junochako

[junochako]

“die with a smile” was actually written for imp! freelancer and vindemiator

[junochako]

Gavin ^u^

[junochako]

Fireworks and Christmas lights 💙🩷

Loved drawing @ryoko-san 's designs for gav and fl sm and seeing everyone's work for this event!! happy holidays☺️🫶

[junochako]

So perfect

how it is, how it was, how it has to be

Ao3 | 2.8k Words | Darlin's POV

This was not your fault. That was the truth you kept repeating to yourself, the grounding thought that swirled in your addled brain to keep you from coming out of your skin entirely. No matter how D.U.M.P. spun this, no matter what the vamps said when they were questioned, you knew that it wasn’t your fault.

__

Darlin' and Angel have a run in with some vampires. They get arrested. David comes running to help.

TW: Blood and injury, violence, death (not a main character, a random vampire), DUMP sucks and makes this way harder than it should be, poor practices by law enforcement, trauma responses.

This was not your fault. That was the truth you kept repeating to yourself, the grounding thought that swirled in your addled brain to keep you from coming out of your skin entirely. No matter how D.U.M.P. spun this, no matter what the vamps said when they were questioned, you knew that it wasn’t your fault. 

You also happened to have the Alpha-Mate of the Shaw Pack to back you up, which lent you a bit of credibility. You wouldn’t blame any official who had glanced at your cinder block of a file for not believing a word that came out of your mouth. You’d all but made a career out of lying to cops and enforcers, and you weren’t exactly inclined to stop that now, even as Sam attempted to tame you. 

You’d been home for three months. David had known for two and a half. Slowly but surely, the pack had folded you back into itself. You felt like you were circling yourself like a buzzard, on the downdraft, landing on the carcass of the person you used to be. You couldn’t escape the kid you’d been when you were a Shaw. You couldn’t help but see that kid in the mirror every day, in the ugly things you’d done with Quinn, to Quinn. 

People didn’t change, not really. And people weren’t good. 

That was why David’s mate made you so fucking nervous. Everything about them set your nerves on edge. You met them for the first time at the pack meeting where David all but forced you to spill your guts. So frayed, so exposed, their introduction was about as comforting of a thing as you could imagine at the time. 

“Hey.” They’d said, smiling at you like you were an old friend they were relieved to see again. “Come on. Let’s get  burgers or something. I’m starving.” 

That was how it had been with them ever since, an instant familiarity, friendship at first sight. People weren’t good, but they were. You didn’t trust people like that. You didn’t trust things that felt that good that fast. 

They were so comfortable with you so fast that it took a solid two weeks before you’d learned their name. David referred to them almost exclusively as his mate, the title heavy and purposeful. They were small. They looked weak. To essentially any empowered person looking in at the pack, they were an easy target. So he named their title, spoke their status as often as he drew breath, hovered his big hands over them everywhere they went. 

So it didn’t surprise you when the others called them stupid nicknames like ‘Little Alpha,’ and ‘Little Shaw’ whenever strangers were around. Everybody in the pack telegraphed their position, let outsiders know exactly who they would have to answer to if the Alpha-Mate was touched. You’d taken to, in the few months you’d known them, calling them simply ‘Little.’ 

Little had a few tricks up their sleeve. They’d caught you off guard that night when, after dragging you out to a club for a few drinks and a dance, they’d decked a vampire directly in the jaw with a mean right hook. You heard their knuckles crack and break when they did it, but even if it didn’t hurt the asshole, it certainly stunned him. 

You’d been waiting for the other shoe to drop for weeks. Quinn had friends. Friends who owed him favors. Friends who were willing to interrupt your night in dingy back alleys, away from unempowered eyes. Friends who were willing to put their hands on David Shaw’s Mate to get you to comply. 

It wasn’t your fault. They had touched your Alpha-Mate, and they had to pay the price. You circled yourself like a buzzard, and the corpse of the reckless, destructive kid you had been now rotted under your talons. You’d never had the sense or the charisma to talk your way out of a situation like that. For you, the only way out was through. 

It was just your luck that an off-duty Enforcer was walking home and passed your clandestine ally just in time to see you shift. It wasn’t a fair fight, three to one, but you would have gotten a lot further if he hadn’t called down the alley for everybody to freeze. 

When the law showed up, it tended to make people desperate. You saw the shift in one of the vamps’ faces from rehearsed cruelty to panic. He was closer to Little than to you, and his fangs cut into the paper-thin skin of their throat like a knife into butter. 

Dammit. You had to kill that guy. And in front of an Enforcer too. 

By the time he broke the fight up, you’d taken a bit more than your share of hits. One vamp was ashed and two were nearing it quickly. Little was on the ground after that first bite, twisting in pain and clutching the gnarly bite on the side of their neck. If they didn’t see a healer soon, they’d scar. They’d die. 

You shifted back, clothes torn and bloodied as soon as they settled over your body. You were extending your hands to try and help (how the fuck you didn’t know, you really wished Sam were there), when a pair of dampening cuffs clicked into place over your wrists. 

You’d done what you could, through spitting venom and curses at anybody who touched you or Little, to insist that somebody heal them. You were subsequently assured by every person who saw you through transport, processing, and eventually into the dingy, tiny holding cell you found yourself in now, that that was somebody else’s responsibility. 

That would have been fine if they had taken your cuffs off. You could at least try to heal them yourself. But they hadn’t. 

You could have started raising even more hell if they hadn’t shuffled the two surviving vampires into the same holding cell as you, as if attempting to manifest a brawl. Instead, you had to focus what little energy you had left on guarding Little. 

You crouched over them as you twisted your arms, pinned behind your back, and tried to gauge your range of movement. It wasn’t much, and the shoulder that you’d dislocated in high school sang with dull, familiar pain. 

You needed your arms in front of you. The vamps were getting their bearings. Their wounds were healing. Their eyes shone like predator’s in the low light, training on you. On them. 

When you popped your shoulder out of its socket, it gave you just enough room to slip your bound wrists under your feet. You huffed as the pain washed over you. You tugged Little up and wrapped your arms around them awkwardly so that you could apply pressure to their throat with one hand and dragged them back until you were pressed into the far corner of the cell. From there, you could see every inch of the space, could track any attack before it came. 

They would call David. They would have to, it was in your record that you were a member of the Shaw pack, not to mention the fact that they would know by now they had the Pack’s Alpha-Mate in custody, unconscious though they be. David wouldn’t let you sit for long. 

Minutes ticked by like molasses. You watched, crouched in the corner and bleeding steadily into the concrete, as the shift changed. Your knees ached from your unchanging position. Your shoulder pulsed with pain. 

It wasn’t David who came. It was Milo’s mate. You had known the Investigator for a while, had brushed shoulders with them a handful of times before you broke from the pack. You’d stayed away from them since coming back to town. The last thing you needed as a Department official sticking their nose into your business. They were good people, sure, Milo wouldn’t have picked them otherwise, but that didn’t mean they weren’t mandated to report the things you had in store for Quinn and his fucked up friends. 

Their sharp eyes scanned the holding cell for just a moment before they landed on you and went wide. You saw them gasp a curse before turning to the attendant and sharing some sharp, direct words. They marched over to the bars, but the attendant didn’t follow. Their brow screwed up in frustration. 

“Have you been seen by a healer?” They asked sharply, looking you over. Clearly you had not. They pursed their lips. A high, angry flush had overtaken their features. They turned back to the door and poked their head out of it, speaking quickly with whoever was waiting there for them. “Hey, that’s fine!” You heard them snap, their voice raising. “But when the Alpha gets here, it’s your ass!” They cast their gaze back over their shoulder, face twisting up in something you couldn’t identify.

They slipped back through the door, still shouting, and left you alone with the attendant and the vamps. 

It had been a few hours since you’d been tossed in the cell. Your energy and stamina had waned, but it had given the two vamps in the corner a chance to heal. After the Investigator’s visit, they started getting bolder. 

You couldn’t shift, but you could growl. You could jerk at them, bare teeth. You could ward off any attempt to get close with a sharp, predatory warning. They didn’t dare get too close. The memory of their friend’s ash must have clung to the back of their throats. You reminded them how easy it had been for you, voice tinged with animal hunger, to tear their friend to pieces. 

It took another half hour for the door to open again, and when it did, the air in the room changed. You were tired. You had been bleeding steadily from a smattering of wounds across your side and neck. Your wolf was crushed down in your chest by the cuffs, core straining to break free but unable. But as soon as the door opened, energy surged through you. The prey animal inside of you knew a predator when it came close, and it flooded your body with adrenaline in preparation for its attack. 

David Shaw stepped one foot into the room, his dark eyes sweeping over you, over his mate, over the vampires in the corner. You met his gaze, your vision hazy. You opened your mouth to say something, to call out his name, to tell him that this was not your fault. He held up a hand, a shaking finger and stopped you. He stepped back out of the door. Rage seethed off of him in waves. Your core responded, coiling back, away, your body bending and turning away in submission. You couldn’t help it, just like you couldn’t help baring your teeth when you were angry, or shifting when you were frightened. You hated how that made you look to the vampires in the cell with you, who snickered and eyed you, daring to inch closer as you cowered. You curled over David’s mate protectively, their little form shivering against you as you got ready to defend your little corner. 

There was shouting from outside of the door. Something crashed into the wall. You flinched violently, the wounds in your neck and side tearing open, weeping fresh blood. You hissed and flashed teeth, watched as the eyes of both vampires in the cell went with and locked on you. 

“Come a little closer, puppy,” one of them dared, moving closer. His face was twisted with hunger. You had made them bleed. They had had to heal. They would be hungry. “I just wanna bite.” 

A hand connected with your shoulder at the same moment the door slammed open. David’s form cut through the bright, fluorescent light from outside the holding room, casting a heaving shadow across the floor. Everybody froze. 

The Enforcer that had arrested you stepped out from behind him, his shirt wrinkled and a bruise beginning to blossom on his cheek. He motioned and the attendant jumped to obey. The door was opened. 

David entered the cell and every person in it crowded themselves against the wall, you included. You tightened your arms around Little, curled them into your chest, your eyes cast down and away from David’s face. All you could do, all your mind could hold on to was that you had to keep them safe. 

David’s hands were big and warm and gentle when they found you. One slipped to the back of your neck, holding your head where it was, blocking the wounds on your neck from view of the vampires in the cell. The other found his Mate, pushed their hair back from their face, gently stroked their cheek as he roused them. 

“Come on,” he said softly. It was still an order and your body still jolted to obey. He slowly extracted them from your arms, cardled them against his chest as he rose. You followed, even as your knees ached and threatened to buckle. You followed as he stepped out of the cell, his head high, his eyes cutting into the vampires in the corner. So big and brave when they had you injured and defenseless, now cowering back with their tails tucked. 

You managed to hold yourself up until the door was closed behind you. David stopped in the processing room, where the Investigator was waiting. He bent his knees, turned Little in his arms until they could reach. You watched as they pumped healing magic into them. They stirred, face pinched in pain, before settling back into David’s chest. They looked so serene in his arms, when even unconscious they had been tense in yours. 

The Investigator nodded as they finished with Little, turning to you. They unlocked your cuffs, and caught your shoulder as you threatened to double over. Your magic surged back through you as your core woke up, and your bones and muscles moved under your skin, threatening to shift. 

David’s presence pressed into your side. His voice cut through the buzz in your ears, quiet, concise orders. Do not shift. You’re safe. You don’t have to fight. Focus on me. 

Your core relaxed at his order, at his touch, as his presence grounding you in the present. Cool, thin hands snaked over the wound on your throat. You jerked back, slammed your dislocated shoulder into the wall on accident. 

“No!” You barked, your gut twisting. The Investigator stepped back, hands raised, smeared with blood. “No. I’ll… I’ll wait for Sam.” David said your name, low and in warning. If he ordered that you let them heal you, you wouldn’t have a choice. You flashed your eyes up to his. A high, pleading whine escaped from your throat. You felt pathetic. 

David didn’t say anything else. The Investigator hovered by your side as David started leading you to the parking lot.

David had to help you climb into his truck, his hands firm on your waist as you slid into the back seat. You huffed, embarrassed, and scooted across the leather seat as David lifted Little in after you. He tucked them into your side, his gaze flicking to yours for just a moment before he closed the door. He shared a few quick words with the Investigator, too muffled by the car door to make out. You watched as he dipped, bent his back and brought his hand up to cup the nape of their neck, pressing their foreheads together for a moment before they turned back to the building and he hopped into the driver’s seat. 

“It wasn’t my fault.” You said softly, about halfway through the drive back to the Shaw’s house. David’s dark eyes flicked up to the rear view mirror. You looked away, unable to meet them. 

“I know.” He said softly. Your heart stuttered in your chest. “I got the report. You didn’t do anything until they touched my Mate.” 

“The one who bit them is dead.” You supplied, like that bit of information was a peace offering. A deep, satisfied growl cut through the cabin of the truck. The vibrations of it shook loose the tension in your body. You relaxed, just a bit, rested your head against Little’s where it rested on your shoulder. “I made sure of it.” 

“Thank you.” He said it so softly you almost missed it as your consciousness drifted. You would be at David’s soon, and he would call Sam and take care of the bite wounds and your shoulder. Little was safe, tucked against your side. David was there. There wasn’t anything else for you to worry about. Your body caught up with you. You felt like shit. You hadn't felt like this since Sam had saved your life. 

You circled and circled, always the same, no matter how much time had passed. 

“Go to sleep, Troublemaker.” David’s voice cut through your spiral. “I’ve got you.” 

You couldn’t help but obey.

[junochako]

Darlin vs Freelancer is evil and I want you to know

The Listener Bracket: Redacted Audio Week Two

Week One Polls

↓ Week Two Polls ↓

Angel v. Baaabe

Bright Eyes v. Cutie

Darlin’ v. Freelancer

Honey v. Lovely

Smartass v. Starlight

Sweetheart v. Treasure

[junochako]

user change …………… ermm no longer tgckceo

[junochako]

I actually really miss Porter and Treasure

[junochako]

live reaction of me reading that one chapter in the firefighter au

[junochako]

Lone Wolf - Sam & David fic

lone wolf (n.) /ˌlōn ˈwo͝olf/ - a very independent or solitary person - a term used amongst werewolves to refer to a werewolf without a pack

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was a sight to behold—Tank in the midst of their pack. Not on the outskirts. Not hiding in some corner. But right in the middle, wearing a very ugly Christmas sweater. They were holding one pack kid on their hip while another was climbing up their back, trying to touch Tank’s purple liberty spikes.

Sam watched in amusement from across the room as Asher said some stupid innuendo and Tank gave him a playful punch, rolling their eyes with a smirk on their face. He took a sip of eggnog, just as a low voice emerged from behind him:

“They smile more, you know. Since meeting you.”

Sam choked on his drink. David had an uncanny ability to catch people off guard, no matter the situation. Sam glanced back, then shifted to allow room in the kitchen doorway for David. He obliged and stood next to Sam, wiping his hands on his apron as he watched Tank.

David continued, “When I first heard that you two were spending time together, I’ll admit, it had me concerned. I was worried I’d lose them again before ever getting them back. That’s not a discredit to your reputation; I’d only ever heard people speak highly of you. But after Quinn…”

He trailed off.

Sam nodded, his voice subdued, “Right.”

David watched Angel finish a joke and Tank laugh in response. The kid in Tank’s arms squirmed to the ground; the other was now firmly planted on their shoulders, lightly poking their spiked hair in glee. David took a moment, then crossed his arms and cleared his throat.

“They’ve been spending more time with the pack. With Asher and Milo and their mates...my mate...me. I think I have you to thank."

“That’s been their choice. I haven’t done anythin’,” Sam insisted.

“On the contrary. I think you’ve done more than you even know.” David locked eyes with him. “Before meeting you, Tank was practically a 'lone wolf'. They had been for some time. They stopped going to meetings. They stopped talking. They weren’t themself. They weren’t present. Even if they were there physically…it was like being in a room with a ghost. But now…I’m starting to see…someone. Not necessarily who they used to be. I don’t think we’ll ever get back who they were before Quinn...before my dad…”

Sam’s brow furrowed. He didn’t know Tank had had any significant connection to Gabe, other than him being their previous alpha. They never talked about him.

David sniffed and blinked hard. “They’re becoming someone I recognize now. Someone who is letting us see who they’re becoming. Instead of hiding from us. You’ve given me back my pack mate…my family. I’m grateful for that.”

The corner of Sam’s mouth quirked up ever so slightly. It was bittersweet news, one that made his chest tighten.

“That’s very kind of you to say, David. Though I do think you’re still givin' me too much credit. You’ve had just as much a hand in all that.”

David’s face twisted in resistance. “I’ve done nothing good for them. I only seem to make things worse.”

Sam scoffed and leaned back slightly, staring at David. A wry smile crept onto his face as he saw David in a state of displeased confusion.

David huffed, “What?”

“Nothin',” Sam drawled, “Only you sounded like Tank, just now. Blamin' yourself. Unable to see the good you’re doin'.”

David’s eyes narrowed.

“May I speak freely on…wolf matters, for a moment?”

David cocked his head slightly, then gave a tense nod.

“You’re not the first alpha I’ve met. And over the years, I’ve found many alphas are startin' to care too much about maintainin' reputation and hierarchy. Most other alphas these days would’ve kicked Tank out of the pack a long time ago.”

Anger flashed in David’s eyes. Sam jumped to continue, “Not that they should. But most would. Not you, though. You’ve never abandoned them. Even when they’ve tried to push you away. Even when they’ve hid. You’ve made it clear to them that their place is with y’all. In this pack. And, if I may speak for them, they know that. They may not always show it. They may not always feel it. But they know where they belong.”

David was stunned for a moment. He cleared his throat and rubbed the heel of his palm into his eye. Another round of laughter emerged from the group across the room.

"That's uh...I um...may I speak on vampire matters for a moment…" David stammered.

Sam nodded.

“Vampires and werewolves are similar in a few ways, one of them being neither do well in seclusion. Wolves have packs, vampires have clans...and I’ve heard you’re thinking of leaving the Solaires?”

“…that’s right.”

“I’m not here to sway you one way or the other. And I know you’re already Tank’s mate and you’ve already been to meetings and Solstices, so this might seem...frivolous, but…I’m just being formal. And I’m the alpha, so I’m allowed to be…” David huffed, annoyed at his own inability to get to the point. “I’m offering a formal invitation. To the Shaw pack. You don’t need one to be welcome here. But I just wanted you to know, you have a place with us, too. If you want.”

Now it was Sam's turn to be stunned. He turned his gaze to Tank, who gave him a quick wink before getting tackled by three pack kids. Sam whispered, "You talk to Tank about this?"

"I have. They liked the idea," David replied.

Sam locked eyes with David, grinning. "I'd be honored. Thank you, David."

David returned the smile just as a loud beep demanded his attention.

"Excuse me," David muttered before returning to the kitchen.

Sam took another sip of eggnog as he watched his pack mates wrestle and caught glimpses of Tank in their midst, with a smile on their face.

[junochako]

bring my incubus back from war

HOPING the BA for this month is either Vincent, Guy or Gavin

Mostly on team Vincent

[junochako]

THIS IS SO INSANE

Redacted Audio: THE DATING SIM!

I dunno if I’ll ever get around to finishing this so I figured I may as well post what I have of it! All the characters and voices are redacted audio, All the backgrounds are by Tianara on itch.io and the music is the Wii party/ Wii play soundtrack, the rest of the art is by yours truly.

[junochako]

Christmas Lights, Gifts, and a Wolf and their Mate

Title: Christmas Lights, Gifts, and a Wolf and their Mate Rating: General Pairing: Sam Collins/Darlin Characters: Sam, Darlin, Lovely, Vincent, Sweetheart, Milo, Asher, Babe, David, Angel Tags: Christmas, Fluff, SO MUCH FLUFF, Darlin Doing Christmas for Sam, All Listeners use They/Them, Lots of Darlin and Lovely Friendship, self-indulgent fic Summary: “Darlin’, why do ya got an alarm set?” Darlin’ heard, waking with a start. They sat up, rubbing their eyes as they swatted at Sam’s hand and got him to turn the alarm off.

“Christmas,” they mumbled, still half asleep, rubbing their eyes again.

“Huh?”

“Christmas.” Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/61666081

Merry Christmas @planetary-redactness ^^

[junochako]

Just sitting here thinking about Darlin' and Sam spending Christmas together super early in the morning before the sun About Lovely and Vincent joining them because they're no longer apart of the Solaire House and don't want to spend it alone

About Darlin' trying (and failing) to sneak around Sam's house to cover the windows with blackout curtains that David got them so they can spend the whole day with them About the pack and their mates coming over halfway through the day and finding the vamps sitting and talking around a half dead fire place while Darlin' is asleep in Sam's lap and he's running his hand through their hair About Darlin' waking up to Asher and Milo and Vincent and Angel yelling at each other while they play Smash or Mario Kart or whatever and David and Babe and Sam are in the kitchen making dinner, because they'd been asleep all day About Sweetheart and Lovely dragging Darlin' into Sam's study with them to help them get gifts wrapped and let them wake up without decking Asher in their half asleep stupor About everyone crowding in Sam's living room, at some point a tree being put up and hastily decorated and Angel turning off ALL the lights so that the only light in the room is Christmas lights About Darlin' sitting against Sam's side and watching everyone open gifts and laugh and drink boozy eggnog that Sweetheart made at some point and finding themself smile when they finally realize that they've found a family to spend holidays with and being able to be dumb and not have to be on the offensive About everyone stumbling out the door late that night, leaving Darlin' sitting in the living and Sam tidying up dishes and left over pieces of wrapping paper About Darlin' moving to lay their head under the tree that's still set up, staring up at the lights, and Sam joining them soon after About Darlin' worming their way into his side before mumbling a 'thank you' that never gets explained, and Sam just humming and holding them close before slipping a necklace on them with a black ring with his and their initials on it, and Darlin' feels a tear fall as they hold each other tighter, the Christmas lights reflecting off the ring and keeping them company as they fall asleep against each other

[junochako]

OH MY GOD YESSSS

Merry Christmas to all who celebrate!

As a little holiday gift to my friends who like my firefighter au, I come baring information about the next chapter:

Sam and Darlin WILL KISS in the next chapter

[junochako]

When you meant their pinky you REALLY meant their pinky omg

Teehee here’s my Darlin’ design.

SO this took me literal months. The tattoos kept stumping me, so I eventually just referenced real ones. To that point, none of these designs are mine, so nobody come for me.

My Darlin’ is hard they/them. They have more of a relaxed relationship with their gender than anything, and seem to have a “ehh, who really cares?” attitude about it. Sam is more defensive of their pronouns than they are, and will correct people at the drop of a ‘she’ or ‘ma’am.’

They wear shitty, beaten up clothes from ten years ago, stuff they’ve bled all over, stuff they’ve been stabbed in. Purple is their favorite color. They don’t even know why, but when they have the opportunity to wear it, they will. Socks, laces, shirts, whatever.

They only use black, grey, and red in their tattoos. Their first tattoos were shitty scratchers and stick-n-pokes from one of Quinn’s sadistic friends all over their face. Most of their current face tattoos are cover ups for those. The only one that remains from that period is the “PRECIOUS” script above their eyebrow. They don’t know why, but they just can’t get it covered or removed.

They’re missing the tip of their right pinky. They didn’t actually lose it in a fight or anything dramatic like that. They were fixing steaks for dinner when they were a teenager and their knife slipped. They didn’t tell anybody and by the time Gabe saw it the next day, it was too late to go to the hospital and get it reattached.

So yeah there’s my guy. Pls somebody validate me this took me forever.

[junochako]

MERRY FUCKING CHRISTMAS OMG

the world (it burns through me)

Chapter 12: Darlin'

Ao3 | 3.1k | Darlin's POV

The 10-19 fights a fire on Christmas Eve. Darlin' works hoses. Asher takes command. Milo gets pinned. Somebody slips out the back door.

TW: fire, burning building, descriptions of injury, life threatening peril, discussions of Christmas.

When people found out you were a firefighter, the first question out of their mouths was always about the heat. It bugged the shit out of you, that curious glint in their eyes when they cornered you in your turnouts or a well loved Dahlia Fire Department tee-shirt. Gosh, it must get hot, or you must sweat in all of that! You never were good at placating probing questions like Asher was, or remembering statistics on average house fire temperatures like David. 

What you didn’t say, what you couldn’t, what you didn’t dare to vocalize to anybody who hadn’t been inside of one, was that it wasn’t the heat that got to you in the middle of a fire. It was the sound. Sure, it was hot as hell when you were weighed down by sixty pounds of gear and fumbling around your thick gloves to snatch human lives away from the flames. But what shocked you that first time in training, while clearing a building destined for demolition of awkward, stuffed dummies, was the noise. The flames hissed like a scared cat, whipping and whooshing as they danced across the field. Wood and steel creaked and groaned and popped as the heat expanded it. And the screams… nothing hurt like a burn, and nobody screamed like a burn victim. You had been fortunate enough not to ever hear, let alone see, anybody burn to death, but you had seen plenty get close. That was the noise that you could never shake. 

You were surprised by the fucking noise of it that first time in training, during your first C.P.A.T.. 

You were surprised during your second. 

You were surprised as you stood outside of Bean Me Up on Christmas fucking Eve, hose in hand, batting down flames as they emerged from the building’s low windows, trying to beat back the fire as it gained more ground. 

It had been three weeks and change since you and the Shaws had bugged out, and you’d spent nearly every moment of that time preparing for your C.P.A.T.. It was exhausting, looking only at the walls of the 10-19, seeing only the day and night crews as they filtered in and out, waking in the dead of night to the blaring of the alarm. 

That was the only other noise you couldn’t get out of your head, the skull-drilling bell that rang in a code. That noise had buzzed in your dreams and jerked you awake since you were a teenager. You were always halfway through tugging on imaginary turnouts when you realized it wasn’t real. In the past, when your mind drifted, you would hear it out of the house entirely, in the car, in the grocery store, walking through the forests in Washington. Wherever and whenever your brain got just a bit too quiet. 

That built in instinct served you well, though, over the last few days. You didn’t need to be retrained. You didn’t need to be shown the ropes. Everything was already in you, built into your head and muscles and bones so fiercely that no amount of time could train them out. As soon as David certified your C.P.A.T. results and you were issued gear, it was as though you never left. 

You spent days with a sense of deja vu. You kept doing the same things over and over again. It made you sick to stay in one place for too long, so instead you just ran in circles. 

Running hoses was a demanding job, both physically and mentally. The hoses themselves were thick and heavy, and hauling them out in a timely manner stretched your strength to its extreme. Once they were hooked up to a hydrant and running, the pressure made them about ten times as unruly. It took two men to run them (one up front on nozzle, the other supporting the hose and adding slack), plus the person adjusting the pressure in real time at the hydrant. Besides breaching, running nozzle was your preferred position in a call. It required your full attention, and it meant that you couldn’t get distracted. 

You were sat, flat on your ass on the freezing concrete, batting down flames as they encroached on the building incessantly. 

David and Milo were still inside. The fire was defensive, but it wasn’t an option to stop fighting it anyway until the structure was cleared. Even then, you had to worry about the fire spreading to neighboring buildings. They’d been sprayed down and cleared by Christian’s team already, but with a fire running this hot and eating through the building this fast, there was no telling what it would do. 

You held your breath, listened to the frantic chatter over the radio as Asher ran the scene over your shoulder. He directed you by touch, shoved your shoulders, pointed you, like a blunt weapon, where he wanted you. That was always how you’d worked best. 

“Breach, delta wall is crumbling, clear out!” Asher shouted into his radio, over the noise of the building beginning to come down. You moved where he turned you, fought back the flames that had begun to eat at the entrance again so that David and Milo could get out again. 

“Copy, I.C.,” David’s voice crackled over the radio, straining. “One vic in hand, coming out the alpha entrance.” 

David wasn’t the sort of man who stood outside of a fire and called the shots while his people stepped into the flames. Gabe had been exactly the same way. It was technically against protocol, but the Shaw men had never been precise rule followers. David handed over the title of Incident Commander to someone else and threw himself at fires in what you might consider a reckless fashion if you didn’t know him better by now. It might have been true of the David you’d known two years ago, but not now. The things that he chose to do were dangerous, but he never chose them recklessly. 

You supposed that was the difference between the two of you. 

Half a breath later, Asher abruptly turned you away from the entrance as David emerged, a little figure curled against his chest as he shielded them from the smoke and flames that lapped on all sides. David unfurled as he began to jog to Sam, the ambulance parked a safe distance away. Geordi’s sandy mop made an appearance in the corner of your eye, singed but still alive. You could tell by David’s urgency alone. 

That should be it. It was late enough that it should have just been Geordi in the building. Milo would emerge from the building in just a moment and you would do your best to kill the rest of the flames. Either you would or they would eat whatever fuel was left in the building and die on their own. 

“I.C., I’ve got another vic in here. On his feet, charlie wall!” Milo’s voice came through over the radio. 

“Negative,” Asher barked, “this started on the charlie wall, do not engage. Two in, two out, Milo, G.T.F.O.!” 

You’d never heard Asher be so assertive, so certain, so in charge. David had run a handful of calls as Gabe’s Lieutenant while you’d been on the Force, but Asher had always been on the breech team with you or Milo. He was ever present over the radio, a constant chatter in your ear. It had always kept you grounded, centered on the world around you, kept you from drowning in the fucking roar of the fire. This Asher, the Asher who had emerged from the gangly, somewhat awkward twenty-something you knew, was steady. He was sure. Far from the giggling, insecure people pleaser you used to know. 

The world had kept turning while you were gone. Everybody had kept growing, kept changing, even those people and things that you knew in your fucking bones never would. 

And you kept running in circles. You were sat on your ass, batting down flames at eighteen, at twenty-five, at twenty-seven, and it never fucking ended.

“Copy, I.C.,” Milo’s voice replied over the radio. 

You heard it over the channel. Fires were loud. They telegraphed their every move, told you in as clear of a voice as they could what ceiling they were about to pull down on top of you. Milo’s thumb was still hot on his radio, voice still crackling out the details of his exit when you heard support beams- it had to be a support beam, nothing else would be heavy enough to snap that loudly- pop and fall. Milo shouted, short and desperate, and his radio cut out. 

Your heart leapt to your throat. Asher let the silence lapse for just a moment, just a breath. You could feel his hope beating at your back, waiting for Milo to call an all clear. 

His call never came. You felt something in your bones aching, something in your body itch to move, move, do something, do fucking anything! 

“Greer, call back.” Asher called into his radio, voice sharp and clear. David echoed him a moment later from the ambulance. You realized that you were dragging in your breath erratically, unevenly. Panic coursed through your limbs, making you feel heavy and slow. 

“Fuck-” Milo’s voice crackled back in, strained and desperate. There must have been something wrong with his radio, or maybe he was shaking, because his connection was spotty. “-pinned!” he cried, something scarily close to a scream letting itself be known in staticy, cut off segments. You felt your core jerk, body tense, muscles straining against the urge to go. 

Milo’s voice crackled over the radio again, pained and distant against the roar of the fire. 

He called out his sweetheart’s name. 

You snapped the hose valve shut. You were up and on your feet and moving before it hit the ground. 

“No- wait!” Asher called from over your shoulder. You felt his gloved fingers brush against your back, but you were much faster than he was. Always had been. You attached your oxygen mask to your face as you ran, ignoring David’s loud, clear protests over the radio as you stepped into the flames. 

Fires were loud. Even in your full turnouts, ears covered, you could hear it- feel it reverberate around in your chest. 

Milo was clearing the back room, along the charlie wall where the fire had started. Why the fuck Asher hadn’t pulled him sooner was beyond you. This fire was defensive, even along the alpha wall where David had found Geordi. You were having words with both the Lieutenant and the Captain when you got Milo out of this. 

If. If you got Milo out of this. If you got yourself out of this, come to think of it. Nothing was ever sure in a fire, and once you stepped into one, there was no guarantee that you’d step out. 

You’d made a life out of snatching people out from the jaws of death. You were your own best client. 

The cafe was unrecognizable, despite the frankly ridiculous number of mornings you’d spent in it since you’d gotten back in town. Everything was crumbled, burning, or long since burned. The little tables and chairs were fuel. The counter that had been covered in stickers and custom art was split by a fallen beam, paint bubbling and curling in the heat.  

Milo was pinned by that same support beam, just through the swinging door that led to the back of house. It was bent and warped from the heat, and you heard it groan as you followed it. You spotted him, his limp body laid prone, beam flat against his back. 

You clapped a hand on his shoulder, shaking once hard as you ran a gloved hand down what you could reach of his spine quickly. You didn’t have time to properly check and make sure nothing was broken or out of place. If he came out of this fire paralyzed because you moved him, then you figured he’d still be better off. 

“Located him along the charlie wall,” you barked into your radio, “extracting now.” 

“I’m gonna kill you!” David’s voice cracked back at you. You couldn’t help but grin. 

“Let me survive this fire first, Cap.” 

You slid your hands under Milo’s armpits and tried to tug him out, but Milo made a horrible groaning sound and you abandoned that idea very quickly. The beam was flush with his body, no room to squeeze between them and wedge him out. 

You weren’t strong enough to lift a support beam. You certainly weren’t strong enough to lift it and clear Milo from it at the same time. 

“Greer!” You shouted, patting him hard on the back, shaking him left and right. “Wake the fuck up, you’ve got to move!” 

Milo groaned, barely audible over the fire, and planted a shaking hand on the ground. He glared up at you through his mask, face pinched and confused. You put on your most reassuring smile before you turned back to the beam. Milo was up, at least enough to crawl. You would have to trust that he could do it. He was trusting you to do the rest. 

Something over your head shifted and groaned. You jerked, moving instinctively to cover Milo from the debris. Burning plaster hit the ground a few feet to your left. 

You didn’t have long. You might already be out of time. Your exit route could be blocked, consumed by flames, unpassable. Carrying Milo could make it even harder to get out. 

You could go. You could turn around and leave him there. You could tell David that you couldn’t get him out and that you barely escaped with your own life. 

You kept running in circles. You reached endlessly to snatch people from the jaws of death. You kept ending up with bodies at your feet. You kept running when shit went wrong. 

You wedged your fingers between the beam, digging into Milo’s back with enough force that he would likely bruise. You spread your stance, bent your knees, straightened your back. 

You were not running. There came a time when even you had to plant your fucking feet. 

The beam didn’t move enough for you to feel it. You likely only made about a half inch of space for Milo to work with, and in his dazed, injured state, that wasn’t much. 

It was enough. When your muscles failed, the beam clattered to the ground, left your fingers burning. You didn’t take a second longer to process. Milo was over your shoulder before you could form another thought. You moved, uncaring of what was in your way, back to your point of egress. 

David was waiting for you the moment you cleared the flames. 

__

You had received more than your fair share of lectures in the Captain’s office at the 10-19. Gabe had a particular style to his, a sly glint in his eyes that told you that it was a formality, that he was really on your side, that he appreciated the ways that you chose to break procedure. He was the same sort of reckless that you were, after all. 

David Shaw was not a reckless man. He was tolerant of it. He was a planner, a strategist, and when one of his chess pieces moved without his permission it pissed him off. You could appreciate his need for control, even if it rubbed awkwardly against your own tendencies at times. 

You weren’t going to change, though. There was something broken inside of you that made you throw yourself into actual, literal fires. David wasn’t going to pull the strings of that particular complex out from the jagged edges of you. That wasn’t going to stop him from trying, of course. For as broken and fucked up as you were, David was equally stubborn and hopeful. 

You sat, legs crossed under your boots smearing dirt across David’s fancy armchair, waiting for the Captain to find a moment to read you the riot act. No matter what David said, there was a quiet, still satisfaction sitting in your gut when you delivered Milo to Sammy’s waiting care. You’d reached back to pull him off the edge, and you’d done it. If just one thing had gone wrong, Milo would be dead. But it hadn’t. It hadn’t. 

“You already know what I’m going to say.” David sighed as he entered. You’d expected more of the yelling that you’d received on the scene, but he just sounded tired. He sounded like that more and more often these days. 

“‘You’re fired?’” You offered, eyeing the soft-lit lamp on the left side of David’s desk. If you stared long enough into its bulb, it burned an impression of itself into your eyes. 

“You’re an idiot.” David corrected, his voice quiet but dripping with venom. “You’re reckless. You could have gotten yourself killed.” 

You nodded along to each accusation. You remained silent, plead guilty. 

“You saved his life.” 

You met David’s eyes, the blue-white ghost of the lamplight blotting out details of his face. The gentle frown lines that curved around his mouth. The bags that sat, deep and seemingly constant, under his sharp, dark eyes. 

“I did.” You replied. David held your gaze for a long, tense moment. 

“I’m not writing you up.” David kicked back in his chair, running his hands over his face. “I should, but that’s an immediate dismissal, so… Merry Christmas, I guess.” 

“It’s not-”

“It’s twelve-thirty.” David gestured to his desk clock. You blinked. 

“Huh.” 

“Yeah.” 

“I didn’t get you anything.” 

David stared across the desk at you, his face unreadable. 

“You saved Milo’s life.” He shrugged. 

“Merry fucking Christmas.” 

That one made him laugh, soft and exhausted. 

“What about the other vic?” You asked, leaning forward as David eased back into something resembling relaxation. “The one Milo spotted.” David clicked a few things on his desktop, squinted through the blue light as he pulled the report. 

“No remains found on the premises.” He shrugged. “The back exit was open, though, so somebody could have gotten out. We’ll have to ask Milo when he wakes up.”

“That’s fucking weird, though.” You said. “Milo said he was on his feet. The fire broke out on that wall, it was hot as fuck back there. I don’t why he wouldn’t have left sooner.” 

“Milo’s getting released from the hospital in a few hours.” David said softly. “You’ll just have to be patient. Go get some rest.” He said, standing and popping his back. You rose, stretched out your sore fingers. As you turned to leave, David’s voice stopped you in your tracks. “And if you do that shit again…” hesitation painted his tone. You turned, faced down his threat head on. “I’ll… I don’t know. Strangle you or something.” 

You snorted, turning back towards the door. 

“Copy that, Cap.”

[junochako]

Caelum is literally a child

(Asks have been glitching a lot lately….)