#temporary blindness

And All I Have Is Your Sympathy

Lost in the gray and I try to grab at the fray

'Cause I, I still love you but I can't

I was so sure of everything

Everything I thought we'd always have

And all the pages are just slipping through my hands

And I'm so scared of how this ends

- Bye Bye Baby by Taylor Swift

A/N: Plot? Pacing? Relevance? *twirls hair*…Nah.

Anyway, these are all parts of random ideas I had involving the same character (now the ‘reader’), from years ago. I’m planning on polishing and uploading ‘em, bit by bit, even if I find them CRINGY now. You’re welcome.

So in this one, you’ve timetravelled back from after 1998, and become Newt’s partner in crime. You also have Hermione’s ‘MUDBLOOD’ scar from the movies.

The last thing Newt saw before he flew backwards off his feet was Grindelwald’s smile, cruel and self-assured and as always, eyes seeking out Dumbledore’s prone form before he flicked his wand in a different direction, and then Disapparated.

The blastwave had been powerful and Newt raised his head groggily, searching for his wand. He really didn’t like this sort of thing, trying to outduel a bad wizard and always losing. It shouldn’t have been his fight, but somehow it had become so, and now he felt in too deep to back out.

Speaking of…as he caught up his wand, he saw you lying on the ground still, though everyone else had already stirred. You were facing away, motionless.

Newt didn’t remember deciding to get up and rush to you, but within seconds he was kneeling by your side, pulling hair out of your face. For once you looked unmarred by injuries and he rested his finger on your neck - a steady fast pulse. “Y/N?” he breathed softly.

You let out a groan and raised your left hand, skittered it over the ground, just the way he had. Looking for your own wand. He couldn’t see it anywhere and turned his head to look over his shoulder-

“I - I can’t…” He heard you say, in tones of pure distress, and snapped his head back to you.

“Y/N?”

Your eyes were open, unfocused and hazy as you peered around. “Newt? Are - are you okay?”

“I’m fine, I - I think everyone’s fine, Grindelwald’s escaped. Um - Y/N…” Because you weren’t looking at him, you were staring just to his left, eyes narrowed, your whole face scrunched.

Newt darted a glance in that direction. Nothing.

“Newt?” you asked again and he looked back at you as you started to scrabble your hands again, without even turning your head, making an attempt to sit up. “I can’t see,” you said, frustrated.

“You - you c-can’t see?”

You shook your head dolefully. “I - I don’t understand. Maybe I’m unconscious? I want my wand…”

“It’s here. You were lying on it,” Newt said, reaching quickly round you and holding it out before he realised and pressed it lightly into your hand. You didn’t let him go, grabbing onto his thumb with all the tenacity you could muster. “I don’t know why I can’t see,” you said desperately, and he could tell that your self-preservation instinct of shock was dying away, quickly replacing itself with panic; “I want to be able to see, my eyes are open, I can’t see anything!” You dropped his hand and your wand, scrubbed your eyes fiercely, blinked them open. Newt watched fearfully as you looked around, clearly blind, and then made a guttural howl of despair and started rubbing at your eyes even harder, fiercer and harder, your nails digging long grooves down your cheeks-

Newt snapped out of it and grabbed your wrists, pulling your fists away from your face. “Stop that,” he said firmly. “That won’t make it any better. Calm down. It’s okay, just listen to my voice. A Healer will be able to fix this. Alright?”

You took a deep breath, your shoulders hunching. Your eyes were red-rimmed now as you frowned up at Newt’s voice. “No?”

But you sounded more like yourself, without that horribly lost, frightened note in your voice that’d reminded him of when you first appeared in the 1930s; and he let a tiny smile curve his mouth as your arms dropped into your lap. “That’s my girl. Can I help you stand?”

“I hate chivalry,” you grumbled as he got up, taking your hand and pulling you up too. You kept your wand in your free hand, he noticed; fingers clutching rigidly onto it.

Dumbledore was walking towards them. “Unharmed, both of you, I hope?”

“No sir,” Newt said quickly, “Y/N, she, she can’t see.”

Albus frowned, head tilting. “Can’t see? Y/N?”

Your head turned toward him but your gaze was too far to the right, and the men exchanged a glance as you bit your lip. “Can’t see a fecking thing. It’s like I’m dark, or in a cave or something. I - I really don’t like it.” Your nails dug tighter into Newt’s palm and he squeezed your hand in reassurance.

Not that it was probably the moment to notice it, but he rather liked the feel of your hand in his, your fingers curled loosely through his longer ones; your warm palm dwarfed by his larger one, the callus between your third and last finger rough against his lifeline.

“Well, St Mungo’s will be our next stop…” Albus shook his head wryly. “And then the Ministry for a boring evening of debriefing and forms. How I love those.”

Theseus and Lally were walking over; you could hear them, and as Newt watched, you cocked your head warily and shrank back against him, your shoulder pressing against his upper arm. He tuned out as Albus told them what’d happened; they had minor injuries and Albus was sporting a scruffy burnt patch of beard, but asides from that they were unhurt. Newt watched you react to everything around yourself, wand still in your fist, hand tight in his and your whole body screaming vulnerable, coiled up and on edge, ready to attack.

You grabbed tight onto him as they made to apparate, your fingers clutching onto his coat, and for a moment he felt like pulling you into his arms and pressing his face to your head and whispering that everything would be alright.

But he didn’t.

*****

In the waiting room at St Mungo’s, Lally sat opposite, chatting away to you. Newt had dropped your hand when they sat, thinking you’d be oriented enough.

“...and if Albus would stop letting his ex just get away then I would be onboard with that,” Lally drawled.

You gave a forced smile, just as a Healer walked in. “Y/N Y/L/N?”

You started, looked around wildly. Lally leant forward to help but Newt was nearer, got there first; his hand landed on your knee and you turned towards him with a look of unmasked relief.

“Do you want me to take you?” he murmured.

“Yes,” you replied immediately, trying to stand - and almost toppling.

Newt shook his head at your uncoordinated state and led you from the room.

Lally smirked after them the whole way.

*****

You were tense in the wooden chair, the back rubbing uncomfortably against your shoulderblades as you stared down at what - presumably…? - was probably the tabletop. Travers’ voice was droning on and on and you couldn’t take any of it in, how could you be expected to, when your world was all dark and dreary?

It was a curse; Grindelwald had cursed you - you knew that bit. The curse was hard to remove, obviously, and the design was for the victim to lose their sight entirely - oh, you knew that bit, too! Who could’ve guessed? You fidgeted as Travers went on to explain that the Department of Mysteries potioneers could make a remedy, but it would take several weeks to mature.

At that, you faltered. You already hated feeling this lost and it had been a matter of fourteen hours; fourteen sleepless hours in the Ministry and St’ Mungos, dealing with your after-duel adrenaline and stress while being unable to see a fricking thing.

Newt, of course, was probably the only reason you were still capable of functioning like a vaguely clever human being. That dedicated, beautiful man had held your hand, literally, for almost all of those fourteen hours; and after you walked into a wall three times because you couldn’t find your way round a cardboard box in this state, he’d walked with you tucked into his side. It was cosy and safe there, and you could anticipate his steps easily enough. So. It hadn’t been as bad as it could be.

But you felt horribly vulnerable. Without your wand you were unable to defend yourself adequately; you might still have your wand but you couldn’t see a threat coming from a turnip’s length away, and you couldn’t aim spells either.

Every time your thoughts threatened to drown you, Newt had simply reminded you he was there - with a word or touch or squeeze.

You’d asked him how he knew, and he’d replied simply that your face was very unmasked, your reactions showing clearly. And that had been slightly irritating.

“Miss Y/L/N?”

You jerked, trying to look up but obviously you couldn’t so you slumped again. Newt’s foot was twined around yours under the table, tugging in a lightly swinging rhythm. You focused on it for a moment, got your thoughts in order. “Sorry, what?”

“Do you consent to waiting the required amount of time until the potion is ready?”

“I - uh yeah, sure, did I have any other option?” you asked, bewildered. You frowned at your lap.

“You do not,” Travers huffed. “But the question is still a formality. You will need to sign.”

You scoffed. “How?”

“I’m afraid you will still need to sign. Even in your current condition. Just do your best.”

“What exactly am I signing?”

“An agreement that you will partake of the Department of Mysteries’ workers’ produce, but not divulge any information you may learn.” You heard a ruffling and shuffling of paper and felt something land on the table in front of you.

“Mr Scamander, if you would help her sign.”

You felt Newt scoot his chair nearer and as he leaned over to pick up your right hand, you murmured, “Is that what the form is?”

“Yes,” he whispered quickly. “Don’t worry, I read it.”

“Wo-ot!” you heard from Pickett, just before he wrapped your fingers round a pen, lifted your hand and set it on the smooth paper. “Here,” he said, guiding your movement as you shakily signed.

“Excellent,” Travers said, whisking the paper and pen out of your hand roughly. You felt Newt tense, half-stood and leaning against you as he was; and then he’d sat again, interlinking your feet once more. Bless him - he’d understood your need for touch and was fulfilling it despite not being the most tactile of people himself.

“And now, I presume you will have made some arrangements?” he carried on, standing - or pushing his chair back at least. You hesitated as you tried to do the same, until Newt stood, wrapping his arm around your shoulder as he pulled you up with him. Nestled into his side with his arm pulled closely around your shoulders, you squinted in Traver’s direction.

“You mean, because I’m not doing anything for you guys for a coupla weeks, I needn’t expect any resources from you,” you said flatly, and you felt Newt shake with a stifled chuckle.

Travers sucked his teeth in annoyance. “Crudely put, but if you wish to interpret it that way-”

“Thank you, I will.”

“Oh, good Lord, you’re even more annoying blind and helpless than you are usually, deprived of your singular talent at duelling.” Newt had tensed again, and you glared in Traver’s direction, aware you were probably giving a filing cabinet the evils but still. Before Newt could defend you, you smiled sweetly.

“Why would you annoy me when I’m clearly gonna be inactive and have nothing to do for ages but plot revenge, Travers? Why?” you asked mournfully. “That’s just silly.”

“Silly - you would dare call me - Mr Scamander, get her out of my sight before she says something she’ll regret,” Travers growled.

“In my opinion, Y/N is more likely to say something you would regret,” Newt shot back, without a hint of a stammer, before he edged you round with his hip and led you toward the door.

Strange. Blind and glued to Newt Scamander’s side, and you’d never felt more united, more unstoppable.

*****

“You can still do defensive magic in a duel,” Newt points out one evening when you’re sitting on the floor of his shed, balling up bits of paper and throwing it at his legs, or towards there anyway; he’s working on a manuscript or something, and you’re bored, unsettled, angsty, whatever you wanna call it, you’re that anyways.

“Yeah, true,” you mutter, tapping the edge of your wand against your hipbone where it is in your pocket - it’s become a bit of a nervous tic, past few days. You aren’t really surprised. You have an obsessive need to check where your weapon is and where your support is - the latter’s Newt, and even now you feel mildly uncomfortable that you can’t feel him, even though he’s very nearby, judging by the proximity of his voice.

Over the past week, you’ve learnt to navigate around his apartment quite well. Lally and Theseus drop by, keep you company when Newt’s busy; but you don’t like their company as much as his. Newt, having worked with animals, knows exactly how to go about this in a good way. He was well prepared for it. He knows the right combination of talking and movement he needs to do, how to keep you aware of his whereabouts by touches and quick words. How to get you to move with him while keeping you from tripping; how to keep you calm when he needs to do something like move behind you.

You manage to shower on your own by summoning clothes and blindly feeling around; you manage to eat after some difficulty, though even now Newt still has to occasionally guide your hand back to the plate when your fork keeps stabbing at the tablecloth impatiently.

It’s hot down here. You shed your green jumper - Newt told you it’s the green one, but you could have guessed from the woolly strands; and sits back against the cabinet with your arms bare, enjoying the light breeze. It feels pleasant.

“Woot!”

“Hi Pick,” you mumble, closing your eyes and then opening them again. No difference. Darkness was frustrating.

You feel him scamper lightly down your right arm, in a vaguely ticklish sensation-

“Woot! Woot!”

“Pickett?” You hear Newt’s chair scrape as he stands. “What’s wrong?”

He’s walking over. You tilt your head, confused, fingers brushing over the Bowtruckle as you try to feel what was going on. “Is he hurt?”

“I, I don’t know, he’s distressed,” Newt had knelt in front of you. “Pick? You alri - oh, Merlin.”

“What? What is it?”

You feel his hand land lightly on your right arm, and you freeze as a wave of realisation rushes through you.

The scar. The MUDBLOOD scar. You’d forgotten to Glamour it for, oh, ever since your accident; and your arms were bare.

Panic sets in and you yank your arm away and cover the scar, the rough edges harsh against your opposite palm. “Shit!”

“Y/N, it’s…that’s…”

“Shit! I didn’t want you to see that!”

Newt shifts closer. “I don’t understand, it’s…it’s a word!”

You press backwards into the cabinet, feeling just as trapped and helpless as you had on that day when Bellatrix had carved it into you. “It’s Mudblood,” you spit with vitriol, pathetically glad at Newt’s little intake of breath. “A bitch carved it into my arm during the war back in 1998. Oh God, I - I fucking hid it, and I fucking forgot, shit!”

Newt’s hands have migrated to your knees, warm pressure seeping through your trousers. “Y/N? It’s okay…”

You feel tears roll out of your useless eyes as you shake your head. “I never wanted anyone to see it,” you wept, like the weak little girl you felt like. “I’m not ashamed of the word, but I’m ashamed I let her do it, I lost my wand and she, she threatened someone who never gave a toss about me but I cared enough to let her do it to me instead and I, I, oh God!”

“Y/N!”

You shake your head again - and then freeze even more. Newt’s leaning closer, you could feel his breath on your neck and his curls on your forehead and you tense - (what’s happening? Is this what I think it is?), but he changes angles, bracing himself as he presses a kiss to your temple. Lingering, gentle, fond. You catch yourself through a sob and bend your head, letting him bring a hand up to thread through your hair as your eyes droop shut.

“It’s a-alright,” he murmurs. “We don’t need to talk about it.” He leans in again and presses a quick kiss to the side of your cheek. “Alright? C’mon, up you get, you should sit in a chair…”

Once standing, you flop against him and he winds his arms around you, holds you tight.

“I’m sorry this is like this,” you whisper. “I…I didn’t want to be a burden.”

“You’re not,” he insists firmly. “You’re not a burden, Y/N. You’re brilliant. Grindelwald singled you out because he feels threatened by you - not by Dumbledore, but you.”

“You sure know how to compliment a girl,” you laugh shakily, dropping your forehead against his shoulder. You stand there for an endless moment-

“Wanna dance?” you ask suddenly, grinning slightly into his coat fabric.

He stiffens. “Dance?”

“Yeah. I can get my wand to play music. Not like, a waltz or stuff, I can’t do that kinda dancing for shit, but something…futuristic.”

You feel his curiosity like it’s your own; he’d only ever heard snatches of you singing, not the real thing.

“Alright,” he begins cautiously. “But…you can’t see.”

“So? You can lead, if we’re gonna crash you can just steer. Dancing’s simple enough and I really need to do some movement or I’ll go crazy.”

“Crazy-you isn’t a mild prospect,” Newt concedes. “You cheer up too quickly at the idea of humiliating me, by the way.”

“I can’t even see,” you chide, flicking your wand. Soft music fills the little shed and you adjust your positions, let Newt step you backwards a few times and then you turn him.

It wasn't just like a movie

The rain didn't soak through my clothes, down to my skin

“This is an interesting song,” Newt murmurs quietly. “It’s sad.”

I'm driving away and I, I guess you could say

This is the last time I'll drive this way again

You nod, clutching onto his coat - he always wore it, why did he always wear it? - as you went sideways a few steps; you made to take another one and he catches you round the waist, stopped you and turns you the other way.

It’s a slow sequence of steps, careful and navigatory, like your entire relationship.

Bye, bye, to everything I thought was on my side

Bye, bye, baby

Instinctively you try to hold him a little closer, the music was just so melancholic, and he reciprocated, stepping in closer, twining you arms and raising them.

'Cause you took me home but you just couldn't keep me

Bye, bye, baby

Bye, bye, baby

His foot slides between yours and he twirls you, hand on your back to help you keep a semblance of balance; you stumble and he pulls you close again…

The picture frame is empty

On the dresser, vacant just like me

I see your writing on the dash

“Thank you for doing this, Newt,” you whisper. You could mean the dancing, or the care-taking, or the friendship, or all of it; he can choose. He might not know you love him, or that this is the most exquisite type of torture: blind, holding onto the only man you ever loved and knowing you can’t have him while you were in his arms…

“You don’t need to thank me,” he mutters.

Guess I never doubted it

Then the here and the now floods in

Feels like I'm becoming a part of your past

“You never will be,” he suddenly says.

You frown. “Sorry?”

“A part of my past,” he says quietly, and you’re standing still now, and you look up at him, forehead scrunched. “You’ll always be…I don’t know how to say it. You’ll always be present.”

You smile sadly. “Or past or future? You’re sweet, Newt, but it’s okay. It’s natural.”

Bye, bye, to everything I thought was on my side

Bye, bye, baby

I want you back but it's come down to nothing

And all I have is your sympathy

'Cause you took me home but you just couldn't keep me

Bye, bye, baby

You start to move again, tiny steps to each side, it wasn’t dancing, or swaying, but somewhere in between…You wished you could see his face; his eyes and his hair; you raise a hand and place it lightly on his cheek, feel the rough bristles under your palm; his cheekbone, hair brushing your knuckles as you look up at his face but can’t see it…

And there's so much that I can't touch

He lifts a hand and cups it over the scar on your exposed forearm. You freeze but don’t tense too much, and he runs a finger over the roughened edges, then bends his head and presses a kiss there.

You're all I want but it's not enough this time

And all the pages are just slipping through my hands

His hand falls to your face, mirroring your position; your foreheads touch as you stand there, the music playing around them. You close your eyes, realise it doesn’t make a difference, and opens them again.

And I'm so scared of how this ends

“Is it weird looking in my eyes and me not being able to see you?”

“Very weird,” Newt answers immediately, voice caught in the little space between your mouths. “You keep talking to the left of me, it’s made me realise what it’s like for other people when I don’t look at them.”

“What, just fine?” you joke quietly. You drop your arms, taking a step back as the music plays itself out and fades. “Thanks. Again. Where’s the chair?”

He laughs, standing behind you as he steers you toward it. You drop down, and he lays a hand on your shoulder. “Do you want your jumper?”

In response you flick your wand and it soars over, lands on your lap. You shimmy to pull it on.

“Al…alright. I’ll be just at the counter,” he says softly. You open your mouth to reply-

He bends and presses a kiss to your temple again.

*****

He’s the first thing you see, when you down the potion and open your eyes; blue overcoat and vivid eyes and copper hair.

Like the sun, just as blinding, just as beautiful.

I love you.

He smiles at you and you wonder if it was still written on your face, unguarded and open for him to read.

Officer Muir sped past the cars that pulled aside for him and soon spotted a large mower and a man crouching in the grass over something. Officer Muir pulled up and got out of his car, looking over the situation. The grass hid what the man was looking at, but he got up, phone pressed to his ear as he talked with the emergency operator on the other side. 

"Oh, an officer is here," the older man said. He was obviously human as his wrinkles and dull graying hair proved, which meant the vampire was laying under the coat that Officer Muir could now see through the grass.

"I almost ran 'im over with my mower," the man said. "I spotted ‘im just in time. I let ‘im drink from me. He's in bad shape."

"Gotcha. What's your name?"

"Lloyd Montgomary," he said as Officer approached the coat, noting the twitching movement underneath. 

"Alright, Mr. Montgomary. Thank you," Officer Muir said. He crouched by the vampire and could hear the man's whimpers and whines over the sound of traffic. 

"Yeah. He's a Moderna vampire. Wasn’t burning in the sun."

Officer Muir nodded and lifted the coat to get a better look. 

The vampire was curled in on himself, but Officer Muir could tell he was missing limbs. Not in a torn off way, but in a growing them back sort of way. 

"Hey, man, can you hear me?" Officer Muir asked, and the vampire turned his face to him. 

Officer Muir recoiled from what he saw. The vampire was growing back much messier than most vampires he'd met. His sightless eye sockets stared out emptily and he still needed to regrow the skin on half of his face.

Office Muir collected himself quickly enough, putting a hand on the vampire’s back through the coat. 

“Hey, man. I’m Officer Muir. There’s an ambulance on the way for you, okay?”

“Okay,” the vampire said breathlessly. He flinched and whined, long and drawn out. “It hurts,” he whimpered. 

“I know, man. Hang in there. He’ll get you to the hospital and they’ll give you painkillers while you grow out the rest of the way, okay?”

The vampire nodded. 

“I’m sorry,” Mr. Montgomery said anxiously as the sound of sirens became audible in the distance. “Was I not supposed to feed ‘im, I-”

“It’s fine.” Officer Muir soothed. “He’s going to be okay and what you did was very kind.”

Officer Muir turned back to the vampire and asked, “Hey, what’s your name?”

“J-Joseph.” The vampire looked faintly like he was going to be sick for a moment before he asked, “What year is it?”

Warning bells went off in Officer Muir’s head. “Were you held captive?”

“They, they put me in a box,” Joseph managed. A dry sob wracked through his body, making him spasm in pain.

“Hey, hey, it’s going to be okay,” Officer Muir said. “I’m here. They can’t do anything to you. They’ll have to go through me.”

Joseph nodded, his not-quite-formed hand reaching out blindly and Officer Muir held it. “What year is it?”

“2019.”

Joseph sucked in a shuddering breath. 

“How long did they have you?” Officer Muir asked, leaning closer as the sirens got louder. 

Joseph just wailed, gripping Officer Muir’s hand tighter, struggling to get closer. Officer Muir gently pulled him closed, settling on the ground so the vampire could hide his face in Officer Muir’s pant leg. 

The paramedics were there soon enough, and they coaxed Joseph onto a stretcher. Other officers came and started taking Mr. Montgomery’s statement. Officer Muir was grateful for that because, despite the vampire only having about three and a half fingers in total, he had a deathgrip on the Officer’s hand. 

“Sweetheart,” one of the paramedics said gently. “How about you let his hand go?”

“Please,” he whispered, sightless eyes turned to Officer Muir. “Please. Don’t leave.”

Officer Muir sighed. He turned his head and spotted Officer Granger, a vampire woman who often acted as his partner when he wasn’t on duty at the roads. 

“Oi! Granger?”

She turned and he tossed her his keys. “Can you get someone to take my car to the hospital? I’m going in the ambulance. And could you let the chief know?”

She rolled her eyes. “She’s gonna tear you a new one when you get back.”

“No she won’t. She loves me!”

Granger sighed and shrugged. With that, he turned back to the vampire and climbed into the ambulance. 

Joseph was breathing heavily, rolling his head around nervously as the paramedics got things ready for him. 

“Alright, this should help a little with the pain,” the gentle paramedic said, gently poking a needle into Joseph’s half formed arm and plugging a drip to it that would feed in pain killers. 

Over the course of the ride, Joseph started to relax, though he never let go of Officer Muir’s hand. After a long silence where the paramedics conferred and joked together, Joseph turned his head to Officer Muir. 

“Three years.”

“What?”

“I was in a silver box for three years.”

The paramedic’s fell silent and Officer Muir found himself running his thumb back and forth across Joseph’s knuckles. “Want to tell it… from the beginning?”

Joseph took a steadying breath and nodded. 

“David and I… er, David’s my sire, we were going to the store? Or maybe going out to get drinks? I don’t remember,” Joseph said sorrowfully. “A weird van pulled up and, and…. some guys grabbed us. Dressed in robes and stuff. They had silver weapons and there were a lot of them. I never was good at fighting.”

Joseph swallowed nervously. “They took us somewhere remote. They…. I think they were cultists. They tied us up and they poured silver on David’s face. Why would they do that? We weren’t even-” his voice broke off as he heaved another dry sob. He took a moment, the skin growing across his face as he fought for control. “They killed him.”

Officer Muir squeezed his hand, and Joseph squeezed back. 

After a long moment of silence, Officer Muir asked, “Do you want to talk about what they did to you?”

Joseph’s breath quickened. “They cut my heart out.”

Officer Muir winced. 

“Put me in a silver box and buried me, I think. Someone found the box. And someone put blood in me and cut a part of my heart off. Then I…… I don’t know how I got on the side of the road.”

Officer Muir frowned. “It sounds like they were testing for your age. There’s been a rise of crime rings selling the hearts of ancient vampires around for their knowledge. How old are you?”

“I was born 1984.”

“Kay. So they saw you were a modern vampire and probably tossed you out. You got lucky.”

Joseph shuddered. “Doesn’t feel like I did.”

“I know, man. But you did. You survived. You’re going to get healed up and get some help and you’ll be on your way. Did you have a coven?”

Joseph shook his head. “I’m Hemijeoa Moderna.”

Officer muir tightened his grip on Joseph’s hand. “David was your… bondmate then?”

Joseph was silent for a long time. Officer Muir could see him working his jaw, trying to say something, but all he could do was nod, skin creeping closed over his eye sockets.

“Please don’t leave me,” he whispered. 

“Okay. Okay, I won’t,” Officer Muir replied. “I’m Officer Muir… but you can call me Joshua.”

“Joshua,” Joseph whispered. “Joshua.”

Officer Muir hummed softly and Joseph relaxed a bit more. 

“Where are you from, Joseph?”

“Mmm? Oh, It’s a small place. Forreston. Where are we going?”

“We’re going to Keaton. Have you been there?”

Joseph frowned. “No. I lived in Forreston my whole life.”

“It’s nice. It’s a small city, so it shouldn’t be too much of a problem.”

“And you’ll be here?”

Officer Muir ran his thumb over Joseph’s knuckles again. “I will probably have to leave at some point. I am technically on duty, but-” he said quickly as Joseph went pale and his breathing picked up again- “but, I’ll give you my number and I’ll come visit you when I get off, okay?”

Joseph took slow breaths again, calming himself down. Officer Muir couldn’t imagine what he was going through. Losing your pairbond like that and then being trapped in a burning box for three years? Officer Muir couldn’t begrudge the fact that the vampire was being clingy. It was actually kind of nice. He still didn’t have many friends in the city, after all. 

It was too early to be thinking along those lines, though. Soon enough, the ambulance pulled up at the hospital and Joseph was taken to a room where he could grow out the rest of the way, another drip of blood being hung up alongside the pain killers. 

After making sure Joseph was settled and comfortable, Officer Muir said, “I have to go, okay. I’ll be back this evening.”

He slid his hand from the vampire’s and pulled out his notepad, writing down his phone number and pressing it into Joseph’s hand. “You can call me if you need to, but I should be back soon,” he said. 

Joseph nodded as he clung to the note, eyelids fluttering, though his eye sockets were still empty as the ocular muscles were only just beginning to develop. “Okay. Okay. Thank you.”

“Course,” and with that, Officer Muir left. 

………………………………

Joseph sat and regenerated. Without the pain, there was just a tingling where his limbs were growing. The only thing he really didn’t appreciate was the noise. It was so loud here. The machines never stopped beeping, voices passed down the hall constantly, he could smell blood and fear and could hear screams on the other side of the hospital. Every so often a code would be called and he would jump out of his skin, his ears and heart throbbing with fear. 

He pressed the blanket to his face, trying to distract himself with the feeling while avoiding the small bumps that were starting to form under his eyelids, biting his lip as his hair grew in and just kept growing until it reached the length it was when he was turned, ticking his ears and cheeks. He pressed his face into the blanket harder, shoulders up around his ears as someone laughed loudly down the hall and the beeping just kept going. 

There was something crawling under his skin, something constricting around his chest making it harder to breathe and he still didn’t have feet to escape with. 

Desperately, he dropped the blanket and put his hands over his eyes, muffling the sound, but they wouldn’t go away and now he could also hear the rush of blood in his palms. 

He was crying, and now he could actually form tears, the droplets hot on his face as he tried desperately to breathe. He tried to keep the sounds down in his throat, his breathing almost unbearable to him, nevermind the stupid whimpers he couldn’t keep himself from making. 

A warm hand touched his and he flinched back, opening his eyes. He could faintly see lights and blurs of darkness. 

“Hey, what’s wrong?” a male voice asked. It wasn’t Muir. Stars, Joseph wished it was Muir. He’d felt safe when Muir was there.

“”S loud,” he whispered, unable to fight back the hot tears that were still traveling down his face. 

“Okay, give me a moment,” the man said and the blur moved. 

Joseph watched him go and covered his eyes, watching the blurriness around him for movement. 

The man came back. Joseph smelled him coming and only flinched slightly when he felt another touch on his hand. 

“I brought you some noise canceling headphones,” he said softly. “It’s pretty normal to get overwhelmed, especially if it’s your first time. Do you want any music?”

Joseph almost said no, but then he realized he really didn’t want to listen to his blood and heartbeat again. He needed something. He nodded.

“Kay. Is there a specific album you’d like? Something longer, if you can think of it, so you have time to get your sight back before you need to change it.”

Joseph shook his head. “Anything works- wait. No. Minecraft music.”

“Okay.”

The man put the headphones gently over Joseph’s ears and, after a very uncomfortable moment of listening to himself, familiar sounds of Minecraft music began to play, reminding Joseph of the mindless hours he and David played the game together. 

He closed his eyes, willing himself to relax as he sensed the man leave again. 

Joseph kept crying, but it wasn’t because of the pain or the overstimulation. All he could think about was David’s triumphant grin when they killed the ender dragon on their fifth attempt. 

………………………………..

Muir stepped out of the Chief’s office, his ears still ringing a little bit from the bit of shouting she had indulged in. 

Granger was waiting for him outside, eyebrow lifted and a little smile on her face. “Favorite, ey?”

“I am,” he replied snidely as he took his keys back from her. “And she was yelling at me for something else entirely anyways. She was only a little mad about me going to the hospital.”

“I see. Was he alright?”

“I think he’ll be okay. I’m not sure. I’m going to check up on him tonight, actually, after I finish some paperwork.”

“Okay,” she said. “You said he was a Hemijeoa, right?”

“Right.”

“Where’s his bondmate?”

“Died in the same incident that got him where he is,” Muir replied, making his way to his desk. 

She raised her eyebrow. “You’d better be careful, then. He’s in a fragile state. He might try to pairbond with you.”

“And what would be so wrong with that?”

“Well, you’d have to stick around him a lot more. Plus, you’re human. You wouldn’t feel the bond enough to actually keep up with it and keep him healthy.”

“I thought humans pairbonded with vampires all the time?”

She huffed. “I guess. Still I don’t think it’s healthy.”

Muir rolled his eyes. “I don’t think you get to have opinions. You’re a Ferox yourself, aren’t you? You don’t need any bonds.”

She shrugged. “Just be careful. You don’t want to have to deal with a clingy vampire for the rest of your life.” Without letting him respond, she took off to her own desk. 

Muir rolled his eyes and got back to work. 

Joseph: @whumpsday @not-a-space-alien @why-not-ask-me-a-better-question

From Dust to Ashes: @whumpsday @writereleaserepeat @currentlyinthespiral

Let me know if you want to be added to either taglist. Joseph's taglist is stuff having to do with just this vampire, and the other one is for general stuff written in this whole world.

Vader stormed forwards, through the smoke and flame, until he emerged with the metal shards still perched on his shoulders, bright orange, his cape and suit shimmering yellow, the fire parting for him like kin. The boy’s starfighter was in no better shape than Vader’s, burning and belching thick, dark smoke into the unblemished blue sky, with one key difference: this pilot had not abandoned his craft.

This pilot was slumped over the controls, the transparisteel of the cockpit shattered and embedded in his face, arms, and neck, unmoving.

Another burst of flame. Vader glanced where it was—on Luke’s ship, near where he thought the fuel cells might be. He thrust out his hand and wrenched them from the mess of twisted metal, casting them into the sky just as flames consumed them.

The explosion lit up the ground bright enough that Vader’s lenses struggled to adjust for a moment, but when they did, more poor luck had befallen him: Luke was awake. Awake, and blinking dimly into nowhere.

At least, Vader thought, he was alive.

He stormed forwards, like a wraith of fire and death, and seized the metal struts still encasing the cockpit even with the transparisteel shattered between them. He tore them clean off and threw them aside, grabbing Luke by the collar of his flight suit. Luke let out a cry of pain.

Vader didn’t register it until he’d lowered him to the ground and was able to fully understand the extent of the damage.

Minor and major burns littered Luke’s hands, licked up his leg where the flight suit was nothing but ash, splashed over his face. The shattered transparisteel and metal had shredded much of what was left of his exposed skin, and the flight suit where it was still intact—two or three pieces were still embedded in his neck. His helmet was dented at the front from the force of the impact, and Vader did not know what damage could have been done to the head underneath. And Luke was still staring around wildly, unable to locate where his rescuer stood.

“What can you see?” Vader boomed.

Luke shouted and scrambled back on lacerated hands. The orange dust that coated Vrogas Vas had already settled around his injuries, turning red with blood. “Vader!?”

“You can see nothing?”

“You— you blinded me—”

“I must assume it is temporary. You were looking at the fuel cells when they exploded.”

“When you blew them up!”

“I saved your life, young one.” His voice turned biting, the temperature plunging with the force of his fury. “After you so recklessly tossed it away!”

“It would be worth it to take care of you!”

“A thousand of my lives would not be worth yours!” Vader snarled. That Rebel mindset would be the death of his son. He marched forwards and seized Luke’s collar again, yanking him to his feet—gently. As gently as Vader’s brutal hands knew how to be, at least. “Can you stand?”

Luke’s need for Vader to catch him on the way down answered that.

The boy stared blankly in the direction of his right foot. Now that Vader looked at it, the boot it was in was crushed, with flesh that looked concerningly pulpy seeping out of the tears.

“I…” Luke said as Vader laid him back on the ground. “I… what happened…”

Vader ripped the leather of Luke’s boot apart and peeled it off his foot. Despite everything he had seen in his violent life, he would have vomited, had his digestive system still been that competent. Luke screamed.

“You are lucky to be alive.” The vocoder disguised the fierce trembling in Vader’s natural voice.

“I don’t feel lucky!” Luke reached up and found Vader’s armoured shoulder, pushing at it feebly. “Everything hurts, and I’m stuck here with you!”

“Lucky,” Vader hissed, and then heard another rumbling. He glanced at the X-wing, the flames consuming it, and before he could think to warn Luke, seized the boy in his arms and sprinted away from it.

This explosion was smaller, shards peppering the dusty orange desert with metal and holes. But it would still not have done Luke any favours, despite the curses he was flinging at him. The gases emitting from the burning metal and fuel were toxic as well, Vader’s life support systems were informing him. He started moving again, farther and farther away from the wreckage, towards the top of the nearest slope he could see.

Luke squirmed in his grip, and Vader tightened his hold unconsciously as he looked down the hill at the land around him. Glass crunched in his hands, Luke shouted, and more blood seeped over Vader’s long-stained gloves.

It wasn’t until then that it really hit Vader, looking at the son in his arms, the burns and the blood and the blinking eyes, all coated in a sickening orange dust, exactly how injured his son was. All the emergency medkits had exploded with their ships. And a medkit would likely not cut this, anyway.

Vader had come to Vrogas Vas alone, seeking Luke based on Aphra’s information. There were no Imperial ships in close proximity—only the Rebels.

“Darth Vader!” an electrically augmented voice boomed out. Vader snapped his gaze up and swung it around. Rebels from the base had gathered here, loaded with grenades, blasters, and a reckless hope for the impossible. They formed a ring around this hill and were all advancing forwards. All with their blasters trained on him.

All with their blasters trained on Luke.

“Drop your weapons and surrender!” the leader called out again, his megaphone making Luke wince from the noise. He bucked again in Vader’s grip, groaning when Vader tightened it again, and screamed when something gave. “Release Skywalker and come quietly!”

Vader made no move.

“You will let me through,” he said instead. “You will lead me to your base.” He needed to get Luke to a medbay. He needed to save his son’s life. If he admitted that to them, would they yield?

No, he thought. No.

Rebels were brutal.

Rebels were terrorists.

Rebels would see his son dead before they released him to his hands, and that ideology had corrupted Luke until he had almost destroyed himself for the mere hope of destroying Vader.

Scoffs all around.

“You will let me through,” he repeated. Luke was still struggling, and he was still bleeding profusely. Any moment an infection could set in. He did not know how much time Luke had left, but marching across a barren desert for miles, battling ridiculous Rebels, as Luke grew sick and died in his arms, was not how he would allow this to end.

But he would never admit that he needed the Rebels to cooperate.

The leader rallied his confidence. “Release Skywalker and drop your weapons! You are surrounded!”

And for a moment, he considered it.

He could not get to the Rebel base in time. He would not. Luke might well die if he did not cooperate and surrender him.

He looked down at his son, the rictus of pain in his face, the blank stare. He opened his mouth.

And that was when the first few warning shots fired.

They skittered off his cloak, his helmet. But a few embedded in Luke’s limbs, and the sound of his son’s screams changed his heart.

No Rebels would ever take his child from him again. Not in life, and not in death.

He lowered Luke to the ground. He lit his lightsaber.

“All I am surrounded by,” he growled, “are fools and dead men.”