#oc bruiser

Hands shaking, clutching the porcelain like it was a lifeline, a holy cross. The light above him, buzzing, flickering with each shuddering breath, a defunct halo. 

What was it to be holy anyway?

A feeling? A notion? Something you were called, something you were inherently? Something they doused you with and begged for you to stay until you couldn’t take it anymore?

And what did it mean to be unholy? To be unclean? To sin?

Was there any other choice for him anymore? 

Bruiser’s stomach churned, from what, he wasn’t sure. The food he ate? Or lack thereof in the past few days? The realization? The pounding in his head and the throbbing in his rib cage, like his heart was about to come loose and explode. Was this what dying felt like?

Maybe death would be a better fate.

He looked up, finally facing the form in the mirror as he took in another breath, feeling it rattle in his lungs. The same yellow eyes hung over his shoulder, leaning over him and those pearly white, catlike teeth grinned down at him and a bony finger prodded him in the cheek, as if coaxing him into putting on a smile. More like forcing, as if someone had pulled wire through his lips and pulled, curving his face into a grin that matched the figure behind him.

“You’ve got the devil on your shoulder.”

The wire loosened from around Bruiser’s lips and he dropped into a snarl, turning his head back to look at the figure, who only laughed. “You better shut your mouth just like I told ya,” he growled back, unable to keep his thoughts clear for longer than a moment. It was horrible and quite impossible to get anything done with him hanging over his shoulder like an impenetrable dark cloud.

The laughter echoed around the bathroom, bouncing off the walls and through Bruiser’s skull, only worsening his headache and his vision blurring. He’d been fighting him off, fighting it off for the past few days and it proved to no avail.

In the reflection of the mirror, he could see her face, standing behind him. Her nails reached out, taking his chin in her hands and turning his face towards her.

‘No, no, no, no,’ he thought, freezing in place as she leaned forward, ice cold lips against his. He wanted to be anywhere but there, with her, again. ‘Get me out of here,’ he begged, to whatever was above. If there was anything above. If anything above even wanted him, after everything. After he’d danced with sin and invited it in, invited this creature into his life, almost willingly letting him take hold. Would anyone save him? Would anyone even know?

He gasped, shaking his head as the ghostly cold lips dissipated into the air like droplets of rain and the icy grip that was around his heart and throat faded. Bruiser stumbled backwards, taking in heaving breaths as the world faded back to reality around him.

Pulling himself back together, brows furrowed, he spoke to the air again. “You’ve been controlling me through fiction.”

Another laugh echoed from the walls, almost bouncing out from Bruiser’s mind to the walls around him, surrounding him like vultures circling their prey. 

“It’s obvious.” Came the dark reply, the form taking shape in front of him. 

Bruiser’s brows furrowed, glaring back at King. Why him? What had he done to deserve such things? Was it his reckoning? His karma for all those years ago. Leaving him to bleed the snow red… And if he were being honest, it was his fault she’d done that. He needed to prove himself. He wasn’t enough of a man for her, of course he ran. Like a fucking coward.

That’s all he was.

Jaw setting firmly, he let the breath he was holding go, the anger seething out  between his teeth. He turned, swiveling out from the bathroom and back to the rest of his apartment. He wasn’t going to let him dictate his life. If he could just prove himself, and fight back, just for once, he could get rid of King. If that was even his name.

B had plans with Syd anyway. Maybe if he just focused, it would leave his mind. He would leave his mind.

“I’ve got to break you like a bad addiction,” he muttered, glancing over his shoulder as he made his way to the door, hearing the knock from it resonate throughout the home. Bruiser made his way over to the door and pulled the handle open, mouth moving up into a smile to greet Syd who was standing behind the door.

Perfectly manicured nails gripped his chin and suddenly Bruiser found himself stumbling back through his apartment, tripping over furniture and his own feet. His back hit the couch cushion and fear flooded his system, blue eyes going wide.

‘I can’t say no, I’m losing control—‘

 A steady weight found itself placed across Bruiser’s lap and a giggle sounded, the undertones of the laugh sounding like the one he’d heard from the mirror moments before. 

‘Let me go, let me go, let me go,’ he pleaded silently, looking anywhere but up, anywhere but her face. Even the cracks in the ceiling had to be more interesting right now, they had to be, for his sake. The cracks in the plaster stared down at him, forming a smile and then came the voice, her voice…. But his as well?

“What do you think you’re doing Michael?”

That wasn’t his name. Not anymore.

“Michael!”

Not anymore.

“Michael!”

Not anymore.

“Mikhail!” 

Not anymore.

Down, down, down, the pit in his stomach went.

“Mikhail Morozov you get your ass up right now or so help me god!”

Cold water filled his lungs, flooding his senses and kicking panic awake in his mind. Bruiser rose up, vision blurry and throat croaking. 

Above him stood Syd, brandishing their now empty bowl, which was dripping the remains of the ice water onto the comforter.

He blinked a few times, trying to calm himself as he took in gasping breaths of air and water, feeling it gurgle in his lungs.

Where was he? How did he…? What did she do to him? Was he even safe anymore? A year or two of running and rebuilding just for this to happen? Why did she come back? She couldn’t be back. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t right. All this running all his life and for what?

Then a soft head nuzzled into Bruiser’s dangling arm. 

A small kitten. His cat… he remembered him, but the name seemed to slip him. A lot of things were.

He was… home…?

He was home.

“B!” Syd shouted. “I’ve been trying to walk you for the past ten minutes,” they said, snapping their fingers in front of his face. “The hell happened to you?”

B sputtered, water falling out from his mouth as he looked up at Syd, hesitantly moving his face upwards, afraid of what he might see. 

“I uh…” he muttered. 

“You were like shouting and mumbling and rolling around, it’s like you were possessed, seriously.”

Bruiser just nodded, pulling himself out of bed, reaching up to his chin and rubbing his fingers along it confusedly. No marks, or pain… It was like nothing was even there. But he’d felt it. He’d seen her. She’d grabbed him. He could feel her, everywhere. 

God, he needed a shower.

He made his way out of bed and dragged his sopping wet blanket along with him towards his bathroom, glad he’d decided to go with the more expensive apartment if it meant his bathroom was connected to the bedroom. 

“Bruiser! What’s going on with you?” Syd called, their feet following after him as he went to grab the door.

Their hands both grabbed it at the same time, Syd’s grip almost stronger than his as his own hand shook as he held onto the door, almost using it for support to keep himself upright.

“B, would you stop ignoring me?!”

Anger boiled up inside of him, something animalistic crawling its way up from his stomach and through his throat, the claws tearing as his esophagus and scraping his vocal chords into shreds. He couldn’t control it, despite feeling the creature move inside him, razorlike claws dug tightly into the inner flesh of his body. And then it escaped.

“I’m having bad dreams!” The shout echoed, rattling the door on the hinges as it left his mouth. Bruiser turned, hand now gripping the door tightly. He couldn’t see it, but his nails dug into the wood and it was beginning to splinter under the pressure. Teeth bared, he glared down at Syd. “And nothing you can do will keep the bad things away from me until I fall asleep!”

“Bad dreams?” Syd echoed, confused as they stared back up at him, recoiling from their spot beside Bruiser as his shout still echoed. It felt like staring down a rabid animal, lacking the equipment you’d use to to lasso its neck and bring it into containment to be treated. With the way things were looking, maybe Syd was next to be brought into containment and treated… Although was it really treating someone if you were only passing on the infection?

Bruiser nodded with a huff. “Despite your good intentions, that boy is like an architect and I am just a new invention.” 

“New invention?” Syd questioned, taking a step towards Bruiser, hands raised warily, as if they may have to fend off an attack. “Bruiser you’re talking crazy, you just need to—“

“Relax, let me take care of you.”

Nails trailed up Bruiser’s spine and he could feel his body stiffen, like ice spreading through his veins and hardening, freezing him to the spot. The ice was even spreading to his heart.

For a moment, Syd’s hair, curly and light brown, hanging over their grey eyes, morphed into something else completely, straight and blonde, evenly parted and tucked behind an ear, exposing those blue eyes. Chipped black nail polish into long red nails, like talons that would tear him limb to limb. 

Panic flared in Bruiser’s chest, the same place he could feel those tails dig into the skin there, piercing through his heart. His steps began to retreat as Syd’s — no, her — her hand drew closer to him and he stumbled back into the tiled bathroom, door slamming shut behind him before he could even reach out to shut it himself.

Heaving gasps shook in Bruiser’s ribcage as he stumbled back, just barely catching himself on the seat of the toilet before slumping against the bathtub, tears prickling in his eyes. He just wanted to hide.

His hands gripped the side of the tub as he tried to suck in breaths of air as if he were drowning, drowning in the ice that was flooding his veins, taking hold and control, freezing his heart and mind. 

A raw sob choked up his throat and it came out steadily, his palms sweating as he began to cry, coughing up all of the emotions he’d been feeling the past few days. He was scared. He was so fucking scared. Why did he have to be the one who had to be possessed? Or whatever this was. Maybe it was his psychosis. If that was the case that meant a lot more trouble for him when it faded. If it faded. And if it wasn’t….? What would become of him?

Another cough racked his lungs and it tore up his esophagus as it came up and he nearly choked it back down from the pain. It finally came out and splattered across the bottom of the tub was blood, blood…. So much blood and then a mass of black goop and a decaying pile of spongy flesh. 

Before Bruiser could even process what the fuck had just happened, another wave of nausea slammed him, a mix of of a reaction from what he’d seen and the other some force inside of him, forcing his insides out. 

For the next ten minutes, Bruiser spent his time, hunched over the edge of the tub, coughing and gagging as mass of flesh and mass of flesh spat out from between his teeth, blood gurgling out in the occasional gasps of air he could take in the gaps between each heaving cough.

As Bruiser tried to pull air through his throat and into his lungs, he sputtered, choking on something lodged in his throat. He could just barely feel it approaching his tongue and he gasped, mixing between gagging and choking as he gripped onto the tub. He was going to die like this, wasn’t he? He felt hollow in his stomach and his mind, a fog settling over his brain. Did it even matter if he died here?

Tears slipped down his cheeks as he began to think about it all. There was so much here that he still wanted to do. Hell, he had an audition on Friday and after that he and Syd were going to get sushi to celebrate. And he was going to go on a date on Saturday and maybe go to another dance class. He had dreams, hopes, ambitions. Yet here he was, coughing himself up on the bathroom floor while the monster that haunted his nightmares stood outside the door, eagerly awaiting him.

B sniffled and it was then that he was reminded of the lump in his throat and tentatively, he brought a hand up to his mouth and reached past his tongue, trying not to gag at the intrusion which brought more tears to his eyes and tremors to his hands. Another cough racked him and just barely did he grasp something between his thumb and index finger, the texture squishy and coated heavily with a liquid. He tried to not recoil or cry at just feeling the object and instead forced himself to cough again as he began to pull it from his throat. 

Then he really began to choke, blocking off his airways as he tried to cough it out. Tears stung his eyes again and again and he tried to blink them away, his face now coated in both salty tears and blood. Why did it have to be him? 

A painful cough that could have only come from the bottom of his blood-soaked lungs, enhanced by whatever was left of his diaphragm, did the rest of it come out. Long and barely separated, lay before him on the tub, covered in blood and decaying like the rest of him, both inside and out, was a set of intestines.

Intestines.

His intestines.

He’d been coughing up his own organs this entire time?

A smile graced his lips for a moment, sticky maroon blood spilling out from between his teeth and down his chin. If that was really all it took to puke his guts up….

Then fear gripped what was left of Bruiser’s frozen heart and he immediately stood up, rushing over to the sink and grabbing it with his bloodied hands, staring back at himself in the mirror.

‘What’s wrong with me?’ He thought, watching as his reflection blinked at him, waving with red eyes. He was cursed, haunted, possessed, he was something broken. Something unholy.

“Bruiser!” Came the call from outside.

B glanced at the door and then to the bloody tub and choked back another sob, afraid of what would come out this time. His heart?

He looked back at himself in the mirror, brown hair hanging a mess on his hand, plenty of strands plastered to his forehead with sweat while his face was a mural of blood, sweat and tears.

Behind him was the perpetrator, curiously studying him. “You’ve got to choose between your faces.” Watching Bruiser’s surprise as every time he blinked, he changed from his messy state to a rather cleaned up one, hair combed back and face completely clean, dressed in formal wear, the only difference was his eyes - not the normal storm blue-grey but a fierce red staring him back down in the mirror.

A broken prayer slipped from Bruiser’s lips as he fell hunched over the sink, bloody hands clasped together and he tried to pray away whatever was going on with him. It wasn’t just some bad dream, but a living, breathing nightmare. One that was breathing down his neck and latching its claws into his shoulders. It wouldn’t be too long before it made its final strike on him. The killing blow. 

“Feels like you’re running out of holy places,” King spoke again, gaze traveling from Bruiser’s broken form to the mess of a tub that looked more like a morgue than a place of bathing, of renewal. 

A few knocks sounded upon the door. “Bruiser! Are you alright?”

The knocks reverberated around his skull, irritating him further and the illusion of cleanliness vanished from the mirror, taunting Bruiser with the truth. He was a mess. A bloody and sick mess. Some rabid animal.

“Bruiser!”

Each knock and yell made the walls close in tighter on Bruiser, the wood pressing into his skin and he could feel what was left of him close in on itself to conserve space. He couldn’t fucking stand this anymore.

“Enough!” He shouted back, the shout coming out as some demonic howl, the door in front of him blowing to bits as the lights above the mirror sparked out, a crack splitting down the mirror as well.

His chest rose and fell with each heavy breath he took, the room falling quiet and there was suddenly no more calling for him, no more energy in the room. All he could feel was his own anger, tail lashing and teeth bared like a cornered dog.

Just the thrumming of what was left of his heart and snarl posed in his throat.

Where was Syd?

He remained standing, posed like a predator waiting to hear a sound from his prey, ears straining to catch a sign of life.

“And now the room is getting quiet,” King’s voice came from over his shoulder, the man was halfway suspended in the air, floating on it as if it were just a pool. His pointed devil tail had wrapped around Bruiser’s shoulder, pulling him close as if they were friends. If they could ever be friends.

Bruiser glared at King. “Shhh!” He couldn’t think with King’s stupid taunting, especially not when trying to make sure his younger sibling was still alive.

Hesitantly, his feet began to crunch over the splintered wood on the floor as he made his way over towards where Syd had been standing before he’d… gone nuclear? Whatever that was. 

As he stepped over the wood where he could, he placed his foot down and a sickening squelch came from the pile beneath him. Retreating backwards, a now sticky sock held high in the air in disgust. 

‘The fuck was that?’

Stepping back, he saw the source of the sound, now halfway flattened under him. 

An eyeball.

Bruiser dropped to his knees immediately and much to his own internal disgust and dismay, he picked it up between his already bloody fingers and rolled it over until he could see the iris. A bloody cry crept up his lips and escaped with ease.

Syd.

Bruiser pushed the wooden rubble to the side, digging through it until he came across the limp remainder of Syd’s body, a sizeable chunk taken out from the right side of their face, eye socket onwards caved in towards their lips, bloody splinters sticking out through the mass of flesh.

Syd.

His best friend. His only real family ever since the mess that had brought him to America. He’d practically raised the kid, his little sibling. They gave him something to keep going, to keep trying for. He wanted to achieve greater things to make Syd proud and make sure they both made it, as a family. 

And this was how he repaid them? 

With a chunk of their face missing, like a shotgun shell blew through them. Part of his heart, his soul, blown to bits.

A heavy sob dropped from Bruiser as he hung over Syd’s body, only able to stammer out apologies and curses between his hiccups and sobs.

The floor creaked behind Bruiser. “Oh what a shame.”

‘Yeah, what a fucking shame,’ he thought, shaking his head bitterly. ‘It’s all his fucking fault anyway.’

‘Or is it mine?’

It was him, who snapped, wasn’t it? It was him who bared his teeth and fought back upon seeing the opportunity of love. It was him who was drawn to the manor and the both with the cheshire cat smile. It was him who longed for danger and it was him alone who stared down death with a knowing grin. He knew all its secrets, anyway. A much less terrifying thing when you got used to it.

No, it wasn’t King’s fault.

It was his.

He’d always been this way, hadn’t he?

When he sinned with Sasha and then left him there to bleed out in the snow. 

What a fool he was, to think he could ever cleanse himself of what he’d done.

It wasn’t King’s fault, no, King had only activated what was already there.

Like they always said, broken from the start.

“Nobody taught you how to read a riot,” came the broken, half laugh from the pile of rubble and Bruiser looked back down, astonished to see Syd’s mouth moving slowly. 

Their voice was something different now, more akin to the way King had been taunting him, gravelly yet sharp, piercing through his heart and ears like ice, but decayed enough to know that wasn’t right. 

Bruiser let out a cry of relief and grabbed Syd, pulling them into his chest and into a tight hug, ignoring the gross feeling of the gore that was their face pressing into his shirt. “Oh bless my soul,” he wept, almost begging to whatever was above. Change this. Fix him. Fix Syd. Save him. “I’m losing control.”

“Been having bad dreams,” Bruiser repeated to them like he had before, still clutching them like a lifeline. “And nothing you can do will keep the bad things away from me… until I fall asleep.”

“Bad dreams…” Syd echoed back to him, glancing up at him through their one good eye as they peeled away from his chest, chunks of flesh stuck to the shirt still.

Bruiser nodded again, gaze flickering over Syd’s skin. “Despite your good intentions…” It was dead, clearly, decaying and graying. But something about it was still so alive. 

Alive. What he wouldn’t give to feel alive at that moment, instead of the cold thing he could feel himself turning into, his only emotions being turmoil and anger. To be alive like that again. Maybe that was all King wanted. It was all he wanted too, really. He glanced down at Syd again, pondering it as he looked over their half alive form. The image before him flashed into the blonde girl once more and his lips pulled back into an animalistic snarl. “That boy is like an architect…” Bruiser felt a pull in his hand, a ghostly claw taking his hand and dragging it forwards. And somehow, Bruiser was okay with it, letting it be dragged. His hand found its home clamped around her throat, the claws digging into the flesh there. It felt like it was meant to be there. Like this was what he was meant to be doing all along. Sharpening his teeth and fighting back. 

He’d forgotten how to fight back. Bruiser leaned forward, watching as the once gray eyes widened into blue oceans of terror. Teeth sharp, canines all around as if he was made for destruction, his only purpose to ruin what was already created. “Mikhail don’t!” The shout fell on deaf ears. Any shout would be – over the sound of incisors crunching through a windpipe. Blood flooded Bruiser’s mouth and it was delicious. It was everything he’d wanted and more. It tasted like happiness, like being alive again. Maybe that was something he could achieve, with enough destruction. Perhaps that was her reasoning too.

As Bruiser pulled away, flesh ripping and stringing along from Syd’s throat as they began to gasp and gargle on blood and fleeting air, he threw them to the floor, their even more decaying form sliding into the mirror at the edge of the room, tilting it to look up at Bruiser. With every step Bruiser took towards the mirror, he could feel his bones clicking, reworking themselves around the space that used to harbor intestines, now harboring the armor for his sins. His shoulders felt hunched over his form and maybe it was only his thinking, but he felt as though his arms had gotten longer or at least bonier. He was changing with every step and with every step, the beast inside him grew in strength. He finally stopped a few feet from the mirror, catching a glimpse of the flash of red from his irises. What caught him even more off guard was not the blood splattered across his face or the flesh dangling from his now elongated and fucked up jaws, nor was it the horns curling up from the top of his head, hair parted around it nicely – no, what had shocked him was the figure behind him, grinning widely. White hair and cheshire cat smirk.

King had been planning something, that part was evident to Bruiser. He’d been busy, too busy for just another week on tour. He was constantly going quiet in conversations when Bruiser walked into the room, run off of errands and left B behind, dragging Mouse kicking and screaming out the door. Not to mention the hundreds of times King had stopped in soundcheck to fiddle with the lights, as if they weren’t already perfect like he programmed them.

And every night, as they unpacked the stage, she found that King wouldn’t stop analyzing things, measuring the stage’s height and such. She had absolutely no idea what had gotten into him, or what he’d gotten out of him to put him in such a state. It was different from the manic or anxiety episodes Bruiser had come to acknowledge and ride the waves of with King, offering help wherever and whenever he could.

In all honesty, Bruiser was terrified. The last time KIng had been overly worrisome about… nearly everything, especially on tour, was when he… when /she/ came back, for the both of them. And King always had to make things a public affair.

He didn’t know how long he’d be able to stand this for. The secrets and the hushed conversations. It felt like the past few years all over again. If he’d done something wrong, he just wanted King to come out and say it. She was sick of the hiding and she was sick of the pit in her stomach every time they played each night, scared that something personal or terrifying would pop up about her behind him on the screen. Some nights just playing the lines to Girlfriend was enough to make him want to curl up backstage and hide. But of course, that wasn’t possible. Bass boy Bruiser. Next to the spotlight, no matter how much she ran from it.

Over the course of the day, B would only catch little tidbits of conversations, mostly rushed between King, Mouse and Moth.

“When are you gonna do it?”

“I’m thinking tonight, during the show,” came with reply.

“Really? You know what happened last time.”

“I know, but I think I got it this time. What do you think?”

“I personally wouldn’t like it,” Moth answered and there was the sound of a light (loving) slap.

“Not helping!”

“He asked what I thought.”

The room fell silent as Bruiser walked in and King and Mouse exchanged awkward looks.

“Hey..?” He greeted, dropping down onto the couch.

King gave a grin, Moth waved and Mouse said nothing.

Heat rose in Bruiser’s cheeks. Why was everything so goddamn awkward?

King was going to tell him something, wasn’t he? Whether it was that they were over or some shit like that. None of it felt good.

Then, King grabbed Mouse by the arm, hauled her up and tugged her out of the room, hurriedly kissing B on the cheek as he walked by, leaving him alone with Moth, who looked just as bored as he was.

“What’s that all about?” B asked finally, pointing to the ajar door now that King had left.

Moth just shrugged. “He’s planning something.”

“Well no shit.”

—

King silently thanked Nick as he rushed back across stage, cradling his acoustic in his hands as the lights dimmed. They were just about halfway through the set and King was getting way too anxious for it. His feet danced nervously on the ground, wearing through the old converse. Was it the right time? Was it really?

Strumming a few chords experimentally, King chuckled into the mic, looking out over the sea of people and their cheering faces and dyed hair. “You guys wanna hear a little story, from my youth? It’s about love,” he started, laughing as hollers filled up the room.

He glanced over at Bruiser, who shot him back a smile before focusing back on her bass. King was almost certain that Bruiser was more anxious than he was, but for what reason? He hadn’t the faintest idea.

“Well, it goes a little like this…”

“I was only a boy, but I looked younger than the others. Only hair on my head, and a voice just like my mother’s. So I stayed quiet, and fully clothed.

And this boy in my grade. I would dream him in my covers. After saving him from, the cruelty of his father.”

A smile poked through King’s stone cold storytelling facade as the realization hit fans.

There wasn’t supposed to be a boy.

“Though his father… wasn’t cruel at all.

“I was head over heels, I stuffed socks into my sneakers, I was hoping he’d think, that I was tall enough to reach him. But the teacher took my socks away, she said “you’re only a boy. You’re too young to really love him, and when you grow up you’ll find, there’ll be hundreds more just like him.

But I said “Teacher, you don’t understand…”

Hands raised, King gestured for the crowd to keep up the last parts of the song while Mouse picked up on his forgotten guitar, which he had carelessly handed off to Nick hurriedly.

‘In, out,’ King reminded himself as his now free hand reached into his back pocket.

‘In, out,’

The heartbreaks, and the romances will come.

But adolescent love is a violent one.

‘In… out.’

It was now or never.

Swiveling back towards the mic, he took over for a moment. “The heartbreaks, and the romances may come—“

King dropped to one knee, pulling the box from his left back pocket swiftly and presenting it to Bruiser, eyes shining up at him from the ground, begging, pleading for him. For them. Forever.

“But I know I’ve found the one.”

Screams erupted around the small venue, bouncing off of the balcony and heading back towards King.

“Guys shut the fuck up he’s proposing!” Mouse shouted into the mic before darting off stage.

A laugh left King but after that, nothing else. The words came up onto his tongue and died there, shriveling and cracking. He’d rehearsed it time and time again, even in the shower and even when trying to fall asleep, he’d muttered the speech to himself over and over.

This was the moment they were going to hopefully remember for the rest of their lives.

It needed to be perfect.

But… everything was already perfect.

Bruiser was already perfect and the way King felt with him was already perfect. Already he could die a happy man knowing Bruiser loved him.

How could he find the words to express what he made him feel every time he walked into the room? What he’d made him feel over the past few years. It was something indescribable, he’d tried to put it into songs but even thing it still didn’t make sense.

This was the closest thing he could get to to describe what he felt.

“Marry me? He finally croaked, tears welling up in his own eyes from the anticipation and the memories and feeling flooded him, like a dam had broken loose. “Please? I want you forever B and I know you—“

“Yes!”

King’s hand dropped the ring and rose to his dropped jaw, as tears began to slip down his cheeks.

Bruiser rushed over to him and before he knew it, he was swept up into a powerful kiss and locked against Bruiser’s warm embrace.

“Yes. A thousand times yes, kotik. I’ve wanted to marry you from the start,” he murmured.

“That’s funny, I have too,” King couldn’t help but laugh as they parted. He hastily dropped down and picked the ring back up, sliding it onto Bruiser’s fourth finger with ease.

King grabbed Bruiser by the hand, heaving him over towards the mic and holding up his hand with the ring glittering in the light. “He said yes!” He shouted, feeling as though he might just explode.

Cheers erupted from the crowd and he could just barely make out a few muffled ‘congrats’.

Sniffling, King locked eyes with Bruiser again and pulled him in for a quick kiss, just to remind himself the moment was real.

The only thing pulling King from his love-drunk trace was the feeling of weight being pushed down on his shoulders and he laughed as he looked down and saw his guitar strapped around his shoulders again.

“I’m engaged and old!” King shouted back into the mic again, laughing. “Now I get to sing shit like this!”

Place a golden flower Glory in the summer

In the beginning, it was only Spot and Bruiser. Well, at first it was just Bruiser. Bruiser. The God of Blood. The God who demanded blood no matter where he went. 

Bruiser travelled across the world, fighting for armies no matter who he truly agreed with, it was all just for fun anyway. He would remain while the world moved on, and he would maybe be remembered, and that was okay with him. He was just there for the bloodshed. He moved across the realm, just him, his limited armor and sword. His stormy gray eyes turned red in the heat of any battle, he was a force to be reckoned with. He flattened forests and levelled mountains in that state, nature itself feared him.

It was like he commanded the rage of a thousand storms when he heard the drums of war, the drums like thunder, they pounded in his ears and his chest. Where a heart should’ve been, resided a ruthless storm. And that was how he liked it.

He liked feeling the lightning crackle through his veins when he raised his blade and slashed through battle. It gave him something to live for, something to keep going for, all he wanted was that perfect rush. It was all he needed.

Memories in flashes A heart of loss and light

And then he met Spot. A short, stubborn god who’s internal storm and spirit rivaled his. They got along like a house on fire. They would spend their days in between year long wars sparring. Spot’s sword slammed into Bruiser’s, Spot’s boots sliding back on the concrete, his obsidian black wings unfurling as he tried to keep himself from moving back any further. He turned, looking back up at Bruiser with a devious smirk. Bruiser stared back at him, pushing against his blade, trying to shove him away or unbalance him as he tried to figure out what he was planning. Bruiser’s thinking lost him time on his feet though as Spot advanced forwards and Bruiser went to swing, however he swung too quickly and Spot surged forward again, quickly knocking his legs out from under him and causing him to land beneath him on his knees. The Angel of Death laughed, rapier pointed at Bruiser’s throat as he looked up at him, blinking quickly as he realized he must’ve been caught off guard. B knew that even with the dull blade Spot had, Bruiser was still vulnerable, on his knees before him like that. He knew that with one strong movement, Spot could just kill him then and there. Of course the angel would never do that, that was another thing Bruiser knew. But the fact it was possible for either of them to just do that was still chilling, even if they were both immortal. They seemed to be mortal for each other however. Spot did not live up to Bruiser’s worrisome thoughts though and only extended a rough hand to Bruiser, easily pulling him up once he had grabbed on. Patting Bruiser on the back, Spot chuckled tiredly. “Want to call that a wrap?” He asked, tilting his head when he noticed the few beads of sweat dripping down Bruiser's head. Bruiser scoffed, shaking his head at Spot, running a hand through his messy dark hair. “No. I just let you win that time.”

“Sure. The God of Having His Head In The Clouds has a great ring to it,” Spot taunted, turning his hilt over in his hands, smirking back at Bruiser as he took a few paces back, sizing him up again, readying for another round. “It does, actually. You’re just mean,” Bruiser teased back, taking a few steps back as well, mirroring Spot’s movement. Then, they both surged forward and collided in the center of the arena once more.

Heed your kingdom's calling A brother's cry befalling

Days went on like that, and then those days turned to weeks, weeks to months and months to years. Years turned to centuries and it went far past that. They watched empires rise and fall, wars begin and end. They saw it all through together, travelling and fighting wherever they were enlisted. There were whispers around countless campfires about them. The god of blood and the angel of death. The closest of friends. Perhaps even more. Nobody had gotten close enough to truly know. But there were tales of longing looks between the two, hushed conversations and fond smiles and a deep bond that nobody else could quite understand but them, mostly because nobody else was around for it. And that way nobody was going to be able to tell anyone that those tales were in fact true. At first it started out as just helping each other out, nothing more. Spending centuries together, in and out of wars and no time for dating, what did anyone think was going to happen? Slowly though, something more blossomed, sure, it took decades, but sometimes the prettiest flowers take the longest to bloom.

Huddled around their own small fire, was Spot and Bruiser, curled up close enough that they really didn’t need the fire for warmth anymore, but it was still a nice touch.

Spot’s wings opened and wrapped around Bruiser, pulling him closer, almost into his lap. Bruiser chuckled, turning and hiding in Spot’s neck, wishing to just relax and stay there forever.

But nothing like that lasted forever. Even if they did, nothing good ever remained. Months later, Bruiser and Spot found themselves leading the head of a war. Bruiser stood over the table, eyes scanning the map as he rushed out half-thought through battle plans and moving his pawns along the board. They were risky moves, but they could handle them, they were immortal gods of destruction. If they just led the attack they’d be fine. Bruiser stepped back, placing a hand under his chin as he studied the table, thinking to himself. Maybe Spot had some pointers. “We’d be fine, honestly. And if we had the northern squadron come in from the towers then we could cover the valley and we’d be pretty much secure as long as you can fly over the perimeter. What do you say to that Spottie?” Silence greeted him. “Spottie?” Bruiser finally looked up, the heart he had forgotten he had dropped through his chest when he saw Spot’s chair empty, the cocoa he had looked untouched. It all had been, dust gathering alone in the empty library. How long had Spot been gone? He hadn’t even heard the ruffling of feathers or the flap of wings. Spot was gone. And Bruiser had the sinking feeling he wouldn’t be returning. 

A crown of grief rules nothing left but ashes Lost within the night

Bruiser travelled solo after that and promptly abandoned the war they’d been fighting in. He only wanted to be there if Spot was there. He still carried on fighting when he needed to, when he was called to. There was no way he couldn’t, it was what he was put there to do, ignoring it was ignoring fate, destiny. If he even still believed in that sort of thing. The only proof Bruiser had of anything truly divine was Spot, and he already saw how that turned out, so he wasn’t too thrilled to try anything else. Boots crunching the gravel beneath him, Bruiser made his way towards what appeared to be a kingdom before him. The gate was high and wide, decorated with the smoothest stone, it clearly hadn’t been up for long and the kingdom hadn’t seen any battles, the most damage was near the bottom anyway, where he figured the most accidents would happen, whatever they may be. A hand wrapped around the metal gate and it easily swung open, the guard on the other side nodded to him, allowing him through. He nearly laughed. This was their security? Oh, how he could not wait to see who was the ruler of this ramshackle lot that was somehow classified as a kingdom. Maybe ramshackle wasn’t the right word, the kingdom wasn’t falling apart, it was quite the opposite, with all of it’s fancy buildings ahead and finely polished roads. They had the funds, just not the protection, obviously. Bruiser practically strode right up the castle, ignoring those who casted him confused or disgusted glances from their shops or horses. He occasionally caught their eyes as he walked, those untying their horses or making a purchase at one of the carts.  He also caught their quiet, hurried, whispers. ”It’s the blood god.” ”Don’t be a fool, that’s nothing but a myth.” “But… his eyes. I saw it.” He shrugged off all of the comments though, not too worried, not even by the burly men he saw hiding in the shadows with their glares and dark hoods. They were the least of his worries if anything, he knew they were truly all bark and no bite. If they had any bite, they wouldn’t be tucked away in tavern allies with the stray dogs. Finally, he came face to face with another metal gate, this one painted white and gold and beyond it, stood the tall and elegant castle. He could almost taste the snobbery from here. He remembered how much fun it was to fight against the royals. He hoped he had another chance for that. Or maybe not, maybe they were nice. He scoffed at the idea. That was the least likely thing to ever happen, and he had seen a lot of unlikely things happen. A boy dressed in what might’ve been a guard uniform, although it looked a tad bit too fancy to be one, with his blue, reds and gold accent pieces. As well as the bright white hair. He wasn’t sure the last time he saw a guard with hair like that was. The boy - who Bruiser decided to name Snowflake Hair until he knew of his name, if he even wanted to know - turned, brightening up when he saw someone at the gate and trotting over. He paused at the edge, dark eyes scanning over Bruiser as he leaned against one of the pillars of the gate. “Let me guess, you want in?” He asked, squinting up at Bruiser. Something looked familiar about him. He just wasn’t too sure about what. Maybe it was the eyes. Although they weren’t familiar either, he realized, but they did draw him in. They were magnificent, if you stared for too long he found that they moved and surged like a storm on the sea. He’d have to include that in his poetry next time. Bruiser’s words drew him out of his thoughts. “Yes, actually. Just looking for a visit,” he answered, deciding to be nice to the boy. He was probably a young guard anyway, looking like he was just about twenty, maybe younger, maybe older, Bruiser was never good at telling. He could never tell if he looked too old or too young, being immortal and all. Age never was something he understood well. Snowflake Hair thought it through before shrugging, grabbing hold of the gate and pulling it open without another thought. “That sounds like a good reason to me, mostly on the account that you’re cute,” he quipped, taking a step back and letting the gate swing open for Bruiser. “Welcome to the Marked Kingdom,” he said, giving him a small fake bow, laughing rising from both men. Bruiser nodded as he laughed, although he was still more hung up on the fact that this boy, who he had never met before, had called him cute. He had never been called cute before. Handsome? Pretty? Hot? Sure, he’d heard them all before, from one person or another. But never cute. He had never shown traits he thought could be cute. He was a god of blood and death and destruction, what about him was cute to this boy? Was he actually cute? The thought almost brought blush to his pale cheeks. Was he more than just the harbinger of death? Maybe he would like to be. Bruiser shook his head. Spot had promised that for them some day. It never happened. It never would happen. He should’ve remembered that. He shook the feeling from his body as he followed after Snowflake Hair, trotting to keep up as he began rambling quickly about the castle, when it was built, the paintings that covered the hallways and the many, many stories he had about the servants. For a new guard, he seemed to know quite a lot about the castle. Then, a shorter, possibly younger, girl rounded the corner, with a small silver crown resting upon her dark brown hair that hung down in her face slightly. She brightened up upon seeing Snowflake Hair and grinned. “There you are!” She chirped, engulfing him a quick hug. She was more nicely dressed than Snowflake Hair, that was clear. “I told you, I’m doing guard duties for now, it’s better than having to read about trade routes,” The taller boy said, groaning at the mere memory of having to do so. So many sleepless nights spent memorizing things for the kingdom that he’d never need. Now that Bruiser studied the two closer, he realized that in Snowflake Hair’s hair, rested a similar silver crown like object, it had just blended into his hair more. He had been dealing with a royal this entire time. How had he not noticed? He forced on his quickest polite face and gave a small bow. “Sorry for intruding, your Highnesses,” he said, holding in a snicker what he just had to do. Snowflake Hair rolled his eyes. “That’s not really necessary, you’re really only making a fool of yourself.” “As if he wasn’t one already,” the girl added, causing them both to laugh. “King!” Came a scolding voice from around the corner. “That is no way to treat our--” The owner of the voice came around the corner. And there, before Bruiser, stood the man he thought he had lost, looking as beautiful as ever, draped in red and black clothes, wings curled behind him. Spot. “--guest….” His voice faltered as the two locked eyes. Gray meeting black. The blood god and the angel of death meet once more. “Spot…?” 

“Bruiser?” Bruiser’s gaze hardened as he remembered what exactly Spot had done. He took a step back, glare quickly forming down at the shorter man. “I really should be leaving, I truly didn’t mean to intrude,” he muttered, trying to seem polite although his voice was coated in venom and bitterness, of nights spent crying alone, wondering what he had done wrong to make Spot leave. And the blood god did not cry. Bruiser did though. Bruiser cried. He begged and pleaded for nights with no end, wishing in the dark sky for his partner to return, to see those wings block out the sky before descending on him. But that day never came. He turned, beginning his trek back out of the kingdom. ‘It was a complete waste of time anyway’, he thought, jaw tightening as he gritted his teeth, focusing on the floor in front of him and trying to think of something other than the frog in his throat and the way warmth found its way to his eyes. “Bruiser!” Spot called, grabbing his wrist and causing Bruiser to whip around quickly, still glaring down at Spot. “Wait, please,” he began, voice quiet. “Just… walk with me? I’ll explain everything.” Bruiser gave a sigh, the breath shaking as it came out and he dipped his head, defeated. ’Oh how could I ever say no to you?’. “Fine.” Spot kept a hold of his wrist as he led him down the hallway, past the confused two royals from before, beyond them and away from all of the servants and guards who really couldn’t care less, too focused on their own world and tasks. How he wished he could just slip away, into one of those meaningless moments and forget about the whole thing. Forget Spot and forget war and forget it all. Eventually, Spot stopped at a balcony, far away from the others. “So?” Bruiser said, raising a brow as he pulled his hand away from Spot and took a few steps back, wary of his surroundings, planning mentally in case he needed to find the quickest escape route. Spot probably wouldn’t hurt him, but it never hurt to have a plan. “Tell me all about it, huh. Tell me why you left, Spot. Go on,” he growled, eyes narrowed at Spot, the anger rushing through him strong enough to elicit a flash of red from his eyes. Spot sighed, leaning against the door to the balcony tiredly. “Fine,” he mumbled, gaze drifting off to the side. “Years and years ago, before I knew you, I found this small town. And I decided to try and raise it up from the ground, seeing as nobody was doing it for them. It went well, surprisingly well and I told myself that after a year, I’d leave. That turned into two years, that turned into three and so on and so forth,” he explained, waving his hand to progress the story. “And then, when I finally got the courage to leave and had left and started my life with you? Well, word eventually got to me that the second I left, the entire town had been destroyed, all because I was gone, because I let my guard down,” Spot said, shaking his head. “Is- is this why you left me behind?” Bruiser asked, gesturing to the wide city around them, hurt and confusion falling across his features. Was this really it? “Bruiser-” “No, I get it. The place you cared about was in danger. Just… Why didn’t you take me with you? I could’ve helped, I would’ve hunted them down for you, you know that.” “I didn’t hunt them down though.” “What?” “They were already long gone by the time I arrived and the people, they needed a leader, not a hunter and I didn’t bring you because--” “Because I don’t know when to be either,” Bruiser finished quietly, shaking his head. They shared a look for a moment, Spot’s full of sadness but strength still, and Bruiser’s full of hurt and betrayal. “Look… I didn’t want to leave you. I just… they needed me.” “That includes your kids too, hm? Were you ever gonna tell me about them?” Spot threw his head back in a laugh. “Kids? Gods no, Bruiser are you insane? King and Mouse are my closest friends,” he said, shaking his head, muttering under his breath “King’s closer than most friends get but still…” he then straightened up and said, louder this time.  “I don’t think I’d ever have kids, Bruiser. Bringing them into this world? With the possibility of being like you or me? Never.” Bruiser nodded solemnly, understanding now. That made sense. They seemed just a bit too old to be his kids, especially if he had returned to the kingdom just recently. “So is that just it then? You show up and build this kingdom, get a new boytoy and what, live your life until they realize you haven’t aged? Is that your plan?” B asked. Spot shook his head once more, unfurling his wings and Bruiser realized nothing had been covering them. “They’re aware. They enjoy my rule and know I probably won’t be going anywhere for a while. And that’s probably for the best.” “Yeah, unless you scurry off again for another random village,” Bruiser muttered, rolling his eyes. “Listen… Could you just stay, please? We could be what we used to be. And… King does need to learn how to fight, just in case.” Bruiser sighed, a smile etching it’s way onto his face. “I could never say no to you.”

I'll see you soon my dear

And that was how Bruiser found himself quickly in a new morning routine. After getting used to the castle, and their extremely comfortable beds, he decided he would start training King at dawn the next week.

He met him out in the arena as the sun just began to rise over the kingdom, burning off the small dew drops on the grass and casting a slight golden glow over the city. Bruiser stood in the center, a rapier resting on his hip as he watched King sleepily cross over the grass, barely dressed and somehow awake. The longer he looked at the boy, the more he realized how deep the dark circles ran. King blinked sleep from his eyes and grabbed a similar sword off of the wall, steadying himself as he tried to focus. How Spot thought this was a good idea, he’d never know. “Ready?” Bruiser asked, raising his blade with a grin. He’d missed this. It wasn’t Spot, no, but King had spent time with Spot, surely he’d picked something up from the angel. “Wait wait wait- Aren’t you gonna teach me how to fight first?” King asked, looking around wildly as he realized they were just going to jump into it. He took a step back, nerves taking hold of him. “I believe in learning on the job,” Bruiser answered smoothly, before advancing towards him, slashing out with his sword and laughing when King did nothing more than occasionally block and dodge. At least he was good at avoiding things. That would keep him out of harm's way. But not forever. It didn’t take long for Bruiser to pinpoint his weak spots and for him to use them to get an advantage, not that he didn’t have one already. He always did. He kept moving towards King, their swords colliding in air as he began to back him up. Bruiser quickly switched up the angles and frequencies of his attacks and soon enough, King was scrambling to block them or deliver his own attack as a defense and all it took was one misstep and King found himself knocked back down onto the floor, Bruiser’s blade pointed at his throat. Bruiser grinned down at him for a moment. Either proud of him or proud of his own work. He couldn’t quite tell and he had a feeling he might never be able to with him. He pulled his sword away, offering his hand to King and pulling him up. He gave him a moment to dust himself off and gather himself and his blade, then, Bruiser dropped the smile. “Again.”

Don't you shed a single tear

Their training continued on like that for weeks and Bruiser was proud to say King was finally getting the hang of it and it did not take long for him to start advancing, he was starting to surprise Bruiser himself with some of the moves he had pulled. “I almost knocked you over!” He had said one time, gloating in the middle of practice . Bruiser had only laughed though as he got him pinned to the wall, blade to his throat. “Almost won’t save you though. Try again.” Some days, Mouse came out on the grass to watch her brother, yelling useless comments and joking jabs at either of them. Which Bruiser did find endearing. He had only been hanging around them for a few weeks and he swore he had started to go soft and honestly? He kind of liked it. He wasn’t too sure of what to make of it, but he liked it. He had decided that. Most mornings, the two got straight to work, no chatting or any playful banter, not like they usually had the extra energy for that anyway. But one morning, King found himself sitting in the grass, up earlier than Bruiser and alone, pulling wet strands of grass from the Earth and flinging them away. It was better than doing nothing, and this was still practically nothing. His eyes were almost mistier than the morning but he blinked and tried to clear it, trying to focus on anything but the noises and images that haunted him from the night’s terrors. He was too caught up in his mind to notice Bruiser sitting down beside him, resting back on his palms and looking up at King. “What are you doing up, especially earlier than me?” He asked, a faint grin on his lips. “I’m always up earlier than you. Just don’t show it. I don’t sleep,” King muttered, voice cold like the air around them. Bruiser sat up a bit more, sympathy falling over him. “Why not?” “Just can’t. Insomnia and shit,” he murmured, still focusing on the grass, pulling up more clumps, dirt getting stuck under his freshly painted and now chipping nails. Not that it mattered. They’d only get more dirty after that morning’s training session with Bruiser. King was now accustomed to taking a few showers after those, he didn’t mind anymore. Bruiser nodded, humming in acknowledgement. “Y’know we don’t have to train today if you don’t want to,” he said, voice soft, trying to melt King’s shell and break him out of it. King scoffed, rolling his eyes. “You’re lying. You just want me to act soft so you can use it against me later.” Bruiser shook his head, shuffling closer to King. “I’m not. Your physical and mental health matters more than this training,” he said, urging him to listen. The white haired boy sighed, rubbing at his eyes. “How about this, you can braid my hair?” Bruiser offered. It had been growing for a few months and was nearly shoulder length, it was enough to be braided. Not super long, but enough to have some sort of activity for a while. It was a good opportunity. King gave it some thought for a moment, before caving and nodding. “Okay,” he agreed, shuffling around quickly so he sat behind Bruiser. King combed through the strands with his fingers, trying to get it somewhat detangled before he braided it; that was probably a good step, he decided. “Where’d you get the name Bruiser?” King asked, knowing it was a dumb question, but a question he wanted to ask anyway. “Fights. Wars. Violence,” B answered simply, gazing up at the sky and how the sun was slowly rising above them, the sky above them being painted a number of pink, blue and red shades. “It’s pretty self explanatory.” King nodded, shrugging. “Fair, I just thought maybe yours was special,” he muttered, humming to himself. “How about you? Your name obviously isn’t King,” Bruiser retorted, sighing as King began weaving the strands of hair he’d separated into braids. “Ah. Started as a joke really. Kid in town doesn’t like me and when I bossed him around, asked me if I thought I was a king. And then it stuck. It stuck like a mean nickname at first but… I like it now. I really do,” he admitted, laughing to himself. It sounded stupid, he sounded stupid. Bruiser nodded, trying not to pull away from King’s hands too much. “That makes sense. I’m glad you like it now though. Being stuck with a nickname that hurts must not be fun.” “So you like yours then?” “Yeah. I do. Although I just prefer if you just called me B. Since you want to be friends... This is how you make friends right?” B asked, slightly confused and embarrassed by his lack of knowledge. A chuckle escaped from King and he nodded behind Bruiser. “Yes. I’d say this is how you make friends, B,” he said, slotting a few flowers into Bruiser’s hair. “Good. I’d like to be friends then.” “Me too.” Once King was done, Bruiser turned to face King, and for a moment, they were nearly nose to nose and nobody had moved. Bruiser realized then, that he never took the time to appreciate King’s face enough. And now, the freckles along his face, Bruiser realized, nearly painted the constellations he spent nights memorizing with Spot, and how the scar running from his chin to his upper lip told a story he hadn’t learned yet and made him look just even more badass when they were sparring. He’d never tell him that. He’d also never tell him about how badly he wanted to thumb along the thin, pale line, replacing the pain that had come from it with comfort. No, that was just a confession for another day.

Close your eyes my dear

As the clock struck two, Bruiser had decided. Bag slung over his shoulder full of the castle’s most recent warm, filling meals along with whatever supplies he could snatch without seeming too suspicious. He was leaving. He was going against everything he had felt and thought before. But it just wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair. They way King’s hair framed his face perfectly when it fell in sparring, how his quick, out of breath retorts could be the thing that actually distracted him or how when he remembered what he sounded like, singing the songs he had written late at night would be what took his breath away, and not the endless training. It wasn’t fair. The way Bruiser’s heart ached when he passed by Spot’s empty room, it wasn’t fair, the way he would miss when Spot held him in his wings and it wasn’t fair, the way he needed to feel Spot’s lips on his just to get by. None of that was fair. So, he was going to leave. It wasn’t the best solution, but he was never the best with love anyway. Not like this. Not when he had to choose or explain himself. It just hurt him too much. ‘This’ll hurt them too,’ he reminded himself, however he only shook his head at the thought. That wasn’t important. They were important, yes. But they’d manage, they have for this long without him anyway. It’d be fine. Sucking in a deep breath, he slid a note under King’s door, making sure it made it all the way through. Then, as King rose from his bed to inspect and open the note, Bruiser began creeping away. By the time King was done and had rushed to open his door and chase after him, Bruiser was long gone. Whisked away into the night.

You have nothing left to fear

King kept the note clutched tight to chest that night, tears streaming down his face.

Bruiser had left them?

How?

How could he do such a thing?

King didn’t know why he was so upset anyway, Bruiser didn’t want to be there in the first place, that was evident. Spot had to convince him to be there in the first place. But King had hoped, wished even, that Bruiser had stayed for longer, had stayed for more.

He wanted Bruiser with them. He couldn’t explain why, but without him, everything felt hollow. It had only been hours but King could feel it in his bones. It wasn’t going to be good without him.

That point was solidified five years later when a scout had brought back information regarding the growing army at the northern border. They had slaughtered the town there.

They had meant war. 

And now, without Bruiser, did they even stand a chance? They had Spot, yes, and King would forever be grateful for him, but it looked like fighting was the last thing Spot ever wanted to do.

Mouse had to step in.

King exhaled shakily, standing beside Spot as Mouse, looking smaller than ever, stood upon that podium in front of the kingdom, declaring that every able bodied citizen must join them to fight. 

At eighteen? 

Why did she have to bear that burden?

He knew he wasn’t chosen as heir for a reason, so he knew he’d always be off the table.

So why couldn’t Spot just step up and do his job this once?

It made King’s blood boil and head spin.

He just wanted Bruiser back.

Why couldn’t they have Bruiser back?

King found himself wondering the same things as the next day, he stood with Mouse, watching as their general took care of the miles long line of people having to sign up for their military.

He saw many familiar faces among the line, a few he swore weren't ready for the draft, not for a few years. Why were they here now? Some he could tell were just Mouse’s age. 

“They shouldn’t be here,” King growled to Mouse, who just shook her head, shrugging it off. 

It wasn’t their job right now.

Apparently.

King groaned to himself, storming back inside the castle, brushing past the guards as tears filled his eyes.

This shouldn’t be happening.

‘It wouldn’t be happening if Bruiser were still here,’ he thought to himself, tears slipping down his cheeks as he collapsed in an empty corridor.

“Please…. Just come back.”

Gods among the living A son becomes forgiving

The trip out to the Blue Valley was not a forgiving one. 

They had started the trip two days earlier and were still on the way, however King could see the dip of the valley before him on his horse.

He nodded to the others and quickly led them down towards it, eager to set up camp and finally rest. It had been a while since they’d done that. And it would be a while after that before they could properly do it again.

After they reached the location, King got the others to begin setting up the tents while he worked on unpacking other resources. And for nearly two weeks, they all worked peacefully together, learning about each other and learning more about their enemy that would soon lay ahead of them.

 It was only a matter of time.

King reminded himself of that every night as he stared up at the sky above him, waiting for Bruiser to return. And he knew he wouldn’t do that. But hope was one of the things that kept humanity alive. Bruiser wouldn’t know anything about that, would he?

Did he even know anything about humanity?

Humanity.

What a small word for something so big.

Barely the next day, the drums sounded, waking everyone from their sleep immediately. King stirred quickly, rushing from his tent and quickly helping his friends and fellow soldiers into the armor and to their weapons. 

“Go go go!” One hissed to another as they passed things around, trying to move their hill as quickly as possible.

King knew he would remain on the ground with Spot and Mouse.

They’d face the Green Army head on together, everyone else would fall back to see what would happen, it had been decided on the previous night.

As King saw the nearby army approaching, his stomach churned, eyes narrowed.

This didn’t feel right.

Finally, when they drew close enough to strike, a friend of his, Switch, up in a tree, sent a flaming arrow down towards them. It struck the grass and the area around the other soldiers immediately went up in flames, a tall wall of flames forming.

‘Let’s see if this holds up,’ King thought to himself, taking a step back, grabbing his sword in case it didn’t hold up as planned.

And he was right to do that, as minutes later, a cloaked figure stepped forward.

“Shit…” he muttered, shuddering as he realized that the figure seemed completely unaffected by the flames, maybe even strengthened by it.

Spot lifted off the ground, taking to the skies and immediately beginning to swoop down over the flames, attacking whoever he saw first, slicing like mad, there wasn’t much method to it, but it seemed to be getting the job done.

King and Mouse however, charged when the other army did, their blades meeting them head on while archers and other soldiers took them on from above.

King collided with a green soldier and they brawled, King scrambling for his sword in the mud as he tried to avoid their stomping boots. He was convinced that if it hit anything important, he would not be able to fight nearly as well. Thankfully, he grabbed his sword in time and thrust it upwards, stabbing them swiftly through the abdomen and then pushing them away with his legs.

King pulled his sword out and shook his head.

War had just begun and it already seemed like too much work.

How were they going to survive this?

The fight raged on, King and Mouse finding themselves back to back as they slashed and ducked, the duo had always been powerful on their own but together? Maybe they could even rival Spot and Bruiser, although that was a long shot.

Above them, Spot circled, taking out those he could with his bow, any who he missed, someone else below would take care of them themselves.

But, as day turned to night and night was beginning to turn to day once more, Mouse stopped, looking up. Even though that had made a sizeable dent in the Green Army’s forces, she could hear over a thousand coming their way.

Reinforcements.

They were outnumbered, ten to one.

Mouse looked up at Spot, giving him a nod and he began to fly back towards their camp, wings flapping heavily as he tried to get there before the reinforcements reached his people.

Mouse grabbed King’s arm, preparing him for whatever came next. They had to be ready.

However Mouse never prepared him for what came next.

As a horn blew over the valley, many soldiers heads turned and they immediately began sprinting, abandoning their weapons and fights and even some, their comrades, as they ran.

Mouse kept hold of King’s arm as they began sprinting back towards camp, a thousand Green Army soldiers giving chase. But they could be faster.

King looked between Mouse and everyone else confusedly, panic lacing his features.

“What’s going on?” He yelled, eyes wide as he stumbled, trying to keep up with Mouse’s hurried pace even as she dragged him along.

She gave no answer. Nobody did.

That was part of the discussion they had the previous night, while they had sent King out to scout briefly. 

The soldiers were made aware of the plan.

“If you wish to leave, then leave. Nobody will stop you. But do not tell Prince Levi.”

Nobody left, however everyone nodded.

The plan was in place.

But happy ever after Comes with a price to pay

“What are we doing?!” King screamed again as they began to near the camp, he could see the tents now and the long dead campfire. 

Were they retreating? 

Why didn’t anybody just say so?

Switch Eye scampered across the valley, ducking out of the way of soldiers and slipping by panicked brothers who hadn’t remembered the plan. The flint and steel in his pocket felt heavy as it reminded him of his job. He steeled himself.

Anything for his city.

The cave was just up ahead, he could make it. And then he stopped, a few feet in front of him was Fennel, trapped against a tree, a soldier’s blade against his neck.

Switch drew his own sword and charged forward, plunging it into the chest of the soldier, who barely even had time to react before they fell to the ground and Fennel was freed.

Fennel looked up at Switch, eyes wide. Switch took hold of his shaking shoulders gently and leaned down.

“You have to go, you understand me? You need to run baby please. Get as far away from here as possible,” he urged him, watching as his panic only grew.

“Why?” 

“It’ll be alright, I promise, just go.”

Fennel nodded shakily, taking off across the valley towards where he could distantly see camp.

“I love you…” Switch muttered as we watched him go. Then he turned and ducked into the cave.

Across the valley, Half-Hitch was heading to do the same, she dodged swinging blades and axes easily, taking a few men down as she crossed, her own axe a force few people should’ve messed with.

She shoved her way through soldiers. She was on a mission, goddamnit. One she had signed up for.

The cave was just up ahead.

The two entered at nearly the same time and dropped to a knee at the same time.

Switch pulled the flint and steel from his pocket, flicking it on easily in the dark of the cave, illuminating what he couldn’t make out in the dark.

Hitch huffed, guess they were right, the smell of sulfur only got worse the closer you were to it. She shrugged, just another casualty of war.

“For Fennel.”

“For the city.”

The rocks along the walls of the valley shook as thunderous crashes echoed along the inside. Rocks began to slide and fall, rushing towards the oncoming army and anyone else who was unfortunate enough to be stuck with their side.

The plan had worked, as thousands of soldiers became covered by the rocks, crushing them instantly. Any who managed to escape, would be picked off easily.

King watched in horror as screams filled the air and dust rose while the rocks slid forward and down.

He whirled back around the Mouse, who let out a relieved sigh.

“What the fuck did you just do?!” He demanded.

“What I had to.”

“That was not what you had to do! We could’ve handled them!”

“We couldn’t have King, we were outnumbered,” Mouse argued, shaking her head.

“No!” King yelled. “No! How many of our people had to die for that?” 

“King-“

“How many?!”

“I… I don’t know.”

“All of those people, our people, who were just caught on the wrong side of that, they’re gone. And you’ll never know how many, and you’ll never know them. And you don’t even want to, do you?” King asked, fire blazing in his eyes ever since the war had started.

“What? King, listen I just-“

“All you wanted was to take over for Spot once he disappeared, you were probably hoping he disappeared instead of… of… him! You just want to lead and you know where your leading got your people? Dead! And- and you had this whole fucking plan, and everyone knew about me, why is that? Huh?”

“Because! You’re a fucking child, King. You’ve always acted like one. You might be older than me but maturity wise? You never have been. There’s a reason Spot chose me and not you,” Mouse snarled back, glaring up at King. “You do not get to police my ruling.”

King laughed, taking a step back. “You’re a fucking monster, shortie.”

Mouse reached out towards King.

“Don’t fucking touch me!”

Spot had been fighting the first man to walk through the fire wall they had set up.

What a hotshot.

Spot growled as he kicked Hotshot away, wings flapping angrily behind him as he charged again.

His silver sword met an obsidian black one in the air, and while Hotshot was certainly straining to keep him at bay, with all of the wounds he had acquired, he was capable of doing so.

He was capable of doing much more.

Spot’s dark eyes met the god of war’s fire red ones. And now it made sense, why the fire nor the explosions had killed him.

They had to just make everything harder didn’t they? 

Spot then turned at the sound of a distant scram, King’s. He turned just in time to see King draw back from Mouse’s hands. Mouse looked hurt by the action, but they were both safe.

A shadow came over Spot and that was when he remembered where he was, only a little too late.

He turned to face the bloodied tip of a sword, just in front of his face, his breath fanning the edge, he could almost taste metal in his mouth from it. However it was not the obsidian sword he had been facing off against before. Instead it was a familiar silver sword, pierced right through the chest of the war god.

Only gods could kill gods.

Spot looked up as Hotshot collapsed to his knees, sword dropping from his hand as he coughed and sputtered.

Black eyes meeting red ones.

Spot’s jaw dropped and he scrambled towards him pulling the taller boy into a hug. He didn’t have the energy to be mad. He was of course, for leaving for so long after they finally found each other, but he could be mad when they got home.

Bid your last goodbyes As the light fades from his eyes

Mouse saw him first.

She figured, she might’ve been destined to do that. She was searching for him usually, late at night, wandering the castle in hopes that maybe in the dark she’d spot those red eyes that had brought her brother so much joy.

She only wanted for him to be happy again.

She’d always be looking for him.

King followed Mouse’s gaze and he stopped, panic leaving his face as his shoulders went slack.

“Bruiser…?”

Before Mouse could speak, King had already taken off across the field towards them.

One move.

That was all it would take.

On the ground beside Hotshot was one of Spot’s knives, it had been discarded during their battle, fallen out of Spot’s belt or something. He inched forward, cursing mentally as the dirt scraped against his wound. His rough hand wrapped around the edge of the knife and with all that he had left, he aimed.

Then it flew from his hands.

Bruiser was there.

His Bruiser.

King couldn’t help but smile as he raced across the field, joy overcoming him. He barreled into Bruiser so hard he almost knocked him over. The two laughed, even though tears still cling to his cheeks.

He enveloped Bruiser in a quick kiss, one that he had meant to do a long time ago, one that had told him everything he had missed. There was everything there, the grief, the confusion, the relief and disbelief, the joy—

“Bruiser,” King choked out again, shaking his head as he looked up at him as he held his cheek with one bloody hand.

“King…” Bruiser echoed, his smile telling King everything he needed to know. ‘I missed you too.’

—and the pain, there was pain as the knife found it’s place in the prince’s heart.

Bruiser watched King begin to fall in his arms, face falling with him.

He let out a pained gasp as he began to sink towards the ground, Bruiser’s arms still wrapped around him.

“No no no no no, King,” Bruiser chanted, hitting the ground with King, pulling him into his arms. “It’s alright, I’ve got you. I’ve got you.”

“King!” Mouse’s scream echoed across the valley as she took off running towards them, abandoning everything at the sight of her brother sinking to the floor.

Spot whirled around towards the culprit, eyes blazing. However when his gaze fell on Hotshot, it died as he realized the murderer was already gone.

“Fuck,” he cursed, putting his head in his hands momentarily.

“King it’s gonna be okay,” Mouse tried to assure him, although Bruiser wasn’t sure if she was convincing herself or her brother. “I promise you, okay? Just keep your eyes open, alright?”

King gave a nod, gaze still focused on Bruiser.

Although his eyelids were already beginning to fall.

“Hey, no no no. Keep your eyes open, alright?” Bruiser said, voice shaking as he tried to command him like he used to in training, maybe that would work. It always did.

A pained whimper slipped past King’s lips as he nodded again, forcing his eyes open a little bit more, but it didn’t do much. 

He wanted to sleep. Sleep was nice. Sleep was good. 

“No, please, please baby stay awake. Please. Want me to talk? I’ll talk,” Bruiser begged.

“I want to sleep…”

“You can sleep when we get back to the kingdom,” Mouse said, shaking her head. “Just stay with us and then you can sleep all you want, promise.”

“Sleep sounds good.”

“No. Sleep is bad, King, c’mon, please,” Spot said, joining them on the ground beside the others, having been standing for a while.

“I-I got this,” Mouse tried, beginning to hum a small tune. One King didn’t recognize at first, but it slowly came to him.

The song he had used to sing to her to help her sleep, on those nights when she showed up at his door, shaking and scared.

It was a calming tune, one he had come up with on his own. One that felt like the early morning he spent braiding Bruiser’s hair, one that felt like curling up beside Spot in his bed after one particularly bad night, one that felt like a good, strong hug from Mouse. 

One that felt like home.

He wanted to go home.

Home was where they were going to go, they had promised.

King’s eyes fell closed, he could still hear his own slow but steady rhythmic heartbeat.

He wanted to go home.

“I love you…” he murmured, a shaking hand reaching up to gently touch Bruiser’s cheek.

He felt the taller boy lean into it and he smiled.

“I love you too. I left because I love you. I love you and it used to scare me. It scared me too much. I’m sorry I left, I won’t leave your side again just don’t go, please. I love you,” Bruiser begged.

His hand slipped from Bruiser’s cheek.

“I love you…”

For once, the king slept in Blue Valley.

Taste bitter on the guilty tongue It's hard to see I'm the chosen one

King sighed, sitting at his desk, staring back at his laptop. The screen was bright and white, a contrast against his dark office. He rubbed at his eyes as he felt Bastard winding around his legs, letting out a loud ‘mrrow!’, trying to get his attention. He chuckled, reaching down and scratching him behind the ear briefly before straightening back up and casting a glance at the clock. 2:15 AM. Their eyes trailed over to the half empty cup of coffee to his right, a ring forming on the stained white desk and what he was sure was mold growing on the inner side of the cup. How long had he been at this? Bruiser or Spot hadn’t even come in to check in on him. Which meant they were either both asleep, “busy”, or they knew not to disturb him, especially with him writing this. It was important. It was personal. And for once, it really was personal, and they recognized that. They could see it in his eyes when he woke in the morning, the dullness and the emptiness. There was something else behind there, something looming and dark, like an oncoming storm. And they didn’t dare want to be caught in the rain. So they let him write. They let him write and write and write, until his fingers grew blisters and his laptop had to warn him of its battery percentage a few too many times a night. With a heavy sigh, King pulled himself away from their work, sitting up from his slumped position and getting out of his desk chair. They popped their back with a groan and Bastard meowed, trotting up to him, expecting treats or more attention. King smiled tiredly, reaching down and scooping up the furry mass of black fur. “You’re not getting anything out of me. You’re gonna wanna see B, she loves you,” he cooed, as he opened the door and made his way down towards the hallway.

Fake friends with a camera phone Ugly, drunk, cold, and missing home

They figured he’d go and grab a snack, make another cup of coffee and return Bastard to the others. As much as he loved when the cat slept on his lap during long nights of writing, Bastard had a bad habit of throwing up just about all the time and he was too tired to deal with that for another night in a row. So tonight he’d be B and Spot’s problem.

For an hour or so more, King stared at the screen until the pounding headache that formed in his head told him he should probably go to sleep sooner or later. Staying up for three nights in a row writing probably wasn’t good for his health. He shrugged as he got up, pushing his chair in and clicking off the light. He’d gone longer, it didn’t really matter. He’d be back to writing the next morning anyway, that is if Spot and B didn’t perform an intervention. They chuckled at the idea, it wouldn’t be the first time they had tried that on him, it hadn’t worked the first time and it wouldn’t work this time either. They both knew that.

He glanced back at the desk as he made his way towards the door. “Tomorrow,” he sighed. And then the lights clicked off.

This home of mine I see it in my dreams

King stared back at himself in the mirror, the sink running endlessly below him. He was tired. He was so, so tired. He bent down, cupping his hands under the running faucet and splashing some water onto his face, hoping to clear some grime from the past few all nighters. He really needed to shower. They glanced towards the shower curtain. Maybe tomorrow.

He grabbed his toothbrush, wetting the bristles under the water for a moment before squirting some toothpaste onto it. With a sigh, he began brushing, gazing into the mirror as if it was the portal to another world. A time before. A lifetime before. A home before. “King! Hurry the fuck up!” King laughed, spitting his toothpaste in the sink and tossing his brush into the holder and racing down the hallway, stomping all the while. It might’ve been 7 am in their house, but Mouse and King were ready to play at any time. 

“I’m coming!”

Where everyone looks happy And everyone still likes me

King chased Mouse around the corner of their kitchen island, almost slamming himself into the side as he tried to catch up.

“Shortie I swear!” He shouted, turning to chase her down the hall. She’d stolen one of his hoodies and was now racing around the house with it. There was no actual problem with that besides the fact it was going to be cold that day and she’d stolen every single other one he owned.

“Swear what?” She taunted back from the top of the stairs, waving the hoodie around.

King gave a frustrated growl and sprinted towards her and the chase began again.

Until King collided with a taller body.

“Levi,” the voice scolded.

“Oh, shit, sorry mom!” He yelled, ducking around her and going to chase Mouse again.

“Don’t you two have anything better to do on a Saturday morning?” She asked tiredly, although she wore a warm smile on her face. She could never be mad at them for having fun.

“Would you be mad if I said no?” Mouse chirped in, laughing.

The other two burst into laughter, shaking their heads. “No, I wouldn’t,” Mom said. “But I might be mad if Levi doesn’t do his laundry soon. Maybe you’d find another sweatshirt in there.”

“It’s Mouse’s turn to do laundry!”

“I’m not touching your boxers!”

“But it’s your turn!”

King rolled his eyes. “See what I have to deal with?” He whined jokingly as he looked up at his mother, using fake puppy dog eyes.

She brushed his hair back with another laugh. “Yes Levi, I see it all.”

Mouse pouted. “That’s just mean!”

“C’mere then,” King said, opening his arms towards Mouse, and in a moment was rocked by her body slamming into his arms. “There we go,” he chuckled as Mom wrapped her arms around him.

Just one happy family.

This home of mine I miss it all the time

Mouse sat herself down on the counter, watching as her mother shuffled around in the kitchen, in the middle of making a casserole or something, Mouse didn’t actually know. It was some suburban mom food that she didn’t really want but would have to suffer through because she loved her. Which reminded her of the fact she should look up some Italian recipes to try and cook for the family and King, mostly King. All that man ate was pasta and toast. He was 90% gluten and 10% caffeine. He could probably make a fort out of the amount of monster cans lingering in their bedroom. Well - his bedroom, not theirs, but Mouse never stayed in her own room. And King never put up a fight over it. She sighed, tuning back into the actual world and hoping that the note of Italian food would stay embedded in her mind for later. She needed a lot of things to stick in her mind actually, but it was hard when there was a lot going on behind the scenes. Mouse looked up, world coming to standstill as she listened to one of the cabinets squeak open, the hinges rusty from use, and the rattling of a bottle of pills caused every part of her to tense, remaining cemented to her seat, eyes wide. “Anyway, I was thinking that next weekend we could arrange a dinner with the Larkins and-” Her mom cut herself off, staring at Mouse, a frown falling on her face. “Ilaria sweetie, what’s wrong?” The words fell on muffled ears, the world submerging itself underwater, she could see mom’s lips moving but the words never came, never hit her like the weight of what she saw. And what she saw really wasn’t anything, it was just her mother taking Advil for her back. It wasn’t anything bad. Tears welled up in her eyes before she could will them away; the sound and memories of countless nights pressed up against the bathroom door, listening for any signs of distress from her brother, for any sign he was still alive after everything, rushing after her. No matter how much she tried to run, it would always follow her. Did it follow King? Did King care what it did to her?

Did King care at all? “Ilaria,” the mother repeated again, voice a little louder but not any firmer, her tone still gentle, something Mouse would come to appreciate. “Sweetheart what’s going on?” Before Mouse could even think, even think to stop and protect herself from the embarrassment, tears came rushing out. She hated crying, at all, but in front of someone? It was completely different. She curled into herself on the counter, trying to become smaller than she was, hoping that maybe some dark pit would open up and swallow her whole so she didn’t have to face her, to face any of this. It wasn’t fair. The cries quickly turned to sobs, sobs that brought out every bottled up emotion and words, all the fear and the nightmares, nights locked outside of King’s room with terror racing through her system. She just wanted a big brother. Her sides shook and her ribs ached as she tried and failed to take in heaving gasps of air, only working herself further into a panic, she could taste the saltiness of tears slipping into her mouth and she couldn’t be bothered to care anymore. King didn’t care, why should she?

What happened to this family? What happened to this family?

Gentle hands grabbed at Mouse’s wrists, pulling them away from her face and forcing her gaze upwards, light blue eyes meeting soft and worried warm brown ones. “What’s going on?” “I-I’m gonna lose him,” she choked out, shaking her head as she tried to pull away from her, although Mom had tightened her grip almost instantly, not in an angry way, just to stop Mouse from running like she always did. “Lose who?’ “King!”

(Have I let you down?)

The yell later that afternoon shook the house, echoing up the stairs and slamming its way through King’s headphones. “Levi Santos!” He paused, taking one earphone off and glancing towards his shut door. Had he done something? “I emptied the dishwasher, did my laundry this week, I haven’t vacuumed but she knows I have homework so she can’t be mad about that, done all the church work, haven’t gone to the park in a while - she’s grateful for that… My stash is hidden, so it can’t be that either…” he mumbled to himself as he got up from his chair, trying to run through the list of anything else in his head that he might’ve done wrong. Maybe it was like those pranks where you fake being mad at someone and then give them a present? ‘Those pranks only existed on TV though,’ he reminded himself. ‘Nobody really does that.’ With a shrug, a heavy sigh and pounding heart, King opened his door and began his painfully slow trip towards the stairs and then down them, suddenly mindful of every noise he made, the squeak and creak of each stair and the way his shaky breath rattled in his chest. He finally made it down the steps and turned the corner into the kitchen, moving his eyes from the floor up towards the owner of the voice. His heart sank down into the floor as he made eye contact with his mother, who looked both concerned and so pissed off he was worried he might have to take cover - he hadn’t worried about that in a while. Her arms were crossed over her chest while Mouse sat on the counter behind her, sniffling and wiping at her eyes constantly, gaze fixed on the floor and her eyes had only met King’s once before she instantly turned away, the guilt seeping out of her immediately. His father stood to the right of his mother, leaning against one of the kitchen chairs as he stared him down, a clear, disappointed look on his face. Finally, he spoke. “Yeah?”

Texts, calls, hugs, birthday cards Being thoughtful can be so hard

King rolled over in bed at the sound of his phone buzzing. He groaned, turning towards his nightstand and out of Bruiser’s hold. He could tell it was Bruiser’s by the way her hands curled around his waist, whereas Spot would hold him around the chest.

He reached towards his phone, nails scrabbling on the case and pulling it loosely towards him.

He pressed on the home button, wincing instantly as bright white light filled the small space between him and the phone.

“Shit,” he cursed, hearing B groan from beside him at the disturbance and began to turn down the brightness until he had to squint to see properly.

His gaze flickered over the few notifications he had, one from a family group chat so old he forgot when it was made, most of the numbers not in his contacts anymore, but he’d always recognize the date.

It was mom’s birthday.

First fifteen years, I'm the favorite son Last fifteen years, I'm thе hated one

Multiple messages flitted across the screen of best wishes and of happy birthdays.

He almost smiled fondly, but then quickly remembered the deafening silence that came from the same group chat on his own birthday, which hadn’t been more than a month ago.

He celebrated all their birthdays, or tried to. Wishing them well on social media and in private, but the sentiment was never returned.

It felt like a chore to even lift his fingers to type.

‘Happy Birthday Mom, I love you <3’

He set his phone down and tried to roll back over and ignore the heavy weight on his mind.

It had been years. Nearly 12 years ago.

Why couldn’t they just forgive him?

Why didn’t they care?

King turned back to his phone at the sound of it vibrating again and he glanced at the lock-screen, the sole notification reading:

Message not delivered.

This heart of minе Gets blacker all the time

King curled up, kicking his phone off the bed and causing it to hit the floor harshly, knocking against the wall with a thud.

He blinked rapidly to try and clear tears from his vision as he stared at the floor, ignoring the feeling of B stirring beside them. They didn’t really care at the moment.

It felt like there was a cage around his heart, locking him up and swallowing him whole. He couldn’t be bothered to care. About his family or anyone else. He just felt bitter and alone. Like a kid again.

They brought their knees up to his chest, resting his head on them with a shaky sigh, tear tracks forming lines on his cheeks as he began to break silently, hoping to not disturb Bruiser or Spot. They needed the rest. They needed a break from him, from all his shit.

There was no need to annoy them all now.

King sniffled, wiping at his eyes with his sleeve as he tried to force himself to calm down, chest heaving and shaking. It wasn’t that big of a deal. Who really cared? ‘Well obviously not them’, he reminded themselves.

He took in a deep breath, hoping that slowing down his breathing would do the same for his tears and panic.

“King?” 

Affection makes me nauseous Believe me, I don't want this

King turned, sniffling again and rolled over, seeing Bruiser sitting up, looking over at him with worry shining in her eyes, even King could tell that much in the dark. 

“Baby what’s wrong?” She asked gently, shuffling closer to King, who shuffled farther back in response, almost falling off the bed. 

“It’s nothing, just go back to sleep,” they mumbled. That was always how it was. Bottle it up and be the big brother, the perfect son.

Fucking hell he was sick of that, and he wasn’t even in the damn house anymore.

“You can tell me kotik.”

‘You don’t want to hear it. You really don’t.’

“I don’t want to talk about it,” King answered dryly, voice hoarse from how little he had been using it.

Bruiser gave a hum in reply. “Okay love.” An arm snaked around King’s waist, pulling him close into a hug and holding him tight despite the way King tensed and froze.

It made him want to curl up and cry again, to vomit off the side of the bed. He loved Bruiser, but now was not the time. It felt like too much, his skin was crawling and he shuddered.

‘I can’t take this anymore.’

“Please let me go.”

“Oh, kotik, I’m sorry—“

“Just go back to bed.”

I hurt my blood tonight I made my sisters cry

King stomped up the stairs, anger forcing away the thoughts of panic and terror, forcing away all the tears.

“Ilaria!” He practically screamed as he trudged into their bedroom, door slamming behind him; both his tone and the slam making Mouse jump from where she sat on the bed.

Mouse only squeaked in surprise and fear, curling close to herself and remaining silent. Her ice blue gaze flickering from him to the bed, too scared to actually meet his eyes.

“Ilaria what did you tell them?!” King screamed, hands balling up into fists, nails digging into his palms to stop himself from blowing up too quickly. He stopped himself, holding a hand up to stop Mouse from saying anything. “No. no, WHY did you tell them?!” Mouse gave a small mumble in reply though King couldn’t catch what she had said. “What was that?” “I had…” “Shortie, for once in your damn life, speak up. Cause this time it matters. Speak. The fuck. Up.” A stifled sob came from Mouse, placing her sleeve covered hand over her mouth to try and muffle it further. She couldn’t cry, not in front of him. “I-I had to! Okay? You’re killing yourself every day with this and you don’t even care! You don’t care about anyone, not me or mom or dad! Nothing matters to you and I couldn’t lose you like that!” She admitted, voice cracking and breaking periodically throughout her speech as she shook her head, unable to hide her tears. “Lose me?” King repeated with a bitter laugh. “Lose me? Seriously?” “Look- I’m sorry but-” “No. You don’t get to do that!” King snapped, fire blazing in his eyes as he took a few powerful steps towards Mouse’s bed, the girl pressing herself into the wall in fear. “You don’t get to say that. You don’t get to apologize and move on. It’s not fair! It is not your business or your thing to tell! It wasn’t your problem! It’s not all about you!” “And this isn’t about me! It’s about helping you!” “Oh sure,” King scoffed, rolling his eyes and taking a step away. “Like anyone would believe that.” “What’s that supposed to mean?” “All this; when you think about it, is about you. It’s always been for you. I have to go and be the big brother, I have to go and hold you till you forget the nightmares and all the other bullshit. I have to help you on Christmas, I have to be there for you, all the damn time. You don’t really want me, you don’t want me to stay. You just want a therapist. Because you know nobody else can tolerate all this bullshit!” Mouse stared back at him, tears forming in her eyes and spilling over easily, like a waterfall held back by a dam ready to burst. She couldn’t hold it back anymore; horrible ugly sobs began to claw their way up from her throat and escaping from her mouth. “You are the worst brother!” 

I never say, "I love you" Even though I want to

“So? You think I care what you think about me? You think I ever cared about you?” King snarled, glaring back at Mouse. “You don’t mean that!” “I do. And you know that I’m gonna leave regardless.” “You can’t.” “I will. I’m done being here.” Mouse let out a frustrated and hurt growl, chucking her pillow at King as she got up and stomped towards the door. She shoved past him, knocking him to the side as she left, slamming the door.

Her voice was filled with tears and unbridled anger as she left, hurt shining clear through the cracks in the façade Mouse always kept up. “You are an asshole, King. I wish we never met!”

I'm just my father's son My mother's kid

King slid down as the door slammed shut, his breath rattling in his ribcage, his heart finally starting to pound in his chest, threatening to escape somehow.  The adrenaline was beginning to fade, the pain and fear of the situation taking over. It was over. Well, part of it was. Part of his life was, really. An era was coming to an end. He took in quick, heaving breaths as he worked himself into a panic, not on purpose of course, but he couldn’t stop himself, listening to the heavy footsteps of Mouse and the sobs that echoed throughout the house from the rest of the family. He’d let everyone down. The tears he’d been holding back for too long finally were let loose and he began to sob, rocking himself alone on the carpet, his clothes scattered, half thrown into a suitcase. Had Mouse been packing for him? Why did she care? A shitty brother I'm nobody's friend

King began to sob, curling up further on the floor while the bottle a few feet away taunted him, calling out to him. They’d always win in the end. They’d always have some power over his life. There was no stopping it. There was no stopping the way he sobbed and rocked himself and eventually crawled pathetically towards the bottle. There was no stopping his shaking hands from cracking open the lid and shaking more than enough pills into his hands. It was fate. Connected by a red string. Tethered.

This is all my fault I only make you cry I don't deserve this family

Just about an hour later, an hour of sobbing and silent screaming, pleading for something, anything to take him out. If there was a god, why didn’t take him out now? He was tired, he was done. An hour of packing and wondering, why him? Why? Why was he the one that was all messed up? Why did he have to take on everyone else’s stuff? Why was he the one who had to go to church? Why was he the one born into all of this?

(You're better off without me) It really was just his fault.  He was the one who had convinced his parents to leave him, somehow. Although he was only eight. Something about him convinced them so easily. It was his fault, he had caused it all, if you thought about it. If he didn’t make them leave, this wouldn’t be happening. If he didn’t make them leave, he wouldn’t be trudging down the stairs, a far too heavy duffel bag slung over his shoulders. If he didn’t make them leave, he wouldn’t be grabbing the smallest amount of water and granola bars he could to take away with him. He had no idea when he’d eat next. Or where he’d be. If he didn’t make them leave, he wouldn’t be making his way down to the skatepark, puffy eyed and red faced, sniffling all the way. Why did he make them leave? 'Cause I let you down And I lost my fucking mind

-- “Yeah?” 

King’s gaze timidly flickered between mom and dad’s faces, scared for what was going to come next, and be rightfully should’ve been.

“Why have you been doing drugs?”

“What?”

“You heard me. Why are you doing drugs?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about!” King spat back , throwing his hands up in defense. Unless they had evidence, he was going to deny it. He already knew their stance on drugs, saw all their propaganda the church had given them about it. He knew. It had been drilled into his brain at every school assembly since the age of five.

“Ilaria told us!” His mother shouted back, tears in her eyes. “She told us everything.

“Oh everything? Really?” He asked, leaning to the side to look around at Mouse, who went to go hide more. 

His mother nodded. “Yes, everything. I can't believe you would go and betray me like that after everything we taught you.”

“Betray you?”

Then everything got messy And everyone got angry

“You betrayed us! Losing yourself to these drugs, it’s selfish! You only take things for yourself. We gave you everything and this is how you repay us!”

“Maybe it’s all I could do to cope with all this bullshit!” King snapped, taking a step forward as his mom, with an arm around Mouse protectively, took a step back.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Dad asked, staring him down. He’d been mostly silent for the entire time.

“Maybe, it’s the only way I can deal with everything happening around me! Everything you forced me to be! The honors student! The perfect big brother to this nuclear family! All the stress and shit I have to handle on top of everything else that’s happened in my life!” 

“You could’ve talked to us!”

King couldn’t help but let out a bark of laughter at that, head thrown back for a moment as he laughed. “Are you kidding me?”

“Why couldn’t we talk? It’s how normal people sort things out.”

I cursed my blood tonight It happens all the time

King pointed at him, anger surging through his veins. “You knew,” he said. “You knew from the moment you took us both in, that we would be nothing but less than normal. The opposite of normal!” He snapped, eyes narrowed.

“You could’ve at least tried!” Dad interjected again.

“I’m not normal!“ He yelled again. “I’m a kid! A traumatized kid!”

“Oh Levi come on,” mother began again. “You’re hardly a kid anymore, and you’re not traumatized, you know this.”

“Really?” King asked, head cocked to the side. “Then all the shitty foster homes we were put in, everything that you know happened there, that’s not traumatizing, for young kids? Being bullied at my school? That’s not traumatizing either?”

“Now, listen—“

“—Oh! And I don’t know, being raped and beaten for the past four years at that stupid fucking church you make me go to constantly, that’s not trauma either?! Because I think that was pretty damn traumatizing!”

“You think you were what?“ Mother asked, voice now gentle as her eyes filled with tears.

“He raped me, mom.”

Is everyone against me? Has everyone goddamned me?

“No.” 

King’s heart sank to the bottom of his chest, straight through the floor and to a faraway place. If he ever got it back, he’d be surprised.

Tears finally began to form in his eyes. “What?” He asked, voice small and cracking.

“No.” Mother said again, pulling Mouse to her chest. “That’s not true. You are a liar and we both know that. That didn’t happen.”

“But it did!”

“No, it didn’t, Levi!” 

“Father Jon touched me!” 

“No he didn’t! Father Jon is a nice man and you just want an excuse to get out of working and this argument. It doesn’t change the fact that you still have to work and you have to stop with the drugs if you want to be part of this family.”

“Then I guess I’m not part of this fucking family then.”

What happened to this family?

With a sob, Mouse fled upstairs, rushing to her room.

“You don’t mean that,” Dad sighed, shaking his head.

“I do. I’m done with all your bullshit. And if this is my way out, then this is it.”

“Levi!“ Mother scolded.“You can’t go.”

“Watch me!”

The door slammed harshly above their heads, Mouse had presumably slammed it. 

The house shook with the force and a framed photograph behind them, a simple one of all of them together, smiling at the camera, hit the ground with a loud clatter.

His mom rushed to go pick it up, but shouted in response to finding glass all over the floor. 

It had shattered.

When she finally picked it up, King saw that the most damage had been done to his part of the photo, the glass angrily cracked over his part.

He was done.

What happened to this family? King had made it to the skatepark successfully, although it had begun to rain.

He leaned against the duffel bag, teeth chattering as the rain went on, thunder rolling in behind it.

“Just great,” he grumbled to himself, gaze fixed on the street and the lights reflecting off of the puddles on the cement. It was pretty, it was something to focus on and remember.

Remember for what? He didn’t know.

He had about an hour until the street lights turned off and then he’d be pretty alone out there. Just him and his phone, which he’d forgotten to charge, stuck with 15%.

He sighed, bringing his knees up to his chest as he let himself begin to sob again. He’d been holding everything back since the house. They always made him hold it in. Every emotion and thought that wasn’t perfectly positive. 

Why did they hate him?

Why did Mouse have to hate him?

He thought he’d at least have her in this mess, but he lost her too. That was his own fault.

It all was.

What happened to this family?

The sound of car tires on the pavement and the low hum of an engine pulled him out of his thoughts.

A woman leaned out of the window of her Jeep, black hair hanging down out of the window with her.

“Hey kid!“ she called, a clear Russian accent clinging to her voice.

He looked up more, straightening up. “Yeah?”

“You need somewhere to go?” She asked, squinting at him through the wire fence.

“Uh… sorta.” He knew it was bad to take shelter from strangers, especially this young. But if he was being honest? He didn’t care what happened to him now. Maybe it would get his family to care again, if something tragic happened.

But then again, they didn’t care when he told them something tragic already happened.

“Get in here then. I have a couch, a pull out.”

King quickly got up, grabbing his soaking wet bag and hauling it towards the Jeep.

He opened the back door and tossed his bag in before climbing into the passenger seat.

“My name is Natasha. You’re safe here.”

King looked up at her, nodding gratefully.

“What’s your name?”

“Le- King. My name’s King.”

What happened to this family? King had stayed at Natasha’s for a day or two, until he found a motel nearby. It was just until he picked up something to do for work. 

He would’ve loved to stay with Natasha, she was wonderful and told him many stories of her life in the few days he had been there. But she had her own work, one that mostly involved being home, and King couldn’t be home for that. So they parted ways, although he wished he would see her soon.

So there he was, sitting on the edge of a motel bed, swiping through his old pictures on his phone. He didn’t know how long until they cut him off of their phone plan, so he was trying to make the most of it while he could.

But there in front of him, he found more and more photos that made him feel sick to his stomach.

Their middle school graduation, countless Christmases and Halloweens (even though they always told them that they were too old for trick or treating. They didn’t care) were on display for him to see. 

He broke at the most recent photo, the one of them on his birthday.

He was smiling still.

Mouse’s arms around his neck, he was giving her a piggyback ride, even though it was his birthday. 

“I’m so sorry,” he choked out, running his hands over the photo before he began to sob, sides shaking as he dissolved into inconsolable sobs, as if he had anyone there to console him.

He was alone.

Don't hate me And he was alone again in the hospital after he had tried just about everything that night to leave.

It was past 3 am and he laid there, curled up and alone. Nobody had come to see him, they had called, even though King begged them not to, and nobody showed up.

Not even Mouse.

He sighed, rolling over onto his side, tears slipping from his eyes for what must’ve been the thousandth time that day.

Why did he have to go and screw everything up? 

No wonder they left him.

Everyone leaves.

Don't hate me

Eventually, he found somebody.

Somehow.

He had reconnected with Natasha, who decided to set him up with Spot, another boy in search of a roommate for his apartment.

So, King had settled in with him and Natasha, thankfully, had set him up with a job, working with her technically, even though it wasn’t legal. It worked though, he worked, and it helped pay the bills, which was all that mattered to him.

Spot was a scrawny boy with blonde hair, from Brooklyn. He had a clear accent and was dead set on becoming a tattoo artist. And to be honest? He was pretty damn good at it.

Spot had given him his first tattoo.

It was just a simple crown on his collarbone, but it had meant the world to him.

Ever since then, they had become quite inseparable and King had turned into an occasional practice canvas.

That didn’t matter too much to him though. He was just glad to not be alone anymore.

And for once, the hauntings of his nuclear family days stopped chasing him.

Maybe he’d be okay.

Don't let me drown

King sighed as he clicked off of his laptop. The song, well the writing part, was finally done. Which meant he could go back to lounging in bed with Spot and Bruiser.

That was all he wanted to do.

To lay with them, to be alone together.

With them, silence was comfortable.

He glanced down at Mouse, there was a missed call. He chuckled, probably her being eager to get on the guitar parts of the new song. 

They made their way into the bedroom and leaned through the door.

“Loves,” he began. “Can I steal Bruiser for the studio?”

“It’s 9 in the morning,” B groaned in reply, pulling a pillow over her head.

“You can steal her,” Spot added with a chuckle, his voice was rough and deep from how early it was and King would be lying if he said that the sound of it didn’t make them flush slightly.

“Bruiserrrr,” King called. “Come onnnn.”

King waited by the door for a few minutes until Bruiser was finally up and ready and he pulled them along towards the studio, waving goodbye to Spot, who was most likely asleep again.

I hate goodbyes So cringey, I could die

“So, I’m thinking Mouse you can come in like… here, with the guitar, y’know to start?” King tried to explain, hands up in the air as he tried to visually section each part off. “And then everyone else comes in?”

Mouse gave him a confused glance, but gave it a shot anyway, beginning to strum at her guitar.

“This is all my fault, I only make you cry, I don’t deserve this family, you’re better off without me,” King had begun to sing after they had gotten all the other parts down. 

Letting all of the words and feelings out at once, stuck in the cavern of his chest, felt therapeutic in a way, even though his voice was shaking more than the rest of his body and tears flooded his vision.

“Cause I let you down!”

We only say, "I love you" 'Cause that's what we're supposed to

Now came the part King was both the most and least excited for. He loved his idea for the music video, but getting to execute it? He had no idea how he was going to do that.

He had the projectors and everything, he’d had the band help him paint the barn floor and walls white in that spot so it was easier to see and Mouse was able to get some footage from their childhood.

Of course they let her have some.

He couldn’t even get a text from them, let alone a damn video.

He sighed, feeling anger bubble up inside him. He’d be able to let all of that out soon anyway.

He sat himself down in front of the wall and set the lights to blue and started the camera and music again.

“Let’s just try this again…”

‘Just keep your head up and look at the camera and…’

“Taste bitter on a guilty tongue.”

And most families lie But I meant it every time

King squinted at the bright screen, the dark of the barn settling in around him. Katniss settled at his feet, purring quietly while he worked, arranging the clips in different spots.

He was almost done, and he was very done with watching his own face for more than two days straight. But everything had to be perfect.

He needed to be perfect.

They needed to see it. They needed to know.

Someone needed to know the pain of the past fifteen years. He couldn’t keep holding it in like they wanted him to.

He wasn’t the perfect son they wanted. There was no way he could be. 

But sometimes he still wished he was. Sometimes he longed for the boy who was trapped in his room, with a cavern for a heart and no time to breathe. 

He missed being that hollow but at least having arms around him, warmth to come home to and guide him.

But then he stopped and glanced towards his house in the distance, it was only a quick walk away from the barn and he could see the lights were still on.

They were waiting for him to come home.

He already had his family waiting for him.

King adjusted his tie, staring himself down in the mirror. Was this really it? After all this time? He glanced over his dark suit. Was it too dark? Did it really fit the event? God, this was really it, wasn’t it? He couldn’t get that thought out of his head. They sighed, rubbing at their eyes, being careful to not brush away the concealer he’d used to cover up his severe dark circles from stressing about this for the past month. 

This was it. Mouse leaned into his room, not bothering to knock on the door as she poked her head through. They’d been through enough and she’d stopped caring. It was an unspoken thing between them. “You ready?” She asked, although her voice sounded less than ready. “What do you think?” King sassed back, turning around, eyes briefly skimming over Mouse’s outfit, it was a dark blue dress that fell to just above her knees. She wore combat boots with them along with a small green crystal necklace. She’d told him what it was before. Machete or something…? It was definitely /or something./

“I’m thinking you’re not?” Mouse suggested, crossing the room towards King, resting a hand on his shoulder. “And you’re overthinking it and working yourself into a loop of panic? You’re thinking this is a bad decision and you’re not good enough and it won’t last?”  King scoffed down at her. “I hate that you're like…. Psychic or some shit.” Mouse laughed, clapping him on the back. “Not psychic. I just know you.”  She sighed, grabbing King by the shoulders. “Now listen to me you dense idiot. This is happening because it is a good decision and you are good enough. Now go out there and kiss them and shit!” She insisted, letting go of him before shaking her head. “Never thought I’d be encouraging this.” King chuckled, wrapping an arm around Mouse. “Alright, let’s go,” he said quietly as she led him out of the room and towards the hall. 

“Everyone’s here?” He asked. Mouse gave a hum in reply. “And no…. Unwanted guests?” he added, remembering his own experience being an unwanted guest. He wouldn’t be surprised if she tried to get him back through this. His fists would be prepared though if she did; nobody messed with his boy. Mouse shook her head, grinning up at King, knowing what he was thinking of. “Nope. Made sure of that and got security at the door.” King sighed in relief, a small smile finally forming on his nervous lips. “Thank you. You’re the best.” “Oh I know,” she said, winking at him before they stopped in front of two large stained glass doors. He could see the outlines of all the chairs and hedges outside. He could just barely see the arch from where he stood. “Don’t you dare start crying,” Mouse warned, a joking tone to her voice - although King knew what she really meant. ‘Don’t start crying because then /I’ll/ start crying and I don’t cry.’

“I wasn’t gonna cry!” King defended himself, throwing his hands up in the air. “Good! Cause there’s no crying. Even though it’s… really happening.” “It’s not a bad thing,” he argued, stepping closer to Mouse. “You’re getting older though, that’s bad.”

“Ouch, I’m only 27,” King retorted, placing a hand over his heart in mock offense. “You know what I mean! We’re not kids anymore, and I have to go and… marry you off.” “Shortie I had to marry you off a year ago too, you ain’t special,” King interrupted again, trying to stifle laughter. “Listen, no matter how much time has passed and whatever changes, you’re always gonna be my sister, okay?” he said, placing a hand on Mouse’s shoulder reassuringly. 

Mouse nodded, taking in a shaky breath. “You ready?” King asked, repeating Mouse’s earlier question back to her. She nodded up at him, trying to blink the tears in her eyes back, hoping to hide the way her eyes were glossing over. “Ready when you are shithead.”

“I’m ready shortie,” King said, wiping at Mouse’s eyes and then giving her a moment to get herself together before they pushed the doors open. Those seated in the garden quickly turned to look at them, King looped an arm around Mouse’s as they slowly began their march down the aisle. As they walked, King’s eyes flickered over Jack, Davey, Josie, Switch and Fennel, everyone he knew, everyone he ever cared about was smiling back at him. King turned his gaze upwards, seeing Spot standing at the arch and had quietly been chatting with Natasha who stood behind him until King was only a few feet away. 

Mouse patted him on the back as she turned and went back to her own seat in the front row. Spot looked King over, his jaw dropping slightly as he mouthed the words ‘holy shit’, his eyes lighting up for a moment.

King strode over to the other side of Spot so that way they were looking across at each other. “You look great,” King murmured. “You do too,” Spot said with a small laugh. “So… where’s Bruise-” As the words started to leave his mouth, soft music began to fill the air and the two boys turned, eyes wide to see Bruiser in all her glory, draped in an intricate black dress, walking down the aisle, arm looped around Syd’s. Both of them looked like they were ready to cry already. The music picked up as Bruiser made it all the way down the aisle and Syd let go, turning to walk to their seat, murmuring something to Bruiser beforehand, causing her to smile. “There’s my girl…” King mumbled to himself, a wide grin spreading to his face. 

This was it, their day, after all this time.

Bruiser came to stand beside King, lacing her hand with his as they looked up at Spot. Natasha cleared her throat, she was dressed in a simple tux. “So, y’know most officiators have this huge speech prepared or something. I don’t… actually know. When this knucklehead reached out looking for someone to officiate his wedding, I just took the chance,” she admitted, pointing to Spot with a laugh. “So I’m gonna let these three take it away, one of them probably has something prepared.” “King probably has a powerpoint!” Issac called from his seat, the dog lying by his feet looking up and around. The garden burst into laughter at that and King nodded, agreeing. He wasn’t wrong. If he was given the chance, he would’ve made an entire essay for both of his boys, complete with graphs and images for how much he loved them and why. He loved them both to the ends of the earth. They made him a better person and he couldn’t imagine what life would be like without them. He finally cleared his throat. “Guess that means I’m going first then,” he said, glancing down at the outline of the notecards in his pocket. He went to reach for them but then shook his head. He was just gonna go into it.

“The past few years of my life, with both of you in it, has been the best time I’ve ever had. I’ve learned so much and grown so much. You’ve made me so much better. There’s so much that I want to say and so much I was going to say, but it all really comes down to this. Before I knew you, everything was shit,” he paused, sighing and giving himself a movement to gather himself. “And y’know, things are still shit knowing you, but only sometimes. You make it easier to wade through all of life’s shit.” King shrugged, taking a step back, trying not to do any nervous stims in front of everybody. “C-Cause I know we can’t fix things for each other,” he stopped again, clearing his throat harshly as he looked down. No crying. Not right now. “-but we at least make it worth going through it all. It’s worth it to me, to go out and stare down the day because no matter how broken it makes me afterwards, I still get to go back to the both of you when it’s done. No matter what, I’ve got you two. And that’s what keeps me going. You keep me going and I couldn’t imagine life without you. I love you more than anything and I want to be with you as long as time will let us. And time better let us,” King finished, letting out a big sigh as all the words finally stopped tumbling out of his mouth. A rough sniffle came from him as he looked up again at Bruiser and Spot, who were both on the brink of tears again. “Well now my speech sounds stupid,” Spot whined, a broken laugh coming from him. 

“Just go for it babe,” Bruiser said, reaching across to stroke his shoulder soothingly.

Spot nodded, taking in a deep breath before he began to speak. The next two speeches went by slowly, which was alright with King. He loved hearing them talk and maybe it was a bit self centered if he liked it more when it was partially about him. 

Then finally, Natasha nodded towards Spot, who reached out, gently sliding a ring onto Bruiser’s finger and then King’s. 

bruiser’s!

spot’s!

mouse’s!

king’s!

The sun barely peaked above the clouds, casting a golden glow upon them and reflecting down onto the water. The morning sun was barely hot, however, sweat was already dripping down from Mouse’s face as she kept her hands steady around the plane. She sat upon a cushion, that way she could reach all the controls. 

Nobody was sure how she got to her position of being in the Air Force at all, but nobody questioned it either. The last guy had to be taken to the infirmary. And nobody wanted to be the next patient. 

Gunning the turret above her was Nick, both hands steady and eyes focused as he looked out over the horizon, getting into position as day broke and below him, a few feet away was Locks, navigating for them. Behind them, at the waist gunners were Switch and Fennel, standing back to back and never apart for too long. 

At the tail of the plane, was Captain, gunning the turret back there and below him, in the belly turret was Spot. 

Back at the front, beyond the pilot, was the nose turret, where Bruiser, a smooth-talking, trouble-loving Russian boy, who shot down more planes than they could count and saved their asses even more, was stationed. Finally, below him, which he thought was the most fitting placement, was Levi, or King as the others began to call him, who worked the bombs. 

Steadily, the row of B-24s sailed with the clouds, slowly approaching the island ahead. 

Their plane, which they’d dubbed Marked Monarch, was leading the line. A choice they hadn’t made. So, they were the first to see the lush field of green ahead of them. Mouse clicked into her headset. “We are here,” she stated clearly, waiting and listening to the crackle on the other line. 

As many others across the plane adjusted their goggles and got into position, another voice cracked across the line, Half-Hitch. “This is it fellas.”

King lifted his face to the scope, pressing one eye in as he steadied it. “You get it Santos?” Mouse’s voice came in. “Roger.”

“If I hit this one, drinks are on me!” Switch called from his position, grinning as he gripped the turret. “I ain’t goin’ to a bar with you Melnikoff, you confuse all the women,” King muttered, zooming in on his target. His comment generated a laugh. As if anyone on that plane truly cared about wooing women, besides Mouse. Everyone else had their own boy to focus on somewhere. Not that anyone else knew. What happened on Marked Monarch, stayed on Marked Monarch. On that cramped hunk of metal, they became family. “Get your cameras fellas, I’m gonna light it up like Christmas,” King muttered, reaching over and flipping a few switches, getting everything prepared.

“Pilot to bombardier, your ship,” Mouse’s voice came through into his headset. “Bombardier to pilot, roger,” King replied before he leaned back, staring ahead out the window. “Bombardier to crew, bomb bay doors, open.” “Bay doors open!” Locks called back, watching as the doors opened in the torso of the plane, revealing the many bombs they had locked away.

As they continued forward, a flurry of bullets and blasts came at Marked Monarch, rattling the plane but not the people inside. They only pushed forward with more determination, Mouse’s grip on the handle tightening. 

King groaned as he put his eye back up to the scope, trying to lock onto the island again and failing each time the plane rattled and shook the scope, losing sight. “Damnit,” he cursed, leaning away from the scope for a moment, hoping he could wait it out for a bit. The hits however, only got more frequent and harder, as they neared the island. In the top turret, Nick shook, spinning in his chair as bullets bounced off the plane. “Oh boy!” he exclaimed, still trying to get a good aim on the guns firing at them. Locks leaned towards the window, looking out just in time to see the other bomber beside them get hit, a loud boom echoing against their plane and fire exploding in the side of the bomber as it started to sink downwards.

Locks and Mouse exchanged a worried look but said nothing. There was no reason to panic. No reason yet.

More and more bullets racked the plane and King once again had his eye up to the scope, trying to hold it steady with one hand. “Come on, come on,” he murmured, gritting his teeth in frustration.

Mouse glanced down towards where King was working beneath them, unable to physically see him, but in her mind, she could see him trying to aim it clearly. “Come on Santos,” she muttered, glancing from the floor back to the windshield. 

King finally lined up the scope with a set of buildings down on the island. They looked important. A shame they wouldn’t be around much longer. “There you are…” he muttered, locking it into position and quickly pressing a button. Behind and further below him, 6 bombs dropped from the bay, all on their way to the same building King had stared down only moments before.

“Bombs away!” he said with a small chuckle. “Bombardier to pilot, your ship.” “Roger,” Mouse came through on the other side as she began to turn the plane. “Okay, here we go…” King watched through his small windshield as the bombs dropped and hit the building dead on. A flash of light came from the building and it swept forward, clouds and smoke billowing out on top while the blast slightly shook the plane.

Locks laughed from his spot beside Mouse, letting out a long whistle. “Yeah,” Mouse muttered, watching the blast. “Just like Christmas.” King pushed down on the lever to close the bomb bay doors. However, it only whirred and remained still, no matter how much pressure he put on it. He continued trying to shove it down. “Uh oh,” he grunted, still forcing it down repeatedly, “bomb bay doors are stuck.” He then looked up, gaze catching sight of a small black dot, coming closer and closer towards them. As it drew nearer, it gained more shape. It wasn’t a dot.

It was a fighter. “Shit!” He hissed, clicking into the radio. “Zero inbound. 10 o’clock level.”

“Alright,” Bruiser’s voice clicked in after him, who began firing immediately as the plane zipped past them. “You gotta get those doors closed Santos,” Mouse dropped back in. “Roger.” King shuffled out of his seat, quickly standing up at a crouch and making his way down the catwalk, remaining low as he dropped the ladder back up behind him as he descended further on the catwalk, now in the empty bay. There was only a thin strip of metal keeping him from slipping off the edge. Below him were clear blue skies and a deep blue ocean. He grabbed a box of bandages, stuffing them into his jacket, figuring he’d need it. He gripped onto the nearby railings. “7 o’clock!” Shouts sounded from above King and more gunfire came with it. The Zero must’ve returned. It zipped by, bursts of air knocking against him. King gasped and ducked down, recoiling as bullets whipped by him, just barely missing his head and settling into the walls of the bomb bay.

Once the Zero passed, he stood up slowly, wary of his surroundings. Now… what was keeping the doors from shutting. The longer they were open, the more fuel they burned. King looked, realizing that when Mouse had turned their plane, the auxiliary fuel tanks had slid out of place, enough to block the doors and enough that they couldn’t be moved back into place. Not until they landed anyway. Until then, they were burning twice as much fuel and fast, and until then, the bomb bay was even more dangerous.

King moved forward down the catwalk, hoping somehow that the crank could still get the doors to close. He grabbed hold of it, repeatedly yanking on it, but the doors still didn’t move. He sighed, hanging his head out of the catwalk into the open air for a moment, watching the doors, squinting as he tried to figure out what else he could do until then. But as he did, another Zero, or maybe the same one, zipped by, firing again, the bullets going just by him and whistling as they collided with the wall. He ducked back inside, gently patting the back of his head, feeling around for metal or blood. King sighed thankfully when he realized there was nothing there.

“Santos! You gotta get inside!” Captain yelled from somewhere inside the plane. “Get inside!” However, King crouched there for a few more minutes, watching as Spot shot down the nearest Zero, a trail of smoke heading down towards the ocean. “Attaboy,” he muttered, grinning widely.

He eventually turned and ducked back onto the catwalk and hurried inside the plane at the sight of another Zero incoming, he yelled to Spot as he maneuvered back towards his position. 

It whizzed by, blowing hot air through the open sides of the plane and shooting a flurry of bullets through the thin armor. King was lucky, he had ducked and been mostly out of the way, it had just skimmed his jacket. Switch, however, who was stumbling backwards, away from his turret and towards King, was not as lucky.

Switch hit the ground, holes ripped in both the front and back of jacket, small holes in his upper back and right side of his chest. 

The older boy was lucky, it hadn’t hit his heart or any other vital organs. But it did cause a lot of pain. King held Switch up as he cried out in pain. “Hey, hey, I’ve got you,” he assured him as he tried to press a few bandages against the wounds under his shirt. “I know, I know. Just be brave now, alright? You’re still good-looking. You’re still very handsome,” he rambled, trying to keep Switch awake and out of panic.

He winced as the turret gunned by Fennel carried on blasting, a Zero racing by again. He pat Switch on the shoulder. 

“You’ll be alright,” he promised, looking down across at Captain, who was slumped to the side at their position, still trying to work. King got up, glanced back over at Captain before turning, walking carefully across the bomb bay. Looking down at his feet placement but not beyond it. Usually, you wouldn’t look down, but when one wrong step could potentially send you flying into the ocean, you needed to be extra careful. As long as you didn’t stare at the ocean rather than the catwalk.

A nearby blast sounded, exploded beside the Mouse’s window and rocked the plane roughly. King was thrown to the side, gripping hard onto a support beam in the bomb bay. He gritted his teeth as he looked down, teetering over the edge of the catwalk. Any further and he would’ve been a goner, like the planes that littered the bright sea beneath them. “Oh boy,” Mouse muttered, only half-inconvenienced by the blast.

Chest heaving, King hauled himself up the ladder of the bomb bay, pulling it up after him as he crawled back to the cockpit, where Mouse, Locks and Nick were posted.

Locks had been helping them navigate but now he sat there, turned around to face him and panicked, face cut in a million different ways. He must’ve been hit by a blast of glass or bullets, one of the two.

“King…?” he asked between pants, eyes half closed as tears slipped down his cheeks. “Yeah, yeah, I’m right here,” he assured him quietly, pulling the rest of the bandages out of his shirt pocket and passing them up the Locks. “Take these. They’ll help.”

King looked up, Nick was still working just as hard, however blood soaked the side of his pant leg, deep red staining the pant and the chair he sat in.

“Nick?” King asked, looking up, watching the determined boy’s face as he fired away, trying to protect and defend Marked Monarch with his life; he wished that wasn’t the case.

Bullets pierced through the top of the plane, ricocheting off of the metal chair Nick sat in and bouncing away,

Another Zero flew by Marked Monarch, but a quick round of firing from Nick and Bruiser sent it tumbling down towards the sea.

Loud bangs sounded from the waist and King turned, watching as Fennel stood protectively over Switch while gunning down another plane. He could hear it’s engine as it began to crash down. A boom sounded as it hit the water. King shivered. That could’ve been them.