The damage to the castle is pretty extensive. Callum doesn't need to be architect to know that. He and Rayla had managed to fly back in just after dawn this morning, their hearts clenching at the sight of its broken silhouette on the horizon, afraid to even wonder who'd made it out and who hadn't and whose bodies might still be in the rubble. It's pure coincidence that they spot Soren and Opeli riding in from the South Gate with a handful of troops, every one of them haggard and obviously exhausted, but alive in spite of the blood and ash on their faces.

"We're all fine," Opeli tells them while Soren is barking orders at the soldiers to start a sweep for survivors and to salvage what little they can. "Most of us, in any case but there are a number of civilians who have not been accounted for. We've sent word to King Ezran to inform him of what happened but it could be days yet before his return, and even longer before we get anymore aid."

Rayla presses her hand over her lips, her face pale. "How can we help?"

"We need supplies for the rest of the survivors," Opeli tells her briskly. "And we need to start retrieving bodies. Those who were unlucky deserve their rites and their families deserve closure. Help the soldiers, if you can. Bandage up any survivors. It's all we can do. If you'll excuse me, Your Highness, My Lady." She nods at them both and hurries away, first aid pack swinging from her shoulder to help a couple of the soldiers drag an unconscious civilian out from beneath the rubble.

Callum just wants to throw up.

Soren gives them more specific instructions when he spots them—"Check the East Wing for survivors, let us know if you find anyone,"—before he too hurries away to help pull bodies from the ruins. Callum has never heeded any instructions from him in his life, but he and Rayla do as they're told without argument.

They pick their way across the ruins, sifting through powdered bricks and molten stones for people, for supplies. Rayla finds one of the maids trapped under a support beam miraculously still alive, and Callum finds a number of slightly singed bedrolls that still work perfectly and are better than not having one at all.

He doesn't tell anyone that he's on the hunt for a third thing in the ruins of his old bedroom. It's neither a person nor a supply and can't be considered a priority in any regard but it's still important, if only to him, and it'd be a heavy loss indeed if he doesn't find it: a book, bound in blue and gold, small enough to fit in his pocket but unlikely to have survived.

His dad's poetry collection.

Callum doesn't remember him very well at all, but he was a good man who loved him and his mother with all his heart. He wrote more books, but this one was written for his mother, and for him when he was born, and if it's gone too—

It's not the same as another death, but it's something else lost. Something else to mourn.

The hours pass. The sun begins to set. Soren calls off the search for the day at dusk and starts herding soldiers and civilians back to the carts at the gates. Callum is still moving rubble when Rayla gets to him, her touch soft on his shoulder.

"We have to go," she says quietly. "We're losing light. We can keep looking in the morning."

"It's not—" Callum stops, his throat clogged emotions he'd managed to bury until now. This was his home. There are a line of bodies in the square, people whose names he'd known growing up, people who'd helped his mother through her grief when his father died, all of them lost to anger and violence and hate. His dad's book is nothing in comparison but it's all he has left of him, and everything else is gone so if he just—

"I can't stop yet," he manages. "I need to find it."

"What's 'it'?"

"My dad's—" Callum swallows. "My dad's poetry collection. It's—I don't have anything else, and everything else is gone. I just—it's all I have left of him, Rayla."

Her eyes soften. She touches his face. "I'll help," she says quietly. "Let me tell Soren we'll meet them back at the temples and I'll help you look, okay?"

"You don't have—"

"Shush." She presses her lips to the corner of his mouth and brushes his hair out of his eyes, her touch jarringly soft against his skin after a day of shifting rubble and ash. "I get it," she says. "After everything you've done for me and my parents, helping you find your dad's book is nothing. I'll stay. Okay?"

Callum swallows. "Okay," he manages. "Thank you."

She squeezes his hand.

She's the one who finds it, in the end. It's a little singed on the edges but was well protected under his collapsed bookshelf, and the gold lettering still shines in the moonlight when she presses it into his hands. Callum breaks when she hands it to him, his exhaustion and his grief catching up with him in one great rush, but Rayla's arms are warm and steady, her presence a shining beacon in the dark.

Chapter 2 now up!

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Community (TV) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Characters: Jeff Winger, Buzz Hickey, Rich Stephenson, Britta Perry Additional Tags: Post S6, river fingers, Surveilance, jeff is still jealous, and a bit paranoid?, Or Is he? Series: Part 5 of After Hours Summary:

Keith hums. “Yeah, Lance?”

Lance doesn’t answer right away. Keith can hear his breathing, quicker than everyone else’s, if only slightly. After all they’re the only ones awake. Everyone else is conked right out, curled up around the low-burning embers of their campfire. He’s quiet long enough that Keith is half-convinced that he isn’t actually awake, and only called out for Keith in his sleep.

(Keith couldn’t stop the smile spreading across his face if he tried. He doesn’t try, though. The idea of Lance dreaming about him is a nice one.)

There’s a sharp intake of breath from beside him, confirming Lance is not asleep, then a beat of hesitation.

“Do you ever wonder what happens when we die?”

Keith blinks. He opens his mouth to answer, but stops himself. He looks up at the unfamiliar stars, tracing random constellations. There’s a sword, where Orion usually is during Earth summers. And a lick of flame, replacing the Big Dipper.

The brightest star in the sky shines red.

“No,” Keith says softly. “It’s — dangerous. Letting myself think about that. We’re too close, you know? I don’t want my last thought to be panicking about what’s to come. I want it to be — not that. I don’t know.”

“Oh.”

Keith waits for Lance to offer an explanation, a reason for his curiosity, or even a subject change. When nothing comes Keith shifts, propping himself up on his elbow and glancing over at the red paladin.

“Why do you ask? Just curious?”

It’s a long time, again, until Lance answers, but this time Keith knows he’s not asleep. He’s tense, lying ramrod straight, head centred on his pillow and arms hooked over his blanket. His brown eyes — almost black in the dark night — stare straight up, but there’s something off about his expression, something fixed and plastic.

“I was surprised, is all. It was — nothing like I expected.”

It takes a moment for Keith to process what Lance said. He almost wishes he hadn’t, when it finally clicks. Never in his life has cold dread seeped through his bones so quickly.

“…What?” He can barely hear his own voice. He can’t at all, actually, the hoarse shock of it swallowed up by the crackling of the coals and cooing of nocturnal insects and wildlife.

Lance, though, must have heard him anyway, or been expecting his shock, because the plastic stiffness melts from his expression as he shoots straight up, scrambling to his feet and pacing back and forth barely paces away from the small flames. Bizarrely, Keith chokes down the urge to warn Lance about the uneven ground that he might trip on.

“I — I was never religious, you know?” One of his hands tugs at his hair, making the dark curls frizzy the more he messes with it. The other waves frantically back and forth, faster with every word. “None of us really were. But Mamá dragged us to church anyway. Every Sunday. Maybe to give us something to be bored about, I don’t know. She never really explained herself. I didn’t ask.” Lance stops abruptly, loud hands freezing, marching back to his bedroll and standing on it for a moment, looking lost. “I don’t — it’s not that I liked it. It was boring as hell. But I — I guess I believed some of it. I dunno.” Before Keith can blink he collapses on top of his blankets, like his strings have been cut. Both hands slide in his hair, now, dark strands clenched between his fingers, elbows resting on his knees. “It was just…dark, though,” he says softly. “Empty.”

Keith feels as if he’s encased in ice. His heart pounds, galloping against his chest, rushing blood through his ears so quickly he can hardly hear anything else. Part of him hopes Lance is playing some kind of cruel joke, but he knows he isn’t.

“When did you —” he doesn’t even know how to phrase it. Hell, he doesn’t know what he’s phrasing, really. “What —” He trails off again, lost. He looks at Lance blankly. Something bitter floods his mouth.

He imagines, for a moment, making this trek home without Lance. It’s not something he’s allowed himself to think about before. Even with Shiro missing, he’d stubbornly refused to even entertain the idea that Shiro was gone for good. The only time he’d let himself think about it was — was Naxzela. And even then, he was the one sure would be going.

They come to him now, unbidden, thoughts. About life — without Lance. Without his loud teasing and big smiles and quiet kindness, without his begrudging but unwavering support, his steady hands and clear voice as he says we’re all behind you, Keith, we’ve got you. I’ve got you.

A tear burns hot down his cheek, startling him back to the stillness of the night, the cool air and quiet noise. Another follows, and another, and then he’s swallowing the giant lump in his throat and holding back a sob.

“You nearly…when?” He can’t bring himself to say the word, to ask directly. To ask would make it real, concrete.

“The Omega Shield,” Lance whispers. He has yet to look up, but has stopped pulling so harshly on his hair. “A blast just —” he shudders. “Right through me an’ Red. You know when — when it’s cold out, and you walk a while without gloves? And your hands get so cold they burn?”

“Yeah,” Keith says softly. His lips taste of salt.

Lance glances at him. His eyes are big and brown and desperate, aching. Glassy, wet and ready to break. “It was like that. All over. Like every molecule was tearing itself apart, like I was unravelling. I was almost grateful when it stopped.”

“And when it stopped?” Keith chokes out.

“Nothing. Endless, nothingness. For a thousand eternities. I lived and grew and died for the rest of time, alone.” Lance heaves, like he’s about the sob or throw up or both.

The first tear finally drips down Lance’s face, tracing from the corner of his eye down his nose, pausing at the tip of it before dropping, finally, into his lap. It springs Keith into action, and before he can even think he surges forward, gathering him in his arms and pulling him into his lap, squeezing tightly and rocking them back and forth, back and forth, back and forth. Lance doesn’t so much as twitch, crying great hiccuping sobs into Keith’s chest.

“I’m afraid to sleep,” he chokes out. “I haven’t in days. Every time I do I’m terrified I won’t wake up.”

“I’ve got you,” Keith assures, at a total loss. He lays his hand on the back of Lance’s head, holding him tightly. He can feel Lance’s heartbeat where their chests are pressed together, stuttering and sprinting.

“I don’t want to die.”

“You’re not gonna die.”

Lance only sobs again. Keith is aghast, terrified to hold him any tighter but unsure of what else to do. Lance has never been fragile, to him. He’s more stubborn than an ox, a streak of fire lighting up his spine, dark eyes shining with fury every time his forehead’s pressed to Keith’s, screeching ‘till he’s blue in the face that he’s right and Keith’s wrong and he’s gonna show it to him, just you wait and see. He’s seen Lance angry, seen him annoyed, seen him golden with the fire of competition and glowing with the brightness of his laughter. He’s seen Lance worn and insecure. Never, not once in the years Keith has known him and fought with him and led with him, has he seen Lance fragile.

But he is, right now. Now, quivering in Keith’s arms, sobs shaking his frame, Keith feels like he’s holding him together, like if he lets go Lance will shatter to shards on the floor.

So Keith holds him. He holds him until his arms ache, and past that. He holds him until his shirt is soaked and cold in the chilly air, until his knees burn from the tiny bumps of the ground. He holds him until Lance’s sobs peter out, until the orange sun of the system they’re stopping in peeks out from the horizon, stars blinking out of sight.

Hours later, Lance shifts, pulling away slightly. Keith holds tighter, refusing to let him pull away too far.

“Don’t,” Keith says, before Lance can apologize.

That cracks a smile on Lance’s face, to his own surprise. “No?” His voice is wrecked, throat no doubt raw.

“Save your apologies for when you actually do something stupid,” Keith affirms. He hesitates a second, then reaches out, brushing the frazzled curls from Lance’s forehead and wiping the tears from his cheeks. Lance winces slightly as Keith’s thumb brushes his cheekbone.

Keith pulls away. “Sorry. Rough hands.”

But Lance’s hand darts out and grabs Keith’s. “No, it’s — I don’t mind it.” He places it back on his face, shutting his eyes, breath shuddering. His sleeve falls down his arm.

Keith narrows his eyes. Criss-crossing Lance’s arms are dozens of jagged white scars, like lightning bolts across his skin.

“I wake up with more every day,” Lance explains, noticing Keith’s expression. “I was — I died, Keith.”

Keith flinches. Lance swallows, carrying on.

“I felt my heart stop. I don’t know how long, but it was…there was a severance. Something permanent. I felt it.” He runs his hands through his hair again, but much gentler this time. A fidget instead of a panicked tugging. The roots are white, like Shiro’s. “Allura did her best, I think. But I was gone so long. And she’d never done it before.”

“Is everything…working alright?” It’s an awkward way to say it. But Keith doesn’t know how else to say am I going to lose you? Later? Are you here to stay?

Lance shrugs. “I don’t know. I didn’t ask.”

“Why?”

“I don’t want to hear her tell me it’s not.”

“I don’t want to wake up one day and find out — find out, Lance.”

Lance swallows. “I know. I don’t — what do I —”

“We’ll talk to her,” Keith promises. “We’ll figure it out. I’ve got you, Lance.”

Lance’s chin trembles, but he slumps forward, exhausted. “Promise?”

“Yes.”

“Okay.” He’s silent for a moment, face tucked in Keith’s neck. The muffled sounds of the team waking up starts to fill the air. “I’m tired, Keith.”

“I’ll watch for you. I’ll make sure you wake up.”

“Okay,” Lance whispers again. Keith feels his eyelashes flutter closed, feels his heartbeat slow, his breathing even. “I trust you.”

As Lance starts to grow heavier in his arms, Keith tightens his hold. He presses a kiss to the top of Lance’s head.

“I’ve got you.”

I won’t let you fade away.

———

Hi, all - for anyone still interested, chapter 21 of 22 has posted. All that's left now is the epilogue and I hope to have that up before May.

Title: Despair

Chapter Posted: 21 of 22

Chapter Word Count: About 16K

Story Summary: Henry Mills has grown up, but he’s not the boy we remember. Somewhere between the day when his moms took him to college and the night when we meet him again ten years later, he fell in love, had a child and oh, lost his family completely due to a new curse which appears to have destroyed Storybrooke. After spending a decade trying to find his home and his mothers again, he’s just about lost hope until one night when he finds Regina inexplicably working as a waitress in a diner not far from where he lives. The only problem is, Regina thinks she’s a woman named Elizabeth Carson - a cursed personality radically different from her actual one. Determined to bring his mother back to who she actually is, he begins a perilous mission which will see Regina and Emma reunited, their love for each other tested, and all of their lives changed as each of them is forced to face the demons of their past and present in order to save each other, their family and their home.

Chapter Summary:  The second half of the final battle with the Black Fairy and all of her mind-games; Emma struggles against her doubts and fears as her body fails her; the Queen and Elizabeth must put aside their issues with one another and come together to re-join with a physically and emotionally Regina so that all together, they can save both Emma their family; Storybrooke fights back.

                                               Full Story (A03)

Chapter 1: If You Let Me, I'll Bring You Comfort

Rayla didn’t need to see Callum’s face to know how utterly devastated he was. As he stared out at the massive trail of smoke rising in the distance, which could only be coming from Katolis—his home, the weight of his despair was palpable.

She glanced at Runaan beside her—battered and weary, with his left horn broken just above his cuff, his right gauntlet and worn pants the only remnants of his former attire. Runaan’s presence was a bittersweet reminder of the past, but it was Callum who needed her now.

Rayla approached Callum and took his hand, intertwining their fingers with a gentle squeeze. She had missed this closeness—the warmth of his hand in hers—and had cherished every moment since that night at The Starscraper. The memory of their shared confession echoed in her mind—“I love you, Rayla,” “I love you too, Callum.”

But now, he needed her closeness for a different reason.

Callum continued to stare at the smoke, his voice trembling, “It... it can’t be—” They both knew the horrible truth, and a tear formed in the corner of his eye. “No,” he shook his head, “no, no, no…”

Rayla stepped in front of him, blocking his view of the smoke. She placed a gentle but firm hand on his chest, feeling the erratic thudding of his heart beneath her fingers. “Hey,” she said softly, bringing her other hand up to cup his face, ensuring he couldn’t look around her. “I’m right here.”

There he stood. Too shocked to do something but stare at the three people standing before him.

The high trees of Katolis’ woods were blocking the sunlight, the debris of the quick lighting Callum had landed when he first saw Claudia was still floating between them.

The void in his chest that had previously been carved in the very moment Rayla was taken from him, was now filling with flames.

Callum felt poisonous tickles ascend through his feet and intensify at the tip of his fingers, urging him to do something,  anything to save her.

“It’s your choice, Callum,” moked Claudia.

Callum gritted his teeth together, fully aware of the cube inside of his bag, but even more of Rayla kneeled down a few steps in front of him so close and at the same time impossible to reach.

Her wrists were tied behind her back, the same with her ankles, and a gag rested painfully against her lips and tear-stained cheeks.

Continue reading and being happy here!