#The Nightmare is about to begin... again!

[thyme-in-a-bubble]

Hello! If its alright, could I request a Bucky Barnes or a Peter Parker x Reader where Reader, his s/o, wakes up from a nightmare based on past trauma fears and stuff and whoever you pick to write for comforts them? Thanks so much!

a/n: i went with bucky! that was just the mood for today. also as someone with ptsd who has my entire life had stuff also haunt me in truly horrifying nightmares, this hits home. if only i had a super soldier sleeping beside me that could hold me...

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Even well after your trembling form had snapped you up to a sitting position, it still clung to the memories your slumbering mind had just forced you to relive. 

Stirring in the bed beside you, the deep and groggy voice of your partner then quietly tried to penetrate through your haze, “Y/n?” 

Though when a stifled sniffle found Bucky’s ears, you felt the mattress dip beside you as he sat up as well. His palm found your spine in a gentle touch before you twisted to meet his gaze in the dark. 

Noticing the strangled breath that your body fought to suck in, his head tilted slightly before he uttered, “breath, sweetheart,” capturing your hand as you continued to hyperventilate, “here,” and he placed your palm on his chest, letting you feel it rise and fall steadily beneath your touch. 

Eventually, as he repeated the pattern over and over for you as a guide, your rapid heartbeat finally began to slow as your erratic breath did as well. 

As your tired eyes fluttered back shut, tears still rolling down your cheeks, you melted forward till your forehead pressed against Bucky’s.

“What happened?” he asked quietly, his hand still clutching your own. 

“Nightmare…”

“Do you wanna talk about it?” he offered, his other palm shifting slightly to draw a comforting pattern on your back. 

“No,” you tilted back a bit, your head faintly shaking, “it’s the same as always. When I start to hope that I'm beginning to put it behind me, it just kicks down the door and demands that I relive it all again.”

Glancing back at you, he sucked in a pained breath before he uttered, “I wish there was something I could do.” 

A soft smile then began to crack through the nightmare’s lingering effects as you tangled your arms around his shoulders and hugged him tight. Instinctively, Bucky soon scooped your legs over his lap to cradle you even closer to his frame. With your cheek pressed against his comforting warmth, you then replied softly, “you already are…”

© 2025 thyme-in-a-bubble 

[somuchbetterthanthat]

It's the way Sam suggested Alice first, when considering someone he might know in any universe; it's the way he helped Alice when her parents died (was it before, or after they broke up?); it's the way Alice was here at the hospital after he got appendicitis (was it before, or after they broke up??); it's the way Alice offered him a job when he lost his and fell into depression; it's the way Sam didn't know about Luke's new band; it's the way she said "it's not too hard, working with an ex?" while he said "we go way back, we knew each other from uni."; it's the way they have fundamentally never healed something between them, and he was trying to have "a new beginning" but she was holding on to them being "old friends" and hoping for a reunion; it's the way he knew she still has a soft spot for him and he used shamelessly, but backpedaled hard and tried to distance himself when he realized she still had feelings; it's the way she was trying to keep pushing herself into his romantic life, even knowing he was going for someone else and then denying it badly; it's the way she went behind his back trying to "protect him from himself" and he got furious telling her she'd been controlling before; it's the way they've hurt each other and yet they're still in each other's orbit;

it's the way she ignored everybody else in her life because Sam was in danger; it's the way, again, the first person he suggested might know him, even in this universe, was Alice Dyer, and after a few hours with him Melanie was willing to believe she was his "better half".

It's the way they were married, in this universe, and shared a dream and a nightmare and a body in that nightmare, the way it hurt and yet they clung to each other;

it's the way Alice begs "don't go" and Sam says "I'm sorry, but it'd be a bad idea to stay" and then, then, because of circumstances, he turns around and back to the house again after all.

[pedroscurls]

those three words (one-shot)

summary: since coming back home for good, you had been the one to keep him grounded. and tonight, javier finally feels the peace he's been craving for since leaving colombia... and it's all because of you.

pairing: javier peña x fem!reader content warnings: fluff, established relationship, fluff, happy ending, no use of y/n. word count: 918 a/n: ok - i have not written for javi p in so long, so i hope i did this character justice! once again, thank you for hosting your 22nd birthday writing challenge lex @princessanglophile (happy birthday and congrats on graduating!) i wanted to do a disney song with a pedro pascal character and got "javier peña with the song can you feel the love tonight?" hope y'all enjoy <3 song: can you feel the love tonight? by elton john

Javier can’t stop looking at you—there’s a warmth that sits in his belly and he feels his heart beat a little faster. You’re smiling, head slightly tilted back as a quiet giggle leaves your lips. You had been talking about your day at work, but if he’s being honest, he stopped listening a long time ago. 

Not because it wasn’t interesting. 

But because time always felt like it stood still whenever you were around. 

Javier had wanted to do something nice for you tonight, so he had gathered a handful of pillows and blankets and placed them on the bed of his truck. In the middle of it sat a bouquet of flowers, so when he picked you up for your scheduled date, he couldn’t help but feel pride in his veins at the look of surprise and excitement in your eyes. 

You always made him feel good—even in the beginning stages of your relationship, you had been so understanding of his need for space. You never pushed him further than he wanted, never tried to make him talk if he wasn’t willing… and the way you touched him, the way you looked at him—Javier never felt it before. 

Peace. 

Grounded. 

Safe. 

Loved. 

As his relationship with you progressed, so did his feelings. The more time he spent with you, the more he found himself falling more and more in love with you. When his nightmares kept him up at night, causing him to wake up in a thin sheet of sweat, you’d be right there—your hand lightly resting over his forearm, eyes filled with concern. You wouldn’t say it was okay, you wouldn’t say that you understand. You’d quietly say, “Come here, baby. I’ve got you,” and Javier would lie back down, allowing you to pull him into your arms. He’d rest his head against your chest, the sound of your heartbeat calming him down and lulling him back to sleep. 

But there was fear that settled in the pit of his stomach—he always thought you deserved better than him, that you deserved someone who didn’t have as much baggage and trauma as he did. So during one big argument that he caused, you had blurted out that you loved him. It left him speechless and made the fear just grow even bigger. Before he could even respond—the words at the tip of his tongue—you spoke for him, “I know you can’t say it and that’s okay, but I love you, Javi. There’s no one else.” He rushed to you in that moment and pulled you into his arms—the argument now a lost thought. 

And he knew that he loved you. Javier knew it the moment he laid eyes on you. 

“Hello? Earth to Javi,” you pull him out of his thoughts, a large smile lining your lips. “Did you even hear anything I was saying?”

He just nods, pulls you onto his lap as he leans against the back of his truck. “Of course, baby.” 

“Liar,” you laugh quietly, arms draping loosely over his shoulders. “You know you’re a bad liar.”

“I’m only a bad liar where you’re concerned.” He runs his hands along your thighs and around your hips, up your back and down. “I’m weak when I’m around you.”

“Such a charmer,” you roll your eyes playfully. “Thank you for tonight, baby.” 

Javier grins—the dimple on his right cheek appearing almost instantly. His hands move to rest on your hips, deep brown eyes staring deeply into your own. “I promised you dinner.”

“I thought you’d just take me out or cook me something, but this—I like this.” 

“Yeah?” 

You nod. “Yeah,” you smile and lightly peck his lips. 

Javier maintains his smile once you pull away. You’re gazing into his eyes and everything around the two of you just seems to disappear. He brings one hand up to splay across the side of your neck, thumb brushing against your jawline. He sees the way you pull your lower lip between your teeth and he leans in closer, forehead resting against your own. 

The love that he feels for you—the ache in his chest whenever you’re not around, the butterflies he feels in the pit of his stomach when you are—it overpowers the fear that tries to remind him why this wouldn’t work. 

Because it does. 

It has.

And the way you’re looking at him now—like you know what he’s about to say, it makes his heart race even faster. As he parts his lips, those three words catch in his throat. You bring your hand to his cheek, thumb gently brushing across his lips. 

“I know,” you whisper quietly—so quiet that Javier might have missed it. “I know, baby.” 

His eyes soften and he gently purses his lips to place a gentle kiss on the pad of your thumb. Javier takes a deep breath and exhales slowly. 

“I love you,” he finally says—it comes out as a quiet whisper and all of a sudden, he feels peace and relief wash over him. 

Javier never thought that he’d ever get the chance to settle down—and he certainly wasn’t looking for a serious relationship either—but you had captured his attention from the moment he laid eyes on you. 

You feel like coming home after a long day—like safety, warmth, and knowing that he doesn’t have to pretend to be someone he isn’t when he’s around you. You’re the peace and comfort that he’s always searched for. 

“I love you, baby,” Javier repeats. “It’s always been you.”

[gemini-twin96]

Coincidences? (PT I)

Reincarnated baby!Johnny

CW : a child cursing. Reference to sex toys. I think that’s about it! I did keep this as gender neutral as I could! Reader is referred to as ma and does have the ability to carry a child. No other defining characteristics are mentioned. Enjoy!

Today started out like any other day. You woke up and carefully climbed out of bed as to not wake your husband. You got up and brushed your teeth and went to Johnny’s room to feed him. His first birthday had passed and he was now 16 months old. Now, you and Simon have been trying to get your baby to say his first word. You both had bet that he would either say Ma or Dada first! You had 20£ (and bragging rights) on the line and you’ll be damned if you went through all those months of pregnancy and morning sickness just for him to say papa first. You cradle him into your arms and bring him into the kitchen. You had set him in his high chair and grabbed a plate. You open the fridgerator to grab the sliced apples. Next, you cracked an egg and scramble them in the cooker. You add both the sliced apples and the scrambled eggs on his plate.

��Ell tee”

you turned towards Johnny, eyes wide. Did he just?

“Elll tee”

“Luv?” You turn as Simon walks into the room. “What are you going on about?”

“Johnny said his very first word!” You exclaim while a tear slips down your cheek. “Johnny, can you tell your dada what you just said?”

“LT” Johnny babbles excitedly. You look back at Simon. “See? I told you .. have you been watching war movies with him again?”

“I ‘aven’t ..” Simon begins to speak. “ I told you not to. It’ll give him nightmares! No wonder LT was his first word. “

“dadaa”

“You owe me 20 quid.”

You roll your eyes. “Unbelievable.”

—————————————————��—————————

You find yourself walking around the Halloween store with Simon and pushing Johnny in the trolley. Halloween was three weeks away and you still hadn’t decorated. This was going to be your baby’s third Halloween. Johnny was really into A Nightmare Before Christmas. He would always point when Jack Skellington made his way onto the screen. The kid is obsessed. It made Simon uneasy. The last thing he wanted to see was his pride and joy wearing a skeleton mask. Too many memories he says.

“G-ghost” Johnny bounces in the trolley pointing at a decorative skull. “That’s a skeleton, Johnny” Simon corrects him.

“Ghost”

“Skeleton”

“Ghost!”

“Skeleton”

“GHOST” Johnny screams at the top of his lungs.

“Simon please,” you plead as you rub your temples. “You’re literally arguing with a three year old, let it go”

“Fine.” Simon grumbles.

You continue to the Halloween costume isle. As if it was meant to be, they had a child’s size jack skellington costume. “Look Johnny, they have your costume!”

“Yay! I get to look like dadaa!” THAT catches you off guard. You look at Simon “Did he find your masks?” You question him.

“I threw those out years ago. There’s no way he can know about those. Or about me.”

“Why else would he claim he looks like you?”

“Lovie, I swear I have no idea ..”

———————————————————————————

You had just gotten back from the grocery store. You had asked Simon to watch your now 4 year old. You carried the groceries in and had sat them down. You walked to the living room and saw Simon passed out on the love seat. Johnny is no where in sight! You wake Simon and as he stirs you ask him where Johnny is. He jumps right up as you walk through the house. You call out for Johnny and as you walk through the hallway towards your bedroom you heard a faint buzzing noise.

Your mind had come to the worst conclusion. Had he found your “stash?” You basically burst through the door and see Johnny sitting in the sink in front of the medicine cabinet holding hair clippers with his hair covering the floor. He had shaved his sides and had left a 4 inch strip of hair from the top middle of his head all the way to the nape.

“Simon! You’re in big trouble!”

You hear heavy footsteps running through the house towards you. Simon pokes his head in from the other room.

“Look at him! How could you let him out of your sight like this! Look at his hair! We’re gonna have to shave it!”You feel yourself on the verge of crying.

“Johnny .. what were you thinking?”

“Wanted to look like thoap” he says as he looks towards his feet. You look back at Simon. “Did he say he wanted to look like .. soap?” You ask your wide eyed husband.

“Johnny, how do you know about Soap?” Simon asks him and kneels to his height. Johnny just shrugs.

Now that he mentions Soap, you notice how his hair almost resembles his. “Maybe instead of shaving it we should just give him a mohawk ..”

“That’s a shit haircut for a kid”

“Simon!”

_________________________________________________

Lately you’ve been dealing with Johnny cursing. You initially blamed Simon until you learned Johnny would sneak out of his bed and watch your tv shows with you while you were oblivious to his presence.

It started out a few weeks ago when you had walked in on him playing with his dinosaurs and his Godzilla action figure. “Haha die asshole!” He says while his Godzilla takes down his dinosaur.

“JONATHAN THOMAS RILEY!” Johnny jumps at your shriek. “You are not allowed to say those kinds of words! Where did you hear that from??”

“…”

“Don’t let me hear you saying that again. Those are not kind words.” Cue Simon laughing his ass off behind the wall. “Simon! I can hear you. “

“Sorry love .. “

The second time it had happened Johnny was sat beside Simon’s feet on the floor coloring in his coloring book. Johnny had looked up when the man on the screen had stabbed another guy. “Hell yeah!”

“Oí! Don’t let your ma hear you saying that! Ma will kill us both”

The third and final time Simon was gathering up Johnny telling him that it was his bedtime. He was in his pajamas and had just brushed his teeth. Simon lays him down in his bed and covers him up. You come in behind Simon and kiss Johnny on his forehead. “Goodnight sweetheart, sweet dreams.” “Goodnight ma”

Simon also kisses him on his forehead and bids him goodnight. You and Simon turn out the light and go to leave the room when Johnny tells Simon “nighty-night, fuckhead.”

“Wot??”

It takes you all you got to calm your husband down.

Later, you and Simon are laying in bed afterwards curled in each others arms. You think of all the times that Johnny embodied Soap and that’s all that was in your mind. “Simon? Do you ever think about reincarnation?”

“Why do you ask?”

“I might just be acting silly but it’s just crazy how alike Johnny is to .. Johnny. Ya know? “

“I’ve noticed. But you know I don’t believe in that type of thing ..”

“I know it’s silly, I just had it on my mind is all. I love you Si. Goodnight”

“Goodnight lovie”

Just then Johnny opens your bedroom door and you both turn towards him.

“Shouldn’t you be in bed, son?” Asks Simon.

“Awa' an bile yer heid”

“Believe it now?”

“…”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~💀~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Hey guys! So I’ve decided to write a second part of this! I’m going to go ahead and post this. PART TWO IS COMING SOON!

[salemrph]

“Let the World Burn”

Final Chapter 8: Let the World Burn

A night of celebration ends in chaos—you vanish without a trace. The ransom demand arrives, but Sylus knows this isn’t just about money.

Chapter Summary: Trapped in Rudy’s warehouse, You, Sylus, Luke, and Kieran fight through waves of guards and Wanderers. Caleb must find Rudy before the rising energy collapses into something far worse: a Protofield. And if he doesn’t, none of you will make it out alive.

Characters: Sylus x MC/reader/you, Luke and Kieran, Caleb

Genre/Warning: descriptions of violence and blood, hurt/comfort, injuries, romantic, drama, action, slight sexual content, angst

Words: 11k | Reading Time: 43min

Navigator: Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | AO3

Tag list: @voidsylus @thechaoticarchivist @syluscrows @likewhyareyousoobsessedwithme @syluskisser @fortunekookie07 @crimsonlittlecrow @mochibunnies3 @gazelover666 @fancyhawk45 @sorryimakira @paninisstuff @deathrye @tinyweebsstuff @sxderia @yunhogrippers @sylusqt @darkesky @an-ever-angry-bi @atinymekanie @bruisedchickensoup

@thatonegenderfluidwhore @certainduckanchor @the-girl-who-used-to @reika-desu @f41k47 @beezabuzz @mentaltrouble2201 @bl00dsuccker @blorbohunter @gianchan-de @fortunekookie07 @sylusloml @pandoras-rabbit @the-spine-of-the-world @noradest @owodi @greatmistakes @theshadowsdragon @pillarofsnow @lawssocuteee @gibborger @hestia-fires @crowskitten22 @hestia-fires

Chapter 8: Let the world burn

You didn’t remember the moment the fight truly began. One second, Sylus was at your side, whispering something after the kiss that left your lips burning. The next, the storm shattered the last remnants of silence and all hell tore through the walls. Rain poured in through the jagged wound in the ceiling, soaking concrete, bodies, blood. The Wanderers came fast. 

Gunfire cracked like lightning around you, echoing through the warehouse now painted in shadows and chaos. Wanderers shrieked as they lunged in, limbs twisted in unnatural angles, eyes burning with that eerie, hollow hunger. You moved on instinct: shoot, duck, slash, breathe. Again. Again. Again.

Beside you, Sylus moved like something otherworldly with fluidity, brutality, and precision. Every step he took left a body behind. A crack of bone. A hissed breath. He didn’t waste a second. Sylus just wants to end this nightmare, the longer you fight this wave, the more likely you are to lose your only chance to escape.

The twins were holding the higher ground, sending out bursts of cover fire and throwing down traps, working to contain the endless surge of guards Rudy had unleashed. You could hear one of them shouting over comms, breath ragged, laughing like a man on the edge of madness.

Luke's voices crackled faintly in your earpiece:

“We’ve got the inside. Hold the front, boss.”

But nothing was slowing them down. The Wanderers kept coming. The guards kept pouring in. You were stuck.

“Left!” Sylus warned behind you.

You pivoted, shot a Wanderer in the chest, but too late to dodge the second one. Its claws raked across your side before you could finish it off. You hissed, staggering, forcing your body back upright. Luckily the cut on your skin isn't big but it will be another scar to add to the collection.The Wanderer vanishes into particles. A third was close now, but Sylus is keeping your flank covered. You moved in sync. From the very beginning, fighting beside him felt effortless as if your bodies moved to the same violent rhythm, attuned to each other’s instincts. You could anticipate his strikes before they came, just as he read your movements. He moved, you followed. You struck, he covered. The hours of training together are starting to pay off.

“You really don’t want to make it easy for me, huh.” He tosses a spare magazine to you without looking. “Are you prepared to keep up with me?”

You caught it mid-air, slammed it into place. “I’ve been born ready.”

“Don’t over do it” 

There were too many. The ground shook as a Wanderer slammed into one of the support beams above, knocking down chunks of concrete and metal rained down in a storm of filth and dust. Your ears rang. You and Sylus instinctively dove apart. Your body is screaming in protest the moment you hit the floor, it wasn’t a graceful landing. Hitting the ground hard, a jolt of agony ripped through your ribs as bone grated against the floor. The breath tore from your lungs in a ragged wheeze, your vision blotting with stars. Pain clawed up your spine, but you bit down on it, hard. The pain was dizzying, but you welcomed it. It meant you were still alive.

Opposite you, Sylus moved with a predator’s grace, already unloading a volley of shots into the charging beast that veered his way. You mirrored him, squeezing the trigger with trembling fingers just as another creature lunged toward you. Your aim was a bit off, your hand was torn from when you’d gripped that broken glass too tight. The bandage was again soaked with blood, you wound open again. But the bullet found its mark anyway, splitting through the Wanderer’s neck in a bloom of gore.

Blood sprayed across the floor. Even if Wanderers dissolved into particles once dead, they could still bleed. And this one bled all over your boots before it vaporized into nothing.

Every step felt like you were walking through broken glass barefoot. You could taste iron on your tongue, from biting the inside of your cheek. Adrenaline kept you upright, but your mind were fraying at the edges. Caleb’s voice still echoed in your skull, the kiss siting heavy in your heart. Sylus’s gaze still burned on your skin. The truth. The lies. The years of pain and buried memories bubbling just beneath the surface. The experiments. Your past. The explosion. Your grandmother’s death… You were spiraling. It’s all tangled together, one wound bleeding into the next.

A guttural snarl pulled you back.

You staggered to your feet, knees buckling beneath you. Sylus was suddenly there, appearing at your side like he always did. He reached for you, anchoring you with one arm as you lifted your gun again.

“You’re too close. That 's my spot.” You smiled. 

“We could just resonate to make this easier,” you said between breaths, twisting your body to dodge a clawed strike, your bullet strikes clean through the creature’s weak spot.

Sylus crushed the skull of another Wanderer with his bare hands, his Evol sparking like wildfire across his skin, rippling with power. He turned toward you slowly, his eyes catching the light like a predator in a storm. Then he smirked, wiping blood from his face with the back of his hand.

“Sweetie,” he said, almost warning. “I’m not doing that in your state.”

You clicked your tongue. You knew your body was far from its best but pushing forward like this wasn’t giving you the advantage either.

Sylus fought like a man possessed. One guard lunged at him, gun half-raised, finger twitching toward the trigger. Sylus grabbed the bastard’s wrist, twisted hard, bones shattering like dry twigs. The guard screamed once before Sylus stole the weapon straight from his hands and turned on a dime, just in time to blow apart the fucker charging at your blind side.

Before you could respond, he pivoted, grabbing the next Wanderer by the throat mid-leap. His Evol surged again and the beast detonated, its body flung backward like a broken puppet, torn apart by pure force, soon becoming particles in the air.

You returned the favor, your pistol cracking through the storm to drop the sniper aiming from above. The crack of your gun split the air. His head snapped back. Blood sprayed. His limp body slammed into the scaffolding above with a sickening thunk, tumbling over the edge before landing in a messy heap of broken limbs and twisted metal. One more down. 

The storm above pounding harder, lightning throwing stark shadows across blood-slick floors. For a second, there was peace. You turned, eyes locking with Sylus. Both of you are bloody, breathing hard.

“Shit,” you muttered, heart pounding. “They’re not stopping.”

“Rudy is still watching. Betting on how long we last.” Sylus looked toward the far corner, eyes narrowing. 

Your mind races, trying to piece together the cause of this relentless surge of Wanderers and then it hits. If Rudy was working with Ever Group, then he’d have access to the kind of tech that could manipulate MetaFlux fluctuations. Your thoughts flashback to the case at Linkon University with Xavier, that almost killed him. The case with Zanye in Chansa City. Shit.

“If the MetaFlux keeps destabilizing like this… it could trigger a Protofield” The thought alone makes your blood run cold. And if that happens… you’re fucked. Badly. You curse under your breath, ducking beneath a burst of debris as a Wanderer barrels past. You don’t have the gear, the backup, or the strength for something like that right now. Then you realize, you sent Caleb after Rudy, what if he doesn't know about that technology. 

“I need to find Caleb—”

“Absolutely not.” He was in front of you before the sentence finished leaving your mouth, “No.” He said, “You’ve done enough. More than enough. You’re already at your limit. I won’t let you throw yourself into something worse.”

You opened your mouth, but he shook his head. “The Colonel can handle himself.”

You want to protest. But… he’s right. How are you supposed to reach Caleb if you can’t take five steps without the world spinning? Your fists clench at your sides, nails digging into your palms. Your only hope is Caleb. You pray he finds Rudy before it's too late. Because if he doesn’t shut this down the source, you're definitely won’t make it out alive. Neither of you. You moved again. Together. Shooting, reloading, ducking, slashing. You lost track of time, of wounds. Of how many fell before you. Your arms ached, your legs burned.

As Sylus deals with some guards, you begin to feel a wave of dizziness wash over you, your chest tightening painfully. You keep moving but something’s wrong. Your vision doubles for a second just a flicker but it’s enough to make you stumble. You gasped, but the air was too thin, every inhale shallow. Your heart hammers out of rhythm. Your fingers twitch, jittering like static is trapped beneath your skin. Something inside you is burning. You can feel it. Your heart is near to explode.

Panic claws at your chest, suffocating every cell. You can’t tell what’s real anymore. Are you breathing too fast or not at all? Did you just fire your weapon or were you remembering it? Did someone scream or was that your own voice in your head? 

What’s happening to me? 

It feels like your insides are being ripped apart. Fragments of memories flood back, faces, hands, a cold room, a pulse monitor screaming in your ears. You see yourself strapped down, the needle piercing your neck, and you feel it again. That same burn, but this time, it’s not leaving.

You feel it in your bloodstream. That goddamn serum. Chimera 1X9, merging with every molecule in your body. The Protocore Syndrome, the adrenaline, the heat of the moment. Your desperation. All of it colliding, morphing, you can feel the war being waged beneath your skin. It’s awakening, calling you.  

“Having your soul torn apart and all, it’s not that unbearable?”

The echo of his voice, that voice of the unknown face that hunts in your fragmented memories. His face is still a blur in your mind but merged so easily with Sylus face. The man who kidnapped you under a red moon, the one whose hands were calloused but so soft as he touched you, whose voice was dark velvet laced. A conceited devil who mocked you. After resonating with him the first time, some part of your soul recognized him, your soul had been looking for his across lifetimes.

You remember his hands on your skin, the possessive way he pulled you closer even when you were trying to push him away. The way he looked at you when you weren’t watching. Every moment flashes through your mind now like lightning. The field of flowers, a trial, feeling persecuted, crying uncontrollably, the weight of guilt, fire, and blood. A life locked away and then condemned as a sacrifice. 

“Are you trying to move me with your human love?” 

You slid down to one knee, sucking in a breath that burns. Your ribs scream. Your hand trembled violently. You felt like you were fracturing, piece by agonizing piece. You want to reach for him. Deep in your chest, a faint glow pulsed beneath your skin – an unbreakable tether, a connection that even death couldn't sever.

“Unfortunately... the string of fate connecting us can't be cut that easily.”

There’s a name you’ve heard in dreams. A promise, etched into the fabric of another life. Bound by a curse that you can’t remember fully. You clutch at your chest, trying to steady yourself, but it feels like something inside you is about to snap. You remember the line of the report:

If instability persists, termination may be required before critical system failure occurs. Subject must be transferred immediately.

The panic only makes it worse, and every second drains more of your strength.

“Sylus…” you whisper, your voice trembling, there’s no strength left in you to call out properly. In the split-second between killing one of Rudy’s guards and turning to face another, Sylus’s head whipped around. His eyes found you instantly and his face changed. 

As you collapse, everything around you feels distante. The floor feels cold against your skin, and your body goes limp, no longer able to fight the overwhelming pain. Sylus rushes to your side, his every movement filled with urgency. His heart skips a beat as he sees you lying there, weak and fragile, the once defiant fire in your eyes fading into exhaustion and pain.

Sylus kneels beside you, his hands gentle but firm as he checks for a pulse. Your chest heaving with uneven breaths, your skin pale, and your heartbeat erratic. Panic digs its nails into his mind, refusing to let go. He can't lose you. Not like this. Not again.

“Look at me,” he said sharply, voice cracking through your haze. “Look at me, kitten. Stay with me.” Your lips trembled. You wanted to speak, tell him that you were scared. That something was wrong. But all you could do was clutch his wrist, grounding yourself with the only thing that still felt real.

You see his face blurred, like something out of a dream you’re not sure you’re still in. His brows are drawn tight, jaw clenched, eyes moving in rapid flicks over your face like he’s counting every breath you take. Your heart slams against your ribcage, each beat like a fist from inside, slower… deeper… louder. The world feels distant. Muffled. Like you're underwater and everything is just out of reach. Fingers brushing over your bruised jaw, the bandages at your side. You’re terrified. 

The night fog envelops you, and you're caught in what might as well be a long, chaotic nightmare. When you wake, you're surrounded by a red valley filled with blooming red datura. Your arms are heavy. You look down—and see a huge, horned creature cradled in your grasp. You’re holding it as it dies. You don’t know why you're here. You only vaguely remember something about a dragon in a pitch-black chapel. You try desperately to remember. But the last clear image you have of the dragon ends on that blood-soaked night beneath the moon Everything afterward is shattered shredded fragments, scattered and incomplete. You can’t remember if you finished playing that piece.

“This promise will never be broken.”

But your lips curl into a faint, broken smile before the serum’s burning again in your system. 

Sylus sees it and it knocks the breath from his lungs. That smile. He doesn’t understand. Why are you smiling now? His composure cracking beneath that damn smug mask he always wears for everyone else. His voice catches in his throat.

“Kitten…?”

︶︶°︶︶

Caleb moved through the shadows like a blade. Anyone who stood in his way didn’t last long. Around the next bend, a knot of armed guards materialized, their harsh whispers echoing in the sterile air. Caleb didn't break stride. He simply raised a hand, a subtle gesture that belied the immense power he wielded. 

The air itself seemed to compress, the atmospheric pressure plummeting with unnatural speed. A collective gasp escaped the guards’ lips as their bodies began to implode, bones crunching, flesh yielding, their forms contorting into grotesque parodies of human shapes before collapsing inward with sickening finality, like discarded puppets. Caleb stepped over the mangled remains without so much as a downward glance.

He tracked Rudy’s panicked scent to a grimy service door tucked away near the rear of the facility. The man was fumbling with the lock, his movements jerky and desperate. Caleb used his evol to put pressure on the door, preventing it from opening in either direction.

“Running already?” Caleb’s voice was low, sharp.

Rudy froze. “You’re making a mistake,” he said quickly.

“Am I?” Caleb stepped closer. “You didn’t just take her, you piece of shit. You took others . Hunters. Civilians. People who were never supposed to be part of this.”

Rudy’s eyes darted around, searching for an escape route. Caleb moved again, closing the distance. “And now you’re going to tell me how Sylus fits into all of it.” Rudy hesitated, his Adam’s apple bobbing nervously. Caleb moved another step closer, his presence a palpable threat.

“This is your only chance. Talk.” Caleb’s tone left no room for argument.

Rudy’s hands shot up in a pathetic gesture of appeasement, his face a mask of desperation as he stumbled backwards. “It was… efficient. Two for the price of one. Ever gave me the target. Imagine my surprise when it was the same little toy clinging to Sylus. Take out the beast, deliver the girl – bigger payout for me. I didn't expect that Professor's dog would show up.”

Caleb’s face remained a rigid mask of fury, his eyes like glacial shards that could freeze bone. “What. Did they do. To her?”

“They tested something… something new. A serum, made from Protoflux readings. Chimera 1X9” Rudy’s words spilled fast, desperate. “Look, I swear on everything I hold dear – I don’t know the specifics of their sick experiments. I just deliver them. That’s it. My part ends there.”

A cold dread washed over Caleb as Rudy's words clicked into place, forming a horrifying picture. They pumped that shit into her . He didn’t have time for this. Letting Rudy breathe another second was a goddamn invitation for disaster, especially knowing what the bastard knew – Caleb's face, even who the fuck he answered to. The thought of the Professor getting wind of this… No. Loose ends got people buried. This piece of shit wasn't walking out of here. Decision made. He was going to enjoy this.

Suddenly, a monstrous figure smashed through the wall behind Rudy, tendrils of dark energy crackling around its grotesque form. A Wanderer, its eyes burning with malevolent intent, lunged for the defenseless Rudy.

Instinct took over. Before Rudy could even scream, Caleb moved with lightning speed, a blur of motion. He slammed into Rudy, throwing him out of the Wanderer’s path just as razor-sharp claws tore through the air where the man had been standing. The Wanderer roared in frustration, its attention now fully fixed on Caleb.

Caleb’s cold gaze snapped back to Rudy. “You were saying?”

Rudy swallowed hard, his fear now compounded with a fresh layer of terror. “Okay, okay! There’s… there’s a Metaflux destabilizer. I activated it when I realized things were going south. It’s overloading the containment fields.”

Caleb’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “You suicidal idiot! Get it off. Now.” His voice was a low, lethal command.

Rudy scrambled back, shaking his head frantically. “I… I don’t know how! It’s on a timer! A failsafe!”

Caleb snarled, his face inches from Rudy’s, his eyes blazing with a terrifying mix of fury and desperation. “You're coming with me. Right now. You're going to deactivate that damn thing.” He didn't wait for a response, dragging the whimpering Rudy along the debris-strewn corridor, the screeching of the approaching Wanderers growing louder with each passing second.

They rounded a corner, and two more Wanderers, their forms flickering in and out of phase with reality, lunged at them from the shadows. Caleb didn’t even break his stride. With a flick of his wrist, a gravitational force slammed into the creatures, sending them spinning into the walls with bone-jarring impacts. They slumped to the ground, momentarily stunned.

“It’s in the main control room!” Rudy shrieked, his eyes wide with terror as he glanced back at the downed Wanderers, their guttural snarls echoing behind them. 

A few breathless, chaotic moments later, Caleb and a whimpering Rudy burst into the main control room. Sparks rained down from damaged consoles, alarms blared with deafening intensity, and the air crackled with unstable energy. Several Wanderers were already tearing through the room, their grotesque forms ripping apart equipment with savage abandon.

Caleb hurled Rudy towards a central console, its screens flickering with chaotic data streams. “There! The destabilizer! Find the override!”

Rudy stumbled, his eyes darting frantically over the complex array of buttons and holographic displays. “I… I don’t see it! It 's encrypted!”

Another Wanderer lunged at Rudy, its razor-sharp claws extended. Before Caleb could intervene, Rudy yelped and scrambled backwards, tripping over a fallen console. The creature was on him in an instant.

With a snarl of pure rage, Caleb unleashed a focused blast of energy, tearing through the Wanderer’s chest, sending it collapsing in a heap of shimmering flesh. “Focus fucker, I don’t have all night for this.”

Rudy, spurred by a terror that finally eclipsed his self-preservation instincts, mashed frantically at the console. Sparks flew from his fingertips as he bypassed security protocols, lines of code scrolling across the damaged screens in a chaotic blur.

Finally, a holographic interface flickered to life on the console, displaying a large red icon labeled METAFLUX DESTABILIZER — EMERGENCY OVERRIDE. Rudy’s trembling finger hovered over it.

A violent tremor tore through the floor beneath their feet, a deep, guttural groan emanating from the very foundations, as if the earth itself was tearing apart. The building convulsed.  Chunks of concrete and twisted metal rained down from the ceiling like deadly hail. The violent upheaval sent Caleb staggering, his normally rock-solid balance betraying him. He stumbled, his head colliding with a jagged piece of falling debris. A searing pain lanced through his skull, and the world dissolved into a swirling blackness. Consciousness flickered and died.

When his senses returned, the building was still groaning its death throes. His head throbbed with a sickening intensity, and his vision swam. Disoriented, he blinked, trying to clear the fog in his mind. Caleb’s head snapped towards Rudy, his eyes narrowed with suspicion. “What the fuck did you—?” 

Rudy lay crushed beneath a chunk of fallen ceiling, Blood soaked the concrete. The console, however, remained stubbornly intact, its holographic display still pulsing. Caleb didn't give the pulped remains a second glance. At least one less problem.

His only focus was you. He reached for the console, his hand hovering over the glowing icon, a moment's hesitation before the inevitable. Then, with a decisive thrust, he plunged his fingers into the light.

He had to get to you. He turned and ran, the image of you, vulnerable and possibly suffering, burning in his mind. He had to know if you were safe. If you were alive. And if that serum had touched you… he didn’t even dare finish the thought.

︶︶°︶︶

A violent surge of energy explodes tearing through the air with a deafening roar. A soundless eruption of pure, unleashed power. The shockwave rips through the building, slamming into walls and sending debris crashing to the ground. Steel beams shuddered, the ground beneath them buckling as the full impact of the blast tore through the building’s core. The boxes in the hall were explosives, which had further increased the shock wave. Flames ignite in the corners, curling up the walls, the heat suffocating. The ground shakes violently, and the ceiling cracks, chunks of concrete and metal falling to the floor.

None of the guards or Wanderers in the blast radius survive. Their bodies are torn apart, some vaporized on impact, others shredded by debris or crushed beneath the collapsing ceiling. Blood stains the floor before it’s swallowed by fire. The creatures never stood a chance. Not against that.

The force of the blow launched Sylus across the room, his body crashing against the ground with a sickening thud. For a moment, he doesn’t move. His ears ring. His vision doubles. The back of his skull throbs with sharp, pulsing pain. He groans, dragging himself to his elbows. 

What the hell just happened?

Sylus stumbles to his feet, wincing as his shoulder protests violently. A deep gash split the skin above his brow, blood spilling in slow, relentless rivulets that smeared down his temple and into his eye, blurring his vision. For anyone else, surviving an explosion like that would be a miracle. Even Sylus, with a body built to endure hell, has taken real damage and healing will take time. His jacket is torn at the seams, scorched and ragged, barely hanging on one side. Smoke curls from the charred fabric, revealing fresh cuts and bruises beneath. 

He ripped off what was left of his jacket, the scorched fabric falling from his shoulders. His shirt beneath was no better, ripped, soot-stained, and clinging to him in damp patches from sweat and blood. His crimson eyes, shadowed beneath blood and ash, searched the chaos for one thing. You.

You’re still glowing in the center of it all, body trembling. The flames spread quickly, licking at the walls, the heat unbearable. The whole place is a firestorm now, with walls caving in and the air thick with smoke. Sylus feels the heat on his skin as he tries to get back to you. He’s barely able to move before another wave of Rudy's men burst in, weapons drawn, and the chaos only escalates. Wanderers are also not giving a break. 

The building is coming apart, fire spreading in all directions. The rain that fell wasn’t enough to quench the hell that had broken loose. Seeing the number of enemies that are piling up, a retreat would be the most logical option. This just escalated beyond anything Sylus had prepared for. He glances back at you, lying unconscious on the ground. His heart clenches and his mind reels. He’d felt the moment it changed when your body twisted with pain, when something inside you fractured… and then detonated. This came from you . From deep inside your chest. The shockwave, the surge, the impossible energy of your aether core.

He doesn’t understand how or why. Surely, you’re not supposed to look like that, too still, too pale, eyes dazed and body swaying in the firestorm. Sylus cradles you in his arms, his grip desperate yet impossibly gentle, as if holding you too tightly might shatter what little remains of your fragile state. His mind screams at him to fix it, to make everything right. Your life hangs by a thread, and he feels it slipping through his fingers. His blood boils. His chest tightens. He should’ve known. He’s the one with half of your soul. The one who’s supposed to feel these things before they happen.

“Y/N…” he whispers, his voice breaking, raw with emotion he’s never allowed himself to show. The words tremble on his lips, his heart shattering with each syllable. “Open your eyes.”

But there’s no response. Your skin grows pale, the faint warmth that once comforted him now barely perceptible against the coldness of the moment. His heart drops into an abyss. You weren’t supposed to die like this. Not in his arms, not with ash in the air and your blood on his hands. Not when he had just gotten you back.

He pulls you tighter against his chest, one hand cradling your head, his thumb brushing against your cheek. You’re not allowed to leave him. Not after everything.

The anger, sorrow, and bloodlust churn inside him, an unbearable storm that demands release. Sylus has waited lifetimes for this, for you. Burned through empires. Spilled oceans of blood. All to get to you to share a future together. 

“My beloved…” His voice is barely there now. He kissed your temple. “Don’t do this...”

Something inside breaks. Sylus, the man one who has conquered with nothing more than his calm demeanor and his cold, calculating presence. The one they all feared. But now, as he stands in the wreckage, there is no cool detachment. There is no indifferent strategist. His expression is tight, his jaw set with a fury that has never before surfaced. His right eye, glowing like a dying star, reflects the turmoil inside him. Anger, sorrow and bloodlust twist together in a blinding maelstrom.

His evol built a shield around him as gunfire echoes through the space. The screams of the fallen mingle with the guttural roars of the Wanderers, their twisted forms wreaking havoc as they tear through what remains. 

The color of life drains from your body, and Sylus feels your soul slipping away. The unbearable realization rips through him like the swore you once put through his heart. His hands tremble as he pulls you tighter, pressing his forehead against yours, as if proximity alone could will your heart to keep beating. Your blood stains his clothes, seeping into the fabric, marking him with a reminder of the choices he’s made. He should’ve known better. Made Luke and Kieran drag you out the moment things went wrong. He should’ve blown Rudy’s empire to hell the second he found it and killed him the moment he laid eyes on you. He should’ve protected you.

His world tilts, and for the briefest moment, he sees nothing but darkness. A guttural, bestial roar erupts from his throat, raw and uncontained. The sound echoes through the crumbling warehouse like a harbinger of doom. 

“I let them see what a true fiend is.” 

When Sylus rises he doesn't rise as a man. He rises as wrath made flesh. Black and crimson mist swirled around him, tendrils of darkness coiling and writhing, punctuated by violent bursts of static electricity that snapped and crackled like miniature lightning storms. The atmosphere around him began to ripple, distorting with an unnatural, oppressive energy. His already tattered and battle-scarred clothing tore apart, shredding as if assaulted by unseen claws, as massive, obsidian wings erupted from his back.

They burst forth with terrifying force, their edges jagged and sharp, like shards of volcanic glass. Black horns, sharp and menacing, twisted upward from his skull, their base glowing faintly with the heat of his rage. Black scales cover part of his body and face. His eyes burned with a fearless, deathly glow, a crimson so vivid it seemed otherworldly. His gaze was void of humanity, carrying the weight of a predator awakened. A monster. A dragon.

The wings unfurled, stretching wide, their sheer size eclipsing the flickering flames that danced around him, casting long, ominous shadows that swallowed the light and plunged the warehouse into a terrifying twilight. 

Flames surged higher, licking at the steel beams and threatening the stability of the structure. Smoke and embers choked the air as debris began to rain down. Sylus raises his gaze from your face slowly, though still human in shape, his transformation into a mythical creature, a being feared throughout the history of humanity, was undeniable. 

The cacophony of gunfire falters. The armed men, ruthless moments ago, now freeze in terror. They stare at him, their weapons trembling in their hands. Through the blaze and destruction, Sylus appears like a wrathful deity descending into their midst. They can’t believe what they see, but it won’t matter. They won't live to share their story. Doom’s day has arrived, and it wears the guise of Sylus. 

Inside the building, the screams are like a twisted symphony, something out of a nightmare. Blood streaks the floors and walls, pooling around bodies that are barely recognizable. The smell of burnt flesh is everywhere, impossible to ignore. No matter who they are, humans or wanderers, everything must be annihilated until not a single being remains.

Through it all, Sylus never lets you go. You’re still in his arms, your fragile body limp against his chest. One arm holds you close, shielding you from the chaos. He holds you with all the gentleness he has left, while with the other he tears through anything that dares to get close.

It’s hard to tell how long it’s been. Time feels meaningless in the middle of this chaos. Sylus doesn’t stop to think or hesitate; he’s a blur of rage. There’s no satisfaction in it for him, no enjoyment in the bloodshed. Even as blood splashes across his face and claws, even as the flames climb higher, he never lets go. The massacre isn’t vengeance. It’s desperation, pure and unrelenting.

The hatred inside him feels like it’s eating him alive, fueling every swing, every strike. All he can think about is you, lying against him. He can feel the faint pulse of your heartbeat, and it’s the only thing grounding him, the only thing keeping him from completely losing himself.

Part of him wonders if fate is playing a cruel trick on him, once again drenched in blood, slaughtering everything in sight just to keep you alive. He prays with every ounce of his being that history won’t repeat itself. That he won’t lose control again. That the dragon’s curse won’t devour what’s left of his humanity and force him to relive the same doomed ending. 

Luke and Kieran were locked in their own brutal skirmish in the far corner of the building when they heard the roaring. 

"Is that…?" Luke started, his voice barely audible over the massacre as he hurled a knife, embedding it perfectly in the skull of an approaching enemy. Kieran, a few paces behind, drove his elbow into the throat of another, crushing it before slamming the body into a wall with a sickening crunch. 

The twins sprinted through the labyrinth of burning corridors, lungs searing as smoke clawed its way down their throats, the heat pressing in from all sides like a living thing.

When they reached the threshold of the main hall, they skidded to a halt, blocked by a searing wall of heat.

“Shit,” Luke hissed, shielding his face with his arm. “We can’t get through!”

The firestorm raged ahead of them. Smoke billowed upward, churning with glowing embers. Through the haze, distorted by heat shimmer and ash, they saw him. A towering silhouette cloaked in smoke and glowing blood-red eyes.

“Boss?” Luke asked, his tone edged with equal parts awe and apprehension. “Is he...?”

Kieran took a single step back, breath catching in his throat. “Fuck me…” he muttered, eyes wide. The rumors, the whispers, Sylus’s true nature wasn’t just legend to them anymore. From the heart of the inferno, they watched his black form move. The shadows bent around him. Every Wanderer, every guard who dared approach was torn apart, reduced to ash and splintered in seconds.

Sylus was done. The chaos, the screams, the blood, it was all taking too long, and he was done wasting time. His patience had run dry, and the growing inferno in his chest told him it was time to finish this. Completely.

Through the smoke and slaughter, his sharp eyes caught sight of Luke and Kieran slicing through the last wave of resistance. A faint smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. Good.

“Luke, Kieran” Sylus called, his voice cutting through the madness like a blade. The twins turned to him immediately. “Blow the place. If the Colonel is still inside, get him out.” His voice was steel and fire. “She’ll never forgive me if he dies here.” He said, his tone leaving no room for argument. A beat passed. Just enough time for the gravity of his words to settle. “You know what to do” 

Kieran gave a mock salute, while Luke raised his thumb in approval.

“Got it, boss!” Luke said, taking the detonator out of his pocket, already setting the timer.

“This is the best part,” Kieran added, his excitement almost childlike as he looked at the detonator. “Fireworks time!”

Sylus didn’t linger to watch them work. With you still cradled in his arms, his wings unfurled in a massive sweep, scattering ash and debris. With a powerful leap, he took to the air, rising through the collapsing roof of the warehouse. Flames licked at the edges of his wings as he flew higher, his grip on you protective yet firm.

Luke and Kieran sprinted through the smoke-filled corridors, weaving between collapsing beams and scorched debris. The heat was rising, and time was running out. Luck or something close to it was on their side. As they rounded the corner of a fractured hallway, they nearly ran straight into Caleb. The colonel stood like a statue, framed by flickering firelight, soot streaking his cheek, eyes locked on something distant and unseen.

“Oh, there you are,” Luke said casually, like they'd just bumped into him in a grocery store.

Kieran offered a lopsided grin, casually flipping the detonator between his fingers. “We’re about to blow up the entire party. So unless you’re feeling nostalgic about your last brush with death, you might wanna move your ass.”

Caleb didn’t answer. His eyes were distant, locked on the burning horizon where Sylus had taken flight. Where you had disappeared. He definitely needs to get his head checked, what he just saw must have been an illusion. Caleb shook his head. He didn’t have the patience for snar. 

“Where is she?” His voice was low, hoarse like it had been dragged through gravel.

Luke gave a half-shrug. “Boss took care of her. We’re kind of in the middle of blowing shit up, though, so…”

“Where?” Caleb snapped, the fire back in his eyes, fury crackling at the edges of his voice.

Kieran looked over to his brother and then back to Caleb “Uh, we saved her, big guy. A thank you wouldn’t kill you.”

“Sure…” Caleb growled.

Unbothered, Luke pulled the detonator from his pocket and checked the timer. “We’ve got ninety seconds. You staying here to play martyr, or are you coming with us?”

Caleb exhaled slowly, dragging his hand down his face but he followed the two. 

“Man’s got issues," Kieran muttered.

“Yeah,” Luke muttered, eyes still on the timer. “We’ve got bigger ones if we don’t move.”

The three ran out as fast as they could, when they were far away enough to not get hit by the shock wave. Luke and Kieran stood by, both laughing like kids at a carnival. The warehouse erupted in a deafening explosion, fire and debris shooting into the night sky like a macabre display of fireworks. The twins watched the destruction with gleeful awe, reveling in the sheer chaos of it all.

“I love this job” Kieran said, brushing soot from his face.

“Best boss ever” Luke replied with a laugh, already heading for the exit.

︶︶°︶︶

You started to open your eyes a bit. You're not feeling good at all, the harsh wind confuses you.

“Sy...lus,” you whisper weakly. You don't know if your dreams have become intertwined with your reality. His face hovers above yours but half of it is cloaked in dark, glimmering scales. Something stirs deep inside you, rising like a tide through your body. You simply smile.

“Don't talk,” he says softly, his voice strained with emotion.

Sylus soared through the night sky above the N109 Zone, the wind howling past his ears as the ruined city sprawled beneath him. His eyes locked onto the distant glow of Philip’s Odd Workshop. His landing is gentle at the back of the building. The massive black wings folded once, then dissolved tendrils of red-black mist curling off his back, twisting like smoke in the cold air before vanishing into nothing. The claws, the fangs, the otherworldly edges gone in an instant. There he stood once more, just a man.

Still cradling your limp form in his arms, he burst through the back entrance. He cleared a space on one of the cluttered worktables with a brutal sweep of his arm, tools, gears, and strange half-finished contraptions clattered violently to the floor. He laid you down gently, but his hands trembled. Sylus could have flown you to Akso Hospital, to your doctor but he had the feeling that icy Zayne wouldn't be able to fix this. This wasn’t a wound of flesh.

“Phillip!” 

The man rushed out from the back room, the sound of Sylus’s voice having shattered the late-night quiet like a bomb. He stopped dead in his tracks at the sight of the blood, the smoke still clinging to Sylus’s ruined clothes, and you motionless, pale.

“Mister Sylus?”

“I need your help. Now.” Sylus’s tone was sharp, near frantic, something rarely heard from him.

Phillip blinked, trying to make sense of it all, but the moment his eyes landed on you, recognition snapped into place. He was across the room in seconds, rounding the table, checking your vitals. 

“What happened?” he asked, already scanning the extent of your injuries. Phillip’s hands worked with speed that betrayed his age. 

“An explosion. It could be her Aether Core.” Phillip’s eyes widened. 

Philip started to move around with urgency. Cabinets slammed open. Wires were uncoiled. Electrodes and diagnostic panels were yanked from drawers and wheeled across the floor. A cold sweat glistened at his brow as he pressed the final electrode gently against your sternum, just over the faintly beating heart in your chest. 

“Why did you bring her here? She should be in the hospital.” Phillip muttered, mostly to himself. “Under twenty-four-hour critical monitoring…”

“She won’t make it to a hospital,” Sylus cut in. “And you should know how to fix this.” Sylus replied hoarsely.

Phillip hesitated, visibly rattled. “Miss Josefin was the one who designed the failsafe systems. I... I wasn’t cleared for full access, but—” He exhaled sharply, steel slipping into his gaze. “Okay. I can try to stabilize the core… if there’s still time.”

His fingers moved swiftly across the panel, inputting commands, rerouting surge lines, recalibrating energy conduits on instinct and partial schematics.

“It’s bleeding into her cellular network, overclocking the nervous system, fusing with her neural patterns. Her whole body is trying to evolve past what it can sustain.” Phillip swore under his breath. Your heart rate was erratic. Your heart rate jumped, then dropped. Spiked again. Vital signs flickered like a failing lightbulb on the edge of burning out.

Philip paused. His hands stilled. He looked up slowly, eyes shadowed, voice suddenly very quiet. 

“Mister Sylus…” he swallowed for a moment. “You��re asking me to patch a falling star with duct tape.” Philip hesitated, then added, softly like the truth might kill him just by saying it. “The last time I saw her vitals like this… she died.”

Sylus wants to cry, but the tears won’t come. It’s been millennia since they last did. The weight of his failure presses down on him, a corrupting force that leaves him feeling torn apart inside. He couldn’t protect you, and the guilt is unbearable. He sat down next to you. He reached for your cold fingers, pressing them between his hands. Sylus bowed his head, his forehead brushing the edge of the table, his breath shallow.

You stir faintly, your fragile movements drawing his attention. His head snapped up, eyes burning as they locked onto yours. Your lashes fluttered. Your breathing was shallow but you managed to open your eyes. The world around you swam in fractured light and shadow, but his face was clear. The way his gem-like eyes searched yours like a man clinging to his last hope.

You felt cold and hot all at once. Your skin clammy, sweat dampening your hairline, and yet inside of you, everything was burning. Melting. Breaking apart. The sparkle he always admired in your gaze was barely there now, dulled and fading.

“R...resonate with me,” you whispered. 

“No!” He shook his head immediately, torn from his chest as if it physically pained him. You pressed his hand weakly. You want to feel his warmth, to remind yourself you’re still here, even as your body grows colder.

“Please...” The word was barely a breath. 

Sylus hesitates, torn by doubt. Granting you this wish is too dangerous, you have no energy left to spare. The thought of you using the last bit of strength in you terrifies him. Philip, who had hovered nearby, opened his mouth, concerned with sharpening his tone. 

“Mister Sylus, that’s not—”

“Leave us alone for a moment....” he cuts Philips, took a deep breath and added “...please.” 

Philip hesitated, glanced between the two of you and then nodded, retreating into the shadows of the workshop with silent urgency. Sylus leaned closer, brushing a strand of damp hair from your forehead. His breath trembled against your skin.

“If I resonate with you now, you could die...”

His eyes squeezed shut, and for a timeless moment, the chaos around you both faded. There was only the fragile warmth of your skin against his, the shallow whisper of your breath against his cheek. He breathed you in, a silent act of devotion, memorizing the feel of you, the scent of you, the very essence of your fading presence. 

“Trust… me, please.” A single tear escaped the corner of your eye, tracing a lonely path down your temple. “Can you do that?” Another tear followed, and then another, silent testament to the fear and the desperate hope clinging to your heart.

Finally he lets out a sigh. Reluctantly, he intertwined his hand with yours, his grip firm but gentle. A faint, fragile smile flickered across your lips. With the last shred of strength you can muster, you push your energy through your hand, trying to show him... You weren’t sure what he’d feel. You only hoped he’d understand.

Sylus finally yielded, his fingers tightening around yours as the resonance began. A wave of heat floods your body, flowing from him to you, and vice versa. It's overwhelming, enveloping you in a cocoon of safety and comfort. It feels so good, so pure. For a moment, the pain subsides, replaced by an all-encompassing feeling of love. You can sense it in every fiber of your being: his devotion, his desperation, his refusal to let go.

And if this is the last time you will feel this way, if this is your final moment... then it’s worth it. Spending the last remnants of your energy to share this connection with him, this fleeting perfection it’s enough. You let yourself sink into the sensation, the world around you fading as his warmth becomes your entire universe.

As the resonance deepens, the warmth flooding through you brings clarity, and with it, memories long buried. Fragments of another life, your life with him, begin to surface. Images, emotions, fleeting moments of joy and sorrow, all coming together like a puzzle you didn’t know was incomplete. More tears slipped down your cheeks.

Your heart aches, not just from the pain, but from the overwhelming realization that you’ve loved him all along, not just these past months, but lifetimes ago. A love so enduring it has transcended time, waiting patiently for you to remember. 

Sylus’s eyes widened, surprise flickering across his face as he pulled back just slightly, just enough to see you, to make sure what he felt wasn’t some cruel illusion. His gaze searched yours, stunned, like he couldn’t quite believe what he’d just felt. Whatever you had just given him, it hit something buried deep inside. And it shattered him. His breath hitched.

You struggle to speak, your voice trembling but determined. “Sylus…” you take a ragged breath “I...I’m sorry,” you whisper. “Everything we had… you sacrificed… yourself.”

His eyes widen slightly even more, searching for the meaning behind your words. His grip on your hand tightens, the raw emotion in his eyes betraying the composure he tries so hard to maintain.

“I’m sorry for being so greedy” you continue, “I loved you so much, I couldn’t- I couldn’t let you die.”

Your free hand weakly moves to his face, brushing against his cheek. He leans into your touch like a man starved for it. His warmth grounds you, and though you’re so tired, the weight of those words lifts something heavy from your chest. For a fleeting moment, everything feels right, as if the universe itself pauses to acknowledge your truth.

His face twists. He presses your hand, shuddering breath escapes him. And for the first time in centuries, Sylus cries. His shoulders trembling as the tears silently streamed down his face.

“You remembered” Sylus's voice grows hoarser. You wipe some of the tears from his cheeks.

“Sincere feelings are hard to forget... you said that.”

His hand moves to cradle your face, his touch impossibly gentle despite the storm of emotions raging within him. For a man who always seemed unshakable, the vulnerability in his gaze is staggering. Without hesitation, Sylus pushed his power surging through you like a tidal wave. The warmth intensifies, and for a moment, it feels as if the very essence of his soul is pouring into you. Your injuries begin to mend, the pain receding as his energy knits your broken body back together. The fractures, the wounds, even the exhaustion, everything is erased as if the damage had never existed.

Sylus’s face is pale, the strain of using his Evol to such an extent evident, but he doesn’t stop. His only focus is you. “You’re not allowed to leave me then,” he murmurs, almost to himself. “Ever.”

As the last of your injuries heal, you feel a strange mixture of relief and guilt. He’s given so much of himself to save you, and the depth of his love is almost overwhelming. You want to tell him everything, to promise you’ll stay but the words caught in your throat. Instead, you made a small, almost imperceptible movement, a silent attempt to rise. Instantly, he was there, his strong arms scooping you up, cradling you against his chest. A soft smile touched your lips, your fingers brushing against his chest. The warmth of his touch and the depth of his love lingering in your fading awareness. But the world around you begins to blur, the colors fading to a dull haze. You feel tired, incredibly tired, and you wish you could extend this moment a few more moments. A desperate longing bloomed in your chest, a selfish wish to stretch this moment. Just a few more breaths held in his arms, a few more heartbeats echoing against yours.

“My beloved dragon…” You whisper, your voice barely a breath. “I’ll always… be… with you.”

Your vision dims further, the light in your eyes vanishing as exhaustion overtakes you. Everything goes dark, a void swallowing you whole. The last thing you hear is Sylus’s voice, frantic and filled with desperation, calling your name. And then, softer, closer, a broken confession whispered against your hair, carried on trembling lips.

“I love you.” 

The words echo in the emptiness as you slip away, an inevitable pull of the darkness claiming you completely.

Six weeks later.

It’s a rainy day, the kind that turns the world into a grayscale painting. The radio murmurs in the background, its words cold and distant:

“After weeks of investigation, the police have officially closed the case on the death of Miss (Y/N). Her untimely passing during a critical mission in the N109 Zone marked the end of an extraordinary life…”

The radio clicks off abruptly. The soft patter of rain against the car window fills the silence, a maddeningly persistent sound. He sighed, a long, weary sound that seemed to carry the weight of the world. His gaze was fixed on the water cascading down the glass. Finally, as if pulled by an invisible string, he reached for the door handle. He stepped out into the downpour, the cold rain instantly soaking his clothes, the umbrella lying forgotten on the passenger seat. He stood there, exposed and vulnerable, the gray world mirroring the desolate landscape of his heart.

The path to the graveyard is narrow, slick with mud and rain. He carries a bouquet of flowers, their vibrant colors muted in the dreary light. Each step feels heavier than the last, his shoots sinking slightly into the wet ground.

He reached your grave, nestled beside your grandmother's. Gently, reverently, he placed the flowers against the cold stone of your headstone. His hands lingered there, trembling almost imperceptibly, his shoulders hunched as if bearing an unbearable weight. “I couldn’t…” The words were a broken whisper, torn from a throat raw with grief. His heart felt equally shattered. “I told you to be careful…”

He clenches his fists tightly, his knuckles white as the storm rages around him. The words escape in a choked growl, swallowed by the rain. The man kneeling before your grave was a shadow of his former self. His black coat clings to his soaked form, water dripping from his hair onto his hollow cheeks. The once vibrant green of his eyes, usually sharp and knowing, was now muted, dimmed by the dark circles that spoke of countless sleepless nights haunted by your absence. His expression, usually unreadable, is cracked open, revealing a pain he hasn’t allowed himself to feel fully.

He wants to cry, to let the dam break and let the anguish consume him, but he’s terrified. If he starts, he may never stop, not in hours, not in days.

The sharp ring of his phone cuts through the rain, jarring him back to the present. Slowly, he pulls it from his pocket, his voice cold and distant once more.

“Yes… I see. I’ll be there in 20 minutes. Prepare the OR. Thanks.”

He lingers for a moment longer, staring at your name etched in stone before forcing himself to rise. Zayne hasn’t been the same since your death. The cracks in his carefully built facade are growing, but there’s no time to break. Duty calls. He walks back to the car, carrying the silence you left behind.

In the distance, the studio is in chaos, canvas after canvas leaning against walls, discarded paint-streaked brushes scattered on the floor, and a maddening array of half-finished portraits covering every surface. Each one is the same: your face.

Rafayel hasn’t stopped. Day and night, he paints obsessively, as if capturing you on the canvas might somehow bring you back. The smell of turpentine and oil paint lingers in the air, mixing with the suffocating weight of his grief. Yet, despite the feverish pace, there are moments when he sits in the corner, staring at the wreckage of his art, torn between the drive to create and the overwhelming desire to quit everything altogether.

At your funeral, he couldn’t bring himself to step closer. He stood at a distance, his broad frame cast in shadow, hands buried deep in his coat pockets to hide their trembling. The ceremony unfolded before him like a surreal play, his vision blurring as people wept and spoke of your life.

When they lowered you into the ground, Rafayel turned his face away, unable to watch. His heart felt like it was being wrenched from his chest. He stayed in the background until the last of the mourners departed, the sound of his uneven breaths lost to the wind. He would wait for you once more, waiting for the moment you will be reborn.

Xavier disappeared the moment your death was confirmed, leaving no trace, no explanation. It was as if he vanished into thin air. He didn’t attend the funeral, didn’t show up to any memorials or gatherings. No one knew where he went, not even the Hunter Association. He simply left, as if the world had become too much to bear after your loss.

Rumors spread, some said he was on another mission, others whispered that he had broken, retreating from the world to grieve in isolation. The truth was far different from what anyone had assumed. Xavier hadn't disappeared to grieve in silence, he had thrown himself into his work, desperate and consumed by a single goal. He was holed up in his spaceship, working tirelessly, but with no success. Every day, he scoured the endless streams of data, searching for a way to bring you back. He refused to believe the official story, that your death was just the result of a mission gone wrong. To him, it was all lies for the public. The idea that your death was a simple accident, part of a mission, felt like a betrayal of everything he knew about you. 

The N109 Zone had always been full of secrets, and Xavier was willing to sacrifice everything to uncover the truth, even if it meant losing himself in the process. But no matter how many leads he followed, no matter how many hours he spent in the darkness of his ship, the answers eluded him. Every failure, every dead-end only pushed him further into obsession. But he wouldn’t stop. 

The news of your death hit Caleb with denial and desperation. No. Not you. It can't be. He clung to the fragile hope of a terrible mistake, a cruel rumor that would soon be proven false. His love for you, a possessive tendril that had wrapped around his heart since childhood, twisted into a burning resentment. Someone had to be held accountable for this unbearable void in his world. And his gaze, sharp with suspicion and fueled by a desperate need for retribution, immediately landed on Sylus. He had taken you from him, either through direct action or by the mere fact of his existence in your life.

The Professor observed Caleb's devastation with a cold, calculating gaze. The raw, unraveling grief of his prized subject was a temporary setback, an inconvenient detour on the path to his grand design. While a flicker of annoyance might have crossed his features at the disruption, his mind quickly pivoted. Caleb's emotional fragility was a liability, a delay in his meticulously crafted plans. Other children, other evolvers – they were out there. He simply needed to find them, mold them, and continue his work. He would simply find another, perhaps even more potent, component to take its place. The grand experiment would continue.

The world kept spinning, relentlessly moving forward, and even for Sylus, life had to go on. Standing in the kitchen, he let the weight of the past few weeks settle on him, but the familiar routine of making coffee offered some small comfort. Since your death, everything has been more complicated. Cleaning up the mess after the shit show with Rudy was a massive effort, one that drained him more than he cared to admit. He took a sip of his coffee, savoring the warmth for just a moment.

Every piece had to be placed perfectly, from the fake mission briefing on your hunter watch to the carefully orchestrated setup of your death. Nothing could ever lead the investigation back to him or Onychinus. He couldn’t afford any loose ends.

Sylus sighed and poured himself another cup, this time filling it with tea. The calmness of the hot liquid briefly soothed him before the weight of the situation came crashing back. That night was more than a horrible nightmare. No matter how many times he reviewed the facts and the scenario, he always arrived at the same terrible conclusion: even if he had known about the serum and Ever’s experiments earlier, it wouldn’t have changed much. Even if he’d killed Rudy long ago, with Ever Group lurking in the shadows, the risk would’ve still been there.

He carried the two cups into his office, the ceramic clinking softly in the quiet room. From the old speaker in the corner, Chopin’s Waltz in A Minor played faintly, the delicate piano notes curling through the air like smoke—melancholy and timeless. He sank into his familiar chair, the leather creaking softly beneath him.

The faint light caught the exhaustion etched into his features, the shadows beneath his eyes a testament to the sleepless nights haunted by your memory. Healing from that night also took a long time. He had been forced to rely heavily on Luke and Kieran, entrusting them with responsibilities he would normally have shouldered himself. Despite their sometimes airheaded nature, they are loyal employees.

“We should not do that again,” Sylus murmured.

A small laugh came from across the room, and he raised an eyebrow.

“Why not? It worked, didn't it?” your voice teased, a familiar spark of mischief in its tone.

He ran a hand through his hair, a gesture that spoke of both exasperation and a grudging admiration. “Sweetie,” he said, “you are breathtakingly reckless but... I must say, you never stop surprising me.”

“You were the one who so poetically declared I should go beyond the confines of light and shadow ,” you countered, a playful glint dancing in your eyes, mirroring the earlier mischief in your voice.

Sylus snorted, a short, almost disbelieving laugh escaping his lips. He leaned back in his chair, arms crossed over his chest.

“Indeed,” he replies with a smirk. “My dramatic pronouncements do have a tendency to come back and bite me. However,” he emphasized, his eyes narrowing slightly, “I distinctly recall the phrasing step beyond, not faking your death .”

You settled deeper into the warmth radiating from the teacup cradled in your hands, a soft, almost contemplative expression on your face.

“It was necessary, Sylus,” you said quietly, the playful edge in your voice slipping away. “Ever won’t be looking for a corpse. This buys us time. Besides,” you added, putting the cup down again, your gaze lifting to meet his. “I didn’t exactly fake my death. I was dead.”

A shadow flickered across Sylus’s features, a momentary eclipse of the earlier amusement, as he straightened and moved with swift purpose to the sofa where you were curled. Without a word, you shifted into his embrace, a silent seeking of comfort and reassurance in his familiar presence. His arms closed around you, a protective embrace that spoke volumes of his fear, a tangible manifestation of his terror at the thought of losing you again.

He pressed a lingering kiss to your forehead, his lips warm against your skin. “Even if I’m glad you came back,” he murmurs “we still don’t know how that was possible.” You leaned into his warmth, the steadiness of his heartbeat a soothing rhythm against your ear. 

“My Aether Core.” you say, your voice quiet but steady. “The power it has... I want to work with Phillip. Understand it.”

Sylus tightens his hold on you slightly, his gaze serious as he studies your face. “I won't let you play with it. It took twenty days for you to wake up from that coma.”

You nod slowly, eyes distant. Thoughts still tangled in the dark. “It felt like… like something inside me refused to let go.” Unsure how to finish the thought, you trail off. “I never thought I would do the same as Caleb.” you whisper finally. “Disappearing and visiting my own tomb.”

Sylus didn’t answer right away. He just held you tighter. You felt his breath against your hair, uneven. 

“Don’t worry,” you whispered. “I won’t leave you.”

When you finally opened your eyes, Sylus didn’t breathe. Twenty days. Twenty days of silence. Of your still hands and shallow breaths. The sorrow. The weight. His past, bleeding into yours. The sorceress and the dragon. It sounded like a myth. A girl cloaked in light, and a monster cloaked in fire. You had once tried to tame the beast with nothing but kindness and bare hands. And he had once promised to protect you, even as his world turned to ash. He’d failed before. He wouldn’t fail again. Even when something had changed in you after waking up. 

“Sylus…” Your voice, normally a melody of warmth and kindness, had now a sinister undertone. “What if… I want to destroy the world?” You moved a bit in his embrace, resting your temple against his, feeling his familiar warmth. When you looked into his eyes, the depth he saw there was no longer the clear pool of your soul, but a swirling vortex of shadow and greed. You didn’t blink. “Would you still stand by my side?”

He had glimpsed this nascent darkness in the moments after you awoke, a seed of something powerful taking root. Now, it was blossoming, and a strange sense of acceptance settled within him. A slow, dangerous smile spread across his lips, a mirror to the storm gathering within you. “You’ll always be free to do whatever you want when you’re with me.”

“It might be dangerous,” you warned.

He cupped your face, his thumbs tracing the delicate curve of your cheekbones, his gaze locked on the unsettling brilliance of your eyes. “I can handle it, kitten.”

Then you smiled, a slow, deliberate curve of your lips, and your left eye flared with a crimson intensity that echoed the same intensity that ignited in Sylus's right. In that shared incandescent flash, the truth resonated, undeniable and profound. The seal in your mind shattered. Your souls were no longer separate entities but two halves of a singular, formidable whole, every nuance of feeling laid bare. 

The sorceress had risen, and her dragon would unleash hell itself before letting her slip away again. A dark promise, a twisted vow whispered between two souls bound by a love that now embraced the shadows. They would let the world burn, and they would stand together in the ashes. After all, you and Sylus were the same.

True kindred spirits.

Navigator to MASTERLIST: SYLUS FANFICS

It’s been a long journey coming to the end of this story. Thank you for walking through the fire with them. For reading. For feeling. For staying until the very end.

This story came alive because I once read a short fic about a kidnapping, like month ago. It stayed with me and I thought, what if the rescue wasn’t short? What if it was messy, long, painful... and full of love and mystery. And so, "Let the World Burn" was born. I enjoyed it a lot.

Writing this meant more to me than I can explain. To everyone who read, commented, or quietly felt something along the way, you helped to bring this story on this platform. And for that, I’m endlessly grateful.

If you haven’t subscribed to my page yet, feel free to do so. One-shots and short stories will still pop up now and then and if you enjoyed this insane, sprawling fic, maybe you’ll find joy in the little ones too. (｡•̀ᴗ-)✧

With love, Salem

[my-castles-crumbling]

beautiful - april 26 - jegulus - CW: mention of blood - @taylorswiftmicrofic - word count: 513

James wouldn’t have heard the screams if he hadn’t been up, heading back to his room from the loo. It was a coincidence, really, but a lucky one, all things considered. Even though there was a very obvious silencing charm on Regulus Black’s door, his yelling could still be heard–just a little–from the hall.

Without thinking about it, James slipped inside, shaking and tense, ready for a fight, though he’d left his wand behind in his room. His instincts had completely taken over–every inch of his body reacted to the distress of the younger boy that he’d been quietly admiring for far too long. He’d been doing his very best to give Regulus his space ever since he’d appeared on the Potters’ doorstep, bloody and disoriented, two weeks ago. They’d had something–he wasn’t sure what, but something–before. Something clandestine and pure. But Regulus had been so scared that he tried not to push, to just enjoy what he was given: fleeting glances and quick kisses in dark classrooms. He figured the best thing for the younger boy, after arriving somewhat safely,  was time with Sirius, so he stayed away. But his resolve broke completely the second he heard those screams.

“Reg?” he whispered, shutting the door behind himself and quickly walking to Regulus’s bed, where the Slytherin was positively thrashing in his bed, yelling out incomprehensible words. “Reg, love, hey–”

Unsure if he was doing the right thing, he sat on the edge of the mattress and shook the boy gently, continuing to murmur his name, along with comforting nonsense he wasn’t really thinking about. After a few more screams, Regulus jumped a bit and his eyes wrenched open to lock with James’s own.

“J-James?” he stuttered, chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath.

“Yeah, it’s me,” he nodded, reaching forward to tuck a few damp strands of Regulus’s dark, curly hair behind his ear. “I’m here. You were having a nightmare.”

“Sorry,” Regulus mumbled, grimacing and beginning to turn away. “Sorry I woke you, you can go.”

But James could see him shaking. “I can–can I–stay?” he asked nervously, gesturing to the bed.

The look Regulus gave him was one of suspicious shock. 

“Just to hold you! I’m not asking–that would be–I just want to help,” he stammered, realizing how it might sound. “I don’t like when you’re scared,” he added in a small voice.

For a moment, Regulus almost smiled. “Get in, then,” he said, pulling back the blankets.

Eagerly, James joined him, pulling him close, revelling in the feeling of holding his very heart against his chest. “You…you look beautiful,” he said, knowing it probably wasn’t the time, but completely blown away by everything that was Regulus, gray eyes staring up at him, worrying his lower lip between his teeth.

Again…almost a smile. “Thanks, Potter,” he murmured. “I…I’m glad I’m here. With you.”

It was the closest Regulus had ever gotten to confessing feelings, and James felt warmth and joy wash over him in gentle waves. “Me, too,” he answered, pressing a kiss to Regulus’s forehead. “So much.”

[daylighted]

STARRY EYED GIRL / SITUATIONSHIP ! YOUNG DEAN x READER.

drabble.pdf / filed under dean winchester, mini series, situationship, unrequited, good intentions, hurt feelings, cruel words.

. . . "absolutely not."

"why not?"

dean shoves another handful of clothes into his bag, ignoring completely your form tucked away beneath his thick blankets. you're wearing one of his shirts that you took from his bag when his back was turned, the collar of it hanging off of one shoulder. he hasn't spared you a glance, so of course he hasn't noticed it.

would he, anyways? you hoped he would. maybe any other day, any other time, he'd say it looked better on you anyways.

you reach across the foot of space between you and yank the sleeve of his jacket to force him to stand still, if only for a moment, and answer you. "why not?"

"because i said so."

you tug the sleeve again, your face dropping into a deep frown. sometimes, he snuck in and kissed your skin with reverence that didn't belong under the flickering label of something that you two were. sometimes, though, he called you and treated you just like the object you felt like.

dean's eyebrows raise when, finally, his gaze flicks up to meet yours. they go to your chest, first, hopefully just to read the faded lettering on the fabric, or to notice that there was fabric over you at all, and not because the appeal of your body was more than the appeal of your eyes. "that's my shirt."

"no it isn't," you dismissively say, so he stops trying to distract you from the problem at hand. and it was a problem, because he seemed to think that you weren't really anything worthy of at least saying goodbye to. "why can't i come with?"

the sound of dean's zipper on his bag closing is poignant in your mind, even if it's never as final to dean as it is to you. "you wanna make me repeat myself?"

"i've never been here when your dad calls." you pat the blankets draped over you for emphasis, making a broad gesture to you, clearly sprawled in his sheets. "i'm here this time. i want to go."

half of dean's mouth quirks up in something that might be amusement. "i'm not risking your life just so you can get the brownie points of ranking up to passenger princess status."

it stings like a knife between the ribcage, the blade twisting and twisting until it barreled its way into your heart. you feel it stop beating, you think, clenching tightly in on itself one last time.

you could pretend it was because he cared that he didn't want to risk your life. you could pretend that it was something noble, the same way that you pretended he was a prince when he pushed open your window, knowing it would be unlatched for him to, to make you see stars behind your eyes — almost like being beneath the stars with him. you could pretend, and pretend, and pretend, but sometimes the painted pictures of the stars were prettier than the ones in reality.

a lot of the time, dean just didn't care about you like you seemed to about him, no matter how hard you tried.

tears glitter in your eyes, different types of stars than the ones he usually puts there, and the one time you wished he didn't look at you, the mesmerizing green of his unfeeling eyes land on the stardrops as they fall. "don't cry," he sighs, like it's an inconvenience instead of an ache, "don't let me make you cry."

he misreads it. dean always misreads the weight of your heartache like it was something small, and not something that was beginning to consume you like a shadowy nightmare. his thumb swipes beneath your eyes, and his lips meet your forehead in something fleeting — a bandaid over a bone-deep bruise. "i'll be back. you know i'll be back."

he would be. and the worst part was not that truth, but the fact that you'd keep your window unlocked.

dahlia's comments 🜲 making my grand comeback with a scene that has lived in my head for a hot minute pls be gentle if it sucks my HEAD HURTS.

dahlia's readers 🜲 @deansbeer @titsout4jackles @pieandflannel @pearlsvie @viluren @h8aaz @yulianie @angelicjackles @beausling @lanasgirlfr @bejeweledinterludes @veyveyx @itszarinaig @tinas111 @briisbananass @cowboysandcigarettes @spiritkissin @skyfaeriex @deanswidow @aurevina @bittersweetfig @soldiersgirl @angelblqde @jensenacklesballsack @honeyroots @angelicp0etrty @blossomingorchids @idk6505 @funkycoloured @irecalllatenovember1 @mahi-wayy @k-slla @bluemerakis @lilyyyjcb @theosaurous @maeji-may @rositaslabyrinth @v1v1-3 @nymphet-quenn @ltotheucyy @whyyouegg @plasticflowersinahistorycemetery @thesevnthseal

[joocomics]

DOUBLE TAKE

02 ⋮ off script

MASTERLIST || NEXT

pairing: rockstar!junhan x fem!reader x supermodel!jooyeon

genre: slice of life ( 18+ ) ── 1.2k words

your friend’s rock band books the coffee shop you work at for a day to shoot their new music video. at first glance, everything is going well until the line between story and reality begins to blur

✎… kissing for the cameras

( xdh masterlist )

It’s definitely something... suddenly turning from background noise to a main character.

... because Jooyeon saw something in you.

This is his idea - to kiss you instead of following the original script where he’s tangled up with the hired actress.

One moment you were just the girl behind the counter, and now, you’re the sweet waitress caught in the centre of the main events.

Jooyeon stands inches away with gaze locked onto you like he was meant to do this with you from the start.

You shift your weight against the counter, heart pounding as he steps closer.

“Just follow my lead,” He murmurs so low that only you can hear him.

You nod once, barely trusting yourself to even breathe. With so many lights and cameras around you, every small movement you make, has you feeling like it could be a wrong one.

The director’s voice rings throughout the room, pulling you out of your thoughts. Action!

Jooyeon doesn’t hesitate.

He erases the space between you and his hands find your waist - a confident, delibarate grasp. He cages you against the counter, barely giving you time to react before his lips crash against yours.

For a second, they remain pressed, soft and sweet, but then just as your breath catches, he tilts his head, deepening the kiss.

There’s no escaping it - the heat that floods through you. Especially as his grip tightens on your hips as it seems he’s getting effortlessly caught up into the moment.

Just like you are.

Everyone can see it in your hands that lift to his chest, clenching at his jacket like it’s the only thing that could keep you staying composed; like it’s the only thing reminding you this is just a scene.

And then, just when you’re about to forget about the line between what’s real and not... your feet leave the floor.

Suddenly, you’re perched on the counter while Jooyeon settles between your legs, pressing closer. The quiet gasp that escapes you has his lips twitching in a smug smile before he kisses you again.

The shift in the energy inside the room doesn’t go unnoticed - a collective murmuring spreads behind the cameras, but you can’t process any of it.

This is better, they say. This is good.

One of Jooyeon’s hands slides up your back, his fingers go into your hair to tilt your head just right so he can catch his breath by tracing lips against the side of your neck.

At this point, your mind turns completely blank when it comes to everything except the feel of his touch; his warm breathing, and the scent of his cologne.

The crew, the cameras, the flashing lights focused upon you - all of it fades.

Unrehersed, you grasp his hand, the one resting on your thigh, and guide it up your heated body. The skin beneath your clothes gets electrified as his fingers crawl up your stomach, briefly ghost over your chest only to stop around your neck - teasing and waiting for his mouth to detach so he can tug your bottom lip, creating space for his tongue.

Right on cue - the bathroom door slams open.

The entire set freezes in anticipation as Junhan steps into the frame. His shoulders are tense just like his lips.

Jooyeon doesn’t pull away immediately nor completely. His hands are still on your body; you can still feel his warm pants on your face even after he turns in his friend’s direction.

You realise you’re still holding onto his arm. Without looking away, you let go, peering into the bright flame in Junhan’s eyes.

He’s playing his part - the role of the lover witnessing his worst nightmare; his worst betrayal.

Maintaining the cold expression, he cuts the distance between you with few measured steps. Once he reaches the counter and Jooyeon jerks backwards, the camera man shouts excitedly, putting an end to the scene.

The crew congratulates the three of you; one of them teases Junhan, saying that for a moment they really thought he’s about to punch Jooyeon in the face.

As they chatter, you use the opportunity to pull back and collect yourself; to let your heart normalise its speed.

Only to feel it jump as a familiar teasing voise spreads behind you.

“Not bad,” Jooyeon murmurs discreetly as he walks past you.

You find the small bathroom near the back of the coffee shop and quietly shut the door behind you.

You glance at yourself in the mirror. Your lipstick is a little smudged, not enough to ruin the look, just enough to hint at the intensity of Jooyeon’s kiss. Your cheeks still carry the flush of adrenaline when you bring your hands up to touch them.

But that’s not what keeps you staring. It’s something very subtle in your expression that makes you feel... new.

And that’s when you realise it - you finally did it.

You stepped out of your life for a moment and slipped into something unknown, something unpredictable. And even though you’re back, something inside you hasn’t fully returned. Or maybe something from that new world has stuck with you, making it seem like you’re missing something, but it’s actually the opposite - you gained something.

You can feel it, it’s still fluttering in your chest. You just have to get more familiar with it.

You don’t know what exactly cracked open inside you yet. But you kind of like it.

When you return, the crew is adjusting lights in the middle of the chaos. Junhan is sat on top of the counter, aimlessly plucking at the strings of his guitar with Jooyeon standing nearby. Both of them have changed into new outfits for the next scene.

Jooyeon’s eyes shift, tracking your presence - only for a second before they flick back to the drummer of Junhan’s band.

“You guys should throw a wrap party.”

“We’re not even done shooting yet.” Junhan glances at him as you step closer. “And you’re already talking about drinking.”

“Exactly,” Jooyeon responds, keeping his hands busy with a bottle of water, “give people something to motivate them.”

“Just say you want a party.”

“That’s a good idea!” Another band member joins after he spots you in the circle. “What if we throw the party here?”

Junhan eyes the guy.

“Seriously? She already let us take over her entire shift, we’re not doing that.”

“I don’t mind it,” you shrug, speaking up before he puts an end to the whole idea. “I’ll talk to my boss if we can have the place on Sunday.”

Jooyeon flashes you a quick grin.

“I fly to Paris next week so Sunday works perfectly for me.”

The group breaks into laughter and excited chatter. They already start passing ideas on who’s bringing what, who’s going to have control over the playlist… It’s decided.

You find yourself smiling too - until a small, unsettling knot forms in your stomach as Junhan slides off the counter without saying a word.

He didn’t say anything while you were speaking. He also didn’t say anything when the guys began cheering.

You catch him nod at something one of the crew members says before silently disappearing into the chaos behind you.

It’s like you weren’t even there in the first place.

! please do not repost, copy or translate my works

! please keep in mind that english is not my first language. i apologise for any mistakes i’ve might missed

♡ taglist: @sweet-dreaming-girl @zelinkcrossing @bahng-chrizz @candlelitvamp

[howlsofbloodhounds]

we need to talk more about Killer and Papyrus relationship and Killer wants.

So when he tells Color what he truly wants he mentions wanting his brother back first, then his friends, then his old life, and then about being "Sans" again. I just want to know why is it that Killer is never written as going back to his timelime the life he wants so badly.

I find it interesting that most drawing or comics with Killer and Papyrus. Killer is either turned slightly or the comic breaks stop before his soul. You rarely see his soul when he interacts with Papyrus and I can't help bit wonder if that's because of Stage 1 and Stage 2 and being unsure of which stage he would be on during those moments.

Almost anytime he is shown with Papyrus it shows us how much he cares about him. The comic where he kills him is a bit of an outlier he seems to release all his pent up frustrations and feeling like its something he must do or he wants to do but the moment he does so he breaks down even vomits. He doesn't like Chara wearing his scarf no matter how many times he's killed. Sees his brother in every Papyrus he meets. Often seems to make him unstable like with the comic on stage 4 and during the fight with swap Papyrus he even cries. Drawings always show him pushing Papyrus away or just turned away with a sad face. He considers Papyrus his best friend even in Stage 2. When, he left Papyrus it seemed he had tears in his eyes, his hands were shaking as they went to wrap around Papyrus and return the hug before suddenly deciding to push him away instead and run away. The Killer captured by Nightmare reset just so his brother could have a happy ending then was going to erase himself either because he doesn't think he matters which he does think Papyrus doesn't need him anymore or because he just doesn't trust himself or because he knows Papyrus wouldn't be happy in a world where Sans just died no he had to delete himself so Papyrus wouldn't have to mourn someone whose never coming back. Its just so akdjaoykdhf. Let him see his brothers, his friends the world he knew. He doesn't even seem to like other au's. Why must he always live in the omega timeline if he's rescued or in Nightmare castle if they make him good can't he have his world and his brother for once. He cares about Papyrus the most, Alphys the second best I would say and probably Grillby third. Toriel somewhere between Alphys and Grillby wether at the front, the middle or back. I say Alphys because she's in two comics. When he pushes everyone away to protect himself its Alphys and Papyrus. She's the only one he even took a moment to really talk to with Grillby and Papyrus it was to vent his frustration and just kill them almost immediately while with Alphys he had a bit of a breakdown then killed her.

Why does no one focus on the people in his world, the relations he had there. Like we get so many hints and people just brush them away and only want Killer to ever be happy with the Bad Sanses or with Color in the Omega Timeline why can't he be happy with his old friends and family one of the only things he admitted to even wanting. Sorry for the rant.

~Musical Anon

Because he refuses to actually go back. Notice how in the comics with Nightmare and the cats, Killer talks about how he thinks the others are in their own timelines living their lives, Nightmare asks him why he isn’t back home at his, and Killer doesn’t answer?

He can’t go back home, he feels. He wants to, but he can’t. And it’s not just guilt and shame, it’s that profound distrust in himself. So long as his SOUL is the way it is, where anyone can do what Nightmare does and use him for their plans and desires, he believes no one will ever be safe around him.

That they couldn’t even begin to trust him—why do you think he’s so insistent that Color not trust him when he’s in Stage 2–when he’s “like that”—or that Color kill him if he ever goes into Stage 3?

Not to mention how he hides and keeps Stage 4 a secret—and it’s shown very clearly that, when Killer is in Stage 4, he has absolutely no qualms about who or what he kills.

We all saw how brutal and violent Stage 4 can be, and that’s without mentioning Stage 3 being described as “crazy” and the examples we’re shown of Killer being violent towards others while in Stage 2.

He will kill Papyrus if he’s triggered into Stage 4—Stage 4 has done it many times before.

It’s because he loves his brother so much that tries to remove himself from his life—thinking he’s somehow protecting him or keeping him safe by making these choices for Papyrus.

Assuming Papyrus doesn’t need him anymore, wouldn’t want him and shouldn’t trust him—but these are all assumptions he makes without talking to Papyrus even once. I have to wonder if he even actually remembers how to talk to Papyrus anymore.

I think Killer in Stage 1 needs to rebuild that trust in himself and the people around him, including Papyrus, before he’d even begin to feel that he’s anything anyone could trust— let alone love or want.

I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s hesitant to even touch or hug Color and almost excessively gentle with it, withdrawing quickly and likely has a tendency to keep his hands to himself — given how he couldn’t even bring himself to touch Dream while in Stage 1, even when he couldn’t tell if Dream was even real or not.

All in all—i don’t think immediately running back to Papyrus or his timeline would help Killer at all. Because he’d spend his entire time there living in fear of himself, walking on eggshells, trying to avoid triggers all while dealing with nightmares, dreams, and memories of all the times he’s hurt everyone in the Underground. All the times they’ve hurt him.

And he’d be alone with those memories, that pain and guilt, that shame and confusion. No one else remembers Killer—they remember Sans.

And feeling alone with all of it, the “only one” being hurt, the “only one” who remembers, is what started his resentment and jealousy of Papyrus way back then in the first place.

More than being afraid of killing or hurting anyone again, especially his brother, I do believe Stage 1 would be plagued by the fears that—if he goes back to that place, where it all started—that he’d start believing he wants to kill them again.

If that’s actually true or not doesn’t really matter—because Killer in Stage 1 believes it is, and could potentially remember the beginning of everything.

The anger, the jealousy, betrayal and hurt. But more importantly—the confusion. How none of it really felt real, how his mind didn’t feel under his control, how he thoughts didn’t feel like his. How his emotions didn’t feel like they belonged to him.

He thinks he can only go back to Papyrus if he’s “fixed.” If he’s Sans again. If he’s the same old person he was, as if everything that happened never did.

But what if that’s not possible? What if he can never go back to being that person? Does that mean he cannot have his brother or even his old friends back at all, because they are not his, if he is not Sans?

No, of course not. Because his brother and his old friends are their own people, who can and should be given the chance to make their own informed decisions on if they want him back in their lives or not.

And that’s why I like to think Color definitely encourages Killer to reach how to home, to Papyrus, even if it’s not an in person meeting yet—such as a letter or a phone call. Even if only to just let the poor man know his missing brother is alive, even if not quite okay. Even if not quite the brother he remembers.

Color definitely wouldn’t force Killer into this, but I do think Killer’s opportunity to reach out to his loved ones who remember and want him back is something Color has wanted for himself for what feels like longer than he’s even really been alive.

His family doesn’t know who he even is, and at this point it looks unlikely they ever will. He will always be a stranger to them—he’d never wish that on or want that for his friend, especially if they also want Killer back.

Even if the moment is bittersweet and brings up fears of being abandoned or forgotten again in Color, I think he’d also be both proud of Killer, and happy that he finally managed to help at least one Killer get here. Writing letters to his brother, making puns and laughing with Toriel over the phone, sharing information about soul research with Alphys.

Not every Killer was able to live long enough to experience this for themselves.

Also, a little off topic but it’s something I’ve wanted to talk about for a bit, but I do believe that Papyrus is the only person Killer in Stage 2 has ever felt anything like resembling guilt, regret, or remorse for the pain he’s caused him or for what he did to him.

Of course, it’s described as Killer “feeling sick” when he remembers what he did to Papyrus, so i doubt he recognizes what this emotion is or what it means when in Stage 2.

In contrast, when it comes to Color, I think Killer in Stage 2 feels frustrated or uncomfortable when he recognizes that he’s hurt or caused Color pain, knows he should feel bad about that, but he just doesn’t or can’t.

It’s those exact feelings of frustration and discomfort, as well as the fact that he doesn’t like being the reason why Color is hurt/upset and doesn’t want to hurt Color, that he puts in effort to either make it up to him or to try and figure out what caused the pain in order to try and not do it again.

He doesn’t feel guilty about it, maybe doesn’t even fully understand the extent of Color’s emotions, but he can see that something he did caused Color pain. So he tries to put in the effort to care and make it up to him.

[mydogatemymotivation]

I kind of think that people focus a little too much on the Lasat Merc that Kallus mentioned in the Honorable Ones. I get it, because it's an interesting scene that Kallus describes but I think focusing on the mercenary himself is, like, not the point. I don't know whether he worked for Saw long term and was a partisan himself, or if he was just a hired gun because Saw needed some extra muscle, but him staying hidden and kind of shrouded in mystery is just so much better for Kallus.

First of all, focusing on the merc makes what happened to Kallus kind of fall to the wayside, it takes the focus off of him almost entirely. I do think that it makes sense from Kallus' pov because I think he fixates on the mercenary after the fact, maybe as a way to cope, but there was a lot more going on with him specifically.

He was the only survivor, for one. No matter what side someone was on, surviving that situation is traumatizing. Especially with the calculated way Kallus described it (we also have to remember that he may be something of an unreliable narrator here, he's traumatized and biased). I remember watching The Pianist which was, unfortunately, a great movie (I say unfortunately because it's a Roman Polanski film, and I had no idea about the allegations at the time) (I watched it for class and wrote a paper about it, WWII movie) but there's a scene in it where there are people who are laid on the ground face down and shot in the back of the head one-by-one, except the last one because the soldiers clip runs out. So he takes the time, standing above this guy, to reload his gun, then shoots. Even just as a film scene that shit stuck with me. You can't tell me that living through that and not knowing whether or not the gun was going to turn on you wouldn't be the reason you have nightmares for the rest of your life. You can debate about motivations and the partisans all you want, but it doesn't change the fact that living through that means you're never sleeping through the night again.

Kallus also says that he couldn't move. I don't know if he was pinned down, or if he was in shock, but I always took it to mean some kind of injury. Something like an incomplete paralysis, nerve damage to his spine, that causes temporary paralysis. Long recovery time, surgeries, physical and/or occupational therapy, etc.

He would've been a very young boy, trying to do good (even if he was misguided), injured, unable to move, watching all the boys his age die one-by-one, waiting for his turn, being the only survivor, the medical trauma, the physical pain - that mercenary doesn't need to be evil to make this properly traumatizing for Kallus. He could be a completely neutral actor.

Second of all, Kallus' anger at the mercenary is exaggerated. He's angry at himself. A lot of people I think ask the question of "how did Kallus stay with the Empire after what happened on Lasan?" Honestly, I think the answer is denial. There's no way to deny what happened on Lasan, but there is a way to bury your head in the sand. Not ask questions, assume that there was some grand plan you're just unaware of and that if you knew all the details then everything would make sense, put more trust in the people you definitely shouldn't be trusting, and find someone else to blame. Basically, double, even triple, down, because if you don't then everything you've done is for nothing. He takes his anger out on Zeb and clings to this narrative about this mercenary to try and throw together some explanation he can get behind mentally. Also keep in mind that Lasan happened like, two years or so before the beginning of the show. So as little time as Zeb has had to deal with what happened to his home, Kallus also has had two years of mental spiraling to try and tie himself into knots to justify what happened, and he only seemed to get crueler and angrier in that time frame (that random stormtrooper he kicked to death??). It wasn't until he was able to talk to someone about what happened (and I don't imagine talk therapy is encouraged in the Empire) that he was able to come back around. Kallus only lasted three, maybe three and a half years after Lasan before he finally couldn't take it and left (and, maybe it's just me, but I don't really count his time under Vader. You do what Vader says in order to survive)(but that could completely be my perspective). But all the while, every time he fought Zeb, he was fighting that mercenary and himself.

The mercenary left him alive because 1) he just flat out didn't see him, 2) Kallus was so badly injured he thought Kallus was dead, 3) Kallus was the only one without a helmet and the mercenary saw a young boy. We never see this mercenary. I don't know if he died, or if he left the partisans after deciding he didn't like Gererra's tactics, or if he was a hired gun whose job was done. Either way, I don't think Kallus should ever see him again. I don't know if I have the words to explain why (sorry if I repeat myself, but I'm trying to put words to my thoughts) but somehow Kallus' ability to let this issue go, in my mind, is directly tied to his ability to heal from the Empire. I don't necessarily think that this is a thread he needs to chase, or an issue he needs closure on. His lingering resentment is petty and small compared to Zeb's capacity to forgive, and I think he would beat himself up for still feeling angry. His ability to close the door on this is directly related to his ability to accept Zeb's forgiveness. When people talk about the mercenary, I just, I feel like, they're missing what the mercenary is for Kallus. And in real life I could understand wanting answers about something that happened to you, but in this instance, narratively, the mercenary is left unnamed for a reason. This character is a catalyst or a shadow in Kallus' story, he's not meant to be examined for his own sake, he's meant to be examined for what he means to Kallus.

Idk hopefully this makes sense I should've gone to bed a while ago, this was just something I've had on my mind for a minute. (and as always, this isn't me trying to absolve Kallus of anything he did, just thinking, trying to understand him, etc., cuz he's interesting)

[keferon]

*clasps your shoulders gently and looks you straight in the eye*

Keferon. Please read Ninth by Kyn on AO3. I think you would love it very much. It has a large chapter count, but don't be intimidated, it's very easy to get into. It is currently unfinished, but is being updated regularly.

You are the seventh person that recommended this fic to me so ahahahaha yeah

I’m doing great Help I hate some parts of it but I love the other parts I’m spinning in the blender

…..I made the moodboard….

[serpentface]

Don't get too attached

[8-rae-rae-8]

"Who's 'Mama', Alex?" - SIX (tv) Fic 2/2

CLASSIFICATION AU - AgeRe

Summary:

He's not safe from it even in his sleep. Why does it have to hurt? Can't Bear make it better like usual? Now featuring: Bell peppers

Overall WC: 19,302 - AO3 for tags

AO3 LINK

Or, read below the cut

The freshly made bed doesn't stay delicately tucked in for long. Every five minutes it seems, the Little tosses and turns. Heavy, panted breaths fall from his parted lips in desperate attempts to get any air in his lungs. The blankets he once tugged over his shoulders, are now kicked mostly off of his writhing body.

Solid warmth stays the only constant thing as he moves back and forth, from one pained position to the next. Cold never laces his skin with Bear laying beside him, the Caregiver shifting with each movement and laying at least one blanket over Alex's shaking frame. He promised he wouldn't leave, and he remains close, as close as he can with the pained tossing and turning.

Nightmares don't usually come with nosebleeds, do they? The smallest bits of blood seep into the pillow case Alex presses against, weaving through his facial hair to settle at the left corner of his lips. His chest heaves with strangled breaths, brows furrowed as he continuously shakes his head.

It hurts.

Alex's eyes flutter but don't open all the way, squeezed shut when he finally stops moving. Maybe that was the bad part. Shaking hands release the sheets in favor of coming up to tug at his own hair like it would remove the building pressure. Every drawn out inhale brings more pain, puffing his cheeks out with the poor attempts to ease it.

The show playing on the TV melts into ringing, just as the sounds of the air conditioner and sounds of the now not so steady breathing next to him does. It drills into his head, searing whatever it touches. The hands tugging at his hair try to cover his ears, fingers still tangled in the curls. Like the past failed attempts to make the ringing finally stop, it did nothing.

It feels like minutes of nothing but agony. Sweat beads on his forehead, his hands shake more and more until they can't hold even the smallest grip on his hair, forced to fall from their position. The ringing only ever lets up enough to hear puzzled sounds, then feel the blankets and weight shift on the bed before it piles on all over again. He lays there, unable to do so much as cry.

It's not fair.

Why does it have to hurt?

Warm hands cross his clammy skin, gathering the Little and pulling him off the bloodied pillow he buried his face in. Alex gasps weakly as he's pulled away from the spot he had finally found after tossing and turning for far too long. All he gets are brief touches, his head being cradled and his trembling body wrapped carefully in a blanket… There's nothing but muffled sound beyond the ringing that keeps coming and going.

The Caregiver holds him delicately in his lap, wide eyes staring at his cub shaking like that. He uses the lightest bit of force to shake Alex enough to get some kind of reaction. Anything was better than the silence, accompanied briefly only by grunts and whimpers in the quiet bedroom. The Little can't hear his own hurt, his mind focusing on the pain where it feels like his head is about to explode, and he may just want it to finally happen so it just stops.

Shaking him, even gently, sends more hurt through him. It feels like he's underwater, without a single thing to grab for with such useless hands. Every wave taking him under, building the pressure more and more the deeper he gets. His brain feels like it's being rattled by the simple push to his shoulder. Why does he have to hurt?

At the very least, it forces Alex's eyes to open. Not for long, two seconds at most before his head lulls back into the hand that cradles it. From there, he keeps trying to open his eyes. All of his strength goes to breathing, something so simple becoming a task he has to pay attention to, even with the pain that begins to spread through him. With how many times he lost balance for the same reason, he was lucky to have been laying down. And more lucky that he wasn't alone.

He can't catch anything said to him. Words muted through the ringing until he can't understand a word said to him. In the moments his eyes are open, he can only make out that he's being spoken to. Everything else is a lost cause.

Calloused hands hold him still. One brushing away the blood drying by his lip, the other keeping his head in a stable, safe position. If he wasn't in so much distress, the gentle touch would be something calming. This kind of pain isn't something he can push past. It leaves him on the floor, half alive until he comes back to. That's just how it goes.

What did he do to deserve this? Which sin does he have to atone for? What crime was worthy of this punishment? He's not a god fearing man, he hasn't been one to play games with the things he can't see to believe. But he's paying for something, he has to be. Why else would it hurt so, so deeply? Past the migraines, past the aftermath… What did he do to be stripped of the life he desperately wants and needs? How many things could he have done to make this necessary?

Every day is a choice of life and death, and not because he could be shot and killed anymore. The ticking time bomb in his head could go off at any moment and he could fall right there, without so much as goodbye to the people he cares for. Whenever it hurts, he can't tell if he'll stand again or his body will be left to rot. Would someone care to find him? Would it have to be Bear? It's not fair for his Caregiver to see him in such a state…

Being so very small doesn't excuse him from hurt. It doesn't for any Little, that doesn't make it okay. The pain hits at the worst times; short moments between being asleep and awake aren't safe, eating isn't safe, working isn't safe. Nothing is anymore. All he can hope for is that he's not standing whenever it hits. Why him?

In his Caregiver's arms, at the very least, it's warm. The cold doesn't bite at his skin. Pulled against Bear's chest, he can feel the other's heart pounding against his chest. He cradles Alex as if he's something precious, something worth keeping safe. An arm tucks under his head, while Bear's other hand comes to rest on his cheek. Slowly, he brushes over his sleep-reddened cheek, warm under his touch.

"Alex! Come on, baby…" The words blur into each other as they hit his ears. Like the waves not far from his house, the ringing keeps taking and giving each time it brushes the shore. What it's taking, Alex can't tell, but something is missing. He knows for sure that all it gives is more pain and exhaustion. Day after day, he's just exhausted.

And too damn small.

"'m right here, Mama's right here, huh? 'member? I'm right here." His words feel more like whimpers in the waves of hearing he can make out, strained and tense with every forced syllable. Just by being in pain, he's making his Caregiver hurt too. All over again, he's doing something wrong. He can't even do anything about it.

With what he can, even though it's barely anything, Alex presses his head into the hand on his cheek. Doing anymore pulls the agony deeper into his bones, radiating through him like he would never get a day of peace again. His breath hitches as he struggles to keep himself awake. For Bear, he can't let his eyes close all the way.

"See? 'm right here." He feels Bear's shuddering gasp, "What's wrong, cub? Please." The Caregiver begs, lightly patting Alex's cheek with his thumb. There's no good answer to the question Bear poses, much less an answer Alex actually has. He can't—he won't—go to a doctor about this. That's his career, his life, over in seconds.

He can't talk like this. Nothing but garbled sounds leave him as he attempts to do something. Beg for this to end, cry for help, something. He can't. Words feel lost on him more these days than ever before. What is he supposed to do with a secret that's quite literally killing him? What can he do but hold it close to his chest until it happens? Hopefully somewhere respectable, out in the field, dying for a cause… Just surviving never was good enough for him.

The longer it stays quiet, the more he feels Bear struggle for air. Behind his confident leader, his Caregiver, he's soft. Alex had seen tears in his eyes before, barely restrained behind fear of being seen as weak; they have that in common too. Small droplets land on the Little's face, wetting his skin beyond the sweat already claiming it's place.

"Baby, c'mon…" Joe's forehead presses against his, nudging him softly further against the hand holding his cheek. "You're gonna be okay, you hear me?" He whispers through his teeth.

Pain floods through him, wave after wave. There's no reprieve from the surging water, nowhere to go but under. The touch keeps him here, refusing to let his mind wander while the Caregiver holding him cries for his Little. Never once had his life been so valuable to someone else, worth holding and loving.

In this water, the cruel tides never relenting, Bear keeps up. Alex sinks, until he doesn't. Warm hands coax him from the cold. Gentle, above all else. He always has been, since the very first time Alex flinched away from the touch while so, so small. Bear pulls him back from every bit of choppy waters, shields him from every fear, he can only plead that he would make this better too.

The Little's eyes close slowly as it lets up, ever so slightly. He doesn't hold his breath in hopes it'll hurt less. It's too late for everything to somehow turn out okay. Every migraine, every headache, every attack, it only got worse. He only gets worse.

"Alex?!" Bear's panicked hands rush to pull him closer, leaning down just enough to see if he could hear his Little's breathing. Soft huffs of air come from his parted lips, what was left of the blood rubbed into his beard, brushed away from his lips.

Why does it have to hurt? Every stupid suggestion he got never touched the migraines. Sometimes it's a short burst of pain, sometimes he barely gets out of bed, if at all. Ice over his eyes didn't help, soaking in hot water only served to make him sicker, caffeine didn't do a thing but make it more exaggerated. Hell, pain pills ranging from over the counter, to heavy prescriptions never felt like enough. No matter the dose, he still could barely make out the shapes and sounds around him. Was it the high, or the hurt? The high at least made it bearable to exist.

Is it because he deserved the hurt? After all he did, after all the team did, is it payback? Some fucked up karma for every death he caused? His punishment is being stripped of his life, his job, and the people he wanted to surround himself with. Being useful in a team is meaningless when that can all be taken away so fast. One bullet, one explosion, one complication and it's over. What did he do to deserve one of the few things he had being taken from him?

On top of everything, he had to be so damn small. He had to have that weakness clawing at his chest, the fuzziness clouding his head at all times… Like the pain medication, no amount of suppressants, legal or not, pushed the small feeling away. It was always there, right behind his eyes, demanding to be let out. When everything told him not to drop, he did. Why did he have to? The pills were supposed to stop that, they were supposed to help. Why didn't it help anymore?

Warm arms cradle his top half, pulling him closer and closer until his forehead pressed against Bear's neck, the scruff of his facial hair scratching at his sweaty face. Slowly, the Caregiver rocks him back and forth in their seated position. Soft, fearful whimpers come from him the longer Alex's eyes remain closed.

Just barely, he can hear the quiet sounds. Mixed with Bear's near constant, low murmuring, it quiets the ringing. Not by a lot, not nearly by enough, but he can hear it. He can only hope that it all can go away soon, it needs to go away. This can't be one of those days he can't crawl out of bed, it's happened far too much.

"'m not going anywhere, cub, promise." Graves mutters, holding him as close as he can without putting too much pressure on Alex. His breath stutters in his chest, wet eyes looking down at the trembling Little in his arms. Alex can feel every movement, every pain, and yet, his body keeps relaxing.

More and more, the throbbing, sharp pain in his skull dies down. The ringing goes with it, softening by the second. As long as Bear holds him here, with his gentle words and humming, it gives him some relief. Even just a small break between pain would let him breathe.

Is it just a break between crashes, or is it over?

The smallest movements send a sharp thrum of pain through him all over again, but when Bear freezes at Alex's tensed body, it goes away all over again. The Caregiver doesn't move, not beyond choked breaths and peeking down at Alex in his arms. He doesn't have to. Each time Alex relaxes again, he gathers what hurts, and that he's part of the hurt.

"I know, I know…" Bear whispers, taking as deep of a breath that he can without startling Alex any further. Although Alex knows Bear couldn't possibly understand all of this, he wants to think, just maybe, he could get it. More than anything, Joe would understand the fear boiling in his chest.

Does he think he'll lose another baby?

Does he hold on so tightly because he's scared, like Alex is?

"C'mon.. C'mon, baby…" Graves speaks softly to him, audibly shuddering as he lays his head against Alex's. "I got you…" He breathes out, brows furrowed.

The smallest, sad sound comes from the Little in his arms. Broken, barely loud enough to hear. It's all fuzzy to him, the ringing only present enough to make the sad whimper inaudible to his own ears. And so, he whimpers again, and again until he's loud enough to hear himself over the tinnitus.

"Alex?" Bear calls quietly, immediately pulling his head back where it made a tiny dent in Alex's unwashed, curly hair. "Alex??" He adds, more intensely as his eyes jump from Alex's head and his chest, watching him breathe just to be sure.

The Caregiver only gets a tiny grunt in return, his entire chest squeezing with the effort. Where his face is pressed into Joe's neck, Alex's eyes try to flutter against the skin. His breath fans across his skin, coming in harsh pants the more the ache eases and he can breathe.

"Oh, bud…" Joe sorely smiles, watery eyes looking down at Alex where he's laying in his arms. Delicately, as if Alex is the most fragile thing in the world, he moves him just enough to see his face.

He doesn't keep his eyes open for more than a second or two at a time before he closes them again, but he looks up at Bear, he sees him. Past the blur of tears and splotches in his vision, his blue eyes meet Bear's.

"See, 'm right here, that's it, Mama's here." Joe whispers down to him, his eyes still looking back at his chest to watch his boy breathe properly. A small, scared smile rests on his lips, almost pitiful as he looks down at the little one in his arms.

The most Alex can manage again is a weak grunt, not quite close enough to an affirmative hum. He blinks slowly up at him, eyes losing focus over and over for the few seconds he can keep them open. Like this, at least, he can see Bear. He can see Mama, not just hear muffled sounds tainted by the painful ringing.

Even the dimmest of moonlight flooding the room through the blinds hurts his eyes, waterline full of unshed tears reflecting in the soft light. Alex's hands shake where they've uselessly been pulled up to his chest, trigger finger twitching on his chest. Tears drip back down his cheeks with each blink, wetting his face. His breaths barely fill his lungs, chest hitching every inhale.

Still, he looks up at Bear, gaze faltering every so often as his eyes begin to involuntarily wander until they close again. He can't look away, he won't. The exhaustion and the ache has become part of him in the short amount of time he's gotten so familiar with the hurt. It's a constant, something he knows will happen and something he is sure he cannot escape, no matter the attempts or the pills. His comfort is right here, cradling him like he matters, Mama is here for him.

He couldn't let himself count on anyone before. Not his mother, his father wasn't even in the equation… Rip wasn't reliable, and he was terrified to let even his closest friends see weakness. He's been running from that as long as he can remember, fearing everything, being afraid of himself. Being small made everything so big and scary. Sometimes the need for it all to be okay again beats the fear of crawling on his hands and knees for help, begging for someone to see him. He needed Buddha to help, then he needed Bear to fix it, to fix him.

How much can he ask for before it's too much? How much can he take?

Unlike every person who's cared for him, Bear never swats away his pleading hands. He needs to fix it just like Alex needs to be fixed. Are they both giving and taking? How much is there to take? What can he possibly give? The limited soft moments Bear has seen were riddled with fearful, wide eyes when a hand comes too close too fast. Is he adding to the doubt he knows fills Joe's head? For all of the kind things, has he only given Bear his fear? Is he taking too much?

As the pain waivers and he can truly hear the voice speaking to him in choked, soft sentences, that guilt buries itself deeper into his stomach. Alex's tears fall, but not with the agony in his bones, with the worry he's doing something bad, again. He's good at doing things wrong, making bad choices. Bruises that once settled on his arm in the form of a hand had been reminders for so long that even the smallest wrong choice was worthy of a scolding, or a strict talking to. The smallest sniffles come from him.

"It's okay now… All done, huh?" Joe softly speaks to him. A sweaty palm cups his cheek, worried eyes jumping between Alex's half-lidded ones. He can only hope it's over, he has to. The hurt can only last so long, he needs it to be okay.

Weakly, the Little presses his cheek into Bear's hand. He watches his Caregiver's gentle movements, scanning his face for any sign of anger. Was he too much? He shouldn't have to look so closely, he shouldn't be used to having to do that at all, and yet, he looks as if he'll get hurt for not considering Bear in the middle of all of his agony.

Alex's bottom lip quivers as he softly inhales, blinking the tears away to attempt to get a clear image of the Caregiver in front of him. The fading ache in his head is disregarded with the worry building in his stomach, the knot making itself well known the tighter it gets. It should all be okay, it's supposed to feel okay now.

"I know, I know…" Graves breathes out, using his shoulder to wipe the tears off of his own face without moving the fragile Little in his arms. "We're alright now, I've got you, yeah?" He murmurs, his thumb brushing away the tears on Alex's face.

All Alex can do is softly nod to that, despite the way he holds back tears. When can he have a day, just one day, where nothing is wrong? Why can't he have one day? He can't escape the fear, he can't get away from every ache in his body, he can't run far enough to make the shouting in his head quiet down.

"Let it out, cub… We're at home, safe and sound.. It's just you and me." He says, continuing to softly stroke Alex's cheek. Keeping a close eye on his Little eases the crease in his brow once he can see the hurt leave him, even though it's replaced by something else. While both are hard to fix, this time, Bear can be there and soothe the guilt. He always kept his promises.

Being at home never made it safe at all before… Then there was Bear, coming to pick him up and take him wherever the fear would go away just because Mama made it go away. Even when Mama wasn't Mama yet, he took him away from whatever made him cry. Whether it be the lack of Little-friendly food in Rip's house, or the drunk man on the couch that Alex never could wake without gaining a bruise, or even just the silence of being so, so alone.

He gets to be safe, like it's something to be earned, not just something he already deserved to have just because he existed. Home is wherever he can find his Caregiver, wherever he can possibly be loved without cruel looks and mocking words. It wasn't his house, it wasn't base, it wasn't where he grew up. Home is Graves, the words will never leave his mouth, he can't say that, but he can think it. He gets to feel at home, safe, and loved.

The smallest, most exhausted cry falls from his parted lips. Alex's eyes close all over again while tired sobs wrack his body, he can't fight it anymore. Not when Joe so gently encourages him to need.

"I know… You're so exhausted, cub, I know… That was a lot, just let it out…" Joe whispers, looking down at Alex with soft eyes. He shifts them ever so slightly, holding Alex in a more stable position against his chest, uncaring if his shirt gets wet with tears for the second time that night.

Exhausted is an understatement, yet the only word he can pair with this never ending fatigue. Pitiful eyes blink up at Bear between his sobs, weak and delicate. He barely makes a sound, he's too tired to. Even that is far too much effort for his body. The weight of his own bones feels like it pulls him down further and further, sinking into the arms that already hold him.

This isn't like the moments Alex riles himself up and melts down over going to bed whenever Bear has to gently coax him into the process of getting comfortable, there's no frame of reference for this. Nothing 'correct' to say to get him to settle down, there's no getting up to get the Little a snack, or a sippy cup with warm milk. There's no calm after the storm, no happy, cozy little one in bed. They've had sleepless nights, just nothing like this.

The weariness in his bones seeps deeper with every little breath, forcing his tense muscles to go lax in the warm arms that cradle him. Cold air nips at his skin, goosebumps rising, just for him to be immediately covered back up in a blanket before he can move even the slightest bit in complaint. If he thought he could, at least.

"Let me…" The Caregiver mutters, tucking the soft blanket around Alex like he was the little baby Joe lost. Someone small and fragile, but someone so loved. Joe clumsily pulls Alex close enough to tuck his legs comfortably under the blanket too, keeping him warm.

He can't make up his carer's loss, god knows he can't, he won't ever try, but Bear looks at him with the very same soft eyes he did with his baby girl and Alex can't help but feel like he's taking a place that never belonged to him. One he shouldn't be in even now. When can he escape the burrowing guilt?

His shoulders curl in on himself, bottom lip bitten between his lips as his eyes avert their gaze from Bear's. Instead, they land on the mess of bedding he's made. Blankets kicked and thrown wherever. He barely had the energy to get out of bed this morning himself, and now the bed is in a worse state that someone will have to pick up. Alex doesn't know if he'd rather be shouted at to do it, or watch Bear clean up the mess he made. One way, Alex would know he wasn't forcing anyone else to do it.

"Let it out…" Joe tucks the last corner of the blanket into the space his side and Alex's shoulder press together. Gently, he brushes away the tears dripping down Alex's cheeks. "I'll be here as long as you need me, cub…" He promises, resting his hand over where the Little's are tucked under the blanket.

Arms relaxing into the pressure of the blanket, he tries to curl up even smaller in his Caregiver's lap. If he's smaller, does that mean he'll be more protected? Does that mean it'll make all the big things, all the things he'll have to do, less scary? He blinks away the never-ending amount of tears in his eyes, almost immediately getting wiped away.

"What's goin' on in that head, baby?" Bear murmurs, voice soft as he lets Caulder curl up more. Every little movement being accompanied by another that would only make Alex more comfortable right here, in Mama's lap.

Where does he begin to answer that? He can't even find the words himself, no matter how big or small he is. All there is has been fear for so long, since the first migraine, then the next, each getting worse and worse. Where does he start? The smallest problems or the biggest ones? The little one chokes as he tears his eyes away from the mess of blankets he's been staring at. He doesn't want to talk about it, he just wants it to go away. Can't it just go away?

"Hey- hey, it's okay. We won't talk about it, huh? No more. It's all done." The Caregiver gathers Alex up in his arms the more he makes choked, tearful sounds, his own heart racing with worry so much so that Alex can feel it when he presses closer to Bear's chest.

The problem is that it isn't all done. This won't ever be done until his body gives up. Somehow, he knows it'll be his own damn fault too. One cry, and then silence, he'll be gone. That's how it'll go. Whether it's at home, or in the field is the only difference. It won't be done until he can't physically take it anymore and he's hiding that. He's hiding it from Bear, he's hiding it from the team. What good is he as a friend, a Little, or a teammate if he's a liability? Why can't it just be okay? It's supposed to be okay.

Right there, with his face tucked into Joe's chest, the quiet whimpers and cries turn back to those awful cries. Too far from a wail, but heartbreaking enough to feel like a knife is being driven into Joe's chest all the same. He's so tired, too tired, and yet, his heart squeezes in his chest just as the knot in his stomach tries to snap and he can't stop the gasping cry.

Every lesson he got about crying like this, the ones he could never get out of his mind, dissipate into the surrounding water as he's held and comforted immediately. There's no conditions to it, Joe simply holds him. Rocking slowly, letting his hums help soothe Alex without saying another word. Could he even hear it if he did talk?

Care without a stipulation, conditions or some kind of payback is still so foreign to him. He can cry and Mama would be there in minutes, if not seconds, while sometimes breaking the law just so he could be there. Never once was he expected to give something in return. The guilt always does a good job of giving something back regardless of that, of course it did. That wouldn't stop, would it?

He gives back in the simplest ways, depending on how he is that day. If he's small, sometimes it's just giving Bear a plushie, or dragging him out to the water and giving him the best shells he can. If he's big, it's arguably better to be cooked a meal than be given little trinkets, and yet, Joe always seemed to smile the biggest when Alex ran up to him with a little shell and exclaimed something about how cool it was.

Though it hasn't ever been a choice, especially recently, Bear's never made it a point to tell Alex whether he preferred him while big or small the way Rip did. His regression was never a tool to be used to make him behave, it's just part of him. Bear never sent cruel words his way about how he needed to get his act together or a comfort item would be taken away, he was loved instead. Loved like it's the easiest job in the entire goddamn world.

The little one gasps between trembling cries, filling his lungs with enough air to cry out before doing it all over again. Soaking Bear's shirt one tear at a time. It's safe to. There won't be raised voices or punishments, Mama wouldn't do that to him.

Bear holds Alex carefully, a hand cradling the back of his head and keeping him up where he keeps his head pressed into Joe's chest. The melody of the song he's humming never stays the same until it's no longer a real song he's humming and a mix of many, none of which Alex can pick up on completely before the song switches to a new one.

All he needs to do is let it out. The little one's screams come out silent, sobbing and sobbing into his Caregiver's chest until there's nothing left at all. That knot in his stomach becoming nothing more than loose tangles of rope, something easy to mend. Alex only trusts Bear to do that, to see him like that. To Bear, Alex isn't a problem to be fixed, despite how much the Little begs to be fixed like he is a problem.

Gently, Joe brushes through the tangled hair on the back of Alex's head. Undoing the little knots slowly, and taking apart the knots in his stomach at the same time. The repetitive touch leaves little for Alex to worry about, putting more and more trust into Bear's hands when he never does the hurtful things he expects to happen. No hand will tug at his hair, only softly comb through it.

Shuffling a little, Alex moves to lay in the hand holding his head ever so carefully. His face flushed red, tears dripping down his cheeks, his lips bitten and swollen. He looks so small staring up at Joe like that, gaze floating around his face through his teary eyes.

"Hey, sweet boy…" Joe mutters, planting a kiss on Alex's forehead. While holding him still, he thumbs over a patch of hair on the back of his head. The little movement keeps Alex just a little bit more present.

"Mh…" The Little blinks, tears dripping down his cheek. No more fill that space on his waterline, at least not until he yawns—even then, the tears don't replenish once they fall down his cheeks.

"I bet you're sleepy, hm?" Joe smiles down at him. The other hand supporting his back moves to wipe the tears away before going back to where it originally was, keeping Alex close and warm.

At the smallest noise of disagreement, Joe raises his eyebrows as if to question that until Alex looks at him with such sad eyes. Caulder stares up at him timidly, part of his lip bitten between his lips. Waves of emotion sit in his tired eyes, circling his irises. Ice cold fear settles strongly, seated above everything else, but the longer he looks, the more the smallest bit of warmth peeks through. Something aching to love and be loved.

"I can work with not sleepy." Bear decides, even with the amount of exhaustion seeping from Alex's boneless frame he's holding up. He's worked with it before, all those nights Alex refused to sleep so he could play a little longer. How much different could it be? Hopefully there will be less crying the rest of the night though.

Not sleepy is a strong couple of words for the Little blinking oh so tiredly up at Bear with a look the Caregiver grew familiar with a long time ago when it was a little girl looking up at him like that. The tiny smile Alex gives makes that feel a little more worth it, blue eyes peering up at him through mostly closed eyes.

"Are you hungry, baby?" The carer asks. He gently maneuvers Alex to be laying against his chest again, rubbing his back in fluid movements. The shirt being a little wet was an issue for later, when Alex is hopefully asleep without problems and he can change.

His cheek squishes against Bear's chest, squirming just a bit until it was actually comfortable. The question comes to him late, just as he settled into the crook of his neck. Now the question is; does he want to get up to eat, or stay here where he's already cozy? Neither option feel particularly nice when he realizes it's been almost a full fifteen hours since he's had proper food to eat.

"How about we get a little snack, and then we can pick more if you're still hungry, cub? How's that sound?" Joe leans his head against Alex's, both arms wrapping around him. A lot of the time, he's learned, the silence when he asks if Alex is hungry usually means yes, even if he doesn't know it yet.

That question feels a whole lot easier to answer than the first one. Lightly, Alex nods against Bear's chest. After everything tonight, he can't tell if the tummy ache is from all the crying or not eating. A snack couldn't hurt either way.

"Let's see what you've got then." Bear glances around at the bedding situation. With practiced ease, he tucks the blanket's loose fabric against Alex and puts an arm under his legs to scoop him up. It's almost dizzying how fast Bear moves to get footing on the floor while having to turn around with the bundle of Alex in his arms. Fortunately, he knows how this game is played, putting the Little down is like asking for more tears. He's attached, that's that.

Alex's eyes squeeze shut while he's being moved, hands pulled extra close to his chest until Bear gently bounces him with an over-exaggerated huff about rearranging Alex's weight in his arms. The sound makes the little one smile, even if it's just a little bit.

"Comfy?" The Caregiver prompts, getting Alex into a good position where he still had a hand available to open the fridge and grab things. Again, he presses a small kiss to Alex's head.

"Uh-huh," Alex cuddles into his chest, hands grabbing at the blanket to stay warm, "snack…" He then whispers, all stuffy after crying so much.

"Snack." Bear repeats, nodding firmly like he's taking an order. Maybe it is a bit of an order, considering the failure to actually get a snack may cause a few problems. None of which either of them are keen on happening.

While Joe carries Alex to the kitchen, the little one lets himself be rocked by the steady movement of Bear's steps. His blinks steadily get slower and slower in the single minute between the bedroom and kitchen, head sliding down a little bit from where he laid seconds ago.

The sound of the fridge opening immediately made him open his eyes again. Much like a puppy hearing a bag of treats. The sudden brightness hurt his eyes, but he still looks inside eagerly.

Next to a container of chopped veggies, there was a good selection of more treat-like snacks for Alex, bought mostly by Joe for when he's small and can't cook a full meal. Yogurts, pre-cut fruits, squeeze packs of apple sauce, little baggies of various meats and cheeses. And yet… Alex wiggles his arm out of the blanket to point to the tupperware of sliced bell peppers.

"Are you sure? No yogurt or your fruits?" Bear raises his brows, leaning down just enough to grab the clear container. He just manages to hide the wince as he has to hold Alex with one arm.

"Peppers." Alex huffs ever so slightly, as firm as he can be when he's puffing his cheeks out. That is more fitting for him, not tears, not wailing, the littlest actions like that are what Bear is usually greeted with at any frustration.

"Okay, okay, peppers then." He chuckles, closing the fridge with his hip as he turns around. Getting a good look at the container, there's far more than enough for a good snack. Given the relatively fresh cut stem of the peppers in the trash, Bear gets a little hint of what Alex was doing earlier before all of this.

Seemingly satisfied, Alex tucks his arm back into the blanket and lays his head back down for now. He looks around while Bear turns, as if he doesn't know the contents of his own house. Something about it just feels so different when it's not only him between these walls. It's warm, despite the lack of light.

"Couch or bed?" Bear pauses at the entrance of the hall, glancing either way while somehow balancing Alex in his arms without the Little doing any work to stay in his arms.

A moment of silence stretches on for upwards of a minute while Alex thinks. He bled on the bed, kicked all the covers off… But the couch is cozy too, when he wants it to be. As long as Mama was there, it would be.

"Couch." Alex hums.

"Are you gonna want TV while you eat?" He questions, bouncing Alex gently to relieve a little bit of weight for just a second.

The Little purses his lips, looking back and forth from the couch, to the hallway leading to the bedroom. TV and a snack sounds better than the quiet and a snack, but it's messy, he messed it up!

"Baby?"

"..Bed?" Alex says quietly, uncertain of his own choice.

Bear softly nods in response, holding Alex a little tighter as they go down the hallway. The sight of the bed, his own blood on the pillow, makes Alex hesitate, worries bubbling up in his chest. It's all easily fixable, but he doesn't want to have to deal with it at all.

"It's just some blankets and a pillow case, cub, Mama's got it, right?" Bear coos, bouncing Alex as he walks into the room. It is just bedding, but it doesn't feel like it's just bedding. He's adding tasks that Joe shouldn't have to do.

Still, Alex nods. His hands curl in the blanket, picking at the skin around his thumbs nervously.

"How about I get everything sorted, and you sit down for a minute and eat your snack? I won't leave the room, promise." Joe looks down at Alex in his arms, carefully setting down the container on the side table before adjusting the Little in his arms a bit.

Getting a nod in response to the question, Joe pulls back some of the covers and sits the little one down against the headboard. As soon as he does, he removes the bloodied pillow from the bed—really, he probably should get Alex to clean his face, but that is not a task he wants to venture right now—and tosses it to the side to clean later.

At first, Alex watches nervously, shoulders up to his ears, but as Bear starts to actually fix up the bed and get him cozy, while smiling at him throughout making the bed, he starts to relax more.

One blanket over the next, actually picking up the discarded ones and settling them into their own places the way he knows Alex likes. Everything has a place, even the blankets. To make up for the bloody pillow, Bear tosses up one of the decorative ones, and tonight, it doesn't feel like a big deal to use it.

"Cozy?" Joseph hums as he finally comes to fix the pillows and get Alex's arms fully out of the little wrap he put him in. He opens and sets the tupperware next to Alex once everything looks about right on the bed so the little one can finally eat his snack.

Settling into the pillows and the blankets, Alex hums his response, looking up at Bear. The blankets give a little bit of pressure like a weighted blanket, keeping him a little more comfortable. Even if it'll be warmer and Bear will probably only use the top blanket.

"Good." Joe smiles. Before crawling into bed with Alex, he tosses the second wet shirt of the night with the other clothes and snatches another one from the laundry. How many shirts has he left here before?

"Mama- TV!" Alex points at the previously discarded remote, a single slice of bell pepper in his hand as he makes his demands. Though, as Bear goes to change the channel, he complains again. "No, up!" Oh, the volume.

It's the same show Bear left on earlier, some guys building tree houses or fixing old ones. Alex watches it with unusual intensity as Bear slides into the bed with him. An arm goes to wrap around the little one as he leans into Joe.

"You like this show?"

After long consideration, Alex only shrugs and keeps watching. He pulls the container into his lap so he can eat his slices easier, messily holding them in a way Bear knows he'll have to find wet wipes somewhere to make all the stickiness go away. But, for now, it's all okay.

The little one keeps cuddling in closer until he's half laying on his Caregiver. His eyes fixed on the screen as he watches blueprints turn into real things and tours of the tree houses. It was supposed to be something mindless to have on in the background so it wasn't completely silent, and now Alex seems enthralled.

Though, all it takes is two episodes and about seven handfuls of bell pepper slices for Bear to feel Alex fall asleep on him.

"Goodnight, baby…" Joe whispers as he takes the container away, putting the lid on it before setting it aside. He lays down in bed a bit better, gently pulling his Little down to him. Rather than immediately going to put things away, or clean up Alex's hands, he waits to be sure the little one was completely asleep—he promised he wouldn't leave.

"Who's 'Mama', Alex?" - SIX (tv) Fic 1/2

With the bad ending on here, or good ending on AO3

CLASSIFICATION AU - AgeRe

Summary:

Alex doesn't know what to do with himself, he tossed his phone somewhere and all he can do is scramble to his keys and find a way to get somewhere safe--away from himself. He finds himself at Buddha's place, with his comfort item and barely enough willpower to stop himself from breaking right there. Being Little wasn't a gift, he was cursed with these emotions he can't handle when he drops so very far. Buddha needs to call someone quick before the Little in front of him shatters beyond the tears on his face. Who was it that Alex wanted again?

12.2k Words - AO3 for tags (there's a lot)

Begins below the cut - NOT beta read

[s2 between ep1 & 2]

He doesn't remember grabbing his keys, nor getting in and out of his car. Everything meshed together in a mix of panicked feelings and a lump in his throat. Caulder doesn't cry, he likes to tell himself that. It's a weakness, even when everything kept piling up and he couldn't keep that feeling away. There's no subtlety to the way fuzziness clouds his mind, no slow creeping in, no time to settle in, just suddenly there. Tears try to blur his vision despite his best efforts to keep it all away.

Whatever pills he swallowed down were only enough to get him somewhere safe enough to fall. His parking job didn't matter, he's just fucking lucky he's alive to have made it when he could barely see ahead of himself, let alone understand exactly what he was doing. Being on autopilot meant he at least knew where he was going in some capacity.

Buddha's place, the house he and his family ran to after Rip's shooting—after his Caregiver died—he's lucky he navigated all the way there at all. It's closer than their old place was, and much closer than anyone else's. Being close to the water meant being far from the rest of his team, and usually he wouldn't trade the sounds of the ocean for a warm place to fall, but he would now. Anywhere was better than alone.

His fist doesn't even have to hit the door for there to be someone peeking through the peephole. The smallest bit of light from the interior shines a circular dot on his cheek, narrowly missing his eye. He winces all the same, other hand tightening around the small items in his hand. Car keys, wallet, and the tail of a small lovie. Something old with it's age showing on the fluff, yet he clutches it in his hand all the same.

He's delicate like this, something in need of protection and warmth. Caulder's hands never reach out first, and the fact that he's shown up here, of all places, is enough to confuse the household he stumbled to. Shuffling and whispered yells come from inside, until the door clicks unlocked and opens in front of him. Warm light floods his vision, contrasting the dark skies above him.

Little.

It's a curse and a blessing.

Gentle hands pull him from the chill of the outdoors. Trembling shoulders coated in warmth as a blanket comes in contact with his cold frame. He hadn't been standing out there that long, had he? How long had that drive actually taken? Did he go the correct route? Was it the chills, or fear that made him shake in such a way?

The house feels like safe, despite the uneasy atmosphere of a surprise guest. Moving parts all around him that his brain can't process as fast like he needs it to. He's stuck, frozen as everything moves around him.

"Buddha..." Alex attempts, tongue heavy in his mouth the more he tries to get his words out properly. The items in his hands almost drop from his hands as his grip falters. His head says safe, while his stomach tightens another knot.

"Alex..?" He wants to call the immediate help just the instincts of a Caregiver, but he can't exactly when it's three sets of hands are helping him to the couch. Jackie, Ricky, and Anabel. Their daughter had to have been the one to open the door—it's not like he can remember everything passed the growing fuzziness in his head. Illegal pills can't push the small away.

It could be written off so easily as him drinking a little too much, if Ricky's chest didn't tighten with the sight of Alex crumbling. He's too goddamn small for the age range he knows is on his files, four to six… They can hope he's just on the smaller side for now.

Getting Alex to the couch is a lost thought the second he falls into Buddha's arms. Getting a closer look at him, dark eyebags show themselves better in the light, bitten lips swollen with small traces of blood in the chapped skin. Something was wrong, something Ricky can't fix the way Alex needs. What he can do, though, is hold him tightly in his arms while he sways, just the same way he did with both of his kids. Rocking them until they settled.

Alex doesn't settle. His arms may wrap around Ortiz, and he may let himself lay against him, but he never settles. Constantly shifting his weight while he tugs and tugs at the fabric on Ricky's shirt once he got a decent grip. The items in his hand get clutched tighter in favor of holding the small plush, for the smallest bit of familiarity... The sniffling could be chalked up to him being sick, but the small wet spots growing on his shirt, under Alex's eyes says otherwise.

Being classified a Caregiver didn't mean they all knew how to help, just to make it bearable 'till it would be okay.

"You're alright, 's okay… Shh, shh…" Buddha whispers as he threads his hand through the hair at the back of Alex's head. Gentle, slow, avoiding any knots in the Little's hair. He only stills as he finally cups the back of Caulder's head. That small bit of comfort almost breaks the rest of any resolve he may have had.

Alex doesn't cry, until he's too damn small to stop it.

Ortiz never falters in the position Alex put him in, on purpose or not. That much didn't matter. What does, is that he's not alone.. that someone is holding him. Right now, it doesn't matter if they have space for him to sleep overnight or not. They can make it all seem okay, that's what they do. As Anabel backs into her room, and it's just him, Ricky and Jackie, it feels a lot more heavy.

Everything gets more heavy, and he can't stop the weak cries into his teammate's shoulder. Being small isn't something to be ashamed of, they can all agree on that in their own ways. Although, Alex will always say it's fine for anyone else, just not him. It's never been a thing he's spoken about, or shown, for christ's sake. There's a reason for that.

A situation like this shouldn't happen. Not on the military grade suppressants the Littles in their unit are on. They all have their times to get off the medication, but this was not Alex's. He wasn't due for that until the next week. He knew that. Situations like this are exactly why he keeps a baggie of pills in his bathroom cabinet. It was supposed to be okay, then the suppressants he'd been given weren't enough and back alley pills were all he could afford to get. No one would give him anything stronger than the military, it was a last resort to keep him on his feet.

He wasn't supposed to drop.

But the times he did, in a safe environment after being given the medication to regress the proper way, there's only one person Alex ever wanted to be there; Bear. Trusting the team was easy, all Alex had known for years was the team. The hard part of that was the vulnerability he did his damned best to hide. From wounds, to his classification as a Little. One person he trusted with himself in that state was Bear—it's a heavy weight to carry.

He needed Bear, but all he managed to do was get to the second best place. There's no extra bed for him to crash in, no space for him in a full house. All he needed was somewhere safe, somewhere to fall into that wouldn't break him upon impact. He won't gather scrapes and scars if he's treated with the warmth that Ricky supplies. He trusts him, as a man in his team, as a friend, a place to land when there isn't anywhere else. Just not a Caregiver.

It's a difficult wound to soothe, one Alex hasn't quite figured out. His one option had been Bear, after Rip was no longer there to care for him. For Graves, without much left of a family, he was there around the clock if Alex ever needed him. It didn't take long for him to be his first call or text at any sign of something going wrong. Sometimes it was just to chat, those times calmed him better than anything could. Once, it was the rush of waves against sand that lulled him to sleep, now, it's Bear's voice through the phone.

Never once did they discuss anything of the sort. No Caregiver and Little agreement, nothing written and signed the way it should have been. It was supposed to be a temporary agreement, Alex would come to him with the medication to help him regress, and Joe would have a Little attached to his hip the rest of the day, if not longer. They both slipped into their roles as if it was the easiest thing in the world, the way it was supposed to be. It happened slowly. A call here and there, messages randomly throughout the day… They bonded without realizing a single thing was different.

In his mind, few things changed. Like kids, most Littles have names for their Caregivers, something simplified that they could easily call for, something that brought a sense of calm. Mom, dad, baba, papa… Whatever it may be. Alex's mind associated Bear with one much faster than he did with Rip. Both mom and dad carried a certain heaviness in his heart, but for Bear… 'Mama' fits just right. The name he calls for in the silence of his room, when it is truly just him. No Caregiver around, no Bear, no Buddha, no one else. The title sits on the tip of his tongue, bitten in an effort to not call for someone he can't guarantee will come.

Alex doesn't know the words that slip from his lips at Ricky's gentle touch once his teeth release his tongue, warm hands rubbing circles into his back until Alex's breathing matched the up and down motions. Something babbled beyond comprehension spills from his tightening throat. The right sounds for the words he's searching for don't come to him the way he needs. Being small in such a way terrified him, he can't keep a solid hold on a single thought before it dissipates. His hands clench on the fabric of Buddha's shirt.

"Who do you need, kid? Who can I call?"

If he calls in the middle of the night, will it cause problems? Or would the Caregiver he needs pick him up and make it better? Does he get to be better? After every argument he sparked for no other reason than to fill the silence, he can only hope he deserves better than the cold his previous Caregiver may have left him in. It depended on the number of drinks he had hours before, whether Alex would get to go home to a safe place. Bear isn't like Rip, not like that.

The title of 'mama' falls from his lips faster than he can think to stop himself. The word muffles against Ricky's chest where his face is pressed, was he loud enough to speak past his own weak cries? Alex's phone was left the last place he put it, maybe his bedside? The counter? It's not in his hands or pockets… He can't just call, or he would've before he even got in the car and risked not only his life, but others', just to be somewhere safe.

"Who's 'mama', hm?" There's a beat of silence between responses. The Little can feel the way Ricky shifts on his feet, tongue clicking in thought. Uncertainty on his face as Alex peers up at him, just enough to see his face. "Is it Bear, Alex? You want me to call Bear?" Please.

Tears sparkle in his eyelashes, blinking away the droplets. A trembling lip pulls into his mouth, worried between his teeth. Alex nods, short and hesitant, like he fears the brown eyes looking back at him will burn him. There's not a thing in his mind that's concrete right now. He can know he's safe, he can know nothing bad will happen to him, but it doesn't take the fear away. This situation was never supposed to happen. He shouldn't need the shoulder to lean on, or the coddling, but he does. And, god, he needs his Caregiver more than anything in this moment.

"I got it… Just let it out, huh? Just a minute..." Ortiz hesitates to pull his hand from where it rests on the back of Alex's head, carding back through his hair once before it leaves him completely. He still holds him, one arm wrapped around him to keep him steady amidst the Little's trembling. The comfort eases his tensed shoulders, pulling them down slowly until they no longer cramp where they were raised to his ears.

Caulder presses his face firmly back to the tear dampened spot on Buddha's shirt. His own shuddering breath fills the space, with the quiet tapping Ricky's fingertips against the phone screen. Is it too late? What if there's no answer?

The phone rings once, twice, then three times before a click.

"Buddha, if you woke me up for bullshit again…" Comes the exhausted voice through the phone. Relief immediately floods through the Little's body, his head sagging forward to press his entire weight on Ricky. It's okay. It'll be okay now. Bear is right there, he'll know, he has to.

"Alex needs you." Simple, quick to the point.

"Is he with you?" Any sleepiness strips from the team leader as blankets audibly shuffle. Graves clears his throat, hands barely holding the phone while he moves as quickly as he can. Every brush of fabric and movement near the microphone comes through as ruffling to their end of the call.

"Got 'im right here… My house, door's unlocked." Ricky calmly speaks. The last thing everyone needs is everyone high on nerves. He's been there before, albeit briefly, when Alex was waiting for someone to pick him up. Not to mention the courses they take just to keep someone—specifically a Little—calm in any situation.

"Bear…" Alex's small voice calls to the phone, blue eyes blinking up to the bright screen. He's not far, Alex needs to believe that, at least. It's scary to be small and confused, no matter how old his age range might be… Wanting someone close was second nature to him, after hitting everyone away had failed. There was no one to hold him when he was small before, is it so wrong to not want to be let go of again? Is it wrong to not want to be alone? There hadn't been a real mom or a present dad for him when he actually was a kid, he needs that closeness now, when everything still feels like it will crumble at any second.

"Put him on the phone, Buddha, now." He just barely hears his Caregiver say into the phone, alongside the sound of elevator buttons. There's no hesitation to Ricky pressing the phone to Alex's ear, he holds him all the same. That's all that Buddha can do. He's not the boy's carer, he is simply all he has for now.

The smallest whimper comes from Alex's trembling lips as the cool glass of the screen comes in contact with his skin. All of the items in his hands clatter to the floor, car keys falling somewhere he can't be bothered to look. That's not the thought in his mind, just holding the tail of his little plushie and hearing Mama's voice.

"Alex? 'm on the way, okay? Ten minutes, I promise." The drive is at least twenty, Alex just doesn't have to know that right now… Nothing stops a Caregiver from getting to their Little one, it didn't matter the distance. They've all seem the lengths they go, just for family. This is no different. A Caregiver getting to their Little in a rush, despite every law in the way.

Alex nods shallowly as he sniffles, nose crinkling with the effort. His shaking hand clutches the plush tighter. Mama will be there. He has to.

"Okay, stay with Buddha, he keeps you safe, remember?" Bear speaks to him the same way he saw him talk to his daughter, not even one and getting into baby fights with her dad about the silliest things. Alex remembers seeing it. Hell, he remembers feeling the fuzziness try to creep in even then. He had cuddled up with his stuffed animals that night (despite having tucked them away the day before), safe and sound.

Does he get to be safe and sound tonight, too?

"Uh-huh…" Caulder mutters into the mic, cheek squished against Ricky's chest.

"That's it. Wait for me, I'll knock when I get there." Joe promises him again before the phone clicks off and that deep, unsettling feeling makes it's home back in Alex's stomach. He'll be there, he has to come. Bear won't leave him like this will he? Like Rip had?

Even with the unease, Alex shifts to loosen his grip and look up through his wet eyelashes. Deep breaths don't do anything when his chest tightens more and more. All he can do is wait. Why does he always have to wait? When is it his turn to have the gentle things he needs?

"He's on the way…" Buddha whispers to him, phone tucked away and the kind hand threading back through his hair. Slowly, with every ounce of care Alex has seen him use with his own kids, Buddha finds a way to move the both of them without startling the growing anxiety in Alex's head. Steady movements until they've back up enough to feel the couch, it only takes a moment to coax the Little down next to him… A warm blanket can work wonders for someone so small.

Ten minutes feel like ten hours to both scared kids, and scared Littles. The silence breaks every so often for Alex to quietly ask if Bear really is coming, and although Buddha may not know who's cared for Alex before, he gets the idea that he was left so, so alone. The Little's hand holds onto the warm blanket around his shoulders like it could be ripped away without a moments notice, while the other finds a better grip on his small plushie.

A warm arm tucks around him, pressing away any space in the blanket where cold air can slip in, then simply holds Alex close. Low, steady humming coaxes his mind to settle to where he is now, somewhere warm while he waits for his Caregiver to knock. Buddha's always been good at that, redirecting someone with the smallest things if he so much as notices something is off. It's easy when he's done it so many times, it usually (if not always) pulls the Little back to where he's supposed to be.

"Why don't you tell me who your friend is?" Buddha prompts with a gentle tug to the stuffed animal Alex is yet to loosen his grip on. At the prompting alone, he squeezes the soft toy protectively. He won't take it, Alex knows that, but it doesn't take the fear out of his mind. It goes back longer than he can remember, only the feeling and tiny glimpses remain. Something was taken from him, things were snatched but he can't remember what. He doesn't want to remember whatever gave him that gut wrenching feeling.

"Lovie…" Alex answers with a quivering lip. There's no name for the ragged comfort item, he never found one he thought was good enough for it. The brown fabric folds in his hand where he squeezes it. In the limited light of the living room, the little ears and nose on the head of the plush make it clear what it's meant to be. A little bear lovie, worn and loved well, with "A. C." written on the white tag at the bottom seam in a certain teammate's hand writing.. Bear's.

The quiet conversation hooks his attention. For the time being, his strained breathing eases and he listens to his temporary 'baby sitter' talk and ask questions that are easy on his regressed mind. Yes or no questions, things about his lovie… Buddha is kind to him, it's in a Caregiver's blood to be, but that doesn't mean Alex always got that kindness before. The ache in his tummy slowly untangles, the tears on his face begin to dry with the help of Ricky gently wiping them away with a tissue from a box by the couch.

It's not so scary anymore. Buddha gets him to settle just enough to where Alex is laying his head on his chest when that knock at the door happens. Unlike usual, the Little stays put and waits to see his Caregiver look into the room. His blanket is tucked around him too well, it's too warm to leave, and Ricky never nudges him to go. He just started feeling safe again, and god forbid Bear get angry with him for needing him.

"Over here, Bear." Buddha calls, an arm snugly around the Little who's almost half in his lap. He only ever shifted to accommodate however Alex wanted to sit.

"Oh, Alex…" The sigh of relief fills the room, the worried crease in Bear's brow eases as he looks down at the Little huddled up in his teammates arms. "You got me worried… Why didn't you call me?" Joe asks. His knees pop when he crouches down to look at Alex at eye level.

"He didn't have his phone when he showed up..." Ricky interjects, his arm loosening around him to let Alex move freely.

All Alex does is shift ever so slightly and blink up at Bear. His trembling hand pulls his lovie into his blanket, holding the small thing close to his chest. Like when he first entered the house, he hesitates looks at the man in front of him. Caregiver or not, his heart squeezes in his chest and chills spread down his arms. He only glances up at Bear, breaths coming out as shudders and minuscule flinches.

"He called you 'mama', Bear…" Buddha's voice is quiet as if the Little can't hear when he speaks under his breath.

"What?" Graves' eyes jump between Alex and Ricky. "He called me 'mama'? Are you sure? He said that?" The tone makes his stomach flip, whether it be confusion and concern, or anger, Alex's mind can't decipher the difference.

That earns a fearful wince from Caulder, pulling in on himself further and further until his head is away from Buddha and he's clutching the blanket like he's trying to hide. It should be impossible for a man his size to look so fucking small. His breath catches in his throat.

Is Bear angry? Was he right to anticipate that? It's too late anyway, there's no way for him to get out of this. No regression suppressants to take and make this all go away, he took too many pills once and barely felt aware and alive for days after, he can only guess overdosing on suppressants would feel worse. At least with oxy, there was a high. Short lived or not.

All he can see are lips moving and muffled sounds the more he tucks himself into the blanket. His own heart beats rapidly in his ears like a warning alarm. One more wrong move and he'd get hurt. For all he knows, he'd be left alone somewhere, all over again. There wouldn't be anyone to crawl to anymore, it would be his last strike. Just one more and he'd fail, they'd send him home and leave him there to rot. All because he misstepped, again.

He's done it before. One wrong thing said or done and no one was there to pick him back up. He was left alone, somewhere he just had to wait for someone to come find him. Bad behavior was harshly punishable, he learned that fast enough as a kid, then again when he thought he got to be safe. If it was on purpose or not, he was still left alone at a restaurant where his past Caregiver was supposed to be taking care of him. Where Rip was supposed to be taken care of him.

Alex never blamed the booze, not even when there were four bottles at the table… It was always his own fault. Why wouldn't it be? It was his fault when he was a kid, waiting for his drunken mother to pick him up from school. She made sure he knew it was his fault. For what? He never asked, he didn't need to.

Is it still his fault now?

He dips his head into the fluff of the blanket, hiding from every look he might get. The tears sit in his eyes, daring to wet the blanket where his head rested face down. Will he get to go somewhere safe, or is this his last misstep before he's kicked to the porch? Fear and guilt burns in his veins, coursing through him like flowing water. Not the calm of waves, but rushing rivers and waterfalls. The weak pain of it makes him drop the lovie from his chest, into his lap in the blanket.

What he's expecting never comes. There's nothing to brace for.

Instead, gentle arms lift him from the couch. Slow and steady. Alex doesn't hear the little grunt that came with the effort of lifting him, but he feels it in Bear's chest where his head is gently pressed. One arm wraps around him and supports him while the other settles him in the Caregiver's arms. Even with the hefty blanket covering him, Bear moves him with expertise only he's gained.

The rumbles of Joe's chest acts like the quiet humming. Words indistinguishable, yet, Alex can both feel and hear the familiar sound that's calmed him so many times before. Bear is right there, holding him with delicate touch. He's breakable, a fragile thing that has broken chips throughout it's frame, daring to break at every wrong move.

Caulder doesn't cry often, but every time he does, it's like a stab to the Caregivers' hearts when they hear the stifled cries. To Buddha, to Bear, tears meant it was serious to Alex. Even in his regressed state, it says something is wrong. Deeply so. It didn't matter if it was from external factors or his own mind going haywire. Something is wrong.

Gently, Bear sways with the Little in his arms, fully supporting him now that Alex settled just enough to not worry about him falling. Their training grants the ability to pick up the men they need to carry from the field, but the rush of adrenaline with a Little in distress, it eases the strain for a short while.

As the pulsing in his ears calms, gentle voices come back to him, rather than just the rumbling in Bear's chest where his ears is pressed to it. His side presses flush against the Caregiver's front, blanket wrapped around him carefully without once moving it into an uncomfortable position. It's warm, but Alex doesn't peek his head out of the blanket to look up at his carer.

With the same soft touch, Joe subtly adjusts Alex in his arms until he can tuck back the blanket just enough to see the Little's face. Tear streaked and red with the effort of not crying aloud. The Little can't meet his eyes, he can only watch Bear's lips as he quietly talks to him.

"'s okay, 'm here now, yeah?" Despite his hesitant look, he continues, "Mama's here." Graves' blue eyes stare down at him, small crows feet on the surrounding skin. He smiles, the smallest quirk of his lips.

Alex's gaze shifts from his carer's lips, to his eyes, back and forth from them over and over until he finally lets out the smallest cry. More than a whimper than anything else. Bear isn't mad. His hand searches the blankets until he finds a place to reach out of, the shaking hand latches to Bear's shirt.

"See? Right here, I said I'd be here." Bear mutters to him. He brings Alex a little closer with the arm tucked under his head and places a light kiss to the top of his head, in the same way he would always do for his little girl when she cried for someone too. He still slowly sways with him in his arms, never caring for the pain in his feet that would surely make itself apparent later.

Tears pool in the Little's eyes all over again, soaking a little spot of the fabric where Bear gently pressed him against himself. Every blink, more tears roll down the sides of his cheeks, wetting his hair in this position. Alex worries his lip between his teeth as he stares up at Joe, adams apple bobbing every time he chokes back a sob.

"I know…" Bear coos against his hair, messy and uncared for with the time between proper washes that Alex couldn't get to himself with such a clouded mind. He blamed it on brain fog at first, because he was supposed to drop, and then he did and he couldn't bring himself to do even the most basic self care tasks, not even the ones he prided himself on doing every day. It all fell away in the face of being so little.

The Little tugs weakly at Bear's shirt the same way he tugged at Buddha's, impatient and rushed, as if something could take him away. He's safe now, right here, in his Caregiver's arms. It's supposed to feel safe. But instead, all he feels is anxiety in his veins, burning him like fire, weakening his grip on everything, in his mind and physically in front of him.

"I'm right here." Is all Graves can say. What else is there to do but be there, when Alex can barely arrange his thoughts enough to let himself cry? He'll be there however long his boy needs, he's always been there. In Rip's absence, he was the only one that picked him up and made sure he was safe. He'll do it all over again, Alex has heard him say it, but something always screams that he will never be worth that much.

He presses his face firmly against the Caregiver's shirt, pulling himself just enough out of the blanket to feel the soft fabric of his shirt and be enveloped completely by Mama. His heart squeezes in his chest as he tries to pull in strained breaths. Crying hurts his throat, it makes his head throb, he doesn't want to cry, he doesn't want to sob, but it builds in his chest more and more.

"Let it out, bud… Not goin' anywhere." Bear promises him, his own voice shaking slightly at the sight in front of him. He bounces Alex ever so slightly, until he can get the little one into an actually comfortable position that's a little more upright, an arm under his thighs to support him. He won't let go.

It seems all he needed was the permission, as if someone told him he wasn't allowed to cry. Alex melts against Bear as he swallows a breath he promptly lets out in a near-silent sob. He nuzzles his face into the fabric as much as he can, stifling his sobs with his lip bitten between his teeth. He can't be loud, it was pressed into him since the time he was barely toddling around on his own two feet.

Loud meant he'd get in trouble, and that meant there would be a punishment he can still barely wrap his head around even decades later. The nonexistent threat still burrows deep in his brain, even if he knows no one will lay their hands on him for needing them. Not these days, they won't. He's lucky that it's a reportable offense, no one lays their hands on Littles when they're so goddamn small. Though, he didn't get that luck as a child, or even as an adult behind closed doors when it came to the simplest mistakes.

"I know, I know…" The Caregiver mutters as Alex's silent sobs turned into heaving breaths and loud cries far too familiar to wailing. It ignites a certain fire in Caregiver's, the need to fix whatever is broken and make it all better burns brighter with every cry, even if the source of the distress is nowhere to be found. Bear holds him closely, a hand coming to cup the back of Alex's head while the other keeps him up in his arms when Alex can't wrap his legs around him like usual.

Everything is scary for reasons Alex can't point out. Piling up and up until he can't remember the reason he drove here in the first place. It's weakness, he knows it is. His head spins and throbs and everything just gets so much bigger in front of him. No matter how tall he is, everything seems to tower over him and he can't do so much at pick up his head to face his Caregiver.

How long have all these things just kept piling and piling? Was it his head? The agony of every attack, every migraine? That's what they are, right? Every time he's doubled over in pain and wailed for help he wouldn't get? How long has it been since he dared to say he needed help? Before the TBI, before everything slapped him in the face? His head is too fuzzy and clouded to make a guess on whatever the reason he so frantically needed his Caregiver. It wasn't like he could just ask. There's a time and place to be so very Little, and this wasn't it. Why had he needed him in the first place? How much time is he wasting by simply being small?

Thirty years of life drilled into him that small meant bad. Any weakness, any drop, any fear meant he wasn't man enough. He wasn't something worth keeping when any look at his vulnerability said he could never be able to work the job he wanted. There could never be a place he would be useful or wanted. That was until Rip brought him under his wing and made him a core part of his team. No amount of drunken nights, fresh bruises, and nights of going to bed with an empty stomach while so small, could make Alex hate him. It reinforced his fears, his knowledge of how bad he was for being Little, but that was his superior, the only man who wanted to help him when he was shunned from any other position.

There's nothing he can do but cry, in one of the few spaces where his aches wouldn't earn another wound. Bear's shirt muffles his cries as much as a thin piece of fabric can, soaking up every tear, every little bit of snot and spit from the Little's open-mouthed sobs. Never once does Bear pull back for anymore than to make Alex take a full breath from where his face is tucked against his chest. The pained sounds Alex makes drives a knife through Bear's chest, or maybe the way he quiets to sniffles hurts more.

"What's got you worked up, bud? 'm right here, Mama's here, huh?" Graves softly speaks to him, with a gentle bounce to shift Alex into a more comfortable position. He leans down and gently places another kiss on Alex's head. Every use of the title Alex gave him loosens the Little's tense shoulders, one word at a time.

Alex doesn't have the ability to properly put it all together, nor the capacity to understand why everything was so scary. Bear knowing he thought of him as Mama was the last block on the trembling tower of fear, of every little problem he might've had over the last few weeks. The shame aches in his chest. He may be used to doing things wrong, but the reaction to it always hurt the most. Or, the reaction he imagined he'd get was always the worst. It rarely happened, there hadn't been a cruel hand the moment he stopped running Rip and went to Bear instead. No sharp tongue, or bruising grasp while he's scolded for every little thing under the sun.

His flushed, damp face peers up at the Caregiver, blue eyes sparkling with unshed tears. Caulder swallows around the lump in his throat, bringing in a shuddering breath. "'m tired…" Is all he chokes out, before the tears begin to flow again, barely able to do that much before he presses his face back into Bear's shirt. His shoulders shake with aggressive sobs.

What other way can he describe the immeasurable about of pressure on his body? Weighing down every part of him and pulling him further down, and down… Making him smaller and smaller, without a single reason why. His body shouldn't be doing this, he should be asleep right now, or doing anything else. Yet, he's sobbing in his Caregiver's arms because everything is so much. There's too many problems he can't name, problems with no solution, while everything keeps crumbling around him.

"Oh, baby…" Bear breathes out, the hand on the back of Alex's head moves to rub his back in slow circles. He sways with him slowly, watching as Alex painfully hiccups along with his sobs. There's nothing he can do, Alex knows that. This is a him problem, all of it is. The headaches, the unprompted drops, the pains, the exhaustion, the guilt for just existing. It's all him, things he can't say.

The room around them is silent, just him and Bear, standing in Buddha's living room while thing seem to just get worse and worse in Alex's head for no reason except he's scared. Is he scared of things he can't see, the same way he cried about the monsters in his closet? Or is it the real possibilities of getting hurt that he shouldn't have to be worried about while he's so damn small?

No Little should have to worry about what he does. No one should have to wake up wondering if they'd make it through the day, or die because of the ticking time bomb in their head… And yet, Alex does, without telling anyone. On top of the job, on top of being a father himself, with child support bills he's barely managing over the need for illegal suppressants to just stay aware. On top of everything, he's too goddamn small. He can't drop the weights he's carrying, so he sinks with them as they pull him further down.

"Mama…" Alex's voice cracks as he weakly calls out.

And for the first time, there's someone to respond with the delicate dare he needs. Alex never tends to cry for someone who's right in front of him, he'll bite his lip and hush until it's a 'good time' to bother his Caregiver. Breaking that habit is rough, and beyond the pure agony of the headaches, he's never called for someone like that, with desperation clear in his shaking voice. He drops old enough that he should be able to articulate whatever he needs, he knows that, but he needs Bear now.

He needs his Caregiver, and Bear simply holds him closer. He's there for him, in ways no one else had been. Even in ways Caulder knows he doesn't deserve.

"I got you, see?" Joe tilts up Alex's face ever so slightly, brows raised as he carefully studies every feature on his face, watching every tear drop when Alex blinks. His gaze bounces from each teary eye, the little one's lashes wet with what seems like hours of crying.

Fearfully, his blue eyes meet Bear's for the first time that night. The Little chews at his swollen lip, barely sucking in breaths when he sniffles. His chest tightens the more he watches Graves in the brief silence.

"I'm not leaving, you got that?" He softly mutters, gently pressing their foreheads together. "I'm here as long as you want me to be…" The hand on Alex's chin moves to cup his cheek instead, despite the clear ache in his arm the longer he supports Alex with just that arm.

Caulder's eyes close as Bear presses closer. He lets go of his lip, bitten red and raw, to take a shuddering breath. Graves won't leave, no matter how much he says he's right there, the Little worries if it might be the last time he ever is. Not just because he worries Bear would leave, but because Alex would, by his own choice or not. There's too much weight on his chest, too many problems stuck in his head, including what could kill him, god forbid he do so much as hit his head.

"'s you 'n' me, Alex. I'll always be there, you just call me. Night or day." The Caregiver promises, his thumb brushing away the tears dripping down Alex's cheek. "Hear me?" He sways slowly with Alex in his arms, doing his best to soothe the pain that would come with being on his feet with over two-hundred pounds on his front.

"Uh-huh…" He whispers, eyebrows pinched at the center. Every worry in his head spinning with reminders that things are still so wrong, no amount of comfort can fix this. It can't fix him. He wants Bear to be right, it's the two of them now. There's no one else to ice his wounds, no one else to pick him up and make it better.

"Do you wanna go home?" Bear asks him softly, pulling his head back slowly to look down at him properly. There wasn't a real home for Joe to go back to, nor was his house ever what Alex had preferred.

After the first night he heard Lena whisper-yelling at Bear through the door about how they couldn't keep him here, as if he was some kind of animal, Alex didn't come back. She might not be there now, but Alex won't sleep a wink in that house regardless. They always go Alex's place now, somewhere that was solely his space. Everything was as it should be. That's home, even if being alone makes him sick to his stomach some nights.

The little one responds with the same quiet 'uh-huh' as he did moments ago. He leans into the hand holding his face so gently, blinking up at Bear while he attempts to ease the cries that want to come out. His chest heaves with the effort of simple breaths, rather than pained cries. He wants to go home, not stand here anymore. The tears can wait until he's safe in his own bed, with his Caregiver, in his own place.

"I don't think Buddha will mind if we take his blanket, huh? 'm sure he's got plenty…" Joe grins at him, eyes crinkling at the corners.

It earns him the smallest laugh, rough around the edges and weak, but it's better than the borderline wails the Little made earlier. Anything is better than that heartbreaking sound.

"There's my boy." Joe's eyes soften further at the sight of the small smile at the corner of Alex's lips. He places another gentle kiss to his forehead with an overdramatic 'mwah' when he removes his hand from his cheek, anything to keep Alex's mind off everything else. It all stays there, heavy on his shoulders, but there's someone keeping him afloat and breathing. That's all he could ever ask for.

Slowly, Bear carries Alex just a few feet to the side before Alex sharply inhales, all of the Caregiver's attention quickly put on him, mouth open to speak when Caulder beats him to saying anything, eyes wide where they look down, then back up. Tears sit on his lashes, pooling on his waterline.

"Mama..?" The little one mutters, blue eyes look up at him again. Every time one drips down his face, Bear swipes it away. The calluses on his hands feel more welcoming than the soft touch of any medical professional that treated him while small, this is familiar, it's safe. It's Mama. It's Mama, but they can't go home yet because something is missing.

"Hm?" Bear prompts, his swaying faster in worry, watching the way Alex's eyes timidly flicker between his eyes the blanket, unable to keep eye contact the way he's been told he should be able to.

"Lovie…" His lip quivers, voice strained. In the blanket, his hands quickly try to find the plushie. The tears heneeds to go away keep resurfacing with the realization that he can't find the lovie he came here with. It's dark in the blanket, and Alex let his plush stay in the dark before realizing it was gone.

"We'll find 'em, okay? Can you tell me where lovie was when I got here?" Bear steadily asks, keeping a level head since Alex certainly couldn't do that like this.

"The b'anket..!" Alex's voice is more like a weak squeak than anything close to his typical tone. Desperation lines his words, everything blurring together again as he tries to find the lovie anywhere in his blanket. It should be here, it was there when Mama picked him up.

"Buddy," Bear begins, moving Alex just enough to loosen the blanket so they can find the missing plushie, "Lovie's gonna be in here, I promise. Can I look first?" His hand tugs a little at the blanket. There's no chance of getting Alex out of the blanket now, they both know he won't let Bear unravel him from the warmth he craves.

Despite Alex's worry, he pulls his hands up to his chest, nervously balled into fists. He nods slowly, watching as Bear moves to check the blanket. Using a careful hand, he checks around all the folds of the blanket. The Caregiver props Alex up with his leg so he can properly check the fluffy fabric for the little stuffed animal Alex needs before they can get any further. The keys on the floor didn't matter, the lovie did.

Like the games Bear played with his daughter, once his hand found the plush, he carefully pulled it from where it bunched up in the blanket with a gasp and smile.

"Lovie!" Bear exclaims, showing the plush safe and sound. The tiny recoil after the action goes unnoticed by Alex.

It's worth the moment of cringe when the Little smiles and quickly grabs it. He may regress a little older, but something about being treated like he really was small helped ease away the adult issues that burned into his head.

"We got this, huh? Lovie didn't disappear." Joe says as he settles Alex back into a good position to carry him. He adds a soft bounce to the movement.

Alex nods softly, staring at the little plush in his hands. His thumbs brush over the silky fabric on the borders of the lovie. For now, that little item is all that matters. He thought he lost it like he thought was going to lose his Caregiver over the title his mind associated with safe. Yet, he has both right here. With Bear gladly calling himself 'mama'—even with the hesitance Alex saw—and the plushie safe in his hands.

"Exactly." Bear hums, glancing around the house. Alex's own car keys remain on the floor as they step out of the door that Bear accidentally left slightly open when he entered. They don't matter now, Joe doesn't even note them before they leave. It's just Alex on his mind.

The quiet sounds of the night settle Alex on the short walk to the car. The gentle bounce of Bear's steps, the crickets, low hum of air conditioners in the cramped neighborhood, and familiar traffic, ease him. Like the white noise machine Alex recently bought, it quiets the shouting in his head. Maybe that was Bear's doing mostly, with Alex's head leaned gently onto the Caregiver's chest above his heart. Often, he sleeps just like that. Background noise than the steady, familiar heartbeat keeping him cradled in safety.

Alex only notices they made it to Bear's truck when the door opens and he's hoisted into the passenger seat. Rather than panicking, he just looks at his Caregiver with sad eyes the entire time he's being buckled in and tucked in. The comfort slowly goes away in the chill of the car, only the blanket there to keep him warm. One hand clutches it, while the other holds the lovie closer to him.

His eyes follow Bear the entire time, tracking him while he simply rounds the vehicle to enter on the other side. He knows he won't be left here, but it doesn't stop the thought. It certainly doesn't stop his chest from tightening either. Mama said it was just the two of them, that it would be okay. He has to believe it, what other option is there?

"Good boy." Bear grins at him, a hand reaching to ruffle the Little's hair. "Home now?" The car hums to life as the key twists in the ignition.

A few strands of hair fall into Alex's face when he nods. The sad, timid look never leaves his features. Painted in his gentle eyes, resting over his creased brow, bitten onto his bottom lip. He rocks slightly where he sits, unable to tear his gaze away from his Caregiver. If he looks away, will Bear's kind eyes turn to anger? Is the gentleness a lie, something to be thrown away once it's truly the two of them?

He can't take the words at face value, when a hand that had been kind to him once, turned into the one Alex was scared to reach for. It always turned out that way for him, no one to call, alone somewhere he can't pick himself up.

Then, Rip did it. The man Alex quite literally gave his body and soul to protect, left him. Being a SEAL only means so much when there's so much fuzz in his head, and fear in his veins. They had an agreement, signed papers and all, that Rip excused in preference of drinking until he couldn't stand—Alex wished he didn't understand the burden he was putting on his Caregiver. His mother was right, he would always cause problems.

His mother did it, leaving him places just so she could get away from how 'needy' he was, as a child. Defenseless and confused. Alone. He always got an earful after he was picked up, or a cop found him wandering alone. Simply existing meant he was the problem child.

Even with Bear, who continuously promised he would stay, Alex heard his and Lena's conversations behind the door. He wasn't wanted there either, she never wanted him there. No matter how many times Bear had quietly told her that he needed someone, Lena said to find a different place, as if Alex was a stray dog that could be just taken somewhere else. He can still hear the quiver in Bear's voice when Lena accused him of trying to replace their daughter…

Usually on car rides, no matter the hour or how poor the day was, Alex would talk and talk about nothing in particular. Whatever came to him next, it never had to make sense. Tonight, he silently leans his head on the window. No words sit on his tongue, not even the smallest hum. The vibrations of the car against his head makes him grit his teeth, but he doesn't pull back. Maybe he deserved that, the dull, throbbing ache in his head he's grown so used to. If it gets worse… Maybe he deserves that too.

"Alex?" Bear's voice calls out to him, low with concern as a hand comes to rest on one of Alex's twitching hands. "You with me?" He asks, glancing over to him. Bear's own timid hand unfolding the tense grip on the blanket to gently take the Little's hand in his own.

Immediately, Caulder's hand latches to Graves' with the same impossibly tight grip. His lips part to answer the question, but all that comes out is a weak whimper. He can't meet Bear's eyes, nor can he focus on anything outside the window of the moving car, all he can do is look down at lovie in blanket in his lap.

"Bud..? You here with me?" Bear mutters again, thumb brushing over Alex's knuckles.

His throat tightens, but all of the tears in his eyes feel like they dry the same second. He's not here, not safe the way he should feel. He wants to be able to drop everything, he needs to. It's not fair that other Littles could, when he still had to feel everything. No breaks, it all rushed over him, drowning him in all the things he can't even put a name on. It all just felt bad. Hesitantly, the Little shakes his head.

"Don' leave…" His voice is so small. Broken and desperate for something, anything. Alex's hand shakes with the tight grip he holds Bear's hand with. He can be promised everything, and still fear—know—he'll wake up with nothing. Bear is right there, but his throat keeps tightening and his chest hurts.

It's not fair. Why can't it just be fair?

"Baby…" Bear frowns, taking his eyes off the road momentarily to look at the Little clutching his hand. "'m not going anywhere, no ones leavin'. We're just going home," He begins, looking back to the street, "Going home where you have stuffed animals, your blankets, and good snacks… I'm staying the night, hm? You 'n' me, yeah? Safe and sound?" He draws out his explanation as far as possible, watching out of his peripheral vision for Alex's reaction.

There's no reason for Alex to believe that Joe specifically will leave him, he never did before. No emergency tore him away, they just went together. Hell, some nights when Alex couldn't stand to be alone, he didn't even leave the bed. He shouldn't be scared to be left alone, but he is. He's always scared.

"Wanna go home…" Alex's voice cracks as his chest heaves, breathless and forced to create any sound at all. It's not his house he wants to go to, and painfully, that's too clear. There's no home he can go to, is there? Not one he can point out, not in front of him or on a map. There's not even a time he can place that would ever feel close to home.

"We're goin' home, I'll hold you all night. Promise." Joe says gently, though the more broken Alex sounds, the more he gets the picture. He's holding broken pieces that he's fixed many times before, and he'll do it again. He'll do whatever is needed of him. That's what he does, as the team leader, as a friend, and as a Caregiver.

That.. that's the closest he'll get to home. Cradled against Bear's chest with the soft rumble of his voice playing in his ears. He won't be alone, at the very least. He can work with that. As he sniffles, he timidly looks up at his Caregiver.

"H-home…" The Little repeats after Bear, picking up his head from the window. Yeah, yeah… He wants that, bundled up in his—and now one of Buddha's—blankets, held safely like he could possibly be someone's world. Even just for a night, he wants to be someone's everything. All while entirely missing the way Bear looks at him like he's just that… His everything.

"Yeah, home, buddy." Graves gently squeezes his hand, feeling Alex's own grip loosen at the comfort of added pressure. The Little's shoulders ease down until he isn't uncomfortably scrunched in the seat, breaths coming in easier and easier.

The drive goes from agonizing, worrisome silence, to a calm, quiet space. Alex's eyes finally peer up every so often, looking at the racing lights going by as they drive past them, and the other cars around, despite the hour. It's not as scary anymore. He wants to go back home, Bear won't leave him there, and he has to trust that, he wants to.

Bear isn't Rip. Bear isn't his mother.

At some point, he turned to look at Bear rather than stare out the window when it began fogging with his warm breath on the cold glass. His back pressed against both the door and the seat as he leaned, eyes softly watching Bear's mind work at the simple task of driving. Though, on the route, it is almost complete darkness as they go through the wooded areas nearer to the beach.

With his eyes on his Caregiver, holding his hand tightly, Alex lays his head back and lets his eyes flutter closed. The quiet hum of the car and Bear's rhythmic, light tapping against the steering wheel brings his head to a more floaty space, like a bubble shielding him from himself. Maybe that was Bear's doing, though. He doesn't sleep, but the soothing sounds leave him on the verge of passing out by the time they get to the house.

It's safe. The delicate hands lifting him from the car are safe. The calming beat of Bear's heart as he's laid over his chest is safe. The small plush sits loosely in his hands, carefully tucked against Alex when Bear removes him from the car. Never as a child did Alex get that experience, being carried inside as he's on the verge of sleep. He had only gotten a rough shake to his shoulder to wake him enough to walk inside and inevitably pass out, sometimes not even in his bed or on the couch.

He doesn't have to worry about that at all now. Bear holds him with the most care he possibly can, as if he was handling a sleeping infant. A hand rests on the back of Alex's head, cradling it even as they get to the door. Joe's copy of the house key unlocking the door with ease, the sleepy Little propped up on his poorly balanced knee. All Alex does is blink up at him, resting in the warmth of Bear's touch.

He's safe.

"Sleepy boy…" The carer mumbles, pulling Alex back against him once the door clicked open. "Bath before bed time, or pajamas and a show?" He asks, letting the door slowly close behind them before locking it. Slowly, he moves to the couch, keys tossed onto the counter somewhere they'll find later.

"Show…" Caulder yawns. He falls back against the couch when Bear steadily sits him down and begins undoing the poorly laced shoes that were rushed to be put on a couple hours before. Alex rubs his eyes as he watches, the tears leaving his face puffy and warm.

"Atta boy." Graves nods, slipping Alex's shoes off. He settles on a knee to remove his own shoes, putting the pairs of shoes in a spot they won't get tripped on later when Alex inevitably stumbles in the dark to find a snack at horrendous hours of the morning. "Up?" He then asks, on his feet with his arms outstretched to lift Alex back up.

"Up." He nods with a firm pout on his lips. Only relaxing when Bear lifts him off the cold couch and he's met with warmth again. He nudges his head against the nape of his neck, settling into his arms.

"Don't get too comfy, still gotta get pjs, right?" Bear playfully pokes Alex's side, grinning when the Little tries to wiggle away from the ticklish feeling.

"Mama-!" Alex bumps his head against Graves' jaw.

"Gotta keep my cub awake, huh? You're gonna get all comfy in a minute." He chuckles softly, rumbling in his chest. Gently, he bounces Alex, readying him to start walking to the bedroom not too far.

The Little smiles sleepily at the nickname, heart squeezing in his chest but no longer from fear or hurt. Just love. He's so loved. If he can understand that or not, he is.

"That's what I thought…" Bear hums, walking with Alex to the bedroom. The blankets are rustled from the sleepless night Caulder's had so far, a pillow on the floor, one of Bear's hoodies thrown at the end of the bed… The room is a mess, dirty clothes strewn about, even his plushies knocked to the floor. And yet, at some point, for whatever reason, Alex threw on jeans of all things, to run somewhere away from here.

As Alex is sat down, the little lovie is firmly pressed to his chest while Bear begins to work at unraveling the large blanket from Alex's slumped frame. The space fills with warm hums, keeping away the dark clouds that dare to fill Alex's head at the slightest bit of silence. It's safe. Never once did Alex ask Bear to keep track of triggers or things that upset him, the Caregiver did that all himself. He never had to ask Bear to be mindful of him, he already was.

Caulder holds the lovie delicately in his hands. However, not so delicately where his teeth bite at the ear of the bear plush. The fabric grows damp where he chews it between his teeth. He watches Bear with big, soft eyes, rocking slowly to the humming.

"Be gentle, bud…" Bear warns as he glances up at Alex, and the plush's ear bitten between his lips. There's no cruelty to his voice, nowhere near firm. More affectionate than anything. The lovie had been his idea, after all. He'd seen the nights Alex struggled away from him. The little thing had been covered in Bear's cologne, it no longer needs that when Bear is really there to hold him at night, but it'll always be Alex's favorite stuffed animal.

The blanket falls away from him, only gently rested over him for the brief moment the Caregiver stands to retrieve something akin to pajamas in the messy space of Alex's room. The dresser is almost bare, aside from a pair of light blue pajamas with clouds spotted along it. Almost too soft. Alex's eyes follow him the entire time he's away.

"These?" Bear prompts, narrowly avoiding tripping over a t-shirt as he crosses the bedroom floor. He takes it as a yes when Alex immediately reaches out towards the set, or maybe just reaches for him.

Alex calmly watches as his uncomfortable jeans are replaced with the warm cotton pants, moving the way Bear needs him to in order to dress him. The shirt was the problem. With the plush set briefly aside, he should be able to let Bear tug the shirt over his head, but he just watches. He doesn't move at all to make it easier, he makes it worse with his hands holding the bottom of his shirt. Eyes going from wide and curious to hesitant, slightly squinted while he looks at his Caregiver.

"I know, baby, but it's just pjs. Mama can close his eyes and you can do it?" Joe suggests, hands back and clear in Alex's vision. He won't move, and he makes sure Alex knows that.

"Closed 's okay…" Alex's small voice croaked, hoarse with all of the hours of tears that day. He watches Bear closely until his eyes close. Then, and only then, does he remove the tear-stained shirt. His eyes look at his own skin, the tiny bit of excess fat on his tummy, and then the large, stretched scar over his lower abdomen. Bear knows it's there, but it's one of those nights… See him, but don't look.

His finger twitches as it follows the length of the old scar, then a couple of surrounding stretch marks. The whole time, he keeps taking glances like he's scared of what Bear would say to him. There had only ever been well mannered questions, never cruel jabs or harsh remarks. That, he's thankful for… The tiny ones on his chest don't matter, or at least were never questioned.

"Alex?" Graves hums to him. "You almost done, buddy?" Worry laces his voice yet again.

In response, Alex quickly throws the damp t-shirt to the side and replaces it with something actually comfortable. His hands immediately seek the comfort of the lovie at his side. He grunts to announce he's done, every scar covered and safely sealed away so he doesn't have to see it himself. He's too small for all the weight on his shoulders. Bear can take it away, he always does. Or, at the very least, tries his best to.

"There ya go." The Caregiver coos, his smile wrinkling the corners of his eyes. "Hey, sweet boy…" He softly says, ruffling Alex's hair again.

Caulder's eyes sparkle, looking up at Bear as he straightens his hair out again. He leans into the touch as it softens. It's okay. He pulls in a deep breath before he nips at the lovie's ear again, trying to regulate the fast uptick in fear at the small, simple task of just getting comfy.

"Bed time and show?" Bear asks with raised eyebrows, his gentle grin never leaving his face. His hand brushes out the curly hair before he gives Alex a light pat on the shoulders, eyes soft where he looks down at his Little.

There's a beat of silence, Alex never responding but quickly making it his mission to get into the big bed before Bear can. A smile spreads on his face as he turns to face Bear. The blankets are all horribly messy, he's barely under them and, lord, do they need to be re-tucked into the frame. But, that smile, with the lovie's ear still between Alex's teeth, is enough to make Graves chuckle. If not at the action, than the sweet smile his Little gives him.

"Are we being silly?" Bear coos, arms crossed playfully over his chest. Really, he should change his shirt and pants, but before he does, he presses a knee onto the bed and leans over to press a kiss to the side of Alex's head. "Do you need to get the sillies out before bed?" He sits as he pulls back slightly.

"Nuh-uh." Alex is quick to say, dropping the lovie into his lap. He squeaks when Bear wiggles his fingers by his side, threatening to tickle him again. "No!" He insists, smile growing as he lightly kicks away.

"Are we sure?" Joe chuckles, pulling his hand away. His own breaths coming in easier when his Little smiles so brightly.

"Yeah!" He nods quickly, one of his canine teeth poking out from his lips when he bites at the already swollen skin. Alex's quiet giggles fill the space, lighting up the room beyond the moon peeking in through the windows.

"Alright then… But I gotta get comfy so we can get comfy, okay? Can you wait for Mama?" Over the course of the last couple of hours, the title began to come out with less and less hesitance. It makes Alex smile all over again, nodding softly even if he didn't catch all the words. Him, Mama, comfy… That's all he needs.

Bear only takes a moment to steal something clean from the folded laundry on the far side of the room, getting out of the wet shirt and scratchy jeans and slipping into a pair of Alex's shorts and one of his own, stolen, shirts. The gentle humming resumes as he tends to the blanket problem… Tugging everything to the correct sides and firmly tucking Alex into the bed as he's fixing everything, then, he places Buddha's heavy blanket over the fixed bedding.

"Cozy?" He glances at Alex, hands settled on his hips as he takes in the way Alex cuddles into all of the blankets. His sheets, then a warmer blanket, then a comforter, and now the big blanket. The Little looks so much smaller like that, even with the events of the day taking a toll on his body, he looks so, so small.

All he gets in reply is a copy of his own humming, and a small nod where Caulder has sunken into the bedding. Bear simply grins and climbs into the bed, TV remote in hand where he swiped it off the bedside table.

"C'mere…" He rumbles, leaning against the headboard once the pillows are situated enough. The one on the floor can stay there for now. What's more important, is getting Alex comfy, then getting him to rest. One arm opens to bring his Little in close.

Alex doesn't need the prompting whatsoever. As soon as Bear is what looks like content enough where he's situated, Alex immediately presses himself into his side. The little lovie sits on the side, hands free so he can grab at Bear's clean shirt. His head tilts up, chin pressing into Bear's chest, and just looks at him. Moonlight reflects in his eyes.

"Hey, darlin'…" Graves murmurs, brushing through Alex's hair gently. With care, he fixes the knots in the curly hair.

He blinks softly up at him, before he shifts positions to be comfortably tucked against his side, cheek squished against Bear's chest. The heavy blankets get pulled up closer and closer until his shoulders are completely covered. A little shimmy makes it known that he's comfortable.

"That good?" Joe hums to him, his hand still threading through the Little's hair.

Grumbling in response, Alex just cuddles closer. One leg over one of Bear's so he can't possibly leave. A hand grabs a fist full of his Caregiver's shirt, holding on closely as the television clicks on. The brightness makes him flinch, and the Caregiver grunt with the same reaction.

"Sorry, baby…" Bear huffs, rapidly clicking the button to lower the brightness. A sigh leaving him as soon as the painfully bright screen is gone.

"'s okay." The little one murmurs, his eyes fixed on TV while Bear looks for something regression-appropriate. Alex's soft, small voice barely above a whisper. Bear replies with a quiet hum of 'thank you', tucking his arm carefully around Alex, who immediately melts into the touch.

After a few minutes of clicking through show options, Bear settles on something he's seen Alex watch before, something about mermaid kids and a school… The completion bar was only a few seconds in anyway. He's not sure what's going on, but it'll be turned off whenever Alex falls asleep anyway. He settles more comfortably in bed, holding his Little closer.

Caulder's sleepy eyes watch the show for only a few minutes, and hums along with the intro tune, before he presses his head further against Bear's chest. For the first time that night, his heart doesn't feel like it's beating out of his chest, his lungs fill fully with air… He's warm.

"Goodnight, bud…" Bear near-silently whispers. He sets the remote aside, and gently uses that hand to brush over Alex's scruffy cheek. Soft eyes watch as Alex closes his eyes and begin to drift to sleep.

A small smile sits on his lips while he falls asleep, the low rumble of Joe's chest soothing him further. He sleeps wrapped in warmth, cuddled up to his Caregiver exactly how he should be. Warm, safe, and loved.

As promised, Bear never leaves his side. Not when he tosses and turns for several minutes at a time, he stays there, keeping the bed warm and Alex safe. The kid's show gets turned off, and replaced with something more interesting to Bear, tree-houses and log cabins… Something to keep his mind occupied while he stays awake, just as a precaution in case Alex needs him.

And it was needed.

On the fifth position shift of the last hour, low, pained grunts came from the Little beside him. Haze heavy in his head, Alex simply turns again and presses his head against Bear's side, in a significantly different position than he was before. This one curled up far more, holding his head between his hands, eyes wide as he stares at nothing…

He doesn't do anything but whimper in pain. A horrible throbbing fills his head, ears ringing until he can't make out a thing from the TV show, or anything said to him. Instead, his nails dig into his head and he cries out.

Prying hands do nothing when sharp agony fills his body. 'Headache' can't describe the pain, migraine doesn't feel close enough either, it's far past that. Even with pain, Alex never cried out so loudly, not as much as Bear hears from him now.

Confused babbles and cries fall from his lips. It was all just fine moments ago, it had been okay. Why isn't it okay? It should be okay. Alex was smiling not even three hours ago. Why is his baby crying?

And now all Bear hears is broken babbles of, "it hurts!" over and over until the room goes quiet and Alex goes terrifyingly slack.

[seyamu]

me, on the brink of falling asleep: someone should put jiang luo and chi you into an unlimited flow universe for enrichment

[accultant]

"You seem familiar somehow," he muses, one hand rubbing his chin as he thinks, "Have we met before?"

"Is that so? I must have one of those faces," they answer flatly. They do not have ' one of those faces ', and, rather, their unmistakable markings and admittedly unsettling eyes should make them unforgettable (for better or worse). Their only saving grace is the general disorientation their presence often brings- they can often go completely unnoticed by someone merely two feet in front of them, unseeing eyes glossing right over them ('like a ghost' they had explained to Puck once). People forget their face, their name, their very existence if they so will it. Often, those who meet Iago are left with only a vague impression of the encounter, the details of which remain just barely on the tip of their tongue.

More likely, though, this individual (with quite an interesting face of his own..?) was referring to- "You've probably met my brother, Puck. He looks a bit like me if I were a bit taller and looked completely different."

[moviesiverecentlywatched]

930: Silent Night, Deadly Night: Part 2 [1987]

It's over.

2024’s 12 Days of Christmas… Movies:

5/12

Silent Night, Deadly Night 2 // Dir. Lee Harry