#self loathing

cheeseanonioncrisps:

Okay, so this fandom gets a lot of mileage out of Crowley getting comendation for things he isn’t even responsible for, and then the resulting angst when he has to go and check out ‘his’ work— but have we considered whether this ever happened to Aziraphale? After all, we see in the show that Heaven isn’t above the morally dubious, and there’s no reason why Aziraphale’s superiors wouldn’t assume he was the same.

Imagine him getting a commendation every time he’s in the wrong right area for a martyrdom, or a holy war, or— hell, why not an inquisition? Who’s to say that Heaven and Hell 100% agree on what counts as good or evil all the time?

Imagine him standing in a burning town, having just recieved a letter from Gabriel about how happy Heaven is to hear that people have been spreading Her religion to the local populace. “Good work, Aziraphale! Glad to see you’re finally acting like a proper angel and giving up all this namby-pamby peace and love nonsense! Keep it up!”

Imagine him having to witness centuries of blood and burning and bodies and not being able to talk about it to anyone— not even Crowley, because when you’re watching an atrocity and trying to persuade yourself that this is not only tolerable but somehow good, somehow right, the last person you need is the Demon of Constant Uncomfortable Questions.

(And anyway, a voice in his head that sounds a lot like Gabriel snidely reminds him, that’s probably the reason he can’t understand it. A Proper Angel™️ who didn’t waste time putting food and drink into his corporation, or playing around with books, or hanging around with demons— an angel like that would be able to make sense of this.)

Imagine later on, when the human perspective on some of these events changes, and Heaven follows suit. Aziraphale making one too many suggestions during a meeting and getting shut down with “well yeah, we would listen to you Aziraphale, but then remember that time you came up with that whole Crusades thing? That didn’t turn out so well, did it?” Imagine him brushing it off and pushing down the feelings of unfair, unfair, unfair, because Good Angels don’t question that sort of thing. Clearly he’s just made a mistake somewhere.

Imagine him post-apocalypse, finally being able to admit out loud to himself that Heaven wasn’t always right. (Imagine him finally having the courage to tell Crowley about it and getting to listen to several centuries worth of ranting about Heaven with a clear conscience— along with a side rant about “why the fuck didn’t you tell me, angel? I told you about the Inquisition!” “Yes, well… that was rather different, my dear.”)

I’m just saying, we’re really missing a trick here and… damn, now I kind of want to write this.

Select additional comments:

@liquidlyriumreply: I’ve always seen Aziraphale as being more or less ignored by head office, except when they need to issue a reprimand. (See: The last time Aziraphale looks to the right in Mesopotamia and never after, which others have also pointed out.)

In that deleted scene where he’s getting ready to open the bookshop he’s given a medal for his 'devotion to Earth and duty’ but it sort of feels like an afterthought when Aziraphale expresses that he doesn’t want to go back to Heaven. As if he can be placated after being ignored for millennia with a pat on the head. (And he’s probably so starved for positive attention from Heaven that’s no doubt why we see him wear it on his vest ever after.) I’ll have to re-read though that scene with this in mind bc it is a very valid take.

After all Crowley does say ‘everyone stretches the truth in memos to head office a bit, you know that!’ And Aziraphale, angel of the Eastern Gate, lying liar who lies, mildly agrees with him without directly implicating himself of doing the same. (’Yes, but you told them..’)

P.S. Bonus -replyfrom@big-edies-sun-hat:  I did the thing. I had been wanting to put up a series of ficlets (on no schedule whatsoever) about various awful ideas the two of them had throughout history. Herein, a ficlet in which Aziraphale gets an award for Prohibition.

justsomewhump:

Note: It’s been more than a year and I’ve come to update this fic lololol
Anyways, this chapter was supposed to be the continuation of the plot that started in the previous ones, you know, with Killian realizing Rumpelstiltskin had first assaulted him long before the first Curse happened… but inspiration struck differently! *shrugs* In any case I know most of y'all are here for the non-con stuff so like, ignore the plot that’s been set up and just focus on this current chapter, hope you enjoy, bye

@killian-whump’s original piece is here, and you can read my additions from the beginning here.

Warnings: Rape, memory wipe, humiliation. Make sure to read all the tags on AO3 in case I’ve forgotten to mention anything.

Tagging@sherlockianwhovian,@hookaroo,@hollyethecurious,@mathildiaand@kingofmyheart14. It’s been a whole year so if you want to be tagged/untagged, hit me up!

Word count: ~4.1k

~
Set in 6x20

~

Killian had to admit, though he’d been cautious with Emma making changes in the Jolly Roger, the magically installed bathroom did wonders, giving him the luxury of a modern shower in the comfort of his ship.

It would be very useful, he thought, for their honeymoon. They could sail for days and visit any place they wanted without any worries.

He smiled, entering his captain’s quarters and looking at his new suit. He was finally marrying Emma Swan, their officially shared life would start in just a couple of hours. He was only with a towel around his hips, but he thought propriety could take a break - it was his wedding day after all - so he threw himself on the bed, sighing happily and letting himself daydream for a bit.

He’d been considering Emma’s family his as well for some time now, and papers wouldn’t mean as much to him as the fact that her family was now reciprocating that feeling. Henry, and David, and Snow, even Regina… he could be part of it all, family dinners and gatherings and everything, without feeling an outsider ever again.

He welcomed the probably really stupid grin on his face and jumped up from the bed, looking at his suit. Then suddenly, he was looking at the form of Rumpelstiltskin, having transported himself into the cabin, right in front of Killian.

Killian simply huffed; he wasn’t minding being seen naked, even by Gold, but it was a vulnerability he’d rather avoid in his presence.

“If you wanted a sight of that, Crocodile, all you had to do was ask,” Killian mocked him.

Gold didn’t reply, though a small smile appeared on his lips. He just stood there, casually holding his hands together.

“You’re just gonna stand there and watch me get dressed?”

“A wedding. What a special moment in someone’s life,” Gold said, turning slightly to look at Killian’s suit.

“How would you know? You mistreated both your wives,” Killian said, setting his shoulders straight.

Gold’s exhale was audible as he scowled back at him. Killian knew this wasn’t a good time to provoke the Dark One, but he just couldn’t care less. Gold had every opportunity to kill him all this time he’d been plotting against them, why would he wait until now to do it?

Instead, Gold simply looked him up and down.

“What do you want?” Killian said.

“I want you to take that thing off.”

Killian blinked in surprise. “What?”

“I want you to take off that towel. Didn’t you say that if I wanted a sight of you, I just had to ask?”

“Get the hell out of here. Now.” He took two steps toward him, balling his fist on his side. “Get out!”

Gold simply scrunched his eyebrows, his smile not falling. “You’re not giving clear messages, captain.” He tsked. “Am I allowed to ask for it or not?”

“I said, get out!”

“Calm down, now. It’s supposed to be the happiest day of your life.”

Killian chuckled. “Nothing you could do would sully this day.”

Gold moved fast, wrapping his hand around Killian’s neck, just barely making his breathing harder. Killian grabbed his arm, to no avail.

“You of all people should know better than to say things like that. I could just kill you, right now.”

~

Read the rest on AO3.

the-journey-to-shrinkage:

counsellorsuggestion:

rottentrauma:

counsellorsuggestion:

stop insulting yourself. it doesn’t help.

But what if it’s true

it still doesn’t help. you can call yourself as many names as you want, but it won’t make you a better, happier, healthier or kinder person.

punishment doesn’t work. only positive reinforcement does. be kind to yourself and get better.

But again, what if it’s the truth? What if you truly are an ugly piece of garbage???*

And why shouldn’t you remind yourself? I mean, ffs, let’s be realistic.

*asking for an ugly piece of garbage, me.

everything we say has a purpose. the purpose of an insult is to hurt someone’s feelings. someone with hurt feelings does not improve themself; they go and think about how hurt they are and how bad they are, and nothing changes.

being realistic about your own flaws is important, because it’s how you address those flaws and get better. insults aren’t realistic, in my opinion. they’re hyperbolic, and usually not specific enough to be helpful.

what makes you a “piece of garbage”? are you manipulative? callous? cruel? insensitive? quick to anger? “piece of garbage” doesn’t mean anything. it’s pointless to call yourself that.

phrases like, “i’m really insensitive sometimes. i need to be more considerate of others’ feelings” are milesmore useful than “i’m a piece of garbage”. being realistic about your flaws means you identify them and work on them, and just as importantly that you don’t identify flaws that aren’t there. tearing yourself down for every little thing you can think of isn’t helpful to anyone, least of all yourself.

what’s bad about you? what’s good about you? how can you be better?

(and, to bring us back to the idea of positive reinforcement: how far have you come already, and how are you already trying to be better? be proud of yourself for that!)

those are the things you should be thinking about rather than wasting your time hating yourself. 

thatfreyja:

counsellorsuggestion:

rottentrauma:

counsellorsuggestion:

stop insulting yourself. it doesn’t help.

But what if it’s true

it still doesn’t help. you can call yourself as many names as you want, but it won’t make you a better, happier, healthier or kinder person.

punishment doesn’t work. only positive reinforcement does. be kind to yourself and get better.

but when i do that someone comes and tears me down and makes me feel like i never should have told myself that in the first place. and i dont want to keep telling myself lies, cause it never got me anywhere those times i tried it before

that’s terrible. i’m so sorry the people around you have been so cruel to you. you didn’t deserve to be convinced that basic decency to yourself is a lie.

i promise: no matter what those people say, belittling yourself isn’t any better for you. be kind to yourself because someone needs to; you don’t need to add to their cruelty.

a-fanfic-fan:

counsellorsuggestion:

rottentrauma:

counsellorsuggestion:

stop insulting yourself. it doesn’t help.

But what if it’s true

it still doesn’t help. you can call yourself as many names as you want, but it won’t make you a better, happier, healthier or kinder person.

punishment doesn’t work. only positive reinforcement does. be kind to yourself and get better.

*murders someone* I’m great at managing anger

this isn’t the only other option.

there aren’t just the polar opposites of “never acknowledge you have flaws no matter how many people you harm” and “beat yourself up mercilessly for everything whether it’s your fault or not”. i’m not saying to compliment yourself for hurting others; i’m saying not to insult yourself for it.

“okay, that was shitty. why did i do that? how can i better myself and avoid doing that in the future?” is so much more constructive than “god you horrible piece of shit, you’re worthless and need to die.”

for instance, since we’re total strangers it was a little rude to be sarcastic rather than ask for clarification. i don’t mind because i’ve had way worse on here, but if i was younger or thinner skinned you could’ve really hurt my feelings. it’d be much better to ask if someone really means something that absurd if you run into this situation again.

and that’s exactly the way you should try talking to yourself. critical, certainly, but not insulting.

The way my hips sway every time that I walk

The piercing regret that sets in after I talk

When I look in the mirror it’s a monster I see

A monster that looks a whole lot like me
I don’t understand when this girl got so bad

I just wish her eyes in the mirror weren’t so sad

You see, I feel disconnected from the reflection that I own.
No more confidence
Into self-loathe I’ve grown.

r.t.

The villain turned on their side to face the hero. “That was nice, but I thought you hated me.”

“I guess I hate myself more.”

‘it’s getting bad again…’

bestie did it ever get better in the first place??? or did you just shift all your attention, affection and focus into another person, giving them the love you wished you had but never receiving it so it’s just becomes a bottomless well of you just giving and giving and soon you realize you are so addicted to self destruction your 'love’ became the manifestation of it

I never liked myself and now it’s just getting worse. I shouldn’t be here, on earth, alive.

When ur therapist confirms you might be faking suicidality and you might be manipulating everyone.

I’m a bad person and I’m getting worse, so I want to kill myself, but that’d make the people around me sad. So then my next option is isolation. Why can’t I be done. I want to quit. I hate it here and I hate myself.

AO3

Chapters: 1

Summary: The problem, Snufkin thinks, is not so much that he believes he is a selfish, wild creature. The problem is that Moomintroll is not, and never will be. And that is a problem, you see, because he deserves someone far better than him.
And yet, Moomintroll still chose him.

… … … … … … … … … … … … …

“I think this is alittle excessive, guys.”

“Daw, but you look so pretty!” Snorkmadien giggled, tying one among many bows to Sniff’s ear. Snufkin thinks there has to be at least a dozen, likely more.

“He looks like a mannequin in a bow store that ran out of spares.” Little My snorted, though she, too, was tying another bow onto the poor creature’s arm.

“It might be a little too many bows.” Moomintroll tried, though he had also not been spared, with dusty rose bows around his ankle and ear, and a light blue one around his neck, courtesy of matching with Snorkmaiden. Though her bow was tied at the back of her neck, not the side.

“Well, I have so many,” Snorkmaiden said, sitting back to admire the pink bow she’d adorned Sniff’s ear with. “I’m probably not even going to use them all.”

“But why am I the model?” Sniff bemoaned. “You only gave Snufkin one!”

Which was true, they had. Snufkin was saved by only having a single yellow bow tied around his hat. It actually matched quite well, and Snufkin had decided very early on he’d be keeping it until it fell off.

“Snufkin’s not a bow-type creature.” Snorkmaiden said simply.

“And he’d probably lead us all to a ditch if we tried to make him look as ridiculous as you.” Little My taunted.

“I wouldn’t.” Snufkin said, knowing very well that he probably would.

“Hush,” Little My waved him off. “Less talking, more harmonica. It’s what you’re good at.”

“Hey!” Moomintroll bristled, and Snufkin tried to hide his grin as he went back to gently playing All Small Beast Should Have Bows In Their Tails. He thinks Sniff is the only one who hasn’t realized the irony in it, yet. “Snufkin is good at plenty of other things!”

“Like breaking and entering?” Little My drawled.

“And disregarding laws.” Snorkmadien added, not immune to instigating arguments for fun. He respected it.

“Don’t listen to them.” Moomintroll told him. “You’re good at much nicer things.”

“Nicer, you say?” Snufkin took the harmonica just a little ways off of his mouth so he could speak. “I happen to quite like those two talents of mine. Do you think they are lesser-than?”

He resumed playing as Moomintroll stuttered, struggling to keep the tempo even as the troll attempted to hastily backtrack. Little My cackled at him, and Snorkmaiden, too, giggled at his plights. Sniff, the poor little creature, had only paid attention to maybe half of the conversation.

“Relax, you talking pillow.” Little My sniffed, batting at the trolls bowed-ankle. “There are few things I share with this lunatic, but we’ve got a small overlap in humor.”

“I didn’t think it was very funny.” Moomintroll muttered, thoroughly embarrassed.

“That’s because you have a hero complex. Now are you getting another bow, or not?”

Moomintroll was a stuttering mess all over again, and Snufkin was fully smiling into his playing, now. His tail, which was normally quite covered by his clothes, or simply unused, flicked to life to lightly bat at the moomin’s side, urging him through his shifting closer to the two for another bow.

Moomintroll gave him a slightly surprised look, but then Snorkmaiden was grabbing his paw to tie a green ribbon around his wrist, and Snufkin stopped paying much attention, instead focusing on his music.

He thinks he’s better now, after that talk on the beach. That Moomintroll knows he is a selfish beast, and simply does not care. Well, he cares, it is just something that he accepts, like how Snufkin accepts that Moomintroll has a hero complex.

Somehow, that hasn’t done much for the thoughts, even if they feel a little better. Suppose not even solid proof can dissuade the most stubborn of minds.

“He’s not gonna let you.” He heard, and his ear pricked, flicking up, the only indication that he was paying attention again.

“I can at leastask.” Moomintroll huffed, and before Snufkin could wonder what that meant, the troll was sitting back down at his side, a new ribbon around his wrist. “Snufkin?”

“Come to show off your newest decoration?” Snufkin teased, bringing the harmonica away. “I must say, Snorkmaiden, while you are quite deft at making pretty bows, I don’t happen to think this matches him.”

“We’re not trying to match, we’re trying to tie bows.” Snorkmaiden huffed, and he couldn’t argue with that, so he went back to his harmonica.

“Speaking of which,” Moomintroll said, and Snufkin could see now that he had one paw closed into a fist. “Could I have your tail for a moment?”

He exhaled a bit too harshly on a changing note, and winced a bit. It wasn’t glaringly obvious, but to someone who knew the song inside out, it still grated on him. He thinks the others might’ve noticed, too, for they’d heard it almost as much as him.

“Excuse me?” He stared, setting the harmonica down in his lap.

“Er, your tail?” Moomintroll looked far more unsure, now. “Is–you don’t have to, of-of course, I was only asking–”

“Whatever for?” Snufkin frowned.

“Well, I was thinking…” Moomintroll unfurled his paw, revealing a rather large cream-white bow within, almost blending into his fur. “I could tie this to your tail?”

“I tried to give him a much smaller one.” Little My informed. “But he insisted on a big one.”

“I did not,” Moomintroll glared at her, flushed. “I just thought this one looked better.”

“You just want to dress him in a pretty bow.”

“Oh you are such–”

“Alright,” He said, because if he waited anymore, he’s sure they’d all be expectantly turning to him for an answer, and he wanted to avoid that ensuing silence.

And, because he wanted to avoid another awkward silence, he moved his tail until the tufted end lay across Moomintroll’s leg.

“Oh! Uh, you’re sure?” Moomintroll said, evidently surprised.

“Would I have said as such if I wasn’t?” He replied.

“Fair enough,” Moomintroll shrugged, and picked up his tail with soft fingers.

“Unbelievable,” He heard Little My grumbling under her breath.

Moomintroll, he could tell, was anxious. Probably from how Snufkin had startled earlier, but really, can one blame him? He’s not exactly sure how other Mumrik’s are about their tails, and Snufkin wouldn’t say he was overly careful with his, but he most certainly wasn’t as expressive with it as most other creatures were. Why, the bow would probably be hidden with the rest of his tail if he went on as normal, so why bother?

He watched as Moomintroll took the ribbon and slowly wound it around his tail, mumbling a quiet “is this too tight?” and continuing on when Snufkin shook his head. It was actually a bit too loose, but he didn’t want to interrupt to point that out.

It wasn’t as neat as Snorkmaiden’s, nor as lopsided as Little My’s. It was made with care, but not perfection. One side was a little too big, and one string was clearly longer than the other. Moomintroll looked like he wanted to redo it, but Snufkin was raising his tail and looking over it before he could unravel it.

He’d put it right before the tuft in his tail, big and eye-catching. He has no doubt part of it would drag on the ground if he didn’t keep his tail upright, doomed to be snagged on twigs and rocks. He decided right then and there he wouldn’t let that happen.

“Do you like it?” Moomintroll asked, wary.

“Not that it matches.” Snorkmaiden added-in.

“It’s wonderful.” He breathed, and drew his tail closer so that he could tighten it. “Thank you, Moomintroll.”

Moomintroll broke into a bright smile, and he definitely heard Little My fake-gag. Snorkmaiden, for her part, simply rolled her eyes with a fond look and withdrew another blue bow from her bag.

“Does this mean we’re adding more bows to Snufkin instead?” Sniff asked hopefully.

“Absolutely not.” Snufkin said, still smiling as he curled his tail around his body, by his legs. “Two bows are enough for me. Besides, you look so lovely in all those colors.”

“You’re all terrible friends.”

And they only laughed, and the conversation went on. Though, Snufkin is sure that Moomintroll kept looking over when Snufkin’s tail would twitch and move, more so than it had in quite a while.

And if Snufkin spent the rest of the day with that bow, tail lazily waving behind him, then that could be something that was acknowledged in silence.

And while he wouldn’t admit it, everyone would know kept the white bow, even after it fell off. He tied it tight to a strap on his bag, and feigned naivety when it was pointed out.

After all, it could’ve been any old bow.

It was rather cathartic to ruin the Park Keeper’s night.

It was one thing when he ruined a few people’s days on his travels. When he passed by parks with clipped grass and perfectly square bushes. When he muddled it all up so that nature may reclaim what so rightfully belongs to it.

It’s a whole other thing when you get to ruin the same Hemulen’s park over and over again. He wouldn’t compare it to returning to Moominvalley every spring, but that was the closest thing he could compare it to. What else did he return to so frequently?

It also means that the Park Keeper got clever. So you have to be clever back. And on and on it goes in circles and loops and twists and turns. It’s honestly quite fun. Snufkin enjoys the challenge, even if he knows he will always win. Even if a battle is lost, the war on nature will always favor the side of nature. That’s just the way things are.

It still wasn’t much fun when he lost the battle. Even if it was still cathartic to cause problems.

This was how he wound up with some kind of snare-like trap wound around his arm.

He doesn’t think it was meant for him. Honestly, he thinks it was for deer, or some larger animals that kept wandering in. Or maybe it was supposed to go around trees to deter squirrels and accidentally got caught in a place it shouldn’t have been. That did not, however, stop the rivulets of blood down his arm.

Really, it wasn’t as bad as the blood would have you believe. His sleeve was just horribly stained and torn and made it a lot more graphic than it ever needed to be. But he should probably try to stop the bleeding anyway.

And so, here he was, climbing up to Moomintroll’s window. Why? Well, it’s simple, really; if he walked in through the front door, he might get blood on the floor, and he wouldn’t want to bother everyone with the stains. And someone else was bound to wake up if he was creeping around trying to find the bandages and scissors, so he figures he can just ask Moomintroll where it is and be out in a jiff.

He wasn’t all too keen on staying around the park to ask for help, anyway. Though he’s sure the Park Keeper would’ve helped, for as tremendous as their rivalry was, he does not think the hemulen was one to take pride in almost seriously injuring someone by accident, whether or not they were being mischievous. Also, Snufkin has friends who would gladly have a word or two with him. But some wilder part of his brain grew frantic at the thought of staying where he had been injured, waiting for some form of enemy to find him. So he’d scurried out as fast as he could, because he was no tamed creature.

And wire was not an easy thing to tear off. So, not wanting to make it worse by trying to kick it off, he figured it’d be better to cut it, once he had the clear mental state to think of such a thing. Thus, he went to Moominhouse. There were two safe places in Moominvalley, and that was the house, and his tent.

Luckily, nobody in the Moominhouse locked anything. So Snufkin had no trouble scaling up the wall, claws hooking into crevices and digging into the wood when there were none. He cradled his injured arm up to his chest, adjusting his weight distribution so he wouldn’t be making many errors and have to do the whole thing all over again. It’d look bad if there was blood dripping down the side of the house come morning.

He was, unfortunately, not quiet. Understandable, given the circumstances, but also quite unfortunate when the entire point was to be sneaky.

So, call Snufkin more than a bit spooked when, upon reaching Moomintroll’s window, it swung open before he could even figure out how he was supposed to do it himself with one good hand.

His tail stuck straight out, he’d forgotten to tuck it away these days, and jerked down so his head was just below the windowsill, not that it would do anything.

“Shoo!” Moomintroll demanded, wielding a bat. “Shoo, I say! This is no place to–Snufkin?”

Snufkin’s ears swiveled upright, blinking his best innocent eyes. Moomintroll stared at him for a moment, absolutely bewildered. Which was fair enough, it was a bewildering situation. He would prefer if they could get a move on, though. His arm still hurt.

“You look kind of creepy.” He said, lowering the bat. “Like a nightmare in the dark–what are you doing up here in the middle of the night?”

“Do you have anything that can cut wires?” Snufkin asked, finding he didn’t quite like being called a nightmare.

“You mean like pliers?” Moomintroll tilted his head as Snufkin leaned back up. “Sure, I think we have some down in the sheee–your arm!”

“It’s not as bad as it looks.” Snufkin shrugged it off, already descending. “Grab some bandages for me, perhaps? I can go get the pliers since I’m already out here–”

“You’rebleeding!” Moomintroll cried, and Snufkin would’ve hushed him for being too loud if the troll wasn’t leaning out the window and grabbing at him. “Goodness, get inside! What even happened–nope, you know what, doesn’t matter, doesn’t matter,” He muttered, heaving Snufkin by the coat.

“Really, it looks far more terrible than it truly is.” Snufkin insisted, though he helped Moomintroll out by kicking his paws against the wood to get himself inside. “It’s just a snare.”

“Asnare?”Moomintroll exclaimed, nearly toppling over backwards when he finally got Snufkin inside. “Whatever do you have a snare on you for?”

“Well, I assume it’s a snare of some sort.” Snufkin shrugged, looking down at the arm still cradled to his chest. “Truly, I’m not quite sure what its purpose was. It was an accident.”

“Doesn’t that hurt?” Moomintroll stepped forward.

“Tremendously,” Snufkin agreed. “But I already had my moments of writhing and cursing. Now it’s just plain bothersome.”

“You…” Moomintroll pressed his paws together in front of his face, and he was probably supposed to be exasperated, but he only looked more afraid. “You’re a horrid little creature, do you know that?”

“I make a habit of it.” Snufkin nodded. “Now, uh, the pliers…?”

“Right! Yes, yes,” Moomintroll hurriedly stepped back. “You wait right here, okay? Don’t go anywhere, uh, put pressure on the wound, I think that’s what you do–I’ll be right back with pliers and some bandages. And stitches, do you think you need stitches? I’ll get stitches.”

“The stitches really aren’t necessary–”

“Donot leave!” Moomintroll warned him, pointing a paw at him, opening the door behind him.

“I have nowhere else to go.” He said, but Moomintroll had already left.

And then he was alone in Moomintroll’s room. He considered sitting on the bed, but he didn’t want to get blood on the sheets. So he sat down underneath the window, legs folded underneath him and using his other arm to hold his injured one in place. He’d already accepted that his coat was ruined, it wouldn’t do anything to have a few more stains on it. It was awfully lucky he didn’t care much for material value.

He did find himself absently picking at the wire, though, despite how tight it was in his skin. A nightmare, he said. He doesn’t quite like that thought. Of being a creature that goes bump in the night, one that has others on their toes. He likes being a lusiance, yes, but not a nightmare.

He hoped he wasn’t too terrifying of a sight, covered in blood with a wild look in his eyes, still breathing heavily from the dying adrenaline rush and the climb. He isn’t soft like moomins or fillyjonk’s or the wide array of folks in the valley. He has rows of fangs made for tearing, curving claws for catching, a nimble frame for pouncing, slitted eyes made for the night. He is not a kind beast to find on a lonesome trail.

He wonders if a part of Moomintroll is afraid because of what he sees. If, for that split second, he saw a monster with jaws here to crush, claws to snatch up and rip away. He finds he hates that thought quite a bit, and his tail, the darn thing, tightly winds itself around his ankle.

He presses his thumb into the palm of his injured hand, just to the left of the wire curling around it. He feels his claws flex, and winces when the movement causes the wire to shift, digging in deeper. He hastily retracts them, cursing quietly to himself as he hunched over his bloody arm. Bad idea. A whole array of bad ideas.

He wonders if bleeding can be seen as proof in its own right. He’s seen cuts and scrapes on the moomins before, yes, but nothing as bad as a snare wound all up their arm. Dangerous beasts are the ones that are caught in traps, with sharp edges to be wary of. What soft creature had ever bled as much as he?

“I got the pliers!”

Moomintroll’s voice was a shouted whisper, but it still made Snufkin startle and look up at him from under the brim of his hat, anyway. Moomintroll faltered for a moment, and to Snufkin’s mind, that was evidence in of itself.

“Ah, good.” Snufkin said in a quiet, hoarse voice. “I do believe I’ve made it a bit worse.” He said with a nervous, painful smile.

“How on earth did you manage that?” Moomintroll rushed in, dropping to his knees and reaching out before stopping halfway. “Goodness, what did you do–?”

He started to reach forward with the pliers, and the flash of pointed metal made some instinct in Snufkin’s head flinch away, such a small and quick movement that anyone could’ve brushed it off as nothing. But Moomintroll wasn’t anyone.

“Snufkin?” He said, slowly drawing back.

“I’m fine,” Snufkin croaked, removing a paw from his arm and reaching out. “I apologize, my nerves are a bit frayed at the moment, I–” He paused, saw the blood dripping off his paw and onto the floor before hastily drawing it back. “Ah, you definitely don’t want that–”

“Snufkin,” Moomintroll said, and he glanced up at the troll’s face before looking down again. He didn’t feel up to seeing the growing panic in his eyes. “Hey, listen, I’m–well, normally I’d ask what’s wrong, but I’m afraid we need to get the wire off, first.” He said, setting the pliers down in his lap. “Do you want to do it?”

“No, it’s easier if you do it.” Snufkin shook his head, staring off at the wall as he offered his arm again. “I was just being jumpy, don’t worry.”

“You make it hard not to.” Moomintroll said, slowly reaching out a paw and gently taking his arm, and Snufkin fought every muscle demanding to wince away from the pain. “Oh my gosh–”

“Most of it’s just my sleeve.” Snufkin assured, still staring off. “I tried to get it off earlier, but it didn’t go so well. The tears are just from me.”

Moomintroll was silent for a moment, doing his best to avoid touching the open wounds and instead trying to find any place of give where he could wiggle the pliers up underneath. He wouldn’t, except maybe around his wrist, but Moomintroll might be too anxious to try by there for that, so he wasn’t going to make him.

Then he felt a shift on his head, and he looked back to Moomintroll just in time to see him lightly knocking his hat off his head with his other paw. He stared at the troll in confusion, ears twitching back. Moomintroll met his eyes after a moment, and something soft and fond flickered there for a moment with the tiniest of smiles.

“There you are.” He said sweetly, and then he was pulling at the wire.

Snufkin hissed, recoiling a bit this time, but Moomintroll held firm. He murmured his apologies, trying to both hold Snufkin’s arm still and lift up the wire so he could cut it. After a moment of psyching himself up, Snufkin reached out and pulled at the slightly loose part of the wire by his wrist.

“Try there?” He suggested, voice strained.

“Of course,” Moomintroll said, bringing the pliers closer. “I promise I’ll be verycareful.”

“Yeah, I know.” Snufkin’s voice shook, as did his paws, though he hoped Moomintroll thought it was from the pain. He never did understand how Moomintroll could be careless with his promises, at least in Snufkin’s eyes. Promises were not to be taken lightly.

It took four tries, but Moomintroll managed to wiggle the pliers underneath the wire, and Snufkin let it go with a low, drawn-out hiss at how tight the wire was everywhere else. He felt the metal digging into his arm, fresh blood trickling down.

“Sorry, sorry,” Moomintroll apologized under his breath, hooking the pliers into place and squeezing. It didn’t work at first, and he almost lost his grip in the wire before he got the pliers back into place again.

The second time, with a lot more catch and much more force, the thin wire snapped under it.

Almost immediately, the pressure lessened. Snufkin sighed, shoulders slumping as the coil unwound from the lower half of his arm. It got more tangled up before his elbow, but it wasn’t nearly as tight, so Moomintroll was easily able to slip the pliers underneath and cut those free, too.

“That’s better.” He murmured, letting his arm fall.

“Is there any other tight pain?” Moomintroll fretted, gently peeling the wire off and tossing it carelessly to the side.

“No, you got it.” Snufkin assured, sounding a little woozy as Moomintroll tried to roll up his sleeve. Snufkin decided to cut out the middle-man and undid the button on his coat before attempting to shake it off. It dragged painfully against his arm and he growled, Moomintroll helping him before he could apologize for such a beastly sound.

“Notthat bad, he says.” Moomintroll scoffed, taking his paw, the least injured part, and holding his arm out. “This still looks pretty bad, Snufkin.”

“But does it lookas bad?” Snufkin shot back, taking a look for the damage himself. Hard to tell, his arm was still coated in red.

“I suppose not.” Moomintroll tsked. “We should wash you up before we bandage it.”

“Smart,” Snufkin agreed, cradling his arm back to his chest. “Where did you put the bandages, anyway–?”

“I believe he may have forgotten that part.”

Snufkin froze up as Moomintroll whirled his head around, thoroughly spooked. There, in the doorway, Moominmamma stood, holding a roll of gauze and antiseptic spray. As always, she was prepared for just about anything. On any other day, he would admire it. Right now, it was a little humiliating.

“Mamma!” Moomintroll drew his paws back to his chest, and Snufkin felt a sickening roll in his chest when he saw the pristine white fur was stained with blood. “When did you–I had no idea you were awake. At this hour? Goodness, aren’t you tired? You really should–”

“I heard you worrying for Snufkin.” Moominmamma said simply, calmly walking in. “And getting the pliers. And while I’m sure you two can handle yourselves, I do believe I could be of some assistance.”

“Much appreciated, Moominmamma.” Snufkin mumbled, head ducked as Moomintroll stood, moving out of the way with a nervous curl of his tail. “I apologize for waking you.”

“Yes, we’re sorry–”

“Oh, don’t be.” Moominmamma waved them off, crouching and taking a look at Snufkin’s arm with nothing more than a mildly surprised hum. “Do you think you could walk to the bathroom, Snufkin? Moomintroll was right, we should wash this first.”

“It was only my arm that was injured,” Snufkin said, bracing one paw behind him as he pushed himself to his feet. “Not my legs.”

“I was only checking. Shock is a nasty thing.” Moominmamma said kindly, one paw on his shoulder as she stood back up. “Moomintroll, would you be a dear and put the pliers away? And make sure you throw away the wires, we don’t want anyone else getting hurt.”

“Can’t I be of any help, mamma?” Moomintroll fretted.

“You are. By putting everything away.” Moominmamma said simply, leading Snufkin out the door as he was trying to keep his arm from bleeding on the hardwood floors. “Snufkin will be perfectly fine, love.”

“I knew that.” Moomintroll muttered, quite unconvincingly.

Snufkin, at the very least, attempted to give a reassuring smile and small wave over his shoulder before Moominmamma led him off to the bathroom. He doesn’t think it worked much, because Moomintroll still looked worried as he left.

Moominmamma, for her part, did not say much as she washed his arm in the sink. Not about the blood that was on her floor, nor Snufkin’s unorthodox entrance, nor his aversion to seeking anyone’s assistance but Moomintroll’s. It would’ve been concerning if Snufkin didn’t know that Moominmamma was not silent out of some sort of punishment, to stew in one’s guilt. She was quiet when she wanted to be quiet.

So he didn’t say anything, either. He only winced a little when she held his arm under the running water, and made a pleased hum when it was revealed the damage, while not necessarily good, truly wasn’t terribly bad. Snufkin was just grateful he wore a short-sleeved shirt under his coat in the warmer months, or he’d have more clothes to toss onto a fire.

“May I ask where you got yourself into such a mess?” Moominmamma asked simply, sitting Snufkin down on the edge of the tub as she held his arm.

“I was tearing out the Park Keeper’s signs.” He said truthfully, biting back a hiss when the antiseptic spray hit his arm. He would not hiss in her presence, it was undignified enough as it was. “I’m not sure what its true purpose was. I know it was a mistake, which makes it quite a bit more annoying.”

“We’ve all had our fair share of nasty accidents.” Moominmamma said simply, spraying one last time before grabbing the gauzes. “We ought to have a talk with the Park Keeper, though. Even if it was an accident, he ought to be more careful with these things.”

“It wouldn’t have hurt anyone else.” Snufkin weakly protested, watching her judge his injury before pressing a handful of the bandages onto a still-bleeding part of his forearm. “I’m sure he would’ve noticed in the morning. Honestly, I don’t think anyone but a mischief-maker was at risk. Even then, it was a series of unfortunate choices that got me like this.”

“He should still be more careful.” Moominmamma said evenly, pulling the rolls back. She reached out a paw, pausing for a moment, and when he didn’t pull away, she gently tilted his chin up so he was looking up at her. She had a rather serious, albeit kind, expression. “I do not wish to scare you, nor scold you, and I would not tell most of Moomintroll’s friends this if I did not know you were used to hearing more morbid things. I worry, Snufkin, because we’re lucky it only caught your arm, and not your neck.”

A true snare. The thought had certainly crossed his mind when he was down in the park, writhing and growling with the pain as he tried to wretch himself free. His main condolence was that, well, at least it hadn’t been around his throat.

“I find that would’ve been very unlikely.” He said anyway.

“But not impossible.” Moominmamma said simply, and then she started to wrap up his arm, and Snufkin didn’t have much else to say to that.

For not the first time, Snufkin wondered if she truly worried for him like Moomintroll did. Not the same kind of worry she showed every creature, for she was willing to house anyone, willing to help anyone. She was generous like that, and Moomintroll got some of his best traits from her.

No, for her, he wondered if she worried for him when he was gone. If she hoped he hadn’t found himself in too much trouble and would be returning safely.

He hoped not. He’d be dreadfully sorry to worry her. Lord knows she doesn’t need another person to think about.

“Now, I know you probably don’t want to come by here for every fresh change of bandages,” Moominmamma said, stepping back and letting him see his purely white-encased arm. “So I’ll be giving a kit over to you so that you can change them when they get dirty. Do you know how to do that?”

“Yes,” Snufkin nodded. “You don’t have to, I can just take the gauzes–”

“Nonsense,” Moominmamma waved him off. “We still need to make sure it doesn’t get infected. I can always get another.”

“Alright,” Snufkin relented, experimentally stretching his arm before thinking better of it. “I’m sorry for the trouble, Moominmamma.”

“It’s quite alright.” She said, offering a paw to help him up, of which he took. “I know you are not the kind to ask for much help, but please, next time, I implore you to wake us if you need any. It doesn’t matter what time it is, or the weather, or what may be going on. I would be happy to help.”

“I know.” Snufkin said, who had known these things, but it was still nice to hear them, anyway. A confirmation. “Thank you, Moominmamma.”

“Of course.” She said with a kind smile, squeezing his paw, which he didn’t even realize was still being held. “Is there anything else you may need?”

“Need? No,” Snufkin shook his head. “However, I doubt that will stop you.”

“I was hoping I could at least give you some food before you left.” Moominmamma agreed.

“That would be nice.” He relented, and he let her lead him by the paw off towards the stairs.

But to his guilt, Moomintroll was waiting downstairs for them, holding his bloody coat and hat. He looked up when they descended, his tragically crestfallen face springing up into curious fear when he saw them.

“Oh, dear,” Moomintroll fretted, getting to his feet. “Are you alright now, Snufkin?”

“Certainly.” Snufkin said, taking his time down the steps. “I was never going to not be alright.”

“I couldn’t help but worry.” Moomintroll admitted, holding out the coat when Moominmamma approached him. “Do you think it can be mended?”

“Unlikely,” Snufkin answered for her. “But it’s alright, I know how to make another.”

“Nonsense, this isn’t that bad of a fix.” Moominmamma waved him off, turning the coat over in her paws. “It’s not the first garment that’s been stained. And the sleeve only needs a bit of sewing. I can have it fixed in about a day or two.”

“You don’t need to.” Snufkin said, feeling just a little exposed without his hat to hide behind. “You’ve done more than enough for me already.”

“And I will do as much as you need.” Moominmamma said, draping the coat over her arm. “Moomintroll, would you please find something for Snufkin to eat? I’ll go ahead and soak this coat to fix up tomorrow.”

“Of course!” Moomintroll nodded, one paw still holding the hat as he scurried off to the kitchen. Snufkin only sighed, giving Moominmamma a vaguely pained expression she only smiled at as she passed. He pushed his paws into the pockets of his pants and meandered off towards the kitchen, tail dragging lazily along the floor.

He stood in the entryway as Moomintroll ran back and forth through the kitchen, muttering to himself all the while. He opened a cabinet, decided against it, and then went to the fridge. He abandoned that, too, and opened a drawer before shaking his head. He’d left the hat on the counter.

“Do we still have those apples we picked last month?” Snufkin asked casually, and Moomintroll nearly jumped out of his skin, as though surprised he was there at all.

“Oh, yes! Yes, we do.” Moomintroll nodded, going back to the fridge and opening it up to rummage around in. “How does your arm feel?”

“Much better.” He said, holding it out and across his front to look over it. “Your mother is quite skilled.”

“That’s Mamma for you.” Moomintroll withdrew from the fridge, apple in paw as he approached. “She wasn’t too mad, was she? I couldn’t quite get a read on her.”

“Not mad.” Snufkin assured, reaching out his good arm to take the apple. “Just a bit concerned, is all…oh.”

Moomintroll had clearly washed his paws as best he could, but as Snufkin had much better eyes in low light, he could see that the stains hadn’t been completely washed away. There was still a thin veil of red around his paws. It was just a little too dark to be mistaken for jam or paint.

“What is it?” Moomintroll frowned. “Is something wrong?”

“No, nothing.” Snufkin shook his head, taking the apple. “You might want to wash your paws with more than just soap, though. I don’t believe you got all of it.”

“Oh, I haven’t?” Moomintroll looked down at his paws. “They look alright to me.”

“Yes, well, you’re a bit blind in the dark.” Snufkin shrugged.

“For someone with good night vision, you’d think he’d run into less trouble during that time.” Moomintroll mumbled, still looking down.

Snufkin felt awfully droopy, then. His free hand impulsively flexed open and closed, claws sheathing and unsheathing with it. It was an old nervous habit he’d been trying to quell, unless he was completely on his own. He hoped Moomintroll wouldn’t notice.

“I’m sorry for worrying you.” He murmured, and Moomintroll looked up at last.

“It’s alright.” Moomintroll said. “You’ve done quite a bit of apologizing tonight, I think it’s more than I’ve ever heard from you in a year.”

“Well, this is something worth apologizing for.” Snufkin said, breezing by the troll and to the kitchen table. “I gave you quite the fright.”

“I wasn’t frightened.” Moomintroll huffed, watching him. “I’m not scared by a bit of blood.”

“It’s alright to be afraid.” Snufkin said, gingerly sitting down and keeping one paw beneath the table, the other still holding the apple. “I’m sure I was a scary sight.”

“Well…” Moomintroll hesitated, and Snufkin took a bite of the apple so as to distract himself from dwelling. “I wouldn’t call it frightening, of course, because that implies someone was frightened, but…you didn’t look like much of a sight.”

“Sorry,” He said again, mouth mostly hidden behind the apple, head down.

“Stop apologizing.” Moomintroll huffed, taking a seat next to him and flicking the side of his head. “It’s not your fault you were all bloody and woozy. I was just worried you might pass out on the floor.”

“Now, I haven’t lost all that much blood.” Snufkin muttered, taking another bite.

“It sure looked like it.” Moomintroll said, paw inching closer across the table. “Has this happened before, Snufkin?”

“I think you’ve fretted more than enough for tonight.” Snufkin said, tail flicking.

“So you have!” Moomintroll straightened.

“It’s truly not that big of an issue.” Snufkin said, turning his head away. “It’s what happens when you’re a tramp.”

“It still worries me.” Moomintroll said, eyes dragging over him. “Are those really scars?”

Snufkin froze, mouth halfway open, in the middle of a bite. Slowly, he set the apple down on the table, and then tucked his other paw underneath the table, clasping it with the other. Occasionally, his paws would squeeze each other, and though it stung his arm, the claws still unsheathed. In and out, in and out.

He knew the ones Moomintroll had seen. On his other arm, a curling scratch up near his shoulder, poking free of the short sleeve, still a bit too pale, a little pink. He’d gotten it last winter. And a spot just above his wrist, normally barely hidden by his sleeve, a gnarled burn from a forest fire three seasons ago, far out of Moominvalley.

He was not ashamed of them. They were simply scars, two among others hidden beneath cloth. Sometimes he’d even be poetic and call them proof of all his travels. Proof that he was adventurous and a survivor. He wasn’t the only beast in Moominvalley with scars, after all, he knew that Moominpappa himself had a nasty curl around his ankle that was normally covered up by his fur. Perhaps he had more.

But he did have the most. That, he knew with certainty. When comparative, he didn’t have a lot, but he still had more. And so he wasn’t ashamed of them, but he was cautious. After all, such soft creatures didn’t need to be disturbed by the mars on his skin. He didn’t particularly want to answer all their questions about them.

It’s not even the first time he’s forgon the coat in Moomintroll’s presence. But those times, either Moomintroll had had no reason to think twice about it, or he’d made the choice to stay quiet. Tonight, he was not so lucky.

“They’re old.” He said, head down, and it was technically the truth. Months and months ago could still be considered old.

“They are.” Moomintroll said, and that fear was flashing in his eyes again. “Snufkin–”

“If it was a problem, I would have brought it up.” Snufkin said stiffly, ears pressing back, and oh how he wished he had his hat to hide them, hide his face.

“Would you?”

Snufkin raised his head at that. Moomintroll gazed at him sadly, almost pleading. And Snufkin was reminded of how he had flinched, and how Moomintroll had said they would talk about it. He thinks this is why he is here now, and he finds that talking to people feels very unwelcome right now.

“I know how to ask for help.” Snufkin said, knowing his ears were pinned back against his head.

“Do you know whento ask for help?” Moomintroll shot back.

“I came here, didn’t I?”

“And then you tried to leave again!” Moomintroll puffed. “As soon as I told you where the pliers were, you couldn’t have tried to leave fast enough!”

“It was a problem I could have fixed on my own.” He said simply, because it was simple, and it’s how it had always been. “Really, Moomintroll, it was nothing personal, I just thought I could handle it on my own.”

“You flinched.” Moomintroll said, and Snufkin stood.

“Not from you.” He said, and he walked off to the counter.

“I was the only one there!” Moomintroll stood as well.

“But you were not the only thing.” Snufkin said evenly, on the other side of the table, now. “Honestly, it’s not as bad as you’re making it sound.”

Moomintroll’s eyes flicked down, and he saw them widen, just a little bit. Snufkin looked down as well to see his paws still entangled with each other, the thumb of his injured paw pressed into the palm of the other. In the dim light of the moon in the window, for dawn wasn’t far away, now, his claws glinted. In and out.

Snufkin stared down at them, watching them methodically tense and untense. He could never quite remember where he picked up such a habit. He thinks it was a tick from when he was on his own in crueler lands, when flashing claws would give you an advantage. Or maybe it was something he did when hyping himself up to climb, and the motion was familiar. Or perhaps it was one of those things you just did, like picking eyelashes or biting nails.

There was white at the edge of his vision, and Snufkin held perfectly still as white paws enveloped his own, thumbs laying over his knuckles.

“I might scratch you.” He warned, head still down.

“You won’t.” Moomintroll said, giving them a gentle squeeze, and Snufkin watched as his claws slid out, laying against thick fur and not as thick skin. It would be easy, to give his fingers harsher twitches and watch as they nicked skin, digging in closer as they drew more blood.

“You don’t know that.” He said, wanting everything to withdraw his claws, but his hands started shaking with the effort, so he stopped. Moomintroll was squeezing just a little too tight.

“I do.” Moomintroll said, with the same trusting sincerity he’d always had. “And if you somehow do, which you won’t, then I forgive you.”

No, he still doesn’t think he deserves someone like Moomintroll. For even if it is alright that he is selfish, he is still a monstrous beast. He knows of harshness and carelessness and bears more invisible scars than not. His teeth are too sharp and crooked, his claws have seen blood and threatened more, his ears are torn at the edges, and his eyes are for hunts. He will worry Moomintroll no matter what he does, and he can’t apologize enough for it, for that is how he is. And he doesn’t think he’d ever change himself.

He is not a cruel beast, he knows that. He would not mean to hurt, and he does not always like his sharp edges and crooked parts. But that does not change what he is, and for that he’s glad he is not cruel.

Maybe it would be better if he had been. Then, it wouldn’t be a problem when Moomintroll got hurt, because he’d be expecting it. He’d know better than to show such soft concern for gnarled thorns.

“I don’t like sharp things.” He admitted, and he’s not sure if he means himself, or the object for which he flinched from. “Sometimes, I don’t mind them, even welcome them when they are needed. Other times, I remember when they have done harm.”

Moomintroll’s thumbs stroked over his paws, and the pressure lessened, but his claws did not sheath. His paws were still shaking slightly, though, and that confused him enough to frown and try to lift them. This only resulted in Moomintroll hurriedly holding onto them, fingers laced together, claws tapping against knuckles.

“That’s okay.” Moomintroll said. “I don’t care much for water. It’s fine enough on its own sometimes, but I’ve had more than enough floods and dangerous creatures within to wish to be around it.”

“But you love that old boat.” Snufkin finally looked up now.

“I do,” Moomintroll said, head turning, nothing but open and honest and it was so much like him. “But every now and again, I don’t like it much. If we’re honest, I quite hate it. What kind of adventurer dislikes floods?”

“I think adventurers are allowed to not like a few things.” Snufkin said.

“Then so are you.” Moomintroll said, and ah, that was the trap then, wasn’t it? “It’s alright to not like sharp things, Snufkin. I only wish that you would know we could help.”

“I do know that.” Snufkin insisted.

“Then I wish that you would seekhelp.” Moomintroll amended, tapping his fingers. “I know you like to be lonesome, but that doesn’t mean you always have to be.”

Oh, if those he’d met on his travels could see him now. Out there, he was the independent nomad, the Mumrik who could get out of any situation, who could survive anything on his own. Who had seen, done, and met half of everything all by himself. He was not unfriendly, but he was spikey, and for that, they were happy to leave him alone.

And here he was, in the kitchen of his best friend, (though that word didn’t quite feel like it fit as perfectly as it used to, and it only got worse by each year) being comforted about flinching when faced with sharp pliers, paws shaking and claws unsheathed, because he was so sure he’d never be what a creature like Moomintroll should have.

He thinks he knew, then, that a part of him would always be rooted here. Not in this valley, but in these people. That should they all up and vanish one day, and it was just him and the wilderness, he’d never be what he once was, never find reason to enjoy it ever again. No, he could never think it’d be easier to be cruel so Moomintroll wouldn’t worry. For he is still selfish, and that selfishness could not wish for such a thing if it meant he could never have this.

He thinks this is what it means to love. To have someone who will always hope for the best for you, but still leave enough room to give you a choice in the matter. To be able to live without them, but knowing it’d never be the same. To let them know things you had not admitted to even yourself, because you hoped you’d never have to think about it ever again.

He thinks he already knew that he loved.

“I’ll try.” He promised, because that was the best he could do.

Moomintroll smiled as though he’d given a definitive answer anyway. He ran his fingers along Snufkin’s paws before dropping one of them reaching for the counter.

He grabbed the brim of Snufkin’s hat, giving him a smile before unceremoniously plopping it on his head. It was lopsided and wonky, and Moomintroll was quick to try and straighten it out on his head.

“There we go.” Moomintroll nodded in satisfaction. “It’s a little odd seeing you without the hat.” He pushed the hat back a bit, and Snufkin, to his own surprise, let him. He let the hat be pushed upright, so it really didn’t do much for how open he felt, for his face was still exposed. “I actually think I quite like it.”

“Are you all set then, boys?”

They turned, Moomintroll fast and startled, Snufkin slow and distant. Moominmamma was in the entryway again, free of the coat. He thinks it shouldn’t have taken that long to soak a bloodied coat. He wonders if she took her time on purpose.

“Yeah, I think so.” Moomintroll nodded, releasing Snufkin’s other paw, and like the hug, he found he wouldn’t have minded if it lasted longer.

“Splendid,” Moominmamma said, walking in and taking the half-eaten apple off the table, making no comments about how little Snufkin ate, for which he was grateful. “Will you be staying the night, Snufkin, or going back to your tent?”

Perhaps if he’d been with any other creatures, he’d vanish back to his tent. He was feeling awfully cracked open and exposed at the moment, as though anything on the far side of harshness would scar him. He still kind of wanted to. Wanted to slip off into the night and hole up in his tent, and then be on his own for a while, reorient himself.

He was odd to most people in Moominvalley, for he needed to be alone to keep himself tethered, while everyone else needed to be doing things, perhaps even being around people, to come back to themselves. Snufkin was of the opinion that if he was too distracted, his very self would float away until it recognized the shell it had left behind, standing on its own and listening to nothing at all.

Be as it may, these weren’t any other creatures. These were the Moomins.

“It’s going to be dawn soon, anyway.” Snufkin shrugged, and though his paws were grasping each other again, they weren’t flexing. “I can stay for a few hours and leave at first light.”

“We can sleep in my room!” Moomintroll perked up, snagging his wrists back and giving them gentle tugs. “We’re not quite as small as we used to be, but my bed should still fit us fine–”

“I’m afraid that may not be the smartest idea.” Moominmamma said apologetically. “There’s still a bit of a mess.”

“Ah,” Snufkin’s ears drooped. “So–”

“If you say ‘sorry’ again, I’m getting Little My to tie your tail around your ankles.” Moomintroll huffed. “I’ll do it. And you know she’ll agree.”

“Well, who am I to argue with that?” Snufkin said, pulling his hat down.

“Will the couch and chair work? We have plenty of pillows and spare blankets.” Moominmamma offered.

“You forget I sleep on the ground.” Snufkin chuckled, already being dragged off by his very best friend (for he had no other word to call this, so it would have to do for now). “I assure you, this is more than comfortable enough.”

And it was. For even if they were practically laying on top of each other on the couch, Moomintroll was still as soft as ever, and pillows never once crossed Snufkin’s mind. He thinks he could’ve hibernated himself if he stayed right there and never left.

But he made do on promises. He always did. So when first light filtered in through the windows, Snufkin quietly peeled himself off of the couch and searched for his boots. He’s grateful for Moommintroll’s obliviousness in subtle situations, or else he might question why a few turned over items in his room qualified as ‘too much of a mess’ to sleep in. He’s grateful for Moominmamma’s quick, understanding thinking, too. He wouldn’t have been able to sleep in a room that still smelled of his own blood.

And so Snufkin pulled on his boots, took his hat off the coffee table, and slipped out through the front door. It’d be terribly rude to go out any other way, after such a bad entrance he made last time.

The light was really only barely grazing the ground, but it was enough for Snufkin. He’s sure Moomintroll would understand if he was but a silhouette on the horizon for the next few days. All this talk took a lot of energy out of him.

Well, except for returning to grab his coat. He’d drop by tomorrow morning, thank Moominmamma, and be off again before anyone else could realize he was there at all. Yes, that was a smart plan. Beasts this soft didn’t need to see one so feral.

He paused by the river, standing atop the bridge. It was still fairly dark, so he peered into the water, paws grasping the railing. The reflection that stared back at him was only a confirmation.

His face was shadowed in darkness, a haunting sight one would find in the deepest night from the most haunted of dwellings. His eyes glowed, slitted and calculating and made for predators. Deadly wishes stared back at him, horrible just-might’s.

Snufkin pulled his hat down to cover his eyes, shoved his paws into his pockets, and whisked off into the woods.

Snail kisses

11990904:

You will make mistakes, you will act irrationally. You will commit some wrongs that cannot be fully righted. People will dislike you and misunderstand you for all sorts of reasons. None of these things make you a bad person. All you can do is try your best to be kind, to learn and grow.

The only person who can make me feel shitter about myself than me is my mother.

Why am I such a terrible person? I can’t wait to just disappear

Rating: Teen

Relationship: Ten x Rose

Summary: A post-GITF sick-fic UA. What if Rose had come away with more than nightmares after her run-in with the clockwork droids? What if her trust in the Doctor had been so fractured that she’d been afraid to tell him? And what if that broken trust might just lead to a dangerous situation for Rose? Will the Doctor be able fix it in time? Note: Trigger warning for non-explicit DV, self-loathing, PTSD, medical emergency.

Notes:  Hello lovely people! Here is the new penultimate chapter for my @doctor-rose-events classic tropes fic - yes, that’s right, in typical me style, I’ve decided to add one more- an epilogue set some time after this chapter- to be posted next week. So we still have one more to go! I decided we deserved a look at Rose and the Doctor a way into the future and seeing how far things have come (no hints but SQUEEEEEE!). So keep your eyes peeled for that next weekend.In the meantime, this chapter is really about hope, and moving forward. About Rose knowing she can and deserves to ask for help, and that while it’s a LOT of work, it’s totally worthwhile. And SHE is worthwhile. It’s about courage and friendship and love and trust- all those vital things nobody can live without. I hope you like this chapter, which gives us several different glimpses at different points of Rose and team TARDIS (it makes me so happy just writing that) as they progress in this difficult journey. I hope you like it.Many thanks to Aintafraidanoghosts and @rose–nebula for encouraging me to post and not throw this thing into the bin, and as always, MANY HUGE HUGS TO ROSE-NEBULA FOR HER MAGNIFICENT AND THOROUGH BETA. You are the most magnificent of people <3 Thanks also to @galiifreyrose,@wildchildamandaa and @melusine for their encouragement to post this thing and stop butchering it. I’ve had a difficult week so apologies if this isn’t what it should be- all mistakes are mine.Only general trigger warning applies for this chapter.Hope you enjoy (or don’t hate this) and on with the show!

Also on:     A03     |   Teaspoon

Tumblr:  Chapter 1 |  Chapter 2 |  Chapter 3 |Chapter 4 |Chapter 5| Chapter 6|Chapter 7 |Chapter 8 |  Chapter 9 |  Chapter 10|Chapter 11 | Chapter 12

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Jack had always been much cleverer than he let on.

That wasn’t to say he pretended to be daft, but he played the part of a happy, lecherous fool so well that people didn’t realise that he saw more than he let on and said less than he thought. Rose had certainly never thought him stupid by any means (how could she, when he was so clever?), but she’d been so very surprised, in the beginning, by just how much he saw, how much he’d been able to read between the lines.

She’d also forgotten how well he knew her and how easily he could read her.

They’d talked for hours, that first day, until she was drooping with exhaustion and the Doctor had swooped in to carry her off to bed, glaring at Jack all the while, but Rose wasn’t sorry. She’d missed Jack so much and her guilt at realising they’d left him behind and what she’d done was immense. Jack had explained what had happened to him, and she’d finally understood what the Doctor had meant about Jack being a fixed point. She’d been horrified to hear that not only had she brought him back from the dead, but had apparently condemned him to an eternity of dying and coming back to life. 

*****************************************

“I’m sorry,” she sobbed. “I’m so sorry Jack! I didn’t know, I didn’t mean to!”

“Don’t be sorry Rosie, I know you didn’t.” He comforted her, pulling her close. “It was a shock at first and I’m used to it now. It was hard the first few times, but after that? Piece of cake.”

“Stop tryin’ to make me feel better,” she sniffled, poking him in the shoulder. “I don’t deserve it.”

“No, Rose.” His tone was unusually firm. “You…this happened because you cared about me.” His voice had cracked. “You loved me so much that you brought me back from the dead- how can I be angry about that?”

“Yeah but I didn’t just do that, did I? I mucked it up and now you can’t die!“

“Alright, so you could have used a bit of work on the fine-tuning.” He rolled his eyes. “Rosie, you used the power of the Vortex! There’s no manual for that, and no one has ever done it! I’m amazed you managed to do what you did.” He buried his face in her hair for a moment. “That you wanted to do what you did.” He waggled his eyebrows in an attempt to lighten the mood. “Not that I can blame you- handsome hunk that I am.”

“Prat,” she muttered.

“But a handsome prat!” He leered. “So handsome you couldn’t live without another peek at my cheeky derriere.”

She couldn’t help laughing at his outrageous means of cheering her up. She’d missed it. “Shut up, you perv.”

“That’s better,” he smiled. “Much better. “You’re not made for sadness, Rosie. And I’ll tell you here and now- you have nothing to be sorry about, and if I’m angry with anyone, it sure as hell isn’t you.”

She wisely chose not to probe further, knowing how furious he was- how furious he deserved to be- with the Doctor who had known what had happened to him and yet chosen to leave him behind.

And then, finally, when it couldn’t be avoided any longer, they talked about her.

She’d been too ashamed to tell him everything, especially that she’d almost caused her own death because she’d been too afraid to go to the Doctor for medical help, but she had told him the bare bones- including, reluctantly, that the Doctor had left her and Mickey on the space station in the future to go after Madame de Pompadour. Unsurprisingly, Jack had been incredulous, and utterly furious, only containing his reaction when he saw how much the topic had upset her. He’d taken a deep breath and, clearly ignoring his own rage on the matter, changed the subject.

She’d never loved him as much as she had in that moment. 

They’d spoken for hours, mourning the loss of the Doctor they’d known and loved, and talking a little about this one. Rose had made a point of telling Jack that while this Doctor had made a poor start and given her cause to doubt, he was working overtime to prove himself now. She’d even shared that the Doctor had been talking about his planet, which Jack had heard in utter disbelief.

Apparently, though, it hadn’t been enough, because the next morning, she awoke to find Jack growling at the Doctor in the kitchen. She stood out of the doorway, just out of sight, listening to the scene unfold.

“Bad enough you dumped me, and left me without a clue about what had happened or where you were,” he snarled at the Doctor, who’d stood with jaw clenched. “But Rose? You abandoned Rose ? If anything could show me that you’re not the same man, that would be it.”

The Doctor flinched, and said nothing.

“He’d have cut off his right hand before leaving her on that dump! What were you thinking?”

“That’s none of your business,” the Doctor said finally, his voice low and fierce. “It’s between me and Rose.”

“The hell it is!” Jack growled. “Rose is family, the only family I have, and once upon a time she was the most important person in the world to you! Now you dump her to go after one of the most self-centred, greedy snobs in history? You’d damn well better believe it is my business!”

“Enough.” The Doctor’s warning tone sent chills down her spine. 

“No it damn well isn’t!” Jack growled right back. “How dare you? How dare you abandon Rose, leave her to die for that…that harpy, knowing what you do about what Rose has been through?”

“What do you know about what she’s been through?” The Doctor’s voice was sharp.

“You know good and well the bastard she was with before abused her.”

Rose closed her eyes in shame. She’d forgotten how clever Jack was, how perceptive. She should have known he’d work it out somehow, should have known he’d piece it all together.

“You knew.” The Doctor’s tone was suspiciously flat.

“Of course I knew,” Jack scoffed. “It was obvious to anyone with eyes, and you knew too. Don’t try and pretend you didn’t.”

The Doctor had been silent for a long moment. “I guessed, but I didn’t know.”

“You knew enough,” Jack growled. “More than enough. You saw how she was in the beginning, you knew how she thought of herself, of you, heck even me! Or at least, the first you did,” Jack added pointedly. “No idea about thisyou.”

“You’re a Time Agent, Jack.” The Doctor sounded tired. “You know how regeneration works, you know we’re one and the same.”

“So how do you explain this little jaunt, then- and abandoning the TARDIS, I might add? And don’t add any bull about it being none of my business because we both know that you owe me for taking off and never coming back. I can just about understand you leaving me at the Game Station when you were regenerating, but what about afterwards? Why didn’t you come back? Why didn’t you warn me, tell me what had happened? Do you know how many times I was burned as a witch? How many times I barely got out alive because I never aged, because I broke my neck and was walking around a few minutes later? I didn’t even realise that it was Rose who’d done it until I talked to her just now! You dumped me like so much trash and kept on going. I was your friend, I travelled with you- I deserved better, Doctor!”

“You did,” the Doctor said into the charged silence. “You did and I’m… sorry. Fixed point or no fixed point, you didn’t deserve that.”

“Damn right I did,” Jack seethed. “And Rose? What was your excuse for leaving her on that disease-ridden junk heap?”

“She told you?” The Doctor’s tone was entirely flat.

“She told me enough,” Jack growled. “She told me you left her on that cursed scrapheap and that she was sick shortly afterwards. Doesn’t need a Time Lord genius to put two and two together. That ship would have been a cesspool of pathogens after what happened to the crew.”

“Yes,” the Doctor said quietly. “It was”

The heavy silence was so charged that Rose had almost made up her mind to walk in, when Jack spoke.

“So?”

“So what?”

“So,” Jack said through his teeth. “Why. Did. You. Leave. Rose? And don’t feed me that bull about needing to save history, because we both know you could have found another way or taken her with you, at the least. And don’t say it isn’t my business because what happens to Rose Tyler is always my business.”

The Doctor sighed. “It’s between me and Rose, Jack. I know you mean well, but this isn’t something I’m going to discuss with you. It’s private.”

“Don’t give me that,” Jack snarled. “She almost died, and while I respect Rosie’s right to privacy, I’m sure as hell not inclined to extend you the same privilege. You owe me, Doctor and you owe Rose. That woman has stuck by you through thick and thin and then some- what could make you leave her? She wasn’t a fixed point,” he added pointedly. “So what gives?”

The Doctor didn’t say a word.

“Not talking, huh? Alright, let me see if I can guess. Let’s see- you’re crazy about Rosie, clearly still are, so what would make you do something so stupid and dangerous? Sounds like a panic response if ever I heard one- no thought involved at all. But what could scare a mighty Time Lord enough to make him panic? Oh, here’s a wild guess: a little worry about mismatched lifespans and getting too attached, maybe?”

The sound of a spoon clattering into the sink seemed unnaturally loud in the silence.

“I knew it. That’s it, isn’t it?” Jack demanded. “Say it!” he shouted when it seemed that the Doctor wasn’t going to reply.

“Yes,” the Doctor said finally.

“Right.”

The next minute, she heard the sound of scuffling and ran as quickly as she could into the kitchen, just in time to catch Jack’s fist in both her own hands, the Doctor standing unmoving with a look of utter resignation and acceptance on his face. He had no intention of defending himself and she couldn’t take it.

“No,” she said, panting from her exertions. “Don’t.”

“Rosie…”

“No, Jack.” She exhaled, trying to catch her breath. “Don’t. Not for me. I don’t…” She drew breath again. “No hittin’.”

She’d had enough of violence to last her a lifetime.

Turning to look at the Doctor, she gasped at the look in his eyes; the guilt, the loathing…and the love.

For her.

She turned back to Jack. “Don’t…I know you’re angry, Jack, an’ you’ve got every right to be. I know the Doctor hurt you.” She drew a deep breath, stifling her emotions. “I know what that feels like, and you have the right to…I dunno, ask for answers, shout at him, tell him off…,but no….no hittin’. I can’t…’s not right.”

Jack’s expression softened and he dropped his hand immediately, his blue eyes suddenly understanding. “I’m sorry Rosie, I didn’t mean to-”

“No,” she cut in. “Don’t apologise to me- I’m not the one you almost hit. Don’t apologise for bein’ angry, or feelin’ the way you do, but there’s no need to make your point with your fists.” She inhaled. “‘S not right to hit people just because you’re mad. Use your words- an’ not as a weapon, ” she added.

Jack nodded shamefacedly and turned gruffly to the Doctor. “I shouldn’t have….”

The Doctor shook his head, his eyes not leaving Rose for a second. “Forget it.”

Rose looked between the two of them, the seething swell of emotion- the panic, the fear, the anxiety and the very familiar loathing- rising in her throat. “Right,” she said faintly, needing to get away from their knowing gazes. “I’ll just…you two need to talk without me here. I’ll be in my room if you want me.”

And with that, she painstakingly made her way back to her room, unable to believe she’d cut in as she had, or that Jack had been so incensed on her behalf that he’d been about to to hit the Doctor- and that the Doctor had intended to let him. As sick as it made her to think of Jack hitting anyone out of anger, let alone the Doctor, his heated defense and his obvious care for her nonetheless warmed her in a way she couldn’t quite explain. 

And the Doctor’s willingness to let himself be struck was both thrilling and terrifying, and she couldn’t bear to think of it any longer.   

To her surprise, he came by with a tray not long afterwards. “Eat,” was all he said, his eyes soft. “Medications on the side, as usual.”

She nodded, unable to say a word.

It took her a few hours to manage to eat, rest, shower, rest and dress (really, it was ridiculous how often and how long she had to rest these days after any kind of exertion) before dragging herself to the library. The Doctor and Jack had joined her not long afterwards. 

Whatever had passed between them, they’d appeared to have reached a truce of some kind and neither of them ever mentioned it again. Rose was glad. 

It was enough.

***************************************************

Life had carried on in a strange, new normal after that. To her utter joy, Jack had told her he planned to stay on the TARDIS for some time, and after a quick trip back to his team to explain any potential absences (knowing the Doctor’s driving as they did), they were off. Oddly enough, Mickey had seemed to accept Jack’s return with no more than a “Oh, you’re back are you? Alright mate?” Thinking on it, Rose suspected that he liked having another person on the TARDIS with them, one who wasn’t caught up in this…whatever it was, between her and the Doctor.

And whatever it was was getting more and more intense by the day- but to her relief and utter amazement, the Doctor didn’t press her once. He didn’t push her to say a word, didn’t try to force her to say more than she was ready to, or confess to feelings she was beginning to suspect she’d never manage to shake.

Feelings she was in no way ready to face, yet.

They’d started travelling again, mostly to out of the way, isolated natural paradises as Rose slowly continued to regain her strength. She’d progressed from sitting on a blanket breathing in crisp, fresh air, TARDIS humming happily in the background and the Doctor standing watchfully behind her as Mickey and Jack scampered off to explore and swim (Jack always in the buff, and clearly enjoying Mickey’s spluttering protests and the Doctor’s gimlet glare when he ventured too close to Rose’s blanket), to slowly walking along flat, simple paths. She’d been thrilled when she’d graduated to short walks along the sand and along the cliff tops, the Doctor by her side every step of the way, wordlessly spreading the blue picnic blanket and watching her until she sat to rest, panting with exhaustion. 

The only exception to their beach and mountain idylls in those months of recovery were the regular trips to the fifty-first century. 

It had taken her many months to make her next, all-important decision, but she’d mustered every bit of her courage and during one of her nightly chats with the Doctor, had finally asked him for a name. He hadn’t blinked, and to her utter shock, had nonchalantly pulled what looked like an encyclopaedia out of his pocket, with what seemed to be the name of every trauma specialist who’d ever lived. After prolonged discussion, she’d decided against someone from her own time (there was far too much she’d have to hide in her sessions) and had chosen a renowned counsellor and highly specialised trauma doctor, from one of the most famous centres in the fifty-first century. Jack hadn’t blinked when he’d learned where they were going, and in view of his own missing history and trouble with the time agency, wisely chose to stay on board during her weekly visits. He had confirmed, however, that Professor Elpi Jiacj had been very highly regarded in his time.

Rose had found that very comforting, especially when, on the morning (she ignored the cheerful voice of the Doctor in her mind reminding her that there was no morning on the TARDIS) of her first appointment, she’d been so terrified that she’d had another panic attack. It had taken the Doctor an hour to calm her and slowly convince her to give the lady doctor a try. He’d sworn that  if she didn’t like her, they’d find someone else. It had taken both the Doctor and Jack (who had assured her again and again that he didn’t think any less of her for either the panic attack or her fears) to eventually walk her out into the waiting room for her appointment. 

She hadn’t known what to expect, but to her utter surprise, she’d found that Professor Jiacj (who insisted on being called Elpi) was nothing like what she’d expected. Despite the many medals and diplomas on her wall, the older woman had been kind and personable, and surprisingly easy to talk to, and Rose had been amazed at the other woman’s reaction when she’d finally managed to get why she was there. She’d expected the professor to respond with skepticism or doubt, or condemn Rose for the actions that had almost cost her her own life. She’d certainly expected some kind of dismissiveness or condescension at Rose’s humble background in comparison with her own illustrious pedigree. She’d expected, at the very least, the contempt she felt for herself every single day, for letting herself get into this situation, for almost killing herself through fear, for letting herself hope at any point that there could be anything between herself and someone like the Doctor, and ultimately, for allowing Jimmy to do to her what he had, and for thinking she deserved to ask for help.

But there had been none of that. Instead, the other woman accepted everything she said at face value. She’d never pushed Rose to reveal more than she was ready to, and asked sensitive, empathetic questions that seemed perfectly designed to draw no more from Rose than she was ready to give.

Most of all, without even knowing her, she’d treated Rose as though she wasn’t damaged beyond repair, as thought she mattered- as though her feelings and thoughts and actions mattered. Rose had been so shocked that, to her utter mortification she’d burst into tears. The Professor had responded kindly and with empathy, sensing (or perhaps used to) Rose’s embarrassment, waving off Rose’s apology, and telling her that she had every right to feel however she felt, and she should never apologise for it.

The idea was utterly shocking, to Rose, and yet, hearing it felt as though she were standing on a new road with the power of a jet-pack behind her, ready to blast off into the unknown.

By the end of that first session, Rose knew that she’d be back, and over the coming weeks and months (the Doctor brought her faithfully in what he called seven day-like but not weekly increments for what seemed to be months and months and months) she slowly came to understand what had happened to her and the effect it had had.

“It’s not your fault,” Elpi had told her, time and again. “It’s not your fault that Jimmy Stone chose to hurt and manipulate you. It’s not your fault that you didn’t realise that you were being groomed to accept abuse, or that you were being abused. His actions are his own, and only he is responsible for them. The only person whose actions you are responsible for are your own.”

It had been hard, was hard for Rose to accept that, because the hated voice was always in the back of her head, all too happy to remind her that she was worthless, that she deserved everything that had happened to her, and that it hadn’t been abuse at all, that she’d made him behave that way. But slowly, over time, she worked with Elpi to process the thoughts and triggers that gave it power, the professor working tirelessly to peel back the layers of trauma, and find each and every underlying cause, teaching Rose to process and manage them as they went.

Together, they’d worked through Rose’s account of her history with the Doctor, and his betrayal on the space station. They’d worked through questions of broken and restored trust, and whilst she didn’t (and couldn’t, as Rose later learned) fix Rose’s trust issues herself, she had given Rose the tools to rebuild her relationship with the Doctor and more importantly, with herself. Elpi had, to Rose’s utter shock, firmly agreed that Time Lord or not (something the other woman still marvelled over), Rose deserved to be treated with consideration and respect, and that avoidance was not an acceptable substitute for communication. She’d worked with her to reprogram and rebuild Rose’s perception of what a healthy relationship and self-perception should look like. They talked about Rose’s views of herself, and her own worth- her upbringing and childhood, her experiences, and things Rose hadn’t even thought would matter.

The sessions were demanding, and sometimes, particularly in the beginning, Rose was so tired afterwards that the Doctor would jump out of his chair in the waiting room and half carry her back to the TARDIS, where he’d put her straight to bed.

He was never far out of earshot, especially when the nightmares came.

Some sessions proved to be so exhausting that she wondered how mere words and thoughts could drain her this way. Elpi had assured her that it was normal and that it was a good sign that her trauma was slowly being processed, one piece at a time, and eventually, things had started to improve.

Having Jack nearby was a boon, and before she knew it, they’d fallen right back into their old, familiar pattern- sharing confidences and giggles, and fighting over the Poitan chocolate. He never pressed her to share, and listened when she did open up. He never called her stupid, or belittled anything she said. While he wasn’t Elpi and it wasn’t his job to fix her, it helped, somehow, to have her dearest friend in the world there to listen to the little bits and pieces she wanted to share and hold her hand during what had to be one of the most frightening and important experiences of her life.

Even better, he shared with her too, just as he’d done all those months ago when they’d travelled together with a gruff man in a leather jacket and a Northern accent. It meant so very much that he still treated her as an equal, that he shared his own troubles with her, and didn’t see her as some kind of basket mental case.

Mickey had been aware, of course in very general terms, of what was going on, but wisely, he chose not to comment, perhaps seeing, for the first time, that this was something he couldn’t share with her, and the best thing he could do was to simply be himself and be there. 

As for the Doctor…

That was, perhaps, the most significant relationship of them all, and deep inside, Rose knew that it had always been so, that the Doctor wouldn’t have had the power to hurt her the way he had if he hadn’t mattered so much.

If Jack had been supportive then the Doctor seemed determined to prop her up himself,  mentally as well as physically, and by sheer force of will if necessary. True to his word, he’d not shut her out again. He continued his meticulous care of her (long after she’d stopped needing it, in her opinion) and had continued to share more and more of his past with her, to share himself with her in a hundred little ways that meant more than all the grand declarations in the universe. He’d continued, each and every day, to show her how she mattered to him, and how important she was. He’d even suggested, after Rose had physically improved enough to avoid suspicion, a trip to visit Jackie, whenever Rose was so inclined, and all the very many doubts and fears that she battled on any given day couldn’t stand up to what she knew to be a selfless and deeply uncomfortable offer. She’d managed (barely) to smother her laugh at the pained expression on his face. 

He’d told her more of his previous selves and even (grudgingly) permitted her to look through a photo album of his third self that the TARDIS had seen fit to leave in her room.

(He’d also permitted himself to whine incessantly at her laughter, and complain that if she was going to look at old photos, the least she could do was keep her giggles and opinions to herself.)

And slowly, she’d started to open up with him too- sharing more of herself, and feeling more comfortable in doing so, because in spite of herself, she’d been able to see more and more of her Doctor and less of the selfish, frightened man he’d been.

She was still terrified.

However, all in all, she’d felt better with him- more of the easy comfort and camaraderie they’d always shared and less of the recent tension and suspicion. That’s not to say it all vanished overnight and everything was picture perfect, nor was she ready to share everything with him, but it was better, and slowly but surely, it was getting better and better all the time.

She was learning to trust him again, as he was trusting her.

It would take time, but they were going to be alright.

****************************************

The first time she realised that she trusted him was several months after Jack had come on board. The Doctor had promised to take them to get chips after her most recent session with Elpi, and instead of taking her to her favourite little chippy in London, he’d landed them on an alien planet in the year six thousand and forty-three. Mickey and Jack had scarpered off into the bustling town to see what kind of trouble they could get into, while the Doctor stood smirking at her, one brow raised questioningly.

“You coming then Rose? Thought you wanted chips.”

“I do want chips.” She folded her arms and arched her own brow. “Do they even have chips here?”

“Course they do!” He sounded offended. “D’you think I’d promise you chips and then leave you high and dry?”

“Cardiff instead of Naples ring a bell? London instead of New York, and no Elvis?”

“Yes, yes, alright, fine.” He pouted. “There may have been a few instances of…miscalculation, but this time, I mean it! We’re exactly where and when I want us to be.”

“Which is where?”

“Wooble!”

“Do what?”

“Wooble, Rose! We’re on the planet Wooble, in the capital city Wooble.”

Her jaw dropped. “You’re jokin’. Wasn’t that a joke from-”

“Blackadder Goes Forth! Yes!” He beamed. “The entire planet was named by Rowan Atkinson’s estate about a thousand years after his death- they thought it’d be a right laugh to name it Wooble.” He sucked his upper lip. “There may also have been copious amounts of hypervodka involved.”

“I can’t…that’s ridiculous! I can’t believe we’re on Wooble.” She shook her head. “But why are we here to get chips?”

“Because Stephen Fry insisted on building a chippie here, of course. Liked a nibble whenever he came for a visit.”

“ Stephen Fry?” 

“Yep!” The Doctor popped his p so loudly that passers by looked askance at them. “Stephen Fry the Sixty-Third, that is. Descendent of a hundredth cousin thrice removed of the original Stephen Fry, or something like that.”

“Right,” she said faintly. “Course he is. An’ so this Stephen Fry decided he wanted chips?”

“Yep, he’s famous for his love affair with the humble potato.” The Doctor waggled his eyebrows. “In a manner of speaking. Managed to hitch a ride with a Time Agent by mistake, ended up on earth in your time, and the Vortex manipulator burnt out (you really can’t trust those things, Rose). He wandered into a chip shop while he was waiting for rescue and the rest, as they say, is history.” He paused. “Or the future, depending on which way you look at it.”

“Course it is.” She shook her head. “So how come we’rehere for chips, though?”

The Doctor grinned cheekily. “Because there’s something I want to show you here. And their chips are tasty. Thought we could kill the two birds with one stone.”

She cocked her head. “What are we lookin’ at, then?”

“Ah-ah, that’s a surprise.” He bounced on his toes, looking enormously pleased with himself. “You’ll have to close your eyes- no peeking!- and walk where I tell you. Can you do that Rose?”

“Yeah, but…”

“No buts! Close those curious eyes, Rose, and off we go!”

She rolled her eyes before covering them with one hand. “Thought I was gettin’ chips, yeah?” 

“You will! You’ll just have to trust me in the meantime.”

“Course I do, you plum, “ she said without thinking, her breath catching at his sudden exhale.

“Right,” he said a moment later, his voice sounding slightly unsteady. “Surprise first and then chips. Come on, give me your hand, Rose.”

She swallowed, trying not to dwell on the suddenly heavy atmosphere, and gave him her right hand, keeping her left firmly across her eyes.

“You’d better not let me fall on my face,” she muttered. 

“I won’t!” he’d chirped as he’d led her along. “Trust me.”

And to her utter shock, she realised that she did. 

Oh, she was still afraid of being hurt, afraid that somehow, he might see what she saw when she looked at herself instead of whatever he saw now. She was afraid that opening up, that trusting him that little bit more would somehow end in pain. She was still afraid that he might meet someone better, someone more, and love them instead. Because how could he not, when she was what she was?

But in spite of all that, at this moment, she knew that she trusted him more than her fear. She knew that she believed him when he said he loved her, that he’d prove to her that he’d never abandon her again. 

And that alone was more than she’d thought she could ever give again.

“Right, stop there.”

His voice pulled her from her reverie. “Can I open my eyes now?”

“Yep!” Another loudly popped ‘p’- he sounded very pleased with himself. “Go ahead.”

Slowly removing her hand, she blinked. “Right, what am I…oh my God. Is that what I think it is?”

“Yep!” He practically quivered with happiness. “A genuine Barcelonian-inspired dog-tree- complete with dog-shaped leaves-”

“-with no noses!” she finished, unable to believe what she was seeing, tears pricking at her eyes. “You meant it!”

“Of course I meant it! Why wouldn’t I?”

“Because trees don’t usually have leaves shaped like dogs with no noses!” She turned to stare at him. “I thought you were havin’ me on.”

“Well, I wasn’t.” He folded his arms. “It’s genetically modified to produce the er, dog-esque effect. Bloke who did it ended up making a fortune- made trees with all kinds of leaves.”

She nodded, unable to speak, overcome as she was by a wave of mixed emotions because the Doctor had promised to bring her here to show her this ridiculous tree- back when he’d worn leather and blue eyes instead of pinstripes and brown. It had been a throwaway comment, made during a laughing moment she’d not taken seriously at all, nor even thought he remembered.

Only he had. And he’d brought her here to show her.

She took a deep breath, and another, reaching out to caress the rough leaves to soothe her nerves.

Because he’d remembered.

Because he’d allowed himself to remember.

Because he’d made a point of bringing her and acting as though hehad made this promise, not a ‘previous him’.

And because she’d simply thought of him as ‘The Doctor’ who’d promised her a ridiculous tree.

“Did you mean it?” he asked suddenly, making her jump.

“Mean what?”

“What you said before, back at the TARDIS?”

She exhaled. She did, she knew she did. But was she ready to tell him? Could she tell him?

However, seeing his hopeful expression, she knew the time had come. He’d given her so much over the past months, cared so much and been as good as his word. 

He’d loved her, did love her and even if she wasn’t ready to admit the precisely the same, to show him everything, she knew it was past time that she told him- and that he saw and understood everything that would come with it, with her, everything she’d told the past him. Everything he’d hidden from himself until she was ready to share it. 

Well, almost everything. 

She took a deep breath to still her fear. Would he still want her after he saw how broken she was? How damaged? Would he want to stay when he understood just how deep the damage and hurt had run?

“Rose?” His hopeful gaze soothed her a little and added a fierce hope into the swell of emotion. Because hadn’t he stayed through the worst? Hadn’t he come to find her when she wouldn’t wake? Hadn’t he told her he loved her in the face of her open suspicion and distrust? And- her heart warmed- hadn’t he stayed by her side through it all since? No matter how quiet or suspicious or panicked or sick or anxious she’d been, he’d been there. Why would he turn from her now?

She had to trust him. Perhaps not with that last, final declaration of her feelings (and the sharing of self she’d shared with his previous self in her mind), not yet, but with the truth of what had happened in her mind, of everything she’d said and suffered. He deserved to know as much; he’d earned it and it was time she repaid his trust in kind.

She took a deep breath, terrified and spoke the pass-phrase. “I…I trust you.”

He froze for an endless moment, brown eyes wide as the memories were released and she held her breath. Would he turn from her or would he look at her differently? Would he run?

He did neither.

Instead, a slow smile spread across his face, his brown eyes looking oh so familiar as they swirled with an intensity that she knew and loved, whether the eyes were blue or brown, even if she wasn’t ready to admit it even to herself just yet.

To her surprise, he held out his hand. “I want chips,” was all he said, watching her intently.

“Bring your wallet this time?” was all she trusted herself to say, feeling as though the breath had been stolen from her lungs.

“Might’ve done. And I could be induced to share.” He fixed her with an intense look that said things she wasn’t ready to hear, just now, wasn’t sure she could take. “Better with two,” was all he said, watching her intently.

And with a deep draw on courage she didn’t know she had, she took a deep breath and placed her hand in his.

“Better with two.” 

His eyes glowed. “Brilliant. Allons-y!”

And with that, they walked off into…possibility. 

And hope.

Things weren’t perfect. She still had a lot to process, and frankly, so did he. She wasn’t ready to share herself with no holds barred, yet, and maybe neither was he- not this him, at any rate. But she was Rose Tyler and he was the Doctor, and together they were Rose Tyler and the Doctor in the TARDIS.

As it should be.

 Fin