#I have an almost 7000 word fic about him being a brother so..

[mockingjaylad]

These characters CANT keep having siblings.

It’s ruining my life.

[raewrites94]

In a Heartbeat

An Eternals fic where reader is a fellow Eternal loosely based on the Greek goddess Demeter, the goddess of harvest and agriculture, presiding over grains and the earth’s fertility. 

Warnings: Spoilers for Eternals (I think, I still haven’t watched the movie. The lore I’m using is based off what I’ve gathered from other fics), no other warnings. I’ll watch the movie one day, don’t worry. In the mean time hope you like!

Words: 2,754

Pairing: Druig/Reader or Druig/Original Female Character

“Upset! We’ve trusted you for 7000 years and look where you’ve gotten us. I’ve watched humans destroy each other when I could stop it all in a heartbeat.” The gentle lilt of his accent growing sharp brings you back into the moment and you can see the fire blazing in his eyes. You’d been zoning out trying to avoid all the pain you were feeling in the room. Pain and anguish from Thena; Druig desperate to protect the humans and questioning if their purpose is to just sit back and observe like it had been for so long. No, you knew he was breaking. Your family was splintering before your eyes and all you could do was watch. You knew what you were going to do no matter what happened. You’d follow Druig anywhere and you could tell he knew that when he looked into your eyes briefly before turning to Ikaris. “You’re going to have to kill me” for a second you’re afraid Ikaris is going to take him up on the challenge. You can practically feel the energy of his powers crackling in the air. But he doesn’t. Druig looks at you again before turning around “It ends now” and he starts his walk down the steps and you know his eyes are glowing. You can see all of the humans looking up towards him, dropping their weapons and waiting for him to lead them. 

Kingo is the one who grabs your wrist as you almost float after him, always caught in Druig’s gravitational pull. “Please don’t stop me.” You plead, looking up at your brother and looking at the internal fight he himself is also having. “You know I have to follow... I cannot be alone, not after all this time.” He lets go of your wrist and you look around at everyone else, nodding your head in Makkari’s direction which she returns. You have to believe you’ll see her again soon, you don’t have to say anything to each other anymore, you have your own language in the looks that you send one another. Silently you follow down the same path that Druig had gone, you can still see him walking into the forest so you know you’ll catch up eventually. It might be better for you if you stay behind and follow from a distance. It will give you time to think about everything.

As you continued walking at a steady pace, just a few steps behind the swarm of people, the sky began to darken. You walked with your wrists linked behind your back and a pensive look on your face, retreating further into your own mind. Was this the right thing to do? You knew Druig had been doubting your purpose for a long time and not being able to help the humans killed him inside. They were always so needlessly ruthless to each other, wiping entire populations out in what felt like the blink of an eye to the two of you in your eternal lives. They were also such incredible creatures and so fascinating, you grew to love them as well with all your time on the planet. You loved them, cared about their wellbeing, and especially their survival. But you were not gods, you are not entitled to act like one just because of your immortality. You knew Druig knew that, and maybe he’d weighed the pros and cons and finally decided which outcome was better. That was a conversation the two of you had been having on and off for centuries. 

Before you knew it, you realized you were actively walking through the swarm of people rather than behind it. They’d stopped walking while you were lost in your own thoughts and you could feel they knew that. They were waiting for you to make your way to Druig, as was he. Noticing you were mirroring his classic pose, you removed your arms from where they were linked behind you and shook them out, trying to portray a more relaxed state of mind than what you were actually sporting. He would know you were faking it, even though he was unable to get into your head he was very well versed in the language of your body. He knew what you were feeling before you did sometimes. 

“Deo…” Before Druig even got a chance to continue on whatever monologue he had planned, you practically slammed into his body and wrapped your arms around his waist, his arms came up to wrap around your shoulders without hesitation. He knew how much you loved your family. Neither of you knew when you would see some of them again and neither did they. You felt as if the very fabric of your reality was ripping right in half, taking your heart along with it. You clutched tightly to him, knowing you’d be okay as long as the two of you were together. “You don’t have to come with, you know…” You knew he was trying to give you an out, but even you could hear in his voice how much he didn’t believe that statement himself.

“You know I do. I am yours and you are mine, I will never be without you in my lifetime if I can help it.” You answered, pulling back and looking up at him with a serious look in your eyes. 

Ever since you had met something had sparked between the two of you. You didn’t act on it at first, there was a long fight ahead of you defeating deviants and protecting the Earth. A planet that you grew to love so very dearly. For a long time the love you had for the planet and your fellow Eternals was enough for you and it seemed it was for Druig, too. Though you never knew if he actually loved all of the others, or if it was just you and Makkari that he favored. But now that you had acted on it, there was no going back. And you had told him as much almost immediately following that conversation the two of you had, all those centuries ago. 

“I know, my love. I just hate that I’m essentially making you choose… even though I already know what your choice would be.” Druig sighed, his hand resting on the side of your neck, his thumb gently running across the skin of your jaw. He brought his forehead to rest on yours. It was your signature move, or that’s what Sprite would call it when they caught you in this pose sometimes. “You are supposed to be the only being that I cannot control, and yet here we are.” He chucked dryly, a point many people have brought up. You didn’t like the insinuation, but you could understand why someone would think that. 

“We should keep moving” You say, interrupting the moment you were having. “It’s getting dark fast and they’ll need to rest if we have a destination in mind.” After taking a breath, you take a step back, retreating from his orbit so that you are not sucked back in. 

You see Druig tilt his head to the side ever so slightly, a tick of sorts. Something he does when he’s only slightly confused by you. He doesn’t push, he probably already knows what your answer would be, and just nods in response. He starts walking backwards, wordlessly beckoning you to follow so you do. Just as he’s turning around you can see his eyes begin to glow, he’s regaining his hold on the small civilization who had moments before just been standing slack and quiet, listening to your conversation. 

You wondered if they would remember what they heard, unconsciously returning your arms to their place from earlier, linked behind your back as you followed in almost the same footsteps as your leader. That was a question that you could add to the list. Every once in a while you caught him in a mood that would make him more likely to answer questions about his powers so you had a mental running list of questions to ask. You never pushed, but you were slowly checking each question off the list as you learned the answers. You never shared them with anyone, even Makkari wasn’t allowed that privilege unless it was given to her by Druig. 

Silence continued as you walked a few paces behind Druig, this time at the very front of the swarm of people you were traveling with. You really hoped he wasn’t telling them the two of you were king and queen or something… No, he wouldn’t do that. He’s not that stupid. Maybe he was giving them a choice. You certainly couldn’t read minds so you wouldn’t know what was going on inside that beautiful brain of his until much later when the two of you could finally be alone. After you figured out what you were doing with these people who you were now responsible for. What were the two of you getting yourselves into? You. Were. Not. Gods. 

You shook your head, shaking the doubt out and along with it, that train of thought. You had to move to acceptance really fast if this was going to work. You were partners now, in more ways than you were before. Whether you liked it or not you had to protect all of these humans and you needed to do right by them. You’d never had blind trust in Druig, he was still just some guy and he had his flaws just like anyone else. None of you were perfect. But if he thought this was what was best, who were you to disagree? You could tell he had put a lot more thought into this moment than you would ever know. 

It’s been a couple of hours since then and you could feel the group of people around you begin to slow down. You were walking side by side with Druig now, your hand linked in his. Eventually you couldn’t take being so far away from him and being in your own brain was becoming incredibly exhausting. “Hey, I think we need to stop.” You said, pushing your shoulder into his arm after looking around in the darkness at everyone. 

Druig stopped and turned towards you before surveying the humans. “You’re right. Everyone find as much wood as you can and look for places to take shelter. We’ll get to our destination tomorrow.” With that, the group dispersed, now able to independently complete their mission. You and Druig also got to work, finding somewhere just a tad further away from everyone else and their group to build your shelter for the night. 

You were just finishing up walking around to conjure places to sleep for each of the humans out of plants and other natural growth from the Earth with your powers when you could feel his eyes on you. You looked up at him, your eyes were glowing an elegant rich shade of emerald green before fading back to their normal cerulean blue. Ducking your head, you nodded at the last of the humans before making your way over to the fire he had started. The two of you would not be sleeping tonight, you knew. Being eternals granted you many gifts, including superhuman stamina that allowed you to go days without sleeping. You slowly made your way around the fire to where Druig was sitting, his back against a tree stump and an arm around one of his legs.

“You’re so good to them.” Druig pointed out, looking proudly over at you and watching as you sat down next to him, leaning against the same tree trunk and putting your head on his shoulder. He was slightly taller than you and at the perfect angle for this. 

“We’re responsible for them now, Druig.” you spoke monotonously, already stuck back in your own mind as you were staring into the fire. You broke the spell though, to pick up your head and look up at him. “Whatever happens to these humans from now on, is our fault, good or bad.” You spoke quietly, trying to convey the gravity of the situation without alerting some of the closer humans where they were slowly settling down for the night. Of their own will or not, you weren’t sure, but hopefully nothing would happen tonight. They were just in the midst of a full on war not that long ago and now you were trusting they could sleep next to one another? God, you hoped so. You wrapped your arm around his as you leaned your head back down on his shoulder. Your eyes immediately going unfocused as you gaze into the depths of the fire. 

Something about fire has always intrigued you. Something about it always causes you to go into the deepest depths of your mind, not coming out for hours until Druig would finally pull you back and put out the fire. Druig and Makkari always gave you a hard time about how serious you could be, but someone had to be! Neither of them were very serious so you had to make up for them somehow. And maybe you wanted to make sure every single possible move was thought over so you could protect those you loved the most, no one else needs to know that. You assume they do now, of course. You’ve expressed many times how much you loved them both and they had done the same with you and each other over the years. 

Thinking of Makkari now again you were so far away, you could feel tears prick at your eyes. When would you see her again? How would you know where she is and how would she know where you are? You didn’t realize you were crying until Druig was lifting your head from your shoulder, moving you to look up at him. The concern in his eyes quieted you a little, calming the quiet sobs coming from your lips. 

“Hey, what is it?” He asked, cupping your face in both hands, trying to figure out what you might have been thinking about as you stared into the depths of the bonfire he had created. If it wasn’t so cold out tonight he wouldn’t have even started one, but he knew you liked to be warm especially at night. 

“When are we ever going to see Makkari again?” You asked quietly, adjusting your position so you could sit up and wipe at your watery eyes. Druig couldn’t help but chuckle at the question. Of course you would be thinking of her already. You smacked him on the chest. “Are you laughing at me?” 

“No.” Druig coughed, clearing his throat. “I mean, sort of? Don’t worry, my love.” He soothed, running his hands gently up and down your arms. “Makkari will know where to find us, I promise.” 

“How does she know where we’ll be?” You questioned, a look of utter confusion contorting the beautiful features of your face. “I don’t even know where we’re going, nor would I have been able to tell her.” 

“Just don’t worry. I’ve taken care of it. I would never take us somewhere Makkari could not follow.” He soothed, brushing a couple of strands of hair out of your face. You instantly relaxed at his words. Of course he would think of everything. You didn’t know why you even considered for a moment that this wasn’t premeditated to the highest detail. You let a sigh escape as you leaned back up against him. You closed your eyes, letting the flames of the fire warm your body once again. The thought of never seeing Makkari again had made your blood turn cold and you were beginning to shiver. Druig wrapped his arms around you, feeling the shivers and pulled you more into him so he could shelter your body from the slight breeze passing through the forest.

Whatever you were going to do tomorrow you would be with your soulmate. The one person who knew you better than yourself and you just had to believe things would get better. Maybe not right away and most likely not even in these humans’ lifetimes, but you just knew that you’d see the rest of your family one day. There was no possible reality where that was your last meeting. 

You were all gifted with an eternity and you would have to see one another again, regardless of if there were more deviants or not. 

[emybain]

Seventeen

    oh my gosh,,,i did not mean for this to take me a week to write OR for it to be nearly 7000 words but here we are. I had trouble writing this in all honesty and really wanted to write this fic well. A huge thank you to @danna-bell-is-black for being a (my first!) beta reader and helping this gorl figure things out. if you dont already follow her, youre insane because she blesses our eyes with quality art and renegades content.

SPOILERS FOR SUPERNOVA

SPOILERS FOR SUPERNOVA

SPOILERS FOR SUPERNOVA

    Nova regretted ever leaving her apartment that morning. 

    Her seventeenth birthday started out with Ruby, Danna, and Narcissa banging on her apartment door mid morning, insisting that they have a girl’s day to celebrate. Nova had protested, the thought of having to spend an entire day with a group of girls frankly terrifying. She claimed her protests were only because she already had plans to go over to her boyfriend’s house and binge a stupid sitcom with seven seasons and just be a potato all day. There may or may not have been one or two make out sessions planned in this binge-watching. This was all true information, but her excuse, and her spirits, were immediately shot down when Ruby said that Adrian was sick. Skeptical, Nova had messaged Adrian and asked herself, to which she received a reply within a few minutes that he was indeed sick and to have fun with the girls.

    Something wasn’t right. 

    But somewhere deep in her mind, she knew that spending her birthday alone was the last thing she needed, and if she was going to fake having fun with the girls, then she was going to do it with a smile until she felt truly elated dammit. 

    For whatever reason, Nova had gotten herself into a funk the past month or so. Her happiness, true and free of doubt, that came after Ace Anarchy was defeated not seven months ago was short lived. She found herself missing the Anarchists. Leroy and Winston and even Honey and Ingrid who had turned against her in the end. She supposed it was natural; they had raised her for nearly ten years, and even if their methods weren’t always the best, it was evident they had cared for her in that decade they had together. 

    And then she began thinking of her uncle, how things could have been different if Nova had taken another approach than the one she chose. But she berated herself for even thinking that way. Ace had chosen his path and had no intentions of changing it. 

    She felt like she betrayed her family for idolizing Ace all those years, looking up to the man who had murdered his brother and his family in cold blood. Nova’s stomach turned at the thought that she would’ve been murdered as well, had it not been for her gift. It wasn’t the dying part that made her sick, it was the fact that Ace valued her only as an asset and nothing more. Just another piece on his chessboard. 

    Nova always found herself missing her family immensely around her birthday, reasons unknown to her. It wasn’t like her birthdays before they were murdered were anything special; she usually received gummy snacks or a screwdriver from Ace, as her parents couldn’t afford anything and it was too dangerous outside. Her most memorable gift was a bear her father had salvaged for her when he had gone out in search of medicine because Nova had been sick on her third birthday. She remembered it being already torn up and dirty, but her mother had washed it and sewed it up so it looked brand new again; it had been Nova’s only companion before she had a little sister. 

    This birthday, however, was ten years without her parents and sister. Her seventh birthday was around the corner when the hitman killed her family, forcing Nova to run away with the Anarchists. She remembered not even celebrating that birthday, too distraught and angry to even accept the processed package of crackers Ace had gotten for her. Now, at seventeen, Nova Artino wanted nothing more than to hug her parents and Evie, who would have been around Max’s age now. She wanted them to know she was sorry for letting them down, for believing in Ace’s lies for so many years and believing in him. She wanted her father to ruffle her hair and tell her everything was going to be alright; she wanted her mother to kiss her forehead and tell her how much she’s grown, like she used to when Nova would be measured against a doorframe; she wanted to be the annoying big sister to Evie, teasing her playfully and embarrassing her at every possible chance. But no, Nova Artino was alone and without a family on her seventeenth. 

    Was making out with her boyfriend in his room as they ignored a cheesy sitcom playing in the background to make Nova forget about her worries too much to ask? 

    Apparently, so Nova had held back a sigh and bit her tongue, agreeing to go out with the three girls for the day. Ruby forced her into one of the few nice outfits Nova had in her closet, ignoring Nova’s questioning and tossing the leggings and t-shirt Nova had initially grabbed. It was nothing special, just a pair of high waisted black and white striped flowy pants with a cloth belt and an understated plain white shirt that Nova tied into a knot just above her belly button. She had purchased the outfit two months prior for a media interview with Adrian and his team and hadn’t worn it since. 

The public, much to Nova’s disdain, idolized her, Adrian, his team, and Max after the defeat of Ace Anarchy, claiming that without them, Ace would still be around. But they were wrong; without Max, Ace would still be around. Even so, being idolized was like a punch to the gut for Nova; it went against everything she had stood by for ten years. But, she had to admit, it brought her the smallest bit of joy seeing young girls be more interested in science and mathematics and self defense and standing up for themselves because that’s what Nova Artino liked. At least her small impact was positive. 

“Sweetheart, which side did you say you wanted the piercing on?” Nova blinked, coming out of her daze to stare at the dark skinned woman in front of her who held an alcohol wipe in one hand and a cotton swab in the other. Right. The reason why she wished she was curled up in Adrian’s arms right now, preferably kissing him. 

Nova licked her lips, eyes pinning on the marker. In the corner of the room sat Ruby, Danna, and Narcissa. Ruby was hurriedly messaging someone and glancing up at Nova every so often to offer an encouraging smile. Danna and Narcissa were chatting quietly between themselves, playing with one another’s hands affectionately. 

“Um...the right side.” Nova placed a finger on the curve of her nose where she wanted the piercing. She couldn’t believe she let the others convince her into doing this. Danna had said it didn’t hurt after she pierced hers a few months before, Ruby had said none of her piercings, all on her ears, were that painful. But Nova knew what ear piercings were like; Honey had taken her to get hers pierced at the ripe age of twelve. 

The lady nodded, leaning forward to wipe that side of her nose then putting the cotton swab in Nova’s nostril. Nova drew back slightly at how cold it was; it must’ve been dipped in alcohol as well. Then she grabbed a marker and carefully placed a dot on Nova’s nose, right where Nova had indicated where she wanted it. 

“How’s that?” A mirror was placed in front of Nova, and she examined the marker dot, nodding and only half paying attention. The lady put the mirror back down on her table and picked up the needle, instructing Nova to lie down on the patient’s table. 

Nova had always found body piercings to be cool and badass, but had never had the guts to go and get any done other than the one time Honey took her five years ago. Her decisions had always rested on other’s opinions, almost never on her own. Now that she was doing something that she had wanted to do, she was nervous, and all because she had mentioned it once in a conversation with Ruby months before, who had remembered it and was the one responsible for their little group being in that tattoo and piercing parlor in the first place. Before going to the back of the shop to the patient rooms, they had inquired about tattoos, another thing Nova was interested in, but they were told they needed parental or guardian consent for those under the age of eighteen. As none of them could pass for Nova’s guardian, Nova shrugged it off, saying she would just get it done next year. 

“Alright, honey, now breathe in and out on a count of three, okay?” Nova barely had time to process what the lady had said before she felt the needle piercing the cartilage of her nose. Her eyes watered instantly, almost involuntarily. A disgruntled noise came from the back of her throat, and she closed her eyes, biting back a grimace. Then the needle was pulled out the other side, and the lady said she was done as she took another cotton swab and cleaned the area around the piercing.

Nova was handed a tissue as she sat up, and she dabbed at her eyes. Ruby clapped her hands in excitement. 

“It looks great, Nova!” she said, already holding out her communication band to snap a quick photo to send to people. Nova made a face at the front facing camera, scrunching her face up. 

“Totally badass and not adorable on a five-foot-nothing child,” Danna teased, tearing her eyes away from Narcissa who nodded in agreement. 

“Five-foot-three,” Nova replied, scoffing. She hopped off the table and over to the full body mirror, leaning close to inspect the new addition. 

“Maybe in heels.” Danna grinned. “No, but really, it looks good. It suits you well.” 

Nova massaged her nose, which was starting to swell up. She sniffled, the piercing making it feel like she had a stuffy airway. “You think so?” 

“Well, do you like it?” Ruby came up beside Nova and crossed her arms, looking at the piercing and beaming. 

Nova thought about it for a moment, examining the rosey-gold jewelry now gleaming on her face. She had chosen the stud to match the bracelet on her wrist. Slowly, she started to nod, her lips stretching up. 

“Yeah. I do.” She paused before running a hand through her hair, which was getting longer and in need of a cut, although now Nova was liking the way it looked with the piercing. So many changes in such a small amount of time. Maybe it was a good thing. “I really do, actually.” 

“Then that’s all that matters.” Ruby clapped her hands together. “So, lunch? Oscar recommended this great cheeseburger place that just opened up.”

Nova had learned to trust Oscar’s judgement on food, even if she wasn’t that fond of cheeseburgers. When he said the place was great, he was serious. There weren’t many restaurants in Gatlon, at least affordable ones, that had been given such an honor from Oscar. So, Nova nodded her head, and their group set off for lunch. 

__________

Something was definitely up. 

They had gone to lunch at the place Ruby recommended, and all was well until Nova noticed that every time one of her friend’s communicators chimed with a message, it was closely followed by the other two. They tried to check the messages at different times and respond out of sync, as if they were keeping something from Nova. A few times, Nova had attempted to peer over Ruby’s shoulder at her communication band, curiosity overcoming her, but Ruby always closed the conversation quickly after Nova snooped. 

Then, afterward, when Nova had suggested running to Adrian’s house for a bit to check up on him and possibly bring him soup or ice cream, all three of her companions got wide eyed and instantly started voicing their objections. 

“You don’t want to get sick!” Ruby had said. 

“He’s probably passed out,” Danna had added nonchalantly.

“Ugh, yeah. He’s probably disgusting.” Narcissa had wriggled her nose at the thought, but Nova could see right through the lie. The bookworm was a terrible liar; it was evident through the way she never made eye contact and stammered over her own words. “Definitely too sick to see you...or anyone else for that matter! He’s probably thrown up like...five times already.” Then she got quiet when Danna shot her a not so subtle glare, to which Narcissa replied with a quiet and confused, “What?”

So Nova had suggested going back to her place, a little apartment that Hugh and Simon had bought for her under their name not long after the Supernova, after they found out she was rotating homes to stay at for short periods of time until she eventually ended up at the Everhart-Westwood residence. She knew a majority of their reasoning for buying it was that they never forgave themselves for failing to save Nova’s family, even though she had long since forgiven them and come to terms with her misjudgments and wrongdoings. She also knew a teeny, tiny part of the reasoning had to do with the fact that they were completely supportive of her relationship with Adrian, it being a little too evident in the fact that the bedroom was big enough for a queen or king sized bed and that the bathroom had two sinks instead of one. Message received. It wasn’t much, just a kitchenette, sitting area, and closed off bedroom and bathroom, but it had become a decent home for Nova, a fresh start. Plus, it didn’t hurt that the apartment complex, one built after the Age of Anarchy, was just a few blocks away from Adrian’s house. Another thing that couldn’t be accidental on Hugh and Simon’s part. 

Again, her group shot down her suggestion and began making excuses. Then Danna mentioned going into a few shops and boutiques nearby, and Nova almost had to laugh. They knew that shopping was one of Nova’s least favorite things to do, something they had all learned the hard way when they had tried taking her before. She just didn’t understand how some people got joy from running their hands over racks of ridiculous clothing, exclaiming how much they loved a top or a skirt yet putting it back with a defeated sigh after checking the price tag. At least that’s what little experience she had from shopping with Ruby. Nova supposed she shouldn’t judge; not everyone got their joy from working out or boxing, a hobby she had recently taken up, or inventing things, like she did. 

Finally, when the day was running out, the sun beginning to drift downward, Ruby gasped and nudged Danna roughly. Nova, who had been busying herself going through a rack of jeans at a thrifty second-hand store they found themselves in, paused in her disinterested scavenging to turn her head just slightly, in hopes of catching what was so important. 

She heard something about everything’s ready and we can go back now before Danna was by her side, linking elbows with her and dragging her away. 

“Okay,” she said, a little too chirpy for Danna. Nova blinked. “So, Max just messaged Ruby and said that Adrian really wants to see you.” 

Narcissa appeared beside her girlfriend, biting back a smile. “Yeah! Something about being sorry for missing your birthday and all.”

“What about getting me sick?” Nova pulled away from Danna, who had been leading her to the door. She crossed her arms, stopping in her tracks. 

“He’s feeling much better.” Ruby waved a hand. “Now, let’s go, before traffic gets too heavy.” Danna emphasized the urgency by waving the set of car keys in her hand up by her face. 

“What are you three hiding?” Nova finally said, feet planted. “You’ve been acting weird all day.”

Danna looked genuinely surprised, and Nova almost believed it, if she hadn’t already known that Danna was a pretty damn good actress when she wanted to be. “What are you talking about?”

Nova opened her mouth to protest, then closed it. Fine. She’d been playing their game the entire day, what was one more round? Clearly, they weren’t going to Adrian’s, as he was probably in his deathbed, but they were going somewhere important. Might as well get it over with so Nova could go home. 

“Alright then.” Nova shrugged, forcing herself forward and through the doors of the shop. “Let’s go.” 

______

The ride to the secret destination seemed like it was forever, but that was only because it was silent the entire way. Nova kept her attention on Danna, who kept looking in the rearview mirror at Ruby, a concerned and questioning look on her face. Nova didn’t even realize where they were until they pulled up to the curb right outside her boyfriend’s house. Her eyebrows immediately shot up. What was going on?

They went up to the front door, Ruby knocking on the door thrice. They waited a few minutes, the door remaining closed. She looked back and shrugged before reaching a hand out and turning the knob. The door opened, and their group filed in. Nova blinked a few times, eyes adjusting to the sudden darkness of the house. Dark...and also quiet. 

Nova raised her voice a little, sharing a look with the others. “Adrian? Are you here? It’s me.”

No answer. 

“Maybe the kitchen?” Ruby scrunched her eyebrows together, already pushing past to head to that room. Danna and Narcissa followed, leaving Nova alone in the foyer. Was she the only one who thought something wasn’t right? 

Her hand immediately went to her waist, where she kept a few of her inventions on hand in her pockets if she ever needed them. She also called on her power, feeling it rise up to just underneath her fingertips, waiting. Following the others, somewhat hesitant, Nova braced herself for the worst. 

When she entered the kitchen, it was as dark as the other rooms, if not darker. The others were gone, sending her body into full alert. 

Then the lights were flicked on, blinding her. Nova stepped back, just as people jumped out from just about everywhere in the kitchen, all yelling out the same thing: “Surprise!” 

Nova screeched, letting out a string of curse words and narrowly avoiding knocking out Oscar, who so happened to be the closest to Nova. 

She heard a camera snapping a photo, and she scowled. Her eyes went around the room, scanning each face there. Oscar, Danna, Ruby, Narcissa, Max, Simon, Hugh, a few prodigies that Nova had befriended in the past few months, Leroy, and in the middle of it all, with the stupidest smile on his face that Nova wanted to smack off, was her idiot boyfriend, Adrian Everhart. Who, judging from the color in his face and twinkle in his eyes, was not sick. 

“What. The. Hell.” Nova narrowed her eyes at all of them, specifically Adrian. 

“It’s your birthday!” Oscar cried, wrapping an arm around Nova’s shoulder. She scoffed and tried to push it away. “This is your birthday party!” 

    “I’m seventeen, not seven.” She bit back a frustrated huff, examining the large room. There were balloons scattered here and there, some with messages on them. There was a banner hanging against the wall that read, in all capital letters, HAPPY BIRTHDAY. Her eyes landed on the center island, which held an assortment of snacks and treats.

    “Oh, loosen up, Nova.” Hugh rolled his eyes, smiling that charming boyish grin of his. “Birthdays are a tradition around here.” He spread his arms wide. “Now you’re part of that tradition. Whether or not you want to be,” he added teasingly. 

    Nova almost said something snarky in response, but refrained. Her heart softened a little as she recognized they had spent all day preparing this for her when they could have been doing other things, and had probably spent longer planning. Now that she thought of it, Adrian and the others had seemed distant lately. 

    “Okay,” she tested out slowly. “But why a surprise party? You know I hate surprises.” She looked specifically at Adrian when she said this, whose smile ceased to falter. Damn him for just looking amused. 

    “Because you haven’t had a real birthday before, dummy.” Nova was taken aback, slightly offended but more surprised at Ruby’s name calling. “At least, that’s what you’ve told us.” 

    Unexpectedly, her chest expanded, filling up with appreciation and gratefulness and...and love for the people in the room with her. The Anarchists had never gone to such lengths for her, only ever caring about their own wellbeing and personal agendas. Her parents, as much as they tried, could never have done something like this for Nova even if they had wanted to. A small weight pressed at the back of her eyes as she looked at Leroy, who was standing a bit away from the main group, almost awkward and like he was uninvited. 

“You too?” she demanded, voice suddenly hoarse. Leroy had shown up with the other Rejects about a month following the Supernova, full of new ideas and experiments and inventions and surprisingly eager to help repair their fragmented society. While most people were still wary of him, even some of the Council, he was pardoned on behalf of Nova, who had argued an extensive amount for his freedom and rights, just as she did with Narcissa and the rest of the Rejects. She wasn’t alone, either. Adrian, Oscar, Ruby, and shockingly, Danna, had sided with her in defense of the Rejects. 

The side of Leroy’s face that wasn’t paralyzed curled up into a guilty smile. “How else would they have known what flavor cake to get?”

“Lemon coconut?” Her eyes fixed on the beautifully decorated dessert. “But how did you-”

“I’ve known you since you were a little ankle biter, Nova.” His gaze softened. “Even before that; I remember when Ace told us his brother’s wife had a baby, and they named her Nova, in hopes of her being a great brightness in dark times.” Her eyes pricked at the mention of her parents, two out of the three people who weren’t in this room with her. 

“I guess one slice won’t hurt.”

_______

     Nova snuggled closer to Adrian, shifting the blanket wrapped around their shoulders so that it covered more of her body. Nights during the spring were usually chilly, but tonight was nice enough to sit outside around the fire pit in Adrian’s backyard. Hugh had suggested it, once it started getting late and only a few people, Leroy included, had left in favor of sleep. He said they needed to use the backyard more, to which Adrian sent Nova a secretive eyeroll. 

    Adrian pulled her closer, as close as they could get on the lounge chair they were sharing; she was practically in his lap. His arms wrapped tighter around her waist, his hand accepting hers when she grabbed for it and twining their fingers together. Every now and then, he would push her hair back to press a soft kiss to the spot behind her ear, or trace small circles on the small of her back, or another small gesture of affection that would relax Nova’s muscles. 

    Max was in the middle of an anecdote from a few months before, some kind of incident he got himself into at headquarters that no one had heard about until now. Everyone was grinning; Nova was sure Hugh was about to burst into tears from laughing so much. Nova tried to pay attention, but something kept nagging at the back of her mind. 

    Despite the party, despite her friends showering her in gifts and food and laughter and fun for the past few hours, there was still something missing. Even as she was surrounded now by them, the fire before her warming her face and the boy behind her putting off a wall of heat, she was cold. Once tonight was over, they would all go home, back to their families. Nova, on the other hand, would go back to her apartment, alone. There would be no one there to greet her, no one to ask how the party was. No one to listen intently as Nova told them all about her day. 

    Nova turned her head around, planting a kiss on Adrian’s cheek, if only to distract herself and ignore the pressure building behind her eyes. His lips parted into that smile that made her knees weak. 

“Have I told you Happy Birthday, yet?’’ he murmured, as to not interrupt Max’s story. He played with her fingers absentmindedly. Nova rolled her eyes, unable to help the smile that appeared on her face as well. 

“Only about ten times already,” she teased, resting her forehead against his. “But it wouldn’t hurt hearing it again.”

He captured her lips with his, just barely kissing them before pulling back. “Happy Birthday, Nova.”

“Thank you.” Her smile widened. “And thank you for this party. I know it’s your doing.”

“I may have helped a little.” His eyes sparkled. “I like the nose ring, by the way. It fits you.”

Nova’s hand wandered up to her face, touching the piercing lightly. The skin around it was still tender to the touch. “You think so? I was going for the hot girlfriend look.” It was a joke; Nova had been wanting one for many years, but she figured it might make Adrian blush. He usually did when she said things like that. 

If anything, Adrian’s expression became mischievous. Nova silently cursed herself; she was going to have to think of new ways to embarrass him. He was starting to get used to her current ways. “You’ve already excelled at that.” It was uttered so smoothly that Nova felt her cheeks heat up. Not the reaction she had expected. “An A-plus times ten in the hot girlfriend category.” Damn him. 

“I hate you.” Her shoulders shook in a light laugh as she tilted her chin up. 

“No you don’t,” he replied as their lips met, and he was right. Truthfully, she loved him. It had been hard for her to come to terms with the feeling of being in love with someone. How could she be so vulnerable with a single person? So open and honest and raw? To know she would go to any lengths for his happiness, and vice versa. That they had one another’s backs and would protect each other. To know that at the end of the day, no matter what had passed between them, they were each other’s home. He was her best friend; Nova knew this without a doubt, despite never having a best friend before. But he was also something else...something more real and lifelong and terrifying than friendship. 

. Nova thought back to her parents and Evie again, how they weren’t here to see her. Her father would never get to meet Adrian, never get to jokingly threaten him and just as quickly turn around and treat Adrian like his own. Her mother would never get to dote over Adrian and overfeed him at meals. Evie would never tease them and declare her disgust for the male population whenever she would walk in on them kissing. An entire life, just robbed from Nova in the span of minutes. 

A throat clearing loudly pulled Nova and Adrian apart, Nova not realizing how she had started kissing him more desperately, despite there being an audience, in an attempt to block out the pain stinging her eyes. 

It was Simon, who stared pointedly at Nova curled up on his son’s lap as he said, “Well, it’s getting a little late. I’m going to clean up the kitchen a little if anyone would like to help.” Max had apparently ended his story, and Simon’s stare wasn’t the only one fixed on the two teens. Embarrassment flooded her body, and she felt the sudden need to get up. 

“I’ll help.” She hopped up from her warm spot, goosebumps immediately running up her back from the chilly air. Simon shook his head, saying that as the birthday girl, she didn’t have to do anything. “No, I want to,” she insisted. “I like cleaning.”

So together, she and Simon made their way back inside the Everhart-Westwood house. She got started on throwing plastic cups and paper plates into a trash bag while Simon busied himself with putting the cake and snacks and pizza that Oscar had ordered away. They were quiet, left to their own thoughts. Evie would have loved this party, Nova was sure of it. She had always been a bubbly baby, despite falling ill often and crying. Nova had always wondered just what kind of person her sister would have turned out to be had it not been for that one night. She wondered how different she herself would have turned out. But there was no way of knowing; there never would be. 

There was something else still bothering her, something that had been plaguing Nova for the past 6 months since she had fought against her uncle. 

“Hey, Simon?” He paused from wrapping a plate of cookies, looking up at her with raised eyebrows. Nova took in a deep breath, knowing she should just keep her mouth shut and tell him nevermind, but she just couldn’t. “Do you...do you think they would be proud of me? My parents, if they were here?”

Simon looked taken aback. He set the plastic wrap down and crossed his arms, considering her words for a minute. “Of course they would be, Nova. Why wouldn’t they be?”

Nova shrugged, the movement tiny. “It’s just...I-I...I betrayed them.” Her voice cracked at the word betrayed, and her eyes unexpectedly welled up with tears. “I was stupid enough to believe in my uncle’s lies for nearly ten years and idolized him. I was so filled with hate that I thought I was doing the right thing.”

“Honey,” Simon began, moving forward to place a hand on Nova’s shoulder. “You had no idea. Your uncle kept what he did from you on purpose. You finding out would’ve meant losing you.” He paused. “I’m sure your parents don’t blame you. He manipulated you in the cruelest way possible.”

Nova dropped her eyes. “Then why do I feel so alone?” 

“What do you mean?” Simon ducked his head, trying to regain her eye contact. 

Nova looked back up as a single tear escaped, rolling down her cheek slowly. She wiped it away immediately, already loathing herself for breaking so easily. “You know how they say you can tell someone is still around even after they die?” When Simon nodded, she pressed on. “I...I can’t tell if they’re here or not. Before I found out the truth, I had thought they were there, encouraging me to fight for what Ace believed in. Now, I know it was only in my head; they were never there.” She licked her lips. “Wouldn’t I know if they were proud of me if they were here?”

Simon didn’t answer, not right away, at least. Nova searched his face, full of conflict as he tried to find something to tell her. 

“What if they really are here, Nova, and you’re ignoring their presence because of your own guilt?” he said slowly. “Because I know for a fact that they would be proud of you.”

“How?” she croaked. 

“I’ve been a parent for almost eighteen years.” When he said it, Nova could tell how the impact of those words made him feel old. “Adrian is not perfect, and neither is Max. They’ve both made stupid mistakes. Hell, take the story Max just told us outside. He was doing something he wasn’t supposed to be doing that day, and while I’m slightly annoyed at what he did, and that he didn’t tell us, he’s still my son and I will always be proud of him.” When Nova opened her mouth, he continued on. “Think about Adrian, then. Hugh and I were pissed when we learned he was the Sentinel. That was his biggest mistake yet, and you know what we did?” He didn’t wait for Nova to answer. “We punished him, yes, but we are still proud of everything he has done. The good always outweighs the bad, Nova. A good parent always forgives their children, no matter how big the mistake, because it’s just nature. It’s unconditional love, and your parents died wanting you to be okay in the end. That’s all any parent could ever wish for their children.”

He wiped at the few tears that had started streaming down her face, then pulled her into a hug. Nova tensed up at first, but soon found herself crumpling against him, burying her face in his shoulder. And that’s how Hugh found them.

“What’s going on in here?” he asked, drawing Nova’s attention up. She sniffled and palmed at her cheeks, embarrassed at breaking down in front of the Dread Warden and Captain Chromium. 

“Nothing,” Nova said. 

“Nova doesn’t believe her parents are still here with her and that they’re proud of her.” Simon shot Hugh a look. 

“What do you mean?” Hugh frowned. “Of course they’re here, Nova. They’ll always be with you.”

Nova sighed. “It’s just...I’ve felt so alone since I learned the truth about who really killed my family, and…and I’ve been doubting that they’re even proud of me.” She bit the inside of her cheek. “Everyone I know has a family and parents that are proud of them but me, and I know that sounds childish, but it’s true and I hate it.”

Hugh shook his head slowly and pulled up a barstool beside Simon. “I only knew David Artino for a short time, but he was a brave, compassionate, and fierce man, and he cared about his family more than anything else in the world.” He looked Nova in the eye. “To not be proud of the young lady you have become would go against everything he believed in, Nova.” 

Nova knew he was right, but she didn’t want to admit it.

“As for not having a family anymore,” Hugh continued, “I don’t think that’s true either. There are people here tonight who care for you and love you, Nova.” He smiled softly at Simon, almost knowingly. “Our son loves you deeply, more than anyone else here. It’s important for you to remember that family doesn’t always have to be biological. You get to decide who your family is. Now, that could be just you and Adrian, or you and your friends, or even you and a pet. You get to define your family, okay?” He paused for a moment. “And if you ever choose to let the two of us be in that family, as well, we would be honored.”

Nova’s lower lip trembled slightly. She bit down on it. Again, he was right. Now that she thought of it, Adrian was her family. That was what was so terrifying and real and lifelong compared to friendship, and she wanted to welcome it. Oscar and Ruby and Max and even Danna and Narcissa were slowly becoming part of her family as well. Now that they were beginning to trust her again and willing to open up to her, and she to them, Nova realized that she would do anything for them. And as for Hugh and Simon, two people who she held a strong hatred for not one year ago, Nova could see them in her oddball family as well. Maybe not now, but in the near future. 

“Okay,” she whispered, feeling a fresh wave of tears in her eyes but too tired to let them fall. She wiped them away quickly. 

“Okay.” Simon smiled at her, a genuine smile, and stood. Hugh did as well. “Shall we head back outside, then? I don’t know if I trust Oscar to be alone at our house for more than five minutes.”

“Me neither.” Hugh chuckled. “Oh, before I forget, are you spending the night, Nova?”

For whatever reason, Adrian’s dads had no problems with Nova occasionally sleeping over. But, she supposed it was because they had no clue that once they went to bed, she would sneak out of the guestroom they would give her and go downstairs to be with Adrian. 

“Um, yeah, I guess.” She laughed awkwardly, and they headed outside. 

Simon was justified in his accusation, for when they went back outside, Oscar had a bag of marshmallows in his hand. Ruby sat next to him, and the two looked like they were up to no good. Danna had her face in her hands; Narcissa rubbed her back soothingly. 

“What are you doing?” Hugh asked, rather tiredly, as the three took their former seats. 

Adrian pulled the blanket back around Nova when she sat back down on top of him, stretching her legs out over his lap. “You okay?” he asked, examining her face with concern. 

Nova put a tight smile on, nodding. She would tell him later when they were alone. 

“Oscar thinks he can fit fifteen marshmallows in his mouth,” Ruby explained, looking at Oscar with complete adoration. 

“You’re a hazard to society,” Danna muttered between her hands, barely peeking up.

Oscar rolled his eyes, about to reply with something snarky when he made eye contact with Nova. He blinked. “You good? Your eyes are a little red.”

Nova swallowed, looking at this despicable group of people around her. They were a mess, truly. But she was now part of this mess, and happy about it. 

“Yeah, um, I’m fine.” She sniffled. “I actually haven’t been for a while now, but now I am. At least, I think I’ll be.” Her gaze drifted over each of their faces. “You guys know that I...I love you, right?” Even Danna raised her head up, blinking in pleasant surprise. “And…I just wanted to thank all of you for everything you’ve done for me, and for trusting me again despite what I did. I don’t know what I’d do without you guys.” A huge weight felt like it was being lifted off of her shoulders, and Nova had to let out a slow breath. 

Oscar was the first to speak. “Damn, Artino, getting soft on us after only six months?” He tsked and shook his head. “Might as well use that money you’re saving for a motorcycle on a minivan.”

Nova scowled at him. “And you’re a coward.” She nodded her head at the bag of marshmallows in his hand. “Do twenty.”

“Don’t encourage him,” Danna groaned as Oscar started shoving marshmallows in his mouth. Nova laughed, a true laugh. The arms around her waist tightened, and she twisted around to look at Adrian. He had a mixture of shock and something else in his eyes that made Nova’s insides turn upside down. 

“I love you,” she said without hesitation, wrapping her arms around his neck. “I’ll tell you everything later tonight, okay?” And she meant it. 

“I love you too,” he responded gruffly, hand going to the back of her head to pull her closer to him. “I love you so much, Nova Artino.” When they kissed, Nova felt the lightest she had in awhile. She highly doubted that she would ever forget this day, her seventeenth birthday. Compared to a year ago, her life had drastically changed, and for the better. 

At that moment, wrapped up in Adrian’s arms and surrounded by her found family, she was almost positive she felt the proud gaze of two people she missed more than anything in the world.

[gumnut-logic]

When the World Goes Boom (Part Four)

This bit was a challenge to write. I’ve actually moved into writing stuff down for the planning of this fic so things are getting more complicated. I would really like to know why I suddenly can’t write short fic anymore. This one is over 7000 words now with plenty to go ::sigh:: I hope you enjoy it anyway.

Spoilers & Warnings: Spoilers for season three, angst, 2115 words

Many thanks to @scribbles97​ and @i-am-chidorixblossom​ for putting up with my crazy and reading this at random moments.

Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four

-o-o-o-

Gordon accompanied Grandma back to the hospital. His father’s voice had been almost vacant of emotion when he made the request. Scott is asking for his grandmother, can you please come back in.

It wasn’t really a question.

Grandma shot him a worried look as he grabbed his wallet. John was still in the house office. Gordon had tried to speak to his brother, but Eos had growled at him at the door.

He got the message.

Didn’t stop him from worrying.

He recognised they were in a bad spot, but the outlook was positive. Alan was going to get better; Scott should recover soon. It was hard, but not insurmountable and he fought to maintain his positivity. He had to think positive. That was the key to everything.

Grandma was ever so quiet. There was none of her usually bubbly chatter. Instead it was replaced with a silent frown, thoughts obviously churning behind those eyes. It was disturbing. She hadn’t offered to cook a meal since they got here.

“They are getting better, Grandma.”

She blinked and looked over at him. “I know, honey.” A critical blue eye appraised his clothing. “You should bring a jacket. We’re not in the tropics at the moment.”

He rolled his eyes. “Yes, Grandma.”

She had dragged him and Virgil back here late last night, determined that he sleep in his own bed. Gordon hadn’t wanted too. He would rather have stayed with Alan. But his grandmother pointed out, and rightly so, that Alan was sleeping with medication tonight and would be fine under the care of the hospital. Gordon needed his sleep and he needed to go home.

Sure, Gordon needed to go home. This just wasn’t home.

But both brothers did as they were asked.

Somehow Virgil was gone before Gordon woke.

He suspected his older brother was taking his coffee intravenously to be out of bed that early. But he left a note and Gordon was to take the baton after Alan’s dressing changes.

Gordon’s lips thinned just thinking about that, but it meant he was going into the hospital anyway. Their father’s request was just timely.

The house in Parnell was close to everything important in Auckland, including the hospital. The early morning sun was bright and the view across the bay was blue and clear. His body ached for the water, but it wasn’t happening. He turned back to the car and forced a smile at the driver. He got a sad smile in return.

The drive was short, the hospital entrance like a maw, just like all hospital entrances, as he stepped into another world behind those doors.

A world from which he was willing to do anything to free his brothers.

Being Tracys they did get a little extra special treatment. Well, special in the way that they had to have it due to their celebrity. Scott and Alan’s room was separate from the main ICU, hidden away and secured by IR security and Kayo. Once past the guards, a small empty corridor led to three lonely chairs sat against stark white walls beside a door.

His footsteps echoed on the scrubbed linoleum.

Grandma gently took his wrist. “Gordon.” Blue eyes looked into his. “Could you please go and find Virgil and Alan?”

A frown. “Are you okay, Grandma?”

“I’m fine, honey. I just need to speak to your father.”

Alone.

It wasn’t said, but he got the message. “Okay, Grandma. Comm me, if you need me.”

“Always.” A soft smile and her hand briefly cupped his cheek.

He knew his smile in return was weak, but he gave it what he had.

As he turned to leave, the door opened and his tired father emerged. Gordon stopped in his tracks. Dad looked awful. Pale, bags under his eyes, immediate flashbacks to the early days of his return had Gordon’s heart thudding in his chest. A step forward, but Grandma grabbed his wrist again.

“Go find Alan, honey.”

A glance between his father and grandmother. “Okay, Grandma.” His hand wrapped around hers. “Comm me.”

She nodded once and let him go.

A nod, a smile at his father and he spun on his heel and strode back down the corridor.

Worry on his heels.

-o-o-o-

Sally Tracy was tired. But all the Tracys were tired so this was nothing special. Until all her boys were healthy and back with her on the Island, she wouldn’t be happy.

Jeff was overdoing it, of course. Her five grandsons inherited their stubbornness honestly from both sides of their gene pool. Lucy had been just as bad.

She looked up at her son and as always wondered how he had gotten so tall. She would always remember the tiny baby in her arms oh so long ago. He had grown into a man of who she was ever so proud, but the crick in her neck was becoming chronic.

Gordon was a relief.

Not that she would ever tell him.

“Jefferson, you should go home.”

“I plan to.” It was said with such depression her heart skipped a beat.

“Has something happened?” There had been something in his voice over comms, there was everything in his posture and expression now. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s nothing, Mom.”

Hands on her hips. “Don’t you lie to my face, young man.”

“I’m not a young man anymore, Mom. I’m tired. I’m going back to the house.” He gestured towards the door. “Scott asked for you. He’s still a little disorientated. Be careful around the subject of Alan, he’s still forgetting his brother is safe.”

Sally grabbed her son’s wrist, a part of her mind registering the differences compared to Gordon’s

‘Worn’ was the word that came to mind.

She sought his eyes with her own. “What is it, Jeff?”

He twisted gently and wrapped her hand in both of his. “Scott needs you, mom.” A distinctly forced smile. “Go look after your grandson.”

Her lips thinned and she took his hand in hers and led him back into the hospital room. She didn’t miss his frustrated sigh.

“Grandma?”

The fear in Scott’s eyes brought her up short. She knew the symptoms of concussion, had even experienced some herself. She had hoped for some improvement.

She dropped her son’s hand and moved quickly to her grandson’s side. He was sitting up and hugging her before she even had a chance to say his name.

His broad shoulders were trembling. “Scotty?”

He didn’t answer, but his arms tightened. His hair brushed her cheek.

Her hands gripped his back, the hospital gown thin and crinkling under her fingertips. “Scott, honey, talk to me.”

A single sob on her shoulder. Harsh breathing. The tremble became a shake.

She clung tighter.

Behind her the door clicked shut leaving them alone together.

-o-o-o-

Virgil needed coffee.

Virgil needed a bucket of coffee. A swimming pool of coffee.

He needed a brother to get well and stop hurting.

Two brothers.

He sighed and leant against the elevator wall. Jeremy, his security guard, politely kept his eyes on the doors.

Virgil closed his. “I’m sorry, Jez. I’m not much company at the moment.”

“Understandable, Mr Tracy. No need to apologise.”

“Thanks for the early start.”

“Part of the deal, sir.”

Virgil opened his eyes at that. “Sir? Since when am I a ‘sir’?”

Jeremy snorted. “You will always be a ‘sir’, Mr Tracy.”

“You’ve never called me ‘sir’ before.”

His security guard smirked. “I use it as needed, sir.”

“Really? Well, quit it, Jez, or I’ll tell Gordon.”

The mock fear on Jeremy’s face did manage to draw out a small smile on his own lips, which was probably the purpose in the first place. “You should be afraid, very afraid.”

Jeremy dropped the fear and grinned just a little. “I trust you with my life, Mr Tracy, sir.”

It was Virgil’s turn to snort. “Would my squire like some coffee?”

Jeremy shrugged. “If Sir deigns it to happen, it will happen.”

Virgil rolled his eyes as the doors opened on the cafeteria floor. “Mocha or latte?”

“Mocha, thanks, Mr Tracy.” But the answer was distracted as they moved into the crowd, Jeremy’s eyes ever vigilant. The bustle around the elevators was tight and Virgil had no patience for it. It was a relief to break through the crowd into the café itself.

The surprise was to find Gerald, another of their security staff, seated at a table just inside the door. “Gerry? Who’s up here?” Virgil’s eyes tracked the tables and the answer was delivered to him as he caught sight of a lone figure in a dark corner. Pulling out his wallet, he fished out his credit card. “How long?”

Gerry was quiet. “About ten minutes, Mr Virgil.”

The credit card was absently passed to Jeremy. “Jez, get yourself and Gerry some coffee.”

“What about yourself?”

Virgil’s eyes didn’t leave the hunched figure of his father. “I can wait. Please give us some privacy.”

“Yes, Mr Tracy.”

He trusted them. They wouldn’t let him or his father out of their sight, but they would give them some distance and confidentiality.

He approached the table quietly, stepping around patrons and chairs. An ignored holoprojector spat the daytime broadcast from one corner, the sound adding to the drone of the room.

“Dad?”

His father startled, but visibly relaxed when he caught sight of Virgil. “You planning on sneaking up on your old man often?”

“I didn’t sneak, Dad. You okay?”

The sigh of frustration that hissed out between his father’s teeth was loud. “Virgil, for the last time. I am healthy and sane. Can you please stop asking? I’m not about to keel over because my day has been less than perfect.” That last came out quite loud and, if anything, was proof that his father was exactly the opposite of what he said he was.

Virgil kept his mouth shut and didn’t respond. Instead he stepped around the table to the opposite chair. “Is this seat taken?”

“Of course not. Sit down.” His father peered up at him. “Did you sleep last night? You look dead on your feet.”

“I don’t think you can talk, Dad. You didn’t even go home.”

Grey eyes levelled a stare at him, but his father didn’t say anything.

“How’s Scott?”

Something flickered through those eyes before they flickered away. “Not good. Your Grandma is with him.” Dad suddenly found his coffee particularly interesting.

“Still disorientated?” Virgil had already harassed the medical staff regarding Scott’s ongoing issues, but the only answers he could get were that his brother just needed time and rest.

It hurt to see Scott so distressed.

“His memory is erratic. He is terrified for Alan.”

Virgil sighed. “I was on my way to see him.”

“Your grandma has him in hand.”

There was something in his father’s voice. He looked up to find his father frowning at the table top. “Dad?”

“I’m sorry, Virgil.” It was quiet and parched.

“For what?”

The table top kept his father’s attention. “For leaving you.”

It was Virgil’s turn to frown. “It wasn’t your fault. We’ve been over this many times, Dad.”

“Yes, we have.” An indrawn breath. “Doesn’t change the fact I left all six of you to fend for yourselves.”

“We’re adults, Dad. We’re likely to do that anyway.”

Grey eyes slowly looked up and glistened in the fluorescent lighting. “Not like this.”

Virgil nearly didn’t hear the words that passed his father’s lips and as the man shook himself and straightened, he got the distinct impression that he wasn’t supposed to.

The engineer straightened his own shoulders in echo. “Dad, what is going on?”

Those eyes caught his for a split second before turning away again. A sigh. “Nothing, son. Now, you need either a bed or a bucket of coffee. At a guess you’re going to go for the latter, no matter what I say.”

Virgil levelled his gaze at his father, not willing to let the conversation drop.

“Exactly.” He stood up. “Name your poison.”

“TRACY!”

Both men jumped and on the other side of the room the two security officers leapt to their feet.

“How dare you challenge me, Francois Lemaire, in such an infantile manner. If you think I will go down without a fight, you are mistaken. Cry havoc and let slip the dogs of war, I say!”

It took Virgil too many alarmed seconds to realise it was simply the ‘projector in the corner yelling the challenge across the café. Lemaire was outlined in light talking to a reporter. “I will not surrender. You hear me, Tracy? This is war!”

Virgil stared at the hologram.

What the hell?

-o-o-o-

End Part Four

[willel]

Will and El Centric Fic List (November 2018)

Here is a list of some Will and El fics! These are centered around Will and El, not just fics that happen to include them, of which there are many. I’ve created an archive for them on Archive of our own with a few of them already there.

If you know of some fics that should be on this list, let me know! I’m excluding mine from the list. Everyone writes way better than I do, heh. If more fics pop up in the future, I’ll definitely make another compilation post!

Alive again by @gazyrlezon

Summary: Will breathed in, deep. He smelt the sweet, untainted smell of the forests, of the bark on the trees and the needles on the few evergreens that grew in the woods around Hawkins. Even the slight smell of corruption and decay which mixed itself into that felt right and almost refreshing.... 

Review: A cute little short fic. Will decides to go visit El and Hopper in the cabin... on foot... by himself... and he probably didn’t tell anyone he was doing that either. A small hijinks ensues since he doesn’t know of the trap to alert of intruders. 

Your Hand Next to Mine by AlabasterInk

Summary: While everyone is asleep, Will Byers and Eleven take a moment to be children.

Review: A sleepover with pals where the two most affected members of the party (Will and El, of course) bond over reading a little bit of Lord of the Rings. Eventually, they decide some drawing would be a fun way to pass the time while everyone slept. But, Will ends up having a mini-episode leading El to worry. And then she remembers a line I believe Will told her once, I’ve always liked this line. “Sometimes, friends lie because the truth is too scary. Not all lies are bad, and truth doesn’t always fix things.”

Sunflower Sister by Kenya_Illian

Summary: "Despite all the awe and mystery that surrounded her in his eyes, there was a strange connection between him and her that was somehow comforting."  Nightmares are a permanent part of Will's world. Tragically and fortunately for him, they're a part of El's world too.

Review: Another sleepover premise and Will has a horrible nightmare. Luckily, El is there and is able to stir him awake. Will contemplates all the things he knows about her (which isn’t very much at this point) and he notes how everyone treats her pretty gently or sometimes even fragile, but to him she was possibly the strongest person in the world. They both go to chill since it’s like 2am in the morning, and so Will draws. Betcha can’t guess what. It’s SUPER CUTE. Honestly, this might be my favorite Will and El fic.

Smallest Light by callunavulgari

Summary: In the summer of 1986, Will’s mom marries Jim Hopper. OR, Will and El learn how to be real people again.

Review: This is a really cute snapshot of their lives kinda deal. It starts off with Joyce and Hopper’s wedding. Everything is going well, but Will is having a bit of a heat flash/panic attack and wanders off into a bathroom to relax. Of course, eventually, El notices he’s missing and easily finds him in the bathroom. It’s really sweet. Next it goes through some stuff involving school and growing up of course. Doesn’t adventure too far into the future/

MTV Punk by @gazyrlezon​

Summary: “You ran home crying that day, and after that you never saw that freak again. Maybe you even convinced yourself that she wasn’t real, that it was Mike who broke your arm and you just misremembered it. But you didn’t. And in that week, this one freak scared you more than anything else —”Here she turned round, and was satisfied to find him suitably terrified at her knowing all this.“And that freak was me.”

Review: Simply put, and excellent little revenge story. Troy gets his just deserts for messing with her little brother all this time. Doesn’t go too far, but I could certainly see something like this happening if El joins public school eventually and finds out people are messing with Will. Even if she doesn’t join public school, she’d probably show up to school just to do this

that which fate binds together by Whitherward

Summary: Whatever souls are made of, his and mine are the same.

Review: First of all, I already love the summary. This one is similar to Smallest Light in which it is little snippits of Will and El growing up, but it goes a little further into the future and is more detailed. It’s a 7000+ word juicy read full of feels. There’s two pieces in here I really love that I always remember from time to time. To help her learn how to read aloud and read better, Will “forces” her to read to him as practice. SO AS TIME GOES ON, EL LEARNS TO READ BETTER AND WILL FINDS IT STRANGELY EASIER TO SLEEP THROUGH INSOMNIA LISTENING TO HER READ. EL NOTICES THIS AND CONTINUES READING ALOUD TO HIM LONG AFTER SHE’S LEARNED TO READ BETTER ALL THE TIME. HOW CUTE IS THAT. The other is how Will realizes he’s gay. A+. This is probably my favorite Will and El fic as well. Please READ IT. Squeal about it with me.

Not The Monster by Robertdoc 

Summary: Three weeks after the gate is closed, and one week before the Snowball, El finally gets the chance to meet an awake and well Will Byers for the very first time in our dimension. A bonus chapter also gives her the chance to catch up with his mother as well.

Review: Their first meeting <3 It’s so cute. They’re both awkward angels. Will is a bit more excited/energetic than I’d write him to be, but it’s still good. 

Introductions by WriterGirl128

Summary: A Will/Eleven friendship drabble that's made up of some headcanons, some speculation, some fic, borderline meta. Post-S02. "They’ve never had a proper introduction, but they really didn’t need one."

Review: This is kinda a plot bunny fic of what they want out of Will and El.

Bang Bang Bang 'til My Feet Do the Same by Barkour

Summary: Will Byers met Jane at the Snow Ball.

Review: Cute little drabble of the kids awkwardly meeting. 

it's hard to be brave when you're alone in the dark by cdocks

Summary: after the gate is closed, the splintered remains of a family come back together to make a whole || eleven and mike come to visit will and joyce. hopper is there too. primarily eleven-and-will centric.

Review: A wholesome fic where Will isn’t feeling great and El and Mike come to visit. This fic also has one of my favorite lines. “ Out of all the people she’s met -- and there are only a few, few enough that she can count them and not run out of numbers -- it is this boy she’s barely spoken to who she is most like.“

Guys. I love it when Will and El holds hands. It gets all my feels working. Let them hold hands forever.

More Than Okay by EvieSmallwood

Summary: It’s March 22nd. Will Byers takes a walk.

Review: Certainly fluff, they must be well into high school here. Will wonders off alone at night after nightmare and of course, his sister El is the one who finds him pretty easily. I love the idea in pretty much all of these fics that if one or the other is missing somewhere (especially if Will has wondered off somewhere), El will always be the one to find him. And when he’s cold, she’s one of the first ones to warm him up.

painted new by byzinha

Summary: Will wants to teach El some Byers summer traditions.

Review: A very short but very SWEET little fic <3 Will paints flowers on her hands and it’s TOTALLY SWEET, MY FLOWER SUMMER CHILDREN, PROTECT THEM. Ah, you know what. I drew a fanart referencing this without realizing. I want to do a proper fanart for this fic.

Feels Like Home by Aceofstars16

Summary: A fic focusing on Will and El’s friendship developing and growing, changing from knowing of each other, to being friends, to becoming siblings. A bit of a future AU/what I'd love to see happen in the show.

Review: This fic covers their first meeting and beyond. One part I really love in this fic is when El is hanging out with Will the first time, Will isn’t sure what to do. But Jonathan steps in and handles all the awkwardness between them and then after that, Will takes care of the rest. What a good big brother, leading his little siblings down the right path. And this fic has one of my favorite headcanons, El and Will drawing together~ THERE IS THE CUTEST BIT OF DIALOGUE AT THE END. MUST READ

[eirabach]

Coming Home [1/1]

This is 7000 words of love letter to the England football team, and specifically their manager, thinly disguised as CS fic. Gorgeous aesthetic by the incredible @katie-dub who joins me as an inaugural member of the Inappropriate Gareth Southgate Crush fan club.

No matter what happens tomorrow, lads. No matter what.

They’d all laughed when they’d given him the job.

 Years of the finest tacticians the continent could offer - though admittedly there’d been a few turkeys along the way - and the British press had torn each of them to shreds. Failure after failure dropped at their feet, their careers blighted by the inevitable English Curse while their players sold razor blades and fucked pop stars and pocketed their millions and all the time being watched by a nation of children who grew into adults, grew into old men and women who’d never seen an English success story.

 No one wanted to sip from that poisoned chalice. No one dared face the fury of a nation denied again and again and again.

 Luckily, Killian Jones was used to it.

 The Sun, The Mirror, the broadsheets. They’d all sneered at his appointment in their own indomitable ways.

 England Expects… Second Time Lucky For Jones?

 FA Appoint Jones: England’s Sacrificial Lamb

 The Curse Continues for England’s Lost Boys

 Need a Hand There Mate?

 This last accompanied by a pap’s photo of him struggling into training one morning, hair askew, prosthetic unattached.

 (It had been Milah’s birthday the night before, his dreams full of fire and fuelled by rum, and Will had sent him up to the boardroom twenty minutes in when he’d threatened to have the bickering midfield strung up by their ankles and used for penalty practice.)

 He knows there’s no point complaining, nonetheless. It’s not the worst headline they’ve run about England’s manager.

 It’s certainly not the worst headline they’ve run about him.

There is one difference in his appointment to this supposedly sainted position:

 They all agree. Left wing, right wing. Man in the street and professional pundit.

 He’s doomed.

 “You’re doomed, little brother,,” Liam tells him cheerfully as he eats his breakfast propped up against the quartz worktop that Killian knows the Navy didn’t pay for. “Sorry.”

 “Your confidence astounds me.”

 “Your idiocy astounds me! What was the matter with punditry? I thought you enjoyed it! It paid the bills -“

 “I don’t care about the bills.”

 “Spoken like a man who doesn’t worry about next months nursery fees - Killian listen -“ Liam puts down his bowl and leans forward, pleading. “they’ll tear you apart. Don’t - I don’t want to watch that again.”

 “I won’t do any more pizza adverts if that’s what you’re worried about,” Killian grumbles, snatching the bowl and rinsing it immediately.

 “Have you forgotten what it was like?” Liam asks, aghast. “They crucified you, little brother, the shame -“

 “You don’t need to tell me about shame,” Killian snaps. “As for forgetting - I’ve spent twenty years -“

 “Pretending! Pretending that you’re a drunk and a womaniser and that you didn’t - don’t - care but Killian -“

 “Get out.” The words are ice, the warm kitchen physically cooling in their wake. Liam looks briefly shocked.

 “Pardon?”

 “You heard me,” Killian grits out. “I’ve enough to deal with from the press I don’t need my own brother -“

 “I’m trying to protect you!”

 Oh, he knows. He’s always known.

 Six years old, newly motherless and utterly rudderless, ferried to practice on the cross bar of Liam’s bike.

 Eighteen and capped for his country, hyperventilating in a public toilet while Liam guarded the door.

 Twenty and certain, oh so certain, standing at the spot and Liam watching from the touchline.

 Oh so certain and oh so wrong.

 And he knows, but he has to because this - this is his chance. His last, only chance.

 He has to lay the ghosts to rest. He has to.

 And he can’t let anything, not even Liam, not even his own inability to believe - to dream - stop him.

 “I don’t need your protection!” Killian spits. “I’m done, Liam! I’m not that little kid you scolded for risky tackling anymore! I’ve lived under this shadow half my life! I need to move on. I need -“

 I need to believe. I need you to believe in me.

 “You need a better team,” Liam says, “tell me you’ve that, at least.”

 “Oh aye.” Killian calms, smug satisfaction slipping into his voice. “That, I can promise you.”

 —-

 Qualifying, and judging by Liam’s expletive strewn text when the teamsheet is announced he’s starting as the tabloids expect.

 Badly.

 I know several promising four year olds, brother, should I send them over?

 Mills?! He’s a fetus, Killian.

 A fetus who can play.

 You’d better hope so, brother. The whole bloody country hopes so.

 Mills might be the youngest player on the pitch - 18 and a pale but determined figure in the goal mouth - but the whole team is Killian’s own creation.

 Gone are the men who’d bickered and sneered at each other. Gone are those who saw playing for their country as a chore - one they’d rather avoid when the off season is full of better financial offers - and those too exhausted by failure to dare to dream of success.

 Killian has been one of them, once. Late at night, the back pages spread out around him in his empty house and the rum bottle far too close by, he thinks he still might be. But then he sees the gleam in the eyes of a player like Mills and he thinks enough.

 Enough.

 It’s time.

 Shame no one told the opposition. Or the ref.

 It’s another high tackle, studs up as England make a break for goal, and once again the ref waves it off with an indirect free kick.

 The crowd bellow their displeasure but they’ve nothing on Will, whose furious gesticulating at the touchline makes him look like some sort of tracksuit clad dervish.

 “That’s a red!” he bellows. “A RED!”

 Except it isn’t. It’s a free kick that the opposition defence clear from danger a little too easily. Again.

 A nasty, creeping sense of foreboding tickles at the back of Killian’s neck as the cameras focus on his face and the hacks start writing.

 He doesn’t believe in curses.

 He doesn’t.

 “Sit down, Will. You’ll rupture and the Sun will have your innards. Literally.”

 “You’re not serious, gaffer? Didn’t you see -“

 Killian grits his teeth.

 “Sit down. They’re watching.”

 Will stamps back to his seat, face creased in fury.

 “They’re always bloody watching, gaffer. That’s their bloody job. Ref need to do his.”

 “Don’t you worry about the ref’s job,” Killian says grimly, eyes on the way midfield can’t quite connect their passes, mind already on the talk he’ll have to give at half time.

 Calm. Collected. Everything he hasn’t been for longer than he likes to think.

 (Once he had been. Before the penalty spot. Before Milah and the drink and the accident. Once. He’s sure he was.)

 “Worry about ours.”

 —-

 They’d all laughed when they’d given her the job.

 Laughed and crowed and cat called their way through her first press conference that absolutely had to be held because she’s the first and she’s important.

 She’d always imagined it would feel better than this.

 David sits on the end of her futon, half a pizza balanced precariously on his knee as he bounces his leg. A nervous tick he’s had since childhood, and he’s never more nervous than when he risks Emma’s wrath.

 “I’m just not sure this is a good idea, Emma.”

 “Really? Money is a bad idea now?” Emma chews on her own piece of pizza and shrugs. “Could have fooled me.”

 “It’s not about the money. You know what soccer fans are like!”

 “Well I should,” Emma agrees, “I’ve been one all my life.”

 “Yeah, and look at the grief you got even then! And Russia. It’s a different world, Emma.”

 “I’m pretty sure it isn't. And I can handle myself. I’ve done it long enough.”

 David’s face falls and she regrets the sharpness almost immediately, but she can’t quite bring herself to apologise, or to admit the truth.

 Frankly, she’s terrified.

 Emma is used to being on her own, abandoned at birth and bounced around the foster system until she’d finally ended up with David and his mother and had to learn how to function as part of a family.

 It’d been hard, even now she’s sure she isn’t as good a sister - as good a person - as she ought to be, but soccer had helped.

 Soccer had always helped. Soccer was all she’d had.

 Playing, supporting, being a part of something, no matter how small and shitty the team or how little time she spent there it had taught her how to work with others, relate to them, when the temptation had been to run away and rely on her own wits.

 Not that there hadn’t been moments, bad homes and tempting offers from worse boys, but soccer had kept her feet on the ground.

 Now her playing days are over - the disadvantage of her permanent home had been that the women’s game was not wildly popular in Podunk Storybrooke, Maine - and yet.

 And yet.

 She’d taken her refereeing qualifications to keep her eye in, starting with the kids matches and then moving up, up to college level, up to the leagues.

 Up to the World Cup.

 The first woman referee in the history of the competition.

 The American papers hadn’t taken too much notice, the USA had failed to qualify and the country as a whole preferred their football to contain more brute force than finesse, but Europe -

 She wishes David hadn’t read the comments.

 She wishes she hadn’t read the comments.

 But he did and she has and still. She’s going. She has to.

 “I have to,” she tells him, trying for reassuring and catching his pizza slice as it makes a bid for freedom. “You know I have to.”

 David smiles.

 “Yeah,” he says. “Yeah, I know. But don’t let them mess you about. You’re the best. Don’t forget that.”

 Emma smiles. Small and a little sly.

 “Oh I promise. They won’t know what hit them.”

 —-

 They’re through by the skin of their teeth, paparazzi nipping at their heels as they arrive in Russia in neatly tailored suits that don’t show the sweat stains. Mills’ suit trousers are two inches too short and the team surround him as they scurry through the airport to the waiting team bus like so many elephants protecting the baby of the herd from the gathering hyenas.

 Which, Killian supposed, they more or less were.

 Qualifying hadn’t made the press back off. Qualifying had made the press hungry.

 “Jones! Jones! How are you feeling?”

 “Any regrets?”

 “Is this England’s year?”

 “Are you worried about penalties?”

 “What about the curse?”

 Killian lifts his chin, marching onward to the bus without giving the press anything but the small, polite wave that he knows is obligatory and keeping his glare for the moment their out of sight.

 “Bunch of tossers,” says Will cheerfully, his arm slung over Mills’ shoulder. “Better keep ‘em sweet eh lads?”

 The lads cheer, and Will guffaws in approval, but Killian is miles away. Decades away.

 Wearing his own suit and the weight of expectation hanging round his neck and -

 It’s coming home, it’s coming…

 “Gaffer?”

 They’re at the bus and Will is looking at him through too shrewd eyes. There’s a reason Killian picked him as his number two, after all. Liam worries and the papers speculate, but Will? Will knows.

 “All right?”

 “Ask me in a month,” Killian mutters grimly, then boards the bus with a studied grin and a bellow of “Here we go, lads! Here we go!”

 —-

 Here we go, Emma thinks, handing in her credentials to an incredulous Russian official. Here we goddamn go.

 The official calls over a couple of his pals who all mutter uncertainly amongst themselves, before finally stamping card and handing over her ID with a suspicious glare and minimal manners.

 That the officials are confused by her presence is surprising in that they invited her - and it isn’t like Emma Swan is a particularly gender neutral name - but the teams, well.

 Confusion would be a blessing.

 Her language skills are pretty basic - she barely scraped her GED and most of her high school Spanish lessons were spent searching the dictionaries for words to keep an amorous temporary sibling at bay - but she doesn’t need google translate to get the jist of their opinions.

 And they do seem to have a lot of them. And none of them are good.

 “I just don’t see what you being a woman has to do with…” Mary Margaret gesticulates weakly to the pocket of Emma’s uniform when she returns to the hotel room “that.”

 “When I pull a card, it’s touched my boob,” Emma says, eyes already scanning the fixture list she’s been given. “Apparently that excites them.”

 “But they have to respect you, surely?” Mary Margaret is wide eyed on the bed, and Emma feels a rush of affection for her sweet natured sister in law. Affection, and a touch of pity. “You’re the referee!”

 “Because soccer players are so famous for their respect for the laws of the game? Didn’t you see Neymar in qualifying? He spent so much of the match on the floor Gaston went to make a cup of coffee before resuming play.”

 “You know I don’t understand anything you just said, right?” Mary Margaret leans forward and squeezes Emma’s leg. “But I have faith. You’re brilliant, Emma. I believe in you.”

 “Thanks.” Emma smiles at her. “But it’s fine. They’ll get used to me I guess.”

 Mary Margaret raises her eyebrows.

 “You’re a trailblazer Emma, you know that? I’m so proud of you.”

 Emma shrugs, picking at the edge of her shirt. It’s too big, but that’s not unusual. At least she hasn’t had to fashion a belt from her whistle strap this time.

 “It’s just a job, Mary Margaret.”

 “Is it?”

 Emma bites her lip.

 “All right,” she admits. “It’s a big deal. The biggest. What if I fuck up? Make the wrong call? I could fuck the whole thing over - the cup, myself, fucking feminism, the lot - I-“

 “Who’s fucking what up now?”

 David sticks his head around the door, eyes narrowed and full cop-face on display. Emma licks her suddenly dry lips and shrugs again. Mary Margaret sighs.

 “Emma’s having a crisis of confidence.”

 “Am not.”

 “Emma -“

 “Hey.” He pulls her into his arms, cradling her head in his hand and she burrows her chin into his shoulder without even meaning to. “It’s ok to be nervous. If you weren’t nervous you wouldn’t care. And you care so much Emma. You love this game. You were made for this.”

 “Tell the papers that.”

 “Oh screw the papers!” David snaps, “what the fuck do they know!”

 Mary Margaret gasps. “David!”

 David pulls back from the hug and grips Emma’s shoulders.

 “They’ll write whatever they want,” he says fiercely. “You should see the shit they write about their own countries! Forget them. You can do this. You’re good - no, you’re the best. They’ll be clammering to have you in charge of their games you’ll see.”

 “That’s not really how it works.”

 “That’s not really my point.”

 Emma laughs, a little softly but genuinely enough, and shakes her head.

 “Do you give these pep talks to everyone or?”

 David grins.

 “Just my favourites.”

 —-

 Watching the competition might be necessary, but Killian’s never found it very relaxing.

 It’s a constant stream of analysis, of tactics, of how do we and what if they, and it’s exhausting. Especially scrappy, messy games like this where the players seem to spend more time arguing than concentrating on the play.

 Both sides are particularly keen to share their sob stories with the ref, arms flailing and spittle flying, and that’s not usual, nor at all, but the ref -

 The ref is.

 He’d known she was here, of course. Even in avoiding the press as much as he tries to, things like the first woman to referee a World Cup game do tend to sneak through, and he can’t help but feel a frisson of pride when he sees her step up to call the coin toss. A sense that the game that he’s dedicated his life to might - just might - be beginning to move towards something better and brighter.

 “At least we’re group favourites,” mumbles Will as Portugal create a chance from nothing (how do you defend nothing? Where do you even begin?) “Or second favourites.”

 Killian rolls his eyes. He’s long since stopped relying on betting shops for his predictions.

 “We went out last time to a dentist and a guy who runs a doggy day care, or did you forget?”

 Will winces. “That was different.”

 “That was the Euros. This is bigger.”

 Will gives him a sideways look.

 “All right, spill,” he asks. “What’s got your goat? You’re a miserable fuck right enough but you’re even worse than usual.”

 Killian doesn’t even look at him. “And you’re charming as ever.”

 “Jones.”

 “Scarlet.”

 “I've got a feeling,” Will says, and Killian closes his eyes briefly. Scarlet once he gets going is like a dog with a bone, and it’s useful in training certainly but rather less helpful when directed at Killian personally.

 “Just the one?”

 “Oi. Listen.” The sideways look becomes a full on glare. “Have you been on twitter again?”

 Killian shakes his head.

 “I don’t -“

 “Because Liam says -“

 Liam says a lot of things. Says them on phones calls and on WhatsApp and in Killian’s head at the side of the training pitch and in the dead of night.

 None of which he wants to think about when he’s watching Ronaldo systematically destroy a defence.

 “Oh you’ve been gossiping about me with my brother? Very loyal of you Scarlet. I’ll remember that next time I find you with your head in the toilet.”

 “No we was just -“

 There’s a roar from the crowd, a huddle of players surrounding the ref who’s barely even visible among the sea of waving arms gesturing in her direction.

 “Christ! Look at that!”

 It happens in less time than it takes Will to point, one moment the referee is standing in the centre of what’s become a mob, the next she’s on the ground, struggling to her feet.

 A flash of red and there’s a man off and a spreading mark on the side of the ref’s face.

 “He’s banned,” Will states grimly. “Won’t see him again this year. Stupid mistake.”

 “Mistake?” Killian scowls. “Bringing the game into disrepute!”

 “Yeah, well.” The ref blows her whistle. Play resumes with several players looking rather shamefaced. “Let’s see how that works out for them.”

 —-

 It doesn’t.

 The final whistle sees the ten men traipse miserably from the field while their opponents celebrate with a lap of honour.

 The ref follows them off. The mark on her face has faded but even from where Killian sits in the box he can see the set of her shoulders, the anger in her gait.

 He’s walked off like that. Worse than that. He’d had Liam and Rob - poor long suffering Rob who’d held this job longer than any other man had managed - but the ref…

 He hopes she has someone waiting for her in the tunnel.

 He hopes.

 He gets to his feet.

 Hope isn’t enough. It never is.

 “Where are you going?!” Will calls after him as he heads for the staircase. “You promised me a drink!”

 “I need to go check on something.”

 Will laughs, wagging his finger after Killian as though he’s a naughty schoolboy.

 “Something. Sure. Have fun with something. Don’t get us disqualified, yeah?”

 Killian doesn’t turn back.

 “Don’t be crass, Scarlet.”

 “Don’t be changing the habits of a lifetime, Jones,” Will trills. “Tell her she made the right call on that penalty, yeah?”

 “Yeah yeah,” Killian mutters. No point in denial. “I will.”

 —-

 He means to.

 But then he finds her at the end of the tunnel, leaning against the wall next to what appear to be a storage cupboard with a poorly scrawled female figure sellotaped to it. Her fists are clenched and her breathing laboured, and for the first time in his whole life he can’t quite bring himself to talk about football.

 She’s beautiful. He really tries not to notice, but he’s not blind. Furious green eyes and a wild halo of blonde hair from where it’s escaped from it’s ponytail, a sharp chin that juts in his direction as she snaps, “What?”

 His heart jumps in a way it hasn’t for decades - not since his playing days, not since Milah - and it’s stupid because he’s forty and he has a reputation but his tongue feels too big for his mouth, his legs unsteady in the face of her flushed cheeks and steely glare.

 He came to say something, didn’t he? He’s sure he was meant to say something.

 “You ok pal?” She pushes back from the wall, hands on her hips. “You lost?”

 Something like that, he thinks. Something very like that.

 “He shouldn’t have done that,” he manages. “It was disrespectful.”

 She scoffs. “What, cause I’m a woman?”

 “No. Because you’re the ref.”

 “Don’t condone dissent huh?” She narrows her eyes. “You’re Jones.”

 “I see you’ve heard of me.” He grins, and it pulls a little at the corner of his mouth as though it’s wider than usual. “You can look up my discipline record if you like, I was a fairly good boy.”

 She lifts one eyebrow and scoffs again, but there’s a smile threatening at the edge of her mouth.

 “On the pitch maybe.”

 “Maybe.” Mostly. But he knows what she’s referring to. There’d been a lot of rum, after. A lot of regrets. He’s never regretted them quite as much as he does now though. “Are you quite all right, though? Truly?”

 “I’m fine.” She shrugs. “I mean - I’ve had worse.”

 He bets she has. The thought doesn’t comfort him any more than he expects it comforts her.

 “Not quite what I asked, Swan.”

 “How do you know my name?”

 Smooth, Jones. Very smooth. Follow a woman into a dark corridor and then act like a stalker.

 “I read,” he says in an attempt at justification. “There aren’t many refs who go by “Emma””

 “Not here there aren’t. I uh -“ she waves in the direction of the cupboard. “Ought to get to my locker room.”

 It’s his turn to scoff now.

 He loves this game, he does, but by god does it have a long way to go.

 “A generous term, but as it’s yours I’ll allow it. See you around, Swan.”

 “Belgium,” she says, and her expression turns surprised as though the word has escaped without her permission.

 “Pardon?”

 “I’m assisting. At the Belgium game. So I’ll see you there. At Belgium.”

 Oh yes. Football. The most important thing in his life. The only thing.

 She smiles, and something in his chest roars to life.

 Belgium. He’ll see her at Belgium.

 “I look forward to it.”

 —-

 The canteen is a riot of colour and languages, hundreds of people swarming through with plates of food Emma couldn’t name with a gun to her head and jostling for space at long tables.

 The three of them pause in the doorway, all looking for a spot where they can sit together. Emma sees it first.

 “Dibs!” she calls. “Mary Margaret?”

 “On it!” She calls in return, heading for the snaking line at the food counters as Emma and David bolt for the free seats.

 It’s only when she gets closer that Emma realises who’s sitting opposite, handsome profile partially obscured by a tactical notebook.

 David’s eyes narrow then grow large and round as saucers.

 “Isn’t that..?”

 “Swan!” Killian Jones beams at her and her traitorous heart skips a beat. “Excellent job in the Croatia game last night!”

 “Thanks,” she mumbles, and god if she’s blushing David will never let her live it down. “It was a good game.”

 “The best,” Killian agrees, then his eyes flick from hers to David and the megawatt smile dims ever so slightly. “I don’t believe we’ve met.”

 “Oh!” Emma gestures between them. “This is my brother, David. This is -“

 “Killian Jones,” David says, and Emma does a double take at the breathiness of his tone. “I know who you are.”

 “My reputation precedes me,” says Killian. “I’d ask if it were all good but, alas -“

 “You were the best left winger of your generation! Your pace! There was nothing you couldn’t outrun!”

 Emma watches with interest as Killian’s cheeks flush pink.

 “Nothing but time and bad choices, at least.”

 David shuffles on the spot, “I guess, but -“

 “Meatballs!” Mary Margaret drops the tray in the table with a cheerful smile. “Everyone loves meatballs, right?”

 “Works for me,” says Emma. “Killian?”

 “Metabolism isn’t up to it these days,” he says, patting the leather waistcoat that’s his calling card in the technical area.

 Emma shrugs. “Suit yourself. Doesn’t look like there’s much wrong with you to me.”

 The words are out before she can stop them, fucking so smooth, Emma, Jesus, but Killian Jones just looks a little bit sad.

 She’d expected an innuendo.

 She’d have preferred an innuendo.

 “I assure you, there’s nothing at all wrong with me. Well.” He lifts his left hand and smiles wearily.  “Apart from the obvious.”

 “Oh dear!” Mary Margaret leans over the table and rests her hand over the metal contraption at the end of his wrist. “I’m so sorry.”

 “Don’t be,” says Killian, but there’s a furtive look in his eyes that Emma is familiar with. She gets the same look in hers when someone asks about her family. The look that means you’re preparing a lie. “An old wound.”

 And doesn’t she know how they never quite heal.

 “David,” she says, a little too sharply, “Have you sorted the flights to Sochi yet?”

 “No I was going to -“

 “The agent is holding a meeting this afternoon - if you get there early enough maybe they can get you priority seats?”

 “But -“

 Mary Margaret is looking between Emma and Killian with a look of gradually dawning comprehension.

 “Good idea,” she says, “come on David.”

 “But -“

 “We can get a doggy bag, I don’t want to risk missing the flight -“

 She grins at Emma over David’s shoulder as she leads him away, two plates of meatballs balanced in her arms, and wriggles her eyebrows.

 Subtle, thinks Emma. But then Killian Jones is sitting opposite her at the canteen table, lips curled into a smile and eyes fixed on hers, and she thinks.

 Maybe subtlety is overrated.

 —-

 He appreciates that Emma is not staring at his left hand, in fact she barely seems to have acknowledged it, but then it is common knowledge.

 Greatest player of his generation fails spectacularly on the world stage. Goes utterly off the rails. Loses his form. Loses his hand.

 It’s hardly a secret.

 He doesn’t know why he has the urge to tell her about the few things that are.

 “It was an accident.” He taps his prosthetic on the table. “I was -“

 Emma lifts an eyebrow. “I know. Everyone knows. You don’t need to tell me.”

 “Most people want the gory details.”

 “You’re good.” Emma waves her fork over the meatballs. “Must have been hard, losing your career like that.”

 “It wasn’t the worst thing I lost,” says Killian. “Not by far.”

 “I’m sorry,” she says, and she sounds like she actually means it, a little furrow firming between her eyes. “I didn’t mean… I’m sorry. About your wife.”

 There had been a time not so very long ago when even the word had been enough to send him into a spiral of furious misery. Wife. Always said in that same odd tone of pity with a frisson of thrill, as though their genuine sympathy for his loss is merely a veneer to disguise their prying.

 It doesn’t sound like that when Emma says it.

 It sounds like she means it.

 He isn’t sure quite what to make of that.

 “You have done your research. There are laws against stalking you know.”

 She smiles, and her whole face lights up and he’s screwed.

 “Says you.”

 “Fair point.”

 So screwed.

 “So,” she leans forward, eyes flicking left and right. “Tell me. Is it true?”

 God. What a question. Which part? The drink? The drugs? The women and the days that he can’t remember.

 The years he can’t remember.

 “What?”

 “You know.” Her smile turns conspiratorial. “About the team.”

 “What?” he says again, dumbly.

 “I heard a rumour. Something about blow up unicorns on the swimming pool roof?”

 Killian releases a breath he hadn’t known he was holding.

 “Tell me,” he says, leaning in himself until their noses are only inches apart. “What do you know about Will Scarlet?”

 —-

 They’re losing. Losing to the flies, to the heat, to a Belgian team that - deep in his heart of hearts - he knows have a much more substantial chance of carrying the trophy home than they do.

 He ought to care, and he does, he does, but it’s difficult to give the pitch his full attention when Swan is four feet away, her own laser focus on the game putting him to shame.

 They’re through anyway, he tells himself to assuage his guilt. They’re through anyway, and he’s only human after all.

 He spends half time buoying up the boys as best he can. They, at least, are gutted by the scoreline. Young Mills is grey-faced in his neon green shirt, muttering apologies for a goal that Killian knows, knows, the Sun will lay the blame for at his inexperienced feet.

 “There’s no need, lad,” he tells him after the fifth I’m so sorry. “You show me a keeper who says kept a clean sheet in every game and I’ll show you a liar. What’s done is done. It’s over. The next forty five minutes. The next game. That’s what I want you to concentrate on. That’s what matters. You can beat yourself up, or you can beat the rest, which is it?”

 Mills nods, hands clenching and unclenching as he works out the nervous cramps, and the whole tea return to the field with a determination that hadn’t been there before the break.

 “Nice speech,” mutters Will. “Taking your own advice?”

 Kilian quirks an eyebrow and waits for the television cameras to sweep over them before he answers.

 “What’s that supposed to mean?”

 “If you don’t know what I mean, why’d you wait for the tv to bugger off?”

 “I had to make sure they got my best side.”

 “Sure you -”

 The crowd roars, a chance for England, and Killian’s half to his feet before the whistle goes. Emma’s flag is up. Offside.

 He hopes that’s not a metaphor.

 “Least she’s being careful not to play favourites,” Will grumbles.

 Killian glares at him. “She’s doing her job.”

 “Aye, and I’m doing mine.”

 Will and Killian lock eyes.

 “I’m not sure I like what you’re insinuating, Scarlett.”

 “And I ain’t sure I like this scoreline. But hey.” Will smiles, and shows a few too many teeth. “Could be worse. Let’s avoid Brazil, yeah?”

 “Yeah,” Killian mutters.

 There’s another English miss that they really should have buried and the crowd jeer and hoot their disapproval.

 “Could be worse.”

 —-

 Emma leaves the pitch sweaty and with at least half a dozen midges having met their end on her face, but she doesn’t head straight to the showers. Killian Jones is on the pitch surrounded by tv cameras and well made-up journalists, and she can’t help but watch, fascinated, from the edge of the now empty stands as they round on him like a pack of smiling hyenas.

 “Is this the end for England’s run, Killian?”

 “Do you regret the choice to bring Mills?”

 “What went wrong out there today, Killian?”

 You’d think they’d gone out, such were the accusations, the sharp disapproval in their faces, but they haven’t. Emma has carefully filled in the wallchart David has hung up in their hotel room. She knows this is the better side of the draw. The luckier side.

 She wants to tell Killian, even though it’s ridiculous because he knows, he knows, but he’s standing under the floodlights, dark brows furrowed as he tries to answer the questions that are barked at him, and somehow it seems very important that she makes sure.

 It’s an age until he leaves. Her uniform is sticking to her, her hair is standing on end. She needs a shower, desperately.

 But his expression is still dark and yeah. Yeah.

 This is a guy who knows what desperation really looks like.

 “You played well.”

 She follows him into the tunnel, checking briefly over her shoulder for paps as she does so. He doesn’t look at her, but he slows his pace so that she can catch up.

 It’s a start.

 “I’m afraid you much have me confused with someone half my age, Swan. I sat on my arse.”

 “You know what I mean.”

 He sighs. “Do I?”

 “Hey!” She grabs his elbow, forcing him to turn and look at her. “You’re not angry at them, are you?”

 Killian gapes at her. “Angry at them? Christ, no. I’m angry at myself.”

 “Why? You’re not responsible for what the press - “

 “Oh aren’t I? Aren’t I? If I’d scored -“

 He’s moved closer, and it’s her turn to stare at him blankly. Her hand is still on his elbow, fingers wound tight into the fabric of his shirt, and it suddenly feels very important that she not let go.

 “Wait, what?”

 He closes his eyes.

 “We were so close, Swan!”

 It takes her a moment. Of course it does, she was just a kid back then, 15 and with a family for the first time in her life. A family and her beloved soccer, and hadn’t that been the best summer of her life? So yeah, it takes her a moment to remember it must have seemed like the worst of his.

 “This is about that penalty?” She releases her death grip on his shirt and runs her hand up his arm. “Killian it’s been twenty years -“

 He shrugs off her attempt at comfort, jabbing his finger bitterly towards where the press had gathered.

 “And every year that passes they get worse. I know what they’ll be saying about Henry Mills tonight, and I’m sick of it. Sick of it.”

 “Killian! Killian -“

 There’s movement at the entrance to the tunnel and they shrink back into the shadows as one.

 “Don’t let them get to you like this,” Emma hisses. “They can’t play. They can’t do what you do.”

 “Any idiot can do what I do and several do. Ask the German press.”

 “I don’t believe that.” Emma folds her arms and looks at him critically: “you’ve stood on this stage before. You know how it feels. The love. The fear. That matters you know. You know how to be part of something.”

 He shakes his head.

 “All I know is how to fail at the last hurdle.”

 “If you say so, but I read, Jones. I know what you’ve overcome to get here.” She looks him up and down, gaze lingering for just a second on his prosthetic before flicking to his face. His mouth. She swallows.  “Doesn’t look like failure to me.”

——

 The lads are ready, or at least they think they are, but Killian has been here before (albeit only on the European stage), and he knows nothing - nothing - can prepare you for the moment you walk out into a pitch for a game like this.

 The quarter finals. The knockout stages of a World Cup.

 Not that there’s any pressure of course. The English are infamously restrained when it comes to sporting success, and if Killian is having to grit his teeth every time someone asks him if it’s coming home then at least it’s better than being asked when their flight is. He’s hidden himself away in the corridor between the boxes and the dressing room staircase,trying to take a moment to breath in between greeting passing dignitaries.

 Amazingly he’s managed not to be sick, but the night is young yet.

 “Hey.”

 Her voice is so soft he first thinks he’s hallucinating from nervous exhaustion, but she’s there, scuffing the toe of her sneaker along the concrete floor and wringing her fingers together.

 “I wanted to see if you were ok.”

 Killian stares at her. No, he isn’t. He’s not at all okay and yet…

 “Of course, Swan. All the better for seeing you.”

 Emma rolls her eyes, but she smiles all the same.

 “Yeah, well.” She looks him up and down. “Didn’t want you freaking out. Again.”

 “I don’t freak out, Swan.”

 “If you say so.”

 She steps a little closer then hesitates, checking the corridor for eavesdroppers before admitting, “I shouldn’t really be here.”

 “No I suppose not. I didn’t think you were allowed to play favourites?”

 “Please. Who says I’m supporting you?”

 He lifts an eyebrow.

 “Did I insinuate such a thing?”

 “Hmm.” She tilts her head to one side and considers him. “You didn’t have to.”

 “Dangerous ground that, Swan. Very dangerous.”

 They stare at each other for a moment, and Killian feels himself swaying toward her unintentionally, captivated by the glint in her eye and the way she worries her lip between her teeth.

 This is dangerous ground, all right.

 “It doesn’t matter, anyway,” she says, “I can support you now. That is if I want to, which I’m not saying I do.”

 “What?”

 She gestures to her outfit and he realises belatedly she’s not in her kit. “My matches are done. I should be flying home today.”

 “Forgive me but you’re a long way from the airport.”

 “Yeah well,” she grins, then points into the crowd. “Somebody insisted on staying a little while longer.”

 She holds out her phone to show him a picture.

 David is standing, draped in red and white, his arms outstretched as he bellows along to a song. Beside him Mary Margaret is engrossed in a programme.

 “I think he’s become quite the fan,” Emma says with a wink. “He’s started drinking lager.”

 “Heaven forfend,”says Killian. “And what about you, can I count on you for a little flag waving? Since you’re free of your obligations?”

 Emma snorts.

 “That might be pushing it. David’s far more partisan than me.”

 Speaking of pushing it. He can hear people approaching from the far end of the corridor and his ears are burning from the dressing down Will is bound to give him if he’s late to the dressing room and he shouldn’t and yet -

 “Then how will I know you’re on my side?”

 She looks at him. Wide, shrewd, knowing green eyes, and takes another step closer.

 “Guess you won’t. But just in case -“

 Will’s going to kill him, the press will have his guts, but Emma Swan’s lips are warm and a little bit chapped, and the whistle can wait.

 —-

 The equalise against the run of play with thirty seconds left on the clock.

 He can’t believe it. No one can believe it. It’s been a hideous, scrappy game full of gamesmanship and frustrated revenge, and they don;t deserve to lose lie this, They don’t.

 In football, as in life, you so rarely get what you deserve.

 The team spend the first fifteen minutes of extra time in a fog of disbelief, the second in a haze of desperation, but it’s no good.

 Penalties.

 Bloody hell, penalties.

 They’ve practiced, they’ve all practiced, hour after hour on the training pitch, their tactics and takers agreed weeks in advance, but nothing can prepare them for the reality.

 Nothing could have prepared him for the reality.

 (I’ll take it, Rob. I’ll do it.

 Are you sure?

 Certain.)

 He’s never been less certain than he is now, but there’s no time for worrying about his nerves.

 “Gaffer?”

 Mills is pale but determined, water bottle clutched tight in his hand.

 “You’ll be okay, lad,” Killian assures him. “Just as we’ve practiced, aye?”

 “Yeah, of course,” Mills nods as though he’s never considered any other possibility. “I’m fine - are you okay?”

 He almost brushes it off, but his spine is still tingling from Emma’s kiss, his knees still unsteady after twenty years of regret, and Mills is so sincere, so brave, so very, very young.

“Shitting myself, mate.” Will slaps them both on the shoulders, and the moment is gone. “Let’s do it.”

 “Yeah,” Mills lets out a deep breath.

 Killian may never breathe again. “Lets.”

 ---

 The only sounds worse than the ball thudding off the crossbar are the squealing of tyres and the crunch of bone. He knows this, knows it intimately, but he winces all the same, his heart shrivelling in his chest.

 We'll go on getting bad results… getting bad results….

 That fucking song. That fucking song.

 Mills is up again and Killian can see the pressure hanging over him, hanging over the rest of the team as they gather in a huddle at the halfway line, can feel it like a physical barrier as he toes at the edge of the area.

 The ball is on the spot. In the air.

 In Mill’s hands.

 There’s a high pitched squealing sound as though someone is letting down an enormous balloon, and Killian just catches sight of Will falling to his knees as England step back up to the spot.

 And win.

 And win.

 ---

 He eats grass while lying flat on his face beneath a mound of grown men who’ve suddenly become puppies. He mops up the tears of the devastated lad who missed because that sort of pain, that hurt, transcends all boundaries of time and language. He applauds and dances in front of a stand of sobbing fans who scrub their faces with their flags and sing that song, that fucking song, until his ears are ringing.

 And then it’s dark, and quiet. And he’s alone in a stadium that reaches up to a cloudless, star-filled sky.

 Well, almost alone.

 Emma curls her fingers around his as she gazes up at the heavens and he in turn studies her profile, the curve of her cheek standing out against the distant chalk white of the goalposts.

 And for the first time in twenty years, he dares to believe.

[fortress-of-iserlohn]

Please tell me more about Reuenthal/Yang, I have never considered this ship before (Reinhard/Yang is my usual poison of choice) but now I can't stop thinking about it. I need AUs! And canon-divergence! And - please just tell me as many ways this could happen as you can, in as much detail as possible!

howdy anon friend i am fajsdofjsaf. honoured that you are considering my tiny lil raft ship and just HELLO

but really. you have certainly come to the right place! i am here to fulfil all of your AU and canon-divergence needs :D

beneath this cut you shall find TRASH wonder and MORE TRASH all your dreams come to life

alright let’s start with canon-divergence because this one is slightly less quantity and quality because canon fic is really hard??? (and also i am admittedly writing one right now and i don’t wanna give away too much :3????)

logh has all these cool plot points where the outcome changes depending on the action the character in question takes!!!!

ie. what if yang took schonkopf with him to meet with reinhardt the second time?

or like. what if yang disobeyed the orders from hq to stop the battle of vermillion?

or, my personal favourite, what if yang decided that schonkopf was right and then basically declared iserlohn an independent entity and the thirteenth fleet + iserlohn basically divorced themselves from the fpa???? 

seriously though. do you think either faction could’ve taken the fortress back by force? reinhardt probably eventually could, but in his best interests, he leaves yang alone and goes to crush the fpa first, then comes back to negotiate a truce.

but anyway, we’re here to talk about my favourite thing in the world - reuenthal/yang, so i’ll leave my crying about what if canon for later.

CANON DIVERGENCE REUENTHAL/YANG.

i don’t have much on this because i’ve yet to finish the source material but i will have. more. one. day. (i hope)

also pls note that i’m not big on plot beyond trashy fluff, so this is probably stupendously ooc and i can’t fix it just let me have my otp pls asofmsaodfijas

1. the star crossed lovers thing - where reuenthal accompanied kircheis to negotiate the exchange of prisoners with the fpa. and it’s literally love at first sight for him with yang and yang’s not. disagreeable because reuenthal is beautiful and he can be charming af when he wants to be (and he really wants to charm yang lbr) 

after kircheis and reuenthal return to odin, reuenthal starts moping about the admiral’s big brother house and eventually caves and talks to mittermeyer about his pure hearted admiration of yang where in mittermeyer stares flatly at reuenthal and tells him ‘you’re pining like one of those heroines you detest from the classics’ and reuenthal is so Offended TM by this he sulks off to the officer’s bar and drowns his sorrows until he becomes drunk enough to admit that hey, mittermeyer really knows him too well.

so the next day, very hung over, reuenthal starts sending letters (or more likely, electronic communications) to the 13th fleet with flowery poetry and declarations of his feelings and shit. and at the start, the 13th fleet kind of think he’s up to something nefarious. but then they just realise reuenthal actually really is just pathetically in love with yang and so for the good of all mankind, they just ‘accidentally delete’ every single message before it makes it to yang. 

no one expects that reuenthal eventually (cos that boy has no chill, like me) literally rolls up and parks his goddamned flagship next to the hyperion when the tristan is supposed to be passing nearby one day and demands to know why yang hasn’t been basically texting him back and then yang is like ‘??????????????? wat’ and then everyone in the 13th fleet, from schonkopf down to julian have a LOT OF EXPLAINING to do. (cazerne pretended to know nothing and washed his hands of the whole thing from the start because the less he knows about these sort of things the more sane he can stay okay).

eventually reinhardt gets sick of reuenthal moping about odin and shoos him off to be the consul of heinessen and reuenthal just continues to woo yang (now in person!!!) by showing off whenever he can even when it’s stupidly inappropriate with the inbuilt optimism of being a good looking and popular dude that everything will work out eventually and one day yang will just cave and say ‘fine.’ (spoiler alert, he does)

2. post-vermillion - actually this is 90% what my fic is about so i’m not going to say a lot about it. you’ll get to read this eventually as a proper-ish fic in a month or two (pray for me pls, it’s currently 7000 words and nowhere near done).

but consider. if yang and reuenthal met after the alliance surrendered. hm. Hm. HMMMMMMMMM. with added shenanigans from my favourite admirals from the empire and fpa sides :D

AU REUENTHAL/YANG

I FRIGGEN LOVE AU.

i’ve already talked about my ‘what if yang was born in the empire’ au, and briefly covered my college/university au where reuenthal social media stalks yang in a non-creepy way until he grows enough balls to just ask him out.

but, i was also yelling a lot at @beingevil today cos she brought up an actor au, but she’ll be writing that one so i’ll leave it up to her (WINK WONK)

other AUs to be considered:

1. history professor!yang & hitman!reuenthal - someone (probably fucking job trunicht) puts a hit out on yang and reuenthal is assigned to the job and he stakes out yang for a few days and yang is just like a small defenseless animal????? how can he murder a small, defenseless animal like that?? and gosh he’s super cute too??? he’s so my type!!!!!??? so he can’t pull the trigger and instead reuenthal goes on the run with yang and they uncover conspiracies against the government and then they put trunicht into prison and live happily ever after?

2. coffee shop au - where yang owns a coffee shop and reuenthal is a lawyer/business person who comes in to buy coffee, but in reality is here to perv on yang and also everyone in the shop (customers and staff alike) knows this except for yang who thinks reuenthal is a really nice guy and ‘julian, don’t you think reuenthal is just so friendly. he seems to really like leaning close to you when he talks and his voice is so deep and his eyes are so striking and he’s really handsome ???’ and julian sighs and goes to make himself another three expresso shots just to get through the rest of the hour

3. hogwarts au - where reuenthal is a slytherin, who’s bffls with a gryffindor (mittermeyer) and yang is the laziest ravenclaw ever sorted and did you know his best subject is a history of magic which everyone else hates??? so like they have potions together (because they’re the same age and so they would be in the same year level!!) and reuenthal thought that yang would be HELPFUL but there’s a reason yang consistently almost fails everything but history which is that he literally comes into class and then curls into a ball and then GOES TO SLEEP. so imagine reuenthal’s DESPAIR when he gets paired up with yang for astronomy as well? it’s his shittiest subject because ew astronomy??? and they’re assigned to do their major project together. but it doesn’t turn out as bad as he imagines. instead, they slowly develop ~feelings~ because there’s cute midnight dates on the astronomy tower where they cuddle beneath a blanket together for ~warmth~ and share hot tea while they do their star charts. then eventually reuenthal talks yang into going to a quidditch match and vaguely cheering for slytherin because reuenthal is one of their star players. cue attenborogh being thoroughly distressed by yang’s casual betrayal of his own house ‘but yang, you’ve never come to a single game in five years’ and yang replying ‘interhouse rivalry promotes antagonistic tendencies’ and wrapping himself up snugly with reuenthal’s green and white scarf.

honourable mentions go out to the following:

- hetalia!AU - where yang is the personification of the alliance and reuenthal falls in love with freedom

- soulmate!AU - where your soulmate’s name is written in their hand somewhere on your body & reuenthal’s been hiding his entire life because his name is written in alliance standard and yang just thinks that the curved lines across his arm is a really weird birthmark

- pokemon!AU - where yang is the most wtf gym leader ever and kind of just naps all day on a snorlax but no one’s been able to get a badge off him since he took the gym. reuenthal as an ambitious trainer who’s just missing THE ONE BADGE...

i actually have a heap more but i just. NEED TO CRY ABOUT THEM FOR A WHILE BECAUSE CANON IS MEAN TO ME

[divagonzo]

Funny Business (Harry & Ginny and more)

Ao3 // FF.net

A/N: Sp I got the idea from @gryffindormischief from a prompt from her and asked if I could take it for a short fic. 7000 words later and here we are.  Rated T just for giggles. Ace mostly safe. @vondrakenhof might be able to name the game in question. Also, my eternal thanks to @fightfortherightsofhouseelves   for the size 250 kick in the arse on getting on with writing part II up to snuff.

Under a cut line because it’s 7K in length but I’m publishing it in 2 parts since it is so long.

Oh, and A/N2: This based off my own nicheverse (*Cough CC isn’t Canon Cough*) and so Albus isn’t Captain Emo Edgelord and Harry isn’t a tosser to Al. – DG

“Alright Harry, fess up.”

Harry continued to stare at the kids playing video games in the den. “I – “

“The Minister being an arse?” Ginny cheeked. “Budget cuts stressing you out?”

“It’s not like that,” he muttered.

James stood up and danced over his brother Al, taunting him like only brothers could. “Don’t pout. I told you that you had to drink a strength potion before taking on that wizard. I can’t help it he killed you within 30 seconds.”

“Shut up. I’ll beat him” Al glared but Ginny knew that her other son would keep after his task until he did win and beat a task. He has her tenacity where James got by on natural talent. Al was the best of his parents, in addition to being a very kind boy, where James naturally took after his grandfather, supposedly.

“Alright. I’ll start it from the last save. Try it again.” James toggled his controller and the game backed up 5 minutes, to where the players were on the second level, with three more to go. The boys were immediately busy, fighting through trolls and other bad guys and jawing with one another. Lily Luna, though, was in the corner, playing with her toys and pointedly ignoring her brothers. Ginny knew Lils was irritated at her siblings for not letting her play on the console, but they also didn’t know that when Lils couldn’t sleep and Ginny was still awake late, they’d play a different game, bonding over video game go kart racing. Lily Luna loved going fast, either in a video game or for real. The family was thankful for their grandfather making such muggle things work in their household around so much magic.

Ginny tuned her kids out and focused on her distressed husband. She knew him better than he knew himself most days and needed to know what was going on before she could help him – or kick his arse out of agonizing over something he would reluctantly share with her.

“You took the kids out for ice crème when you got home from work at 1, and then went and played at the park for two hours. You’ve not left work after a half day in years. Now I know you adore the kids, but something isn’t flying straight here. I will help if you can tell me what’s going on. ”

“Maybe I wanted to spend time with the kids this afternoon. Can’t a dad have some fun time with his brood?” Harry kept his eyes forward, not looking at Ginny. She knew that look when he was lost in thought and not paying attention to what was in front of him.  “Al said he wanted to go play at the park and Lily asked for ice lollies. James wanted to play video games when we got home.”

“I know you too well. Something is bothering you. You distract yourself from mental torment by playing with the kids more than usual. They won’t notice but I can see it, how you stare out the kitchen window and forgetting to drink your tea.”

“You’re right.” He didn’t elaborate. He gazed towards the boys on the floor in front of them but his flame haired wife knew he was lost in thought. Ginny ground her teeth. She thought he was better the last few months, with work settling into an actual routine where he was home most evenings and they could spend time as a family. But in the last month, he grew distant, almost apathetic with the family. Ginny was at her wit’s end in how to help her Husband be his warm and affectionate self. He was intentionally busy enough that she didn’t have time to use her time-tested way of helping - a relaxing shag.

“Mummy, show me how to fix this.” Their diminutive daughter who was as curious as her Aunt Hermione, and as much a dragon as her Mum, stood there holding a miniature figurine she used for playing Quidditch at home. Uncle Ron bought it for her sixth birthday and she never tired of it. The toy pitch took up space on the floor and she could move the figures around  manually or her Mum could enchant it and she could watch the figures zooming around it. But one of the figures broke - the Keeper. Sometimes the bludgers didn’t go the right way. Ginny pulled her wand from behind her ear and pointed at the toy Keeper and silently repaired it. “There you are, dear. Good as new.” She pointed her wand at the pitch and animated the players along with the small scale bludgers. Lils went back to her corner with the toy box and was enthralled in moments.

“Come on, Harry. Spill it. You know I will pester you until you tell me either way.”

A loud squeal erupted. “No! It’s not fair. I did the spell. It should have worked.” James roared. “Turn it back. I’m not dying by the wizard.”

“I’ll resurrect you as soon as I beat him.”

“I said turn it back.”

“No. You’re mad you screwed up and got struck by lightning and were killed. Don’t blame me for cocking up and stepping on the trap.” Al unpaused the game and proceeded to kill the dark wizard who had been sabotaging iron ore for smelting. “

“It’s not fair. I’m turning it back to the last save. I have to beat the dark wizard.” James looked behind him to his parents on the couch. “Make Al turn it back.”

Ginny snorted. “He said it: you stepped on the trap and got zapped. It killed you. And he promised to resurrect you in a temple shortly. Quit pouting and wait ‘til he gets to a temple to heal you.”

James ignored Ginny. “Dad! Make him turn it back.”

“James, you died in the game. Either nicely ask or go revise in your room. I’m not giving in and going against your Mum.”

“But Dad!”

“Insulting your brother for your own mistakes is something Uncle Percy would do.” Harry knew he crossed a line by it but he’d not admit it to the kids right now.

“I hate you,” James threw the controller and ran off. “I’m nothing like him!”

Ginny shook her head at her oldest son’s antics. She glanced at Al and made a wink at her other son, her quiet one who was so much like Harry, but with a loving upbringing with tons of affection.

“Lils, do you want to play?” Al asked softly. “I could use a better companion.”

Lily looked at her Mum and saw the affirmation. She yelped and dropped the toy bludger she was about to set into motion and ran to where Al was sitting. He tinkered with the controls a touch and reset the game to the last save and off they went, fighting trolls and slime and mercenaries. Al quietly coached his sister on traps and how to evade death by treasure chest.

Ginny smiled. Her thoughtful son set the controls from hard to easy, for his sister’s benefit.

“Harry, tell me.”

Harry screwed up his face some before growing stoic again. But Ginny knew better. He wasn’t, not really. He was hunting up the words to use instead of exploding at her, even if she didn’t do anything. They’d agreed years ago that he could vent at her, even exploding, and she’d hold off unless she was directly involved. That agreement prevented many barn burning rows. He reciprocated for her, too, when the politics of the paper got to be too much for her.

Audrey performed so many miracles for the family after the war ended.

“It’s crap from work. You – “

“I do want to hear about it. You can share with me, well, as much as you can. You know that.”

“You’ve got your hands full with the kids. You don’t need my work crap too.”

“That’s a load of dragon shit and you know it.”

A door slammed upstairs. Harry and Ginny looked up towards the top of the stairwell.

“I’ll tell you after I go deal with James.” Harry stood up from the couch and Ginny reached out for his hand.

“You’re stalling.”

Harry looked at his wife, and past her words. Her features betrayed her casual comment. She was imploring him to share with her his burdens. He couldn’t resist anything she asked. “Yeah but when I get back, I’ll talk.” He leaned down for a peck on her lips before going to the stairs. He climbed them up with imposing footsteps. Ginny saw him limping up them and frowned. He wasn’t limping when he left this morning. Maybe his hip was giving him grief, a result of a previous visit and stay at St. Mungo’s.

“Mummy! I did it. I didn’t get killed on that level. We’re going down to the next one.” Ginny smiled at her daughter and caught a wink from Al.

“You did? That’s fantastic. Maybe Al can help you on the next level too.” Albus nodded in affirmation. They turned back to the game on the telly and went back to their dungeon crawl.

“Yes, Mummy.”  Lily Luna didn’t see her Mum give her brother a conspiratorial smile back. He smiled and turned back to the telly and unpaused the game. They were fighting once again against half-human creatures that were pretty easy to kill.

Losing patience at watching the kids clearing magical traps on the next level down, she got up to go to the kitchen to make a pot of tea for them as well as a tumbler with two shots of Firewhiskey for them, too. If Harry was that upset that it took much effort to get him to talk he might need a wee dram to lower his resistance – or she might need it to hear what he had to say.

She took the tray with the pot, cups, a saucer of milk, a dish of sugar with spoon, and the tumbler of distilled beverage back to the couch and put the tray down on the side table. She settled back into her spot on the couch with the latest copy of the Quibbler. She hadn’t had a chance to read the article from Luna about the Peruvian Vipertooth. While much of it was fascinating and educational, the humor behind the article was why she wanted to read it. Somehow she read all of the articles in Luna’s voice. It was like having her best friend at home, sitting next to her, reading aloud. It didn’t hurt that interviews with Harry subsidized her expeditions.

Ginny lifted her head when she heard Harry stomping down the stairs. “He’s grounded from the console and his broom the rest of the weekend.” Harry plonked down on the couch and scowled.  “He gave me some sodding excuse so I called him on it. He gave me cheek and I told him he was grounded the rest of the weekend. Maybe he can learn some manners while playing with his brother.”

“I never did, that’s for sure.” Ginny cheeked. Harry saw her smirk and softened. “I distinctly remember ending all of my seasons with the most penalties for a Chaser in the entire league. So I guess he gets it from me.”

“Oh I remember.  I seem to recall you running full speed into Zacharias Smith after a match one time. Not like the tosser didn’t deserve it.” He smirked at the memory. But his expression changed when Lily yelled at the television. “She’s like Ron that way.” Lily yelled again before howling. Al grimaced at her temporary death before resurrecting her. They needed a few moments before heading down to the next level and facing more traps, slime, and bad guys.

Ginny turned to get his cup along with pouring a splash of whiskey into it. She stirred it before handing it over. He took a sip and gave her a pointed look. “I don’t need it,” he whispered.

“Then I will drink the rest and listen to you not talk.” She wiggled her eyebrows at him as she picked up the tumbler and drained the rest of the brown distilled beverage. Her face flushed and she burped a small bit of smoke before smiling at him. Her hard-drinking days as a professional Quidditch player were years behind her but her alcohol tolerance never seemed to wane, as long as it wasn’t elf-made wine.

She turned her attention back at her kids and said to herself that she’d wait on him tonight. Ginny laughed with the kids as they beat the dark wizard at the bottom of the dungeons and collected plenty of treasure. They were onward up and out of the mines and off to their next adventure.

She was comfortable with companionable silence as minutes passed and the kids played their video game. There were plenty of nights post-war with them sitting in companionable silence. Ever so slowly Harry learned to open up and share what he was thinking and occasionally feeling.

She felt Harry take her hand. It was their unspoken signal he was ready to talk. They came up with it the first Summer after the war ended when so much trauma happened and sometimes Harry needed her but wasn’t ready to talk. When she’d squeeze his hand back she was ready to listen.

Ginny pulled his hand to her lips and kissed the back of his hand.

“Hemera is retiring. She informed me of it today, effective at the end of September. That’s six weeks from now. She’s been an Auror for decades, and I depend on her so much. She was a mentor and then an amazing friend.  Fuck, I’m going to miss her wisdom.” Harry took a deep breath before continuing. “It made me realize that while I will miss her, I miss Ron even more.”

Ginny put down her cup and saucer. Now that was profound, coming from Harry.

“I know you will. The two of you have been through hell and back so often you have your own boat across the River Styx. But what brought up the issue with Ron. Don’t you work with him, see him almost daily. Don’t the two of you have offices next to one another?”

“I do, yet I don’t. We’re both so busy in our jobs that we might see one another every fortnight at work or on the various inter-office memos flying around, but enough time to sit down for a lunch? Never. And  I never realized ‘til today how much I miss having him sitting across from me in the squad bay, throwing parchment at me when I was being a git, or his laugh when Hermione would drop by with takeaway when we were too busy to take a break for lunch. I miss Hemera ragging on us for being a couple of misfits or putting us on our ass in training without breaking a sweat.” Harry took a deep breath and blew it out. “All I seem to do now is sodding paperwork, beg for budget increases, and play politics in the office, with the very rare occasion of a mission to oversee. I never considered I would be more politician than Auror when I took the Directorship. Had I known, I’d have turned it down and let Hemera do it for a few decades.”

“I hate to say it but I do miss the early days of my career on days like this. I miss going without sleep for two days with Ron there, watching for one of the rogue Death Eaters and trying to bring him in alive, or not.“

“Don’t you see him in all of those bloody meetings you’re always complaining about, that take up so much time and are so unproductive?”

“I do, but it’s not like we have time to go to the pub after a shift and spend two hours talking about everything and nothing. Don’t get me wrong – I love the kids with every bit of my heart. I miss Ron and Hermione, too. Hemera retiring made me realize all it. When she told me, I felt like I’d been kicked in the gut by a centaur.”

“Let’s have everyone over this weekend, including Hemera and Aurora. I can cook a standing rib roast with all of the sides you like. Ron can bring over pudding.”

“They’re probably busy,” Harry said wistfully. “And since Hemera and Aurora’s daughter hasn’t started Hogwarts yet, they might have other plans.”

Ginny screwed up her face. “Look Harry, we –“

“I’m being stupid and selfish,” Harry complained. “I thought that things wouldn’t change when we had careers and kids and our families. I thought we’d share dinner once a week with everyone and grouse about work and laud the kid and others stuff.” He frowned. “I never expected that my mentor would become a dear friend of mine and it not be you. And then there’s Ron. I miss him being with me and available anytime I needed him. But then maybe that was my dream that we’d still be in each other’s pockets for the rest of our lives, which I wouldn’t ever mind. I never considered that one of my best friends at work would be my mentor and one of the bare few who lived long enough to mean something to me. I never expected to have my best mate working with me but barely seeing him.”

“Harry, dear. Do you think that we have to see them daily to keep the friendship? Or that if I don’t see Hermione for two weeks that I don’t love her as fiercely as I do my brother? Or that if I don’t firecall Mum for a week that she thinks that I hate her?”

“Well, um,” He couldn’t continue, “yeah, actually. Isn’t that how it works?”

“Damn those bloody muggles,” She complained under her breath. “Love, dear, I know that you need quantity of time with them. I get it. I really do. I miss seeing Luna when she’s off on her expeditions for months on end. I certainly missed you when I was off on tour of the world those months way back when. But being away from someone for days to weeks on end doesn’t mean that they don’t love you, or that they don’t want to see you. Those Muggles? Maybe so.” Venom dripped from every word regarding the Dursley’s, except Dudley who they were on a friendly basis with since he grew up and married a Witch. “Do you think that Mum and Dad don’t love you if they don’t see you for a couple of weeks? Far from it, dear. The same goes for Bill and Fleur and the rest of the family. Sure they might not see you for a month but they do love you, and even like you, too. I can guarantee that Hemera will bug you weekly, send owls, and postcards from all of the places that they will travel.”

“It still hurts. I still miss spending time with both of them, talking bollocks at a pub over a pint of bitter and how fucked up a mission was.” Harry sniffed. “That’s why I took off early. I owled Ron but he was working for George today at the shop and he couldn’t leave.”

“What about this idea then? I’ll call Hermione and see if I can keep her two pixies for a few hours and you can go with Ron to a pub and have some time?”

“But he’s working at the shop and probably won’t be home ‘til 8 or so. The kids start getting ready for bed at 8 and Lily won’t go to sleep unless I read to her for half an hour. I want to go out but you and the kids need me.” Harry turned to look at his beautiful wife. “I promised you and the kids I wouldn’t forsake you for silly reasons. Wanting a night with Ron at the pub getting pissed is a silly reason.”

Ginny glanced at her two kids who were still playing before turning back to her husband. She leaned into him and kissed him gently but with passion and fire, promising more after the brood was asleep. “Let me see what I can do,” she said. She kissed him again and got up from the couch.

“Al, heal me so I can keep playing,” Ginny heard from behind her. Her precocious daughter and amenable son warmed her heart daily. Ginny stopped in the doorway of the den and watched her husband using magic to bring the Firewhiskey bottle to him and pouring a wee dram for himself, tipping it back in one swallow while watching his kids.

‘I have to do something,’ she thought as she went into the living room, where they kept the dedicated Floo for their home. She grabbed a handful of powder and tossed it into the fire. “Granger-Weasley auxiliary fireplace; authorization Weasley seven three seven.” She waited ten seconds before yelling, “Ron? Hermione?”

Hermione sat up from her chair in her office and came over to the fireplace. “Ginny? Anything wrong?”

“No, but I do need to prattle a spell.”

“About?” Hermione knelt down on the padded rug in front of the fireplace, sitting awkwardly before crossing her legs.

“It’s Harry. Hemera gave her retirement notice today and Harry’s gutted. But it made him realize he’s also missing Ron. He misses spending time with Ron.”

“I heard about her giving notice but I’m boggled about Ron. How’s he missing him? They work together in the same department,” Hermione said. “They see each other daily, or so I thought.”

“Harry said that it’s meetings and waving but to actually have quality time with one another and not talking work or shop is bothering him. I will try to change his mind but – “

“No, don’t. Ron mentioned something about a week ago and it only now made sense. He said that while he loves the jobs and working in the shop with George, he does hate having to work so much.”

“Any ideas?”

Hermione sat still for a minute, chewing her lip with a far off look on her face. “Ya know? I actually do think so. And while it’s quite barmy, I think it’ll help them. I think it will be one of my more brilliant ideas.”

Hermione went into detail and the more Ginny heard it, the better it sounded.

“And the kids?”

“James is old enough to go with them but Al and Lily along with mine are probably too young to deal with that much travel. Camping they can handle, probably. But if Harry needs private time with Ron, I think James could stay with us and have fun with his cousins instead of that. It might be a bit much for him for a first time out.”

“Maybe not if we work out a few things magically. But do we do this with magic or not?”

“I think that doing such without magic will help them both. It’s not like they aren’t in shape, is it?”

“So when is Harry free next?”

“A fortnight from now.”

“I’ll see to it that Ron has that four-day weekend free. You can go ahead and get things set up and I’ll meet you there. We’ll have them go somewhere else and then meet up with us that Sunday evening.”

“I think that would be a lovely idea for a trip.”

Part II will be published at 12:00a GMT tomorrow.

[dreamin-of-somewhere-else]

I’ll Be Right Behind

Hello fam :) This is going to be the last fic in a while, because I’m going off on vacation for about three weeks or something. which means that I can’t write, so I’m trying to compensate a little by making this fic a longer one, and then I’m also gonna queue a lot of pictures and stuff. I’m thinking about reblogging some of my favorite fics I’ve written too. Anyways, here we go :)

Characters: Winchester sister!reader, Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester, John Winchester, Bobby Singer, a few others mentioned briefly.

Words: 7000+ Only since there won’t be as much to read for a little while :)

Warnings: Angst, injury, blood, character death, throwing up. Nothing too graphic though. Oh, and Dean’s being a douche (because of grief).

A/N: This is set in the beginning of season 2, but it’s non-canon, so things might change from what happened in the show. Also, the reader is Sam’s twin sister. Also, since this is so long, I’m sure a few errors slipped in and so on, so sorry about that!

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”(Y/N)? Are you awake?”

Somewhere far away you heard shuffling. It felt like your head was under water, and for a moment you couldn’t tell what was up and down — and much less where the hell you were and what the hell happened.

”Oh, thank god.” Sam voice made it’s way into your fuzzy head once again. It was thick and unsteady and wavering and it sounded like he was about to cry.

Your eyes shot open. Hearing your twin brother sound like that could bring you back to reality, consciousness, in a split second. Was he hurt?

Turns out it was the opposite, or at least seemed to be. Because the sight you were greeted with was a white, bare hospital room. Your hands were clutching the white, crisp covers of the bed, as if you were desperately trying to hang on. Dread filled you up from within and you groaned. You hate hospitals.

But you didn’t spend much time inspecting the sterile and boring room, there was something more important at hand. So you peeled your eyes away and looked up at Sam, who was hovering besides your bed, looking down at you with soulful, worried eyes. Those hazel orbs never could keep a secret from you. Something was wrong. Very wrong. And it wasn’t you, because even though you felt like you went three rounds with a grizzly bear — sore, bruised, tired and quite dizzy — you’ve, sadly, had worse.

You opened your mouth, but at first nothing would come out. Just a pathetic wheeze, and you almost felt completely defeated, to be honest. Sam was hurting, something was definitely wrong, and you couldn’t even ask about it.

You blinked hard, trying to focus your gaze. Meanwhile, you felt a hand gently brush away some stray strands of hair from your face. Calmness washed over you, and you breathed in slowly and deeply. You weren’t ready to know what happened, you didn’t want to. You were afraid it would change everything, and even though your life wasn’t perfect — whose was? — you didn’t want it to change. It was you, Sam, Dean and Dad and you had issues but at least you were together again. You had a chance at fixing things. But first you needed to know. Sam shouldn’t carry this pain alone. That’s what you did, you always shared your pain between the two of you.

”Wha-what h-happened?” Your voice was hoarse, but at least you got the words out with the newfound strength.

Sam looked down at his hands that now fiddled with the covers of your hospital bed. ”It’s… it’s Dad and Dean.”

Your breathing hitched, eyes round as you looked at Sam. They were dead. They had to be dead. You furrowed your eyebrows as everything started to come back to you. How The Yellow Eyed Demon possessed your dad, how he asked Sam to shoot him. How Dean begged Sam not to, and how the only thing you could get out of your mouth was ’no, wait! Slow down,’ as if that would help. How Dean almost bled out. How the demon got away. How you and Sam had to get your injured father and the seemingly dying Dean into the car, and to a hospital.

What happened next?

”Did we crash?” You asked, voice choked, as you tried to look Sam in the eyes.

He nodded, barely visible. If possible, you felt even dizzier.

”It’s really bad.” His voice broke at ’bad’.

You let your gaze drop to your hands.

”How are you feeling?” Sam then asked, changing subject slightly.

”Fine, considering.” You looked up at him again, an attempt at a smile ghosting across your lips. To reassure him that he didn’t have to worry about you too. ”A little sore, but good.”

”So happy to hear that, (Y/N),” he said, relief clear on his tone, although it still sounded like he was about to cry.

It got quiet for a moment during which Sam just kind of toyed with a lock of your hair.

”It’s going to be okay.” You whispered, breaking the silence, although you didn’t really believe it yourself.

That’s when Sam nodded once again, but now with a determination that almost made you a bit uneasy.

”Yeah, I’m gonna fix this,” he declared.

”I’ll help,” you offered quickly, with expectation in your eyes.

”That’s okay.” He had already started to move away from your bed and to the door of your hospital room. ”Focus on getting better instead.”

”Sam!” You called, but he was already out the door.

Four hours had passed when you stumbled out of your hospital room, looking around yourself for some sort of clue as to where you could find the rest of your family. You had signed yourself out AMA, against medical advice. Your doctor had strongly objected, since they hadn’t have the time to check everything, run all tests necessary. What they didn’t get that what was even more necessary was you being there for your family — which you couldn’t be if you were stuck in that damned hospital bed.

You had gotten all your stuff back as well, so you brought your phone up and tried calling Sam. You pressed the phone to your ear and anxiously listened to the monotone signals passing, as your eyes darted from room to room on both sides of the corridor, hoping you’d see either Dean or John. You were lucky when it came to finding one of them, unlucky when it came to the call, because Sam never answered it and it went to his mailbox; ”Hey, it’s Sam—”

Absentmindedly, you cut your brother’s voice off by hanging up, because now you had your other brother in your field of vision. He looked barely alive, and it felt like someone fisted your heart, jabbing it hard as your stomach twisted. Slowly, you walked into his room, eyes wide as you took in his appearance. He was pale, skin almost translucent, white as the covers beneath him. His freckles were barely visible and he had dark shadows underneath his closed eyes. If it wasn’t for the monitor, giving off a steady beeping, you wouldn’t be so sure his heart was beating. You reached his bedside and you almost felt like you couldn’t breath. He looked so small and so vulnerable and so lifeless and just… weak. Nothing like the big brother you had grown up with, the one who always was full of life, joking, smiling, flirting, chatting and protected you and Sam fiercely.

Your mouth felt dry as you took his hand, wincing at how cold and limp it felt. You hated how Sam and to face this all alone, suddenly feeling guilty.

”Dean,” you began, but your voice wouldn’t cooperate, and it came out as something in between a whisper and a wheeze. You cleared your throat. ”Please, please, hang in there.”

He didn’t move one bit. No reaction at all, which was to be expected, but it still brought tears to your eyes.

”We need you here, big bro. Okay? And, just… j-just don’t go. It’s not your time.”

You ran a hand across his cheek, before you let go of his hand. You needed to check on your father as well, and then you needed to find Sam. You knew you twin like the back of your hand, and him missing like this was never a good sign.

You were just about to leave the room, when you heard Dean loudly gasp. You whipped around, heart almost jumping out of your chest, to see Dean choking on the tube he had down his mouth.

”HELP!” You screamed in panic, seeing him dry heaving like that sent shivers through your body. ”I need help in here!”

Twenty minutes later, you felt a hand on your shoulder, and looked up to see Sam who was panting slightly as if he’d hurried here.

”Hey Sammy,” you said happily and smiled as you snaked your arms around his upper body, pressing your cheek against his chest.

Absentmindedly, he wrapped his arms around your shoulders, pressing you into his side in a hug, all while he watched the doctors working on hooking Dean off all the machines.

”What’s happening here? Is he okay?” Sam questioned.

”Seems like it.” You practically beamed, feeling the weight of anxiety and worry lift off your shoulders, melting away. Like you finally could breath again.

”Sam, (Y/N)?”

You and Sam both looked over your shoulders to see your dad. He was leaning against the doorframe to Dean’s room, but looked fine as well.

”Hey, Dad,” you began, feeling even more relief envelop you, and you welcomed it. This was a miracle. ”How are you feeling?”

”Good.” He nodded once and walked up to stand besides you and Sam. He even smiled and patted you each on your shoulders.

Some nurses left the room and the lingering doctor stepped forward.

”Your vitals are good, Mr. Winchester.” He stated, staring bewilderedly at the papers on the clipboard in his hand, as if to see if he really read that right. Because, the young man before him was dying just earlier this day. ”There’s no sign of any trauma at all.”

Dean looked just as stunned as the doctor. Then, confusion crossed his features, but in the end, relief and happiness won and a grin spread across his face. He looked over at you, Sam and John and suddenly he looked like a little kid again. You smiled back at him. All of you knew deep down there was something wrong, although you all wanted to believe it was just a miracle. Because, they’re supposed to exist, right? They do happen, right?

That’s when Sam cleared his throat. ”Guys, I’m gonna go and buy a coffee.”

You rose an eyebrow at first, but then you remembered that your brother probably hadn’t slept for 24 hours.

”I’ll be right back. I’m so happy to see you guys okay.” He reached forward, wrapping his hand around Dean’s forearm, giving it a squeeze. Then, he patted your dad on his shoulder, and lastly, he gave you another side hug, which you gratefully returned.

Then he turned around, leaving you behind. You noticed how his pace quickened up as he got further away and rounded the corner, disappearing into the corridor.

In the corner of your eye, you could see Dad stepping forward to talk to Dean, but you couldn’t quite ignore the thoughts that formed in your head. Something wasn’t right. Well, besides the obvious.

Wearing a frown on your face, anxiety getting ahold of your chest, you walked outside of the hospital room. And there, on the floor, you saw him. You were pretty sure your heart stopped. You felt as your head was swimming, you felt dizzy and you had to close your eyes for just a moment. Everything seemed still — until it jumpstarted again with a painful lurch that made you feel nauseous and tugged you straight into reality again.

”SAM!” You screamed with all of your lungs as you felt the world coming tumbling down around you.

You started running towards your twin and you barely made it over to him before your knees gave in on you. On the floor, you desperately scrambled closer, with the only thing on your mind being ’Sam, Sam, Sam, Sam, Sam.’ Your eyes stared at his closed ones, and the rest of his still face.

You just kept screaming as your hands clutched the fabric of his jacket, shaking him, but his head just lulled from side to side. Hot, salty tears cascaded down your cheeks as you heard several pairs of footfalls running down the corridor. Within the second, a pair of arms wrapped around you, pulling you away from Sam, and although you fought to stay with him, the arms won. Your heart ached so much you thought it would give in, and you’d die right there and then. Meanwhile you just kept whispering ’No, Sammy…’ to yourself.

The room you’d been staying in at Bobby’s was light and warm when you started gaining consciousness. Sunlight shone through the window, casting long, faded rectangles of gold. Some of the light landed on your bed, warming up your back that was turned against the source. It even filtered through your closed eyelids, and it lit up all those little dust particles gliding slowly through the air, surprisingly beautifully. Distantly, you heard the muffled chirps of birds from outside. It was probably in the late morning, but you didn’t know exactly. You felt calmness envelop you, almost washing out the pain you felt in your upper stomach, that had developed the last few days, and the nausea. Almost.

But that calmness wasn’t a result of your serene surroundings. Instead, the presence you felt close to you was to thank for that.

Slowly, you peeled your eyes open. Awareness crept back to you, but not fully. You were still in that half awake, half asleep state, and you were thankful for that. Waking up these past days had been hard.

”Hey, you.” His voice was gentle, smooth, lighthearted. It was low and soft and warm and untroubled. And you loved it and had missed it so agonizingly much you’d almost fallen apart, even though it’s only been a few days.

”Hey, Sam.” Your words were sluggish and your voice throaty from being asleep for so long, and, well, now you were barely awake.

You slowly blinked, eyelids feeling heavy and eyes tired. You tried to focus on his face that was bathing in golden sunlight that brought out the coppery tones in his wavy, shaggy, tousled hair and the honey shades in his orbs.

You could ask him what he did and why. But, you weren’t going to. You already had a pretty good idea why — because, family — and as to what, you didn’t know if you were awake enough to understand how it all went down.

”I miss you,” you murmured instead, although it was only the tip of the iceberg. ’I can barely function without you because we were as close as layers of paint and we understood each other so well and you were my other half and I just don’t know what to do when you’re not here to guide me,’ might have been more fitting.

”I miss you too,” he responded wistfully, offering you a small smile. Then, his eyes landed on the hoodie you were wearing, his smile widening just a little. ”That’s mine.”

”That’s the point,” you countered. The hoodie smelled like Sam, and Sam was home and with it on you could almost pretend that nothing had happened. Expect something had happened, and this being Sam’s favorite hoodie, he’d most likely wear it if he was still alive.

You closed your eyes for a moment, shuffling a little in bed to try and get more comfortable, but the pain just wouldn’t budge. You opened your eyes again and glanced over at the bottle of pills on the bedside table behind Sam — he was laying on the bed besides you, the only difference was that he was on top of the covers, and you under.

You decided that you didn’t have the energy or determination to try and reach the pills.

”You don’t look that well.” His voice brought your attention to him, and you caught his gaze wandering across your features.

Sam reached up a hand and moved a piece of your hair to place it behind your ear, much like he had done in the hospital, the second to last time you saw him alive. Then, he placed the back of his large hand against your forehead.

”Seems like you have a fever.” Sam frowned, eyebrows furrowed, suddenly sounding worried. ”How are you feeling?”

”Not too great.” You whispered in response, truthfully. There’s no point in lying to Sam, he could always see right through you. You probably should explain that this was something that had formed since after the crash, after going home from the hospital, but you had a feeling he already had gathered that.

”I’m sorry, if I would’ve known, I’d fixed you up as well. Have you talked to Dean or Dad about it though?” He questioned, concerned eyes trying to meet yours, but your exhausted ones slipped closed once again, as you let out a light sigh.

”Not yet.” When you saw how he didn’t seem to like that answer, growing even more uneasy. ”They’re hurting too.”

Sam nodded thoughtfully before speaking up. ”Promise that you’ll talk to them anyway. It’s important for your health. Okay, (Y/N)?”

You wanted to ask ’what about your health?’ but you were too tired for that conversation. Instead, you slowly nodded as well, giving out a barely audible ’mhm’.

”Promise,” you mumbled, almost drifting off to sleep.

You’d been doing that an awful lot lately; sleeping. You’d just been so feeling so tired and it was your preferred way of spending your time from now on; it numbed you from your physical pain and emotional hell, numbed the loneliness and the grief. Even with the nightmares, it still beat being awake, which was saying one thing.

”Get some rest and get better,” Sam told you, and you felt how he placed a kiss on top of your head. ”Oh, and (Y/N)? Take care of Dean and Dad for me, would you?”

”Of course, Sammy.” You weren’t even sure you said that out loud before everything just kind of faded away into darkness.

The next time you woke up, you were alone. No signs of anyone ever being in the room besides you. The room seemed a whole lot colder and darker as well. You rolled over to your back and looked over at the window, only to see that the sun outside had been covered with heavy clouds.

You sighed and slowly forced yourself out of bed, fully awake this time — the fuzzy haze created by exhaustion and fever, gone. You kind of missed it, because everything seemed to ache, worst of all, your stomach. Another wave of nausea hit you and you had to stop for a moment until it stilled. Walking over to the bedside table, to the bottle of painkillers, you then dry swallowed a few pills — probably more than you should have, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care all that much. You just wanted the pain to stop.

Besides the bottle of pills laid an old photo that your eyes lingered on. It was the one you looked at, and cried to, last night. It pictured, you, Dean and Sam. Dean was ten, freckled faced, and hair a little longer than now — still messy and spiky though. He wore a beaming grin on his face and his green eyes were bright as he had his arms gently wrapped around his younger siblings, one twin on each side. You and Sam were 6 years old and barely reached midway up Dean’s upper arm, huddled close to your older brother. Sam was giggling, his dimples very much present and he just sort of looked like a happy puppy. You were looking over at Sam from Dean’s other side, adoration in your eyes as you laughed too. When Sam was happy, you were happy too.

You shook your head, dragging your eyes away. It hurt too much.

Then you left the room, to walk downstairs and look for your, now, only brother, your father and Bobby. Your joints ached when you moved and you wondered if you’d aged 40 years or something in the last couple of days. You didn’t know if the car crash or losing Sam was the more probable reason for that, although, you guessed the latter.

Things had been bad between you, Dean and John ever since it happened. You all just kind of isolated yourselves from the others, avoiding everyone, tending to solitude. You had a feeling that this wasn’t the best way to go; a shrink probably would have ripped his hair out if he saw what was happening.

In fact, you wanted to stop it. You wanted to talk, no matter how much easier it was to just hide from and be angry at the world. Because, you knew that was what Dean and your dad needed. You needed to get them to open up, but now it just seemed like neither wanted anything to do with you. And you just felt so alone.

John had stopped talking. He was a brooding mess, drinking so much alcohol you were afraid his liver would give up and check out any moment. Your father searched for silence and loneliness instead of people and comfort, and you had tried talking to him, but couldn’t get through. Also, he scared you — when his dark eyes turned to you, you could almost feel shivers running through your body. Shivers not caused by pain or fever or sickness. You had always had respect for the man, knowing that he could be tough, but this freaked you out in a whole other way.

When it came to your big brother; Dean was angry. Angrier than you’d ever seen him. Angry at the world, angry at Dad, angry at Sam, angry at you. He, too, started drinking much more than he ever had before, taking after his dad in that sense. Whenever you approached him, he pushed you away immediately, and it frustrated you. He even yelled at you a few times, like you were some punchbag he could verbally direct his anger at.

You could understand they were hurting; you wanted to help them for god’s sake! But, neither of them would just let you. You couldn’t be there for them, like you promised you would, if they wouldn’t let you get close.

And besides, they weren’t the only ones hurting. You’d lost your twin brother, dammit. There, that was a pain even they couldn’t relate to, couldn’t say they’d gone through that too.

The first one you spotted once reaching the bottom floor — and, hell, that was hard; you were panting from the effort — was John. He was sitting in one of the couches in Bobby’s living room, whisky bottle in hand, staring out into nothingness, lost in his thoughts. You winced at the sight.

Staggering closer, you acknowledged your presence. ”Dad?”

Your father never tore his eyes away from whatever they were latched onto. In fact, he didn’t seem to notice you at all.

”Dad?” You tried again, slowly moving closer, clutching your stomach in pain, but surely pushing on.

”Not now, (Y/N),” he finally responded, and you stopped dead in your tracks.

”But—”

”Leave me alone,” he interrupted. His voice was low, but there was a warning tone imbedded in it.

’Promise that you’ll talk to them anyway. It’s important.’

You had promised after all. Now, you didn’t know if that Sam had been real or not — probably not, although you couldn’t know for sure in this world, your brain reminded you — but you had promised. And either way, you were starting to get a little scared. This pain, this nausea that had been following you around and that wouldn’t let go, could be something dangerous. It was time to act, and rather sooner than later.

”Dad, I just—”

”No. Leave me alone. That’s an order,” he declared, raising his voice a little. That’s it, end of discussion.

”Yes, sir.” You mumbled disappointedly, before turning around, trying to keep the groan of discomfort inside.

You then carried yourself through the rest of the house, slowly. Despite sleeping so much, you didn’t have much energy, probably because you hadn’t really eaten anything in over 36 hours, maybe more. Your past self wouldn’t have understood how you could go that long without food, since food was one of your passions in life, to be honest. But you just felt sick all the time and couldn’t even bring yourself to think about a sandwich, or soup, or scrambled eggs or anything else like that.

Thankfully no one had noticed that you weren’t eating, which was another testament to how bad things had become between you.

Suddenly, a muffled crash broke your thought train. It came from outside the house, somewhere in Bobby’s salvage yard. You instantly picked up your pace marginally, the best you could, with the front door in sight.

Once outside, you were forced to squint because of the brightness — despite being cloudy, it was still very light. Scanning Bobby’s yard with your gaze, you searched for the source of the sound. It didn’t take you long to spot Dean, doing something you’d never thought you’d see — bashing the Impala. You needed to stop this, as fast as possible. That car was the closest thing you had to a home besides from Bobby’s house behind you.

Your head was spinning and you felt even more sick, but you surprised yourself by getting to Dean and the Impala faster than expected. You almost tripped when you came to a stop though, your field of vision blackening out for just a moment until you blinked the darkness away. When your surroundings stopped rotating, and the ground stopped moving underneath you, you took Dean in.

His clothes were dirty, stained with motor oil and dusty from the gravel underneath your feet. His palms were a bit scraped and he was sweaty, short hair spikier than usual. He either hadn’t noticed you yet, or didn’t bother to pay you any attention. You guessed for the last option.

”Dean, what are you doing?” You asked, but your still raspy voice was drowned out by Dean swinging at the Impala once again with the crowbar in his hands.

You tried moving into his field of view, but he just turned around, delivering another blow.

”Dean!” You exclaimed, using the few seconds of silence after the noise of iron against car plating.

”What!?” He suddenly spun around, yelling back with annoyance dripping off his words. ”What do you want?”

Your eyes were round, but soon you sighed. ”Dean, you need—”

”If you’re going to say ’talk’ I don’t wanna hear it.” Your big brother harshly cut you off. ”What I need is to be left alone.”

He wanted to be left alone too. Surprise, surprise.

What were you expecting?

”I can help.” You tried, voice small in contrast to his angry one.

Simultaneously, another rush of pain ran through your body, making you shiver, as if to remind you that you could use a little help as well. And, damn, the pain really was getting worse.

”No, you can’t,” he disagreed, his cold, green eyes boring into yours. ”Because, Sam didn’t die for you. You don’t know how it feels to have your little brother give up his damned life for you! He did, for me. You don’t know this pain, and you won’t either.”

That hurt, you weren’t going to lie. What he said snaked its way into your chest, seemingly piecing your heart. You wanted to scream ’I’m in pain too! Can’t you see?’ but for some reason you couldn’t bring yourself to open your mouth.

The throbbing pain made its presence acknowledged once again, and you wrapped your arms around your stomach, moaning.

”Dean, please. I need—”

”Maybe you could try taking care of it yourself, for once.” He was quick to shut you down, and for a second you just kind of wanted to lie down in the gravel and give up, succumb to everything; the pain and the darkness and the grief. ”I’ve been here for you and Sam, all my life. Even when you left me for college. Maybe you could just give me a break, huh?”

You swallowed thickly, and nodded. Fine then. You turned around, without a word, and began making your way back inside on weak legs. You’d gotten halfway, when a truck pulled up to the house. It was Bobby’s truck, and Bobby himself stepped outside in a matter of a few moments.

”Hey, (Y/N)!” He called as he walked up to you. ”How ya feelin’? You don’t look too peachy.”

You instantly straightened up, subtly letting the arms around your waist drop. ”Tired, but I’ll be fine.”

’You wish’ a voice inside your head spoke up, and you felt the defeat getting a tighter hold around you. In that moment, you couldn’t really put your finger on why you didn’t just tell Bobby. You trusted him, and you knew that you really should speak up. But maybe, just maybe, there was a part of you that wanted Dean or Dad to help you. That you’d be a family again, and that you would support, help and care for each other again. Most of all you wished that Sam would be here too but that wasn’t happening. You bit your lip to suppress a sob when you felt your eyes sting. You forced the tears away.

”Have you eaten anything today then, girl?” Bobby then questioned. So, someone had noticed, and knowing that you actually felt a little better.

”Yeah, I ate like half an hour ago,” you lied, and the years of going undercover and playing bait made you an excellent liar — something you didn’t know if it was for the better or the worse. But, there was no way you could eat anything right now, you felt too nauseous and your stomach ached.

”Good.” Bobby nodded, and looked at you a little expectantly, as if to say ’you first, idgit’. You just shook your head slightly, and smiled, pretending that you weren’t planning to go inside.

Bobby left, and you sighed, running a hand over your face. Then you stumbled over to the stairs of Bobby’s porch and slowly sat down, much like a 90 year old would do. You rested your gaze at nothing in particular, and let yourself get lost in your own thoughts, the ones about your life and Sam. So lost that the pain faded away as your sense of time did. What you saw was the clouds clearing up and the sun moving across the sky, gradually taking a orangey, golden color.

What brought you back, was Dean walking past you up the stairs, startling you. You must’ve really been out of it, since you hadn’t seen him approaching. Hopefully, you glanced up at him, but he just looked away.

Your shoulders dropped for a moment, but then you realized you had a bigger problem. How are you going to get up? The merely thought of pushing yourself up from your sitting position made you light-headed.

”Dean,” you tried tiredly, looking over your shoulder, catching him just before he disappeared indoors.

You already knew that you weren’t going to receive the answer you wanted, but then you thought, maybe just maybe. You did sound pathetically weak and sad, not intentionally, so maybe it would work?

”What?!” Dean snapped, already annoyed, obviously not in the mood to talk.

You looked back forwards, you didn’t want him to see that you were tearing up. How did things get this bad?

A week ago, you’d seen light in the end of the tunnel. It had looked like you would finally catch and kill The Yellow Eyed Demon. Then you had fantasized how you could quit hunting and get yourselves normal, safe lives. Free to do whatever your heart desired. You had already known that you shouldn’t have done so, let yourself dream away like that, but the thought of a life where you didn’t have to worry about your family’s health and safety was just amazing.

Instead, here you were. Dean seemed to hate you, no matter how much you wanted to be best of friends again, like you used to before all this crap that had happened the last few days. No matter how much you loved him.

Your father seemed to have completely checked out from everything. All your life he had been this man you could look to for help, because he always knew what to do. There wasn’t a trace of that man anymore. He was a shell of the person he used to be.

And you, you felt as you were dying. Both physically and on the inside — if you weren’t already dead.

You were actually starting to fear for your life — though, right now, this life wasn’t much to cherish. This injury you had — ’internal bleeding’, the voice in your head told you. ’Something the doctors didn’t have time to detect. Something that’s been getting worse with each day that has passed.’ — could actually kill you. It was serious.

”Fine, forget it.” You muttered, without looking at Dean.

What you didn’t see was that Dean lingered behind your back, watching your movements cautiously, something tingling his big brother instincts.

You gripped ahold of the railing of the stairs and braced yourself, slowly breathing in — and out. And then you just went for it, using all of your barely existing strength to try and pull yourself up. Only it didn’t work so well, and you only got halfway before you went sailing down again. Luckily, strong arms caught you before your face could connect with the gravel beneath you.

”(Y/N), what the hell?” Dean barked, worry lacing his voice for the first time since before the car crash. His eyes widened when he saw how pale you grew in a matter of seconds. ”What’s wrong?”

”’M sorry,” you mumbled feeling dizzy and sick and just horrible. This haze of pain wrapped around you, and Dean’s voice seemed further and further away.

”Don’t apologize,” he objected out of old habit. But you and Sam had always apologized too much, for things that weren’t your fault.

When your eyes started closing, he shook you lightly, still holding you in his embrace. ”Hey, hey! Stay with me.”

When you gave out a moan of pain as your face scrunched up in agony, he felt shivers run up his spine. It only got worse when you started to weakly squirm in his arms, tilting your head to the side, so you could empty your stomach. Dean’s heart jumped to his throat when he saw that it wasn’t what was left of your lunch — did you eat lunch? — but blood.

”Bobby! Dad!” Dean cried as you started coughing, blood trailing down the side of your mouth and down your neck.

Dean carefully laid you down on the ground, and meanwhile your coughs got weaker and weaker. Quickly he rolled up your — Sam’s — hoodie, and the purplish bruising that decorated your upper stomach almost made him throw up as well. He felt dizzy — no, no, no, no, no — and didn’t even hear Bobby’s boots against the porch as the older hunter ran towards what was left of the children that he saw as the closest thing he had to kids of his own.

”Dammit,” Bobby cursed when he saw your stomach, and Dean almost wished he hadn’t heard the tremble on Bobby’s voice when he did. ”JOHN!”

As John staggered towards the door upon hearing the calls and finally reacting, Dean had his full attention directed at you, his little sister. His, now, only sibling. The one left for him to protect. The one he seemed to had failed in ways he couldn’t even—

”(Y/N), please,” Dean begged, green eyes alight with pure fear and glossy with unshed tears. ”P-pretty please, don’t die on me. Please-please-please-please…”

He placed his hands on your cheeks and tried to meet your gaze, but your eyes just kept fluttering close, to open again when Dean let out another cry. He felt as he was trying to hold onto you with tightly clenched fists, but your life was sand and just continued on seeping away through the cracks between his fingers.

”I’m so sorry. So, so, so sorry…” Dean kept going on and on, desperately patting your hair, and you just grew paler and paler, weaker and weaker.

Simultaneously, John had made it outside, and Bobby had handed him the keys to his truck, the one that he had later moved since you and him met here, in front of the house. John, who seemed to be in shock, was ordered to move the truck closer — so you wouldn’t have to moved so far. The dark haired hunter nodded and left.

Then Bobby kneeled besides Dean and you, grabbing ahold of Dean’s shoulders, forcing the younger man to look at him.

”Dean.” His tone was resolute and serious, only to make sure to get the Winchester boy’s attention.

”I-I failed her, Bobby.” The first tears spilled over and rolled down his freckled cheeks, leaving glistening trails. Bobby’s heart clenched in a way it only did when a Winchester kid was involved. ”I’m a horrible b-brother.”

”Son, listen to me.” Bobby tightened his hold. ”I, (Y/N), need you to pull yourself together. We’re going to get her to a hospital, and for us to do that, you’re going to have to carry her to the car. Ya old man’s on his way here with it, okay?”

Dean nodded, before he returned to brushing your hair away from your face. You were barely awake at this point, but the act still felt comforting.

A truck pulled up besides them, and John jumped out of the driver’s seat, tossing the keys to Bobby, who was in a better state to drive. Meanwhile, Dean snaked one arm under your knees and the other around your back, lifting you as gently as he could.

The car ride seemed endless. Since you collapsed by the foot of the stairs, the sun had set, but neither of the men could tell exactly when. This meant that Bobby couldn’t see what was happening when he glanced through the rearview mirror at the backseat, but he could paint himself a pretty good picture with Dean’s constant whimpering and your deafening silence.

Your older brother was cradling you towards his chest as the car made its way to the nearest hospital, the miles slowly ticking off. Using his t-shirt, he had wiped off most of the blood around your mouth although there was still a red stain latching onto your smooth skin. When you fully lost consciousness, eyes rolling back into your head, and your body going completely limp, he let out a sob.

”I-I’m sorry I’ve been such an asshole,” he whispered, before running another hand through your hair. ”I’ll make it up to you, I promise. W-we’ll get through this together, okay?”

He didn’t know whether he was talking to your unhearing ears, or if he was trying to reassure himself. A little bit of both, probably.

When Bobby pulled into the parking lot of the hospital, Dean’s tears had dried, and so had the few ones you shed too for that matter.

Within the minute, Bobby and Dean — with you in his arms, head lolling from side to side — were running into the hospital, followed by John.

”HELP! We need help! Please!”

Upon seeing the four, nurses close by sprung to action, and more gathered. Before Dean could understand what was happening, someone ripped you away from his embrace, placed you on a gurney and wheeled you away.

Dean stopped and blinked for a second, feeling air and emptiness cool down the area where your body had been touching his chest.

It was when he heard, and finally could comprehend what the nurses and doctors were saying, he started moving again; it was something about cardiac arrest, and Dean just felt how everything started spinning again.

Still, he pushed forward, and started running behind the fast hospital workers, that were running too. He followed them into an empty hospital room, were they began the process of restarting your heart. And there he stood, watching with wide, scared eyes, until someone noticed him led him outside. From then, he didn’t have to wait long until a somber nurse walked up to him.

”I’m sorry, Mister, we did everything we could. It was too late to help her.” She said, eyes sincerely sad and voice soft as if it would cushion the pain her words brought with them.

Dean began slowly shaking his head, barely noticing the nurse leaving. He blinked hard, trying to get his imploding world to focus. He stumbled, almost losing balance. He felt sick to his stomach, and his chest started to ache so much he thought he’d suffer from cardiac arrest too. Could you actually die from a broken heart?

He had just lost both of his younger siblings. The two kids he swore to protect. His two best friends. His two companions in life. His two reasons to stay in this shitty world.

A week ago everything had been fine, and Dean was actually happy. Now, he had nothing left. His life was shattered to bits and pieces and when he stared down at his feet he almost expected the shards to be scattered around them.

That when he saw the other pair of boots next to his, and he looked up to see his father, standing much too close for liking. John was staring with round eyes at his lifeless daughter through the window to the room. His twins, both dead and gone.

John caught Dean looking at him — no, scratch that — glaring. Before he knew it, Dean delivered a hard shove, and John stumbled backwards a couple of steps before regaining his balance. ”You should have seen it too!” His son exclaimed, eyes manic as he stared at him. Desperate. ”It’s our fault.” Dean’s voice broke at the last part he added, making it into a whisper.

He quickly pulled himself together though, charging again.

”If you never started hunting that damned demon, (Y/N) and Sam wouldn’t be dead!” He was screaming now. ”You said it was all that mattered. But, look at us now, Dad! What do we have left?”

John looked up to finally meet his remaining boy’s eyes. Dean saw how his dad’s were shining with tears, and how he slowly nodded, accepting Dean’s accusations.

”I know.”

That’s when Dean couldn’t do it anymore. Keep it together. Instead, his face scrunched up into on of grief and defeat and heartbreak and despair. When John opened his arms, Dean couldn’t stop himself from hugging his father.

Dean rested his forehead against the older man’s shoulder, bending his neck and then he just let his tears flow.

From a few feet’s distance, Bobby watched, with tears rolling down his face as well. Another beautiful life lost.

Years later, Dean stood in front of the two headstones, shifting uneasily on his feet, shoving his fists further into the pockets of his jackets. He had done this before, but it was always just as hard to start.

”Hey guys,” he began, his eyes wandering over the letters engraved in the stone.

Sam Winchester, May 2,1983 - July 19, 2006

(Y/N) Winchester, May 2, 1983 - July 23, 2006

”Happy birthday, kiddos.” Dean smiled although his voice quivered, signaling that he was close to crying. ’I wish you lived to see it.’

And then the sky opened up. Suiting, he couldn’t help to think. Even the heavens above was mourning. And the rain blended in and hid his tears, just like his smile hid the pain. But that didn’t mean they weren’t there. Maybe, it meant that they were more present than ever.

”I miss you.” He said, and it was the truth. Not a day went by without him missing you and Sam like crazy.

Not a day went by without him thinking about that year you spent together after he picked you up at college. The year you went on that road trip, the real deal — differing from your childhood because now you were on your own. The graves before him marked the end of the road, but there was no doubt in Dean’s mind that the year was the best of his life. He was just sorry that it ended the way it did. Sorry in a way he couldn’t even put into words.

It was so lonely and quiet in the car nowadays.

’They died only days from each other’, Dean then acknowledged as if he didn’t already know that. He remembered how you two always joked that you wouldn’t survive without the other, and, well, the dates on the headstones testified to that. It was so sad Dean wanted to rip his heart out, but there was still something wistfully and tragically beautiful about it.

After your deaths, Dean was completely out of it. Lost, to the point that Bobby thought he’d lose Dean too. But, quicker than expected, he pulled himself together, because he had something he needed to do, a mission. One last act as a big brother. And that, that was to find out exactly what Sam had done — well, it was more like confirming his suspicions because he was pretty sure his baby brother sold his soul — and then get him out of hell. Because Sam didn’t deserve that, especially since the reason he was there was Dean himself. After a couple of months hard work and dedication, he completed his task — Dean was still surprised, to this day, he managed to do that, but then again, he needed the distraction, and it wasn’t like there was anything else for him to focus on, nothing else to do. He was completely alone.

So now Sam was in Heaven with you, and Dean could breath out, knowing that you were well up there. He had this friend, an angel — you and Sam would’ve never believed him, but it was true — that told him all about the place, even showed him bits and pieces. Dean could relax.

Dean hadn’t managed to bring you back to life. But, now, when he knew about the afterlife, he wasn’t so sure that was the right thing to do. He was comfortable in the fact that he was the only Winchester sibling that was suffering. So, he gradually slowed down, until he stopped searching for a way all together.

Now, he could only hope that you would be there, waiting for him, when it was his turn. And, that you would forgive him.

Okay, so I just wanted to say that I know nothing about these types of health issues, I’m not a doctor and I also personally like to stay away from that stuff as much as possible because blood and such making me quite (really squeamish). So yeah, this development might be very unlikely, I don’t know. I just kinda took inspiration from other fics I’ve read where internal bleeding occurred. Also, the story itself might have some plot holes, especially the epilogue since things wouldn’t have played out the way it did if Sam wasn’t there, but I decided to ignore that just for the sake of the story. Hopefully you don’t mind too much. One last thing as well; the death date on Sam’s headstone was taken from Supernatural wiki, I looked up the date John Winchester died.

Reviews are love <3 (I might not be able to answer to comments though, but asks works)

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