a boat without oars // christopher lightwood {1}

twelve // hopkinsville, 1955

"You've been avoiding me," Dash said, the moment the training room doors banged shut behind them.

Pluto crossed their arms and leaned back against the wall for a little emotional support. "Yes, well, the last time we saw each other I forgot where you lived and tried to kick you off your own front porch, so..."

"Look, I'm sorry about that. I honestly just wanted to go up to Mooneye Mountain and see if we could find out where the goblin caves were."

"Well, it wasn't, and even if it would have been fine, I didn't want to go and you had no right to keep pushing me."

"Look, can we stop? We can fight some other time, but not now."

"What do you want, Dash."

"I just want you to let me back into your orbit for a little again. Is that too much to ask in a situation like this?"

"We mutually agreed there was no way in hell we were ever really going to get along, and yet now you want to try being friends again." Pluto was having a hard time believing this. What was Dash up to? "This isn't the middle of nowhere anymore. We have the entire London Enclave. They know we're time travelers, that won't be a problem. Why don't you try making some friends you'll actually get along with?"

"Pluto, I don't think you get it." Dash shook their head. Their green eyes were wide with distress. "I don't belong here. You're the one that belongs, you know so much about this era, I remember you going on about Gertrude Bell and all that, and you fit in so well – look at you with your velvet jackets and your classy sweaters and whatnot. I can't do that. I can't blend in like you do. I don't know anything about the Victorian era –"

"Edwardian," said Pluto. "We're in the Edwardian era."

"See, that shows you how little I know. You're the history buff, you're the one that knows things, hell, you've used oil lamps and worn corsets and stuff before, what's that thing you let that werewolf girlfriend of yours drag you to..."

"A reenactment."

"Yeah. Exactly. You know how to do this stuff. I can't blend in here, my hair's the wrong color, even. I – I no speak Edwardiano."

Pluto couldn't help but laugh at the reference. "Well," they said, "I'm here now. Though considering I'm not even trying to assimilate..."

"Believe me," said Dash, gesturing at Pluto's still long, still unbound, still pink hair. "I've noticed."

"Look, if you just want help blending in, that I think I might be able to help you with. And if you don't like my advice I have other people that I can refer you to. But that's it, okay? Then you go find some friends of your own and you let me go. Deal?"

Dash nodded. "Deal."

< & >

The deal made, that conversation over, Pluto left for downstairs, torn between continuing xyr search for Christopher or just raiding the kitchen and calling it a night. Xe was used to a Dash that could do everything themself, or at least wanted to, who wanted to lead and wanted to manage and wanted to micromanage, wanted to have all the big ideas and do all the cool things. This Dash that didn't know what they were doing, that needed Pluto's help, it shook xyr. It shook xyr more than Dash being an asshole every time Pluto turned around. Xe could handle that. Xe'd handled plenty of bullies in xyr life, many of them much older than xyr and completely unaware of the damage they were doing. Xe could handle a petulant child that didn't understand no. Dash needing help, needing xyr, that was very different.

As it turned out, Pluto didn't need to go looking anywhere for Christopher, because he was standing right there in the foyer, pulling off his hat and putting it on the pegs by the door.