#rushveins

it’s been a pretty good day so far. he successfully stopped a charge from running blindly into traffic, he got to eat some really good ice cream, and now he was enjoying a nice stroll. as far as days went, getting to be completely smug about your guardian angel capability and also eating ice cream was about as good as it got. that is until he literally can feel every alarm in his body going off. it takes a second to determine it’s not one of his charges, and a bit of relief settles in his chest. now all he had to figure out was who the fuck it actually was. 

he let his feet, and spidey sense, direct him to the source. finally, he stopped in front of what looked like a small bookstore. for a second he wondered if the books were in great peril but the sight of a young man through the window almost knocked the breath out of him. whatever he was, it wasn’t entirely human. sun had no fuckin’ clue what he was but he knew that he was in the greatest danger he’d ever felt. literally. walking inside felt like he was being pulled like a magnet, everything in him was telling him to protect. 

The garden at his cousin’s Baxter’s house, had been one of his favorite places in the years he spent growing from child to teen, and now and again, he still found himself escaping there, reliving on nostalgia,  indulging with his own form of a baby blanket, that he just couldn’t get rid of.  

Recent years, visits have been almost nonexistent. He couldn't recall the last time he took time to visit, truly, he felt he hadn’t needed that comfort in a long time. 

Noah had taken up much of his attention, having him by his side was comfort he never thought possible. He had kids to tend to, and a lovesick flu that was only getting worse. He had forgotten the garden, and it’s memories. 

The both of them were sitting on the bench, he still remembers painting. He hand his hands clasped in his lap, he was leaning forward, sitting on the bare of edge of the wood. 

Night was falling, and the cold air was nipping at the tip of his nose, and the exposed skin on his hands. He ignored the sensation, his attention was stuck to the garden, it looked dull and depressing in this cold. 

His comfort place, seemed to just do the opposite of it’s job. 

All he could see was his mother, picking off the best tomatoes for herself, her award for helping Baxter’s wife tend months before. 

He could hear her voice, “ Darlin’, come let mama show you how to pick these.” 

The tomottoes posts were bare and lifeless. Baxter’s wife suffered from a stroke, and Dandy had just realized, the family could no longer tend to the garden.

He didn’t want to think about that anymore.

Dandy laid back into the bench, slouching down into the cold wood, sighing as he did. He could feel Noah’s eyes attached to him. It made it all a little less awful, he could tell Noah was in his own way, really there for Dandy than anyone else today. 

Too many people spewed words that had no meaning, rehearsed. Too many distant family relatives exploding in despair,  like they knew his mother at all. Like any of them ever thought about us until she died. 

“  This island never quits, you know, Noah?”

 His expression is dead, but he attempts to lift his tone, still, it sounds forced. 

“ Richie showed up. “ He slides down deeper into the bench. 

“ Just showed up at the house, no word, no call.” He is reluctant to go too much into Richie in general, but it had shaken him wrong, hurt him in a way he can’t describe properly. He tried not to think about Richie and Noah, tried to not let that be a deal in the back of his head. 

Good can’t stay long, but whatever happens, Dandy is just happy to spend some of it with Noah.

They had worked so hard to mend after he bailed, all of the group. He had to hold back from throwing a kick at the birdfeeder, thinking about Richie destroying how far Noah had come. 

Fifteen years, --- fifteen fucking years. Richie saw age in the lines on his skin , but fifteen years in his head, sounded more like 3000. Over a decade had come and went, yet standing outside Noah Kennedy’s door made him uneasy, uneasy in how natural it still felt to him. It was far too, comfortable. His knuckles knocked against the worn door on instinct, as if the decade in absence had never been , nothing but some strange dream.