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Chapter Text

He is five when he can first remember hearing about soulmates. A three year old boy in town received his mark and the people rejoiced at such a rare thing appearing among one of their own.

They all 'oohed' and 'aahed' over the pretty little picture on the boy's shoulder. Wyatt didn't understand what all the fuss was about. It was just a loaf of bread.

"It means he has a soulmate, dear," his mother tries to explain.

"But... it's bread."

"It is meant to represent the person he's destined for."

"So... she really likes bread?"

His mother laughs, "Perhaps, but it is more likely she will be a baker or something of the sort."

"How is he supposed to find her?"

"A mark appears on both people when the last of the pair is born. The rest is up to fate."

Even as a small child, his inner self recoils at the idea.

"They don't have a choice?"

His mother stops her stirring of the pot at the stove, looking thoughtful for a moment.

"People still have free will. I suppose one could walk away but I've never heard of anyone doing so."

After his bath that night, Wyatt spins around in front of his mother's looking glass, trying to view his shoulder from every angle. With relief he sees it is bare and hopes it is always to remain so.

He is eight when he meets her, blonde and blue eyed like himself. She shoves him to the ground for pulling her hair and doesn't back away when he picks himself up and sticks his tongue out at her.

"Come on, Adora! Mom is going to kill us if we're late!" 

The little blonde girl stomps on his toes before running to her family, leaving Wyatt to hop on his one good foot.

He is fifteen when he works up the nerve to ask her to dance with him at the town assembly. For one terrifying moment she just stares at him before accepting his hand. It is an awkward affair but when she smiles he forgets all about the clumsiness that came with his sudden growth spurt. She doesn't seem to mind his sweaty palms or the asinine small talk he tries to make.

And at the end of the night, when she gives him a quick kiss behind the barn before darting away, he thinks the whole soulmate thing is rubbish. If it were real he would have her mark and she his.

Of that Wyatt is certain.

He is nineteen and already married six months when it appears. He must have stared at it for an hour, anger boiling up inside and half formed thoughts whirling about his head. He feels ill with the implications and marches out of their small city apartment to find the one man he thinks can help.

The Mystic Man lets him in without resistance when he sees the young Tin Man's face. Wyatt unbuttons his sleeve and thrusts it under his nose.

"What can you do about this?" he asks through gritted teeth. The old wizard looks at the mark, his eyes going wide.

"When did this appear?" he asks in a hushed voice.

"Sometime in the past few hours. It doesn't matter. What can you do about it?"

"Nothing."

"What do you mean nothing? There has to be a spell, something, anything."

"Wyatt," says the Mystic Man, "I can't... this is magic beyond me... beyond the Queen, even."

Cain growls, rubs his face, and then puts his hands through his hair.

"This means she was born today?" he asks, a hint of disgust in his voice.

"Yes, it does."

"Even if I didn't have Adora, how would that be ok?"

"That's not for us to decide-"

"Not for me to decide? It's my life! It's my family. I love Adora. This-" he says venomously while brandishing his wrist, "means nothing to me. She means nothing to me."

The Mystic Man watches Cain pace the room before slumping dejectedly into a chair to rest his face in his hands.

"This is going to destroy Adora. It'll be the end of my marriage."

The wizard takes pity on the man.

"I can't take it away. I can't get rid of the bond. But... I can cover the mark."

"Do it."

"Cain, you can't out run fate. This changes nothing. She will catch up to you."

"We'll see about that."

As he makes his way home an hour later, so preoccupied are Cain's thoughts, he doesn't notice the sprigs of lavender or pink roses lining the streets.

He is twenty-six when he feels his invisible mark burn so viciously he rips open his sleeve, expecting to see a black hole in his wrist. He hasn't thought about her in years, but as he stares at his arm, still red over his hidden mark, he finally does. He knows only two things about her.

She is seven and something terrible has just happened.

For weeks he cannot shake the feeling of failure that sits heavy in his chest.

He is thirty-two when they come for him, destroy his family, and lock him in the suit. He rages for the first few days, screaming himself hoarse and throwing what he can of his body against the walls.

After three weeks he is silent.

After an annual he has learned to escape inside his head. He wonders briefly what became of the girl and what had happened to make the mark react so badly those years ago. But he stops that thought almost as soon as it starts. It doesn't matter.

In another six annuals he forgets she ever existed.

All that matters anymore is Zero and seeing him dead.

Chapter Text

His body is still thirty-two but his soul is old and withered by the time he is released from his hell. His rescuers are pitifully naive and he wants nothing more than to leave them behind. But he can't. She saved him and there is a debt to be paid. This is what he tells himself as he leads them towards the fields of Papay.

And so he remains with her, a half remembered thought constantly on the edge of his consciousness. He later tells himself it is because she was the long lost princess. He had to have known her name was Dorothy Gale at one time and the resemblance to her mother is quite strong.

No matter how often he tries to explain it away, the feeling remains.

It is not until he and Glitch find her in the Witch's prison that he finally understands. Up until that point, all the contact between them had either been his hand on her jacket or her hand on his coat. But at this moment with the crown of her head pressed against his jaw, he feels it: the burn of the mark and a tether to his chest that makes him want to press her more tightly to him.

His arms go slack with the realization and she steps away, a confused look on her face and idly rubs her shoulder as they plan their escape. When he changes into his duster later, he sees his mark for the first time in twenty two years.

He cries at Adora's grave, their story finally at an end. He wonders if he condemned her to this by spitting in the face of fate. It would have been better if he had just shown her the damn mark the very day it appeared and let her leave. She might still be alive.

He feels DG's hand on his shoulder and he wants to hate her.

But he can't and he doesn't.

It's over. The witch is gone and Lavender sits on the throne. He thinks he's home-free and planning to depart in a couple of days when she comes marching into the stables.

"How long have you known?" she demands with a face full of hurt that makes his heart ache and mark burn.

"Known about you or known that it was you?" he counters while brushing the white mare.

"Both," she replies and he thinks she is relieved he is not evading the conversation.

"I got the mark when I was nineteen and already married. I then spent the next twenty two years trying to forget about it. I knew it was you after we left the witch's prison but... if I'm honest with myself, I probably knew before. You?"

"I just thought it was a weirdly specific birthmark. Az explained what it meant and about a second later I figured it was you. Then I ran down here."

He nods and pats the mare before coming to sit on a bench just outside the stall. He takes out his handkerchief and rubs his hands on it before undoing his cuff and holding out his arm. She looks at it nervously before coming to sit next to him.

"A tornado?" she asks.

"A travel storm apparently. The sigil of the Gales, the only witches who could ever conjure them. And an apt metaphor for yourself, I suppose."

DG pulls the collar of her shirt down on her right shoulder revealing a five pointed star contained within a circle. The badge of the Tin Man.

He resists the urge to touch it and instead gives a strained smile.

"I had money on it being a gun," he tries to joke but she doesn't bite.

"What does this mean, Cain?"

He sucks in a deep breath, conflicted on how to proceed.

"You've got a lot on your plate right now and I'm not fit for anyone at the moment. I should go."

Her face fell slightly, the sting of rejection evident on her features, "If that's what you need to do..."

"I'll come back, DG. I've just got to sort some things first."

"You will?"

"I don't think I could stay away if I wanted to," he answers honestly.

He returns six months later and accepts a job as one of her personal bodyguards. He tells her he'll protect her, be her friend but that anything else is unwise. He knows she is disappointed but he is resolved. She is young and of a station so far above him, he can't help but think it is for the best. He limits their physical contact to brief gestures of friendship: a hand on the shoulder, a squeeze of the forearm, a palm on her upper back, and even then, only over cloth. He tells himself it's enough.

He wants to die the first time he has to put a hand up to stop her from hugging him, her blue eyes going watery before giving a resigned nod.

It is the night of DG's coronation when everything changes. It all appears to be going well when Cain's mark starts to burn like it hasn't in seventeen years. He pushes DG to the ground just as shots embed all around them and he manages to put a bullet in the assailant before dragging DG to a secure location. She is trembling and Cain can see that a bullet has grazed her left temple.

He brushes his fingers against it.

"Too close... too damn close," he mutters.

She leans into him then, grabbing the lapels of his jacket and burying her face in his chest. It is in that moment that Cain realizes he loves her, not because of the bond, not because of magic, but because she is someone deserving of his love. His brave, tenacious, kind princess... his beautiful, capable Queen.

The guilt nearly rocks him back a step and DG pushes away, an apology already falling from her lips.

"I'm sorry, Cain. I didn't mean to... I know you don't like me to touch you."

She is backing away, palms up as if placating a wild animal.

He grabs one wrist to halt her retreat and gently pulls her towards him. He presses her palm over his heart and runs the back of his free hand down her cheek, pushing away her tears.

"I'm sorry, DG. I never meant to make you feel unwanted or unloved. Neither could be further from the truth."

"But you did."

"I know. I was wrong. I got a lot to atone for. "

She steps into him then with a soft sigh and for the first time he allows himself to hold her as tightly as he wishes. And later when she lets him kiss her, he thinks he finally understands.

It was never about choosing one over the other. Mark or no mark, Azkadellia still would have been possessed, he still would have still been locked in the suit, and Adora still would have died. Nothing would have changed. Destiny knew the horrors that awaited and wanted to assure they would have each other to see them through to the other side.

And for the first time in his life, Wyatt is grateful to be a marked man.