still--

"i'll text bobby."

buck's eyes actually widen reflexively at that, then narrow. "bobby doesn't like texts," he says.

chimney stares him down. "i'll call him."

buck splutters. "you wouldn't"

"try me."

"he's playing geoguessr with michael today! do you know how long it took may, harry and i to teach him how to play geoguessr?"

chimney raises an eyebrow, unimpressed. "guess you better show me the goods then, evan."

buck grimaces at him in the distinct way a younger brother does when they're trying to decide if it's worth dueling you to the death. he decides against it, which is wise. if they woke jee up, she would definitely be on her papa's side.

(probably. unless she was in a gremlin mood that day. chimney has taught his daughter in the ways of chaos perhaps a little too well.)

in the end, he presumably decides it's not worth it, because he rolls his eyes and sighs in the most put-upon way possible before pulling his shirt over his head in a single motion. "happy?"

chimney goes for a retort, but the words die on his lips. he stares.

"h-" his throat is suddenly dry. "how...?"

buck's hand raises to wrap around the back of his neck sheepishly. the movement of muscle shifts the clear wrap around his shoulder, collarbone, pectoral, the dark lines wrapping down the length of them in fine lines moving with it.

"would you believe that may and albert both took pictures to send to me?" he asks, a little awkward and a lot fond.

chimney chokes a little. "albert?" he asks. "like, my little brother albert?"

"my brother in law and friend albert, yeah," buck's lips twitch at whatever look is on chimney's face. "he said--" a softening of his expression, a crack of something vulnerable. "he said that he was sure that i'd want to see it, when i woke up."

and that makes chimney stumble a little, the irritation in his throat fizzling out all at once, replaced with reluctant, unrepressable fondness.

it is so albert, is the thing, hopeful in a way that feels almost painful to the touch. no first responder would make a promise like that, even to themselves. it is, chimney supposes, why that line of work did not fit him, in the end.

"and you decided," he says, forcing himself back on track. "to tattoo it. on your human body."

buck furrows his brows a little. "what other body would i use?"

sometimes, chimney has no idea if buck is playing up this kind of shit to fuck with him or not. he's pretty sure he does both. "buck."

"it's cool, okay? i just thought-- it's cool."

"you got it when you died."

"but i didn't."

and maddie had told him that this is what buck has been going around saying, but chim-- chim doesn't know what to do with that, actually. he closes his eyes for a moment, tries not to hear the clap of thunder in his mind.

"this is really fucked up, you realize."

infuriatingly, buck shrugs. "hey," he says. "we're first responders. we all have things we do to cope-- i get new tattoos." his eyes soften, a little, at whatever he finds in chimney's expression. "i'm alive, chim," he says. "i just-- this helps me remember that."

"and we don't?" chimney feels a little fission of anger, helplessness that tastes like rainwater. "buck. if you need a reminder of that time you died, i can assure you that all of us remember that moment in full hd."

buck's voice is soft. "chim..."

"do you want me to paint a picture for you?" chimney asks, voice coming out faster than he means to. "seeing you hanging up there, giving eddie slack so he can lower you down, breaking your fucking ribs-- knowing that--"

"chim--"

"knowing that i let another brother fall?"

the words hurt as soon as they come out, and chimney feels grief like something dragged out of him, spread thin over time, space, love with nowhere to go except for all the places that it found its way into. buck watches him with careful eyes. kevin would've made a joke, about now, gentle and easygoing. buck is like him, sometimes, except for all the ways that he isn't.

one way he is: buck shifts forward, touches chimney's trembling wrist with gentle hands. "you saved me, chimney," he says, simply.

here is, then, the common thread between chimney's brothers, despite the time and distance and their proximity and lack thereof to life: there is a kindness to them that chimney does not know what he has done to earn. there is a life to them that chimney always falls short of protecting.

"you scare me sometimes, man," chimney says, instead of asking for forgiveness. he knows buck has already given it to him, anyways. "when you don't let us help with shit like that. when you-- when you think that the only way to remember that you're alive is to remind yourself of the time that you died. you can ask us, you know. we'd help."

"i know." buck tilts his head at him, considering. "i asked you for help, in my coma dream. you believed me." the words are careful, almost awed. chimney knows, after all these years, that buck treasures nothing more than something as simple as belief.

"i'd help you here, too," he says, needing buck to hear it.

buck smiles at him, all trust, despite it all. "i know," he says again. "you guys know me well enough to wait for me to wake up."

chimney thinks about glass windows, lines and roofs, brothers he is older than. "enough to take pictures of your stupid lightning scars?" he says, exhaling a little.

buck laughs, and what a miracle it is, for him to laugh again. what wouldn't chimney do to protect it.

"c'mon," he says. "it's a little cool."

chimney smirks. "not as cool as a rebar scar."

indignant blue eyes: "anybody can get stabbed by rebar--"

"oh please, buckley, you wish your brain was big enough that you could survive a rebar through the noggin--"

when asked later, chimney will insist that buck was the first to throw a couch cushion into chimney's face, forcing swift and forceful retaliation.

she had startled you a bit; you'd been daydreaming about music, which you'd just discovered, and rather liked. you'd heard it from a little house while you snuck in and stole their sheep.

but you knew the sound of fear, of being followed. you'd been chased too many times, you knew what it looked like. the rapid jolt of fear.

you smelled her then; cinnamon and onyx, and perhaps that was what had blinded you. perhaps your mouth was just watering. whatever the case, you waited until she had fled back into the forest; and then you waited a bit longer. in her wake, a garrison of men, their hands rough.

oh. so they were not knights. they were just men chasing a young woman through the woods. perhaps they did not even know a real princess had been running from them. well, that was a relief. you are not good at fighting with knights, who have swords instead of cudgels. these were just men, so you rose from the water in the quiet way you'd learned from the fish. they did not hear you coming.

and besides. proper dragons do violence so well.

___

once you had smelled her you could find her, although such things have always been easier for you than for the others. you spend a great deal of time studying things - it allows you to analyze them. you have tried to explain to the other dragons that sometimes it is best to slow down, but of course no dragon should be slow.

at first you did not understand the confusion of the people's umwelt. they relied so much on their communication (only words and actions!) and what they could see with their eyes. you and the other dragons did not use these as much; but you liked prying out the little sonic differences between hello that means "i like you" and hello that means "i don't like you."

so it took you a while to learn that you were responsible for what had happened to her. men had gone missing, and even bad men going missing makes a big fuss. (you know that if it had been girls missing, it would be okay. many proper dragons steal girls because it will not bring a knight to their door). for a while she had been trapped on the palace grounds. it was determined that it was no longer safe for her to be just a princess, she must undergo some human transformation and become a wife.

even so. you had gone looking for her (only to study, of course, so you may know how to snatch her best). but that night you saw her descending from the window of a castle, quick and agile, moving like a whisper, clad almost entirely in black. you could see her quite well of course, although you were not seeing her; but instead her heat and her smell and her sound and all the other sensory noise all humans give off.

you followed her, keeping yourself in a cloud so you appeared as if mist. she stole off into the woods. you were interested in that, and watched her scuttle - although of course you could have taken her then, you wanted to study your prey as best as you could. she did not seem to do much in the woods, only run around cry into her little hands.

she appeared to be looking for something. she did not get far that first night; scurried back to her bed. over and over this happened - she would run as far as she could, only to go back again. it seemed rather boring to you, but of course you had been free your whole life.

and then one night - finally, she arrived at the lake. she sank to her knees then, her hands pressing into the water. her head tilted to the sky. her dark hair spilling in a caught breath behind her.

this is how you heard her voice for the first time. when she came again the next night, she did so more quickly, more assured. straight to the lake, as if it had called her.

she had skipped a pebble over the surface of the water. this action was dangerous, because it almost hit the sail of your wing. you had structured yourself very finely to look like a rockslide.

"three months." her voice was like her: it was deep and smooth and dark, a low violin string. "they want me to marry that bastard in three months."

and then she cried into her hands again, and the sound of it almost broke you.

you followed her maybe more than a proper dragon should, after this. more than just back to the castle and her bed. you hid along her daily walks and watched her in the throne room and saw her out riding horses. she was good with dogs and nice to her people and very much a proper princess, although you had heard it said a proper princess ought not to slip out at night and run around barefoot through the woods.

you discovered she is terrible with directions. you have often had to make a path more clear so she could get home again. she cannot hunt better than an egg; you have had to kill fish and push them subtly up to the shore.

but she appears to love the lake as much as you do. you have seen her read by candlelight (how foolish. the entire woods saw her each time). you have seen her build little paper boats to float along the surface. you have seen her strip her many layers and dive in, have seen her lay with her belly to the sky, floating like she is suspended by the hands of darkness itself.

oh. so she loves the stars, as well, then.

__

you must go in. she will be married tonight. that is a human thing, but you have since learned what it has meant. she will go to somewhere else, and you will not see her again, maybe ever. and then how will you be a proper dragon? go!

you have made yourself in the form of a gargoyle, hiding in the white stone. you can see into her room; and the tapestries that seem unlike her. everything in her room is very bright, which is bad for a proper dragon. there are many knights in the hallways and in their rooms, and their smell is itchy and repugnant to you.

her dress is white, which does not seem like her. you have only seen her wear black. she is sitting at some kind of desk, and she is crying again. she smells of cinnamon still, but moreso of grief. you can feel the heartbreak in her as if it was inside of you.

you cannot watch her cry anymore. you have watched too often without moving. that is shameful.

you nose the door open. you can move quiet, because you are not very big. she is within a cave of you, then a wingtip, and then she is standing up, looking into your eyes.

"it's you." her hand on your jaw is warm. "i thought i was imagining you, you know. i turned around that day. i saw what you did to those men. i have been looking for you since. i told everyone that i had an angel to protect me. they locked me in here anyway."

you are not an angel, you are a dragon. you have to keep your wings locked tight or you would explode the walls of this place. it makes you feel big, suddenly. you are not used to that sensation. you do not like to be locked in a tower. you believe maybe the princess does not like to be locked in a tower either.

you take her in your jaws. she is very small, and does not resist you. although you are not a strong flyer, you must take off in a single push. any other movement would be too slow. you must also hold your breath so you do not smell her, the clove and cinnamon and little bird of hope. your mouth would water and you would drop her.

against the full moon, you do the thing that is impossible. you stretch yourself out all the way, a bold and beaming arrow, and you fly. you can hear them cry about you now, loudly. a banner that would strike pride even into your father: dragon. dragon. dragon.

on the eve of her wedding, you snatch the princess from her tower.

an arrow whisks for you, and then dozens, and then hundreds. you are not afraid of pain. you have learned long ago how to fly with holes in your wings. you hold her very gently still, and you push past the smell of your blood.

in the night you are a star. someone somewhere could look up and see you and make a wish.

there will be another lake, you decide. you can find another lake. somewhere very, very far from here. however long you must fly, however long you must hold your breath: you will take her home, because you are a proper dragon.

___

sometimes they come for her, your treasure. you have built her a little castle here, deep in the forests off the map. and of course for you: a silver round lake like the shift of her iris. you bring her books and she brings you bugs to study. you let her saddle you, and together you ride through the clouds and fog banks. she is a shadow on your back; a warm and velvet thing. she makes you music and lives the way she should; free in the night like a promise.

but they do come. you have stolen a real princess, and they do not want her to be a princess. they want to make her into a brood mother, or into bait, or into prey. they always look into the caves first; into the places proper dragons stay. they are real knights, not just men with sticks. they are loud and their smell still makes you itch.

but she has made you brave now, and cunning. if a dragon is not big, it should be cunning. and since you are a proper dragon, and since your treasure is your most precious thing, you lay in wait.

let them come. you will let the light drip off of you, and then you will pour through them.

afterwards, your princess will tell you a story around the fire. she will patch your wounds as she did that first time. she will sing to you.