#10 seconds to climb the ladder so he must’ve had some point to know before… right… or did Eddie just make up the 17 seconds and was like

[theotherbuckley]

My headcanon is that when Eddie got knocked off the ladder by the lightning he was wearing a watch which broke due to the lightning or the fall which is how Eddie knows exactly when Buck’s heart stopped beating and he looked at a clock after and that’s how he knew to the second how long Buck was dead.

[stellar-alley]

Moonstone

•Chapter 7•

Previous Chapter // Next Chapter

(Summary: The Losers have one Last Splash)

Shout out to my amazing writing partner @ _hannahisodd on Instagram for allowing me to bring her amazing artwork to life!

Also, don’t forget to check out my Instagram Stellar.Cosplays if you want to see more of me and what goes on in my life!

Shout out to my beta psychcticminds on Ao3 and psychtic.minds on Instagram!

~

The talk with his parents had been… hard. But in the end, they understood Richie’s craving to learn more about himself and his family. Andrea mentioned how dear of a friend Maggie was and how she’ll be over the moon to see her son again. That’s when it hit Richie that he would be meeting his biological parents… At that moment he looked at Andrea and Donald. They were his real parents, and nothing would change that.

Telling his parents, and Stan, that was one thing. Stan didn’t seem too surprised since he’s known Richie all his life. He’s grown used to Richie’s constant state of curiosity and demanding nature when it came to answers. So when Stan found Richie awkwardly loitering in the hallway, filled with anxiety about telling Stan the news, Stan simply wrapped Richie up in a hug and told him how he supported him no matter what he chose.

Yeah, telling the Losers was a different story.

~

Eddie’s mind was still trying to wrap around the information that Richie had just told them. I’m going to find my parents in The Dragon Lands. Everyone, except Eddie, gave different responses from “Wait really?!” to, “That’s so cool but I’m gonna miss you”. Eddie couldn’t get a single word out of his mouth.

They were all at the diner when Richie told them the news. Bill had just won yet another milkshake contest and Richie had ordered a second milkshake as he claimed “Cause I don’t know when Imma be getting myself another one of these!” he chimed in as he held up his cup.

The rest of The Losers followed suit, lifting up their cups towards the center of their semi-circle table. “To The Losers,” he proclaimed. “To the Losers,” they all cheered, but Eddie’s voice was just a little bit quieter than the rest of theirs…

Bill and Stan went off to the bathroom while Bev and Richie left to go smoke. Leaving Ben, Mike, and Eddie alone at the table while they finished their meals. Eddie kept his eyes on the half-eaten burger that laid before him, releasing yet another sigh. It caused Mike to pipe up, “Eddie you’ve sighed about 45- It was 45 right?” he nodded at Ben.

Ben pondered about it for a second then responded, “No… I counted 53.”

“Yeah, 53 times you’ve sighed and that’s only since we entered the diner,” Mike stated, but then his lips curled into a smirk, “I don’t even wanna think about how many times you’ve sighed today-”

“What’s your fucking point?” Eddie snapped.

Mike immediately shot back, not in an aggressive way but in his ‘This is important and I’m concerned’ friend way. “Eddie we’re worried!”

“Yeah you’ve been really distant today,” Ben pointed out, sympathy laced his voice.

“Oh… Sorry if my sighing ruined your day” Eddie rolled his eyes, put his elbow on the table, leaned on his hand, and looked away from them. “Mine has been pretty shitty,” He almost whispered.

That was all Mike needed to prove his point, “It’s Richie isn’t it? Cause he’s-”

“Don’t, okay? Fuck that’s all we’ve talked about since we heard the news. My boyfriend is leaving, fucking great alright, fan-fricken-tastic,” Eddie groaned, his heart twisting within his chest at the thought of Richie leaving.

Ben and Mike exchanged a glance. Without saying a word they both could tell they had to try to help Eddie. They both shuffled a little closer to Eddie, one on either side.

Ben spoke first, “I don’t even wanna begin to imagine what you’re going through-”

“Then don’t fucking try ‘cause it sucks,” Eddie fumed, his fingers curling into fists with all of his pent up anger.

“Let me finish,” Ben’s tone stayed the same, calm, supportive. “Just try and see it through Richie’s eyes. His entire life he’s been kept in the dark, he had to figure out all of his dragon side on his own. Do you know how hard that must’ve been for him? Being the only dragon born in the entire city probably. What if you were the only elf? Hmm?” He hummed in questioning. “Eddie, Richie doesn’t know how to fly, and he’s a dragon. He doesn’t even know how to control these new powers or whatever they are,” Ben pointed out.

Eddie’s heart twisted at that, his expression turning from anger to sadness.

“And now he finds out he’s a prince, of a whole kingdom. Of course he’s gonna wanna go back. How do we expect him to keep living his life in the dark when he has the chance to be in the light?” Ben paused when Eddie looked turned to look at him.

Mike continued, “He’s not leaving forever either, it’s Richie! He’ll be back, you of all should know how much of a pain in the ass he is to get rid of.”

That made Eddie chuckle, “Yeah, he is a pain in my ass,” he agreed.

“Did someone say my name?” Richie had a shit-eating grin plastered over his face as he approached the table with Bev in tow.

“Ah speak of the devil,” Eddie’s gut untwisted when he smiled up at Richie. Ben had slid out of the booth to talk to Beverly so Eddie sat on the edge and looked up at Richie.

Richie leaned forward and wrapped his arms around Eddie’s shoulders. He bent down and pressed his forehead on top of Eddie’s soft hair. After a moment passed he lifted his head up to look at Eddie, “Let’s do something tonight. I want one last night with my Eds.”

“Yeah of course- where?” Eddie asked.

Richie smirked, “I know a place.”

~

“Your roof? This is the place you want to take me on our last night together?!” Eddie whisper shouted at Richie who was standing outside his bedroom window, on the roof.

“Oh come on Eds! It’s sentimental,” Richie insisted.

“How the fuck is it-“

“What was it, 9, 10 years ago we came to this very spot when you guys came over for a sleepover! It was the first time I ever opened up to someone about constellations, and Lyra,” Richie’s voice grew serious as he recalled the memory.

Eddie stopped in his tracks, a wave of memories came back to him. “Oh…” his voice trailed off, “You’re right,” he realized.

Richie hummed, “yeah I know,” he flashed Eddie a half-smile. Richie reached his hands out, through the window and towards Eddie.

The elf glanced away but soon held his hands up to meet Richie’s. He allowed the dragon to lead him out of the room and onto the roof.

The lovers got comfortable on the roof. They cuddled up against each other, knowing that they won’t have that many chances to do this again before Richie left. The dragon had curled himself up into a ball, both of his arms were wrapped around Eddie’s torso with his head buried inside his chest.

Eddie had his cheek resting on top of Richie’s head, his legs all tangled up with the others with his arms wrapped around his chest.

Richie slowly lifted his head from Eddie's chest so he was able to look up at his boyfriend, “This isn't the end… You know that, right?” he asked quietly.

Eddie's eyes hardened as he remembered the hard truth of their reality, “Then why does it feel like it,” he said in a grim ton.

“Eds… You know I'd never abandon you, right?” Richie gasped when Eddie hesitated, “come on! We're Richie and Eddie, best pals, partners in crime, Losers and Lovers,” Richie tilted his head up and softly kissed Eddie's lips, “You know you mean the world to me, right? I'd go to the moon and still always come back to you,” he cooed.

Eddie chuckled, “You do like the moon,” he pointed out with a smirk as he kissed Richie back. “Write every day,” he softly demanded.

“My thoughts exactly. This won't be forever, I just need answers,” Richie whispered and kissed his boyfriend again.

~

He said he would only be gone a week or so, but for some reason, it felt different. They felt as if by Richie discovering his other side, he'd forget the side he always had. In the end, they wanted the best for him, and if that meant leaving them, then so be it. But he was still leaving nonetheless, and the Losers couldn't let him leave without a party.

“SURPRISE!” The 6 Losers exclaimed the moment Richie got down the ladder to the clubhouse.

Richie nearly leaped out of his own skin. “AH!” He screeched. “Jesus you scared the fucking scales off of me,” he sighed, catching his breath.

“What did you think we’d let you leave without a celebration?” Mike asked as he clapped a hand on Richie’s back.

“Yeah, we had to have one last splash with all seven of us,” Ben chimed in with a smile.

Richie’s heart warmed at the gesture, “Aw guys…” Richie sighed with love, “but you know I won’t be gone forever right?” Richie arched an eyebrow. His heart almost ached and how easily his friends thought he’d abandon them.

“But s-st-still! We wanted to wi-wish you good luck,” Bill chimed in.

“Yeah plus- when was the last time we threw a good party-?” Beverly asked. She was met by cricket sounds in the silence of the clubhouse, “Exactly!” She exclaimed, “So let’s just have a good fucking time,” she nodded.

~

And a good time they had.

Ben played one of his classic well picked playlists on the speakers of his boombox while the Losers ate their feelings away with the large assortment of food they all brought. They played cards and board games, traded stories and gossiped.

Richie and Beverly had stepped out for a smoke break when Bill called Beverly back inside. “Be right back,” She informed Richie before she climbed back down into the clubhouse.

“I’ll be here” Richie waved his half done cigarette as her red head disappeared. When he was finally left alone with his own thoughts, everything finally set in.

I’m leaving tomorrow, leaving The Losers, to go to the Dragon Lands, to find my birth parents…

He was snapped out of his thoughts when- “Hey Rich, come back down for a sec!” Ben called, his eyes poking out from the entrance to the clubhouse.

“Coming,” Richie called out. He dropped his cigarette butt onto the ground and smooshed it with the toe of his shoe, in hopes of not starting a forest fire. Then he made his way over to the open trap door of the Clubhouse and began his descent.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, I’d like to present to you Richard Toizer-” Mike announced the moment Richie stepped onto the floor. “- The Prince of the Losers,” he declared.

Richie’s eyes went wide, he realized that the Losers were lining the entrance with big smiles as they all bowed down to him. He was momentarily shocked before he realized what was happening and of course he had to play along. “Oh yes! Thank you my loyal subjects for this kind greeting,” Richie waved in his best (worst) British accent.

When they all stood up again, Stanley stepped out of line to go retrieve something from his bag in the corner. When he returned he held one of those classic gold crowns you can buy from your local dollar store. The fake blue and red gems shined as Stanley straightened up.

“And he wouldn’t be a prince without his crown,” when he finally lifted his eyes, they were glossy as he held back tears. “Your Highness,” He said. The thought of Richie leaving caused his voice to become quieter than it had been.

Richie’s heart clenched at the sight of his brother, on the verge of tears, something that was very unlike Stan. Richie slowly approached Stan, tilting his head down once he stood in front of his brother.

Stan inhaled sharply, his hands shook lightly as they raised the crown up and carefully placed it upon Richie’s mess of dark curls.

When the crown was in place, Richie raised his head to meet Stan’s gaze, “How do I look?” He flashed his (slightly crooked) pearly whites.

“You look great, Rich,” Stan gave him a small, warm smile before he announced, “Your Prince, Richie, The Prince of The Losers.”

Word Count: 2053

Wow this is a lot shorter than I thought it'd be. But it is what it is, and I'm tired so it's gonna be a shorter chapter. Next chapter is gonna be an emotional one though so get ready!

Even this authors note is gonna be short cause that's all from me,

Until next time, as always

So Long and Goodnight

~

[Taglist]

@richietoaster @s-onora @that-weird-girl-blog @beproudtozier @ghostnebula @gen-s-stuff @bellarosewrites @s-s-georgie @lermanslogan @iamcupcakefrosting @madidraw @gazebobullshit @thoughtfullyyoungduck @aangzukos @ambitiousskychild @reddieonwheels @breadheadscorpius @derpyanimatesstuff

Let me know if you wanna be added to the tag list!

[sea-side-scribbles]

Fanfiction: Sympathy For A Downer

link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22737214/chapters/55722046

Chapter 10

Now, that was finally settled, Nick thought with relief, leaning back in the couch and closing his eyes for a while. It was finally some progress after all his struggles! Now, he needed some calm and quiet, so he actually had to leave the hotel, because in here the guests kept staring at him or trying to pull him into a conversation. His suite wasn’t safe either, unfortunately. All of a sudden he preferred to stay here, but he also knew that his mind wouldn’t leave him alone until he came back to the place where it all had started. He was all tired again when he raised up and made his way out of the hotel.

Climbing down the ladder into the underground he couldn’t help but think about the first time climbing down, how he had to overcome his fear to even try. Now he was used to it and still, every step deeper into the tunnel felt very uncomfortable. He had to force himself to go on and remained very attentive, watching and listening into the dark, to notice if someone was coming. It was much more eery than usual, even though the man he was looking for wasn’t really dangerous.

Entering his improvised home, he found the same chaos that he had tried to clean up yesterday. Was it even yesterday? It seemed to be ages ago. Everything had changed since then. He looked at the couch where he had sat with Arthur. Without knowing why, he sat down at the same place where all the drama had happened. It was like Arthur was still there and at the same time it was weird that he wasn’t there anymore. Perhaps it was for the best, he told himself, thinking about what he had done to Arthur, who had only wanted to help. Nick had ruined it.

Not that he ever had a chance. It was rather his behavior at Sally’s place that made him feel miserable. The fact that he didn’t hold back his anger even thought he had no right to be angry at anyone. That he had tried to ruin it for Arthur, that he kissed Sally right before his eyes, to show him that she wasn’t his, to make it look like Arthur was only one of many customers she used to play with. In fact, nothing had happened between him and Sally for years. He didn’t know if she had changed until now.

It was all just a show, the revenge of the great Lightbearer. How pathetic! He slapped his forehead in frustration. He hoped that he didn’t destroy what had looked like an intimate relationship. He wouldn’t wonder if Arthur hated him now. And that was why he was afraid to meet him again, that was why he couldn’t handle being here. „I’m sorry“, he said to the empty space next to him and it’s answer was silence.

He raised up again and walked over to his bed, remembering that he hadn’t made any notes for a long time. And now that so many things happened he didn’t know where to start. He found his old notes in his bed stand and the words he wrote seemed strange to him now. He could barely handle what he had written about Arthur. For a moment he was about to rip the notes apart but then he couldn’t face doing it. Perhaps he could at least learn from them and avoid the same mistakes in the future.

While he was clumsily writing a new note he couldn’t stop thinking about Arthur and Sally. What if he as a downer had also other reasons to visit her than personal interest? What if she was helping him to survive? And what if Nick had destroyed this now too? He had to explain what happened. And if he couldn’t look Arthur in the eyes again he had to write a letter at least.

So he stopped his own notes and started to put something together that was both an explanation and an apology. He had to rewrite it multiple times and covered the floor around him with crumpled papers until he had managed something he could accept. Now he had to let Arthur have it without meeting him in person. He sneaked towards his hideout, as quietly as possible, praying that he won’t come out and left the letter at his doorstep, hoping that he would find it in time. Then he left the place as fast as possible and fled back into his improvised home, where he wanted to fall back on his bed and calm himself down when he noticed a black envelope lying there, that he must’ve overlooked until now.

Nick stared at it as if it was about to jump at him, wishing he would’ve stayed in the hotel. But then again, he was sure that James would’ve found another way to contact him. In fact, Nick wasn’t surprised that the Parade had become aware of his latest adventure. With an uneasy feeling in his stomach he took the envelope and slowly opened it. The letter inside was rather small, so Nick guessed James wouldn’t tell him what he had planned for him. Just as always.

Dear Nick, I know what happened. Don’t be afraid. Meet me there:

He described a street in Maidenholm. Nick asked himself if it was the same house he had brought him for the painful procedure. He turned around the paper but of course, there was nothing written on the backside. Now he wondered how long the letter had lied there. Nick didn’t want to let James wait any longer, but also he didn’t want to meet him. Then again, he didn’t want to stay either - and he needed his Joy. The effect of the Vanilla pill was slowly fading, so he didn’t have a chance but to follow the invitation.

The second walk through the tunnel was uneasy again, but not a lot more than standing at the doorstep of the said address. It seemed to be much more sinister than all the other houses in town. Of course it could also be caused by the Joy withdrawal and his anxiety. He ringed the bell, fighting the urge to run away. James didn’t let him wait for long. Stepping in, Nick thought that he was an eerie sight even at daytime.

„Is that…the same house?,“ he asked quietly and looked around. James raised his eyebrows as a silent question. „The same as last time…“, Nick added louder and James understood. He gave him a faint smile and nodded. „How are your hands?“ Nick immediately clenched them into fists. „They are alright…completely healed.“ „Good,“ James simply said and pointed along the corridor. „Please, Nick, have a seat in the living room.“

There was no sign of taunt or anger in his voice, if anything, it was soft and careful. Nick hoped it was a good sign and obliged, already relieved that James didn’t lock him up in the bedroom. „Let’s have a drink,“ James offered when he followed him into the living room. „Scotch, cognac, or do you prefer something sweet?“ Nick would’ve gladly accepted such an offer from someone else but now he wondered if it was a test. „I take whatever you prefer,“ he said and watched James serving the drinks. Whatever the test result was, James didn’t show.

When he had sat down across from Nick he began to speak again. „I’ve made a great mistake,“ he said and Nick decided not to interrupt him. „I scared you with my last actions. When we first met I promised to help you out of your cage but then I made it look like I locked you up in another.“ James gave him a pained expression that puzzled Nick. „I made you suffer. Don’t get me wrong, I still want you to get off the drugs but I feel like I’ve been too harsh to you. Instead of being your friend, I made you fear me. All I want is to let you know that whatever you do, and whatever happens to you, I want to help you. And I beg of you to give me a second chance to prove that I’m not a cold-hearted overseer. I’m not here to judge. I want to help you as a friend.“

James gave Nick an intense look and Nick was baffled, he didn’t know what to say to begin with. He felt is anxiety melt away and felt sorry for the man he had seemingly horribly misjudged. But there was still a rest of mistrust in him.

„That sounds…rather like a very personal interest to me than an official task“, he finally concluded. „Does the Parade know what you’re doing here?“ James smiled mysteriously. „They know. But coincidentally I can combine business with pleasure. Do you know the Executive Committee is right now urgently looking for new symbols of hope?“ Nick had never heard of that before. „I’m not quite up to date anymore,“ he confessed. „Why right now?“

„A great anniversary is coming up: The Twentiest Victory Memorial Day. That’s all they talk about in the Parade District.“ „…but that’s just a yearly celebration…“ „Not only that, Nick. It’s going to be the day of renewal. They say Coconut Joy will be introduced that day.“ „The new flavor!“, Nick blurted out. He had been waiting for it ever since. James nodded.

„Of course it’s all top secret,“ he said and winked at Nick. „S..sure, I won’t say a word…“, Nick became nervous again, but James softly interrupted him. „I know, Nick, it’s alright…My task is to set up a new beacon of hope and - as you might guess by now - I chose you!“ Nick was baffled again and took another sip of his drink, being glad that he had the glass to hold onto. „But…all I’m doing is pop music,“ he said helplessly and James smiled again.

„My new symbol is expected to sing the anthem of Wellington Wells at the opening.“ „Okay, I guess I can manage…“. Nick wiped his forehead. „Unfortunately you’re not the only possible candidate. Do you know who’s the favorite at the moment?“ The uneasy feeling in his stomach came back. „…Birdie Callagher,“ he simply said. James leaned back, looking content. „I see you can follow me.“

„Virgil didn’t tell me anything…“ „Well, Virgil went a bit rogue, didn’t he?“ James sounded amused. „But he might’ve come back to his senses by now.“ He gave Nick a suggestive look, who asked himself if it was finally time to pay for his sins and sunk down. „I made a mess again, didn’t I? I’m sorry…“, he whined and James put down his glass and leaned closer.

„Nick…Nick, I’m not mad at you…“, he said in a gentle tone. „And I won’t tell anyone.“ „But I was the downer in the news!“ „What downer?“, James shook his head, „It was all a game. Uncle Jack said it, so it must be true.“ „What if the Parade knows better?“ James shook his head again. „They will forget. It’s rude to know more than you’re told, even in the Parade.“ Nick crossed his arms and looked back at James.

„And what if I don’t make it? What if I’m not the new beacon of hope, what are you gonna do with me then?“ James sighted and the painful expression took over his features again. „Nick…believe me, whatever happens, I’m at your side. It doesn’t matter if you’re the new symbol or not.“ Nick stared at him with wide eyes. „You’ll help me…just like that?“, he asked doubtfully. „What do you get out of it?“ James silenced for a while, pondering.

„It’s probably unusual, but I’m sentimental. I don’t like to see old idols die. And I believe that you deserve better.“ Nick proceeded to be surprised. „I…don’t know what to say. That’s…honestly not what I’ve expected to happen today…“ „It’s alright. All I want to know is if you can give me a second chance. Please, think about it.“ „I…sure…“, Nick stuttered. „Sorry, I didn’t hear many excuses in my life…“ „That’s sad,“ James said compassionately, „I wish people knew you deserved better…“ Nick finished his drink, trying to sort his thoughts. He felt like there were thousands of questions he didn’t ask yet.

He let James pour him another drink before a question took shape into his mind. „I’m wondering…How do you plan to help me? Except with…Blackberry Joy?“ James took his time to fill his own glass, probably thinking about his answer, before he spoke again. „You see…with everything you went through, you’ve been more or less alone, with no one to look after what you really want, or what you felt. I’m not saying that I know all these things but I could help you finding out, if you want. Again, I’m not here to judge you. I want to help you find out how you built yourself that cage and how to get out.“

Nick had never thought about finding out what he really wanted. It all sounded very complicated to him, except for one thing: having someone to listen. Someone who wouldn’t punish him for his actions. Someone he could tell secrets he couldn’t tell Morrie or Virgil. Someone who could help him to change his ways. „That’s tempting…“, he admitted. „You don’t have to decide yet. Take your time. If you want, you can leave for now and tell me next time we meet,“ James gently offered.

Nick asked himself if he wanted to leave. He didn’t know where to stay right now, and he didn’t trust himself to keep his head clear when he didn’t know what to do with himself. When he stayed here instead he had someone to look after him, and he thought it couldn’t hurt to be James’ guest for a little while longer.

The night was starry and cold, but Nick didn’t freeze. He was comfortable as he followed James along the dark alleys where the fog was slowly swirling around them. The small droplets of water tickled on his skin and the smell of motilene was energizing. He knew exactly what he had to do. „I’ll bring you a souvenir,“ James whispered when they parted. Nick started to climb a gutter. It wasn’t the first time he used that way. When he reached a certain window he knocked against it and a woman dressed in a night gown opened.

„Nick,“ she hissed when he climbed inside, „he’s still upset. He could be still awake…“ „Why don’t we just wait and see,“ he whispered, stroking her cheek before he pulled her into a passionate kiss.

What’s wrong with me, Arthur asked himself, sitting on the big comfortable bed in the center of Nick’s abandoned tunnel suite. He had tried to move on and forget about the incident at Sally’s place but he couldn’t stop thinking about her, and more to his surprise, he couldn’t stop thinking about Nick. Coming back to his shelter he had found the letter that had been written in a scrawly handwriting.

Dear Arthur, I’m sorry for what I did at Sally’s place. Sally and I are just old friends and we didn’t see each other for years. There never was anything serious between us. I think she really loves you. Give her a chance. She’s a good girl. Yours Nick

It took a while until Arthur had made out the handwriting and then it had been harder and harder to read on. He had simply wanted to see Nick, maybe to tell him that Sally wasn’t the innocent angel he thought she was. And then what, he asked himself and curled his fingers into the blanket.

Maybe it was for the best that Nick wasn’t here, so they couldn’t have this embarrassing conversation. But looking around the empty suite, Arthur felt a blunt pain in his chest. Would Nick ever come back? Arthur didn’t even know what he wanted from him. Perhaps he was simply used to his presence and that was why he missed him now. Still, he kept sitting there, unable to leave.

[lilreesenerd]

Happy Birthday, Maison!

Summary: It’s Sam and Dean’s first opportunity to throw a birthday party for their little sister!

Warnings: injuries, blood, slight cursing

Words: 3.7k (oops)

After breaking through most every database in the country, they had finally found it: Maison Greene’s birthdate. 

“Hey, hey,” Dean sang, “Looky what I found!”

Sam laughed in disbelief, “No way.”

“Oh yes way, Sammy boy.”

“Well, when is it?”

“Uh…” Dean scanned the document and rubbed his neck nervously, “Next week?”

“‘Next week?’ Are you sure?”

“Yeah,” Dean spun the laptop around for Sam to see. “Wednesday.”

“What are we going to do for her? Bake her a cake?” Sam said sarcastically and looked at Dean who had a reckless grin on his face.

“Why not?”

Back from the store with the basics for a chocolate cake, the brothers dropped the materials onto the counter in the bunker’s kitchen.

“So,” Sam looks like he is about to have to diffuse a bomb blindfolded, “how do we do this?”

Dean rolled up his sleeves and began pulling bowls out of the cabinets. “The first rule of baking, Sammy, is to pretend like you know what you’re doing. Well, that’s your rule. I actually know what’s going on here.” Dean winked, “Not my first cake rodeo.” The marathons of The Great British Baking Show and Cake Boss were about to pay off. 

Sam shook his head and smiled at his big tough brother putting on an apron and making a cake for their little sister. Technically half-sister, but you know about family and blood. 

Several hours, a dozen eggs, and several test batches later, the flour-smeared Dean is finally pleased with his creation. He grins through the flour and slides the pan into the oven. He turns to see the pony-tailed Sam mixing together the icing, flour streaking his hair.

“No, no, no,” Dean took a bag from his brother, “step away from the sugar.”

“But the recipe says–”

“Ah.” Dean held up a finger, stuck it in the icing, and licked it.

Sam frowned.

“No more sugar,” Dean concluded. “We want it this consistency, not not like cottage cheese.”

When Dean turned his back, Sam put one more pinch of sugar into the mixture and quickly stirred it in. “So, uh…” Sam slid the bowl away from him to reduce suspicion, “now we just wait for the cake to finish and cool so we can ice it?”

“Nope, one more finishing touch.” Dean reached up into a high cabinet for a bag of chocolate chips. His fingers grazed the bag. He was on his tiptoes, but he still couldn’t quite get it. Then Sam reached it down, grinning.

“Here ya go, shorty.”

Dean snatched the bag mumbling something about being average height and being able to reach without help, to which Sam laughed. Dean sprinkled chocolate chips into the icing, then opened the oven and sprinkled some into the batter. “Now,” he brushed his hands on his pants, “we wait.”

An icing-gone-wrong, a sink of dirty bowls, and two long showers later, they started the 14 hour drive to their sister’s place. They would make it in 10 the way they drove. A thought hit the both of them as they were buckling the cake box into the back seat: A present.

“Crap. What are we supposed to get her?” Dean is running his fingers through his hair. “She already has everything she needs, and she doesn’t want anything.” His knuckles start turning white as he grips the steering wheel, thinking.

“That may not be entirely true.”

“Explain, brainiac.” Dean snapped.

"Well," Sam shifted on his feet and started making motions with his hands, "we know she has everything." Cue Dean's eye roll. "But she doesn't have one thing." 

"Just spit it out, Sam. Oh," Dean caught on. Dean smiled that wide smile he only smiled when Maison was involved somehow. "We spend the week with her. You know, help out around the property, cook for her, clean, you know. That's something she can't buy." 

Sam nodded his head thinking about it, "That could work, if...if she doesn't run us off first." Dean whacked Sam in the arm a little too hard, making him yelp and rub his elbow in pain. 

Upon reaching the clearing, they pulled up to the house and killed the engine. They knew a surprise wouldn't work because Maison could hear the Impala from a mile away, but they decided to try anyway. The two grown men crept up to the house, the shorter one holding a little cake box like it had a porcelain baby in it. They threw open the door, yelling surprise! But were greeted by silence.

The living room was a mess: the couch turned over, the coffee table broken, the counter stools thrown across the room, and several weapons from the wall bloodied and strewn about.

“Maison?!” Dean yelled, releasing the cake and drawing his weapon before the box had the chance to hit the ground. He began sweeping the small home and trying to reconstruct the scene: the guest loft was clear, as were the main room and kitchen. He hesitated at Maison’s bedroom door. They had never been in there. Was this invading her privacy? Dean shook his head, clearing away those thoughts: she could be injured. He was going in. He burst into the room, taking in the well-lit room with large bay window above in a loft. The bathroom was clear and smelled of citrus. As he made his way up the ladder to the loft, he noticed how warm it got, the huge window allowing the sun to warm the cozy space. No one was up there except more pictures and a bazillion books surrounding a beanbag facing the window.

Dean met Sam back in the living room. “Well?”

Sam gestured at the back door, “Forced entry. Intruder moved in towards the couch, probably where Maison was,” he pointed out a small scattering of empty brass, “where she pumped him full of salt/iron rounds.” Sam held a casing up to Dean who recognized the markings as their sister’s preferred hybrid round.

“Yeah, she hit him alright. Look at this blood trail.”

“Right, but get this: it didn’t stop him.”

“Obviously,” Dean is pacing, following the blood trail from the door to the couch and eventually into the kitchen. “Whoa...there’s a lot--and I mean a LOT--of blood in here.”

Sam peered over the counter and gulped. That was enough blood for one of them to be dry, or both of them to be critical. “We need to find her. Now.”

“Hey, where’s Rufus?” They looked around the destroyed home and finally found a smeared bloody paw print leaving out of the backdoor.

“The garage,” they said simultaneously and took off through the pines, wondering what they would find.

A quick run later, they entered the garage through the back, ready for a fight or...Sam squeezed his eyes shut, removing the image of their sister, dead and mangled, from his mind. In front of him, Dean was rigid with anger... and fear. He couldn’t lose her. She didn’t deserve to die. He would kill anyone remotely involved in her injury or death.

Rounding her old Nissan pick-up, Sam’s foot slipped, and he almost fell. Crouching to look under the small truck, he found Rufus, unconscious--he hoped--and in a small pool of blood. He grabbed Rufus by the skin behind his neck and dragged him out where Dean could see him too.

“What the...,” A faint blue glow was tracing around the edges of a large gash along the dog-angel’s side. The blue moved so slowly and glowed so faintly that he likely would not awaken for several hours.

“Well,” Sam started, smoothing the fur around the German Shepherd’s face, “at least when Rufus wakes up, he can tell us what happened. He doesn’t go anywhere without Maison.”

Dean said nothing. He just began looking around for another pool of blood. “I got more blood.” The slight panic in Dean’s voice made Sam cover the distance between them in a manner of seconds. When he saw it, Sam understood the panic: the blood was flowing from behind a large barrel. Carefully, they circled around, with memories of Joe and Helen, Bobby, Kevin, and countless others in the forefront of their minds. Had Mais gone peacefully? Was it quick? How long had she suffered?

“Vampire?” Sam asked from behind Dean.

“Vampire,” Dean confirmed, showing the teeth. “Mais must’ve filled him up with dead man’s blood.”

“Speaking of,” Sam pushed the hair out of his face, “where is she? She isn’t in the garage and there are no tracks leaving the building.”

“Knowing her, she’s probably got some loft in here somewhere. Or,” Dean shone his light up into the rafters, “you know she’s a climber. Maybe she’s up there.”

“I dunno, Dean, it’s gotta be pretty hard to--there! Right there, Dean!” Sam pointed up into the rafters where they could see the wood turning red and a freckled hand dangling lifelessly. 

“What the hell, Maison,” Dean grabbed a ladder and started to climb to the rafters 30 feet above the floor. When he reached her, all he could see in the dim lighting above the flourescents was her body, red and shuddering with each breath, lips blue from the cold and blood loss.

“Dean,” Sam called up into the ceiling, “what’s happening? Is Maison okay?”

“Uh,” Dean was so overwhelmed with the joy of finding her alive, the pain of seeing her so injured, and anger at the vampire and himself for this happening, that his voice shook as he managed, “she’s alive, hurt pretty bad, lotta blood, but she’s breathing, so uh, there’s that, I guess.”

Sam sighed in relief, “Okay, just bring her down, and we can get her fixed up.”

Dean slid his arms under her legs and behind her back. She was so small compared to most anybody he worked with. As he went to lift her, she didn’t budge. Dean felt around, looking for the source of the catch, and found a rope tied around her thighs and herchest, holding her up in the rafters. Dean cut the ropes, and her body started falling away from him. He grabbed her legs and flannel shirt, eyes wide with the knowledge of what could have happened. Taking a deep breath, he thought through the best way to get both of them down to the ground intact. He carried Maison down in a fireman’s carry so that he could hold on to the ladder. Carefully putting one foot below the other, he managed to climb down the ladder while holding Mais on his shoulders. Almost at the bottom, he could feel the blood from Maison’s wound seeping into his shirt and dampening his shoulders. 

“Oh, God,” Sam said, helping Dean lay Maison down on a blanket Sam had found. “Uh...Dean?” Sam was hesitating to inspect the wound on her torso. She was their sister. He wasn’t just gonna look under her hood.

“Come on, Sam,” Dean had gone into autopilot: focus on what he can fix, and that was his sister. “We aren’t being pervs, we’re being her big brothers trying to stop the bleeding. Besides,” Dean lifted the shirt exposing her stomach area but still covering the rest of her chest, “she isn’t bleeding up there and she’s still breathing. We’ve got this.”

Sam gulped, and they set to patching her up. Several scrapes covered her arms, neck, and stomach, but the worst of them stretched about six inches long and went deep. Too deep. It would need stitches. The dark blood still oozed out of the wound, probably because she had been moved from the rafters.

“How many stitches do you think she’ll need?” Sam was holding the surgical wire from one of Maison’s nearby toolboxes and a curved needle. 

Dean took one look at Sam and took the supplies. “You start cleaning up the smaller scrapes, I’ll tackle the nasty one.” He carefully poured some cleaning alcohol onto the cut, Maison’s body clenching at the sting, and a small moan escaped her lips. “Sorry, sorry, Mais, I’m so sorry, but I gotta get this thing cleaned up.” He muttered to her under his breath, Sam dutifully wiping the smaller cuts on her freckled arms. “Okay, now this is gonna hurt like hell, but I got some meds for you. Just don’t ask where I got ‘em from,” he half-laughed, threading the needle. 

Sam and Dean usually used 4 or 5 stitches per inch, roughly, on a wound, but Dean used as many as he could cram into that wound. He didn’t want it to open up or scar too bad. 

“Now we take her to the house, right?” Sam asked, wiping the blood off of his hands.

“Yeah.” Dean stood there, staring at the blood on his hands and on his sister’s torso. He remembered the Mark... Hell... the nightmares...All of the awful things he had done,. That he would probably do to Masion in time...

Sam snapped him out of it by grabbing the blanket by Maison’s head. Dean followed suit and held the corners near her feet. Carrying her was a lot harder than they expected. If they got too close together, she would start to drag the ground, and the stitches would pull. Their hands kept slipping, threatening to dump her to the ground.

A long walk later, they laid her on the couch and removed the bloody blanket. Sam had the foresight to lay down a plastic tablecloth under her so as to avoid bloodying the couch. Sam opened her eye, shining a light to test for reflexes, and saw the flecks of blue illuminating her brown eyes. 

“Dean! Get over here!” 

Dean was in the kitchen, but was beside the couch in a flash, “What? Did the stitches break? Is she breathing?”

“Chill, dude, there’s just grace in her eyes. Rufus must be keeping her under until he can get to her. Speaking of, shouldn’t we go get--”

And Rufus burst in through the front door, teeth bared and growling, but obviously still weak. Oh, it’s just you. And he flopped down on the rug facing his human.

“Good to see you too, Rufus. How you holding up?” Sam addressed the angel, picking a leaf out of his fur.

I’ve been better. The limited grace I do have left, I am using to keep Maison unconscious until she is healed. I trust you have stitched and cleaned her wounds?

“Yeah, she’s beat up pretty good. We’ll hang out here and take care of her until she’s better.” Dean picked up the cake off the ground and set it in the refrigerator, “Guess we’ll eat this later.”

One week later and the small scrapes are only pink patches nearly healed, and the stitches are being removed. After the last one is out, Rufus allows Maison to awaken. The return of her free will was obvious: her finger twitched, and she curled her toes, and she wrinkled her nose. She sleepily opened her eyes, instinctively putting her hand out for Rufus. He was there.

“Hm, I had a weird dream, Rufus,” she opened her eyes to see a tired Rufus and her worried brothers. “Wha-,” and it came back: the vamp, Rufus’ injury, her injury....”Oh my God, how long have I been out?” She fell back on the pillow in pain as she tried to sit up.

Sam smiled sadly, “Seven days. We missed you, sis,” he put a hand on her shoulder, smiling.

“Yeah, you got a nice badge now,” Dean teased. “So, to catch up: we got the demon out of Wyoming, I found the rattling under the hood, and...Happy birthday!!” Dean pulled the cake out of the refrigerator with a flourish and carefully set it on her lap.

“Aw, guys, it’s beautiful!” The ‘death by chocolate’ cake was lopsided, icing falling off one side, and a third of the cake breaking off one the side. She scooped up a bite and forked it in her mouth, “Mm, I don’t know who sold you this ugly cake,” she swallowed, “but this is definitely the best cake I’ve ever had.” 

Dean beamed, confirming Maison’s suspicions, and Sam shook his head in disbelief, “There’s no way it’s that good. We made it ourselves!”

“Of course it’s that good, we made it ourselves!” Dean gently hugged Mais around her shoulders, kissing the top of her head.

Maison looked around at her two thoughtful brothers and worried guardian, tears coming to her eyes. She had people that cared for her, would go out of their way for her, and would sit by her side nonstop for a week, even making her a cake --and she was on some kind of painkiller. The first tear slipped out of her eye, meandered down her cheek, and disappeared.

“Oh, God, Maison? Maison! Where does it hurt?” Dean jumped back, and stared at his sister in horror, as if he had just broken her. “Sam! Grab the morphine! No--the whiskey, then the morphine--Mais? Mais, stay with me, we’re gonna take care of it. Rufus?! Put her under!” 

“No, no, Dean,” she sniffled, careful not to flex her core muscles at all, “y’all are just so sweet. It’s just been me all these years and...” she held Dean’s hand up to her cheek, reaching for Sam’s as well, “you saved my life. Thank you. I owe you, big time.”

Sam said, “No, you don’t owe us anything. You have helped us more than you’ll ever understand, and really,” he laughed, trying to find the words, not believing he was baring his heart to her, “You saved us.” He squeezed her hand and smiled, dismissing himself to finish some chores around the property.

Maison looked up at Dean next and saw his eyes were misty. “Thank you, Dean, for patching me up. Sam has a rough hand and would’ve left the scarring bad, and,” she could see his emotions running, rushing, mixing, and ebbing behind his eyes, “thank you. Thank you for--”

“No.”

“What?”

“You don’t ever have to say that to me.”

“Well--”

“No, Maison,” Dean sounded mad, but he was really just worried. He took a breath, “You’re family. More than blood. You’ve saved our asses more times than I can count, and we’re staying here with you until you’re 100%. After that, we’re calling you every day and visiting when we can. No if’s and’s or but’s about it.” He ruffled her hair and kissed her hand, strong but gentle and loving.

Maison wanted to move around. Afterall, she had been asleep for a week. As she started moving her legs, Rufus read the thought, and sent it to Dean who promptly held her in place. “Going somewhere, princess?”

“Yeah, I’ve been on the couch all week. I need some air.”

“No, Katniss,” he said referring to her tying herself in the rafters when she was hurt, “No outside. Just couch.”

Maison pouted. “Will you please take me outside?”

“No, you can’t walk, your stitches will tear.”

“Then,” she made her puppy dog eyes, “Will you carry me outside?”

Dean acted annoyed, but he was glad to be able to help her feel better. “Fine, but only a little bit.”

She smiled through the pain that shot throughout her body when he lifted her up. She had lost probably 5 pounds over the week, but even with those 5 pounds, she was still small. He saw her wince, and almost dropped her back on the couch, except she held onto his neck.

“Dean Winchester, don’t you dare drop me.”

He faltered, “Well...I’m not taking you anywhere outside the house. You’re still healing. Want to go up to your reading loft?”

She eyed him suspiciously, figuring he must have gone in her room at some point. He probably had a good reason to. He had a good soul. “...sure. But only if you sit and read with me for a while.”

He smiled. “Of course.”

This time, Dean had Maison in a princess carry when he climbed the ladder, as opposed to the bloody firemen’s carry a week ago. He set her down in her bean bag, fussing over her and offering pillows. Maison was in a bit of pain, but she knew she had had a rough bout with pain meds in the past, so she stuck with aspirin or ibuprofen. 

“Will you get me some tea, Dean?”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” he was glad to have a job that couldn’t possibly hurt Mais. “Green, sweet, or hibiscus?”

She was pleasanly surprised that he remembered. “Actually, will you look in the flower box by the window for some chamomile? Same deal as the hibiscus for prep, and same sugar as the green.”

“Got it. I’ll be right back. If you need anything, just holler.” Dean was picking up on her southern mannerisms and vernacular as he did when he stayed for any period of time.

“Thank you again. I’ll pick you a book,” She called down the ladder.

Dean set a pot on the stove to heat some water and went to pick some chamomile. He grabbed a handful, “I guess that’s enough,” and put it in a bag to boil. While he waited, he took the tablecloth and blankets off of the couch and into the washing machine with plenty of detergent. The tea was done, and he joined Maison up in her loft.

“Ooh, that smells good,” Maison held the warm mug in both hands, still thinking about the crooked red line on her midsection. While Dean was gone, she had inspected it--her first moment alone since waking up--and saw the care he had taken: she had about as many stitches as would possibly fit in that area. It would scar, but nothing like her other ones. She noticed she was wearing the same clothes, the guys opting for privacy over absolute hospital standards. They were so sweet. She felt the warmth of the mug seep into her joints and core. Hopefully, the chamomile would help her to relax.

“So,” Dean rubbed his hands together, “What book do you have for me today?”

“I have,” she reached for the shelf and winced, quickly returning to the beanbag, “ouch. Uh, Last of the Breed. Don’t judge the book by the author. It’s sooo good.”

“Hmm,” Dean got the worn book off the shelf, scanned the cover, and started reading. Maison took up the sun coming in through her window and finished her tea. When she fell asleep, Dean put the book down, marked his page, and carried her down to her bed.

Pulling the covers up to her chin, he tucked her hair behind her ear. Her face was still pale and drawn, her eyes pinkish when they were open, and breathing relatively shallow, but she was a Winchester. Her knife still in her waistband and her gun cleaned, loaded, and placed back under her pillow, she could rest easy. He kissed her forehead for a long time, regretting her being hurt, thankful she was okay, and angry at whoever orchestrated it.

He straightened and retrieved his book from the loft, finding a note inside:

Dean, I want you to take The Count of Monte Cristo with you. I think you’ll appreciate it as much as I do. Thank you for everything. With love, your little sister, Maison.

He grabbed the novel and went out to help Sam with the chores, Rufus tagging along, thankful that they had saved her this time, instead of putting her in more danger.

[melindacoulson4]

Prompt please please for a short drabble where May rescues Coulson from drowning and saves his life when he isn't breathing and they finally kiss for real afterwards smut ensues

Trigger warning: (1) talk of knives/being cut, (2) drowning

Warning: Smut (under the cut)

A short drabble….hahaha.What does that mean.

“Okay Daisy, to your left,” she relays into the comm.She stares hard at the laptop screen in front of her, watching as a little blueSHIELD icon quickly moves across the screen.Her hand reaches towards her outstretched right leg, intending to massage themuscle. The calf muscle there has been twitching painfully for the last twenty minutes.The pain medicine that Simmons prescribed has been wearing off for a while now.Earlier, she had been able to ignore the ache with all of the excitement ofpreparing for this operation. But now, sitting in this chilly metal van all byherself, the leg wound was all she could think about. “Anything?” She asks Daisy. She waits for a couple of seconds, yet still receives no response. Only static. That means that the comms went down. This seemed to always happen. Thetechnology was not reliable at all, that’s why she prefers to be out in thefield where there were no delays, just real-life action. “Damn it,” she mutters as the whole screen flashes to black. After a moment, the map of the marina pops back up with blue, yellow, andpurple SHIELD icons. She studies the icons carefully. Something is different.There’s one less icon. Where’s Phil’s?“All teams check in,” she demands, driven solely by anxiousness. What the hell just happened?“Blue one, here.” Okay, that’s YoYo. “Blue two, here.” That’s Daisy. “Purple one, here.” Fitz.“Purple two, here.” Simmons. Now, it should be Phil checking in. But all she hears is silence among the comm. “Yellow one…check in,” she orders. The worry begins to grab a holdof her now. More static.“Hey Coulson, if you haven’t noticed that’s you,” Daisy jokes, alwaystrying to keep things light-hearted. Still, they receive not even a word from Coulson. “Yellow two, here,” Mac’s voice hits her ear. “I don’t have avisual on him.”“Does anyone have eyes on Coulson?” She asks, already knowing theanswer. “Coulson, come in,” she begs. They were currently chasing an inhuman named Henry Caine who has been creativelynamed The Lizard. This was due to his ability to blend in with anysurroundings. Technically, he should be named the chameleon, but the media hadalready made their choice after the first sighting. He was fast, dangerous, andrelatively invisible, which made her fear for what he could’ve possibly done toCoulson. “Coulson!” She calls again on the comms. That was his last chance. She can’t sit in here anymore with his life possiblyin danger. She sets the laptop to the side and scoots herself over to the vandoors, pushing them open. The pain in her leg intensifies at the suddenmovement. She slides herself out of the back and lands with both feet on the grass. She bites back a groan of pain. The stab wound would probably break open again,but she wasn’t going to let that stop her. “Damn it, Phil,” she mutters. Anger would help her push past theincreasing ball of anxiety in her stomach.“May, what are you doing?” Jemma asks through the comm. Melinda rolls her eyes. Of course, Jemma would somehow sense what she wasdoing. She was simply breaking the promise that Jemma had all but forced her tomake while she was good and drugged up in the SHIELD recovery bay. Oh well. She was first in line tocommand when Coulson was unavailable. So this is her command now. “He waslast on the dock. I’m going to look for him. Everyone else hold your positions.Keep looking for Caine,” she orders, her tone leaving no room forexceptions. Gritting her teeth, she pushes herself off of the van’s bumper and beginsrunning towards the dock. Well, if you could even consider what she was doingas running. It was more of a quick limp, hop, and then jog. If she would’vebeen sliced instead of stabbed this would all be much easier, but some jackasswatchdog had plunged a serrated knife into her calf almost down to the bone andthen ripped it back out. Jemma had told her she should be on bed rest for amonth, but that was never going to work anyway. Her boots pound on the wooden deck as she awkwardly shuffles around. If TheLizard was around here, he would definitely hear her coming. All she can hear is the rhythmic sound of waves crashing against the undersideof the boats. There are boats everywhere, impeding her line of sight in every direction. It’sgoing to take much longer than she anticipated to search this whole place forPhil. She unholsters her gun and points it in front of her as she reaches theend of the first row of boats.  A sudden crashing followed by yelling hits her ear through the comms.“He’s in blue territory!” comes YoYo’s breathless voice. “Tracking him now!” Daisy chimes in, after a moment. “Got it,” she responds. YoYo and Daisy could handle the inhuman. After rounding the hull of another boat, her toe catches on something. Sheglances down, thinking it may be something that could lead her to Phil, she’smerely met with a plastic bag. Damn it.She kicks it off and continues her sweep. “Phil!” She calls. Maybe ifhe figures out that she’s close, calling out to her would be made easier or hecould try to make some type of noise.“Phil!” She yells again. After ten minutes of nothing, she happens to pass a two passenger speed boatand spots something next to it in the water. She points her gun at it, only torealize that it’s a body floating face down in the lake. She knows that blackjacket and dark grey pants. Its Phil. 

He’s not moving. Her heart just about explodes at the sight. “Phil!” She screams, barely able to get the words out. Her hands drop the gun immediately and she dives into the water without hesitation. She pries her eyes open under the water and sees that she’s surrounded by murkygreen-tinted water. Luckily, Phil is a mere 10 feet away. She uses her arms topropel herself towards him. She tries to kick both of her legs, but the rightone is already burning with pain from the contact with water. Her hands reach for his arm as she breaks to the surface, sucking in a breathof air. She grips his jacket tightly in her hand as she flips his body over inthe water so his face is turned towards the sky. “Phil,” she calls to him shakily, hoping by some miracle that hewould respond. She begins pulling his body towards the dock, searching for a way to climb upand get him to safety. She prides herself on being strong, but hulling his bodywhile swimming with a less than perfect leg was difficult. Not to mention theway her nerves are lighting up all throughout her body. She can sense theshaking of her elbows and hands as she clutches onto his soaked jacket.Somehow, there’s a metal ladder hanging off the side of the speed boat and it’sjust within her reach. Her sopping wet clothes weigh her down as she tries to drag Phil up the ladderwith her. Her muscles burn with the effort, but she’s able to get him highenough that she can fall backwards into the boat and position him on top ofher. She moves onto her hands and knees and leans over his body, water drippingeverywhere around them. “Phil,” she calls hysterically. He hasn’t moved this whole time. Shelifts a hand to his face, slapping his cheek with no response. His face rollsto the side. He’s out cold. 

He’s not breathing.Her fingers pull his head over and tilt it back. She pries his mouth open andbends over his body, giving him a couple of rescue breaths. This is not how sheever imagined pressing her lips against his. His lips are blue and cold against her deep red ones. His face is white as asheet. Everything about him is lifeless. She pulls away and begins pressing the heels of her joined hands against hischest, giving him rapid compressions in quick succession. Still, no response from Phil. His body stays limp. No. No. No. No. No. She won’t let him go. She won’t!Especially like this. Her teeth chatter along with her shaky arms caused by the combination of thecrisp air and the adrenaline beginning to wear off. Time for another rescue breath. Sheleans over and covers his mouth, blowing a deep breath of air into his lungs. She feels a rumble underneath her palms on his abdomen. Pulling away quickly,she stares in shock as his eyes pop open. He sits up quickly and turns away from her, beginning to cough roughly. She watches, stunned, as he spits up fluid, his shoulders shaking with theeffort. Her hand wraps around his bicep and squeezes lightly, hoping to comfort him andlet him know that she’s here with him. “Phil…are you…okay?” She asks, voice quivering with emotion. He turns back around and pulls himself into a sitting position, still breathingheavily. “Melinda,” he wheezes. She trails her hand down the length of his arm and grabs a hold of his hand,squeezing tightly. “You’re okay,” she reassures him. At the sametime, she’s also reassuring herself. She tampers down the instinct to ask him what happened. She would ask himlater. Right now, he should be focusing on his breathing. “Simmons, get up here,” she says. It’s only after the words leave hermouth that she realizes that her comm device must’ve fallen out. She didn’teven think to take it out before jumping in the water. Her hand searches in her jacket pocket and pulls out her phone. Now soaked andruined. She can’t even call for help. Before she can begin to freak out, she hears the pounding of multiple sets offootsteps on the dock. Fuck. She doesnot need that inhuman around here right now. She scoots herself in front of Phil, preparing herself to protect him at allcosts. That is, until she sees a clearly rattled Daisy leading a flusteredFitzsimmons with a concerned YoYo and Mac pulling up the rear. “Oh my god,” Daisy comments, eyes growing wide as she spots them.They probably look pathetic, huddled together, shivering, and wet. Simmons pushes past Daisy and runs right up to Melinda, grabbing a hold of herleg. “May…What-“ She shakes her head at Simmons. "Check Coulson. I had to give himCPR.”Simmons nods and moves away from Melinda’s leg over to Phil. Melinda sits there trying not to move an inch, the pain from her leg nowincessantly throbbing. Her eyes squeeze shut in agony. She’s startled as arms surround her on both sides. As she opens her eyes, sherealizes its Daisy and YoYo helping her to stand up. “Come on,” Daisy encourages her gently.She opens her mouth to object, wanting them to worry about Phil first, but YoYobeats her to it. “Mac and Fitz have your guy,” YoYo comments with asparkle of humor in her eyes. Melinda turns her head to see Mac and Fitz hoisting Phil’s dripping form up.Simmons is touching Phil’s face and prying his eyelids open, checking him over.He doesn’t seem too fazed by it. He’s obviously much too exhausted to object.

After a much needed hot shower and check-up by Simmons she gets the okay toleave medical. Simmons had fussed over her reopened wound and the possibilityof infection from the “infested microbial waters”. The downside to being released was not the thick layers of bandaging around hercalf, oh no, it was the crutches that she now has to use for the foreseeablefuture. The plus side: she gets to finally check on Phil. She limps with the metal crutches digging into her armpits after each step. Ugh, they were already pissing her off.She’ll ditch them in a couple of days. She reaches the room that Simmons told her Phil was in and pushes the dooropen. There, she sees him sitting on the edge of the hospital bed with his legshanging off of the side. A blanket is wrapped around his shoulders.Immediately, she notices that his face is grim with displeasure. She knows thathe hates hospitals or anything to do with them. It brings back memories of hisfather’s heart attack and subsequent death due to surgical complications. He looks over to her and flashes her a small smile. Slowly, yet steadily she hobbles her way over to his bed intending to stand infront of him. To her surprise, he pats the empty space next to him, invitingher to sit. Probably just because of the crutches, she tells herself. She lowers herself onto the mattress, leaving about two feet of space between them. “So?” She asks him. He sighs. “Just doing some tests, then I should be good to go. Jemma justwants to make sure.”She nods. Okay good. Nothing major iswrong with him. He’s okay. She can finally breathe easily again. She catches him staring at the white gauze around her calf muscle.

“Your leg…”“It’s fine,” she dismisses. And truly it is. It’s cleaned up and shehas pain medicine now, so it’s fine. She can still spy the guilt in his eyes.“I made it worse,” he says. She stops him before he can continue to blame himself. “Phil, its fine. Iwouldn’t tell you its fine if it wasn’t. You know that. Besides, you’re the onethat stopped breathing today. I care that you’re okay.” Her hand reachesout and rests against his thigh. His eyes stare at her hand as if it was burning him. Just as she thinks aboutremoving it, one of his own much larger ones covers it. This time, his skin iswarm rather than ice cold from the lake. It’s everything she wants at the moment. Just touching him was comforting.Feeling his skin, knowing that he’s alive and breathing was all the reassurancethat she needed. She glances up and realizes that he’s staring right back at her. Their eyeslock and something shifts something that wasn’t there before today. Her brainbegins focusing on his lips. How they were so blue with the lack of oxygen. Howthey were dull and lifeless against her own earlier today. She can’t help butflicker her gaze down to see what they look like now. They’re colored with adeep pinkish-red hue. She wonders how they would feel now. If she leaned inand-A bang startles her, she pulls away from Phil and turns to see Daisy’sapproaching figure. “Hey, I just wanted to see how you were. You too, May,” Daisy says,blissfully unaware of what she had just interrupted. As Melinda sits there, quietly enjoying Phil and Daisy’s company she finallyrealizes what that shifting feeling between her and Phil was. Worry. Worry, that they were running out oftime. 

Water. Fear.No oxygen.Darkness. She pulls him out. Tries desperately to revive him. It doesn’t work. He’s dead. Phil’s dead. Her mouth opens wide, trying desperately to suck air into her lungs. She sitsup wildly in bed, gasping. It was just a dream. More like a nightmare, but itdoesn’t matter what she calls it. What matters is that it wasn’t real. Phil isalive. She saved him. She got to him in time. So why couldn’t she catch her breath? He’s safe, but her mind is plagued with regret. She can’t stop thinking aboutall of the things that could have gone wrong. He could’ve died had shehesitated or stayed in the van. She could’ve lost him. She almost did. Why did they keep wasting so much time?How could she have just sat there in that recovery room and not told him howmuch he means to her? Does he even realize how much she loves him?What if he would’ve died never knowing?Her chest feels tight again. Tears roll down her cheeks that she quickly swipesaway. Tomorrow she would tell-A quick tapping at her door interrupts her thoughts. Her head snaps to the clock at her bedside table: 3:06 a.m.It’s either an emergency or its Phil. She scoots herself off of the bed and hobbles over to the door on one foot. Shedoesn’t feel like using the crutches right now. She pulls the door open and sees that it is in fact Phil. Good. She couldn’t deal with another crisis right now. He’s in a plain grey SHIELD t-shirt and blue cotton sleep pants. He’s exhaustedshe can tell. His squinty eyes have dark circles under them. “I was hoping thatyou weren’t asleep,“ he comments. She leans against the door frame for support. "Can’t sleep. I keepthinking about what ifs. Again,” she whispers.That was bold. She hadn’t expected to even tell him that. But she was just sotired of hiding it. He nods solemnly. “Another close call. Too close. But lucky for me, youwere there,” he says, softly. "May,“ he pauses, smilingslightly. "Melinda. I….I’m just going to say this and I hope it doesn’tmake you uncomfortable or hate me but….I can’t keep it in anymore.”Her abdominal muscles tighten at his words and suddenly she wants to throw up.She swallows, then says, “okay.” She meets his gaze. The seriousnesswithin his eyes startles her. Her hand reaches for the door frame and squeezes,bracing for what he’s about to say. He moves a little bit closer to her face. “I want you,” he confesses,voice husky and deeper than she’s ever heard. It’s obvious what he means. What elsecould he mean by that…nothing. He wants her. Oh god. Yes. His pupils are blown wide, another confirmation. She leans in, but can’t get up high enough to kiss him. He’s going to have tomeet her halfway. Like everything else that they do. And finally, he does meet her, leaning down and capturing her lips. She feels his hand cup her face, pulling her even closer. The kiss is nice. Hislips are soft and steady against her own. They stay still like that, revelingin the moment. It’s warm and comforting, at first. Then, it turns into pure passion. His fingers thread through her hair, trailing down to press against the nape ofher neck. His other hand reaches for her hip, pulling her body flush againsthis. Everything is touching now. Their boundaries have now flown out thewindow. She can feel the tight muscles from his thighs against her own legs andhips. Her breasts are now flush against his torso. She’s wearing no bra and hernipples harden at the strength of his hands cradling her against him. He tilts his head as he opens his mouth and presses his tongue against herlips. Her jaw drops open and he pushes his tongue in. She moves her own againsthis and it becomes a silent duel like everything else between them. Up until now, she had been too shocked to act. Her hands are squished under herbreasts, but now she turns them, grabs onto his t-shirt, and drags his bodyforward. They have to move this out of the hallway. She does not want to give anyone ashow tonight. He barely reacts, just follows as she drags him into the room and then he’ssomehow able to swing the door shut with his foot. He does this all withoutbreaking the kiss. She momentarily forgets about her leg wound as she’s backing up and loses herbalance. She falls backwards while pulling Phil with her. Luckily, her bed isright there to catch her. Her back hits the mattress as Phil’s body falls ontop of hers. They both land with a surprised oofin a tangle of limbs. His weight is now fully pressed against her own. And shecan feel his hardness against her stomach. She bites her lip in response. She looks up at him and finds him alreadystaring at her. “Melinda..,” he says, completely serious. “Do you wantthis?”She swallows hard. They are really doing this. “Yes,” she responds. He grins, then leans down and captures her lips again. His hands now caress theexposed skin of her abdomen. The rough surface of his palms the perfectopposite to her smooth skin. She wraps both of her arms around his neck, her elbows resting on his shoulderblades. She presses her hands to the back of his head and uses her nails toscratch his scalp. At first, she’s unsure if he likes it, but shortly after starting he lets out adeep groan of pleasure. He pulls his mouth away from her own. Then, begins trailing his lips down thelength of her neck, lighting a fire as he goes. He stops at her pulse point andsucks a little harder causing her to gasp. Her eyes flutter closed at thestrong sensation. Her breathing increases as he begins moving down again. She can feel thewetness pooling between her thighs already. God, she wants him. He pauses at her breasts. She thinks he’s going to give them attention until helowers his face to her chest and begins moving again, teasing her. He movesdown quickly, then stops at the end of her shirt. Each of his hands grip thesides of her shirt and pull up. The material moves from her hips, over herstomach, breasts, chest, and then stops at her underarms.He moves his hands towards her own, which are now resting at her sides. Hegrips her wrists and guides her hands up above her head, successfully pullingthe shirt off. She’s topless now. His eyes focus on her nipples and his mouth soon follows. He lightly runs his tongue over her right nipple. The wetness and tip of histongue teases her into full peak. He presses his open mouth against it andbreaths hot air over her. She shivers in response. Her back arches off of thebed to get even closer to his mouth. She needs him everywhere now. He pulls away and moves over to her other breast, giving it the same attention. Her hands grip tightly at the bed sheets until she realizes that she could besqueezing Phil. He’s a little too clothed at the moment. She cups his jaw in her palm and pullslightly, signaling him to move away. “Shirt off,” she orders. She would pull it off of him, but she’s so ready for him to be naked that shereally doesn’t care who is responsible. His weight moves off of her as he tugs the shirt over his head and all she canthink of is how much she wants him on top of her again. He’s shirtless now, just as exposed as she is. Her eyes are drawn to the scarfrom the battle of New York. It’s red and raised just over his sternum. It’sexactly as she remembers it was from before, but now she is free to touch ithowever she wants. They had been building their trust of one another since thatday in his office. She reaches out and lightly caresses it. It’s rough with uneven scar tissue,but she doesn’t care. It’s a part of him and it saved his life, so she lovesit. She can feel his rapid heartbeat underneath his skin and notices that he isn’tmeeting her eyes. He’s nervous about how she’ll react to the scar, sherealizes.“Phil,” she calls. His eyes are slow to meet hers. She feels a burst of emotion. “I love you,” she confesses. She’s onher back. He’s leaning over her. They’re both shirtless, about to have sex. Ifthey’re going to do this, then they’re doing it the right way. No more secretsor regrets. She would be a fool not to tell him now. His eyes widen almost imperceptibly, then dart all over her face searching forsomething. He laughs, but quickly covers it up. “Sorry…..I. I just can’tbelieve this is real. That I’m not dreaming. I just- I’m happy,” hepauses, swallowing. “I love you,” he says completely serious again. Her heart pounds in response. He loves her. She is in love with Phil Coulsonand he with her. Finally. She wraps a hand around the back of his neck and pulls him down. She wants hisbare chest against her own. And his lips pressed against hers. He’s warm and solid against her. It feels fantastic. She kisses him with everything that she has, wanting to get as close aspossible. His hips press against her again and he’s even harder thanbefore. They’re both panting with anticipation now. She doesn’t think that they can wait any longer. They’re ready. Her hands grip onto the waistband of his pants and boxers. He instinctivelylifts his hips, creating enough space for her to yank the pants off. When he rolls off of her, kicking the rest of his pants off she decides tosurprise him by shedding her own leggings and underwear. It proves to be alittle more difficult than expected when she has to take her time pulling thestretchy material around the bandage on her calf. But, she’s able to get it offbefore he even turns around.  Now, they’re both completely bare. No boundaries between them. Condom. She flips her body around andscoots towards her bedside table, opening the drawer and finding one of thescattered packets that she knows are in there. She’s had those in there for awhile. It was always better to be prepared, just in case. She jumps in surprise at the hands around her waist. She didn’t think he waspaying attention to her yet. But apparently, he was. He helps her move back towards the middle of the bed and turns her around, sothat they’re facing each other. His hand finds her own and takes the little packet, ripping it open and pullingthe latex out. She finally glances down to get a look at him. His penis is fully aroused,hard, and ready. He’s a little bigger than the average length, which is good.Not some small thing that she wouldn’t be able to ride at some point. Thatwould’ve been disappointing. He rolls the condom on with a small grown at his own touch. The sound goesright to her core. She feels a rush of wetness in anticipation. She lies back, completely flat against the bed and spreads her legs for him.The sheets are a welcome cool contrast against her burning skin. He shuffles over, kind of in an endearingly awkward way and grips himself,pausing at her entrance. “Ready?” He asks. Of course! She’s been ready for overtwenty years. “Yes. I need you,” she begs. The hand that he doesn’t currently have poised at her entrance lands on herthigh and spreads her even wider. His tip teases her entrance oh so slowly. He moves, stretching her, allowingher muscles to conform to his shape. He pauses when he is in all the way. Phil’s hips are fully pressed against herown. They are joined in every way. He bends over her and leans down, kissing her lightly. She can tell this is probably torture for him. His eyes are already squeezingshut trying to get a hold of himself. Her muscles begin twitching, so she bucks her hips into his without warningsignaling him to move.  He lets out a deep guttural uhhhh inher ear in response. And then, it begins and she’s floating on cloud nine. He isn’t slow or gentle;he sets a bruising pace. It’s all fueled by passion and years of built uptension.

He pulls out almost all the way and then slams back in. A loud moan escapes her previously closed lips. Shit. She has to stay quiet. It’s the middle of the night and theyare on base with other agents around. He continues the pattern of moving out almost as if he’s going to stop but thenhe slams back in even harder than the previous times. She moans each time, which seems to drive him on.She closes her legs tightly around him and tries to squeeze him while he’sinside of her. “Oh uhh mm-Melinda,” he gasps, face pressing against the sheets overher shoulder.They’re burning up in both temperature and desire. He speeds up his thrusts, clearly close to coming. Thankfully, she is too. They’re both groaning and panting at the sensations. Suddenly, she feels one of his hands under her right leg as he bends and liftsit, cradling it against his hip. This changes his angle and somehow he’s able to move his body on top of herseven more. This way, his length hits her clit with every thrust. She can’t take much more. “Oh god, Phil. I’m so close,” she moans. He gives three more powerful thrusts and she comes, muscles twitching all atonce. He follows her, shuddering to a halt over top of her and groaning as he comes.They both collapse in exhaustion and pleasure, trying to catch their breath. Being with him was definitely worththe wait. 

//end//Hope this was what you wanted anon