happy family That Creature AU - omg what is Hermann going to dooooooo when he wakes up?

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Newt must have fallen asleep after all. He wakes up stiff and shivering, still under the table. He bites of a groan as he props himself up on stiff legs, blinks a few times to clear the sleep from his eyes.

Hermann isn’t there.

The destroyed tupperware boxes are still there, torn apart and starting to stink as the cloned remains rot. His bag trails away in a blur of blue and claw marks.

Newt’s eyes follow it, the track of blue stains to their battered sofa. There’s a new tear down one of the seat cushions, the stuffing puffing out, tipped with more blue.

Newt pulls himself carefully out from under the table. “Hermann?”

There’s a scratching sound from behind the sofa, a faint creak. Newt takes a breath. It’s not the Victor. The Victor wouldn’t be hiding.

Even so, he doesn’t walk around the sofa. He squats down on the seat cushions and carefully pokes his head above the back, haunches clenched to leap away if- if-

He can’t even think it. It’s beyond thought, an instinctive tremble in every nerve. The tension that had kept him alive, for so long.

It fades quickly though, when he sees Hermann.

He’s huddled up against the back of the sofa, spines poking little holes in the hessian sacking, the weight of him pressing a hollow between the wooden stats. His legs are pulled up to his chest, four arms crossed into a wall and head tucked down. He trembles again, squeezes his arms, his legs tighter, coiling up to make a tiny ball even tinier.

“Hermann.” Newt hesitates, doesn’t know what to say. He lopes down, falls heavily on all fours beside Hermann and slides his legs out to sit beside him. The tendrils on his back flare and instinctively reach for Hermann, but his flinches away, and Newt forces them flat.

“I’m sorry.” He tries. It seems a good bet.

“What in the world for?” Hermann’s voice is low, grinding and wretched.

“I should have told you.” Newt drops on his belly, puts his head on his forepaws. The heavy tendrils of his tail twine and flick. “If you knew, you wouldn’t have- freaked out.” It’s the best way he can put it.

“Freaked out.” Hermann repeats. His arms drop away and he looks up, his face is slack, jaws open in small, helpless pants. He’s so miserable and he’s the most beautiful thing Newt has seen and wow he feels bad about that but oh fuck it’s him it’s Hermann.

Hermann must have seen the relief on his face, he twists away. His hands come up, trembling in shame.

Newt slides closer, gently bats his hands away. “Hey, hey.”

“Don’t-” Hermann’s voice is frail.

“It’s okay-”

“I could have-” he chokes.

“You didn’t.” Newt takes a breath because it’s true. The Victor could have killed him. He would have been as easy a target as the cloned meat- and probably tastier. But it hadn’t. “Not a scratch, look-” He spins around on his rump.

Hermann looks at him, takes a deep breath, and lets it out with a heavy shudder. He rubs his face, his arms, the back of his neck. The spines stand up, Hermann wraps his arms around himself and this time his breath comes out raw, ragged- a cry.

“Hey- hey-” Newt forgets the Victor, the trembling terror-instinct of the last night, and pulls Hermann in. He feels frail in his arms, the terrible strength of his other self melted away and gone. Thin bone and spun muscle and Newt wonders how he could have even been scared of him, even for a moment.

Hermann doesn’t move for long moments, his sobs breaking great and fearful as though each one was rent from his body, his hands keep moving, mapping out around his body, reassuring himself that he is his, he belongs to himself and there is no one else in there.

“Shh.” Newt rocks him. He thinks, for a moment, of the great bodies of their larger cousins, how Newt could huddle against them and let the horrors of the Anteverse whirl around them like a storm against great rocks. He tries to be that, in the Hive if not in body, great and solid and unbeakable and warm and holding life and comfort in every crevice of his body.

Hermann must have felt it, and lets out a weak chuckle. He looks up, and this time, the worst of the pain has passed. “If it counts for anything, I don’t think I- it- would have hurt you. The hunger- nothing else mattered, but I- it was still there, under my skin, I wouldn’t have-” he touches Newt’s shoulder, very lightly. The tips of his claws- those deep blue, razor sharp claws- whisper so softly against his skin.

Newt looks into his eyes, and- he knows. he can feel him, Hermann and, deeper still, the Victor. There, in the Hive, curled up alone and afraid and- in it’s own way- ashamed.

“I know,” he says softly. “It’s okay.”

“I’m sorry,” Hermann whispers. “I ruined this. You worked on this for months and- and we should be so happy and- I ruined it.”

Newt shrugs, and hugs him again. “I’ll make more. We’re fine, Hermann.”

Have you ever seen orphan black? A newmann AU with one of them finding out he's a clone and the othe

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(Never seen Orphan Black, this is more of a Never Let Me Go ‘verse)

Newt gets the latest one in the mail. “Caucasian male, tall, 120lb, dark hair, dark eyes, one harvest. St Andrew’s church at 8pm, discretion required.”

 Discretion required. Newt swallows. That means he’s of someone important. Newt pulls a spare set of clothes from the wardrobe. Hat, scarf, big coat. Thankfully it’s midwinter or the clothes would look weird. 

After a moment, he throws a box of makeup into the pile. Just in case they need to do something drastic. He’s never had a ‘discretion required’ before.

Newt leaves his bungalow by the back door, he shuffles painfully through the dead leaves, wincing with every crunched footstep. There’s no moon, the sky is cloudy and, soon after Newt turns off the main road and into the little side-street that leads to the ruined church, it starts to rain.

Newt shrugs up his collar, he ducks around the side of the building and to the old gate that never locks. He pushes it open a few inches, and the hinges squeak. Newt freezes, and wriggles through.

The graveyard is pitch-dark, Newt blinks and blinks and squints. The rain falls in soft rustles on the leaves, gleams on the stone graves and the church steps.

As he’s watching, something moves in the shadow of the stairs. Newt perks up, but doesn’t move. His throat seizes because- what if it’s a set up? Discretion required. A famous one. Newt’s never done anything so dangerous.

He takes a breath, he wishes he’d thought of better code words, three years ago when he’d thought this was just a big adventure. “The red haddock flies at midnight.” He calls softly, feeling like a total idiot. If this is a set up, he really doesn’t want those to be his last word.

“But tomorrow will be froggy.” The voice comes back, stiff and disgusted but Newt relaxes. It’s him. “Did you choose the code yourself?”

“Don’t laugh.” Newt shuffles over. The man in half buried under the mountain of coats and he stinks. It’s a good disguise. Homeless man reeking of shit gets avoided by everyone. “Want a change of clothes.”

The man looks up, the distant streetlights flare in his eyes. “Probabaly should not.” He sighs, “Keep them until we’re off the streets. I don’t suppose you have access to a shower?” He gets up, and hobbles over. One leg drags. Newt’s throat closes, one harvest.

“Sure, and hot water.” He says instead. 

He holds his breath, and offers the man his arm. The man takes it with a sigh of relief. “Apologies for the smell, I- I was- I needed to-”

“Don’t worry about it.” Newt tries to breath through his mouth. “My place isn’t far, I’ve got a spare room while we get you your papers.”

For a moment, they shuffle on in silence. Newt squeezes through the gate first, the man follows. “I’ll need more than just that.” The man sighs.

Newt doesn’t say anything, but then they pass under a streetlight and Newt can see his face.

It’s not the same, of course. He’s Newt’s age at most, under the filth and dirt, he’s even got a few leaves in his hair. But it’s not enough to hide the cheekbones, the chin, the deep dark eyes. “Gottlieb?” Newt breathes.

The man nods. “My name’s Hermann.” It’s half snarled. 

“Okay.” Newt says softly. “Mine’s Newt.”

Hermann nods. “Thank you.” He says softly. He looks up at the light, as they pass by it. “I’ll need surgery.”

“I’m a doctor, I know people.” Newt squeezes his arm. “Our people. And you can crash with me until you’re healed up and feeling okay.”

Hermann takes a deep breath. “Thank you.” He says again. His body trembles, he misses a step and his leg buckles. Newt steadies him, holds him up, winces at the thought of the amount of cleaning his coat’s going to need. The man leans against him for a moment, closes his eyes. “Thank you.”

The words come up as though ripped out of some deep part of him, as thought this was some kind of- harvest. A harvest of desperate words.

“It’s okay.” Newt’s mouth is dry, a little numb. “Seriously.” The words seem pathetic in comparison.

For a moment, he can only hold the other man. Tries to ignore the stench. “Come on,” he tries to sound cheerful, “Let’s get you home and cleaned up.”

Would love to see more of any of the Newmann dragon AUs. Alternately, anything with Newt and Hermann

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They fan out across the sky, close enough that their wings almost touch. Newt is a little higher, flying small circles around them and keeping his eyes on the ground. 

Stacker is riding Herc, lying flat down on his neck in full harness. He’s got a spyglass to one eyes, following the roads lining the swollen Totten river.

Hermann is leading them, his shoulder muscles are tight from this long flight, but he hasn’t said a word. Newt hesitates, wondering if he should suggest a break. By the Living and the Unborn, Hermann is beautiful. The armor hides the worst of the scars, and the way he flies- a long, rippling motion like sunlight on water, like a ray in the deep sea.

He looks up, meets Newt’s eyes, and gives a tired smile. Newt smiles back and-

“South-southwest!” Stacker shouts, “Five tails wide, south riverbank!”

Newt sees them. A huddle of Mountlings, two, maybe three Wisichers. They are on what’s left of a bridge, carried away by the floods. they are so far over that their tails are almost hanging into the waters.

Newt is about to dive, but Stacker holds up a hand. “Hold.” He’s scanning the area around with the spyglass. “They aren’t flying over,” He growls, “Why aren’t they-”

As if in answer, one of the Wisicher does exactly that. She spins around and launches herself off the bridge. Her wings flare in a dark, gleaming rainbow of colours, ripple and dance with every desperate beat-

The bolt hits her in mid flight.

A cry splits the air, and Newt only realises after a moment that it came from him. The bolt hits the dragon just under her wing joint, and seems to burst, a mesh of netting wrapping around and snaring the wing. She shrieks, and drops like a stone.

“Alexis- get her!” Stacker shouts, and Herc echoes it. The white furred Polora dives down to the river. “Everyone else-”

He breaks off, because Hermann had swept down into a dive.

“No!” Newt shouts, and drops after him. He can see the soldiers now, the sun glinting off the steel arms of their bolt thrower. He’d only ever heard of these things- had barely believed they existed-

Hermann doesn’t hesitate, he swings over the terrified dragons, and a gout of white flame bursts from his jaws.

The wet tree bursts into clouds of billowing grey smoke, blinding and choking. Newt lands with a bone-jarring bump, the mud sucking and splattering his armor. “Go!” He shouts to the frozen crowd- “Fly, quickly!”

“There are-” One of the Mountlings looks at him, her eyes rolling in panic. “We saw three, mounted- they’re here-”

“Go!” Herc lands hard beside him. Sasha is with Hermann, tearing out the hunting nest. Pieces of metal clatter, smoking, out of the hollow. One of the soldiers tries to climb out and Hermann spins, so fast Newt barely sees him move, and his tail catches the man on the back. He screams, spinning through the air to be sucked down into the dirty brown river. He doesn’t come up.

Horns blare. Hermann rears up, wings flaring, his eyes are wide, white and rolling. Flame is raging around his jaws red on the smoking black blood there. He shrieks, and spins around, stumbling down to the road.

“Prince, stop him!” Stacker shouts. Newt pounces and lands on his back. Hermann howls and his claws lash out- then stop.

Newt looks into his eyes. The fear, the terror. Was that the last thing he heard, before his family was murdered? Those same horns? “It’s okay.”

Another blare, shrill and brassy. Hermann shudders.

“We do this together.” Herc growls. He prowls forward, nudges Newt and Hermann gently behind him. “Sasha?”

“Thirty horse, some of those bolters.” She lands almost on top of Newt, her thick fur damp and spotted red with blood.

Stacker looks at the huddled mass of starving, exhausted dragons. “Go,” He says, more gently. “We’ll take them.”

This seems to work. Maybe it’s finally sank in that the rescue has arrived. They flail over the river in wild, desperate wingbeats, crashing into the far back and crawling away into the thick brush.

Alexis soars over them in return, a fine rain of filthy water dropping down. He’s more grey than white, shaking himself like a wet dog and spraying Herc, who hops and flares his wings in disgust. “She’s on the North bank, safe.”

Stacker nods, “We have a patrol coming.” He looks around, carefully. “Prince Newt, on the right. Charge their flank on my order. Alexis and Sasha- I’m sorry, but there’s a good muddy bank down there, hunker down and wait for them to come abreast. Herc and I will hit them face on and- Prince Hermann?”

Hermann trembles, his wings rise, tail lash.

“Stay at our side.” Herc says softly, “We need your fire.”