#philophobia

Just when you sat down at your desk to start your work for the day, he arrived. Bursting in, flames dimming to not to ignite the room, but you see the spark in his eyes, fast, confident, a bit wild, he’s definitely scheming. You hand him the draft of the mission statement for his interview before he can even open his mouth to ask.

“How about we try something new today, Johnny?” You ask.

“What did you have in mind, sweetheart?” He smiles and leans forward on your desk. You sense something in his glance, a friendly warmth, but also… something else. You look away. Keeping it professional.

“Sticking to the script, human torch.” you said while looking down at your tablet trying to make it seem casual that he was so close to you.

“Alright well let’s make it worth my wild. If I stick to the script… you have to go on a coffee date with me during your lunch break,” he said confidently.

You looked up then, studying him for any sort of malintent. He was smirking, still leaning on your desk. You sighed, “if you stick to script, and I mean word for word, I will go on a coffee date with you.”

He jumped up from your desk, “See you at 12:30,” he winked and left for his interview.

You rolled your eyes as he sauntered through the door. The only thing that settled your nerves was knowing that in the last three months he has done dozens of interviews, and he has never once stuck to the script you provided him.

So, when you flipped on the news an hour later, you watched him closely.

Your jaw went slack as you watched, “holy shit,” you whispered to yourself. He went word for word with what you had written for him. When the interview ended your phone pinged, that place around the corner, don’t be late(:. Now you had a date with Johnny Storm.

You knew exactly which cafe he was referring to, it was the place you went to every morning on your way to the office for a latte. When you walked in, he was already there, and your latte was waiting for you across from him. You slid into your seat sheepishly and you noticed he seemed a little nervous.

You swore your throat felt tight, like it was closing, you hadn’t been on a date in years because you truly feared making connections on this level, but you were a woman of your word, and he stuck to the script.

Your nerves subsided as conversation began to flow easily. You talk: your favorite cafés, your hobbies, his quick story about tinkering with cars, and then about flying. Finally you share something yourself: you say you used to dance. Ballet. It ended with an injury. His face softens. You’ve let him in. Not fully, but a crack.

When he walks you back to the office you feel light, lighter than you’ve felt in a while.

“It was nice to talk to you in a setting other than your desk or at a studio while you prep me for an interview,” he says quietly.

You nod, “yeah, Johnny I’m not going to lie you surprised me.”

He raises his brow, “what do you mean?”

“Well, you really do make my job…. harder. I thought that's just how you were,” you say honestly, hoping to not offend him.

He chuckles, “maybe I just like your attention.”

You turn your gaze to him as you reach the building, “well, maybe we can do this again, so you can stop begging for my attention at work.”

He laughed again, “yeah, I would like that.”

You smile and walk back to your desk. When you sat down you realized you haven’t stopped smiling.

Over the next few weeks, you catch him in the hall with coffee for you, or a pastry he knows you like. On the third date he leaned in to kiss you, and you felt electricity course through you as he did, but when he pulled away, the fear began to eat at you. He compliments your crisis-handling and you start to feel noticed. The entire relationship you were building felt like a constant internal battle, wanting to let him in but the fear and anxiety gnawing at you.

One night you get take-out and meet him in the lab while he finishes up his tinkering for the day. As the night carries on and the bottle of wine you shared is drained, you tell him about your childhood, how you’ve always been the fixer. A child of divorce, playing peacemaker between your parents at a young age, and always shielding your younger siblings from the reality of it. You see him listen — really listen. Then you say something you didn’t expect: “I’m afraid of letting people in.” His reply: “I get it. It’s scary. But you don’t have to hide anything from me.”

You glance at him and your breath catches, you feel the heat crawling up your neck when you process how honest and open you just were with the blonde man in front of you. That night you stay late in the lab wing together, sorting through visuals for an upcoming release. He jokes, you laugh. You stretch to pick up the holo-projector and your hand brushes his, you pull back quickly. When he leans in to kiss you, and you let him.

On Saturday morning it was absolutely pouring in Manhattan. You stood in the lobby of the Baxter Building lobby shaking off the rain from your rain coat. You had arranged for Johnny to go to the children's hospital and have a meet and greet with the children. You were surprised when he asked you to join, you were surprised but happy to tag along.

From a PR perspective Johnny was doing amazing, and you couldn’t help but feel proud of him as he made each little kid’s day.

On the drive back you sit quietly. The stereo is off. The rain drums the windows. He pulls in front of a small Italian spot for lunch, tucked away and quiet, away from paparazzi. The rain continued to patter on the windows as you both slid into a booth next to the window.

“Thanks for tagging along today,” he said sincerely as the waiter poured you both water.

Johnny ordered two glasses of wine which you were grateful for, considering your anxiety around him still hasn’t subsided.

“I was happy to come today, you did an amazing job,” you said as you sipped the heavy pour the waiter set down.

“You know,” he started, “I didn’t invite you for work reasons, I really like having you around.”

You looked at him, eyes wide at the confession.

“I like you a lot,” he said quietly.

“I like you too Johnny,” you admit, “more than I have allowed myself to like anyone in a long time,” you confessed.

Johnny brought you home after lunch and the rain continued to fall as you unlocked the door to your walkup building downtown.

You fell asleep easily that night, feeling content, maybe it was the wine, or maybe life was just going well. But then the next morning you wake up and your walls collapse. This matters. You care. You’re letting someone in. And you hate that you’re letting it happen. You completely panic, avoiding Johnny’s calls and texts all day. You wallow in your apartment for the entirety of your Sunday.

When the next day rolls around, you’re forced to go to work. You skip lunch. Hide behind tasks. You ignore his texts again. You feel trapped in your fear: what if it hurts? What if you lose control?

Eventually you’re in the communications suite, glasses fogged with tears, leaning heavily against the window. He finds you. Quiet. He sits beside you. “Hey, did I do something?” Then he sees you, notices the tears and he softens, he doesn’t ask for an explanation. “Hey, hey, I’m here, it’s okay.”

You break. Soft sobs. “I’m terrified,” you whisper. “Terrified of losing control. Of letting someone in and them leaving. Of caring so much it hurts.” You clutch his shirt. He wraps an arm around you. His voice: steady and warm. “It’s okay. I’m not going anywhere. I don’t need you to be perfect, I want you to be you. And I’ll wait, as long as you need. We can take everything slow.” You let yourself lean into him. Your walls crack further. “I just need to know I’m safe.” You say. He holds you. “You’re safe. With me.” You sit like that, no heroics, no public-image polish. Just you letting yourself fall into him.

In the days that follow, your fear doesn’t vanish, but it controls you less. He continues to show up for you, coffee on your desk, a note: thinking of you, bringing you lunch, he brings flowers to your apartment on the weekends, and texts you actually respond to.

One evening you invite him to dinner. You set up a small picnic with his favorite take out on a blanket atop the roof of the Baxter Building. The city flickered and hummed beneath you, creating the perfect landscape.

“I wanted to thank you for being so patient with me,” you said softly as you both ate.

“You don’t have to thank me,” his eyes were warm and soft towards you.

You smile, “I have always had this dreadful feeling when it comes to.. Falling in love,” you pause, he doesn’t flinch at the word like you expected him to, “you’re the first person I have ever been able to talk to about it, the first person who has made me feel like I’m stronger than it.”

He placed his food down and grabbed your hand in support.

“I’ve kept people at arm’s length… but you… you make me want to reach in.” You were internally cringing at your honesty, but it needed to be said, you were stronger than the pit in your stomach.

“I’m glad I can be that person for you,” he squeezed your hand, “and I’m falling in love with you too,” he said softly.

You smiled and released his hand, picking up the takeout container and looking at it to hide your blush. He mirrored you and continued eating. You both sat there under the stars, smiling like idiots.

You no longer pull back when he reaches for your hand. You don’t skip lunch when his text pings. You laugh at his jokes. You tease his catch-phrase. You accept the support and care he has to offer instead of recoiling. He listens and shows you that love doesn’t have to be something you’re scared of.

And he learned that your trust must be earned, and he pushed for that daily. You’re building something you didn’t expect: something strong enough for “hero work” and gentle enough for the quiet moments. One evening you lean into him on the rooftop edge. The city hums below. You whisper: “Thank you for staying.” He smiles, warm and soft. “God I love you.” You smile, and say it back.

The moment Pepper told you that Rhodey was missing, your mind went straight to Nick Fury, the only person in this country who had his eyes everywhere and in everyone’s business. Especially when it came to people like Rhodey, who were government officials.

“Fine. I do know. But I can’t tell you anything right now.”

Your blood boiled, irritated with his constant state of unbothered attitude, “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“It means that I can’t tell you anything right now. It’s confidential. You’re not new to this business, Stark.”

You closed your eyes in annoyance. It was never easy with this man.

“Alright, fine. But if I don’t get my uncle back safely, I’ll give you something to worry about, Fury.”

“Are you threatening me?”, Fury let out a disbelieving chuckle.

“Why? Are you scared?”, you challenged him back. He knew you could be as reckless as your dad if you wanted to be.

“Relax. He’s alive, if that makes you feel any better. Just figuring out how to bring him back. And no, I can’t elaborate on that right now. You’ll just have to wait.”

You clenched your jaw tightly, reluctantly agreeing to his terms.

“Yeah, alright. You’ll keep me updated, though?”

A beat passed.

And he finally replied, “Yes, I’ll try.”

You huffed through your nose and cut the call, pinching the bridge of your nose after. You wouldn’t be getting any sleep for a while now.

Your phone buzzed with a notification again. Harley had texted you that the suit will be arriving to your doorstep in approximately 10 seconds.

As if on cue, your watch informed that the suit was here.

You made your way over to the main doors and there it was, the sleek red and gold of the armour glinting in the light, the blue arc reactor in the middle glowing brightly, like it was never broken down.

For a minute, it felt like your dad was inside the suit. The sight of him roaming around the living room in one of the suits was a common occurrence, and the times when he wore it to help Peter out, fighting against Thanos, or save Pepper—all of the moments flashing in front of your eyes like it was a short film.

Involuntarily, your eyes filled with tears, the fact that he would never step out of one of these suits, after doing something crazy and typically Tony Stark, made your chest ache with a pain so profound.

You didn’t notice Joaquin coming up next to you in your trance. You didn’t notice how he saw your body lock up and eyes turn glassy, the emotion and pain swimming in them sending a sharp pang of hurt through his own chest.

His eyebrows scrunched up and he slowly put a hand on your shoulder, making you jump in surprise. Your teary eyes shifted to look at him, his worried face intently focused on you.

"Hey, you okay?", he asked lowly, the hand on your shoulder shifting to rest on your shoulder blades.

You swallowed against the lump in your throat before nodding, "Y-yeah. I'm good. Sorry-um. This is Mark 50, Mark 50, this is Joaquin", you sniffled and pointed at the suit, introducing it to Joaquin like it was a real person.

In a way it was, the suits and the robots were as much as a part of the Stark family as Rhodey or Happy. They were, truly, your siblings and you hated how right Sam was about that.

Joaquin noticed the shift in you and immediately switched his mood, "Damn. Lookin' good", he greeted the suit, a hand extended in front of it.

He wasn't expecting the suit to actually listen and shake his hand in return, a metal fist enclosed against Joaquin's human hand, the suit's helmet tilted to the side like it was nodding.

Joaquin looked at you with wide eyes, face lit up with excitement, "Whoa!"

That made you laugh quietly, heart fluttering in your chest by looking at the wide smile on Joaquin's face.

He was so cute.

"Yeah. Dad used to command it before, but Harley must've programed it to respond to any commands and rewired it's systems to be operated by FRIDAY", you looked at the suit with a fond smile, completely missing the sour look that passed across Joaquin's face.

"Let's go inside. And Joaquin, could you please pull up Sam and Bucky's location? I’ll just thank Harley for his help", you shifted away from the threshold, the suit and Joaquin following closely. Joaquin stared at your back like a lost puppy before reluctantly sitting down at the couch with his laptop propped up on the arm rest.

You rang Harley back, taking a seat next to Joaquin and watching his pretty hands type away on the keypad.

Pretty hands? where did that come from-

"What’s up, Buzz."

"Hi, Haz. Thank you for working on the suit in such less time", you begun sincerely.

Joaquin clenched his jaw. You noticed that and quirked an eyebrow before Harley broke your train of thought.

"You owe me a treat and a new headset", Harley replied casually, and you could hear loud cheers in the background.

"Wait a minute, headset? Didn't you get a new one last month? And where are you, boy?", you chided him.

"Uhh...I may have blasted mine accidentally while working on the suit? And I'm at a football game right now", you could just picture his stupid shrug right now.

Your eyes widened, "Harley did you destroy my lab?! I swear to god- and why are you skipping your classes-"

"Oh my gooood, your lab is fine! There might be a small hole in the wall but otherwise, it's all good! And you're welcome! Come back home and treat me to lunch and a new pair, mkay? I gotta focus on the game now, byeee!"

And he ended the call.

You stared at your phone with your mouth agape before bringing your watch up to your face, "FRIDAY, give me a status update of the lab?"

FRIDAY pulled up a small screen, a footage of your lab visible on it. The footage showed the exact moment Harley accidentally pushed the wrong button and activated the blasters, destroying his precious headset and a small chunk of your wall paneling, the gaping hole standing out against the white and gray interior.

You pinched the bridge of your nose and groaned loudly, Joaquin, who was already looking at you, decides to finally speak up.

"Who is this guy?", he blurts out and immediately regrets it, his hand clenching into a fist.

You looked up and sighed, "Just a stray that my dad picked up long ago and now he's my problem."

Joaquin looked at you in confusion. You smiled fondly.

"He's like the twin I never had, you know? Dad met him in Tennessee in 2013, during the Mandarin attacks. Harley basically saved my dad from starvation and hypothermia, let him stay in their family garage for the night. He was a smart kid, helped dad fix his suit, uncover the Extremis program, and helped track down the Mandarin in Miami."

Joaquin's eyes were wide with wonder, "Whoa."

You chuckled, "I know right? He must've been barely 11 years old. Even supported my dad during his panic attacks and PTSD. Dad was so impressed with this little guy who was practically helping him save the country, that he became a surrogate father to him. Gave him a scholarship and, later, an internship, brought him home during Christmas the next year, and that's how we became friends. I was an only child, so he was the closest thing to a brother to me", you finished with a sweet smile.

Joaquin relaxed. Harley was like a brother to you, there was nothing to be jealous of. Now that that was out of the way, he was happy and impressed with Harley and his presence in your life. He had saved your father’s life at only 11 years old and had given you a feeling of siblinghood. He knew how special a bond with a sibling could be.

Joaquin felt like he could get along with him.

His curiosity got the best of him and he asked, “That’s…really cool. He seems like a nice guy. But, why’d you call him Woody the other day?”

You let out a delightful laugh, one that made your eyes squint and crinkles appear next to them. One that made Joaquin’s heart race and cheeks red.

“We were just two Disney obsessed kids, okay? Spent half of our time watching the animated movies. Toy Story and How To Train Your Dragon stuck out because, Woody and Buzz, and Ruffnut and Tuffnut, were way too similar to us. So those were our nicknames for each other. Never grew out of them”, you finished with a nostalgic smile.

Joaquin ducked his head and smiled, happy that you had these sweet memories as a child.

“Why did you abruptly leave when I was talking to him?”

Joaquin whipped his head up, “Huh?”, nervousness bleeding through his tone and you knew you had him there.

“Why did you leave, Joaquin? You even tensed up when I was talking to him right now”, you tried again in a softer voice.

Joaquin scratched the back of his head sheepishly, eyes looking down at his laptop to avoid your observant gaze, “Uh-I…I was-”

You pursed your lips to stop the smile from spreading, “Jealous?”

And there was the word vomit that you were expecting, “No! I wasn’t jealous. I just- I didn’t know- I didn’t want to force you into anything with me, you know? So like, I thought, maybe you already had someone so- I didn’t want to—And you looked so happy—”

You stopped him from spiralling any further and covered his mouth with your hand, shutting him up effectively. His brown eyes stared at your hand in surprise before looking at you, his soft lips brushed against your palm and you almost shivered.

“It’s okay.”

His eyes widened, head tilting to the side as if he was asking you to repeat it again.

“I mean, I don’t mind that you were jealous”, you repeated quietly, swallowing to get rid of your nerves. It’s been a long time since you opened up to someone like that. You weren’t sure how Joaquin would react to it, your heart was beating out of your chest, hands were shaking and turning cold at the same time.

Before your overthinking could get worse, Joaquin wrapped a hand around your wrist and slowly tugged it down, a thumb rubbing soothing circles against your heartbeat, sparkling eyes flickering all over your face.

“Is that so?”, he asked softly, a stray curl falling apart from his neatly gelled hair and resting on his forehead.

He was so handsome, it hurt.

You nodded shyly, face heating up with nervousness and excitement, both.

He slowly leaned in, a hand coming up to cradle your cheek when there was a beeping sound coming from his laptop, the two of you jumping apart at that.

You cleared your throat while he gently removed his hand from your face, leaving a cold feeling behind. You almost sulked at that when he swooped in to press a kiss to the swell of your cheek before turning back towards the screen.

You blushed hard and thanked whatever force that was out there, for making him turn around at that moment.

“Shit. Walker and Hoskins have tracked Sam and Bucky down”, Joaquin cursed.

You snapped out of your day dream and leaned closer to him to look at the screen.

“What? How’s that possible?”, you murmured as you watched the two dots follow Sam and Bucky around.

“I got no clue. But this can’t be good. I don’t trust Walker”, he muttered, his voice scratchy.

“Yeah, that makes the two of us. I knew this was gonna happen, which is why I called in the suit”, you confessed and he looked at you in confusion, his warm breath hitting your face because of how close you were to each other.

“What? Why?”

“I’m going after them. I’ve got a bad feeling ever since they left”, you admitted and bit the inside of your cheek.

Joaquin’s face fell, “(Name), no. You’re literally recovering from a rib injury that you got a few hours ago. You’re supposed to be resting right now”, he chided you gently, face twisted in concern.

You stared at him for a moment before softening, hands framing his face carefully. Joaquin closed his in contentment.

“I have the suit for a reason, Quino. It’s got the suture spray and FRIDAY will keep you updated with my vitals, in case something goes wrong. And Sam and Bucky will be there, too. I’ll be okay, I promise”, you cooed gently.

He opened his pretty eyes and stared at you in worry, a dent appearing in between his eyebrows because of how much he was stressing them.

“You’ll let me know if anything goes south?”

“I swear.”

“And you won’t do stupid shit?”

You gave him a guilty smile, “I’ll try”, and pressed a thumb in between his brows, smoothing the dent away before squeezing his cheeks in between your palms. He grabbed your wrists in his hands.

“I’ll give you access to FRIDAY. She’s directly connected to the suit so you can talk to me, and track me through her, okay?”

He nodded, his head moving up and down in your hands.

“Anything else?”, you prompted him to open his eyes.

He looked at you for a moment and said, “Can I kiss you?”

You blushed and whispered, “Yes.”

He didn’t have to be told twice. He put his hands on your cheeks and brought you closer to him, lips pressing to yours in a gentle embrace, thumbs smoothing the skin below your eyes.

The kiss wasn’t desperate or needy, it was gentle and reassuring, as if he was trying to savour the way your soft lips felt against his but at the same time, needed comfort that you’d be okay.

He pulled away after a few moments, pressing one last kiss on the corner of your mouth.

“Go save our dads”, he murmured against your cheek and you burst out in giggles, nuzzling against his face in return.

-

You flew to the location where Sam and Bucky had gone for Mama Donya’s funeral. After commanding FRIDAY to compress the suit, it took the shape of a red and gold bracelet with blue accents that went on your wrist alongside your watch and you walked the rest of the way, not wanting to draw too much attention.

The funeral was held in a closed off factory or a community center of some sort, the building filled with large machines and huge halls, scattered with food supplies and tables full of clothes, bags, pots and other essentials. It was clearly a camp for the refugees.

It was way too quiet when you got in, and Joaquin informed you about the heat signatures a few feet ahead. You slowly made your way over to the main hall’s entrance, the view blocked by 2 rusted machines that looked like unused boilers, and a blue suit came into view—Walker.

Your expression soured as you approached him and noticed Zemo being handcuffed, Bucky standing guard in front of a door, meanwhile Walker and Lemar were pacing back and forth.

“Wow, I wasn’t told that there was gonna be a party here”, you quipped and the four of them whipped their heads up in your direction.

“What—Kid, why are you here?”, Bucky asked in concern.

“Great, we have another trigger-happy child to look after”, Walker sassed.

“The call is coming from inside the house”, Walker glared at you and opened his mouth before you waved him off, “Anyways. Buck, where’s Sam? You guys okay?”

You walked over to where Bucky was standing and leaned against the door.

“Yeah. He’s inside, trying to talk Karli down.”

You nodded in understanding, it was very much in character for Sam to do that, his natural instinct to care for people and the professional experience of being a counselor helping him out.

“And why’s this clown here?”, you murmured and gestured towards Walker.

Bucky sighed, “He thinks Sam is doing a mistake by talking to Karli. Says we should just arrest her or worse.”

You rolled your eyes in irritation before John started breathing heavily. Bucky exchanged a look with you.

“Is he high? What the hell is wrong with him?”, you asked Bucky, who chuckled.

“Ignore him. Why'd you join us? You’re supposed to be resting. Did you sneak out? Did Torres not stop you?”, Bucky rapidly asked one question after the other, his eyebrows scrunched deeply.

You narrowed your eyes, “I don’t need anybody’s permission. And relax, old man, I told him to track me and gave him access to FRIDAY. And here”, you pulled back your dad’s leather jacket’s sleeve and showed him the bracelet, “I got the suit as a backup.”

Bucky looked down at your wrist in doubt, “How?-”

“I’ll tell you later-”

“Uh-uh. No, no, no. This is a bad idea”, John spoke up and paced around in panic.

You quirked an eyebrow.

“It hasn’t been ten minutes, John. Just sit tight”, Bucky drawled out in boredom.

“Don’t do that. Don’t patronize me”, John gritted his teeth.

You stood up straight and looked him in the eye, noticing his restless body language, “Dude, you need to calm down.”

“He knows what he’s doing”, Bucky referred to Sam.

John glared at the two of you, “I’m goin’ in. This is all really easy for you, isn’t it? All that serum runnin’ through your veins. Barnes, your partner needs backup in there. And you”, he looked at you with eyes, “not everybody has the privilege of living in ignorance and having a back up ready. Do you really want his blood on your hands?”

You clenched your jaw, your eyes hardening in anger, “Watch it, John”, a hand moving to your bracelet before Bucky stopped you. You stared at him in disbelief.

John smirked before pushing Bucky out of the way, Lemar choosing to stay behind for now.

You watched John leave and broke your hand away from Bucky’s grip.

“Bucky, what the hell?”, you chided him, his jaw clenching tightly at that.

“I know. Just- be careful. Lay low, I'll go after him", Bucky instructed, you gave him a curt nod and ran in the opposite direction, Bucky taking off after Walker and Lemar following closely, ready to stop Bucky. Zemo was the only one left behind, and he took that opportunity to break free from his handcuffs and follow Walker and Karli himself.

-

You ducked behind the staircase, observing the scene closely before making any moves. You knew Sam would be upset to see you here, but you weren’t going to sit back and watch them get ambushed by Walker or, god forbid, the Flagsmashers.

“This is what that was?”, Karli’s upset voice rang out in the empty hall.

“No, wait—”, Sam tried to placate her, his hands held out in a peaceful gesture.

“Tricking me until help came?”

“We had enough time to talk—”, Walker stopped Sam while Lemar tried to restrict Bucky. You clenched your hands in anger.

“Nazi", Karli spit at Walker and pushed him against Sam, bringing him down with him and a few pots and pans scattering in the wake. Bucky pushed Lemar off of him and ran in the direction of Karli.

You pressed the small button on your bracelet and let the suit wrap around you, the blue screens coming to life inside the helmet, FRIDAY's voice alert and ready.

"FRIDAY, track down Karli."

"Ok, Boss."

And you blasted off, whizzing through the building. Her and Bucky jumped through the staircases, the serums running through their veins helping them run faster and scale heights. Bucky dropped down behind her, landing in a room that was filled with people drying their clothes around and meandering about, they looked at you in alarm and gasped when you swooped in behind Bucky in a blur of red and gold.

Bucky whipped his head behind as he ran, relaxing when he noticed it was just you and ran faster, matching Karli's pace with you close on his heels.

The doorway made way to a dark, brick walled space, surrounded by flights of stairs and metal railings, low light passing through the windows on the opposite wall.

Bucky ran up another series of stairs and you paused, looking around in confusion, "FRIDAY, where is she?"

"Second floor, in the boiler room. Last door at the end of the hallway."

And you took off, reaching the second floor and noticing a brown door at the end of the hallway. Flying close to the door, you turned the suit back into the bracelet by pushing on the reactor and straightened yourself before opening the door, which gave you a clear view of Karli from the railings around the platform.

Descending from the stairs, you tried to keep the noise to a minimum as you followed Karli closely, ducking behind storage shelves and large pipes.

She suddenly stopped, staring at something or someone across her, her breathing laboured. You furrowed your eyebrows.

And suddenly, a gunshot went off, a bullet ricocheting off a pipe, making a loud clang. Your eyes widened as you pressed the bracelet and let it cover your hand in a partial gauntlet, arm raised in defense as you slowly stood up and saw the perpetrator- it was Zemo.

"Fuck", you cursed under your breath. All of you had stupidly left Zemo behind.

"(Name), what are you doing?", Joaquin's urgent voice came in from your ear piece.

You closed your eyes in regret. Thankfully, you didn't give him access to video yet or else he would've not given up until you backed away.

"Joaquin-I'm okay. FRIDAY, shut off comms until further notice", you guiltily informed FRIDAY.

"Wait, no-don't do this, (Name)-", his voice called out before FRIDAY ended the connection. You would definitely regret this later but you needed to focus here, for now.

A series of gunshots went off, Zemo backing Karli into a corner while you covered yourself with a huge crate right behind Zemo, keeping your blaster trained at him.

Karli jumped over a table and used it as a cover, the contents on the table scattering on the floor and that's when you noticed.

The blue glass vials. The serums.

Zemo slowly made his way over to the table while keeping Karli on gun point. You raised up and followed him, wanting to keep him away from the vials and Karli. He fired another shot and almost missed Karli's hand, her quickly ducking behind the table and his eyes went towards the vials rolling around.

"Is this what I think it is?", he asked Karli.

"Zemo, don't!", you cried out and he whipped around, his gun still raised but lowering it when he saw you.

"Let me do this, (Name). This has nothing to do with you", he warned you lightly before turning back towards the vials. He crouched down before picking one up, Karli's distressed face popping out from behind the overturned table.

"No, no...", Karli whispered and Zemo shattered the vial in his hand, it breaking in tiny pieces, the blue liquid spilling on the stone ground, turning it damp.

"Zemo, stop it, I'm gonna blast you, I swear", you raised your arm, the gauntlet powering itself when a door opened and a man came out, Karli making her way up to escape. You forgot the serum then, knowing that they weren’t as important as Karli’s coordination with Sam and to this mission.

"Karli, wait!", you ran towards the stairs, catching up with her when she suddenly turned around, pulling your arm close before pushing you harshly.

She ran away while you lost your balance, the heel of your foot slipping off the step. Your stomach coiled in itself, that feeling of free falling engulfing you.

A sound of metal hitting something echoed in the still room but you couldn't see it as you closed your eyes tightly, waiting for the ground to hit you for the second time since yesterday.

But it never came. Instead, rough gloves and the feel of kevlar on your cheeks greeted you, hands helping you get off the stairs before making you sit on the ground, releasing you immediately and the sound of footsteps walking away hit your ears.

You heart was pounding in your ears, the brief scare of falling had shaken you up, your eyes still shut tightly. Taking a deep breath in, you opened them to see that Zemo was unconscious in front of you, Walker stood next to a pile of water bottles with his head titled, looking at something in his hands.

Had he saved you from falling?

Just as you though that, the door above opened once again, Sam and Bucky walking through it while Lemar rushed in from the other entrance behind Zemo.

You were breathing loudly, eyes meeting Sam and Bucky's from across the room, nodding to let them know that you're okay.

"What did we miss?", Sam asked John in exasperation, Bucky scowling next to him and the four men exchanged a look with each other.

-

"You okay?", Bucky asked you as you walked next to him.

"Yeah, he-"

"What are you doing here? I told you to rest. The doctor told you to rest!", Sam chided you, a frown tugging his lips.

"I know, I'm sorry-"

"Oh, now you're sorry. What if you'd been injured, or worse? What was I supposed to tell Pepper or Rhodey?", Sam stressed. In his panic, he thankfully didn't notice the way you and Bucky froze at the mention of Rhodey.

"And how did you even get the suit?"

"Yeah actually, I have the same question", Bucky chimed in, staring you down with narrowed eyes.

You shrugged casually, "I have contacts", and gave them a smirk.

Sam shook his head in disbelief and Bucky huffed out a laugh. Zemo was stumbling behind the three of you, his right temple bruised and red.

"I didn't think I'd ever say this, but maybe I need to thank John for that", you quipped and the two men next to you chuckled in agreement.

"He also saved me from falling when Karli shoved me", you confessed and they look at you in confusion.

"Who? Walker?", Bucky asked in disbelief and you nodded.

"Well, colour me surprised. They do say, a broken clock is right twice in a day", Sam joked.

You shook your head and chuckled.

"You guys go ahead. I'll join you", Bucky informed you before walking back to the building. Assuming he was most likely going to ask around for information, Sam and you made your way back to Zemo's place with a wincing Zemo in tow.

-

As soon as you entered the living area, you were greeted with a sulking Joaquin, headphones over his head that made a dent in his otherwise fluffy curls, eyes intently focusing on the screen of his laptop, lips set in a frown and hands constantly fidgeting with the keyboard. His arms strained against the tight t shirt he was wearing and you felt your breath hitch at the sight.

There was also an ache in your chest. You hated that you had shut him out like that but you didn’t do well with distractions. Not when you were trying so hard to prove yourself to Sam, that you’d be useful. But, those are just excuses, you suppose. He didn’t deserve that in anyway.

Sam made his way over to him while Zemo went into the kitchen, likely preparing a cold compress for the bruising.

Patting his back, Sam brought Joaquin’s attention back to the present and he jumped lightly before removing the headphones, wide eyes looking up at Sam in alarm.

“Oh-Hey. You’re back? Where-”

He looked around Sam and spotted you, perfectly okay, wrapped in your father’s jacket, hands playing with the bracelet nervously.

Sam took notice of this frantic behaviour from Joaquin and turned to look at you, the nervousness radiating off your body and quirked an eyebrow.

“Uh…you good, man?”, he asked Joaquin while squeezing his shoulder, Joaquin reluctantly looking away from you to answer Sam.

“Um- yeah. I’m good. How-how did it go?”

Sam sighed, “Well. Walker’s dumbass ambushed us. Karli felt betrayed and she escaped. And Zemo broke the vials of the serum.”

Joaquin looked at Zemo, noticing the way he was swaying and stumbling over his feet and let out a low whistle, “Did he get his ass kicked?”

Sam snorted, “Walker threw the damn shield at his head. Knocked him out for sometime and bruised the right side of his face.”

Joaquin breathed out a laugh in response. Sam patted his back again and sat down on the chairs lining the kitchen island to work on his laptop, leaving you and Joaquin staring at each other longingly from across the room.

Zemo came over and laid down on the couch opposite to Joaquin, a towel over his eyes and a drink in his hand.

You averted your eyes away from Joaquin before joining Sam at the island, sitting down next to him and staring at the laptop idly, lost in your own thoughts. Sam was sending a text to Sharon, warning her about Walker and asking her to keep an eye on him.

“Were you ever offered it?”, Zemo asked Sam, who looked at you in confusion.

“What?”, he asked Zemo.

“The serum.”

“No”, Sam replied and went back to his work.

“If you had been, hypothetically, that is, would you have taken it?”

You stopped fiddling with your bracelet and looked up in surprise, the loaded question from Zemo taking you off guard.

Sam turned around to look at Zemo and instantly replied, “No.”

You slowly smiled with pride. Joaquin looked at Sam with stars in his eyes.

“No hesitation. That’s impressive,” Zemo grunted and sat up, pulling away the towel from his eyes to look at Sam.

“Sam, you can’t hold out hope for Karli. No matter what you saw in her, she’s gone. And we cannot allow that she and her acolytes become yet another faction of gods amongst real people. Super Soldiers cannot be allowed to exist.”

You stiffened up, his words holding some truth yet his way of tackling the issue rubbed you the wrong way.

Sam grimaced, “Isn’t that how gods talk? And if that’s how you feel, what about Bucky? Blood isn’t always the solution.”

Right after that the door opened, Bucky walking through it with irritation bleeding from his every step.

“Something’s not right about Walker”, he announced and walked around you and Sam, throwing his jacket into a chair and picking out a glass from the cabinet, pouring himself some whiskey.

“You don’t say”, Sam quipped.

“No, I agree. He was being really fucking weird. Twitchy and always on the edge…”, you added, suspecting your worse fear—Walker took the serum.

“Well, I know a crazy when I see one. Because I am crazy”, Bucky added in self deprecation. You pursed your lips.

“Can’t argue with that”, Sam joked and you noticed Joaquin stifle a laugh.

“Shouldn’t have given him the shield”, Bucky throws at Sam and you frown, a hand coming up to pinch your nose.

“Not this again”, you groaned and Sam turned around to look at Bucky in disbelief.

“I didn’t give it.”

“Well, Steve definitely didn’t.”

You looked up in shock, “Dude?!”

Why did have an attitude all of a sudden?

And as if the devil sensed the rising tension, the doors flung open, revealing the last person you wanted to see.

“All right. That’s it. Let’s go. I’m now ordering you to turn him over”, John’s loud mouth announced himself as he strutted in, a stupid smug smile on his face, Lemar walking next to him.

You actually preferred Lemar over John. Atleast he didn’t spew bullshit at random times.

Sam sighed in exhaustion and met John halfway.

“Hey, slow your roll. Shield or no shield, the only thing you’re runnin’ in here is your mouth. Now, I had Karli and you overstepped. He’s actually proven himself useful today. We’ll need all hands on deck for whatever’s comin’ next”, he said and pointed at Zemo who walked over to the kitchen.

Bucky leaned on the countertop meanwhile you felt a warm hand on your forearm, shifting your intense stare away from John to to look at Joaquin standing next to you, his jaw clenched.

“How do you want the rest of this conversation to go, Sam? Huh?”

Sam stared at Walker and Walker let out a breathy laugh.

"Yeah. Should I put down the shield to make it fair?", John belittled Sam and you clenched your fists, eyes hardened in anger. Sam scoffed.

Just as John went to rest his shield by one of the pillars, a spear zipped past him, lodging firmly into the pillar right next to John's head.

All of you turned around in shock to see that a Dora Milaje warrior was standing in the corner of the room. You let out a laugh and Bucky shifted. Joaquin was too starstruck to even move, Sam looked at her in shock and fear.

Two more Doras entered from the main door, the clinking of their silver jewelry and armour rippling across the room in a pleasant way, their bodies held with grace and poise, the orange and patterned traditional armour fitting them royally, unimaginable power and stealth oozing off of their shining skin. Their sharp eyes pierced through Walker and Bucky sat up uncomfortably.

A Dora clinked her spear against the ground and looked at Bucky directly, saying something in Wakandan isiXhosa that was clearly not funny as Bucky ducked his head in shame. You exchanged a serious look with Joaquin, standing up in alarm.

"Release him to us, now", the warrior demanded, her voice serious and firm in warning.

Nobody spoke, except-

"Hi. John Walker, Captain America."

Except this dumb fucking man.

You rolled your eyes and shut them in embarrassment, Joaquin's mouth agape in disbelief. Sam laughed and looked at the three of you, his face lit up with shocked happiness, like he couldn't believe his was happening.

When the Dora didn't respond, John looked around the room and ran his stupid mouth again, "Well, let's uh- put down these pointy sticks and we can talk this through, huh?", he said in a fake happy voice.

"Oh my god", you whispered lowly.

"Hey, John, take it easy. You might wanna fight with Bucky before you wanna tangle with the Dora Milaje", Sam tried to warn Walker.

"They're gonna lay you down in 2 minutes max, man”, Joaquin added. You scoffed in humour.

John looked at you two blankly before turning around and running his mouth again.

"The Dora Milaje don't have jurisdiction here-"

Your eyes were so wide you were sure they would burst, if that was possible. Joaquin let out a choked gasp next to you.

"The Dora Milaje have jurisdiction, wherever the Dora Milaje find themselves to be", the warrior conceded and stared down Walker with her sharp and vigilant eyes.

"I know that's fucking right", "Hell yeah", you and Joaquin muttered together.

Sam smiled and Bucky still looked constipated. You assumed it's because he was going to get his ass handed to him by the Doras as well.

Just when you thought that it was over, Walker did something even worse.

"Okay. Look, I think we got off the wrong foot", he replied smugly and tried to casually put his fucking hand on the warriors shoulder.

You and Joaquin grimaced and slapped your foreheads in unison.

"He's dead", you whispered in shock.

And he was, indeed, dead because the warrior pushed his hand off her shoulder with the spear and kicked him so hard in the stomach, that he hit the lodged spear harshly, and fell down, her partner pulling up her own spear in defense.

You gasped as John picked up his shield and the warrior spinned over him before stabbing his shield. The one who kicked John threw the third Dora her spear, who caught it mid air and attacked Lemar.

The three Doras kept hitting the two men with their spears, choking them and pinning them down, the grunts and groans and glasses shattering being the only sounds heard.

Sam backed up in shock, Bucky walked over to stand next to him smugly, his arms crossed around his chest.

Meanwhile you and Joaquin stared at the fight in wonder, awed at the fighting style of the Dora. They moved like it was a dance, not breaking any sweat or huffing and puffing, their movement precise and every attack purposeful.

Zemo sipped on his whiskey casually, like this wasn't any of his concern.

"We should do something", Sam mumbled to Bucky, who just pursed his lips and watched the scene unfold.

"Looking strong, John!", Bucky taunted as John got smacked by the spear once again and you let out a chuckle at that.

Bucky kept staring the fight smugly, his lips molded into a silly smile with his arms crossed.

Sam shook his head, "Bucky...", he called out in warning. Bucky looked at him before sighing, the warrior pinning down Walker and driving her spear straight into his face.

You let out a gasp, Joaquin holding you by the shoulders and then-

A vibranium arm shot out, stopping the spear before it hit John.

"Ayo-", Bucky twisted the spear away and Ayo, the warrior who kicked John, grunted, as she tried moving it out of Bucky's hand.

"Ayo, let's talk about this!", Bucky tried to reason but Ayo grunted once again, twisting the spear away, Bucky bringing up his flesh hand to stop her movements.

The other two Doras kicked Lemar and he dropped down in pain, one of them raising their spear before Sam rushed in to stop it, the warrior jamming in her spear's end into Sam's chest instead.

"Joaquin, we need to stop them-"

"No. Listen to me this once, please", Joaquin stopped you firmly, his hands pulling you back against him. You pouted.

The warriors kept attacking the four men, grunts and clangs echoing across the room and suddenly a spear shot out towards Walker's hands, passing through the straps and trapping the shield into the wooden table, Walker standing up with empty hands.

Ayo and Bucky's fight escalated and suddenly, she pressed a hand onto his left shoulder, where his metal arm met his flesh and-

The metal arm dropped down with a clink.

You gasped, Joaquin stared at the scene with fear and Bucky looked at Ayo with disbelief and slight betrayal, his eyes blown wide.

You walked over to Bucky, Joaquin making his way towards Sam.

You stood next to Bucky with a hand on his back, watching Ayo open the bathroom before announcing, "He is gone. Leave it."

The Dora handed the shield back to Sam and walked out just as gracefully as they had entered.

That's when you noticed that Zemo was missing. You frowned. How did you miss him slipping away?

"Did you know they could do that?", Sam asked as Joaquin helped him up, making his way towards you and Bucky.

Bucky furrowed his brows and you stared at him in worry, the vibranium arm's inner gears moving as Bucky prepared it to be fitted back into place. He inserted it into the purple grooves on the place where his armpit is supposed to be and the arm clicked, Bucky's clenched fingers making it whirr as he set it.

"No", he rasped out and moved his arm in a circle, making a clanking noise as it set.

You exchanged a worried look with Sam.

They walked over to the bathroom, leaving you behind with Joaquin. You clasped your hands in front you and Joaquin tucked his inside his pockets, both of you observing Sam and Bucky silently.

After a couple moments of awkward silence, Sam informs you that him and Bucky are going to look out for Zemo. You cursed inwardly as you realised you’ll have to be alone with Joaquin for sometime now.

You just hoped he wasn’t too mad about your little stunt.

-

You were scouring through the kitchen cabinets to find something to eat when you heard footsteps behind you.

You turned around to look at Joaquin, who had left the bedroom a while after Sam and Bucky left.

In a way, you had decided to give him some space, the dent between his eyebrows kept growing the longer he was around you. You just couldn’t gather the courage to speak up to him because what would you even say to the most patient and understanding person around you whom you just pushed away because you couldn’t multi task?

He walked around you to get a glass of water, his body language casual and unbothered, avoiding eye contact with you throughout. You sneaked a look at him and chewed on your lower lip, deciding to simply ask him what’s wrong.

“Are you upset with me?”, you mumbled loud enough for him to hear.

He paused drinking, hand hovered in the air. He gulped it down heavily after a moment, before putting the glass down. Your eyes lingered on his adam’s apple bobbing up and down.

“Uh-no. What made you think that?”, he murmured and cleared his throat, arms crossing around his chest and making his muscles bulge and veins strain.

You narrowed your eyes at him, putting your hands on the hips.

“You’re a horrible liar, did you know that?”

Joaquin winced and scrunched his nose. You sighed and leaned against the counter top, your arms holding your torso in comfort now.

“Look…I’m sorry, okay? I just—I get overwhelmed easily and I-I just wanted to prove to Sam and Bucky that I can be useful, that I want to help. I can’t help it”, you let out a breath.

“When you called, I couldn’t comfort you and keep an eye on the mission at the same time. It’s just how I am. Did this before when dad was around and he’d get upset at me every time”, you chuckled lowly, the memory of him scolding you for not updating him during a fight vivid. Joaquin’s lips twitched at that.

“Every time someone close to me is in some kind of danger, it’s like I have this uncontrollable impulse to jump in to protect them. And I know, I said I won’t indulge in field work before joining you guys but…they’re family. I can’t just…leave them out there to fend for themselves. Not when I can still help”, you confessed in a small voice, the vulnerability of your words weighing you down.

Joaquin’s eyes softened then, because he could perfectly understand how you feel. Everything he did, he did it to prove himself to the world, to his mom, grandma and his sister. and most importantly, to Sam. That weight crushed him almost everyday, but Sam’s endless support and strength and the inherent trait to help the ones in need kept him going.

He supposed it was, in a way, worse for you because you’d lost your family members and you couldn’t do anything to save them. That is a burden that he wished on no one. And how he wished, that someone as pure hearted and loving as you, would have never experienced this.

His heart did a little lurch after taking in your dejected and small form. He crowded your personal space, making you look up in surprise, your glossy eyes wide, eyebrows furrowed and a frown tugging your lips down.

Joaquin tilted his head like a puppy, his brown eyes looking at you with fondness and sympathy, “It’s okay, angel. I understand.”

Your mouth fell open. He forgave you? And called you angel?

“What?”, you blurted out like a loser.

Joaquin smiled gently, “It’s okay. I get what you mean. I understand you. You don’t need to apologise to me. Not now, not ever, okay?”

Your bottom lip quivered and nose tickled, a telltale sign of crying. You quickly swallowed the tears and nodded, a hand coming up to brush against your nose.

Joaquin stared at you with thinly veiled love and affection in his eyes. He was so gone for you, it was a little scary.

So he did what he did best when words failed him.

He held out an arm to grab your hand and pulled you in gently, the other arm going around your waist to bring you to his firm chest. When you were close enough, he brought both of his arms up and hugged you, a hand splayed against your back and the other one holding you close by your shoulder.

You froze for a moment before burying your face into his chest, arms going around his waist and squeezing him tightly. You breathed in the comforting scent of fresh laundry and citrus, your favourite, and closed your eyes in relaxation, nuzzling against him like a cat asking for more pets, your forehead touching the warm skin by his collarbones.

Joaquin leaned his head against yours and let out a content sigh, a hand rubbing your back soothingly and you forgot all your problems for a moment.

Both of you were happily wrapped in your little bubble, unaware of the shit that was about to unfold around you.

Part 11

-

AN: AAAAHHH I love this chapter so much plsssss!! Please like and reblog and let me know your thoughts! 💙

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The sound mingles intermittently with the splash of heavy footfalls that trundle clumsily up the valley’s slope towards the mouth of Tri-Stone’s main tunnel.

Thick, leather boots slip backwards with every step gained as the soles fail to find purchase in the mud, a hinderance that threatens to bring a breathless giant to his knees between noisy hoots of laughter.

“That-!” Karn wheezes through immense lungs as he finally makes it to the tunnel, reaching out a hand to grasp at the slippery stone wall and haul himself underneath the overhang, “-Came out’a nowhere!”

As soon as he passes beneath the lip of jutting rock and into the tunnel proper, the rain stops hammering at the top of his hairless head, leaving the frigid water to dribble in rivulets down the back of his cowl instead where they’re warmed by the youngling’s neck, then rise in gentle curls of steam.

Held securely against Karn’s heaving chest by a damp, gloved palm, you finally pop your head out from behind his thumb, hair plastered firmly to your scalp despite his valiant efforts to shelter you from the worst of the torrent.

At last, between your own bouts of laughter, you manage to keep enough air in to cough out a faltering reply, “You must-! Have slipped over-! Like… seventeen times!” Your sentence is quick to fall away into another hitching breath when you recall – quite vividly – the colourful language that came spewing from Karn’s mouth as he scrambled to get out of the downpour, skidding on the slippery grass and landing on his rear enough times that his tunic is now thoroughly caked in mud, interspersed by the odd green stain.

It was a minor miracle he hadn’t dropped you.

You may be drenched straight through to the bone, but at least your clothes are only flecked with a few spatterings of mud. Poor Karn looks like he’s been dunked up to his waist in a chocolate river.

Not that he minds in the slightest. To Hell with pride. If all it takes is a bit of clumsiness to put this amount of delight on your pretty face, Karn would gladly sacrifice every last ounce of dignity he has left, if only to keep you smiling.

Flopping against the leather-bound fingers at your back, you inhale a long, calming breath and grin widely up into the maker’s sopping-wet face. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you move that fast,” you tell him, mildly impressed.

“I was tryin’ to get you outt’a the storm!” he quips, grey eyes twinkling with mirth even as they none-too-subtly dart over you from head to toe, surveying the extent of the water-damage.

It was his own folly that he hadn’t noticed the approaching tempest. After emerging from a lava-logged dungeon out near the Eastern edge of Baneswood – the same one he’d left deliberately unexplored so that you could delve into it together – he’d been too busy looking at you to see the roiling black clouds hanging ominously overhead.

His endeavours to keep you tucked under his chest and out of the rain when it had started coming down don’t seem to have helped all that much. The hair on your head sticks flat to your skull, and even your clothes are soaked all the way through, plastered to your skin in wet, wrinkled clumps of fabric that squelch noisily every time you shift in his palm.

Yet every patch of skin that isn’t covered seems to glimmer like diamonds in the soft, grey light….

To a youngling drunk on the afterglow of adventure, unexpected laughter, and who’s hopelessly besotted with his best and only real friend, you’ve never looked more breathtaking than you do right now.

Utterly oblivious to the maker’s captivated stare, you splay a hand across your chest and shoot him a lazy flutter of your lashes, pretending to swoon. “My hero.”

And Karn makes no attempt to disguise the swell of his chest at that.

“You know…” Heaving a sigh, you slouch in the maker’s palm and drape an elbow over the back of his curled fingertips. “… I don’t even care if Thane yells at us for sneaking out. That was the most fun I’ve had in ages!”

Truly, it was. It seems that every adventure you embark upon with Karn at your side is more exhilarating, far riskier, and twice as wild as the last. So much so that you’re half convinced the youngling is actively trying to outdo himself. But this latest venture, plundering the depths of a subterranean dungeon built by makers so ancient they’d make Eideard look young, has got to be among your favourites, if not for the thrill of exploring a stronghold that hasn’t been touched for millennia, then for the company alone.

Karn is the good sort. Funny, encouraging, and absurdly optimistic. You daresay that he was precisely what you needed after you lost Earth and found yourself tucked under the shadowy wing of the Horseman, Death.

Aware that you’re bulldozing straight into the realm of self-deprecation, you’re nonetheless still trying to figure out why the maker would want you as a friend. Why he’s remained adamant on calling you such even though several months have passed since that day you first met him outside the Cauldron. With Humanity restored and Earth no longer completely ruined, you presumed… that was it. You’d made some phenomenal friends and went on some frankly terrifying adventures, and now things would go back to – well, not normal per se, but you didn’t really expect to see him again, nor any of the others.

So, imagine your shock when Vulgrim of all demons, tracked you down on Earth with a message from the makers in Tri-Stone who’d heard of your survival and were imploring you to come back and see them.

Surprised but delighted to visit the beings who’d carved a niche out of their lives to fit you in it, you’d stepped away from the rebuilding efforts on Earth and made your way to their realm, promising the Horsemen that you wouldn’t be away for too long.

Which brings you to what you always knew would be your least favourite part of this visit…

Breathing out a wistful hum, you turn your face to the Vale and peer through the drizzle, roving your gaze up to the vague, yet familiar silhouette of the Tree of Life. It’s infinite branches stretch proudly over the landscape, blotting out a vast swathe of Stonefather’s peak in their vastness, an inescapable beacon that shows you home is always on the horizon.

“I’m glad we got to do one more adventure…” you murmur softly, “…before I have to leave.”

And just like that, the warmth that had been nestling contentedly around Karn’s heart is doused by an ice-cold splash of reality.

Right… leave…

A pair of broad shoulders slump alongside the youngling’s spirits as he remembers that today is the day he’s been dreading for nearly a week.

As is often the folly of youth, he thought he’d have more time…

All of a sudden, the hand you’re sitting in begins to move upwards, and just as you peel your focus off the Tree and turn towards the maker, you promptly find yourself blinking right into two doleful, grey eyes, wide and imploring.

“D’you really have to go?” he asks, looking for all the world like you’ve just told him news far more devastating than your imminent departure.

Slightly taken aback, you blink up at him for a moment, studying the downturned tilt of his mouth and the pinch of wrinkles between his brows, like he’s reluctant to see you leave.

But then, perhaps he’s just being kind. Because to think otherwise might imply that you’re actually someone who people want to have around.

And you just can’t bear to be wrong, can you?

“You know I’d like to stay,” you tell him honestly, “But with rebuilding efforts underway, I can’t really be off Earth for too long.”

A wild understatement. It took forever to get Death to let you out of his sight for more than a few days at a time, longer still to convince him to let you visit your friends in the Forge Lands. As the poor sucker who was ‘lucky’ enough to survive the Apocalypse, and the human who helped Death resurrect Humanity, your presence is frequently sought after to help smooth relations between the Horsemen and your fellow humans.

Karn’s expression somehow crumples even further, and pouting, he mutters, “Wish I could go with you…”

Gradually, your smile grows soft, exuding a particular kind of fondness that only he can provoke.

You know how much he’d love to see Earth for himself. And one day, hopefully someday soon, you’ll get to be the one who shows him.

“We’re working on it,” you console him instead, stroking your palm over the side of his thumb and thinking little of the way it twitches under your touch, “Strife and I are trying to raise the cap on inter-realm crossings, and there’s already talk about letting makers be the first to come over in bulk. God knows we need you guys to help us rebuild, but…”

But humans are suspicious, and with a plausible reason to be. Most are still frightened and wary of the beings that live beyond the Earthen realm, beings who are imminently stronger, older, and bigger than they are.

And they won’t soon forget that it was a Maker, after all, who’d played a major role in the end of the world.

“… But, it’s not gonna happen overnight,” you finish at last.

At that, your colossal friend visibly wilts in front of your eyes, and even his arms start to sag, dipping you further from his face as he casts it sideways and peers glumly out at the rain.

In the ensuing silence, the hiss of tumbling water grows ever more prominent, from a ‘whish’ to a roar, until you too find yourself following the maker’s gaze and twisting your head around to stare at the world beyond your little, dry refuge, wondering when the exhilaration was sucked out of the air and replaced with this cloying melancholy.

Surely the mention of your leaving wouldn’t have dampened the mood so sourly…

Would it?

“Well,” you announce once the quiet has ventured into the realm of ‘uncomfortable’ and you begin fidgeting in the soft leather of the glove beneath your legs, “Guess I’d better say my goodbyes to the others… wait for this rain to stop. And then I’ll be off.”

You risk a glance up at Karn, wincing at the sight of his ears drooping even further towards the ground.

The bob of his throat precedes a twitch in his jaw when he peels his lips apart and issues a sigh into the open air, the sound chased by a wispy, white cloud of his breath as it warms the world around it.

“I hope it never stops…” he murmurs.

Angling your head to one side, you grow still in his palm and ask, “What?”

All of a sudden, those once-soft eyes harden with resolve as Karn swings them back over to you and repeats himself, louder this time, “I said I hope it never stops. The rain. I hope it rains for a hundred years!”

Taken aback, you can do little else but offer an uncertain laugh that dies a quick death when his expression doesn’t change, and you start to realise that he might not be joking.

“Oh…kay?” you drawl out, flicking your eyes back and forth across his tightly-knit brow, “Um, why would you want that?”

Something akin to guilt – a quick, nervous stretch of his mouth – flashes across the youngling’s expression before it disappears just as abruptly. In its place, a rigidity stiffens his features, drawing his lips taut and carving an even deeper furrow between his brows. Then, finally, he works his jaw open and blurts, “So tha’ you’d never have to leave.”

Once again, you can’t think of a response fast enough to stave off the oppressive silence that wastes no time in reclaiming its lost space between you, at least until it’s broken by another stilted laugh.

“Alright, what’s going on?” you try to ask lightly, only to fall so wide of the mark that you end up sounding apprehensive instead, “It’s not like you to be this gloomy…” Then, deciding that’s too serious, you make an attempt at levity. “You’re starting to sound like Death.”

You expect the usual chuckle at the Horseman’s expense.

What you get instead is the rattle of a metal pauldron as the maker raises his arm in a shrug and snatches his gaze away from you, glaring steadfastly at the wall over your head with his jaw jutted forwards.

“Maybe I just hate it when you’re not around,” he sniffs petulantly, “Maybe we all do.”

Wait… What?

For a decidedly awkward stretch of time, you find yourself at a loss for words, struck nearly dumb by the highly exaggerated notion he’s just proposed.

You’re well-aware that Karn is often prone to hyperbolising his feats in battle and adventure, but this? To say that he and the others hate it when you’re not around?

Hate’s a strong word.

And there’s a nagging voice in the back of your head telling you that he’s just tossing any old excuse at the wall to see what’ll make you stick around a little bit longer.

But what you don’t yet understand is why.

Being around friends is lovely, sure, but everyone wants their space eventually, even if that space stretches on from weeks to months to years without a phone-call or a text that says, ‘Hey! Just checking in, you alive?’

… You know what it’s like. You know your company can start to grow stale after a while. It’s why none of your old school friends reached out later in life. You were their friend on the playground and in the classroom, but never a good enough friend for them to recall after the exams were over and you all went your separate ways. A stand-in, you suppose. Liked, but only when you just so happen to be around…

Perhaps, you try to reason, Karn just hasn’t quite made it to that threshold yet. Which is surprising after the solid week he’s spent practically attached to your hip like the world’s clingiest limpet, barely letting the other makers steal you away for more than an hour at a time.

So, maybe he’s not weary of your company yet, but that’s no reason to embellish quite so glaringly.

“Okay,” you say at last with a flippant snort that all but broadcasts your dismissal of his claim, “Now you’re just exaggerating.”

Tusks crack audibly against his canines as the maker’s jaw snaps shut and the muscle jumps, clenching tighter than a vice. Nostrils flaring, he uses his shoulder to shove himself off the wall and draws you down so he can better loom over your head, squinting hard from underneath a heavily creased brow with a glare that would look more fitting on Thane than on the happy-go-lucky youngling.

It’s a shift that’s startling enough for a twinge of unease to roll across your guts.

“Oh?” he blurts sharply, too sharply, in a voice that – again – doesn’t seem to suit your jolly giant friend in the slightest, “Wanna know exactly what we’re gonna do after you’re gone?”

You don’t think you’ve seen Karn this agitated since that corrupted custodian almost got the jump on you in the Foundry…

Before you can utter a single word, one gargantuan hand pulls away from the other and curls abruptly around your waist, hoisting you out of its twin’s palm in favour of depositing you on the floor of the tunnel, though all with the same level of care that you might set down a porcelain vase. That, at least, reassures you, as does the fact that he takes a second to steady you on your feet before pulling away and standing to his full height once again.

He’s released you, it seems, to free up his hands so that he can raise them and count off on each finger as he begins to elaborate, his voice echoing down the tunnel and bouncing off the damp, glistening walls.

“First,” he starts, sucking down a noisy breath and knocking off his forefinger, “Valus’ll be so busy sulkin’, he’s gonna refuse to forge anythin’ fer at least a week. Alya’s gonna be in such a foul mood, it won’t be worth talkin’ to ‘er. Muria’s plants’ll wilt ‘cause she’s so worried ‘bout what you’ll be gettin’ up to on Earth, an’ Thane’ll be polishin’ that practice sword you use ‘cause he says it ‘needs to be perfect’ for when you come back!”

Upon his final word, the youngling runs out of steam, blowing a long, hissing wheeze from his lungs like a great engine pulling into its last stop. He’s breathing hard, harder than he ought to be, as if he’s been holding something heavy in his chest for a long time and it’s finally starting to work its way out.

He knows precisely how his people are going to react to your departure because it happened the first time you left them, whisked away by the Tree of Life to realms unknown. And then a second time, when you were reunited with the village after Death took a long fall over an even longer drop into the Well of Souls and you were brought to Tri-Stone by that short, feathery fellow with the mannerisms of a crow.

The makers, collectively contented to have you become a permanent feature in their lives, felt their world shift out from under their feet when the Horseman inexplicably returned to bring you home to Earth.

Karn remembers. Remembers the withdrawn disappointment that turned Alya quiet for a month, and the way her brother would make odd, keening noises behind that metal slab for a mask from time to time, resolutely ignoring all of the tools strewn about their shared forge.

He remembers how the entire village seemed to shrink in on itself, the very stone turning inwards as if to hide the grief on its face. Everything about Tri Stone felt so much smaller without you in it. The irony of which wasn’t lost on him at the time.

Karn… had taken it hardest of all. He never got to tell you… Well, there were a lot of things he didn’t get to tell you. Some of them he still has yet to confess. His own indecision had swiftly turned into regret after you went home, and he was stuck on this side of the Tree, a fresh hole in his heart where your presence used to be, bundled up like treasure behind his ribcage, a hole that was neatly filled in once more when you returned to him just a week ago.

Standing uncertainly on the ground near his boots, you, in the meantime, have shied away from the wake of his outburst, your mouth hanging open gormlessly and your heart thumping an erratic rhythm behind your eardrums.

Whatever remnants of a happier mood had followed you inside the tunnel have been completely washed away.

There’s a very odd phenomenon occurring in your brain; You can understand every word that Karn just said, while at the same time comprehending absolutely nothing of the meaning behind them. This is news to you. Why on Earth would they just…?

“But….” Wetting your lips, you squint up at Karn and cant your head gently towards him, an inquiring gesture, seeking clarity, or at the very least a bit of elaboration. “Why?”

You jump out of your skin when he throws his arms out wide and tosses his head back as a laugh bursts out of his mouth, entirely humourless and near-enough frantic, like he can’t quite believe what he’s hearing. “’Cause we’ll MISS you!”

Which is… incomprehensible, frankly.

Why would the makers - a group of good-hearted, impressive, powerful, courageous, and downright extraordinary giants – miss you?

You’re you.

Oh, you’re not the worst human alive, though certainly not the best by a long stretch. People don’t miss you. It just wasn’t the way of things on Earth, a fact you’ve had years to come to terms with. Hell, you aren’t even particularly bothered by it anymore, perfectly content in the knowledge that when you are ‘missed,’ it’s only because you’re needed to play ambassador between species.

If Karn is to be believed, then the makers in Tri-Stone are breaking a pattern that’s been consistent for your entire life.

And while you couldn’t ask for better friends in them, you’re downright certain that they could find a better friend than you. Somehow, somewhere along the line, you’ve managed to convince yourself that, at best, they only like you when you happen to be around…

Huh… Sound familiar?

Reconciling what Karn has just admitted with what you know to be true leaves you scowling at the ground, perplexed and cold, growing colder by the second without his palms around you to keep the worst of the rain’s chill from settling in.

Suppressing a shudder, you clutch at your own elbows and scornfully huff, “What’s to miss?”

Maybe the cold is why your response came out frostier than it was supposed to.

Droplets of rainwater trickle down to gather at hem of Karn’s tunic, falling to the ground around him with soft ‘plips.’ He’s watching you again, and you must be cutting a pretty wretched figure because he lowers his arms and lets them dangle at his sides, the incredulity softening to genuine concern.

“Everythin’,” he breathes.

An explosive and dubious snort jumps out of you before you can think to catch it.

Pinning his ears back, Karn argues, “S’true!”

And while you don’t reply with words, you still throw your brows up and dip your chin, glancing off to the furthest wall, entirely unconvinced.

The maker grits his teeth. Fine. If that’s how you’re going to be… Perhaps it’s time he stops being a coward and gives you some irrefutable evidence.

“I-… I lo-…“ Cutting himself off with a grimace, Karn clenches his eyes shut tight and gives himself a mental kick.

So much for being brave.

Slowly, he peels them open again and sweeps a massive hand out towards you, holding it still, palm to the roof of the tunnel as if he’s trying to entreat you over to his side of the argument. “They all love you,” he croaks.

You can’t help it.

You flinch, eyes darting up to the maker in palpable alarm.

It isn’t quite panic that flashes like solar-fire across your chest at that, but it’s from the same vein.

The ‘L’ word.

Equal parts intimidating and wonderful. In this instance however, it feels as if he’s poised the word towards you like the business end of a sword.

“Come on Karn,” you force a carefree chuckle that almost gets stuck somewhere halfway up your throat, and comes out a rigid, wooden sound, harder to ignore than the uninvited squeeze of your chest, “I mean, sure I’m tolerable… But loveable? That’s…” You pause, sucking air in through your gritted teeth. “A bit of a stretch.”

Something in him gives a whimper and shrinks back in dismay at your comment. Then, he immediately shifts his weight forwards, collapsing onto his knees with a thud and planting each hand on the ground at your sides, trying not to read into the tiny step you take away from him.

“You…” The youngling chuffs, letting his forehead pucker miserably. “You don’t believe me.”

An unanticipated explosion of noise nearly rocks him backwards onto his heels.

“Can we-! Not! Do this!?” you exclaim shrilly, forcing out yet another self-conscious laugh as you wheel away from him, unaccustomed to feeling quite so exposed.

Because it’s awkward. It’s unpleasant. And it dredges up feelings you’d rather not let see the light of day, insecurities better left dead and buried for your own sake and the solace of the people around you.

You were both in such a good mood earlier.

What happened?

“Do what?” Karn retorts, nudging his head to the side to try and recapture your focus, “Tell you you’re important to us?”

“That’s not what you said.”

“I said they love you. What’s wrong with that?”

Nothing.

Everything.

Nothing wrong with saying it except for who he said it to.

With a brusque shake of your head, you take another step away from him and closer to the mouth of the tunnel, to the cascading sheet of water that tumbles from its overhang. The spray hits the ground and skims up the front of your legs.

It isn’t too late to salvage the levity, you reckon. If there’s one thing you’re halfway good at, it’s knocking a tough conversation off its trajectory and swinging it back to safer waters.

“… Nothing, buddy,” you shrug, falling back on the nickname he seems so fond of – although maybe he’s only fond of it because it came from you. “Nothing worth getting all worked up over anyway.”

Plastering on a grin that aches at the edges and feels as fruitless an endeavour as stapling jelly to a wall, you swivel around on a heel until you’re facing the maker once again, still on his knees, still grimacing down at you like you’re the most pitiful thing he’s seen all day.

The crooked arch of your smile gives a twitch. “Forget it… C’mon,” you sigh, gesturing at the long tunnel behind him as you begin to shuffle around his flank, “Let’s just… get back to the village, yeah? We can dry off in the forge. Warm up, and you can-“

“-No.”

You’re stopped dead in your tracks. Not from any conscious decision, but because the encompassing warmth of an immense palm sweeps up behind you for all of a second before a thumb and two fingers pinch the back of your shirt, pulling you to a halt directly beside the maker.

He’s leant across himself, snagging you gently in his paw but frowning hard at the ground between his knees.

Blinking widely, you manage to crank your neck around enough to look at him in profile, your spine rigid against the tips of his fingers. “No?” you ask.

And then, you’re being dragged, just slowly enough that you’re able to stay on your feet as you’re forced to tread backwards, heel over toe, offering only a few, indignant noises of complaint until you find yourself standing in between Karn’s knees once more.

“Hey! Do you mind?” you grunt, reaching over your shoulder to shove at his gloved fingertips.

Blessedly, they come away without much fuss, but his hand doesn’t venture far, resting on its side behind you on the ground and curling up like a leather barricade, hemming you in, removing one more angle of escape.

Crafty bastard.

Still, despite the frown on his face, his eyes are darting from you to the floor and back again, a nervous habit you began to notice after he’d say something he wasn’t sure you’d approve of.

“I-I don’t want to,” he stutters, “Forget it, I mean.” As if he might have been talking about anything else.

Under normal circumstances, he’d want nothing more than to ‘forget it,’ if that’s what you want. To go back to how things were not five minutes ago when he wasn’t at risk of jeopardising the best friendship he’s ever had.

When was the last time he ever said ‘no’ to you for fear of causing any sort of rift? He wracks his brains but turns up nothing.

Maker’s bones, he really does have it bad, doesn’t he?

So much so, apparently, that he’s deemed the risk of losing your friendship a lesser price to pay than the risk of having you believe you’re just tolerable. And if the only way to change your perspective is to reach into his chest, scoop out his heart and wrap your gentle hands around it and tell you, ‘This, right here. This belongs to only you,’ then so be it.

So, prying his clenched jaws apart, he inhales a vast lungful of air to steady the fluttering in his chest and locks you in his sights, holding your gaze without a thought to let it go until he’s said his piece.

“I’m not done talkin’,” he tells you with his faux-authority, “And you’re not done listenin’ to what I have to say.”

“Karn,” you start, blinking up at the once-passive maker like he’s grown a second head.

But he doesn’t give you a chance to say any more than that.

Lifting his free hand from the ground, he jabs the tip of his forefinger into your chest, just hard enough to jostle you as he demands, “How come you don’t think we love you?”

“Karn-“

“-‘Cause we do,” he steamrolls over your feeble protest, “The others-… they don’t just tolerate you. They think the world o’you.”

Fists clenching at your sides, you retort, “Doesn’t mean they love me, Karn.”

“They do,” he insists with a flash of his tusks.

Your own teeth are on display now, mirroring his frustrated grimace. “Stop saying that!” you argue waspishly, taking an inadvertent step back only for your calves to bump into the palm behind you.

“Why!?” he presses, “S’it really that hard to believe!?”

“And what if it is!?”

“It shouldn’t be!”

“They don’t love me, Karn!” you finally snap, raising your voice until it echoes down the tunnel and reverberates back into your ears, your own words reaffirmed shrilly by the cold, stone walls, “Nobody does!”

The maker suddenly adjusts his weight, and he pitches forwards, looming over you with his lips curled back and his eyes burning with the fanatical desperation of a man afraid of never being heard. Slamming his fist against the ground, never-minding the way you recoil into the cup of the palm behind you, he finally bellows out the words he’s been holding onto since the day you stumbled over that far horizon and into his life.

“I do!”

…. …… ……… It’s… funny.

When Karn imagined how this confession might go, he pictured it happening at sunset, the pair of you laying side by side on the soft grass of the vale, sleepy and satisfied from another ruin ticked off the proverbial list as you bask in the fiery hues of Lios and Helia’s rays as they descend below Stonefather’s Peak. Or perhaps he’d tell you at twilight, after the rest of the village have retired and all is soft silence save for the insects chirruping in the creek, and the lunar thrips dance over your heads whilst you sit and talk in hushed tones on the wall surrounding Muria’s garden.

Maybe, on occasion, he’s even dared to imagine how you would react to the news. Naturally, in his mind’s eye, you’d be thrilled. Eyes glistening with tears, you’d tell him you can’t believe he waited so long to fess up, and then you’d climb into his lap and declare with all the strength in your chest that you love him too. Always have. Ever since that day he met you outside the Cauldron.

This however… This was not what he imagined. Not even close. Spilling his most closely-guarded secret into the cold, lonely air of a tunnel with the rain cascading in waterfalls as a backdrop. And you, staring up at him with your eyes as dull and despondent as the weather outside your little refuge. You don’t look thrilled.

In fact, the only similarity he can draw between his fantasy and this reality is that there’s moisture glistening behind your lashes.

Exhaling raggedly, Karn slumps backwards onto the heels of his boots, tusks jutting out from his drooped lower lip.

“I love you,” he repeats croakily, searching, coaxing...

Gradually, the line that’s cut between your brows starts to lengthen, cleaving deeper into your skin, and he finds himself holding onto the air in his chest, peering down at you unblinkingly.

“No,” you utter in a voice as blunt as the business end of his hammer, “You don’t.”

Hurts about as much as a good slug from it too.

“Yes, I do,” he insists with an urgency that puts your back up.

Snapping into motion, you kick your trembling limbs into gear and storm sideways, escaping the breadth of his palm and back-peddling towards the vale once more, unaware of much beyond putting distance between yourself and these feelings of vulnerable confusion.

As you stumble backwards, you try to steel your heart against the maker crumpling in front of you. “You don’t love me, Karn,” you protest, slapping a splayed hand against your chest to add, “I don’t even love me. Hell, I barely even like me, why in the world would you?”

Hasty as a giant his size can be, Karn suddenly scrambles upright, getting his boots underneath him and taking a lurching step after you, one of his arms stretching out to bridge the gap between you. “How can you say that?” he pleads, and then, “Have you met yourself? How could I not love you!?”

You can think of several very harsh reasons off the top of your head, though none that you want to give voice to lest he think you’re looking for pity. You’re not.

You’re just… spooked.

Hell, Karn is certainly trying to approach you like you’re a horse that’s just seen a plastic bag, palms held out, treading carefully after you as you retreat further from him.

From one step to the next, an icy rush of water smacks the top of your skull without warning, and you let out a gasp of shock as the freezing rain spills down your shoulders and over your back until you’re once again drenched, exposed to the elements. You don’t stop though, not even when you nearly slip on the mud underfoot. You just continue moving backwards, watching the dark curtain of water that conceals the tunnel entrance.

“Wait!” a voice calls out, fighting to be heard over the deluge. Suddenly, Karn’s massive silhouette emerges from behind the curtain and diverges the water into two paths, letting them come together again as he steps out into the vale, his boot prints utterly swallowing the ones you’ve left behind.

“Where’re you going?” he begs, voice cracking.

Where are you going? Where do you usually retreat to when you’ve been blindsided and you need some time to sort through the squall of thoughts trying to race around in your head?

“I’m going home, Karn,” you tell him defeatedly, stumbling around on the slippery mud until you’re facing the far end of the vale.

The splashing of Karn’s boots grows quiet for a moment before it picks up again, hurrying towards you.

“But… what about the others?”

“The others’ll be fine!” you blurt, “Just tell them I said goodbye and had to rush! It’s not like this is the last time I’ll ever see you guys!”

Karn’s stomach gives an unpleasant lurch at the mere notion of never seeing you again, and as the seconds pass and he finds his insides tightening under winding tendrils of dread that squeeze at his guts and pluck at the nerves around his heart, the maker’s strength is sapped straight out of him, leaving him to trundle to a slow, unsteady halt halfway down the slope.

He wants to kick himself. Kind of wishes Thane had caught the pair of you sneaking out of Tri Stone if it meant he wouldn’t have stuck his foot in his mouth and scared you off. Alya’s always complaining about him and his big mouth… He’s never regretted opening it as much as he does now though.

All he can do is try to make things right again.

“I’m…! I’m sorry,” he croaks at the back of your retreating head, too softly for you to catch over the pouring rain and howling wind.

Blinded by the water hammering against his face, he raises a hand and squints underneath it, cupping the other around his mouth to call, “I’m sorry!”

Your figure, a tiny blob of colour against the greyscale landscape, slows to a staggered halt.

Bolstered by the pause, he dares to take a hesitant step towards you, hollering for the third time, “I’m sorry…! I didn’t- … Look, just-! Just come back! You’ll catch ‘yer death if you walk to the Tree in this!”

It’s the concern in his voice that hits you hardest, leaving you colder than the very real chill settling into your bones from the rain.

You’ve made him think he’s the one who has anything to apologise for…

That couldn’t be further from the truth.

He’s your friend. One of the best you’ve ever had. It isn’t his fault you’re so full of doubt that it’s more comical than tragic.

To doubt is what makes you Human, you remember Death telling you some time ago when you were trying to come to grips with his own existence, for once without a hint of derision in his tone, just a matter-of-factness that reminded you of how old people talk about the weather, Of all the Universe’s species, I’ve never known any to cast as much doubt as humans.

‘Can you blame us?’ you’d thought privately at the time. How could we not after finding out that every bit of wonder we thought might be real – magic, superheroes, knights and dragons, Good triumphing over Evil - they all turned out to be well-meaning lies invented by adults to make our childhoods just a little more magical before the real truth set in. That the world isn’t such a fantastical place after all.

Then again… in a Universe that has since proved to you that magic does exist, as do angels, demons and giants, why does the concept of being loved seem so implausible?

If you ever figure out the answer to that, Jamaerah might have to make you an honorary scribe.

Lost to your musings, you almost don’t notice the moment when the rapid drumbeats of rain on top of your head comes to a stop.

You certainly notice the shadow that falls over you though, blanketing you in a muted darkness and finally drawing your gaze up off the glistening grass underfoot.

Craning your neck back, you find Karn standing over you with one of his bulky arms raised and his hand poised above your head, fingers splayed out like the prongs of an umbrella, keeping the worst of the rain off you and letting it drizzle harmlessly over his glove instead. The gesture is sweet, knocking some of the wind out of your sails.

Together, you must paint a pretty dismal picture.

He meets your gaze for all of a second before he turns it to the ground again, struck shy in the face of the woman who quite literally ran from his declaration of love.  

“Come back to town with me,” he all but pleads, hunched over, unsure of himself, “M’sorry…”

There are far worse things, evidently, than facing the impossibility of being loved. First and foremost; the sight of real tears glinting in Karn’s warm, grey eyes. Or perhaps that’s just the rain gathering on his lashes. Either way, the damage is done, a surge of guilt has stoppered your urge to escape, and you don’t think you can bear to hear him apologise to you once more.

The sigh you heave is long and slow, and you end it by offering the maker a simple shake of your head, still clinging to your elbows. “Don’t,” you murmur, shuddering as a breeze rolls across the valley, carried down from the snowy peaks of the mountains, “Don’t be sorry, okay? You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“You ran,” he points out as gently as he can to still be heard over the wind.

“Yeah, well…” You shrug helplessly. ”Guess I’m just… jumpy.”

“Cause I said I-… Y’know. That.”

Wincing, you start to say, “You don’t lo-“ but one glance at the maker’s darkening expression has you changing tacks, “Not everyone was made to be loved, Karn. Plenty of people live their whole lives without knowing what it feels like. People like me. That’s just our lot in life. And that’s… it’s okay.”

“But…” Wetting his already rain-slicked lips, he shakes his head and stubbornly retorts, “But it’s not true for you.”

Finally prying your fingernails out of your bare arms, you clasp your hands together instead and rub a thumb against the inside of your palm, considering your next words carefully.

“I know that people don’t… think about me the way I sometimes want to be thought about,” you start, “And when you grew up the way I did, you learn that anyone who tells you… that… is either a liar or…” Pausing, you look hard at the youngling staring back at you, painfully earnest and attentive. “…Or they’re wrong,” you finish, fixing him with a solemn stare. “I don’t think you’re a liar, Karn.”

“An’ I know I’m not wrong,” he replies firmly, and then, almost as an afterthought, he adds, “Cause I’m never as happy as I am when you’re around.”

And what the Hell are you supposed to say to that beyond a succinct, “Huh?”

The side of Karn’s nose curls around a hard sniff as he starts to bend his knees, crouching slowly into a squat and reaching a hand out towards you, palm tilted up in an invitation that you recognise well. “When I heard you were comin’ back to Tri Stone for a visit,” he begins, “I got so excited I forgot to sleep! All I could do was count the days ‘til you arrived.”

… Oh…

Excited? To see you?

That’s… new.

Drawing your bottom lip between your teeth, you worry at it for a moment, studying the very tempting – undoubtedly warm – seat being offered to you. Now that your initial flight has been pulled up short, you’re almost embarrassed to have found yourself standing awkwardly out here, shivering in the rain.

“N’when you finally did,” Karn adds hoarsely, “It was like everythin’ I was ever worried about didn’t seem so bad!” The waver in his voice drags your attention from his hand and returns it to his face, just in time to see him wrestle his lips into an encouraging smile. “… ‘cause you were here.”

The teeth on your lip bite down hard enough that the pain briefly distracts you from a sudden sting prickling behind your eyelids.

It appears even Karn hadn’t expected his own sentiment to sound quite so tender. He swallows thickly, his throat bobbing behind his dusty, blue cowl before he clears his throat and aims a sheepish nod at the palm hovering tantalisingly close to your side.

“Look, just… Come back to town, eh? Least ‘til the rain stops…” And then with his next utterance, he goes straight for the jugular. “Blackroot’ll be heartbroken if you leave without sayin’ goodbye to him at least.”

Despite the mood, you can’t stop the wet, aborted laugh that flies out of your mouth. “Now that’s just fighting dirty,” you sniffle, wiping your nose with the back of a wrist.

“Heh…” Karn has to catch the inside of his cheek to suppress a triumphant grin, hiding the quirk of his lips by glancing down at the mud that’s caked all over his boots. “Well,” he shrugs bashfully, “Seems fittin’.”

Several second fritter away, carried off by the wind whilst the pair of you hover near each other in silence, each considering the other from the corner of an eye.

Until at last, with the softest, most tentative motion, you turn your back to the maker’s proffered hand… and slowly sink down onto the edge of his palm.

Gasping in a tiny, hopeful breath, Karn’s eyes grow wide and round as he lifts his gaze to see you swinging your legs up and into his glove, settling back against his fingers as they curve over to meet your delicate spine.

The wrongness that’s been festering around his heart dissipates like a noxious cloud blown away by a fresh breeze.

Bodily, the youngling slumps, nearly rocking all the way over as his shoulders droop whilst his heart rises from the dark, moiling pit that’s steadily closing up in his belly.

He falls just shy of gushing out a heartfelt ‘thank you,’ deciding instead to simply pull you in close to his chest and beam down at you through his sodden lashes, keeping his free hand curled slightly over your head to stave off the downpour that’s still drumming across the vale.

Sheltered on one side by the maker’s girth, held safely in his palm while the other protects your back and head, you try to ease the last vestiges of panic from your lungs by drawing in an aching breath and exhaling it all out again, following Karn’s lead and allowing your body to just… slump.

“I’m sorry,” you confess, drawing your knees up to wrap your trembling arms around them and hug them tight, leaning sideways against the youngling’s sternum.

His almighty chest rumbles beneath your ear when he offers a soft, “M’sorry too.”

“Karn, you really don’t have to be sorry for-“

“-Not sorry for what I said,” he interrupts, starting the laborious trudge up the slope towards Tri Stone once more, “I ain’t sorry for that. I meant it.”

Canting his head down to peer at you over the fraying edge of his cowl, the maker’s eyes crinkle at their corners as he scrutinises you, and when he sighs, his chest rises and falls so greatly, you can hear his heartbeat picking up speed even behind the thick, woolly cloth of his tunic.

“I’m sorry you don’t believe it’s possible,” he finishes.

If Karn had his way, he’d find out who the thief was who stole the certainty out of your heart and he’d bare his tusks and clench his fists and demand they put it back…

But that’s the wishful thinking of a youngling who’s ferociously loyal and desperate to prove his worth to you.

There are other ways, a wizened voice whispers at the back of his mind, sounding suspiciously like Eideard.

Karn blinks, humming lowly in his throat.

“Don’t matter if you believe me or not,” he sniffs with an air of finality, plodding over the mud with far more surefootedness than he had before, “You didn’t believe in makers ‘bout a year ago. Didn’t make us any less real.”

“Hm… Fair point,” you concede, raising your head to peer tiredly up at the ceiling of rock that swallows you both down into dry, familiar darkness, lit only by a scattering of glowstones embedded into the walls.

“And if… if it’s hard for you to hear it,” he continues hesitantly as you swivel around to meet his eye, “Then I won’t say it to you… I’ll show you.” He barely even registers that he’s slowed his gait to focus on you, nor that he’s lifting you towards his face inch by precious inch until you’re sitting level with his stare. “I’ll spend the rest of your life showin’ you what you mean to me,” he says, brooking no argument. Then, rather generously, he nods his chin in the vague direction of Tri Stone and adds, “To all of us.”

Later, you’ll blame it on the sentimental nature of the evening’s conversation, or the cold getting to your head, but whatever you foist the blame onto, deep down you know good and well that there was nothing that could have stopped you from kneeling up in Karn’s glove and teetering forwards until you flop quite abruptly over his shoulder. There, you proceed to wrap your arms as far as they’ll go around his thick neck, holding onto him like he’s the only anchor you have left to tether you to this realm. Implicitly, you trust that his palm will remain beneath your legs to keep you from falling.

In turn, Karn doesn’t even hesitate for a second before he’s melting into your embrace with a rich, contented hum. His comparatively monstrous hand, gentled by weeks of learning how to hold you, falls across your back and squashes you carefully to his neck as he tucks in his chin and pushes his nose into your hair.

Long gone are the days when you’d extend a gesture of friendly affection to the maker and he’d react as if you were trying to hand him a live grenade, startled, skittery, and completely clueless as to how he should be reciprocating.

He was scared to death that he might hurt you by accident until you showed him how much more resilient humans were than he expected, and he learned quickly, ravenously, drinking in every last scrap of tenderness you fed him like a man on the cusp of starvation. He learned how to hold you – exactly like he is now – without squeezing the air out of your lungs, yet in such a way that you’re fairly confident there isn’t a force in the Universe that could pry you out of his hands.

He learned because you showed him.

Perhaps… when he says he’ll show you, the implication is that you could learn as well…