“Are you all right?” a child’s voice demands, and for one mad moment Starrk think Lilynette even though he knows it isn’t. A boy instead, by the sound, but not too young. He squints desperately, trying to make the face above him resolve into recognizable lines.

The sickening lurch doesn’t fade, but he catches a glimpse of wildly messy black hair and thick-rimmed glasses, a face that shouldn’t be familiar but is. Starrk raises a hand, floundering, but fingertips bared by torn cloth meet warm skin, and Starrk takes a rasping breath and forces out, “James?”

https://archiveofourown.org/works/10685700/chapters/23662488

23 tracks