Sanders Sides One-shots

Orange Fire (BROTP/OTP - Patton x Deceit)

Ship: Patton x Deceit (Okay, I know my last chapter was Patton x Deceit as well but these two have such an interesting dynamic and I find it really interesting and fun to write)

TW: Swearing? I think? And mentions of pain and loss of home.

This chapter's gonna be lame; the idea is lame so I can already tell.

I'm kinda just grasping at straws for ideas now cause... my creativity is like, drained from the last idea good idea I had (the Child chapter).

We'll see how I badly manage to fuck up a fucked up idea.

This chapter is basically a 3 + 1 fic. I know they're kinda overdone but I have a weakness for reading & writing them so yeah.

Note is at the bottom!

Dashiell hated fire.

Hated it with a passion that, ironically, burned furiously at his heart even at the mere mention of the cursed beast.

Fire was a greedy creature. It fed off anything and everything; sentimental possessions, familiar homes, deserved happiness.

Lives.

One by one, loss by loss, he'd learnt how cruel it could be. How greedy it could be.

Fire took and took and took.

It was not discriminatory, but nor did it take pity. It was merciless. It stole like a corrupt king pilfering taxes from his people, all from a throne embellished with gold and jewels that boasted of excessive riches.

No remorse, no regret.

'What for?' He'd asked. Simply to demonstrate its power over the feeble mankind?

It was from experience that he'd learnt that it could not be described with its four letters.

It demanded to be described with words that brought honour to its name. Four letters wasn't enough.

Like he'd said: greedy.

And so, he'd learnt.

Learnt the words it had claimed for itself.

Learnt the words that had become synonymous with it.

Learnt the words that had come to mean monster.

1.

He thought he knew.

After countless news reports, detailed articles, graphic depictions, shaken recounts, teary reminiscing, and medical updates, one would think that they understood the toll of fire.

And he did.

He understood. But he wasn't prepared.

Wasn't prepared for the searing touch of fire that wilted the air like a kiss of death. Wasn't prepared for the onslaught of suffocation that clamped at his faltering lungs. Wasn't prepared for the instinctual flinch that was prompted out of him as charred wood collapsed by his feet. Wasn't prepared for the puffs of black smog that stung his darting eyes. Wasn't prepared for the harsh coughing that erupted out of him when stale air took the opportunity to invade him as he inhaled pathetically.

He wasn't prepared for how close the danger was; how real the danger was.

It was different to books.