#Sam would have raging voices to support him protesting

[danadaria]

AFC Richmond - Men Team: Himbos, trying to dismantle toxic masculinity, weirdly spinsters, allies, "We would die for you Coach".

AFC Richmond - Women Team: 1/3 have a PhD, political activists, half of them are married to someone from a rival team (or country!), there's 5 token straights, "Rebecca Welton can kill me however she wants".

[theapprenticeofthanatos]

TAoT: Chapter 23: Ultimate Enemy: Part 3

Dan POV:

As the portal closed, Dan took in his appearance. Black hair, pale skin, baggy clothes, scuffed sneakers. Everything was exactly as he remembered.

But not how his younger self appeared now.

Dan glared down at his bare right arm. He knew that apprentice marks could not be mimicked, having learned so back when he tried to impersonate Artemis’ apprentice. Still, Dan had hoped that since he and his younger self were the same person, he would be able to mimic his apprentice mark.

But that was not the case.

He bit back a growl as he changed his appearance yet again, adding an elastic bandage wrapped tightly around his forearm. It would have to do for now. He would figure something out later.

“What do you plan to do now?” Gaea asked from behind him, her voice soft like moss on a stone.

Dan scowled. “What I plan on doing is none of your business.”

Gaea tutted disapprovingly. “Now, now. There is no need to get cross with me, :little death:.”

Dan whirled on the protogenos, his lip curling with rage as he hissed at her. “Do not call me—”

He froze.

Gaea stood before him. Really, it was only a projection of her. She wasn’t fully awake—not yet. But… she hadn’t taken on her usual glamour. Instead of dark soil churning and shifting to form her robes, little shards of shattered glass from the broken windows rippled over her, crystallizing into a long, pale blue chiton and shawl. Coal black hair tumbled over her shoulders, and silvery-white leaves sprouted in a semicircle around the back of her head. Her gaze was half-lidded as she watched him, and Dan was grateful that her eyes were still inhumanly green, rather than icy blue.

The impersonation wasn’t perfect, but it still looked achingly similar to…

“I told you to never take that form again,” Dan growled as he turned away.

“Oh, am I bringing up old memories?” Gaea’s tone indicated that she was teasing him, but Dan was not in the mood. “Perhaps you would be more comfortable with a more recent one?”

Dan heard the sound of shifting dirt, but he didn’t turn around. He didn’t need to turn around to know what she looked like now. White hair, white dress, a flower crown adorning her head…

Dan shook his head, clearing his thoughts. He couldn’t afford to think about the past right now. Not after…

“What are you going to do?” Gaea asked again.

Dan’s eyes flared red. “I’m going to ensure my future.”

He held up one of the medallions that had been left behind by his old friends, and a blue energy surrounded Dan as he was pulled from his present and transported back to his past.

.

.

Dan appeared in the alleyway next to the Nasty Burger, ten years in his past. He carelessly tossed the medallion to the side as he inspected the building. The roof had been partially blown off and the wall facing Dan was almost completely destroyed. He was surprised to see the restaurant in such a state. It… hadn’t been like this back when…

.

The news had called it a freak accident. There had been a malfunction in the heating element of the sauce vats, which had caused the containers to heat far past the safe temperature zone and essentially become ticking time bombs. That anyone had been around when the restaurant had exploded had merely been an unfortunate turn of events. A tragedy.

His friends, Sam and Tucker, had been there to support him. To defend him and his actions—his absences, his poor grades, etc.—from the judgment of his parents and teacher. Jazz, the nosy, meddling sibling that she was, had surprisingly been on Dan’s side. She had protested as well, claiming that Dan was “stressed” and didn’t “know the consequences” of what he was doing.

Dan had rolled his eyes at that. How bad could the consequences be? More detention? He never went anyway. More homework? He never did it anyway.

If he had known that the consequences would be the deaths of his loved ones… Well, he might’ve done something different then.

There had been no time for Dan to react. There had been no warning. The second the building had exploded, Dan had instinctively gone intangible, and before he could even fully react—could even think—they were gone.

Dead.

He hadn’t even gotten a chance to say goodbye.

.

Had that explosion already occurred?

No, that couldn’t be the case. Samantha and Tucker had been with his past self just a few hours earlier. They weren’t dead. Yet. Dan’s plan would soon change that.

But then… what had caused this destruction?

Dan peeked through the gaping hole in the brick wall of the building. The dining area looked to be beyond repair, and what he could see of the back of the restaurant indicated that the kitchen was also in shambles.

The sauce vats stood untouched against the back wall. Dan noticed that the red-hot heating element from an overturned grill was leaning dangerously close to one of the said vats, and he could see from where he stood that the sauce temperature gauge was slowly but surely creeping upwards.

So… that meant this would play out more or less the same, right? Sure, the building was a bit more banged up than before, but the explosion of the two containers had been the catalyst that shaped Dan into who he was now.

He remembered the accident as clear as day. The following days, weeks, where he had wandered alone… and when his human half had finally rejected him as well, something inside of Dan had snapped. He had felt… numb, at first. But other emotions had quickly taken its place. He had felt sad. He had felt angry.

He had felt betrayed.

And he had been quick to take his revenge. And then…

.

Dan remembered when he had first met the earth goddess. After the betrayal of his human half… he had felt lost. He hadn’t really had a plan after getting his revenge on his human half—former human half, now. And as soon as his mortal side had died, memories had flooded his mind. Memories of long, long ago—a different time. A different life.

Dan hadn’t known what to do with the newfound information—with his restored memories, he had just felt more lost than ever. Honestly, his best idea had been to go back to the Ghost Zone. Go far, far away, where no one would bother him. Where he could think and mope and sulk in peace.

But then…

She had appeared.

Gaea didn’t say anything—she only held her arms out to him, a pitying smile on her restful face. That had been the first time she had mimicked his mother’s form (he wouldn’t see her usual, black-robed form until later.)

An intense feeling of sorrow—of regret—flooded Dan’s core. Before he realized what he was doing, Dan wrapped his arms around Gaea and began to cry. He cried, and cried, and cried. He wept tears of fear and sorrow; of anger and betrayal. The goddess wrapped her arms around him in return, quietly humming a soft tune as she held him.

Logically, Dan knew that this woman was not his mother, but… he was so desperate for something familiar—something comforting—that he did not care.

When Dan’s tears finally came to an end, the goddess spoke softly to him.

“You have lost much, little one.” Her voice was like leaves rustling in the breeze. “You have faced far too much sorrow in your lives.”

Dan stilled as a few straggling tears dripped down his cheeks. How… how did she know about that? How did she know about—

“I can help you,” Gaea promised. “All the pain you’ve felt… I can help it all go away.” She pulled away from the hug then, using her hand to guide Dan’s gaze up to her face. Her eyes were closed, but he could see the faintest bit of green light shining from under her eyelids as she smiled almost sweetly. “I just need you to do a few things for me in return…”

.

“Danny!”

Dan dazedly turned towards the mouth of the alley. He barely had time to register Samantha and Tucker calling out to him before Samantha enveloped him in her arms.

“You made it back!” Samantha gushed as she squeezed him tightly.

“Geez, Sam, let the guy breathe,” Tucker teased. Dan could practically hear the teen’s eye roll, even if he couldn’t see it.

Samantha quickly pulled away, a faint blush dusting her cheeks, and cleared her throat. Tucker laughed and muttered something under his breath that earned him a punch in the arm from Samantha. Dan watched their interaction with mild amusement; he… sometimes missed these moments.

Only when he was at his weakest, of course.

“So, did you beat that evil, jerky, pus-pack alternative version of yourself?” Tucker punched the air enthusiastically.

Pus-pack? Why you… Dan barely held back a growl. Taking a deep breath to calm himself, he smirked at the two humans. He had a part to play, after all.

“Oh, I defeated my other self quite easily,” Dan declared smugly. “And that was quick thinking on your parts, removing those medallions when you did.”

“That was all Sam, dude,” Tucker announced, looping an arm around the goth’s shoulders. “She’s a quick thinker.”

“I already told you, Tuck.” Samantha shrugged off Tucker’s arm. “Steampunk’s not really my thing.”

“Well, anyways,” Tucker jerked a thumb over his shoulder, pointing back at the wrecked restaurant. “We should try and do what we can to stop the Nasty Burger from blowing up.”

“I’ve already taken care of it,” Dan replied smoothly, the lie rolling easily off of his tongue.

Tucker raised an eyebrow, as if he didn’t quite believe Dan, but before the teen could say anything Samantha cut him off with an impressed whistle.

“Way to go, Danny. Look at you, actually thinking ahead for once!” She gave him a playful shove. “I guess Tha… I mean, your mentor is actually teaching you some useful stuff, huh?”

Dan’s eyes flashed red with rage at the mention of… Thanatos. His father.

His “friends” were really trying his patience, weren’t they? But he couldn’t afford to lose his patience with them just yet; he needed them later on.

“Why don’t we go back to my place and hang out?” Samantha suggested with a gesture towards the front of the alleyway.

Before Dan could say anything—could even make an forced attempt at appearing eager—Tucker whooped.

“Heck yeah!” He slung his arm around Dan’s shoulder and practically dragged him out of the alleyway. “I’m always down to play video games! How ‘bout you, Danny?”

“Uhh… yes,” Dan agreed as enthusiastically as he could (which wasn’t very much at all. He had other things to be doing than wasting his time with these two.) “I’m down to… ‘hang out’.”

Samantha scoffed. “Geez, you sound like Mr. Lancer. But enough chit-chat.” Her attitude became serious as she glanced over at him. “What was that… weird transformation you did back there? In the future?”

Dan faltered. He had almost forgotten about that; he had pushed it to the back of his mind as he focused on not appearing suspicious. Samantha and Tucker hadn’t seen that transformation before? Why hadn’t his younger self shown it to them? Where had it even come from? Dan didn’t have that form—not anymore, and he hadn’t seen those laurels since…

Well, Dan would just have to ask his past self about that later, after his work here was done. It wasn’t like he was going anywhere anytime soon.

“Oh, that? That was just… something new I’ve been practicing in my… free time.” That lie didn’t come out quite as smoothly as the last.

“You mean, like… your training sessions?” Tucker questioned. “You don’t really have free time nowadays, especially since Than—”

Samantha elbowed Tucker hard in the side, eliciting a cry of pain from the bespectacled teenager. Dan bit back a groan as he rolled his eyes. This version of his past was growing more insufferable with every passing moment. Thanatos this and Thanatos that…

He couldn’t wait to raze it all to the ground.

“Let’s not talk about that right now, Tuck, okay?” Samantha gave Tucker an almost threatening smile, before glancing back at Dan. “Let’s just focus on having a good time.”

“Yeah, totally.” Dan stretched out his arms and laced his fingers behind his head, giving a lazy shrug as he sauntered down the sidewalk alongside Samantha and Tucker. “This is our chance to hang out before the test tomorrow. Let’s not worry about school or training or anything else right now. Besides, who’s gonna win at, uhh… Doomed?” That was a game they used to play together, right?

Satisfaction filled Dan’s core as his old friends cheered in agreement. They didn’t suspect anything. As long as he played along until everything was in place, it would all go according to plan.

And he would have his way soon enough.

.

Clockwork POV:

Clockwork didn’t bother to look up as the Observants returned once more. He twisted the crown of his staff, hoping in vain that the Observants would see that he was busy and let him work in peace.

Of course, he already knew that wasn’t going to be the case.

“Have you completed the task?” The first Observant’s voice was crass and demanding.

“Everything’s fine,” Clockwork replied crossly, careful to not answer their question. He pressed a button on the console in front of him, revealing a time point in Amity Park—specifically, this Daniel’s timeline (it got a bit confusing trying to distinguish one Daniel from another, at least when trying to explain it to another person. Clockwork certainly wasn’t confused.)

The small group of ghosts watched the large monitor as Daniel—a Daniel, anyway—was joined by two of his human friends.

“See? Here’s your king, back in his own time.” Clockwork didn’t bother hiding his smirk as the two Observants bristled at the reminder that Daniel was technically the ruler of the Ghost Zone, despite not having been officially crowned yet. “Safe, sound, and clearly not evil. Now,” Clockwork turned towards the Observants, the annoyance on his face clear as day. “Care to observe the door?”

The Observants glared at the time ghost, anger and frustration practically radiating off of them in palpable waves. Clockwork just glared coolly right back at them; they got the message and left without another word.

Once they were gone, Clockwork pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. Those bullheaded Observants really tested his patience. And that was quite the accomplishment, considering who Clockwork was.

Or rather, who Clockwork was a part of.

He sighed as he shed his spirit form for his true one; he really had been busy before the Observants appeared. He knew that Daniel’s current timeline was already different from his old future. It was highly unlikely that he would join Gaea’s forces, especially once he learned about her role in his family’s death in the old timeline. However, Clockwork also knew that highly unlikely did not mean impossible, and a certain protogenos was going to try and make sure that old future still happened.

And that was something that Clockwork could not allow. After all, much greater things were in store for Daniel within his future.

Clockwork sighed yet again. As much as he didn’t want to go, there was only one place he could possibly hope to find the one he was looking for.

.

.

With a blink of his eyes, Clockwork was back within the mists of Chaos. He hadn’t been here in quite a long time. How many millennia, now? It didn’t matter. He didn’t plan to stay for very long.

Hints of his elder form found him in the infinite darkness, and welcomed him home. He could feel himself growing stronger as he delved deeper into the mists, searching for…

There.

She was more awake in this place. Not fully, but enough that Clockwork would be able to speak with her.

An earthly aura—one of must and petrichor—surrounded Clockwork as he neared its center. He could practically smell verdant forests and fertile soil all around him, although he knew that was not the case. Nothing could exist within Chaos.

Nothing except for those that had first sprouted from Its mists, and those that had already been around when It first came into existence.

“Chronos?” A tired voice rose from the depths. “What brings you here?”

“I am here to speak with you, Gaea,” Clockwork answered. “And to warn you against the current path that you are taking.”

The aura around him grew stronger, and Clockwork could tell that the earth goddess was offended. “What I do is none of your business.”

“When others plan on messing with the flow of time, it is most certainly my business,” Clockwork countered. “And that is exactly what you are trying to do.”

Gaea scoffed. “And how would you know if I was trying anything? You have been divided for so long that I am surprised you are even aware of anything around you.”

“I am aware of more than you realize, Gaea,” Clockwork responded coolly. “Otherwise, I would not be here, now would I?”

Gaea’s aura shifted like the rolling tides but otherwise she did nothing.

Clockwork rolled his eyes at the much younger—in comparison to him, at least—protogenos’ antics. “Remember that I am much older than you, Gaea. There is little that other beings can hide from me.”

“Say your piece, and be done with it,” Gaea ground out. “Unlike you, I have plans I wish to accomplish within this century.”

“You cannot persuade him to join your side,” Clockwork said—he knew that Gaea already knew who he was referring to. “He will not believe any lie you may tell him.”

“And why is that?” Gaea asked tiredly; she was growing tired of his persistence.

“Because he will learn,” Clockwork answered simply. “Before you set your plans in action, he will learn what you plan to do. He has already seen what you have done to him in ten years’ time. He will soon know the truth of what happened to his loved ones. Of what you did to them.”

“And how would he know such a thing? I have yet to do anything to him or his loved ones. Unless,” Gaea’s tone turned accusatory. “You have said something to him, Chronos.”

“I have said nothing to him about the matter,” Clockwork assured her. “And I will not unless he asks me. However, as of now he is in an alternate future where he has met a version of himself that formed under your influence.”

Gaea’s aura stilled like the surface of a pond—she was taken aback. “He’s where?”

“Exactly where I said,” Clockwork answered as more parts of his elder form swirled around him, clinging to him like a second skin. “He is currently in a timeline where you successfully turned him to your side after killing his mortal family and friends.”

The darkness around Clockwork suddenly seemed to burst with life. He could hear plants rustling with glee, and he could envisions mountains in all their majesty, standing tall and prideful amongst their surroundings.

“So I will succeed, then.” Gaea preened, sounding rather pleased with herself. “I will soon return to my rightful home.”

“Not quite,” Clockwork interjected.

Gaea’s presence immediately grew still, like a forest with a dangerous predator on the prowl. “What do you mean?” She asked carefully, her tone and aura warning Clockwork to choose his next words wisely.

“You know that this is not the way you will be awoken,” Clockwork reminded her. “The Prophecy of Seven already tells of—”

“And what does it matter if I arise a little sooner than planned?” Gaea countered, exasperation radiating from her like ocean waves in a storm. “Have I not waited long enough? If Death’s child is able to give me the freedom that I seek now, then why shouldn’t I seize that opportunity? You told me it has already worked—”

“In a timeline that will soon no longer exist.” Clockwork cut her off. “I should know, as I will make sure of it. And I will continue to frustrate your efforts for as long as you persist down a path that is not meant to be yours.”

He could feel Gaea’s anger bristling like thorns. She was clearly irritated by his interference in her plans. But Clockwork didn’t care. He didn’t need Gaea to understand the repercussions her plan would have on time itself, but he did need for her to leave it alone. Time wasn’t hers to mess with.

Clockwork shifted as yet more of his elder form merged with him. Visions of what has been, what was happening, and what could be appeared more easily before him, almost dizzying in their multitude. He blinked them away as Gaea spoke.

“Why do you insist upon trying to dissuade me from my plan?” Gaea growled. “Nothing you say or do will change my mind.”

“You know who Death’s child will become,” Clockwork continued, unfazed. “If you were to interfere with that, you would doom everyone, including yourself, to destruction. And I swear on Chaos Itself that I will not allow you to do that.”

Gaea remained quiet, but Clockwork could tell that her resolve was wavering as she took his words into consideration. After all, a threat made by Chronos himself was not one to be taken lightly.

“Besides, what difference is a few more years in the span of eternity?” Clockwork reasoned. “Why, I dare say that’s not long at all.”

.

Danny POV:

Danny’s head pounded as he struggled against the ropes. He grit his teeth as the ectoplasmic cords cut through his sleeves and dug into his skin, ignoring the wet feeling of blood spreading down his arms. Thoughts buzzed around his head like a hive of angry hornets.

Alone again. Must protect. Demigod? Mom! Dad! Must help! Jazz! Can’t be alone. Can’t be a demigod. Sam! Tucker! Only mortal parents… Legacy? Must stop him! Must… stop me—

Danny gasped for air as hot tears rolled down his cheeks and unbidden images filled his mind, overpowering his rampant thoughts. Visions of what Dan would do to everyone Danny cared about if Danny wasn’t able to stop him…

Nothing recognizable was left. Nothing even remotely human—only charred bits of singed flesh and blackened bone, falling to the earth like pieces of hail. His family and friends were gone, as if they’d never even existed—no, no, that wasn’t right.

He could see his parents. His father, bare-chested and chained. Lash marks covered his entire upper body. There was so much blood, and from how the light reflected off of it he couldn’t tell whether it was red or gold. His mother’s charred remains lay on the earth before him, and he couldn’t remember if her hair had been red or black—

Danny cried out in pain. It felt like his head was going to split open. What was happening to him? What—

“Well, well, well.” A gravelly voice growled, sending a chill down Danny’s spine. “After all you’ve done, you decided to show your face here again?”

Danny whipped his head around searching for the source of the voice, and froze when he saw who was surrounding him.

He recognized Skulktech almost immediately, along with the Box Ghost, Ember, Johnny, and Kitty. But they all looked quite a bit different from how Danny remembered them. They looked haggard, run down… angry.

At him.

Danny stared at them in shock. “What happened to you guys?” He could guess the answer—knew the answer, deep in his core—but… he didn’t want to say it out loud.

“Isn’t it obvious?” Ember rasped, affirming exactly what he had feared. “You did.”

“You and the Earth Mother, Gaea,” Skulktech sneered.

Danny didn’t even have time to wonder what Skulktech was referring to as the others voiced their agreement. As they closed in on him, Danny quickly realized that they most definitely did not have good intentions.

“Guys, wait!” Danny squirmed as he tried to free himself from his bonds. “That wasn’t me! I-I don’t know what all happened to you, but I promise that it wasn’t—”

“Oh, puh-lease.” Johnny rolled his eyes. “Spare us the excuses. We’ve been waiting a long time for a chance to pay you back for all you’ve done to us.”

As his enemies’ powers flared, Danny wondered how he was going to make it out of this in one piece. He twisted and turned, trying to free his arms in an attempt to at least defend himself as his enemies prepared to attack. But the ropes held fast, holding him captive and defenseless as the ghosts’ combined fury began to rain down upon him.

Box Ghost threw little pink cubes of ectoplasm that exploded on impact, burning Danny’s skin like acid. Danny hardly had time to react before Skulktech struck next, firing an ecto-blast that hit Danny square in the chest and sent him reeling backwards into Ember.

Ember sneered as she strummed her beaten up guitar, unleashing a wave of purple ecto-energy that whammed into Danny and sent him flying backwards once again. Kitty simply flew forward as Danny floundered and struck him across the face with her purse, sending him sprawling.

Danny was struck by blow after blow of burning, blistering ecto-energy, completely unable to fight back or block any of it. “Stop!” He begged, pained tears rolling down his cheeks. “Th-that wasn’t—”

Johnny didn’t even give Danny a chance to speak, a vengeful smirk on his lips as he snapped his fingers. His Shadow leapt forward and swung at Danny, its clawed fist connecting with Danny’s cheek and sending the halfa flying backwards.

A throbbing pain rang through Danny’s head, which spun wildly as he struggled to focus on the unforgiving spirits in front of him. His core pounded frantically in his chest as they closed in on him once again, eager to continue their onslaught.

“Stop!” Danny shouted desperately. The thrum of his core grew so loud that he could barely hear his own voice as cold energy welled up deep within him. “Leave me alone!”

The ghosts ignored his pleas, and the energy in Danny’s core grew so cold that it burned as it built within his chest. It pushed uncomfortably against his lungs, as if trying to force its way out of him.

Box Ghost raised his hand, a dangerous pink ectoplasmic energy flaring to life in his palm as he prepared to strike Danny once again.

“I said leave… me… ALONE!!!” The cold suddenly burst from Danny’s chest, tearing itself out of his throat in an ungodly scream.

The sound coming from him was deafening, growing louder and louder as waves of green ecto-energy burst from Danny’s mouth. The force threw Danny’s enemies back, tearing at their forms like ocean waves crashing against a sand castle. Danny’s scream was unrelenting as it forced its way out of his lungs and past his lips, intent on destroying everything in its path. The cords that bound him were shredded by the sheer ecto-energy radiating from his core.

But then the energy in Danny’s chest fizzled out just as quickly as it had formed, leaving Danny’s throat raw and burning as he clamped his hands over his mouth and looked on in horror. What had he done?

His enemies were scattered about, unconscious and floating listlessly in the green void, their forms flickering like TV static and almost completely destabilizing around the edges.

“No…” Danny whispered, his voice scratchy and hoarse. H-he hadn’t meant to hurt them. He hadn’t meant to… do that. That power… the same force that Dan had used t-to kill so many people—

I-I didn’t mean to…

:I’m sorry,: Danny whispered again before he flew away, leaving his gravely injured enemies to drift through the endlessly shifting Ghost Zone.

.

.

As Danny was trying to find his way through the Ghost Zone (he wasn’t really sure where he was trying to go, he was just trying to find a way out of there), a faint sobbing caught his attention. The sound was so mournful that Danny wondered if it was just another ghost, but as he flew a little farther he noticed a few leaves floating through the green void of the Ghost Zone.

Leaves and flower petals drifted lazily in a nonexistent breeze, and Danny was immediately on edge. Was… Dan’s ‘benefactor’ here? That Mother Earth person that Dan had been talking to earlier? The same one Skulktech had mentioned? Danny wasn’t sure, but… he didn’t think the plants were coming from her. After all, why would she be in the Ghost Zone?

And if it wasn’t her…

Then who was it?

Against his better judgment, Danny followed the trail of plant life. Scattered petals became whole blooms, floating as if they were underwater. They led Danny to a lone floating outcrop of stone. It was covered in thick plant life, and a woman knelt on a small patch of grass in the midst of it all. She was dressed in shimmering green robes and a thick black cloak. Her dark hair was braided with dried grass and red poppies, and she was facing away from Danny as she wept.

“Uhh, hello?” Danny called out, hesitantly drifting closer. “Are… you okay?”

He stopped a few feet from the floating island. Thick and thorny dark purple vines circled the perimeter of the island, and vibrant red roses sprouted from their midsts. A faint red smoke wafted from the flowers, and the scent of it instantly burned Danny’s nose and brought tears to his eyes.

“Leave me, oh mindless spirit,” the woman moaned mournfully. “Leave me to my sorrows…”

“Hey!” Danny shouted defensively. “I’m not mindless, I was just wondering if you needed help. Though, with all those scary-looking plants you’ve got there, I’m… guessing you don’t want any.”

“Help?” The woman scoffed, before standing and turning to face him. “How could a ghost help me? And who—”

Whatever she was about to say died on her lips as soon as she saw Danny. Her face—which looked strikingly familiar to Danny, though he didn’t know why—changed between several emotions within mere seconds. From sadness, to shock, to hatred.

“YOU!” The woman screamed. “You killed my daughter, and now you’ve come for me!”

Danny quickly backed away, raising his hands in surrender. “W-wait, you’ve got the wrong guy!” He protested. “I haven’t killed anybody—”

“Lies!” The woman wailed. “I know you! I know what you’ve done! I would know your presence anywhere after what you did!”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about!” Danny insisted. What did she mean, “what you’ve done?” He hadn’t done anything, so why did she believe that he had?

Well… Danny hadn’t done anything. But Dan definitely had.

“Oh, quit playing innocent!” The woman snapped, her eyes seeming to glow with rage. The plants around her began to writhe like angry snakes. “All the pantheons know you, and the devastation you’ve caused! You killed Heracles, Ares, Athena, Artemis, Apollo, Zagreus, Makaria, and my daughter!”

“I didn’t!” Danny shouted, growing frustrated with all the accusations. “That wasn’t me, I swear—”

“I WATCHED YOU KILL HER!!!” She screamed, harshly cutting Danny off. Her voice echoed through the void around them, cutting through the eerie silence. Danny’s ears were ringing as the woman continued to shout at him. “She told me to run, but I faltered! I looked back and w-watched as you…” Overcome with emotion, the woman fell to her knees with a heartbroken wail. “My dear Persephone…”

Persephone? Danny thought, recognition bringing the goddess’ face to his mind. That was why this woman looked so familiar, she was… “Demeter?”

“What?” She ground out. “Are you here to kill me, too?”

“No!” Danny snapped. “Stop it! I’m not—”

“Do it.”

Danny froze, his ectoplasm feeling like it had suddenly turned to ice in his veins. “… what?” He breathed in disbelief, his voice just above a whisper.

Demeter looked up at him, and Danny was taken aback by the anguish in her eyes. “Do it!” She begged. “Just kill me already!”

“I-I…” Danny backed away from the goddess. “I won’t—”

Demeter let out a loud, guttural shriek as the plant life around her erupted into a jungle of wriggling vines and flowers. The blood red roses tripled in size almost instantly, their stems turning into thick, thorned trunks that twisted and slithered towards Danny like octopus tentacles. Danny darted backwards, narrowly avoiding being snagged by the deadly-looking vines.

“KILL ME!” Demeter cried. “PLEASE! I can’t live without her…”

Danny couldn’t handle anymore of this. He turned tail and fled as fast as he could—faster than he had ever flown before—but it wasn’t quick enough to escape Demeter’s cries as she called after him, begging him to end her suffering.

First: Prologue

Previous: Chapter 22

Next: Chapter 24

[lailannajacobs]

Heart of the Night

Pairing: Bucky x reader

Summary: Bucky finds you after a mission that didn’t quite go as planned. 

Word Count: 2.8k

Warnings: lil bit angsty 

A/N: This is my submission for @wkemeup​​ 9k challenge, it’s not quite as edited as I would have liked but the end of the school year is always super busy so here it is! Congrats Kas, you are such an incredible writer, your talent absolutely blows my mind, it’s just unbelievable and I hope one day to have a tenth of your skill! You deserve everything great and more! <3

The needle trembled, metal glinting off the fluorescent light in your bathroom as it hovered just above the skin of your abdomen. The air reeked of copper. The pristine sink was marred with the dark red streaks of failure. You tried to swallow, but it felt like you were choking on your own throat. 

The needle approached the bloody canyon made by a knife you’d been too careless to avoid, and hovered there, trying to find its mark. The world swayed. You’d lost too much blood already. The needle clattered into the sink, black thread trialing behind it like a broken tether. You were somehow conscious — delirious? — enough to think you were lucky it hadn’t gone down the drain because you didn’t have time to call a plumber. Wait no. You’d just have to get a new one from the cabinet. You tried to reach for the needle. Your body didn’t react. Instead, it swayed dangerously, only your fighting instincts keeping you from tumbling to the floor by gripping onto the edge of the sink. At least there were some things blood could wash off from.

“YN!” that familiar voice burst into your apartment, “pool table. Five minutes. I swore to Sam that this was the day we finically beat Vision and his perfect calculations.”

You swore at the joyful ness in his voice. You couldn’t match that tone right now if you tried. But you had to. The mission had gone well. You’d done what you’d set out to do. Only you, the ever-present failure, had gotten yourself stabbed along the way. The only mercy was that no one else had noticed and you’d disappeared to your apartment without drawing suspicion. That was, until now if you couldn’t pull yourself together. You willed your body to close the bathroom door, but it wouldn’t move. If anything, everything only spun even more.

“Where the hell are...”

You felt his presence in your doorway. Felt his gaze like a physical thing. You were always aware of him. Even now was no exception. Maybe if you pretended he wasn’t there, he’d go away. Right. And the three-inch gash in your stomach would stitch itself up. You turned your head, not realizing how many abdominal muscles it took to look over your shoulder. Your pride and the death grip your slick fingers held on the porcelain were the only reasons the spinning didn't send you tumbling to the ground.

When your bathroom came into focus again, the only thing you really saw was Bucky taking up most of the doorway. And he was seething. His normally cool eyes were raging hurricanes, framed between hard lines of frustration on his face. They scanned you from top to bottom with deathly calm, from the sports bar you had on that exposed all your skin and the bruises you garnered during the mission to the sweatpants you’d changed into. An X-ray would have been less intrusive. You shivered. It was probably the blood loss.

You wanted to make up some excuse for your failure, but his anger was justified. You were a liability on the field. They were bound to have figured it out eventually.

He said nothing as he stalked over in a few brisk strides, fury emanating from him in waves. He stopped beside you, the pleasant smell of his freshly showered body chasing away the tang in the air. You closed your eyes. It was a coward’s move, but you’d take any peace you could get before everything you’d worked so hard to keep got taken away from you.

“Sit,” he ordered in a low, almost growly voice, “now.”

You went to sit on the toilet but tipped backward before you could make it. His arms gathered around you, easing you onto the closed seat. Your head lolled back and you squeezed your eyes shut.

“No.” He decided, “I need an explanation. Talk to me.”

It seemed like too much work. All you wanted to do was go to sleep.

“No,” he ordered as if you’d spoken the words aloud. Maybe you had.

You opened your eyes, caught in the crossfire of his icy stare, “Hydra agent during the extraction.”

“Shit,” he muttered.

The extraction of the French Prime Minister had been more than an hour ago. You should have been stitched up a long time ago. You should not have been dripping on the pale bathroom tiles.

“Surface wound,” you continued as professionally as your body would allow, knowing that even though you’d live, your failure was the reason for his fury, “came here. Was in the process of fixing it.”

“We have medics,” he growled, “what were you thinking?”

You didn’t answer. You weren’t about to tell him how your presence was a poison that would likely get them all killed eventually. Or that your constant mistakes were your own consequences to deal with — to fix. He probably knew that all ready. His question had to be rhetorical.

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath as if he were trying to steady his anger. You stared at him, the winter soldier kneeling before you, his calloused hands still resting on your hips. He let out a sigh, his breath warm on your stomach.

“I should call for a medic,” he still hadn’t opened his eyes.

“Please don’t,” you whispered, “I can take care of my own mistakes.”

His lids snapped open, piercing blue eyes pinning you to the spot with their ice cold intensity. He was obviously still pissed. But he didn’t call for a medic. Instead, he got up, warm hands leaving behind nothing more than goosebumps and shivers — from the blood loss, of course— and picked up the needle.

“This is going to hurt,” he murmured once he was kneeling in front of you again.

You tried to nod, but the motion sent your vision spinning again and you gripped onto his shoulder for support, the metal sturdy beneath your grip.

He looked up into your eyes, “are you sure you want me to do this? It’ll leave a scar and it won’t be pretty.”

“It’s only fitting,” you coughed a laugh, “at least the outside will start looking like the inside.”

His brows furrowed but he didn’t say anything. He knew what you were. You were a mutant who somehow got the ‘gift’ of being able to make anything stop functioning. You could make plans fall apart. Kill a software program. Stop a body’s functioning. Even ruin a functioning team like the Avengers. With skill, you should have been one of their greatest assets, ruining everything that threatened the world. But your ‘gift’ extended to yourself as well. You ruined everything you touched. Even the good. Especially, it always seemed, the good.

He pierced your skin without warning, but you were glad for the pain. It gave you something else to focus on than the echoing thoughts of your failure. But Bucky was gentle. Despite the anger you knew must still be there, his movements were delicate and focused, hesitating whenever you winced or sucked in a breath.

By the time he tied the knot, you were surprised you were still upright. He might have been efficient, but you couldn’t tell if it had taken seconds, minutes or even hours. His hands cupped your face and eyes you hadn’t realized you’d closed fluttered open. He was so close now, his expression pinched with worry. You couldn’t help but wonder how it could be for you.

“I’m almost done,” he said softly, “but you’ll probably need a transfusion.”

Adrenaline kicked in. You couldn’t. He couldn’t. Not when you could barely keep your eyes open.

“Please don’t take me there,” you begged, “I can’t hurt anyone else.”

Your abilities rarely activated while you were asleep, but you wouldn’t risk the lives of the other patients or the doctors by going down to the medical wing. Years ago, when you’d realized what your abilities were, you’d stopped sleeping anywhere near anyone else. Now, hurt, there was an even greater chance you might lose control.

If you hadn’t been working so hard for consciousness, you would have also told Bucky to leave. But it wouldn’t have mattered. For some reason, he always stayed. Even when he was within the radius of your power. Even when you told him to go. Especially then. He always stayed.

“I won’t hurt anyone else,” you choked out, “I always hurt someone else.”

His thumb brushed across your cheek, “and yet you saved me today.”

You looked away from his burning gaze, your tears threatening to spill.

He continued, mercifully ignoring your watery eyes, “even though you were hurt you dropped that Hydra agent before he could shoot me in the back. We didn’t lose a single agent today, YN. That’s because you were there.”

“No,” you tried to shake your head, but his hands held on tightly, “they — you — saved yourselves. I got stabbed.”

“You got stabbed because you were busy watching everyone else’s back,” he growled, that earlier anger returning.

“I ruin things,” you repeated for what felt like the millionth time.

But it didn’t matter. He never seemed to believe you. But he needed to. You desperately needed him to before you ruined him too.

“Please leave,” you whimpered.

His answer was simple, “No.”

He took his hands back, but it was only to find some gauze to place over your cut. Once he was done, he scooped you up so gently the movement only hurt a lot instead of blinding pain and brought you to bed.

You gripped his shirt, fist balling up at the hem with all the strength you had left, “you need to leave, Bucky. Now.”

For some reason, the bastard smirked, “Someone has to make sure you don’t die in your sleep.”

“I’ll be fine,” you snapped, though it lacked any kind of force.

He didn’t look impressed, “If you were fine you wouldn’t be begging me to leave. You’d be downstairs with me and we’d be getting our asses handed to us by Vision and Sam like every other Thursday night.”

You wanted to protest. You wanted to protect him, but you had no fight left in you. And with the plush mattress calling you to sleep, the world went dark before you could figure out a way to get him to leave.

“All right Destructo, show me what you’ve got.”

You weren’t a fan of the nickname, but you weren’t about to tell the Tony Stark to shut up and use your real name. And anyways, as much as you hated using your abilities, and how you were always overcome by the tidal wave of fear that sent fear rolling like waves throughout your body, you always felt better — healthier even — after using them. And he was giving you free range now.

Eight suits surrounded you in a perfect octagon, hands out like they were ready to strike. Tony had somehow altered his suits so that they’d shoot bubbles — of all things — instead of small blasts and said you’d only be alive if you managed to take them all down before a single bubble came out.

A small grin unwittingly made its way onto your face.

“Glad to see you’re having fun,” Tony remarked, “it’ll come in handy for future testing. Ready?”

You nodded and ignored the bit about future testing. They might have thought they wanted you now but after they saw how much of a curse you really were, they weren’t going to keep you around long enough for future testing. You prayed that day wasn’t any time soon.

But you were ready now. That was until Tony’s voice crackled through the intercoms once more, “just make sure you don’t kill anyone of us in the process. I’d hate to miss Taco Tuesday.

You lifted your chin, “Give me thirty seconds with the enemies and you’ll have your taco.”

“Such confidence,” he remarked with a chuckle.

It was false bravado but you wanted this. You wanted out of your hell hole. So you weren’t about to let him see any of the very real fear that you actually might kill him. in the process.

You let out your power in a giant blast.

You bolted upright, gasping for breath. Black spots clouded your vision but you forced through the waves of dizziness, looking for the one person you couldn’t bear to hurt. He was supposed to have left. Your next breath never came. Bucky’s long limbs spilled over the edges of the chair in the opposite corner of the room, his phone resting on his chest. His eyes were closed, a peaceful look on his face but that didn’t mean anything. The dead often looked at peace.

Then his phone rose and fell with his chest. You held back a sob. Your relief would have sent you tumbling if you hadn’t been sitting. He was alive.

Without your blinding panic, the rest of your room came into focus. He’d left all the clothes you’d strewn over the chair in a neat, folded pile on your dresser. You glanced over at your alarm clock for the time, which was…off. Your dread clenched it’s fist around your stomach. It had been on. So had your air conditioning unit. And where was the constant hum of your ancient refrigerator?

“They’re all fried,” Bucky’s gruff voice came through the silence as if he’d actually been sleeping, “the phone gave a nice little shock when it died. Snapped me out of my sleep that’s for sure.”

Your heart was still trying to hammer its way out of your chest when you said, “You could have gotten hurt. I don’t know how you’re not.”

“I do,” he replied simply, eyes finding yours.

“No, you don’t,.” you shook your head more than you had to, “No, you can’t.”

“I can because I’ve trained with you almost every day since you got here. I know that your gift,” you scoffed at the word but he kept going, “your gift works differently depending on who and what you’re targeting. And I know you don’t target people. Not unless you have to and even then I see that it kills you to do it.”

You looked down at your sheets, hating the way his words resonated through your body, refusing to go away. But you could still ignore it.

“That might be true, but Tony has been making his suits to withstand me. In case I can’t control my powers and they hurt anyone on our side. He might say it’s in case we meet another mutant with powers like mine, but we all know that’s not true.”

“Why can’t it be both?” he huffed then took in a slow breath. It did nothing to hide the growl in his voice when he asked, “None of us are perfect, why do you have to be?”

Because, even as a full grown adult, you were afraid you’d somehow end up back in that orphanage, unloved and unwanted because all you did was ruin things. And you didn’t know what you’d do if you ruined the closest thing you’d ever had to family. Perfect kept you here. Perfect kept you safe.

He stood from the chair, and came to kneel beside your bed. He brushed aside the hair that had stuck to your forehead with sweat, calloused fingers resting gently on your cheek when he was done.

“You’re one of us now” he whispered as if he could read your mind, “and I — we — won’t let you go that easily not matter what you think of your abilities. Even if that means I have to inspect you for cuts and bruises myself after every mission. You are good, YN.”

You could only nod, taken aback by the ferocity in his voice. Still, it didn’t stop you from looking him over head to toe once more just to make sure he was okay. Then you noticed something off with him.

“Where’s your arm?”

He ran his hand through his hair, a sheepish look on his face, “it might have fallen off a few seconds before you woke up.”

Your heart dropped into your stomach, “I hurt you.”

He shook his head fiercely, “you didn’t. I’m fine.”

“But I could have,” you protested.

“But you didn’t,” he said, “you never do. Because despite what you might think, you control this thing inside you and we all trust you with it.”

You were about to object but he stopped you by pressing a light kiss to your forehead, and when he pulled back there was that lopsided little grin on his face that made you realize how light headed you were feeling, “one day we’ll get to a place where you’ll find this funny. I promise.”

And somehow, you believed him.

[dothwrites]

part vi of mafia!au 

part i | part ii | part iii | part iv | part v

COMPLETE

---

Recovery is slow and excruciating. 

Castiel’s body has never rebelled against him to this extent. His muscles refuse to do their damn jobs and function. He’s relegated to his bed for days on end, while being forced to endure Sam Winchester’s lurking and Gabriel’s overly effusive attempts to cheer him. 

All of those would be fine, except that he hasn’t seen the house’s other occupant, Dean Winchester, except in short glimpses, as though Dean is the rarest of all animals, only seen from a distance. 

Which is fucking bullshit, because he can hear Dean’s voice, echoing through the tiny confines of the house, after Dean thinks he’s asleep. Clearly, it’s not the concept of social interaction which Dean finds daunting, but rather, the concept of social interaction with him. 

It’s infuriating. 

It wouldn’t be as bad if he thought Dean’s avoidance was due to hatred or indifference. But even though he’d been fairly hazy that first morning, he’d seen how Dean’s whole face brightened, he’d felt the hard clutch of Dean’s fingers in his. The look on Dean’s face...Castiel doesn’t want to put a name to it, doesn’t dare try to define it, but he knows for sure that it wasn’t hatred or apathy. 

Which means Dean is staying away from him for some other reason and that...

That’s bullshit. 

So Castiel does what he’s been doing his entire life and pushes everything aside in favor of a single minded pursuit. This time, he pours all of himself into the mission to get his fucking body to do what it’s supposed to do. He starts with minuscule goals, such as getting out of bed and pacing around his room, but it’s still too much for some. 

“Are you sure you should be doing that?” Gabriel asks, a little sourly, as he stands in the doorway of Castiel’s bedroom. 

“Are you sure you should be poking your nose into my business?” Castiel asks back. For all that Gabriel is the elder sibling, they’ve never been under any delusions as to who was actually suited for this business. Gabriel is too flighty, too interested in frivolous pursuits and the mundane workings of everyday life. It was always Castiel who could sink his teeth into a problem, who could take it apart, hold the bloody pieces in his hands, and see how they could be sewn back together into a new animal. 

“Whatever,” Gabriel concedes, putting his hands up in a gesture of surrender. “On your own head be it.” 

Castiel sneers after Gabriel as he turns to leave. He’s just in time for Dean to poke his head out of his room. It would be comical, if it weren’t so infuriating, to see how quickly Dean’s eyes bulge and his face reddens. Castiel is afforded one swift glimpse before Dean retreats into the safety of his room, slamming the door closed behind him. 

Castiel rolls his eyes and starts another circuit around the room. 

---

His body might be stubborn but Castiel continues on his conquest of it. Soon, he’s walking laps around the house, followed by short jogs around the property. The safehouse is far enough in the country that, as long as he’s careful, he can exercise outside without garnering too much attention. 

The Winchesters and Gabriel watch him with varying degrees of concern. 

“I already told you, I’m fine,” Castiel grunts, massaging at his sore calves after a midnight run. “Besides, we can’t afford to stay here forever.” 

Judging from the shifty look on Gabriel’s face, this is not the first time someone has mentioned this fact. He also notes that his brother proposes no solution, which means that no one has either managed or bothered to come up with one. Typical. 

Castiel’s impatience and ire increases when he considers the reason they haven’t yet moved on. They’re waiting for him to recover, which is an unconscionable burden on his mind. Every minute they spend in this house, waiting for him to get his shit together, is another minute he’s putting them all in danger. 

Gabriel lingers in the doorway, saying nothing, yet watching Castiel with an intensity usually only reserved for cupcakes and candy. After a few moments it starts to grate on Castiel’s nerves, yet he waits until he’s fully done with his post-run routine to speak. “Something else you needed?” 

“When are you going to talk about it?” Gabriel asks, much too kindly for Castiel’s liking. 

“Talk about what? What do to next? I’d love to do that, if it were possible to get you, Sam, and Dean in the same room for longer than five minutes.” 

“When are you going to talk about Naomi?” 

Castiel’s blood freezes. 

“I might be an idiot, but I know enough. I know who Dad’s attack dogs are, and I know how they work.” Gabriel swallows, unwontedly serious. “I saw the marks, Cassie.” 

Castiel’s hand makes an aborted jerk to the crook of his elbow where the scars are still livid against his skin. He catches the movement before it has a chance to amount to anything and forces his hand back down to his side. He can still feel the phantom ache of needles pushing into his skin, still remember how it felt when the road forked and reality went one way while his brain went another. 

He hasn’t told anyone, but sometimes, he’ll catch movement out of the corner of his eye, turn, and find nothing there. He tries to tell himself that this happens to everyone, that he’s fine, that he’s normal, but there’s always the insidious creeping fear down his spine--What if he’s losing it? What if Naomi fucked him up permanently? 

What if he’s never the same? 

If he doesn’t have his mind, if he doesn’t have his body, then he’s useless. He can’t protect anyone. He has nothing to offer. 

“I’m fine,” Castiel croaks, once he realizes Gabriel is still waiting for an answer. 

One eyebrow ticks upwards. “Yeah, once more until I actually believe you.”

“I already said that I’m fine. I don’t know what else you want.” 

Gabriel throws his arm wide. “For you to stop trying to run yourself into the ground? For you to stay in a room longer than ten minutes? For you to acknowledge that you maybe have an actual problem?”

Castiel sniffs, retreating into haughtiness to hide his hurt and anxiety. “Well, I’m sorry if I choose to concentrate on more important things, like trying to get well enough to protect us all.”

Gabriel gapes at him. “To protect...” He looks over his shoulder, like he expects to find the Winchesters supporting him. Upon finding no one there, he turns back to Castiel. “In case you hadn’t noticed, Dean and I are fairly good at what we do. Even the stringbean can hit the broad side of a barn. We’re fine.” 

The deliberate inflection of his voice suggests that Castiel is somehow not lumped into the general category of ‘fine’. 

“Fuck off,” Castiel growls, as a more appropriate comeback fails to materialize. He storms past his brother, hitting him in the shoulder as he makes his way to the bathroom. Gabriel doesn’t try to stop him, but Castiel knows he’s still watching. 

Some of his righteous rage is lost when he looks down the length of the hallway and finds Dean standing at the opposite end. He spares a single, startled look at Castiel before he scampers back towards the living room. Castiel’s temper worsens at the sight of Dean’s retreating back. 

Dean is a confirmed killer, a man who’s known the feel of a gun in his hand since he could walk. He’s seen Dean in action and admired his skills and ruthlessness. Now he’s watching the same man running scared. Castiel can’t think of anything more pathetic or more frustrating. 

Now in a profoundly foul mood, Castiel slams the bathroom door shut. The sound echoes through the house. He twists the knob of the creaky shower, turning the heat all the way up so that steam billows throughout the room. He steps underneath the spray, ignoring the tendrils of pain licking across his body, his tender, scarred skin protesting the rough treatment. 

He pushes away the ever present nip of worry (what if Gabriel’s right, what if he’s weak, what if he’s broken beyond repair) and scrubs at his skin until tiny pinpricks of blood well up, and then he scrubs some more. 

---

Matters come to a head a few days later. 

No longer content with pushing his body through runs, Castiel’s taken to shadow boxing in the house’s basement. He dances around the dank, mildewy space in his bare feet, tossing punches and kicks at imaginary enemies. His muscles scream at the exercise and threaten to collapse and tear, but he pushes on anyway. 

His thoughts are spiraling ever downward, dovetailing with his exhaustion. Castiel’s so lost within their grip that the opening of the basement door escapes his attention. Even the weary creak of the step doesn’t catch his attention. He’s formed bad habits in his convalescence. In his world, such laziness gets people killed. 

When he catches sight of Dean standing at the foot of the stairs, he jumps in surprise. Embarrassment flushes his cheeks red, and he hides his shame with snippiness. “Did you need something?” 

Castiel paces around the basement, grabbing a bottle of water, just to give his hands something to do. He tries to unscrew the top but gives up after two tries. He doesn’t want Dean to see how badly his hands are trembling. 

“You know that we’ve got your back, right?” Dean finally says. Castiel stops pacing. He wasn’t expecting that. 

Despite his surprise, he recovers quickly. “Coming from a Winchester, that isn’t exactly inspiring,” he sneers. 

Dean doesn’t try to hide his flinch. Castiel feels an irrational stab of guilt at that. “I just thought you should hear it from someone who wasn’t your brother,” he says, already turning to go back up the stairs. “But you have all three of us. Him, Sam.” Dean pauses for a second. “Me.” He continues on quickly, like he wants Castiel to forget about the slight emphasis he put on himself. “Anyway, you don’t have to do this every day. Take a day off before you kill yourself.” 

Castiel’s upper lip lifts reflexively. So, Dean’s joined forces with Gabriel. Next, he supposes Sam Winchester will find him and urge him to talk about it, you’ll feel better if you get it all out in the open. 

“Stay,” he says, brain running ahead of his common sense. Dean pauses, his foot already on the step. “It’s no good shadow boxing. I need a partner.” 

Dean wants to argue. Castiel can tell by his hesitation, the twitch of his fingers, the way he closes his mouth on whatever he was going to say. Castiel waits, head cocked to the side. He doesn’t quite smile in victory when Dean makes his decision, but he must give off the impression of it, as Dean’s expression darkens. 

“You know this isn’t doing you any good,” Dean says, as he sheds his flannel overshirt. The fabric has barely hit the floor before Castiel is on him, swinging at his head in a wild, haymaker punch. Dean blocks him easily, but the suddenness of the attack surprises him, as he lurches backward. 

“What the hell?” he spits, a mixture of fury and worry spread across his face. 

Castiel dances back, shifting his weight between the balls of his feet. His fists are held up close to his jaw, elbows tucked in close to his sides to protect his ribs. Within seconds, Dean copies his movements, but with slight differences. Castiel keeps himself contained, taut, muscles coiled in a defensive posture. Dean is looser, his left hand lazily extended, though Castiel doesn’t fall for the trap. That left hand can just as easily block blows as it can land a stinging jab. 

When it comes to Dean Winchester, there are dozens of traps, and Castiel seems to have fallen into all of them. 

They spend several long minutes circling each other, exchanging tentative jabs in a dance of blocks and dodges. They learn what blows the other considers threatening and what the other will shake off. 

Castiel changes the tempo when he aims a low kick at Dean’s hip. Dean twists out of the way, but when he turns back to Castiel, something in his face has changed. His eyes have hardened, his fingers curled purposefully into his palm. Castiel understands. Dean was just passing the time earlier, indulging his whimsy. For whatever reason, now he’s made up his mind to act. 

“You need to take it easy,” Dean tells him. He moves easily into Castiel’s space, each motion screaming aggression. He bats away Castiel’s jab; Castiel blocks Dean’s punch. They fall apart, sharp eyes raking over the other in a search for weaknesses. 

“You need to mind your own business,” Castiel replies. He has to concentrate on speaking; already he’s a little short of breath, though he’d rather chew off his own fingernails rather than admit that to Dean. “What I do is none of your concern.” 

Dean falters at that. His defenses lower, which allows Castiel to dart in, landing several snap punches to Dean’s ribs before Dean regains himself and forces him back. Something dangerous flashes in the depths of Dean’s eyes, and a vicious satisfaction rises in Castiel’s chest. This is what he wanted, this is the Dean Winchester that he--

The thought hits him, unbidden and unwelcome, and Castiel freezes. His inattention gives Dean the opening he needs. Where Castiel fights with precision and accuracy, Dean favors overwhelming force. It’s a strategy which works well for him and he uses it to devastating effect, foregoing fancy footwork and devious punches for a simple, unavoidable attack. Dean puts his head down and charges, wrapping his arms around Castiel’s waist in an attempt to throw him to the ground. 

It’s a perfect storm: His muscles, still not where they were before, falter. His balance, another casualty of Naomi’s untender mercies, isn’t enough to save him from catching his heel against an irregularity on the cheap mat he’s laid out. Dean is a hurricane, a typhoon, and underneath his onslaught, Castiel tumbles backward. 

Castiel’s back hits the ground, hard enough to knock the breath out of him. His head slams into the ground, and his vision spins for several, vital seconds. By the time he regains his equilibrium, Dean is already atop him, knees clamping in hard against his ribs. One of Dean’s hands wraps around his throat, fingers flexing in warning. 

“Enough,” Dean says tightly. “Whatever you’re trying to prove, enough. We get it, all right? You’re a big badass who doesn’t need anyone. We get it.” 

If he weren’t staring so closely at Dean’s face, then Castiel would miss his quick flash of emotion. As it is, it’s there and gone before he has a chance to really examine it, but for the moment, it’s enough to know that it exists. 

Castiel slumps back onto the floor, allowing his exhausted muscles a moment’s respite. Dean, ever cautious, doesn’t relent. Smart man. Ruthless. Focused. He’s a killer, Dean Winchester, and whatever is broken in Castiel’s brain is drawn to that part of him, just as much as it’s drawn to the well-hidden, softer aspects of him, like his obvious affection for his brother and his insistence on protecting civilians. 

But for all of his admirable qualities, Dean Winchester is still just a man. Castiel tips his head back, baring the vulnerable stretch of his throat to Dean’s gaze. It’s a deliberately submissive gesture, one designed to draw the eyes. He feels the exact moment Dean loosens his grip, distracted, and it’s that moment that Castiel acts. 

He bucks his hips up in a single, sharp motion, while striking out at Dean’s elbow. With his support gone, Dean buckles. While there are countless activities which Castiel could imagine partaking in with Dean slumped overtop him, he’s not interested in any of them. Instead, he uses Dean’s momentum against him, rolling them until their positions are neatly reversed. 

Dean snarls and curses, but Castiel has him pinned, much more securely than Dean did him. His knees presses down on Dean’s right wrist, immobilizing his strongest arm. Castiel leans forward. With his superior position, he doesn’t need to hold back his panting, doesn’t need to feel ashamed for the several beads of sweat which slip down from his forehead to the tip of his nose, to fall upon Dean’s throat. 

“I don’t need your permission to do anything,” Castiel says, once he thinks he can speak without wheezing through a sentence. “I’m not weak, I’m not broken, I’m not whatever else you three think I am. I’m fine.” Before he can stop himself, the words come tumbling out, the ones which he’d meant to keep close to his chest. “So you can stop running from me, or whatever it is that you’ve been doing. I’m fine.” 

Emotion twists across Dean’s face again, and this time, Castiel is in a position to examine it. Surprisingly, when he’s forced to put a name to it, the definition he comes up with is guilt. He tilts his head to the side in confusion, only realizing after he sits back on Dean’s stomach that he’s left himself vulnerable to an attack. 

Dean doesn’t take the opening. He lays passively underneath Castiel and doesn’t try to squirm away, doesn’t push him away, doesn’t do anything. If Castiel had to guess, then he would say that Dean enjoys being there. Or at least, he would if he could get that awful, hangdog look off his face. 

“What is it?” he asks. There’s something there, writhing underneath the surface of Dean’s expression, something that probably shouldn’t see the surface but it has to. 

Dean turns his head away. It’s a childish move, one that irritates Castiel, as it’s an extension of what Dean’s been doing for days. He’s avoiding Castiel, running from him, which is infuriating. Dean Winchester is many things, but a coward, he is not. 

“Answer me.” He takes Dean’s jaw in his hand and forces Dean to meet his eyes. He stares at Dean, the same stare guaranteed to make hardened criminals think twice and civilians piss their pants. 

It makes Dean blink, but it’s enough. That blink starts an avalanche, and eventually, Dean’s whole face crumples. He blinks, hard and fast, green flickering in and out of existence. 

“It was my fault.” Dean’s voice comes out as a tortured whisper. Castiel holds Dean’s jaw prisoner between his fingers, now allowing Dean to turn away. At first, Dean jerks against the restricting hold, but once the first wall crumbles, all the rest fall quickly, and Dean stares him down. 

“What was your fault?” Castiel asks, when no more information is forthcoming. 

For a moment, he thinks Dean will pull away, but Dean surprises him. It’s obvious that he’s struggling with his admission, but it comes. Haltingly, in little fits, but it comes. 

“If it hadn’t been for me...Fuck, Cas, are you going to make me say it? If it weren’t for me, then you would be fine. You’d be with your family, head of the family, and you’d be...” Dean forces a swallow. His eyes perform a swift sweep of Castiel’s figure, down to his chest, where the scars still linger. 

“It fucking killed me to see you like that.” Dean’s hand rises and Castiel doesn’t move to stop him, not even when Dean’s fingers sneak underneath the hem of his shirt to stroke against his skin. His breath catches as Dean’s calloused fingertips catch against the scabbed edges of his wounds. Every instinct screams for him to move, to run, to flee, but he forces his muscles to inaction and allows Dean to explore him through touch. “God, Cas...You were...” 

Dean looks up at him. His expression is naked and raw. Castiel feels exposed just witnessing it. “You’re a fucking force of nature,” Dean whispers, pressing his palm flat against the quivering skin of his belly. “You’re a goddamn hurricane, and...” 

When he stares at Dean, Castiel sees an unfathomable, looming wave rising in his eyes, the same wave which he feels swelling in his own chest. He leans forward, and Dean’s hand slides from his stomach to his back. The skin there is marred as well, and he gasps softly as Dean’s thumb strokes over a particularly deep wound. 

“It was my choice,” Castiel whispers. He’s hovering low over Dean, their chests almost brushing. He’s close enough that if he wanted, he could count the freckles dotted across the bridge of Dean’s nose. Dean blinks. From his vantage point, Castiel can appreciate the thick curtain of golden lashes fanning across his cheek. 

“I made the call, not you. I knew what had to be done, and I did it. You think I could have been happy there, knowing you were dead? That I’d had a chance to stop it and did nothing? Every second was worth it because that was another second you were safe. I made the choice, and I’d make it again, in a heartbeat. Don’t take that from me.” 

“Goddammit, Cas,” Dean breathes. His hand is heavy against Castiel’s spine, but for once, Castiel doesn’t bristle at the restraint. “I’m not worth that.” 

Castiel’s mouth is not made for smiling. In fact, sometimes he thinks he’s forgotten the knack of it. But around Dean, his face moves easier. An actual smile, not the sarcastic, threatening expression he usually plasters on his face when he feels like intimidating someone, tugs at the corners of his lips. 

“Lucky for both of us, you don’t get to make the decisions,” Castiel whispers. 

He’s not sure which of them moves first. Either way, the end result is the same. His lips crash into Dean’s and Dean receives him with a low moan of delight, his mouth opening automatically. Castiel cards his fingers through Dean’s short hair, tugging at the strands as he maps out the interior of Dean’s mouth. 

The first time he kissed Dean, he’d been selfish. He’d been standing on the edge of his darkest moment, and he’d wanted something golden to take with him, something to hold through the horror. The second time he kissed Dean, he’d been half out of his mind, clinging to the barest hint of reality. He hadn’t even realized Dean was kissing him until it was over. 

This time...

The third time he kisses Dean, Castiel takes his time. 

---

The atmosphere in the house relaxes. 

Castiel stops pushing himself quite so much, and his muscles, glad for the reprieve, begin working as they should. Day by day, his strength increases, and Castiel takes full advantage of this. 

Dean enjoys being pinned and Castiel aims to please. 

The four of them hold contests--who is the quickest draw, who’s the best shot, who has the best accuracy with knives. Sam Winchester, it turns out, is a damn good shot, especially when Castiel considers his youth. 

The four of them work well together. Their personalities clash, sometimes terribly, but they also complement each other, pragmatism warring with emotion, brawn matching brains. Castiel laughs as he looks around the room, realizing that, for possibly the first time in his life, he’s comfortable. Amazing, that he can relax in a room with two Winchesters, but there it is. He trusts Sam and Dean, more than any member of his family, to watch his back. 

(No doubt Dean would throw in an off-color comment about being all too happy to watch Castiel’s back, but he chooses to ignore Dean’s rather childish sense of humor.)

The question naturally arises, as to their next move. 

“The smartest thing to do would be to split up.” It’s Castiel who says it, because it’s always Castiel who retreats to the fortress of cold logic. Three pairs of betrayed eyes stare him down. Castiel returns the stare. “It makes the most sense. There’s four of us; if we all split up, we’d stand a better chance of escaping. We could start over. Be whoever we wanted to be.” 

(Gabriel’s been fighting against the Novak name since he was old enough to know there was something to fight against. Sam Winchester has never wanted the mantle of the Winchester family; he’s dreamed of something else, something altruistic, far away from the dark cloud of John Winchester. Dean...All Dean knows is duty to his father, but Castiel already knows that he’d follow Sam wherever he went. And Castiel...well...He can always try to take back the Novak family. No doubt he’ll fail, but he’s a weapon, a hammer. He doesn’t know how to be anything else.)

“Fuck that,” Dean says, crude and succinct as always. “Your splitting up plan, not your be whoever we want to be plan.” 

Dean leans forward. His eyes lock onto Castiel’s. It’s as though they’re the only two people in the room. “Look at us. We wouldn’t have gotten you out if we hadn’t worked together. You wouldn’t have been able to get me out if we hadn’t worked together. You, me, Gabriel, Sam...we’re just better together.” 

Dean’s words touch something vulnerable in his chest, something Castiel has never bothered to acknowledge. What else was there for him, other than a life of violence? There was no room in the Novak family for love, no room for freedom. 

Dean makes him dream it’s possible. 

“They’ll look for us,” Castiel says, in a last ditch attempt at realism. “Not only the Novaks. The Winchesters too. They won’t like the idea that people are capable of defying them.” 

“So let them come.” It’s Sam’s voice, ringing clear from the table. He might have come to this house as a child, but he’s matured in the time since he’s been here. Castiel trusts him just as much as anyone else sitting at the table. “Dean’s right. If there’s four of us, then we stand a better shot. We’ll watch each other’s back.” 

“Careful there, Samsquatch,” Gabriel hums, his eyes dancing over the rim of his glass. “Your back is a little big to watch.” 

Sam shoots Gabriel a disparaging look and Castiel has to struggle to bite back his laugh. How could he dream of giving this up? These people are his friends, his...

His family. 

“So we go. We’ll go somewhere new, make our own destinies. Team Free Will.” Dean takes a drink from his glass. 

“Nifty title, but I think you’re leaving a few steps out,” Gabriel says. “I’m all in favor of Team Free Will, but exactly how are we going to make our way in the world?”

Gabriel’s eyes cut to Castiel. It’s Castiel who always has the answer, Castiel whose brutal logic always comes rushing forth at times like these. 

And this is the time for logic. Both the Novaks and the Winchesters have considerable financial resources, and they’ll stop at nothing to regain their lost sense of pride. If they’re found, then the best they can hope for is a quick death. Castiel might have tucked the majority of his finances away, but his funds won’t stretch nearly as far or as long as he’ll need them to. They’ll have to get jobs. Or else...

Maybe they could move to a different city and start their own family. Maybe, one day, they could come back here and take back what’s rightfully theirs. 

Castiel glances over at Dean. They could run this town. They could have it all. 

“I don’t know,” Castiel finally answers, ostensibly answering Gabriel, but never looking away from Dean. 

“I guess we’ll make it up as we go.” 

[marveloushiddleston]

The Monster Within

English German

Chapters: Prologue / Chapter 1

Plot: After the last fight against Thanos, the task of the remaining Avengers was done. And a new team of Avengers must now protect the Earth from a new unknown force. Together with SWORD, Wanda, Vision, Doctor Strange, Carol, Bucky, Sam and Loki, who must first prove himself on Midgard as a team and face unknown enemies.

"Thor, you can't be serious," Loki rages, running into the meeting room with big strides, "You really want me to work with these idiots? What do you expect me to do."

"Well those idiots are in the room with you and they can hear you very well Loki," Stark says, his right arm was in a sling around his neck, red scars were across the right side of his face as well as across his neck, although the burn from the Gammer radiation was slowly starting to heal, but they were still very visible. Tony eats another goji berry from the bag before turning the opening to Loki, who still has his eyes on him, "Would you like a goji berry."

Loki snatches the bag from his hands. He ate one of the berries and screwed up his face in disgust. A mischievous grin crept onto his lips.

"Loki, whatever you're going to do, don't," Tony warns him, "I'm warning you."

"What if I don't fear you?" he asked Tony purely rhetorically, looking at him. Loki let the bag disappear in green smoke before Tony's eyes.

"A simple no to the berries would have sufficed," Tony says to Loki, getting up from his seat, "I preferred you dead, rock of ages."

"Well lucky for you I'm not dead, because if I were, I promise you wouldn't have survived your little blip. It's only thanks to me that your daughter doesn't have to grow up without her father," Loki says, slightly angry.

"Thor must have refreshed your information," Tony tries to guess, casting a quick glance at Thor, "But as much as I hate to admit, since it was my last pack of goji berries, you're right and for that I will forever owe you and now that it looks like we'll be working together, albeit not actively. I'm just the guy who pays for everything. It's probably better if there's peace here."

"Tony, I think it's time to head home if we want to be there by dark. Morgan and Happy are certainly waiting," Pepper explained as she opened the door of the room and joined the small group. Pepper looked at Loki and after a moment Pepper turns her gaze back to Tony with a smile, "Besides, it's better if we give these two some space to talk."

Pepper supports Tony slightly as he was still a little weak on his feet as the two leave the room. Loki to the windows in the room and looked out at the bustling city that continued beneath his feet without even one of the people looking up. Would the Midgardians ever forgive him for what he had done? Or be able to see him without prejudice someday? It may be that he had suffered and lost enough, but was it enough to gain forgiveness from them?

"Brother, you have no choice but to work with the new Avengers, it's either that or imprisonment in a cell in a maximum security SWORD prison and I think you've had enough of spending your time in jail. You have to understand Loki, here on Midgard you are still seen as a war criminal by many. Being a part of the Avengers would help improve your standing on Midgard."

"And you, Thor? What will you do?" asks Loki as he tilts his head and clasps his hands behind his back.

"Rocket has offered me a ride. I decided to accept the offer and go with the Guardians. Brother, through all of this," Thor says as he makes a circular motion around the room. Loki realized he meant the situation with Thanos, "Did I realize as long as I pretend to be someone I'm just not, I can't find happiness. I need to finally be who I am and I hope you will succeed as well. “

"And Asgard? What's going to happen to Asgard? They need a king.", Loki frowns.

"Well Brunhilde will lead it...", Thor calmly explains and shrugs his shoulders. Loki opens his mouth to protest that Thor wants to leave the throne to her, but before Loki could utter a sound, Thor raised his hand and silenced Loki, "But only until you prove yourself here on Midgard. Once you have done that, you will become king of Asgard."

"Are you sure about this?",Loki staggers back as if someone had shoved him backwards with a powerful shove.

"Yes.",Thor says and you could hear the conviction of his words in his voice, "You are and were born to be king, Loki. I would trust no one else with the welfare of Asgard but you. You know what it is to rule as I never could and I failed at it. ", Thor says and almost Loki gently on his shoulder, "I know you can do it. Be the man I know you are."

"I'll miss your optimism, who would believe in me but you?" he asks dejectedly, lowering his gaze to the ground. The sadness in his voice was unmistakable.

"Mother. Mother told me.", Loki lifted his gaze and looked at Thor with a confused expression. Thor smiled slightly, "When I traveled back in time, I met Mother. She saw the good in you and believed in you until her last breath. Loki, I can understand your situation. And I know that all this isn’t ideal or easy, but it is the only way, brother, how you can show everyone the good in you, that you are not the same person as eleven years ago. That you've grown from your mistakes, that you've changed."

"The Asgardians will never accept me as their king after my little charade as Odin," Loki walked over to one of the chairs at the table. He pulled one of the chairs toward him, the chair legs scraping across the floor.

"I disagree , you'd be surprised what people can forgive when you show him you deserve it and you have five years to change their minds about you," Thor leaned against the wall and crossed his arms in front of his chest.

"A whole five years?", Loki asks, sitting down on the chair. He put his head down in his hands and ran his fingers through his hair. He looked up at Thor again, "You expect me to live here for five years?"

"Loki, I believe if you integrate well with the new Avengers, SWORD will shorten the five years and you may be able to come to New Asgard in less than half a year and take your rightful place on the throne," Thor said, "Besides, you should cut your hair."

"Ehehh! Should I?" asks Loki with a laugh, "Now who will be fighting alongside me on the new Avengers team?"

"Let me introduce you to the team.", Thor opened the door and walked with Loki down the hall to a larger room that looked like a living room. As Loki and Thor entered the room, the Avengers got up from their seats and turned to face the two brothers. The team consisted of: Wanda Maximoff, Vision, Bucky Barnes, Sam Wilson, Carol Danvers and Doctor Strange.

"Avengers," Thor explains, “This is Loki.“

"I think we're going to have a lot of fun," Loki says mischievously.

A/N: My tag list is open, post in the comments if you want in it. And please also write me in the comments what you think of the chapter!

[maevemarethyu]

Unexpected (6/?)

(Not my GIF)

(This is my shitty border though. First try and all.)

You weren’t expecting it. Neither of you were.

That didn’t mean you weren’t happy with how it ended.

Bucky Barnes x Reader Fic.

Warnings: I don’t think there are any in this one? Sad Boi Hours, Firearms, A lot of dialogue from a lot of people.

“You haven’t heard from Frank? At all?” Karen worries over a cup of coffee the next day and you roll your eyes.

“Nope. I’ve tried calling him but, it goes straight to voicemail.” You sigh as you stare out the coffee shop window at the people passing by. “He’s fine though. I can feel it.”

“It’s not him we’re worried about.” Elektra snorts before reconciling her words. “Not that we’re particularly worried about which river they’re going to find Patrick in a few days from now.”

That brings a faint smile to your tired face. You doubt that your brother would actually kill Patrick. Frank had begun carving out a new life for himself here as and you knew he wouldn’t jeopardize it for the likes of Patrick Vaughn.

So, no, your brother wouldn’t kill him but, maiming wasn’t out of the question. A few broken bones wouldn’t lay too heavily on your conscience either.

Your phone goes off for the fifth time in as many minutes and you reach for it quickly.

“Ugh. Again? Who’re you texting that’s so important?” Elle groans, obviously slighted by the distraction. “This is the first time we’re seeing each other since you found out about Pat. We demand your undivided attention.”

“And you’ll get it.” You promise. “This is about my door needing to be fixed. Bucky asked me when I was free so he could get it done.”

The two women sat across from you share a look as you type out a response, laughing at the photo of Sam and Steve that was sent with it. It was abundantly clear the Captain America had no idea how to use a drill when you see him frustratedly trying to get it to turn on while Sam stands in the back, holding the battery in his hand, with a finger on his lips.

It was a comfort; knowing that the all mighty Avengers were just normal people.

“We’re calling him Bucky now?” Karen hums as she leers over the table. “And he’s offering to fix your door?”

You knew that tone and you knew what she was implying. For some reason it brings an irritated heat to your face.

Foggy had been implying the same things when you had called him last night and you weren’t sure how to broach the topic.

Sure, Bucky was a nice guy but, you knew he wasn’t over Claire and you definitely weren’t over Patrick no matter how much you wished you were. You couldn’t run away from fifteen years like he had and, just because everyone else was sick and tired of your previous relationship (which they had made abundantly clear in every call you made last night) you weren’t.

No. Your mind kept replaying all of the good times you had with your ex-husband. After what he had said to you yesterday, you wanted nothing more than to erase him from your mind but, it didn’t work that way.

Having Bucky, someone who was going through the same thing, helped immensely but, after he left last night and you were left alone with your thoughts, you crumbled. Your breakdown had almost been as bad as when you’d first met the super soldier. You were hurt and you wished your friends would stop telling you how much they hated the man you had been married to. It didn’t help. All it did was make you feel stupid and weak for not seeing the signs in the first place. They made you feel like shit every time they pointed out how poorly he treated you and they had no clue.

How do you tell your friends that? They were trying to be supportive but, it wasn’t the support you needed right now. Right now, you just needed someone to sit next to you and listen to you rant while watching cheesy movies and eating your favorite take out.

You needed Bucky as pathetic as that sounds.

“Yes. He’s fixing my door because Frank kicked it off of its hinges in a fit of rage last night.” You reply curtly when you realize you had been silent for an odd amount of time. “He should be at my place in a half hour so-“

“Okay, let’s get ready to go then.” Elektra cuts in. She’s pulling on her coat and throwing away your empty cups before you can protest. “What? I want to meet him and I’m sure Karen would too. Right Karen?”

She poses the sentence as a question but, you know it’s not. Her tone leaves no room for you to say no and you have to remind yourself that she was just trying to be there for you. The former assassin was still learning how to be someone’s friend and she often came off harsher than she meant to.

Forgoing a worded answer, Karen nods enthusiastically and you know you’re stuck. You knew that if you wanted to continue having a friendship with Bucky he would eventually have to meet your friends but, you weren’t sure if you were ready for that.

It wasn’t in Elektra’s nature to give you a choice though and you mentally resign yourself to it as you pull on your own coat and finish the muffin you had gotten for breakfast. The brunette smirks at you, knowing she’s won and Karen claps her hands giddily.

This wasn’t how you were expecting your day to go. You were hoping that you could go out to breakfast with your friends, go home, get your door fixed, and spend the rest of the day hanging out with Laysa and Bucky before collapsing back into bed so you weren’t dead on your feet tomorrow at work.

It would be your first day back since taking in the snow leopard cub and you had been counting down the days, now even more so.

Karen opens the door and you three make your exit onto the busy sidewalk. A cool breeze has you pulling your jacket tighter and you inhale the smell of the incoming fall season. The first day of October was quickly approaching and you hoped the changing of the seasons would help you adjust to the changes in your life.

“Let me just call Bucky to let him know that you guys are coming.” You voice when the thought pops into your mind that he might not want to meet your friends. He seemed okay with your brother but, that had been a whirlwind encounter that caught you both off guard. “I don’t want to spring this on him.”

Elektra purses her lips but shrugs instead of arguing.

When you look down at your phone, you’re shocked to see it already ringing with Bucky’s name being displayed on the screen. Once again a smile creeps onto your face at the sight as you press the answer button and bring the phone to your ear.

“Hey! I was just about to call. Is everything okay?” You chirp, signaling the girls to follow you as you begin the trek back to your house.

There’s a rumble on the other line and faint arguing that piques your curiosity and you’re trying to discern what’s being said when Bucky finally answers.

“Hey Doll.” He sounds out of breath and you have to wonder what has a super soldier like him breathing hard. “Everything’s fine. It’s just-“

“Y/N we wanna come over!” A voice that could only be Sam Wilson yells from the background, causing you to shake your head with a grin.

You hear James grumble something unintelligible before letting out a long sigh. “They want to meet you.”

“They being Sam and Steve?” You guess whilst biting your thumb, trying to hold back the peal of laughter that threatens to escape.

“Yes ma’am.” A much calmer voice comes through and you vaguely recognize it as Steve Rogers from yesterday’s call. His politeness is every bit what you would expect from America’s sweetheart.

“You’re free to say no.” Barnes cuts in. “Please say no.”

He was obviously in the same boat as you but, you weren’t throwing him a life vest anytime soon. If you go down. So does he.

“You can come on two conditions.” You hum and he groans. “One is that Steve never calls me ma’am again and two is whether or not you’re okay with meeting two of my friends that so rudely invited themselves.”

Karen sticks her tongue out at you childishly. When she does stuff like that it’s hard for you to picture her as the woman who stood up to Frank. The woman who shot an unarmed man all those years ago.

The thought suddenly strikes you that you and Foggy were the only people in your friend group that hasn’t committed murder.

You feel as though that should disturb you more than it actually does.

“Sam’s already on his bike.” Bucky’s deep chuckle snaps you out of your thoughts.

You bid him goodbye and find yourself walking with a bit more of a pep in your step. You didn’t want to think about why talking with the super soldier managed to dissipate your sour mood. You just accept it for what it was and continue walking.

“Was that a yes?” Karen coaxes whilst she loops her arm into yours, grabbing Elle as well.

Her excitement is palpable and you find yourself nodding. “You two are going to be meeting the ex-Winter Soldier, Captain America, and the Falcon.”

“Who wants to take bets on whether or not I get arrested?” Elle says it as a joke but, it opens a very real pit of anxiety in your stomach. Elektra had always been off most mainstream radars but, it was entirely possible that the Avengers know who she is.

Your blossoming mortification must show on your face because Karen swiftly elbows the brunette with a frown. “Why would you say that? No one’s getting arrested. Besides, its not as if you’re aren’t dating the best lawyer in New York City.”

Her words do little to quell the swelling storm in your gut but, you appreciate them nonetheless. Regardless, its too late to turn back when your home creeps into view, just in time for a trio of motorcycles to park in front of it.

None of the men are wearing helmets and you make a mental note to berate them later.

“That them?” Elle asks, feigning disinterest. She can pretend to not be apprehensive all she wants but, you can always tell when she’s lying. This is one of those times.

Meanwhile Karen is bouncing on the balls of her feet as if she wasn’t personally acquainted with several super humans, mutants, heroes, and villains.

Hearing your approach, Bucky turns to face you flashing an uneasy smile before opening his arms.

“Oh he’s hot as-“ You purposefully ignore the rest of Elektra’s sentence in favor of letting yourself be enveloped in James’ hug.

“Hey sweetheart. Sorry ‘bout this.” His voice is low in your ear and you have to fight the shiver that tries to run down your spine at the sound of it.

“Don’t you start apologizing.” You huff before reluctantly pulling away. “My girls are going to eat them alive.”

You wave over Karen and Elle brushing off their stunned stares as Bucky does the same.

“Bucky. This is Karen and Elle. Girls. This is Bucky.” While Elle hesitates to wave, Karen is grinning wide enough that it had you wondering if her cheeks hurt.

“Nice to meet you. I’m sorry it had to be under these conditions.” Elektra steps up when Karen blanks, shaking Bucky’s hand and nodding to the men behind him.

Captain America and the Falcon introduce themselves when James refuses to. Sam flashes you a mega watt smile that has you hiding a laugh behind a hand. Steve forgoes your offered hand and follows James’ suit, pulling you into a tight hug.

Steve’s mouth opens to say something but, is quickly cut off by Sam asking a question that makes your blood run cold.

“Hey, have we met before?” You don’t have to turn around to know he’s talking to Elle and you stiffen in Steve’s hold.

Peeling yourself away from the blond super soldier, you take your place next to Bucky and elbow him in his side.

Elektra shakes her head with a shrug. “I just have one of those faces-“

“Hey! Why don’t we head inside? I’ve gotta feed Laysa. You know how cranky she gets.” You cut in as you drag the brunet around your home and into the backyard. The back door was the only way in since Bucky nailed a few two by fours over the front door to keep it in place until he came back to fix it.

If Barnes notices your panic, he says nothing.

The back door unlocks with a click and you can hear Laysa as soon as the door opens. A smile creeps its way onto your face at the sound of mewling and, when you turn to face James, he’s wearing a matching grin.

You ask him to get her from the nursery while you get the bottle ready and he nods, motioning for the guys to follow him into your home.

“Smooth Kare.” Elle jokes when the blonde trips over the doorstep; obviously too entrance by the Falcon’s ass to pay attention to where she was walking.

“Shut up.” She hisses. “Can you blame me? I’ve never seen a group of men that good looking.”

“Karen.” You hum. “Super soldiers equal super hearing.”

Her face goes bright red and you do nothing stop the peal of laughter escaping your throat. It was a much-needed reprieve from the tension that had been tightening your muscles since stepping out of the coffee shop.

“Like Matt super hearing?” He worries, biting her lip and dutifully avoiding the office door as we pass by it.

That was a good question but, it wasn’t one you wanted the answer to anytime soon. For now you were walking the fine line of knowing heroes and vigilantes with no overlap. You wanted to keep a grasp on it for as long as you could. When lines blur, things get messy, and you had enough mess in your life as is.

“Who knows?” Elle sighs before taking a seat on your counter as you begin the process of heating up Laysa’s bottle. She seemed a bit too relaxed for a criminal who had almost been recognized and you absentmindedly wonder how long she could keep the act up. Elektra was the epitome of a strong woman but, everyone needed a place to crash. Matt was her place. Lord knows they earned each other.

The microwave beeping mixed with Karen’s hand waving in front of your face brings you back to reality.

“You okay?” She mouths as James and the others make their way into the kitchen. You wave off the question before taking the cub from James’ arms.

“That may be the coolest thing I’ve seen.” Sam grins and James rolls his eyes. “And I’ve seen a lot of cool things.”

“You do that often?” Steve’s eyes widen in fascination as Laysa eagerly latches onto the bottle. “Take in animals like that?”

“Y/N’s always looking to take work home. Before her it was the Macaws and before the Macaws it was-“ Elle trails off, snapping her fingers in frustration.

“Oh it was the Gharial baby with the nub leg.” Karen supplies while cooing over the cub. “Remember it bit Foggy and he had to get like five stitches? How’s he doing now?”

You remembered that night very well. More accurately, you remember Matt laughing his ass off when Foggy fainted at the sight of his own blood.

You loved that little reptile.

“He’s doing great now. Swims better than the rest of the clutch.” You reply, laughing when you hear Sam (not so quietly) asking Steve and Bucky if they knew what a Gharial was.

You choose to save the herpetology lesson for another time.

“Do you guys want anything to drink?” Elle asks, taking on the role of hostess while you’re indisposed and you shake your head before silently thanking her.

“I’m good, thanks. We better get started on the door.” James declines, petting the cub in your arm once more then walking out of the kitchen, toolbox in hand.

“You have fun with that Bonky. I’ll stay with the kitten.” You snort at the nickname Sam throws out and you file it into the back of your mind for later. “And Steve can’t figure out how the drill works so-“

The Captain flushes with a frown before grabbing the Falcon by the back of his collar and dragging him into the room Bucky had disappeared, leaving you alone with Elle and Karen.

Both of which were eyeing you with matching grins.

“No.” You deadpan. “Don’t even think-“

“So Bucky seems nice.” Karen voices. “Helpful too.”

“And hot.” Elle adds.

You groan.

Across the house, Bucky was diligently ignoring the probing stares of Steve and Sam wile removing the planks on the front door.

“So. How did the door break again?” Steve questions for the hundredth time since finding out about it last night. His best friend had been tight lipped about the aftermath of yesterday and, after seeing how Bucky was with you, he could understand why.

“Hand me the hammer.” He grunts while gently yanking the first piece of wood off the frame. James wasn’t sure if you’d be okay with the others knowing who your brother was so, he chose silence, much to the Falcon’s irritation.

“Doubt the ex kicked it down.” The aforementioned bird continues. “Man barely looked like he could lift a chair let alone break down a solid door.”

Bucky wants to comment that you ex wasn’t a man as much as he was a rat as you so eloquently put it yesterday. He takes the hammer from his friend’s hand and uses it to pry another set of nails out. The ex- Winter Soldier refused to leave you in a house with no front door and, after a silent staring contest that lasted all of three minutes, you caved, showing him to your basement filled with half finished projects. Apparently, you were quite the handy person yourself but never finished anything due to lack of free time.

Luckily for him, you had been meaning to replace the doorframe for some time and you already had all of the parts and pieces he needed.

“The world may never know.” Bucky grumbles with a roll of his eyes, effectively putting an end to the door questions. He had been looking forward to another quiet day, away from the pitying eyes of his team and, if he were being honest with himself, seeing you again. He didn’t have to pretend to be okay around you and you didn’t push him to talk about things he wasn’t ready to say out loud.

Laysa wasn’t a bad incentive either.

Your house had quickly become a safe place for him. Something you made sure he knew when you both said your goodbyes last night.

Steve’s phone goes off and the Captain wastes no time in opening the new text message. “Claire’s filed for a transfer. Nat just got the request.”

For a split second, Bucky pauses. For some reason, he had thought that his ex-wife would have put up a bit more of a fight for him. A part of him wished she would have put her foot down, said no to the divorce and demanded they work things out.

He would have said no but, knowing that she had given their relationship up so quickly stung. Steve and Natasha knew that he still had love for Claire and were hesitant to bring her up, while the others kept telling him how glad they were that she was gone.

Suddenly the image of you landing a punch to Claire’s cheek pushes the thought from his mind and he regains control over his body.

“Wait. Nat got the request?” Sam questions. “Isn’t that a Maria thing?”

The bird-man had a good point. Claire was a SHIELD agent and that was Maria Hill’s turf.

“As if that was going to stop her.” Steve chuckles. “Romanoff doesn’t concern herself with minor legalities.”

James couldn’t complain. This was Natalia’s way of showing she cared and he appreciated it more than she knew. He was sure hell would freeze over before Claire stepped foot in the Avengers’ Compound again.

The Captain pockets his phone once more and watches his best friend work. The way Bucky’s whole body relaxed when he saw you outside hadn’t escaped his watchful eye. Even if he had managed to miss that, the way he had opened his arms to you without a second thought sure as hell would have caught the blond’s attention.

Bucky had gotten better with people touching him but, he still avoided it as much as he could. His best friend hadn’t gone out of his way to hug someone since before the war. Steve wasn’t oblivious, he could see the hurt that lingered in the ex- Winter Soldier’s eyes and he’d seen it mirrored in your own. The moment you walked yourself into Bucky’s arms the Captain knew that there was something between the two of you; a mutual understanding of one another’s pain.

No doubt Sam was going to tease him about it later but, Steve was happy. He couldn’t pretend to know what his best friend was going through right now. He was just glad that he had you to go through it with.

Minutes pass in blissful silence and Bucky has to restrain himself from strangling Sam when he breaks it with a corny joke.

“You guys should go to the zoo. I heard they offer senior discounts.”

While Steve frowns, a grin crawls onto Bucky’s face. He stays silent for a moment as he relishes what he’s about to say next.

“You’re a little late to that train. Already made that joke yesterday.” You take the words out of James’ mouth when you enter the room with Laysa clumsily trailing behind you.

“Oh that’s cold.” The Falcon grumbles and the sheer disappointment on his face brings a chuckle out of Bucky’s chest. He turns to find you smirking at the air force veteran while rolling your eyes.

Elle passes you and grabs a remote off of the coffee table. Sam’s words from earlier come to the forefront of Bucky’s mind. Your friend does seem eerily familiar but, he just couldn’t put his finger on why. Her standoffishness reminds him of Natalia in a way but, other than that, she seemed like a completely normal woman.

After hitting a few buttons music pours out of the television, filling the silence with a low tune.

Sam, ever the conversationalist, decides to break the awkward tension. “So, do you guys work with Y/N?”

Karen shakes her head. “Oh god no. That’s too much school for me. I’m a journalist and I work at our friend’s law firm as an assistant part time. Never a dull moment there.” She finishes sarcastically and, as normal people do, Sam and Steve look towards Elektra next.

Your breath catches in your throat when she clears her throat. “I’m a personal trainer. Moved here from Greece a few years back to live with my boyfriend.”

Her answer is surprisingly normal and you applaud her for adding the personal touch.

“She’s actually dating one of my best friends, Matt. He was one of the lawyers that got our papers together.” You fill in a couple blanks to make the story more believable. “And we of course know what you guys do for a living. Saving the world must be a dangerous way to get paid.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you see Karen and Elle struggle to keep a straight face. They were no stranger to danger (Elektra being the danger most of the time) and you all knew it.

“Someone’s gotta do it.” Sam boasts with a puffed out chest.

Steve is more subtle. “We try our best to keep people safe.”

Conversation flows steadily from that point on with Sam and Karen picking up the slack from Elle and Bucky. An hour passes in what feels like seconds and you’re fearing that Karen has finally met her match when Bucky and Steve shoot to a standing position.

Its an odd sense of déjà vu when James backs away from the door to stand in front of you just as it’s kicked in once more.

There’s no cloud of dust this time and you can clearly see the form of your brother rushing in with a hand on his weapon.

“Y/N! Are you okay? I saw-“ He trails off when he sees the three men in the living room.

“Are you kidding me?!” You yell, pushing James aside then stomping your way to your brother. “Again Frankie?! Again?!”

Despite your anger, you’re relieved to see that he’s not covered head to toe in blood but, that doesn’t stop you from smacking him upside his head. “What part of you have a key don’t you get? Stop kicking down my damn door!”

Frank’s posture relaxes immediately and he shrugs sheepishly. “I saw the bikes and I thought-“

“Thought what?! That I was being murdered at noon on a Monday?” As soon as the words leave your mouth you wish you can take them back. You remember how bright the sun was shining the day your brother lost his entire family. “I’m sorry. I know you’re just looking out for me because you’re a great big brother and I love you for it. Can you just do that without busting down my poor door?”

Sam lets out a quiet what the hell at your admission. His shock warms your heart- not because your brother’s reputation proceeds himself but, because Sam’s surprise tells you that Bucky hadn’t told the Avengers about Frank. A secret that was now moot.

“Nat’s gonna freak when she finds out.” Sam chuckles behind you and, once again, déjà vu creeps up your spine.

Déjà vu that turns into a shiver when a low and feminine voice cuts through the air. “Nat already knows and she came down here to make sure you three don’t get turned into pink mist and a memory. Looks like there was no need.”

You can see a speck of red hair from behind your brother’s hulking frame. This whole situation was getting more ridiculous by the moment and you revert to your wish for a quiet day.

You could handle one Avenger. Tolerate three. But add another, your brother, Elektra, and Karen to the mix? It was too much.

“Hey danger.” She adds, bumping your brother’s shoulder with a wink. You had to hand it to the woman. She knows what she wants and she goes for it. Her blatant flirting obviously catches Frank off guard and all he can manage is a furrowed brown and wide eyes. “You don’t seem too shocked by this Barnes.”

“Not my story Natalia.” His response is simple and to the point but it still brings a smile to your face.

Shaking off your surprise, you then grab your brother by his arm and wave Natasha into your home. 

“I guess that answers our door question, Cap.” Sam chuckles.

The aforementioned Captain stares at you with wide blue eyes. You’d think for a century old man he’d have seen it all but, watching you manhandle the most gruesome vigilante in New York (ex-vigilante he reminds himself) wasn’t something he was prepared for. Steve know understood what Bucky meant when he said you were something.

“Kare- check him. Make sure he isn’t hiding any stab wounds or bullet holes from me.”

The petit blonde takes his hand with a smile before leading him away from the group. You didn’t put it past your brother to have just shoved gauze into an open wound and call it a day.

You unconsciously gravitate back to James and you don’t realize it until he lays a hand on your shoulder.

“At least I was just measuring when he kicked it down. I can have it fixed in no time.” His reassuring smile coupled with Laysa now rubbing against your leg calms your frazzled nerves. Your house hasn’t been this lively in years and, although you know you should embrace it, you were tired.

“Tweedle dee and tweedle dum. Castle isn’t the only reason I came here. We have a mission.” The redhead points to the Captain and Falcon. Both men stand at attention and you have the gnawing feeling that although Steve was the captain, Natasha was the leader. “Nice meeting you Y/N.”

You watch with a raised brow as she crosses the empty threshold once more before answering with a weak you too.

She pauses and looks up at the cracked door frame with a frown. “Barnes you’re in this one too but, finish this up first.” Steve and Same both bid their goodbyes before following the woman out. You don’t let out the breath you’ve been holding until you hear three motorcycle start up and disappear down the street.

Karen comes back out- frowning at the now empty room before she shakes her head. “He’s clean but it doesn’t look like he’s slept in days.”

You scoop Laysa up with a frown. He was having his nightmares again and it had you worried. Guilt creeps into your veins when the thought crosses your mind. Patrick hurting you might have dredged up the past for Frank which explains why he rushed in earlier.

“I’ll take him hom-“

“No. I’ll take him. You have enough on your plate right now he won’t talk to you. You know that.” Karen bites her thumb after cutting you off. You could never piece together the nature of the bond she and your brother shared but, you’re happy that it’s there nonetheless. She was right, Frank would rather die than add his own problems to your full plate.

“Thank you.” You nod solemnly and she disappears from sight. Moments later you hear the back door close and you sigh.

“That’s my cue. Matt and I have plans for tonight and I’ve gotta get ready. You know- limber up.” Elektra stands with a cat-like grin. Her words have James coughing in shock and you snort. You almost want to tell Bucky the truth but you knew telling an Avenger that your blind best friend and his girlfriend were planning on canvasing the city to fight bad guys wasn’t the best plan, so you leave him to his embarrassment then give the woman a hug.

“I’ll talk to you both later. Be careful.” Out of the corner of your eye you see a blush burn onto Barnes’ face. Maybe it was cruel to tease him like this but, no one said that cruel couldn’t be funny.

She disappears in a flash of black hair, leaving you and Bucky blissfully alone.

“That was something.” You groan before plopping onto the couch. Of the several scenarios you had run through your head of meeting Bucky’s friends- the one that just transpired wasn’t one of them.

“It could’ve been worse.” He shrugs, picking up the forgotten door in an amazing display of muscle that has your eyes lingering on his back. “I think your brother and Natalia showing up added a bit of spice.”

You slam a pillow over your face hoping that it would somehow erase the memory of the last twenty minutes from your mind. “Weren’t you born in the twenties or something? Didn’t think you could handle spice.”

The playful jab has him shaking his head with a smile.

“I’ll have you know that I’ve eaten Carolina Reaper wings before. I can handle spice just fine.”

The pillow over your face muffles the snort that leaves your throat at his defense. The mention of the infamous pepper brings up an old memory from college.

“I almost killed Foggy with Reaper wings. He didn’t know what they were and, after eating one, he rushed for anything to stop the burn. He ended up grabbing a brownie laced with Black Scorpion pepper. Immediately started throwing up.” You find the strength to remove the pillow from your head with a bright laugh. “He had to chug half a gallon of milk to stop.”

Those had been easier times. Back when the three of you had the whole world ahead of you.

“Who laces brownies with pepper?” The man across the room frowns. “That’s just wrong.”

“Hey! It was a Halloween party. Trick or Treat.”

“Remind me to never come to one of your parties then.”

You gasp in indignation ready to fire back with I’ll have you know that I used to throw great parties before you think better of it. You stopped throwing parties years ago because Patrick never hid how much he disliked parties and your friends in general.

The thought of your ex-husband douses you in cold water causing a shiver to run down your spine. Instead of answering, you run your fingers through Laysa’s soft fur to calm yourself down. Glancing at James across the room, it appears as though he lost in thought as well. The clock on the wall strikes one in the afternoon.

It has officially been twenty-four hours since you both confronted your spouses. It was a thought that was both liberating and terrifying.

“We’re going to be okay. Right?” The words escape you before you can bottle them back up and, when Bucky freezes, you wish you could take them back.

“Yeah. We’re going to be better than okay Doll. Maybe not today but, eventually.” His deep voice wavers slightly causing you to worry your lip between your teeth. You had the feeling he wasn’t normally this open with his friends and an odd mix of feelings swirl in your chest; relief, a little bit of pride, and another that you couldn’t quite put your finger on.

Regardless it’s that feeling you can’t put a finger on that has you standing up. “Natasha said you have a mission?”

“Yeah. S’gonna be a rough one if all of us have been called in.” This time there is no waver of worry in his voice. He’s firm and matter of fact in a way the reminds you of your brother and Matt. That didn’t make you fear for his safety any less.

You decide to follow the same routine as you do with your friends who like to put themselves in dangerous situations on a regular basis.

“Do you have time for a home cooked meal before you go?”

Once again the man pauses but, this time he turns to you slowly as a smile grows on his handsome face.

“Yeah sweetheart. I’d like that.

Tags: @luthien-t​ @vicmc624 @cherryblossomskye​

[tintentrinkerin]

Harness & Spears Chapter 6/10

Warning: oral sex

Read below the cut or on AO3

It was a drive of around 6 hours and Sam and Jack needed to take two short breaks to refuel the car and Jack needed some fresh air one hour before they reached their destination. He got travel sick for the first time ever. But they took another car, neither the Impala nor the car Jack drove when he sneaked to Gilead. Jack still felt weird when they arrived at the motel.

Checking in was quick. Jack was surprised which motel Sam chose and Sam just gave him a smirk.

“This is luxurious!”, Jack calls out when they enter their room on the fourth floor.

“Yes, it is luxurious compared to what Dean and I are used to, we lived in really shabby stinky rooms more than once.”

Sam is wise enough to not just start telling tales of the ‘good old times’ with Dean, because that is not what Jack wants to hear right now. Dean is a topic they will avoid for as long as they’re here.

“I would say, I unpack our stuff, prepare some tea and you get better with your sickness, hm?”

Jack turns around. He isn’t that sick anymore, but Sam just offered him some pampering, how could Jack say no to that?

“Are you sure? I can help you with unpacking.”

Sam already opened his suitcase and now starts packing folded shirts and shorts in the cupboard. He turns around to Jack with a grin.

“It’s no bother, just unwind a little, take a nap while I unpack. Won’t take long.”

Jack fills the electric cattle with water and chooses a tea from the tea table. He hasn’t seen any of these so far, it seems very european, at least that’s what Sam told him, when he once was in Ireland. But he is also super curious what Sam packed. While the kettle starts working and Jack chooses fennel tea he looks over to Sam. It looks like he packed a lot for a week trip. Sam is the neater of the two brothers and carries extra underwear, even a hair dryer, three pairs of shoes. They haven’t decided on which disguise yet, but since it was a ghost hunt that had zero body count yet, they would maybe go with the ‘paranormal activity journalist’ thing, even though Jack loved also being FBI. After Cas told him after the teddy bear case he probably wasn’t the best actor in the field, he would let Sam talk anyway. Sam was big and earnest and super convincing.

Jack hears a rustling and how Sam hurries to hide what he was about to unpack back in his rucksack.

“What was that?”, Jack asks with a raised eyebrow.

On their drive here Sam chose to do the whole ride and while riding shotgun Jack played on his smartphone and he did what he always does since he and Sam are together. He educates himself about sex. He knows Sam will show him everything one day and also answer a lot of questions, but some things he just doesn’t spill. Jack is dying for answers, all the time, every waking minute with Sam. And that looked like a foil package of condoms.

Sam blushes and zips his bag, avoiding eye contact.

“Nothing, nothing that’s important.”

The kettle is done and Jack fills a mug with hot water and adds to bags of tea. He likes his tea strong and intense.

“Sam, that looked like condoms.”

Sam looks like caught in the act. And then he lets his shoulders hang.

“Yes, but it’s an old bag, I- I didn’t unpack it completely. They might have expired anyway.”

Jack is a little disappointed. Of course he had his hopes high for a second.

“Hey, baby, please don’t be disappointed.”

Sam shuffles the bag aside and invites Jack on the big king size bed. Damn it would be the perfect occasion. They’re alone and what did Sam just say yesterday? That he wants to be with Jack. And yes, yes, they are together almost all the time and they do the most exciting and thrilling things, Jack is regularly blown away and unable to form coherent statements when Sam is done with him, but… deep inside Jack he is aching for what people call ‘the first time’ and make a big fuss about. Jack reads a lot. He doesn’t like adult movies or porn, though, it’s tacky and he feels like this kind of intercourse in porn doesn’t resemble in the slightest what Sam and him would have. But how could he know if Sam didn’t show him?

Jack follows the invitation after a little hesitation, gets out of his shoes and opens his jeans, his belly hurts and Sam told him reducing pressure would, thus unbuttoning his pants or take them off completely. Sam also is barefoot now, out of his pants and Jack dives in his arms.

“I’m sorry, Jack, I know you want it. And I didn’t want to raise your hopes.”

“Is this all because I’m a virgin and you would be my first? And you have to stay pure and a virgin for as long as possible”, Jack asks quietly.

“Did you browse weird purity websites, Jack? Virginity is just a concept. The human body is made for having sex at one point in their life. That’s why you go through puberty, start having sexual feelings, breasts and penis grow, wet dreams, periods… all of this. Shaming someone for having sex is like shaming monkeys to climb trees. It’s bullshit. It’s sexist. I love being your first, but not because I think you’d be ‘unclean’ if someone else before me had sex with you, I just like the intimacy, being able to get to know you well enough to know what’s the best pleasurable way for you. And I’m very damn glad Hunter didn’t lay a finger on you.”

“But why don’t we have sex then?”, Jack asks with a trembling ache in his chest.

“You might be a virgin, but why I’m going slow is because I like going slow per se. I had sexual encounters that happened on the day the person and I met, and it was passionate and great and all, but… you remember the tacky jokes from Cas and Dean, that my cock is deadly?”

Jack chuckles, then nods. “Yeah.”

“That really happened a lot. I thought I liked someone, and then they were possessed by a demon, were a werewolf, I even had a sexual relationship with someone from whom I knew was a demon and that was even the whole point. I did it when I was mourning Dean. Later Dean stabbed her after-”

Sam swallows deeply.

“She, Ruby, was responsible for Lucifer to be freed from the Cage the first time. She tricked us into opening all the portals.”

“Oh. I don’t know what to say, Sam. I’m sorry.”

“None of this is your fault.” Sam says with a bitter undertone. “Back to the actual topic. I’ve been through a lot of experiences that seemed pleasant maybe, sexually, but in the end they got hurt, or I got hurt. I had a lot of people violate my body.”

Jack stiffens and attempts to get up, protesting.

“I would never-”, he calls out.

“Yes, you wouldn’t . I know that.”

But your maker did , Sam thinks bitterly. But when he looks at Jack, he sees Cas. Never Lucifer. And still he has issues to fully give in.

“But, Sam… I wished we could go further. I know you think I’m just a horny teenager but I feel-”, Jack clears his throat and winds out of the embrace to take a sip of his tea. It’s hot and he burns his tongue.

“I really like you, Sam, I want to be as close to you as possible. It’s a consuming feeling, it’s eating me up. I would say it’s wildly romantic to be so horny for each other, but I’m aching inside for you. Sam… I-”

Jack can’t make himself say it. “I want you so bad. ”

Sam takes the cup out of Jack’s hand and puts it on the nightstand. Slowly pulling Jack in his hug again, this time in his lap. Jack melts everytime when Sam does that and Jack can see in Sam’s face that he knows.

“Jack, believe me, I want you too. I want you a lot. It’s hard to resist you, oh, sometimes I feel like it’s impossible.”

It’s wonderful to hear that, it’s healing the aching, but only for a little and Jack knows it will come back at him even worse. He sighs and enjoys the shivers down his spine when Sam’s hand circles on his back, between his shoulder blades; a familiar motion. Never failing to make Jack either even hotter or calm him down. Sometimes it’s hard for him to differ which feeling is which. With Sam everything is right and upside down at the same time. Secretly Jack envies all of Sam’s lovers. And to hell with it, he is jealous that Dean had to have Sam so close for all these years, see him in puberty, see him maybe feeling lust for the first time-

It takes Jack a second to realize he’s just thinking about brothers, just that with the Winchesters nothing really surprises him anymore. Not even his own fantasy of teenage Sam, in full hormonal rage, humping pillows, like Jack once did when he didn’t know what the feeling he experienced really meant and how to prolong or end it.

“You’re still very victorious of resisting my qualities.”

“You sound like a dandy”, Sam chuckles, “Believe me it’s a daily struggle to not just…”

Jack’s stomach sinks and his groin is painfully hard and hot in a matter of milliseconds.

“Not just what, Sam?”, he whispers.

Sam turns both of them around and Jack lands on his back, squealing a little. It’s such an innocent, young sound that Jack has to recognise himself he sounds young and inexperienced. Sam shoves Jack’s shirt up to his armpits.

“Sam?”

Jack’s voice is shaky.

“I will show you how much I want you, okay?”

“I’m certainly not stopping you, please show me.”

He pushes up on his arms, looking down at Sam, who pulls down Jack’s shorts.

“How’s your stomach?”, he asks, kissing Jack’s abs.

Oh, fuck. Jack has to let his head fall back and he stares on the ceiling, thin blue waves dancing in his eyesight.

“My stomach? Miracle cure” he says with a raw groan.

As soon as Sam touches him in a certain way, Jack just elevates, his senses focus on what they’re doing and probably the motel could just go down in a blast of flames and Jack wouldn’t even notice he’s burning alive.

Sam’s long hair tickles Jack’s skin and he chuckles and winds a little, Sam holds him steady, there will always be one strong arm along Jack’s spine, supporting him, showing him that Sam won’t let go. And that he’s Sam’s. Jack would never ever let anyone else touch him like that. One hand digs deep in Sam’s hair, strong brown streaks, slightly curling. Unsure if to push him further down or pull him back up Jack just holds on, feels for Sam’s lips, his slick and talented tongue, waiting for the next sensation, waiting for his own wishes to form words, then sentences.

“Sam, I want you, I don’t wanna wait any longer…”

The kisses upwards stop and Sam looks up, lips wet and glistening, tongue flicking over his lower lip. It’s obscene as it is beautiful.

“I will make it worth the wait, Jack. Believe me, there are so many unbelievably good things we can do…”

“I want you… really, I want you… inside me.” Jack’s words splatter out of his mouth and he’s aroused yet a little ashamed.

Sam hikes up completely and lays Jack down. Kisses the ‘but’s and ‘when’s and ‘want’s away. Jack struggles, frustrated and horny, mood shifting between whiny and angry.

“You will, Jack. You will get everything you want and more. Please give it a little more time. It won’t be long, I promise. I know how you feel.”

A single mad tear rolls down Jack’s face.

“Sam, I want to be so much closer, I need to feel part of you in me…”

Sam kisses away the tear, tastes the salt. Jack is a shaking, needy mess, legs spread, shirt shoved up under his chin. Nipples hard, goosebumps all over and a raging hard cock between them.

“Are my fingers okay, too?”

Jack nods frantically. He remembers the orgasm that was so mind blowing and got ruined by Dean and Cas running into them.

“Yes, again, please.”

And Sam is a keeper of his promises.

Jack is shaken to the core before Sam even penetrates him. It’s a delight to see, only the sight of Jack’s golden eyes, the slight quakes, he’s so responsive in a unique way and it’s only for Sam. If Jack only knew how hard it really is for him to not just take the boy here and now, thrust in this perfect pale mannequin body, Sam has never seen anything so breathtaking. Of course he wants to feel Jack’s insides, he wants to drain the last drop of cum out of him while Jack rides him, GOD , Sam would do a lot to experience that in a complete guilt free and perfect way, like Jack deserves. Part of him wants to mark the naphil as his, show everyone that Sam is the luckiest man alive, because Jack chose him. Damn, fucking him until he’s loose and barely able to utter anything else than faint moans or sobs, yes, Sam wants to make Jack never forget the sex they’ll have. But he can’t. Not yet.

If Jack only knew that corrupting something so beautiful, so rare, so graceful strikes Sam with such terror -- to do it wrong. To disappoint.

If Jack only knew that Sam isn’t the strong indestructible man he might appear like. That things inside him are just broken and cannot be fixed. And it could destroy what they have. And Sam can’t have Jack shatter on the truth. He wants Jack to shatter on his body, shaking and in extacy. And in perfect bliss.

“Sam, please”, Jack coos.

Sam will not just give Jack his fingers, he’ll give him his tongue and mouth. Jack’s cock is full, red, tip glossy with precum Sam spread across already. He doesn’t hesitate to press the tip of his tongue on the bundle of nerves right underneath the glans while wrapping his lips around the tip. Jack sounds broken, his hips jerk and he simultaneously tries to pull away, his hands in Sam’s hair.

“Sam, so much! It’s so much!”

“Is it good much or bad much, baby?”

“Good”, Jack admits, “it was in a movie and when I saw it…”

Jack covers his mouth with his shivering hand, biting his finger.

“It was good?”

Jack nods.

“I won’t go on if you think it’s too much.”

“Oh, I… I don’t know Sam, it’s really hot, but what if I spill…”

Sam chuckles.

“Don’t worry about it.”

While talking he gently keeps jerking and Jack relaxes a little.

“I don’t want you to stop Sam, I want all of it.”

“Sure?”

“Yes, please keep going. Can I watch you?”

Jack looks down and Sam sees nothing but longing in his eyes. Good.

Sam laughs. “Of course, feel free.”

Jack already tastes a little salty from precum and Sam goes slow, it’s a new sensation and it’s just a matter of time until Jack won’t be able to hold his orgasm anymore. Sam risked it to take two fingers for Jack this time, circling his sweet spot steadily and sucking him in the same slow torturing rhythm. Jack’s hand in his hair clenches and relaxes before also his other hand grasps for some loose strands. His noises are so sweet, Sam’s cock jumps and aches with every new little ‘oh’ or whispered name it’s harder to stay patient and noble. Sam’s primitive part wants to go on without any mercy, suck Jack off, fuck this tight sweet ass with until he’s sore and force orgasm after orgasm out of this beautiful boy.

Jack’s breath hitches and his hips thrust up in Sam’s mouth, not enough to make him gag but enough to make his mouth water even more, make the blowjob sloppy and full of wet noises. Immediate reactions. Moaning. Fingernails scratching his scalp.

“Sam! I’m….”

Jack doesn’t need to finish that sentence, Sam can feel it coming. Jack’s cock grows even harder, a little bigger - or is that wishful thinking? - and Sam can’t resist to swallow as deep as possible, his fingers ramming into that tight hole -- fuck, Sam is about to cum himself untouched just by how Jack feels, tastes and these sounds. Fuck, these sounds should be forbidden.

“Close”, Jack cries, “Sam, so close!”

Sam would love to answer, give Jack some encouraging answers but he can’t stop now. He wants to feel Jack filling his mouth, he wants everything Jack can give right now. It should be painful, how Jack clings onto his hair, pulling and ripping. It isn’t.

With some firm and frantic rubs of Jack’s prostate and Sam moaning with his mouth full of cock the boy arches his back and cries so sweetly, his legs crossed behind Sam’s back start pressing them even closer together, his hands push and pull.

“I’m coming”, Jack’s voice is clear as a bell, no trembling.

And then he shoots his cum, thick hot spurts in Sam’s mouth and while Jack gasps and moans so loud the neighbors might hear, Sam swallows and keeps stroking, keeps sucking.

If Sam only looked up, he could see the molten glowing honey shade of Jack’s angel eyes, wide open, his shaking body and a faint blue light illuminating the face perfectly shaped like marble, Grace surrounding him like a halo.

Light bulbs pop and TV starts crackling -- just seconds later everything turns quiet.

Sam looks up, catching the rest of cum with his thumb from his lips and licks it up. Jack looks down at him, his eyes teary and still shining a little.

“Sam…”, he croaks.

Sam crawls up and Jack immediately snuggles up into an embrace.

“Did you just cause a blackout?”, Sam asks with a grin.

Jack sobs. “I think so... It was…”

“Yes, I felt it. Overwhelming?”

“I still feel like I’m shaking…”

Sam hugs him tighter. “You are still shaking a little. I will hold you.”

It takes a little for them to calm down. Actually, Sam can’t calm down, he is tenting his boxer briefs. There’s no way to hide it. Jack shifts, a hand runs under the fabric. Sam forgets to breathe for a moment.

“You don’t have to”, he whispers.

Jack doesn’t stop.

“But I want to.”

[supernatural7543]

loki x reader

warnings. there is blood and abuse in this as well as suicidal tendencies such as cutting. this chapter does talk about attempted suicide. please read at your own risk.

Your POV

You awoke from a sleep you never thought you would wake up from. Light flooded your senses. Your eyes adjusted to the light and you could finally tell where you were. You were in the infirmary. Turning your head slightly you saw someone in a chair next to you. It took you a moment to recognize the dark figure as Loki. He was a wreck. His hair was everywhere and he was pale and thin. He looked as if he hadn't eaten or slept in days. “L-Loki?” You muttered. He looked up. His once calm eyes were riddled with worry and had dark bags underneath them. “Y/N? Thank the gods.” He pulled you into a hug “ I thought I lost you.” You placed your hands on the sides of his face. “I-I’m so sorry.” You said, voice breaking. “I shouldn't ha-” he cut you off. “Sh it's alright darling. All that matters is that you're safe now.” You hugged him tightly and sighed a sigh of relief. “Hey” he said “why don't we go get you something to eat and drink?” You nodded and stood with him. He had to support you as you both walked down the hall. You got to the kitchen and got some food and a glass of water. You sat on the couch with Loki and he laid down in your lap. You ate and after a few minutes you looked down and saw that he had fallen asleep. You laughed slightly. He looked so peaceful while he slept. You heard a small crash and your body tensed. Something else was here. You carefully stood and laid loki's head down on a pillow. He was fast asleep. You pulled out a gun that you had hidden and crept closer to the doorway. You knew you would only get one shot at this. You whipped around the corner and the next thing you knew you were disarmed, on your knees with your arm pinned behind your back. You heard a surprised voice  “Y/N?” Your arm was released and you whipped around, kicking the figure behind you. “Ow. God Y/N it's me.” You turned and gasped. Dean held his nose and it was slightly bleeding. “Oh my god, dean I'm so sorry!”  He laughed. “You still have one hell of a kick.” You laughed, picked up your gun and set it on the table before hugging dean. “What about me?” You turned and saw Sam. You hugged him tightly “wow. You have changed so much. Oh my god your hair is so long!” Sam laughed “you've changed too.” You couldn't disagree with that logic. A sudden realization dawned on you. “Wait why are you guys here?” You looked cautiously to the couch Loki was dozing on. “We've come to take you home.” Dean said. Panic flooded in. Your home, according to them, was Lily's home. There was no way in hell you were going to do that. “No.” You said angrily. Surprise spread across the boy's face. “Why not?” Sam asked. “I feel safe here. I'm not going anywhere.” You walked over to the fridge and pulled out 3 beers. You handed one to each of the boys and opened one yourself. Just as you brought the bottle to yours lips it was pulled out of your hand. The boys shot up and pulled out their guns pointing them at the person behind you. “You shouldn't drink that stuff, especially after you lost so much blood.” You heard Loki say. You hadn't even realized he had gotten up. “Please? Just a little bit?” You asked, pouting a little. Loki looked you in the eyes. “No.” You sighed “you're boring.” You said to him. Loki laughed a little. “Love ya too.” He walked over and poured the liquid down the drain. “So Y/N, are you going to introduce me to your friends pointing their guns at me or am I going to get shot without even knowing who decided to shoot me?” You remembered that your brothers were there. Shit. “Sam, Dean, this is Loki. Loki these are my brothers Sam and Dean Winchester.” Sam glared at the god. “Loki, like the god?” you nodded. “Wait! Was this the guy who was on the phone?!” Dean yelled. Loki spoke up “yes. It's a pleasure to finally meet Y/N ‘s brothers.” the boys glared at loki before lowering their guns. “So he's a god?” Dean asked. You nodded. “Wait,” Sam said “are we just going to ignore the fact that he just said ‘after you lost so much blood’ like that seems like a big deal!” You frowned a little. “It's fine, really. I just woke and I'm doing perfectly fine.” You did a little spin just to prove it, but the spin quickly backfired on you and you would have fallen over if Loki hadn't caught you. “Are you alright darling?” He said, leading you to a seat. “Yeah I'm fine, nothing to worry about.” You said with a small smile. Loki frowned. “Last time you said that you attempted, and almost succeeded in, committing suicide. Bruce told me what you said. So I don't believe the ‘I'm fine’ lie anymore.” “Loki you care too much.” He shook his head. “You don't care enough.” You smiled at him. “Wait what!? Y/N you attempted suicide? Why? Why the hell would you do a stupid thing like that!?” You shuddered. They didn't understand. You could feel the looks that Sam and Dean gave you. Your hands went into little fists as you tried to keep your composure. Dean continued. “What the hell were you thinking!? God, I knew our family was messed up but that's why we sent you away! So you wouldn't be screwed up like the rest of us but no, you decide to be a dumbass and try to kill yourself. If you're gonna do it at least be successful next time!!” You had heard enough. Anger boiled up inside you. “Loki leave.” You said. He started to protest but you cut him off. “I said leave! Now!” He was taken back by the tone you had used. He had never heard it from you. He backed away slowly and left the room. You looked at the boys. They were grinning, clearly happy that they had gotten a rise out of you. “You are not my brothers.” You whispered. Dean cocked his head. You continued. “I should have known that my brothers wouldn't come here. Now leave.” You heard a crack and turned to see sams head was turned in a very unnatural way. A distorted voice came from his mouth. “What gave it away?” You took a step back. “Well I wasn't sure before but now…” Dean (not dean) laughed in a disturbing way. “We didn't think you would have a god with you. Guess we will have to kill him too.” Anger swelled up inside you. A white hot rage. The creatures that looked like your brothers took a step back. You looked at the window and saw your reflection. Your eyes had turned white. “No.” You said. You tried to calm down but it wasn't working. Sam(not Sam) took a step forward and you screamed angrily. Energy surged out of your body. A bright white light filled the room. When it faded you saw the body's of two monsters in a heap against a wall. Your eyes returned to your normal color. Loki ran in. He froze when he saw the scene. You didn't realize that Loki had come in. “Oh my god.” Your hands flew to your head. “Um Jarvis? C-can you clean this up as fast as possible?” You didn't hear the AI’s voice as Loki led you off. “What happened?” He asked. “They weren't my brothers.” You said quietly. “They were going to hurt you and I just got so mad. I couldn't keep it in. The anger…” you trailed off but Loki seemed to understand. He hugged you.  “Sh it's okay. Just rest, you just got up and you have already worn yourself out.” You nodded against his chest before falling asleep in his gentle arms. 

[sailorshadzter]

across the sea and back again, chapter 2.

WHEWWW. this chapter is a doozy. well over 6k words. 

i swore when i wrote chapter one that it wasn’t going to be more than that, MAYBE a part 2 someday (which meant never, lets be real haha). i cant say what happened but it did and now i’m planning 5 chapters out because... well, because i love drowning myself in wips & fics. ANYWAYS. thanks for the support and excitement over this au, it really keeps me going!! 

read on ao3

read chapter 1 on tumblr 

thanks again & i hope you guys enjoy this really really long chapter. 

The night before they leave Lys, a storm rages.

It keeps Robb awake most of the night, his pitiful wails cracking like thunder between the flashes of lightning. For most of the night, she holds her restless infant son close to her chest, whispering soft soothing words against his downy dark head of hair. When he does sleep, she sits in the rocking chair Jon had built for her during her pregnancy, one of the only things she's sad to leave behind when they leave in the morning.

"Sansa?"

She turns from where she stands at the window, the rain lashing out against the glass making it hard to see; but over the wind and the rain, she can hear the rage of the sea. "Afraid, is he?" Jon speaks softly, approaching her where she stands with their son, dressed in only a pair of old, wrinkled breeches. "Let me take him, you need sleep." She opens her mouth to protest, but Jon shakes his head, reaching for Robb without hesitation. "I have slept enough, let me care for him now." Robb fits perfectly into the crook of his arm, his weight warm and comforting. "It's going to be a long few days." Their days of travel would take them back across the Narrow Sea, back to the North, back to a place neither of them had thought they would ever see again. "Get some rest, sweetheart." His other hand reaches out to finds its place at the back of her head, drawing her forehead close enough for a kiss.

Only after she's placed a kiss to her son's feather soft hair, she nods, stepping back from where they stand. "This... Is the right thing to do, isn't it?" She asks softly, raising her gaze to meet his just one last time. He can see the fear that reflects in her eyes- not for herself, but for their child. Despite how beloved the Stark's might be, despite how beloved she was to the Northern people, a child born from the coupling of two half siblings would not be welcome. Not anywhere. But... She thinks of Rickon, she thinks of Arya, of Bran... of all the North... She knows the right answer long before Jon gives his solemn nod.

"I'll protect him." Jon says softly, his tone one she's only heard once before; i'll protect you, I promise. "I'll protect you both, Sansa." She smiles, inclining her head as she gazes at the man she loves, the man she knows would give his life in an instant if it meant protecting her. If it meant protecting their son. Without saying it, he understands her true fears, the only thing that could ever keep her from returning North to save her brother and their home. "Go. Rest." Softer still and she nods, leaning in so he might kiss her mouth, soft and slow.

As she drifts off to a dreamless sleep, the storm outside calms, a sign perhaps that their journey might still yet end in peace.

[ x x x ]

"Did you get it?"

Brienne nods, extending out her hand to drop into Sansa's palm a small vial. Something else that Lys was known for were their potent potions and poisons. Sansa had heard Cersei speak of them, had heard the rumors of those poisoned by the queen. "Thank you," she goes on, making her way across the room to where the single trunk of their belongings sits. Kneeling down, she slips the vial into a pocket on the side, a place where it will be safe on their long journey home.

"What will you use it for?"

Sansa rises up from the floor, turning back to face her new loyal knight; once, she had wished with all of her might to have gone with Brienne, to be saved before she could be sold to Ramsay Bolton. But now... She casts her gaze out the doorway, where Jon stands outside with Robb, giving him one last view of the only home he's only known. Now, she can't imagine her life any differently, despite the pain of the past. "To protect my family." She turns back to Brienne with a slight smile. "I hope I won't have any use of it." Brienne nods again, understanding. "It's time to go, I think." Sansa offers her sworn shield a smile and inclines her head, reaching out to gently touch Brienne's hand. She watches as her face softens, the smile transforming her features, filling them with warmth. "Take me home, Brienne."

Together, they step out into the sunshine.

[ x x x ]

When she steps out onto the deck, the air is cold.

She makes her way to the railing and wraps her hands around it, the sea stinging cold as it splashes her face, her hands, her skirts. But she does not try to pull herself from the spray, but rather closes her eyes and shivers- she's not felt this feeling in so very long. She opens her eyes and there in the distance, she can see the docks of White Harbor. It has been a long few days but she knows soon they will step foot upon Northern soil and from that moment on, everything would change.

"Sansa?"

Turning at the sound of his voice, she smiles; they'd been here before, over a year before, but sailing away from the North and the danger. Now they're sailing right back in. She wonders if he's thinking of the same thing. He's found his old furs and hers as well, for she sees it there in his hands. "We'll land soon," he says as he steps up beside her, draping her old cloak over her shoulders. "Are you afraid?" She holds fast to his gaze for a moment before shaking her head. "I didn't tell you, but... I wrote to someone of our arrival." Her gaze, which had turned back towards the sea, snaps back, a brow arching in silent surprise. "We can't land without anywhere to go, Sansa." He says softly, reaching out to tenderly touch her hand that still yet grips the railing. Her skin is icy cold. "It's Samwell Tarly." She relaxes, but only a little. That is a name she can trust, only because Jon trusts him. "I can only hope that my raven reached him in time." There had been no time at all for Jon to wait for a response from his old friend and so they would land in White Harbor and head to the spot that he had established in his letter and hope that Sam would be there waiting. From there, he could only hope that the rest of his plan would fall into place.

Though she doesn't speak, she nods, knowing just as well as him that this was their only option, their only plan.

It had to work.

[ x x x ]

"Put your hood up."

It's Brienne's soft command to her lady and when Sansa turns her blue eyes to her knight, she's smiling gratefully as she does as she's been bid. Her red hair would be known anywhere, even now, and she knows how quickly the rumor of a Stark looking man and redhead woman arriving in White Harbor would spread if her locks were seen by anyone.

With Jon leading the way, they make their way down the center dock and towards the spot known as the Seal Gate. From there they head along a path that is not without traffic- White Harbor is a port city and there are always ships arriving and departing, thus making it a lively enough place despite the cold, snowy climate. It is where the trade for the entire North happens, it is how the rest of the kingdom survives. They step off the main path after so long and they're heading down an alley- Sansa almost opens her mouth to ask Jon if he's lost his mind, but to her surprise he merely gestures ahead to where sure enough, she sees a building come into focus.

"Talk to absolutely no one." Jon says softly as they approach the door, knowing it was quite against his better judgment to bring Sansa to a place such as this. But with Longclaw strapped to his hip once again, he feels powerful, he feels confident. As if this was where he was always meant to be. The North was his home, it gave him strength, it gave him courage. "And stay close to me." He can see she looks worried but she nods before she clutches Robb closer to her chest, hidden beneath her cloak so well it is as if she only carries a bundle. Brienne behind her, they slip single file into the door and out of the cold, Northern air.

Sansa has never seen a place such as this.

It's as if every glance she gives the room, she's met with women in various stages of undress. There's a man fondling one woman's bare breasts for all to see in a corner and there's a rowdy table cheering in another as one man drunkenly kisses the girl trying to pour him another drink. It's a brothel, she realizes, a place she's certainly heard of, but certainly never experienced before. She can't help but to wonder how Jon knows of this place.

Pausing, Jon scans the room; for a single moment, he thinks all is lost, that Sam did not receive his letter in time. But then, as if by some miracle, he spots the round faced man across the room in the darkest, furthest corner. Sam sees him as well and is on his feet as they approach. "Jon!" He greets, clapping his old friend on the back; once, he had thought he would never see Jon Snow again, but there he was, alive and well. He gestures towards Sansa to take a seat and Jon guides her into a chair, leaning in close to whisper something into her ear; she nods and makes no movement to remove her cloak's hood, despite being inside and out of the elements. Jon and Sam sit as well, leaving Brienne to stand just off to the side, her gaze daring any one of those within the room to cross her. "I was surprised to hear from you. Everyone thinks you to be dead."

"Aye, I'm glad to know that. They won't be expecting us." Jon replies, sparing a quick glance to Sansa beside him, who's closed her eyes; she looks as tired as he feels. But their night is not yet over. "Tell me what you know of the North. What is happening?"

Sam opens his mouth as if he means to speak, but then promptly closes it, as if he's uncertain as to what to say. "There is something..." He begins, glancing towards the hooded girl beside Jon, as well, jumping when he finds himself peering into her intense blue stare. "Something I found while at the Citadel." He clarifies, turning back to face Jon, knowing these next few words he had to say would change everything for him. "About you."

"About me?" Jon asks, blinking, clearly surprised.

"It was a diary entry for the High Septon Maynard, he wrote about the annulment of Prince Rhaegar's first marriage and his secret wedding with a girl of Northern blood." Sam speaks slowly, carefully, watching as Jon's face begins to change. He doesn't know, and yet, something tells Sam that somehow he does. "Her name was Lyanna Stark." The cloaked woman beside Jon gives a soft little gasp and Sam casts another glance her way and see she looks as shocked as Jon, though she too holds a strange look of understanding. "According to Maynard, Lyanna gave birth to Rhaegar's son and heir in Dorne and died from childbirth. The child was never found, but they assumed him to be dead. Perhaps buried by a kind soul who witnessed the birth."

Jon can barely hear Sam over the sound of his beating heart. Beneath the table, he feels Sansa touch his leg- a warm touch, a comforting touch. He slips a hand over hers, giving it a gentle squeeze. Somehow, before Sam finishes, Jon already knows what he's going to say.

"You're that son, Jon." Sam speaks clearly, but quietly, so they are not overheard. They are lucky for the loud, rowdy crew in the room; no one pays much mind to their table in the darkest corner. "Rhaegar was your father, Jon, your real father." Jon blinks and for a moment, gives no other reaction, making Sam wonder if he's heard him at all. "Jon... You know what that means, don't you?" He asks and Jon blinks again, not yet speaking, though he does meet Sam's gaze.

"It means he's the true heir to the Iron Throne."

The woman beside Jon speaks for the first time, the sound of her voice causing Sam to nearly leap from his skin. He turns back to her and though she's not lowered her hood, she's sitting up straighter, a new confidence to her body language. He opens his mouth to speak but he's cut off by the sudden wailing of an infant. And it's coming from the woman. Sam watches in absolute shock as she fumbles with the cloak she wears, revealing for the first time that she carries a swaddled baby in her arms, a babe nearly as small as little Sam had been when he first met Gilly. She hushes the baby softly and he quiets after several moments, content enough to suckle his mother's finger in place of her breast. At least for now.

A quick glance around tells Sam that lucky for them, the baby's cries were not heard. Now that he looks closer at the babe she holds, he can see that the child looks quite like Jon- from the dark curls to the shape of his features; it was a Stark child, that much was certain. Now it's Sam's turn to understand what's right there in front of him. This was Jon's son and most certainly the woman beside him, whoever she was, was the infant's mother. "My father was... was Ned Stark." It's Jon speaking for the first time and he's shaking his head as if he doesn't believe the words that have been spoken to him.

Before Sam can speak, it's Sansa that's turning to him, her hand warm upon his shoulder now. Her touch guides his gaze to her face, swiveled in his chair entirely, just so he might face her. "Don't you see...?" She speaks softly, her words so quiet in the loud room that Sam cannot make out everything that she says to him. "This will change everything, Jon, for the better." They were not half siblings, they were cousins. Together, he the heir to the Iron Throne and she the heir to the North, they were a powerful alliance that would gain them more support than simply being Sansa Stark and the bastard of Winterfell. Her words must be the ones he needs to hear for after several long moments, he nods, swallowing down whatever fear and anxiety surely is rising up within him. Then he turns back to face Sam across the table and gives one more, stronger than before, nod.

"Tell me everything you know, Sam."

And he does.

[ x x x ]

The snow falls swiftly, blanketing the world around her in a fresh cover of white.

She shivers; not from cold, but from fear.

Ahead of her, Rickon stands with his back to her, his Tully touched curls gleaming in the pale moonlight. He's grown tall as a man, but she still recalls the day he was born. She opens her mouth to call his name, tears in her eyes, but her voice does not come. Running and running and running, but she cannot seem to reach him, she cannot seem to touch him. And then suddenly, she's there, just an arm's length from where Rickon stands. His name is a whisper on her trembling lips and slowly, painfully slow, he revolves on the spot.

Her mouth opens in a silent scream.

It is not Rickon, but rather a rotting corpse that most certainly is Robb; he holds Greywind's severed head in his hands, blood splattered all down his front. She closes her eyes and when she opens them, the face is her father and it's Lady's head that tumbles from his hands to land at her feet, golden eyes blinking up at her. Somewhere, in the distance, comes the howl of a lonely wolf.

Closer the howl comes, closer, closer...

She wakes with a gasp, breathing hard, fear still yet clinging to her skin.

"Sansa?"

It's Jon; he stands across the room, Robb cradled in his arms, though the baby sleeps peacefully. "A nightmare, sweetheart?" He whispers as he comes closer, sinking down onto her side of the bed, one hand reaching out to take hers. She trembles, her skin frightfully pale; it's been a long time since she's hard a nightmare that's left her in a state such as this. "Tell me." To his surprise, she shakes her head; it was truly a fearful dream, if she doesn't even wish to speak on it. That was how it always used to be, back in the beginning, back when she first came to him from Ramsay Bolton. He still recalls the nights where she would pace the floor til dawn, too frightened to sleep. He still recalls the nights where she would cry herself back to sleep with her head in his lap, her body simply too tired to fight the need to sleep.

"Why are you awake?" She asks instead, reaching out to tenderly stroke their son's forehead, the only thing that could bring a smile to her face right then was him. "I didn't hear him cry."

"He didn't," Jon admits softly, turning away from her then as if shamed by something. "I couldn't sleep." He goes on, softer still, closing his Stark colored eyes against the emotion welling within him.

Now she understands.

"Oh, Jon..." She murmurs, reaching out for him as he had done for her only moments ago. Her touch brings him back to her and she brushes her fingertips along his jawline, his stubble rough against her skin. Sansa cannot imagine the feelings he must be feeling right then- they had not spoken of it since they found themselves the small room to rent, thanks to Sam's help. All his life, Jon had wanted nothing more than to be a true born Stark, the son of Ned Stark. But he had accepted the hand dealt to him in the form of his bastard status for at least in that he still had a family, brothers and sisters and a father that never once made him feel less than any of the other children. And now... Now...

It's not until he feels her brushing away his tears that Jon knows he's begun to cry. Sansa gently removes Robb from his grasp, tucking the baby carefully against Jon's pillow before she turns back to him and takes him into her arms. She holds him for what might be a moment or a lifetime, he loses track of the time that passes as she whispers soft, comforting words against the shell of his ear, her delicate fingers stroking his dark curls.

"Ned Stark will always be your father," she says when Jon's tears have all been spent. " He knew the truth all along Jon and yet, to keep you safe, he pretended you were his. That is what a real father would do for his child." Sansa smiles, gesturing towards their son that sleeps so soundly in the bed beside them. "It's what you would do for him, isn't it?" Jon takes in the sight of Robb and slowly his lips curve with a small smile.

"Aye," he agrees, turning back to her. "I'd do anything to keep him safe."

"I know," she puts her hand against his once again, giving it a tight squeeze. "And that's how father felt about me, about you, about all of us. It is because of him that you're here with me right now, Jon. You owe it to him to be as good of a father as he was, if not better." He nods; he knows, he knows. He just needed to hear it from someone else. His hand still in hers, he draws her down to the bed and they slide into place on either side, warm beneath the thick furs.

And with their baby tucked safely between them, they drifted back to sleep.

[ x x x ]

When Jon wakes, he knows what he must do.

Sliding out from beneath the covers, he dresses in the dark and slips from the room, leaving Sansa asleep in the bed with the baby. He heads down the hall three rooms and stops at a single door, raises his hand and knocks.

He knocks until finally, the door swings open.

Though Sam grumbles a curse when he sees Jon standing there, he steps back so he may step into the hazy darkness of his room. "There's something I need you to do for me." Jon says the moment the door has closed behind him. Perhaps it's the tone of voice in which he speaks, but almost at once, Sam is alert. "The mother of my son... The woman I'm with... I need you to marry us." Before, marriage was not an option if they came back North, it never would have been accepted. They knew what they were returning to, they knew what would happen, but they came anyways. They came because their baby brother was in shackles in a cell and the monster who held him held their home hostage, too. But now... The best thing that could ever come from the truth of his parentage... They could love each other openly. They could proclaim their child the heir to Winterfell as well as the Iron Throne. Though a crown of his own was not something Jon wanted, he knows what will happen if he does not seek out his birthright. He swore he would do anything to protect the family he had made with Sansa and so he would. "Marry us. Today. And then we will claim what's ours."

Sam nods.

[ x x x ]

"But where are we going?"

Jon glances over his shoulder to where she follows behind him, her red hair threatening to free itself from the confines of her cloak's hood with every icy gust of wind. "You will see, we're almost there. Watch your step," he guides her over a fresh heaping of snow and she sees this new path leads downward, towards a gathering of trees that she almost at once recognizes. "Ah, you've spotted them." He chuckles, gesturing towards the vibrant red leaves that guide them along the rest of the way. "It turns out every town in the North has a godswood of its own." They're beneath the canopy of trees now and Sansa pauses for only a moment, taking in the sight of the frozen godswood. Once, she had thought she would never return North, let alone stand in a quiet godswood. "I know it isn't Winterfell's godswood... But..." He trails off for now she's noticed Sam just ahead, standing beneath the heart tree, a knowing sort of smile on his lips.

"Jon... What... What is this?" She's gazing back and forth, from Jon to Sam and then back again, as if she expects one of the men to vanish entirely.

"I told you I would do anything to protect you, so let me." Jon says softly, his hand coming up to catch her cheek, gently, lovingly. "Marry me, Sansa. Right here, right now." He watches as her face changes, her surprise melting into pure joy, the smile on her face lighting her up in a way he's not seen since the day Robb was born. "And then we will go and take back Rickon and Winterfell. We will find Arya and Bran and we'll be a family again." She nods, a strong solemn nod, her chest swelling with pride and love for the man that is offering himself to her entirely, in a way she had once thought never to be possible. "When the North is ours again, we will head south and I will take the Iron Throne from the Lannister's." He vows and her surprise returns. "In a world where Cersei Lannister rules as queen, you will never be safe. And she will never let the North go. If we wish it to be ours and only ours, we must take her down, too." He would fight any man, any army, and any monster if it meant he would keep her safe.

Tears flood her eyes despite the smile on her lips and she nods again, allowing Jon to take her by the hand and lead her towards the heart tree where Sam stands, still waiting for them. And then...

Then they get married.

[ x x x ]

The first place that they go is just east of Castle Black.

And just as Jon said that they would, they find the camp of wildlings that Jon had once allied himself with. Tormund at their command, he holds the power of two thousand fighting men and Jon knows that if there's no one else in all of the North that he can count on, he will always have Tormund.

"I wonder who will be more excited to see you?" Sansa's voice breaks into his thoughts as they approach the camp, voices already carrying along the winter wind. Jon grins, tossing a glance over his shoulder at her where she walks, Brienne close behind, the baby bundled and carried in a sling she's fastened around her torso, happily snoozing despite the chill of the wind. "Tormund or Ghost." Jon chuckles and nods, having been thinking about his wolf since the moment they set forth on this journey to find Tormund and the wildlings.

They don't have long to think for suddenly comes the howl of a wolf.

All three of them come to a stop at the end of the camp, where tents and huts have been erected as shelters from the icy cold, fires built in various places to offer as much warmth as possible to the elderly and children that sit around in groups. That is when Jon spots the wolf- he's running from the center of the camp, faster than Jon thinks he's ever seen him run before. Someone screams as Ghost leaps through the air, landing on Jon and knocking him back into the snow. More yelling, more voices. Chaos follows as the wildlings gather, thinking the white wolf was attacking a stranger, not greeting a beloved friend, until finally a loud voice booms above it all: "Little crow!"

"Good boy, Ghost," Jon is laughing, trying to push Ghost's paws from his shoulders so he might at least sit up. It isn't until Sansa sinks down and puts her warm hand to the wolf's back that he turns away, instead far more interested in her and the baby. A shadow crosses over him and he tilts his head back, looking up into the grinning face of his old friend. "Tormund." He greets as the orange haired man reaches down, offering a hand, which Jon takes and allows the wildling to pull him up onto his feet again. The two men embrace but even when they pull back, Tormund can't help but to clasp the younger man on his shoulder. "Edd," he says, seeing the dark haired man now approaching as well, a stunned look on his face.

"You brought the big woman!" Tormund breaks in with a wolfish grin, his eyes seeking out Brienne that stands just behind Sansa, a hand on the hilt of her sword. "And a... Baby?" The only thing able to drive his attention away from the lady knight was the sight of the sleeping baby in Sansa's arms- a baby that he sees looks unmistakably like the man standing in front of him. "You must have a lot to say, if you've come all this way." Tormund says, offering Sansa a smile before he turns back to Jon. "Come, let's get the lady and littler crow out of the cold." He gestures for them to follow him and so they do, falling into step as if they'd never even left.

[ x x x ]

"Are you ready?"

Jon's voice in her ear makes her shiver, but she nods, a wane smile on her lips. "I am." She says, perhaps with more confidence than she truly feels. But she is a Stark, she is the blood of Winterfell, she is strong. She is brave.

The door they stand outside of suddenly opens and a steward appears in the door way, gesturing for the pair to step into the room. They have left Robb behind with Brienne and Sansa feels lost without her son near. But there is something else she must focus on; the present, so they might have a future. And now was not the time to tell anyone the truth about Jon and his birth. Once they had full Northern support, they would tell all of the Houses at once, before they take back Winterfell from the Bolton's.

Together, she and Jon walk along the length of the room, towards the single table that sits in the hall. House Reed is a modest house, but they are loyal and fiercely so, it only made sense for this to be the first noble house they seek support from. Howland Reed sits behind the table with just a single man, perhaps his maester, standing behind him. "When they told me Jon Snow was at my gate, requesting an audience with me, I thought it to be lie." The man says as they approach, a smile tugging at his lips. "But here you are, Jon Snow, alive and well it looks like." He rises up from his chair, stepping around the table so he can come and stand before them. "You are your father's son, bastard born or not, you have the Stark look." In truth, Howland is somewhat taken aback by the resemblance, it is as if he's peering into his old friend's face again, not his son. "Welcome to Greywater Watch." For the first time, he spares a look at the cloaked woman beside Jon; she is tall and thin, but with her hood pulled up there is little he can see besides her ivory features and the blue eyes that peer back at him. "To you too, my lady." Intense blue eyes, he notes. He feels as if he's seen eyes like these before, but he cannot place it.

"I thank you for your warm welcome, Lord Reed," Jon greets, clasping hands with the man for a moment, offering him a grin. "I imagine you understand I've come for a reason." To this Howland chuckles, though he shrugs as he makes his way back around to the chair he had vacated just a few minutes before.

"Aye, there must be. The whole North thinks you to be dead, it's been well over a year since you were last even rumored to be seen." He replies as a door behind him opens and two servants step in, bringing ale and chairs, all of which are offered to the guests on the other side of the table. "Many say all of House Stark is dead, you know." Jon's face darkens but he gives a solemn nod, taking the seat offered to him only after he's ensured the young woman beside him is seated, too. "None of your younger half siblings have been seen in years." Again, Jon nods, his hand clenching into a fist beneath the table. "And the poor oldest girl. Married to that bastard Bolton." Reed scowls, shaking his head. "I imagine he had her killed, he got what he wanted out of her when Winterfell became his."

"Sansa Stark isn't dead."

Both men turn to the woman seated beside Jon. Hands reaching up, she pulls back the hood of her cloak, revealing for the first time since she stepped foot in the North the rich red hair that every Northern man would know. "By the gods... Sansa Stark!" Howland Reed jumps to his feet in shock, shaking the goblets of ale atop the table in his haste. Those blue eyes, that red hair... He knows her because he knew her mother, because he once knew Sansa when she was but a little girl. "You're alive," he whispers, tears filling his eyes without shame, hands trembling as they settle upon the top of the table.

"I'm alive because Jon saved me," Sansa says with a smile for Jon, though she returns her gaze to Howland, head tilting as the man looks torn between falling to his knees or jumping for joy. "The North was not safe for me, not with Ramsay Bolton in Winterfell and Cersei Lannister in the South." Reed is nodding, listening despite the whirlwind of emotions rushing through him. "We need your help." She goes on, softer, never breaking eye contact with the man in front of her. "Winterfell belongs to me, to Jon. To House Stark. Please... Please, lend us your support. Help us take back the North." Her pleading is unnecessary, Howland Reed knew he'd have done anything she asked of him.

Silently, Howland Reed drops to his knees and unsheathes the sword at his hip, offering it up in the North's gesture of fealty. "I once pledged my life and sword to your brother, Robb Stark, I will pledge it to you now. To House Stark." Sansa swallows, her heart racing as the man speaks words she never once thought to hear again.

Beside her, Jon puts a warm hand on her shoulder and she knows that they're one step closer to saving Rickon and taking back the North. It was only a matter of time.

Soon, they would truly go home.

[ x x x ]

Somehow, against all odds, they have done it.

It is not all the houses- some are loyal to the Bolton's now- but it is enough to muster an army together. The heads of all those houses, along with Tormund and Edd, sit in the war tent with Jon and Sansa, the first night all of them have come together. For hours now they've been inside, so long now that the candles Sansa had lit when darkness fell were now dripping pudles of wax on the tabletops.

"My lords, we thank you again for the support you give us." Jon speaks, glancing around the room at all of the faces. "Before we depart for the night, there is something else we must speak of." Some of the lords exchange glances, but more nod, encouraging Jon to continue speaking. Despite the little time they've spent together, these Northern lords have begun to develop a respect for Ned Stark's bastard son. In truth, some had already made the decision to follow him wherever he went, as they had followed Robb Stark and Ned Stark before him. "Sam," Jon gestures for his old friend to step up beside him, looking somewhat uncomfortable as all the eyes fall upon him instead. "Sam found out something while in the Citadel, from a journal entry of the High Septon at the time of Robert's Rebellion." Many of the men in the room know who Jon speaks of, they remember those days when Rhaegar Targaryen and Robert Baratheon fought for the throne and Robert won.

"What does this journal entry speak of?" One lord cuts in, perhaps uncertain as to what this has to do with anything at all.

Jon sighs, his heart racing; he isn't certain at all how the Northern lords will take the truth of his birth. But this was it, this was the moment. He could only hope that when the truth came out, these men would remain loyal to at least Sansa, to at least the son and heir she's given them. "It spoke of his anullment to Elia Martell and his secret marriage to Lyanna Stark." A collective gasp goes up among the tent, more looks exchanged by the lords as the information sinks into their brains. "Rhaegar and Lyanna had a single child, born in Dorne after Robert Baratheon ascended the throne."

"Marriage? He kidnapped her." Another lord speaks out.

"A child?" Another cries out, the realization of such a thing already dawning on him.

"Aye." Jon lets out the breath he's been holding, yet again glancing around the room, taking in the various degrees of emotion upon all of their faces. Beside him, Sansa is still, but she holds her head high as she listens to the conversations breaking out all around them. "I know it is a lot to take in, but as Sam as pointed out to me when I too expressed disbelief- why would the High Septon have reason to lie?"

These words sink in and the lords circle back to Jon, their side conversations and remarks tapering off. "If there was a child born, where is it now? Dead?" They all know what Robert Baratheon would have done if a child of Rhaegar's was left alive.

Jon shakes his head. "I am that child." He says the words simply and they fall from his tongue much easier than he had thought they might. For several moments, there is nothing but stunned silence and it only deepens his fears that these men will not remain loyal to him.

"Then you are heir to the Iron Throne." It's little Lyanna Mormont, named in honor of his mother, the youngest of all of them in the room. "I had thought in you we might find our new King in the North, but we've found more than that." Her dark eyes hold steady to Jon's gaze and he's surprised to see the quickest flash of a smile on her stoic features. "Are you asking us to help you reclaim the Iron Throne, once you have Winterfell?"

Jon shakes his head, rising up to his feet now, staring out at the lords. "I'm asking you to do whatever it takes to keep the North safe, to keep her safe." He gestures towards Sansa, who's blue eyes widen slightly in surprise; this was not the way she had thought him to take things. "Sansa Stark is the heir to the North and I am bound to keep her and the North safe. Just as you all are." He puts a hand onto her shoulder and his touch is warm, encouraging. Before all of the eyes in the room, she slides her hand into place over his. "None of us will ever be safe if Cersei Lannister sits upon the throne, even if we take back Winterfell." Jon goes on, stepping around the table then so he can stand closer to all of them in the tent. "I am not asking you to sacrifice your men for me or for what might be my birthright. I don't care if the Iron Throne is mine or yours or yours," he sighs, another shake of his head. "The only thing I care about is keeping the North safe."

"You have House Mormon'ts support, Jon Snow. In this and whatever comes next." Lyanna says after a few beats of silence. Murmurs of assent follow, much to Jon's relief.

"The North still needs someone to lead," Jon says, speaking more words that surprise Sansa. Words that he had never once mentioned to her until this very moment. "You wish to have a King in the North, but what you need is a queen." He turns back to face her across the table that separates them. "Queen in the North," he says, before he sinks to a knee, Longclaw presented to her in his gesture of loyalty. She is his queen, no matter what his Targaryen blood might say.

"Queen in the North," Brienne echoes from where she stands at the far side of the room, dropping to her knees without hesitation. One by one, every man in the room rises and then falls, the only sound that of the steel against sheath as the Northern lords offer their fealty to the young woman that's now risen to her feet.

Queen in the North, Queen in the North.

The words are an echo, a chant; she sucks in a breath as her eyes find Jon's, his lips curving with a smile as he gives her a nod. Her fears begin to fade and she holds her head a bit higher and looks out into the sea of faces, knowing it was them that she could count on. Once, she had nothing but fear to live on. Once she had been alone. But out there she sees faces of men who were loyal to her name and her house, men who would swing their swords in her name, men that would die to protect her. In these loyal men, she has protection, she has what she needs to bring her family back together again.

And so she nods, accepting the crown they offer.

[padfootagain]

The Suit

Here we go with a new cute little thing!! It is the last one-shot for my celebration, for the next two days, I will be updating two series you have voted for. I do hope I have managed throughout these 5 fics to bring a little bit of fluff and softness into your week. In case I had not succeeded so far, maybe this one will do the trick ;)

I have 0 respect for Canon in many fandoms (okay, all fandoms, to some extent) but especially when it comes to the MCU. Everybody lives, everybody is happy, the Avengers live together and the sky is full of rainbows! So… cute things ahead for Steve Rogers :)

I hope you like this, tell me what you thought about it!

Gif not mine (enjoy the eyelashes… argh, why is he like this?)

Word Count : 3941

When people picture the interior of the Avengers headquarters, they imagine some kind of large hangar filled with training rooms. Advanced weaponry on display in some of these rooms too, target practice, and large spaces where the Avengers can train and learn new fighting moves. Some might also imagine the Avengers' personal quarters, a kitchen, a large living room where all can gather and eat some Chinese food, maybe a room where they all can watch a good movie together too, a large bedroom for each of them and offices too were they can work on the intel sent to them.

And to this entire description, although one would gather a vague image instead of a real glimpse at the inside of the most secret building in the world (or at least one of the most secret buildings, for sure, although we must all admit that many labs in Wakanda are even more wrapped in shadows), this person listing the inside of this fortress would be right. At one major detail… or well, three, actually.

This enlightened person would have forgotten the library, for one, large and composed of an eclectic collection of novels, thesis about nuclear physics and comic books, was right between the movie room as the Avengers called it, and the offices.

Also, there is a miniature hospital in the base of the Avengers. They call it the infirmary, but it contains everything needed to heal any kind of wound they could sustain on the battle-field, and some of the most recent pieces of equipment would make even Dr Strange blush out of envy.

But the most important set of rooms that one would have forgotten are the labs. Scattered throughout the buildings, and yet vital for the heroes. Who makes the suits? The weapons? Who collects the intel? Who improves their defensive accessories? Who analyses the clues the Avengers find throughout their missions?

Obviously, the busy team of researchers and engineers working at the base.

And while you could hear the characteristic detonations of Natasha, Bucky, Sam and Clint training at firing, you were yourself stuck with a very hard problem to solve.

On your desk, what was left of Captain America's suit laid splayed so you could examine the damages the explosion had caused. He was okay, thanks to luck, his super-soldier organism and a little bit of patching up. A week after he was back from his mission, he was apparently completely healed already.

His suit, however, was still just as damaged as it was at its return from the field.

You heaved a sigh, rubbing your tired eyes. If one had told you, back at University, that your PhD in chemistry would be put to use to help a bunch of super-heroes, you would have laughed at their faces. And yet…

You heard a knock on the door of your office, but you didn't need to look up to know it was Peter Parker. You had recognized the knock already.

"Hi, Dr. Y/L/N!" He beams at you as he steps into your office and closes the door behind him.

You rolled your eyes at the teenager.

"How many times do I have to tell you? You can call me Y/N. I’m not that old! Besides, everyone does."

"Captain Rogers doesn’t."

"Yeah, but that’s because he’s old fashioned on a few things."

Peter grinned.

"You know, Natasha has another theory, and it’s a very different one."

"And what could that theory be?"

"Better let her explain it to you," he eluded the question. "What’s that?" he added, nodding at the pile of burnt and torn fabric on your desk that really didn’t look much like a uniform anymore.

"It’s Captain Rogers’s suit. I’m supposed to make an improved one for him."

"Cool! Your suits are always comfortable and efficient. Do you have any ideas yet?"

"None whatsoever."

"I guess he won’t need a new suit before the party. I hope nothing calls for it, at least. So you have a couple of weeks."

"What party?"

"There’s a big party in a couple of weeks. Everyone working here will be invited, I guess Pepper simply hasn’t sent the invitations yet. You’re gonna come, right? That would be awesome!"

"Well… if we’re all invited, then I guess…"

"Nice!"

You exchanged a smile. Something told Peter, and not his Peter tingles, another sense, a sense that was growing sharper and sharper ever since he and MJ were together, that Steve Rogers would be happy to learn that you would attend the party…

"But I doubt that you were coming here to talk about suits and parties, now, were you?"

His smile was back on his face.

"I have a new idea for my web fluid. But I need your expertise. Can you help?"

You let out a chuckle as you stood up and walked towards the door with a pen and your notebook.

"Of course. Come on, tell me all about it."

 ----------------------------------------------------------------------

 After a few sleepless nights for you and your team, the new suit was finally ready. The tests showed a major improvement in terms of heat responses, you hoped it would protect Captain Rogers efficiently for his next mission.

The advantage of being the head of a scientific team in the Avengers HQ was that you could go to their part of the buildings and give them their new suits, weapons and other gadgets yourself. You had grown quite fond of most of the team along the years too, which made the trip out of your lab particularly enjoyable.

You wandered off from room to room, passing before the fighters training in various methods of combat. You also came across Tony and Peter watching Morgan’s favourite Disney movie with her, and you asked them about the Captain's whereabouts.

"I think he went to the gym with Sam and Bucky," Peter answered, his voice distorted by the handful of popcorn he had shoved in his mouth.

"Because obviously gym is useful to him," Tony added in his usual teasing and yet casual tone over the loud music of Be A Man. "I’ve always thought he was short in muscles."

Meanwhile, Morgan was shouting the lyrics and was now standing on the sofa, mimicking the fighting moves of Mulan.

"BE A MAN!"

"What are you looking for him for, anyway?" Tony went on over the loud singing of his daughter. "You need a coach for the gym?"

You laughed in response.

"No, we’ve finished a new suit for him, so I’m bringing it to him."

"YOU MUST BE SWIFT AS A COURSING RIVER!"

"You guys even do the delivery part for free? Amazon might have reasons to worry."

Peter had now joined the little girl for the rest of the chorus, and he and Morgan were both singing at the top of their lungs.

"WITH ALL THE FORCE OF A GREAT TYPHOON!!"

"Well as I said, he’s at the gym," Tony went on, still focusing on you instead of the two kids by his side. "Lifting heavy things and stuff. He’ll be happy to see you."

"What do you mean?" you asked back with a frown.

"WITH ALL THE STRENGTH OF A RAGING FIRE."

Tony merely chuckled and gave you a knowing look. Although you didn’t know what the knowing in the look was about, you oblivious little thing…

"He’s always happy to see you, Y/N."

"MYSTERIOUS AS THE DARK SIDE OF THE MOOOOOOON!!!"

Tony’s gaze finally drifted back towards the two kids on the sofa, a tender smile soothing his features.

"I think she has a chance to become a superstar," he told you, pointing at Morgan. "That’s pure talent we have here. It’s not the same for the other guy over there of course, but everyone can’t be gifted."

"Hey! I don’t sing that badly!" Peter protested from his end of the couch, making both you and Tony laugh.

You thanked Tony for his help, and he waved at you in response, along with giving you a wink that seemed to carry a silent message, but you failed to understand it. Instead, you continued your journey through the HQ (but not without Morgan giving you some popcorn in support for your noble quest first, of course), and walked to the gym with a light trot and humming the tune of Mulan’s songs.

Indeed, you found Steve right where Tony had told you he would be. At the gym. Sam and Bucky were there too, but the three friends seemed on their way out. Sam and Bucky were talking (or well, bickering was a better word to describe any of their interactions, really) near the door while Steve was picking up his stuff…

… and for some reason he wasn’t wearing a shirt. Or a T-shirt. Or any piece of fabric whatsoever that would cover his torso, the skin glistening slightly with a thin layer of sweat.

No matter how uncomfortable you felt, you couldn’t help but stare.

The three of them turned to you as the door loudly closed behind you, and you all remained motionless for a moment. And for a short moment, time seemed to stop as the four of you each reacted differently to the scene unfolding around you.

You were standing, frozen, in front of the door, your package still safely in your arms as your lips parted without you noticing, and you wondered about the ratio between his biceps and your thighs…

Bucky and Sam were motionless as well, simply because they were trying not to laugh as they watched the silent scene playing between you and Steve.

Steve was still, stopped mid-movement, holding his towel in one hand and a bag in the other. And his mind was currently wondering how it would feel to touch your cheek…

He was the first to shake himself out of his thoughts, and you were rather grateful for it, as you reckoned that you wouldn’t have been able to break free on your own.

“Dr. Y/L/N. What can we do for you?”

You forced your brain to work again and your stare to leave his torso to rest on his intense blue eyes instead. How could he have such long eyelashes?

"Actually, I… hmm… I’m the one who can do something for you. I’ve finished your suit," you added, handing him the suit although you were unable to cross the room to give him the package. You didn’t trust your legs enough, they felt like they were made of soft cotton instead of bones and muscles.

"Oh, thank you," he gave you a bright smile, throwing his towel on his large shoulder and striding to you.

You reckoned that it was rather rare to see a genuine, bright smile on his features. Little smiles, yes. But large ones? Not so much. You guessed that he was very happy to get a new suit. Or perhaps the source for such happiness blooming in him was the person who brought the suit… but you didn't know that, by then.

He took the suit wrapped in kraft paper, his smile still on his lips. You noticed how flushed he was, you guessed it was because of the gym session he had just finished. You couldn’t know that your assumption was only partly true. There was another reason for him to blush up to the tip of his ears. That reason was standing right before him.

"Are you coming tomorrow night? At the big party?" he softly asked.

"Yes, I am. All the lab was invited, and most of us are coming."

"Have you found your plus one yet?" Sam jumped in the conversation.

"Oh, no. I’m coming alone. I mean, it’s not like I need support, I’m going to see my friends there so… no need to pretend."

Sam gave Steve a pointy look. Which his friend ignored.

"Are you bringing someone?" you inquired in a friendly tone.

"Yeah. Yeah, I do. He doesn’t though," he added, nodding towards Steve.

You turned to Steve again. He tightened his grip on the suit, and shrugged, a shy smile on his lips.

"As you said, no need to pretend tomorrow."

You stared at each other for a couple of seconds, that seemed to stretch into minutes. And the more you looked at him, the more you wanted to tell him how you felt, how you hoped to see him the next evening, how wonderful you thought he was and… Gosh, he had gorgeous eyes…

But you couldn't do that.

"Well, I’ll see you all tomorrow then. Have a nice day," you hurried the words out of your mouth so you could stride out of the room before your reason would yield in favour of your heart, and you would spoil everything.

The second the door had closed behind you, Sam was chuckling.

"You know, it ain't that hard to ask her out. You had the perfect opportunity. You just had to ask ‘Y/N, would you like to come with me to the party tomorrow’."

"Sam…" Steve heaved a heavy sigh.

"He’s too romantic for that. He’ll make a move tomorrow night. In the moonlight and all," Bucky mocked, making Steve roll his eyes.

"I hate both of you."

 -------------------------------------

  The large room was filled with a crowd. Low lights kept an intimate atmosphere throughout the floor. At the top of the Stark Tower, the view on New York City was stunning, an intricated labyrinth of shining lights matching the paler ones hung on the sky. You felt a little tipsy after drinking a couple of tequila shots with Natasha and Wanda. You reckoned that you needed some air, and stepped outside the busy room decorated with perfect taste. The music was still loud coming through the windowpanes as you walked on the large balcony. You hadn't seen Steve yet, but reckoned it was for the best. People had dressed up for the occasion, and you did not plan on dying of a heart attack because of the sight of him in a tuxedo.

The fresh air cleared your thoughts a little and you took a deep intake of breath. You leaned against the bannister, shivering a little as the breeze brushed your naked arms. You took in the view, the sparkling lights shimmering against the darkness of the night, the busy streets and wandering forms drifting back and forth into the maze spreading below your feet.

"Hey! Y/N! Bring your arse back inside, Thor and Nat are trying to see who holds their liquor best!" you heard one of your colleagues call for you, but you shook your head with a chuckle.

"We all know Nat will win."

"I wouldn't be so sure."

You spun on your heels as you recognized Steve's voice. He was standing there, a few steps away from you, his silhouette wrapped in the lights coming out of the busy room giving him a surreal halo, a hand in the pocket of his trousers and a shy smile on his perfectly shaven face. And yes, he was wearing a classic tuxedo. And God, did the man know how to wear a bowtie…

"After all, he is an alien," he went on.

Your colleague had disappeared, you guessed she had judged wiser to leave the two of you alone on the balcony.

How could there be only the two of you out there anyway? Where were people gone to?

"Yes, but she knows too many tricks to lose this kind of bet," you argue.

He let out a chuckle, his eyes flickering to the tip of his black shoes and back up to your gaze, capturing it for good.

"I guess you're right. It's always unwise to underestimate her."

"Exactly."

"Aren't you cold out here?"

"No, I… I needed a little bit of fresh air."

"These parties can be a little too intense," he nodded.

"So can be the tequila."

You both laughed, and fell in a comfortable silence. Steve was too busy staring at you to think of anything else, let alone about words to say.

He hadn't felt that way in what seemed to be an eternity. The nervous tremor through his body, the stumbling of his heart, the freezing of his thoughts… he knew the symptoms and had no doubt about the disease causing them.

Love was an easy thing to spot when it was true, after all.

But if his feelings for you were clear to him, he didn't know about your feelings for him, that was a completely different story. Everyone kept on telling him that you liked him, and he reckoned that he should trust his friends' judgment. The doubt was still there though, a little frozen cube buried in the depth of his heart that burnt through now and then. And it was burning now.

Because as he stared at you, such an accomplished, clever, independent, strong, fierce, graceful woman, he wondered if you could really feel the same way he did.

He had been feeling this way for you for so long though… years, really. And he reckoned now that it was more than time to speak his mind. In the worst case, he would get his heart broken. But in the best case…

"Are you enjoying your evening so far? Would you like something to drink?"

You gave him an amused smile. He seemed nervous…

… maybe your friends were right about him after all.

"I am enjoying my evening so far," you answered. "And no, thank you. I already feel tipsy enough for tonight."

He walked to join you against the bannister, a dreamy smile on both of your faces.

Inside, the music had changed from some energetic pop to a slower and intimate tune. It seemed that time had slowed around the two of you as well, as you stared at each other, your frames lightened by the light inside the tower but also by the stars above and the streets below. Steve's blue eyes reflected the distant lights in an almost impossible way that lit your heart on fire.

There were a thousand things that he wanted to tell you. He wanted to tell you how he thought about you first thing in the morning and last as he closed his eyes to fall asleep. How you made him feel like he belonged in this world that wasn't his. You were amongst the few people who did not see the old soldier in him, but the man behind the shield. You had never made a snarky remark about his lack of knowledge to a reference, and he was grateful for it. You loved sharing the things you loved and that's what drove you when you showed him things he had missed during his time in the ice. It wasn't in a will to change him and make him fit better into a world he had been pushed into, it was in a desire to show him something you were passionate about, simply because you liked talking about it. It wasn't about changing him, it was about sharing. And the majority of people he had met since he had been awakened did not share that state of mind, but the opposite.

He longed to tell you how much he loved hearing you laugh, and thought you had the most adorable smile, and how he admired your smart mind, and how he respected you and your opinion about everyone else's…

There were a million words to be spoken and a thousand thoughts to articulate, but all that passed his lips when he finally mustered the strength to talk was a mere invitation, although it still sounded like a declaration.

"Would you like to dance, Y/N?"

Your heart skipped a beat or two as he called you by your first name, and dear God, did your name sounded wonderful rolling on his tongue. His hand rose as he offered you his open palm, fingers trembling slightly, blue eyes drenched in reflected lights still capturing your gaze and your entire life too. You were vaguely aware of people inside, and maybe some were staring at the two of you, but you couldn't find a way to care, nor even to check if your assumption was correct. Instead, you could not look away from Steve.

There were so many words you meant to speak and thoughts to express and confessions to free from the safety of your heart. How you adored how kind he was, and selfless. How you respected how driven he was and always right to his beliefs. And an infinity of other tiny things that had made you slowly and yet irrevocably fall in love with him.

Instead, you smiled up at him, and spoke only an answer, that still sounded like a promise.

"I would love to."

You thought he would bring you back inside, but he didn't. Instead, he wrapped an arm around you, pulling you closer in a soft gesture. You slipped your hand in his and he gave your fingers a tender squeeze.

You started to sway with the gentle tune, but could barely acknowledge the movements of your feet. You were so close to him, he was so close to you… how could you survive this?

Calloused fingers held yours in a gentle hold, his other hand resting in the small of your back, drawing you closer and closer in an embrace that grew tighter every second and yet of which you knew you could free yourself of if you wanted. It felt safe. Warm. Peaceful. And safe, yes, so safe, so comfortable, you could lay your life in his hands blindly and wouldn't even worry about it. You couldn't remember when was the last time you felt like this, like this man before you could never make anything to hurt you, like not in a million years would he let anything bad happen to you. It felt like a lifetime ago that you trusted a man so thoroughly as you trusted Steve now.

There was warmth spreading from your body to his, reassuring, soothing. A calming glow oozing from your soul conquering his last lines of defence. He couldn't fight against you. He loved you too much for it. All he could do before you was to lay down his arms and offer you his heart on a plate. It was dangerous, and yet he was not afraid. He trusted you too blindly to worry about what you could do with his most precious offering. You would do with it what you pleased. He would accept it all no matter what. It could either bring him back to life or break him for good, but in any case, he would not regret giving you his heart. He knew so much, at least.

He leaned down, your bodies too close to be moved closer to each other by then, resting his jaw against your temple. He remained quiet and so did you, although your two pounding hearts spoke better than your tongues at this moment.

There were no words needing to be spoken, you both knew that this feeling coursing through your bodies now was the feeling of coming home.

Inside the busy crowd, Sam was finishing his third glass of bourbon, while Bucky drank the last drop of his third beer. They exchanged a glance, and Bucky extended his hand. Sam could only chuckle before reaching for his wallet and slipping a twenty dollar bill in Bucky's hand. He had lost his wager, but learnt an important lesson.

One should never underestimate the sense of romance of Captain America, especially if he is wearing that kind of suit.

*****************************************************************

Tag list : @ponycake27 @horsesreign @xinyourdreamsx @jbluevelvet @notkeppeki @daynigt-dreamer-stuff @fudgeflyss @stuckupstucky @snek-shit @suchatinyinfinity @i-padfootblack-things  @buckybsarmy @heyohheyitsgabi

@madamrogers

[coffee-obsessed-writer]

The Supply Run

Dean Winchester x Reader; Sam Winchester x Reader (platonic)

Summary: Dean’s girlfriend is at home sick with the flu and he promised to make a run for a few simple things. Her biggest request - go to the actual grocery store and not that gas station up the road.

A/N: A simple little story to complete my bingo card for @spngenrebingo. A big thank you to @kazosa for helping me out with this one!!

Square Filled: Supply Run

Warnings: None

WC: 2.5K

Dean stood outside of the electronic doors and looked up at the giant neon sign. He grumbled at the prospect of entering the dreaded store with its giant aisles and fluorescent overhead lights. Why he couldn’t just grab the necessities from the gas station near home was beyond him. Not like he never had to do a supply run for someone sick before. Plenty of times he had to do this for Sammy when they were kids. Why she insisted on making him go to this horror show just for some simple things baffled him. But yet, the image of the girl he loved, back in the bunker laid up alone and wallowing in germs gave him the final push he needed to take a step forward, triggering the doors to open.

He grabbed a basket and instantly felt lost and slightly intimidated. Looking around he took the first few hesitant steps towards the endless aisles in front of him. She gave him a list, but he thought it looked pretty sparse of any of the good stuff he used to get Sam. Where were the cans of Chicken & Stars soup… the marshmallow fluff… the boxed mac and cheese? All she asked him to get was oranges, Nyquil and Gatorade. 

“Not even a box of Saltines?!” he mumbled incredulously, looking at the paper again and shaking his head.

He started by the produce and found the oranges. Piled high on a display, he absently grabbed the first two his hand touched. A quick avalanche of citrus began rolling down the sides. In a panic, he dropped the basket and caught most before they crashed to the floor. Looking around to see how much attention he gained, he sighed when he realized no one saw. Carefully, Dean placed the oranges back and silently prayed they would stay put. 

Snatching his basket and quickly walking away, Dean bypassed most of the home goods aisles until he found himself boxed in by a display of everything you would need to make smores at home. Dean’s eyes lit up and he immediately grabbed one of each, tossing them into the basket, and moving along down towards the cereal. A box of Lucky Charms caught his eye, and he added it to his basket before nodding in satisfaction.

“This is what I’m talking about,” he muttered with a satisfied grin and continued through the aisles, feeling better about his trip to the big box store. 

Rounding the corner, his attention was in looking up at the sign for the next aisle. He was hoping the cans of soup would be there somewhere when suddenly the hard bump of a shopping cart rammed straight into his side. 

“Excuse you, son!” an older, gray-haired woman admonished as Dean’s box of Lucky Charms went tumbling out of the basket thanks to the collision.

“S-Sorry--” he stuttered, bending down to pick up the box and wrinkled his nose at the narrowed eye expression she was giving him. 

She looked into his basket and shook her head. “This generation… can’t even shop for a proper meal,” she mumbled as she moved along her way. 

“I hate these places,” he groaned. “Why couldn’t I just go to the Gas n Sip. Coulda got all this there…”

Two aisles later, Dean found the cans of condensed Chicken & Stars soup that was a sure-fire way to get her to feel better. Any time Sam had been sick, Dean would get all the essentials, soup included, making Sammy better in no time. If Dean was feeling fancy, he would crumble the saltines on top and Sam would think it was the best thing in the world. Smiling at the memory, he tossed a few into the basket then went on to find the sports drinks she asked for. 

The last item on her very shortlist was the Nyquil. She said it would help her sleep off whatever germs were making her feel like death. He had no doubt that it would, but she would also need sustenance; hence the variety of heavily processed foods he was lugging around in the basket. Half paying attention to where he was wandering, Dean found himself in unfamiliar territory. Thinking he was somewhere near the meds, he began to examine some of the boxes on the shelves. 

As he scanned the boxes and tubes in front of him and read the words like ‘Vagisil’ and ‘Summer’s Eve’ his head snapped up and he took a step back. Realizing he was in the feminine hygiene aisle, he quickly turned on his heel and stepped lively towards where he took a wrong turn. 

“Wrooong aisle,” he said with a nervous laugh just as he nearly ran into the same old lady he did before. 

“You lost, son?” she asked, relishing in the uncomfortable expression he wore. 

“I… um… Nyquil?” he stammered.

“One more aisle over,” she replied with an exasperated huff. “Guess this generation can’t read, either.”

Dean held back all the comments that swirled through his mind and continued on to the correct aisle, biting his tongue as he went. Finding the requested item, Dean took a moment to try and discern which variety she would want. Finally plucking the bottle of neon green liquid from the shelves, he then noticed a variety of other things he thought she may need but didn’t ask for. Stuffing the basket full, he felt a raw sense of satisfaction as he examined all the things that were nearly overflowing from it and headed towards the front of the store.

Once Dean finally made it to the checkout. He lined up all of his goodies on the belt and watched as the clerk—Keith, who’s name tag was overshadowed by a giant pin that read, ‘Be Patient with Me! I’m New!’—studied each item slowly, looking for the bar code to rake across the scanner. Dean’s impatience grew with each painstakingly snail-like pass of an item over the register, the resounding beeeep that followed chipping away at the last of his patience. 

By the time the pimply-faced teenage clerk picked up the box of tissues, then Lucky Charms, Dean heard him snicker under his breath.

“Sick kid at home?” he asked. “My mom used ta buy this shit for me when I was sick.”

Dean flashed a fake but polite smile. “Girlfriend. And she’s waiting for me, so can we speed this along, a little, please?”

“Girlfriend?” Keith snorted again just as he passed the last item, a jar of marshmallow fluff over the red laser light then held it up, shaking it in a mocking fashion. “What is she, twelve?”

Dean snatched it from his hand, threw it in the bag, and did it all with a glare of his intense green eyes. One that made Keith assume would result in his death should he speak another word. 

Continuing to stare down the very young and very nervous cashier, Dean averted his eyes for just a moment, to see a small, plush little teddy bear holding a heart and a miniature mylar ballon, also decked out in hearts, sitting on the top of Keith’s register. Making intense eye contact with Keith, Dean reached out, and added it to the belt and stared the kid down until he finally scanned it, then placed it in the bag. 

The small bit of fear reflected in Keith’s expression was enough to calm Dean’s annoyance. “Buddy,” he said, as he relaxed his gaze as he drew out his wallet, looked at the final tally, and slapped down the total amount in cash, “let me tell you something. When you finally get the opportunity to touch a woman--something I assume is still years away for you--and you find the woman that makes you realize that it's all worth fighting for... A trip to the grocery store to get her everything she could possibly need is the easiest thing in the world to do. Even if it means dodging old ladies and Vagisil. Alright?”

Keith could only nod and wait until Dean gathered his few bags up before taking the cash that resided on the metal table beyond the register. 

The cool air hit Dean’s face as he exited through the second set of automatic doors that led to the parking lot. Throwing the bags on the floor of the Impala, he slid behind the wheel and smiled a soft, thoughtful smile. It was something he did every time he was about to head home knowing she was there, without even realizing he was doing it. 

Back at the bunker, she was curled up in the fetal position in the bed she shared with Dean; head pounding and a sheen of sweat coating her skin. Though she were freezing internally, the fever that raged told her body to both sweat and shiver at the same time. Praying Dean would return soon with the few necessary items, she tried to reposition herself on the bed so she could drink water before falling back down to the mattress, exhausted.

The flu, or whatever it was infesting her, had taken its toll. She had been down for two days, and not able to do much more than lay in bed. Sam had left on a hunt a few days prior, and Dean was doing his best to make sure she had what she needed while still sending Sam support for the job at hand. 

Off in the depths of the halls, familiar sounds of footsteps were coming closer. Hoping it was Dean, she did her best to push the sweaty remnants of hair aside and adjust the t-shirt she wore, so she didn’t look as bad as she thought she did. The faint knock at the door made her look up and call out for them to come in, but the dryness of her throat protested, sending her into a coughing fit.

The door opened, Sam was coming in to check on her, but stopped in his tracks and covered his face with his hand when he saw how sick she really was. 

“Whoa. What the hell happened to you? When I left you had the sniffles,” he said, his voice muffled through his fingers. 

“The flu happened,” she rasped in reply between coughs.

“Where’s Dean?”

“Getting supplies. I hope... He’s been gone a while. Probably because I asked him to go to the actual store. Not the gas station.”

Sam laughed and nodded. “I’m sure he’s having quite the adventure. Alright, let me go see what we got in the kitchen in the meantime. You really do look like crap.”

“Gee. Thanks. Didn’t realize,” she muttered sarcastically before finally falling back to the mattress.

In the kitchen, Sam pulled out a variety of ingredients and was happy to realize he could make what he intended without having to make a supply run of his own. The soup he threw together was simmering, filling the kitchen and surrounding hallways of the bunker with a delicious aroma by the time Dean made it home. 

Dropping the bags on the table, Dean watched his brother curiously for a moment as he slipped the jacket from his shoulders. 

“What’s that?” he asked, peering over Sam’s much taller shoulder. 

“Soup. Or did you not notice the Ebola situation going on in your room?”

“I got her soup. Along with everything else she needs to get better,” he replied, rolling his eyes behind Sam’s back. 

Without turning around, Sam replied, “Let me guess. Chicken and stars, marshmallow fluff and saltines.”

“Yeah… but also Nyquil, oranges, and Gatorade,” Dean retorted with an incredulous snort but left out the part where they were her suggestions. “But, yeah, I absolutely got some other necessities. Hey, don’t knock it, they always worked for you.”

“They worked for me because after you turned around and left, I would sneak down to the closest store and get actual medicine and real soup.”

“Real--Sam… this IS real. Just add water, heat, and stir.”

Sam shook his head and turned back to the stove. “My point is, she cannot live and get better off fluff, alone. Go give her the meds and a Gatorade, this will be ready soon.”

Dean silently mocked his brother’s instructions and grabbed the bag with the few things she specifically asked for, along with a few other things he thought she may want. By the time he reached their shared bedroom and cracked the door open, he was relieved to see that she was sleeping peacefully. Her hair was sweaty and pushed back from her face which was still flush with fever, but it didn’t stop him from leaving a sweet kiss against her head. 

Placing the bag aside, he retrieved the foul-smelling medicine and poured her a shot in the enclosed cup before gently shaking her awake. As she started to come around, he readied the bottle of Gatorade so she could easily take both and then go back to sleep.

“Hey sleepyhead,” he said as she opened her eyes and smiled despite feeling like she’d been hit by a truck.

“Hey…” she pushed herself up on her elbows and looked around slightly confused. “Did I see Sam here earlier or was that a hallucination?”

Dean laughed. “He’s here. He’s making you soup.”

“Oh… that’s sweet. Did you grab--”

“I got everything on your list, and then some. But for now, take this…” he handed her the medicine, and then the bottle of fruit punch. “Then, have this.”

She did as told and once both were consumed, she laid back down on the pillow and smiled up at him. “Thank you, Dean. I know going to the store was a pain, but--”

“It was fine. As long as you got what you need.”

“I’m surprised you didn’t come back with half the store, honestly.”

“There may or may not be a few more bags in the kitchen. But for now, just get passed this fever, then we can talk about making smores with Lucky Charms.”

“What? Ewe.”

“No, it's good. Trust me. Make ya feel better in no time.”

“Hm, no. I’ll pass, but you knock yourself out,” she giggled and then closed her eyes. 

“You rest, okay? I’ll check on you in a bit. Hopefully, you’ll feel better and look a little less…” Dean trailed off, trying to find a nice way to put it. 

“A little less… what?”

“Well, you sorta look like a shifter that didn’t quite shift all the way. Kinda pale and gooey,” he shrugged, and despite her weakened state, earned him a solid punch in the arm from his girlfriend. 

“Jerk.”

“Yeah, well, you love me,” he winked and stood from the bed. “Oh, I uh, got you a few other things in the bag there. But they can wait. Just get try and get some sleep.”

She rolled her eyes, but then with as much energy as she could muster, reached for the bag and looked inside. Pulling out the small bear with the balloon, her eyes found him quickly and he felt a rush of feeling for how she was looking at him. 

“I love it, thank you,” she said and held it close to her. Once she removed the balloon, she burrowed into the covers with the bear and sighed contentedly. Dean bent down to kiss her head again, and before he turned to leave the room, she called out for him. 

“Dean, wait.” Sitting up again, she knew she only had another moment before her head dictated she lay it back down. “Thank you for everything. I don’t know how I got so lucky, but thank you for all you do for me.”

“Of course, sweetheart. I’d do anything for you. Get some sleep. I’ll check on you soon.”

He waited until she laid back down and quietly closed the door behind him. A little smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth as he realized she was the one who could potentially domesticate him, the thought of which didn’t scare him the way it would have before. As Dean made his way back towards the kitchen, the only thing that did scare him was realizing he forgot to get any kind of disinfecting spray to bomb the bunker with. Despite how cute she may have looked cuddling the small bear and falling asleep in his bed, he didn’t want anyone else to suffer from her Ebola-like germs.

Everything Tags: @sorenmarie87 // @yallgotkik

SPN Tags: @kazosa // @wings-of-a-raven // @closetspngirl // @idreamofplaid// @screechingartisancashbailiff // @linki-locks11 // @winchesterxfamilybusiness// @spnhollis // @sandlee44 // @stoneyggirl // @clarinette07 // @negans-wife // @deans-baby-momma // @hobby27 // @breereadsthings // @katehuntington // @81mysteriouslyme // @mrswhozeewhatsis // @deathofmissjackson // @lauravic // @aomi-nabi // @akshi8278 // @whereismyangel-damnitdeanshare// @coffeebooksandfandom // @rebelminxy // @22sarah08 // @fictionalabyss // @adoptdontshoppets // @blackcherrywhiskey // @babypieandwhiskey // @maddiepants // @lefthologramdeer // @his-paradox // @unlikelygalaxygiver

[puddtoast]

I'm sitting here thinking how would Cliff get back to the real world from the flashback (which is more cliff finally being able to feel at peace but man I'm sad from this) so I deisded to write a little thing! (Please excuse any grammar or Spelling mistakes!!) For anyone wondering this is my interpretation of Sam and Cliff and how I think things would have played out! I feel Sam is defintly in need of some family bonding with dad

Au time!!

------------------

Sam froze as cliff sank to the ground. Frozen in shock, the man he had fought on a battle field was his father. Sam was not going to loose another person in his family.He was sick of losing people at this point. All of these people he thought he could have trust, Let himself trust. He had only met him properly. Clifford Unger's body was still and like fragile had shown him. He used his dooms to transport them to a beach.Sam bent down and shook him gently "Cliff, please. Dont go. I've only met you, I want to get to know you.Please dont leave me alone"

The Former Captain's breath was shallow. He was 'alive' in any sence he could be. Cliffs eyes cracked open. A resemblance of recognition in his eyes. The bleeding began to stop. Time seemed to be still on the beach. The older man sat up from where he layed and supporting himself on a rock.Sam looked desperate for the first time in his life.

"Please dont go"

Cliff looked at his son. He had vowed to never leave him alone. All he had wanted was to find him know he was safe... He missed louise.. but could he leave his son again? After no explanation? He's breathing was laboured as he looked back slowly to his son. Sam had a hand out stretched , eyes trained on his father.

The wind began to pick up around them. Sam didnt even know you could get wind on the beach.. A voice, Sam didn't recognise it but by the look on his father's face,Cliff knew who it was.

"Don't throw away this chance..Second chances are hard to come by in this world. We will all meet again one day. Go be with our son. He needs you more then I do. I will allways be with you both." The voices tone was warm familiar and kind.

Cliff didn't protest. He stared at the ground. Thinking for a long pause. The seconds stretched into hours it felt like.He looked to his son and with a grunt, grabbed his son's hand.Suddenly they heard a noise, Crying of a baby. They both looked to see a tiny child being cradled in the arms of Amelie? Bridget? Who ever it was at this point Sam didn't care. His gaze drifted as he watched the child be shoved into the water. He flinched knowing Amelie had done that to him. Cliff was staring with rage in his eyes at the entity before him. Sam noticed his father didnt move from his side but anyone could have guessed Cliff had a few words to say to her. Sam's attention was caught by the figure in the water watching Amelie. Cliff or the spirit of cliff had seen the whole exchange and Sam sat as he saw cliff walk away but not sink like he had saw others do. Sam gaze locked with his fathers when he finally looked back.Cliff sighed. Suddenly they were shoved into the water by some great force. Sam seemed calm He had done this so many times and put a hand to his father's shoulder.Sam closed his eyes.

Sam blurly opened his eyes. Blinking away what felt like sleepiness and Voices were shouting around him. All filled with fear concern and anger. He then heard a beeping and realised he was probably in some sort of medical bay. He blinked again, his vision focusing. Sam sat up startled as he realised he was surrounded by people. A voice spoke up. It was deadman. "Sam?"

End of part 1 :D

[why-this-kolaveri-machi]

spn 14.17 - 14.19

SPOILERS ahead.

quick impressions:

1. well that was deeply upsetting.

2. i tried to put this into words after just seeing a gifset of samndean brooding over mary’s funeral pyre the other day but after watching the performance of their grief? the lingering shots of photos and mementos? it all just leaves a sick feeling at the pit of my stomach.

2.5. LIKE. how do i even express the swelling sense of disquiet at watching their mourning of her, when for over thirty years she was held up as a symbol and a justification for all of the shitty things they did? ‘mom would’ve wanted this’ was ultimate validation--sam even hallucinated her telling him that it was ok to feel the things he did all the way back in 4.21; dean kept bringing her up as a motivation to do whatever it took to close the gates of hell in s8. when she actually came to life in s12, there was instant friction between what her sons expected her to be and what she actually was, which was a retired hunter and a young mother to two small children. she was immediately expected to provide succour and emotional support to her grown-ass sons, despite the fact that she was both younger and vastly less experienced than them. that she went on to try and find herself instead of flailing to conform to dean’s the winchesters’ impossibly high standards of her as a mother figure was fascinating, but her character path meandered from there and ended up being an emotional touchstone for the brothers, valued for just being there and being their mother, or galvanising them into action by dying/disappearing. 

3. jack does feel, and feel deeply, though? he immediately regretted killing mary by accident and went to great lengths to do the thing he’d learned from the winchesters that he ought to do: try and resurrect her. he was legit tortured by what he’d done (until the last half of 14.19 anyway), and had his own personal hallucifer voice his greatest fears and darkest doubts to him. his righteous rage in frying nick to a crisp has no doubt been reflected in samndean’s eyes multiple times. that this somehow translates into an ‘absence of morality’ is just such a specious argument.

jack centered his moral universe around sam and dean winchester, who themselves are a bundle of contradictions and extremely ethically suspect decisions. he’s only been alive for two years, and in those two years he has been repeatedly told that his instincts are dangerous, that he is one half pure evil, and that he must trust the likes of samndean and castiel to validate his actions. of course he’s easily manipulated--his sense of self is pliable enough to be non-existent. one learns and unlearns and relearns right and wrong and all of the spaces in between from the people around them. that the depletion of a human soul means you are fundamentally incapable of applying what you’ve learned to be ‘good’ or that ‘decency’ is something that you can inherit like a biological trait is just... weird.

(ok, but to counter my own point a little bit, given that god and angels and heaven and hell exist in this universe, then is it possible that ‘good’ and ‘bad’ exist outside of the ever-evolving concepts formed by human society? that there is an objective way to be ‘good’ and ‘evil’, devoid of context that’s informed by circumstance or beliefs or human frailty. hm.)

3.5. it is curious that jack seems calm, even cheery, when performing biblical acts on the instructions of dumah when he was so tortured only half an episode earlier, but perhaps he was calmed by the promise of validation by samndean. if this is what they would want, then it is Right to do. (on a doylist level, i feel like it was a way to get the very difficult pill of samndean manipulating this kid into an eternal prison down just a little bit easier.)

3.8. and finally it is those humans with ~souls who use their power over jack’s feelings and worldview to manipulate him into dying for eternity in a little box while desperately trying to justify it to themselves and everybody else. 

4. sam following dean’s lead and helping to lock up jack hurt so goddamn much to watch. but it’s perfectly understandable--he’s fully internalised why dean did the same thing to him all the way back in 4.21. it’s why he stopped the third trial in s8 after dean’s monologue. it’s why he fell to his knees, ready to be decapitated by dean if that was dean wanted in the s10 finale. it’s why he apologised for taking a break from hunting in s11. it’s bad enough when it’s hurting sam, but it’s extra agonising to watch when it’s hurting jack as well. i mean--kudos, Show, but OUCH.

4.5. sam is genuinely distressed by what he’s done, tho, but the crucial thing is he doesn’t stand up to dean as much as he needs to, and in that sense, he has utterly failed jack. not just in this ep, but from the beginning of s13 when he was firmly in jack’s corner, sure, but spent more energy defending dean’s unjustified rage towards him than anything else. 

i hope this comes to a head between them in the season finale and plays out over the final season. sam and dean haven’t truly been at ideological odds since s9--for the last few years, samndean have done things as a unit, or rather, dean exercised his power as Supreme Moral Arbiter of the Universe and sam followed without much, or any protest. if he does stand up against dean, a lot of other issues can be dealt with alongside--resurrections, the idea of permanence, and the truly elusive and enigmatic idea of informed consent.

5. i’m genuinely excited for the finale--the cliffhanger at the end of 19 was stomach-droppingly terrifying. gosh, this show is so gloriously fucking distressing.

[whumphoarder]

Sweet Dreams (Are Made of This)

A/N: This is the extended version of the drabble I posted a couple days ago, now including the formerly cut crack-ish lead-up to that scene. I wasn’t originally going to post it, but @xxx-cat-xxx​ and @sallyidss​ changed my mind lol

Summary: Following a mission, a blizzard strands the Avengers together in a small cabin somewhere in rural Minnesota. Peter can’t sleep because of broken ribs. Tony can’t sleep because of shitty coffee.

Word count: 1,698

Genre: Fluffy angst, whump, hurt/comfort, humor(?)

Link to read on Ao3

“Here we are,” Clint announces. He slaps his hand at the light switch on the wall. A single bare bulb in the middle of the ceiling flickers to life, illuminating the cabin’s interior. “Mi casa es su casa.”

Peter stumbles in, letting his gaze travel around the one-room structure. The windows have all been boarded up, the paint is peeling off the walls, and there’s a strong smell of mold in the air. There is an array of mismatched furniture in varying states of disrepair, including two twin bunk beds, a wooden rocking chair, and a hideously floral patterned futon that looks to be straight out of the seventies.

“Su casa should be condemned...” Tony mutters, sidestepping around Peter further into the room.

With one arm slung across Natasha’s shoulders for support, Sam comes limping in next, his other hand braced against his bandaged side. He lets out a grunt as she deposits him down on the futon. “Shit, man...” he groans, stretching out on the mattress. “I think we finally found something lumpier than Cap’s gravy.”

Steve is standing just off to the side, stomping snow off his boots. “One time,” he grumbles. “That was one time...”

Natasha smirks. “To be fair, Bruce broke a tooth.”

Peter shoots his mentor a questioning look.

Tony just rolls his eyes. “Don’t even ask, kid,” he mutters. “This is why I don’t go to team dinners.”

A strong gust of wind slams the rickety door shut behind Peter with a bang. Dust and bits of plaster rain down from the ceiling. That, combined with the fresh whiff of mold he inhales, sets him off on a coughing fit. Tears instantly spring to Peter’s eyes as each hack sends fiery daggers of pain through his already injured ribs.

Smiling broadly, Thor gives the kid a few hearty thumps on the back.

(Peter nearly faints.)

“Yo Legolas, before we trekked two miles through the woods in a raging blizzard to get here, I distinctly remember you saying you were taking us to a ‘safehouse’,” Tony says, opening the metal door of an ancient-looking cast iron furnace. He pokes at the pile of ash inside. “This place is neither safe, nor a house.”

Clint crosses his arms over his chest. “It’s got four walls, a toilet, and at least eighty percent of a roof,” he defends. “That automatically makes it better than half the safehouses SHIELD has assigned me over the years.”

Natasha hums in agreement.

Despite all Tony’s grumbling, he soon gets right to work building a fire in the stove. Peter shuffles over and watches his mentor fiddle with the kindling for a minute or so before he finally gives into exhaustion and lowers himself down onto the nearest bunk bed. Pain flares in his chest at the movement, but releases a bit once he’s still again.

Clint takes a large plastic tub out from behind the futon and removes the lid to reveal that it’s stuffed to the brim with old quilts and hand crocheted afghans. He pulls one from the pile and tosses it at Peter.

“Mr. Barton, why do you own a cabin in Minnesota?” Peter can’t help but wonder as he catches the musty-smelling quilt. “I thought Mr. Stark said you lived in Iowa.”

“I do, but Laura’s parents have had this place in their family for decades,” Clint explains. “It’s perfect for hunting season—Cooper and I were up here for two weeks last fall.” He grins. “Nothing says father-son bonding time quite like gutting your first deer together.”

“Indeed,” Thor muses. “I still recall Father guiding me and Loki through our first disembowelment.” He smiles fondly at the memory. “We were six at the time.”

“You disemboweled a deer at age six?” Peter balks at him.

“No, no,” Thor chuckles. “Not a deer—a prisoner.”

They continue on like that for the next half hour, the team bantering back and forth as they work to make the drafty cabin a little cozier. The blizzard howls outside and Peter’s ribs still ache dully, but surrounded by his team, he somehow feels safer than he has in months.

X

Pain is what wakes Peter from his sleep. He lies there on the thin mattress, disoriented and confused, until the day’s events start flooding back to him. He recalls the team’s earlier mission, the subsequent blizzard that’s stranding them somewhere in northern Minnesota, and making the trek from the grounded Quinjet to the small cabin.

The dull ache in Peter’s ribs from the hit he took earlier has graduated to an inescapable throbbing now. It’s starting to make him feel sick.

Realizing there’s no way he’s going to be able to fall back asleep without some assistance, he gingerly pushes himself up to sitting. He’s grateful that the howling wind outside masks the whimpers that escape as he slips past his sleeping teammates, towards the cabin’s adjoining kitchen.

Peter pushes the kitchen door open and enters as quietly as he can. His hand fumbles around on the wall for the light switch and he flips it on, blinking at the sudden brightness. “What are you doing up?” Peter startles a bit at the voice. Tony is standing over the counter in the cabin’s small kitchen, spooning instant coffee granules into a mug. His eyes are bloodshot and he sways on his feet as he stands. “Just wanted a glass of water…” Peter mumbles. And a buttload of ibuprofen, he adds silently. Tony frowns at the way Peter is bracing his arm against his chest. “You told me they were bruised.” “I mean, they definitely are bruised,” Peter defends, glancing down at his ribs. “...They’re just maybe also broken?” He rubs at the back of his neck sheepishly. “And, uh, they kinda might be healing weird.” “Jesus, kid...” Tony mutters, rubbing a hand over his face in exasperation. He makes a beckoning gesture with his fingers. “Alright, let’s see ‘em. Shirt up.” “I mean, it’s not like we can do anything about them anyway...” Peter points out as he shuffles over. “I’ll be the judge of that,” Tony mutters back. He lifts Peter’s sweatshirt up and gently runs his fingertips over the mottled bruises covering his ribcage. Peter bites his lip hard to keep from whimpering. “Alright, we’ll have Cho look at them when we get back,” Tony decides after a few seconds of prodding. “‘kay,” Peter gasps out, rolling the sweatshirt back down. “Are they healing wrong?” Tony shrugs. “No idea,” he admits. “But you’re breathing alright and nothing seems to be punctured or hideously deformed, so that’s a good sign.” Peter huffs out a short laugh. “Awesome.” Locating a bottle of painkillers from the open medkit on the counter, Tony shakes out four tablets and hands them over. Peter swallows them down gratefully. “Alright Underoos, back to bed before those wear off,” Tony instructs. Peter watches as his mentor picks the spoon back up from the counter and resumes his coffee making. “Uh, Mr. Stark?” he asks tentatively. “Are you… okay?” Something flashes across Tony’s features, but it’s gone before Peter can place it. “I’m fine, kid,” he dismisses with a hand wave. “You’re making instant coffee at like, three in the morning,” Peter points out. “I wanted coffee,” Tony huffs. Peter narrows his eyes at his mentor. “But last week you told me someone could brew a pot of coffee, drink it, piss it out, and then drink that piss again and it would still be better than instant coffee.” “Yeah well I don’t exactly see a Starbucks around here, do you?” Peter hesitates for a moment, taking in his mentor’s haggard face and the bags under his eyes. He honestly looks like he could keel over at any moment. Tony heaves out a tired sigh. “What, kid?” And then all at once, Peter understands. The mission that day—the battle, the aliens, the wormhole—it’s triggered something in his mentor. He can’t sleep because he can’t afford to dream. Peter swallows hard. “It’s okay, Mr. Stark,” he whispers. “I already know about the nightmares.” All traces of humor dissolve from Tony’s features. His words come out in a broken whisper. “Pete. Just go back to bed. Please.” Peter nods. “Okay.” Quietly, he slips back out of the kitchen and into the cabin’s one main room. Over the muffled sounds of the howling blizzard outside, he can hear the crackle of the dying flames in the fireplace and the snores of his sleeping teammates scattered throughout the room. He’s just easing himself back onto his bunk when an idea occurs to him. A moment later, Peter re-enters the kitchen, ignoring the protests from his ribs as he drags two flimsy mattresses in after him. Tony’s eyes go wide and he half-chokes on the mouthful of coffee he’s just sipped. “What are you doing?” he demands in a hoarse whisper. “Sleeping out here with you,” Peter says simply. Wincing as he carefully lowers himself down to the floor, he goes on, “That way, if either of us should have a nightmare, the other person can just wake him up right away and no one else needs to know.” Tony sighs. “Look, kid, I appreciate the thought, but–” Peter locks eyes with his mentor. “Please, Mr. Stark? I’m never gonna be able to sleep knowing you’re in here, dead on your feet, drinking freeze-dried piss-coffee all night.” It’s a long moment before Tony lets out a deep exhale. “Fine,” he grunts. He flips off the light and plops down on the remaining mattress. “But only because you probably shouldn’t be lifting more than ten pounds and I don’t feel like dragging these things back.” Peter stretches out on the mattress. “Pretty sure enhanced people get enhanced restrictions,” he mutters sleepily. “Could probably still lift a car, but just like, a smaller one.” He hums to himself. “Maybe a Beetle. Or like, a Toyota Corolla…” “Hey kid?” “Yeah?” “Shut up.” Peter grins. “Alright, Mr. Stark."

Fic Masterlist

For more heartfelt Tony & Peter moments, try Give the Kid an Oscar

[nicole-lynne]

Worlds Colliding - Chapter Eleven

Here’s the next chapter!! I hope you guys are excited :) Please like and reblog, let me know if you would like to be added to the tag list! 

Relationships: Dean x OC, Sam, Stiles x OC, Scott

Warnings: Mention of car accident

Description: The two groups unite to find out what’s coming. Dean tells Natalie about his true feelings. 

Catch up here:

Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter FiveChapter Six Chapter Seven Chapter Eight Chapter Nine Chapter Ten

Natalie sat at the kitchen table, not a single emotion passed over her face. The plant on the other side of the room had captured her attention, effectively causing her to ignore every person that was sitting around her. The ticking of the clock was echoing in her ears, louder and louder. Stiles’ thigh was pressed against hers, barely any space existing between their chairs. His face was pinched into an angry scowl, his eyes never leaving Dean and Sam, who sat across from them.

Dean tapped his foot up and down in nervousness. With each passing moment, he resisted the urge to pound the skinny dork in front of him and take Natalie into his arms with a passion. She looked so gorgeous, more grown up than he could have imagined, but exactly the same as he remembered. His Natalie. Her hair was in a messy bun and she didn’t have any makeup on, but she was still flawless in his eyes. But he knew that she hated his guts. So he resolved to keep a blank face on and squeezing his hand into a tight fist over and over again.

“Why don’t we just explain what we’re doing here?” Sam finally offered, shifting in his chair.

Natalie scoffed and kept her eyes on the fern. She bunched up her shirt sleeves in her hands, needing to hold on to something for support. Something that wasn’t attached to a raging, testosterone-filled boy.

“I can tell you’ve really grown up, Nat.” Sam muttered under his breath. Natalie’s eyes widen in such disbelief at his comment.

“You have got to be kidding me. You don’t know anything about who I am, Sam. Not anymore.” He rolled his eyes at her, an annoyed expression twitching at his face.

She took a long look at Sam. He had gotten even taller than she had remembered, his hair starting to grow out just a little bit. His muscles were larger now and were fighting against his t-shirt. Natalie didn’t want to admit it, but he looked good. Although, he still carried himself the same way, his attitude was as if he was doing her a favor by being her. That attitude that made her want to reach out and yank his hair harshly.

“Nothing seems to have changed to me, you still act like a baby when things don’t go your way.” Sam said angrily. Natalie’s jaw dropped.

“Okay, Sam, that’s not effective for the situation. Can you cool it?” Dean directed his comment to his brother.

“You two ditched me, out of the blue, and expect that after five years of silence, I’ll welcome you back with open arms.” She turned her pitiless gaze to Dean, who still had yet to say a word to her since the diner. “You ripped my heart out and just left me to pick up the pieces.”

Dean’s heart punched against his chest in pain. “Nat... I’m so sorry. You have to know I was doing what I thought was best.”

She ignored his statement. “And now, I find out that you also knew about me being some sort of... supernatural... being and didn’t think it was information I might need to know?” Her voice had gotten low, animosity leaking from every word.

Dean went to speak but Natalie held a hand up to interrupt him. “Just save it. Let’s just stick with the facts that I need to know. The sooner I know, the sooner we can go our separate ways.”

Scott and Stiles watched the exchange back and forth like a tennis match, unsure when to jump in. Stiles reached under the table and put a soft touch on her thigh, reminding her that he was there for every step. She didn’t need to be afraid because he wouldn’t leave her, but he was proud of her for sticking up for herself. The soft touch of his hand lit a fire within her, giving her strength.  

Dean sighed in defeat and looked at the table, studying the grains. Sam’s arms were folded across his chest as if to show that he was in protest. Again, the ticking of the clock took over the strained kitchen.

Finally, Dean spoke. “When you were sixteen, I started noticing that all these weird things would happen around you. It’d be at times that you got very excited... or extremely angry. It was like a vacuum was sucking all of the air out of the room-out of my lungs. And you could move things, but I don’t think you noticed it.” Natalie’s heart thumped excitedly at his words, words of memories she didn’t have. “One night, you and Sam had a fight. He had caught you smoking weed with some kids from school. He forced you to come home and you were pretty upset.” She looked to Sam but his eyes were fixed downward. “You two kept yelling at each other, and even though I was trying to stop it, your...power...took over. You lifted off the ground and everything around you was flying into the air, straight at Sam’s head.” This story was scratching a part of her brain that was dying to come bursting out and she could feel a headache coming to the forefront of her brain.

Stiles’ mind was reeling at this information. He was dying to ask questions but he didn’t want to burst the moment, instead opting to let Dean continue uninterrupted.

“The thing is... my dad, us, we’re hunters.” Scott’s ears perked up at this confession. “My dad hates supernatural things. Something supernatural killed our mom.” Natalie frowned and a pit of sadness swelled in her stomach, but she shook it away. She refused to let this turn into some pity party.

Dean continued, “Sam knew that my dad would kill you if he ever found out what you were. And he’d probably disown me if he knew that I’d known. I was so scared, Nat. I didn’t know what I was supposed to do, but I didn’t want to lose you. So I contacted our family friend, Bobby Singer, and he put me in contact with a Shaman.

“I took you to his shop one day and he performed a ritual that would take away your powers... but it also took away your memories of anything having to do with your powers. So you didn’t ever remember why Sam was so mad at you... why he didn’t want to be around you.” Sam’s shoulders tensed up at that comment.

Scott suddenly spoke up, “So you’re telling us that this shaman removed her ability to use her powers? How does that even work?”

Dean ran a rough hand over his face. “I’m not really sure. He had some ability to control spirits. He was chanting and her body was fighting it. Both of them were hovering in the air, her eyes turned completely white, and she... she created this type of force field; I couldn’t get near them. She was screaming and the sound of her screams were wrecking the room. It was terrifying...” He trailed off quietly. “All I know is that nothing ever happened after we went there. You were normal.”

Natalie’s eyes were piercing a whole through Dean’s head, harsh and unrelenting. “Why did you leave me alone? Why would you do that to me and then toss me aside like a used tissue?”

“Nat, I love y-loved you so much. I thought it would be better - safer - for you to live without the complications me and my family bring along. Especially now that you’re human.” His arm was begging to just reach out and grab her hand, but he ignored it just like he was ignoring every other urge in his body. He looked up at Natalie, his eyes pleading for her to understand where he was coming from.

Everything Dean had said had just made her angrier and angrier. Instead of staying with her - loving her - he had left her. He had taken a part of her soul just because she was different than his own family. The person that she had grown to love as a child was gone. Because her Dean would have never done something like that.

“So what am I? Because I sure as hell aren’t human.” Was all Natalie could say. All other words were escaping her mind at the moment.

A hurt look washed over his features, but he answered. “If I knew, I would tell you. But I’ve never seen someone else with those abilities.” He paused and closed his eyes. “I was just trying to do what was best, Nat.”

Stiles had been quiet the whole time, storing all the information he could. He had never heard of any supernatural creature with those abilities, but he was sure that Deaton would know if something like that existed. He kept his hand steady on Natalie’s thigh, rubbing his thumb in circles softly. Stiles could tell that she was clinging to her sanity, wanting to crumble into the floor.

“Why are you here then? If she’s not supposed to have her power anymore, why did you show up and mess around with her life?” Scott inquired. He was just as confused as the rest of them but he saw how hurt Natalie was and she was his friend first.  

At that, Sam directed his attention to Scott. “We were hunting a demon a little over a month ago and it was begging for us to let it free. Started talking about a girl that has these crazy insane powers, saying that their boss wants to use her for it’s own demented plans.”

“Yeah and...?” Stiles prompted.

“So, we’re questioning this little bitch some more and she’s telling us all about the things this girl can do. I don’t know how she knew, but she said every single one of your powers.” Natalie’s eyes looked back and forth between Sam and Dean. Everything that had come out that day was starting to suffocate her and she was trying to break her way out.

“You’re telling me, that a... demon... wants to kidnap me and force me to do his bidding. With powers that I don’t even have anymore.” The words were hanging in the air around her, closing in with each moment.

Stiles’ pulls her a little closer and whispers in her ear. “I won’t let that happen, baby. I won’t let anything hurt you. Ever.”

Natalie smiled at the sentiment, though in her heart of hearts, she knew that he would never stand a chance against a demon. A demon. Something that she thought only existed in her nightmares. Although she truly had no idea what kinds of things Stiles and Scott had fought in their high school career.

Dean tensed as he watched Stiles caress her back and whisper into her ear. He pictured yanking him out of his seat and breaking his arm with barely any effort. Scott sat a little taller as the reeking scent of jealousy increases in the room and he kept his eyes locked on Dean, who’s eyes were locked on his best friend.

Sam cleared his throat to get everyone’s attention again. “Natalie, I’m sorry for what’s happened in the past, but Dean and I won’t let those things get close to you.”

“But just to be safe, you should probably start wearing this again...” Dean slowly slides her necklace across the table and Natalie froze in her seat. The small little pendant stared up at her, waiting for her to bring it to its home around her neck.

“Wha-what the hell? Why would I wan-want to wear that, Dean?” She stuttered.

“This charm keeps you from being possessed by demons.” Sam and Dean pulled down their shirts to reveal matching tattoos of the design.

Natalie scooted the chair back as far as it could go and sighed. She grabbed the necklace reluctantly and started to head out of the room. “I need some time to think. This is all way too much.” Her voice cracked as a tear escaped its rightful place.

Stiles turned and started to follow her out of the room but Scott grabbed his arm. “Just let her have some space, man. I’m sure she’s really overwhelmed with all of these confessions today.”

Stiles knew that Scott was right, but every fiber in his body was calling out to Natalie. He wanted to pull her into his arms and shield her from all of this crap. He wanted to kick all of these people out of the house and spend the rest of the night watching movies with his girl. But... he also knew that Dean wouldn’t leave without a fight. Stiles knew that he cared about Natalie just as much as himself, and it was petrifying to him.

---

Two hours later and Natalie was still perched in a chair on the front porch, trying to soak up the last of the warmth for the day. Her eyes were puffy and her face completely flushed from crying, soft sobs occasionally bubbling back up out of her chest. For the most part though, she was done crying and just enjoying the view of the sun sitting on the horizon. Occasionally, the wind would sweep across the porch and blow through her hair, giving her the extra help to take a deep breath.

The door creaked open and her heart started pounding as she caught a glimpse of Dean sauntering out of the house. He had his hands stuffed awkwardly in his pockets and his shoulders were tense, like he was holding his breath, expecting her to start yelling at him.

“Hey there...” Natalie mumbled. She pulled her jacket around herself tighter, trying to create a barrier.

Dean plopped down on the stair steps and looked around at the neighborhood. “This is a really nice place you have here.” He sounded sad, his green eyes were searching through memories instead of the yard in front of him. Natalie’s body desired to reach out and rub his back, but she refrained. It was an automatic response that she didn’t know was still in her.

“Thanks, it’s a nice place to call home...” She trailed off.

“How can you afford this nice of a house? You’re only twenty-one. You have some fancy-pants job now?” He glanced over at the girl.

Natalie’s gaze fell to her hands, sitting lonely in her lap. “Laura passed away a couple years ago.” Dean’s stomach flipped.

“What? H-how?” He croaked out, shocked. Her aunt had been one reason that he had convinced himself that Natalie would be alright. And now he was hearing that she had been alone for years. He was such an idiot.

“Um, a car accident. It was near the end of winter and this car hit some black ice, crossed over the line, and hit her head on. She never even made it to the hospital.”

The color had left Dean’s face. “Oh my god, I am so sorry, Nat. I can’t even imagine how difficult that must have been. I know how close you and Laura were after...everything.”

Natalie started to speak but the words choked in her throat and water clouded her eyes.

He stood up and moved closer to Natalie but she waved him away. She had a couple tears running down her face but she wiped them away quickly and chuckled. “I’ll be okay, Dean. You haven’t worried about me for five years, no reason to start now.”

Dean sighed and sat down in the chair next to her. “I thought about you every single day, Nat. You have to believe me when I say that it nearly killed me to leave you that night. I’ve been running on autopilot all these years without you.” He reached for her, struggling to hold her hand in his.

“That’s a nice story, Dean, but not one of my favorites.” She said bitterly, avoiding his eyes.

He lifted his hand and cupped her chin, pulling her face closer to his. A small gasp left her lips in surprise, she could feel his warm breath on her face. Their lips were barely inches apart.

“I have been lost without you, Nat. And I’m so sorry that I hurt you and that I left you to pick up the pieces of your life alone. Especially after what happened to Laura. But I love you, I have since the day I met your sassy six year old self, and I promise that I will never hurt you ever again. I promise that I will love you until the end of my life. And I won’t let anything...else...hurt you either.” Natalie’s lip trembled, tears growing again, the lump had returned to her throat.

“I-I don’t know what to say, D” She managed to say. Her green eyes darting between his eyes and his lips with uncertainty.

Determination flooded through Dean’s eyes. “Just say you love me too. Say that you’ll forgive me and let me earn back your trust.” He pleaded.

Natalie wanted to scoff but something held her back. “You make it sound easy.”

His hand tightened around her tiny one with hope. “It is easy, baby. All of this has taught me is that I don’t want to ever be without you again. You make me strong.” His thumb brushed against her cheek, sending sparks dancing across her skin with passion. She was sure he could hear her heart banging in her chest.  

The man that she had loved for a majority of her life was here, in front of her, declaring his love for her. She wanted to scream that she loved him too and that she could forget everything he had done. It would be so easy to lean forward and kiss the lips that used to feel so familiar to her. It would make things so much easier if she could just forgive him for what he did. But her heart clenched at the thought of the past and her walls hardened again. A empty look passed over her face and she dropped his hand.

“I really appreciate everything you’ve said, Dean. And I don’t have any ill-will towards you. But it’s too late. Let’s just get this over with and we can go our separate ways.” With that, Natalie stood up and walked back into the house, leaving Dean alone in the night.

Dean cleared his throat and dried the tears that had escaped. He wished he could forget the look on her face, expel that memory from his head. Now he had to come to terms that the girl he’d loved for longer than he could remember was lost to him forever. He would never have her to call his own.

Tags:  @multifandomdisappointment @music-magic-mayhem @ghostaccio @screamxqueenx94 @rissyrapp20 @dark-night-sky-99 @pissoffghost-korg

[rosieclark]

Don’t leave me

This is something I’ve been working on in spurts. In summery, it’s every plangsty idea that has ever popped into my mind all bundled together with a little bow on top. Also available on Ao3 for your enjoyment. 

Big thanks to Mads (@madileto) for beta reading!

“Promise me something?”

Lance nuzzled the top of her head the familiar scent of her lavender shampoo filling his lungs. “Anything.”

Pidge burrowed further into his arms. “You’ll never leave me right?”

Lance pulled back so he could look into her eyes. “Pidge, you don’t need to worry about that. I’ll never leave you.”

She smiled and brought her lips up to meet his. “I know. Just checking.”

He kissed her back, wrapping his arms around her again. Embracing her warmth, he sighed contently. He was happy.

Lance was having a bad day. It had started out okay, but had quickly gone down hill. He got his butt kicked in training by Keith, spilled food goo all over his new pants and couldn’t for the life of him get his bayard to work.

To top it all off, he had a huge fight with Katie. He closed his eyes, mentally cursing at the memory.

“I’m sorry if I’m being distant, but I’m so close to finding them Lance! I can feel it!”

Lance rubbed his forehead. “Like you were ‘so close’ last month? No offence Katie, but every time you say that, you end up no closer to the truth.”

“Lance, their my family. I can’t abandon them.”

“And I’m your boyfriend!” Lance shouted. “Doesn't that count for anything?”

Pidge stopped typing. She looked at Lance, her eyes wide and sorrowful.

“Of course it does. You mean everything to me. I see a future with you when we return to earth.

Lance kept his expression neutral. Even though her words warmed his heart, he was still ticked off about being ignored for weeks at a time.

“At least I’ll have a family to return to when we get back.”

Almost immediately after he said it, Lance regretted his words. Hurt flashed across Pidge’s face within seconds. He saw her eyes dim a little, and could sense her walls building up. She was shutting him out.

He reached out to her only for her to flinch away.

“Katie, please.”

She turned to face away from him, her shoulders trembling. “At least I know my place on the team and in my family. I’m the brains, the tech savvy. I’m also the paladin of the green lion, and only daughter to Colleen and Sam Holt. I know they love me, because there’s only one of me. You on the other hand,” she snorted. “You have no place. Not on the team, not in your large family. You’ll never know if your mom loves you, or loves the older brother she sees in you.”

Lance felt like a knife had stabbed him in the heart. He staggered back, his body shaking at her words. She knew his weaknesses and had lashed out, hitting her target with deadly precision. He looked up to see her big amber eyes staring up at him, a mix of regret and horror shining in them.

“Lance, I didn’t mea-”

“It doesn’t matter what you meant. What’s done is done.” He knew his tone was cold, but he couldn’t help it. Without saying another word, he whirled around and marched out the door.

Lance groaned, cursing his own stupidity. If he hadn’t left, they would have talked out their problems and probably could have been snuggling by now. Instead he had run away like a coward.

Settling in Blue, Lance opened the hanger door and flew out. He needed some time to think.

“Lance, come in.”

“Lance, do you copy?”

“Buddy, where are you?”

“Lance, this is Shiro. Come back now, that’s an order.”

Opening his eyes, Lance listened to the constant stream of his teams worried voices over the coms.

“Guys, I’m here, relax.” He soothed. “What's the big deal anyways?”

There was silence on all other lines before Keith spoke up.

“You better get back here as soon as possible, or so help me, I will kill you myself.”

Lance frowned at Keith's harsh words. “Jeez, hold your horses. I’m on my way.” He turned off his com and patted Blues dashboard. “Let’s go home girl.”

As he exited his lion, Lance was met with a very, very angry Keith.

“What the fuck were you thinking?” He seethed through clenched teeth. He grabbed Lance’s collar and shook him.

“What was I thinking? What are you thinking?” Lance pulled away, suddenly angry at the attack. “I just needed some time to think! You have no right to talk to me about needing alone time.”

“At least I tell the team were I am. You just decide to get up, and take four days in space?”

Four days. It had felt like a few hours. Quiznack. His confidence dissipated. “I lost track of time?” He offered with a sheepish smile.

“You lost track of time? For four days, we have been trying to coax Pidge out of her room. For four days, I’ve had to listen to her sob endlessly. She hasn’t eaten, she hasn’t drank anything, I don’t think she’s showered or used the bathroom! You have been MIA for four quiznacking days and all you can say is you “lost track of time?”” Keith shook his head. “Unbelievable.”

Lance felt the regret weigh heavy in his stomach. He ran out of the room, ignoring the shouts of protest from his team. He needed to see her.

Standing outside her door, his heart sank even further as he listened to Katie cry. He never wanted to hear her in pain, much less be the cause of it.

With the wave of his hand the door opened, revealing a dark room. A small figure lay curled up in the corner. Her shoulders trembled.

“Hey.” Lance waved even though she couldn’t see him. “I’m sorry for everything I said.”

Pidge whirled around, her eyes wide. “You’re back.”

Lance grinned. “Happy to see me?”

She frowned and turned away.

He sighed. “Look Pidge, I know I said some pretty harsh things to you that I’m not proud of.” He took a step towards her. ”I will always support your ambitions to find your family no matter what. I love you. Please forgive me?”

Lance didn’t know what he was expecting. He wanted Katie to run into his arms and forgive him, but he didn’t think that was a reasonable outcome. What he didn’t expect was for her to stand up and look at him, fury seeping off every pore in her body. He actually took a step back.

“You think this is about what you said?” Her voice was dangerously low. “I forgave you for what you said a long time ago. No Lance, this is about something much bigger.”

“I don’t know what yo-”

“I thought you left me!” Pidge screamed.

The silence that followed was deafening. Lance froze, and stared at her, small and trembling. His heart clenched. He hadn’t meant to hurt her.

“I thought you left me.” She repeated, quieter now. “Sooner or later, you’re going to find someone prettier, or smarter, or funnier than me, and leave. Just like my dad. Just like Matt. Just like Rover.”

“Pidge, ple-” He reached out a hand, but she was already moving out the door.

“No Lance. I need to be alone right now.”

“Quizanck, why am I so weak?”

Pidge stood outside Lance’s door a mere three hours after their second fight. Yes, she was still mad, but they needed to talk out their feelings. Just before she was about to enter, her com lit up.

“Hello?”

“Paladin of green, this is Zarkons witch. I have a proposition to make.”

Pidge’s blood ran cold. Haggar.

“I want nothing to do with you.” She moved to turn the signal off.

“Even if it concerns the safety of your brother and father?”

Her hand paused. Haggar had Matt and her dad. She couldn’t let them get hurt.

“What do you want?”

“I want the lions.”

“That’s impossible. I can’t do that.”

“Need I remind you Katie, that I hold both your brother and your father in my possession. The only thing keeping them alive is your obedience.”

Pidge’s heart sank. She had no leverage in this situation.

“Anything else. Please don’t hurt them?”

There was a pause and then a chuckle. “I wish to destroy Voltron from the inside out. I believe you have gotten quite close with the current red paladin, am I correct?”

Lance

Pidge felt the dread creeping up her spine. She tried to answer but no words came out.

“I’ll take your silence as a yes. I need you to destroy him. Break off your relationship. Make him hate you.”

The communicator shook in Pidge’s hand. Break up with Lance or have her brother and father killed. She sank to her knees as tears rolled down her cheeks.

“I can’t.” She managed to choke out.

“You better.” Haggar's voice was everything cruel in the world. “Lest you never want to see your brother again.”

The line went dead, leaving Pidge to her thoughts. Lance would understand. He had to. She could fix this, all she needed was time.

Lance looked up as Pidge entered his room. He immediately smiled and opened his arms for a hug.

“Hey Pidge, what’s up?”

His grin drooped a little when she walked past him, ignoring his welcoming arms, and stared out the window.

“Still mad at me?”

“Lance, I’m done.”

He put his arms down and let out a nervous chuckle. “Don’t even joke about that Pidgey. I know I broke the promise, but I swear it will never happen again. Please.”

“It’s not a joke. I don’t want to be with you anymore.” She turned to face him, her eyes cold and emotionless.

Lance took a step back, clutching at his chest.

“Why? Was it what I said? Because I’m sorry!” He wished his voice sounded stronger, but it trembled.

Pidge sighed as if he was boring her. “It’s not either of those things. I need to be with someone who understands me on an intellectual level.”

That stung more than he wanted to admit. He always knew Pidge was smart, brilliant even. He never thought she thought of him as dumb.

“So what, you’re just going to leave me? Leave us?”

“Yes.”

The answer was simple yet devastating. Lance felt his sadness turn to rage.

“Then leave.” He spat. “I don’t want to be in the same room as you for longer than necessary.”

Pidge gave him a curt nod, and walked to the door. Instead of leaving, she turned.

“I’m leaving on a solo mission to find my family. I won’t be around for a while.” Then she left, the door closing behind her with a soft hiss.  

As soon as she was gone, he fell to his knees, sobbing. He was never good enough for her. He would never be good enough for her. But that didn’t mean he had to stop fighting.

Not for her, for himself. She had left him broken, but he would come back stronger.

Lance swore to himself that he wouldn’t give Pidge the satisfaction of seeing him weak. He would be strong.

Being alone for six weeks in space was not her ideal vacation, but it was better then nothing. Getting Shiro to agree to let her go on this mission solo had been a doozy. He had wanted to take Keith, but she had refused. She needed to do this alone.

Saying goodbye to the team was hard, but they knew she would be back. Eventually. She had estimated the journey to the cruiser and back would take roughly a month. Unfortunately, she had run into some setbacks. This lead to two months in space, with her just being about to see the Galra cruiser.

The one thing her extended time in solitude had granted her was the ability to think. Think about her family, earth, and Haggar. Think about exactly what she was going to do to the witch when she found her. Haggar had made a mistake. Pidge now knew the location of her brother and father. She would play puppet to her wicked schemes no longer.

Thinking was great, until she thought about the one thing she didn’t want to. Lance. Their last conversation had been unagreeable, and it was a jerk move on her part to leave right after. All she needed to do was find her family and explain everything to Lance. Then hopefully he would at least forgive her. Maybe even give her a second chance.

Getting into the cruiser would be easy. Getting out would be hard. Haggar must have her family in the lower prison cells. All Pidge had to do was dock outside the ship, sneak through one of the disposal chutes, and hack the systems for a distraction. Piece of cake.

“Quiznack.” Pidge swore as she opened the last cell in the prison to reveal a scared Arusian. They had to be here. She had searched every damn cell in this ship, so where were they?

“Looking for someone?” Haggar's voice sent shivers down her spine. Pidge turned to face her.

“Where are they?” She stared at the witch, her hands trembling slightly.

“Where are they?” She repeated again. “You said they were here. You said you had them!”

Haggar chuckled, low and cold. “My dear Katie, I lied.”

The last word hit her like a punch to the gut. Haggar never had her family. She had manipulated Pidge to do her bidding without having any leverage.

“No.” It was barely more than a whisper. “No, it’s not possible.”

“But it is you foolish girl.” The witch sneered, her eyes glowing yellow under her hood.

A dam of rage burst inside of Pidge. “You bitch!” She screamed, shooting her bayard at Haggar. “You fucking bitch!”

Haggar easily avoided her attacks, shooting a blast of electricity at the green paladin. Pidge dodged it, and continued to ruthlessly attack her.

Haggar shot at her again, this time hitting her target. Pidge let out a whimper as she crashed against the back wall. Pain flashed through her arm and she gritted her teeth. Slowly, she got up and fired her bayard again. Haggar let out an amused laugh.

“You’re a persistent one aren’t you?”

Pidge didn’t respond, sweat beginning to form on her brow. Her arm felt as though it was on fire and every sense of her was telling her to stop, but she didn’t. She couldn’t.

“Unfortunately, I have places to be and people who require my attention.” She opened her hand and shot lightning, catching Pidge as she tried to retreat.

The green paladin screamed and writhed in pain. When she finally felt like she couldn’t take it anymore, Haggar stopped. She bent over the Pidge and whispered into her ear.

“Make no mistake girl, I’m not as cruel as you think. I’m simply playing a game to stay alive. I know what it’s like to lose your family, so I suggest you leave before any guards find you.”

Pidge’s mouth was too dry to speak. As she watched Haggar disappear, Pidge tried to stand up. Every bone in her body resisted, but she pushed through.

How she had made it to her lion was still a mystery. What she did know was pain, exhaustion and disappointment. With trembling hands, she set course for the castle, before the darkness consumed her.

“All paladins to the bridge please. I repeat, all paladins to the bridge.”

Lance cursed Shiro's timing as he got off Allura.

“Sorry babe, we’re going to have to wait.” He said with a wink.

She giggled. “For you Lance, I’d wait another ten thousand years.”

“Sap.” He pecked her on the cheek before grabbing her hand and heading to the bridge.

“What is it Shiro?” Hunk asked, apron still on. “I was in the middle of trying out a new souffle recipe.”

“Pidge is back. Our scanners picked up the green lion outside the castle.”

Lance joined the others, running to the docking hanger. As the green lion landed, Lance was feeling nervous. His last encounter with Pidge had been less than pleasant, so seeing her again held mixed feelings. How would she react to him and Allura? Would they still be friends?

Those feelings quickly turned to dread as no Pidge appeared.

“Somethings wrong.”

Shiro had read all their minds. Quickly, they made their way to the lion. Keith climbed in through its mouth. There was a moment of tense silence before he yelled.

“Coran, ready a pod! Everyone, clear the way.”

Lance felt his heart drop. A couple seconds later, Keith emerged holding a bleeding, burned and bruised Pidge.

Hunk barfed. Shiro swore. Allura started to cry and Lance held her comfortingly. His own eyes started to water as Keith passed them.

Her armour was nothing but shreds. Blood oozed from a gash on her head, and her right arm hung limply beside her, the shoulder obviously dislocated. Lance shivered as he saw the burns. He knew them well. They all did.

Haggar was going to pay.

He gritted his teeth and stepped away from Allura. Fists clenched, as he stormed to his lion.

“Lance, where are you going?!” Shiro’s voice boomed from the other side of the hanger.

“I’m going to make that witch pay!” He shouted back, breaking into a sprint. He made it about four steps before strong arms yanked him back. Lance fought against Hunk with all his strength but to no avail.

“No you’re not.” Shiro was in front of him. “I know you’re worried about Pidge. We all are. But now is not the time for revenge. Now is the time to stay by her side, supporting and helping her.”

He put his hand on Lance’s shoulder. “We will make Haggar pay, I promise. Just not today.”

Keith returned, pale and shaken. “She didn’t respond well to the pod. Coran thinks it’s because of the large quantities of dark Altean magic she was exposed to. We have her stabilized, but it’s going to be a long road to recovery.”

Shiro nodded. “Can we see her?”

“I was actually going to ask Allura to clean her up a bit before.” Keith blushed a bit, looking at Lance's’ girlfriend. “You know, wash her and change her clothes?”

“Of course.” The princess rushed out the doors, her hair flowing behind her.

The paladins had created a system. They took one hour shifts watching their green counterpart. It was Hunks turn, and the others were gathered around the dinner table. None of them had any appetite. They sat in silence.

“It’s been three weeks!” Lance exclaimed, punching the table. “It’s time to act!”

“Guys!” Hunk burst into the room causing all the paladins to stand up.

“What happened?” Shiro asked, brow creased.

“Is she okay?” Keith questioned.

Lance looked like he was about to run to the medical bay. “Is Katie-”

Hunk shook his head and grinned. “She’s awake!”

Pidge opened her eyes as her door slid open to reveal Shrio, Coran, Allura, Keith and Hunk. She smiled at them warmly.

“Hey guys.”

Shiro gently hugged her, trying not to touch any of her wounds. “We really missed you Pidge.”

“Wasn’t the same castle without you.”

There were murmurs of agreement throughout the group. Pidge felt her heart warm slightly. She was finally home. Allura waved shyly.

“It’s so nice not to be the only girl on the team Pidge! And I’m sure Lance will be far mo-”

“Lance?” Pidge frowned, looking for a pair of familiar eyes in the room. She found none.

The room went silent as the others shifted uncomfortably looking for the blue paladin. She closed her eyes again. He wasn’t coming. Not that she expected him to, but it would have been nice to see him again. She needed to tell him about Haggar.

Coran cleared his throat. “So nice to see you awake number five. I think we’ll let you get some rest now.” As they herded out of her room, Hunk stayed behind.

“Can I stay? I really missed my best bud.”

Pidge let out a throaty laugh. “I’d like that.”

“Lance and Allura?” Pidge snorted. “Jeez Hunk, I thought I was the one who hit my head!”

Hunk’s face stayed neutral. “It’s not a joke Pidge.”

It’s not a joke. Her exact words to Lance when she broke things off. Her heart sank.

She cleared her throat. “Well, I guess I’m happy for him. He’s moved on.” I haven’t.

They were silent for a moment before Hunk stood up, patting her shoulder.

“You should get some rest. I’ll be back later with dinner.”

“Thanks.” She winced as she lay back down.

“Anything.”

The door hissed shut, and Pidge let the tears flow. She had left him, and in turn he had left her.

Karma sucked.

Pidge laughed. “So let me get this straight. Lance asked you out in Altean?”

“Yes! I’m pretty sure he said ‘will you elephant the baby’, but I got the message.”

The girls giggled in unison. Pidge took Alluras hand.

“I’m really happy for you, you know that?”

Allura squeezed back. “I know. Thank you Pidge.”

She smiled, thinking about Lance. He hadn’t visited her at all. Maybe it was for the best. He probably hated her. Her heart tightened at the thought.

“He doesn’t hate you, you know that right?” Allura’s concerned eyes were staring at her. Pidge smiled back.

“I wouldn’t be so sure. I was pretty ruthless.”

Allura shook her head. “Pidge, you are still his best friend. You’re still so important to him.”

“Important huh? Not important enough to visit I guess. It’s been four weeks Allura, I get the message loud and clear.” She scoffed.

Pidge turned her eyes downward, picking at some invisible lint on the sheets. She felt Allura stand up.

“Try to sleep Pidge.”

She smiled back. “I’ll try. Thanks for everything.”

The princess looked at her one last time before turning off the lights and heading to Lance’s room. That boy had some explaining to do.

“Lance?”

He looked up, his fingers pausing their trail through Alluras hair. “Mhm?”

“You told me you went to see her.”

Lance sighed. He knew Allura meant well, but he was going to scream if someone else told him to go see Pidge. He sat up and ran a hand through his hair.

“I know.”

“So you lied to me?”

“I just need some more time.”

“More time? It’s been four weeks Lance. She’s so small Lance.” Allura looked at him, her voice softer. “So while you’re ‘taking your time’, Pidge is stuck in pain wondering if you hate her. You haven’t visited her once Lance. She’s been through so much. I don’t think she can lose another friend.”

Guilt filled Lance’s gut. He rolled out of bed and pulled on a shirt.

“Where are you going?”

“To see a friend.”

“You know she’s probably sleeping right?”

Lance shrugged. “Pidge never sleeps.”

The door slid open revealing a very messy room. Lance smiled to himself. The day Pidge cleaned her room would be the day pigs fly.

“That was fast Keith.” Her voice was coming from the bed. “Ready for some Killbot Phantom?”

Lance felt his blood boil. “May I ask why you’re playing our game with the mullet emo?”

Pidge looked at him and rolled on her side, closing her eyes. “Go away. I’m sleeping.”

“Pidge, don’t do this.” He pleaded with her.

The lump on the bed remained silent. He made his way over to her, careful not to step on anything. As he got closer, he could see she was shaking. No, crying.

Silent sobs racked her small frame. Lance felt the guilt that had been building up in his chest boil over.

“I’m so sorry. I meant to visit, I was just being stupid. I want, no I need you as a friend. I want to play video games with you and steal cows from space malls. Don’t leave me.” Not again, he added silently in his head.

Pidge opened her eyes. “Don’t apologize Lance. You have nothing to be sorry for. I treated you like a jerk, and I’m paying the price.”

“No, I’ve been the jerk. Please don’t think you’re anything less than my best friend.” And only my friend, he thought to himself bitterly.

She looked up at him and wiped her tears away. “Friends?”

He cracked a smile. “Friends.” Lance conformed. “Are you up for some Killboy Phantom?”

“Is that even a question?” She cocked an eyebrow.

He was already grabbing the controllers.

Lance looked up as Allura entered his room. He smiled, opening his arms for a hug. “Hey babe, I was just headed out to see Pidge. Is everything all right?”

She stayed by the door, looking down at her feet. He felt his heart sink.

“No.”

“No what?” He knew the answer. He just wanted to hear her say it.

She finally looked at him, eyes filled with unshed tears. “Lance, I can’t do this anymore.”

No.

Not again.

“Please Allura, give me another chance.” He was practically begging on his knees. “I promise I can be better!”

The princess wiped her eyes and smiled. “Lance, this isn’t about anything you did.”

“Then why.”

“Because this was a fling. That’s it. We both knew it wouldn’t last, so-” her voice broke. “So I think it’s best we end it sooner rather than later.”

“Allura, I already lost Pidge. I can’t lose you too.”

“And I can’t stand by and watch you fall in love with another woman. You’ve been visiting her non-stop for three weeks Lance. I’ve hardly seen you around.” She wrapped her arms around him, and he savored her warmth. In his heart he knew they were never meant to be, but it stung anyways.

“But I moved on.” He sighed. “I thought I moved on!”

“I think,” she whispered in his ear. “I think that’s the problem. You never really did. She’s still with you no matter how hard you try to get rid of her. And I think you’re with her too.”

She pulled back, holding him at arm's length, offering him a watery smile. “I know love when I see it Lance. I saw it when my mother and father would look at each other. I see it in Hunk’s eyes when he looks at Shay. And I see it in your eyes whenever you see her. Not me, her.”

Lance let out a teary laugh. “I’ve fallen pretty hard haven’t I.”

“Go get her. If you don’t someone else will, and you’ll live the rest of your life wishing you had seized the moment.”

With a pat on the shoulder Allura walked away. Lance sank to his knees. She had been right about one thing. His feelings for Pidge had never left. The only problem with confessing his undying love was that she definitely didn’t feel the same way. She had made that clear when she walked away. He wasn’t about to be the dog crawling back to his master. If Allura was right, she would have to come to him.

Sitting back down he decided he would have some alone time. He needed to think.

Pidge looked at the clock. Lance had made a routine of visiting her every evening for video games and cookies. She sighed as she tapped her foot. He was late.

It hurt being with him as a friend. She wanted nothing more then to wrap herself in his arms and relish in his body heat. Unfortunately that was a “girl friend only” perk.

What was taking him so long? Sighing, she sat on the bed, waiting.

He never came.

“If you keep frowning, you’re going to get wrinkles.”

Lance ran his hands over his face as he watched Pidge and Liam talk. As much as he wanted to join the conversation, he knew they were blabbing about some advanced alien space tech that he wouldn’t be able to follow. Instead, he turned to Hunk.

“I’m not frowning. I’m perfectly happy.” He tried to grin, but it came out as a grimace. Hunk sighed, patting him on the shoulder.

“There there my little lover boy.” He smiled. “Liam will be gone soon.”

Sure. Liam and his little group of rebel allies had docked on the castle a few days ago to restock and refuel. Coincidentally, they also brought some incripeted Galra code that was taken from a prison they recently raided. Pidge was decoding it now to see if it contained any information about her family.

Lance wouldn’t have minded the extra company if it wasn’t for one, little detail. Liam had taken quite the fancy to Pidge. His Pidge. Now a days, the rebel fighter was hardly seen without her. He was always carrying her around when she got too tired to walk, and making sure her injuries were well tended. They spent long hours together pouring over Galra code and talking about Olkarion. Lance didn’t like the way he looked at his Pidge. When he had confronted her about his worries, she had shrugged him off. Apparently Liam was a “nice guy” with “strong morals.”

To make matters worse, Pidge had been ignoring him. Sure, after the break up with Allura Lance skipped a few of their gaming sessions, but he still valued her company. He hadn’t meant to push her away, it just happened. And now he was paying for it.

“I don’t care Hunk!” He called over his shoulder before leaving.

If he had looked back, he would have seen Pidge’s look of longing. Longing for someone just out of reach.

Liam the lame finally left two days later. A week after that, Pidge had burst in with the coordinates to another Galra prison. She asked Shiro if they could go as a team and liberate the prisoners. After much debate about whether or not Pidge was battle ready, Shiro reluctantly agreed. Thus, Lance found himself standing in the oddest prison he had ever seen.

“So I get the whole “cement walls and no windows” thing, but where are the people?” His voice boomed off the bare walls.

The only thing inside the room was a large computer. It had instantly claimed Pidge’s attention, the small paladin tossing her helmet to the side and plugging her wrist port in.

Now that he was thinking about it, there had been almost no Galra to fight. No one had stood their way as they marched into the unlocked prison. A prison they received the coordinates for from a sketchy group of rebels who had docked on their ship. No rebel group before had ever done that. Come to think of it, no rebel group had ever found them.

Realization hit Lance like a punch to the gut.

Oh quiznack. Oh fucking quizanck.

It was a trap. Everything had been set up.

“Get out!” Lance yelled at his team. “Its a set up!”

Hunk, Allura, Shiro and Keith ran out the doors without hesitation, Lance following behind. He looked around for a familiar green helmet.

“Where is Pidge?”

Team voltron searched for their missing green paladin outside the chamber.

“She's still inside.” Hunk breathed, the realization hitting them all like a ton of bricks.

“Quiznack!” Lance swore, running back through the metal doors. Shiro called after him but he paid no attention.

Pidge was where he left her, downloading info from the Galra computer. Her helmet lay forgotten beside her.

“Pidge, we have to go.” Lance tried to pull her up, but she shook her head.

“Lance, this is the one shot I have at finding my family left. I’m not leaving until I get everything.”

“This is not up for debate. We are leaving now. I promise we will find your dad and Matt, but there are other ways.”

“I’ve tried all the other ways. They don’t work.” Her eyes dropped to the floor. “Just go back to the hanger, and I’ll join you in a tic.”

The reassuring smile she put on her face almost made Lance listen to her. He shook his head and grabbed her shoulders.

“I’m not leaving you again.”

Pidge looked up at him, her honey eyes huge. Her chin trembled slightly.

“Lance, I-”

Whatever she was going to say was cut off by an alarm, and the metal doors slamming shut. A faint hiss followed, making Pidge and Lance exchange worried glances.

Gas.

Pidge put her helmet on, and Lance was about to do the same when he realized he had left it in the hanger. Quiznack.

“Lance, where’s your helmet?” Pidge’s voice was laced with worry.

He scratched the back of his neck awkwardly and chuckled. “Funny story, I might have left it with the rest of the team?”

They both knew it would be impossible to get to it. It would be impossible for them to escape with the resources they had with them. The walls and doors were too thick, and the only possible means of escape was a small air vent on the ceiling. Pidge swore, and moved to take her helmet off. Lance stopped her, holding her wrists.

“Don’t.” He was dead serious. “I need to know you’ll be okay.”

After a moment, Pidge dropped her hands reluctantly. Lance began coughing. She looked at him with concern, but he waved her off.

“Don’t worry about it. I’m fine.”

She glared. “You are not fine. You are dying.”

“Don’t sugarcoat it will ya?” He tried to joke.

“Lance, you can’t die on me.” Her voice quavered slightly. “You can’t die because I still love you.”

His heart stopped. She loved him? That was impossible.

“You made it very clear that you wanted nothing to do with me when you broke up with me.” He stated, not allowing himself to dare to hope.

“I was being blackmailed by Haggar. She wanted to destroy the team from the inside out. If I didn’t tell her, she would kill Matt and dad. And when I called her bluff, and broke off the communication, I was too late. You and Allura were already happy.”

Lance’s vision was going blurry, either from tears or lack of oxygen. “Pidge, I had no idea.”

“I know.” Her smile was sad. “I hope you’ll be able to forgive me someday.”

He looked her firmly in the eyes. “Pidge, none of that was your fault. I already forgive you.”

Her shoulders shook with sobs, and she shook her head.

“Not for that. For this.”

Lance opened his mouth to ask, but he was cut off by a sudden pain in the back of the head. He sank to his knees. Pidge stood over him. He watched as she took her helmet off and knelt before him. He tried to protest as she kissed his forehead and placed her helmet on his head, but his mind was too fuzzy.

Then, the darkness engulfed him.

The soft beep of a monitor lulled him back into consciousness. Groaning, he pushed himself into a sitting position.

He was in a white room, arm attached to a monitor and lying on a thin cot. He was in a hospital room.

“Lance!” Hunk engulfed him in a hug. “You’re awake!”

“Hey buddy.” Lance smiled.

Shiro, Keith and Allura were grinning at him around the room. Lance looked at his leader.

“What happened?”

“After the door shut, we thought we’d lost you. But then the Mariots showed up. Their advanced tech opened the door, and allowed us to reach you. They brought us back to their base, and have been caring for you ever sense.”

Lance frowned. “Where’s Pidge? Is she okay? Last I remember is-”

He looked up, dread settling in his gut. Around him, his teammates gave him sympathetic glances. Keith cleared his throat.

“Lance, by the time we got in it was too late. The poison had already reached her heart. Without a helmet, she didn’t stand a chance.” He looked down. “I’m sorry.”

I’m sorry

Lance felt his world tilt. She had sacrificed herself to save him. It was all his fault. They had promised to never leave each other, but here he was, alone.

“No.” He shook his head. “She’s still alive.”

All he got was small head shakes. Lance began to shake. Hot tears fell down his cheeks, and he felt the comforting arms of his fellow paladins surround him. As always, they would get through this loss as a team. A unit. Together.

Bright light blinded her as she opened her eyes. As she tried to sit up, people wearing surgical masks pushed her down, clamping her wrists and ankles to the cold metal of the table. She tried to scream, but her throat was too dry.

“Welcome back Paladin of Green.” The masked figure closest to her snapped on some gloves. “We had quite the adventure retracting the poison from your heart.”

Pidge began to struggle as they came closer, scalpel in hand. “Lance! Help! Please!” She managed to croak. A hand covered her mouth.

“Be aware that no one knows you are still alive. No one is coming for you. So I’d recommend you do exactly as I say. We wouldn’t want something... tragic to happen to… let’s say the blue paladin now would we?”

Her eyes went wide, but she immediately stopped struggling.

“Good girl.”

Cold gloved fingers touched her forehead and she winced as the scalpel dug into her skin.

“Let’s see if the brain of the famed green paladin is worth talking about. Don’t worry, this won’t hurt a bit.”

Cold fear cut into Pidge like a knife, but she stayed still. To her credit, she lasted twenty tics before she started screaming.

At least Lance would be safe.