Country Roads, Take Me Home [Della]

[Westley Roberts]

The first thing he noticed was that there were people around. Not an altogether unusual thing at most academies, of course, but at this one, considering the disarray he arrived to find, this was cause for concern.

Damned portal. Why does everything have to take longer in Florin? He’d jumped in within the hour it’d appeared on his acreage, yet judging by the seemingly-well-adjusted population all around him now, the others had likely received their passages weeks ago. Of course they had. First the mail system, now this. No matter. There were bigger fish to fry. (Oh, good God; was Nessie still here? Or had that been a rumor in the first place? There was a question to ask.)

There were a number of people he needed to find. Whomever was headmaster, for one thing. No doubt they would have answers, as well as plans. But no one came before Della. After Buttercup, there’d been no one he’d cared for as deeply. Not even Kiara, if only due to how briefly they’d known each other before she vanished and returned with amnesia.

(It was getting somewhat harder to remember why he’d even been fond of this place, come to think of it.)

The dormitories seemed a nonstarter now. He’d expected as much. She wouldn’t be staying in her old room. She’d have aged a decade, if her world and his had passed the time at the same rate. If they hadn’t, God only knew, but either way, there was only one place he knew for a fact would be the likeliest chance to find her…. When in doubt, follow the books.

The library looked disturbed. (As in ‘recently removed from disuse,’ not as in the usual way.) A final stray vine still slouched across the doorway; he slashed it away without thought or effort, advancing slowly, sword in front of him, just in case of coyotes or any sort of warlock-related dangers ahead.

As he reached it, dusty windowlight filled the main room. And instead of danger, he found what he’d been looking for. The back of a head. A redhead, to be precise.

He straightened, quietly sheathing his sword, and announced himself with a rather emotional smile.

“With concentration like that, I might think you’d been in here all this time. Did you read straight through the war?”

[Della Miller]

There was a comfort, seeing the library almost entirely back to its old self, and it felt even better knowing she had been part of that...and gods knew she could use that sanctuary now, especially after how damn crazy that headmaster announcement/bonfire had been. After choosing what appeared to be a colorful book on various magical creatures (seemed like the kind of light reading that could remind her of why she was genuinely glad to be back), she settled into one of the chairs and sighed. It was one of those few moments she truly felt home since arriving...nostalgia was a real bitch that way, wasn't it? Convincing you that doing something would automatically feel like home, but then reality stepped in, reminding you the past was far from paradise, and good luck in recapturing any of those feelings for longer than a few minutes.

The worst of it was that even in her sanctuary, she came in armed. Her AD52 in its holster that she almost never took off (who'd have thought she'd become that kind of American, right?), her switchknife in her pocket...if, gods forbid, anything, including her fiance, came after her, she'd be ready...

...so when a voice came behind her, her hand twitched...even if the moment she heard that voice she knew it. Knew it like you knew your childhood home.

She took a shaky breath. "I suppose that wouldn't be surprising..." She turned around, adjusting her reading glasses as she took him in. She wanted to rush over and tackle him, but...well, recent events left her far warier than she would've liked. "...please tell me this isn't a trick..."

[Westley Roberts]

Nothing since he'd arrived had been reassuring. Not a thing. He'd shown up to a shambles, hadn't yet recognized another soul, had begun to approach the idea that perhaps leaving Fezzik and Inigo in charge of protecting his girls had been...well, short of the best idea he's ever had...

But when she stood. When she stood, and turned to face him, he knew he'd done exactly the right thing. It had been ten years since he'd seen that face. Ten years far too long. 

Her wariness didn't upset him. Or faze him. In fact, it only made him smile wider. She wouldn't be Della if she wasn't always a step ahead of anyone who'd dare to trick her. He found himself rather grateful to be his authentic self, to be perfectly honest. He wouldn't want to know what kind of fate she'd have in store if he'd been an imposter. Off the top of his head, it would probably include a heavy object across the head and a gun in the back, he supposed. God, it was good to see her again.

"You can pinch yourself, if you like. I certainly won't judge you for it," he offered, his smile evolving somewhat into a mischievous smirk. Like the old days. "I'd be happy to do it for you, if you'd prefer." Then he spread his arms, ready for the affectionate clobbering only a kid sister can give. "I have a better idea, myself."

[Della Miller]

The fact that the first thing that came out of his mouth was more gentle snark, the exact type that tended to make her laugh and sob at the same time when she was at her lowest point was enough for her. Perhaps if she were a wiser woman, she'd start asking questions that only Westley could answer...but then again that sort of was precisely how he would answer that question, wasn't it? He'd never take offense, never be anything but understanding of her suspicions, and he'd top it all off with a loving joke...and while he was clearly older, that hadn't significantly changed him at all. He was almost painfully recognizable...and unlike some people she could mention, he wasn't pulling back from her.

Her glasses were fogging up, but she hardly cared, because fuck it, she didn't need to read in order to give him a hug, so she pulled them off, setting them on the desk as she raced over to him, and of course, she took his offer...because now it was rushing to her. The last time they parted, they...neither of them even said goodbye. Like they weren't in the middle of a war that could turn deadly any moment. Somehow, somehow she, the vigilant one, had taken their lives for granted in the middle of a godsdamn war, and there they were, reuniting after a decade that they were so damn fortunate was all they lost...so the tears continued, and the smile faltered ever so slightly.

"Gods, you made it...I...I almost wondered, when you didn't show up..." She squeezed him tighter, managing to not sob, but only barely. And to make up for that last moment they didn't say. "I love you, Wes, I love you so much."

[Westley Roberts]

He didn't realize how close he'd been to the verge of quiet tears until she collided with him, his arms wrapping tight around her shoulders. Then a pair of them rolled down his cheek, and he shut his eyes, savoring this moment as much as any of the other miracles he'd ever been granted. This was why he'd returned. This was what he'd lacked. What he'd missed desperately. 

God, there was so much to tell her... So many developments in his life it was so strange to think she didn't know, to think he'd lived them without telling her... He loved Buttercup more than his very being, and Inigo had become his brother in his time away. Even Fezzik, he'd come to trust with his life, and he doted above all else on Waverly, his daughter was the brightest jewel of his existence...but no one had ever replaced Della. Never. No one had ever been able to fill her shoes as his best friend in anywhere near the same way. No one ever could, and to think that they'd spent ten years without a word of contact.... Well. It was all going to be different now. They had quite a long time to make up for. 

He was more than ready to comfort her, and to begin telling her every lost detail, until.... 

God, why didn't it occur to me?

Of course, of course she'd have wondered if he'd died. The thought had never crossed his own mind in her case, mainly because he'd firmly (and stubbornly) believed that no being in this dimension or the next could ever destroy Della Miller. She was far too big a force to be reckoned with for anything like that, and he was far too optimistic by nature to begin with. But it wasn't the same the other way around. He was the one who'd died right in front of her once already. (And let's face it, he was fairly blatantly prone to that sort of thing.) She'd have had every reason to fear the worst. It broke his heart to think she'd been left with that idea all this time.

"No, no, I'm all right," he promised, pecking her temple protectively. "Never fear a thing like that." He refreshed his smile, knowing she'd hear it in his voice, even if she couldn't see it over her shoulder. "Death and I haven't spoken in years; he knows I have no intention of taking his calls." 

Of all times, of all situations, not to have even bothered to tell her goodbye.... If not for what seemed so far to be a random stroke of magic, it could have been forever. He'd never have seen her again, and she'd have wondered all this time whether he'd been lying at the bottom of Trenale shipyard. Something in his chest physically clenched, both at that notion, and at the next words from her mouth.

"I love you, too. More than you can imagine." A soft laugh came to him. "And I know you know why." His teasing voice from ten years ago floated back to mind. Because you're tall.

[Della Miller]

In spite of herself she buried her face in his shoulder, letting just a couple of those tears probably stain his shirt, but...she knew better than to ever apologize for that. How many times had they been in this position, after all? Her trauma seemed to be the glue that helped bond them together even stronger than it already had been...and she could work with that, considering how damn good he was at comforting her. Besides, they had enough snark between them to make up for any of that, right? And gods only knew they had a lot to make up for...just...she had still been practically a kid when he saw her last, and she supposed he kind of was too, although it was hard to ever think of Westley as such because he was probably wiser than most of the elderly out there and just had things so together in a way she couldn't dream of even now, when she had sort of figured her life out.

As for her realization that she had been afraid she had lost him forever...honestly it had hit her consciously just that moment. She had always been worried about it, she now realized, but hadn't been able to grapple with that fear...not again. Whenever she had thought of him for the past ten years, it had never been in a mournful context because she couldn't...couldn't force herself to imagine losing him like that again...and now she wouldn't have to, not for a good long fucking time, if she had anything to say about it..

"I can see that...thank gods for that..." Her pained smile broadened at the peck on her temple, about the most big brotherly gesture she could think of, plus just how casual he could be about just how often near death experiences had plagued them. They were probably gonna turn out like the third brother in the tale of the Deathly Hallows, who managed to dodge Death for a long time before finally greeting him like an old friend...although if it took the form of Hades, then nevermind. Thanos, we'll see.

...and then the cheeky bastard had to bring that up again. She had just stopped crying, godsdammit...except how could she ever begrudge that? So she grinned through the newly minted tears and answered, "I know...you're still taller though..." Then she took a deep breath. "In all seriousness though, you actually picked a pretty perfect time to make it..."

[Westley Roberts]

Her renewed tears didn't escape his notice, but this time they didn't have the effect of some sort of animal clawing his heart away, because he knew these were different. They were the kind he'd inspired so many times before, the relieved kind, the kind he knew always came when it finally sank in that everything was all right. For the moment, at least. He laughed very softly under his breath, squeezing her just a little tighter. Just because they were positive tears didn't mean he wasn't invested in drying those, too. 

"Oh, let's not have that argument again," he teased her when she countered, just as he knew she would. "It's been a very long trip and I've only just come in the door." He was kidding, but it wasn't untrue, either. They finally had time again. God, how surreal that was to know. And what an overwhelming relief.

From the sudden shift in her tone, it certainly seemed like she was due for one.

Finally pulling back, just enough for a proper look, Westley took her in. She looked well, at least physically. No signs of injury or ill health. It didn't look possible for any more than four or five years to have passed in her homeworld, but he knew he could be wrong. The more important thing was the implication she'd taken on. That something was wrong. All his news and all his questions took a backseat, save for one.

"Is everything all right? And don't lie, you know it won't fool me."

[Della Miller]

Another laugh left her when the retort she KNEW was coming came, and she started to wipe the tears from her eyes. "Right, right, how rude of me..." This entire interaction was clearly a shot in the arm of what she needed, and for a moment or two, she could forget that her entire life had gone straight to Hell, quite literally…but she couldn’t escape it, could she? Hell, she had even tried while coming into this library, and had even managed to snuff the thought out for a little while…but at the end of the day, it was a shadow hanging over her, and had become one of the reasons why seeing Westley again was reducing her to tears. Just a week ago, she had just wanted his advice on how to win her love back…now things had gotten so much more complicated.

She knew why Westley had told her not to lie to him. She knew damn well she used to have a habit of trying to pretend everything was okay when it really fucking wasn’t, but…no. This wasn’t the time for that. Much as she hated dragging Westley into this, she couldn’t NOT, least of all when he was probably exactly who she needed to talk to.

New tears were coming, but this time they weren’t too relieved. It was the first time she had allowed herself to cry over this, crazy enough, the first time she felt safe enough to. She hadn’t even cried in front of Alyss.

“No…no I won’t lie to you…everything’s gone to hell. Literally…” She sighed, realizing there was something she had never gotten the chance to tell Westley, and she was going to have to if anything of this situation was going to make sense…so she lifted up her left hand, where her ring had lived for over a decade now.

“I never got to tell you…I’m really sorry about that, you would’ve been so proud…I’m not sure you will be now…”

She was stalling, and she was ashamed of it, so she took a deep breath and said, “Hades showed up…and apparently is willing to give us a happy ending, but…but he owns my soul now, apparently…he made that deal with Panic, and I found out the other day…”

[Westley Roberts]

Immediately, he knew he'd been right to ask. The relief of seeing her tears of joy was almost astoundingly short-lived, and it was quickly eclipsed by his growing concern. What was wrong with this place, that it could never let her be? He'd just gotten home, and presumably, she hadn't been here all that long, either (although what would he know of that? Nothing ever worked the way it seemed around here)... What could possibly already have done this to her? 

Safe to say the answer she led with was not at all an answer he'd have expected.

Instinctively, his reflex wanted him to smile at the sight of the diamond that almost always represented everything he loved about living in this world or any other. The last they'd seen of each other, Panic (he assumed from context, at this point, that this involved Panic as opposed to an outsider) had only just confessed his feelings for Della. Something in him physically leapt to beam at her, to congratulate her, to hug her again and whirl her around, except that a very strange thing was happening that he'd never experienced before, and it was happening because of the pain on Della's face. None of those intentions lived to see reality. Every last bubble of joy popped and died before it could rise to the surface, as if they'd been smothered with a blanket of poison. It was like a bog in there. If this is what less-hopeful people felt like all the time, he had a new level of pity and respect for them. How on earth could something so happy have made you feel this way?

"No, no, don't apologize, no need to worry about that, I..." I'm thrilled for you died in his throat when it caught up with how ill-timed the reassurance would be here. He was about to assume that Panic had met an untimely fate, and insist that there was always a way to reverse that sort of thing (it isn't cocky when it's true), until.... 

No.

Death was the problem after all. Just not in the way he would've hoped. Not in the way he knew the first thing about outrunning.

"Panic did this?" Westley knew before it left his mouth that it wasn't the most helpful thing. But it was the first thing he had. He hadn't even thought Panic was capable of anything this severe. God, and I encouraged them. "He betrayed you?"

[Della Miller]

The look in Westley's eyes was so unrecognizable by the time she had admitted what was troubling her. She couldn't quite figure out why, it wasn't as if she had never seen him angry before...not at her, not really. They had been pretty blessed in their friendship that a major fight hadn't really happened with them. But Westley had certainly vented to her about the various ridiculous obstacles that stood between him and the happy ending he deserved, or just people being too stupid for even him to be understanding...but this wasn't that look. This wasn't the frustration she knew all too well, this was...

...this was what most people looked like when hope was sapped from them...but gods, please let that not be the case, because if Westley was at a loss for hope, then she was truly fucked.

Her heart felt like it was twisting into a bloody knot when Westley asked those dreadful words that she had been secretly mulling over ever since she met with Hades. And strangely enough, she had a far easier time answering someone else's version than her own.

"Well Hades is the one who told me this...I haven't had the chance to properly talk to Panic about this...which has been a running theme since I got here, to be honest. I mean...for all I know, Hades could be lying about that, or at the very least he probably twisted his arm about it..."

But even though Della said this, she knew how it probably sounded. It was probably the tone that women with abusive boyfriends or spouses used all too often.

[Westley Roberts]

Westley studied her face as if the answers were written across it, not coming out of it. Dear gods, she looked so.... It was intolerable. Everything about this was intolerable. There was plenty this place could throw at them—it had, it was, and it would continue in the future, he knew that—but not this. Not this. No one could trade away her soul against her will. Except they had. Panic had. And they both knew that, even if Hades had twisted his arm, he wouldn't have had to twist very far. Panic had merits; steadfastness had never been one of them.

Panic had known full well what he was doing. It gave him involuntary visions of his sword through the minion's throat.

No, not yet. It'd crush her. Not unless it comes to that. 

Her tone knotted something in his stomach. She didn't believe a single thing she was suggesting, Westley knew. Even as it came out of her mouth, there was nothing behind it. She was grasping for some explanation that didn't nauseate her as much as the one hanging over her head, and he didn't blame her. From that moment, he regretted his initial reaction. Della needed him. She was already living with the downsides of this, all of them perfectly obvious. He wouldn't highlight them. In fact, for as little faith as he heard in her caveat at the end there, it had merit. 

At least, he chose to believe it did. And even if it didn't, he'd returned from death itself. They hadn't known that was possible at the time, either. If death could be beaten, then damn it, they'd find a way to pry her out of its gatekeeper's grasp. 

"All right. It's going to be all right." He briskly rubbed her shoulders as if trying to warm her up from the cold. "We'll just have to come up with a plan, that's all. You'll talk to Panic—who knows, perhaps he was only stalling for time. This is no short-term danger, after all; it certainly leaves us opportunity to find a way out of it." His expression lightened into a reassuring smile for her, and he thumbed his sleeve across her cheek to interrupt a stripe of tears. "We'll tackle it together. All will be well before long. You'll see. Have I ever been wrong?"

[Della Miller]

This was one of those moments Della had started to call her “bottom of the well” moments. It seemed like it was really easy for her to fall there, despite her best efforts to remain logical. Those efforts worked more often in her maturity, of course, but there were still those moments where she leaned in too far, and fell until she couldn’t fall anymore.

So wasn’t it a good thing that the friend who almost always had a rope on him had shown up? It wasn’t at all surprising, that Westley had absorbed this terrible news and started using that tone that signified his unique brand of realistic optimism. Westley always felt that any problem could eventually be solved, but knew damn well that sometimes you had to cook up a plan to help the universe along the way, and his words only confirmed her suspicions…and it seemed to be working, being guided towards that kind of mindset, enough that she could at least see daylight again. Enough that she could manage the slightest smile when he asked if he had ever been wrong.

“Fortunately not…” Della agreed, her expression steadying away from despair. Hell, perhaps it was whatever remained of her denial about the situation, but she was liking those odds, and she was going to mention exactly why. “Besides…maybe this is the universe’s way of finally having me join yours and Alyss’ little club, hmm?”

Yet under the quip was a tone of desperation…an awareness that her freedom was absolutely at stake here…that gods, Universe, don’t make Westley wrong this time…but it was so hard to not feel a little better when he talked like that. So she was just going to have to attempt to ignore that little voice that insisted that things were a lot worse than they had ever been.

[Westley Roberts]

Gods help him, he laughed, even though Della joining Club 'I Visited Death And All I Got Was This Lousy Existential Crisis' was one of the absolute last things on earth he could ever want. Rather than indulge the fear, he chose to oblige her and take it for what it was, grateful as all hell that he'd managed to help her away from the ledge, given that the well could've been bottomless. 

"If it is," he said through a gentle smile, "I'll have to have a very strong word with the universe. It wouldn't be the first time." Using his other sleeve, he dried the rest of her tears. (Perhaps he was at the point in his life where he'd do well to develop a habit of carrying handkerchiefs. Not that he minded the alternative, but a sleeve was a logistically limiting amount of fabric, and he'd nearly forgotten that crying was practically an endorsed sport on this campus. The stupidest possible thing to forget, really.) 

The more distance between himself and the news, the better Westley began to feel about it.... No, that wasn't true, not yet. It angered him more than he thought anything could within a half-hour of arriving. And he wasn't even going to approach the prospect of losing his best friend in a far more permanent way, so soon after finding her again, and after so long apart.... No, 'better' wasn't the word. It was 'hopeful.' Already, he felt extraordinarily hopeful.

Welcome home to Tintagel. I don't know if you've heard, but we do this all the time.

Besides. He was already almost entirely back at ease, purely because she'd shown signs of calming down, herself. (That, and the familiarity of hearing appalling news on a regular basis in this place was creeping back into his bones. Ah, yes, there's that feeling again. At least it's not arthritis.) He pressed a kiss to Della's forehead, his smile evolving slightly into a smirk. The kind he often put on when he knew he possessed information she'd be thrilled to hear. The kind he'd arrived with. She was beginning to feel better, and he knew exactly how to help that along.

"And if it's any incentive, I believe I have yet to tell you you're a godmother."

[Della Miller]

“Oh the universe keeps asking to be scolded, and I’ve seen you scold people. I don’t know why it would want that.” Another weak laugh came out (good GODS, was she inheriting her mother’s illness? It wasn’t the first time she thought this, but sometimes with how quickly she swung back and forth, she really had to wonder…but no, no, it was just a testament to how good at this Westley was)…just…gods, was this whole situation strange. It felt surreal even for Tintagel, had been spurring really weird dreams that felt sort of like memories she couldn’t have had, and now she was laughing at her own morbid humor.

Just as well, then, that Westley decided to further distract her with a much more pleasant bombshell.

The funny thing was that when Westley said that she was a godmother, the first thing that ALMOST came out of her mouth was Again? but she managed to stop herself as her mind raced. No way did Westley know about Tori, so that meant…

“Oh my gods, you’re a dad?” she gasped, although she supposed her tone wasn’t nearly as surprised as it could’ve been. This made perfect sense, Westley practically had “Future Father” written on his forehead the day they met, he just oozed paternal instinct, it was part of what made him such a good friend. Still, you couldn’t mistake her for not being thrilled as she clutched onto his arms with a desperate grin on her face. “I was actually to ask how Buttercup was so I guess that answers my question, you guys are parents!” The clutching pretty quickly evolved into another hug.

“I need to hear everything…oh hell, Alyss does too…” And hey, that ‘again’ almost comment seemed quite appropriate here, didn’t it? “Seeing as…you’re not the only one to give me this glorious title.”

Just…she had to hang onto these little bits of news, or she definitely would have fallen into an emotional pit of despair by now, and she was going to be of no use to anyone if she did, right?

[Westley Roberts]

Westley's conspiratory smirk broadened into a full-blown grin, one that he felt reaching for his ears. This was much more like it. Everything from the elation on Della's face to the leap away from despair in her voice. Her borderline-hyper grip pulled an effortless laugh out of him, and when she hugged him, he closed his arms around her and returned it as strongly as he possibly could. Not only to beat back the darkness of the past few minutes, but because he'd waited years to tell her this. It was his greatest joy, but nothing ever truly felt grounded in this world until Della knew.

"Yes," he said with pride, knowing full well the confirmation wasn't necessary. He'd just wanted to say it out loud. Yes, I'm a father. It was as if the word cemented this in reality, removing the surreal sensation that seemed to float like an aura around everything else. "We have a daughter. Her name is Waverly. She's seven years old now, the image of her mother." 

He only let go in order to reach for his back pocket, pulling out and unfolding a battered wallet. (Wallets hadn't been invented yet in Florin—everyone was still using coin purses and apron pockets, the poor things, 'poor' intended quite literally—so he'd kept this one all these years, purchased in uni from a shop in Trenale. It could do with replacing, but for now, that was far from the point.) His objective was a small rectangle of painted canvas he kept inside; a miniature version of the portrait they'd commissioned on Waverly's last birthday. Neither he nor Buttercup had been able to take a camera back through the portals with them, and both of the phones they'd had immediately stopped working the moment they were yanked home, obviously, but that didn't mean he had any intentions of being a slacker parent. Even if it had taken a while to explain the phrase 'wallet-sized' to the portrait artist. 

Extracting it, he passed it to Della....just in time for his eyes to widen, and another laugh to fall from his mouth.

Of course. Of course! "My God...." He'd nearly forgotten Alyss had been expecting the last time he saw her. Then she was back as well! "The baby thrived, then! That's incredible! How long has it been for them? Ten years in Florin; is she ten, then? More? Less? I heard on my way here it's been different for everyone.... Are they well? Both of them?"