#(nonnie i think i could make this a BTHB!!!!!)

[dangerpronebuddie]

https://www.tumblr.com/dangerpronebuddie/757927189295529984/uh-for-the-game-you-like-whump-i-like-whump-so-im this anon oh this looks so good! (Also eyeing those prompts and wips👀👀 ) might I add a tiny bit of passing out due to the concussion and Adrenaline crash after sending hen and chimney after Eddie (how somehow buck managed to get almost free and is barely concious or manages to wake up once they start treating him and turns to look just in the moment Bobby caughts buck

Omg YES.

Eddie is barely conscious, but conscious enough to see Buck collapse. Bobby just catches him before Eddie passes out (from blood loss or meds, either is excellent).

Eddie wakes up in the hospital, Bobby by his side. Buck is nowhere to be seen. Their conversation floods his mind, even the slurred "hang on, baby," Buck mumbled before he passed out.

Eddie tries to sit up, but Bobby gently coaxes him back down. "Take it easy, kid," he soothes.

Eddie shakes his head. "Buck," he rasps. "Buck, is he-"

"Take some breaths, Eddie," Bobby says. "I'm gonna get you some water, okay?"

Eddie nods and takes a few breaths, despite his mind and heart racing. He can't get the image of Buck collapsing out of his mind. At this point he doesn't even know if it was real.

Bobby helps him take small sips of water before settling into his chair again.

"Cap," Eddie pleads. "Buck, please tell me-"

"He's okay," Bobby says. "He passed out from a concussion, and probably exhaustion, but he's gonna be fine."

Eddie relaxes against the cot and nods, finally taking a full breath. He's gonna be fine. They're gonna be fine.

(I do not need another wip!!!)

What kind of fic do you wish I'd write?

[tails89]

BTHB Allergic Reaction - Eddie switches laundry detergent or shampoo or something and oops --they eventually determine Buck is allergic to the scent

Hey nonnie, I hope you like it 😁

Like an itch I can't scratch

Read on AO3 or below.

“Hey, you okay?”

Buck glances up, grinning as Eddie joins him in the locker room. 

“Yeah.” He stops to roll up his sleeves and scratch at the incessant itch that’s been driving him mad. “I don’t know. I think I got something on me during that last call?” 

Eddie drops down onto the bench, his mouth twisting down into a frown. “Why didn’t you say anything?” He reaches for Buck’s arm, tracing a finger down one of the bright red marks Buck has scratched into the inside of his arms.

“I didn’t notice,” Buck says honestly. “And there’s nothing on my uniform.” He grabs a spare shirt from his bag. “I’ll shower and wash whatever it is off.” He catches Eddie’s concerned look. “It’s fine. I’m probably just itchy from sweating or something.” 

The shower helps and when he finally dresses some of the burning sensation has eased. The shirt has probably been in his bag a bit too long. It's a little musty, but it's better than whatever he'd managed to spill on the other one.

"Better?" Eddie asks, still sitting on the bench in the locker room. He pulls Buck in, forcing him to step up between Eddie's legs. 

Pushing Buck's sleeves up past his elbows, Eddie checks for any sign of injury, but other than a few scratches from Buck's own fingernails, the skin is unmarred.

"It's fine," Buck assures him. "I really don't think it was anything."

 *

He can’t get comfortable. The back of both knees itch and burn. There's a line of fire up his back and Buck doesn't know what he wants to do more, scratch or just tear his skin off. 

"Buck, stop moving." Eddie's sleepy voice cuts through the darkness. 

"Sorry." 

Rolling onto his side, Buck closes his eyes hoping for the sweet release of death sleep. 

Justignoreitdontscratchjustignoreignoreignore

His skin prickles. It crawls. It itches. Buck curls his fingers, digging his nails into his palms.

Dontscratchdontscratchdontscratch

God, he wants to scratch. 

He gives in, digging his nails into the itching line running up his spine. It stings but the stinging distracts from the ants crawling underneath his skin. 

He keeps moving his hand upwards, scratching across his shoulders and up his neck.

"Buck—" Eddie rolls over to face him in the dark. Buck can just make out his face, illuminated by the digital clock on the nightstand. "Hey. What's going on?"

"I didn't mean to wake you," Buck says, keeping his voice low. "Just can't get comfortable." He throws off the covers. "Go back to sleep."

"Wait." Twisting, Eddie reaches for the lamp beside the bed. He turns it on, flooding the room with warm yellow light. "Jesus Buck, your neck."

"Huh?" Standing, Buck goes to the mirror above their chest of drawers. 

The skin of his neck is red and irritated, with streaks of blood where he's taken off skin. 

"Let me see." Eddie turns on the overhead light and guides Buck back towards the bed to sit. "It's some kind of rash," he says, tugging at Buck's t-shirt. "Maybe an allergic reaction to something?"

"I'm not allergic to anything," Buck insists, letting Eddie pull his shirt up over his head. 

"This clearly says otherwise," Eddie points out, letting the cotton shirt fall to the floor. "Any nausea?" His hands are warm on Buck's shoulders.

"No."

"Tightness in your chest? Tingling or numbness in your mouth?"

"No." Buck scratches at his collarbone. "I feel fine," he insists, grabbing at Eddie's hands and forcing them still. "It just itches like mad, and burns a bit where I broke the skin."

"Let me see." 

With a sigh Buck twists, showing Eddie his back. 

"Jesus." A finger traces his spine and Buck shivers. "Stay there, I'm going to get a washcloth."

"Don't bother." Buck stands. "I'm going to have a shower. You should go back to bed though." 

"You think I can sleep now?" Eddie asks, eyebrows raised in disbelief. "You could be having a major allergic reaction."

"Eddie, I have been crawling out of my skin for the last hour, maybe two." Buck digs in the drawer for a fresh pair of sweats. "I think if I was going to stop breathing it would have happened already."

"That's not funny," Eddie says, following Buck across the hall to the bathroom. "Knowing your track record, it could still happen."

"Go back to bed, Eddie." 

*

Buck wakes up on the couch. He doesn't remember falling asleep. He'd all but given up on the idea. 

The TV is blank. He'd been watching movies on Netflix but the system must have timed out and shut down after he'd fallen asleep.

"Hey, how are you feeling?" Eddie pads down the hall, dropping beside Buck on the couch. 

There are red bumpy flaky patches on the inside of his elbow, his neck and under his arms. 

"I'm okay."

Eddie doesn't look like he believes him, but he doesn't call Buck on it. 

"I read last night that an oatmeal bath might help."

"An oatmeal bath?" Buck laughs. "Did you sleep at all last night?"

"No, not really." 

Buck feels like a jerk. "I'm sorry, Eds." 

"It's not your fault," Eddie says, standing. "Really." He pulls Buck to his feet and into the kitchen, rummaging around in the pantry for a box of oatmeal.

*

"Hey Eddie, I'm washing my uniform, you want to throw anything in?"

Buck pokes his head out of the laundry, looking for Eddie.

"Here." Eddie emerges from Chris's room. "Can you wash Chris's school uniform?"

He drops it into the washing machine and Buck reaches for the detergent. “This isn’t the one you usually get.” He scoops some powder into the washing machine.

“Yes it is.” Eddie grabs the box from him. “They just redid the packaging.”

The words New Fragrance are splashed across the front of the box, and suddenly it clicks.

“It’s the detergent.”

Eddie's eyes flick from Buck's face to the full load of laundry sitting in the washing machine. 

"Take off your clothes."

"Eddie—"

"It's the fucking detergent!" Eddie holds the box like it might explode.

"Yeah, we just established that." Buck points out, shutting the washing machine. He's already added the laundry powder, he'll just have to run it a few times.

"I washed the sheets with this," Eddie says, 

"I know, I was there," Buck reminds him. "This isn't your fault. This has never happened to me before."

Eddie glares at him.

"Buck, will you please go change your clothes?" he asks. "There should be something in the closet that hasn't been washed recently. I'm going to throw this in the trash."

[whumping-every-day]

if you’re still taking request fr bthb, anger born from worry in the gabriel series??

Guys, training is killing me. Nonnie, it has been 19692598796 years, but here is Anger Born of Worry! A direct continuation from this drabble.

Content warnings: Discussion of self harm, conditioning, pet whump, fear, y’all know the deal by now about the blurry line between creepy caretaking and comfort. Also I would not advocate for dealing with issues of self harm this way irl. Softer than it sounds? 

Masterlist

– 

Gabriel has never seen his Masters angry before, and he is afraid.

With First Master, it had been easy. Do what he was told, and do it perfectly, or he would be hurt until his performance improved. He should always be grateful for punishment, and thank Master for every lesson. Second Master was harder to read; he had left Gabriel underground, in the damp and cold, long enough for Gabriel to outgrow his cuffs and start to hear voices in the darkness. Then the man had found a use for him, and Gabriel had rediscovered obedience and fear. Second Master’s anger had been a terrible thing, easy to stir up and violent in its course.

These are things that Gabriel always learns of his owners. And now, in this warm, golden paradise his Master and Mistress have offered him… now Gabriel gets to learn again.

He is limp like a rag doll while Mistress pulls the shirt off over his head. It’s too late to earn mercy, he can see it in the way her hands shake - with fury, perhaps? Master looms in his periphery, trapping them in the kitchen.

He needs to learn this lesson, but he is afraid.

“You could have sent yourself to the hospital, young man,” Mistress is muttering. “You could have been really hurt, you have slipped, you could have – this knife isn’t even clean -” She’s rambling, and once she ascertains that the boy doesn’t need stitches she sits back abruptly, pressing the back of her hand to her mouth.

The silence stretches, heavy and loaded. Mistress takes a slow breath, and then she’s snapping back into motion and dragging the first aid kit closer.

There’s footsteps, then that large, dark presence is crouching beside his sister. “Mari,” Stefan murmurs. He reaches out to put a hand on his sister’s shoulder, and Maria shrugs it off in a quick motion. Something glistens on her cheek, but she’s already turning away.

“ ‘m fine,” she mutters. “He’ll be fine. I just – I need to do this.” This, of course, being tend to their wayward pet.

Master’s eyes tick down at the thought, and Gabriel shrinks under his gaze. He can only meet the man’s eyes for a split second before he’s hiccuping apologies again. There’s anger there, but there’s also worry, and sadness, and disappointment, and somehow that’s just as bad.

“I’m s-sorry M-Master,” he stammers. “I’m sorry, I d-didn’t – please, I didn’t mean to-”

“You didn’t mean to stab yourself with a kitchen knife?”

The words aren’t angry, per se, but they’re harsh, and Gabriel cowers as his mouth snaps shut. He gives a tiny, frightened whine, and he can only shake his head helplessly. He hadn’t meant it, he hadn’t, and he was so sorry.

“Stefan,” Mistress murmurs. The antiseptic and gauze are out again, just like the night they’d brought him home, and Mistress is examining where the knife is still buried in Gabriel’s shoulder. It’s a small knife, thank god, and not in very deep - but she still has to pull it out. 

“You, deep breath.” It’s clear when she’s speaking to Gabriel as opposed to Stefan, and Gabriel winces and obeys. “Hold still.” There’s a quick, decisive motion and a quiet sshhk, and then an outpouring of blood. It feels worse coming out, and Gabriel can’t quite help the whimper of pain, curing in on himself just a little. 

The pain is familiar, and Gabriel grits his teeth and breathes through it, squeezing his eyes shut as his Mistress’s hand approaches again. 

This time he flinches at the contact, but Mistress is just dabbing something that stings onto the thin puncture mark. The pain is sharp but brief, and Gabriel keeps his eyes trained on his knees while Mistress expertly tapes a butterfly bandage onto his shoulder. She uses three consecutively, and then they are followed up with a thick wad of gauze and medical tape.

Meanwhile, Master is hovering, looking down at the two of them. “I’m not going to pretend he didn’t just scare the crap out of us,” he mutters to his sister. “And when you’re done patching him up, provided we don’t have to go to the hospital, I think we should sit down and have a chat about what just happened.”

Mistress sighs, but she just pulls out another wad of gauze and nods, and any hope Gabriel had of protection from Master’s wrath sputters and dies in his chest.

“Arm up, sweetheart.” Mistress has taped the last layer of gauze down, and Gabriel does as he’s told, terror and shame still prickling in his gut. There’s blood on the floor. He should have cleaned it up before they got home. Or he shouldn’t have spilled it in the first place, because it isn’t his to spill. He takes the smallest sliver of comfort in the fact that Mistress is calling him sweetheart again. He knows he is going to be punished, but perhaps afterwards, when he is lying bloody and broken at their feet… maybe they’ll forgive him for what he’s done.

He doesn’t try to talk again. He understands that punishment is imminent, and he tries to be as small and meek as he can as he waits. His injury is tended to with gentle and efficient hands, and it’s more mercy than he deserves. When Mistress is done, she sits back, snapping the first aid kit shut with an air of finality.

“You’re lucky you don’t need a tetanus shot.” She shakes her head again, and Gabriel chances a quick glance out of the corner of his eye. The lines around her eyes have eased a little, which he hopes is a good sign. But then she’s straightening again and jabbing a finger at his shoulder with enough feeling to have him flinching simply on principle. “If that starts to bleed through, you tell me immediately. Those bandages should be enough, but if not…”

Gabriel nods quickly. “I’ll – I’ll t-tell you, Mistress,” he whispers, fingers clasped in his lap.

A hand moves in the corner of his eye, and Gabriel’s heart misses a beat – but it is only Master, offering Mistress a hand up. She takes it, and there’s a moment where the two of them seem to be sharing some sort of silent communication. Her fingers dig into Master’s arm just a bit too tight, and Master responds by tugging her into a quick hug.

Gabriel quickly looks away. They are so soft with each other, these two, and the display of tenderness from one Master to the other is bizarre to him. This is something private, something he shouldn’t see.

Someone sniffs, and then the moment is over, and that same hand is being offered to him.

“Come on, bud.” Master is calmer now, it seems, and Mistress is wiping at her cheeks. They both seem shaken, and Gabriel still does not fully understand why.

He doesn’t want to take the hand. Those hands will bring pain, even after all the kindness they have dished out. But still it remains, and Gabriel gives a little whimper and pushes clumsily to his feet on his own.

“I suppose that works. Come.” The simple command is an immediate relief, flooding his system like a drug, and Gabriel immediately falls into step at Master’s heel. Even though he knows he’s about to be disciplined, there is an odd sort of comfort in something finally making sense. 

He expects to be led to the basement, where his cries will be muffled and his blood can be cleaned up. Instead they take him into the living room, and Gabriel’s anxiety racks up a notch at the sight of the pristine white carpets. If he bleeds here, it will stain, and then he will be in even more trouble.

He doesn’t want to be in more trouble.

The couch is a lovely beige, and the pillows have white and cream threading and gold tassels. Gabriel is fixated on that, for some reason, as if his mind is grasping for other details to latch onto. 

Master settles in the armchair like a king in his throne, and Mistress perches on the edge of the sofa like a jaguar surveying her territory. Separately they are intimidating, but together they are terrifying. Gabriel knows where to go without being told, and he sinks to his knees at their feet and waits.

They had tested him on the first day and invited him up onto the furniture… but Gabriel knows better than that. He knows the rules, he knows how to be good.

“Are you in any pain, sweetheart? Aside from the obvious?” Gabriel blinks at the question and dares a tiny glance up at Mistress’s face. Her brows are pinched, but she’s waiting for an answer.

“N-no, Mistress…”

“Okay. Good.” Mistress nods, almost as if to herself.

“We are both glad you’re alright, Gabriel.” The use of his name, as well as Master’s low baritone, have Gabriel flinching and immediately refastening his eyes on the carpet. He is reminded once again of just how much larger his Master is, and how easy it would be for the strength in those arms to be used in anger.

Gabriel doesn’t dare respond, not when his punishment has yet to be decided.  

“We do need to talk about what happened in the kitchen, but there are a few things we should clear up first.” His Master leans back in the chair, but the lines of his body aren’t threatening, even as he watches the boy. “When we got home and your mistress found you like that, we both reacted in a certain way… and I want to make sure we’re all on the same page about why.”  

Why? Gabriel stares at Master for a long moment as he replays the words in his head, trying to force them to make sense. There’s a trap here somewhere, surely, some sort of trick or test, but Gabriel can’t figure out where. Is he meant to guess exactly which aspect of his disobedience has angered them the most? 

“M-Master?” It’s not an answer, but Gabriel doesn’t know what to do, and the shame curls even hotter and brighter in his gut. This isn’t a question he knows the answer to. 

“You scared the shit out of us,” Mistress interjects flatly, and Gabriel flinches. She has her hands in her lap, and the tight lines around her eyes have eased a little… but they are not gone. Gabriel is already trying to make himself smaller, presenting a smaller target. “I don’t think I can pretend that I wasn’t angry,” she murmurs, and Gabriel whimpers softly. Mistress just shakes her head. “Anger is often a secondary emotion to fear or hurt,” she says simply. “I came home, and I found you bleeding on the kitchen floor with a knife in your hand, and I didn’t know what you’d done, or if–” Mistress’s voice wobbles, and it’s shocking enough that Gabriel looks up at her, eyes wide. She takes a moment, closes her eyes, then starts again. “I didn’t know how badly you’d hurt yourself, or if I’d be able to help you. I didn’t know if it was too late or not, or what you’d done.”

He’s never heard that kind of break in her voice before. His Mistress is always confident, always sure. Gabriel gives a quiet little whine, and there’s guilt swelling in his chest now now too. He was bad, but it wasn’t because he made them angry – it was because he’d frightened them.

Just the thought is ludicrous, preposterous. It sounds like a horrible joke, and he’s sure that there is a punchline coming soon.

“Your Mistress is right,” Master murmurs. The man shifts in his chair, and Gabriel trembles when the motion puts him within grabbing distance. “We promised to take care of you, and we will. But that’s hard if you’re hurting yourself.”

There’s silence for a long moment as they let the words sink in. Gabriel isn’t sure if he should speak, or try to apologize again, so he keeps quiet. 

“Can you-” Mistress again. “Can you tell us why you did what you did?”

It’s a simple question, but Gabriel finds his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth.

“I’m - I’m s-sorry, Mistress,” is all he has to offer. “I didn’t – didn’t mean to be b-bad, I’m sorry -” Master lifts a hand to silence him, and Gabriel’s mouth snaps shut.

“This is not the time for apologies,” he says, and even though it’s soft, the reprimand makes him flinch again.

“We would just like to know why, if you can tell us,” Mistress murmurs. “There’s no wrong answer, sweetheart. I promise. We just want to understand.”

Absently, Gabriel notices that he’s wringing his fingers in his lap, and he can’t remember when he’d started. He bites his lip as the quiet stretches, unable to meet their eyes. Why had he done it? His reasons seem stupid in retrospect.

“I-” The first attempt at an explanation dies in his mouth, and Gabriel makes a pathetic sound and falls lower on his knees. “I – I d-don’t know, I’m sorry, I’m -” he clamps a hand over his mouth before he can devolve into apologies again, doubling over at the waist. His Masters want an answer, so Gabriel has to give it to them. He has to. “I w-w-wanted to be g-good,” he gets out, with some difficulty. His breathing has gone short and quick again, and Gabriel can feel it, but he can’t stop it. “I’m sorry, Master,” he gasps. “I – I w-wanted to be better…”

“And you thought that hurting yourself would make you better?” Master’s voice is not judgmental, not irate. Just considering, calm and cool as he questions Gabriel. The boy latches onto the easy show of control, desperate for something steady and familiar against the maelstrom of emotions. He manages a nod, and a wet sniffle.

“But why did you think you needed to?” It’s Mistress again, and her voice is worried still, not like Master’s. “Did we… have we made you feel like you aren’t good?”

It’s a distressed sound, this time, that bubbles out of his chest. “N-no! No, Mistress, please. I don’t, I don’t d-deserve it, you’ve been – so kind, and – and so merciful, thank you, Masters, thank you.” Gabriel slinks a little closer, cowering at their feet like a kicked dog. “I w-wanted to be good,” he whimpers. “I want to be g-good, and I have to – I have to be t-taught, y-you have to -” And that sentence gets cut off immediately, because Gabriel knows full well that Master and Mistress don’t have to do anything. “Please,” he gasps instead. “I have t-to – I have to learn how to be good. And, and the pain will t-teach me, it’ll m-make sure I st-stay good…” 

It’s probably the most words he’s ever spoken in one go, and Gabriel feels wrung-out after, bare and exposed. He can’t look at them from where he is, and he doesn’t try.

“Oh, sweetheart.” Mistress sounds pained. There’s movement, then, and Gabriel winces as he waits to be kicked onto his side, or for a foot to slam down on his fingers. Instead a soft presence crouches beside him, and then Mistress’s hands are on his shoulders, gently pulling him up.

Gabriel moves with the hands, and he only flinches a little when one of them cups his cheek.

“We haven’t really been helping with this, have we?” It sounds rhetorical, and sad, and Gabriel can only blink up at her. She’s still displeased, but she’s touching him so carefully, and that has to be good, right? 

“Thank you for helping us understand,” Master says. After a moment he also comes down to sit on the floor, and Gabriel shrinks away, biting down on a little whine. Sometimes the Masters will allow him to kneel for them, or let him sit at their feet. But other times it’s like this, when they insist on lowering themselves to his level, and it always makes him feel like he’s doing something wrong. 

The spot where Mistress had cupped his cheek is cold when her hand falls, and Gabriel winces and braces himself, waiting for the slap. Instead there is a gentle hand on his knee, coaxing his eyes open again. 

“You’re not in trouble, little one,” Master tells him. Mistress is nodding, sitting relaxed and cross-legged, even though it must be uncomfortable in her heels - and has she not even had the chance to take them off? 

Gabriel feels the shame burn even brighter at the sight. He’s disrupted their evening so completely, made a nuisance of himself… he can’t believe that he isn’t in trouble. Not after the mess he’s caused. 

“You’re not in trouble, but I think we do need to make sure this doesn’t happen again.” 

There is is, Gabriel thinks. The but that always follows reassurances. He’s not in trouble, they say, but there are contingencies. He only bows his head, ready to accept whatever measures they wish to put into place. 

“You were trying to punish yourself in our stead… that’s right, isn’t it? That’s what you were trying to do?”

It’s so much worse when she says it like that. Gabriel can hear the presumptuousness of it, now; thinking that he could take that choice out of his owner’s hands, thinking that he deserved to deliver his own pain. 

“Yes, Mistress,” he whispers hoarsely. That was exactly what he’d tried to do. 

Mistress nods again, decisively this time, and she glances over at his Master for a moment. Confirmation passes between the two of them, and Gabriel gives a shiver and a little sob at how easily they decide his punishment. 

“Breath, little one,” Mistress murmurs, and Gabriel drags in a heavy gulp of air and lets it out in a shudder. 

“We’re not going to hurt you, bud.” Master has mostly let Mistress do the talking, but he seems to understand the conclusion they’ve come to. Gabriel’s heart stutters at the words, but he can only whine and shake his head. No. No, he was bad, he was bad and he deserved to be disciplined. 

“I mean it,” his Mistress repeats, and there’s just a sliver of sharpness in her tone. Gabriel cowers under it, but she is firm, relentless. “ We mean it, little one. You aren’t in any trouble. However, I do think it’s time for a new rule.” 

A new rule? Gabriel looks up quickly, a misplaced surge of hope sweeping through him. He can follow rules - that will make it easier to be good. 

His Mistress nods and straightens her shoulders, and when she turns her attention back on Gabriel, he shivers under the command of it.  

“You are not allowed to hurt yourself.” Gabriel is trembling softly, and he can only shiver and nod as she continues. “You are not to intentionally injure or harm yourself in any way. And if -” she pauses just for a moment, then, and Gabriel’s heart pauses with her. “If you feel like you deserve to be punished. If you think you’ve done something so bad that you need to be hurt.” His Mistress’s eyes bore into him with single minded intensity, and Gabriel feels stripped bare and raw underneath it. “If that happens, you are to come to one of us. You are not to deal with it alone. Come us, and we will help you. Understood?” 

It’s a lot; there are a lot of words to sort through, but Gabriel tries, rewinding and replaying them in his head until he thinks he understands. They will not allow him to hurt himself, because the right to do so belongs to them. That makes sense, and finally understanding something feels like a weight coming off of his shoulders. 

He’s not in trouble this time. But the next time he is, or the next time he starts to feel that awful, insidious itch under his skin - next time, he can tell them, and they will help alleviate that pressure. He understands that helping him is only discipline under a different name. But he is still grateful. 

“I understand, Mistress,” he whispers. “Th-thank you, Mistress, for my rules.” There are tears starting to dry on his cheeks, and his Mistress reaches up and, with the utmost care, thumbs the salty stiffness away. 

“Promise me you won’t scare us like that again,” she says, and Gabriel’s throat feels tight. 

“I p-promise, Mistress.” He still can’t fathom why they aren’t angrier with him. He doesn’t know why he isn’t being punished, if his actions had displeased them so. But his Mistress looks relieved, and the last vestiges of tension are easing out of Master’s shoulders. 

“Good boy,” his Master murmurs, and Gabriel’s breath catches. Can it truly be this easy?

The man is careful when he extends an arm in offering, and Gabriel only hesitates for a moment before slinking closer. In the earlier days with his Master and Mistress, Gabriel had feared their touch - and he knew that it could still bring great pain, if he earned it. But he had also come to understand that they might offer comfort… 

And Gabriel likes the comfort. 

He is familiar with the cozy space between Master’s side and arm, and Gabriel nestles into it, timidly curling up into the warmth. He can still hardly believe that the oncoming pain has been averted. But Master is gentle when he curls his arm around the boy, even though the strength in just that one appendage is enough to lift Gabriel clear off the ground if he chose to. 

They’re still sitting on the ground, all three of them, and Mistress gets up only to sit down again on Gabriel’s other side, so he is sandwiched between them. 

She tugs her shoes off and tosses them a little distance away, before yawning and leaning back against the base of the couch. 

“Well then. If there are no objections… I think this is a perfect spot for movie night.” She reaches to tug the throw blanket and pillows off of the couch, and the next thing Gabriel knows, Master is gently guiding him forward so that Mistress can position a pillow behind his back. It’s so he has something to learn on, Gabriel realizes, and he lets it happen purely out of surprise. 

He opens his mouth to object, and Mistress holds up a hand. “Ah ah. One moment, sweetheart.” 

There are enough pillows for all of them, it seems, and by the time Mistress is done retrieving pillows (more pillows than had been on the couch to begin with, Gabriel is certain) they are cocooned in their own little nest. 

Master still has an arm draped across him, and Mistress settles with a satisfied sigh, pressed soft and comforting against his other side. 

“There we go. Doing okay, Gabe?” 

Gabriel just blinks up at her for a long moment, at a complete loss for words. His shoulder throbs dully, but that is a pain so familiar that is easy to ignore. She is waiting for an answer, kind and patient, and somehow Gabriel knows that she would accept it if his answer was no. 

He nods instead, and timidly leans into her fingers when she reaches up to stroke his hair. 

“Okay. What are we feeling like watching tonight, Stefan? Something light, I think…” 

His Master’s side rumbles with his response, and Gabriel eases into the familiar pattern slowly, nervously. He likes this part, when he can curl up warm and small and quiet, but it is hard to believe that it is real. He had been so afraid just moments before, but they are already moving on, as if his transgressions are something that can simply be forgotten about. As if his mistakes can be forgiven without penalty. 

For just a moment, Gabriel feels that same itch under his skin, and his heart stops. But this time time when it tries to push it down, it goes. If he is bad, Master or Mistress will tell him, and they will deal out his punishment accordingly. It is not his place to decide. For the moment, he is warm, and held, and he’s been forgiven for his wrongdoings. 

Gabriel has no idea which movie they end up putting on, but he is fast asleep within ten minutes, curled snugly into his Master’s side while his Mistress plays with his hair. 

--

[END]

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