#I do believe the fact that he threw in the unthinkable as an option after the unthinkable happened to him speaks more to wanting to see his

[everymadara]

Chapter 625

[lechairpourriedegrianri]

Title: Golden Forest

Words: 1366

Description: Grian sacrifices himself to the creeper to save Scar’s life on the first day. Scar swears his allegiance to Grian and they settle in the Flower forest with Scott and Jimmy.

Warnings: Mentions of blood, if you were fine with Third Life you’ll be fine with this

@whyamihereat4am since I said I’d tag you

By the time Grian realized what was going to happen, it was too late. His only option left was to dive in front of the creeper before it could reach Scar and act like the whole thing had been a big accident. The other server members accepted that he had valiantly saved Scar from an incoming creeper, and that was a lot nicer than the truth of a prank gone wrong. He had not been expecting Scar to swear his complete loyalty to Grian as a manservant as thanks for the save, but oh well.

With Scar by his side, Grian settled at his starter house in the flower forest, where the duo discovered the Flower Husbands, Scott and Jimmy. The two pairs got along well and cut down the two dark oak forests on the server, giving them a monopoly on the material and forming a strong alliance between them. A mild surprise but still expected, Scar lost his first life in the logging process, swarmed by mobs in an admittedly unimpressive manner. After some thinking, he decided that since he had not died in defense of Grian, their deal still stood.

Grian and Scar soon began a rampage of scheming and hijinks, selling dark oak subscriptions, “reputation”, and no-kill passes (one of which was bought by BigB). Due to the two yellow-lives who had quickly become its public face, the Flower Forest became known as the Golden Forest. While Grian and Scar handled sales, Jimmy and Scott hung back at the forest to handle production of dark oak.

Despite his strong alliances with Scar and the Flower Husbands, Grian kept up ties with his fellow Blue Sword Boys, BigB and Martyn. He secretly planned to ditch the forest and team up with them if things got rough. Martyn had his own alliances, working under Ren at Renchanting. BigB, on the other hand, had kept to himself, staying friendly yet distant with everyone but not making any promises. For a time, there was peace, both in the Golden Forest and the rest of the server.

But no good thing lasts forever. Bored and hoping to start some fun, Cleo set fire to Joel’s house, pinning the blame on Scar when asked about it. Joel had earlier lost a life to Tango’s Dare to Flare game (which claimed Jimmy’s first life as well), and got caught up in the flames, becoming the server’s first red life. Enraged, he believed Cleo’s deception and went after Scar, despite Scar’s denials of commiting the act. Not wanting to rebuild his house, Joel talked Cleo, Bdubs, and Tango into a team-up, forming an expanded Team Crastle.

As conflicts between the Golden Forest and Team Crastle brewed, Ren, Etho, and Skizz met in Renchanting and agreed to stay neutral by any means necessary. Martyn tentatively agreed to join as well and act as a secret agent within the Golden Forest’s forces. Small battles erupted throughout the forest, fortress, and tower, and several more yellows and reds cropped up. Ren, Martyn, and Skizz were taken out by a tnt trap, leaving the former two on their yellow lives and Skizz on his red. After that, Renchanting found themselves embroiled in the fight, leaving three opposing sides. Jimmy and Grian both were left on their red lives after unlucky arrow fights, marking the Golden Forest a crimson red.

Soon enough, the unthinkable happened. During a particularly brutal fight that brought Scott to his yellow life, Bdubs (also red) stormed Jimmy and Scott’s lakeside house in the forest and struck Jimmy down, the server’s first permadeath. Scar quickly killed Bdubs in return. Scott was heartbroken briefly, but soon realized he could only feel rage. He did three things: first, he had Grian build a creeper farm; second, he collected as much sand as he could from the empty desert to the west, and third, he held a funeral for Jimmy, building the most magnificent grave he could. Scott stood on the grave and asked Grian to strike him down, so that he too could become a red life and avenge Jimmy’s death. Grian complied.

As the deaths stacked up, Grian began to consider his lie. It was wrong to hide the fact that he had led the creeper to Scar in the first place, yes, but at this point Scar wouldn’t be able to find a place in another faction, and telling him would only breed discord in their group, right? In the Crastle, Cleo felt much the same about her lie to Joel. With Bdubs gone, she slid into the position of leader, but hung back from the combat, preferring to lead with a silver tongue rather than a diamond sword. Impulse had tried bouncing between the three warring factions, staying sweet with each of them. But he soon found that despite standing with all three, none stood with him. Skizz and Impulse soon joined the permadead.

With a massive supply of tnt, Scott lay an insanely huge trap across the entire Golden Forest. Martyn saw what was happening and discreetly tried to slip away and warn Ren, but Grian had discovered the traitor in their midst. He killed Martyn in cold blood, leaving a stain on his hands that he couldn’t wash out. Once the trap was in place, Grian and Scar led everyone to the Golden Forest for a bloodbath. After killing Tango for the last time and ensuring that everyone but BigB was present, Scott detonated the trap. Scott died. Etho died. And Scar lost his second life, leaving him the last to turn red, even after BigB.

Six remained. Grian. Scar. Cleo. Joel. Ren. BigB. BigB got away from Grian and Scar with a no kill pass he had bought from them, leaving Ren as their next kill. Sensing it was the time to do it, Cleo admitted to Joel that she had been the one to burn his house down and had lied about it. He was confused at first, then betrayed, then filled with bloodlust. Bloodlust that did not take long for him to fill. By complete coincidence, at the same time, Grian confessed to Scar that he had led the creeper to him in the first place. Scar was dismayed, but still threw himself in front of Joel’s blade. His promise was fulfilled; he had died defending Grian’s life.

Grian fled, leaving a returning BigB to be cut down unceremoniously. Joel found him soon enough, cowering in the wreckage of Joel’s old home. They mutually agreed to a fair fight and relocated to the starting village, in a spot Grian recognized as eerily close to the one where he had sacrificed himself to save Scar. The two stripped themselves of armor and burned their items, leaving them each with one wooden sword. One a deceiver, the other deceived, they dueled in a ring of fire as the dead cheered them on. However, Grian’s spirit had been weakened by Scar’s death and he found himself unable to keep up with Joel’s hollow, holy fury. Grian died, beaten, remorseful, and alone.

Joel found himself wandering a silent world. The collapsed walls of Renchanting, the stripped sands of the desert, the home he had once known, the tower he had once called home, and, lastly, the Golden Forest. He found a smoking crater, but with one notable addition. An obsidian tomb nowhere’s above the wreckage, and after digging into it he discovered Jimmy’s grave, preserved from the tnt annihilation by Scott. Joel climbed to the top of the grave, and leapt. He respawned back in his bed, his life still a gleaming red.

As Joel made his journey, Grian found himself in the Golden Forest, restored beyond its former glory. New buildings, plants, and details that were exactly what he imagined the area could be. Jimmy, Scott, and Scar welcomed him to the barbecue, and as he sat down at the campfire, he realized that the grave had been replaced by two statues. One of Grian diving in front of the creeper, and other of Scar diving in front of Joel. He was home.

Rankings:

14. Jimmy

13. Bdubs

12. Skizz

11. Impulse

10. Martyn

9. Tango

8. Etho (Tie)

7. Scott (Tie)

6. Ren

5. Cleo

4. Scar

3. BigB

2. Grian

1. Joel (Winner)

[wickedbarnes]

He Loves Me, He Loves Me Not | John Wick x Reader

PROMPT: Hanahaki Disease AU! Reader realizes she's in love with John but John, on the other hand, can't reciprocate the feelings because he's still in love with Helen. And so, reader begins to cough blood red rose petals...

WARNING: Major angst. Blood. Get your tissues ready.

NOTE: This is my take on the fictional disease so please don't attack me if some of the concepts of it is wrong. I just did it so there would be more impact to the story. An explanation for my take on the Hanahaki will be provided down below at the end of the oneshot to avoid any confusions. Other than that, please enjoy!

--

If there was one thing you hated doing, it was breaking promises. And you rarely did it unless it was really necessary. But you hated it when you did. And this... this was a promise you swore you would never break. But here you were, staring down at your bloody palm, examining the rose petals that stuck to your skin.

A lone tear cascaded down your cheek as you wiped the blood from your lips.

It finally got to you. The disease. The same disease that had killed your beloved Mother. And you were sure it was the same one that was going to kill you.

You vividly remembered how your Mother would gush about how beautiful love was. How magical it is and how you'd feel as if you were floating when you experienced it. And in a way, she has a point. But not everything was easy.

Because along with love comes pain. The pain of a broken heart. And as you grew up you realized that love was only beautiful when it was reciprocated. When the person you love is in love with you as well. But like your mom, you weren't so lucky.

You had no one but John now. When your Mother died of the Hanahaki Disease, you swore- vowed, rather, that you would never fall in love. But that was, until John.

The moment you saw the man, you could tell just how miserable he seemed but there was something about him that just drew you in. He charmed women without even noticing it. And so you did the unthinkable and was bold enough to go ask him what drink he wanted and that it was on you.

You worked as a bartender in the Red Circle. And when you spotted John you had no idea what type of man he was and what type of world he lives in. But even after that, you didn't care. You still stuck with him.

And you didn't even plan on doing so. You just wanted to give the man something to look forward to. Something to give him a little boost. But when chaos broke and you were almost shot by Viggo's men, John was brave enough to catch the bullet himself before the rest of them ran out thinking they had finally killed the Baba Yaga.

That night, you couldn't just leave him there dying. You had insisted he goes to the hospital but he told you not to and instructed you to take him to the Continental. The hotel where you didn't even know housed assassins like him. You didn't know why but you had stayed with him the whole while he was being patched up despite the fact he kept telling you to leave because it would be dangerous.

But the stubborn person you are, you decided to stay. And the rest was history from there.

You felt it creep up on you. You could tell because you felt the same itch in your throat that didn't seem to go away ever since your feelings for John got stronger. But the moment you realized you were in love with him, fate had finally decided to give you a sign that the feelings you have for the man just wasn't mutual.

And in a way, you kind of understood why. The wedding band on John's finger was proof of that. It was the proof of his undying love for his late wife, Helen. Who were you to compete with that?

The whole situation caused you to let a laugh under your breath. How ironic. John Wick never intends on hurting you. And yet here he was, being the reason why you're ill today.

---

"Y/N, you need to rest, you've been coughing all day and you don't look too good. I can handle it from here." John tried to approach you but you instinctively moved away from him and sat down on the couch yourself. Your reaction took him aback but he quickly regained his composure and sat down next to you but made sure to give you some distance.

You were pretty sure the handkerchief you were coughing into was full of blood by now and you prayed no petal would fall off or it would only worry John even more. You suspected he knows about the disease as well.

Day by day, it was getting hard for you to breathe. You knew the plant inside your lungs was growing and every night you had battled and hoped it wouldn't be your last night. Even sleeping had come to terrify you. You were afraid you wouldn't wake up anymore.

"Y/N, are you alright? You're not telling me what's going on, I have to know so I can take care of you." John would say, concern written all over his face and your heart ached at the sight because you knew he only meant that as a friend.

"I'm fine, John, I'll be okay I told you it's just allergies." You sighed and stood up to get a glass of water when you felt the familiar itch on your throat creeping up again. But the moment you took a step forward, you leaned forward and began to heave as you wretched out blood along with rose petals on John's floor.

You somehow felt embarrassed but your body fell on the floor as you kept throwing up blood. John was almost sure he would've had a heart attack with what he saw. He immediately went over to you and rubbed your back, panic beginning to creep up in his body.

This was like when Helen was ill.

When you were finished throwing up, you opened your mouth to apologize but you found yourself going limp and passing out in John's arms.

John looked at the blood and rose petals that were smeared all over his floor. The realization hit him like a truck as his face began to go pale. He looked down at your unconscious body in horror.

"Y/N, what the hell..."

---

John couldn't even fathom looking at you like this. Pale and sickly looking. He hadn't noticed just how much you had lost weight and how horrible the bags under your eyes looked. You were always with him but he was too caught up in work that he barely had time to see how his friend was doing.

He knew about the Hanahaki disease. John remembered how someone in Ruska Roma died because of it. But he never expected you to get it.

The assassin pinched the bridge of his nose and leaned back against the uncomfortable plastic chair. Who the hell were you in love with? You had never mentioned anyone from work that caught your eye. Nor did you introduce anyone to John. The idea of someone being the root of all this caused him to clench his fists until his knuckles turned white.

Whoever it was that didn't love you back, John was sure he was going to get a piece of his damn mind.

John's thoughts were cut off when the doctor came in and greeted him with a polite smile. When he looked at Y/N's records, the doctor let out a sigh and John knew this wasn't a good sign.

"Does she have family?" The doctor, Dr. Mercer had asked to which John responded by shaking his head no.

"I'm the only one she has now." Dr. Mercer nodded.

"Mr. Wick, I'm gonna be honest. Miss Y/L/N is in critical condition. The amount of blood that she threw up was very alarming. I'm sure you're aware of the Hanahaki Disease?" John nodded solemnly at the question and never took his eyes off you.

"Well, the plant inside her lungs is growing more and more. And it won't be long until it fully suffocates her. Looking at her x-rays right here, you can see that the plant is almost corrupting her lungs fully." Dr. Mercer showed your x-ray scan to John to which he took carefully and it only made the situation even real.

Was he going to lose another important person in his life? He already lost Helen and Daisy. He only has Dog now. Could he really lose you, too?

"Is there a cure to this?"

"There is. But... both of them aren't as easy as they sound." John looked up at the doctor with a confused look causing Dr. Mercer to sigh.

"In order to cure the patient, the person she's in love with has to love her back. And I don't mean platonic love. I mean, real genuine love. If that doesn't work, then we can surgically remove the root of the plant from her lungs."

John perked up at the mention of surgical removal of the plant. Obviously, whoever this person is didn't love you enough to even cure you. John felt that option two was the only logical option left. Or else, you'd die.

"I think I'd like the plant to be surgically removed from her."

"Mr. Wick, I think the patient has to decide for that. Because even though it could cure her, it would erase everything she felt and remembered about the person. Once the operation is done and successful, that person never existed for her. And unfortunately, Y/N here would be stripped away of the ability to experience romantic love. The removal of the root will cause that as well."

John couldn't believe what he was hearing. Y/N won't experience romantic love anymore? He looked at your frail body and put a hand over his face. He'd heard Dr. Mercer excuse himself but all John could think of was how he was going to save you.

He doesn't want you to live up your life not knowing how it feels to be in love and be loved by the person you're in love with. But if you don't do anything about this, you'd be six feet underground and time was slowly running out.

John's thoughts abruptly stopped when he noticed you waking up from a deep sleep. You had been out of it for about fourteen hours.

You fluttered your eyes open and took in your surroundings. Your throat felt really dry and you could use a tall drink of water. Looking around, your eyes soon fell on John who stood up from his chair and smiled softly down at you.

Your heart fluttered at how beautiful he is. You almost mistook him for an angel.

"Hey, how are you feeling?" He asked softly and brushed away some of your hair away from your face. His touch sent shivers down your spine and in a way, it hurt for him to be here. He was so gentle and patient. Was he like that with Helen? Or was he even more loving when it came to her?

"Like death." You laughed softly as you averted your eyes to the glass of water that was sitting on the table beside your bed, "Can I get a drink, please?"

John immediately took the glass of water and helped you sit up from your bed so you could drink. You were dehydrated from the amount of blood you just threw up hours ago. John gently patted your head when he saw that you drank all of the water from the glass.

"Good girl." He'd praise you and your heart swelled at it but it made you cough a bit.

John sat back down on the plastic chair but brought it closer by your bed as he looked at you in the eye.

"Y/N, who did this to you?" He asked. It took you about a minute to figure out what he was on about. And then you remembered the disease. Your situation probably took a turn for the worse and you assumed what had happened earlier almost scared John to death.

"Y/N." John sighed. "You're one of my most trusted friend. The only friend I probably trust with my whole life, really. But you need to tell me what the fuck is going on. You're dying, honey, and someone is the cause of all this and it's frustrating that I don't know who it is."

It's you, you wanted to say but the words didn't come out the way you wanted them to. You didn't want to see the look on John's face when you laid out the truth. Even now, on the verge of death, you were afraid of what he'd think. You knew he has a lot on his plate and he's just getting the chance to finally grieve for Helen. You didn't want nor had the heart to tell him that he's the reason why you're dying.

"It's no one, John, he-" You pursed your lips and let out a breath as you looked down at your hands that were slightly stained with your own blood, "He went away he- he loves someone else and that's all you need to know."

John nodded and although he was frustrated you didn't tell him everything, you knew it was just because you didn't wanna dive back into the fact that this person didn't reciprocate the feelings you felt. So he understood.

"Y/N, Dr. Mercer gave me two options so you could be cured and he-"

"John, I can't be cured, he doesn't love me." You said firmly and it felt so different saying it in front of him like this when he has no idea it was him all along that you were in love with.

"I know, darling, I know." He grabbed your hand comfortingly and you almost hated him for acting like this when all along you knew it was just platonic. You were just a friend to him. Nothing more and nothing less.

"But then he told me about option two. Option two is that you can get the plant surgically removed from your lungs." You perked up at hearing this.

You never knew it could get surgically removed. Your mother never told you. So why didn't she do it?

"W-What? What do you mean I can get it surgically removed?" You asked as tears began to fill your eyes but John was patient enough to talk you through it.

"You can, it's possible. But it's not that easy, Y/N." He let out another sigh before looking up at your tear filled eyes, "When the operation is successful, all the memories you have of that person will be gone. Including your feelings for him. It was like he never existed. Apart from that, once the plant is removed from your body, you ability to experience romantic love wouldn't be there anymore."

Tears cascaded down your cheeks. Not because you wouldn't be able to fall in love again. But because the thought of forgetting John scared you so much. Were you going to remember him again? Can he reintroduce himself again to you? Or should you not go through with option two?

At that moment, you finally realized why your mother never had the plant inside her get removed. It was far more painful than anything else.

---

"I'm sorry for your loss, Jonathan." Winston would say as he poured a drink for the assassin and John just nodded at him in thanks.

"Some things are beyond our control." John replied as he took a big gulp of his drink. He needed it right now after all.

He just came back from the hospital and that was the first time in a while John had felt so overwhelmed. The hatred he had for himself just increased a ton.

You decided to go through with the operation after giving it a deep thought for a the whole day. John was happy. Although you weren't able to experience romantic love anymore, he assured you he'd be by your side every step of the way. Just like you had been for him.

But what came next almost made him collapse down to his knees.

Aurelio decided to pay you a little visit when your operation was done. He had found out about what had happened from John and you knew the man well enough that he could give you discounts whenever your car had problems.

When it was time for visitors, John felt ecstatic. You were alive. He wasn't losing someone important from him again. When they got inside the room, you had already woken up and had a nurse slowly help you sit up from your bed but the moment your eyes fell on John, he noticed the slight confusion written on your face.

"Y/N, God, I'm so happy the operation was successful." John smiled and tucked a piece of your hair and he noticed how your body stilled from the touch as you looked up at him with wide eyes.

Thhe reaction was weird but John brushed it off and thought that maybe, it was a side effect from the pain killers you'd been taking.

"Aurelio's here and brought you some stuff. You like those cookies from the bakery near his shop, right?" You found yourself nodding slowly at the man's question even though you had no idea who he is.

Who was he? And how does he know your name? How did he know you liked those chocolate chip cookies from that bakery near Aurelio's shop? It was starting to freak you out.

John took notice of your reaction and the nurse excused herself when she was finished checking your vitals. John put a finger underneath your chin to make you look up at him and in your eyes, he saw fear.

You never looked at him like that. Never. Not even once.

"Y/N, darling, what's wrong? Did I do something, why are you-"

"Who are you?" You asked, cutting him off and John looked at Aurelio to see if what he heard was right.

Aurelio looked at him and then back at you with shock written on his face.

"What? Y/N, it's me, John. Your friend, your best friend." John replied but you had no recollection of the man in front of you so you shook your head slowly.

"I'm so sorry, I'm so confused I don't know who you are." You apologized shyly and looked at Aurelio. "Aurelio, is he a friend of yours? I really don't remember him, I don't wanna seem so rude."

John stood there in his spot, completely frozen. You remember Aurelio but you had forgotten him. That could only mean one thing...

"Come on, Y/N, stop fooling around this isn't funny. Tell me you're just joking and you know who I am." John's voice was laced with desperation now and you took notice of how his eyes were starting to fill with tears and you had a sense he hated crying in front of people.

Why did you feel so guilty? As if you'd done something wrong?

You looked up at the man apologetically and shook your head at him. "I'm so sorry, John, I really don't know who you are. I believe I just met you. Aurelio would have introduced you to me back then but... I don't remember that he has."

John couldn't take it. Everything was so overwhelming. When he gruffly excused himself you watched as he hurriedly made his way out of your room and Aurelio followed soon after probably to chase after him.

You had no idea of who he was but you could never forget how heartbroken he seemed when he looked at you.

Did you know him before?

John, on the other hand, needed to get out of there and he ignored Aurelio's calls as he got into his car and sped down the road. He felt guilty for leaving you there all alone, probably so confused as to why you were there in the first place but he just needed to have his space.

And so here he was, sharing a drink with Winston.

"You weren't entirely fair with her as well, Jonathan. You couldn't blame her if she hadn't told you."

"I was grieving for my wife." John stated to which Winston replied with a hum.

"But you could've showed her you felt the same way. Maybe told her. Hanahaki disease is a complicated kind of illness. Y/N believed you were still in love with Helen. And maybe you still are. That's why she was on the verge of dying that day. But it could all have been cured if you two had just acted on your feelings right away. A lot of people die from that, you know."

John stayed silent and poured himself another drink.

He had moved on from Helen a year after the whole incident with Viggo and his son. If Helen was alive, she would've wanted John to live his life fully and that was the only way he could honor her. And he did, and that was thanks to you.

You were like a breath of fresh air and John was scared he might ruin the peace that you had in your life. And he kind of did in a way. But you were too stubborn to leave until he just couldn't handle the thought of you leaving.

Like you, it crept up on John and the familiar itch on his throat, as if he was about to cough kept popping out of nowhere. Especially when you were near him. And for a moment, he didn't want to believe he caught it. He couldn't be possibly catching feelings for you it was a dangerous game to play.

John believed everything he touched turns to ash and he wasn't turning you into one. You deserved far more better than that. And it'd be impossible for you to feel the same way about him, he's too damaged to be loved at this point. But it's true when they say that you can't help who you fall in love.

But today, today was different than the others. John placed the glass down and leaned back on his chair and soon leaned forward when he began to cough and cough and cough.

Winston looked at John with an unreadable expression on his face. As if he knew it was coming. Somehow, he felt bad for the man. He had lost his wife and the dog she gave to him. And in a way he lost you even though you were still perfectly alive.

And now the disease had caught up to him.

His hunch was right when he saw the blood on John's palm. John stared down at it and noticed that there were petals of your favorite flower sticking onto his hand along with his own blood.

The assassin stayed silent as he grabbed his handkerchief from his coat and wiped the bloody residue off his skin.

Winston poured the man another drink but this time, he didn't pour himself some. He knew John needed it more than he did.

"Are you going to remove it or not?"

John looked at Winston but the manager took it upon himself to get up from the chair and leave Jonathan alone in the rooftop to decide.

This was all a bad case of wrong timing and lack of courage, obviously. And John leaned back against the chair and pinched the bridge of his nose as he felt a tear slip down his cheek.

Was he ready to go? Or will he risk forgetting about you like you did to him?

John realized just how difficult this all was. He realized now that it hurt to have you forget about him completely. Like he was dead to you. But knowing you, you would've made the decision just so you could live for John's sake. He knew you decided to live even though it would be hard on the both of you.

Because in your mind, you probably chose to live and see John again even though you had forgotten about him rather than die and let him live this world all alone without you.

But would it be the same for John? Could he really forget about you? Or was it time for him to go and let you be free?

Either way, as he began to cough once again, he knew that he needed to think fast and decide.

Time is gold and he's slowly running out of that.

---

A/N: I know in some stories this is not how the Hanahaki disease works but this is my take on it. Reader almost died because she believed that John would never love her the way she did. When all along, John was slowly developing feelings for her and while he did, he also didn't believe she'd have feelings for him because he believes he's too damaged to be loved. To put it shortly, my understanding of the Hanahaki is that as long as the protagonist believes the enamoured doesn't love them back, they'll slowly die. But as long as the enamoured confesses to the protagonist, they'll be cured of the disease. And if that doesn't work, the plant can be surgically removed.

The disease caught up to John and the reader because they didn't act upon their feelings and confessed to each other right away. They both believed everything was platonic between them. As a result, they kept it to themselves until it slowly killed them. In other words, this is all a bad case of wrong timing and lack of courage to say what they really wanted to say to each other.

[uzumaki-rebellion]

“Black Boys Bloom Thorns First: Volume 2, Chp. 23″

Summary: Erik makes a discovery that changes the course of his family forever...

NSFW. Mature Audience. Smut.

"Every once and awhile

I find myself going through a transition

Packing up, flying away again

Never knowing how or which way is up

Turning, Spinning high

Welcome to changes

No time to spare

Might as well get used to it

Welcome to changes

Blow with the air…"

Carleen Anderson – "Welcome to Changes"

Califia had known Dr. Barbara Davis since she was a child.

Therapy was something her grandmother insisted on after her father was arrested and sent to prison. Nana Jean understood that her granddaughter was traumatized and needed the professional help her mother couldn't give her.

Califia was grateful for the intervention and grateful to have used Dr. Davis services when she had a brutal fight with N'Jobu when they were in their twenties. It was the only time in their relationship where N'Jobu had laid hands on her. He was defending himself from her attack after he accused her of being a cheating slut. He claimed much later that he had been holding back, but she remembers him using ulwa on her without hesitation. Perhaps it was ingrained in him to protect himself with full force no matter who it was who attacked him.

Califia allowed the fingers of her left hand to fuss with the leather button on the couch she sat on in Dr. Davis's comfortable and welcoming office. Soft browns and mauves surrounded them with splashes of pink. Soothing colors in all the décor. Hanging plants with long green tendrils giving the space a safe feel.

Erik sat beside her, quiet, his hands in his lap as he waited for their session to begin.

N'Jobu had been home for months and their family had maintained a stable home life since his return. Califia had returned to work but she made sure she and Erik saw Dr. Davis twice a week.

"How are things going for you at school, Erik?"

Dr. Davis's kind eyes peered at him from her horn-rimmed glasses, a sweet smile on her lips as she looked at the boy. Erik's body shifted in his seat.

"Good," he said, "…better actually."

"How so?"

"I sleep better at home, so I'm…calmer…um, yeah…calmer at school. No more nightmares."

"That's good to hear. And you, Califia?"

Califia's eyes left Erik's face as she gazed at the therapist.

"I still get bad dreams…sometimes. Not of the attack, but just weird stuff that I can't remember when I wake up."

Dr. Davis scribbled some things down on a yellow notepad.

"What about N'Jobu? How has he been?"

"Good. He and Erik are going camping this weekend with Erik's friend Walter."

"We went to Disneyland a few weeks ago," Erik said. His face lit up at the memory.

Dr. Davis went over some new breathing techniques with them and showed them how to quickly assess their anxiety levels with each other. It hurt Califia so much that Erik suffered from some of the same problems that she grappled with as a child. Intergenerational trauma was no joke, and she worried that she had passed down so much of her pain to her son. Erik had always been a joy to raise, a sensitive little one who felt deeply, but Lia's assassination had opened a wound that accelerated anxiety in him. He was also showing signs of obsessive-compulsive behavior. She could see the stress in him as he tried in his own way to still process and live with what he witnessed.

Their fifty-minute session went by quickly and while Dr. Davis put away her notes, Califia felt her heart- rate go up.

"Erik, do me a favor, could you wait out in the next room. I want to schedule some things with your mother real quick," Dr. Davis said.

Erik nodded, hopped off the couch, and disappeared into the waiting room.

"Califia…what is it?"

Califia finally allowed her tears to flow freely. She kept them in so Erik wouldn't see them, struggling to look normal for him as he left the space.

"I'm messing him up," she said, her voice shuddering from suppressing her emotions from Erik.

"What makes you say that?"

Dr. Davis handed Califia a tissue to wipe her eyes.

"My entire life has been nothing but pain and struggle and mental health issues. I see what it's doing to him. I'm setting my baby up for failure. He's become so rigid about things and he treats me like I'm the child sometimes. He always checks to make sure I'm okay. I'm supposed to be doing that for him!"

She threw her hands over her face unable to stop herself from weeping. "I've fucked up my son—"

"No…you haven't done that—"

"You see how he is—"

Dr. Davis pulled Califia's hands from her face.

"Let me tell you about your son. Erik witnessed a horrific event. But he is resilient. He has an absolute innate sense of justice. He believes strongly in fairness. He has a protective nature about him. His heart is so big and loving that he wants to make sure his Mommy is okay too."

Califia sat back on the couch still clutching the tissue in her hand.

"Parents can pass down anxiety—"

"That can happen. Erik has been displaying symptoms of an overactive brain, but it's nothing we can't work to improve. He's a brilliant child with big thoughts and ideas going on. He's learning to focus in much calmer ways so don't get yourself so worked up. Your coming here with him is the best thing you are doing to help him and yourself. His coping behaviors are simply coping behaviors. He could outgrow them over time—"

"What if he doesn't?"

"Let's focus on right now. Stressing over the future or the past is what keeps you stuck Califia. We work on that with you, and Erik will be fine. The fact that he sees you here doing your best to get well mentally only encourages him to do the same. You have to stay focused on the present with him now. Be mindful of the progress you both have made. Think of all the support you have from your family. Especially N'Jobu."

"Erik…he's my best thing, y'know?"

"I know."

"I worry so much about him. Parents are supposed to protect their children—"

"We live in the real world, Califia. You can't shield Erik from everything that happens, but you can be a pillar of strength and unconditional love for him. He can face anything when you and N'Jobu give him that."

Dr. Davis handed her another tissue and Califia tried to fix her face before going out to Erik.

Her son's eyes sought out hers the moment she walked out and he saw that they were pink from crying.

"You okay, Mom?"

"I am. Ready to go?"

"Yes."

She was mentally drained from the session and drove herself and Erik to visit N'Jobu at the shop. He was managing two new locations and they caught him as he returned to the original Drizzy's Kuts.

N'Jobu's eyes always lit up when he saw them and the moment they stepped into the shop, his arms were around her waist in greeting and he was touching Erik's hair.

"Hey, wasn't expecting you two to pop in," he said.

Califia sat in an open booth chair as Erik greeted three of the other barbers working on customers.

"Can I leave Erik here with you while I run over to see Rolita?"

"Sure. Is everything okay?"

"I got a text from her about meeting at her place with some of the women from Rise Up. Shouldn't take that long. An hour or two."

"Dinner at Nana's still?"

"Yeah."

She kissed his cheek and waved to Erik as she left. Needing Erik to be with the stronger parent right at the moment was important. She needed time with Rolita to lift herself up away from Erik. It was almost like he had extrasensory empath powers, able to read emotions and feelings from people just by looking in their eyes and taking on their weight. It was scary sometimes.

Rolita greeted her at her home with four other women from Rise Up and two men from a local Black activist group. There were snacks laid out in the living room and Califia ate chips from a paper plate with salsa. The mood in the room was solemn.

One of the men pulled out a laptop and showed the women a web page with a list of photos and names. Rolita sat next to Califia and took a deep breath.

"Activists are being murdered," Rolita said.

Califia felt the tension in the room rise.

"Misha Browning was found two hours ago," Rolita said and there was a gasp in the room from everyone.

Califia closed her eyes and steeled her nerves. Misha was a woman Califia had only known and interacted with online in cyber activist spaces. They had coordinated national action plans on police brutality and domestic terrorist attacks on immigrants and mutant humans. She had gone missing a few days previous and word spread by the police was that she had a domestic dispute with a boyfriend and disappeared soon after. But her boyfriend, a man Califia had met in person at a climate change conference in Fresno after she graduated university, was staying on a Scottish Island for a fellowship prior to Misha's disappearance.

There was a pattern.

Up until that moment, ten activists that Califia interacted with personally or knew of through online spaces nationally were dead. Seven of the dead were reported to have committed suicide. Four Black men and two Black women, and two Native women from the Pine Ridge Nation active with pipeline and environmental protests and civil disobedience. Three of them were said to have been murdered under suspicious circumstances. Their mental health was scrutinized and most of the newsfeed on them was swept away. Prominent and vocal activists. Killing themselves?

And now Misha. Found face down under Ohio river debris fifty miles away from her home.

Califia could only think of Lia and then her own self. Rolita too. They were mothers with young children. They were mothers trying to make the world safe for their babies. Could they be targeted next? Could they show up dead and the world told that they committed suicide? It wasn't unthinkable that an activist could kill themselves. Mental health was something they all grappled with and sometimes the world beat them down until killing oneself seemed like a good option. But ten people? Now eleven? Within two years?

Califia sat back in her seat. The rest of her time there long. And painful.

###

N'Jobu sat with Erik at his great-grandmother's kitchen table as he watched his son disassemble yet another one of his robotic toys. Erik had figured out a way to hack into the software of the original robotic programming and rebuild a new larger robot combining four different toys and the pieces of scrap metal his grandfather found for him. He placed the final pieces of the disassembled robot onto the final product.

Erik routed power to his new creation with a handheld and tried to get the strange-looking franken-robot to pick up a mug filled with tea and raise it up to N'Jobu's mouth. A set of spoons and a fork sat on the dining table waiting to be used by the robot to lift up a scoop of fruit loops and pick up sliced mango pieces.

"Be still, Baba." Erik said moving the levers in his hand.

N'Jobu sat still, but the tea mug didn't seem secure in the robot hand as small drops of the liquid spilled from the cup.

"I'm still, Son," he said trying not to laugh as the robot hand grew more unsteady.

"Stop laughing at it, you'll hurt the Daka 3000's feelings," Erik said.

"Oh, you changed its name again. Won't your mother be upset? The Cali 3000 was a nice-sounding name."

"Inventors name things after themselves."

"Why not JaJa 3000?"

"Too soft-sounding. The Daka in my middle name sounds hardcore…Baba, c'mon, be still!"

N'Jobu was leaning back in his seat, his hands up to catch the mug if it dropped.

"I have to perfect this by next week to be ready."

"Is Walter entering the science fair?"

"Yeah, he's working on something."

"You're not going to tell me about it?"

"It's boring."

"Don't say that about your friend."

"It is!"

"Tell me about it."

The robotic arm made it up to the front of N'Jobu's face with the mug. Erik did his best to ease it closer, but it was too jerky. He took a pause and stared at N'Jobu.

"He's making a display of fabrics that can be used to make flak jackets. Bulletproof—"

"So military science—"

"No, clothes for kids. So they won't be shot dead in school."

Whoa.

N'Jobu stared at Erik.

"He's really doing that?"

"Yeah. Lame."

"I don't think it's lame…just…that's pretty hardcore, Son."

"Compared to this? I'm creating a robot that can help the elderly in their homes. Open their pill bottles when they can't, feed them, and help put things away…but Walter's anti-kill clothes is hardcore. Serious Baba?"

"You both have created hardcore things."

"Kids shouldn't have to make clothes like that."

"I agree—"

"Like, make clothes that can let you fly or something…"

Frustrated, Erik snatched the mug from the robot's hand.

"I can't get this to move smoother. I'll have to take it apart. Wish I could get some nanobots for this…"

"Do you want to try the spoon or fork again? That did really well."

"Nah. Thanks for being my experimental human."

"Glad to be of help. Do me a favor though."

"Yeah?"

"Be supportive of Walter. He's trying to make something to help other children. Grown-ups are the blame for that, and it's a shame that a child his age wants to make something like that because we suck, but he is doing something he thinks is a good thing. Support that."

Erik stared at him and nodded his head.

"Who knows, maybe you both will make it to the Stark Expo. That would be exciting."

Erik grinned.

He was so determined to make his robot work. Not just for the Expo.

For Nana Jean.

His son's great-grandmother was ailing. Today she was having a good day and strong enough to make a Friday night fish fry. Relatives were coming over, and everyone was determined to make it a joyous evening of good food and family fun.

N'Jobu could see that the older woman was having a hard time with her health. Her once vibrant face was appearing a bit dull the last few months, and her already thin frame was looking gaunter. She was experiencing bouts of anger when she couldn't do a lot of things by herself like she used to. Like driving. She was having trouble with her hands, periodic shakiness and pain making it difficult for her on some days. But not today. Today she was cooking with the assistance of Erik and N'Jobu.

Erik picked up the tools he used to tweak the wires on his robot when he suddenly reached out and tapped on N'Jobu's kimoyo beads.

"It's lighting up, Baba!"

N'Jobu saw the emergency silver lighting on his beads. They warmed up his wrist.

"I've never seen that color before," Erik said, his eyes glued to his wrist.

The past three years he had told his son his beads were like mood rings and could change colors at will. But he was right. Silver was a new color. Silver was a signal from his fellow rogue War Dogs. Something was wrong.

"Clean this up, and we'll start making the batter for the fish and shrimp," he said.

Pushing back from the table, N'Jobu headed to a guest bedroom, Junie's old room, and locked the door.

"D'Beke," N'Jobu said, watching the man's shape hover over his wrist.

"We have found Klaue. He is ready to move into Wakanda. The time has come your Highness."

N'Jobu shut his eyes and sat on the guest bed.

"Send out a code three, and make sure all cells are on code. No more communications until you all hear from me. Understand? Send me Klaue's contact. We have to be…we have to be…D'Beke if anyone acts suspicious…end them."

"Yes, Prince N'Jobu."

D'Beke winked out and N'Jobu felt his body tremble with excitement and nervous energy.

The time had come to act. No more planning. Action.

"Wakanda Forever," he whispered.

###

Califia felt beyond stuffed. She rubbed her belly from all the shrimp she consumed. Hot, juicy, greasy, salty-sweet delicious shellfish fresh from the skillet. N'Jobu rubbed his belly and Califia watched Erik help Nana Jean fry up more shrimp in cornmeal batter this round.

"Nana. I can't eat anymore," she said.

Nana dropped shrimp into a fry strainer and Erik lowered it and stood back when the grease popped. Nana dropped more shrimp into the bowl filled with the batter.

"Someone will," Nana said, her frame so much smaller from how Califia always saw her as a little girl. She felt it deep down. No one else in the family wanted to say it outright, and Nana Jean was not forthcoming with her health, but Califia knew. Her great-grandmother was battling something and trying so hard to stay on the earth for Erik. That was her child. He may have come out of Califia's body, but Erik was her baby

Erik's mind was set on going to the Stark Expo in New York. He had come so close last year, making it to a semi-final status and receiving a signed certificate from Tony Stark himself. She and N'Jobu had to nurse him through a mini-temper tantrum when he didn't get to be a finalist. He pouted for weeks and wouldn't even hang up his certificate in his room that Nana Jean had framed for him. N'Jobu had to have a sit down with him and remind him of how many people, children, and adults had submitted projects and didn't even make it to the quarter-finals. She remembered the title of his abstract too, "Novel Subtle Acoustic Communication: Successful Elucidation of the Cryptic Ecology of Runner Plant Bugs with Emphasis on Their Stridulatory Mechanisms". He spent three months capturing the faint sound of bugs. Bugs that he had crawling all over his bedroom when a few escaped by accident. She shivered at the memory.

Califia had to chime in and show him the certificate.

"Tony Stark really signed this. A busy man like him took the time to sign something acknowledging your hard work. You should be proud of yourself."

It wasn't until Erik went online to see how many people had entered projects did his own parent's words kick in. There were only twenty-five semi-finalists for his category and his face beamed when he announced, "Just over half a million people entered globally."

For the new year, he switched from acoustics to robotics hoping to be a finalist. And he focused on something more personal, and close to home: Nana Jean.

That big ole heart of his wanted to make his Nana as self-sufficient for as long as possible with a personal elder care robot.

N'Jobu watched her closely after she rubbed her belly and caught his eye. Her mood hadn't been the best when she arrived at the house. The meeting at Rolita's was tough on her psyche and she almost opted to go home and sleep until her grandmother called Rolita reminding her to bring her daughter Neveah.

Erik's cousins and Neveah ran around the front room while Erik cooked at the stove.

"JaJa, go be with the other kids, I'll help Nana."

Erik nodded and she watched her grandmother pat his head.

"Nana, for reals, I don't think anyone else can eat more. Take a break and spend time out front too."

"Dayclean is still eating," she said.

"I am done, Nana. Go relax, we'll take care of all of this."

N'Jobu stood up and cleared the dishes left on the table as a few of Califia's Uncles cleaned up after themselves before heading to the den to watch TV.

"You good?" N'Jobu asked.

"Better."

"Erik told me you looked upset leaving your session today. Want to talk about it?"

"It was nothing serious…really. I was just feeling a way. Venting."

"Did it help?"

"I think so."

He rinsed dishes and stacked them in the new dishwasher they bought for Nana three years ago once they saw she had trouble with her hands.

She finished putting leftovers in the fridge and when she looked at N'Jobu again, his gentle eyes broke her down.

"Let's go in the back," he said when he saw her eyes well up with water.

The house was busy and no one paid them any mind going to the back guestroom. It was quiet back there. N'Jobu locked the door and they both sat on the bed.

Califia wiped her eyes.

"He is too much like me. And I am afraid for him."

"Califia—"

She touched his hand.

"His quick temper. His anxiety. His need to be in control…this compulsion to make things perfect…it's not healthy…and living here, and seeing Lia…I have damaged him."

N'Jobu stayed quiet and she was grateful. Over the years he had to learn how to let her talk things out and not try to offer immediate solutions as he was want to do all the time. She just needed to be heard. Just wanted to let her words linger openly so she could work through her pain.

"I worry about how he will deal with the trauma later in life. Kids bounce back. I know this. Better than adults. But he…you know this about him…he feels too deeply. This world will break his heart N'Jobu. People like that suffer more than most."

N'Jobu continued to listen as he held her hand.

"I worry about him. I told Dr. Davis this. I worry that he has inherited my pain. I pray and pray that he can be more like you, like…if I could take the worst aspects of myself and remove that from his DNA—"

"Stop."

N'Jobu's eyes were watery. He stroked her face.

"I don't want you thinking like this. I don't want you to carry this in your heart. Take parts of you out of him? He wouldn't be who he is without those parts of you. I know I'm supposed to let you feel what you feel, but my son…our son? He is perfect. He is his own person. That is an Udaku Prince out there and you make him perfect. Understand?"

"I want to believe you, I might believe you if…."

"If what?"

"If you would take us to Wakanda. It has to be safer and better there. You heard what Rolita told you at dinner. It's bad out here. You heard about Walter's science project. Fuck is that? Fuck kind of world are we living in. How can we protect Erik? What if something happens to him? What if something happens to us? Who would take care of him? Who would be capable of caring for a child like ours? Huh? Tell me."

"Babe—"

"Why won't you take us away from here? My baby is a Prince. He deserves to live in a world without fear, or where his best friend doesn't make bulletproof t-shirts for his peers. Don't you want him to have the life you had growing up?"

N'Jobu pulled her in with a tight hug when the tears really started flowing down her face. She was so tired.

"My love, don't cry, please…don't cry…"

It was the same quiet fight they had over the years. His refusal to take them home.

They weren't welcome. She knew this. Deep down they were not wanted in his world, and yet it was the only one that could save them. And she didn't understand why he prevented them from contact. Not even a visit. Their son was learning Wakandan. Memorized their alphabet. Practiced writing his name, even practiced a little speech he wanted to give in front of his royal grandparents when they would meet. Even had a gift he made for his cousin Prince T'Challa, a little necklace that would hold secret-coded messages between them.

And yet…

Here they sat with her crying about it once more.

They left the bedroom and joined the rest of the family to eat pound cake and watch Wheel of Fortune, everyone shouting at the tv their guess's at the puzzles. Neveah and Erik giggled like crazy whenever her father Dante guessed words that clearly were made up to make them laugh.

Once they returned home, Erik put away his robot, and she and N'Jobu dressed for bed. They allowed Erik to lounge in bed with them until it became way past his bedtime. She caught that mood from N'Jobu that he wanted to make love, but Erik kept prolonging his stay in their bed by negotiating for extra time with them. They allowed him to watch another half hour of the SyFy channel until he was knocked out and snoring with his head resting on Califia's stomach.

"Hey, buddy, time to wake up," N'Jobu said nudging Eric gently on the shoulder.

"Thirty more minutes," Erik whispered, his eyes wide as if he hadn't been snoring a minute ago.

"So you can sleep again? Go to sleep in your room. I need some Mommy time," N'Jobu said. He started pushing Erik away from Califia.

"Mom!" Erik whined pushing N'Jobu's hands away and trying to stay on her stomach.

"It's two in the morning, JaJa," Califia said stroking his braids.

"Then I should be able to stay since the sun will be up in five hours."

"If you don't get," N'Jobu said pulling on one of Erik's braids.

"Ow, Baba! I know why you really want me gone…you wanna kiss Mom and do the nasty!"

"Boy!" Califia said, a shocked expression on her face as she play slapped his arm.

"Yes, now get," N'Jobu said.

"I can't believe that came out of your mouth," Califia said.

"Why are you being embarrassed?" Erik teased.

"Time for you to get out of grown folks business," Califia said lifting him off of her stomach.

Erik finally rolled over and stood from their bed.

"Y'all some haters, man, for real," he said.

His dimples melted her.

"Who is this child? Where is my sweet JaJa?" she said.

Erik leaned back over the bed and kissed her cheek.

"Night Mom," he said.

"Night, Baby. Sleep well," she answered.

Erik gave his father a sly look as he sauntered out of their room backward.

"I'll just close this so I can get some rest," he said as he grabbed their doorknob and shut it behind him.

"Okay, maybe we should take some of your DNA out of him," N'Jobu said as he wiggled out of his pajama bottoms.

"That was all you, nigga," she said staring as he pulled his t-shirt over his head.

He tugged on her nightgown and she brushed his hands away.

"We can't do it now," she said glancing at the bedroom door.

"Why not?'

"Because he knows that's what we're doing—"

"I don't care, just put the pillow over your mouth," he said pulling the bed covers back and raising up her gown to her hips. She widened her legs and allowed him to lick her vulva slowly, but then she felt self-conscious. Kept glancing at their bedroom door making her stomach tense.

"I can't, not yet," she whispered.

"Babe, stop being silly. I want to make you feel good after a tough day…shit…pussy wet already."

His tongue rested just under her clit as her ring poked out from the engorgement of the slick bud. He gave light pulses there and her legs shot up, her thighs falling open.

"Get the lube," he said stroking his dick.

Reaching into her drawer she pulled out cherry flavored lube. She coated her vulva and opened her wet inner lips for him.

Tongue darting in and out and smearing his lips with her arousal, Califia held N'Jobu's head.

"Let's just do a quickie," she said.

"Quickie, longie, I just need to be in my pussy," he said shifting his body to line up with hers. He inserted his erection and she gasped out loud.

"I'm about to fuck you real good," he hissed in her ear.

Califia stuffed her left hand over her mouth as her right arm held his shoulder in a death grip.

"God, baybee—"

"Mmmmm—"

"Wait, not so hard, the headboard is banging against the wall—"

"Fuck that wall—"

"The noise—"

N'Jobu lifted up and watched his dick slide into her.

They had been working and caring for Nana Jean and Erik so much that it had been a couple of weeks since they had last had sex. And this quickie was just what they needed. If N'Jobu didn't waste any time kissing her, she knew he was desperate to get in her stuff. He couldn't go very long without some sexual contact with her.

"Look at your dick, Jobu," she encouraged, his face so intent on watching her pussy grip his length. His dick was shiny, his dark coloring magnificent. She felt sorry for people who couldn't have Black dick like this filling them up. He was ready to split her in two. She needed this. Needed him. Needed to get her mind off of her troubles.

He pulled out and positioned himself on his side behind her. His hands gripped her breasts but her gown kept slipping down.

"Take it off," he said and she removed it over her head and tossed it on the side.

White light under the door.

Erik was still up.

Califia dropped her head to one of her pillows and bit into it. She could hear how gushy her pussy was, could hear N'Jobu trying his best to keep his voice down but to no avail.

"Damn…damn…," N'Jobu grunted, his hands tightening around her breasts.

"Yes, baby."

"I missed this pussy, girl. We gotta stop playing and make time for us…oh shit…"

"Jobu—"

"Where you want it, baby? I'm ready to cum…oh…Califia…where you want this nut?"

"In my mouth," she said.

"Okay…okay….," he panted.

He kept stroking his dick in her pussy, hitting the side of her walls hard.

His pace picked up, and for a second she thought he would cum inside her because he didn't seem willing to leave her hot folds.

"Turn around!" he shouted.

Yanking out of her, he stroked his thickness as she turned around and lowered her face to his cock.

"Open your mouth…oh shit…baby open your mouth!"

Mouth Open. Tongue out.

N'Jobu slapped his dick on her tongue, his eyes swimming with an all-consuming carnality. Her own fingers plucked at her clit and when his release splashed all in her mouth, she gulped his cum down as her sugar walls clenched from an intense orgasm.

She swallowed everything he gave her, and he spent some time licking between her legs again and giving her another orgasm.

She was about to enjoy the third orgasm from his mouth when a brilliant blue light spilled under their bedroom door.

"N'Jobu!" she cried out.

He turned his head and saw the brilliant fluorescent blue. His eyes shifted in a way she had never seen before.

He leaped up and put on his pajama bottoms. She threw her gown back on and followed him out of their bedroom.

Erik's bedroom door was open, the dazzling blue array coming from there.

"Erik!" N'Jobu shouted.

Their son stood in the middle of his bedroom. N'Jobu's Wakandan beads were on his wrist, the blue light bleeding out from it.

"Baba!"

Erik tried pressing down on a bead.

"Don't do anything else!" N'Jobu said.

But it was too late.

Erik twisted one of the beads and the brilliant blue light filled the entire room and a large holographic image floated above Erik's wrist.

A street scene.

People walking on elevated sidewalks.

Space ships flying in the air.

Black people dressed in ways they had never seen before.

"N'Jobu, what is this? What is that?" she whispered with awe in her voice.

Erik's eyes studied the images and he took his free hand and stuck it inside the field of blue light. It expanded and different color-rich scenes played like a series of split screens spinning in a circle.

A cityscape.

And a futuristic structure that looked like a double palace…

"It's Wakanda," Erik said.

His fingers flicked an image up over his head. It looked like a billboard advertising a car they had never seen before in the world. The lettering was all Wakandan.

Erik's bright eyes stared at her.

"It's Baba's home!"

###

Chapter 24 

Tag List”

@fd-writes​ @soufcakmistress  @cherrystainedlipsbaby @tclaybon  @thadelightfulone @allhailqueennel @bartierbakarimobisson @cpwtwot @shookmcgookqueen @yoyolovesbucky @raysunshine78 @the-illllest @terrablaze514  @l-auteuse @amirra88 @jimizwidow @janelledarling @chaneajoyyy @sweetestdream92 @purple-apricots @blackpinup22 @hennessystevens-udaku @scrumptiouslytenaciouscrusade @bugngiz @stariamrry  @honeytoffee

[amandaoftherosemire]

Bulletproof -- Part Four

Fandom: Marvel/College AU

Pairing: Bucky Barnes X Reader, Platonic!Steve Rogers x Reader

Characters: Steve Rogers, Bucky Barnes

Author: @amandaoftherosemire​

Rating: Mature

Word Count: 4,189

Format: Series (Complete)

Warnings: Language, angst, embarrassment, non-sexual nudity.

Summary: You and Steve gossip about Thor and Bucky while you sit for him. You and Bucky have a conversation.

A/N: I’m having an absolute blast writing this one. I just hope people have as much fun reading it as I do writing it.

Moodboard and beta’d by: @hellzzzbelle You’re seriously the best ever, peach!

Part Three here

Part Four

A couple weeks later you sat nude but for the sheet wrapped around your legs in Steve's studio. Steve planned to turn your covered legs into a mermaid tail in the painting he had planned. You had made excellent progress on the first pose, though it had taken longer than either of you would have liked. You hadn't been able to pose for him more than a few hours a week due to both your own course load and your unwillingness to risk Bucky finding out. There were only three times a week that you and Steve were both free and Bucky was guaranteed to be out of the apartment for a set amount of time because he had a class on quantum mechanics he never skipped. That limited your options.

You were completely comfortable, but it had taken every session over most of those weeks to get to that point. Each time you had a period of discomfort and silence, but with each session that awkward feeling eased. By today, that embarrassment had thankfully dissipated almost immediately. If Steve had ever looked at you with anything resembling lust, you'd have bailed in a heartbeat. Steve, however, only touched you to adjust your pose and, once both of you got over the initial discomfort, his expression never wavered from an almost impersonal focus. To your relief, you had learned the first day that he appreciated you on a purely aesthetic level. His love for you was as chaste as yours for him.

He had plans for four works and had started with sketches for the one that was the closest to clothed as you would get in order to give you time to adjust. As soon as you were comfortable, however, he had wanted to start on the mermaid pose he had seen in his head the day you offered to help. You couldn’t wait to see yourself with a shiny green tail. Propped up on one arm, your legs drawn into a curve next to you, you leaned forward as though you were trailing your fingers in an ocean below.

"So Gamora turns around, takes one look at Peter grinning like an idiot at the bartender and chucks all three darts directly at his back." You and Steve had agreed it was better that you talk. Not only did it make you feel better about having your tits out in your best friend's apartment, it also caused you to unconsciously slip into poses and attitudes that Steve often preferred to the poses with which he started.

"Not only does she bullseye the zero on his jersey, she threw them hard enough to puncture the skin deep enough that they stayed in. He spins around to see who threw them and she stares him down, tosses her hair over her shoulder, and then turns on her heel and stalks the fuck out. My girl doesn’t take anybody’s shit." You sighed appreciatively and glanced up through your lashes at Steve, careful not to lift your head entirely. "I really admire that."

Steve was snickering as he tried to keep his pencil steady on the page. "How am I supposed to get this sketch done if you keep telling me stories like that?" he asked. When you lifted an amused brow but stayed silent, he rolled his eyes and prompted, "What did Peter do?"

Lowering your eyes, you focused on holding the pose correctly while you answered. "Took off after her, darts still sticking out of his back. He may be a moron, but he really is crazy about her. I don't know if he's ready for her, though. He still needs seasoning."

Steve looked over your form. "Can you drop your left shoulder just a hair?" When you complied, he nodded and looked back to his sketch. "How about you?" he asked. "You gonna make an honest man out of Odinson?"

"Nope!" You couldn't help but be amused at the question. You knew it bothered Steve that you had a fuck-buddy relationship with Thor. It wasn't that he had a moral problem with it. Rather, he thought you used casual relationships to avoid anything more serious. You couldn't tell him you went into every damn one hoping to fall in love. Maybe if you could, you'd finally get over Bucky. You were certain even a new heartbreak would feel like a step in the right direction.

Unfortunately, it hadn't happened yet. You refused to get into anything more serious, especially when you knew that someone like Thor deserved the pieces of yourself that you’d given to Bucky. In recent weeks you’d discovered you were nowhere near getting those pieces back. At least you’d started moving in a friendlier direction with Bucky. You weren’t avoiding him, and when you saw him you weren’t low-key ignoring him anymore. He hadn’t taken the hint, so you’d decided to turn it up a bit.

"Why not?" Steve decided to try to pin you down. He wasn't an idiot. He'd figured out more than you gave him credit for.

You shrugged, trying to appear casual, and ruined the line of your shoulders. "He’s fun but he’s not the keeping kind. Not for me."

"Lift your left shoulder and tilt your head a little to the right, okay? Does he know that?"

"Of course." You scowled. You were a little offended that Steve might think you'd be so careless with someone’s feelings. "What’s going on, Steve?"

Steve kept his head down and his eyes on the image that was coming to life under his hand. He couldn't quite get the expression on your face right. He couldn't put his finger on it, but he felt like with the right angle, he could find the missing piece. "That’s a good question," he answered absently. "He and Bucky nearly got into a fistfight at the gym this morning and I could have sworn I heard your name. I thought maybe things had gotten more serious between you."

Your thoughts turned inward, and Steve’s pencil began moving more quickly. He flipped the page, desperate to capture your expression before it changed. Thoughtful, but with a touch of sadness, you looked as though you were examining the scars from an old wound.

As a matter of fact, you were. Bucky confronting Thor over you was exactly something he would have done back in high school. He had always warned the guys that asked you out to treat you right or deal with him. He’d acted the big brother even as his eyes raked you with a banked heat that thrilled as much because of its restraint as its fire.

You let everyone who knew the story believe that you had turned away from Bucky because of Gina, but the truth was more complicated. You’d walked away from years of friendship because he’d betrayed you far more deeply. When you woke in the hospital expecting his face to be the first thing you saw, and he was nowhere to be found, some little piece of you had withered away.

When he had been in the accident that took his arm, you’d refused to leave him. His mother had lied and told the ICU staff that you were his sister, so you’d be allowed to see him. You and Steve had been there every step, helping him adjust, keeping his spirits up. You had been sure that he would do the same for you.

Yet, when you woke from your mistake with several bottles of Jameson, the first face you saw was Steve’s, of course. Natasha had finally found Bucky, however, in Gina’s bed. Thoroughly drunk, he’d left his phone at the party. You knew it wasn’t fair to blame him for not knowing you needed him, but when Steve had asked if you wanted to see him, you had said no.

Bucky then did the unthinkable and listened. He hadn’t barged into your hospital room to see that you were okay for himself. He hadn’t done anything that you expected. Fair or not, you couldn’t help but feel that he’d proven that whatever he felt for you was neither very deep nor meaningful. You had closed yourself away. If you had been wrong about Bucky, who could you ever be sure of?

“It couldn’t have been anything about me,” you said softly, and the sadness that colored your tone had Steve’s eyes snapping up. Your pose was perfect, and Steve moved quickly to capture it. Furiously, he drew as fast as he could. One day, when this had passed, and you were happier than you could believe possible he’d show all these sketches to you. He wanted to be able to show you how far you’d come. You’d already come so far. Thoughtfully, you went on, “I haven’t even seen Thor for a couple of weeks.”

Desperate to move away from anything that made you so sad, Steve gently reassured you. “I must have heard wrong.” He done no such thing. Bucky had said your name several times as he got in Thor’s face.

You almost rolled your eyes. You couldn’t believe Steve would try to pull this shit with you. He was obviously lying. Which meant that Bucky was starting fights about you. Your heart picked up a little and you cursed yourself. “Is it just me, or has Bucky been acting weird lately?”

“It’s not just you.” Steve paused, concerned that he might hurt you, but he was worried about Bucky and needed to talk to someone. He knew you cared, no matter how hard you tried not to. “Honestly, I’m worried but I can’t get him to talk about whatever is bothering him.”

“Huh.” You knew it was a bad idea, knew you were only opening yourself up to more pain, but where you loved you couldn’t stop yourself. Even had you not loved Bucky for himself, you would have cared about him because of your love for Steve. You’d risk anything if Steve needed it. “You want me to try? Maybe he’ll talk to me since I’m not so close.”

Steve scowled. “I’m not going to trade one friend’s well-being for another’s.”

“It’s not quite that dramatic, Steve.” He lifted his gaze to yours with a dubious look on his face. The corner of your mouth stretched into a wry half-smile. “But I can understand why you might feel like it is.”

“I wish you’d stop beating yourself up over that.” Steve dropped his eyes back to his drawing. “You think I don’t know that you’re sitting naked in my studio because you think you owe me something?”

“I got to forget most of that night,” you said softly, your voice throbbing with remorse. “You didn’t.”

Steve didn’t look up, but his voice got stern and you couldn’t help but smile. “I got to save one of my best friends. You lost one of yours. If he’d just been a boyfriend, it wouldn’t have been so bad. But he was supposed to be your friend first.”

“It’s not all his fault. We were all reeling from losing your mom.”

Suddenly Steve’s eyes were on yours and it felt like he was staring into your soul. “You’re still in love with him, aren’t you?”

You couldn’t lie, not to Steve, not now. Somehow, in these moments in his studio, just the two of you, with your body and soul bared, you had to be honest not only with him but with yourself. “Sometimes I feel like I always will be.” You were looking at Steve, but you weren’t seeing Steve. In your mind true blue eyes with a touch of soft green were replaced by stormy-gray-and-blue as changeable as the weather, a prime example of the beauty to be found in the mercurial. “Why do you keep making me talk about it lately?”

Steve released you from that soul-searing gaze and turned back to the sketch. He knew when he was done, if only he could capture the look of longing and love that had crossed your face, it could be his best work. “Because you need to. Maybe if you talk about it, you can get past it. Maybe you’ll finally let yourself have something more serious than a booty call.”

With a sigh, you moved back into the pose while you playfully smiled. “I wish I could have fallen for you, Stevie.”

He snorted. “Right back at you, beautiful.”

“You remember when we tried to make out? It felt so…” You trailed off, not sure how exactly to explain what had happened the night a little over a year ago that Steve had kissed you. You had not pulled away, but you hadn’t been able to respond, either. Steve was objectively dreamy. You loved him madly.

And kissing him left you cold. Go figure.

“The word you’re looking for is incestuous.” Steve was blushing again.

A shudder ran over your skin. “Please don’t say that word while I’m naked.”

“Please don’t talk about us making out when you’re naked.”

You couldn’t hold the pose any longer. Laying down, you laughed until you cried.

As comfortable as you were in your own home, you were still chuckling to yourself as you poured a cup of coffee in Steve’s kitchen. It was true you still hadn’t forgiven Bucky, but it wasn’t because he'd had sex with someone else. That was Bucky. He couldn't help being a slut any more than he could help being tall, broad, and entirely too pretty. The man simply loved women.

Not in an indiscriminate way, but an entirely unpredictable one. He didn't seem to have a type. There had been multiple times that you'd expected him to move on one woman, only to see him turn to her friend. You couldn't find a pattern, as though he had some criteria that you just weren't capable of seeing.

You'd long ago come to terms with that, when you'd dealt with what had led you to drink entirely too much, too quickly. After walking in on Bucky and Gina, you’d ended up in a drinking game with some douche, whom you'd kneed in the balls when he got too pushy and took off before he could get his hands on you again. He'd probably have followed you all the way home if he hadn't been overtaken by Steve, running past him to get to you once he'd heard you'd left the party at a run.

If Steve hadn't gotten there when he did, you probably wouldn't have survived. All because you had gotten your heart broken and made stupid decisions when drinking. You knew you were lucky. Your mistake hadn't been fatal. You'd picked yourself up and come to terms with the fact that Bucky would never have treated you that way if he had been adult enough to love you the right way. That didn't mean he didn't love you, just not in the way you needed. And it was okay to need something more.

But maybe you could find a way to have your cake and eat it, too. Hopefully, without too much damage to your heart in the meantime.

Bucky let himself into his apartment with a sigh of defeat, feeling like he'd been beaten with sticks. He’d barely made it through his first class of the day. There was no way he could make it through the rest.

Every time he'd run into you over the past three weeks, he couldn't help but imagine what his life would be like without you in it. For years you’d been remote no matter how close he’d ever come, but at least he could see you, hear you, knew you were safe and so the world could continue to spin.

He was barely sleeping, running over the conversation he'd overheard and trying to imagine what it might mean. How did you almost die? And why had no one told him? Why had Steve prevented him from laying eyes on you for weeks after? How was he ever going to find out?

Somehow, it had been even worse than he’d been anticipating since the night he’d eavesdropped. He didn’t know how or why, but every time he’d run into you for the past couple weeks, you’d been so much warmer toward him than you’d been in years. It felt like you had died, two years ago, and only once he knew how much worse it could have been was he allowed to see more than just your ghost.

When he walked into his kitchen to find you in a long silk robe, humming softly as you doctored a cup of coffee, it was like his inability to stop thinking about you had conjured you. He stopped in his tracks, dumbfounded and heartbroken. If it had been only fantasy, as he had dreamed a thousand times, he would have walked up behind you to slide his arms around your waist and bury his face in the side of your neck. Unsure, he murmured your name questioningly.

At his voice, you jumped. He wasn't supposed to be back for another hour. "Holy fuck!" you shouted and hissed as hot coffee slopped over the rim and onto your hand as you whirled around. Laughing a little breathlessly, "You scared the shit out of me!" You grew concerned when you saw the absolute misery on his face. You instinctually moved forward to soothe, following your heart no matter how dangerous.

"What are you doing here? And…” he asked, utterly puzzled by your appearance and gesturing toward your attire as he trailed off.

"In my robe?" No matter how your feelings may have changed in the past couple weeks, you still really didn't want to get into it, so you used an excuse that was frequently true, though in the past you'd always dressed first. "I came over to steal some of your coffee and stayed to chat with Steve for a few. Don’t you have class right now?"

Bucky's eyes narrowed slightly. He couldn't explain why exactly he didn't believe you, but he knew your face better than he knew his own and he'd always known when you were up to something. "Yeah," he answered, wishing he could call you on it, but aware the two of you no longer had that rapport, "but I’m not feeling very good."

You walked forward, setting your coffee on the table. At this point, you weren't thinking of anything but alleviating the sadness in Bucky's eyes. "Are you doing okay, sweetie?" You reached up to rest the inside of your wrist to Bucky's forehead, then your palm against his cheek. Looking into his eyes, you said sternly, the way you would when he was feeling sorry for himself. "You haven’t seemed yourself lately."

Bucky had to take a moment before he could speak. Not entirely certain anymore that this wasn't a dream, he let himself bask in the long-lost sight of warm and caring eyes. Clearing his throat, he answered gruffly, "Don’t worry about me, babygirl." He flashed you the smile he reserved for only you, but he was still heartbroken enough that it didn't reach his eyes. "You know me, I don’t let anything get to me."

You hoped he hadn't heard your breath catch in your throat when he called you 'babygirl'. He hadn't used any endearment for you in years, let alone that one and it nearly cleaved you in two. When he followed it up with the smile you knew was also yours and yours alone, you remembered why you always felt like you were special to Bucky. It was because you were.

You began to think that whatever the reason may have been, he had had a reason for letting you down. There had to be more to the story, because he genuinely cared about you. And you could see that he needed you right now, regardless of what he said. "Sure," you retorted with a dubious look and twist of amused doubt to your lips. "Well, if you change your mind and want to talk about it, I’m right next door."

Bucky simply gaped at you. "Really?"

"Yeah," you replied, mock seriously, "I live there." His eyes dipped, and he looked so sad and lost, unwilling to believe lest he be disappointed, your heart took pity on him. Your face softened, and you cupped his face tenderly in your hands as you ducked to catch his eye. "Silly boy," you said softly, your voice rich with warmth and affection. "Don’t you know? You’ll always be my Bucky-bug."

At the pet name, Bucky responded as he had always done. He sneered in mock disgust, but he couldn't hide his pleasure in the sly and mischievous grin that had spread across your face when you said it. "Ugh! Do you have to call me that?"

"Yes!"

"Fine, fine," he muttered rolling his eyes, before dropping his voice to a sexy, teasing tone, "just keep it between us, sugar."

You laughed and drilled your finger into his belly, aiming for the spot you knew was his weakness. "Oh, don’t you dare." You'd once been weak to Bucky flirting with you, but you'd since built up an immunity. You smirked as you grabbed your coffee and walked out with a sassy twitch of your hips. You turned at the door and shot Bucky the playfully seductive look you reserved only for him over your shoulder. "Like that's still gonna work."

After a brief conversation with Steve where the man blushed and evaded, leaving him with even more questions about your presence in the apartment that morning, Bucky prowled through the place. It was like you'd left your scent on the air and he couldn't stop himself from sniffing after you. His heart was lighter even as it trembled. You'd looked at him like you'd been happy to see him, like the last few years had never happened and he had his best girl back. Even as it made him feel better than he had in weeks, the question of why you had been here haunted him.

Had Steve finally made his move? Had he finally told you of the crush he'd confessed to Bucky back in high school? Had the two of you finally made all the pain he'd gone through worth it? Why else would you be wearing a robe with what looked like nothing beneath it in the kitchen of their apartment when you thought Bucky would be gone for hours?

He'd thought he'd be content when you were where you belonged, but instead he couldn't hardly stand it. He had thought that if he'd ruined his chance to make you happy, at least Steve could do what he failed at. He'd thought that knowing you were happy would ease his loss. Now that the day may have come, he realized he'd been wrong; nothing could ease this.

However, he loved you enough to let you go if it was what you wanted, what you needed, even if it was torture. If you wanted and needed him as only your friend, and as the friend of your lover, then that's what he'd be to you, no matter how much it hurt.

As he paced past the doorway to Steve's studio on his way back to his own bedroom, Bucky saw a sketchbook wedged in the door on the floor where it had fallen. As he leaned down to pick it up, he realized the sketch on the page in front of him was of you. Unable to help himself, he paged through the book to find every image was of you.

First came images of you stepping down with a proud and disdainful look on your face, gauzy fabric bunched in your fists and swirling around your thighs. Bucky could easily see the shape of your body under the gossamer material. You were even more lovely than he’d imagined. After that came the images of different poses and parts of you, a trim ankle and foot, followed by a bare shoulder or the nape of your neck.

Next came the images of you sitting with your legs curled to your side. His eyes traced over the curve of a perfect breast, the dip of your waist, the flare of your hip, before coming to rest on your look of quiet thought. He didn't know how Steve could have sat drawing this when Bucky wouldn't have been able to resist comforting you; he would have had to try to lift the clouds from your eyes and your heart.

When he turned to last sketch, he knew he had to let you go. Your face, the one he knew and loved more than any other, stared out of the page into him. He hadn’t known the name of the emotion that lived in those eyes the last time he’d seen it aimed at him. Now, however, it was crystal clear for all it was captured in graphite. Only that desperate love and longing wasn’t for him. When this had been drawn, you’d been looking at Steve.

Part Five here

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not so subtle - part six [clean-ish]

Pairing: Harrison Osterfield x reader Word Count: 3.5k~ Warning: swearing A/N: HEADS UP! this part is considered the clean-ish version of “not so subtle” - part six. basically it means that there’s no smut! there is a brief mention of a certain body part, but it doesn’t get down and dirty in this one! anywhoo - like always, feedback is appreciated/loved aka start the new year off right and give it to me please.

A couple days after the Christmas disaster, you came to the conclusion that you were done with love. If the universe didn’t want you to have a boyfriend, fine by you. In fact, you didn’t need a man. You especially didn’t need Steven.

“You’re a fucking catch” Kimberly reassured you the next day after you explained what happened. “Steven would’ve been lucky to have you. But he’s a complete idiot.”

“I am a fucking catch” you sobbed into a tub of ice cream, wishing that if you said it enough you might finally believe it.

Who needed a relationship? Not you.

You decided that you could be one of those carefree girls who slept with whomever they wanted. They all looked relatively happy with no strings attached. You could totally do that, flouncing around from guy to guy without any worries. Feelings didn’t matter. If Harrison could do it so easily, why couldn’t you? Not that you were thinking of Harrison. Harrison who?

Romance was overrated, anyways.

You planned on putting this resolution into motion as soon as possible. What better time to start than with New Year’s Eve just around the corner?

It came as no surprise that Tom and Emma got tickets to an exclusive Vegas party for New Year’s Eve. Of course they invited you along, claiming there was no one better to join them in the festivities. Naturally you accepted their offer. Nothing sounded better than ringing in the new year in actual style.

Tom had been generous enough to set you up with your own room in the hotel. Even if he didn’t say it, you knew he felt bad about how your year had been. This was his attempt of doing you a solid. And it turns out, he wasn’t completely clueless when it came to nice hotel rooms.

You whistled as you opened the door to a pristinely white hallway. You parked your luggage near the entrance as walked into the actual living quarters. Holy shit. The space was massive complete with amenities beyond your imagination. It seemed tempting to just leave your college life behind and just live in this room forever.

Running your hand along the silky sheets of your bed, you grinned thinking how lucky you got to have a king size all to yourself. An enormous television was plastered to the wall right across from the bed, and you planned on lazing around with it on during your spare time.

A small living room arrangement was set up complete with a couch and a couple of sofa chairs. No surprise that Tom left a note saying you could have as many treats in the mini fridge as you wanted. Don’t mind if I do, Thomas.

The best part about the room as that you had a balcony view. As you stepped outside, you let out a whistle. It truly was a sight to behold. You glanced around taking in the sight of famous Vegas landmarks. The hotel included two chairs and a lounge couch on the balcony for your viewing pleasure. Not too shabby.

You spent the afternoon relaxing with Emma before the two of you got ready for the party. Even while Tom insisted on getting the group bottle service at the club, you didn’t want to go into the party completely sober. So you and your best friend lightly pregamed in preparation. Emma classily sipped on champagne while you occasionally chugged the most expensive bottle of wine the hotel offered. And while she didn’t approve of your plan of hooking up, Emma made sure to perfect your makeup and hair for you.

As the sun set and the city lights twinkled throughout the strip, the three of you headed up to the party. No surprise that your group was able to cut the line and quickly enter the club. Perks of having a famous friend.The loud music blared as Emma held onto your hand, not wanting to lose you in the crowd. Even with its exclusivity, so many bodies packed into the venue. Not that you were particularly bothered. The alcohol had kicked in and you felt completely relaxed.

It wasn’t until you heard Tom shouting out his best friend’s name that your mouth turned slightly downwards.

You hadn’t seen Harrison since that night, and you hadn’t been sure if you wanted to. What were you supposed to say? “Thanks for taking care of me before completely disappearing off my radar?” Hell no.

Swiveling around, you followed Emma as the two of you approached Tom and Harrison. No surprise that Harrison looked amazing wearing a crisp, dark shirt with the top couple buttons unfastened. When didn’t he look hot? You tried your best to pull yourself out of these thoughts. No. Absolutely not. You were not going to ever admit that he looked good again. These were the type of romantic thoughts that you wanted to avoid.

Harrison pulled Emma in for a hug and once he released her, he simply smiled and nodded at you. It was as if nothing happened at all.

You wondered if Harrison eventually told Tom about that night. A couple days after the incident, Tom persistently bugged you about why you left early during his party, curious about what transpired. And when he found out you supposedly had a new boyfriend, he tried to ask about Steven. A tiny part of him was sad you hadn’t progressed with Harrison, but he was mostly excited about you finally finding someone. Or so he thought.

It of course wasn’t his fault. He didn't know any better. So you told him how you were still single and choked out a fake laugh. Tom regretted asking, and both of you wished that the conversation never happened.

“Oh, look! There’s Greg!” Emma excitedly pointed out, pulling you out of your thoughts. You weren’t sure who she was referring to though her boyfriend did.

“We should go say hi!” Tom suggested as he took Emma’s hand in his.

“I don’t know who Greg is” you announced in a drunken haze, but it didn’t matter as you were pulled along. Greg was a nice enough fellow, but you found yourself bored with the conversation. Who cared about the formulation of publicity? Definitely not you. So you let go of Emma’s hand and made your way to the bar.

You ordered a cranberry vodka and put it on Tom's tab, sipping slowly through a straw as you looked into the crowd. It seemed like everyone was either on the dance floor or mingling amongst one another.

“Can I get a Guiness, mate?” a familiar voice asked behind you. Turning slightly, you bit down on the straw as you realized it was Harrison. He slipped his card to the bartender before thanking him and taking a swig of his beer. Feeling your gaze, he turned your way. “What?” His tone wasn’t aggressive or irritated; it was simply curious.

“What?” you mimicked him, though you found yourself sounding defensive.

“You’re staring, Lil Skunk. Just wanted to know what’s up with that.” It was harmless enough, but the comment caught you off guard.

The alcohol let your honesty flow out. “Surprised you don’t have some girl draped all over you, Lil Shit.”

He turned away from you, taking another sip. “Just keeping my options open.”

You rolled your eyes. “Yeah, whatever.” You shook your head as you walked away, not noticing Harrison carefully watching you.

Throughout the rest of the night you stuck near Tom and Emma’s side. You spent a bit of time on the dance floor enjoying yourself with some brunette before Emma yanked you away when she felt he was getting too handsy with you. You informed her that it was the point of letting him grind up on you, but it was too late to get him back. And as midnight approached, you realized that people were beginning to scramble around.

Flirting was at an all time high, people claiming others with hand holding or draping their arms around one another. Everyone was trying to pair off before the countdown.

Who cares? That was what you kept repeating in your head. You hadn’t kissed anyone last year on New Year’s Eve, so why worry about it this year? Who cares? It wasn’t going to affect your life in any significant way possible. So who cares?

Fuck. You kinda cared.

You didn’t want to start off the new year alone. You didn’t want to have that tinge of jealousy about how adorable Tom and Emma looked or wish that you could have the same rapport with someone the same way Kimberly and Sarah did. And even if it was just a stranger that you made out with, at least you were putting yourself out there for once.

All you needed to do was be completely carefree like you wanted. The plan was easy enough. You just had to do was kiss someone. Anyone.

Except you didn’t particularly want to do it the same way strangers in the club were doing. This wasn’t supposed to be a grab and go scenario. It had to be someone you at least knew. You pondered if Greg could be a viable choice, but the idea was dismissed once you looked around and spotted Greg holding on to the waist of a blonde. Thanks for nothing, Greg.

There’s always Harrison. The idea whispered in the back of your mind, reminding you it was a possibility. You didn’t like that small voice, but at the moment it wasn’t wrong.

What was the worst that could happen? Well he could say no or shove you off. But rejection was something you were used to. It was worth a shot, and you had enough bravery in your system right at that moment.

So you threw back the last of your drink before slamming it on a table. The search for Harrison was on. As the DJ shouted that only a minute remained, you dashed around trying to find him. C’mon c'mon. The one time you wanted to actually see him, and you were struggling harder than ever.

“Thirty seconds, folks!” the DJ announced right as you spotted Harrison. You began pushing through the crowd, muttering “excuse me” and “coming through”. The liquid courage cheered you on, telling you to do the unthinkable. And with only a couple seconds to spare, you were glad yet surprised that no girls surrounded him.

Three!

“Osterfield!”

Two!

“Hmm?” he turned around to the sound of your voice, raising an eyebrow. You felt the warmth from the alcohol encouraging you. It was now or never. You quickened your pace, rushing over to Harrison.

One!

You grabbed his face and pulled the boy in towards you. Your lips crashed against his, eyes squeezing shut. And just as you were about to release him, you felt his arms wrap around your waist pulling you in. The kiss continued and only broke off when you needed air.

Breathing heavily, you looked at the Brit. He scanned your face, looking for something; you weren’t sure what. Only seconds later did his lips reconnect with yours. It was an overwhelming sensation, his hands roaming all over your body while he began to kiss your neck. As he trailed down, you heard yourself let out a low moan, eyes fluttering shut.

“Fuck” he hissed and you opened your eyes to take in the sight of disheveled Harrison, lips swollen. Despite the loud celebration going on all around, you focused on him. Only him. He looked at you expectantly, swallowing nervously. You pulled out of his embrace and for a second he looked disappointed. It wasn’t until you took his hand in yours that he broke out into a small smile. Even with the chaos surrounding, you pushed through the crowd and led him to the elevators.

Despite the alcohol in your system, you started to feel your nerves on edge. Your heart was pounding so loud that you paid no mind to the drunken shouts around the lobby. All you could hear was your own heart thumping and eventually the ‘ding’ of the elevator.

The two of you surprisingly were the only two in the lift. It made you even more nervous, with nothing to distract you from the boy still holding your hand tightly.

When you stopped at your room, you let go of his hand to find your key card. There wasn't much in your bag yet you fumbled with the miscellaneous items, unable to find the pass. You knew you had it, but your hands shook from the jitters in your stomach. Where had you put it? It was embarrassing enough that you threw yourself at him, but now you couldn’t even properly hook up? How to hook up 101: be more prepared than this mess.

He placed his hand on yours and when you looked up at him, he just smiled and nodded his head towards the right. Oh. Of course Tom got his best friend a room as well. Obviously. Harrison took your hand and guided you towards his room only a couple doors down. And even though his room wasn’t far, you liked that he intertwined his fingers with yours. He scanned his key card, letting you into the room but keeping his hand locked with yours.

His room was similar to yours except a couple of decoration details. When you turned to tell him that, he caught you off guard by kissing you immediately. He let the door shut by itself, continuously kissing you until you found yourself backed up against the wall. Your arms instinctively wrapped around his neck and you felt him grinning into your kisses.

He took this as approval to lean in closer, hands beginning to wander. This was all unfamiliar territory, and he had every intention of exploring all of you.  

You whimpered at his touch, unused to this sensation. But when his hand cupped your breast, you found your body tensing up.

He pulled away, frantically glancing at you. His hands immediately moved from your body. “Sorry, is this-I didn’t mean to-” Harrison apologized, clearly concerned about your wellbeing.

You shook your head and apologized to him, wishing that you could’ve played it cool instead of tensing up. You reminded yourself that you wanted to be casual and carefree. So why were you panicking?  

“We don’t- We don’t have...If you don’t want this, tell me and we can stop” he reminded you.

And there it was. Harrison in all his soft glory was concerned about you more than you ever expected. It was those blue eyes staring down at you, hoping for a yes but knowing he wouldn’t do anything if you said no. There was something about him in that moment that had you understanding why you couldn’t get him off your mind.

So you cupped his face gently in your hands and softly kissed him. When you pulled away, there were those ocean eyes still asking for permission, waiting for you to voice your answer. “I want this” you confirmed as you nodded your head. He closed his eyes for a second, as if to savor the moment, before he smiled and pressed his lips against yours once more.  

You didn’t want to let go of this moment. His touch was more passionate than you could’ve ever imagined, and everything about it felt perfectly right. This Harrison - the one who kissed your nose and laughed as you scrunched your face - this was the Harrison you so desperately wanted to keep forever. It was this Harrison who held you tightly and pressed his lips against your shoulder that you adored. You weren’t sure you could ever give up this sensation.

“What?” you asked nervously as the two of you rested next to one another. You pulled the sheets closer to your body despite him having seen and been with you in the most intimate way just an hour before. Harrison propped himself up with his back on the headboard, looking down at you.

He studied your face, making you feel self-conscious. Had your makeup smeared? Did you not look as great as before? Worries filled your head, anxious of what faults he could find. The next thing you knew his hand was gently tracing your features, smiling as it settled on your cheek. “It’s nothing. I’m just...I like it here with you, love” he reassured you.

Your breath hitched hearing your favorite nickname, and you were once again swept up in the moment. How could you not be? You sat up and straddled his lap, kissing him deeply.

“Say it again.” You couldn’t get enough of his voice calling out that nickname as if you were the only person who mattered.

“What? Addicted to me now?” You rolled your eyes as he let out a chuckle. “I like it here with you, love” he repeated. “I like all of this. And I don’t think I’ll ever be able to get enough of you, darling.” It caused your heart to swell, bursting out into a wide grin before kissing him roughly. And with fervor eagerness, he pulled you in close ready to explore your body once more.

Even with Harrison laying beside you, it still felt unreal. You could touch his soft face and felt his arm draped around your waist, but you kept having to remind yourself that it wasn’t a dream.

So you got your wish of hooking up with someone for New Years Eve. You managed to do it with Harrison of all people. You wanted this. You really did. But not this way.

You knew Harrison. You knew the beautiful women who practically threw themselves at him only to be relegated to a one night stand or referred to as “just a friend”. You knew how he would give them his attention, but they were never capable of becoming his. And now you understood why some of them were satisfied with just being a fling.

And you knew yourself. You knew how much of an idiot you could be around men, how easily you gave away your heart in hopes of finding romance. Just a bit of affection and you were putty in their hands.

You wanted someone to be all in with you. As much as you wanted a carefree attitude about relationships, it would never happen. You craved love and the idea of someone being so infatuated with you that they couldn’t get enough. And as much as you wished the impossible, you knew it wouldn’t be with Harrison. What occurred in the bedroom was nothing short of spectacular, but it wasn’t going to last outside of it like you hoped.

Hearing him lightly snore, you slowly slipped out of the covers. It took all of your strength to ignore the feeling of staying in bed when you felt his arm slightly tighten around you. You sucked in your breath, waiting until his grip softened and then slid out of the bed. Slowly you tiptoed around as you collected your clothing and put them on. Checking your purse, you managed to find your key card before taking one last glance back at Harrison.

He looked so peaceful, arm still sprawled out in the spot where you once rested. You would’ve given anything for him to wake up and tell you to stay. But he was sound asleep lost in his dreams.

You couldn’t help but tiptoe back to his side once more, pressing a kiss against his messy hair. Hearing him mumble your name as he smiled in his sleep almost convinced you to stay.

Almost.

Instead you shuffled away and back to the entryway of his room. You slowly opened the door to decrease the sound of creaking before gently pulling the door behind you. And as you walked back to your room, you wondered if Harrison would ever settle down. Would he ever find someone he liked enough that he wouldn’t think of anyone else besides her? Did you want to be that person? ...Maybe.

As you entered your room, the excitement of having a spacious place to yourself was gone. Instead you just felt lonely. There was no one to enjoy the balcony view with, no one to eat snacks with, and no one to watch late night television with you. You threw your heels to the side before changing out of your clothes and into pajamas. Yanking the bed sheets from their tucked corners so you could get comfortable, you nestled underneath the covers letting the plethora of pillows surround you.

You wondered if Harrison was still peacefully sleeping or if he noticed that you left already. Would he question where you went or if you planned on coming back? Or would he be relieved he didn’t need to kick you out of his room like the rest of his female companions?

And as drowsiness crept in, you couldn’t help but wonder what this meant for the two of you. Would he look at you the same way - still just Lil Skunk - or would he view you with the newly discovered amazement in his eyes that he had in the bedroom? You wanted the latter, for him to look at you the way he looked at you all night. But you knew that was just wishful thinking.

part seven

[green-eyeddragonfanfiction]

Ghosts of War: Chapter 19

Pairing: Bucky Barnes/Winter Soldier x Reader Summary: After the events of Winter’s War, your and Bucky’s lives are changed forever (and not for the better). Severe torture and experimentation at the hands of Hydra leaves you shells of your former selves, your past together completely erased and replaced with deadly Hydra programming. Bucky asks you to do the unthinkable. You try your best to make money for the two of you to survive. Meanwhile, dark forces lurk in the shadows. Warnings: Swearing (always), suicide pact**, talk of suicide**, murder, death, violence, blood, guns, torture Word Count: ~4,060 A/N: oh shit boiiii. This chapter is a tough one. Don’t read it if you’re in a dark headspace my dudes.

Masterlist // Book One

Previous Chapter // Next Chapter

Bucky ran a hand through your hair and shushed you. “No… but we did it, Doll. We did all of it,” he said gently. You didn’t sob or hiccup or gasp, but he somehow knew you’d begun crying. He leaned back to peer down at you then wiped away your tears with his right thumb. He placed kisses to each of your cheeks then hugged you back to his chest. “Let it out, Doll… no use bottlin’ it up. Not with me.”

You weren’t sure how long you cried in Bucky’s arms. You weren’t sure if he cried with you.

All you knew was that when you woke up the next morning with Bucky asleep by your side and daylight shining through the yellowed newspapers, the world didn’t feel quite so terrible as it did when you’d gone to sleep.

“Did you know about this?” you asked, dropping the stack of xeroxed papers onto Bucky’s lap. You were visiting him down at the docks between your shifts, during his short lunch break.

Normally you would have gone back to the apartment to avoid being out in public, but you’d been evicted not even a day ago. Multiple noise complaints from surrounding tenants prompted the landlord to kick you and Bucky out without a second thought, not that you could blame him. Between your and Bucky’s nightmares and the fact that you didn’t have proper paperwork, you were too much of a liability. Until you found a new place to live, you’d crash at different flophouses every night. Working would be tough until then, but both you and Bucky were determined to live some semblance of a normal life.

Bucky raised an eyebrow at you and leafed dutifully through the pages, eyebrows raising slowly as he read until you were sure they’d disappear into his hairline. By the time he was finished he had a small smile on his face that you couldn’t help but mirror. “I had no idea. I mean, I’d noticed there weren’t signs everywhere anymore, but I never imagined they’d actually do it... I’d always hoped, but...”

You smiled and took his head. “We were almost awake for it, too. It was in 1964. Do you think Gabe took part in the sit-ins and marches?” you asked, resting your head lightly on his shoulder. It was his metal one, but he had enough padding on between his jacket and shirt that it was still comfortable.

Bucky made a noncommittal noise in the back of his throat. “Dunno. Wouldn’t surprise me. If he did, I’m sure Dum Dum joined him in a show of solidarity.”

You nodded. “I can see that. I would have liked to hear Doctor King’s speech. I can’t find a full recording of it anywhere.”

Bucky nodded in commiseration. “Seemed like a good man.”

For a short while the two of you sat in silence, Bucky munching quietly away at a bowl of rice. “Is it bad that I’m relieved we weren’t the ones to pull the trigger for once?”

Bucky paused and swallowed thickly before setting the bowl down beside him on the bench and threw his arm around your shoulder, reeling you easily into his chest. “No, Doll. I know I’m pretty messed up in the head, but even I know we’re supposed to not enjoy killin’ people,” he said quietly, lips brushing light kisses to your hair.

You nodded slowly, thoughts drifting to dark places unbidden. You didn’t have much time left together; his break would be ending soon. 

“If they ever try to take me again, kill me.”

You looked up, startled by Bucky’s sudden words. “What?” you breathed, not wanting to believe your ears.

He looked at you then, his blue eyes cold and sad. “You heard me, Doll.”

“I can’t do that, Bucky,” you said, distressed.

He took your hands in his and suddenly that icy wall behind his eyes gave way to fiery passion. “You gotta, Doll. If they come for us you, gotta put a bullet in my head. Fry me. I don’t care. I can’t go back, (Y/N),” he pleaded, voice strained.

You gaped at him for a minute, unsure of what to say as tears filled your eyes. “You’re askin’ too much of me, Buck,” you whimpered.

Bucky pulled you into his chest and ran his big hand down your back soothingly. “I know, Doll. I know. But I don’t have a kill switch like you do. You can fry yourself, but if they get me pinned, I won’t be able to do anythin’. I can’t go back to bein’ their puppet, Sweetheart. Please, promise me,” he said fervently, refusing to back down.

It broke your heart, but you eventually nodded past the tears and hiccuping sobs. “Me too,” you managed to squeak out between sobs.

Bucky didn’t have to ask what you meant, he knew. He nodded silently and ran his fingers through your hair, his lips placing kisses to any spot on your face he could reach. “I love you, Doll,” he said quietly.

“I love you, too, Buck,” you said hoarsely.

“Oi, Hanson! Get your ass back to work! Break ended ten minutes ago and I ain’t paying you to sit around and kiss your girlfriend, ya damn flower child!”

The voice of Bucky’s boss echoed between the shipping containers and Bucky let out a long sigh. “Gotta get back to work, Doll,” he said, apologetic frown on his face.

“S’ok. Gotta get to my next job anyway,” you sniffled, clambering off of his lap reluctantly.

He stood as soon as he was able and pulled you in for a quick, chaste kiss on the lips that still managed to leave you breathless. “I’ll see you at the flophouse later, (Y/N). Have a good afternoon at work, alright Sweetheart?” he said with a small smile, as though you hadn’t just promised to kill him if the Soviets or Hydra came after you.

You put on a brave smile and pecked him once more on the cheek before handing him his unfinished lunch and the stack of papers on the Civil Rights Movement. “You too, Buck.”

You turned and walked briskly back towards the center of town, willing yourself not to cry.

Life wasn’t fair. You knew that from a young age. Ever since your parents dropped you off at the orphanage in Queens. Ever since you were rejected again and again from school after school just because you were a woman. When military leaders didn’t so much as give you a polite rejection when you tried to show them your designs. Hell, you never even made it past the secretaries most days. Even after meeting Peggy and finally getting your foot in the door, you still remained in Howard’s shadow. Howard himself may not have treated you badly, but no matter how hard he tried to give you credit for what you did, no one seemed to care.

And then, for that shining year and handful of months with the guys, everything had been a whirlwind. You got attention and praise as the only woman in the Howling Commandos. They made dolls of you, interviewed you with Steve and Bucky. People knew you were Bucky’s best girl and Steve’s friend. Everyone recognized your genius.

But then you fell off the train with Bucky and everything regressed to a new level of shit-tastic. You were put through hell and back and the fact you could walk down the street without murdering everyone in sight was to be praised. There were still some days where you couldn’t remember your name. Sometimes you called Bucky the Asset or the Soldier. He had his bad days, too, where he retreated in on himself until his eyes were hard and uncaring and you knew he didn’t see the world around him.

Bucky blamed himself for every death you and he dealt out while brainwashed by the Soviets and Hydra. He wrote down every name he could remember in a tiny notebook and took it with him everywhere.

You didn’t add to the names. You didn’t want to think about everyone you’d killed. You only added one name to the list: Mary Douglas. She was the only death you felt truly responsible for. Even Mila hadn’t been your fault, though you still mourned your inability to protect her to this day.

You arrived at the old abandoned-looking school building quicker than you realized, lost in thought as you were. The grafitti-covered sign for “Mother Josephine’s School for Wayward Children” swayed gently in the wind, the thick and once-beautifully carved sign barely hanging on by its nails. You glanced up and down the street before wiggling between a gap in the chain-link fence and made a beeline for the door in the back that you knew would be unlocked.

The door creaked loudly as you opened it and you quickly stepped inside before someone saw you. The first few hallways were dim, lit only by the meager light filtering in through the old, grimy windows. You didn’t have any trouble seeing, but it still set your nerves on edge. There were too many places to hide in this old death trap, but you'd run out of options some time ago.

You found the door to the basement with ease, having memorized the layout of the building off some old blueprints you’d found in the library before you’d showed up the first time. It also helped that you’d been here a few times already. You pulled your hat low over your eyes and made sure your boots and gloves hid your... enhancements.

The moment the door to the basement swung open, you were bathed in light. You took a deep breath and made your way down the creaky steps, half expecting them to give out under your weight. Metal limbs weren’t exactly light.

A dozen heads turned towards you the moment you took the last step off the stairs and only about half turned back to their conversations or drinks after looking their fill. You ignored them all and went up to the bar, taking a seat on one of the rickety stools.

“What do you got for me, Patch?” you asked in undertones.

Patch slid you a sealed beer, knowing full well you wouldn’t drink anything that could have possibly been tampered with. “Not much, little lady,” Patch said apologetically. “Not many of the jobs I have in right now are suitable for a single person... gifted though you may be,” Patch said quickly, seeing the look on your face.

“I can handle it, Patch. Tell me what jobs are in right now, please,” you said through gritted teeth before snapping the bottle cap off with one of your metal fingers and taking a long sip.

Patch sighed. “Couple of assassinations, mostly hits on goody-two-shoes that the Mob or Yakuza want dead but are unwilling to risk pinning on themselves. A guard detail, couple nights, needs a group to escort an entire convoy. A burglary of an old fat cat-”

“That one.”

Patch sighed and scratched his neck in the way he did whenever he was nervous. You didn’t think much of it; Patch was always nervous. “Knew you’d take that one. I gotta warn ya, little lady, that old man’s not someone you wanna tango with. He’s got top notch security and-”

“How much?” you asked, cutting across him again. He never second-guessed the other patrons like this and it grated on your nerves.

Patch let out a sigh, knowing he’d lose this fight as soon as he said the words. “$3,000.”

You let out a low whistle. “What’s the target? Vault? Jewels? Antiques?” you asked, interested in why someone would pay $3,000 to steal from a single house. Whatever they wanted had to be worth a lot.

Patch let out a sigh. “You know the deal. Details are in the card, can’t just tell everyone or there’ll be-”

“Problems, in-fighting, stupid shit. Yeah, I know, Patch. I’ll take it, whatever it is. I can handle it,” you said, thinking perhaps you cut across the man too much. You really, really hated being coddled though. Pissed you off to no end.

Patch gave you a long, flat stare before he sighed in defeat and reached for the stack of cards behind the bar and flipped through them until he found the right one. He held it out to you but pulled it back right as you were about to grab it. You glowered up at him but he didn’t even flinch. “Be careful, little lady. I like havin’ ya around and I know you’ll never see the light of day again if you get caught by this guy.” You would have snapped at him but his tone was nothing but sincere. You stared at him, caught off guard, before nodding slowly.

“I will, Patch.”

He still didn’t look happy, but relented and handed you the card. “You know the drill. Call the number. Complete the job. Return for the reward.”

You downed the last of the beer and slapped two dollars on the table. Sure, it was a bit much, but you were about to be rich. With that kind of reward you and Bucky could move into a nice apartment and not have to worry about money for a while.

Bucky.

You should tell him about this second job. You told him you worked at a bank crunching numbers all day, but you had a feeling he didn’t quite believe you. Still, he didn’t want to outright question you, so he kept his mouth shut, knowing you’d tell him when you were ready.

Being a mercenary/burglar-for-hire hadn’t exactly been the plan, but your skill set made you over-qualified and very, very good at it. This wasn’t the end-game, but you and Bucky needed the money right now, so you weren’t going to be picky.

You returned to the flop house and left a note for him at the front desk, saying you’d gotten a shift at a bar and that you’d be back very late or very early tomorrow morning and not to wait up. You didn’t want to leave him alone, knowing full well he barely slept when you weren’t there, but it’d be better to pull the heist off at night. You checked the charge in your back capacitors and, satisfied they’d last the night, began prepping for the operation.

Wrong.

Everything was wrong.

When you arrived at the house you were supposed to rob, it was almost completely empty. You hadn’t made it more than ten feet inside before you turned on your heel and ran back out the front door, only to find it blocked by at least a dozen agents decked out in combat gear.

Trap. It was a trap.

By the time you fought through the agents that had boxed you in, you’d taken at least three gunshots to the body and your left thigh was leaking blood all over the place from a knife cut. You could hear more agents surrounding the building, but you wouldn’t sit around and let yourself get trapped by these bastards. You still didn’t even know who they were working for, but that was something you’d find out later. New York wasn’t safe anymore. You had to get back to Bucky and escape before they tightened the noose.

For the first time in at least two weeks you activated your heel jets. The familiar feeling of your razor-sharp wheels popping into place sent a chill up your spine. Your hearing may not have been as advanced as Bucky’s but you were still able to pinpoint where most of the troops were coming from.

Swearing in your head you turned your jets on full blast and rocketed out the doorway, wincing as you felt gunfire hot on your tail.

You rounded the corner and took a small breath. You weren’t out of the woods yet, not by a long shot. Your stupidity had gotten your cover blown, but you doubted they’d found Bucky yet. If you could make it to him after losing these clowns, the two of you could be out of the city before they could sniff you out.

You heard Majorca was nice this time of year.

You took back alleys that you knew the military vehicles were too large to fit through, gave them the slip under bridges, and eventually made your way towards the flophouse in Brooklyn, praying you weren’t leading them straight to an unsuspecting Bucky.

You turned the corner and let out a sigh of relief when you spotted the building, only to scream in rage when you saw Bucky being dragged out by at least six agents in civilian police clothing. He was fighting against them, but they’d attached something to his arm and you could tell he was struggling to break it. From the way he was moving you wouldn’t be surprised if they’d drugged him already.

You raced forward more quickly than they could have anticipated and jumped, letting your momentum carry you forward as you switched from your wheels to your talons. A flying kick both maimed the first man and sent him hurtling over the nearest police cruiser.

“Fuck, get her! She’s insane!”

“They must have failed! Call for backup!”

You barely heard their voices, working through the throng of obviously-not-cops towards Bucky, who was looking at you with huge, pleading eyes.

“No!” you screamed at him, knowing what he was thinking. You always knew what he was thinking.

Please, you saw him mouth. His eyes were already going hazy. Whatever they’d given him must have been strong. The chances of you getting out of here with him knocked out before their backup arrived... they were nonexistent.

I love you, you saw him whisper before his head dropped forward.

You were crying as you ripped through the poor fools between you and Bucky. Still more seemed to stream out of who knew where, but you had a mission and you weren’t going to fail. You couldn’t let him down him. Not in this way.

Just one touch. Just one. Then me. Then it’s over.

You told repeated those words in your head over and over again and you punched, scratched, and kicked your ways towards Bucky’s limp body. They’d left him in the street in their attempt to stop you from getting to him. You were an unstoppable force. You could feel more bullets rip through you, but it didn’t matter. None of it matter as long as you could get to him.

Finally, there was only a few feet between him and you. You charged your right hand, tears overflowing as you looked down at the limp, unconscious form of the man you loved. It was a small mercy that he wouldn’t feel a thing.

You wouldn’t be so lucky.

The agents tried to stop you, only to electrocute themselves to death when they grabbed your arm.

You were so focused on making this one blow to your beloved count that you didn’t see the battering ram headed toward you until it was too late.

You felt your bones break on the impact and your lungs collapse as you flew ten feet through the air and landed on the cold cement road. Your head hit the concrete hard, your vision blurring dangerously with the mix of what was likely a concussion and massive blood loss. Your charge fizzled out in your hand and you cursed to yourself.

On your feet. Get on your feet. You useless piece of shit. You swore to yourself, trying and failing to pull yourself to your feet.

You got as far as leaning up on your hands and screaming in agony before they descended upon you like vultures. You barely felt the pinch of the needle being shoved into your neck; it paled in comparison to your other wounds.

What hurt the most, though, was seeing Bucky lying there, not fifteen feet away, unaware that you’d failed and you’d both wake up trapped in the nightmare you were so desperate to escape.

KGB files, Top Security Clearance, 29 March 1973

Little is known about what Codenames: Winter Soldier did during the two weeks they fell off the grid in New York. It was only through sheer luck that the male was spotted in a flophouse. The woman was spotted by one of our agents at a disreputable spot for mercenaries to gather. Luck. Sheer luck. We tried to lure her into a trap but she escaped, nearly overwhelming the agents that were attempting to take the male back at the same time.

Yet even after subsequent mental conditioning Codenames: Winter Soldier had no answers for their conduct, or any memory of their time out of our control.

While troubling, the incident appears to be an aberration, requiring nothing more than closer watch. It is further recommended that in future missions they be excluded from operations on American soil and deployed separately

KGB files, Top Security Clearance, September 1983 From the Personal Journal of Major General IIIIIIIREDACTEDIIIIIIII

Against advice, I have taken Codename: Winter Soldier to the Middle East as my personal bodyguard. I am getting old and I know there are only a few years left for me, so I wish to spend them watching this twisted creature defend my life.

I almost feel sorry for him, as he tenses up whenever anyone approaches, ready to dive in front of a bullet for me.

It will never make up for what he and his people did to me in the war, how they shamed me in front of my own men, but even after all these years, it still makes me smile to see Captain America’s partner serving Mother Russia.

It is doubly entertaining to watch him look for his little bitch. I could have thawed them both out and ignored the imbecilic warnings of the others, but it is more fun this way. He is easier to handle when he is sad, even if he doesn’t know why. I can see him looking for her, his eyes following women that resemble her.

Let us see what kind of damage he can do to his country’s efforts in the Middle East. These next few years should be amusing. I am glad that Yuri transferred me. To hell with him.

KGB files, Top Security Clearance, 4 August 1988

In accordance with Major General IIIIIIREDACTEDIIIIII final orders before his death, Project: Winter Soldiers have been returned to cryofreeze for the foreseeable future.

Codename: Winter Soldier (Male) has been placed back into stasis after his years in the Middle East alongside the Major General.

No incidents were reported by the Major General, but it is recommended that if Codename: Winter Soldiers are revived from stasis in future, thorough mental re-implantation be done to assure control of the operatives.

Codename: Winter Soldiers will be stored in an undisclosed location, along with much of Department X’s abandoned experiments.

December 14th, 1991

You sat. Waited for orders. Still as a statue.

You didn’t look at the asset beside you. He wasn’t important unless your handlers said he was.

Your metal legs glinted menacingly in the light, the sickle and hammer on your shins gleaming like blood.

You didn’t know how long you sat there, brain working to clear itself from the sluggishness of cryofreeze. Your body had thawed long before you’d regained consciousness, but it still moved like ice flowed through your veins. It would take a day to return to full functionality. You’d checked yourself over upon waking, taking note of each scar marring your skin.

The door opened after what could have been minutes, hours, or days. Time meant little in the tiny cold room with only a light and two cold tables. Neither you nor the other asset had said a word the entire time.

“Soldiers?” the handler asked, standing warily in the door. He had no cause to be nervous. You and the other asset were dangerous, but you wouldn’t hurt your handlers. His accent was German. Not the KGB, then. Hydra, most likely. You didn’t care, but your brain took note of it anyway. It might be important to the mission later.

“Ready to comply,” you and the other asset replied in unison, voices flat and emotionless.

Next Chapter

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[merryfortune]

Day 2 - Awakened

Yu-Gi-Oh! Arc V Angst Week // A Stacked Deck

Word Count: 4.1k

Warnings: injury, blood, berserk mode, bullying

AN: slight AU but its set pre-canon. I don’t want to spoil it but that’s all y’all need to know.

  Yuto used to run a Forest of Spirits deck. Most would be surprised to hear that given his current personality; Ruri had even laughed at him when he told her that, but he didn’t mind. The purpose of telling her was to prove that he could trust her with more vulnerable and embarrassing information about himself. To make her laugh had been the point. But still, it was surprising.

  Those halcyon days of running a Forest of Spirits deck was quite some time ago now. Or at least it felt like it. He was fourteen, after all. It was when he was still just a little kid, about eleven, really, that he used to run his Spirit deck. He wasn’t even out of elementary school yet. However, the shift between using his Spirit monsters and using his Phantom Knight monsters was quite a difference. Honestly, that day left a lasting impact on Yuto for more than a few reasons. For a start, it marked him as different but that’s getting ahead of the story.

  So, let’s start simply. Yuto used to run Forest of Spirits deck. Why? Well, because he was a kid. He used to be a cute kid. He still was a cute kid, according to the likes of Ruri but he used to be a cuter kid. One with wider eyes and a stranger headspace. Because that’s just how kids were. How he was; even long before the war and destruction of Heartland.

  He loved fantasy stories. He still does love fantasy stories. Its just he used to love romantic fairy tales a lot. Now, he preferred fantasia which came with a heavier price than “happily ever after” but back then, he liked stories filled with pure and wondrous imagination. He liked stories where heroes slew the dragon and won the heroine’s love and they would go onto live a blessed life that savoured love and glory.

  It had been hopeful stories like that which had kept Yuto going. He’d always been the odd kid out. He was shorter and bit of a cry baby; he had bad eyesight and wore dorky glasses. He talked to his cards like they were real people. His family situation was mysterious at best and pitiful at worst. And there was also this aura about him. Like something wasn’t quite right; like there was something lurking beneath the surface which wasn’t right. Thus, where there was the inability to meet conformity, bullying resulted.

  And there was this one kid in Yuto’s grade whose favourite pastime was making sure the odd one out in their class remembered his place. For the most part, Yuto was a cowardly victim; remaining in line and licking his wounds later. He didn’t want to be noticed. He didn’t want to stick out. And the teachers weren’t being helpful. He wasn’t dumb. He knew there was something off about him as well, or maybe that’s just what had been drilled into him the course of being bullied and not having any defences. Any defences except for books and, of course, dueling.

  Yuto hid in the library most of the time. There were so many nooks and crannies so, he was able to find suitable places to wear out time with. Plus, he could read all the fairy tales he wanted so that was good too. He dreamed of the day he would be able to don a red cloak and take a sword into battle.

  So, he found his weapons of choice: cards. Not just in the library, but in class too, Yuto studied with the intention of becoming the best because he knew, if he could just win one duel – the right duel – everything would fall into place. He wouldn’t have to be a target anymore.

  Over and over, he would recite his plans for heroism to Elemental Mistress Doriado. People would tease Yuto and say that Doriado was useless and weak. Just like him. But he didn’t mind. He thought she was perfect just the way she was. That’s why he crowned his Elemental Mistress Doriado as “ace” of his deck.

  And it was because he crowned such a ‘worthless’ card his ace that one day, when everything which had been brewing over the course of his bullying, that one day, his tormentor snapped and decided he would take everything from Yuto. Well, perhaps not everything. Just that which meant most him: that ‘worthless’ card.

  At some point during, what had been an otherwise uneventful school day, the class bully stole Yuto’s deck from him. Yuto was both terrified and delighted. This is it. this was the moment he had been waiting for. This was the day he would take upon a hero’s mantle and rescue the heroine. In this case, the heroine was his beloved ace card, Elemental Mistress Doriado. So, he marched himself out of the classroom and into the courtyard, intent on doing something to his tormentor the moment he saw that cruel child. Yet he shook in his boots the whole way.

  And it hadn’t taken Yuto very long. In fact, his bully greeted him with a tutting smugness.

  “You really are dumb,” he said, “I mean, it took you all day to realise your precious cards were gone.”

  “D-Duel me.” Yuto mewled.

  The bully’s brow twinged. “Is that little voice the best you got, Ute? You sound pathetic. Like a girl.”

  “Duel me!” Yuto yelled with more conviction this time; his little fist in a tiny ball that quivered in front of him and yet, he seemed to be growing more confident as time went by.

  The bully clicked his tongue and sent Yuto’s deck flying. The cards went scattering and Yuto picked up each one with clawing desperation. The bully laughed. But, Yuto stood on his haunches regardless. He set his Duel Disc and D-Gazer.

  “Duel me.” Yuto instructed.

  “Sure,” his bully replied, “on one condition: the ante rule. We both put up our best card.”

  “Done.” Yuto replied.

  There was a pause. The bully set his own Duel Disc and D-Gazer. Then, a moment later, both youths yelled at each other: “Duel, start!”

  This duel had been like none other. It had been fuelled by Yuto’s passion. This bully – Ryuji – would be the dragon that he would slay to win his heroine and honour. If he could win, he could win everything. And, if he lost, he would lose it all. It was truly a picture-perfect battle.

  The best part was, Yuto was winning. He had stumbled at first. His plays were hesitant, and he had made mistakes and yet, he believed in his cards. He knew, deep down, that he had what it would take to win. He could feel glory and victory in his heart and he would bring it to fruition and with that pure-hearted conviction, he changed the tides of battle. With just a turn, his Forest of the Spirits deck had been able to overcome everything his bully threw at him.

  And yet, he hadn’t been able to play his best card. It was coming down to the wire now. Yuto and Ryuji had equal life points: 300 hundred. And Ryuji’s best monsters were in the graveyard with no hope of resurrection and the monsters he did have on his field, were fodder for stronger troops which were unable to be summoned; at least in this point in time.

  Best of all, it was the beginning of Yuto’s turn and he had just drawn a card which would end this battle magnificently. His third copy of the Pre-Preparation Rites card had been drawn! The other two had been sealed off from use during the course of the battle. His heart pounded as he read the card’s title over and over again. He couldn’t believe it. Finally, now was the time.

  With a shaking hand and excited smile, Yuto placed the card into position: “I use my spell card, Preparation of Rites!” he called out.

  The card glittered as the Duel Disc recognised his turn. The castle which appeared on the card appeared in the holographic space between them. It drew up from the ground with hallowed reverence and soon, options flashed across Yuto’s screen as he vibrated with pure joy. This would be the moment in which he would summon Elemental Mistress Doriado and show not just his bully, but the whole world, that his ace monster was the best ace monster ever!

  Yuto made his first selection. “I choose the spell card Doriado’s blessing!”

  His deck spat out the card. It had come from the very bottom. Yuto plucked it with eagerness and added it to his hand. He could hardly contain his elation as the screen moved to the next phase of the spell’s effect.

  “Now, I choose Elemental Mistress Doriado from my deck!” Yuto cried out excitedly.

  “Heh.” His bully choked out what was supposed to have been a laugh.

  “Huh?” Yuto mumbled and then, his blood ran cold.

  Error. Error. Error. Card not in deck. Unable to retrieve. System error. Those sorts of messages ran across his screen. Yuto forced his gaze across the battle field. Ryuji laughed raucously. He tipped his head back.

  “You really are stupid, Ute!” he bellowed.

  He fumbled with something in his breast pocket. Yuto’s quivering ceased being of a euphoric nature and turned to something far more fearful. His heart pounded in his ears and he felt hot, pinpricks of tears in the corner of his eyes.

  “What’s… What’s going on?” Yuto asked, his voice crumbling in the air.

  “Were you looking for this?” Ryuji asked, and he brandished a card.

  Through the dimness of sundown, Yuto wasn’t immediately certain what it was but he knew better. He wanted it to be anything else than Elemental Mistress Doriado but alas.

  Ryuji smirked. “As if I’d let you defeat me using a trash card like this. Beat me like a man, you wuss.”

  And then the unthinkable happened.

  Yuto could take verbal abuse. He would even have withstood a bashing or similar. However, this was far worse and far crueler than sticks and stones and words.

  Ryuji held the card on its side. And he tore it in two. The ever-smiling Elemental Mistress Doriado was now smiling through her death sentence. The sight of it tore Yuto’s heart in two.

  Yuto screamed out. But Ryuji delighted in the act of shredding the card in two. He delighted in how Yuto begged for him to stop. And he especially delighted in how Yuto slumped to his knees; hands dragging in the dust and that look upon his face was palpable.

  Big, fat tears welled up into Yuto’s eyes and a sadness like no other filled him. But that sadness, that grief over the destruction of his ace card and best friend, was not an ordinary sadness. It soon gave way to some sort of anger as the sky darkened and the sun sank below the earth. It didn’t seem a nary star was out.

  Truthfully, Yuto didn’t know the emotion that flowed through him in that awful moment. But it had been a very powerful anger and it had not been a righteous one. Well, perhaps it could have been if Yuto had been a different person, but alas, he was Yuto: one whole of a whole person.

  The anger which coursed through his veins didn’t match the description of the righteous anger that Yuto had come to recognise from the hours he had spent faithfully reading fairy tales as they were a godsend and were basically sacred texts. When the hero was angered at trickery from a heinous villain, it wasn’t supposed to be like this. It wasn’t supposed to be so… awful feeling. It had felt more like how the awakening of an evil monster was described.

  Yuto’s body and his lips peeled back in a snarl. His heart hammered and every hair on his little, often frail, body stood on end.

  “The fun… has only just begun.” he breathed and each sound was steeped deeply with seething.

  “What the hell, Ute…? What’s happened to you?” Ryuji asked.

  He was slightly terrified of Yuto. He got up slowly. Mechanically. It was like something had possessed him or if a marionette’s cross existed invisibly above his head. Regardless, there was something cold and inhuman regarding Yuto’s movements. They were jerky and rigid at the same time.

  Then, a light exploded forth from where the extra deck was stored on the Duel Disc. The error messages from before had faded away. Yuto slammed his summoned Doriado’s Blessing into the Graveyard. He smiled evilly. Ryuji shivered. Something was not quite right. In fact, it was extremely wrong, even.

  Yuto thrust out his arm. His fingers twitched. He didn’t know or understand the words in his mouth. He had always been an oddball. That’s partially why he played a Ritual Deck in a school, nay a world, which preferred XYZ Summoning with seeming prejudice unto the few other summoning methods there were, and yet… That’s what he found himself on the brink of summoning, as impossible as it was.

  Furthermore, what was more impossible than summoning a card that he should not own was summoning a card which should not exist period.

  “I overlay these two level four monsters, Fairy Dragon and Fairy’s Gift, to build the overlay network…” Yuto began very slowly and very eerily.

  His monsters which, he had intended to switch into attack position, so he could destroy his opponent’s defending monsters and leave cards in his hand as fodder for his ritual. Therefore, he could have Elemental Mistress Doriado land the final blow but instead, they were becoming the sacrifices for a summon which was not ritual born.

  Instead, the defending Fairy Dragon transformed into a glittering and cascading trail of pale green and Fairy’s Gift became a similar, effervescent light of gold. The lights intertwined and the virtual and primordial pool they were being sacrificed to arose underneath the battle field and simpered with hellish lights. The sacrifices were accepted.

  “From the black darkness, the fangs of rebellion that fight against the powers of oppression descend!” Yuto yelled.

  Something was in that primordial and nearly cosmic ooze. Lightning strikes arose with dashing crescendos from within. Each lash of blue light electrified Yuto’s heart and he felt some sort hunger, one he had never known before, was satiated. It felt like he had been reunited with someone very important; someone he had, perhaps, known in a similar life. Or, perhaps, that was an illusion rising from the impossibility of this situation and from the heinous anger he felt inside of him.

  “XYZ Summon!” Yuto yelled.

  There was a roar. A deafening roar that put the fear of God – no, the Devil – in Yuto’s tormentor. He trembled with fear whereas Yuto stood strong as he brought forth this new power from within his fiendish extra deck.

  “Rank Four! Dark Rebellion XYZ Dragon!” Yuto screamed.

  The beast which had been summoned was like no monster either of them had ever seen before. It was a gorgeous creature with dark scales and a maw that seemed to ooze with infernal breath and the ability to tear through anything and everything. Including the both of them. But, it was loyal to its master who stood, shoulders squared, which welcomed it to the stage in which it would fight.

  “Attack, Dark Rebellion XYZ Dragon!” Yuto yelled.

  Dark Rebellion XYZ Dragon let loose a ferocious roar and attacked with all its might. It blew through the monster Ryuji had to defend. He then, unable to draw a good card, then forfeited his next turn. Thus, Dark Rebellion XYZ Dragon attacked again. Lightning rich with hellish heat blew through with a powerful blast. Now, Ryuji’s field was empty and hopefully, it would stay that way. Yuto relished every moment.

  Ryuji could tell there was something wrong about both this monster and Yuto. He sacrificed yet another turn. He knew when to bow down, like a dog. But, he refused to let Yuto win. He didn’t want to let that creature of a child to win. This was totally unlike him.

  “I draw.”

  There was a pause. Ryuji glanced at his card and licked his lips. He looked as though he had something to turn the tide of battle against the two thousand attack points that Dark Rebellion XYZ Dragon possessed.

  “I summon Alexandrite Dragon in attack mode.”

  Soon, a card slammed onto his Duel Disc. There was a glittering cascade and a dragon was brought forth. It roared but as beautiful and lithe as it was, its glamour and power seemed to diminish when compared to the dragon it stared down.

  “Now, I activate my spell card: Black Pendant!” Ryuji said, and he began to laugh.

  His dragon now donned a necklace and its attack strength increased until it was the same as Dark Rebellion XYZ Dragon. Yuto snickered. He realised what sort of desperate planed Ryuji had concocted. It was going to suicide out of this attack and let Black Pendant’s effect rid him of the last of his life points.

  “Attack, Alexandrite Dragon!” Ryuji yelled.

  “You’ve activated my spell card!” Yuto yelled. “Negate Attack!”

  Yuto’s trap card flipped up and there was a blast of wind. And Ryuji cowered. He ended his turn and he couldn’t help but feel like more than this duel was on the cusp of ending now that the turn was handed to Yuto.

  “I draw.” Yuto said calmly and he drew his card.

  He checked it and smirked. Rather than placing it, even briefly, in his hand. He placed it on his Duel Disc.

  “I activate Healing Wind. For every monster on the field, I receive two hundred life points. So, that’s four hundred life points.” Yuto said.

  The numbers which signified his life points grew to eight hundred. That was enough to narrowly avoid the penalty of destroying a monster equipped with Black Pendant. And now, with that settled, Yuto was swift to move to the battle phase of this turn but first, he had something important to do.

  “I tribute both overlay units to use Dark Rebellion XYZ Dragon’s effect.” Yuto said. There was a dark crispness to his voice.

  “Wh-What? What does that do?” Ryuji cried out.

  “I can halve your original attack points and feed that half to my Dragon.” Yuto explained. “And since I’ve halved your dragon’s attack points… all that remains is that Black Pendant of yours.”

  The numbers which signified Alexandrite Dragon’s attack points dwindled rapidly until there was all but five hundred of them. Meanwhile, Yuto’s Dark Rebellion XYZ Dragon received a grand total of two thousand points to add to its power. His dragon howled and the whole courtyard shook. Dust and leaves dwirled.

  “It ends now.” Yuto said. “Attack! Lightning Disobey!”

  Dark Rebellion XYZ Dragon roared once more but there was a derisive finale to this roar. It shattered the concrete beneath them and it brought trees to their weakest. It even broke bones. Alexandrite Dragon shattered and Ryuji attempted to protect himself. He rose his arms to protect his face and shards of his dragon, what was supposed to have been trump card, scratched him.

  Blood threw scratches. As though they were real. They shouldn’t have been real.

  And it was in that moment, Yuto felt fear again. Not anger or anything akin, but fear.

  He watched, uselessly, as Ryuji slumped down. His stomach wrenched. Something was wrong. Dueling wasn’t supposed to leave injuries as severe as this. The monsters were holograms. They couldn’t really fight. And yet, Ryuji was down for the count and seemed to have injuries.

  Yuto glanced at his dragon. It looked back at him and bowed its head. Something about this situation was sick. It was really sick. And then his gaze returned to the body, cowering and bloody, of his tormentor. Dark Rebellion XYZ Dragon softened until it was a figment of his imagination and of phosphenes scattering around the darkening scene.

  Yuto didn’t know what to do. He panicked. He called for help and eventually horrified adults gathered at the scene, but so many parts of that evening were a blur. He remembers at one point, someone came for Ryuji and there was an ambulance. He remembers flashing lights and sirens. And he remembers the way Ryuji’s parents looked at him with disgust.

  How dare you do this to my son? They both had that searing question in their hateful eyes.

  Yuto was terrified for the whole of that evening. After all, he had been the one to cause Ryuji’s injuries and they were more extensive than first thought. A couple of busted ribs, a cut to his eye which meant vision loss, and some other stuff. Yet it was weird. No one blamed him even though he knew he was the direct cause. It’s just. No one believed him. After all, Duel Monsters was an exceptionally safe game to play, especially in circumstances like this: in the courtyard of an elementary school.

  Still, Yuto took the occurrence deep into his heart. He didn’t understand where Dark Rebellion XYZ Dragon or how it managed to inflict real world damage, but Yuto still took it all to the heart. He didn’t know what had happened. He was old enough to realise it was something awful, but he wasn’t old enough to understand it. All he knew, with straightforward conviction, was that he had a curse and a horrible one at that. Maybe it had been better if he had never found out and had never won a duel but regardless, it was knowledge he now carried.

  And it was knowledge that changed him. He didn’t want to hurt people. He didn’t want to be some sort of demonised and ostracised outsider. He just wanted to be a fairy tale hero. Right now, he felt like the dragon that had to be slain to save the princess and the townsfolk. He didn’t feel like he was the one who ought to raise a falchion blade but rather, the one who was pointed with such a weapon.

  After that, the dynamics of the classroom changed. Yuto wasn’t someone you could pick on now. People were scared of him and it lasted right until graduation. And after graduation, Yuto made sure to pick a middle school far, far away where rumours may not spread that far. Unfortunately, they had. Everyone in Heartland seemed to know him as the kid who could hurt people but with the fresh start, at least he was given a chance.

  A lot of things about Yuto changed after that fateful duel. He learned a sort of maturation beyond his years. He learned to be kinder and wiser. This othered him but it wasn’t the worst form of othering he had experienced.

  Then there were two other things about him which changed. One of which happened to be a change in his taste for literature. He still liked fantasy. But now, he preferred stories which were gaslit and dark with endings which were bittersweet with best. Still, of the changes, this was perhaps the most minor, but it was still important as it echoed into his dueling style.

  With his beloved ace monster torn in half, a fact that was conveniently omitted from the story that Ryuji’s parents spurned, Yuto couldn’t bring himself to use his Forest of Spirits deck anymore. He felt like he had desecrated such a pure-hearted deck so now, they mostly collected dust. Once in a while, he would say hello to his old friends but without Elemental Mistress Doriado with them, he couldn’t bring himself to do it often. It felt wrong without the card which was supposed to have been his eternal best friend.

  Instead, he had a new ace to fill her role and with a new ace, came a new deck. Yuto adopted his Phantom Knights deck after that duel. It seemed fitting since it cobbled together his old self and his new self. Dark Rebellion XYZ Dragon seemed pleased with its new surroundings. It being summoned from Forest of Spirits archetype monsters was just wrong.

  But, Yuto still didn’t understand that monster and the feelings it had been awakened from. Truth be told, Yuto was terrified but he accepted it in good heart. He felt as though as rightful master to the impossible dragon that was Dark Rebellion XYZ Dragon, he should remain level-headed and in control. After all, he didn’t want to be at the helm of something worse than the duel which had engraved on him so deeply and so darkly.

[qwerty-top]

Desiderium

Rated M. I do not own Fairy Tail or any of the characters in this story. I only own the plot.

“Disgusting creatures may haunt your dreams, but wrong decisions will deem their demise.”

Summary:  Horrid monsters ravage quaint, unsuspecting towns, turning them just mere wisps of folk-lore. Ending their wrath won't be easy. A small group of warriors meet up to dream of the inevitable, but with doubts, debts, and barely any training, they don't know where to begin. Being humanity's last hope has its perks, but finding a traumatized young woman hiding in the forest -full of monsters- reality sorta just smirks and spits in your face, reminding you that you live in a dystopia.

Read this story on FF.Net!

Chapter One: Warm Memories and Dark Pasts

The street was barren. Lifeless. Dead. It was if Mother Nature had taken her sweeper and swept away the human filth. Disgusting. The bone-chilling cold wafted through the air, seemingly unfazed by the street's stillness. The male exhaled, fog from his breath visible in front of his pink tinted nose. He shivered- just a tad- while craning his neck to look at the sun-ridden sky. Snow slowly started to accumulate, just adding onto the suspicious aura the weather emitted. He sighed, snuffling deeper into his scarf while placing his hands into his hoodie pocket, trying to conjure warmth with a plume of smoke evaporating into the crisp, cold air from his sound of his boots clacking was the only sign of life. His pace quickened, suspicions growing with it. His fingers started to numb as he was rushing down the cobblestone pathway. Another puff of air escapes his body, much more in a haste than before. People who said running keeps you warm in the cold might as well be damned, but he was still determined to leave this freezing hell-hole as soon as humanly possible.

Quickly scanning each building, he scrambled inside his pockets in search of his key ring. House 372 on Octarila Avenue. Weird name, yes. Spooky looking house, also yes. But it was home to the rejects, who valued everything they were given; even if given meant stolen. He perused through all his keys, slightly jumping when the outside porch light flickered to life, sensing it was nighttime as an ominous dark cloud loomed over the town. His keys clinked together as he stuck the right one into the slot, then turned it. A low moan sounded in the distance, signaling he was to hurry his ass up. He threw himself inside and slammed the door behind him. He instantly cringed at the loud noise, hoping to all the gods it wasn't loud enough to hear from far away. He let out a breath he didn't realize he was holding in, and slumped against the door.

"Looks like someone just about pissed their pants. Also, don't go slammin' doors 'n shit, its like you're begging to be brutally torn to shreds." A tall, dark haired brute sauntered his way into the room, a frown of disapproval plainly showing. " Natsu...where have you been all day?"

Natsu grunted while stripping off his hoodie, not bothering to give a proper answer, or rather, one that Gray would be wanting to hear. He turned, locked the door, then yanked the curtains to a close, cutting off any light the windows were filtering in - which wasn't very much to begin with.

"Get along, now is not the time for arguing." A scarlet haired woman emerged from the hallway, arms crossed indicating she wasn't pleased with the dark haired male's behaviour. She raised a brow at his scowling. Pushing that aside for later, she welcomed Natsu back home with a smile, but a tinge of worry escaped her features for a mere moment. That was enough for Natsu to realize something seemed off with the two; in fact ever since he stepped foot in the household.

Suddenly, a flash of white light illuminated the curtains; barely peeking out from the uncovered sides. Following it was a distant grumble of thunder, agitating the ground slightly. Small knick-knacks clattered against each other while a pencil rolled off of a desk.

"Thundersnow.1. Not much to fret over. What's with you two? You seem…" Natsu paused, "...off." He draped his hoodie on the arm of the couch, not noticing the coat rack screwed to the wall behind him. Either that or he just didn't care.

Gray sighed, arms going limp on his sides, he pondered over his choice of words, obviously disgusted with what he was about to say. "We were…...worried about you. It's not like you to go out without telling anyone, and you were gone for hours. We thought you were….." His voice broke a few times, trying to grasp a hold of his words; he began again."We thought you were subjected to to horrors that everyone else was given." His hands were now clutched at his sides, bangs covering his facial features.

Natsu squinted his eyes at Gray's choice of words and thought about why he sounded so worried. It wasn't like Gray to get worked up over much, he never jumped to conclusions much. He also never shown any regard towards Natsu, unless they were fighting.

The scarlet haired woman spoke right after, "Natsu, you should know not to go outside like that. It's dangerous for your well being as well as ours. You should know full well that those things are closing in on our base. Stay here and do not leave until we are ready to move out."

"Move out?!" Gray's head flipped back up. "W-we can't just 'move out,' have you lost your mind? There's no way in literal Hell we could ever get out of here unscathed or alive. Soon they will find us and there will be no escape, leaving isn't an option!" He started to hyperventilate, distraught with her plan of action.

"I somewhat agree with you Gray, but it wouldn't hurt to try." His voice was low and understanding. Lightly tapping his chin with his fake golden claw, he predicted what should be their plan of approach.

"Are you insane?! 'Wouldn't hurt to try' my ass! It would literally 'hurt to try,' we might even die!" Natsu's eyes widened, never had he seen Gray so distraught over something. He opened his mouth to speak, but was cut off with another voice.

"Calm down Gray. We have something the other civilians will never have." The three looked at eachother and spoke without words, all silently exchanging looks; giving approval of leaving the base. Gray seemed to start calming down from the show he put on earlier.

"So, Natsu, I still don't think you answered Gray's question earlier." All eyes directed towards said male; slowly shifting uncomfortably under their gaze.

"I've been….out?" He gave a fake smile, sensing impending doom on his poor, old, fragile soul.

"Natsu. Answer. Now." She was starting to get ticked off, he could tell. A sense of anger radiated off her. He decided not to dawdle any further.

"S-sorry Erza.. I've been gathering intel about the monster's whereabouts and practically jotting down anything i can about them. The more we know, the better." His hands fumbled with his scarf, a sign he was distressed with the vexatious2 feel in the air. It was a habit, his scarf gave him the contentment he needed. It also helped with fumbling over words; it happened a lot to say the least.

"Sufficient answer. I'll take it." Erza elbowed Gray's side, earning another scowl from him.

"Yeah." Was all he said, giving Erza a rude look.

Erza nodded. "I want you all well-rested for tomorrow. Make sure to pack everything you need, but not too much it will slow you down. I really don't need someone else succumbing to a tragic fate."

Both Gray and Natsu exchanged glances, slowing shaking their head as to why she was so formal sometimes.

"Just say die." Natsu tilted his head, but jumped up at her murderous intent. Gray chuckled lowly, muttering an 'idiot' under his breath. Natsu decided to share Erza's murderous intent to Gray, nobody needed to be left out, now did they?

Erza slowly stalked off, leaving the two disgruntled men by themselves. Not the wisest of decisions made. When she was out of sight, Gray spoke up.

"You lied." He seethed. Clenching his teeth, he had given the most repulsive look directed to Natsu.

"I didn't lie. I just stretched the truth a little bit. No harm, no foul." Natsu was a bit irritated with the look he was getting but shrugged it off. He turned around and began to walk out of the room before Gray clenched the ending of his low-riding scarf and yanked it backwards, throwing the male to the floor along with it.

"What the Hell?! What do you think you're doing, you asshole!" Natsu rubbed his sore throat, trying to push up off of the floor and sock Gray in the nose.

"No harm done, eh? How about harm when Erza beats the shit out of you for deceiving her with your lies? Putting her in a false sense of comfort? She really believes you are finding information, do you really wanna know what she would do when she looks to you for guidance tomorrow when we leave here? And when she figures out you've been out drinking? You'd be dead where you stand. I can literally smell it, fire breath." Gray grabbed Natsu's scarf one last time, raised it upwards with his head following and dropped it, a loud thump and yelp resonating from the now injured male.

"Cut that shit out before I beat it out of you." Natsu grumbled, rubbing his scalp. "Look, I know she'll be mad, but I do have a few things written up about them." Natsu finally pushed himself back up on his feet then started to readjust his scarf.

"Like what?" Gray scoffed, watching Natsu's futile attempts at getting the perfect position for the scarf. He eventually just took the whole thing off and draped the two ends on each side of his neck. Gray raised an eyebrow when his eyes met back up to his.

"That they...like to kill?" Natsu averted his eyes. He knew he was going to receive an unthinkable punishment.

"NO SHIT SHERLOCK! " Gray roared, throwing his fist against Natsu's cheek. Obviously pissed to the brim with Natsu's fucked up antics.

"YOU WANNA GO WATSON?!" Natsu grasped his cheek in pure anger and kicked Gray in the stomach, sending him to the floor.

"YOU TWO BETTER NOT BE FIGHTING!" Erza yelled from her room. Both boys stopped, a sense of dread washing over their bodies, fearing for their lives, they simultaneously laughed.

"Of course not! We were just playing a game in here!"

"Aye!"

"Good." Erza replied just loud enough for them to hear from how far the two rooms were. It was surprising to hear how calm she was, yet they were so far away from her, they could barely fathom how they could understand her.

They both sighed in defeat and began rubbing their sore spots. Exchanging looks, they both nodded silently. Natsu held his hand out, grabbing Gray's and hoisting him back up, mumbling a soft apology while Gray sounded his own.

"So is that all you really have about them?" Gray sounded upset in a way, like he was actually hoping to hear something useful from Natsu once in a while.

"'Course not, whaddya take me for, a moron?" Natsu chuckled, plopping himself on the couch seated right by where he was standing.

"Well, actually, yes. I do." Gray smiled, seating himself right by Natsu.

"Oof, bullet to the heart." Natsu motioned that action, earning an eye roll and a shake of his head from Gray.

"Anyway, I have a whole sketchbook full of things. I don't draw in it, since I've never seen those bastards yet. It's just full of notes and things that I hear from other people who actually faced with them, and yet managed to escape. Pretty badass if you ask me."

"So what you're saying is, you went to the bar down the street and asked a couple drunkies about this? Are you even sure they're in their right mind? Not considering you may not even have a mind, sorry I even asked."

"Alright wise guy, you think you have better info than me? Check it!" Natsu proudly flipped his sketchbook over so Gray could scan over it. Neat, small handwriting filled the pages. Notes were scattered in a few places, enough to fill the whole page if not for the weird drawings placed here and there. Looked like Natsu's interpretation of those creatures. What a disgusting plague they were. Ridding himself of the thought, he nodded and looked back over to Natsu's beaming face, obviously proud of his findings. Gray didn't know whether to feel annoyed, thankful, or sad. Sad that he couldn't see Natsu's ass get beaten alive if he turned up to Erza empty-handed. Thankful they had something to refer to, even if on close inspection it was all shit. Annoyed with that smug smirk on his face, cocky bastard.

The wind began to pick up, the cheap glass windows they had rattled violently as if they were to shatter sometime soon. Cold air began to creep up in the house through the weathered down wood and door opening. A few minutes passed before Gray spoke up.

"Good not everything you said was a lie." Gray watched as Natsu slowly got back up to pick up the pencil that rolled off his desk earlier and set his sketchbook down. He then sat back by Gray and began to fiddle with a set of golden, fake claws he had on his fingers. With that man, his fashion sense was a lost cause. Not like Gray's was any better.

Natsu hmphed in response, too lazy to answer. He lounged back, the old sofa protesting over the weight. His fingers slid down the intricate details on his claw. The bottom was shaped like a deer's footprint, yet still came to a sharp point like a claw should be. Holes were put on the base of it, 5 to be exact, and the rest had a bumpy fixture to it, giving Natsu something to rub his other fingers on if bored.

Gray wasn't bothered with Natsu's lack of conversation. The silence was comforting too.

Breaking the silence, Natsu sighed long and hard, obviously upset with something. Gray didn't say anything, nor batted an eye. Natsu did it once again, even more long and hard than before. Gray now raised a brow. Natsu was about to do it again, but was stopped.

"What the fuck is wrong with you? Can't get enough air to your brain?"

Natsu glared back, but only uttered out a single word.

"Backpfeifengesicht3."

"Excuse me? Wanna run me by that again, Smart Aleck?" Gray fumed, clutching the chain attached to his jeans.

Natsu just shrugged his shoulders, irritating Gray to the very brink.

"If you're gonna fucking say something, say it so I can hear."

"MAYBE if your ears weren't so CLOGGED with earwax you could hear me clear as day!"

"So you wanna be like that huh? Let's see who is DEAF when I'M THROUGH WITH YOU-" Gray quickly snatched the end of Natsu's scarf once again, getting ready to throw him down. Natsu had his hand on the rim of Gray's shirt and leg pulled up, ready to kick.

A dark shadow loomed from above, making the two boys jump out of their skin. They didn't have to turn around to know who it was. It was Satan getting ready to take them to Hell and back. So long world, you were shitty till the very end.

"It's 10PM. Gray. Natsu. Bed. Now." Erza growled, grabbing two tufts of their hair and slinging them towards the doorway. The males slowly glanced back to Erza, only to find her menacing glare staring right back at them. Goosebumps traveled along their arms and weirdly, their legs. Erza's glare suddenly grew, causing them to skitter down the hallways to their rooms, slamming the doors shut. Erza was left alone in dark silence. After a few moments she sighed. Walking over to the window, she opened the curtains just a tad to peek outside. Snow was still falling, coating the streets with a thin layer of white. The moon was huge, engulfing almost the whole window. Looking down the street was a red light. She instantly shut them again and rushed to her room, closing the door very slowly with only a mere click indicating it was fully shut.

Natsu took in the sight of his room when he walked in, letting the warmness that was trapped in there flow out of the door and onto him. Moonlight poured out of the window, falling down on his bed like it was showcased in a spotlight. Small knick-knacks couldn't be seen quickly, the shadows from his bookcase and dresser were easily found on the other hand. He scanned the compacted area, thinking beforehand on what to take and what to leave behind. He was known for hoarding a few things here and there, nothing major, it seemed this task may prove to be more difficult for him than the others. On the bright side a couple things had caught his eye. While walking up to them, the floor creaked with every step, protesting under his weight. Squinting and shoving a few things out of the way, he grabbed the essentials. Lighter, matches, pocket knife, pencil sharpener, pencils, erasers, a spare sketchbook, a few handfuls of candy, a picture, books, and his necklace. That would do for now he guessed. He packed those in his backpack and carefully placed the picture in the front pocket. Hoisting it up, he laid it in the corner of the room, giving one last look to everything else. He had time, but for now he closed the curtains and clipped them shut, all light diminishing into nothingness. Throwing back the covers, his bed creaked while he settled himself onto it. His body thanked him instantly, it was like the bed had swallowed him whole and wouldn't let go for shit. Looking up with glazed over, hazy eyes, he stared at the ceiling. He sketched out lines and shapes from it, following each dip and indentions it had. His eyes had traveled every line before closed his eyes again, only now was he greeted with the warm embrace of his covers, the sweet sensation lulling himself to sleep.

"I never understood why you take an interest in those dastardly beasts. Why don't you like something innocent like a house cat?"

"You're one to talk about "dastardly beasts,' Dad, and why not a lion instead of a house cat? They're so much cooler and bigger, perfect for cuddling." A little boy twirled a pencil in his fingers, sitting on the cold rock of the cave under him. He was drawing a big lion with feathers, graceful yet dangerous. He gave the biggest and most wholehearted smile to his not so likely father.

The dragon gave a displeased look to his son. He swiveled his head downwards, cautious of not hitting the human child with his snout. "I'm just trying to get you to value the small things in life. Even if it's extremely small. A sunny day, laughter, a smile from someone you care about. All those things mean a lot, but can be taken away very easily. Don't take them for granted. I want you to live a life worth living."

"I-is something bad going to happen Papa?" His voice shuddered, his arm shaking while trying to hold on to the dragon's nose. "Is e-everything okay?" Fear was laced within his voice. The pencil was long gone now, hiding in the dark cracks of the cave, forgotten from the young child.

"Don't worry about it. That's for older you to figure out. No ill will will come to you if you choose the right pathway. Now go on and get ready for bed."

The boy reluctantly got up and put his stuff away in his corner and warily crept up to his father's side. Warmth radiated off of his scales, enveloping his whole body.

"Night night, Neel." He cuddled up against his father, closing his eyes, the sweet sensation lulling him to sleep.

"Good night, Natsu." Igneel rested his head on his arm right by where Natsu was fast asleep, snoring away. The dragon gave a soft smile before he too, fell asleep.

Natsu was pulled away from his slumber by a dark figure, shaking him restlessly. He pressed his hands against their nose, not having enough strength to fight back.

"What the hell's wrong with you?" Gray harshly whispered, only audible for Natsu and anyone else in the room. Not that anyone was, he didn't think. Testing that theory, he flicked his head left and right, only seeing Gray in his room. Gray pushed Natsu's hands off of his face.

"What are you doing? It's like.." Natsu's sentence trailed off while he leaned over to look at his alarm clock. "Gray its 2 in the fucking morning, the real question is what you're doing." He mimicked Gray's level of voice, already knowing Erza was asleep and they didn't want to wake her.

"I heard you sobbing like a baby and mumbling about cuddling? Sorry if I intruded on a wet dream."

Natsu shook his head, running his fingers through his hair. "No...No, it wasn't that. Honestly I can't remember what my dream was about." Natsu casually lied, letting out a yawn before placing his hands back in his lap.

"Well whatever it was it had you riled up. Just don't do it again, you might blow our cover." Gray sat on the edge of Natsu's bed, keeping him company, also to make sure he was okay before taking his leave.

"So uh…" Natsu started, pondering his choice of words. "Excited for our big escape tomorrow?" He inwardly cringed.

"Don't even start." Gray huffed, crossing his arms. "Can't believe we are leaving. There's nowhere else to go."

"You don't know that. There's always something. Don't be an acosmist4.I plan on making a map for wherever we go, we can learn things, y'know?" Natsu smiled, he was somewhat excited to leave. All he knew was this building. Correction, all they knew was this building.

"Since when did you want to learn things?" Gray gave a low scoff, impressed how everything was turning out. Never had Natsu wanted to learn, nor used big words that sometimes Gray never knew what he was talking about. Never had Erza liked to leave places she knew, out into the open where their coffin was placed in every corner. And yet, never had he been so careful or scared. The world changed and so did they. He decided he didn't like change either.

"I thought it would be a good idea to learn and know things about the creatures trying to kill us." He sarcastically replied like it was just a normal thing to say. It really wasn't.

"Fair enough." Gray sighed, pushing himself up off Natsu's bed. The two men nodded, signaling this was the end of their conversation. Gray stalked off to the door, looking at the full backpack in the corner. He hung his head low and opened the door.

"Good night, Gray. Sleep well."

"You too, buddy." Gray turned around and smiled, slowly closing the door. A soft click echoed through his room Natsu couldn't help but smile as well.

"A smile from someone you care about. "

1= Thundersnow. Sometimes when it snows, it thunders! Very rare to happen, ain't that somethin'?

2= Vexatious. Causing someone to feel annoyance, frustration, or worry.

3= Backpfeifengesicht. "A face that needs a fist in it."

4=Acosmist. A person who believes nothing exists.

Qwertys Notes: Woah! The first chapter of Desiderium is finally finished! Whaddya guys think? Yae or nae? Anyywayy~ heads up, future chapters will be very sad and gorey considering this is a dystopia! Also, if you couldn't already tell, i put numbers by words, just in case some of my readers don't know what they mean! In this story, Natsu is a bit OC, but I hate it when fans perceive Natsu to be stupid and not know anything. When those monsters came to life, he needed to get smarter to survive and save his friends. At least, that's what he thinks. Gray has given up all hope, as usual. I don't have an updating schedule, but reviews do help my process go faster! I have a lot planned for the future, hopefully you guys stick around for it! This is my first ever fanfiction, criticism is always welcome. Stay tuned for the next chapter!

[not-a-space-alien]

Falling Hazard, Part 2:  The Hazard...

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 14 | Part 15 | Part 16

Series masterpost

On AO3

The radio was barely audible over the Bentley’s engine as it roared at ninety mph down the road.  BBC was talking about the attack on the Temple.  It was obviously a terrorist group, they said, but which one?  There was speculation, but no one had come forward to claim responsibility for the attack.

Aziraphale and Crowley knew that none of them would.  Because the attack on the Temple had been no human terrorist. They had felt the shift in spiritual energy in the place.  There were supernatural forces at work.

You didn’t destroy shrines, and you didn’t kill humans.  Nobody on any side did either, no matter how unruly.  It simply wasn’t done.  The rules against direct interference with human affairs, rather than inspiration and temptation and messing about, were ingrained that deeply in all of them.

And at a site as important as Temple Mount.  It was unthinkable.  Something big was happening.  Which is why they had booked it back home from their vacation spot as soon as they as could.

Crowley kept one hand on the steering wheel and extended the other. “Aziraphale, hand me my phone.  I’m going to try one more time.”

As soon as it was in his hand he navigated through his contacts to Maltha.

“Come on, come on,” he muttered, and then, “Dammit!” when he got the message she couldn’t be reached.

“Try Beth’s number,” said Aziraphale.

“Come on,” said Crowley, scrolling up to Beth.  “Please, somebody pick up.”

Beth was also unavailable.  When Crowley hung up, his phone vibrated in his hand with a text from Adam:  Please tell me that was a human terrorist at the temple?????  And then a few seconds later another: Crowley?????????

“Please text Adam and tell him what’s going on,” said Crowley, tossing his phone into the center console.  Aziraphale grabbed the door handle as Crowley executed a sharp turn.  The angel flipped his phone open and began to type on it.

There was a car in the parking spot in front of Aziraphale’s bookshop, but it mysteriously and hastily jerked forwards into a tow-away zone to make room for the Bentley.  The tires screeched.  The parking brake cranked.  The engine died.

“Done,” said Aziraphale, pressing Send.

“Okay.  Great.”

They both sat in silence.  Crowley took a deep breath and leaned back.  “Okay.  We’re here now.  What do we do?”

“I…”  Aziraphale grimaced.  “I don’t know.”

“Okay,” said Crowley, running his hands on the steering wheel.  “We have no reason to believe the attack had anything to do with us.  We just happened to be nearby.”

“Right,” said Aziraphale.  “Nothing to do with us.”

“No reason to believe anyone would be showing up for us.  This is completely unrelated to anything that we’ve ever gotten ourselves involved with.”

“Absolutely.”

“No one could find any way to blame this on us no matter how many mental pretzels they bend themselves into.”

“I believe so.”

“No danger to us personally at all.”

“It would appear that way.”

“Right.”

“Right.”

They both tapped their fingers on various places in the car.

“You get out the spray paint and start putting up protective sigils on the shop,” said Crowley, throwing his door open.  “I’m going to try and get ahold of Maltha.”

Crowley got some paper and a pen. He wrote in very large letters,  Maltha what is going on.  And then, after a bit of thought, added Maltha I swear to God Satan Adam if you’re responsible for this

He stopped, because he didn’t have any way to end that threat.  The only power he held over Maltha would be to sever their friendship, and he didn’t think that would end very well for him or Aziraphale.

Then I’ll be extremely upset he finally finished, lamely.  Please call me as soon as you get this.  

He addressed the letter and went up to the study, where Aziraphale sent and received his mail.  When he grabbed the handle, a weight on the other side of the door resisted its opening. He pushed, and fell when it yielded.

His fall was broken by a pile of something and the sound of sifting paper. He pushed himself up to find himself sitting on top of a huge mound of letters.

“Holy shit,” said Crowley.  “Wh…What are all these?”

The fact that he not been burned by the letters told him the sender had used parchment safe for him to touch, so he picked one up.  It was addressed to Aziraphale, but he opened it anyway.

Aziraphale,

Where is Crowley?  You will be disciplined for not responding.

-Gabriel.

That wasn’t good.  He set it aside and picked up another one.

Aziraphale and Crowley,

You are hereby commanded to report to Heaven’s gates for a debriefing.

-Gabriel.

He grimaced, set it aside, and picked up a third one.

AZIRAPHALE WHERE IN THE FUCKING FUCK ARE YOU AND THAT SNAKE?  DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA WHAT’S GOING ON?  RESPOND!!!

-Gabriel

“Shit,” said Crowley.  “Shit, shit, shit.”

He sifted through the letters to confirm that they were all from Gabriel and the messages were more or less the same.  They were, overwhelmingly, from Gabriel, although he did find one from Metatron with more or less the same content, which was worded slightly more politely, and one from Uriel, which was not so polite and chastised Aziraphale for abandoning his post.

He dropped the letters from Heaven and picked up his own to Maltha, then waded through the mail to get to the outgoing post.  He threw down his letter, which disappeared with a lick of flame. Then, he materialized another piece of parchment and wrote, BETH, TELL YOUR GIRLFRIEND TO CALL ME, and chucked it down after the first letter. Then, he wrote a less harsh letter to Noah, which chased the first two down.

Crowley could feel the barriers around the shop coming up after that.  It was the same one they had used in an earlier time of crisis:  Bars the entry of all demons except those who love the Earth.  He wondered who, if anyone, would be showing up.

Aziraphale appeared in the doorway, clothes speckled with white paint. He furrowed his brow at the pile of mail starting on his desk and cascading onto the floor.  “What are all these?”

“Gabriel was looking for us.”

“Shit,” said Aziraphale, picking one up.

“What should we respond?”

Aziraphale sifted through the letters, performing the same investigation that Crowley had.

“What do you think he could want?”

Aziraphale stared at the letters he had in his hand.

“Angel?”

“I don’t like the sound of this,” said Aziraphale.  “And I would rather not talk to him at all.  Let’s wait to respond to him until after we’ve heard back from Maltha.  I would much prefer to talk to her first.”

Crowley tactfully avoided pointing out that Aziraphale was more comfortable around the Queen of Hell than one of his own commanders.  “Okay.”

“Surely we can avoid Gabriel a bit longer.”

Crowley somewhat had his doubts about how long Gabriel would fail to notice they were back, but he was fine with anything that kept distance between him and any of the archangels, especially one that seemed angry at them. “Okay.”

Aziraphale wrung his hands.  “That means I can’t contact anyone in Heaven without drawing his attention.  But it’s not like anyone in Heaven would know what happened at the Temple, anyway, right?  The culprit must be infernal in origin.”

“Of course they’re infernal. Who in Heaven would destroy the Temple Mount?  This is a blow to Heaven like they’ve never suffered before.”  He trailed off.  “Angel, what if…what if this is a pre-emptive strike against Heaven before the war the same way Heaven struck at Hell by killing Ba’al Berith the last time they tried?”

Aziraphale grabbed his arm.  “We don’t know that.  Maltha’s in charge, and she wouldn’t do that.  She’s risked everything and committed herself to Earth’s survival just like we have.  She’s in love with a human for somebody’s sake.”

Aziraphale had a series of very dark thoughts about Maltha.  Because she had only shown up once the throne was empty, and had only been on the throne for a few months before a suspicious someone destroyed one of the most symbolically important places to Heaven on Earth against all rules.  And Maltha had never been one to respect rules or symbolism.

Was it a bold move?  Very.  Would Maltha have the audacity to do it?  Yes.  Her, and not many other beings in the universe.  

Had her redemption been just a ploy to get at the throne?

Had all that about her being Aziraphale and Crowley’s friend been just for show?

Had Beth been just a prop?

The destruction of the Temple would spark something massive between Heaven and Hell, and Earth was their only sanctioned battleground.  Did she actually care about the Earth at all?  Had that just been part of the act?  Would she be willing to sacrifice Earth to further her grudge against Heaven?

It was scary to him that he could even think this about someone who had offered to die defending him.  But the state of things had changed, and all options were on the table.

And the scariest thing of all was that if it were true, he had been played, they all had, and events were already in motion, and there was nothing at all he could do about it.

“Who else could it be?” said Crowley, interrupting his train of thoughts. “Renegades in Hell?”

Renegades.  Demons who did it without Maltha’s permission.  The possibility sent a wave of relief washing over Aziraphale, as well as one of guilt that he had not thought of it.

“Maybe,” said Aziraphale.  “That would make more sense.”

“That group didn’t look very happy when Noah ordered them down to Hell,” said Crowley.  “It wouldn’t surprise me if maybe they didn’t have everything under control down there.”

“Of course,” said Aziraphale with a breath.  “Of course.  That makes much more sense.  You’re right.”

“I suppose all we can do is wait to see what Maltha says,” said Crowley grimly. “If it was renegades she’d probably know about it, and she wouldn’t hesitate to tell us.”

“You’re right.  Let’s just sit tight.  Now that our home is fortified, we can wait here and see what happens.”

“Right,” said Crowley.

“I hope Gabriel has forgotten about us by now,” fretted Aziraphale.  “I would much rather hear about what’s going on from Maltha.  Surely she’ll respond soon.”

They curled up together on the couch.  The telly was playing the news, but neither of them was even pretending to watch it.  They texted Adam back and forth with decreasing urgency, mostly different iterations of No idea and Keep me updated.  Eventually Adam sent them a picture of Dog looking morose in a medical cone with a cast, captioned Got a bit too enthusiastic chasing cars.

Adramelech sent them a message via Snapchat an hour later, but it was about how worried he was about them rather than any useful information. Crowley checked his Instagram account to find that Adramelech was still posting about the makeup he had bought over the weekend.  Oryss frequented Facebook, so Aziraphale checked her account, but she had only posted a link to a news article about the attack and put a frame showing her support of the victims around her profile picture.  Crowley knew what Botis’s Reddit username was and checked his activity, but it was just a wall of reply posts he had made arguing with someone on r/swords about the merit of shortswords versus two-handed weapons.  Abraxas was on tumblr sometimes, so Crowley pulled her account up to find that she had paused the onslaught of pictures of her cats to reblog a thinkpiece about Europeans using the attack to justify Islamaphobia, but not much else.  Beth was also on tumblr occasionally, but it turned out that she hadn’t updated since that time a month ago when she told a radical feminist to get off her blog.  

No one seemed to have any useful information, or at least none of them were posting about it on social media where they could see it.  Aziraphale figured that if anyone wanted to contact him about something, officially, they would send a letter.  That was the proper way to do it.

But their inbox remained worryingly empty as time went on. There weren’t even any new letters from Gabriel demanding to know where they were.

They flipped the telly over to a sitcom.  They waited.  The situation began to seem less dire.  No one was coming for them.  Maybe, finally, they were off the hook, and events would unfold far away from them, under someone else’s responsibility.

Not that that was much of a comfort, considering the Earth’s continued existence might be at stake.

They turned the telly off.  The clock ticking was the only sound in the room.  

“Hey, angel,” said Crowley from the crook of Aziraphale’s elbow.

“Yes?”

“Well, earlier you said…”

“What is it?”

“You said…  ‘our home.’   You called it ‘our home.’”

“Yes…?  What do you, er…”

“Well, I just mean…”  He buried his face in Aziraphale’s chest.  “It’s your home, technically.”

“Well, I suppose so.  But I think it’s safe to say you live here now.”

“But I never moved in.”

“Dear…What exactly is it you’re worried about?”

“Oh, I’m not worried.”  He idly twisted his finger in Aziraphale’s hair.  “I was just thinking that, you know, moving in together is a big step up in a relationship.  We never really did it.  Officially.”

“I had assumed we were already on that level…considering all we’ve been through together.”

“I just…”

“Do you not feel like you live here?”

“It’s just not official, you know?  I never moved.”

“You barely ever go to your flat anymore!”

“Well, I have all my bills set up on autopay, and my plants….My plants! Angel, that’s it!  I left my plants in my flat.  If I moved them over here, then we would be really living together, you know?”

“Your plants?”

“Aziraphale, would you like to move in together?”

“Of-of course, my dear.”

Crowley planted a kiss on his cheek.  “Then it’s official!  I’ll bring my plants over here at the first opportunity.”

“Al right!” said Aziraphale, touched by how excited it made the demon.

Crowley settled back into Aziraphale’s arm.  The vibrating excitement around him did not go away.

“Would you like to go get them right now?” said Aziraphale.

“Right now?” said Crowley.

“Sure, there’s nothing going on yet.  How long could it take?  And maybe we should see if you have any mail at your place, anyway.”

“All right,” said Crowley.  “Does…Does Gabriel know where I live?”

“Hm?  I don’t know,” said Aziraphale.  “I don’t think so.  It’s not like you give your address out to anyone.  I don’t think my demons even know where you live.”

“Okay then,” said Crowley.  “I’ll just pop over there and get them, and we can set them up.  My spider plant would go great by the bedroom window.”

“All right, I’ll stay here in case we get word from anyone,” said Aziraphale, like an idiot.  He didn’t consider that maybe they should go together until Crowley was climbing into the Bentley.

Crowley didn’t feel the presence inside his flat until he was right outside the door.  He froze.

“I know you’re out there,” said a voice, muffled through the door.  “Don’t bother running.  I just want to have a chat with you.  Come in.”

“Just a chat,” said Crowley.  “You expect me to believe that?”

“You’re a celestial agent,” said the voice from inside, “and you’ll obey the commands of an archangel like one.”

They had been living peacefully, unbothered, since Maltha had taken the throne, and their lives had started to return to the normalcy they had been used to before all this apocalypse nonsense had broken out.  Aziraphale’s wartime caution had started to fade.  He was feeling slightly unsettled—anyone would, given the circumstances—but he thought the possibility of danger to them personally was relatively low as things stood.  Until his phone dinged with a text from Crowley which said simply, in all caps:

HELP

Aziraphale cursed mightily, instantly ratcheting up into full combat mode, tearing up the stairs and throwing himself out the bedroom window. His wings snapped open and he zoomed into the sky.

He closed the distance between his shop and Crowley’s flat in forty five seconds.  He aimed for the dining room window, which he slammed open with a miracle.  He dove through it, rolling, and came up with his sword poised.

Crowley was sitting at the table, a teacup in one shaking hand.  And in the other seat was the archangel Gabriel.

“G-Gabriel, sir!” said Aziraphale, snapping to attention and saluting.

“I told you I wanted to talk to you alone,” said Gabriel, setting his cup on his saucer with a pointed look at Crowley.  It was then that Aziraphale noticed Crowley’s phone was in the middle of the table, bent and cracked, as though Gabriel had smashed it the second Crowley had gotten his text off.

“Not my fault if he wants to show up of his own accord, sir,” said Crowley, sweating.

“Stay here,” said Gabriel, standing and pulling Aziraphale aside into the kitchen.

“Sir, what’s going on?” said Aziraphale.

“I want to talk to him alone,” said Gabriel.  “There are certain things he would hesitate to say in front of you.”

Aziraphale’s anger flared up.  “He can say anything in front of me. Sir, I must protest!  We’ve always worked together!”

“You are naïve, Aziraphale.  This does not involve you.  Leave.”

And here Aziraphale was faced with a direct order from an archangel, but he did not think twice before ignoring it and saying:

“You waited until we were separated to pounce on him while he was alone!”

“We were watching his flat, Aziraphale.  I needed to talk to him as soon as possible.”

Aziraphale took his New Year’s resolution to be polite to Gabriel and chucked it directly into his mental rubbish bin.  “Don’t go near him when I’m not around!  I’m tired of you archangels bullying him just for some power trip!”

Gabriel’s eyes seemed to catch fire.  “What did you just say to me?”

Aziraphale, suddenly becoming self-aware, sheepishly added, “…sir.”

Gabriel looked like he wanted to snap Aziraphale in half.  “You forget yourself, principality.  He has been a bad influence on you.  Leave now.  He will come back to you unharmed.”

Aziraphale, his face growing red, marched back into the dining room, pulled a chair up to the table, and began pouring himself a cup of tea.

Gabriel looked incredulous.  Aziraphale made eye contact with him from across the room, over his teacup.  “Care to join us, sir?”

Gabriel’s face contorted into rage, but he crossed the room and took his seat without comment.

“Aziraphale, I have no idea what’s going on,” said Crowley.  “I swear.”

“Mind filling me in on what you were…discussing?” said Aziraphale, with a pointed look at Crowley’s destroyed phone.

Gabriel took his teacup in a death grip.  “We were just discussing the fact that Raphael is aggressively pursuing a case that Michael should be cast out of Heaven at Crowley’s request.”

Aziraphale sloshed tea out of his cup.  “What?

“As I said,” said Gabriel, “there are certain things he will not have told you.  Have you already forgotten that demons are liars?  Especially this one?”  

“I never asked him to do that,” said Crowley.  “I haven’t spoken with Raphael since that time he healed me after Kabata attacked me.”

“He would never admit to doing something like this in front of you, Aziraphale, and he would never admit to keeping it from you for fear of losing your….relationship.”  He said this last word with a certain amount of disgust.

“On what grounds is it argued that Michael should fall?” Aziraphale said hotly.

“Crowley claims Michael should fall because of his intentional murder of a celestial agent—himself.”

Aziraphale realized he meant Michael had killed Crowley in the chaos leading up to the last Notpocalypse, who had only been brought back through the intervention of Noah.  “But Crowley is alive!” said Aziraphale, gesticulating wildly.  “Noah fixed all that!  There’s no need for any punishment!”

Gabriel slammed his teacup down.  “Yes, that is precisely my point.  I am here to convince Crowley to ask Raphael to drop the case.”

“I never asked him to bring it up!” said Crowley.  “Why would I?”

Gabriel sneered at him.  “Why would a demon have motivation to want to see Michael fall?  Take your pick.  You’d obviously still be upset about what he did, so you’d harbor some resentment about that.  Maybe you’re just using that as an excuse because you want to see the Sword of Heaven be cast out just like yourself.  Maybe you want him for Hell’s legions.  Maybe you’re just bitter.  In any case, he wouldn’t tell you, Aziraphale, because it’s obvious it would upset you.”

“I didn’t,” said Crowley.  “I swear.  I’m not lying.”

“The demon who made his name corrupting the creation by telling a lie,” said Gabriel, “expects me to believe that he is truthful.  Charming.”

“Gabriel,” said Aziraphale.  “He wouldn’t. I know him.  Even if he was bitter about Michael almost killing him—”

“Succeeding in killing him,” interrupted Gabriel.

“Whatever.  Even if, he would rather stay out of trouble than see Michael punished.  He’s always complaining about wanting to be left alone.”

“Maybe that is just because he needs more space than you are giving him. You are rather overbearing, Aziraphale,” said Gabriel.

Aziraphale clenched his fist and accidentally snapped the handle off his teacup.

Crowley began, “Gabriel, can we maybe talk about this more later, after I’ve—”

“No,” snapped Gabriel.  “I’m not letting you out of my sight until this is resolved.  You leave to use the toilet and suddenly you’ll be mysteriously unavailable for three months.  I know how you operate, you slippery serpent.”

Crowley, his face red, sunk lower in his seat.

“This must be a misunderstanding,” said Aziraphale.  “Crowley would have told me if he were going to do anything like this.”

“You have incredible trust, Aziraphale.  It is misplaced.”

“It’s not.”

“You expect me to believe him over my own brother!” Gabriel said. “Raphael would not lie!  Raphael loves Michael more than any of us!  He would not try to hurt him like this unless there was a very good reason!  Crowley is manipulating him into this!”

“I’m not!” he shouted.  “I would love to call Raphael off, but I didn’t call him on!”

“I know Raphael offered you help with whatever you wanted the last time he spoke to you, Crowley.”

“I never took him up on it!” said Crowley.  “I didn’t!”

“Aziraphale,” said Gabriel, “This must be Crowley somehow. We both know Raphael never takes action on his own. He would not swat a fly out of his own face if it were annoying him.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” said Aziraphale.  “Maybe he’s just finally decided to do something you don’t like after six-thousand years of letting you walk all over him.”

Gabriel’s face twitched with annoyance, and he leaned in towards Aziraphale. Aziraphale leaned back slightly.

“Don’t test me, Aziraphale,” he menaced.  “You will not win.”

Aziraphale couldn’t help but think he had already been testing Gabriel, and was winning.

Gabriel leaned back, closed his eyes, and took a sip of his tea. Terse silence fell at the table.  Crowley’s hand played with his teacup’s handle nervously.

“Hold on,” said Aziraphale, breaking the pause.  “This doesn’t make any sense.  Whatever’s happening with Michael, what does this have to do with the attack on the Temple?”

Gabriel’s eyes swiveled to him like a predatory bird.  “How do you know about the Temple?  Heaven hasn’t sent out any announcements about it.”

“We saw it on the news!” protested Crowley, much more thoughtfully than Aziraphale, who had been about to tell him they had been there. “Everyone knows about it!”

“Do you have any reason to believe it was anyone other than a human actor?” pressed Gabriel, suddenly very interested in going off-topic.

“Well, you’d know more about it than we would,” said Crowley.  “What do you expect from us?”

Gabriel drummed his fingers on the table.  Then he stood.  “Come on. We’re going to talk to Raphael. I’m sure he can shed some light on this situation now that you’re back.”  He waved his hand, and a circle laced with sigils appeared on the floor.

“H-hold on,” said Crowley as the archangel began to light the incense.  “We’re going up there to talk to him?”

“Yes.”

“Right now?”

“Yes.”

“Surely Raphael can just come down here?” said Aziraphale.

Gabriel, completing the preparations, turned back towards them. “Raphael has been seized with bouts of paranoia as of late and refuses to leave Heaven to come down to Earth.  I’m lucky if I can get him to come out of the infirmary at all.”

“Wh-what? What the hell is going on?” said Aziraphale.

“That’s what I intend to find out,” growled Gabriel. “Now, let’s go.”

Light began to fill the circle.  “I can’t go into Heaven,” said Crowley.  “I can’t. I’m a demon.  Surely you must—”

“Lying again,” said Gabriel.  “You went into Heaven shortly after your mission to kill Ba’al Berith, and you came into Heaven after Kabata’s attack.  You’re not getting out of this.”

“It injured him both of those times!” Aziraphale protested.

Gabriel grabbed Crowley’s arm.  “If you insist on joining us, Aziraphale, then come on.”

“Get off me,” said Crowley, wrenching his arm out of Gabriel’s grip. “I can walk on my own.  You don’t need to manhandle me.”  Crowley nervously slipped a pair of sunglasses out of his pocket and placed them on his face.

“You don’t have to do this, Crowley,” said Aziraphale.

“I’d say you’re wrong, by the look on his face,” said Crowley.  “I’m sure Raphael will clear this up.  Let’s go.”

Bright, so damn bright, that’s what it always was.  Their feet sent up small white puffs as they landed among the clouds.  The air stung his lungs, but it seemed less intense than the last time.  Maybe that was just his imagination.

The enormous brass gates were off in the distance, the gatekeeper looking at them with interest.  Gabriel prodded them to go towards it.

“He can’t go past the gate,” said Aziraphale.  “It’s dangerous for him to get near it.”

Gabriel pushed them closer to it, but could not get them to go within earshot of the gatekeeper.

“Gabriel, he can’t go inside,” said Aziraphale, planting himself between them.  “What part of this are you not understanding?”

Gabriel scowled and went over to the gatekeeper, who disappeared after a brief conference.  Gabriel came back over and said, “She is going to bring Raphael out.”  

They waited for a few minutes.  Crowley could feel a blood vessel in his nose about to burst as his headache got worse.

The gatekeeper came back out alone.  Gabriel stomped over to her and spoke to her in a low, tight voice.  She replied indistinctly.

Gabriel came back over.  “Stay here,” he snarled.  “If either of you leave, I rescind my statement that I just wanted to talk to you, and every angel in Creation will be set on you immediately.” With that threat, he marched into the gates, which clanged shut behind him.

Blood finally started leaking from Crowley’s nose.  Aziraphale wiped it with his handkerchief.

“We could run,” said Aziraphale.

“That’ll just make things worse.”

The gates opened back up.  Raphael came running out, his robes flapping with his speed.

“Cr-Crowley!” said Raphael, grabbing Crowley’s shoulders.  “I thought you were missing?  Hm?  I thought you were gone and nobody could find you?”  His voice held a puzzling desperation, as though Crowley’s presence were an unexpected obstacle.  

“Uh,” said Crowley nervously, overwhelmed.  “I was, but—”

Gabriel appeared behind Raphael, rushing to catch up, and interrupted, “As you can see—”

Raphael cut him off, putting himself between Gabriel and Crowley.  “This is between you and me, Gabriel.  Leave him out of this.  You’ll accomplish nothing by tormenting him like this.”

Gabriel drew forwards until he was toe-to-toe with Raphael.  “Oh, it’s just between us now, is it?  Earlier you were moaning about how we need to treat this demon like a real celestial agent and honour his requests.”

Aziraphale now gleaned that he had walked into the middle of something that had been brewing without him for some time and was finally exploding.

“Raphael,” said Crowley, “I don’t know what’s going on, but I don’t want you to punish Michael on my behalf.”

“Isn’t that interesting?” said Gabriel.  “He doesn’t think Michael should fall.”

Raphael had the look of a sailor taking on water.  “Angels can’t just go around killing people without consequences.  You don’t think Michael deserves to be punished for what he did?  You don’t think he’s too dangerous to have on Heaven’s side?”

“Th-that’s not really for me to decide,” said Crowley.

Raphael put one hand on Crowley’s shoulder.  “But you were so upset when we talked about it earlier.”

It was at this point that Crowley knew he could say nothing useful for the rest of the conversation.  Gabriel would never believe him over Raphael, even if they happened to be fighting at the time.  Nevertheless, he put up the effort:  “We didn’t talk about anything.  That’s not true.”

Gabriel did not even listen to Crowley and glared daggers at Aziraphale. “Well, it appears the literal lying serpent was not truthful with us! This should come as a shock to no one.”

“Be reasonable, Gabriel,” said Raphael, keeping himself between Crowley and the other archangel.  “Of course he’s not going to admit it to you if you barge in and start threatening him. He was probably scared for his life. Most people would lie under those circumstances.”

“Regardless.  Listen to him.  You can drop the case against Michael.  He does not think it is worth pursuing.”

“Well, it doesn’t count if he says it under duress!” said Raphael. “You’re threatening him!”

“I haven’t threatened him in the slightest!”

What is going on here? thought Aziraphale, feeling completely lost.

“Raphael, look—” Crowley began, but Raphael overtook him, hovering over him and clamping his hands on his arms.

“Crowley, I’m sure this has been quite stressful for you, and I don’t think Gabriel should try and coerce any kind of cease-and-desist out of you. You two should go.”

“Don’t go anywhere,” said Gabriel.  

“Go on,” said Raphael.

Crowley looked wildly from Gabriel to Raphael, trying to decide who was more likely to smite him for disobeying.

“You know Raphael,” said Gabriel, taking a step closer, “You seem to be putting the wishes of a demon ahead of your own brother’s wellbeing.  Some might say that makes you a traitor.”

Raphael released Crowley and spun to face Gabriel.  “Interesting that you suddenly care about Michael’s wellbeing.”

Anyone who had stepped between them and taken the full brunt of both of those facial expressions would have surely caught fire.

“I’m just saying,” said Gabriel, “that you should be careful.  Because it could very well be someone other than Michael falling.”

“Is that a threat?” said Raphael with uncharacteristic hardness.

“Just a statement.”

“You can’t.  You need all six of the other archangels to decide unanimously to make the seventh fall, and Michael is in no state to make any decisions.”

“And whose fault is that, hm?” said Gabriel, staring into Raphael challengingly.

“And even then, we still haven’t appointed anyone to replace Camael yet,” said Raphael.  

“Oh, I think I know who would make an excellent fit,” said Gabriel, his eyes sweeping up and down Raphael.  “Victoria? That power that threatened you with physical violence when she found out what you were proposing for Michael? “

“I think we should be going,” sputtered Aziraphale, turning around and pushing Crowley towards the exit to Heaven.

Gabriel made a move towards them, but Raphael blocked him with an outstretched wing.  “I think you’ve gotten everything out of them that you can, Gabriel,” he said.  “Leave them alone.  Don’t go near them.  Do you hear me?  Come to me.”

Aziraphale did not hear Gabriel’s reply, because they had reached the exit and were now hurtling through the clouds with a whomp.

Crowley was splayed out like a skydiver, his tie flapping over his shoulder, his sunglasses flown off his face.  Aziraphale snapped his wings out and flapped to dissipate his momentum. Crowley put it off a bit longer, doing great loops and cartwheels through the air to reach Aziraphale.

“What the hell was that?” said Aziraphale.

“Your guess is as good as mine.”

The two of them looked at each other from across the sky for a second. Aziraphale began to feel something unpleasant coming up from inside him, and after a moment he realized it was doubt.

Aziraphale closed the distance between them to grab Crowley’s hand, their wingtips brushing against each other with each flap.  “Crowley, did you ask Raphael to open a case for Michael to be cast out of Heaven?”

“What?” said Crowley.  “No! Of course not!”

Aziraphale squeezed his hand.  “Crowley.”

“I didn’t!” he shouted, ripping his hand out of Aziraphale’s.  “You said it yourself!  I would rather stay out of trouble!”

“Crowley, I know you’re scared of Michael—”  Here Crowley coloured furiously and opened his mouth to reply, but Aziraphale rushed ahead, “It’s natural, it totally is.  Especially after what he did, and it makes sense that you’d rather see him as a demon than an angel, so you’d be on the same side.  I don’t know exactly how you could do something like this, but you’re clever enough to figure it out.  I’m just saying it would make sense that you might try to do it quietly, to avoid upsetting me…”

Crowley stared at him, incredulous.  “I don’t believe this,” he hissed.  “I don’t believe thisssss.  You think I’m lying too.”

“Is Maltha making you do this?  If she’s behind the attack on the Temple, this could be part of a plot against Heaven to—”

“I don’t believe you!” he yelled. “After everything we’ve been through together, you still think I’d do something like that?”

“Crowley,” said Aziraphale helplessly.  “Whatever’s going on, I want us to face it together.  I’m just saying you can tell me—”

“You don’t trust us anymore?  You think I would keep this from you?  You think Maltha is suddenly some horrid evil bitch?  You’re really that stubborn about admitting maybe any of the archangels might be in the wrong?”

Shamefaced, Aziraphale fumbled to respond.

“Do you even see us as people the same way you see Gabriel and Raphael?” Crowley accused tearfully.  “This is really all it takes for you to doubt us?  To doubt me?”

“Of course I see you as a person,” Aziraphale tried, trying to take Crowley’s hand again.  “Crowley, I’m so sorry that you would even think that.  Please just—”

“No, you know what, Aziraphale, just shut up.  Just stop right there.  You haven’t changed a single bit since that day in the Garden, you know that?”

“What?”

“You’ve always thought you were better than me, you’ve always thought you knew better than me, you’ve always been…”  He gestured to Aziraphale.  “You. I don’t know why I’m surprised by this.”

Aziraphale’s anger flared up.  “What are you talking about?”

“How long were you waiting for something like this to happen?  You’ve always been so concerned about my basic nature that the second anyone casts doubt on me you don’t even want to take my side!  Aziraphale, I thought we were past this!”

“Raphael wouldn’t lie about this, Crowley,” he said.

“And why wouldn’t he?  It’s not like the archangels have such a great track record of transparency with me!”

“Raphael is the only archangel in Heaven I would trust right now.  He healed you when you were sick.  He said he would help you.  He’s not doing this just because he wants to!  And he’s always been fond of Michael!  Why would he lie?”

“Yes, Heaven’s upper management is so trustworthy!  God forbid we disagree with our superiors!”

“Well, excuse me for actually being loyal!” said Aziraphale.  “One of us has to!”

They both stared at each other, their wingbeats the only sound. Aziraphale, with growing horror, said, “Crowley, I didn’t mean—”

“I think it’sssss perfectly clear what you meant,” Crowley snapped. “Because demonssss aren’t loyal by nature.”

“Give me some credit, Crowley,” said Aziraphale.  “You know that’s not what I meant.”

“Oh you didn’t mean it like that!  You must have meant it in some other way then?  Like the way I betrayed Hell?  Like the way you think I betrayed Heaven?”

“Crowley, listen, we’re both stressed out by what’s happened.  Why don’t we wait until later—”

“No, there is no later,” said Crowley.  “You stopped defending me as soon as Raphael started talking.  I think it’s pretty clear where your loyalties are.  You know, deep down.  Go to Hell, Aziraphale, and have fun sitting in your home with just you and your books.”

The demon spun and dove in the direction of his Mayfair flat, leaving the startled Aziraphale in his wake with a few loose red feathers.