#also you can pry the 'AU where Sam carries a knife at all times' from my cold dead hands

[ghostgothgeek]

Stuck.

Wasn’t planning on posting anything for DannyMay except I realized one of my WIPs literally has the same title as the theme for today, so here we are. 

2.3k. Rated T for swearing. FFN || AO3

On a list of ways Vlad Masters could spend his day, he certainly never had “get stuck in an elevator with Samantha Manson” on it. 

The day had started like any other; there was a ghost convention in town. Ghost hunters from all over the world came to the infamously haunted Amity Park in hopes of seeing a ghost, but seeing the new inventions from the Fentons (who were a big deal in the ghost hunter realm) and sharing their enthusiasm about ghosts with others would be satisfactory enough. (They really hoped to see a ghost, though.)

Jack and Maddie Fenton had dragged their children to the convention this year, happy they didn’t have to travel halfway across the world and their children could join them this time. They wanted Jazz and Danny to experience what they had dedicated their lives to, and to support the presentation of their newest invention. Jazz naturally brought a thick book with her to read, and a notebook for detailing her people watching (and psychoanalysis of said people). Misery loves company, so Danny managed to convince his friends into coming along and keeping an eye out. If a ghost showed up, he wouldn’t exactly be able to transform into Danny Phantom at a convention filled with ghost hunters and all their new weapons. 

Vlad had shown up to keep up with appearances, and to see what pricey new inventions he could buy for Valerie. Surely, Daniel would know how to handle his parents’ weapons, but not weapons made across seas. Most importantly, though, Vlad had shown up for Maddie Fenton. 

Vlad glanced around at all of the new inventions, paying close attention to the specifications of the weapons in case he encountered any as Plasmius. He checked his watch. Only ten minutes until the Fenton’s presentation. He wouldn’t want to miss out on the opportunity to stare at Maddie for an hour and watch Jack make a fool of himself. Vlad smiled to himself as he pressed the button to call the elevator. Maybe if Jack embarrassed them enough, Maddie would finally come running to him instead. 

Meanwhile, Danny and his friends were walking the convention floor. Tucker was occupied with a game on his phone, as usual. Sam was on a mission to find the most dangerous looking weapon, and Danny was just trying to keep an eye on things. Sam excused herself to go to the restroom before the Fentons’ big presentation, telling Danny and Tucker she would meet them there. Once her bladder was empty and her lipstick was reapplied, she headed for the elevator and tapped her foot impatiently as she waited. 

It finally arrived, and Sam started walking towards the inside until she saw Vlad Masters was already occupying the elevator. She contemplated just walking up the five flights of stairs but decided the elevator would be faster and easier. “Why hello, Samantha,” Vlad slyly greeted. She sighed as she stepped inside and turned her back towards Vlad, ignoring him and pressing the elevator button repeatedly in hopes that it would make the elevator move faster. 

The elevator started moving and Sam switched to chipping some of the black paint off her fingernails when all of the sudden, the elevator stopped. It was way too soon to have gone up five floors already. “Uh oh,” she noted and tried pressing the elevator button again with no success. 

“Oh, look what you did.” Vlad groaned irritatedly and pressed the call button. He waited through several rings before accepting the fact that this convention center was severely understaffed. He would have to remember to do something about that. “Well, it was nice seeing one of Daniel’s young friends, but I’m afraid I can’t stay and chat.”

“Hey! At least have the common courtesy to phase me out, too.” Sam glared at him, seeing he was about ready to ditch her when she added, “Just imagine how grateful Mrs. Fenton would be if you saved one of her son’s friends from imminent boredom.” 

Vlad considered the offer, pursing his lips and deciding it would put him in good faith with the Fenton Family if he helped Daniel’s pathetic goth friend. He completely forgot about the fact that he wouldn’t even be able to tell Maddie exactly how he helped the dark child, but that wasn’t important right now. “Very well,” he grabbed her arm and was about to transform into his ghostly counterpart until he noticed a camera built into the corner of the elevator, with the little red light on signaling it was recording and pointing directly at him. He sighed and let her go. He could try to find a way to find the footage and destroy it, but he couldn’t risk getting caught at a ghost convention, of all things. Not to mention, there was likely a ghost shield up.

Sam followed his gaze when he let go of her arm and sighed, “great.” She slid down the elevator wall to sit on the floor, pulling her phone out and texting Danny in hopes he could find some way to get her out. Vlad pulled his phone out as well, and shut his eyes in annoyance as he discovered it was dead. Sam’s phone pinged and she read the message, sighing in defeat and putting her phone back into her pocket. “Danny said they are aware the elevator is stuck and are waiting for the maintenance guy to come back from his lunch break and fix it. It may be awhile.” She adjusted herself on the floor so she was at least remotely comfortable. It could take ten minutes or it could take two hours for them to be rescued. 

After a few minutes of silence, Vlad smirked and spoke up. “Well, since you’re here and are forced to listen, how about we discuss how you can convince Daniel to be on my side and-” 

Sam cut him off and stood up. “You’ve got to be shitting me. Danny will never want to join you! He thinks you’re creepy, which you are. I mean, you want to marry his mom and have him be your child? That’s weird. You’re a grown-ass man, you need to get over this shit already. Mrs. Fenton won’t leave her husband, especially for you. You are a moron to think otherwise.” 

Vlad stared at the girl wide-eyed for a moment before opening his mouth to speak, but she beat him to it. 

“Honestly, you’re so pathetic. You hurt and fight with Danny, who is old enough to be your child. Do you really have nothing better to do with your life? Don’t you have anyone else your own age to pick on? Because fixating on a child is just gross. And, you can’t even fight him yourself! No, you choose another child to do it for you. Lame.” She rolled her eyes at him. 

Vlad didn’t know what to say. He was shocked into oblivion. 

“Really, you don’t have anything better to do with your time or money? Do you know how much good you could do if you donated money to charities and organizations benefiting the environment? Instead, you choose to dress up like a vampire and be an asshole. Like Mrs. Fenton or any woman would fall for a guy like that. Plus, your whole vampire look? It’s so corny. Believe me, I’ve seen my fair share of vampire movies and read up enough to know they wouldn’t dress so stupidly. A cape? Really? Are you seven?” 

“I-”

“You really need some hobbies. I mean, what have you even done with your life since you got ghost powers, aside from preying on and manipulating children and trying to grossly seduce a married woman who has zero interest in you? Seriously, get a life. Also, please actually stop with the whole vampire thing, you’re ruining it for me.” She sat down once again and smirked at Vlad’s agape mouth. She had the opportunity, she was going to take it.

“I mean, you aren’t terrifying or gruesome at all,” she continued, “you’re half dead and you aren’t even scary or even vaguely threatening. I’m sure more people are afraid of me than they are of you. I honestly don’t see why some of the ghosts in the Ghost Zone tolerate you; they certainly don’t respect you.” Sam picked at a scab on her arm.

“But...I’m scary! People respect me!” Vlad interjected. 

“People only pretend to respect you because you’re the mayor, and you only won that by cheating. And ghosts don’t give two shits about you, the ghost who released Pariah Dark then fled at any hint of a challenge. Danny had to clean up your mess. Honestly, so pathetic.” Sam shook her head and watched as she flicked her scab across to Vlad, who flinched, and watched fresh blood rise to the injury. “And you are far from scary. My mom is more terrifying. And she’s a small woman who wears pink. Seriously, people see her coming and they move in the opposite direction. Oh gross, I guess that’s one thing I have in common with my mom…” She trailed off and made a face.

“I’ll have you know, Vlad Masters is well respected in the state of Wisconsin and Plasmius is feared in the ghost zone!” 

“Survey says...no.” Sam whipped out her pocket knife from her boot and started carving some doodle into the floor. Vlad stared at the girl with wide eyes. What kind of fourteen-year-old girl carries a knife around to doodle?! “Danny beats you all the time and he’s younger than you. You’ve even been half ghost longer! Danny is less experienced and he still whoops your ass, seriously why are you so cocky?” She pointed the knife at him and he grimaced. “You’re just a pathetic little man-child who throws tantrums when he can’t get what he wants,” she rolled her eyes and finished with a “seriously go fuck yourself”. 

Danny was pacing by the elevator door. It’s been 45 minutes and there’s no telling what Vlad could be doing to Sam in an enclosed space! She didn’t even have many weapons on her. He knows she’s tough and can hold her own but still! Vlad had been looking for every opportunity to get back at Danny, and holding Sam as a hostage would be a very good way of doing so.

“Come on, man he wouldn’t be stupid enough to pull something at a ghost convention,” Tucker started confidently, “er...right?” 

Danny groaned, “I don’t know! I wouldn’t put it past him. God, if he hurts her, I swear-” 

“I got it!” Some random maintenance guy pried open the elevator doors with a crowbar and stuck his arm inside to assist.

“Finally!” Danny ran over to the elevator and breathed a sigh of relief when he heard Sam scolding the man for touching her. At least she was alive. 

The man quickly backed away and Sam popped her head out of the elevator, which was stuck between floors. “Hey Danny, hold this for a sec,” she tossed him her switchblade, which he fumbled in his hands and miraculously caught without stabbing himself or anyone else, as she climbed out of the elevator. She grabbed her knife and stored it back in her boot. 

“Did he hurt you? Are you hurt? Tell me what he did I’ll-” 

Sam ignored Danny’s questioning and she glared at the maintenance guy who was backing away slowly from her. “‘I got it’ my ass,” she mocked the man, “the only way you were even able to get a crowbar in the gap is because I made you one with my knife.” 

“SAM!” Danny started shaking her, “are you okay?!” He looked at her arm where it was lightly bleeding. “You’re bleeding!”

“Stop. SHAKING. ME!” Sam shook him back until he cut it out. “I’m fine, this is from the other day with the Box Ghost. Vlad didn’t touch me.” 

“Speaking of Vlad, is he still in there?” Tucker glanced back at the elevator. 

After a few moments, out came Vlad Masters, looking as pale as a...well, you know. He was visibly shaken and looked quite disturbed. Once his feet were on solid ground, he took a deep breath and composed himself. When his eyes caught the lavender ones of the goth, he flinched. Sam smirked, while Danny and Tucker each raised an eyebrow. 

“Are you alright, Mayor Masters?” 

“God, Sam, what did you do to him?” Tucker quipped. 

“Nothing! We just had a nice little chat is all…” Sam crossed her arms over her chest. 

“I’m perfectly fine! I kept the child calm while-” Vlad tried explaining himself but with one look at Sam and one look at him, it was pretty clear who was shaken up about the whole thing. She cocked an eyebrow at him, as if to say “try me”. “I, uh, I’m fine. I gotta get going, lots of things to do…goodbye, Daniel. Daniel’s friend...Miss Manson, I’m so glad we came to an understanding-” 

Sam lunged for him and he ran in the opposite direction. Danny gently held her back with one of his arms, “jeeze Sam, and to think I was worried about you in there.” He chuckled.

“You were worried about me?” Sam challenged. 

Danny blushed, “I mean...we both, Tucker and I, worried, you know.” 

Tucker laughed as Danny babbled, “Okay, but really, Sam. What did you do to him? He looks like he’s going to throw up!” 

“Or shit his pants…” Danny added. 

“Or cry…” Tucker continued. 

“Funny,” she said sarcastically. Sam shrugged, “I just talked to him, gave him some of my Sam Manson charm.” 

“Oh god.”

“Poor guy.”

[thecleverdame]

Part Two 

Read part one here

Alpha!Werewolf!Sam x Omega!Werewolf!Reader

Summary: You and Sam are a bonded pair with four children. You’re both interrogated by the police who are convinced that Sam and Dean are running a criminal enterprise.

Warnings: Language, violence, murder, dom/sub overtones. mentions of: knotting, breeding, claiming, giving birth

This falls into the same AU as The Brown Bottle, Moonlight and The Derby.

-

Interrogation: Sam

Sam sits on a tiny chair in a small room, wrists in handcuffs resting on the table in front of him. He’s been waiting for the better part of three hours without so much as a hello from anyone. He’s got a pretty good idea of what’s happening, at least the basics. He can’t say he wasn’t expecting to be brought in for questioning, he was, however, unprepared for the SWAT team knocking down the door to the mobile office at their construction site.

He takes a deep breath, running his hands through his hair. While he’s not new to being on this side of the law, he’s never been left to sweat in the box for this long.

He gets it, they’re proving a point.

–

Detective Joe Burgess stands on the opposite side of a panel of oone-wayglass watching. His eyes narrow as he sips reheated, lukewarm coffee from a styrofoam cup. This moment’s been a long time coming, there’s a lot riding on this. If they can’t make charges stick this time there’s little hope of the investigation dragging onward.

The brass says there’s been way too much time and money spent on this investigation. A thousand lines of inquiry that lead to nowhere. If they can’t break one of them today, there’s a good chance they’ll all walk for good. Everything the department has is circumstantial, and the district attorney won’t move forward without hard proof.

Joe’s a veteran, twenty years with his shield, before that a beat cop in some of the worst neighborhoods in Lincoln. He seen enough bad guys to know that there’s something off about the Winchesters. He has his own suspicions, but he’s got to leave them at the door because this is about what they can prove, which, at the moment, isn’t much.

He believes in justice, but he’s not naive enough to have faith in the system. It’s finally time to bring out the big guns, so to speak, let the Winchester’s know they’re really in it deep, and people are paying attention.

You can only live outside the law for so long.

Joe’s partner, Keith Jablonski, opens the door to the viewing area between the two interrogation rooms, carefully shutting it behind him. Keith’s overweight, red faced and not the sharpest knife in the drawer, but they’ve been a team for the better part of two decades so it’s about family at this point.

“How they doin’?” Keith asks eyeing Sam, then his brother sitting in the adjacent room.

“They’re both just sitting there.” Joe cocks his head as Sam shifts in his chair, palming himself through his jean and adjusting his balls. He’s been doing this long enough to know that most people panic. Guilty or not, the anticipation of the interview drives most people mad, pacing the room, crying or any number of nervous ticks…but these guys are just waiting patiently like a grandmother at a bus stop.

“You sure you wanna split up? We could tag team em’, go in together.” Keith suggest, pulling up his pants by the loops.

“We’ve got less chance of getting them to talk if we overwhelm them. We just want to get the dialogue going and hope something comes out. These guys have been involved in too much for something not to slip, that’s all we need. Once we have that we can pry the rest out.” Joe’s sure of one thing, Sam and Dean are as smart as they are criminal.

–

The door opens and Sam sits up a little, watching a cop in his fifties enter with a somber smile. He walks right over to the table and and pulls the only other chair sitting across from him and switching on the audio recorder.

“I’m detective Joe Burgess and I’ll be conducting this interview.” Joe reaches into his pocket and pulls the key the to handcuffs. “You’d probably like to get those off huh?”

“Yes, thank you,” Sam nods and holds his hands out as the detective unlocks them.

“So I’m not going to beat around the bush. I think we both know why you’re here.” Joe nods, looking Sam right in the eyes.

“Well, that makes one of us.” Sam smirks, leaning forward with both forearms on the table. “Are you going to tell me or make me guess.”

“You and Dean have been very busy the last eight years.” Joe taps the folder in front of him, leaving it closed. “I have to hand it to you, you’re two of the most enterprising young men I’ve ever seen. The construction company is impressive but all the little side projects you two have going on? It’s amazing you have time.”

“It’s just the family business,” Sam shrugs. Joe expected this reaction.

“Do a lot of guys who own a construction company also carry a loaded Glock?”

“I couldn’t tell you. But my handgun is registered, everything’s in order.”

“Oh, I don’t doubt that.” Joe chuckles, “Hey, tell me why you weren’t home today? I thought Sunday was always a family day...”

Sam’s jaw ticks at the mention of his family and it’s all Joe needs to know where to start applying pressure.

“See, we thought you’d be at home, so we went there first before we found you down at the job site.” There’s a physical response in Sam to what he’s saying, heat rising in his cheeks and the veins of his neck flexing. “It’s a shame we didn’t know, we could have avoided that whole mess.”

Sam takes the bait. “You raided my house?”

“About an hour before we picked you up,” Joe confirms, watching the cool and collected guy across the table attempt to control the rage that’s clearly building. This is the Sam he’s been waiting eight years for, the guy might just slip up. “Don’t worry, your kids are fine, a little traumatized but I’m sure that’s nothing new.”

“And Y/N?” Sam uncurls his fist, then tightens it again, short nails digging into his skin. Joe knows he’s found the sweet spot.

“Oh, she’s alright too. She’s been across the hall talking with my colleague Detective Barden. She’s a little shook up but I hear they’re getting along just fine.” Sam seems to relax a little, it’s the last thing Joe wants so he strokes the fire. “I gotta say buddy your wife - shit, I’d give my right nut to be married to something like that.”

“I bet you would,” Sam snuffs.

“I’ve been part of the team that’s been keeping tabs on you and Dean from day one. I just have to say that Y/N has really been a real highlight. I mean with an ass like that I see why you keep her knocked up. I don’t think any of us blame you.”

“I’m a lucky man.” Sam bites his tongue, maintaining his composure. A younger version of himself would have reached across the table and ripped Joe’s throat out.

“See me and the guys have a bet. Don’t get me wrong, she’s still a knockout, but after four kids, that close together you gotta tell me… her pussy still tight?”

There’s flash over Sam’s eyes and a twitch of his shoulders. Joe sees it, the rage threatening to break the dam, but again, Sam remains calm. After a moment he smiles wide at Joe, leaning across the table like he’s going to tell him a secret like he’s shooting the shit with a friend at the bar.

“Better than you can imagine.”

Joe tips his head back and laughs because fuck all if Sam isn’t a sly bastard. He throws up his hands. “Well, good for you man. I’ve got two kids and a wife who hasn’t touched my dick in a year so you’ll have to forgive the interest.”

“Can we stop talking about my wife’s pussy now and you just ask me whatever it is you want the answer to?”

“Becoming a father is a life-changing thing,” Joe presses forward ignoring Sam’s request. “And you’ve got four? That’s a full house.”

“You have a point?”

“Just never expected you to be a family man, that’s all.”

“I’m full of surprises.”

“See, we got a theory about that too.” Joe smiles at Sam, “Y/N really got you with the first one right? What, did she say she was on the pill and beg you to fuck her without a rubber?”

“You’re venturing into dangerous territory,” Sam replies calmly.

“You and Dean had a pretty sweet setup. The girls were top shelf, I’ll give you that. I’ve got a hard time believing that Sam Winchester, the same guy who beat Kevin Morgan within an inch of his life, the same Sam who was getting blows jobs from bar skanks in the back of Dean’s car, just magically fell in love with a bartender and decided to start a family.”

Sam remembers the night Liam was born.

He was still trying to figure out how to be a mate, the idea of becoming father didn’t seem real until you went into labor. He paced across your living room, bare feet padding on the carpet, back and forth, back and forth, while Dean tried his best to distract him with a football game.

He’ll never forget the sounds you made, the scream and cries of desperation coming from the bedroom made him feel sick to his stomach… and it went on for two days. It sounded like you were being tortured and he was helpless to do anything but listen and wait. Sitting idle was a foreign concept to him.

Dean had finally got him to sit down with a beer when the midwife popped out of the bedroom, looking to Sam, “she needs her Alpha now.”

“Is she okay?” He asked, springing to his feet.

“She’s strong, but she needs your strength too. The first is always the hardest. Don’t worry, it’s what Omegas are built for.”

Sam could feel as he walked down the hallway, but nothing prepared him for the sight of you naked on your back, belly up and looking utterly broken. “Sam,” you cried, reaching for him. The bags under your eyes made them looks like sunken sockets, surrounded by pale, sweating flesh. You reached out to him and he took your shaking hand, more terrified than he’d ever been in his life.

“Hey baby,” Sam forced a smile, kneeling down and taking your hand into his.

“I’m so tired,” you gulped with chapped lips. “It hurts.”

“I know, but you’re doing really well.” Pushing wet hair away from your forehead he looked to the midwife for confirmation. From between your legs she nodded and somehow he just knew what he needed to do. “I’m right here, I’ll be with you.”

When it was over he watched awestruck as his newborn son suckled at your nipple. You were so exhausted you could hardly keep your eyes open, so he sat beside you, mother and child propped up on his chest for the first time.

He’d never been more grateful and all he knew was he wanted more.

“You with me?” Joe snaps his fingers in front of Sam’s face, bringing him back to reality.

“What was your question? ” Sam blinks.

“Let’s start simple, can you tell me what you were doing last Wednesday night between eight and midnight?”

“Last Wednesday,” Sam thinks, “I went to the bar with Dean, I was home by eleven.”

“Anyone else at home with you?”

“My wife.”

“She’ll confirm that I assume?”

“Yes.”

“And you stayed home the whole the night?”

“I just told you I did,” Sam confirms again.

“Well, you could have slipped out. Waited until the Missus falls asleep and…” Joe probes.

Sam scoffs impatiently. “I got home, watched the news, answered a couple emails, fucked my wife, then my two year old threw up all over his bed, when I say he threw up I mean an ungodly amount of vomit. You wouldn’t think someone so small is capable of spewing that much. I spent an hour dealing with that aftermath. By the time we went to bed, it was pushing four, maybe five.”

“I almost believe you.”

“I don’t care.” Sam snips.

“I believe that too.” Joe chuckles and flips through a folder. He pulls out a photo of a woman’s mangled body lying on the ground. Her flesh is bloated, a sickening blue.“You know her?”

Sam picks the photo, looking from the grotesque image to Joe, “I’ve seen her before, Shelly or Cheryl something.”

“Charlene. She was twenty-four when she died. Her parents reported her missing two years ago and she ends up dead a couple miles from your job site.”

“You think I killed her?”

“Well I know you knew her, you and Dean both did. I don’t know who did it. I find it interesting that that picture doesn’t bother you, just another body huh?”

“How am I supposed to react? Did you want me to cry? I’ll try to act more shocked next time.”

“There’s the Sam I’m looking for,” Joe cracks a smile leaning forward. “The blood doesn’t bother you, huh?”

“Not really, no.” Sam tightens his jaw.

“I tell you what, if I needed someone disappeared, I’d come to you. You guys are good. There’s no denying that.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” Sam responds deadpan.

“Let’s take a look at these young women, you just speak up if anything rings a bell,” Joe lays out a series of pictures, some of them are old class photos, other personal family pictures. Sam recognizes most of them.

A few years back one of their own went rogue. Jesse Verik had a specific taste in women, he liked them young and innocent. He bit two dozen women before Sam was able to find him and put him down, leaving he and Dean to deal with the aftermath.  For six months the two of them shuffled newborn wolves from house to house while they suffered through the change, then learned how to control what they were. Not one of them had wanted to go home, all fearing the inevitable repercussions. It took time but Sam and his brother placed them all, one by one, around the country with packs that were looking to grow.

He’s now staring at a collection of assumed missing persons that aren’t really missing at all. If it comes down to it, Sam will get in touch in their Alphas and have the girls turn up alive, but he’d like to avoid it. They wanted to fall off the grid and start a new life, he can’t begrudge them that, not after what they’d been through. Being turned is traumatic enough when you know what to expect, but they were forced into this life. He won’t out them unless it’s a last resort.

“Yeah, I recognize some of them, but you already knew that right?” Sam asks and Joe nods in confirmation. He points to each one as he corroborates the facts. “She worked for my brother for a while, cleaned his house I think. The redhead up there worked for my mother-in-law, bartended for a while. The blonde with the short hair, she worked for me at Reliant. Filing and answering phones.”

“You fuck any of ‘em?” Joe thinks he already knows the answer to this but he’s pushing buttons.

“No,” Sam scoffs, “never.”

“All twenty of these women went missing within two months. All with a connection to you or your brother or one of your lackeys. Is that just a coincidence?”

“I don’t know what to tell you,” Sam shrugs, “people come and go around here.”

“Well, they seem to come and go a lot faster around you.” Joe flips his legal pad to a blank page and looks at Sam. “Let’s just go date by date, and you can tell me what you remember.”

—–

You wait the better part of an hour before the door opens to the small room and a short woman in her late fifties ambles it. She smiles tightly, giving you a nod of her head and sets down her papers on the table in front of you.

“I’m Diane, I’ll be your caseworker.” Diane shifts in her seat, looking at the pane of one-way glass. She flips the switch on the table and the red recording light on the camera in the corner of the room switches off. “They’re watching but they can’t hear, there’s no sound.”

“I can’t believe this is happening, look you have to understand that my children-”

“Everything’s gonna be alright sweetheart,” she reaches across the table and pats your hand. It’s the kind of touch that sends a tingle up your arm. She’s a wolf, but she doesn’t smell like any werewolf you’ve never encountered before, it’s just a faint scent that you never would have noticed without physical contact.

“What are you?” you tip your head, eyes narrowing.

“I’m a Beta, not many of us left.” She looks up maintaining her grim expression. “We have to go through the motions, so try not to look too comfortable, I’ll walk you through the process.”

Thank God, you sent up a silent prayer.

—–

Detective Linda Barden, Joe Burgess, and Keith Jablonski are gathered in a small windowless room between two interrogation suites. There are a handful of other cops in the room frantically pouring through files and evidence.

“There’s gotta be something we’re missing.” Keith offers with a shrug, “We just need one thing to tie them to one of the murders. Just one witness.”

“What about Dean?” Linda asks Keith.

“He’s not saying shit, just a bunch of fuck you’s.” Keith offers.

“Do you think the wife will break?” Joe turns to Linda.

“Yeah, but I need time. I called in child protective service, we’ll put the fear of God in her.”

“You think that’ll be enough to break her?” Joe persists.

“Like I said, it takes time. Sam’s got a hold on her, but if I can get her to realize all the shit he’s been doing right under her nose, that, combined with her kids hanging in the balance…I think she’ll flip. What about the guys? Neither of them has said anything we can use?”

“No,” Joe laughs, utterly exasperated. “It would be a fucking miracle. I think our best bet is to go after the wife. Sam’s a fucking psycho but he’s cool as a cucumber until you mention her or the kids. That’s where we gotta apply the pressure. We threaten her, we get the whole thing.”

“Time’s up.” Chief Calvin Wells doesn’t bother with a greeting, just throws the door open and stands wide with his hands on his hips. “What you got?”

“We’ve got a plan, sir,” Joe starts, “We need more time with wife, we can use her to-”

“I don’t wanna hear it,” Wells holds up his hand. “You’ve had the three of them here all day, not to mention the countless man-hours we’ve spent on this case. Almost a decade, the last chief let this go on and I’m putting stop to it once and for all. It’s a black hole. Now I’ve got a social worker comforting a distraught mother of four because she’s been cleared to take her kids home after she’s dealt with what social services described as ‘baseless accusations from an overzealous police department.’ And, you wanna know the kicker, the idiot cop you’ve got watching the kids doesn’t even know how to change a fucking diaper, the baby’s been sitting in shit for hours before my secretary took care of it. It’ll be a miracle if we get out of this without being sued.”

“They said the kids could go? Jesus fucking Christ, did the caseworker even look at pictures?” Linda balks, unable to believe what she’s hearing.

“It’s not enough. It was a long shot and you failed. Now get these guys out of my station house and do it now.”

“Chief, you gotta,” Joe protests, but Chief Wells is hearing none of it.

“This is not up for debate. You’ve got years worth of surveillance, potential witnesses, hell I got all the warrants you wanted and the most you could come up with is domestic violence? Get them the fuck out of my building. I swear to God if I hear another word about the Winchesters I’ll fire everyone in this damn room.”

The room clears out, people collecting boxes and the detectives disperse to spread the word that it’s finally over. Keith Jablonski hangs back until it’s only he and the chief before he closes the door.

“You ah… you think this going to come back to bite us in the ass?” Keith asks tiredly, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Maybe, but it’s better than the alternative.” Chief Wells adjusts his belt, looking around as if some invisible presence might be listening. “I gotta explain to the Alpha why I allowed a swat team to raid his home when his kids were there. Barden jumped the gun and fucked us both.”

“He’ll understand, Sam’s fair.” Keith offers. They both know their pack leader is level headed about most things, especially in recent years, but his family is a whole other story.

“I hope so.”

—-

You sit in a chair in the lobby surrounded by a crowd of detectives and beat cops in uniform milling around, having uttered conversations with their breath. The tension is palpable. No one’s satisfied with the outcome of today’s events, including yourself. It’s unclear why there are so many people. Maybe they’re just curious, eager to lay eyes on the Winchesters in person, or maybe they think there’s going to be some kind of scuffle. All you’re focused on is the sound of Sam’s muffled voice behind the door before it open and he steps out into the lobby.

His eyes sweep over the line of people until he spots you getting up from your chair. You walk to him, ignoring the snort from Linda, and let him pull you in.

“You okay baby?” he asks, wrapping his arms around you until you’re completely engulfed. He might be the pack leader, but right now he’s your Alpha and no one else’s.

“Yeah, I just want to get out of here.” You pull away from him.

“Where the fuck are my kids?” Sam turns to Chief Wells, who looks to be in complete distress. He motions to the cop in uniform beside him tells him to go see what’s taking so long.

Dean’s the next to wander out, throwing Sam a knowing look and winking at you.

Linda takes this as her last opportunity and steps toward you, “Y/N, you can still choose to do the right thing for-”

“Just stop talking,” Sam interjects before you have the chance, stepping between the two of you. “You’re done.”

Liam is the first through the door, having obviously just woke from a deep sleep as he rubs his eyes. He smiles when he sees his parents, ignoring you in favor of his father. You don’t mind. “Daddy…” he mumbles.

Sam scoops him up, cupping the back of his head with a hand. “You ready to go home, buddy?”

Liam nods, nuzzling his face into Sam’s shoulder. The other three children are brought out. Colin’s sleeping and you take him from the officer, as Owen wraps himself around your leg. Sam hands off Liam to Dean without protest, taking Killian as he cradles the baby in his arms.

For a moment all is forgotten; the fact that you’re in a police station, or the hours of non-stop questions. Now all seems right with the world as you watch your Alpha hold his infant son in his arms.

–

Sam pulls the car away from the curb, two of your children already sleeping in the back, the other two with Dean. He glances in the rearview before reaching over to take your hand. “I’m so sorry.”

“They came into our house, Sam. With guns.”

“I know, I-” Sam closes his eyes trying to swallow the anger because there’s nothing he can do about it at the moment.

“They could have killed the boys.” You take a deep breath pressing your free palm into your thighs. “You told me you had this taken care of.”

“I do,” Sam squeezes your hand his, the other gripping the steering wheel, “It’s over now. They’re not going to come after us again. Wells wants to meet tomorrow, I’ll make sure everything is squared right away.”

“He wants to cover his own ass I’m sure.” You grunt. “He told you he’d make sure we had a warning before they brought us in, what the hell happened to that.”

“He said the detective that questioned you is the one who gave the order. He didn’t know until it was too late.”

“This can’t ever happen again.”

“It won’t.” He confirms with all the confidence in the world. “I’ll always take care of you and our family, you’re the most important thing to me.”

“I know,” you give in a little. “You really think they’re going to let this go.”

“Any detective that wants to keep their job is going to listen to what the chief tells them. We’re gonna be fine sweetheart. I promise.”

Three Months Later

Detective Linda Barden gulps down the final vestiges of her cheap wine and says goodbye to her sister. She’s visiting Lincoln for the weekend, just a quick trip to see her family and catch up on the life she left behind.

Wrapping her jacket around her body she starts the half mile walk back to her hotel. It’s just after midnight and, despite it being a Saturday, there aren’t many people out and about. Five minutes into her journey she hears it, the sound that a crying baby coming from somewhere in the distance. It isn’t until she passes the alley at the corner of Shaffer and Rollins that she hears it again, coming from somewhere down the dark back street.

The cop in her knows something isn’t right, but she can’t put her finger on it. Maybe it’s the cries of the child or the uneasiness that settles into her bones? Reaching for her gun she curses when she realizes she’s not carrying a firearm, why would she be? She’s on vacation.

Linda makes her way as quietly as possible down the alley, just one foot in front of the other, step by step on high alert.

“Hello,” she calls out in a whisper, “anyone there?”

She has no time to react as a body hits her at full speed, knocking the wind out of her as a hand closes around her throat. She’s pushed face first into a filthy brick wall, gasping for air. She tries desperately to fight back, she’s pretty damn strong but her resistance is futile against her attacker who seems to have inhuman strength.

There’s the sound of tearing clothes as her jacket is ripped from her body, then her shirt. For a minute she thinks she’s going to be raped, but then comes the bite. Teeth sinking into the flesh of her shoulder, sinking into her skin as she screams in terror.

Then, without warning, she’s released, falling to the ground listening to the footfall of her attacker. She sobs, clamping a hand over the wound, blood gushing out in a hot stream over her fingers. All she can think is: he didn’t kill you, you’re alive. You’re alive.

What she doesn’t know is what will happen when the full moon rises, but that’s a story for another time.

[hellomissmabel]

Manhattan Mistress part 12

MASTERLIST

Pairing: Bucky x reader, Steve x reader, Tony x reader and OC!Casey (daughter of Y/N and Tony)

Summary: Everything draws to an end.

Word count: 4.3k

Warnings: Cursing, mentions of murder, death and rape. Please do not read belong the cut if you’re not comfortable with any of forementioned!

A/N: Dedicated to my favourite mob AU writer @caplanbuckybarnes. Enjoy sweetie!

Series masterlist can be found here

The grand finale

Blood pools around you, the sticky red substance flowing freely from the gunshot wound, drenching your dress and staining the floor underneath your wailing body. With heavy eyelids you watch how  the heels of T’Challa’s custom made shoes click against the ground when he walks away.

Until you realise it’s not his heels that are clicking. He installed a bomb and as you force your head to look sideways so you can inspect the device, there’s only ten minutes on the clock left. Knowing Bucky must be somewhere close, you croak out his name. Your voice is raw, hoarse and after one failed attempt, you try again and again until Bucky finally responds. “Y/N? Y/N!”

“Where… the fuck… are you… Buck?,” you pant while you push yourself off the floor with clenched teeth and whatever strength you have left. Clutching your stomach after balling your jacket to stop the bleeding a little.

Placing your blood-soaked hands to the wall to support yourself, you wobble unsteadily to the sound of Bucky’s voice guiding you to the next room where he’s being held. It leaves a bloody handprint in your wake, a blurred vision impairing your abilities to think straight. So you find Bucky tied to a chair but you’re unable to untie him, fumbling with slippery and shaking hands.

“I had a knife. In our struggle, T’Challa kicked it away.” Bucky points to the far left corner behind you. “Just give it to me doll and then I can free myself.”

In your disorientation due to the vast loss of blood from your gunshot wound, you fall down on your knees again about halfway through, extending your hand and crawling slowly to glide the knife towards your fingertips. “Y/N,” Bucky asks while craning his neck, trying to see if you’re okay. “Is that blood I see? Are you hurt, doll?”

“Yes,” you groan between gritted teeth as you finally grab the knife. “The bastard shot me.”

You sigh and heave in order to get to Bucky, all your strength fading quickly. Putting the knife in Bucky’s hands, he cuts the ropes that tied him together. Instantly they fly to yours, holding you steady as he wraps an arm around your shoulder to support you.

“We gotta get outta here,” you insist in a feeble voice, “There’s a bomb.”

“C’mon babe,” Bucky whispers urgently into your ear once his hands come up red too from holding you to him. In one swift move, he scoops your up into his arms and carries you outside, or at least hopes to make it outside as T’Challa locked and barricaded the doors so nobody would be able to get out.

“Shit, shit!,” Bucky hisses as he turns to you, “Please stay awake for me, babe. Please,” he begs while he assists you to sit as comfortably as possible against the wall while he looks for a good way out.

T’Challa’s bomb won’t last much longer and you’re running out of options, Bucky forcing the door open with his shoulder leading to a dead end. This is not an option, and neither is being blown up. “The old tunnels under the building, Buck.”

“What?,” he grumbles lowly, clutching a hand over his shoulder as he bites away the pain. “What tunnels?”

Extending your hands, you command his to lift you up again. “I might remember the way.”

Even though your mind is messed up and you’re constantly wrung between staying conscious and blacking out, you manage to recall that one time your father bragged about the stash he kept in the secret underground tunnels leading away from the building and towards the basement of a brick house couple blocks away.

The tunnels are damp and dusty, the entrance a hidden shutter underneath an old desk in one of the adjoining rooms to where Bucky was held captive. He kicks in the shutter, the wood rotten and fragile, looking down to see if he can see anything at all without a flashlight.

“We don’t have time,” he exhales deeply before taking the plunge and jumping down the shutter with you in his arms, a strangled yelp escaping your lips.

Fortunately the tunnels aren’t as deep as he expected and he lands on both his feet with a mild oomph. Then the running starts, the ticking of the bomb increasing rapidly while your heavy eyelids close you off from the world. Bucky’s feet carry him all the way through the dark tunnels, his breath visible as he is being chased by the warmth of the fire raging behind him, pieces of earth crumbing over his and your head as the explosion tears down everything in its wake.

“Ma’am,” the nurse politely whispers in your ear as she gently shakes you awake by touching your shoulder lightly. You pry one eye open and with a lot of effort you also open the other, the blinding hospital lights scorching your cornea. “Detective Dean Winchester and…,” she looks over to the other man entering the room and he nods, “And his brother Sam, I mean… also detective Winchester… they are here to talk to you about last night’s events.”

Groaning while you lift yourself up on your elbows until the nurse puts a pillow behind your back to support you, both detectives approach your hospital bed with the most suspicious gazes knitting their eyebrows together. Only when the nurse has left and you are finally somewhat sitting comfortably and upright, one of them speaks up. His eyes are as blue as the sky on the other end of the windows, his short hair still a little wet from the pouring rain.

“Mrs Y/N Rogers,” he begins as he introduces himself and his brother.

“Miss Y/L/N,” you correct him instantly with a daring look in your eyes. It might be very early in the morning, you still have enough common sense to recall stabbing your husband in the back. “Steve Rogers is dead.”

A sly smirk tugs one corner of his lips upwards at your no-nonsense reply. “That’s exactly why we are here.

“You see, miss Y/L/N,” his brother with the long, brown hair takes over, “After mister Barnes brought you in last night, we searched your house and found your husband, Steven Grant Rogers, dead in your bedroom. It appears he’s been stabbed.”

“And you’re here to ask me if I had anything to do with it.” You purse your lips cheekily, eyes darting back and forth from one man to the other. They’re both extremely handsome and yet so different. “Don’t waste your breath asking me, I killed him.”

The long-haired detective’s eyes are about to pop out of his sockets in surprise. “You killed him?,” he inquires gingerly, looking for another confirmation from me while his brother fishes out his notebook.

“In self-defence,” you elaborate before another shot of pain courses through your veins. You’ve lost a lot of blood from the gunshot wound, but you’re lucky it wasn’t through-and-through. It was a clean shot which makes you wonder if T’Challa just wanted to learn you a lesson instead of plainly killing you.

“I came home early,” you start off your story, the same one you’ve rehearsed in your head over and over again on your way to rescue Bucky, prepared for this moment. “It wasn’t unusual that Steve was already there as well. Usually we’d make dinner together or take our sweet time to get ready to go out for dinner somewhere fancy.”

The tallest detective clears his throat, a sign that those details are superfluous. But you need to give them those details, as they make your story more authentic, less false. “I found Steve, not in his office, but in our bedroom where he was rummaging through our closet. It appeared as if he was digging something up, like a metal box or a safe of some kind.”

“He didn’t hear me come in so he was caught completely off guard when I kissed his cheek, like I normally do when we see each other after a long day at work. That’s when I spotted it, the gun he was stashing away in a separate safe hidden underneath the floor boards of our closet.”

While the brunet takes note of every word I say, the other just stares at me blankly, not a single thought or emotion to be detected or derived from his eyes. “He pushed me aside, hard. I ended up hitting my head on the side of the bed and passed out. When I woke up, I was on the bed, naked and tied up.”

A shuddering sigh escapes your lips and prompt the sympathy of the younger detective. “It’s alright, you can tell us,” he says every so kindly while placing his hand on your arm.

“When Steve noticed me struggling, he released me. He didn’t tie me up with rope, but with silk. We sometimes did that,” you explain to the older Winchester brother, the one with the judging look in his eyes. “That’s why you don’t see any marks on my wrists.”

“I asked him about the gun but he didn’t answer, so I asked again and again until he pinned me to the bed and forced himself on me.” Swallowing thickly, you cry crocodile tears to keep your story convincing.

In reality, you didn’t feel anything anymore. In reality, you loved that your sweet Steve had such a dark side. Unfortunately, his dark side didn’t agree with yours and he had to be eliminatd before he could harm you. “When I resisted too much, he pulled a knife from one of our drawers and held it to my throat. I was scared to death, so I let him have his way with me until his attention slipped when he orgasmed.”

“That’s when his grip on the knife slipped and I could snatch it from him. We fought and -,” your breath gets caught in your throat, hiccups following shortly as you finish your sentence with an abundance of sobbing. “I didn’t mean to stab him, I just wanted to get away from him…”

“It’s okay,” the brunet shushes you softly, wrapping an arm around your shoulders to comfort you. “It’s clearly self-defence.”

He looks up at his brother and he gives him a little nod with his head. Of course it’s self-defence, you paid an obscene amount of money to Fury’s men to clean up the mess and make it look like self-defence, a phone call you made with what Bucky thought would be your last breath as he drove you to the hospital.

“I just have one more question for you,” the brother breaks the uncomfortable silence between you and him. “Who shot you? And what is the link with the explosion of one of your father’s old buildings?

With seemingly bewildered eyes, you accept the nice detective’s handkerchief and dry your tears. “I don’t know anything about an explosion, it’s the first I’ve heard of it.”

You can sense he’s not buying it, but your father had a long-standing contract with the NYPD for their discretion, a contract that you renewed after his death, so if this detective ever decided to speak up, his brother won’t be a brother anymore.

“As for who shot me…” Taking a deep breath, you throw a glance at Bucky who has appeared in the frame of the door, behind the two detectives. “When I fled the house, my first instinct was to call my good friend Bucky Barnes. I told him my whereabouts and waited for him in my car. I didn’t lock the doors, which was my first mistake. Then an unknown man knocked on my window and before I knew it, he threatened me with a gun.”

“It was a dark-haired man with penetrative green eyes. I’ve seen him before at one of Steve’s fundraisers. He wore cufflinks with an L inscribed on them. He said it wasn’t anything personal. He said Steve had wronged him and that he had to pay for what he’s done. That I had to pay with my life for what he’s done.”

“We weren’t able to trace the bullet the doctors retrieved from your body,” the detective sitting on the bed with you informs you with a regretful smile. “But we did find some interesting documents in your late husband’s study.”

“Yes,” his brother takes over with an intrigued tone to his voice, “It appears your husband was involved in some shady business with a man named Laufeyson, who in their communication often referred to mister Rogers as ‘boss’. Miss Y/L/N, where you aware that your husband was the Brooklyn mob boss?”

“Excuse me?,” you squeak in a high-pitched voice, as genuine as you can possible be in your feigned bafflement. “The Brooklyn – what? My Steve? No.. no, no no…” You clasp your hand in front of your mouth as fake tears top off your performance.

“I’m afraid we’ve already gathered enough evidence, miss,” he continues while his eyes soften at seeing the distress wash over you. His lips move as he intends to say something else, but is interrupted by Bucky joining your side.

“She needs her rest,” he bites at the two detectives, a little angered that one of them got so familiar with you.

They both excuse themselves and turn around, but the detective with the short hair lingers a little longer before closing the door behind him, hoping to eavesdrop on whatever Bucky is mumbling under his breath. Unfortunately duty calls and his brother drags him away from your room with a dirty look in his eyes, chastising him for upsetting you.

“Any news from Natasha?,” you whisper insistently into his ear, hands clawing at his plaid shirt.

He shakes his head and bites his lower lip. “No, nothing. I tried calling her but it goes straight to voicemail.”

“I need to know if Casey is alright. I told her to take Casey with her, that Clint wouldn’t shoot Tony in front of his daughter. Please tell me I didn’t make a gross miscalculation.”

“I will check it out for you, babe,” he promises, pressing a chaste kiss to the crown of your hair.

You turn your head to kiss his lips next, the kiss a little giggly as he smirks into it. “You have a gun?,” you ask as your tone turns serious again.

“I have the gun you gave me,” he replies earnestly and with a boyish chuckle. “Don’t worry, Y/N. If Natasha hasn’t called yet, it’s probably good news. You know how she is.”

His words of comfort mean nothing to you as long as the aching in your heart for your daughter and you ex-husband isn’t sedated by the confirmation you seek. “Yeah, I know, but this time it’s different.”

Bucky frowns at you, pulling back a little to cup your face in his hands and stroke your cheeks with thumbs. “We’ve handled the police. They will lock up Loki for Steve’s murder. That way he won’t be able to plot against you anymore. Fury is on our side. T’Challa won’t be coming back anytime soon because he believes we’re dead.”

The tiniest of smiles you muster up, if only to soothe Bucky. Deep in your heart you know for a fact that something is off. “But we aren’t dead, so as soon as he finds out, he will come after us again.”

“I thought we already talked about this, Y/N?,” Bucky sighs quietly, taking another step back, away from the bed and towards the edge where he sits down and rests the palm of his hand on your feet. You wiggle your toes and draw a small laugh from his lips.

“I thought we agreed to frame Steve and paint him as the mob boss, before we disappear to some far off island your father bought during his midlife crisis?”

Grabbing your phone from the night stand, you swipe through your photographs to show Bucky the picture you were talking about. “It’s not really an island, it’s not in the middle of the sea but rather in the middle of a lake. It’s not incredibly exotic either, but nobody will know us in Canada. Plus, it’s registered under a false name. It’s untraceable.”

“It’s nice,” Bucky grins but his eyes don’t sparkle with excitement like you expected to. Maybe he’s also worried about the unfinished business, or maybe he just doesn’t want to leave his home.

Handing your phone back to you, he stands up and announces he’s going to check on Natasha straightaway. “The sooner we find her and Casey, the sooner we can disappear.”

On the drive to Tony’s house, Bucky’s plan burning in the back of his mind, he follows your instructions in case the police is tailing him and makes a couple twists and turns before arriving at his destination. Natasha’s car is still out front and after parking his car, he looks inside the vehicle for any sign of Casey. Nothing.

Bucky runs towards the front door once he notices it’s ajar, and finds a trail of small blood drops leading all the way upstairs and to the master bedroom, where he figures Clint might’ve surprised Tony. But he finds no bodies, the blood trail ends at the foot of the bed yet it has not been slept in.

Suddenly he hears a sound coming from the room next to Tony’s bedroom, a thud that resembles someone kicking their feet at the door. Bucky barges in and on his first sweep of the room, finds nothing again and it’s starting to seriously frustrate him.

But then there’s that thud a second time, clearly coming from the closet on his right. The key is still in the lock and he just has to turn it and open the door in order to reveal a flustered Casey, bumping her foot against the closet wall. She seems unharmed and as he cradles the little girl in his arms, she asks for her mother and tells the brunet she’s bored.

“Daddy told me we were going to play hide and seek with auntie Nattie. I’ve been here for hours now, please take me to my mommy.”

Hopping down the stairs and back to his car, he puts the little girl on the backseat and promises her all the candy in the world if she can wait a little longer. She pouts but when he gives her one of the lollipops Y/N stashed away in his car just in case, she brightens up and eagerly tells him she’ll gladly wait. For as long as the lollipop lasts…

Once back inside, he inspects the downstairs first. There are no signs of a struggle, though there are two glasses sitting empty on the kitchen counter. Bucky picks one up and notices the lipstick stain on the edge of the glass where presumably Natasha drank from it. So she shared a drink with Tony while waiting for Clint to arrive, Casey playing around in one of the spare rooms?

Then something else entirely catches his eyes, the door to the backyard isn’t closed properly, a small breeze slipping between the cracks since it didn’t fall back into the lock properly. The lights in the garden go off as soon as he steps outside, and as suspected the area around the pool exhibits clear signs of a struggle.

Bucky hears a strangled groan, coming from the rose bushes nearby the pool house. He allows the sound to guide him and walks with his guard up in the direction of the noise. A shadowy figure appears in the corner of his eye, and then another a few feet away from the first which is clearly a man. Tony is half-conscious and hidden away in the shade of the rose bushes, the 7 a.m. darkness like a sheet wrapped around him, accompanied by Natasha’s lifeless body.

Crouching next to the wounded man, the brunet scans him for any injuries and his eyes are immediately guided to the gaping wound in his chest where a knife has struck him and the holes in his jacket from where Clint’s rain of bullets grazed the side of his torso. Bucky isn’t concerned about those flesh wounds, but as the blade of Clint’s knife is still stuck in Tony’s chest, he’s afraid the poor man might not have much time left.

“What happened,” Bucky queries as he tends to Tony’s charred skin around the stab wound. “What happened to Nat?” His tone turns devastatingly gloomy as he glances over to where Nat’s body lies.

With laboured breaths, Tony tries to explain last night’s events. Nat came over early and he sent Casey upstairs to play so he could have a drink and a chat with the redhead. She explained everything Y/N had confided in her, about Steve and his elaborate scheme, how he had known all along that she was the Brooklyn mob boss and that he used Clint to take care of Tony.

“Clint came late in the night, when I was already asleep upstairs and Natasha stayed behind on the couch to keep watch. He disarmed her and shot her, then told her to wake me up so he could kill me.”

Bucky nods as he remembers the trail of blood that led him upstairs first. It must’ve been Natasha’s. “I told Casey to hide in the closet, that we were going to play a game with auntie Nat, while Natasha tried to stop the bleeding. Afterwards, I followed her downstairs.”

Tony’s brown eyes have a worrisome dull shine to them and Bucky fears his end might be near. To ease his pain in these final moments, he takes off his jacket and then his shirt so he can tie the t-shirt around the wound to keep it from spilling blood like a damn fountain as well as keeping the knife steady, Tony’s chest heaving weakly and causing him so much more discomfort.

“He took us to the pool but I refused and he fired his gun at me four times. Three bullets barely missed me, but one caught my side. Natasha made an effort to distract him so I could run away, but her move didn’t work and he shot her…”

Tony’s breath hitches in his throat as he remembers how Clint took a clean shot at Natasha and the bullet ended right between her eyes, an instant death assured. “He ordered me to open up the liquor cabinet of the pool house and forced me to drink. He wanted me drunk so it would look like I drowned in the pool.”

The smell of alcohol is evident on Tony’s breath, yet Bucky doesn’t allow it to distract him. “Please take me to the hospital,” the man croaks, eyelids fluttering closed. “Clint stabbed me when those men arrived. They snapped his neck and took his body with them. Did Y/N send them too?”

“What men?” As far as Bucky knows, Y/N didn’t send any men to take care of Clint. She only had time to warn Natasha. “Tony, I will take you to the hospital but you gotta tell me who those men were!”

“I don’t know them. They were dressed all in black and it was dark. One of them had a weird insignia pinned on his coat.”

“They must’ve been Fury’s men then,” Bucky mumbles under his breath as he gets up and steps away from Tony whose confusion grows behind his eyes. “They must’ve kept tabs on everyone. Seems the old man is still loyal to the family after all.”

“What the fuck are you doing?,” Tony growls at Bucky while clawing at the grass around him, hoping to find a steady position in which he can get up. “Get me to the fucking hospital!”

Bucky grimaces at how hopeless Tony’s voice sounds right now. The once very confident business magnate is now nothing more than a petty lump of flesh. “I’m sorry, Tony, but I’m afraid your time has run out."

Bucky fished for the gun he had stashed away on his back, secured by his belt, and aims it at Tony with a small, apologetic smile. “I really am sorry, pal. But I gotta admit I’m glad Clint did the work for me. You see, a woman that shares her heart with three men, can’t fully love one of them.”

The gun cocks back unexpectedly as Bucky relieves Tony of the torture he’s had to endure by Clint’s hand. He considers it to be an act of mercy, but there’s no doubt an element of selflish retribution attached to it. First Y/N’s father, then Tony and finally Steve got in the way of his relationship with Y/N. But no more, no longer.

As he turns his back on Tony’s and Natasha’s bodies, he walks back to the car as he dials Y/N’s number. She picks up straightaway and Bucky keeps his voice as calm and poised as possible while he delivers the bad news.

“Clint killed both of them, doll. Tony and Natasha. She put up a fight, trying to protect your daughter. He shot and stabbed Tony as well. Left him to bleed out. I didn’t get there in time.”

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