#alive goose and Carole

[broketraveler87]

A little something for the High School AU I’m working on

[hangmanbradshaw]

santa, can't you hear me? on ao3 (now complete)

Jake Seresin didn't want to live the lyrics of Last Christmas, but in the aftermath of a breakup, he finds himself meeting someone different, someone maybe even special, in the form of a reporter sent to do a profile on him. Bradley Bradshaw wasn't what he expected, but maybe that's a good thing. The rest, well, he can honestly say he never saw it coming.

Chap 1: The Assignment

Chap 2: The North Pole

Chap 3: The Claus

[bottomgun-maverick]

Top Gun (1986) Behind The Scenes!

[the-ace-with-spades]

Carole: I think... I think Bradley is gay.

Goose: Is that all? I thought it was something serious.

Carole: Don't make a joke of it, Goose!

Goose: Oh come on, we've all been there, done that.

Carole, dumbstruck: Uhm, I certainly haven't and you haven't.

Goose: Carole, I was in the Navy for six years.

[pollyna]

something something omega!Goose would go feral and probably 100% possessive over alpha!Slider no question asked something something

[ddejavvu]

Love to Lie - Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw x Reader (Part 4/FINAL PART) / Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3

Summary: Your worst fear is recognized when Bradley’s jet goes down with him in it. You’re not sure why you’re still his emergency contact, you’d broken up two weeks ago, but when you rush into the hospital room, you discover that you have a chance to fix the mistake you’d been cursing yourself for. The only problem is, you have to lie to Bradley, and you discover that you love doing it if it means you get to be with him again.

Contents/Warnings: fem!reader, Mitchell!reader, angst, angst with a fluffy/happy ending, amnesia trope, hospitals and their subsequent medical details, memory loss, goose and carole are still alive because i say so

WC: 4.1K / navigation / inbox

A/N: the real last part! i sincerely hope you enjoyed this series, it's very dear to my heart and so is all of the wonderful feedback you've given me on it. I love hearing what you think, it keeps me motivated to write more for you and I'm just so happy that I got to share this with you all. Thank you to anyone who's enjoyed this, I'm privileged to have shared your time and gotten your love in return. <333

feedback is greatly appreciated! comment, reblog, talk in the tags, send me a message, tell me what you think!

You feel like he’s gutted you. Like he’s plunged the hand holding the ring right into your stomach, twisted it so that the gem inside slits your insides into ribbons, and wrenched it back out dripping and glistening in crimson.

He looks so hopeful, eyes earnest and shining as he stares at you, that damn ring held between you like a life preserve. Like if you let him toss it over your finger, reel you in with his tender heartstrings, you wouldn’t drown. You’d escape the dreadful ocean of grief that’s been slowly filling your lungs since you’d left, you’d give your tired legs a break from treading water if you could just say yes. The word is on the tip of your tongue, and your achy heart begs you to say it, but you can’t.

Not when he doesn’t know.

“Bradley,” You whimper, reaching out to lay a gentle touch over his hand. You wrap your hand around both his own and the ring, squeezing tightly, “I have to tell you something.”

Bradley’s enthusiasm wanes. He hadn’t waited long enough. You’re not in love with him yet; he rushed into things just like he had before and he’d ruined it. How did he manage to ruin it two times? The best thing in his life, and he’s fucked it up twice in a row now. 

You’re looking at him with eyes full of sadness, and he catches a flash of pity in them; just like he’d feared. His stomach sours and he balks, spooking like a startled horse.

“No, no. No, it’s okay, you’re- you’re not ready yet, sweetheart, that’s okay. We can wait,” He babbles, wrenching his hand out from your own and jamming the ring back into the drawer, like if he can just get it into a safe zone, it’ll hit undo on the entire fiasco.

“No, baby,” Your face screws up, a barely-withheld sob behind your frown, “Baby that’s not- we really need to talk. Okay? I promised we would today.”

“I- I know, but-” He stammers, trying to evade your gentle touch as you pry his hand back from his dresser drawer, the ring still clutched inside and lining his palm with a layer of sweat.

“Let me talk,” You plead, “Brad, I need to come clean. Please?”

He’s sure you can see his Adam’s apple bob in his throat as he swallows what little saliva there is in his mouth, “Okay.”

“Two weeks ago,” You start, and the words feel leaden on your tongue; impossibly heavy. “-before your crash. You- you remember Javy’s crash, yeah?”

“Yeah,” His breath catches in his throat, visions of his teammate's poor girlfriend swimming in his mind. Visions of the woman he never wanted you to have to be.

“That really-” You choke on a sob, “That really freaked me out, Bradley. I realized that you could go down like that. I- I’ve always known, y’know, ‘cause of your dad. But I just- I was so young when that happened, and it wasn’t fresh, so when Javy went down… I had this revelation. That I could-” Your voice tampers down into a weak whimper, “I could lose you, Brad. I could say goodbye to you one morning and not get to say hello again in the evening. I just- lost it,” You admit, brushing away stray hair from over your red-rimmed eyes, “I’m sure you noticed I wasn’t the most pleasant to say goodbye to in the mornings. But- but baby, I was always so happy when you came home, because it meant I had more time. It felt like some awful time bomb,” You recall, “Like every time I said goodbye to you would be the last, and I couldn’t rest until you were back home. I’ve never felt like that before, I’ve always had confidence in your abilities. Even on deployment, I know you’re working with people who have your back,” You sniffle, “I’ve always known you could die, but it’s never felt that much like you would before. But then- Javy wasn’t the one who crashed,” You explain, voice thick with blubbering tears, “I mean- that was just his jet malfunctioning. And then all of a sudden I- it was like I remembered that I could lose you in some freak accident. Like it wouldn’t have to be your fault, it could just happen, and you could die. Like your dad, Bradley, I- I didn't wanna lose you like we almost lost your dad."

“That is,” You collect yourself, swallowing a heavy sob that leaves your throat achy and gutted, “My nightmare, baby.” You tangle your fingers with his where you’re still clutching his hand, squeezing tight enough to probably bruise the guy, “I don’t know what I would do if I lost you. I would die if I lost you, Brad. Even if I was alive, I’d be dead inside. I need you, I need you in my life, Bradley.”

What you’re saying sounds good to him. Terrible, of course, if he didn’t come home one day. But he is home, and you’re telling him you need him, and he can’t figure out why in the world you’ve said no twice to putting on the ring. 

“You have me,” He vows, squeezing your hand right back, “Honey, you have me right here, right now. Why won’t you let me keep you?” He presses the ring into your palm, and you both feel the metal band burning your skin like it’s been superheated.

“You asked me to marry you before you crashed,” You blurt, and even though slamming a wrecking ball into your reverie of late feels like stabbing yourself in the chest, there’s something gratifying about telling the truth. About finally coming clean, about telling him exactly why you can’t say yes.

“You sat me down, and you gave me the sweetest speech in the world,” You recall with tears thick in your voice, “About how you loved me, and how you wanted to spend the rest of your life with me, and- and you proposed, and I said no.”

He chews on the inside of his cheek, analyzing the grief in your voice. You sound anguished, like you’re upset with yourself for saying no, but you didn’t say yes this time around, so he can’t believe what he hears.

He takes a deep breath, cutting off whatever you’re going to say next, “I know.”

It feels good for him to come clean, too. Even if he's dreading what'll happen, even if he thinks there's a good chance you'll march out the door, he's glad to be done with the lies. He'd loved them while they'd lasted, but they went down in flames just like his jet.

“-and-” You stop, blinking twice, “What?”

“I know,” He admits, “I- I remember, honey.”

“You- what?” Your eyes widen, and you lean forwards, gazing imploringly at Bradley, “Brad, you- you remember? You remember everything now?”

“Yeah,” He nods, watching as you process the information.

You feel sick. You’re not sure why, because you’ve already told him the truth. But memories are different than retellings, and you both know that. No explanation on your part would have conveyed the crushed, betrayed look in his eyes when you’d declined his proposal; there’s not words in the english language suitable to describe how desperately he’d pleaded for you to stay, even in just the simplest of touches to your waist, trying to pull you back to him that night.

Now he remembers that, now you’re on the same page, and when you turn it, you’re not sure what you’ll see. 

The end of a chapter? The beginning of a new one? Or the blank back cover of a book, perhaps, if your luck has run dry. 

“When did your memories come back?” You ask, your voice sounding faraway and dazed in the back of your mind. You’re not even sure you’ve really said it, you’re too wrapped up in worrying about what he’s thinking. If your confession had spurred on his memories, you’re not sure you’ll ever get a chance to put on that ring.

Bradley swallows what little saliva is in his mouth, “A while ago.”

“How long?” Your brows furrow impossibly deeper, your brain running circles trying to figure out what’s real and what isn’t, “Like- like since this morning?”

“Since I woke up,” He confesses with a heavy heart, because lying to you hurt even if he’d loved the outcome,  “In the hospital. I- I didn’t remember at first, but they came back, uh, in a few minutes.”

You feel like you’ve walked into a cloud of smoke. Everything around you is foggy, and your brain can’t process what he’s told you. It feels like he’s lying to you, like he’s tricking you and pretending that he’s known the entire time just so as not to feel foolish. But that’s not Bradley, he doesn’t need to be smarter than you, or faster than you, or better than you, so you know he’s telling the truth.

“But- why did you lie?” You stare at him with tears glimmering in your waterline, and he’s sure this is what he looked like when he’d asked you not to go that night. Betrayed, confused, heartbroken.

“Because you did,” Bradley whimpers, wanting nothing more than to swipe a thumb under your eye and gather the tears there on his skin, taking the burden away from you.

“You came in and you asked to kiss me, and- and I wanted you to. I didn’t want to talk about what had happened, because I didn’t want you to walk out again, so I just- I lied. And I let you lie to me, too.”

You think back, and you remember how you’d walked back into the hospital room, on the verge of tears with nerves rolling in your belly. And you’d asked to kiss him, you’d given him the perfect opportunity to lie, and he’d taken it. And you can’t be mad at him, because you’d lied, too. You’re slightly hurt. It doesn’t feel good knowing that your lover- or, ex-lover lied to you. It feels even worse to know that Bradley lied because he thought you’d leave him if he told the truth. Like you’d turn tail and run, whooping through the parking lot about being free at last. But you’re the one that put that thought in his head; you’re the one that ran away. So you can’t blame him for keeping you on a short leash.

You feel too many things at once. You feel like a monster, like a cruel heartbreaker that had shattered Bradley’s to pieces. You feel confused, because you’re still processing that the past few days were entirely fake on both ends. You feel slightly betrayed, like you wish Bradley would have just told you. But you didn’t tell him either, and that makes you feel like an asshole. Too many feelings are bottled up inside, and they gush forth in a messy round of tears, one worse than Bradley’s ever seen from you.

It sets him in a panic, and he’d already been misty-eyed before. Now his own tears roll in fat droplets down his cheeks as he muscles down his sobs for your sake, dropping your hand only to take up your waist. He drags you closer on the bed, but it’s uncoordinated and a struggle as your limbs don’t cooperate. You’re limp like a ragdoll, and once he finally has you positioned in his lap he buries his face in your shoulder to soak his tears into your shirt.

“I’m sorry,” He whispers, his chest heaving and shaking with sobs, “I’m sorry I lied. I shouldn’t have, I- I know it was wrong. I just- I wanted you to stay, honey. And I thought it would be okay if we were both lying, because then I could make you fall in love with me again, and- and it was a stupid plan, I’m sorry. I should have told you, I’m sorry, I- I never wanted to make you cry. I’m sorry, honey, please don’t- please don’t cry. I love you, please, don’t cry.”

He thinks he’s allergic to your tears. His chest hurts, his face burns, and the front of his shirt is slowly sticking to his chest where you’re crying against it. He’s not sure he can handle much more of this, he can barely breathe and if you don’t stop crying soon, his lungs might collapse. He doesn’t like that you’re crying; even though he knows its a messy situation, even though he knows it’s complicated beyond belief, he’s worried that lying to you fractured your trust in him, and that won’t look good on his permanent record, especially not when he’s waiting on a yes or no from you regarding marriage.

“Honey, please,” He knows he’s not the only one at fault, he knows you’re just as guilty for lying as he is, but you’d done it out of pity, and he’d done it out of greed. You’d played pretend with him so that he didn’t lay alone in a hospital bed, but he’d lied to you so that you wouldn’t leave. He’s kept you trapped, and he’s worried you’ll break free from the cage and run.

“I’m sorry,” He cries, clutching tighter at you when you try pulling away, scared you’re on your way out, “No, honey, please, I’m so sorry-”

“Stop apologizing!’ You beg, a raw quality to your throat that bleeds into your voice. You can’t take it anymore, you can’t let him blubber out sorry after sorry for something he’s not at fault for. You wish he’d been honest, sure, but you couldn’t possibly blame him for continuing the game that you started playing.

“Just- stop, please,” You breathe, quieter now this time. “I- You’re not the one that has to be sorry.”

“But I am,” Bradley gushes, clinging tight to you, still nervous you’re trying to leave. But you’re stationed to stay in his lap, smearing away tears with the skin of your wrists.

“Well don’t be.” You huff, frustration swirling in your chest, all self-directed, “Don’t- don’t apologize for my mistakes! Bradley,” You whimper, rubbing at your eyes hard enough to see swirls beyond your vision, “I left you. I rejected your proposal, and I left you, and then when you almost died, and forgot I left you, I lied to your face. You had amnesia, Bradley, and I lied to you, in what world should you be apologizing? You should hate me,” You decide, stomach churning at just the thought, “I’m so sorry, Bradley, I- I’m so sorry! You should be throwing me out, you should kick me to the curb, and-”

“I don’t hate you.” He says, his voice gruff. He says it plain and simple, like it’s easy. Like there’s no hard feelings, like he’s not perturbed at all by your dishonesty, your betrayal.

“I love you,” He continues, and oh, does that drive the nail into the coffin you’re trapped in, “I love you so much, honey, I just don’t understand you. Why did you leave?”

“I was so scared,” You’re getting tired of saying it, but you know you have to, “Javy crashed, and I realized you could, too. Brad, I’m so sorry, I was so selfish, I didn’t wanna go through that. I left you because I didn’t wanna get hurt. I- I left to save myself from mourning your loss. But it didn’t work, and- and you still crashed, and I still almost had to mourn your loss, and it still hurt, so- so bad, Bradley. It hurt so bad,” You blubber, and he pulls you back into his chest.

“I know,” He murmurs, and you can’t fathom why he’s still comforting you, why his large, calloused hand is rubbing sweet, soft, soothing circles over your back like you’re not a traitor, “I know, honey, I can’t imagine. I’m sorry you had to get that call.”

“Come on,” You plead, your fists clenched in Bradley’s shirt, nails digging into the fabric, “Bradley, this- this isn’t fair. You should be mad at me. Even if you-” You can barely say it, the thought sounding like a fantasy; too good to be true, “Even if you love me, you should be upset. That I left, that I- that I lied, you can’t do this. You can’t comfort me, and you can’t apologize.”

“I can, too.” He argues, his brows furrowed and his mustache turned down with his frown, “Sweetheart, I know you’re sorry about all those things, you told me yourself. I know you’re sorry you left, I know you’re sorry you lied, it’s okay. It hurt when you left, but I never hated you. I wanted you back,” He admits with a shaky voice, “I wanted to fix things. And when you asked to kiss me in the hospital, I chose to let you lie to me even though I knew the truth. I liked it, baby, I loved it, because I had you back. You’re sorry, and- and I’m sorry, and we’re both sorry, so let’s do something about it. Let’s fix it, baby, please.”

“I want to fix it,” You sob, “I really do, Bradley. I- I wanted to pretend forever,” You confess, “Because it felt like it did before I left, and- you have no idea how much I wanted that back, Brad.”

“Me too,” He agrees with a rough sniffle, “I- I wanted you to pretend forever, honey. I really did, I- that’s why I proposed again,” He cringes at the memory, at the second time he’d asked to no avail, “Because I just wanted you to keep pretending, and say yes, and I thought- I thought I might be able to make you love me again, so I went for it, but I shouldn’t have. I should- I should’ve talked to you first, I should have told you the truth, but I just- I was scared, and-”

“Oh, Bradley,” You gush, grabbing the back of his neck and tugging him down into a hug. You might be smothering him, you’re not sure if he can breathe where he’s buried in your shoulder, but he doesn’t care. He’s clutching you like you’ll disappear if he doesn’t, and you’re horrified that he might really think that, but you understand why he does.

“Marry me,” He begs, “Please, honey, marry me. I’m not mad at you, I love you, please, just- just marry me, please. I can’t lose you again.”

“You won’t lose me,” You promise, tears flowing steady down your cheeks, “Honey, I promise, I won’t walk out unless you want me to.”

“I don’t,” Bradley shakes his head, his arms encircling your waist even tighter now, “I don’t want that, honey, please- please don’t.”

“I won't,” You promise, “But Brad- do you want to marry me for love, or because you’re afraid I’ll leave if you don’t?”

“I love you,” He croaks into your shoulder, and you know he’s not lying to you now, “I mean- I mean of course I’m scared to lose you. But I’m scared because I love you, and I still wanted to marry you even before this happened, before I was scared. I’m not trying to tie you down so you can’t leave, I’m trying to love you forever. It’s love, honey, I love you.”

“I love you too,” You wail, unperturbed by your messy, tear-stained, snot-streaked faces as Bradley lifts his head out of your shoulder to kiss you. It’s desperate, sloppy, and uncoordinated, but it’s the first real kiss you’ve shared in a long time, and you wouldn’t change a thing about it if you could. It’s all desperate, grabby hands and quivering breaths as you familiarize yourselves with each other again, remember what it’s like to be honestly, truly in love with each other. You’ve thrown the lies away like a hardened cast, and the bones beneath it have mended, still tender but whole again. You can’t get enough of him, you can’t take your hands out of his hair and you can’t press your chest up against his enough. He feels the same, he can’t possibly tug your hips further against his own, and he can’t dig his nose any further into your cheek or he might poke a hole there. But he wants to, so he tries.

You’re ravenous, not with desire but with love, the purest and sweetest form of it. You’re so glad to have him back, to really have him back, that you can’t care about your leg falling asleep where it’s bent awkwardly against his lap, or the stickiness of his tears on your cheeks. All you care about is Bradley, all you know is Bradley, all you ever want to know is Bradley.

He reaches for your hand while still engaged in the kiss, and you swear you feel your heart crack when you pull yourself away to stop him in his tracks.

“Wait,” You pant, wondering why he’s doing the same when he’d practically stolen the air from your lungs, “You’re absolutely sure you want to marry me? Even though-”

“Jesus,” Bradley huffs, keeping the ring in one hand and reaching for your face in the other. He squishes your cheeks together, until your lips are puckered and he can brace his forehead against your own, eyes wide and grin exasperated, “Yes! Yes, I really want to marry you, even though you left, even though you lied. I lied, too, honey. You left because you were scared, and that’s why I lied. I get it, okay? I’m not gonna turn on you, I love you. I want to marry you.”

“But- but we should work through this,” You propose, pointedly not swatting him away when he poises the ring over your marriage finger.

“Okay. We can work through it in marriage counseling,” He promises with a breathless smile, the expression wholly genuine because for the first time in three weeks, he’s confident you’ll say yes, “Because I want to marry you. Do you want to marry me?”

You’re not fucking this up a third time.

“Yes!” You gush, and you squeal when he jams the ring onto your finger, moving in for a kiss far more eagerly than you’re prepared for. It’s like being greeted by an overexcited puppy, one that’s a bit too big to be ramming into you, but that you can’t tell no. He kisses you voraciously, joining your hands together so that the metal band on your ring finger rubs against his own skin.

“I love you,” You pant, in a rare moment of being able to drag oxygen into your lungs, “And- I’m sorry. I love you so much.”

“I love you, too.” Bradley swears, kissing you again before you can murmur any more apologies, “It’s okay. We’ll be okay, baby. We’ll work through it. You were scared, so I’ll help you however I can so that you’re not so scared. And I was scared, so I’ll probably be a bit of a clinger for a while. That’s it, baby, we don’t have to break up.” He promises, “That’s all it is, honey. We can work through it. We love each other, we can do this.”

“We do love each other,” Saying it feels like a blessing you’re casting over yourselves, an affirmation that you want to say in the mirror ten times before starting your day, “I love you, Bradley.”

“I love you too, Y/N,” He hums, dissuaded very little when you turn your head to look for your phone. He presses the same frequency of kisses to your cheek as he had your lips, and you let him smooch away at your face while you hunt for the device.

“Here!” You find it tangled in the bedsheets, “Brad, let’s tell everyone.”

“Hm?” He glances sideways at your phone, “Oh. Yeah, my parents are probably worried.”

“My dad, too.” You hum, “I told him at the store earlier.”

“I told my parents then, too.” He confesses, “But- but they’re not mad at you, or anything honey, they understand.”

You marvel at the revelation, that that's the reason Carole had been so confident bidding you goodbye.

“I.. told your mom already,” You realize you still haven’t put all of his puzzle pieces together for him, “Uh, she knew before you woke up, actually. She was the one to suggest that I pretend nothing happened. She didn’t want you to be too stressed in the hospital.”

His brow furrows where he’s in the middle of kissing your jaw, and he pulls back to evaluate the new information. But he’s not angry, more exhausted. He chuckles weakly, “I told her today, she pretended she had no idea. Damn, that woman is a good actor.”

“Very good,” You agree, snatching Bradley’s hand out of his lap to curl your own over the back of it. Your hands are stacked palm-to-back, with Bradley’s resting on the blanket and yours overtop. Your ring glistens in the afternoon sunlight and snapping a picture of it is one of the most gratifying things in the world, second only to the feeling of it laying permanently on your finger. You’ll have to put this one in the photo album, the beginning of a new chapter.

Bradley doesn’t let go of your hand after you snap the picture, only flips his own beneath it so that he can hold it more securely. He puts his chin over your shoulder to kiss your cheek as you use your only free hand to type out a group text message to your family members. Bradley’s squadron will be next on the list, but for now, your family receives the shot of your hands intertwined, a ring glistening on yours.

I said yes this time.💗

feedback is greatly appreciated! comment, reblog, talk in the tags, send me a message, tell me what you think!

[fangirl6202]

WIP Snippet

“I hope you guys are hungry,” Jake says as he leads them into the kitchen.

“Son, you shouldn't have,” Ice says but sits down regardless.

“I tried telling him not to, but I've learned there's no winning with this one,” Bradley rolls his eyes goodnaturedly, yelping when Jake swats him with his rolled up apron. Both laugh and Maverick can feel his heart constricting in his chest. The scene in front of him is so familiar. This house, the smell of food, the mustache and Hawaiian shirt. For a second he doesn’t see Bradley, but rather he sees Goose. Young, alive, laughing goodnaturedly with a smiling blonde, laying out dish after dish on the table. Not out of politeness but because they wanted to, wanted to nourish anyone who stepped into the Bradshaw home.

Carol Bradshaw nee Bennett had been a Southern woman to her bones, a Georgia peach who had a sweet accent and a tongue-cracking wit. Mav had always thought of her as whiskey in a teacup; demure and dainty on the outside but with a kick that wouldn’t go unnoticed. She would have loved Jake.

Tom places a hand on his shoulder, and he can see his husband’s eyes have gone misty. He knows why. These two kids have placed them right back in 1986.

“Carol would be proud to see someone use this kitchen again,” Tom says in a low steady voice, and it stops both boys in their tracks. “It’s been… it’s been too long.”

[roosterforme]

Emergency Contact (Rooster x Reader)

Part of The What If Collection of blurbs for Roo and Baby Girl. My masterlist. Banner by @mak-32

Warnings: injuries while deployed, stitches, bandages, angst (deals with the events from Deployment Diaries Parts 18 and 19)

When Bradley asked you to be his emergency contact, you were overjoyed. This meant he was serious serious. He must have told his mom at some point that he was going to switch it, and she must have agreed that it was a good idea. You'd call Carole and Goose if anything happened. Of course you would. 

But that had always been a far off scenario in your mind. Something that was never actually likely to happen. You'd never expected the day to arrive where you had to be the one answering the horrific phone call.

"This is Admiral Priscilla Franklin. I have you listed as the emergency contact for Lieutenant Bradley Bradshaw."

"Oh," you gasped. Your hand came up to your forehead as you slowly sank down to sit on the kitchen floor in your yoga pants and sports bra.

"I'm afraid there's been an accident."

You felt yourself on the verge of hyperventilating. You were listening to Admiral Franklin, but her words weren't making sense. You'd barely been able to confirm your full name for her.

"Lieutenant Bradshaw was involved in a mission related incident. I can't provide you with much more information than that."

Your eyes were filled with tears as you choked out the words, "Is he okay?"

There was such a long pause. Part of you wished that Bradley had kept Carole as his emergency contact, because now you were going to have to be the one to soften the blow about an injury to her instead of the other way around. 

Unless it was worse than that. Admiral Franklin wasn't saying anything. What if it was worse than an injury? You were laying flat on the floor, your tongue too heavy and awkward in your mouth as you gagged. 

But you needed to know right now. "Is he okay?" you demanded louder, sucking air into your burning lungs."He's stable at the moment. We are waiting for him to regain consciousness. He has broken ribs, lacerations and most likely a grade three concussion."

He was alive.

As you got some scant details about what happened, you started sobbing. When you ended the call, you collected Tramp in your arms, and he licked your face all over. Someone would be contacting you the following day about collecting Bradley from the San Diego International Airport like he was a piece of lost luggage. 

You didn't want to call his parents. It was so late in Virginia, you would most certainly be waking them up. But when you looked at your lock screen, it was a photo of you and Bradley with Goose and Carole when you'd been in Virginia for Thanksgiving last year, and you just cried harder until you could barely see through the tears.

Once you managed to prop yourself up against the cabinets, you wiped your nose all over Bradley's soft UVA shirt and forced your fingers to work. Unlock the phone. Go to your contacts. Locate the Bradshaws' home number. Tap it. Your hand was still shaking when you heard Carole's voice loud and sharp after just two rings.

"Sweet Girl. Tell me what's wrong."

Your body was shaking with wretched sobs as you tried to get the words out. "He was in an accident. A bad ejection. He's unconscious but still alive."

You'd never seen Carole upset before. She always seemed to know what to do. And even now, while her voice shook slightly as she woke her husband up, she sounded so strong. 

You heard Goose's groggy voice, and you relayed all of the information you had. 

"We'll be out tomorrow," Carole said immediately.

"No," you replied softly. "I think you should wait until I know when he's coming home. Just in case he doesn't even come back to San Diego. The Admiral mentioned seeing a specialist."

There was a long pause on the other end of the call as you wiped your eyes on the sleeve of your boyfriend's shirt. "You'll keep us updated?" Goose asked. "And you'll tell us if you change your mind and want us to come out now so you're not alone?"

"Of course," you adamantly insisted. "I'll call as soon as I hear anything at all."

Then Carole's voice was back, and it was as reassuring as talking to your own mother. "The instant you tell us to get to San Diego or anywhere else, we'll be on our way. So you just give us the word, and we're coming, Sweet Girl."

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

You were barely given any notice at all. Six hours from now, you needed to pick Bradley up from the airport. Apparently he could walk on his own, which was the best news you could imagine hearing. You called Carole and gave her the update, and she purchased tickets for the first flight out the following morning while she was on the phone with you. 

But nothing prepared you for the mess you found when you finally laid eyes on him. "Oh, Roo. Oh, Bradley." You covered your mouth with your hands. He truly looked terrible. His face was swollen and bruised, and you could see stitches peeking out all over the place. His left arm was bandaged and resting in a sling. But he was smiling down at you as you wiped tears from your eyes, and he ran his right hand along your hair.

"Can I touch you?" you asked softly, and Bradley slipped his right hand around your waist, slowly pulling you closer until your body was gently touching his.

"Please touch me, Sweetheart. It's the only thing that will make me feel better."

You laughed through your tears as you let one hand rest gently on his chest. "You scared me," you whispered, throat tight with emotion. "Like a whole lot, Roo." You let your other hand trail up over his neck and swollen cheeks, avoiding the clusters of stitches when you could.

"I'm sorry, Sweetheart," he whispered back, kissing the tears on your cheeks.

It wasn't an easy task, but you got him home and cleaned up and into bed. He was having a hard time breathing, and the ninety-eight stitches on his left arm were almost enough to turn your stomach. His handsome face was creased with pain, even after you helped him take his medication. But every time he whispered your name or laced his fingers gently with yours, you couldn't help but smile. 

Very carefully, you climbed in bed next to him and pushed his hair back from his forehead before you kissed him. "Your parents will be out tomorrow. They can't wait to see you."

"Thanks for taking care of everything and letting them know what happened," he murmured, the pain medication finally kicking in and helping his big body relax. "You're the best. I love you." He was thankfully asleep before you could even return the sentiment. 

The next morning, he only woke long enough for you to change his bandages and give him a million kisses and feed him some toast in bed. You felt wrung out and overly emotional and exhausted by the time you heard Tramp run for the front door. It must be Goose and Carole since you told them to just let themselves inside when they arrived. But when you looked down at the old sweats and Bradley's undershirt you had been wearing, you felt your cheeks grow warm. 

You looked like a mess. Your bedroom, bathroom and kitchen were a mess. They were about to see how bad their son looked as he napped in bed, and on top of everything else, you looked terrible too right now. 

But before you could even fully register your embarrassment, Carole's petite form was standing in your bedroom doorway with Goose behind her, Tramp jumping up to try to get his attention. 

"Oh, Sweet Girl," she sighed, glancing at Bradley and then looking back at you. "You wonderful, sweet thing." She had tears in her eyes as she approached you. "Look how well he's doing. Oh, Goose, look how she's taking care of him."

You let Carole collect you in a hug, and you sagged against her, too tired to try to explain to her that you were tired and out of your element. Instead you just let her hold you as Goose kissed the top of your head and made his way to sit in the dining room chair that you'd carried in and set right next to Bradley's side of your bed. 

"Let Goose sit with him until he wakes up and needs you, okay?" she whispered. "And then the four of us can talk together."

"Okay," you agreed softly. Because while it was a privilege to be Bradley's emergency contact, it felt nice to not have to take care of everything alone now. 

Carole led you into the hallway. "Let's get you fed, and then I'll help you get yourself in the bath. And later on, Goose can walk Tramp while I make dinner. And then you can focus on Bradley like I know you want to, and he can focus on you. And we'll be here to take care of everything else."

"That sounds good."

[liyliths]

౨ৎ ⋆ ｡˚ 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐒𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐍: 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐁𝐀𝐓𝐇𝐓𝐔𝐁

summary: you're on a wild goose chase for some kids, including one with apparent superpowers, who could've guessed? steve is also realizing he has some shit he needs to fix, and his friends really suck. then, you wind up at hawkins middle school to make a fancy bath for a kid with telekinetic powers. here's to hoping she finds will and barb safe and sound!

Steve’s grip tightened around the Coke can, his voice dropping into a dangerous tone. “I should’ve shoved that spray paint right down your throat.” Tommy’s jaw clenched at that, his expression hardening as he stepped forward, closing the gap between them. Carol scoffed, tossing her head in disbelief. “What the hell, Steve?”  Steve’s eyes flicked between the two of them, his patience rapidly wearing thin. “You know, neither of you ever gave a damn about Nancy. Not even Y/N. You didn’t like them, because they’re not miserable like the two of you.” His voice was sharp, filled with bitterness as Tommy and Carol exchanged a glance, acting as if Steve were the crazy one here.

pairings: steve harrington x reader

warnings: mentions of a fight, bruises and blood, steve's idiot friends, (again, i know, i'm tired of them too) and cursing

word count: 7k

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Joyce's vehicle glided down the streets of Hawkins, bathed in the late afternoon golden glow. Hopper sat behind the wheel, his eyes focused on the road, while the golden light filtered through the trees. The vibrant fall leaves swirled around as the vehicle moved, painting the forest in hues of orange and yellow.

Inside the car, the group sat in tense silence, the weight of their mission heavy in the air. Joyce sat with a furrowed brow in the passenger seat, her fingers tapping anxiously against her thigh. Hopper's gaze was fixed ahead, his expression determined as he guided the car towards the Wheeler's house in an attempt to find Mike and his friends—along with the girl who has ‘superpowers.’

The teenagers sat in the back—Y/N fidgeted with her hands nervously, her eyes gazing out the car’s window as the vehicle’s engine hummed. Her friends, Nancy and Jonathan, exchanged worried glances, their faces etched with concern.

“Do you really think Mike is home?” Hopper broke the tense silence, his voice low, glancing in the rearview mirror at Nancy.

“I—I don’t know.” Nancy’s words were barely a whisper, her uncertainty clear as she fidgeted with her hands.

Hopper’s expression hardened. “Well, wherever your brother and his friends are, that girl is with them. And she might be able to help us find Will and Barb.” He hesitated, his tone softening. “This is gonna be hard to hear, but that body they buried for Will—it was fake. He’s alive, somewhere out there, and we’re going to find him.”

Nancy’s breath hitched. Her wide eyes met Y/N and Jonathan’s, the teenagers struck by disbelief. They were right after all…

As they neared their destination, turning on Maple Street, Hopper slowed the vehicle to a stop a distance away from the Wheeler’s house, the engine humming softly as it idled. The group examined the state of the house—government vehicles swarmed the driveway and street, with agents walking in and out of the house.

Nancy’s panic rose instantly, her heart pounding as she took in the sight. “Oh my god…” she breathed, her hands trembling. Without thinking, she threw the door open and scrambled out, with Hopper following close behind. Jonathan and Y/N exchanged a worried look before following their lead.

Hopper pulled out a pair of binoculars, peering at the agents as they moved in and out of the house. “Hold on, kid,” he muttered, but Nancy’s desperation broke through.

“I have to go home,” Nancy’s voice cracked, her face tight with concern.

“No, you don’t.” Hopper simply stated, focused on the sight in his binoculars. 

“My mom and dad are in there!” Nancy’s voice shot up, frantic now, her eyes wide with fear. Her hands shook as she gestured toward her house, her breath quickening.

“They’ll be okay.” Hopper sighed, putting his binoculars down, only to be met with the sight of Nancy storming off toward her house, while Jonathan and Y/N glanced at each other, giving a small, unsure shrug. 

Hopper was on the girl in seconds, grabbing her arm. “Let go!” Nancy screamed, struggling against his grip as she tried to yank away, desperate to free herself.

“Hey, hey, hey! Listen to me—just listen to me.” Hopper held the girl’s shoulders, his eyes locking with her blue ones in an attempt to get through her. “The last thing in the world we need right now is them knowing you’re mixed up in all of this,” He explained, gesturing toward the government vehicles with his binoculars in hand.

“Mike is over there! My brother is in there!” Nancy shook her head, her breathing ragged.

“No, he’s not. They haven’t found him,” Hopper insisted, his voice firm. He pointed toward the helicopters hovering in the distance, blades slicing through the air, suggesting they were searching for something—someone.

“For Mike?!” Nancy’s voice screeched, her voice breaking in disbelief. The thought of those helicopters hunting her little brother… it wasn’t real.

Hopper drug the girl back into the vehicle with the others following, the car doors slamming shut. But the tension was thick, the air becoming hard to breathe. Nancy sat between Y/N and Jonathan, her breath coming in heavy as her friends looked at her with concern. “Look, you gotta trust me on this, alright?” Hopper turned in his seat, glancing at Nancy. Joyce followed suit, both of them looking back at the teenagers. “We need to find them before they do, any idea where Mike and his friends might go?”

Nancy clenched her fists in frustration, her face tight with anxiety. “No, I don’t know!” she snapped, her voice cracking as it rose, filling the cramped car. Y/N winced at the outburst, her shoulders tensing under the weight of Nancy’s panic.

“You need to think.” Hopper’s voice was frustrated, watching the girl shake her head in complete disbelief.

Nancy’s thoughts spiraled. How had she missed the signs? Her brother and his friends had been acting strange for a while now—secretive, whispering, slipping away—but she’d been too overwhelmed with everything else, too distracted to see what was right in front of her.

“I don’t know!” Nancy shook her head, throwing her hands up in defeat. “We haven’t talked much lately.” Her voice wavered, regret pooling in her chest as her eyes darted toward her house overflowing with government agents.

Joyce leaned forward, her voice softer but no less urgent, eyes scanning the teens. “Is there any place your parents don’t know about? Somewhere he might feel safe?”

Nancy hesitated, her mind racing, but nothing came to her. Before she could respond, Jonathan, who had been quietly lost in thought, suddenly spoke up.

“I might not know exactly where he is, but—I think I know how to ask him,” The boy said, his voice cutting through the tension as the others turned to him, their attention sharpening.

Hopper’s eyes narrowed. “What are you thinking?”

Jonathan leaned forward slightly, glancing at his mom, Joyce. “Their walkie-talkies. Will has one somewhere at home.”

𝐅𝐚𝐢𝐫 𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐭

The sky was slightly overcast, with the sun peeking out of the clouds. Steve Harrington sat on the back of his burgundy BMW parked in front of a quick-mart, his usual perfect hair tousled and wild. His face was still bloody from the fight with Jonathan, and dark purple bruises had already begun to form around the cuts. His jaw throbbed every time he moved it.

“You owe me a dollar-twenty,” Tommy Hagan called out, stepping up behind Steve and tossing a bottle of painkillers his way. Steve caught them as they flew through the air, and Tommy handed him a Coke to wash the pills down. 

“Don’t worry, man,” Tommy continued, his grin widening as he leaned back, smug, “he’s gonna need a lot more than aspirin when we’re done with him.” 

“Yeah, if the cops ever let him out, that is,” Carol chimed in, her voice dripping with cruelty. “They should just lock him up forever. I mean, did you see the look on his face? Total psycho,” She mimicked the look of Jonathan mid-fight, throwing mock punches at Tommy’s chest as he chuckled.

“He probably had that same look whenever he killed his brother, right?” Tommy added with a snicker, giving Steve a light tap on the arm. But Steve remained silent, his expression unreadable—pressing the cold Coke can to the side of his face in an attempt to numb the aching.

Carol, never one to let something go, let alone read the room—continued their tangent. “Oh god, I just got this image of him making that face while he and Nancy are screwing. I wonder if Y/N has ever joined their party—gross!” She grimaced as she said it, but Tommy burst into laughter.

“Carol, just shut your goddamn mouth for once in your life!” Steve’s voice suddenly cut through their mockery, both Tommy and Carol flinching at the unexpected outburst.

Tommy’s brows furrowed as he glanced at Steve, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “Hey, what’s your problem man?” 

Steve pulled the Coke can away from his face, deadpanning Tommy and Carol’s shocked gaze. “You two are the problem. You’re both complete assholes.”

The brown-haired boy pushed himself off his car, turning toward the driver’s door as he shoved through his friends. “Are you serious right now?” Tommy shot back, still baffled.

“Yeah, I’m serious,” Steve spat, gripping the car door before pausing, meeting Tommy’s gaze. “You shouldn’t have done that.”

“Done what?” Tommy’s voice oozed with fake innocence, as if he had no idea what he was talking about.

"You know what," Steve growled, stepping in closer to Tommy, his face tightening with anger.

Tommy’s smirk widened. “You mean calling Nancy out for what she really is? Oh-ho, that’s funny, ‘cause I don’t remember you asking me to stop.” 

Steve’s grip tightened around the Coke can, his voice dropping into a dangerous tone. “I should’ve shoved that spray paint right down your throat.”

Tommy’s jaw clenched at that, his expression hardening as he stepped forward, closing the gap between them. Carol scoffed, tossing her head in disbelief. “What the hell, Steve?” 

Steve’s eyes flicked between the two of them, his patience rapidly wearing thin. “You know, neither of you ever gave a damn about Nancy. Not even Y/N. You didn’t like them, because they’re not miserable like the two of you.” His voice was sharp, filled with bitterness as Tommy and Carol exchanged a glance, acting as if Steve were the crazy one here.

“They actually care about people,” Steve added, before getting cut off by the red-haired girl.

“Oh, right. Nancy—the slut with a heart of gold!” Carol snapped back, the sound of her voice grating Steve’s nerves.

That was it.

“I told you to watch your goddamn mouth!” Steve shouted, pointing at Carol, his Coke can still gripped in his hand. The sudden outburst startled her, but before she could respond, Tommy shoved Steve hard against his car.

"Hey! I don’t know what’s gotten into you, man, but you don’t talk to her that way,” Tommy shot back, jabbing a finger into Steve’s chest. 

Steve had enough. He shoved Tommy back, his frustration reaching its breaking point. “Get out of my face,” he warned, stepping closer, eyes locked with Tommy’s brown ones in an attempt to push him back with sheer will.

But Tommy wasn’t backing down. In an instant, he grabbed Steve by the collar of his jacket, yanking him forward and slamming him against the car again. Steve’s hands instinctively flew up, gripping Tommy’s shoulders tightly.

"Or what? You gonna fight me now, too?" Tommy taunted, shaking Steve by the collar—threatening him, his voice thick with arrogance. "Because you couldn’t take Jonathan Byers, so I wouldn’t suggest that.”

Steve’s brow furrowed, his friend’s mocking words echoing through his mind. Tommy gave him one final shove, releasing his grip and stepping back. Steve exhaled sharply, and with one last look at the pair, he turned, angrily opening his car door.

“Let me help you with that door there, buddy,” Tommy sneered, shoving Steve into his seat, and slamming the door on him with a harsh thud. The engine ignited, and Steve wasted no time backing out—the tires screeching against the parking lot asphalt.

Tommy, not content to let it all go just yet, took off running toward the retreating car. “Run away! Just like you always do! That Nancy’s turning you into a little pussy!” His breath hitched as he shoved the back of the car with both hands, watching it lurch forward.

"That’s right! Run away, Stevie boy!” Tommy continued, his voice echoing down the street as the BMW skidded out of the parking lot, tires screeching against the pavement.

“Now what?!” Carol scoffed, throwing her hands out in frustration, standing stranded in the parking lot beside Tommy.

Steve was pissed. 

His grip on the steering wheel began turning his knuckles white, barely paying attention to the road as his jaw clenched with frustration. The thought gnawed at his mind; what if he had tried to be good for Nancy? It was all wrong—all of it, and he finally realized. Y/N was right, he shouldn’t have been such a shitty person, and such a shitty boyfriend.

Y/N saw him. The real him. And the truth is—that scared the hell out of him.

He shouldn’t have let Tommy and Carol get to him, to let them spray paint those words on The Hawk about Nancy, and he shouldn’t have let his anger get the best of him. Hell, he couldn’t even blame Nancy for everything with Jonathan, but that doesn’t mean it didn’t hurt. But hey, maybe he deserved it—he hurt her too, he pushed her away like she was nothing.

He couldn’t change what he did, and he doubted he could fix it—but he knew he had to try and make it right for those he hurt. At the very least, he owed them that.

𝐁𝐲𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐇𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞

As Joyce’s Ford screeched to a stop outside the Byers house, a cloud of dust billowed up around the group caught in the rush of their arrival. Hopper wasted no time killing the engine, opening the car door to rush inside the house with the others. The teens followed close behind, scrambling out of the backseats and racing up the creaky porch.

Joyce fumbled with the rusty doorknob as she unlocked it, her hands shaking as she finally pushed open the door, sending the group tumbling into the chaos of the Byers home, beginning their desperate search for Will’s walkie-talkie.

Y/N paused as she entered the home, her eyes wide as she took in the disaster before her. Furniture was torn up and overturned, with trash and discarded objects scattered across the wooden floor. The most abnormal part was the Christmas lights hanging overhead, with the alphabet painted onto the wall in the living room—almost like an organized mess.

“Woah,” Nancy muttered under her breath, her eyes glued to the lights as she took in the bizarre setup. Y/N scanned the room, trying to make sense of it all.

“What is all of this?” Y/N questioned, her voice a mixture of awe and confusion, staring at the chaos scattered across the room.

Jonathan, moving briskly down the hall, glanced back over his shoulder, his voice low and hurried. “My mom—she used the lights to talk to Will,”

Y/N and Nancy exchanged questioning looks, with the sound of more clutter echoing throughout the house—until Joyce’s voice broke through.

“I got it!” She shouted, and a small sense of relief coursed over the group. They gathered in what was left in the mess of the Byers living room, attempting to communicate with the younger kids through the walkie-talkie.

“This is an emergency, Mike, do you copy?” Nancy kept repeating, her voice echoing through the room only to be met with silence—the only sound on the other side being static. The quiet felt deafening—like a ticking reminder that they were running out of time. “We need you to answer. We need to know that you’re there, Mike!” Nancy’s voice rose in frustration, until Hopper suddenly stepped forward, pulling the walkie-talkie out of the girl’s grip. She and Y/N exchanged an unsure glance, while Joyce stood by the couch folding her arms tightly, with Jonathan leaning against the wall behind them in anticipation.

“Listen, kid, this is the chief—if you’re there, pick up. We know you’re in trouble, and we know about the girl.” Hopper’s voice commanded, the only response being radio silence as everyone sat quietly, hoping for something—anything on the other side of the radio.

Hopper’s brow furrowed as he pushed on, “We can help you, but you’ve got to pick up. Are you there, do you copy? Over!” He spoke sternly, to no avail. Nothing—again. He sighed, setting the walkie-talkie down in defeat. The man looked toward the rest of the group, rubbing the bridge of his nose, attempting to ground himself.

“Any other ideas?”

As the group exchanged unsure glances, trying to come up with something—a voice arose from the other side of the device, catching their attention. “Yes, I copy. It’s Mike, I’m here… We’re here.” 

In a flash, Hopper picked the walkie-talkie back up, a rush of relief running through everyone. “Where are you?” He asked urgently, to be met with a quick response. “The junkyard, we’re piled up in the abandoned bus,” the boy spoke from the other side.

“I’ll meet you there, kid.” Hopper then set the walkie-talkie back down, hurriedly walking toward the front door as he put his jacket back on. “I’ll go and get them, you all stay here,” The chief commanded, throwing his coat on before being stopped by Y/N—who rushed out of her seat on the couch, grabbing his arm.

“I’ll go with you.” She looked up to Hopper, her eyebrows knit together with determination.

Hopper barely glanced at her, shaking his head as he pulled open the door. “No, if it’s a setup, I need you safe. No questions,” He commanded as he walked out of the door, quickly shutting it behind him before anyone could protest.

“Great,” Y/N muttered, turning on her heel to look at the rest of the group. “Now what?”

Jonathan shrugged, leaning against the living room wall with his arms folded. “I guess we wait.”

Hours had passed, and as the night fell a heavy silence settled over the Byers house, broken only by the occasional creak of floorboards and the distant hoot of an owl outside. The tension was thick in the air as the rest of the group waited anxiously for any sign of Hopper and the kids’ return. 

The living room was bathed in the soft glow of a lamplight while Joyce paced back and forth, her hands wringing together nervously. She couldn’t stop glancing out the window, searching the darkness for the one thing that could put her mind at ease. Every second felt like an eternity.

Y/N sat beside Nancy, her foot bouncing on the floor anxiously as she stared ahead. The weight of the unknown pressed down on her shoulders. Was Hopper okay? Were the kids safe? There were too many questions and not nearly enough answers, and all she could do was wait.

Suddenly—the sound of a car engine broke through the silence, growing louder and louder until it filled the room with a low rumble. Heads snapped toward the window as headlights pierced through the darkness. Joyce rushed to the window, her breath catching in her throat, fingers trembling as they gripped the sill. 

“Is that them?” Y/N’s voice broke the heavy silence in the room. “I hope so, sweetie.” Joyce barely whispered, her gaze still locked on the approaching car, biting her nails in nervous anticipation.

The vehicle pulled up to the house with a screech of tires, its headlights illuminating the front porch in a harsh glare. For a moment, time seemed to stand still as the group held their breath—until Joyce rushed to the front door and opened it, the teens following close behind her.

The headlights turned off and Y/N recognized the vehicle—it was Hopper’s. The chief’s figure exited the driver’s seat, watching as the kids he rescued from the junkyard scrambled over each other out of the back seats.

“Oh my god, Mike?!” Nancy’s voice broke, cracking with relief as she sprinted toward her brother, pulling him into a fierce embrace. “I was so worried about you!” The girl pulled back, gripping her brother’s shoulders, scanning his face with relief.

“Yeah, uh… me too?” Mike spoke softly, taken back by his sister's concern. As Y/N watched the pair reunite, she caught sight of Dustin standing beside Lucas, his face lighting up with surprise when he spotted her.

“Y/N? You’re a part of this too?” The curly-haired boy questioned with wide eyes, disbelief coating his tone.

“Unfortunately,” Y/N gave a small shrug. “Guess we’re all in it now, huh?”

Truth is, she’d rather not be involved in any of it—but it was too late to back out now, for any of them. As Dustin nodded, Y/N’s eyes fell on an unfamiliar face. A girl, small and fragile-looking, stood quietly by the truck. Her head was shaved, and her expression guarded, wearing a pink dress that was covered in grime and dirt. 

Then it clicked.

It was the girl from the articles. They really did find her. Nancy’s gaze followed Y/N’s, her brows knitting in confusion. “Is that my dress?” She asked, gesturing at the dirt-covered pink dress the girl was wearing. 

Mike looked behind himself at the girl, then shot his sister an apologetic smile. “Uh, yeah, about that…”

Everyone had settled inside and sat in the living room. Mike knelt in front of the coffee table, drawing on a piece of paper, sketching out his explanation of what he’d discovered with his friends. The lamp shined with a yellow hue as Y/N sat on the couch next to Nancy, with Hopper standing beside them, his arms crossed.

“Okay—so, in this example, we’re the acrobat,” Mike began, his finger tracing his attempt at a straight line that held the acrobat upright. The others leaned in, listening intently despite their skepticism. His explanation felt as fragile as the world they were beginning to realize they knew nothing about.

“Will and Barbra, and that monster—the Demogorgan—they’re the flea,” he continued, pointing toward the drawing of a flea on the other side of the line underneath the stick figure as the group paid close attention.

“And this is the upside down, where Will is hiding.” He gestured at the space below the line where the flea was placed. The teens exchanged uncertain glances, trying to make sense of it all. 

“Mr. Clarke said the only way to get there is through a rip of time and space,” Mike set the drawing down, looking back up at the rest of the group. 

“A gate,” Dustin chimed in, while Y/N furrowed her brows in thought.

“That we tracked to Hawkins’ lab,” Lucas added, drawing the others' attention. “With our compasses,” Dustin finished his sentence, eager to connect the dots—observing the confused expressions on the others, trying to figure out how to make this all make sense.

With a deep breath, the curly-haired boy continued. “Okay, so, the gate has a really strong electromagnetic field—and that can change the direction of a compass's needle.” He clarified.

Hopper, standing rigidly at the edge of the group, finally spoke. “Is this gate underground?” He questioned, his hand wiping his mustache in thought.

“Yes,” Came the soft reply, catching everyone’s attention as it came out of the mysterious girl’s mouth who had said just about nothing all evening.

“Near a large water tank?” Hopper asked again, his expression darkening as the girl confirmed his suspicions with a silent nod.

“How… how do you know all that?” Dustin glanced at Hopper, the man avoiding eye contact at the question, his lips pressed into a firm line.

“He’s seen it…” Mike thought out loud. “Holy shit!” Dustin shouted, his hands holding the top of his head in disbelief, earning a glare from Hopper—but the dots connected in Y/N’s mind. All the times Hopper had been late and came up with his lame excuses… he’d been investigating Hawkins lab for this girl? That man was absolutely terrible at keeping a secret.

“Is there any way that you could—you could reach Will? That you could talk to him in this…” Joyce asked, slightly stuttering through her nerves, and the girl with the shaved head finished her sentence—her voice barely above a whisper.

“The upside down.”

“Down… yeah,” Joyce whispered, her eyes trailing off in thought.

“And our friend Barbra…” Nancy spoke up after some hesitation, her gaze landing on Y/N next to her, then to the small girl. “Can you find her too?”

The tension in the room weighed heavily upon the group’s shoulders as they surrounded the kitchen table. The girl with powers sat in the center, eyes closed—her face eerily calm as she concentrated. In front of her, the static from Will’s walkie-talkie crackled faintly, along with a sketch of Barb that Y/N had drawn. 

No one could fully understand what the girl was doing, but she’d explained enough—they knew she was trying to find Will and Barb, somewhere deep inside her mind.

The girl’s eyes twitched beneath her eyelids, rolling slightly as her focus deepened. As she concentrated—Y/N felt goosebumps forming on her arms, her hair standing straight in the air as if lightning was about to strike. She furrowed her eyebrows, her mouth open in silent shock until she noticed the lights above her flickering, the electricity in the house faltering as though the very energy was being altered.

There were so many unanswered questions, yet no one dared to speak.

Suddenly, after what felt like an eternity, the girl’s eyes flew open. Her face was pale, heavy with the weight of something unspoken. The electricity above steadied, humming back to life as the static from the walkie-talkie faded into silence once more.

“I’m sorry,” she said softly, her voice barely above a whisper. The girl couldn’t meet anyone’s eyes, her expression guarded, almost hollow.

Y/N’s heart sank. The apology felt heavier than any answer could have been.

Joyce's voice trembled as she leaned across the table, her hands nervously gripping the edge. “What—what’s wrong? What did you see?” She stammered, her wide eyes darting between the girl and Hopper, who rested a reassuring hand on her shoulder. 

“I can’t find them,” the girl’s voice broke, barely audible as she stood, her face pale and exhausted. “I need to use the bathroom,” she glanced at Joyce, and the brunette nodded as she stood from her seat, quickly showing her the way to their restroom.

As soon as the door clicked shut behind the girl, Mike broke the heavy silence. “It’s like… every time she uses her powers, she gets weaker,” he explained, his voice quieter than usual. He exchanged a worried look with Dustin, who added, “The more energy she uses, the more it drains her. Kind of like how a battery runs out.”

“Yeah, you should’ve seen her earlier,” Lucas chimed in, shaking his head in disbelief. “She literally flipped a van off the road with just her mind. It was insane.”

“But,” Mike sighed, slumping into his seat, “she’s totally wiped out now. Like, she can’t even think straight after something like that.”

Joyce re-entered the room, her voice shaky, eyes darting between everyone. “So… how do we help her? How do we make her better?” 

Mike shook his head, sighing with a shrug. “We don’t. We just have to wait and try again.”

Nancy, pacing beside Y/N, threw her hands up in frustration. “Wait? How long is that supposed to take?”

“I don’t know.” Her brother simply said, while Y/N noticed a figure emerging from the hall behind him. The girl stood there, her exhaustion weighing heavy in her eyes, yet her face set in a determined line.

“The bath,” she spoke, and everyone’s focus shifted toward her. 

Joyce shook her head, trying to understand what the girl was saying. “The bath?”

“I can find them… in the bath.” She clarified, while everyone exchanged confused glances, trying to piece together what the girl meant.

Suddenly, Dustin's eyes lit up, a lightbulb going off in his head. “Sensory deprivation!” He exclaimed, a grin spreading across his face as if everything had just clicked into place. “That’s what she’s talking about.” He snapped his fingers and looked around, excited. 

“You’re a genius, Dustin!” Lucas beamed, high-fiving the curly-haired boy who grinned proudly, his gummy smile lighting up the entire room.

“Ms. Byers, can I use your phone?” Dustin asked, and without waiting for an answer, he headed straight for the home phone mounted on the wall, dialing frantically.

“What, why?” Joyce's voice cut through, her eyebrows knitting together in confusion as she stared at the boy.

“My science teacher, Mr. Clarke," Dustin explained, the excitement in his voice building. "He knows all this stuff. He’ll know how to make a sensory deprivation tank, like a bath.”

Everyone stood in silence as they watched the boy ring his teacher, the sound of crickets chirping outside filling the cool air, with the occasional floorboard creaking. Y/N looked toward the clock on the wall, reading 10:07 PM, wondering if the teacher would even pick up the phone this late.

Dustin stood by the phone, the rhythmic ringing seeming to stretch on forever. Just as the silence became unbearable, his voice suddenly pierced the air. “Mr. Clarke? It’s Dustin!”

The boy then begged his teacher to explain sensory deprivation, and on the other end of the line, there was a long pause—Mr. Clarke clearly processing this strange late-night request—but with some persistent pleading from Dustin, he eventually started listing the steps. Joyce quickly handed him a notepad, and Dustin jotted down the instructions, nodding eagerly as he listened. “Yep, uh-huh. We’ll be careful, I promise,” Dustin reassured his teacher, shooting a glance at the others crowded around him, supporting the phone between his shoulder and ear. "Thanks for helping with this curiosity voyage so late! See you Monday, Mr. Clarke."

As he hung up the phone on the wall, Dustin turned to the rest of the group, pencil still in hand. “Do you still have that kiddie pool we used for bobbing apples, Ms. Byers?” He asked, pointing the pencil at her.

Joyce blinked, trying to recall. “Uh… I think so?” She looked to Jonathan, who nodded to confirm.

“Good, then we just need salt. Lots of it.” Dustin declared, raising his brows, his voice taking on a serious tone.

“How much is lots?” Hopper asked, his arms folded over his chest, watching the boy as he re-examined the notes he’d just written on the notepad.

“Fifteen hundred pounds.” Dustin didn’t even flinch, but the room collectively froze.

“And where the hell are we supposed to find that much salt?” Y/N questioned, leaning against the kitchen table with her hands.

Hopper scratched his chin, thinking for a moment before speaking. “I might know a place.”

𝐇𝐚𝐰𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐬 𝐌𝐢𝐝𝐝𝐥𝐞 𝐒𝐜𝐡𝐨𝐨𝐥

The group arrived in the dead of night at Hawkins Middle School. Street lights dimly lit dark, empty roads, with moonlight reflecting off the pavement. Hopper recalled the middle school stores de-snowing salt in bulk, as well as the other supplies they needed. Everyone rushed out of their vehicles, splitting off into groups to grab supplies. Y/N, Dustin, and Lucas made their way inside the school to set up the kiddie pool, after Hopper broke the lock for them. The smell of old books and cleaning supplies lingered in the air, their quick footsteps echoing through the halls past rows of silent classrooms and bulletin boards filled with announcements and posters.

“Never thought I’d be trying to find my presumed-to-be-dead friend with Hawkins’ new girl, let alone a girl who can throw vans with her mind,” The curly-haired boy broke the silence as they walked, carrying the kiddie pool together, a smirk creeping onto his face.

“I'm not that new, jerk. I've been here for months,” Y/N shot back, sending the boy a sideways glance.

Dustin shrugged, not missing a beat. “In Hawkins terms, you're still new. We only get fresh faces once, maybe twice a year, tops. So yeah, you’re still in the 'new kid' category, sorry Y/N.”

The girl scoffed as Lucas shook his head, “Yeah, well the even weirder part here is the girl with telekinetic powers,” he chimed in, raising an eyebrow as he looked between the other two.

Dustin nodded, pretending to consider. “You’ve got a point. I guess you learn something new every day—like the fact that superpowers aren’t just comic book stuff.”

“Right,” Y/N muttered, half to herself. “Because everything else about this town is totally normal.”

The group found the gym, setting down the kiddie pool to open the doors. As they entered, the space was pitch dark—you couldn’t even see your hand in front of your face. Lucas ran his hand along the wall, finding a light switch and flipping it on as the gym became dimly lit by a light hanging in the center. Sponsor flags were hanging up, with the school’s theme colors painted on the walls.

“Alright, let's get this thing to the middle,” Y/N suggested, gesturing toward the kiddie pool. 

“Son of a bitch—why is this thing so heavy?” Dustin grumbled, his face scrunched with effort as they dragged the bulky pool, the plastic skidding as it slid across the slick floor.

“Because we’re doing this the hard way,” Y/N said dryly, helping the boys roll it into position. Once they reached the middle, they untied the rope holding the kiddie pool together and threw it aside. They began to pull it apart, but it quickly became clear they were in over their heads.

“Okay, um—it’s upside down,” Dustin muttered, fumbling uselessly with the sides.

“No, it’s not. Pull harder,” Lucas corrected the boy, earning an, “I am!” from Dustin, trying to make sense of the mess as Y/N tugged on one of the flaps, only to watch it flop back down, throwing her hands out in defeat. “How does this even work?”

“I don’t know—we need a strategy,” Lucas declared. “Let’s pull it back together… on three.” 

The group readied themselves, holding onto the edges. “One, two, three,” Lucas counted down, pulling it apart with everyone, but the walls of the kiddie pool stubbornly collapsed on the floor with a loud thud.

“Shit!” Dustin exclaimed, throwing his hands up in frustration. “This damn thing has a mind of its own.”

Y/N huffed, shaking her head as she put her hands on her hips. “Okay, we seriously need a new plan.”

“Yeah, before we end up in a wrestling match with a kiddie pool,” Lucas chimed in with a playful grin, before Dustin slapped his shoulder. “Hey, man! What was that for?”

After a bit of waiting, Nancy and Mike arrived in the gymnasium pushing a wheelbarrow full of hoses, rushing to connect it to a water source in the janitor's closet. As they connected all the hoses, Mike drug the hose to the kiddie pool, helping the others hold it up. Water began to flood in the pool, while Lucas shouted at Nancy whether to turn the water hotter or cooler to get the temperature just right.

Hopper and Jonathan arrived with their supplies and worked together to pour all fifteen hundred pounds of salt into the pool. They passed the sacks of salt to each other and slit them open with a knife, watching the white crystals spill into the water.

The boys tested how much salt they needed to use by dropping an egg into the water. If it floated, everything was exactly as it needed to be: salt amount, water amount, water temperature, etc. The egg kept sinking, so they added more and more salt until the egg finally floated on the surface, the boys giving each other a big high-five in victory.

The girl with the shaved head finally arrived at the gym with Joyce, bringing the whole group back together as they gathered around the kiddie pool. Mike grabbed his walkie-talkie, turning up the static on an empty channel. Y/N watched as the girl began to take off her socks to enter the pool, with Joyce handing her blacked-out science goggles.

“What’s her name again?” Nancy whispered as Y/N stood beside her, glancing at her brother, Mike. 

“Eleven—or El, for short.”

The girl took a deep breath and stepped into the pool, making her way to the center after Joyce and Hopper helped her, supporting her with their hands. The group sat around the kiddie pool, watching the girl lay back—her pink dress becoming soaked, flowing in the water.

Not even a few seconds in, the electricity in the gymnasium surged—flickering on and off. The same feeling Y/N had felt at the Byers washed over her, goosebumps forming on her skin as her hair stood like there was electricity. Everyone exchanged stunned looks with each other, until suddenly—the gym blacked out, leaving the emergency lights on, dimly lighting the room.

“That’s not creepy at all…” Dustin whispered under his breath, before getting cut off by Eleven’s voice.

“Barbra?” The girl’s soft voice echoed through the gym, while Y/N and Nancy tentatively leaned in to hear what the girl was saying—their concern for their lost friend rising. The girl began breathing heavily, and abruptly—the lights began flickering erratically once again.

“What’s going on?” Nancy questioned as she looked around with wide eyes.

“I don’t know,” Mike answered, exchanging a worried glance with the girl.

“Is Barb okay? Is she okay?” Nancy asked desperately, gripping the rim of the kiddie pool—her voice quivering. Her expression was etched with fear, searching for any sign of her friend’s fate. Eleven remained silent for a few moments, then suddenly began repeating a single, devastating word.

“Gone.”

The word grew louder with each repetition, echoing through the gymnasium, sending waves of dread that crashed over Y/N—especially Nancy. Her hand reached to cover her mouth, her eyebrows furrowed together in disbelief. Y/N placed a hand on Nancy’s shoulder, watching as tears began to form in her eyes.

Joyce placed a comforting hand on Eleven, her voice soothing as she tried to calm the girl. “It’s okay, it’s okay,” Joyce whispered. Eleven's breaths came fast and shallow, her small body trembling until she finally steadied herself. The gym lights flickered and went out again, the emergency lights casting a dim glow. “Castle Byers,” Eleven spoke through the oppressive silence, her voice clear and urgent. Joyce and Jonathan exchanged glances, hope sparking inside of them as they leaned in toward El.

“Will?” Eleven called out, her voice carrying through the stillness, earning a gasp from Joyce.

“You—you tell him I’m coming. Mom is coming.” Joyce stuttered, her hands trembling as she held Eleven’s shoulders, eyes wide with desperation. Everyone's attention suddenly snapped to the walkie-talkie as a boy's voice crackled through the static—breaking the silence with a single, urgent word.

“Hurry.” 

Everyone exchanged shocked glances, the gym filling with silence once again, until Eleven abruptly jerked up in the pool, water splashing—startling the group. She gasped, taking off the science goggles, and Joyce immediately pulled her into a tight embrace. 

“I’ve got you,” Joyce repeated. “It’s okay sweetie, you did so good,” She spoke reassuringly, stroking the girl’s head as she comforted her.

Y/N sat frozen for a moment, then made a sudden beeline for the gymnasium doors, her footsteps echoing loudly in the silent space. She burst into the dimly lit hallway, clutching her mouth, attempting to piece together what happened in her mind. She was grateful for the hope for Will, but all she could think about was Barbra.

Did she die as soon as she got sucked up in my dream? Was there a chance I could’ve saved her if we would’ve figured this all out sooner?

She paced the hall frantically before being startled by the sight of Hopper in her frenzy—stopping dead in her tracks, his presence a sudden, grounding force. “Come here, kid,” the man opened his arms, watching as tears welled up in the girl’s eyes. She ran and clashed into his embrace, almost knocking him back.

“What if—” Y/N’s voice began to tremble, pausing momentarily as she took a deep, shaky breath. “What if I could’ve saved her?” She said, closing her eyes tight, wishing it all away—only to be met with Barb’s frightened expression, clutching onto Hopper even tighter.

“Listen, there’s nothing you could’ve done, Y/N. There’s nothing we could’ve done, it wasn’t your fault.” Hopper sighed, his voice thick with empathy, rubbing the girl's back, watching as she pulled away from the hug—meeting her teary-eyed expression.

“Everything’s going to be okay.” Hopper raised his eyebrows. “I’ve got to go meet Joyce in my car, alright? We’re going to save Will. You stay here with the kids, we will be back.” The man put his hands on the girl’s shoulders, watching her nod tentatively.

“Okay…” she managed to speak, watching Hopper’s hands leave her shoulders as he walked past her toward the exit, leaving the girl in the empty, silent hallway. 

“Be safe, okay?” Y/N called out to Hopper before he left, watching him turn around to meet her gaze.

“Always, kid.”

As Hopper exited, Y/N was left alone in the middle school’s hallway, lost in thought. What now? She couldn’t just sit here and wait. Suddenly, the gym doors swung open, revealing the girl’s friends—Nancy and Jonathan.

“Y/N?” Nancy's voice called out, breaking through the stillness. Their worried gazes met Y/N’s, a moment of profound silence hanging in the air. The three stood there, united by their grief and determination. Nancy’s voice was low but resolute.

“Let’s kill that damn thing.”

────────────────────────────────────────────

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[broketraveler87]

Maverick’s Apartment: Above Bradshaw’s Garage

[outalongtheedges]

Goose on Film pt2

Part 1 Masterlist

The big photo albums that Goose kept all of his pictures in, took up the majority of the bookcases in the Bradshaw's study, lining at least the two bottom rows. Goose on Film Volumes 1 - infinity for all Ice cared. He never really bothered to count them, cause whenever he had tried to, Goose had produced another one, adding it to the shelf after making a whole show out of it. Goose would get out the projector and made all of them sit in his living room while telling them a story about each and every one of the photos he's taken for this album.

Ice would be lying to himself and everyone he knew if he didn't admit that he at least enjoyed those evenings just a little bit. In fact he loved them, together with everyone he cares about, Mav by his side laughing and smiling.

Today was another evening like that, celebrating Goose on Film volume 30-something. Mav's last mission, him and Bradley smiling and laughing as they had made it out alive, BBQ at their place last summer and much more.

Ice stared at the cork board with a faint smile, looking at the things Goose and Carole had deemed as important enough to hang up on there. Two post-it notes, one with an airplane Goose had tried to draw that came out looking more like a fish, the two photos he had to steal back from Mav and Slider's wife, a negative to a picture of him and Mav from the 90s and of course their entire pride and joy, a picture little Brad Brad had drawn them. Not being able to draw planes seems to run in the family.

Ice smiled like he only did in private, looking at all the memories the Bradshaws had kept over the years, their entire house a testament to a life full of memories worthy of being stored out in the open.

Goose on Film Vol. 5, open on the floor, first page showing Mavericks sloppy all caps handwriting in a pen that had already seen its best days by the time Goose made his husband write the title with it. The photo to the negative that was on the cork board, gleamed at him in mint condition, like it had never been touched or seen the light of day. Maverick never seemed to look at the camera when he was so most of the photos they have together are of either him or Mav looking at anything other than the camera pointing at them. Nothings changed there.

Sometimes Ice doesn't know which exit ramp on which highway he took to end up here, but he won't question it.

"Ice come back! Carole's getting the ice cream!"

His smile grew, bidding the albums and the cork board a last goodbye. "Until next time", Ice whispered and turned back around to his family.

Listen I know I promised this thing to you guys at least a month ago, I apologize. My apprenticeship is beating my ass right now, time wise mostly. Thing is I've also been writing on an icemav ff. I'm not going to promise you ppl any time frames, cause I know it won't work out, but it'll come.

[tgmsunmontue]

Season to Taste - 10/? WIP

Explicit Hangster - Celebrity Chef Bradley and Naval Aviator Jake Seresin who have a relationship spanning the globe before they realize how tightly bound they are to one another. Heading into this little world.

PROLOGUE/ONE TWO THREE FOUR FIVE SIX SEVEN EIGHT NINE

CHAPTER TEN – AN INTERLUDE

                Pete freezes, recognizing the voice even after all these years.

                No.

                It can’t be.

                It’s coming from inside the house.

                He follows the sound into the living room, finds Ice has left the TV on, one of those cooking shows he insists on watching these days. He’s always inviting Pete to join him, but he can’t stand reality TV except… As he watches, Bradley appears and he’s in chef whites, face grim, eyes flashing in annoyance and boy is Pete familiar with that look. An angry and in charge Bradley, but this time he’s barking out orders and other people in chef whites are jumping to follow his direction, snapping out sharp 'yes chef's and then Bradley’s stepping up to his own workspace, hands and knife moving so rapidly it’s a blur.

                Then the scene changes to someone else, and he doesn’t care about them. Wants to see Bradley again. Needs to find the remote control so he can find the name of the show. Wait. Google. If Bradley is on TV then there will be information about him there as well and he can find out all the information. While he knows Ice is in touch with Bradley he also knows that Bradley has asked for him not to pass things on to Pete. He remembers begging, asking for just the confirmation that Bradley was okay. That had made Ice give in, confirm that he had found him and he was safe and well and that there were people willing to look out for him.

                It’s a subject they don’t touch. A subject they disagree on, Pete holding his word to Carole, and to Goose over everything and he remembers Ice snapping Carole is dead Mav, Bradley is alive and you’ve just broken your relationship with him. Part of him knows Ice is right, but also he can’t undo his actions, and he would rather Bradley hate him than the memory of his mother. He knows that Bradley sends Ice an email every couple of weeks, sometimes the occasional phone call, that they have a relationship of some sort, even if it isn’t a close one. He doesn’t know if Bradley ever asks about him, and he’s not about to ask Ice.

                Okay.

                Google it is.

                It’s a wealth of information. Bradley has his own restaurant in New York. Tartaruga Blu. It has a Michelin star and is likely going to get another. He’s done four different TV shows, guest starred on countless other and has just finished filming a fifth. Pete guesses he’s going to watch reality TV now, wants to start with the oldest and maybe catch up on what he’s missed of Bradley’s life. The hurt isn’t sharp, but it is a deep ache inside him, and he also knows the blame is solely on his shoulders.

…            …            …

                He’s been dwelling on it, processing and all the while binge watching reality TV featuring his godson. He fast-forwards the bits with contestants, does more googling to find out which episodes Bradley is the guest judge for other shows. Learns there’s a corner of the internet that have pages of photos because apparently Bradley is hot. At least he now knows what parts of the internet to avoid. He’s settling down to dinner, and he looks at the poached fish and vegetables with a more critical eye. Realizes Ice’s cooking is suddenly another way he’s trying to keep Bradley close to him and the pain in his chest twists a little deeper. A little harder.

                “Ice… those cooking shows you watch.”

                “Mmm.”

                “You watch them because of Bradley…”

                Ice’s head snaps up and his lips are tight, eyes cautious, then he simply nods, once.

                “He asked me not to tell you, but I said I couldn’t control what you watched on TV… but you’ve really held out on watching any type of reality TV.”

                “You could have dropped a hint!”

                “The fact that it was me watching wasn’t enough of a hint?”

                “Huh. Okay. Yeah, you have a good point. Wait. Shit. So he’s… famous I guess?”

                “Yeah. I guess he is. He borrowed against the house. Got a couple of investors. He’s got a good team of people working with him.”

                “Baby Goose all grown up…”

                “Hmm. You think about telling him why?” Ice asks, and he doesn’t need to ask what he means. This is the point of contention they always circle back to in their arguments.

                “Do you think he’d listen to me?”

                “I… I think that maybe he would now. He’s made himself his own path.”

                “I’ll think about it.”

[ohtobeleah]

Bleed For This // Bradley Bradshaw

Summary: It’s not Maverick that goes down in the Snowy Mountains, but you & Bradley Bradshaw. And someone doesn’t make it back.

Warnings: Character Death. F-18 crash. Bradley Bradshaw x best friend!reader

Word Count: 2.9k

Author Note: Day Fourteen of Whumptober. Prompt I chose: Bleeding through the bandage. Thank you to @ailesswhumptober for the prompt list.

Whumptober Masterlist | Main Masterlist

It wasn't supposed to end like this, with you standing over the freshly laid dirt that covered your best friend's coffin. It wasn't supposed to end like this, the two of you. Your entire life you had been told over and over that you and Bradley Bradshaw were meant for each other. That the two of you were two peas in a pod, the light of each other's lives, the solace in each other's discomforts. Each other’s person. 

But yet here you were–standing over his freshly laid grave sight right next to the man who he strived every damn day to be every bit like. Nick ‘Goose’ Bradshaw and the woman whose heart was just as big as Bradleys, Carole Bradshaw. Bradley had always wanted to be every bit like his dad:

Now he was. 

“I should probably get you home.” It was Jake's hand on the small of your back that drew you out of your own little make believe world, where Bradley was still alive and you couldn't feel his blood on your hands. “Come on Kerner, let's get you home.” 

“Yeah–” You sighed in complete and utter defeat, it felt all too surreal to leave your best friend behind six feet under. “Do you think he's cold?”  You asked softly as Jake led you away from Bradleys fresh grave sight. The two of you were the last to leave as grey storm clouds loomed overhead just waiting for the perfect moment to pour down. “He shouldn’t have come for me Jake, if he had just gone back to the carrier, he’d be alive.” You still had your arm in a sling, your collarbone had been busted in your ejection. Your arm had been burned to pieces. “I should have brought him a blanket, it’s gonna be so cold tonight.” 

Jake couldn't begin to understand what it was like to lose someone you grew up with the way you and Bradley Bradshaw had. The two of you were the stuff of legend, the Nepotism duo, the lovers who were too blind, too stubborn, too focused on your careers to realise forever was standing right there. 

“I think he’s happy to be with his parents again.” Jake replied as he walked with you slowly, arm slung over your shoulder. He felt it was his duty to keep an eye on you. Your dad had asked that of him and who was Jake to deny the wishes of Commander Kerner. “You know Rooster, he groomed that stupid moustache every morning just to be a little like his dad.” That made you laugh, for all the times you teased Bradley for his moustache, you never did mean it. 

You were really going to miss that stupid moustache. Hell, you were really going to miss Rooster. You'd never stopped to think about a life without him earth side, and now you were living in it. 

In a world without Bradley Bradshaw. 

***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***

Two Weeks Prior:

Some say the world will end in fire, some say in ice. But from what you had tasted of desire you held with those who favour fire. But if you had to perish twice, you knew enough of hate to say that for destruction ice is also great and would suffice.

The icy snow made your body shiver and shake. It stung like nothing you had ever experienced before. It made your entire body rigid, like tiny pins and needles were jabbing into every little part of you. But then there was a warmth completely unparalleled to the burn of the snow that you laid face first in. It was a burn so deep that it took your breath away as you pushed yourself up to your knees. 

“Oh, oh fuck.” You hissed as your vision took a second to kick in. Amongst the blanket of china white snow that rivalled that of pure cut heroin, there were burning pieces of fuselage that flickered orange and red embers of fire every which way the wind chose to take them. 

Then it hit you, you’d been hit by a surface to air missile after trying to save your best friend. Rooster didn't have enough time on his side nor the flares to back up his manoeuvres. So without thinking, without a second of hesitation, you covered him and ended up taking the hit. You’d die for him any day of the week. 

“Shit–” Everything hurt as you took off your flight helmet. Your arm was completely burnt to the point your flight suit had melted right into your skin. You didn't know if it had been a flare or a part of your F-18 that was the culprit. But regardless of what had caused the burn, it fucking hurt. 

As you looked around the snowy forest you never imagined that you’d see what you saw next. You thought for sure you were a goner when you’d been hit, that no one would come for you. No one would turn back for you, look for your fighter jet wreckage, look for you. 

“Oh god no—“ You saw him flying across the open field, Rooster, your beloved Bradley, your best friend. He was looking for you. “No no no no no.” And in doing so had a S.A.M right on his tail. “Rooster no—“ And he was hit and hit hard all because he came back for you. 

Your lungs felt like they were on fire as you ran towards where you’d see Bradley pull his chute. Your legs wanted to give in as your muscles threatened to tear right off the bone. Every step, every pain filled stride you took your heart threatened to explode inside your chest. But you wouldn’t stop running, not until you got to Rooster. 

“Bradley!” You shouted when you saw him lying in a debris field of his own F-18, completely blown to smithereens. “Oh no, no no no no Rooster!” You had never run so fast and so hard and with such desperation before. It didn’t matter how much you hurt, you needed to get to your best friend, the love of your life. 

Who the fuck chose the both of you for this mission? Why the fuck did it have to be you? Be him? 

“Roo?” You cooed as you dropped to your knees beside him, the blood was oozing through his flight suit. He’d been hit pretty bad, it didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out just how bad this really was. “Oh god Rooster why?” 

Bradley was looking at you with all the love in the world, those baby cow eyes, so deep and brown and full of tears, looked at you like you were the light of his life. Because you were. You really really were. 

“Drifter—“ It was a play on your fathers callsign. Slider. It made sense, Goose and Rooster, Slider and Drifter. “Hi, hey—you’re okay?” The utter relief in Rooster's voice was evident the seconds his eyes scanned you up and down. “I’m so glad you’re alright.” 

“Hey.” You cooed as you let a shaky hand push the sweaty blonde locks away from Roosters forehead. “What are you doing down here Roo? You should be back on the carrier by now.” There was a pregnant pause between your question and Bradley’s answer as you watched blood pool at his lips. He was bleeding out and bleeding fast. 

“I had to make sure you were okay.” He admitted as you tried to make a makeshift bandage with the leg of your flight suit. Ripping the material clean off your own body. “I couldn’t—“ The cough was bloody and deep and it made your heart sink, but you knew you could save him. You could save Rooster if you tried hard enough. If you committed every ounce of your life to it. “I couldn’t leave you behind.” 

“Well you’re an idiot alright, you shouldn’t have come for me.” You sighed as you worked with what you had. “I’m sorry, this might hurt but I have to try and stop the bleeding alright.” 

“AAAHHH!” Rooster couldn’t hold in his screams as you pressed your hands into his stomach. The blood seeped straight through the makeshift bandage right between your fingers. “Fuck!! It hurts!” 

“Shhh, shhh it’s alright, I’ve got you.” You tried to soothe Bradley as you felt your tears welling in your eyes. “You’re fine, you’re fine, Rooster, I'm here.” Panic, pure panic was rising in your veins as adrenaline kept you from processing the fact your best friend was lying in the snowy field before you bleeding out through the bandages you had made. “You’re going to be okay, I just need you to focus and stay with me alright? You can do that for me can’t you Roo?” 

Bradley didn’t answer you as you applied previously against his wounds. You didn’t give up though, not for a second. 

“Bradshaw, I asked you a fucking question!” 

“I’ve been in love—“ It was a staggered confession as blood trickled out of Rooster mouth. Bloodstained teeth had never looked so good on a person. “I’ve been in love with you since we were kids, Kerner.” Bradley’s eyes never left you as he spoke. He couldn’t feel anything but the cold kiss of death. He saw the reaper over your shoulder coming for him. “You’re my best friend, I just—needed you to—to know that.” 

“No.” You refused to believe this was happening as you watched Bradley’s blood seep between your fingers, staining your skin to the point where you knew no matter how much you tried to scrub them clean they wouldn’t ever be clean. “No, stop talking! You’re fine Rooster, please don’t leave me here.”

“I’ve always wanted to love you.” He kept speaking though, through the pain and the tears and the blood, Rooster kept telling you his deepest secrets. His biggest regret would always be not telling you sooner. His biggest regret would be never getting off his perch. “You’re gonna be alright—“

“For fuck sake Rooster you aren’t dying!” It was pure denial as you tried to stop him bleeding. You knew if you could get the bleeding to stop then you could save your best friend. “You can’t die, I don’t know how to live without you, you’re my person, so please, for the love of god just shut up and focus on staying alive.” 

Rooster didn’t speak for a few minutes, all he did was breathe and try to keep his eyes open. He focused on you and your profile, how beautiful you truly were—even in a situation like this. He thought about what it would be like to marry you, watch you grow old like he had since he was three, what it would be like to spend the rest of his life with you. He hoped that whoever did get to be your person next would be able to handle you and all your fire. That they never tried to smother it. He hoped that they would at the very least, add some fuel to the fire that burned in your soul. He hoped that they’d take care of you and love you and let you know how much you bring to this life. 

“Kiss me.” Bradley whispered just above something audible. “Kiss me, please Kerner.” 

“Rooster?” It was at that moment you knew he was going. His face was all clammy and he was oh so cold to the touch. 

“Please kiss me so I can go.” He begged you softly as he placed his hand on top of where your hands were covered in his blood over his stomach. “My dads here.” 

“Well tell Goose you aren’t ready!” The tears that left your body were grief stricken. It was like nothing you had ever felt before. To mourn someone you loved so deeply, so fiercely and so much that to imagine a life without them it took a piece of you with them. “Tell him you can’t go because I need you here.” You cried as you leaned over to press your forehead to Bradley’s. “You don’t get to die, tell whoever’s here for you to fuck off—you’re not dying.” 

“Just kiss me.” Was all Bradley cooed before you leaned in to press your lips against his. It wasn’t the first time, but it would be the last. He was oh so pale and cold as the ice he laid bleeding out on. You felt his blood on your lips and god you’d never forget that feeling. Whatever had struck him had completely decimated his stomach. No amount of bandages could save him. 

You never stood a chance they would later tell you. No amount of first aid could have saved Bradley Bradshaw. 

“I love you, I love you.” It was like a mantra, Rooster kept saying it over and over until you heard him stop. That’s how you knew he was gone. Because the silence was far too loud and far too heartbreaking and the sound of his I love yous would haunt you forever. 

“Damn you Bradshaw, I love you too.” You cried as you laid beside him, curled up against his body for what felt like eternity. When help arrived you refused to leave his side. And you didn’t until someone had you sedated on the carrier—

“I'm so sorry.” Jake sat in the medical bay watching over you as you slept. “I'm so sorry Kerner.” He spoke to himself as he thought about all the times Bradley had told him in drunken bar conversations how much he loved you, his best friend. “But he did what he did to make sure you got out, that you would be alright.” 

“He left me.” You mumbled just loud enough for Jake to hear. He didn’t know you were awake. You weren’t supposed to be, or so he thought. “He told me he loved me, and then he died.” You would have cried if you weren’t so dehydrated. “I lost my person. How do I recover from that?” 

Jake didn’t know what to tell you, so he didn’t speak. He simply held back his own tears and kissed your forehead. 

“I don’t know Drifter, I really don’t know.” 

***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***

Present 

“We’re gonna head out for a drink, just you and me.” Jake explained as he pulled you in under his arm a little more. The two of you were both dressed in your formal wear. It wasn't exactly the attire for casual drinking. 

“Oh, I can't Hangman.” You denied the proposal almost immediately. “I have to head home and sort out a bunch of Roosters belongings.” Jake understood, but he also knew you needed a friend before anything else right now. And what kind of friend would Jake Seresin be if he let the love of Bradley Bradshaw's life drown in her own inner turmoil?

“Yeah, but before you go do that, I think you need to whine about it some more to me first.” Jake knew that the last thing you wanted to do was to have to pack away your best friend's belongings knowing he’d never need them again. He guessed it was the downfall of sharing an apartment off base with the guy. “I'd be pretty pissed off too if Bradshaw left his crap lying around and I had to clean up after him, so, you definitely need a drink or two.” 

You didn't reply straight away as you walked through the cemetery that now held three Bradshaws. But when you did, Jake's heart sank just a little more inside his chest for you. 

“What are you afraid of?” You asked softly as you stopped and turned to face the man who hadnt left your side since you were brought back to the carrier. Completely distraught and shell shocked. “That I’m gonna–” Before you could even finish your sentence Jake interrupted. 

“I'm afraid that you’re gonna keep crawling into my bed after busting into my apartment in the middle of the night.” That much was true, you had done that a handful of times. But to be fair, Jake never locked his door. He really needed to start doing that. “Look, Rooster left his Bronco to me.” Jake sighed as he looked up at the sky, watching as rain threatened to fall. “But he also left me you too.” He explained with a solemn smile. “It's just us now and I don't know, if you need someone to bitch to or just be–” It was your turn to interrupt.

“My person.” 

“I don't know what you mean?” Jake sighed as he looked back over his shoulder up to where Bradley's grave lay. He swore he could see him, watching Jake as he tried his best to comfort the love Bradley left behind. The love he hoped Jake would cherish as much as he did. 

“But you do.” You smiled softly before you pulled Jake in for a hug. You'd never see your best friend again in the land of the living, but you had a person in Jake Seresin. And he was determined to keep his promise to your dad, to watch over you always. He was going to be your person no matter what. 

“I've got you Kerner.” Jake rubbed his hand up and down your back to soothe your cries. He could feel you crying in his arms. You'd been through a lot, lost a lot too. But you weren't about to lose Jake. 

Not now, not ever. “I've got you.” 

***~****~***~***~***~***~***

Whumptober Tags 🏷️ @xoxabs88xox @oldermenaremyreligion @slut-f0r-u @emma-is-cool @armydrcamers @topguncortez @topgun-imagines @kmc1989 @els-marvelvsp @blindedbythelightt

[topguncortez]

A Letter to My Grandchild - Rooster & Dragon

over the rainbow series | rooster & dragon masterlist | main masterlist

synopsis: Maverick isn't known for keeping a lot of things from his past, but he did hang on to a beat up old shoe box for the day his best friend's boy would grow up and settle down

word count: 2.3k

warnings: pregnancy, mentions of past pregnancies, mentions of character death, cursing

note: nope y'all didn't miss any parts. it's just me, writing out of order. and I wanted to give y'all something cute and sweet before whumptober starts:)

Maverick wasn’t sure how long he had held on to the letter, let alone remembered where he had put it. Penny thought he had finally lost his mind when she came home to boxes of Mav’s stuff strewn all over the living room. Maverick had never ever been labeled a “pack-rat” choosing to live very modestly, but there was some stuff he had kept over the years. One of those things had been a couple of envelopes that Carole had given to him the last time he saw her alive. Carole could hardly keep her eyes open from the pain medication but she had managed to direct Maverick towards her closet and grab an old shoe box that had been tucked away in the corner. 

“You give that to him. . . when he becomes a father,” She had whispered to Maverick. He had promised his best friend’s widow that he would keep the box safe and protect it with his life. He swore that if his house was on fire, that old shoe box from Yonkers would be the one thing he ran back in and saved. 

Maverick didn’t even bother to wrap the shoe box or remove its contents into some nicer box. Instead, he slapped a bright pink bow on it and set it on the gifts table with the others, sticking out like a sore thumb. He stood in the back of the crowded bar with Jake and the rest of the guys, watching as Dragon and Rooster took their time opening up the gifts and holding them up so everyone could see. Phoenix sat to the right of her sister, already taking on the doting aunt duty by writing down what the gift was and who it was from. 

Maverick still couldn’t believe that he was standing in the same room as Bradley Bradshaw, celebrating the soon to be birth of his child. If you would’ve told him ten years ago that he would be “grandpa mav”, he probably would’ve laughed in your face. There was no way on earth that anyone, let alone a child of Bradley’s would be calling him “grandpa”. Those years of hatred and no communication seemed to be a distant memory now as Maverick watched the kid who was basically his son try to hold back tears while holding newborn onesies and baby blankets. 

The baby shower was shark theme, which had to have been 100% Dragon’s idea, and Rooster went along with it. Dragon was at the point in her pregnancy where all Rooster could do was nod along and agree with her. So if was sharks that she wanted ontop of carrot cake cupcakes, than it was sharks on top of carrot cake cupcakes she got. It was moments like these, where Maverick could see the resemblance between Rooster and Goose. Two Bradshaw men who would’ve gone to the ends of the earth to make their partners happy. 

“Last one!” Phoenix smiled, and handed Dragon a beat up old shoe box, “It’s from Mav.”  

“You couldn’t have wrapped it!?” Penny scolded, lightly smacking her husband’s arm.

Pete just shrugged, “Adds character.” Penny rolled her eyes. Dragon chuckled, carefully removing the top. Her eyes widened for a moment, then she looked up to look at her husband. 

“Rooster,” Dragon whispered, her eyes starting to fill with tears as she looked down at the contents of the box. Bradley leaned over her shoulder, his eyebrows furrowed, “Look.” Dragon handed him the shoebox, and he felt his breath get caught in his throat. 

“Are these all from-” 

“Your mom and Dad from various deployments. There’s some written after his death too,” Maverick said, “She promised me to keep that box for you.” 

Rooster nodded, his eyes feeling the sting of tears, “Th-” He cleared his throat, “Thanks. I’ll have to read them.” Dragon grabbed his hand and squeezed it, “Thanks everyone for the gifts. It’s clear that Baby Bradshaw is gonna be one spoiled duck.” 

“Hell yeah!” Jake cheered, raising his glass, only to be swatted by his wife for his language. 

— — — 

Later that night, after Bradley had joined Dragon for a bath, and rubbed her feet until she fell asleep, he grabbed that old, worn shoebox and sat down at the kitchen table. He poured himself a glass of scotch and grabbed his glasses, sitting in the orange glow from the light above the stove. There were probably a hundred letters in the shoebox, some of them bound together with a rubber band with notes on them. Carole had grouped together letters that were sent from when Goose was either at the academy, in flight school, or deployed. Bradley carefully ran his fingers over his parent’s handwriting as he shifted through the box, landing on one letter in particular. 

‘Open when: you become a father 

It was his mother’s handwriting, Bradley could tell by the curly tails of some of the letters. He gently opened the worn envelope that had a coffee stain on it, which always seemed to be a signature of Carole Bradshaw letter. Bradley could remember the various birthday and Easter cards that somehow had a coffee stain on the envelope. He unfolded the sheets of paper, and sucked in a breath as he began to read. 

‘Dear Bradley, 

If you are reading this it means two things, I am no longer with you. Though it is sad, you must remember that my earthly body is no longer there, but my soul remains with you always. The other thing that this means, is means you are about to be a father. 

Your dad once told me the greatest thing to ever happen to him was becoming a father. Now, I thought he was lying to make me feel better about getting pregnant so young and when his career was just getting started, but he assured me that it was the truth. And for those three years, I got to watch him live up to that truth. 

You might not remember a whole lot about your father, but he was a damn good one. Bradley, he loved you more than anything in the world. More than flying with Maverick, more than the Phillies, and more than apple pie on Sunday afternoons. He once told me that he could walk away from flying forever and be just fine because he would have you to fill his time. 

I bet you are scared, and that’s okay. Goose was too, but do you know what he used to say about being scared?  “What is life without a little fear? A life that is not one at all.” But I assure you, that parenthood is the best time of your life. There is nothing better than watching your child grow and become their own person. My favorite thing was watching you become an adult and spread your wings on your own. There comes a time in your life when you will sit back and say to yourself: “Yep. I did that.” as your child gets ready to leave the home and start a life of their own. 

There are three simple rules to live by when it comes to being a parent: 

Celebrate everything - no matter how big or small 

Write down a note or two about the day, it’ll help you remember when you get old like me 

Love can conquer all - remember to tell them that.

Oh, how I wish I could meet the person you fell for. Bradley, your heart is so big, I just know that whoever it is you met has a big heart just like you. You need someone to challenge you, someone who has the same spitfire and determination as you. Whomever it is, I hope you treat each other respectfully and always say I Love You before you leave for the day and every night. And remember no house is complete without an ironing board. 

Bradley, I hate to leave this earth before you really get a chance to be on your own. It hurts me that you are about to walk into adulthood on your own and start a family without your own, but remember, I am always there. If you need me, turn to the sky, and I will guide you. We will both guide you. 

We love you, Bradley. 

Always have & Always will, 

-love, 

Mom. 

P.s. I also found a letter that your dad wrote when we found out we were pregnant with you. 

P.p.s I hope you can forgive Maverick one day. He only did what he thought was best.’ 

Bradley didn’t even know Dragon had walked into the kitchen until he felt a hand on his shoulder. He jumped and looked up at her, a small smile on her face. He pushed his chair back from the table and pulled her to sit down on his lap, his hand instantly resting on her protruding bump. Dragon gently cupped his cheek in her hand, wiping away a tear he didn’t know rolled down his cheek. 

“You weren’t in bed,” Dragon mumbled, running a hand through his curls, “The baby wouldn’t settle down without you.” 

“‘M sorry,” Bradley said, placing a kiss on her cheek, “Wanted to look through these.” 

“Yeah?” Dragon asked and he nodded, “Do you care if I-?” 

“Oh go ahead,” Bradley said, “I was just about to read this one from my dad. . . C-can you read it, actually? I don’t think I can.” 

“Of course, baby,” Dragon said and picked up the letter. She smiled looking at the messy, yet familiar handwriting, “You two have the same handwriting,” She looked at his baby cow brown eyes, “Dear Baby Bradshaw,” Dragon read, “Wow, you two really have a lot in common.” 

“Hush,” Bradley chuckled, “It’s not my fault my child is ‘camera shy’ and won’t tell us what they are.” 

“‘Camera shy’ my ass,” Dragon rolled her eyes, mumbling the words that their midwife had told them about 10 weeks ago, “I ain’t ever heard of a Bradshaw being ‘camera shy’.” 

“Must get it from their mama,” Bradley smiled. 

“As long as they don’t come out with my attitude, I’ll be okay with that,” Dragon sighed, and continued reading, “‘Dear Baby Bradshaw, I would call you by your name if you had one, so Baby Bradshaw it is. 

I’m writing this letter because I can’t sleep, my mind is too awake. I know I should be cashing in on the sleep before you get here, but there’s just too much going on. 

We got to see you today and hear your heartbeat. It was nice and strong and had a sound that was even better than Great Balls of Fire. I could never tire of hearing your heartbeat. Next appointment I’m gonna have to record it so I can listen to you whenever I can. The doc said you were growing nicely, which is good. Your mom and I want you to grow big and strong. 

We have been waiting for you for a long time. Your mom is probably a bit more than me. I’m not going to beat around the bush, when she told me she was pregnant, I got scared. Am I really ready to be a dad? Am I dad material? Can I be a good dad? I had a good dad growing up, he didn’t do more than what was expected of him. So I don’t really know what I have to do. I guess that’s something I will learn as we go. 

I know your mom is just going to be the best. I’ve seen her with the young kids running around base, and it is one of those things that makes my heart flutter. She’s just a natural and the kids seemed to be drawn to her. She cares for them and makes them smile and giggle. She is already getting things set up for you and you aren’t even here! The poor woman is making my wallet hurt! 

You are going to be so spoiled, not just by us but by your Uncle Maverick too. He’s already shown up with teddy bears and onesies and some child aviators, which I have no idea where he even got! I’m guessing it's got something to do with a certain Admiral’s daughter he’s been seeing. You didn’t hear this from me. . . but I think Penny might be the one for your ol’ uncle Mav. That is if he can ever settle down. 

Hell, you might settle down and get married before your Uncle Mav ever does. 

I gotta be honest with you for a second kid, I’m scared to be your father. I don’t have the most ideal job in the world. Flying planes with my best friend has been my everything (don’t tell your mother). It’s been one of the best parts of my life. I love being in the sky, watching the world from up above. I love knowing that I am protecting people. People who don’t have the means to fight for themselves. But being able to protect people comes with a risk. A risk that one day, those enemies might turn the page and come after me. 

There might be a day when I am no longer on this earth with you, baby Bradshaw. It hurts to think about, leaving behind you and your mother, but it’s the harsh reality of doing something I love. But I promise you, if something were to happen to me, Baby Bradshaw, you will be taken care of. You will have all the means to get by. You and your mom will never have to worry, I can swear to you that. But Baby Bradshaw remember one thing:”

Bradley had hardly felt like he could cry for his father. He barely knew him and didn’t feel right to cry for a man he hardly knew. Plus, he had watched his mother cry for years and Bradley felt like he had to be strong for her. But now, sitting in the arms of the woman he loved, Bradley let years of pent-up grief out. Dragon held him tightly in her arms, as he rested his head in the crook of her neck. Bradley’s large hand rested on her belly, fingers splayed out as if he could protect the growing life inside her from the outside world. She gently ran her hand up and down his back, a trick she remembered her mother doing to her when she cried, to try and soothe him. 

Dragon sniffled, and picked up the letter, reading the last line: 

“I love you and I will always be with you, no matter where on this earth or in the sky I am.

-love your dad, 

Goose’”

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[hard-deckpilots]

Trinkets & Memories.

Fandom: Top Gun. Pairing: Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw x Y/N! Mitchell. Summary: After the mission Maverick and Rooster went on, Rooster helps Mav in the hanger. Then finds a trinket from childhood that you had helped keep safe. Warnings: Mentions of Goose's and Carols' death. Tears. Mentions of grief. Mentions of near death experience. Wordcount: 647 Tags: @sebsxphia A/n: Only a short fic but an idea i shared this morning became a fic, so hope you enjoy.

Image not mine.

Helping Maverick out on the P-51 Mustang and become a common past time for Bradley nowadays. Now that the Dagger Squad had been based permanently at Fighter Town, he had time to catch up with Maverick and catch up with you. Y/n Mitchell. Mavericks only kid, who had known Bradley his whole life.

Maverick had left to go to the store and grab something. Leaving Bradley to wash himself up and put the tools away. He heard a bike pull up and naturally thought it was Maverick.

"Hey Mav, I put all the tools away so you wouldn't have to worry." Bradley spoke not seeing it was you.

"Wrong Mitchell there chicken egg." You spoke softly. As Bradley realised it was you, he span around and quickly ran over to hug you. You held each other tight for a few minutes and then Bradley let you back onto the floor.

"You're alive Bradley." You smiled softly cupping his cheek. "Thank you for keeping dad alive. I would've killed you both if you died."

Bradley leaned into your hand and relished your touch. It had been a while since you had seen each other, Bradley going on multiple deployments and missions. Then you travelling around on your motorbike.

"He saved me Y/n." Bradley spoke softly and then looked over at the wall with all the pictures. So many memories and trinkets of Mavericks life. Pictures of you and Bradley in high school going to homecoming, he had asked you that year especially since he was the only boy maverick trusted.

Pictures of Goose, Carol and baby Bradley... Goose and Carol. When Carol passed away, you lost count of the days and nights where Bradley spent mourning the loss of both his parents. Your dad only could do so much, suffering so much grief, regret and guilt in his own way after the crash.

The man in front of you now wasn't the same Bradley you knew when you were younger. But he was still your Bradley no matter how much you saw each other over the years.

"Uhm... I have something of yours that I found the other day in our storage unit." You spoke as you walked over to the locker that was next to your dads,

"You do?" Bradley asked curiously and walked over with you.

"I don't remember when or how I kept it with me... I think you may have left it at mine when we use to play." You responded and you pulled out a toy of an F-14, like the ones Maverick and Goose use to fly in.

"You... You still have that? I was wondering where that had went... You had it all this time." Bradley smiled holding the toy, turning it over in his hand.

"Just wanted a reminder of my favorite chicken egg I suppose." You leaned into his side, "Dad said you're permanently based here now, is that true?" You asked softly.

"That's right... you wanna go out at some point?" He responded with a question as he dragged you to the sofa that's in the hanger.

"I would but not today." Your response was quiet as Bradley laid on the sofa and you laid on top of him. All you could feel was Bradley's hand stroking through your hair which eventually led you drifting off to sleep.

By the time Maverick had gotten back he saw you both asleep and smiled. Grabbing a spare blanket he laid it over the pair of you to keep you warm. As Maverick was about to walk away he saw the toy plane and picked it up placing it with all the trinkets that go on his memory wall. But then he also took a picture of you and Bradley to add to the wall.

"Bradley is good for you kiddo." Maverick whispered as he went into his trailer.

[ddejavvu]

Love to Lie - Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw x Reader (Part 1) / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4 (Final Part)

Summary: Your worst fear is recognized when Bradley’s jet goes down with him in it. You’re not sure why you’re still his emergency contact, you’d broken up two weeks ago, but when you rush into the hospital room, you discover that you have a chance to fix the mistake you’d been cursing yourself for. The only problem is, you have to lie to Bradley, and you discover that you love doing it if it means you get to be with him again.

Contents/Warnings: fem!reader, Mitchell!reader, angst, angst with a fluffy/happy ending, amnesia trope, hospitals and their subsequent medical details, memory loss, goose and carole are still alive because i say so

WC: 11.3K / navigation / inbox

A/N: thank you to everyone who has encouraged me in my development of this series! it's three parts long, and each part will be posted one week after the one before it. that means you get chapter 2 next week, and chapter 3 two weeks from now. and after chapter 3 is released, i will post the full fic in one single post, so that it's easier to read. this series means a lot to me, it's the longest fic I've ever finished for this account, and I would really love to hear what you think of it. Thank you to the love of my life miss jade (@luveline), for being the first person to read this (!!), and for all of your wonderful feedback that cheered me on as I crossed the finish line for this series. I don't think I would have finished it if it wouldn't have been for your support, so thank you sweetpea <3

feedback is greatly appreciated! comment, reblog, talk in the tags, send me a message, tell me what you think!

It’s 11:14 AM when you get the call. Your phone buzzes ballistically beneath your pillow, where you’d stuffed it haphazardly last night somewhere close to 4 AM. For the record, you’d only slept because your eyes hurt from being open for so long. You’re certain that, after what you’d done, you deserved to ache for eternity, but you’d succumbed to sleep when it pulled hard enough at you.

Raising the phone to your ear is a chore, especially because the number on the screen is unrecognizable, but you stretch your tired, bed-ridden limbs and hold the cool glass screen to your face. It’s jarring, and you long for the stuffy warmth of the pillow again.

“Hello?”

“Miss Y/N Mitchell?” It’s a man’s voice, deep and strong through the receiver. It’s no-nonsense, and you almost worry that you’ve misfiled your taxes, that someone from the IRS is tracking you down.

“That’s me,” You rub sleep out of your left eye, harder than necessary so that your vision is blurry when you open your eye again. You’re not very gentle with yourself these days.

“You’re listed as an emergency contact for Mr. Bradley Bradshaw. He’s currently a patient at the Naval Medical Center in San Diego. He was brought in at 9:37 AM this morning when his jet malfunctioned mid-exercise, and he crashed into a canyon below.”

Your heart stops. 

Your cheeks get hot, your hands start to tingle, and your stomach feels like it’s going to start turning cartwheels, sloshing your insides around until you vomit what little you’ve eaten.

Bradley’s dead, you think, Bradley’s dead, Bradley’s dead, Bradley’s dead.

“We were able to airlift him out, and he’s stabilized now-” Bradley’s not dead,  “-but he’s still unconscious. His parents are here, as well as your father, if you’d like to join them.”

It takes a long time for you to speak. It’s almost a full minute, and the man on the other end has to call your name to get you to respond.

“Miss Mitchell?”

“I’ll be there,” You blurt, heaving a shaky breath as you seal a hand over your mouth. You part your fingers only to make sure he hears you clearly as you confirm, “He’s alive?”

“Yes, he’s alive and stable.” The man informs you, “He’ll recover, Miss Mitchell.”

Bradley’s not dead. Bradley’s not dead. Bradley’s not dead.

“I’ll be there,” You repeat, and for the first time in almost 36 hours, you kick the crappy motel blankets off of your legs and stand, “Thank you, sir.”

--

Wearing a bra again after two weeks of lazing around in bed is awful. But you’ll do it for Bradley, if only to make up for the last thing you’d said to him.

“I can’t love you anymore!” Rings in your ears, and a vision of Bradley’s hands reaching desperately for you flashes through your mind, covering up the green light ahead of you.

Someone honks behind you, a BMW. You jolt to attention, stepping on the gas and jerking into the intersection.

Easy, you chide yourself, You’re going to the hospital to visit a patient, not to be one.

You’re able to pull into the hospital’s parking lot without nearly causing any more car crashes, and you briefly wonder if you should take the coward’s way out again as you trek over the asphalt towards the hospital. You’d run two weeks ago, why not now? Why not now, when what you’d been worried about that night has actually happened?

Urged by the regret flooding your veins since fleeing, you walk on, stepping through the automatic doors of the hospital and sidling up to the reception desk.

“I’m here to see Bradley Bradshaw,” You inform the nurse there, “Uh- Lieutenant. If that… helps.”

She sends you a kind smile, filled with sympathy that you’re thankful for as you stammer and stumble your way through speaking. You’re sure you’re not the most distraught person here, and you’re guiltily thankful for that. 

“Room 624,” The nurse tells you, and oh, what a sick coincidence, “Down the hall and to the left, take the elevator up and follow the arrows on the floor.”

6/24 is not only Bradley’s birthday, but your anniversary; the day you’d kissed him on the swings in his backyard with hot fudge sticking to your lips. He’d been glum about his dad missing his birthday on deployment, and, of course, your dad couldn’t be there either. Carole had done her best to brighten up her boy, but some things couldn’t be mended with gift wrap, and you all knew that.

You’d snuck out to join him that night with a sundae, offering him the serving spoon thickly coated in the chocolate. He’d accepted it with a huffy eye roll, upset that you’d managed to cheer him up even a little bit with just one spoon of ice cream.

--

“It sucks,” Bradley mutters around the chocolate in his mouth, the syrup sticking his words together, “I know he can’t do anything about it. But I still want him here.”

“I know,” You hum, taking a bite of ice cream for yourself, “I’m sorry, Brad. If it makes you feel any better, he’ll probably get you something, like, really good when he gets back. He’ll feel all guilty, that’s what my dad did and I got a puppy out of it.”

“We’ve already got a puppy,” Bradley gestures to the Bradshaw’s family dog, well on in years by the gray around his muzzle and his tendency to nap instead of move.

“Maybe you’ll get one that you can actually play with,” You offer Bradley another bite of the ice cream, and you only feel a little bad for making fun of Lewis. But the dog doesn’t understand your teasing, softly snoring on the porch.

“Maybe he’ll get me a car,” Bradley gushes, “A bitchin’ one, like a Bronco or something. Then we can put our surfboards in the back and go to the beach.”

“You don’t even have a license!” You elbow Bradley, laughing at his lofty dreams, “But a Bronco would be cool. You should send your dad a magazine clipping of one with your next letter and talk about how cool it is.”

“You’re smarter than you look,” Bradley muses, a smear of chocolate over his lower lip that he doesn’t lick away.

You scoff, stomping on his foot where it’s planted in the grass beside your own. He jolts away with a yelp, and in doing so, jerks the swing he’s sitting on, He catches his balance and you notice the syrup on his lip, reaching out to clean it with your thumb.

“You’ve got hot fudge on your face, doofus,” You sneer, happy to return his teasing, “You eat like a toddler.”

“I’m not the one who put three cups of it on the sundae!” Bradley insists, and his lower lip catches your thumb as he speaks. Teenagers in love, you’re hyperaware of touches like that, and your breath hitches in your throat at the contact. He notices it too, staring down wide-eyed at where your thumb hovers over his lips.

“Sorry,” He blurts, and in doing so, his warm breath fans over your hand. You jerk it away, eyes on the ground as you mumble away his concerns.

“It’s fine,” You mutter in a terrible attempt to remain nonchalant, “We’re not four, it’s not like I think you’ve got cooties or something.’

Bradley takes to the teasing, glad it’s not tense anymore, “That’s not what you say when I leave my underwear on the floor.”

“‘Cause that’s gross!” You launch into a rant, “That’s, like, personal! And they’re used too,” You shudder, handing him the sundae intent on scrubbing a hand over your face, “Nasty, bro.”

Despite your casual nickname for the boy beside you, you feel like anything but bros when his hand brushes yours. He takes the ice cream from you, and his hand half-closes around your own, sending a spark shooting up your spine.

Your breath catches in your throat again and this time Bradley hears it, looking at you through his lashes with those wide brown eyes.

Neither of you move away this time, frozen just like the treat in your joint grip.

You feel extra affection for the boy next to you today, the shared grief of losing your fathers every few months bringing you closer together. It’s what compels you to lean in, tilting your swing sideways to brush your lips over his own in a painfully awkward teenage-style kiss. Before you have the time to panic about whether you did the right thing, Bradley reciprocates, pursing his lips slightly to fit them around your top one. You follow his lead and it goes much better, a chaste kiss that’s sweeter than the chocolate staining your lips.

--

You’re glad you’d kissed him that day, you’re glad you had the balls to take the leap that resulted in a nearly twenty year long relationship. It would have been twenty-one, twenty-two, twenty-five, fifty if you hadn’t chickened out two weeks ago, but you try not to think about that in the elevator lest you make yourself sick.

You find room 624 easily, the painted arrows on the floor leading you down the hallway that the room stands in. You wonder if you should knock first, you’re not too knowledgeable on hospital etiquette, but you decide that manners can be damned, your boyfriend- ex-boyfriend is in there.

You turn the handle and step inside, and Carole looks up from Bradley’s bedside immediately. You think she’s expecting a doctor, and her desperation for finding one breaks your heart. Her teary face splits into a sad smile, and she rushes to your side to envelop you in a hug. You let her have it because she’s grieving over her son, but you’re surprised she’s not immediately angry with you for breaking up with Bradley.

“Honey,” She gushes into your shoulder, “Oh, honey, I’m so glad you’re here! Brad’s gonna be okay, they said he’s just gonna need some help breathing until he gets stable. Then they can get him healthy and ready to go again!”

“That’s great,” You hold her close, relishing the last Bradshaw hug you’ll probably ever get, “Where’s Nick and dad?”

“Oh, they went to get food,” Carole releases you, swatting her hand in the air in an affectionately teasing manner, “You know those boys, always hungry for something.”

You laugh awkwardly, watching as she settles down by Bradley’s bedside again. She looks back up at you where you’re swaying on your feet, gesturing to the chair beside her, “Well come on, girl! Get in here!” She seems much more lively now that she has company, and you hate to think of her grieving her injured son alone.

“Oh- I, uh,” You stammer, darting for the seat beside her, “I wasn’t sure if-”

“Don’t worry,” She seems to misplace your concern, “He’s okay, sweetie-pie, you won’t hurt him just by breathin’ on him.”

“Right,” You smile, though its disingenuous with tension, “Um, so it was a mid-exercise crash?”

“Mhm,” Her face dims slightly, “Apparently there was some freak accident with one of the engines, 'set off the whole thing. And that’s two crashes in one week! First it was that Javy boy, I tell you, I think they should vet those engineers better. I mean, aren’t they supposed to catch that stuff beforehand?”

“Yeah,” You feel partially numb, but you’re not sure whether it’s emotional or physical. You’ve been trying to avoid looking at Bradley so far, using his bubbly, bouncing mom as a distraction, but now that the blonde has settled beside you your eyes drift. 

He could be perceived as sleeping, if the color wasn’t drained from his face. His skin is still tan but it’s duller now, golden brown fading to a sickly, colder shade of it, like there’s no life beneath it. His eyes are shut and there’s a breathing tube up his nose; you wonder how pissed he’ll be when he wakes up to find out they’ve had to trim his mustache around the thing.

“Must be a Bradshaw family tradition,” Carole breaks your concentration, laughing weakly, her voice lined with a hint of tears, “Crashing, scarin’ their girls half to death.”

You remember the day of Goose’s crash like it was yesterday. You’d only been three at the time, freshly so. But grief like that, the panic you’d observed, doesn’t go away. It can’t be forgotten, it can’t drift out of your brain like so many memories do with age. You and Bradley had sat together in the hospital with Carole and your dad, and Nick still had the crummy plane drawings you’d done for him while waiting for him to wake up.

Carole’s usage of the phrase ‘their girls’ unnerves you. She’s been exceptionally nice to you so far, especially considering that she’s fiercely protective of Bradley, and should have kicked you halfway to Mars for ditching him like you’d done. But she’s leaning towards you in her chair, and you come to the dreadful realization that she doesn’t know you’ve broken up with Bradley.

“Now, I know you wanted to keep things hush-hush,” She gushes, happy to look at your animated face instead of Bradley’s still one for a moment. She reaches over to brace her hands on your knees, leaning eagerly into your space, “But I have to know, babycakes, how did it go?”

“Hm?” You look dazedly at her, still partially staring at Bradley.

“The proposal!” She squeezes your hands, sniffling weakly with the remnants of tears past, “I know that boy was finally manning up enough to ask you, 'should'a put a ring on you years ago."

Any other time, you'd groan at Carole's opinion on your relationship. She's been urging the two of you to tie the knot for decades, but you'd felt no burning desire to go to the courthouse. You were comfortable in your life, why spend an obscene amount of money to get a piece of paper that tells you you're in love? You knew that for free, in the way that Bradley looked at you, in the way that he memorized all of your fast food orders, in the way that his hand so often found yours beneath the sheets in his sleep. Now her teasing is a sore spot, one that gapes the wound already bleeding in your chest.

"-But when I asked him how it went he said he’d ‘share the details later’. I’m sure you wanted to make some big announcement or something, but I need this right now, honey, tell me what happened.”

She’s staring at you like she always has, like you’re the sweet little girl she helped raise when your mama had chickened out. Cowardice must run in the family.

There’s such pretty hope shining in her eyes that you can’t bear to crush it, ready to spew lies about how glorious Bradley’s proposal had gone, how you’d fallen to your knees to kiss him, how you’d shouted ‘yes!’ from the rooftops. Fortunately, you don’t have to lie to her, because the door opens and your dad and Nick step through.

“Hey,” Your dad cheers, tossing you a plastic-wrapped sandwich, “There you are, honey. I was worried you weren’t gonna show up, ‘thought you’d be mad at him or something.”

“You know she was mad at me when we went down?” Goose gestures to Carole incredulously, and you can’t see behind his sunglasses but you know he’s addressing you, “I wasn’t even flying the damn thing and I got lectured!”

He lets up, goes easy on Carole, you’re sure because he’d had to comfort her earlier. You see a slightly dark, damp patch on the left side of his Hawaiian shirt as he leans in to hug you, probably her tears.

“Good to see ‘ya, kid,” Nick rubs your back, “You doin’ okay?”

“Yeah,” You nod, voice slightly shaky as you smooth your previously-folded hands down your thighs. The movement catches Carole’s attention, and you look away before you can see her reaction to your bare ring finger.

“He’ll be fine,” Goose leans over to slap Bradley’s calf, and Carole looks like she wants to scold him for it, as if he'll die right then and there, “He’s tough just like’is daddy.”

“His daddy should go get me some tea,” Carole huffs, placing her hand over Bradley’s as if it would make up for Nick’s slap, “And take Maverick with you, I don’t want you getting lost.”

“Oh, again-?” Goose grumbles, setting his lunch on one of the plastic chairs around Bradley’s bed, “You could’a told me that before we left, honey.”

“Didn’t want it until now,” Carole insists, “Now shoo, get some for Y/N, too.”

The second the door shuts behind the two men, a stiff silence falls over the room.

Carole’s sweet voice breaks it, but it’s the last thing you want to hear, “Where’s the ring?”

You stare at the sandwich in your lap, like it’ll open face and read like a book, giving you instructions on how to lie your way through this.

“I know he asked you,” She presses on, voice pitched up with tension, “I- I gave him the ring Nick used to propose to me. That was almost a month ago. We swapped it out for a wedding band, and- and I thought Bradley could use the engagement ring for you, too. I know he asked you.”

“Carole,” You can’t bear to look her in the eyes, not the woman who’d fed you macaroni and cheese when your dad was halfway around the world in a fighter jet and tucked you in extra tight during a rainstorm so that the lightning couldn't sneak through the gaps in the blankets to get you.

“No, tell me, where is the ring?” She raises her voice, the way she used to when Bradley would leave his scooter out in the rain to rust, “Just tell me-” Her voice peters out into a weak whimper, “-tell me you didn’t say no.”

“I’m a coward,” You finally mutter as her answer, hateful and wicked, “I got scared. I wish I’d said yes, really, I- I wish I could take it back, but-”

“What did you do?” Her face crumples at your admission and she nearly shrieks, squeezing her hand tighter over Bradley’s, “Y/N, what did you do?”

“I said no!” You sob, chest heaving as you wipe away a tear from your eye heavy-handed, “I was scared, Carole. After Coyote went down,” You blearily recall the last plane crash you’d heard about, a member of Bradley’s own squadron caught in a bird strike. He’d been fine, but waiting for the news took you right back to your youth, and you’d been hit with the striking realization that it could happen to Bradley, too. It could be you in that chair, it could be your love on the line. You’d been so sick with dread that you’d backed away altogether, running away to preserve your emotions.

“I just- I didn’t want it to happen to Bradley,” You confess, “I didn’t want it to happen to me. So when he asked, I was-” You sniffle, hard, “I was so scared. I didn’t want to marry him and then lose him. For some reason this-” You suppress a sob, throat aching and chest heaving, “-dating a pilot is different than marrying one. Dating is- it’s temporary, even if you plan on it lasting forever. It’s less serious, it’s not set in stone. But marriage-” You hiccup, “-marriage is the real deal. It's like- It's like I was dating Bradley, y'know, the teenage boy who took me to homecoming because I was sad no one asked me. But- but then all of a sudden I was marrying an aviator. And that’s- that was scary! That was real. I- we’d been together for twenty years!” You gush, wiping your nose with the back of your hand, “I should have known marriage wouldn’t be any different. It’s not like we ever thought we’d break up,” You sniffle weakly, “Marriage was always sort of silly to me, 'cause we just thought we'd be together forever regardless. But I never realized how real it would feel. So I- I freaked out. When he asked me, I made up some stupid excuse, and I chickened out! But-” Your chest heaves with a sob as you finally lift your eyes to Bradley, “He crashed anyway. He went down even though I said no, and it still hurts.” You cry, face scrunched in despair, “It hurts so bad, Carole, I didn’t think it would still hurt.”

“You fool,” She huffs exasperatedly, but she reaches out to clutch your hand like a lifeline. She’s holding Bradley’s with her other, and you wish for a moment that you could cut out the middleman and hold his hand on your own. You don't feel worthy to touch him anymore. “You don’t stop loving someone by leaving them, you stop loving them by moving on. Of course it still hurts, you didn't move on; you still love him. And- and leaving him didn’t stop him from getting hurt, it just meant he probably went down wishing he got to tell you he loved you this morning, so you'd know.”

The thought breaks you, Bradley ejecting with you on his mind. Evidently he hadn’t fully accepted your breakup, not if he hadn’t even told his mom about it. You wonder if he was planning on trying to get you back, if after work today he would have come over with flowers and a thousand pleas on his lips that you didn’t deserve.

“He loves you,” She continues, tears wetting her own cheeks, “And even if you did say somethin’ stupid, I don’t think there’s anything you could tell that boy that’d make him stop loving you. Apologize when he wakes up, baby, he’ll understand. He'll be hurt, no doubt. But he’s been scared before, too, believe me.”

“I will,” You gush, nodding as she squeezes your hand and Bradley’s in sync, “I will, I promise! I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”

“Just make it right,” She pleads, “Can’t have you two splittin’ up now, not after all this time.”

“I wish I hadn’t done it,” You weep, holding your hands to your eyes as if you can plug up the tears, “I- I just panicked! And I’ve been a wreck ever since, I- I can’t sleep, I can’t eat, I can’t-”

“Tea’s here!” The door opens, and Nick is suddenly a lot quieter as he sees you bent in half and crying, “Oh, honey.”

“C’mere,” Your dad edges around Goose, squatting by the side of your chair while Carole rubs your back. He’s always been fantastic at comforting you, which you marvel at because he was so active in his career. He wasn’t always around when you were little, but that didn’t stop him from knowing how you liked your back rubbed, your hair done, and your cookies warmed.

“He’s gonna wake up,” Your dad soothes you, wiping a tear away from your face, with the hand that isn’t rubbing your back, “Don’t worry, sweetheart.”

“It’s okay,” Carole promises, and you know she’s talking about something else entirely, “It’s alright honey, it’ll all work out.”

Nick feels a bit useless now, standing there with two cups of tea in his hands while everyone else comforts you, but he’s quick to notice a frown work its way onto Bradley’s sleeping face.

“Brad- hey! Look,” He gestures with one cup of tea, only spilling a tiny drop, “I think he’s wakin’ up.”

All of a sudden you want to go home. You’re not sure you can do this, you don’t belong here with his grieving family. You belong in your bed, kicking yourself for your cowardice and wishing you’d done better by him.

But there’s no time to flee now, not again. This time you have to brave it, you have to watch as his big brown eyes slowly blink open, a haze of sleep and medication clouding them over.

“Agh,” He groans, hand twitching by his side, “What-?”

“Hey, Bradley.” Nick leans over the bed, tea now set aside on a tiny table, “How y’feelin’ bud? You had quite the plane crash.”

Bradley takes a moment to observe his surroundings, blinking blearily at your dad, then you, then his mom. His eyes drift back over to you and they feel like they’re lasers, boring searing holes through your chest where your heart used to be two weeks ago.

The slow and steady beeping that had been long since tuned out slowly started to increase while Bradley regained consciousness. Your dad looked warily at the machine, watching Bradley’s heart rate rise.

“I’ll get a doctor.” He ducks out, and Carole stands.

“We should go,” She grabs Nick’s hand, looking pointedly at you, “We’ll give you a minute alone with him, honey.”

Nick starts to protest about being led away, something about how ‘-he came outta my balls! I can’t see him when he wakes up in the hospital?’ but Carole’s already corralling him to the nurse’s station in search of your father. If you weren’t so fond of the woman you’d be cursing her for sticking you alone with Bradley, but you know you can’t let yourself succumb to fear again; this time you have to be a big girl.

“Baby,” Bradley rasps, turning your attention back on him. You watch him weakly, eyes apprehensive as he reaches for your hand, “C’mere.” 

You hesitate, and he lets out a weak chuckle, “Come on, now. You’re not gonna kill me by holding my hand.”

“Bradley,” You sniffle, reaching out for his limp fingers on the bed, “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s alright,” He smiles lazily, eyes drooping, “I’m okay. Comes in the job description, I guess.”

“I’m sorry,” You repeat, grief-stricken as you clutch at his hand desperately, “I shouldn’t have left, I- I wish I had stayed.”

“Baby,” His brows furrow and he laughs sympathetically, “They wouldn’t have let you stay, you know that. I work on a naval base, not at a chipotle. You can’t sit with me all day. Plus, there was no way you would’ve known I was gonna go down. I’m glad you weren’t there, sweetheart. I wouldn’t have wanted you to see that.”

All at once, your chest burns hot, blazing with panic. Is he not going to talk to you about it? Is he going to pretend nothing happened? Is he going to refuse to acknowledge what you’d said? You stammer, “What-?”

“Mr. Bradshaw!” The doctor comes in, cheery now that his patient is awake. You turn your head, still dazed and fear-stricken at Bradley’s demeanor. “Let’s see how you’re doing here. Any chest pain?”

“A little,” Bradley shifts in his bed, wincing infinitesimally.

“Probably just some discomfort due to the broken ribs. Headache?”

“Yeah,” Bradley admits with a groan, “That I’ve got.”

The doctor scribbles something down on his chart, “What’s the last thing you remember?”

Bradley strains to think, “I… don’t know. I don’t even-" He grimaces, "I don't even remember the crash, ‘just know it happened ‘cause he told me.”

Bradley raises a shaky finger to point at Nick, who’s happy to see his son gain some mobility back, even if he is worried for the boy. The three adults had filed back into the room after the doctor, and you pointedly avoid Carole’s imploring stare.

“Think hard,” The doctor commands, and you squeeze his hand like it’s a play-dough machine, like memories will ooze themselves into his brain in star shapes and heart cut-outs.

“I remember…” Bradley rasps, turning his hand beneath yours to grasp it, “Jake’s birthday party. That was-” He glances over at you, “-last night?”

“That was three weeks ago,” This time your heart rate is the one to rise, echoing dully in your ears like the soundtrack of a horror film, “Is that-” You sniffle, “Is that the last thing you can remember, B?”

His eyebrows raise and he tries taking in the information, “Yeah- uh, shit. Three weeks ago. What does that mean, doctor?”

“It sounds like you’ve developed post-traumatic amnesia.” The doctor scribbles once more on his paperwork, “The good news is, we think you have only a mild concussion. And amnesia induced by mild concussions typically lasts only up to a week or two at most. But there’s a very real chance you could remember everything in just a few minutes.”

Amnesia.

He doesn’t remember.

“What I want you to do now is to rest, and we’ll have a nurse send up something to eat. Please,” The doctor eyes Nick knowingly, “Do not feed him the funyuns you’re holding behind your back.”

“Foiled again,” Goose laughs, tossing the packet of chips onto a chair beside his own lunch, “You got it, doc.”

“Alright, glad you’re awake,” The doctor bids you goodbye, “And- a nurse will be in to run a few simple tests later. For now, just sleep and eat.”

“Will do,” Bradley tries tightening his hand around yours but you worm away from him, and it’s heartbreakingly easy to do with his limited mobility. You stand abruptly, legs shaky and heart pounding in your chest as you stumble away from his bed.

Amnesia. Amnesia. Amnesia.

He doesn't remember.

“Honey?” Bradley calls warily, face scrunching into a tired frown.

His eyes follow you as you back right into your chair, the plastic scraping against the floor with an ungodly screech. Now the attention is all on you, and you give into that dreaded fight or flight response you seem to always fall victim to.

“I need to use the bathroom,” You ramble, rushing for the door, “I’ll be back!”

“Y/N-” Bradley tries calling, but his voice is weak enough where you can pretend you haven’t heard it as you try to refrain from running down the hall. You don’t make it ten steps before Bradley’s door closes with a sharp click, and the voice of one Carole Bradshaw cuts through the silence of the hallway.

“Y/N Mitchell!”

She’s using the same tone she used to use when you’d get in trouble for pulling a girl’s hair at school, or throwing mud at a boy who was mean to Bradley. You react just like you had then, spine stiffening and limbs locking. 

“Don’t you dare walk away from me,” She warns, stomping towards you in her half-raised heels, “Turn around, young lady.”

You follow her orders even if the nickname is outdated. She’s got her pretty eyes narrowed, and as much as it pains you to be on the receiving end of one of her seldom-used withering stares, it’s better than being in there and watching Bradley’s eyes shift when he suddenly remembers you’d been the biggest douche on planet Earth.

“Did you apologize?” She inquires, and you nod obediently.

“But- but Carole, he doesn’t remember-!” 

“He will,” She promises, “And when he does, you’d better apologize again. He needs you right now, y’know? He thinks it’s three weeks ago, before you ran off and left'im. As far as he knows, you’re still his adoring girlfriend who he’s probably yearning to see right about now. So go in there,” She reaches for your hand, “Kiss that boy on the mouth,” She demands, “And stop running away!”

“What? I can’t-” You gush, trying to pull away. But she’s stronger than Bradley is at the moment, and her hand tightens around yours, “I can’t lie to him! Not about this, I- how long am I supposed to pretend?”

“As long as you can,” She insists, already pulling you back towards his room, a woman on a mission, “You march right on in there, and tell him how worried you were, and let his memories come back to him on his own time. He’s traumatized right now, he just doesn’t know it yet, and he needs you there. If you break the news to him now, it’ll only stress him out more. Go play nice, and when he comes around in a few minutes, you can have a real talk.”

“I don’t want to lie to him,” You lament, and she stops pulling you down the hall to narrow her eyes at you.

“Babydoll?” She asks sweetly, and fooled by her kindness, you hum in question, “I don’t give a shit.”

She’s never foul-mouthed, so it catches your attention. She holds your incredulous gaze, “You want him back?”

“Yes.”

“You wish you’d never left?”

“Yes.”

“Well as far as he knows, you haven’t.” She huffs, the fabric of her skirt flowing near her calves, “So get in there and be there for your boyfriend of twenty years, and when he suddenly remembers you aren’t his girlfriend anymore, Grovel. Sound like a plan?” She raises an eyebrow, and you tamp down the nerves rising in your chest. You nod cautiously, resolutely, and she loosens her grip on your hand. She still holds it to lead you back to the room, but she stops outside the door to speak one last time.

“I know you love him,” Her voice is softer now, genuinely sweet and caring, “And I also know you like to run when things get scary. And that’s understandable, but it’s not okay, not right now. You can’t stop loving someone just ‘cause you don’t wanna lose ‘em. It’ll hurt worse if you walk away.”

“I know,” You breathe shakily, squeezing her hand, “Thanks, Carole.”

“Anytime, sweetpea,” She smiles, tears still gathered in her eyes, “Now get in there and kiss my son.”

“There they are,” Your dad stands as you reenter the room, “You ladies have a nice bathroom break?”

“‘Had the time of our lives,” Carole nods, letting you take the seat closest to Bradley’s head. Your feet feel burdened with lead weights as you step towards his bedside, and he watches you with worried eyes. You’re sure he knows you weren’t really going to the bathroom, not with the way you’d fled, but you’re glad he’s choosing to pretend for your sake. He seems worried, though, and you curse yourself for making this about you.

“Y/N,” He reaches out for you as soon as you’re in reach, his voice still hoarse. His hand squeezes yours instantly, and you feel for the panic he's probably experiencing. He deserves a shoulder to lean on, a hand to hold, and it should be someone better than you.

“Bradley,” You murmur back, trying to stop your lips from trembling, “I- can I kiss you?”

Carole’s voice rings in your ears, and you don’t have to turn around to know she’s smiling at the two of you. Bradley pauses, then his worried eyes soften and he nods weakly against the pillow.

“Oh,” Nick teases as you brace your hand on Bradley’s bed, leaning down to press a feather-light kiss to his lips, “Lovebirds!”

The kiss is nothing but awkward. It’s hesitant on your end, because you can’t believe you get to do it again. You’d really believed the goodbye kiss you’d shared with Bradley before he picked up dinner for the two of you would be your last one, so fitting your lips over his in the hospital seems like something otherworldly. You’re careful, too, because you don’t want to hurt him, not that you think you could ever smooch him to death. He doesn’t reciprocate much, he can’t, but the familiar prickle of his mustache against your lip is a welcome feeling that makes your heart feel light again, if only for a few seconds.

When you pull away, it’s gone. Because you have to look him in the eyes, the same ones you’d forced tears out of two weeks ago, and pretend like none of it happened at all.

“I’m so glad you’re okay,” You gush, voice cracking, and it feels right starting off with the truth. You can get to the lies later, the ugly little abominations you’re cooking up so that he preserves as much mental energy as possible while on bedrest. You know Carole’s right, you know he needs to heal as much as he can before you make it worse with the news, but lying feels so wrong. He’ll find out sooner or later, and what if he really was done with you? What if he hadn’t told his mom so that no family drama erupted, what if it wasn’t because he was going to try to get you back? What if he hated you, and what if he hates you even more when he knows you’re lying through your teeth to him?

“Yeah, I’m okay.” He promises, his fingers curling slowly and carefully around your own, "Are you? You ran off, I was worried."

"I'm fine," You insist, waving away his concern with a shake of your head.

He doesn't seem satisfied with your answer; he can read you like a book. But he accepts your answer, and you admire him for not wanting to pry in front of everyone. He changes the subject, glancing briefly around the hospital room, “Baby my- my phone, can I have my phone?”

“It’s here,” Your dad hands it to him, and Carole watches your eyes widen infinitesimally. What if Bradley sees his text conversations? What if he sees that you haven’t talked in half a month? What if he finds messages from someone on a dating app he’d used, a rebound-in-the-making?

What if he’s changed his background? What if he wants an answer as to why it’s probably some picturesque sunset, a jet plane cutting through the clouds above. Or maybe it’s of Lewis, he’d recently had photos restored of the dog.

What if he notices your contact name is changed to something like ‘Do not answer’? What if he realizes he’s blocked you? What if all of your pictures together are deleted off of his phone, and he wonders why?

There’s a thousand things that could go wrong.

“Coyote called,” Bradley rasps, upon first sight of his screen. Then, “Hangman. Twice. Phoenix, Bob, Fanboy, Payback, I- I should send out a message.”

“I will!” You lunge for your own phone, digging in your back pocket with suspicious urgency, “Uh, I’ll let everyone know, you just- just rest.”

“Okay,” Bradley hesitates for only a second, letting his grip go loose around his phone so that it falls back to the bed.

He seems content to let you do it, if only a little deterred by your insistence. But you’ll play the part of the fussy girlfriend, not wanting her injured love to work harder than he has to.

Nick and Pete take the time that you’re creating a group thread to question Bradley more on his memories, and every answer he gives sets your heart on edge. Your fingers feel numb as you type out ‘Rooster’s stable now, he has a mild concussion and a few broken ribs, but the doctors say he’ll recover fully. His memories are a little hazy from the past few weeks but apparently those will be back soon. I’ll send you any updates we get.’

Before anyone even has a chance to reply, you set the thread on silent. You can’t bear even getting a notification that the message can’t be sent, because you’re sure Bradley’s team aren’t too fond of you right now, and you wouldn’t be surprised if they’d blocked you in solidarity for their friend. But Bradley hadn’t even told his mom, would he have told his team? Would he even need to? Or would they notice the circles beneath his eyes worsening, the stubble adorning his cheeks from a lack of motivation to do anything productive? Or, maybe even worse, would they have seen him with another girl hanging off of his arm at a bar? Would they have caught him out to lunch with a woman and figured it out themselves?

“Hey,” Bradley rasps, effectively breaking your zoned-out worry spiral. Your eyes don’t lose their intensity but they focus on his pale face, and he offers you a weak smile, “Anyone respond?”

“Always the attention seeker,” Nick laughs, creating a distraction so perfect that you don’t bother checking the text to answer Bradley. “Should we tell ‘em to bring flowers too, Brad?”

“Shut up,” Bradley’s voice is far too quiet to be menacing, but it’s the type of teasing he always engages in with his old man, “When you were in the hospital you said I had to draw you one picture a day or you’d think I didn’t love you.”

“And I only got fifteen out of eighteen,” If Goose is capable of a withering stare, it’s what’s directed at Bradley now, “I can’t believe I bought a Bronco for a kid who doesn’t love me.”

“Alright, you two,” Carole swats at her husband’s arm, “Cut it out, don’t overwhelm him.”

“His heart’s beatin’ real fast,” Nick snickers, “But that’s probably ‘cause Miss Mitchell is doting all over him.”

The attention’s back on you, and it means Bradley’s waiting to hear your response. You dry swallow after sending Nick a good-natured eye-roll, trying to act like your heart isn’t beating ten times faster than Bradley’s.

Miraculously, nothing awful awaits you in the group chat. There’s no error messages, no scolding, no pledges of hatred for you, and it makes you think that you really might be able to get away with this for a while. Carole won’t tell, and that doctor said Bradley might not retain his memories for weeks. It’s like everyone has hit undo on what might be your biggest mistake in life, and you don’t know how to take the opportunity.

“Bob says he hopes you recover soon,” You push the panicked fog out of your head, reading in a low voice, “Hangman says he’s gonna give you flying lessons when you get back so that you,” You snort softly, “Get the hang of it, and to that, he is receiving a barrage of middle finger emojis.”

Rooster lets out a laugh, one that’s genuine and thick from his chest. It’s unlike his voice has been so far, it’s not fractured or achy, and the sound warms your heart. Some of the sickly despair that’s been coating your heart like globs of poison dries up, and you almost feel normal again when you slide your hand into his. He holds your back, and it’s like nothing’s ever happened.

You have your Bradley back; the only question is for how long.

Lunch is a sorry state of affairs for Bradley. His tray consists of chicken and gravy that runs into his mashed potatoes, and the jello they give him has a layer of cherry red liquid pooling overtop. You and Carole take turns spoon-feeding the man, giving each other a chance to mow through your sandwiches between bites.

Your dad watches out for the doctors while you sneak Bradley some of your sandwich. It’s cafeteria turkey, and honestly you’d rather go for the chicken on his plate, but he hums gratefully at the spread of mayonnaise and mustard on the bread.

“Thanks, babydoll.” He croons, a smear of mashed potatoes in his mustache that you wipe away with watery eyes at the nickname. He puckers his lips to kiss at your thumb and it’s like you’re at home on his birthday, feeding him in bed and stealing kisses between bites.

Bradley’s eyes start to droop halfway through his watery jello, and your dad stands, brushing sandwich crumbs off of his jeans.

“Alright, buddy,” He squeezes Bradley’s foot reassuringly, “I’ll head out. Probably best to let you sleep. Get some rest, and make her give us updates,” He narrows his eyes at you, accusatory, “I know you’ll be too wrapped up in him to remember we exist, but take some time away from his lips to tell me if he’s still breathing out of ‘em, m’kay?”

“Don’t be makin’ out too much, “Nick goads, standing when Carole grabs his hand and does herself, “His heart rate’ll skyrocket and the nurse is gonna think he’s havin’ a heart attack!”

‘Yes, yes, they love each other very much,” Carole hums, leaning down to kiss Bradley’s forehead. He leans into it but his hand stays in yours, and you gladly accept the same gesture from the woman on your cheek, “Let’s leave him be, okay? Brad, I’m coming back tomorrow morning,” She promises, “Your dad and Pete have some work to do in the backyard, but they’ll join us after lunch.”

The men don’t seem to have known about this yard work until now, and they share equally exasperated groans. 

“And I’ll be here,” You throw in, meeting Carole’s appreciative gaze, “I’ll stay until they throw me out.”

“You could always handcuff yourself to the bed,” Your dad hums, and you pointedly ignore Goose’s comment about the pair of handcuffs you ‘probably keep in your nightstand.’ It gets him a sharp smack upside the head from your dad, and you’re sure Nick will choose a better audience next time.

“We love you,” Carole promises, squeezing Bradley’s arm as he bids her goodbye, “We’ll see you tomorrow, baby!”

“Love you,” Bradley hums, voice less gruff than before now that he’s used it again, “See you tomorrow.”

The entire time he’s been awake, he hasn’t let go of your hand. He turns to you with those sleepy eyes of his, big and brown and begging for a kiss. You lean in before you can stop yourself, pressing a gentle kiss to his lips.

His heart rate picks up.

You laugh against his mouth at the increased beeping, and he’s barely sheepish as he nudges his nose against your own. You feel like you’re loving on borrowed time, like any second now he’ll be slammed with the memory of you breaking his heart, stomping all over it like it hadn’t been yours for the past 20 years - maybe all of your life.

“I love you,” He murmurs, squeezing your hand, “Y/N, I- I love you so much. I don’t remember anything,” He’s slurring his words slightly with fatigue, and you kiss the corner of his mouth as he speaks, “But I know you could have lost me forever, and I’m sure it wasn’t easy to handle.”

He has no idea how true his words are. Of course, you’d nearly lost his life to the crash. But two weeks earlier, you’d lost his touch, his voice, his gaze, his love, and you’re grateful the tears that line your eyes look natural.

“Mhm,” You nod, sniffling, “It was- it was hard, Brad.” You admit, thinking back to the night you’d left. You’d checked into a shitty motel for the night, and you’d cried yourself sick in the shower. Even after your stomach was emptied you couldn’t bring yourself to eat for two days afterwards, and you’d only given into the mini fridge after nearly passing out. Your days were long and spent regretting your decision, wondering if you’d ever be happy without him by your side, and worrying that he might be able to.

“I just keep wanting to do it over,” You gush, feeling his hand tighten around your own as you sob, “I- I wanted to take it back, to-” You swallow a sob, remembering your lines, “-to stop you from going to work. If I’d just made you stay…” Your face crumples with a gush of tears you aren’t able to hold back, and you give up on speaking for now.

“Hey, it’s not your fault,” Bradley hums, kissing the space between your nose and your cheek. It’s all he can reach from the way you’re sobbing into his pillow, and you’re thankful for the comfort you might not be able to get soon.

“You couldn’t have changed anything,” He promises, and you nestle your head into his own to absorb his soothing voice, “My plane was still the one with the defect, baby. I would have gone down tomorrow if not today. ‘S only a matter of time.”

A wave of sickness washes over you at his choice of words, and you nod, trying to regain a grip. You lift yourself up from the pillow, neck aching as you crane it to kiss his chin. He smiles at you, his eyes so genuine and sweet that it makes you want to lose your lunch; it’s an expression you don’t deserve anymore, even if you long for it. It’s only a matter of time before he remembers everything, and you don’t know what you’ll do if he doesn’t want you anymore.

“You’re tired,” You hum, and he nods against the pillow, “Sleep, baby. You need rest.” You sniffle, wiping away a tear from your eye more forcefully than you need to. You try to lean back in your chair but Bradley stiffens, and feel him tighten his grip on your hand.

“Please don’t leave me,” He begs, and more of that nausea comes rolling in. They’re the exact words he’d whimpered just next to your ear two weeks ago, keeping the door closed with one hand while the other wound around your waist. Then, you’d wormed your way out of his grip, ripping the door open despite his efforts to stop you and running off to your car. Now though, you meet his eyes, scared and desperate and lost, and you nod, scooting forwards to lay your head on his chest.

“I’ll stay,” You promise, and he raises a hand to brace it against your cheek. You turn your head to kiss his palm, and he strokes a thumb over your face, “I’ll stay, Bradley, I promise.”

The nap that you take on Bradley’s chest is the best sleep you’ve had since you left. Being in his embrace once more practically erases your undereye circles, and it takes you a few seconds after you wake up to remember that anything is out of the ordinary in the first place. Then it all comes flooding back, and you cycle through each stage of grief respectively while still slumped onto the bed. Then you feel a gentle tap on your shoulder, and you realize that Bradley’s nurse has shaken you awake.

“Hi,” The man smiles down at you, “Sorry to interrupt. I’m sure you didn’t want to wake up.”

“Oh,” You laugh hesitantly, slipping out from beneath Bradley’s hand and wiping away a slight glob of drool that had accumulated around the corner of your mouth, “No, no, it’s okay. What time is it?”

“Dinnertime,” Another nurse chimes from by the door, carrying another tray of meat and potatoes for Bradley, “Around six-thirty, Miss Mitchell.”

“You’re welcome to eat here with him,” The first nurse informs you, “But you’ll have to get something from the cafeteria, or order in. And visiting hours end at eight,” He levels you with a sympathetic smile, “But if you’ve got one bite left I won’t kick you out.”

“Thank you,” You chuckle wearily, your voice barely thickened with tears, “I appreciate that. Bradley,” You hum, squeezing his hand and stroking your free one through his hair, “Wake up, baby. They brought you some dinner.”

He comes to groggy, and you don’t blame him. He blinks a few times, then recognition washes over his face as he remembers why he’s there, and hopefully nothing else.

The nurses get busy with moving his bed, pressing buttons on the little remote strapped to the side until he’s inclined enough to eat his meal. The tray hooks into the sides of the bed so that he doesn’t have to hold anything, but you take his fork for him anyways, leaving his hands completely free.

“Thank you,” You nod gratefully at the nurses when they retreat for the door, a smear of mashed potatoes already gathered on the utensil in your hand. Bradley’s happy to let you feed him, humming at the taste of the beef they’ve given him. 

“Better than the chicken,” He hums, his voice gaining back a bit of its grating quality from earlier. He’s usually rough-voiced after a nap, so you don’t worry too much about it. Typically you indulge in his raspy morning voice, but now it seems insensitive. 

“Good,” You croon, scooping mashed potatoes and gravy onto a bite of the beef, “And it doesn’t bother your stomach?”

“What’s there to upset it, salt?” He grumbles around a mouthful, “Barely tastes like anything.”

“Sorry, Brad,” You hum, stroking a stray strand of caramel colored hair back into place, “I’m not supposed to feed you anything else, though.”

“I know,” He relents, lips puckering to kiss your wrist instead of wrapping around the spoon in your hand, “Not your fault, baby. But,” He rears back to takes the bite, chewing thoughtfully while you wait for his next sentence, “Can you bring me cookies tomorrow?”

You laugh, trying to keep it quiet in the slowly darkening hospital room. There’s no one around, and the door is closed, but his voice isn’t loud and you don’t want to overpower him. 

“I just said I wasn’t allowed to feed you anything else,” You roll your eyes affectionately, a teasing gesture you thought you’d never be able to do with the man anymore, “What makes you think I’d bring you cookies?”

“Um, ‘cause you love me?” Bradley drawls, voice finally rising to a healthy volume. Maybe it’s the food in his stomach, or maybe it’s a switch that was suddenly flipped in his chest, but he sounds like himself again.

His words sober your fantasy intoxication, and you smile sadly at him where he lays in his bed. You set the fork down to lay your hand over his cheek, your palm soaking in the warmth of his skin that’s newly returned.

“I do love you,” You promise, leaning in to kiss him. You have to lean over his plate to do so, and you’ll worry later about any potential gravy stains on your shirt. You go slow and gentle, worried that he’ll push you away for reasons he doesn’t remember yet. But he doesn’t. In fact, when you pull away to give him some air, he catches your wrist in a surprising display of agility for his weakened muscles, and you freeze in place.

“I’m sorry,” He murmurs, mustache shifting slightly with his apology, “I can’t stop thinking about you getting that call. I never-” His voice cracks, “I never wanted you to go through that.”

“Me neither,” You feel tears pricking at your eyes again, the same that are shining in Bradley’s, “But you don’t have to be sorry. None of this was your fault, and what matters is that you’re okay now. I have you back, Bradley, I- I didn’t lose you.”

“You’ll never lose me,” He vows, and your lips sting with the force of your bite to repress a sob. 

He lifts his head from his pillow, the first time he’s done it since waking up. He kisses your temple as you try not to cry, lips dotting staccato kisses against your skin as you tremble slightly.

“I promise, baby,” He hums softly into your skin as his hand comes up to hug you, “You won’t lose me.”

“I don’t want to lose you,” You cry, your fist gripping his hospital gown desperately. You want to believe him but it’s not even really Bradley talking, it’s three-weeks-ago Bradley that doesn’t remember you walking out of his life for self-preservation. It’s Bradley that doesn’t know the worst of you yet, but who could remember at any moment and cast you away.

“You won’t, I promise.” He coos, stroking up and down your back. You feel silly, accepting comfort from a hospital patient who went down in a fighter jet less than 24 hours ago, but you feel even sillier that it's the same man you’d torn to shreds days prior. But he’s comforting you, he’s rubbing your back, he’s kissing your face, and he’s promising you that you’ll never lose him, so you let him, because you love hearing him lie, even if he doesn't know he's doing it. 

“You promise?” You look up at him with watery eyes that blur out his face, but you see him nod. It’s unfair to ask, not when he doesn’t have the knowledge to truly promise. He cranes his neck forwards to bump noses with you, letting you cry against his skin.

“I do, honey.” He nods, holding you close like you’d never left at all,  “I promise.”

Going from crying into each other’s embraces back to eating bland mashed potatoes is hard, but you ease Bradley into it with a bite of granola bar you’d found in your purse. He’s grateful for something with flavor, and you’re glad to finally be rid of the half-eaten snack. 

“Oatmeal raisin cookies, please,” Bradley begs as he chews the snack, going as far as to bat his pretty lashes at you, brown eyes shiny with hope. 

You scoff, wiping a tear away from your face with a fond, albeit trembling smile, “Okay, Brad. Oatmeal raisin.”

“You’re the best,’ He hums, grinning with a mouthful of oats and chocolate. You check your phone to find that you’ve only got twenty minutes left until visiting hours are over, and your eyes dim as you glance back up at him.

“I have to go soon,” You lament, “Visiting hours are over in twenty.”

His face fades from its pretty smile, some of the newfound color draining from his skin once more. You’re sure he’ll have a nightmare tonight, something about jet crashes and dying alone, and you hate leaving him here so vulnerable.

“I’m sorry, baby,” You sniffle, squeezing his hand, “They open back up at 8 tomorrow, so as soon as I make those cookies I’ll be back, I promise.”

“I know,” He nods, raising your intertwined hands to kiss at your wrist, “It’s okay. Not your fault.”

“I’d stay overnight if I could.”

“I’d sneak you into my bed,” Bradley grins sadly, “S’alright, baby, just get a good night’s sleep. You deserve it after today.”

“You too,” You squeeze his hand, smiling sweetly at him, “And if you have a nightmare, text me, and I’ll crawl through the window, ‘promise.”

He laughs again, and now that he’s got most of his strength back it’s a normal sound. It’s not weak, it’s not subdued, it’s perfect. It’s Bradley.

“I’d like to see you try,” He teases, and you wipe a smear of chocolate off of his lower lip, remembering the first time you’d ever done that with a fond smile.

“I’m on the sixth floor.” He reminds you, and you shrug, sucking the chocolate off of your finger.

“Meh,” You crumble up the granola bar wrapper in your fist, “I could scale that easy.”

“Oh, really? Yeah, I bet you could,” Bradley chuckles, “You’re Spider-Man, suddenly? Sticking to walls? I must have forgotten your transformation.”

“Yeah, you did,” You grin with a laugh, “Actually, while I rushed over here to see you, a truck full of radioactive spiders crashed, and I got bitten by one. You’ve missed a lot, Brad.”

“Right,” Bradley’s brows raise, eyes alight with amusement, “Those radioactive spider trucks are a real nuisance, I hear.”

Giggling sweetly with him feels normal. The kind of normal you crave, the kind that isn’t settled for, but yearned for. And you’re clinging to it, pushing the truth out of your mind and playing the part perfectly.

A knock on the door interrupts your gigglefest and you turn in time to see the nurse from before entering, a bittersweet smile on his face. 

“I’m supposed to kick you out,” He jokes, holding Bradley’s chart, “And you’re free to sleep whenever, Mr. Bradshaw, we don’t need to conduct any more tests tonight. You’re just here to be monitored."

“Alright,” Bradley nods and you stand, still clasping his hand in yours. The doctor busies himself with straightening up the chairs around the bed, and you take the privacy he so kindly grants you.

“Sleep good,” You recite your pre-bedtime deployment sendoff to Bradley, the phrase having gathered dust in the back of your head since his last overseas assignment, “Sweet dreams, and call me when you can.”

“I will,” Bradley leans up to kiss you, going for your lips, then your cheek, then your chin, “You too, baby. Get some rest. I’m okay, I promise.”

“Yeah,” You beam down at him, smoothing his hair away from his forehead, “You’re okay, Brad.”

"See you tomorrow!" He calls as you leave, and you turn to nod.

"See you tomorrow, baby." You promise once more, hand on the door handle, "Goodnight."

“Sleep well, Mr. Bradshaw,” The nurse bids Bradley goodbye with a smile and a nod as you trail out behind him, and at the click of the door behind the two of you, it’s like you’re the recovering amnesia patient. Now that Bradley’s not there anymore, not smiling at you, not telling you he loves you, it’s like you can’t be sure of anything, like you’re still that imposter you’d been when you’d first stepped in. You come to the sickening realization, only after the fact, that you'd loved lying to Bradley, and it makes you feel worse. Your reverie is shattered, and the nurse beside you notices your shaky breathing as you trail down the hallway.

“Miss, are you okay?” His brows furrow in concern, and you nod.

“Yeah, just-” You smooth your hands down your pants, your palms sweaty, “It’s a lot. Being in there, seeing him like- like that. I guess I wasn’t prepared.”

“No one is,” The nurse smiles sympathetically at you, leading you to an elevator, “But he’s right, Miss Mitchell. He’ll be alright. And hopefully, his memories will restore themselves overnight. There’s a good chance he’ll wake up remembering it all.”

You’re sure that was meant to soothe you, but it’s only sent more nausea rolling through your body. You nod, forcing a smile as the doors shut between you, “Thank you, Nurse.”

Once the doors shut, you want to burst into tears. You don’t want the reception desk to see that, though, so you rush through the motions of leaving, practically running to your car. Once you’re safely inside the floodgates open, and you’re surprised you don’t trigger the horn from how hard you’re sobbing against the steering wheel.

You try to channel Bradley’s voice, ‘I promise baby, you won't lose me.’ but it makes things worse, it piles guilt on top of your sickness and makes you want to run away again. Because he’d promised you that he’d never leave you, not that he’d ever let you come back if you’d left him. And that’s what you’re worried about now.

Running away hadn’t stopped anything bad from happening, it just made you feel worse when bad things did happen. Thankful for your second chance, you swear to yourself in the stuffy silence of your car that you’ll do anything to fix this, and that you’re not going to fuck this up again because you’re scared. Love is scary, giving yourself completely to another person is scary, but Bradley’s always been good at soothing your fears, and there’s no one you’d rather give yourself to.

You steel yourself as you prepare to drive back to your motel, but second-guess it when you remember that Bradley has his phone with him. You have each other shared on Find My Friends, and he doesn’t normally check it unless he’s worried about your safety, but you’re paranoid that he’ll find your pin at a crappy motel and know something is wrong. So you punch in Bradley’s address instead, the one you used to share with him, still labeled as ‘home’, and set off.

The drive looks familiar in no time, and it reminds you of how much you’d missed it. The big oak tree on your neighbor’s lawn, the flag perpetually at half-mast because the man across the street fell while adjusting it and never fixed it, the tricycle on the sidewalk beside your front door that the toddler next door always seemed to leave on your walkway. You check the mail and feel something stabbing at your chest when your name is on one of the letters, and your house key is cold with disuse as you slide it into the slot.

You hesitate when the doorknob turns beneath your fingers. Walking into Bradley’s space will tell you exactly how he feels about what happened between you. There’s either going to be empty bottles strewn everywhere with pictures laying around covered in tear stains, or there’s going to be a hot pink bra in his bed, and a new woman’s makeup kit in his bathroom. Hell, maybe she’ll even still be there, maybe you’re about to walk in on your replacement.

But the promise you’d made to yourself in the car wasn’t for show, and you turn the knob after taking a deep breath, stepping into the darkened home.

You call out an uncertain ‘hello?’ into the place, waiting with bated breath for a woman’s voice to respond. But it never does, and you flick the light on beside the door.

You’d been right with one of your guesses.

It’s messy. Not exactly the outwardly disastrous type of messy you’d imagined earlier, but knowing all of the little things about Bradley means that you know he’s let himself go over the past two weeks. His running shoes are gathering dust by the door, which seems to suggest that he’s been lazing in bed just like you have. The living room is pristine, the pillows all arranged the way you set it up that Bradley doesn’t care to replicate, and you wonder if he’s sat on the couch at all the entire time since you’ve been gone. There’s no grocery list on the fridge and upon further inspection, the appliance is close to empty, one lonely beer left alongside ketchup, mustard, and a rotting head of lettuce. Unless he was eating the worst burgers known to man, you don’t think he’s been eating anything from the kitchen. Your heart aches for Bradley; you hope he’s been ordering food in.

Walking through the space is like revisiting a crime scene as the killer. Everything here is because of you, the pictures stripped from the walls are gone because of you, the lonely toothbrush in the dual holder is because of you, the neatly made side of the bed with its messy counterpart is because of you. 

You realize that it’s your side that’s slept on, Bradley’s still tucked neatly in place, unused. You spot a red covering over your pillow, reaching for it and finding it to be an old t-shirt of yours that Bradley had raided your dresser drawers for. It’s one he’d bought you at a tourist trap on your vacation a few years ago, and it was your favorite to lounge in. You notice a dark spot on the fabric and only then realize that you’re crying, that it’s a tear that had fallen from your eye. Then it’s like everything hits you all at once, and you sink onto the mattress clutching the pillow. It smells like Bradley, and you know he’s been clinging to it every night, a thought that solidifies your sneaking suspicion that you might be the worst person on the planet.

You curl up and cry there, you don’t know for how long. All you can do is sob, soak your pillow with tears that you thought you were out of, clutch the bedsheets like they’ll reveal Bradley, hidden underneath and eager for a cuddle. This bed feels as empty as the motel’s had, maybe even emptier, because you’ve never slept in it away from Bradley. When he’s on deployment you always have a sweatshirt of his and a picture of him tucked under the pillow, but you know it won’t be there now. Now you’re alone, really alone. 

Your eyes droop and you know you need sleep, especially if you’re going to wake up early to make Bradley cookies in time for visiting hours to start. But you can’t bring yourself to sleep without the picture of him under his pillow, so you stumble out of bed to fetch it from your box of memories.

Your fingers close around the slightly wrinkled photo, a shot of you in a gown and Bradley in a suit. It’s one you’d taken yourself at your graduation, high school turned college sweethearts. He had wanted admission into the Naval Academy, but in order to spend more time with you, you’d enrolled together at a university. It’s your favorite photo to have with you, and you reach out to Bradley’s pillow to slide it underneath. Upon lifting the pillow, you find a stack of pictures already there. Each one of you, most with Bradley pictured in them too. They only make you cry harder, and you recognize some as the inserts of the picture frames that had been taken down from the hallway.

It looks like Bradley hoarded photos of you, and some are stiff and stained with tears. The sight is something out of a movie, a dramatic indication of the inner turmoil of its main character. You see a shot of your silhouettes together, faces darkened by the sun streaming in behind you. You’re kissing on the beach, and without paying much mind to the structural integrity of the photo, you clutch it to your chest.

You’re a wreck. You just want your Bradley back, but your Bradley isn’t yours anymore. You want three-weeks-ago Bradley back, the one who you didn’t run away from. But he’ll probably have his memories back by tomorrow, and there’s no telling if he’d even want you to visit again. Looking at the sorry state of his apartment, you know he misses you, but whether he wants you back is another question altogether. All you can do is wait and worry, and worry you do. As you sob and heave in the bed, your brain shuts down, and eventually you drift into a dreamless, unpleasant sleep, nose still buried in your shirt that smells like Bradley.

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