Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The wind breathes through you and into me
It's just like back home: a restless sky,
a restless sea. I'd almost believe
that it was back home.

I'd almost believe. Only days ago,
metal wings left me behind.
Lost, like a silly child.
But I have to admit-
I can't regret it.

Alien world, or is it alien me?
Gazing out into celestial debris
For once, gravity doesn't pull me down,
just pulls me.

I could calculate the distance
from star to burning star
in AU, light-years, or pars-
No. It doesn't matter.
It doesn't matter at all.

This is where you are.

Waves transmit like waves across the endless sea.
Waves seeking waves beyond a widening dream.

And one day, one swiftly tilting day,
metal wings greater than you've ever seen
will glide over you, searching.
Space will close, and I'll fly home.
That's reality.

A windful earth. A windless sky.
The wind wanders freer on this ground than in those skies.
I was lost; leave me lost. Forget reality.
I can survive on imagining-

I found real wings.

Chapter Text

What a storm.
I'll say. It's unusual for this time of year.

The trees are cold,
the air grows old. The ground crinkles:
each step crackling,
leaves left dry.

The sunset is just as you remember from your childhood.

Warm and low:
drowsily swaying,
sinking into sleep. Deep and rich:
the orange of leaves,
brown of the earth,
red like a fox,
it smells like the past.

You've never slept well.

Every night is the longest night:
a tall body in a small corner, mumbling a prayer
to weather out the darkness.

Every night you wait.
Every night you lose.

Your head is heavy.
It is weighed down by beasts.
Behind your mind they laugh at you,
eyes lidless, blank, staring.

And deliberate fox feet
in sturdy black boots,
well-polished, well-lined with doubt,
echo heavily, slow against the stone.
Towards the worn gate:
A sad thing, in much need of repairing,
metal rusted with regret
guilt gnawing at the hinges.

Each step comes closer,
closer to your trembling thought:
fox feet will get there.

Every empty eye watches you:
unblinking, waiting for the moment,
twittering with excitement.
The air grows itchy, dry like the dust
on the stone of the ground.

Breath by breath, beat by beat,
little by little of your quavering heart:

Each step pulls you, takes you back
to that night, that night,
that very sleepless night.

The last storm of winter is coming.

Chapter Text

A darkening land, each day goes by:
Each year is a candle,
a flame burning light, yet sightless and blind.
Fire rises, fire sets, and the light in his eye
grows dimmer.
It is no surprise.

So eighteen years pass, as eighteen years go;
And the world, which was saved,
grows colder.
And only he knows.

His memory still runs as thick as blood,
Now eighteen years old.

His name, she calls;
Her voice,
It sandpapers the darkness.

Fire dies slowly, time slower still.
He is running out of candles. And so he marks each day
with the voice in the darkness:

Now eighteen years ago.

Chapter Text

Your name will be greatness:
It is commanded. Not,
it can be, or it may be,
it will be.

Your greatness will rise, a tide
A crashing, crushing wave
Pulled by the stars (it is too weighted for the moon)
Engulfing history and bringing it to heel.

Repeat. All obstacles will wither,
belly up, white, floating, carried downstream.

Thus completed, your tide will ebb,
withdraw from the edges of history.
The stars will carry another chariot.
The ocean will return to a sea,
a lake, a river,
a fading stream.

And this, at the stream, on either side
of widening banks:
The boy, waiting for the torrent to rise,
The old man, wishing for the water to flow backwards.

Chapter Text

Forgetting. It was one thing they never taught her.
They taught her many things. They opened minds to her.

He.
His voice was closed. His mind was open to her.
She wished minds were closed to her. He said,
never forget. His hand closed tightly around hers.

Said.
It was snowing. They walked in the snow.
She walked slowly. He walked faster.
She was dragged alongside. It was always snowing.
It was always cold. And he said, never forget.
Never forget. She forgot it was snowing.

Never.
She wore red clothes once. She wore red shoes.
The snow was red. Her shoes were red. They walked in the snow
which could not cover the red. She walked faster. He walked slowly.
He dragged her alongside. His hand clenched tightly around hers.
She saw things she could never forget.

She wished her mind were closed.
His mind was open to her. He said,
this is all your fault.
It was the one thing he taught her.

Forget.
It became her obsession, forgetting.

Chapter Text

You think you’re being honest with yourself. But you’re not. What do you think honesty is, a fist breaking bones and teeth over and over? Not always. It only seemed like it, for a long time. Close enough for your comfort. Load-bearing and well-insulated, this wall is a life’s work in progress: fourteen years in, six feet deep, god knows how high.

The worst thing is silence. Or maybe talking. The wrong kind with too much thought behind it. You’d rather be a storm: the one everyone sees coming but no one fully expects. Air and pressure and noise and pain grinding together, rising, wild, blistering and burning you raw from the inside till you almost can’t bear it, unburdened by walls.

But after an eternity at the summit, even your mind will wander. Why must we always be born and reborn in fire, plummet screaming down the face of a cliff? Is it supposed to be poetic or something? It’s exhilarating. It’s exhausting. It’s all you’ve ever known. And you’re just a small baby bird being flung into the air, wings still tiny and useless, learning to fall and hit the ground.

Very hard. Repeatedly.

Chapter Text

Containers are so useful. They can hold so many things. Almost anything you can imagine can be carried. Like water. Air. Food. Toys.

Dreams.

Here. Hold out your hands. Here's a dream. And another. And another. And another. See how they shine—aren't they beautiful? Oh, there's so many. You must be careful. Don't let them spill. Remember, you hold other people's dreams. It's a wonderful thing, to carry their dreams. To carry out their dreams. You'll always have something to do.

To be.

Smile when you're spoken to. Say the right thing. Work hard. Complete the tests. Make ensign. Make lieutenant. Make commander, then captain. It's what your father would've wanted. Be the hero. Protect the girl. Save the world—no, the universe. If you do things for others, that makes you needed. It's like a game. 50 points, then 80, maybe even a full score. If you level up enough, the next thing will invariably happen. You did a good job. If you keep doing that, someone will love you.

Right?

Look at all the dreams you need to carry. So many of them, in every direction. It may be a bit overwhelming. It might be a little painful. Does it feel like you're fading? It's okay. You can do it. You've already been doing it for so long. Are you tired? You can't be tired. Just carry them a little further. Only a little further to go. Be the vessel for what other people want. You can't stop now. Oh no—look what you've done. They're spilling.

Everywhere.

Lie down. Roll onto your side. Close your eyes—don't cry. Just breathe. Try to think about nothing.

Like the empty container you are.