#and Sam had to look all over to find accurate information

[pomellon]

Another mini! This one of Punz a little bit after arriving at the farm uvu

Since centaurs aren’t native to the land, and Punz not being fluid in the language yet, it takes a bit for the others to learn about centaur habits and culture. One of them being dressing! He was given a shirt right away but Sam eventually noticed he seemed flustered and uncomfortable with his state of dress, often trying to cover up his back and lower torso. This was momentarily fixed by borrowing one of Sylvee’s aprons and wrapping a sheet over his back, until Sam managed to find some reliable documentation on centaur culture and used that to help Sylvee and Hannah put together some actual proper clothes for Punz

[honorarysimp]

9: Cold Soles, Lost Souls

series masterlist

Two months.

It’s been two months since that gathering, since you collectively set all responsibilities and beliefs to the side to fight alongside people you barely know.

Against something you can’t even touch.

Two more people have gone missing, it’s the two men who’d volunteered to scour the bottom of the lake to find Wes, it makes you sick.

The water is truly tainted.

That’s one thing that’s consistent, like clockwork, one disappearance per month.

Everyone is working day and night for a solution, but it seems there isn’t one.

You and Tara have gone through everything, everything. So have Dewey and Sam.

You begin to question everything, disgusted with the fact that you understand now why nothing has been done.

Let’s look at the facts:

This thing uses water as its source of power, the lake to be more specific. It feeds once a month, chances are you’re more likely to be taken if you’ve touched the water.

You can’t stop everyone’s heart every time this thing puts a target on someone’s back, and that’s if you manage to catch the signs early.

It comes and goes when it wants. For however long it wants. No reason for who it picks. It wants the whole town, for why? Tara says it’s probably some nature spirit ‘been-here-longer-than-you’ bullshit.

You laughed, Sam didn’t.

The documents Sidney had aren’t much, majorly town historical documents dating back to when it was founded. Mentions of the lake having underground channels beneath town, thanks to blueprints from the town’s original Public Works layout.

It’s like a spiderweb, probably not completely accurate since the blueprints are older than any of you, and there’s no telling if they’ve grown or gotten bigger over time.

With those facts into consideration, it leads to more questions.

Theres one thing you do know, you can’t fucking stand Stu.

Surprisingly, Billy leaves you well alone. He plays his role as a good husband to Sidney, he lingers a lot now that you’re more present. Well, you and the Carpenter sisters.

Stu actively likes pushing your buttons, whispering warnings to you, trying to antagonize you, as if he wants to see you pop off the handle.

You know he’s only desperate for something, you see how he can’t stand seeing Billy dote on Sidney as if the ground she walks on is blessed.

You also know it’s all bullshit. But, it’s nuclear warfare, and you know you could easily drop this information at any point. However, one brown haired, brown eyed, freckled first responder has you keeping your mouth shut.

For now at least you do, you don’t want to put her at risk. Sam too, you’re pretty sure you’re friends at this point. Regardless you’ve already put Tara through enough, and Sam seems to agree as she just… never speaks of it.

Tara is a raging ball of spitfire any time either men look at you, and to be honest, you kind of like how she gets when she’s angry.

Especially when it’s not directed at you.

It’s another late night, Tara and Sam had left a while ago to grab some food from the diner, for once you find yourself alone with the Mayor.

You’re yet again going through town records, bags under your eyes more prominent than ever, the coffee mug off to the side long cold.

There isn’t enough coffee in the world to give you the answers you need right now.

A fireplace crackles softly in the corner, providing a welcome source of warmth on the cold night, as well as a silence filler in between pauses of conversation.

The flickering light from the fire cast dancing shadows on the walls, mockery of an innocence that doesn’t exist.

“How’d you know?” You find yourself asking, rubbing your eyes tiredly.

Sidney looks up at you, she looks fairly exhausted herself, but she wears it well. You write it down as years of practice from blindsiding and polished by a talent for withholding information.

“Know what?”

“Jill said her aunt was the one who told them you had to stop your heart for that thing to let you go” you follow up, forearms dropping to the table as your eyes meet hers across the table.

Sidney hums, nodding absently, tiredly.

“I’d been marked. Like you, like Kirby. Like the others. I’d been having the nightmares, waking up with gashes, seeing things that weren’t there. We all were the superstitious bunch, we stayed away from the lake. Except… that doesn’t exactly keep you safe does it?”

You sit up straighter in your seat, your muscles aching from sitting still for too long. You’d asked Sidney this question before, she’d give you a ‘now isn’t the time’ response.

“There was another one of us, in our group, he found the method. He never said how, or why, but we were desperate. People were disappearing left and right, it was a bad time. We’d already so lost people close to us, friends and family. As you’ve learned, desperate times call for desperate measures.”

The Mayor's forehead was creased with a frown, her fingers rubbing at her temples in a vain attempt to ease the tension of a headache she was sporting.

You incline your head slightly, brow furrowed with a bit of curiosity, “what was his name?”

The ghost of a sad smile tugs at her lips, her eyes flicking up to meet yours again “Randy Meeks, I’m pretty sure you’ve had the pleasure of meeting his niece and nephew, friends of Tara’s.”

You sit up a bit straighter at the recollection. You hadn’t seen either of them since Wes’s disappearance, you know Tara has been in touch with and seen them. But you wouldn’t be surprised if not as much lately, all things considered.

“Randy, he… was the last one I was ever sure could find a solution. Before he up and left town right after saving my life, he didn’t even stick around for graduation” Sidney begins to explain, wringing her fingers atop the table as her gaze gets cloudy, staring off at nothing specific “no one has seen him since, and out of respect for my… oldest friend, I never bothered him. I owe him my life after all.”

“He just… left? That’s it? You never tried to find him? Bullshit.”

She glances off again, clenching her jaw, “I don’t blame him for running alright? We all should have, but this place? It sucks you in and you just- you don’t leave.”

You scoff, leaning back in your chair “super reassuring, thanks-“

“Don’t be a smartass” Sidney cuts you off, stern expression on her face, “I would never force Randy back here, he left for a reason and I will always respect that.”

A pause, and then “even if it means never knowing why he left? You’re okay living with that?”

The room fell silent, the only sounds being the faint crackling of the fire and the quiet breathing between the two of you.

Sidney is giving you a hard look, “you go find him then, ask him yourself.”

You laugh, dryly, because it’s not actually funny “what?”

“It’s what you do, it’s what you signed up for. Find missing people? Find Randy, find out how he learned about the method, maybe it’ll give us something-“

“Are you fucking kidding me? You do it” you shoot back, crossing your arms, “he’s your friend, he saved your life, don’t you think he’d wanna see you after all this time?”

Sidney looks away, and you can tell there’s more to it. There’s more to what happened back then, why she never went looking for him.

And then, a thought occurs to you. It hits you hard in the face, so hard you can’t believe you didn’t see it sooner.

“Is Randy the reason you’re allowing your husband to have an affair?”

For a moment she looks horrified, and you think you’d misread your conclusions, but then her expression falls and her shoulders slump.

“Billy… walked in on us together. Not that it’s any of your business, but Billy and I were dating at the time. I didn’t learn about him and Stu until about three years ago, I never said anything because, well… it made sense honestly.”

Your brow furrows as you lean forward, “and that makes it okay for him to sleep around with someone else? Sidney-“

“You don’t get to judge me” she cuts you off, expression cold and hard “I love him and support him, he’s all I have after-“

She stops when her voice cracks, steeling herself, “Randy left, Billy is here. Stu has been a good friend-“

“They buried me alive, Sidney” you blurt out, horrified by the revelation that had escaped you.

Only, she seems to take it metaphorically “I get it, I appreciate you keeping this to yourself but this secret doesn’t have to bury anyone.”

“No, that’s not what-“

“Just let it be, okay? That way everyone is happy” Sidney says, which has you looking at her in complete bafflement.

Her denial, delusion, runs so deep that it physically hurts you. Even if you sat here and tried to tell her anything, she won’t accept it.

“You’re not hearing me out-“

“The only thing that matters is ending this thing for good, Randy may be a key in solving this” Sidney says, more resolute as she completely steps around what you’d been talking about.

“Sidney-“

“That’s Mayor, Detective” she corrects you, completely shutting you down now, leaving you slumped in your chair and dumbfound.

She’s giving you nothing, and you’re practically hitting brick walls, so you just… drop it.

Sam and Tara will have a field day on this one.

“Fine, but if your psychopath for a husband comes near my friends I’ll kill him myself” you say lowly, pushing up to your feet, making the chair groan and protest as it scrapes against the wooden floor.

You aren’t capable of much physically, considering the fact you aren’t much of a fighter, however… the thought of someone bringing harm to Tara or Sam makes you feel a level of unhinged fury that scares even you.

Sidney jolts in surprise at your abrupt action, mouth opening to speak but she’s clearly taken aback, you don’t give her the chance as you walk out briskly.

Hands shaking, heart pounding, and mind racing. You exit the town hall, your breaths uneven as you fish your phone out of your pocket. You pull up Tara’s contact, then hesitate. She’s with Sam. And you’re not entirely in the mood for a grilling from her for word vomiting.

So you head for your car and shoot Tara a quick text, letting her know to meet you at your hotel room when they finish up.

By the time you get settled, boot up your laptop, and start digging, your phone chimes with a reply from Tara.

You pause and grab it, not even getting a chance to open it before there’s a knock on the door. A moment later, it opens, by the graces of the spare room key you’d given her weeks ago.

“Do I even want to ask?” Tara starts, a plastic bag dangling from her hand as she bumps the door shut with her foot behind her.

“I’ll explain on the way” is all you offer, eyeing the bag over your shoulder as you return your attention to your computer, typing in a few more commands “those leftovers for me?”

“Explain what?” Tara asks, walking over and dropping the bag on to the desk to your right, you feel her grab the back of your chair from behind you and lean to look over your shoulder.

Her eyes scan the screen as you write down the address you’d found, “Randy Meeks? Like, as in Chad and Mindy’s uncle? What-“

“Explain on the way, no time” you say as you stand, shoving the paper into your pocket as you scoop the bag of food and turn to her, “Sam?”

“With Danny, I convinced her that just because we might all die doesn’t mean she can’t work on her commitment issues” Tara says as she heads for the door, making you cast her a curious look as you reach around her to open it for you both.

“Danny? Who the hell has the balls to date your drill Sargent of a sister-“

“You’ve got questions, I’ve got questions. You show me yours, I show you mine how about that” Tara shrugs far too casually, somehow finding a bit of humor as she exits, making you laugh through under your breath as you follow.

“Perv.”

____________________________________________

Finding Randy was the easy part.

Getting him to open the door is the hard part.

When Tara bangs her fist against the apartment door once more, aggressive and irritated, you’re about ninety percent sure it’s on the cusp of being kicked in by her.

“He might not be home-“

“He is home. And I’ve got some fucking questions-“ another hard slam of her fist against the door, “-that need answering.”

You purse your lips, glancing down the hall both ways. No one had come out to complain, or yell, or anything. But then again with the area you’d found the complex in… you wouldn’t be surprised if everyone tends to mind their business around these parts.

“COME ON! WHAT WOULD CHAD AND MINDY THINK, HUH ASSHOLE?!” Tara shouts, and as much as you admire her dedication and persistence because yes - you’re in the same boat with your frustration at the lack of your progress thusfar - but your fairly sure threatening the man won’t do any good.

That, and bringing up his family he’s neglected all these years.

Tara looks to you, angry, as if it’s your fault. You quickly raise your hands and take a slight step away from her, expecting a punch to the arm as you’ve grown accustomed to.

“Maybe we should go-“

“Not happening” Tara says sternly, looking back to the door, “if anything I’m getting answers for my friends.”

She raises her fist, unrelenting, but it freezes mid air as the sound of a chain sliding followed by a bolt unlatching can be heard from within. You both take a step back as the door finally opens.

A man, goatee and tousled hair, peers at you both through the crack of the door. He looks wary, distrusting, and tense.

“You’ve got five seconds before I call the police for harassment-“

“How’d you know to stop a heart to get Ghostface to release a victim?” You say bluntly, exhausted with your patience and blunt with the reason you’re here.

Almost instantly he reacts, his eyes widen in fear at the question, and he tries to slam the door shut. But you’re quick, reflexes sharp. You manage to shove the door open before the man could close it, and for a moment you get a jolt of deja vú.

But your patience is clearly wearing thin, and this time you’re not alone in the face of confrontation. Your expression hard as you take a step inside the apartment, forcing Randy to move back.

"Answer the question, Randy" you demand, voice cold and uncompromising.

As Randy scrambled backwards, he makes a desperate attempt to pull out a gun hidden in his waistband. You panic, because you’re not a fighter, instinctively moving to stand in front of Tara as you reach for your own weapon. But to your disbelief, Tara is quicker than you both. She lunges forward before Randy can aim the gun, disarming him in a swift, practiced motion.

The move was almost too easy, a testament to quick reflexes and skill. You watch in complete awe as Tara held the gun in her hand, her eyes trained on Randy who now looks even more terrified, blubbering a quick “okay! Okay! Jesus Christ let’s just relax man-“

With a smooth, practiced movement, you watch Tara remove the magazine from the gun and releases the bullet from the chamber. With a flick of her wrist, she tosses the gun aside, her gaze never leaving Randy’s as it clatters across the wooden floor and out of sight.

You’re not really sure what to do with the way that makes you feel, but goddamn.

“Dude” is all you can say, which has her bravado falter, those brown eyes flicking over to you as she simply offers a shrug, a pink tint rising to her cheeks.

“My sister is a cop, you seriously think she didn’t force me to learn self defense?”

You don’t question it, turning back to Randy and plastering on a more professional and unyielding look.

Your voices cold as you repeat the question. "I'll ask again. How did you know that the entity releases its target victim when the heart stops?"

Randy raises his hands in surrender, his eyes wide and panicked. "I.. I honestly don’t know what you’re talking about," he stammers, his voice shaking.

You see right through his lies, and so does Tara who couldn't hold back a scoff. "Bullshit," she said, her tone dripping with skepticism.

Your calm facade cracks, giving way to a wave of anger and frustration. You clench your fists at your sides, eyes narrowing as you spoke.

"Do you have any idea how many innocent people have been lost in the void because you were too goddamn afraid to come home and help? I mean, you clearly know more about this thing than the rest of us” you snap, voice harsh.

Randy’s expression darkens, his own anger flaring to match yours. "You just don't get it!" he exclaimed, his voice growing louder. "I can't come back! It won't let me!"

He takes a step forward, his eyes glinting with a manic light. "You think I just chose to disappear? To stay away from my family? You have no idea what I've been through, the torment I've endured! The sacrifices I’ve made!”

“Enlighten us then, Randy” you say firmly, unwavering as you stare him down.

He shakes his head as he turns, storming further into the apartment. You follow, Tara one step behind you. You both watch him after a brief search beneath a loose floorboard in his living room, he pulls out a weathered old book. It looked ancient, the pages yellowed and the cover warped.

The atmosphere in the room shifts almost instantly, a sudden sense of unease rippling through the air. The energy in the room suddenly warps, the air becoming thick with an heavy, oppressive aura. The old book in the man's hands seemed to radiate an almost sinister energy.

"This..." he said, his voice quivering with disgust as he held the book out. "This fucking cursed book. It all started when I picked it up. That's when it smudged me."

Both you and Tara exchange a puzzled glance at Randy’s words. Tara is the first to speak up, her eyebrows furrowed.

"What do you mean, smudged?" she asks, her voice laced with confusion.

Randy grimaces, his grip on the book tightening, as if his personal vendetta against it makes him wish he could tear it to pieces. "Smudging," he repeats, his voice barely above a whisper. "It's a term I use to describe what happens when you touch this goddamn book. It attaches some kind of bad energy to you, or something, tainting your very essence. Ghostface can sense it.”

Randy’s eyes darken as he recounts his harrowing experience. "Any time I’d get within a five-mile radius of town, that thing would comes for me, man," he said, his voice quivering. "It's like it can sense where I am, like it's tracking me down. It's brutal. Rageful. Unstoppable. I can hear it, feel it, even when I'm asleep. You thought you knew what a nightmare was before? Think again. It's always there, in my subconscious, watching me."

Uneasy, you ask, "What exactly is this book? And how did you find it?"

Randy’s eyes flick to the book, his expression a mix of fear and resignation. "I don't know exactly what it is, but it speaks of the entity. It’s how I learned the method" he admitted, his voice a hoarse whisper. "I just... I found it. Out in the woods. Just laying there, waiting to be found."

Your instincts tell you Randy is holding something back, that there is more to the story than him conveniently stumbling across the book. You lean in, gaze intense, and press for an answer.

"You’re a shitty liar, you're not telling us everything," you said, voice firm. "Where did you really find the book?"

Randy shifts uneasily but stood his ground. "I can't tell you," he repeats, his tone defiant. "It's... safer for everyone if you don't know."

“Why don’t you just tell us what’s inside it then?” Tara prompts, “I mean, you have read it? Right? So just-“

“No” Randy firmly shakes his head, eyes hard and unwavering, “reading from it only makes it worse, I need you to understand the severity of this thing.”

Despite your initial skepticism, you relent for now. But as Randy continued, a warning in his voice, the tension in the room thickened.

"You need to understand," Randy says, his eyes boring into yours. "Once you touch this book, there's no going back. The more you read, the more of a threat you become. The more of a threat you become? The more determined it will be to kill you. The entity will be able to sense you, to track you. You'll be smudged, just like I am."

Randy then held the book out, offering it to you. "Look, you want it? Take it," he said, his voice trembling. "But you have to understand, man. Once you have this book, you're fucked. Ghostface will come for you like it did me. You'll never know peace again. You sure you want your hands on this thing?"

You hesitate, knowing the burden that will come with possessing the ominous tome that promises answers.

But at what cost?

Randy’s warning echoes in your ears, the implications clear. This book is more than just aged paper and ink. It’s a cursed artifact, a beacon for the entity that has been stalking and terrorizing this town like a predator for decades now.

But the need for answers burns deep within you. You need to know more about the entity, to better understand what exactly it is and perhaps find a way to defeat it.

Your hand hovers in the air above the book, almost touching the leather-bound cover. But just as you’re about to grasp it, Tara snags your arm, her grip tight.

"Wait," she said, her eyes wide with worry. "You can't just take it! Are you crazy? You don’t even know if it’ll be worth it! Don’t make what I did be for nothing.”

You look at her, sympathy in your gaze. You know her concern is genuine, but you also know you have no other choice. Randy is locked up like a fortress, you’re lucky enough he’s terrified of it this book to pass it off to you.

Hell, lucky probably isn’t the right word to use.

"What other options do we have?" You mutter, voice gentle yet firm. "People's lives are at risk here, and we've been making zero progress for the past few months. We can't keep running in circles. We need this book, no matter the cost."

“Not when the cost could be your life” Tara says firmly, the look in her eyes makes something in your chest ache. You know why she’s against this, it’s the same reason you’re doing this.

“And if it’s you next? Or Sam? Or Chad and Mindy?” You push, knowing it’s a low blow but you remind her there are other people at stake.

Tara’s expression softens, the fear in her eyes replaced by a flicker of resignation. She knows you’re right. You’re desperate, and there are no other options.

But then Tara looks to Randy, her expression a mix of frustration and empathy. "You've already been smudged," she said, her voice soft but firm. "The book has done its damage. You can't hide from it forever. And your family... they need you. Sidney needs you. You can't keep running away, leaving them in the dark like this. Help us.”

The moment he registers Sidney’s name, his entire demeanor changes in the blink of an eye. He looks at Tara, utterly defeated with deeply rooted conflict in his eyes, torn between the danger entailed and the promise of potentially being able to go home.

In this moment, you find a bit of clarity. Randy left because he cares too much, took a risk and sacrificed his entire life for the woman he loved and his family. But he is also a man with scars, a damaged man with cold feet, a man with years of wear and tear on his lost soul. Cracks in foundation that can’t be filled, and it shows as he slowly resolves his moment of vulnerability, those walls building back up faster than they came down.

Randy bristles at her words, his expression darkening. "You can take the book or you can get the hell out of here," he said, his voice cold. "But I'm not going anywhere. I'm staying here, where it's safe."

The situation had suddenly grown hostile, the tension thick in the air. You lay a restraining hand on Tara’s that still grips your arm, your eyes conveying a silent message. This wasn’t worth a fight, not when the book possibly offers some sort of answers.

Clearly still against it, and frustrated with the lack of cooperation from Randy, Tara pull her hand from you and turns away with a shake of her head. Jaw clenched and face stricken with rebuke.

The room is filled with a palpable suffocating pressure, the decision weighing heavily on you all. The risk of taking the book, of drawing the entity's attention, is real. But at the thought of Tara, her safety, you rationalize that’s more important than anything. You remind yourself that you only came back to solve this to ensure she would be okay. You’d already concluded a while ago that you would do anything, risk anything, to ensure she is safe.

With a mix of grim determination and trepidation, you slowly reach out and grasp the book. The moment your fingers touch the worn leather, you feel a sudden wave of unease wash over you. The room seems to press in around you, and the air grew thick with a pervasive sense of dread.

Randy wasn’t kidding, this is fucking heavy.

The book seemed to thrum with an unknowable energy, and you feel its malevolent presence, like a dark shadow lurking at the edge of your perception.

A single thought is brought to the forefront of your mind, loud and harsh as it bounces around in your head like an echo through a dark chasm.

This action will have consequences.

previous, next

[hazel-eye-coffee-shop-girl-blog]

Tell me about Dean falling in love with a girl who has long covid - maybe they met when he saved her from a monster and they became friends, she occasionally helps him with research or patches him up if he gets hurt. He doesn’t hear from her for a while, and when he goes to check on her, he finds out she’s in the hospital with Covid - a monster he can’t save her from. He realizes he loves her, but may lose her. After she gets out he keeps coming to check on her because he knows she tires easily/has trouble breathing at times.

@deans-spinster-witch thank you for this ask. Actually thank you all that submit asks or sent me story prompts, I am going to get to them all, but I thought this one would be a good place to start.

First let me start off with my disclaimers:

1) I haven't see the last few seasons of SPN, so I don't know how they addressed COVID, if they did at all. So think of it as alternative timeline, not really canon.

2) My COVID representation is probably not 100% accurate, either by the reader symptoms or that I don't mention Dean wearing a mask or that he was able to be in the hospital with the reader.

3) I just POV and I think I may have jump from 2nd to 3rd person writing? I did my best to correct it, but sometimes I can't seem to correct it. Also did my best with editing, but I am sure I missed something. Flashbacks are bold italic and internal thoughts are just italic.

4) I am not sure if this is 100% what you were looking for. It does end on a cliffhanger, so I will be posting a second part. It was getting hella long coming in at 7,500 words. 😬 sorry.

5) swearing, hints of past trauma that we may get more in the second part. Self doubt/hate. Angst heavy!

Okay think that's it. It's a Y/N x Dean focus story with Sam making an appearance via phone. Characters are not mine but the work is. So please don't post as your own.

Feel free to like, reblog, send me feedback in the comments. And if you have a story idea, send it my way via asks or message. Or if you want me to tag you on my work let me know.

Okay think I have stalled long enough. Here it is, my first story back from 3 year break.

JUST BREATHE-



"Excuse me, sir, you can't be up here." A female voice, strong, laced with exhaustion, mixes with the sounds of the hospital. Doctors are being paged, staff are going in and out of rooms, and machines are monitoring patients. All of it, white noise, too, Dean. Because he can't look away or tear his eyes from what is in front of him. Y/N is lying in a hospital bed, hooked up to a ventilator. What happened? How did it come on so strong and so fast? He had just seen you last week when he came through town on his way to his next hunt. Picking up research that you had done for him since Sam was working on another case in California. You were the best…no, are, you are the best researcher he knows…you have to get better; you can't…

"Sir! I will have to ask you to leave if you're not family. The ICU is only for families." The female voce, insistent on getting him to pay attention to her. Tired, she was just so damn tired of no one listing to her today; she had better things to do than police people about.

"How long has she been here?" Dean asks, his voice firm but slightly wavering. He can't look away, watching as the vent goes up and down, breathing for you. Y/N, come on, you have to pull through; I can't lose you, Dean thinks, trying his best not to break. He prayed to God if he thought it would help if he thought the ass would be listing.

"Sir, I can't give that information if you're not family." Dean looks away from you for a moment, noticing the nurse standing beside him. She is dressed in blue scrubs, her hair pulled back, and a mask on. He can tell she is on her last nerve with him, and he has to win her over. He can't leave you, not now. "So, are you family?" she asks again.

"Umm…" He knew he needed to lie. If he told her that you were just a friend, he would never get answers and would never get back to this floor again. It was dumb luck that he could get your room number out of the receptionist downstairs. He pulled himself together to give her his winning smile and wink. "She's my sister." Clearing his throat, he looked back to you.

The nurse looks down at the chart in her hand. "Miss. Moore didn't have a brother listed as next of kin, but then again, a neighbor brought her in." Looking back up to Dean, he doesn't respond. "How about we go somewhere a little more private to discuss your sister's condition?" She lightly grabs Dean by the shoulder and turns him away from the window and you.

********

Dean did his best to listen to the nurse, but all he really wanted to do was get back to you. It was driving him crazy that he couldn't do anything; this wasn't caused by a demon, monster, or anything in his wheelhouse. You were brought in about a day or two after he had seen you. Your neighbor had come over to borrow something and saw you in the window, passed out on the floor. COVID had hit you hard, and you just couldn't shake it; your lungs filled up so fast with fluids that you passed out.

That was a week ago; you had been in the hospital for a week and on a ventilator. The doctors feel that your body just needs time to fight off the infection.

"She seemed fine when I saw her last; how could this happen?" Dean questions, trying to be as respectful as possible without raising his voice and getting kicked out.

"COVID hits everyone differently; we really don't know why. Some people may never get it, and some…" Not finishing her statement, the nurse looks away from Dean.

"Can I go back and sit with her?" Dean asks, more like pleading with her. He just wants to ensure you're doing alright and stand watch until you wake up. He doesn't know what else to do.

"I am sorry, but no," the nurse replies as kindly as possible. Seeing that he will protest this, she quickly adds, "But, you can come back during visiting hours. You won't be able to go in the room; we have to keep it clean because of COVID, but you can see her from the window." Hoping this will be a compromise he can live with. She doesn't want him to get upset and have to call security and have him escorted out. She can tell he cares for her and is scared.

Dean will take it; he knows he has to. You're the strongest person he knows. You will get through this; you have to. "Alright, I guess I will come back then," Dean says, getting up from the table.

********

Walking out of the hospital, Dean calls Sam to tell him what is happening and that he wasn't leaving until you were back home. Screw the world, let the monsters run amuck, and let demons rain hell on earth; he had more important things to do. "I don't care, Sammy, I am not leaving again. This is the only number you can reach me at, and only you," he says, getting into the Impala and firing it up.

"Alright, Dean. I hear you. Do you want me to come? I am almost done here." Sam offers, knowing that Dean won't take him up on it.

"No, I am good, but thanks. You stay on the West Coast until the world calms itself down." Letting the engine run for a bit, Dean takes a second. This has been the longest they have been working apart. It's been hard on both of them, but at least Dean has you to talk to. He has been leaning on you more since Sam was in California. Could Dean have caused this? Was he asking too much of you?

"Dean, hey, you still there?" Sam breaks through his intrusive thoughts.

Clearing his voice, "Yeah."

"You know, she will get through this. She's going to be okay," Sam says, trying his best to reassure him and get him out of his head because even if they are miles apart, he knows his brother. Dean is blaming himself right now for something that he can't control.

“Yeah, I know… I just… what if I…..”

"No, don't think like that, and don't think you had anything to do with this happening." Sam quips back, knowing where his brother's thoughts are going, and he will not have him spiraling out.

"But I ask so much of her. You know she will never say no. Even when she has other things to do, she always drops everything when I ask for a favor. God, I am such a user…"

"No, you're not. Y/N is strong, and she said she would tell you if she didn't want to do something. She wants to help; she thrives on researching this stuff, and you know it." Sam states, "Come on, you know she would rather research lore or listen to one of your 'tales from the front lines,' as she likes to call them, any day of the week."

The thought of you saying these words to him as you patch him up, 'Alright, Dean, what tales to do we have this time?' or how your voice would be giddy when he called you about a case he found. "Yeah, you're right, Sam," Dean replies. Feeling a bit better after talking with Sam, he always knows how to keep him from spiraling too much.

"I know I am; now go get some rest. She's going to need you when she wakes up."

"Night brother"

After hanging up the phone, Dean didn't want to go to a hotel or bar, but he was now wired and needed to do something. Pulling out of the parking lot was second nature, and he found his way to your driveway.

Sitting there, looking at the modest, two-bedroom, two-bath house, he would consider a second home for as much time as he has spent there. It was odd to think about walking through that door and you not being there. When getting out of the car, the sound of the door opening and closing is the only noise that breaks up the silence of the night. Taking a few steps, Dean stops himself from knocking like he usually does. Habit, he thinks. Pulling his keys out, he flips until he finds the one for your house.

It was an argument you had won, not that he didn't want a key. Of course, he did, but he didn't want it to fall into the wrong hands should something happen.

"No, I don't need a key, Y/N," Dean protest, not wanting to have this conversation right now.

"Yes, you do; now take it." You say, holding out the key for him to take.

"I don't need it; you're always here. Why would I need to get into your place when you're not here?" he questions. Finishing off his beer, he gets up from the couch and heads toward the kitchen. "You want another one?" he asks, trying to change the subject.

You get up and follow him. "Don't change the subject, Winchester," you say, following him and sitting on a kitchen stool. What if I wasn't home tonight?"

Tossing the empty bottle in the recycle bin and turning to face her, he can tell by the severe look on your face that this is an argument that he won't win. But why make it easy on you. "But you were," giving you a smirk, he opens the fridge to pull out two more bottles. "Besides, where would you be on a Friday night? You have a hot date I don't know about?" he questions. Handing one of the bottles to you.

He struggles slightly to open the bottle with his left hand since his right is currently in a sling. After putting his shoulder back into place and stitching him up, you open the beer in your hand, hand it to him, and take the other one from him. "Maybe," you say cryptically, a twinkle in your eyes.

"Really? Didn't know you were dating anyone?" Dean is slightly put off by this. It's not that someone would want to date you; it's the opposite. You're beautiful, and he always wonders how you were still single after all this time. Intelligent and funny, any guy would be lucky to call you his. Heck, he would like to call you his.

"I am not," you say, putting him out of his misery and his slight spiral of another guy touching her, kissing her… But I could still be out. Do you want to be sitting out in your car waiting for me to get home?" you question, pushing the key towards him. "Just take the dam key. It's only a key. I am not asking you to move in with me."

If you asked him that, he would say yes in a heartbeat. But the reality of his life, what he and Sam do for a living, gives him pause to take the key. "I just don't want anyone else to get their hands on it."

"Who, like Sam? Of course, you can give a copy to Sam." You joke, knowing what he's getting at but trying your best to keep this conversation light.

"No, not Sam. I am thinking Crowley, another demon or monster, or worse, Lucifer. I would hate for anyone other than Sam or me to get their hands on this and come after you."

"Dean, that's not going to happen."

"But it could, you know it could."

Letting out a sigh, you decide to pull out the big guns to get him to take this damn key. "A key is not their first choice to get in. You have put up all the wards you could think of." You say, proving that you are as safe as possible. "Heck, you made me even get this thing." Snapping off your leather bracelet to show off the anti-possession tattoo. "and you know how much I hate needles." The black tattoo shows nicely against your light skin and hides the other barely visible scars.

"Yeah, I found out real quick that day. I think I still have scars on my arm from you digging your nails in," he jokes, bringing his hand up to his wrist to run his fingers around the tattoo and the scars he knows are there.

"Haha, that's real funny." You fake laugh. " Just take it, please. It will make me feel better if you have it." You do your best puppy dog eyes as you push the key closer to him.

Dean takes a moment before caving. "Alright, but I am only going to use it for emergencies." he conceits, taking his keys out and putting your house key on the ring with the rest.

Getting up from the stool, you smile at him, "Thank you, Dean," you say sweetly and hug him.

**

Dean shakes his head, trying to shake the thoughts from that night, as he shuts the door behind him. He stood in the entryway, just taking in the quietness of the house, holding his breath, waiting for you to come down the hallway, saying, ‘Dean, you look like shit; what were you up against this time? Let me get you patched up, and you can tell me all about it.’ Guiding him to the kitchen, you would pull the first aid kit and a beer from the fridge.

Watching these memories play out in front of him, it's not until he lets out a shaky breath that he had been holding that he feels the tears run down his face, "Fuck! Y/N, you got to get better, okay…." choking back, "I can't lose you." The thought of losing another important person in his life. Someone who should have a happy and long life and who, without them, Dean wouldn't be standing here today. He owes everything to you.

Dean can't bring himself to step past the entryway, feeling like an intruder. "I can't…" feeling pressure in his chest, he turns and walks out the door. Locking the door and making the short walk to his car, the pressure subsides once he is in the driving seat. Knowing he can't stay in the house. Too many memories of you and his dark thoughts will keep him up. He also can't put the car in drive and go to the motel just outside of town. It's like his body won't let him leave.

*******

Y/N POV

You were in the hospital for two weeks, and Dean was by your side, or somewhat outside your hospital room, every day, every hour he could be. At least that is what the nurse told you once you were awake. Your 'brother' Dean has been by your side. The first time they told you this, you looked confused, which caused concern from the staff.

"Your brother, Dean," the nurse says again, her voice laced with concern as she points to the window that looks into your room from the hallway.

You turn your head slightly, your body stiff from being in bed for so long, and the breathing tube just being taken out. There you see him, Dean Winchester, raising his hand to give you a short wave, and a look of relief washes over his face, which is covered with a slightly heavy five-clock shadow. You give him a smile and look back at the nurse. "Yeah, sorry, of course, he's my brother. Just didn't know anyone called him?" you reply, "Can I have some water?" you ask, you're throat feeling like sandpaper.

"Sure," the nurse says, filling a cup and handing it to you. "Well, the doctor will be in soon," she says, giving you a short smile and walking towards the door.

"Umm, can my brother come in?" you ask. Knowing that no matter what she says, Dean will make it in here one way or the other. The nurse hesitates. "It's just that I would like him to hear what the doctor says. I am still groggy, not sure I am going to remember everything he tells me," you add, hoping this will pull on her heartstrings just a bit.

Which does work, "Sure." she replies, giving you a smile and then walking out the door. She briefly talks to Dean before walking away, and Dean enters the room.

"Hey, sweetheart," Dean says, shutting the door behind him and walking towards you.

"Hey yourself," you reply. You try to sit up a bit more, but you struggle a bit.

Dean quickly gets to you. " Here, let me," he says, finding the remote for the bed, setting you upright, and then readjusting your pillows. "Good?" he asks once it looks like you're settled.

Feeling slightly embarrassed that he saw you like this, you’re sure you're a mess, bed hair, hospital gowns, and oh man…your breath has got to stink by now, right? Trying your best not to breathe out, "Yeah, thanks." you quickly reply. Dean sits in the chair next to your bed but doesn't say anything. Okay, guess you will start. "So brother, hum?" you quip.

He smiles at this and looks away from you to the bedding. "Yeah, I had to say something; otherwise, they would never let me back in." Then, looking back at you, a slight panic sets in that you might be mad at him for this small lie. " You're not mad, are you?" he asks.

"No, of course not," you reply, wanting to reassure him that everything is fine. This does, as relief washes over him a second time. You hold out your hand for him to take. "Just wonder what Sam will say about having a little sister, that's all. I am sure he will hate being the middle child," you joke.

Dean gives a short laugh: "Oh, Sammy will be all right with it. He will be happy to hear you're awake, is all." Dean's fingers rubbing your hand back and forth are nice.

"How did you know I was here?" you ask, trying to remember the day before you were brought in, but it's all a blur. Was he coming to see you? Was he working on a case?

"I was coming back through, and you had helped me with the case in North Carolina…" lowering his voice, even though you're in a private room," that Dinji." Dean recounts, seeing you not remember. He continues, "I stopped by your place, and your neighbor was out and said you were in the hospital."

None of that is registering at all, like last month, which is a blank slate. Fuck, what else are you not remembering? "And you have been here this whole time?" you ask, wondering what the state of the world must be like if he has taken himself out of saving the world for two weeks! Is Sam okay?

Dean's eyes, bright green, lock with yours, cocking his head slightly to the side, with slight confusion at your shock that he was here the whole time. "Of course, where else would I be? I wasn't going to leave you alone here," he says, a matter of fact.

You're about to reply to this, ask more questions, ask how Sam is, but before you can, the doctor enters the room. "Miss. Moore, welcome back," he says, looking at your chart and then at you and Dean. And this must be your brother?" he asks, holding his hand for Dean to shake.

Dean does, letting go of yours, the loss of him, his touch is apparent. "Hey, doc, when can I take my sister home?" Dean asks.

The doctor starts to talk, but you're not listening; your mind drifts to Dean. He put his life on pause for you? Wow, that's something, but you're sure he would do it for Charlie, Jody, Claire, or Alex, right? Yeah, of course. Dean sees you as family, which is what you are to him; that's what you will always be. Yes, you were close. He and Sam saved you from the vampire nest, explained everything about their world, and gave you a purpose.

You feel a slight pressure in your chest. Now that you're awake, how long will he stay before he leaves again?

"So I will get the nurse to start the discharge paperwork, and you guys should be out of there in a few hours," the doctor says. Giving you a smile.

Not hearing anything but that, you just smile back and look towards the window. You hear Dean thank the doctor, and he leaves the room. "nice guy," Dean says, filling up the silence.

"Yeah," you reply. You’re not sure what you are feeling; it's almost like a weight on your chest, pressure. Maybe it is COVID; it will be better once you get home. It has to, right?

******

You didn't know Dean could fuss over you more if he tried. He insisted that he be the one to wheel you out of the hospital, only after he made sure the car was pulled up as close to the door as possible so you didn't have to walk too far. Then, when he pulled into your driveway, he insisted he carry you the short walk to the front door.

"No, Dean, I can walk. My legs aren't broken; I had COVID, that's all." you quip back as he comes over to your side of the car to pick you up.

"The doctor said you shouldn’t over-exaggerate yourself, that's all," he replies, trying again to wrap his arms around your waist and pick you up from standing against the closed car door.

You block his hands again. As much as you would like his arms around you, have him cradle you; where is this coming from? You also don't want him to hurt himself, or God forbid the neighbors see him carrying you bridle style. "Yeah, walking the three feet to my front door is not going to kill me." This comment is like a punch in the gut for Dean; it's written on his face. Shit, was my COVID scare that much of an effect on him? But why? Trying to write your wrong, you try to play it off. "Come on, man, I have been on my back for two weeks and must move a little bit." You quip back. Playfully pushing him aside and walking towards the door.

You get to the door but realize you don't have your keys, you didn't have those, or your phone when you were brought into the hospital. You wait for Dean to come up behind you. He doesn't say anything, pulling out his keys; he opens the door and lets you walk in first. You shuck off your jacket and shoes and go to the living room. Sitting on the couch, you try to hide the sigh of exhaustions that you feel from the small activities you just did; but it slips past your lips and is not lost on Dean.

"Want me to make you some tea? You hungry?" Dean asks.

"No, I want you to tell me what's happened since I was in the hospital. Did all the evil in the world decide to take a break while I was out, and that's how you got to have some time off?" you question, motioning him to sit next to you on the couch.

Dean shrugs at this, "No. I just told Sam I was taking myself off the board, is all." he says casually.

"Taking yourself off the board? Hum, I didn't know you guys could do that," you ask, Giving him an intuitive look.

Dean is giving you nothing back, shaking his head, looking around the room, and clapping his hands together. He points towards the kitchen, "I am going to make that tea for you." He walks away before you can stop him, leaving you to your thoughts. Something else is happening, and you know who to call to get the truth out.

******

Making that call seem more complicated than usual since Dean didn't leave your side for anything. Three days, three days of hovering and mothering you, and as much as you care for Dean, and possibly secretly loved him. Let's face it, those chest tightening pains at the hospital, the loss of his touch was not COVID symptoms, it was your heart telling you what you already knew. You were in love with Dean Winchester, and the fact that he dropped everything for you made your head spin and feel like the most important girl in the world. But you are a realist, and Dean Winchester is out of your league. He sees you as the little sister he got settled with, not the girl he wants to kiss and do other things with.

On top of that, you are sure his opinions of you drop a few points since you found out really quick that to pass the time while he waited for you to wake up, he decided to clean your house from top to bottom. The sheer embarrassment when you found out had you want the couch to swallow you up right there. "Excuse me, you did what?" you ask, thinking you didn't hear him right when you ask; the following day, a book you usually had on your coffee table was now on the bookshelf that it was never on.

"I did some cleaning while you were…" Dean says, not finishing that statement while he grabs the few dishes off the coffee table and heads towards the kitchen. He never finishes that statement. Whenever he says it, he never says 'when you were in the hospital' or 'when you were sick.' After three days of the hanging statement, you get frustrated over that.

But knowing he cleaned your house, how clean is clean? Did he do your laundry? Yep! Did he clean under your bed and put stuff away on your nightstand? God forbid he did a deep clean in your closet—oh, the embarrassment. "Why?" you ask, now following him, waiting for an answer that you sure won't come.

Dean has his back to you, rinsing off the dishes before putting them in the dishwasher. "What? It's not a big deal. I had time, plus the nurse thought it was a good idea for you to come home to a clean hose." He says while wiping down the counter.

You try your best to breathe and calm down. Yes, all that is true, a clean house to come home too make sense. But having him go through your personal and private things, fuck, him cleaning your underwear. He will never look at you as desirable again, not like he did before. You look up from the floor to see him watching you, waiting for a reply. "thanks, I guess," you say, defeated. "I am going to go take a shower." You say, needing just a few minutes by yourself, shake off this feeling of rejection you know he doesn't realize he caused.

"You need some help?" he asks, approaching you and walking a step behind you.

You take a second, knowing again that he just wants to help, but God treats you like an old woman. Because you know that his offer of 'helping you out' in the shower does not imply sexy times; it's he saying he thinks you are weak and that you're going to get tired, fall, and hurt yourself. You get to the bathroom door. "No, I got it, thanks," you say, opening the door and shutting it before he can say anything.

*****

Dean POV

I know I am being overprotective, maybe even going overboard with not letting her do anything, and perhaps the deep clean was an overreach. But in my defense, I thought I could lose her, and if she was going to, no, when she was going to come home, I wanted it to be in a clean, COVID-free house.

I turn away from the bathroom door and walk towards the living room. I start to clean up, picking up the discarded blanket from my makeshift bed; even though she has a spare room, it's on the second floor away from her, and I want to be close in case she needs me in the night.

The rigging of my phone pulls me from my thoughts of her. Picking up, I see it's Sam. "Hey, what's up?" I ask, dropping the blanket and myself onto the couch.

"Just checking in, how's Y/N?"

"Good, still low energy, but I am just happy she’s walking and talking, even if I am annoying her."

"You, annoying her, I can't believe it," Sam says, with fake shock. "You know she can take care of herself; she has been doing that for some time now." Sam reminds me. Knowing that my hovering is coming for a place of love for Y/N, but it could be doing more damage than good.

"I know, it's just…" I pause briefly, looking back to see the closed bathroom door. "Sam, she just looked so helpless there lying in the hospital bed, hooked up to those machines…and there was nothing I could do…nothing that could save her…I just had to wait."

Sam knows that's not my strong suit, "I know, I get it, but maybe just ease off a little. I am sure it's making her feel like a burden, you doing everything for her."

"Yeah, you're probably right. I will try."

"I know I am." He clears his throat and paused briefly before asking what he knew I would not want to answer: "So when are you heading back to the bunker?"

I pause momentarily; the idea of leaving you hadn't crossed his mind. "Umm…" Hearing the door open, he looks to see you walking out of the bathroom and down the hallway to your room, wrapped in your navy-blue plaid robe, hair slightly damp from the shower. "Not sure yet, but I will keep you posted. I got to go." I say quickly, hanging up the phone. I know that she can take care of herself, but at the same time, I don't want to leave her again; what if I do and something happens, and there is no one here to save her again. Sam's right, though; I have to back off, or I am liable to smother her.

*****

Y/N POV (about a week later)

Something seems to have changed in Dean in the last few days. It was like the old carefree Dean was back. He hovered less, not watching my every move, and even went on a quick day trip to the bunker to pick up more books for me to read since I had read everything in my place twice, and if I was going to be stuck inside I wanted to do something productive. Granted, I had to ride shotgun on this trip, so although we got out of the house, I was still under his protective eye. But he wasn't babying me anymore; he cracked jokes, smiled, and even complained when I made him watch the same movie repeatedly.

Dean was going on a food run, and this was one outing he didn't let me go on. Too many people, could possibly get sick again, so he didn't want to risk it. But he also hated doing it, leaving you alone. "You're sure you're going to be fine," he asks again, standing in the doorway, you on the other side, trying your best not to push him out and lock the door.

"Yes, Dean, you'll be gone for an hour. I think I can survive." you quip, pushing him playfully, "Go, I promise, no running around the house with scissors or jumping on the bed. I will keep my butt on the couch until you get back."

Dean's worried face slightly softens, knowing that you will be fine, but that pit in his stomach—the thought of him walking out that door again and not having you in his sight—will never go away. "Okay, but call me if you feel off," he reminds you again.

"Yes, now go." You reply with a smile. Yes, he was getting on your nerves slightly, but you still loved the guy for it.

You watch as he pulls out of the driveway and down the road before you head inside. Walking to your room, you find your cell phone charging, and you quickly make the call you've been waiting to make since you got home.

He picked up on the second ring: "Y/N, everything alright? Dean texted me to say he was going on a food run. Do you need him? Are you not feeling well?…" Sam blurts out, a lengthy, run-on statement that has you slightly spinning.

Trying your best not to laugh at him. "Sam, calm down; I am good. I just wanted to talk to my friend. How are you?" you ask, wanting to ease into this discussion. Plus, you really did want to know how he was doing; ever since you came home, you only talked to Sam when Dean would call him and have him on speakerphone. Even then, Sam was instructed not to speak about cases he was working on. Dean had a theory that possibly COVID was stress-induced, but you know it wasn't.

"I am good, making my way back to the bunker. I have a case in Wisconsin, so I'm in your area. I was thinking of seeing you guys once it's done."

"Oh yes, please do, Sam. It's been ages since we've hung out together. I feel like a movie marathon is needed."

"Yeah, if you're up for it. Dean tells me you get tired easily. Is anything else not the same?"

"Umm…brain fog for sure; I lost all memory of the week before I went into the hospital. Some things don't taste the same. But honestly, Sam, can we not talk about me for a bit. Tell me about the case in Wisconsin; what are you hunting this time." You inquire, done talking about yourself, need a distraction, and avoid asking Sam what you want to know.

Sam, being the best friend, a girl could ask for, knew that a distraction from your symptoms was what you needed, and although it would be breaking his promise to Dean, he could hear it in your voice, the need for some kind of normalcy, at least what normal is considered for us. Giving you all the details, you can come to the same conclusion that it was a vengeful spirit and a simple salt and burn job is in order.

Once Sam is done talking about Wisconsin, a lull in the conversation forms, and you look at the clock to see Dean should be home soon. "Sam, can I ask you something?" You feel slightly nervous and try to figure out how to phrase your question.

"Of course, you can ask me anything."

Taking a breath, you wait a second before asking, "How was Dean when he found out I was sick? He said he 'took himself off the board' and has been hovering since I got home. He's gotten better, but those first few days, it was like he was a different person."

Sam can tell by the last statement that you're trying to bring some levity to an otherwise heavy question, a question that he is surprised you have to ask. taking a breath, he thinks about how to say, ‘You idiot, he loves you! and you love him!'

"I am glad to hear that he's lost up the reins a bit," giving a chuckle, "but honestly, Y/N, he was devastated. I know he's my big brother, and he tries his best to hide his emotions, but I could tell that night when he called to tell me what happened, he was scared. Scared that he was going to lose you, scared that he might have caused this to happen to you."

"How could he have caused COVID? I mean, I get he sometimes can have a big ego, but, come on, he can't cause an infection."

"No, but he thinks he has been asking too much of you, wearing you down. I can't say whether he's right or wrong. You and I know you occasionally burn the candle at both ends."

"Yeah, I am trying to get better at that. But Sam, he was treating me like I was 90 years old. He wouldn't let me do a thing around here. And did he tell you he cleaned my house—my whole house—before I got home? I mean everything."

"Oh man, I am sure you were not happy to hear about that."

"Your damn right. I wasn't."

"Look, it's not my place to say, but I will tell you this, remember that night when you and I got a little tipsy, and you might have let slip your feelings for a certain green eye hunter?"

Fuck, of course, he remembers that night; that was right after you had helped him and Dean take down a wraith, and Dean was out on a beer run. "Yeah, you asked me why I never seem to be dating anyone, and I said I can't be with the one guy I want, so why be with the wrong guy at all."

Sam waits for you to connect the dots, and although you're not sitting in front of him, Sam has a feeling you're making the connections: "Let's just say Dean has the same idea, and he has his eye on a hazel eye researcher that he thinks he can't have."

You're about to protest Sam's statement that Dean has no feelings for you other than sibling love, but before you can, you hear the front door open and Dean yelling, "Honey, I am home," sweetly.

"I've Got to go, Sam. Talk soon," you say, and hang up before he can reply.

*********

Sam's words kept rolling around in your mind all night, distracting you from Dean. During dinner, you were quiet, letting him lead the conversation and not making it known when he mentioned Sam might be stopping by in a day or two that you two had talked earlier. "Oh, okay, sounds good." you responded, still thinking, 'He has his eye on a hazel-eye researcher that he thinks he can't have.'

Dean went for girls that were the complete opposite of you, blonde, curves in all the right places without an ounce of fat to be seen, the girl that guys walk across fire for, not the girl that they run into fire to get away from. Not the girl who is socially awkward around strangers, who can put her foot in her mouth easier than anyone, and who has more of a backstory than is worth mentioning. No, Dean goes for simple, noncomplex girls, which makes sense, given his life is entirely of danger and complexity. Why go for a girl to add to it.

Dean can tell your mind is elsewhere, and he is slightly worried that you're lost in your head or that this might be another symptom. "Hey, space cadet, you with me? Because if you're not watching the movie, I will gladly turn it to something we haven't seen twice this week," he jokes, hoping to make fun of the situation.

His voice shakes you from your thoughts, and you look over at him; his eyes have just a hint of worry to them. The blanket across both of you, him in a simple white t-shirt and sleep bottoms, you in gray leggings, tank top, and open cardigan. Perfection, you and Dean cozy up on the couch, not a care in the world, him teasing you about your love of disaster movies, and you forcing him to watch the same one repeatedly, and he does; why? Because he loves you. He loves you like a sister, a friend, someone he cares for, just not someone he’s IN love with.

"yeah, sorry, I think I am just going to go to bed." You shake off that last statement: he's not IN love with you. God, you really know how to cut yourself deep, don't you? Getting up from the couch, you grab your water glass and head towards your room.

Dean gets up with you, "here, let me help you," he says, walking around the couch and placing a hand on your lower back.

This is the last straw, the final statement of his wanting to help you, again treating you like you're helpless. "Stop! Just stop!" you yell, feeling yourself boil with rage you knew you had been keeping at bay. You know his hovering is with the best intentions, but for you, it's blurring the lines between what you want from him and what you know he can give you. Your mind won't let it be accurate even after what Sam told you today.

Dean stops his hands from touching you, standing still like he is frozen in time. "Y/N, hey, I just want to help. You look tired, is all." His voice is soft and sweet.

He’s trying to placate you, like he would a child or grandparent, "Dean, I am fine; I can walk ten feet to my room on my own and not get lost or fall down, okay!" You lock eyes with him and see his face fall, and in that moment, you know that he's hurt; you've only ever yelled at him when you were injured and need him to find you. But that was screaming for him, not at him. You know that you should feel bad for your outburst, you do, but you know that this is not real, that this ideal version of him and you playing house can't last.

"What is wrong? Is this another symptom? Did something happen while I was out?" he asks, wanting to understand your sudden change since this morning. You start walking away from him, wanting to get into your room and away from him, knowing he will get the truth out of you. You don't want to hear his excuses or him placate you even more about why he and you will never be a thing.

You turn halfway down the hall to look back at him, standing there watching you. "No! It's not! I am a capable woman who can take care of herself. Stop treating me like I am dying, Dean! You saved me once; that should be enough for you." Turning back, you reach your door, hand on the handle to open it, when you hear Dean.

"What does that mean?" Dean questions, his footsteps pad against the hardwood floors, standing right behind you; you can feel his breath on your neck, "I know you are capable; you are the strongest woman I know." his voice low, sending shivers down your body, you feel his hand on your arm, turning you around to face him. He sees your tear-stain cheek, "Fuck, Y/N, talk to me; what is going on? Why would you say saving you once was enough?"

Your eyes, trying and failing to hold back the tears, are now on the brink of spilling out. He needs to just let you go. You lean back against the door, knowing he took that little movement as exhaustion, and you are. You are exhausted by talking about this repeatedly, tired that he just can't let you leave, won't give up, and will go back to seeing you only when he needs something. He needs to go back to his life and let you put him back into the box of things that you don't let yourself have. Taking a breath, you run your hands over your face, wiping the tears and pushing them back inside. Putting on your brave face, "You know, Sam will be here in two days. I think you should go back with him. Go back to the bunker, and 'put yourself back on the board.'"

Throwing his line back at him, telling him he needed to return to work and that you would be fine without him. Will you, though? In time, maybe? You turned the door handle and stepped into the room, never breaking your eye contact with him. He shut the door in his face and flipped the lock, not giving him a chance to speak, knowing that he would not force his way in.

To be continued

[laurel-finch]

'I Don't Bite' S1.Ch02: Fur

Summary: The Winchesters and their new companion plan their next move... Referenced Episodes: None CW: Gore. Disclaimer: Pretty much all the lore I have in this story is vastly inaccurate to Navajo legend. The Navajo have decided to keep their legends largely a secret and don't share much about their culture. So please take note of the fact that all information in skinwalkers is either from the show, or from my own imagination, and not culturally accurate. Word Count: 6057 Recommended Song: Rock of Ages -- Def Leppard Previous Chapter -- Masterlist -- Next Chapter

"Get up!" I shouted before jumping onto the bed, shifting mid-air. I landed paws first beside the younger Winchester brother and bumped his cheek with my wet nose. Sam groaned and threw his hands up, swatting at my fur. I growled and licked a stripe up his cheek.

Sam immediately jolted up, vigorously wiping the slobber off his cheek with his blankets. Unphased by his disgust, I bounded over him and leaped onto the other bed, where Dean still slept, blankets tangled around his waist. He slept on his stomach, lips parted and green eyes tightly shut. I tackled him, knocking him off the edge of the bed, the blankets falling with him. He hit the floor with a loud yelp.

Dean swore and sat up suddenly, only to find himself nose to nose with a wolf. He groaned, rolling onto his back and throwing his arm over his eyes. "So it wasn't just a bad dream. We did actually adopt a mutt."

I shifted back into my skin and glared at the elder brother, arms folded tightly over my chest in indignation. "I am not a mutt," I grumbled dramatically, holding my head high. "And I'll have you know that I think any dream about me would be a pleasant one."

Sam laughed from the other side of the room. "Only if you're a dog-lover-"

"- Which I," interjected Dean, "am not." He mumbled some swear words under his breath and stood to his feet, dragging the blankets with him, dumping them onto the bed. "Especially not untrained, glorified dogs."

"Mm, that's a shame, considering you're about to be waist-deep in a horde of them," I joked, bumping him in the shoulder with my fist.

"They're not dogs, they're monsters," Dean retorted, pulling a gun from under his pillow. He slipped it into the waistband of his jeans, and I marveled at how he could possibly be comfortable sleeping in such clothes.

"Yet I'm a mutt?" I questioned, pursing my lips and frowning teasingly.

"You're the exception."

I growled playfully and slipped off the edge of the bed. "Whatever, Dean. Just get up. I'm eager for a fight."

Dean glowered at the wad of tangled blankets. "No reasonable hunter should be eager for a fight."

I glanced ruefully over my shoulder, taking in his deliciously disheveled appearance. "I'm not a hunter, Dean. I'm a mutt."

A smile crept onto his face.

—

With the Impala loaded and ready to go, the three of us exited the empty motel parking lot. The sun had just peeked over the tops of the trees, leaving the sky filled with a gray and pink tint. It was still early in the morning and a sleepy feeling hung in the air.

Sam had pulled up directions for the skinwalker base on his GPS. I had only been there once and frankly, I never wanted to return. I wanted nothing with anything involving the typical skinwalker lifestyle. I didn't want a pack, to hunt humans, or anything else that came with the skinwalker title. I just wanted to be left alone.

Why wouldn't they just leave me alone?

Sam turned to glance at me in the backseat and creased his eyebrows with worry. "You look unsettled," he commented. I nodded and fiddled with my fingers restlessly.

"I am," I agreed, avoiding eye contact. "I'm nervous. I've fought before but... it's been a while." There was more to it than that. I didn't like fighting or the thought of having to take a life. I shivered at the thought. "When was the last time you fought?"

I paused to think. "With a human? Before my uncle... left, we used to spar all the time, but it was never a life or death situation. Even on hunts with him, I was never too concerned," I grumbled. Whatever monster we were hunting, I doubted it would be able to kill me so long as I didn’t get cocky. "I'm certainly not rusty. You'd be surprised with how much spunk alligators have in them."

Sam's eyes widened at that. "You've fought alligators?"

"Well yeah. They're pretty easy if you can keep their mouths shut. They don't have a ton of power in their jaws when it comes to opening them. And if you can get them on their backs, they're done for. Taste like chicken too," I remarked with a grin, hoping it masked my nerves.

Sam shook his head and faced forward once again, clearly disgusted at the thought of eating alligator.

After a few minutes, Dean cleared his throat. "How about some music? We have some time to kill before we get there." Sam quickly obliged, searching the glove compartment for a cassette. He handed one to Dean, who quickly read it and popped it into the cassette deck.

Rock of Ages, by Def Leppard, started playing loudly throughout the car. I could see Dean smile from the rearview mirror. The car accelerated, leading us closer to our destination. My mind was spinning. How was the fight going to go? It had been ages since I had fought another skinwalker, and had certainly never killed one. I knew I was capable of killing when the time came.

I couldn't help but think that something would go horribly wrong.

The car sped forward and trees whipped past. Spanish moss clung to their trunks and limbs, absorbing the light the trees needed, all while suffocating them. I sighed and propped my chin in my palm, gazing out the window. The brothers needed my help, they didn't know what to expect when it came to a skinwalker, let alone a pack. I couldn't leave them, no matter how much I wanted to avoid this fight.

I just wanted my life back. Everything had changed when my uncle died. I was alone for the first time in my life, with no one to look for me and keep me in check. I had been so afraid, afraid that I would lose control without someone there to keep me in line. I was afraid I would hurt someone. It wouldn't have been the first time.

The trees cleared up ahead and I caught sight of a rundown old gas station off the side of the road. I straightened, lifting my chin from my palm, and strained to get a better look at it.

"That's it," I said quietly.

"What?" Dean said, glancing in the mirror.

"Dean, that's it! The gas station! Quick, pull over!"

Dean obliged, swerving quickly to the side of the road, crossing traffic. He carefully selected a spot hidden from the view of the station, before parking the car and exiting. His feet hadn't even touched the ground before I was standing at the trunk of the car, waiting for him to unlock it.

The three of us wordlessly stocked up on weapons. I holstered a gun on my waist, adding several magazines of silver bullets to my pockets. Two silver knives hung from my belt, although I was careful not to touch the blade. My skin itched at the proximity to the silver.

Sam, who was polishing the barrel of a gun, glanced at the knives strapped to my belt. "I thought you didn't need weapons?" He joked, smiling down at me.

"You can never be too careful. I'm really only taking them just in case. I doubt I'm going to have to fight without my teeth and claws, but something might happen where I don't have enough room to shift, so I have to resort to your barbaric ways of fighting."

"Barbaric?"

"Yeah. I at least have the decency to fight with my God-given weapons. Humans manufacture weapons that kill easier and faster than anything else. You'd have to be a barbarian to want to improve on killing someone." Why would anyone want to kill easier?

Sam smiled thoughtfully. "I guess that's true. But if you had to defend yourself, even if it meant killing, wouldn't you want the best weapon for the job?"

"I guess," I replied, thinking for a moment. "Are you a lawyer or something?"

Sam's smile dropped. "I was going to be. I dropped out recently."

"Why?"

He opened and closed his mouth as if looking for a good answer. Finally, he shook his head and said, "I'll tell you some other time."

I basked in the glow of the morning sun, loving the feeling of it warming my skin. The pleasant warmth could never compare to the pull of the moon, but I still reveled in its brilliant rays. "I don't think most of the pack will be awake for a while. I think they’re usually awake at night, so they'll want to sleep for another few hours, at least. I'm sure there are a few on guard though," I mumbled out, eyes turned to the sky.

Sam nodded in response, holstering his gun. "Then we should probably get Dean and move in."

I nodded in response and walked around the car to where Dean was leaning against the hood of the car. I had to admit, he looked quite attractive in the weak lighting, with his tousled hair and brilliantly green eyes flecked with bits of gold.

"Dean," I began, "Sam and I are going to move into position." He nodded and straightened, holstering his own gun.

"I know. I could hear you two talking."

I smirked and folded my arms teasingly. "Really? I'm surprised humans can even hear that well."

"I'm better than you think," he smiled softly and quickly walked off to where his brother was waiting.

"Sure. Stay safe," I replied, briskly walking away from the brothers and to their vantage point. The point was on top of a small hill, a knoll technically. It was surrounded by trees, with long strands of moss hanging from the branches, making it difficult to see the hunters.

"We all remember the plan, right?" Dean inquired, as he crouched in the brush. Both Sam and I nodded. "Good. Then let's do this."

The two brothers focused their attention on me. My eyes flashed gold as I began to shift. My nose elongated, my spine changed shape – I could feel my bones breaking as they changed position, fur sprouting along my back as my clothing became one with my body.

There was a time when this would have been painful for me to do. Now, it was second nature. In moments, I was once again a wolf. The light filtering through the trees showed brown highlights beneath the thick outer layer of black fur.

Without turning to look at the Winchesters, I burst out of the foliage and into the sunlight, beginning the short trek into the belly of the beast.

—

Tom Chikaltio was just awful in every way imaginable. He was a brutal leader who hated living in the shadows, who demanded everything and more from his pack, even those few things they couldn't give. He was power-hungry and animalistic, only caring for his status and defending his title. Why none of his pack members had left him, I would never truly understand – perhaps they were afraid of what he would do if he ever found the deserters.

Chikaltio was a fearsome opponent. He'd won a number of difficult fights and ruled his meager pack with an iron fist. His dominion was the equivalent of barbed wire slowly squeezing around an animal's torso until it pierced the skin and blood burst forth in the form of revolution.

I had only seen him once in my short life, and it was an experience I never wanted to relive.

It was a midsummer afternoon, only a few months after my uncle's final hunt. The kitchen was unearthly quiet. My uncle’s little dachshund, an orange fluff ball by the name of Peony, would often waddle around the kitchen, her uncut toenails clicking against the linoleum tile. She never liked me much.

The kitchen was quiet, the lights dim in the bright afternoon sun. I had been nursing a beer with my feet propped up on the coffee table and a book in my lap – frankly, I had never been a big fan of alcohol, but it helped to take my mind off my grief. It was better than other bad habits I had picked up. There wasn't much to do other than enjoy the quiet. Although, there was little to enjoy, as I was so used to my uncle’s booming voice and constant motion. He rarely rested, and the house felt so empty without his lively presence.

A sharp screech was heard from the road, the sound of a car turning into the driveway. Despite the months of solitude, I half expected it to be my uncle’s old truck turning into the drive. I realized quickly that couldn't be the case, as he was never returning home. I stood languidly and stretched, attempting to hold back the flood of negative thoughts, threatening to break through the dam I had built around them, and made my way to the door.

I frowned, leaning against the doorway with my beer still in hand, and glared at the approaching silver Toyota Camry. It was an older model, at least ten years old, and the paint was chipped in places. I took another unimpressed sip of my beer and narrowed my eyes at the man who stepped out of the car. The first thing I noticed was his scent; it hit me like a semi, the smell of car oil and fir tree. The fir was one of the most shocking first impressions I had ever had, as it was a rare smell in rural Alabama.

He was tall and stocky, a coat of thick, wiry hair covering his arms and legs. A thin layer of dirt covered his skin and his short-cropped brown hair stuck out at odd angles. He had fearsome, icy blue eyes trained over my relaxed form, and a heavy palm hovering over a pistol on his belt.

The encounter went smoothly, fear lodging itself into both parties. I feared for my life, knowing if I stepped out of line this man would surely try to kill me. Whether he would succeed was unknown to both of us, and that was what scared him. He feared for his position, knowing a third-generation purebred could easily knock him from his throne.

—

I paused on the outskirts of the parking lot, allowing my scent to drift closer. I wanted them to know I was on their land and to ignore the nearby human presence.

I shifted back, knowing full well that starting this fight in my wolf form left me at a disadvantage. I shivered with worry, disregarding the thick Alabaman heat. The small lot was empty, save for the two cars, one a beaten-up pickup and the other a totaled Camry, both covered by blue tarps and surrounded by wood scraps.

Bones littered the lot, teeth marks evident along the many ridges. The front of the gas station had open windows, some with the glass blown out and others covered in a dirty film. A few shadows could be seen milling within the building.

I squared my shoulders, steeled myself, and set one foot back. This was my home, and I was tired of being pushed around. I just wanted to be left alone. It was wishful thinking, but I hoped that maybe my bold display would send Chikaltio away from my home without a fight. I whistled and all movement from within the station stopped.

I jumped when the door slammed open, a small mob exiting the crumbling building. Growls issued from the mouths of mutts and people alike. My eyes widened slightly, seeing the array of dogs rushing me, snapping their jowls aggressively. Few of them looked truly dangerous, and most were just sitting back, watching the display with interest.

I lifted my head with pride, masking the nerves that had my heart fluttering. It had been so long since I had fought something other than a predatory animal. I didn't know what to expect from Chikaltio, but I did know I wouldn't let him continue ruining my life, or the lives of the nearby humans. I would send him on his way, or I would die trying.

Or so I believed until Chikaltio stepped from the shadows of the abandoned building, a gun clutched loosely in his large palms and a cocky smirk on his whiskered face.

Fuck.

"Finally decided to take up my offer?" he asked, his yellow, sharp canines flashing with triumph.

"You mean the one where you said 'join or die'?" I answered with malice, clenching my hands into tight fists. My eyes flickered between his eyes and the gun in his hand, his finger tapping against the trigger. While I was capable of using a gun, I doubted I'd be able to reach my own before he shot me.

Buy time, I told myself. Keep him talking.

"Not quite, though I do like the analogy. I never took you for a patriot," he continued, crossing his burly arms over his chest and holding his pistol on full display, light bouncing off the barrel. I grimaced.

"I never took you for a historian," I spat. My eyes drifted over the crowd and my hands shook with nerves. "I'm surprised you're able to store any useful information in that tiny grapefruit."

His smile only grew. "What are you here for, purebred?"

"I want to talk, mutt," I countered hastily, heart pounding. He seemed so unphased by my antics, and, truthfully, it set me on edge. "I'm tired of being terrorized. And sending two brainless hunters after me was a low blow. I expected something better from an alpha." I spit out his rank like it was poison. I had little regard for the ways of most skinwalkers – I hadn't been raised the way they had, nor was I bitten and forced to conform.

His shoulders tensed slightly, and his eyes fell to a dog beside him. The animal looked like a mixed breed, with russet, wiry fur, and long drooping ears. Its eyes glowed a metallic yellow.

"I was not the one that told Chavez to send them after you. But-" he looked up, meeting my eyes with his own blue ones that seemed to be glowing more now than they had before, "I don't regret how he handled the hunters. It was clever. More clever than I expected him to ever be."

"You don't give him enough credit. He may have the brain of a gerbil, but even gerbils know how to find scraps."

Chikaltio chuckled at this, crossing his arms over his chest. "Did you just come to insult my pack, or did you want something?"

I swallowed slowly and clenched my jaw in determination. My hand moved to the handle of the silver knife attached to my belt. I exhaled shakily, cheeks reddening with nerves. This wasn’t something I really wanted, but it was necessary; this ended now – I would finally have my life back and would never again attract the attention of hunters. 

"Tom Chikaltio, I challenge you for the position of alpha of this pack."

Chikaltio hissed, fangs protruding from his lips in both shock and disgust. "That wasn't part of the offer, darling."

I swallowed, preparing myself for the fight ahead. I paused to think before spitting out, "Well here's my offer, shitbag. Give up your pack now and run back to wherever your pine tree-smelling ass came from, or lay down and die like the inbred mutt you are." I hissed with malice and the intent to kill if necessary, eyes filling with a molten gold color and hoping my message was clear. A few dogs howled at the challenge, some wagging their tails in amusement, eager for a fight.

"You little bitch," Chikaltio snarled, "I'll fucking kill you."

"Tough words for such a small dog," I responded with a shit-eating grin, crying from fear on the inside. The wolf in me was ready to lunge itself at him and tear his throat out for challenging me, a naturally higher ranking skinwalker. But I held back, acknowledging that I had to keep the ball rolling for this plan to work.

The scent of sweet dough, cherries, and beer filled my nose and I had to restrain myself from looking toward the alluring scent. It was an oddly comforting scent, one I had grown to enjoy over the last twenty-four hours. I couldn't give them away - but if I could smell them, certainly Chikaltio could too.

I widened my stance, throwing my hands up in fists, the now yellow bruise and thin scab from where I had been shot showing clearly. "You want to fight, dipshit? Let's dance."

Chikaltio snarled and lunged, shifting almost immediately. The gun he had been holding dropped from his hand. His brown hair, hinted with red, grew to cover his muscled body, and the skin around his jaw loosened, dropping into jowls.

My eyes widened as he lunged forward, jowls flapping and teeth bared menacingly. He was shifting immediately? Did he have that much confidence in his abilities, or was he going all out because he wasn't sure what to expect?

I snarled as his massive paws collided with my shoulders, throwing me backward onto the ground and knocking the air out of my lungs. He snapped at my throat, fangs only inches from the delicate skin. With an angered cry, I lifted my leg to knee him in the ribs, sending him sprawling on the ground at my side. I lifted myself to my feet, crouched low, and prepared for another assault as he pulled himself to his paws. He stumbled to his feet and circled my tensed form, wariness evident in his blue eyes. Realization hit like a tidal wave, slipping over me and bringing a shiver down my spine. Chikaltio had never seen me fight – he had no clue what to expect from me.

I grinned cockily and held my arms wide, welcoming his onslaught. "That all you got, Tom?" The mastiff snarled and whipped his head to the edge of the circle, blue eyes narrowed at a pair of mutts. The dogs stepped into the thin ring, lips drawn back and growls rumbling in their throats.

Shit. Could I really take on three of these mutts at once? I had never tried such a thing – hell, the only other skinwalkers I had fought had been my parents, and that was years ago. These dogs were larger than their mastiff alpha, but certainly not as fearsome. They were littered with scars from previous fights and the two were in rough shape, looking as though they hadn't won many of their encounters. I had faith that if I could separate them from Chikaltio, I could easily take them.

"Three against one?" I asked coyly, redirecting my attention back to the slobbering mastiff. I had to keep him distracted long enough for the Winchesters to make their move. "Don't you think that's a bit unfair?" Don't give yourself away just yet, I thought. Make them work for it.

The monsters didn't make me wait for them. The larger of the two mutts growled and lunged forward, taking me to the ground once more. The ground was where I was in my element – with all four limbs on the ground, furred or not, I knew I could win. My molten eyes swelled with color as I delivered a swift kick to its gut. The beast's whimper quickly turned into a snarl as he was thrown off like a limp rag and onto his back, a strong punch coming down onto his jaw.

I howled as claws dug into my back and the smaller of the two mutts bit into my shoulder. Their fangs sunk deep into the soft flesh and struggled to tear through the thick skin. I rolled and gripped the animal's jaw in my hand, pulling back on its gums until it released. I snarled and pushed the side of its face into the concrete, only to have the other quickly on top of me. An inhuman sound escaped my lips as the animal clawed at my stomach, attempting to shred the sensitive skin.

The two animals had me pinned, clawing and biting and tearing at whatever they could reach. I fought back, thrashing under their weight with all my might. I gripped the throat of one of the drooling beasts and lifted, putting pressure on its arteries until it loosened its claw grip from my body. My arms shook under the weight of holding the monster, and yet I locked eyes with Chikaltio. His skin went cold at the look of pure rage I cast at him.

I was so tired of this mongrel trying to control my life when all I wanted was to be left alone. Now, he had the audacity to have others fight his battle for him. My skin burned, the blood beneath burning with rage and hatred for this incompetent mutt.

Time seemed to slow around me as my eyes skipped from Chikaltio's worried eyes to a shadowed figure behind the totaled Camry. In the shadows stood Sam, a horrified look on his features as he watched the bloody display.

I flashed him a reassuring smile, meeting his eyes with warmth, hoping he understood my feelings in that moment. I wasn't going to be bested by Chikaltio, or anyone else.

Lifting a toned arm to the throat of the dog above me, I pushed hard. He fell to the side, blocking Chikaltio's view of the fight. I inhaled deeply and rolled my shoulders, ignoring the feeling of nails and fangs in my skin. Fur burst from my skin and my bones cracked, reorganizing into a canine's skeleton. In a matter of seconds, I was in my fur, fangs bared and flying towards Chikaltio.

Chikaltio went down, claws latched to his ribs and fangs sunk into his shoulder, grinding the bone until it shattered between my jaws. Claws raked over my back and sides, though I didn't care. I wanted him gone from my life, even if that meant killing him.

He was an example, something to show all other opposing skinwalkers that I was not to be trifled with.

I was dragged snapping and snarling off Chikaltio's battered form by three dogs, fangs barely reaching my skin through my thick fur. Chikaltio righted himself, blood dripping down his shoulders from several puncture wounds, the skin of his ribs torn and flayed. He pounced, forelegs shaking and jaws aimed for my stomach.

An explosion went off, tossing nearby mutts to the ground. The Camry was splintered, bits of metal raining down over the dogs and persons around it, flames rising high. My sensitive ears were ringing, and through the smoke, I saw the Winchesters charging forward and shooting at any dog who dared to come their way. With a victorious howl, I ripped away from the mutts holding me and slammed thick paws down onto the spine of a russet-colored hound.

I tore into the skin on his back, damaging the dog's spine before rolling to the side and leaving it to rot. A surprised yelp tore out of my throat as another came flying forward, tackling me from above. It snapped its thick jaws at my face and I snarled, lips pulled back to reveal pink gums and blood-stained teeth. With a mighty shove, I dug my nails into its neck, threw it to the ground, and sunk my fangs into its throat. Blood spurted across my face as I yanked, hating the feeling of its blood slipping down my jaws.

I glanced over her shoulder, seeing the third animal writhing on the ground, a silver bullet lodged in its chest. I winced and padded towards it, brushing its cheek with the end of my wet nose. The animal whined, the silver preventing it from shifting back. Taking pity on the bloody animal, I took its skull between my jaws and squeezed, ending the poor skinwalker's misery.

I whipped my head around to face a shaking, bleeding Chikaltio, his short tail tucked. He snarled in defiance, blood slicking his shoulders and running through his red fur. Thin bits of metal decorated his back and he kept most of his weight on one leg, favoring his left shoulder.

I took a few slow steps towards the battered mongrel, teeth bared and lips drawn back in a silent snarl. He held his head high, feet planted wide, and prepared for more. I stopped my slow pursuit and gazed down at his much smaller form with an intensity in my eyes I had only felt on a few occasions. I bent my neck until I was eye level with the smaller mastiff, hoping my eyes portrayed what I was thinking. I hoped they were telling him that if he would submit and leave my home, I wouldn't need to kill him.

As much as I would have liked to send him on his way, I couldn't leave him alive unless he agreed to go willingly. My simple act of kindness would become my downfall – Chikaltio was not one to let something like this slide. He would come back stronger and with help.

He growled, snapping and dripping slobber onto the ground. That was enough of an answer for me. I lunged, gripping his neck just under his strong jaw muscles, and squeezed. He fought but eventually succumbed, muscles relaxing until finally, he fell limp to the concrete.

—

I nursed my wounds and watched the last of her new pack cart out the dead. There were seven of them left and four of them were injured. The only two I recognized left uninjured were an Irish Setter by the name of Sasha and a blue heeler I didn't know. Sasha was rather kind, assisting the pack in whatever way she could, and even provided me with bandages to patch myself up.

To my surprise, I had come out of the fight with no serious injuries. Sure, I was bruised and bleeding in place, but my shoulders and back were the main sources of my pain. The puncture wounds left by the monsters would heal soon enough.

Monster. Nobody fit that title better than I did. I pulled my arms tighter around me, shivering in the nonexistent cold. I understood that fighting was the way of skinwalkers, but I couldn't help but be appalled by what I had done. There should have been another way, one where no one had to die. Perhaps if Chikaltio had shared my philosophy, he would still be alive.

If he had shared my philosophy, there would have never been a problem to begin with.

The Winchesters had done a number with their bullets, although they had eventually run out. There were only so many bullets you could carry in a pistol, and silver bullets weren't exactly easy to make or come by. They had a limited supply.

I sat by myself now atop the beaten pickup surveying the aftermath of the explosion, a sandwich in hand. One leg was hung over the side of the truck and I swung it with little attention. I surveyed my new pack with curiosity, waiting for one to meet my eyes. So far, none had.

I took a thoughtful bite of my sandwich, thinking about the recent fight. My face fell at the thought of Chikaltio's throat between my jaws. It had been so much like hunting a deer, and yet so different. My appetite fled, replaced by feelings of remorse.

I hopped down from the pickup, worn boots hitting the graveled parking lot now stained with blood and ash. I mulled around the pack, hoping to catch someone's eye and strike up a conversation. Oddly enough, the feeling of having a pack made me giddy.

After another few hours of attempted chatter, I was back on the pickup, this time standing on top of the cab. I whistled before I could think to stop myself and all heads turned towards me - furred and not. From within the crowd, I caught Dean's eyes, a reassuring smile on his freckled face. I was thankful that he had agreed to help with the aftermath of the fight. Truthfully, I doubted if I could have done it alone.

The dogs immediately seated themselves on the ground around the truck - those who could at least. Some stood, leaning against each other like makeshift crutches. The air was thick with tension as I struggled to find the words I wanted to speak.

"I'm a vegetarian," I began and then sucked in a shaky breath immediately after, face flushing. That was not what she wanted to say. "My point is... we all have very different lives. I never wanted to be an alpha. I wanted the threats against me to end, and I wanted the deaths of the humans to end. I never wanted..." I gestured to the pack, "... this..."

I ran a hand nervously through my hair and turned my gaze away from my newfound pack. A part of me was disappointed that I had chosen to send them away.

"Listen, I'm sorry. I know I... hurt a lot of you. I know I disrupted your life here. And I know that many of you have very different morals than me. That's why..." I paused and took a deep breath. "That's why I've decided to disband the pack." Hushed whispers filtered through the skinwalkers below me, some of relief, some of shock.

"I never wanted to hurt anyone, and I worry that if I stay alpha – something none of us want – then someone else is going to get hurt. This pack would never thrive by the way I've taken it. So... let's cut our losses and go our separate ways," I spoke with a final weak shrug, not entirely sure how to explain this to them. It felt so alien to me, talking to a group of skinwalkers as their apparent leader, even though I was one of them.

"But," I started again, tone firmer this time, "If I hear that any of you have been hurting innocent people again, I'll be sure to track you down and kill you myself. Worse than I did Chikaltio. That's it."

I hurriedly hopped down from the truck, avoiding their gazes, and passed through the few dogs that were, for a short time, my pack. The Winchesters watched me with intent gazes as I marched towards them, head held high.

I stopped in front of Dean, holding his stare for a moment before saying, "Take me home." I had meant to phrase it as more of a question, but it sounded blunt and demanding as my voice shook. The elder Winchester smiled. "Gladly, sweetheart."

—

I had never been happier to be home, in my own house, in my own bed. I was so excited when I took a shower, washing the dirt and grime and depression from my skin, and cleaning the blood from my hair. The tub would be a nightmare to scrub, but at least I was finally clean.

I sighed and rolled onto my back, gazing at the ceiling. Despite my exhaustion, sleep evaded me, always just out of reach. Images of the recent fight floated through my mind; in a way, I was glad, as I was not yet plagued by the nightmares that were sure to come.

I rolled onto my side once more, gazing out the large window of the second-story loft. I tried to imagine running in that open glade just outside the thin glass, tall grasses brushing against my fur, the wind parting my thick coat until it trailed its icy fingers down my skin. Instead, all I saw were the broken, bleeding, and lifeless faces of those I had killed. The skinwalker with a bullet-ridden chest that I had chosen to put out of its misery. The russet hound his neck I had crushed until blood dripped into its throat, staining my jaws. And finally, Tom Chikaltio, blue eyes lifeless and fur receding back into his skin as he fell to the ground with a dull thump.

I didn't even try to stem the flow of tears that slipped down my cheeks.

[yetanothergreyjedi]

Ghosts of Our Pasts: 9

DP x DC Crossover

Danny Fenton and Damian Wayne Siblings AU

Ao3

Masterpost Previous Next

Dani: Yo, what's with the massive group chat I just got dropped into?

Dani: I'm assuming you guys have to do with this

Tucker: ....did... did we forget to send you Danny’s new number? 

Dani: he has a NEW one? I just swapped his contact information like 2 weeks ago 

Tucker: it's actually the same number just backwards... present from the Backwards Day Ghost 

Dani: WOW

Tucker: it was miserable 

Dani: I'm sure

Dani: so about the group chat?

Tucker: Danny met his bio-sibling and he had a fraid too, so idk its like fraid inlaws or something? 

Dani: Bio-sibling? Danny's adopted? 

Tucker:Shouldn't you know this?

Dani: Why would I?

Tucker: You're his cousin....

Dani: Oh... I forgot I told you guys that...  

Tucker: ?

Dani: I'm his clone

Tucker: this is gonna be a wild story isn't it

* Dani started a call that lasted 31 minutes *

---

Jazz: Danny why did you just put me in a group chat with like 25 people in it?

Danny: Sibling groupchat 

Jazz: What? 

Jazz: Danny, I'm going to need a bit more explanation than that. 

Jazz: you didn't get cloned again?

Jazz: Did you???

Jazz: Danny?

* 1 missed call from Jazz *

* 2 missed calls from Jazz *

* 3 missed calls from Jazz *

---

Jazz: please tell me Danny lost his phone again and isn't in some kind of trouble. 

Tucker: Oh, it's in his bag... he's out rn...

Jazz: out where?

Jazz: I thought this was supposed to be a 'laying low' vacation? 

Sam: that was before he met his brother 

Jazz: his brother? 

Tucker: yeah! Apparently he's related to the Batman!

Jazz: you left him alone with his brother 

Sam: Yeah...?

Jazz: the brother that killed him?

* multiple people are typing *

---

So yeah, Danny was officially tasting emotions now. He realized as Damian looked him over. The flour-y taste of concern was replaced with a salty-savory pride as he confirmed that, no, Danny hadn't been shot. (Well, he would've been, if he hadn't decided to not be tangible.) Then Bio-dad dropped down, mugger dude gave off another milk-sour wave of fear. Then Bio-dad saw the gun and huh, he didn't think describe how disappointment tasted with human words. But maybe he should be focusing less on what flavors most accurately described his stupid new empath ability and focus more on the situation at hand.

Together Dami and Bio-dad explained the normal process of cuffing criminals in obvious places so the police can find them. It was simple, didn't really require Danny to do anything, so he disassembled the weapon while he listened. Which he probably shouldn't have done, because now he was being asked to hand it over as evidence...

"Uh..." Danny fished the larger pieces back out of his pocket, but their was a lot of little ones, because he might've phased the screws out to take apart the fun little inner bits and he ended up dropping tiny metal parts all over the sidewalk. 

There was a beat of silence, then Damian clicked his tongue with a little "Tt," and Danny flushed. 

"Sorry..." Danny started.

"It's fine," the Bat said. Amusement, it turned out, tasted like raspberries.

-

-

-

Notes

Danny, holding a deadly weapon: "is this a fidget toy?"

Somebody told me once that they didn't see any Canon evidence that Sam and Tucker knew Dani was a clone. And like, their lives are so crazy that peice of information falling into a crack, sure. Where did Danny's concerned about vlad cloning people came from. Like they didn't question it, vlad is weird. They could see him doing it... oh... he did do it? That makes more sense than a sudden semi rational fear.

Also Batman has absolutely noticed some weird things about Danny. But he also knows that Danny has "a weird conglomeration" of Lazarus put side effects, and that Danny said "mood" about being in other dimensions. It might be ooc for him to be patient with answers, but he's in my story so he's gotta play by my rules.

Tag list

@spectralstardustandphantomnights @avelnfear @idfk-man10 @blackroserelina @candeartist422 @mur-ururu @luer-mirin @insufferablecatenthusiast @skulld3mort-1fan @alonedustspeck @voidbornposts @meira-3919 @marshmello @aethernorwood @mimilikey @undead-essence @cloudminder @markus209 @everything163 @latheevening226 @roman4517 @moobloomrights @battybatbat @lumosfeather18581 @werv @ahyesanerd @pyramaniac @lexdamo @princessbelix @bun-fish @deeannthepan @edgyboi10000 @thatrandomsarahchick @busterkeel @aconitewolfsbane @spoopyspoony @bright-shade @spidey29phangirl @idontgetpaidenoughforthisshit @keimiwolf @u-a-wizard-jamie @gay-puff @bicerise @itshype @blackfoxsposts @icanneverdecide @lolottes @chubbypotato @jovialherringtacoghost @saltyladynightmare

[box-architecture]

It hadn't taken long to come to an understanding with his female counterpart. The mask alone was hard proof. Made exactly the same, down to the last rune? Only he knew every enchantment the thing had acquired over the years. It certainly wasn't something you could fake. The same axe, the same armor, the same green eyes that inspected him just as closely? She was him, and he was her.

It certainly wasn't the strangest thing he'd dealt with.

The information they shared was tentative at first, before it rapidly began to expand as they realized the extent of their similarities. A plan shared. An enemy the same. Only the little details changed, and that fascinated Dream. How did gender influence a persons actions, thoughts, and feelings? How much did they differ as people simply by a quirk of birth?

If it was an experiment, it wasn't perfect. Too many variables, too many genders changed. Only one at a time should be changed to get an accurate measure, but still. This was incredibly interesting, and he could see by the gleam in her eyes that she felt the same.

They could have talked for several hours about it actually, but as usual, their server members couldn't stay still.

"Dream!"

Both Dreams turned their heads as a woman's voice cried out in relief, but only the female Dream was bowled over. A large creeper centaur who looked remarkably similar to his Sam crowded his other self like an overbearing cat, brushing their cheeks together and slipping her hands beneath her armor.

"Sam!" She laughed, sounding relieved and exasperated. "You're okay. Are you hurt?"

"I'm fine. But when that light hit and I couldn't find any of you-" The Sam broke off, before placing a kiss in her Dream's hair. "I was worried."

"I'm fine," Her Dream reassured her. "I didn't see anyone else where I spawned, so I assume everyone must have spawned separately. We can go look for them."

Her Sam seemed happy with that, and Dream quirked his lips at the strange, outside point of view of what it looked like when his Sam was in an affectionate mood. He knew their lives had been mirrors, but both had 'conveniently' forgotten to mention their personal relationships. If prison had happened the way it did in his world (and judging by the mangled state of her fingers, it had) then it was likely she had made the same deal with Sam that Dream did, and continued it afterwards. Which meant that-

His train of thought was abruptly derailed by Sam locking eyes with him. She had pulled her Dream into a hug and glared over her shoulder. Her gaze was empty of the warmth she had afforded her own Dream, replaced by a coldness that made his instincts scream in an old, horrific knowing.

He couldn't breathe.

He needed to get out. He wasn't safe here. He had to-

"Dream!"

He flinched, turning as little as possible and backing away to keep all parties in view. The figure approaching at rapid speed slid and slowed until he was only a few feet away, turning into an anxious shuffle. Dream's vision tunneled. (Don't let them know you're afraid. Keep it together.)

"Dream?" His Sam asked hesitantly, glancing at their counterparts. Sam reached out thread their fingers together, whining low when Dream's hand remained limp and his breath shallow. The whine turned into low, rumbling growl that he directed at the other two.

"What did you do to him?" Sam hissed angrily as he summoned his trident. The blood left the other Dream's face, knuckles whitening as she attempted to keep herself still. Her Sam looked at her in alarm and chirred, concerned, before she turned and sent a growl of her own.

"Put your weapon away."

Sam did not. He blocked Dream from their view and began to carefully herd Dream away, never taking his eyes off the perceived threat. The other Sam mirrored him, pulling her Dream with her until they were both on opposite sides of the room. When they reached a corner, Sam coaxed Dream into sitting on the floor with him.

"Are you hurt?" He asked. His hands hovered over Dream's body like he wasn't certain he was allowed to touch. Dream exhaled. It was fine. Everything was fine. His Sam was here, and his Sam promised to keep him safe. He wouldn't-

I could keep writing this but at this point it just descends into both Sam's trying to loaf on their Dreams and growling at each other until their respective Punz's show up and pull them away by the ear

-

"Well. This isn't really what I wanted to be doing today."

"Same." His female counterpart bit into a gapple. "I don't suppose you've seen a beautiful woman or a green fluffy centaur?"

"… No. I could ask you the same, but male?"

"Nothing." She sighed, and tossed him a gapple for himself. "Let me guess. They're tall, ridiculous, and worth more than diamonds and netherite."

"Yeah, it really is like that." He didn't take a bite right away, and he saw her smile in approval. "I don't think you can con me into helping you find yours first."

"If I could, then you wouldn't be me, and I would be disappointed." She casually took a knife out of her inventory and twirled it between her fingers. It was an eye-searing blue, incredibly gaudy.

"And you won't let me hire you." He took his own knife out and flipped it. It was equally blue, and equally gaudy.

"My current employer pays more than you ever could."

"He always does."

"So," She put the knife into its sheath, ever present on both their hips. "New plan. We both look, and the first one to find theirs has to help the other."

It was reasonable, although the thought of having to deal with a Dream and Sam that wasn't his gave him a twitch of discomfort. He pushed it aside. "Sure. Sounds good. Are you leading the way?"

"If I'm you, shouldn't we both want to go in the same direction?"

"… True. Left?"

"Left. This will be interesting."

[yet-another-deanw-girl]

Chapter 13: Split

||The Prophecy Series||

She knew for 15 years that this day would come. She knew her destiny had already been written. That her death had been foretold.

She knew she would have to stop him. She knew she would have to kill him. And she thought she was prepared for all of it. But the day she met him she realized how wrong she was…

Set in Season 10

Pairing: MoC!Dean x Female!OC

Warnings: the usual SPN, language

Episode mapping: During episode 11 of season 10 "There's No Place Like Home"

Note: The events of this story are following season 10 of Supernatural and are taking place between October 2014 and July 2015. I tried to make sure that all the references to weapons, tech, etc. are accurate with the time period.

AN: This is my first time writing a fanfic but the story has been in my head for too long and it just needed to get out. I hope you like it.

AN: English is not my first language, I apologize for any mistakes.

"You must be Emilia!" A cheery petite redheaded woman walks in the bunker with Sam. "Sam told me everything about you." "Ah… yes…" I sigh. She had talked to Sam, so she hated me even before she met me.  "I'll just…" I try to leave but before I can the woman hugs me. "It's so nice to meet a fellow nerd. You have to tell me everything about the bunker's mainframe. I tried to do some stuff with it once but this combination of magic and technology is not exactly my area of experience." She is smiling at me like we are old friends.  "We have work to do." Sam interrupts her babbling. "Yes! Right!" The redheaded woman says. "Oooh yeah! I'm Charlie, by the way!" She extends her hand and I shake it, still puzzled. I try to leave the room again but Charlie's words stop me at the threshold. "Maybe Ema can help us to find it faster?"  I hear Sam's disapproving grunt but I turn around anyway, intrigued by the opportunity. It will be a distraction from the mainframe for a while. I'm at a point where I have checked everything and I have upgraded the majority of the stuff and still can't find the problem. "Are you sure you want my help?" I ask Charlie cautiously. "Yes!" She answers without hesitation and I look at Sam. "It's her choice!" He simply states. "Ok! So… we are looking for information about the key to Oz."

Charlie tells me about going to Oz, the war there and that in order to win the war she needed to 'unleash her true darkness'. The wizard of Oz had used the inner key of Oz to do this. That separated the darkest parts of her into another body, into another Charlie. They are still connected. If one of them gets hurt the other is hurt too. Dark Charlie has broken the key, so now we have to find a way to restore it, so that the two Charlies can go back to Oz and the wizard puts them back to one.

"Okay, here we go. Clive Dillon." Sam starts to read the file I gave him. "He is the Man of Letters that first discovered the key to Oz. So, according to this incident report, Clive went to Oz, but he left the key on earth, and then L. Frank Baum found the key and went to rescue Clive in Oz. And then after Baum rescued Clive, Clive came back and retired." "You can retire from the Men of Letters?" Charlie muses. "Well, you can ask Emilia about that, but apparently, they put him in some sort of, like, uh, witness-relocation program." "Where did he end up?" After some more digging we find out that Clive Dillon was given a new name and it looks like he is still alive. He must be over 100 years old but Charlie insists that the time passes differently in Oz. So Sam and she are on their way to talk with the former Man of Letters in hope that he can fix the key.

The boys and Charlie are back. Dean's face is bruised, Charlie… she is worse. Her face is bloodied, her hand is probably broken… "What happened!" I ask but Dean just passes by me going to the training room. I look at Sam questioningly but he doesn't say anything either. I help him take care of Charlie and when she is resting in one of the rooms, Sam finally speaks to me. "Maybe you should go talk to Dean." He starts and I raise my brows at him. "He… He did this to Charlie..." "And YOU want ME to talk to him." He nods. "He… He is getting worse… And I don't think that hiding all of this from you is helping. And I think that right now he will only listen to you." I gape at his words. Obviously the situation had gotten out of control but for Sam to say those things… "He likes to talk to you… He trusts you… And… I suppose you know him really well by now… So…" I can't believe what I’m hearing right now! But I quickly realize what he is actually saying. And I'm livid… "If you are referring to Dean talking with me, yes he does. Unlike some other people living in this bunker." I raise my voice. "If you are suggesting what I think you are…" I angrily poke at his chest not caring that the man is towering above me. "It's actually none of your damn business!" I poke at his chest and walk by him in the direction of the training room. "But, Sam, I'm not sleeping with your brother. And that's not something you have to ever worry about…" I say without even turning to look at him. Because if I was… I would never have the strength to do what I am supposed to do… And then we will all be screwed up…

GIF from Pinterest

I walk in the training room. Dean is hitting the punching bag. His face is bruised, his lip - cut. His knuckles are bloodied but he keeps punching.  "How is she?" "She's a little bruised but she will be okay." I walk behind the bag, securing it in place. He keeps punching. "I can feel it all the time." He starts after a couple of minutes. "The rage, the constant anger. Maybe you will have to do your job sooner than you thought." "There is still time…" "Yeah!? You saw what I did to Charlie! How many people should I hurt before I need to be stopped?" "What makes you angry?" "Everything… Fucking everything! Sammy! You!" I just keep quiet waiting for him to continue. "Sam's constant efforts to find excuses for me, to try to save me when it is obvious there is no saving me. I have to accept my fate! That I will become a monster! That I will lose control over that thing! He has to accept that too! He has to stop trying to save me!"  He keeps punching the bag harder and harder, his voice raising with every word. "And you! You!" He yells at me, stopping for a second. "You!" He renews his punching routine. "You are just sitting there! Not giving a shit you are about to die! Why are you not fighting this? Why are you accepting it all?" "So…" I speak after a long pause. "You are angry with your brother for not giving up on you, when you are trying to come to terms with your fate? And you are angry at me because I already accepted mine?" I summarize.  "Yes!" He grunts and punches the bag even harder. "Fair enough." My voice is calm and flat. "That was easy. So… what now?" "Oh… Nothing…" He finally stops his punching tantrum and looks at me with rage. His knuckles are cracked and bleeding but he doesn't pay any attention to them. He is focused on me. "But you just agreed…" "I acknowledged your right to be angry and to have your opinions about your brother's actions… about my actions… This doesn't mean that it will change my view of what I'm supposed to do nor that I will try to change Sam's. You can have your opinions and you can be angry with us all you want. And I will be here holding that punching bag for you every time you need me to. And I know you are used to giving orders and bossing people around. That you are used to your brother doing what you’ve said. But it doesn't mean I will just do whatever you want or that I’ll try to appease you. It doesn't change the fact that Sam has his own opinions… That I have my own opinions. And it definitely doesn't mean I'm going to follow your 'commands' and accept what you deem is right or wrong!" I say with a still calm voice. He just pushes away the bag that separates us. The next thing I know, I'm pinned against the wall behind me, his hand around my throat. His grip is tight but not tight enough to hurt me. His other hand - on the wall above me. His green eyes are burning with fury and rage… and something else…  He stares at me breathing hard and trying to calm himself down. His eyes quickly darting several times between mine and my lips.

Created with Microsoft Designer

My eyes don't leave his.  I don't speak.  I don't try to free myself from his grip.  I'm not scared. I know he will not hurt me.  That's maybe stupid of me, considering the state Charlie is in right now…  I'm not sure how I know this. I just do. His breathing starts to even but his hand is still on my throat. He is looming over me with his height and I realize how small I must appear to him.  No surprise he keeps underestimating me.  He doesn't even perceive me as a threat… doesn't even suspect that I can easily overthrow him with no problem even now. The rage in Dean's eyes slowly dissipates and is replaced with... Desire? He shifts his body impossibly close to mine. "Emi…" He speaks, almost touching my lips, the anger in his voice now replaced with lust… The nickname makes my heart skip a beat. All rational thoughts slowly leave my mind.  A small part of me is whispering that this is not a good idea… that I have to leave this room… that I have just promised Sam that he would never have to worry about me and Dean...  But with every passing second this voice in my head is getting quieter and quieter…  My eyes never leave Dean's green once.

The door to the training room opens and that makes all of my ability to think to come back in a rush.  I can not afford moments of weakness like this again.  I harden my stare and Dean catches the change quickly. "Are you calmer now?" I ask with a now cold voice.  "Yeah!" He blinks away the hot fire of desire from his eyes. "I'm fine."  He releases my throat and takes a step back from me.  We look at each other for a while before I nod and without another word, leave the room passing by Sam.

"Dean?" My brother's voice brings me back from my haze. "Are you ok?" "Yeah!" I clear my throat. "Peachy!" "What was that about?" "You know how she is sometimes." I try to downplay the tension that is still lingering in the room, but struggle to find a reasonable explanation for all of it. "She just… she is so stubborn… and she drives me nuts…" I breathe out in frustration. "And she just pushed the wrong buttons." "That was not all. She might have pissed you off but…"  Sam hesitates for a moment, clearly not sure how to continue.  "I know you… I can see how you are looking at her lately." He pauses and the next words are spoken softly… with worry… and wiring… "Dean, it's not a good idea for you to…" He starts. "I don't know what you are talking about!" I quickly cut him off and leave the room.  Fuck! I know exactly what he is talking about.  I have no idea what I would have done if he hadn't entered the room when he did… I can't even be sure if I was going to kill her or fuck her… And I know it is not a good idea. I can't afford to lose control over this! I have to fight it as long as I can!  And today… Today was exactly the opposite of what I am supposed to do!  With Charlie…  And now with Ema… And all of Marathon’s insinuations… He is just trying to mess with my head… Right?  Right!

"Yeah, he's, uh, he's better. I mean, he's calmed down now. Cas, we got to…we got to find Cain, or . . . We got to find something, you know? … "Right." … "Yeah, I know. I hear you. Okay. You got it." … "All right. Thanks." I hear Sam talking on the phone. I turn around to go back to the kitchen. I had become used to avoiding him and not getting in his way if I don't have to.  Charlie is staring at me from the door of the room she was sleeping in for the past two days. "So… you are avoiding them?" "Well… I'm not exactly welcomed here, you know. So I'm just trying to stay out of the way." I pass by her. I haven't talked to any of them since the day they brought Charlie. "Dean seems to think otherwise." She smiles at me. "And Sam… he is just trying to protect his brother. He is a good guy… you know…" "You don't need to defend him. I know it. And I understand it. But… soon he will realize that there is no other way…" I reply sadly. "I'm not giving up on Dean either. I'll do everything I can to help." I take a deep breath and smile at her. I'm not going to try and stop her or convince her that there is no point. I already know she is not going to listen… And I'm glad that Dean has people in his life that are ready to fight for him… "I'm also not giving up on you." She continues. I was not expecting that!  Her, trying to save Dean, that is understandable.  But me… "I know you have been fighting this longer than any of us. And I know you have lost hope and accepted the situation. But I'll keep hoping instead of you. And we will find a way to save both of you." "Why?" I ask quietly, trying to swallow the lump in my throat. "Why do you care what happens to me? You don't even know me…" "Because I do." She pads me on my shoulder. "And I'm sure I'm not the only one…" She goes to the library leaving me standing in the hallway. "I think sleeping for two days in a row is probably enough. Anything about The Mark?" I hear hers and Sam's conversation coming from the library. "Yeah, maybe. I found this book. It's a lore book..." Another book… another false hope… He will understand it soon… there is no other solution… "I'll go check it out. If I find something, I'll call. If not . . . I'll just keep digging." I hear Charlie's determined reply.

"Anything about The Mark?" Charlie asks Sam. "Yeah, maybe. I found this book. It's a lore book - The Book of the Damned. It's in a library somewhere in Tuscany.” Another book… another false hope… They will soon understand what I already know in my head to be the truth… "I'll go check it out. If I find something, I'll call. If not… I'll just keep digging." "Charlie, I . . ." I try to apologize even if I know that nothing could fix what I've done to her. "We are going to fix this." Charlie interrupts me. "I'm not letting what happened to me happen to you." "But it's already happened." I protest. "Cain found a way to live with it." Sam chains in. "Right… Yeah, after centuries of murder." I grumble. I'm tired of him trying to convince me that we are going to find a way. "Yeah, well, there's one thing that you have that he didn't. You're a Winchester." That's the Charlie I know - always relentless to help. "I forgive you, Dean." She smiles at me. "Yeah, well, I don't." And I never will… "I know... Kind of your move. How's that working out for you, huh?" I get up from the table and hug her. "I'm so sorry, kiddo." I try to apologize again. I hope she knows I really mean it. "Then prove it!" Charlie murmurs into my chest.

GIF from Pinterest

"And go tell her, dummy!" She whispers so only I can hear her. "I don't know what you are talking about." "Aham… Whatever you say…" She releases me and gives me her signature know-it-all smile. "Be careful out there." Sam says after hugging her himself. "Does that sound like either of me?" She looks at us before going up the stairs. "Arrivederci, bitches!"

Chapter 14: The Ghost and The Network >>

||The Prophecy Series||

[singledarkshade]

Flashback

Summary: In order to retrieve a tablet, Daniel travels into his past. Where he finds himself with a chance to get back what he lost.

Author’s Note: I didn't watch much of Season 9 or 10 as I didn't take to the new characters so their characters may not be right. This is completed so all chapters will posted soon. Enjoy.

                             *********************************************

Chapter One

Daniel sat staring at the set of tablets in front of him, he’d been working on them since coming back from P4R 667. With the Asgard now gone, the legacy they had bequeathed to the SGC meant there was suddenly a wealth of technology and planets open to them, on one of them they had found the five tablets that may lead them to the Furlings, the one race they hadn’t run into since they’d opened the Gate.

Something was trying to capture his attention, but it was almost 2 am and he had been up for almost forty hours straight. With a long sigh, Daniel decided he needed to sleep. Pulling himself out his chair, he turned off the light in his office, locking it and then staggered to the room he always used whenever he slept at the base. Throwing his jacket onto the nearest chair then pulling off his boots, Daniel just lay on top of the bed fully clothed and fell asleep almost instantly.

As he slept visions of sand and laughter filled his dreams, long dark hair, soft brown eyes and…

“The tablet!!!”

Sitting up suddenly, Daniel groaned in annoyance as he realised what he’d been trying to remember all night.

This was not good.

~

“Dr Jackson,” Landry stated the next day, “What progress have you made with the tablets?”

Daniel took a quick drink of coffee before explaining, “I’m getting through them, but there is a missing one which completes the set. And it’s the central part of the information.”

“So,” Mitchell noted, “It’s nothing.”

“Not exactly,” Daniel replied, “There is information on there we can use. However I have seen the missing tablet before.”

Vala perked up at his side, “A mission? Because it’s been days since we went anywhere fun.”

“Unfortunately, I saw it on Abydos,” Daniel continued ignoring her.

“Which no longer exists,” Teal’c said softly.

Sam looked at him thoughtfully, “Do you remember what it said?”

Daniel winced, “A little but it’s been over a decade, so I don’t know if that is accurate.”

“But you have another idea,” Mitchell noted.

Nodding Daniel told them, “With the Asgard technology we’ve acquired, I can go back to Abydos and steal it from myself.”

They all stared at him.

“Won’t that change time?” Mitchell asked finally.

“No,” Daniel told him, “Because I originally lost the tablet during a sandstorm.” He stopped not intending to give more detail but at the looks he was getting knew he had to, “Sha’re and I were having lunch outside a cave when it started. We gathered everything up, but somehow that was missed. I was so annoyed because even though I couldn’t read it at the time, I hoped to someday be able to.”

Landry thought this over for a moment before asking, “What’s your plan?”

“I know where we were when I lost the tablet,” Daniel stated, “There is a cavern nearby that I can wait in until then. Once my past self and Sha’re take shelter, I’ll retrieve the tablet before it gets lost in the sand.”

“Just like that?” Mitchell asked.

Daniel nodded, “I can use the cloak to hide myself and it should protect me from the sand for the few minutes I need to retrieve the tablet.”

Landry mused for several minutes before nodding, “Agreed.”

“I’ll come too,” Vala chirped.

“No,” Daniel stated, “I know exactly where I’m going, as well as what I’m waiting for. More than one person could be conspicuous.”

“You can’t go alone,” Sam told him, wincing at the glare he sent her way, “Perhaps Vala could wait in the ship, in case you need to be pulled out quickly.”

“It can be set to an automatic return using voice activation,” Daniel reminded his friend.

“However,” Landry stated, “It is best that you do not go alone.”

“Teal’c?” Daniel asked hopefully.

Vala let out an annoyed squeak.

“Unfortunately,” Teal’c said, “I am due to work with SG6 on their next mission.”

Daniel turned desperately to Sam, “Feel like a trip?”

“Sorry, Daniel,” she replied, “I’m due back to the Hammond in a few hours.”

“And I’m heading out in an hour with the new training team,” Mitchell added.

Vala beamed, “Then it’s a trip for two.”

Daniel grimaced.

“I’m afraid you have no other choice, Dr Jackson,” Landry stated, “Be ready to leave in two hours.”

~

“Daniel.”

He grimaced and turned to where Sam was walking towards him.

“Look,” she said, “I know you’re not happy about this, but you also know that you can’t go on a mission alone.”

“But Vala?” he demanded, “I have so few memories of Abydos, I don’t want them tainted by her.”

“That’s unfair,” Sam stated, “She’s there to pull you out if…” she paused, “Daniel, I know you still miss Sha’re and you will be going somewhere that you could…”

“I could change the past and save her,” Daniel stated, “You don’t have to worry, Sam, I know the danger of doing that. I’m going to get the tablet, that’s all.”

Sam winced slightly, “I know you believe that, but the fact is your history with Abydos, with its people…”

“With my wife,” he cut her off again, “Sam, I’m grateful you worry about me, but you don’t have to. Changing history could make things worse, for all of us and, Sha’re would never agree to me doing that.”

Sam stepped forward and hugged him, “Try not to let Vala annoy you too much.”

Daniel sighed, “If I murder her, it’s your fault.”

                             *********************************************

Abydos.

Home.

Daniel stood just outside the cave, enjoying the heat seeping into his bones. Something he hadn’t felt in so long, as he looked across the sands of his adopted world stretching out before him. Although he was cloaked, he was wearing the robes made by his wife that he kept stored in his closet, so he blended in if the cloak failed, but also because they were more practical for the planet. That was the reason he’d given anyway.

So lost in the sensation of being home after such a long time, the laughter coming towards him made Daniel jump in surprise.

Ensuring the cloak was on hiding him from sight, Daniel watched his younger self walking over the sands, carrying a bag that held his notes, the tablet as well as food and water while he carried a bedroll in his arms, Sha’re walking at his side carrying a bag holding her own writings. They were heading to the cartouche room to study and spend the night there.

Daniel’s hand went to his hair, wondering when he’d decided that keeping it short was a good idea but before he could think it over properly, Sha’re pushed her hood back and his heart skipped.

He’d only had one picture of her and his fading memories for so long now, suddenly she was flesh and blood before him. Her black curls unruly as always, her brown eyes sparkling with amusement and her smile making the sunny day somehow even brighter.

Realising he was about to do something stupid; Daniel turned and entered the other cave but when he dropped the cloak, he didn’t realise that he wasn’t completely through the entrance and was spotted.

~

Standing in the cave which held so much history for him, Daniel tried to remain focussed on stealing the tablet.

“What are you doing in here?” Sha’re’s sharp voice made him freeze, “You know Dan’iel does not like people in here alone. You could damage something.”

Daniel winced but he didn’t move.

“I’m bringing you up,” Vala’s voice came in his ear, but Daniel activated the dampener so she couldn’t get a lock, hearing her swear at him.

“I am not going to ask again,” Sha’re’s annoyed voice came, and he could feel her just behind him.

Slowly he turned and Sha’re let out a shocked gasp, taking a step back as she looked at him. An older version of her husband.

“Dan’iel?” she asked before shaking her head in fear, “No, you cannot be. This is a trick. Ra has returned to take his revenge.

“Sha’re,” Daniel caught her hands, “Look at me, I promise this is me. I’m not Ra, this is strange I know but I’m your Daniel. Just from a future time.”

She stared at him, her eyes locking with his and looking into his eyes, she calmed.

Sha’re reached out to touch his cheek, “I don’t understand but it is you. My husband, yet you are in the other cave going through your notes.”

Relieved that she was giving him the chance to explain, Daniel licked his lips and moved her to sit, “I’m from many years from now. And as much as we love it here, we leave Abydos at some point,” he paused, words sticking in his throat as he wanted to tell her everything, to change her fate, he knew he couldn’t. Finally, he managed to say, “There’s so much I can’t tell you, but there is so much to learn out there. There are other beings who are advanced, but unlike Ra, they are our friends. There are some bad things but also so many wonderous things out there through the Stargate.”

“That sounds incredible,” Sha’re said before asking, “So why are you back here?”

“You know the tablet I found in the mine last week?”

She rolled her eyes, “You are obsessed with it.”

“Sorry, I know how annoying that must be for you,” Daniel apologised.

Sha’re laughed softly, “You would not be you otherwise.”

“Well, I now know what it means, and I need it to find something important,” he said, “But when the sandstorm that is about to blow in hits, I’ll lose it when we’re gathering up everything from our lunch outside.”

She tilted her head thoughtfully, “You are here to retrieve it before it is lost to the sand without the other you knowing this.”

Daniel nodded, smiling at how quickly she understood.

“I will get it for you,” she told him.

“Sha’re…”

She caught his hand, and Daniel instantly trailed off stunned by the electricity sparking along his spine at her touch.

“I will take the tablet,” Sha’re told him, “And bring it to you after the storm ends.”

Daniel stared at her, “Why?”

“Because you told me it is important,” Sha’re replied with a shrug.

Taking a slow deep breath, Daniel said, “I’ll be here after the storm tomorrow. All you have to do is leave it where I can find it.”

“No,” she stated, “I will hand it to you, so I know that you have it.”

“Sha’re…”

“You have said this is important,” she reminded him, “I want to ensure that you did not come here and not get what you came for.”

He smiled at her and without thought leaned closer, catching himself at the last second and simply pressing a soft kiss to her cheek.

“I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Sha’re stood and headed out the cave, he watched her leave and continued to stare at the spot she had been even after she was gone.

“You can bring me up now,” Daniel finally said deactivating the dampener.

~

Vala was glaring at him when he was transported up to the ship. Ignoring her, Daniel headed to get a drink of water.

“What the hell were you thinking?” she snapped, “Or did you just come here to see her?”

Anger boiled in him, but Daniel pushed it down, he wasn’t going to fight about this.

“If I’d simply disappeared,” Daniel stated, keeping his voice even, “She would have called the past version of me and that would have changed what they did. Likely making it impossible for me to get the tablet not to mention changing the future.”

“And this won’t?”

“No,” Daniel stated with conviction, “I know Sha’re. She’ll give me the tablet and will never tell past me what happened.” As Vala continued to frown, Daniel sighed, “If I wanted to change things I would have told her about Apophis, what’s going to happen and how to avoid it. It kills me that I can’t.”

She reached out to apologise and Daniel pulled away. He wasn’t in the mood.

“I’m going to look over some things while we’re waiting for the sandstorm to pass.”

~

Daniel sat and read over some more of the Asgard files that were in the database, trying to keep his mind off the fact that the love of his life, his reason for living for years, the woman he missed every day, was alive on the planet below. He smiled as he thought back to the day that his past self was currently living, after running inside to protect themselves from the storm, Sha’re had set up the bed roll in the corner while he fixed the rest of the food and drink in the coolest section of the cavern.

Sighing, Daniel thought back to the moment Sha’re slid her arms around his waist when he turned to her and kissed him. They didn’t get much work done that afternoon, but he didn’t care.

The year he’d lived on Abydos had been the happiest of his life. He’d been in love with Sha’re within hours of knowing her and, it had only deepened the more time he spent with her. He would have done anything for her.

Except he couldn’t.

He couldn’t save her, then or now.

Even if he tried to stop her being taken by the Gould, Sha’re would not be happy with him for changing things that could hurt people without consulting her and make him put things back to the way they should be.

She cared more about everyone else than she did about herself, she had volunteered to be the bride of the messenger of Ra because as the Chief Elders daughter she was most valuable and wanted to protect her friends.

At least this gave him a few more memories of her.

                             *********************************************

“Here,” Sha’re handed Daniel a small woven bag when she appeared in the cave early the next morning, “I placed the tablet inside, so that the other Dan’iel did not see I had taken it.”

Smiling at her thinking, Daniel took the bag being careful not to touch her, “Thank you. And the other me didn’t ask where you were going?”

She shrugged, “He is still sleeping.”

Daniel chuckled at the innocent look she gave him; one he remembered so well, knowing exactly why his past self was still fast asleep. He gave her another soft smile before getting ready to say goodbye to her.

“Dan’iel,” she stopped him before he could speak, “Where you are from, are we still together?”

Reaching out, Daniel rested his hand on her cheek, “You are still the last thing I see each night and the first thing I see each morning. I have never loved anyone the way I love you.”

She smiled at him before moving closer and touching her lips to his. Daniel tried to hold back but, it had been so long since he’d been kissed by his wife, so long since he’d been able to kiss her, and he deepened it holding her close to him.

They parted and Daniel kept his arms around her waist tightly, “I love you so much. I am so lucky that you agreed to be my wife.”

“I love you too, my Dan’iel,” Sha’re gently brushed her lips to his cheek before stepping back, “I must return to the other you before he misses me. I promise I will never tell what happened here until you tell me you recall.”

He nodded and watched her leave, relieved he hadn’t allowed the tears he’d felt threatening him to fall. He couldn’t change what was about to happen, but he could ensure she was happy until then.

~

The moment he beamed up to the ship, Daniel headed to the small room he was using both so he could check the tablet and avoid talking to Vala while his emotions were raw.

He trusted Sha’re had given him the right thing, but he knew he had to confirm they could leave and to ensure his memory had been accurate.

Gently lifting the tablet out the bag, Daniel smiled to see he had been right and gently brushed his hand across it. To his surprise, he spotted a folded piece of paper sitting half inside the bag. Opening it, Daniel instantly recognised Sha’re’s handwriting smiling to see the mix of English and Abydonian she’d always written in.

My Dearest Daniel,

I sit here while your past self sleeps, thinking of all you told me.

Since I met you, I have seen so much that I believed at first to be magic, but your appearance today is the thing that has surprised me most. I am writing this because I know you will try to reassure me no matter what the truth is when I ask.

You tried not to show it, but I could see in your eyes that we have not been together in a long time. Knowing how much I love you and the way you looked at me, I can only believe that at some point I shall die before you come back here.

I do not know if it is tomorrow, next week, or several years from now, but I promise that I will love you the same even though I know this.

I was originally given to you as a gift, but you, my darling husband, you were a gift to me. You know how scared I was that my husband would make demands of me, but you never did. You asked if I wanted to be married to you, you let me take things as slowly as I needed, and my happiest moments are being in your arms.

You taught me things I could never imagine, and you always wanted to learn everything you could. I do not know if I will never laugh as much as I did the day you tried to grind flour, but you were so happy learning something new.

I never knew I could love anyone the way I love you.

Never forget this.

Your wife,

Sha’re

Finishing the letter, Daniel felt his tears slide down his face.

He continued to stare at the letter, seeing a small imprint showing that Sha’re had kissed the paper, there were also a few strands of her long black hair that must have been caught when she pushed her hair out her face when writing. He remembered watching her doing it, the small noise of irritation she made each time had always made him smile. After a while he would push her hair back for her, kiss the side of her neck, she sometimes would push him away with a laugh while other times pull him close.

Taking a deep breath, Daniel ensured the tablet was safely stored before he tucked the letter into his pocket, reverently folding the bag and placing it in with his clothes.

He took a few deep breaths before heading up to the bridge to return them home.

Part Two

[atlabeth]

nightmares - mike munroe x reader

summary: It was a deal made by two almost-friends in the early hours of the morning after the worst night of their lives, when they realized that all they really had left was each other.

a/n: so this is once again. not my normal content but ive been on an until dawn kick lately and fell in love w the characters all over again. i dont know if anyone still reads or writes for this fandom but. here u go. enjoy

warning(s): lots of cursing, canon typical violence, mentions of graphic violence/death (but nothing too descriptive), mentioned depression, insomnia, and alcoholism, some heavy themes but its hurt/comfort so it ends in fluff

wc: 4.8k

You were running.

You were running, and it was freezing — fuck, it was freezing.

You knew your surroundings; how could you ever forget? Every fucking moment on the goddamn mountain was engraved into your mind for what you assumed would be the rest of your life, an assumption that had since been proven correct.

And now, against your will, you were back. Of course you were back.

A shudder ran through your whole body as that all-too-familiar screech rang out behind you, each second of it like nails on a chalkboard in the worst way. Your lungs burned like all hell but you couldn’t stop — if you stopped, you were as good as dead.

Some part of this fucked up thing was almost funny. Humans were always boasting about how they were the top of the food chain, how they were the height of evolution. There was nothing to keep an ego in check like being hunted by a supernatural creature.

Any thoughts of bullshit philosophy were dashed from your mind as you took a hard right, nearly falling over from the sharp curve of the mountain but just able to catch yourself. Your heart was thundering in your chest, the beats nearly lining up with your sprinting. You felt an intense urge to turn around, try and gauge your chances, but the thought of slowing down for even a second terrified you. It’s not like you needed to anyways — you knew exactly what was after you.

You were nearing the end of your road, both literally and figuratively. You stumbled over a tree root, your hands splayed out in front of yourself at just the right angle to keep your momentum going and, in some feat of luck, stay upright and running.

But your luck had just run out.

Your senses were proven correct as the harrowing cliff edge came into view, and a thousand things screamed in your mind at once as your demise stared you right in the eye. You barely managed to catch yourself, very much aware that the snow falling into the void could’ve just as well been you.

That fucking screech again, even closer than before, and you whipped around as you took an instinctive step back. Your hands patted around everywhere, searching for something to defend yourself, but you had nothing. No gun, knife, even the ground around you was devoid of rocks.

You had nothing. You had nothing to defend yourself from this goddamn nightmare creature, and you were going to die.

Your eyes darted around wildly in an attempt to find something, anything, to save yourself, but there was nothing. You took another step back and felt your foot slip, your breath catching as you barely managed to save yourself with a twist and a lunge away from the edge. The shock of the ground and the cold against your skin was just enough to remind yourself that you were actually alive. Another pile of snow mimicked the fate that seemed imminent as it trickled over the side of the cliff, and you screwed your eyes shut as you tried to shut your mind up.

Think, goddammit, if you wanted to get off of this fucking mountain you had to think—

The screech that pierced through the night sky was far too close for comfort, and as your head snapped back towards the woods you swore that your heart stopped beating.

It had caught up. You were out of time you were going to die but you didn’t have anything and you were going to fucking die—

A flash of white pushed off a tree and lunged towards you, teeth bared as it emitted that horrible screech. You didn’t even have time to scream, completely frozen in place as one clawed hand reached your neck, and you braced for the moment of release.

You shot up in your bed, breathing rapid and unsteady with a barely contained cry on the edge of your lips as your hand instinctively flew to your neck. You heaved an almost strangled sigh of relief to know that your head was still attached to your body (it might’ve seemed obvious, but… your head wasn’t exactly on straight at the moment, all jokes aside) and collapsed against the headboard.

You ran your hands across your face as you tried in vain to calm yourself down, ultimately having to turn on your lamp to ease your troubled mind that there was nothing going thump in the night.

It had been this same routine almost every night — horrible nightmare, wake up crying or screaming or both, and start the day at 3 am because you couldn’t fall back asleep.

It was exhausting. You were exhausted.

You knew you couldn’t go on like this, but what choice did you have? Therapy had been mandated by the police for a certain amount of time after the incident, but… it’s not like it had helped. How could it, when no one truly knew what you had gone through?

Well… that wasn’t completely accurate.

One person knew what you were going through, and you hadn’t said as much as one word to him since that night. You didn’t really… know what to say.

Hey. I know we’re not all that close, but I’m sorry your girlfriend and all your friends were killed by a Wendigo and that I made it instead. Hope you’re not going insane with grief. I’ll send you a card at Christmas!

...yeah. You had no idea what to say to him after months of no contact.

The relationship you had with Mike Munroe was a strange one, to say the least.

None of you were the same after that night on the mountain. The horrors of the mines would be forever entrenched in your head, flashes of the Wendigos appearing every time you closed your eyes. You and Mike were the only ones who made it off, and the guilt you carried everywhere was a burden you knew you couldn’t shoulder. And even after the physical scars had faded, you knew the mental ones never would.

Sometimes you wondered how you had even managed to get involved with the group in the first place — bonds that had been made in your freshman and sophomore years had somehow managed to stay strong enough throughout the rest of high school, strong enough to cement your spot in the friend group and the yearly lodge visits. You liked them all well enough, enough to go up to an isolated mountain with them for a weekend or so, but… yeah. Sometimes you did wonder what the hell you were doing with them.

But now?

Now, you would give almost anything to hear Sam’s laugh or one of her compliments, or tease Ashley and Chris about their very obvious feelings; hell, you found yourself missing Matt’s useless football facts. And even though Emily and Jessica weren’t always the nicest, you still had managed to worm your way into their hearts. Knowing that you would never get Emily’s brutal but helpful advice or get dragged to a football game by Jessica again?

If someone had told you the difference between life-long trauma and a completely normal existence was that blonde girl with the braids in your biology class, you might’ve thought a little harder before accepting that party invite.

The days after you were rescued from the mountain passed in a daze, questions and interrogations from police never sticking for too long. And it didn’t even feel like it mattered, the way none of them seemed to believe you.

They kept you separated from Mike throughout the whole process, and you were only able to catch glances of him when you were being transferred to different rooms throughout the long process. It really was like something out of a horror movie — a group of teens go up to a lodge in the woods, and only two return with a story of unspeakable horrors — and rather than try and work out what had happened, they seemed intent on pinning the deaths on you and Mike.

As if you weren’t dealing with enough after watching your friends get murdered by the monster of another friend, the people that were supposed to be helping you were instead trying to charge you with them. If it wasn’t so fucking infuriating, it would’ve been laughable.

The worst part? You could hardly blame them.

When you took a second to listen to yourself, to what you were spouting to the police, you sounded insane. If you hadn’t witnessed it all first hand, you wouldn’t have believed yourself.

You told them to go down to the mines. That the thing that killed your friends would be down there, and they could see it for themselves.

You didn’t know if that was the right choice. Hell, you might’ve been sending those cops to their deaths. But it was the only way you could think of to get them to believe you.

(You doubted they would go down there anyways. What was the word of two crazy college kids over actual logic? Not much, you imagined.)

You were in that damn interrogation room for what felt like forever until you were finally taken to a hospital to get your wounds treated. But even in the hospital bed, police were by your side asking about what happened every day of your stay. After your discharge, you were forced into custody until they got information that they deemed satisfactory.

By some miracle, you and Mike weren’t charged with anything. The news might’ve gotten hold of your story, but you didn’t know. You didn’t want to know. You didn’t ever look at the news after the tragedy, too afraid that you would see the smiling faces of your friends staring back at you, or pictures of you and Mike with news anchors trying to talk about how involved the two of you were.

If there was one thing worse than going through hell, it was other people trying to make a profit off of your spiral.

Your friends’ families offered their condolences, but not much else. You didn’t hold it against them. Your survivor’s guilt was strong enough to know exactly why they didn’t reach out further.

(You blame yourself for their deaths, after all. Why wouldn’t they?)

It was the same situation with Mike.

Maybe you had purposefully drifted apart from him, trying to build up walls of your own so that he wouldn’t be able to spring it on you first. You assumed he hated you after what had happened, and he had every right to. You might’ve helped each other through the night, but you had no other option. Now, everyone else but you was dead — people he cared about more than you — and you just couldn’t face that.

But as you stared at yourself in your bathroom mirror, you realized that you might have to.

You looked awful.

Weeks of sleepless nights were catching up to you, appearing in the form of

hollow eyes and dark circles, along with a slight discoloration of your skin. The scars from the mountain had mostly healed, but there was a particularly nasty gash on your cheek that was still showing — it wasn’t doing you any favors in the ‘looking completely normal and sane and not severely sleep deprived’ department.

You splashed some water in your face to try and wake up a bit, but the slight drowsiness that followed you everywhere seemed to be a permanent part of you now.

(It was almost funny, in a way. You were so paranoid and alert all the time, unable to fall asleep, and yet it was all you could think about in moments like these. You wondered when irony had become such a staple in your life.)

You had tried talking to therapists, your friends, your family, even searching the internet for advice on what to do after a life changing traumatic event. Nothing had worked.

The simplest solution had come to mind more than once, but you had pushed it aside with the determination to work through this on your own. But now, staring at yourself and seeing how much you had deteriorated…

You had to go talk to the only person who would understand.

~

You had considered turning around more than once on the drive over.

Because, really, what the hell were you doing? Showing up at his doorstep in the middle of o dark thirty because— because what?

Because you had a nightmare?

He had gone through the same thing you had, probably even worse. Losing Jessica right in front of him, having to cut off his fingers to get free, spending countless hours alone, dealing with the nightmare that was the sanatorium, and then…

Well, you had been in the mines with him and Josh when it happened. There was no doubt in your mind that the scene replayed in his head endlessly, just like it did for you.

Showing up… it was going to be a mistake. You knew it was.

For all you knew, Mike had moved on already. He was stronger than you, he always had been. Maybe your presence would send him spiraling once more, or maybe it would just earn you a verbal beating like no other. Mike had always been nice enough, but the trauma you had endured was enough to turn a saint into his own worst enemy.

You didn’t know what would happen. You didn’t know anything, and as you turned down his street you regretted more than ever not keeping in touch with him. Maybe then you wouldn’t be in this situation, scrambling after your last hope for salvation after slowly killing yourself over the past few months.

But there was no chance to turn back now, because before you knew it your knuckles were rapping against his front door.

The pause between your arrival and a response was so long that you considered leaving and pretending like this never happened, but just as you began to step back the door swung open.

You didn’t really know what you were expecting, but… he was there. The only other testament to the horrors of Blackwood Pines, and maybe the only person that could help you through this.

“...hi,” you murmured, swallowing the sudden lump in your throat as you looked the personification of your shame in the eye.

Mike blinked a few times, whether to try and wake up a little or out of surprise from his visitor you didn’t know, but it was a few seconds before he responded in kind. “...hey. It’s been a while since I’ve seen you around.”

You chuckled dryly as you nodded. “Yeah. Sorry for the sudden arrival. I’m, uh… I’m kind of surprised you even opened the door.”

He huffed out a short breath in a facsimile of a laugh. “Not getting much sleep these days.”

“That’s something we’ve got in common.” You crossed your arms across your chest and let out a loose sigh, eyes wandering around in an attempt to think of what to say next. It should’ve been so easy, but… but for some reason, it just wasn’t.

“Guess so.” That awkward silence stretched out once more, neither of you knowing how to fill it. Thankfully, Mike continued to take the plunge, but it wasn’t without a slight barb. “What are you doing here?”

“I—” you stopped just as you had begun, because you really didn’t know. You had come here for help, but could Mike really do that for you? He was the same as you — a fucked up teenager trying to deal with something so far beyond him.

“I don’t know,” you admitted as you made eye contact once more. “I… I really don’t know. I’m out of options, and… I can’t keep going like this. So I came here to talk, or— or to try and get some help. I don’t know.”

That same silence filled the air once more, the night ambiance the only thing in between the two of you. You missed when that silence used to be comfortable, but… you could only blame yourself for it.

“So— so, what?” he asked, the beginnings of a frown starting to crease his brows. “You just— we go through all that together up there, and then when we get back down you don’t say a word for months. And now— now, out of nowhere, in the middle of the night, you just show up and ask for help?”

“God,” you muttered. When he put it that way, it was true. It was ridiculous, to expect his help after the way you had just left him to deal with it all on his own for a reason borne of your own insecurity. “You’re right. This was— this was stupid. I’m sorry.”

You had already turned to go when you felt a calloused hand on your shoulder, causing you to stop in your tracks.

“No.” His voice was surprisingly soft as he sighed, stepping back with a shake of his head to make room in the doorway. “No, I—” Mike paused for a moment, as if he couldn’t find the right words to say. “I’m sorry. You can come in. Obviously, you can come in.”

Your eyes widened slightly as you tried to hide your shock at the gesture, but you weren’t about to turn it down. You nodded, and he stepped aside to make space for you to walk in. When you did, you were met with a mess not unlike the one back at your apartment, save for the beer bottles. Clothes were strewn about haphazardly on every surface, so you took a seat on a clean spot on the floor, leaning back against a chair and pulling your knees up to your chest. You actually preferred it this way — it was grounding, in a literal sense. Mike pushed aside a laundry basket and did the same, but pulled one leg up and let the other lay extended.

“Why?” he asked suddenly, breaking the silence that had been accumulating once more. “Why did you just…” he gestured around with his hands to try and get his point across but ultimately settled with a sigh. “You didn’t say anything. You didn’t try to text, or call, or write, or— or anything. Hell, I would’ve probably jumped to get a messenger pigeon from you. But it was just… radio silence.”

You picked at the dry skin on your thumbs as you tried to come up with an answer. “I… I don’t know,” you repeated. “It was stupid, and it was horrible of me to leave you alone. I mean… I don’t know why I did it. I know what I’ve been going through, and I know you’ve been going through the same. So I don’t know why I didn’t try to reach out and see how you were doing.”

He chuckled mirthlessly as his eyes swept over the empty bottles that had accumulated on the coffee table. “I’m not the best with alone.”

“I know,” you said quietly. “I thought…” you shook your head as you looked at the ceiling. “I thought that you hated me. I know that you cared about them all more, you were closer to all of them, and… and I thought you wouldn’t want anything to do with me. That I would just always be a reminder of what you lost. And… and, I don’t know. Maybe it was my way of trying to move on. Was a stupid fucking idea, though.”

That got a genuine laugh out of him as he ran a hand through his hair. “I guess I get that. I dunno why I didn’t try to talk to you either. Maybe since you didn’t say anything, I didn’t want to either. This whole thing fucked me up.” His gaze moved to you. “Fucked us both up.”

“You can say that again,” you muttered as you tapped your fingers on your knees. “I can’t look anywhere without seeing them. I mean, I see that fucking…” you grimaced. “I see Josh, and I see what that thing did to him, and I just— I’m right back to step one.”

He swallowed hard and nodded. “...yeah. That was seven layers of fucked up.”

“You can’t just keep saying everything was fucked up,” you said dryly. “It was shitty, too.”

Mike snorted, some kind of slightly masochistic humor going on between the two of you. “Nothing really gets the point across like fucked up.”

“Guess you’re right,” you finally conceded with a small smile. “This is… this is nice. I’d almost forgotten what it was like to… I don’t know, to talk to someone like this.”

“It is,” he murmured.

Another pregnant pause hung in the air, but the silence wasn’t as uncomfortable now. Trickles of what it used to be like, of your old life, were beginning to poke through.

“I never hated you,” he said suddenly. Your eyes flicked up to meet his, and it was like his brown eyes were piercing through you as he continued. “I never did. After it happened… yeah, I was mad. I was fucking pissed, but it was never at you. You were my friend too, y’know? Even though we weren’t that close, we were still… we were still something. And I’m glad you made it. I just wish you hadn’t convinced yourself that you had to go through this alone. Maybe things would’ve turned out different, these past few months. For both of us.”

You nodded, choosing to avert eye contact first because you almost couldn’t handle the sincerity. Your heart sank a bit at the sight of all the beer bottles, and you knew that he was right. Maybe things would’ve been different if the two of you had weathered it together from the start. And so you said that.

“I still can’t help but feel like I’m to blame for—” you gestured around at the mess with a sigh, “for this.”

“Look.” His voice was raspy as he ran a hand through his disheveled hair, and as he met your eyes once more you were able to see how truly exhausted he was. With dark circles that matched your own, scars that were still healing, and a certain hollowness behind his eyes… It was like looking in a mirror. And it made you realize how fucked up the two of you had really become.

Mike had always been good at holding himself together, putting up his signature egotistical-douchebag-jock act in the face of anything that threatened to tear him down, and more often than not he came out victorious. But not even class presidents were immune to the horrors that they had faced, and it was taking more of a toll on him than you had realized.

“It’s not your fault. You— you did everything you could; I know I’m still alive because of you. Besides, we were idiot teenagers — we still are — and none of them deserved to die because of it. Not Hannah, not Beth, not any of them.” Mike shook his head and sighed. “Not even Josh. Man was fucked up even before all of this, but he didn’t deserve what happened to him. He needed help, but instead he got his fucking… god. I can’t even say it. But he didn’t deserve it.”

You let out a breath you didn’t even know you were holding, the subconscious process having stopped because of the weight of his words. It was cliche, but you didn’t know how much you needed to hear those four words: it’s not your fault.

“Maybe you should be my therapist,” you joked weakly. But as you let your eyes trail back to Mike you bit your lip. He hadn’t included himself in that statement, and it wasn’t too hard to figure out why.

“Mike… it wasn’t your fault either. You’re not just saying bullshit to try and make yourself feel better, it really wasn’t your fault. What do they say? ‘Getting through your guilt is the first step to recovery’ or some shit? You deserve to be here just as much as I do.”

“But it was,” he insisted. “It’s easy for you to say that. You tried to stop it, I… I just went along with it. Fuck, I started it all. Hannah and Beth went missing because of me, Josh went out of his fuckin’ mind, and if he hadn’t brought us all back up there for his revenge plot then they wouldn’t have died. How is it not my fault? Why do I get to live when all of them died because of me?”

“Mike,” you sighed. “I… I don’t know. I don’t know why we made it back when none of them did, but it’s not your fucking fault, okay? You— yeah, that prank was fucking stupid, but— but how could you know what was going to happen?” You huffed a laugh that was only slightly unhinged. “People pull pranks all the time. Native American legend cannibal spirit things don’t try to kill people all the time. You can’t keep blaming yourself. It’s not going to help them, and it’s not going to help you.”

That silence stretched out once more as he took in your words. You didn’t know if he believed them or not, but you did. That had to be worth something, right?

“I’ve been doing a lot of thinking,” he muttered, breaking the silence once more. “And I… I don’t know. I don’t know why it took almost fucking dying from those goddamn things, a— and seeing what happened to all of them...”

“I don’t know,” he repeated, leaning back against the foot of the sofa. “All the shit that happened, all of them dying — I don’t know how long it’ll take until we’re okay again. Hell, I don’t even know if we ever will be okay again. What happened up there was fucked up in the worst way, and the fact that no one believes us makes it a hell of a lot worse.”

You chuckled darkly as you cupped one hand in the other. “You can say that again.”

His lips twitched for a moment as if he wanted to smile but ultimately thought better of it. “I know we aren’t that close anymore, but the truth is we’re the only ones on this fuckin’ planet that know what really happened up there. We’re the only ones that will ever really understand what happened to us, and… and I think we’re the only ones that can really help each other through this shit.”

He met your eyes once more, something resolute in them. “So the next time this happens, because it will, if you don’t want to be alone… you can come here. Any time, any day, no questions asked. Just knock on that door, and I will be there. No more isolation, no more trying to get through this on our own. We gotta be there for each other, because we’re all we have.”

You nodded gratefully, a feeling of warmth slowly creeping through your body with his reassurance. “Thank you, Mike. You… you have no idea what this means to me.”

“I think I have some clue,” he murmured.

As you exchanged weary smiles, you saw a faint twinkle in Mike’s eyes. He was always the kind of person to help others, even if it was for the wrong reasons, and that was one thing that stuck with him after the disaster. And in that moment, a long lost feeling washed over you — safety.

You hadn’t felt safe in… well, it seemed like forever. Adrenaline and pure instinct were responsible for getting you through those twelve hours, along with an overwhelming wave of numbness and denial. But once all of that wore off, the nightmares had begun. Your friends, the Wendigos, the mountain itself — anything and everything that your mind could use against you, it did.

It was a living hell. You could hardly ever sleep anymore, horrific images always jolting you awake after an hour or two and keeping you awake for the rest of the day. It was no wonder Mike had ended up with a drinking problem — it was probably the only way he could sleep, the only way he could bring some form of peace to his mind. By some miracle, you had avoided that fate, but… you would be lying if you said you hadn’t come close.

But somehow, for some reason, you could tell that things were going to be different. Now that you and Mike weren’t avoiding each other anymore in the name of painful memories… you felt like things were going to be okay. Or as close to okay as you could get these days.

You weren’t alone, and neither was he.

He had saved your life on the mountain more than once. Now, he was saving you again. Just in a different way.

-

perm tags: @dv0412 @siriuslyslyslytherin @maruchan77

ud tags: @kwyloz

[cjjohansson]

YOU'RE IT FOR ME

SUMMARY ; you and Natasha argue over your mission gone wrong.

supersolider!reader x natasha romanoff

angst/fluff.

fighting/blood/injury/swearing word count;3.4k - this is my first ever attempt at writing anything. im so sorry if its terrible.

As always Steve woke you up at stupid oclock in the morning to brief you on a quick unexpected intel mission. He told you the base you were being sent to has not long been abandoned and if anyone was there, to eliminate the threat like you always do. Lucky for you, you had super-solider serum running through your veins so this mission was simple and easy for you to complete alone. You only had to retrieve some files on HYDRA creating another super-solider serum.

However Natasha wasn’t too happy about you being woken up so early meaning she had to wake up to a cold bed and you were nowhere to be seen throughout the whole compound. She looked around for you everywhere only to end up running quite literally into Steve, he obviously knew who she was looking for and finally spoke up, “Oh, if you're looking for Y/N, they went on a quick mission.”

“What do you mean a ‘quick mission’, they would have come to say bye?” Natasha responded suspiciously due to the fact that you would never leave without saying bye or giving her a quick peck on her lips regardless of how long the mission would take.

“A quick intel mission, the only person I could see who had potential in succeeding was them. Woke them up 3 hours ago, they should be back within 2. They’re fine Natasha, you don't need to worry.” Steve thought to quickly remind her that you were more than capable than going on a mission alone and that you certainly didn't need to be worried about, you’re a super-solider for god sake.

“OK, just next time notify me too when they’re going so I'm not walking around looking.” Natasha walked away straight after that proceeding to the training room to blow off some steam about the fact that you didn’t say bye.

Meanwhile

you had got to the base a little over 2 hours ago, and when Steve told you this base was abandoned you had no idea why you actually decided to believe him. The base was in fact NOT abandoned and within the first 10 minutes of you slowly making your way to the base from the quinjet you was swarmed with at least 10 HYDRA agents. You worked as quickly as you could taking out the threats left right and centre with your guns and some quite literally being thrown straight into some trees. You managed to get the agents down in record time, you was quite impressed with yourself to say the least but you knew you should call for backup, you reached for your comms only to be met with a sickening buzzing sound surrounding your ear drums, you threw your ear piece onto the floor and just continued towards the base. At the end of the day you still had a mission to complete after all.

You finally made your way into the base to see that maybe Steve was right about one thing: the base itself was abandoned but the surroundings were not. “Idiot” you thought to yourself about Steve sending you on a mission with not all accurate information.

You’re making your way through the base using your enhanced hearing for anything that doesn't sound right, guess it's somewhat of your lucky day when you hear nothing so you continue your path down the long narrow corridor to finally reach the head scientists room to gather the files about HYDRAs own knowledge on developing a new form of super-solider serum. You always wondered why people had an obsession with powered and enhanced people but at the same time you understood why. You just wished yours wasn't forced on to you and that you were given a choice but you were soon to be one of HYDRAs secret weapons, but when the Avengers found you, you had just been injected with the serum. The Avengers were infiltrating HYDRA bases when Lokis scepter had been stolen, they found you just in time and took you in straight away.

Plugging in the usb drive to transfer all data, the transfer popping up onto the screen telling you that it would take 10 minutes, “Easy enough.” that's what you had thought until you could hear footsteps coming from down the corridor. Quite heavy, long strides, possibly over 6ft tall, only one person, even better. You made your way to hide behind the door so when it opened you could attack right away, but that never came. Instead a metal arm came crashing through the wall you were standing up against grabbing you by the throat and throwing you half way down the corridor, it took you a moment for you to try and stand up but by the time you was about to stand a fist was already being swung towards your face, keeping you locked on the floor below him. You knew this soldier was like you, you could feel it but you also knew that you might not get out of this fight easily, they were much stronger. That face looked familiar, the blurring of your vision from the hits making it harder to properly see but you knew it was familiar. The beating continued with left and right hooks being thrown against your face, the blood rushing out of new cuts across your face, your busted lip and most likely broken nose. You couldn't give up. You knew that for sure. You managed to find the strength to start dodging the punches coming right at you but you knew you needed to get that drive and get going quickly. Rolling out from underneath the soldier as they went to drive their metal arm straight into your face you grabbed your gun and shot the soldier in the stomach and sprinted  back to the room to collect the usb and get going, you knew it was the only way to run rather than end up dying here alone. You finally reached the doors of the base to continue your sprint when you heard that sound of a bullet coming straight out of a gun, it buried itself right into the back of your left leg but you had to keep moving, the blood gushing from your face and now from your leg reminded you to definitely tell Steve to “fuck off” when he comes into your room before the suns even up again. Continuing the sprint, you started to only imagine one thing. That Natasha was going to have your head when you got back to the compound.

You could see the quinjet right in front of you and you had never been so happy to see one so much in your life but just as you was to step one foot onto the jet another two shots were heard behind you, you KNEW this soldier wasn't going to give up and you definitely knew they would keep up with you. The bullets finally lodged themselves into your body, one straight into your right leg and the other straight into your lower back coming out through your stomach. This wasn't good. You were just about on the jet pulling yourself up as the option to stand wasn't even an option anymore, telling FRIDAY to close the hatch and get in the air and back to the compound as quickly as it could and make sure to have medical on stand by as you land. Moving yourself to try and sit in one of the chairs holding pressure to your gunshot wound in your stomach, you heard a familiar voice ring through the speakers of the jet.

“Y/N come in, do you copy?” Natasha. Just as you go to open your mouth to reply your vision starts to blur and all that you manage to croke out are inaudible slurs, until your vision completely goes black.

To say Natasha was pissed off at Steve and you was an understatement. Oh if looks could kill Steve would already be 6 foot under. They stood on the landing pad waiting for the quinjet to arrive back at the compound but what they were expecting was not what they finally saw when the door to the quinjet opened. There you laid on the floor, choking on the air and laying in a puddle of your own blood, paler than anything they had ever seen. Before Steve and Natasha could even make it to the quinjet fully, the medical team were rushing in and putting you on a stretcher taking you straight into surgery. Natasha didn’t even make a move she stood there completely lost with that imagine in her head, but as soon as a doctor shouted you had no pulse it was like she was snapped back into reality her body was on flight mode, she made the move to try and run to you as quickly as possible but Steve had already grabbed her round the waist and was holding back against her vicious punches and kicks shouting at him to ‘let her go or he will regret it’. The sounds of Natashas shouting soon caught the ears of some of the other Avengers, running outside one by one came Wanda, Bucky and Sam. Confused by the commotion until they finally heard the sobs of Natasha in Steve's arms and the puddle of blood in the quinjet, they instantly knew this was about you.

Natasha had been pacing around the waiting room for 2 hours now, everyone telling her, you're ok and the surgery will be over with soon. But they didn't know if you were ok and when the surgery would be over they just wanted Natasha to sit down and stop pacing. Just as Natasha finally took a seat a doctor walked straight in front of them staring at Natasha.

“Are they alive?” Natashas voice coming out weak filled the waiting room, the anxiety from the question entering everyone's mind to know the truth.

“Yes”

They all finally let out a breath none of them knew they were holding. Natasha finally looks down and letting some more silent tears roll down her cheeks, she looks up at the doctor.

“Can I see them?” no one has ever heard Natasha sound so weak and vulnerable, they all knew yous were together, yous never kept it a secret openly flirting in front of everyone and you making it very clear who Natasha was to you at parties when you'd go up to her at the bar and put your arms around her waist and start slowly kissing her neck no matter who she was involved in a conversation with. But no one had ever seen this side of your relationship, the hard side of worrying and panicking when one of you was injured or on a mission. The vulnerable side and lets just say you and Natasha were not ones to let people see you both so small and fragile.

Following the doctor into another room there you laid on the bed your stomach wrapped tightly and also your legs, the bruising on your face a nice bright purple. Your skin had slowly started to have more colour in and Natasha had never been so relieved. She made her way over slowly towards your bed afraid any type of sound would wake you up. She wanted you to rest, but part of her wanted to shout and scream at you for not calling for backup or even just turning around and coming back home. Turns out she wasn't as quiet as the sound of the chair moving wakes you up from your sleep.

The bright lights make you hiss and groan. You make your way to sit up thinking it was all a dream, that is until you feel two sets of hands on each side of your body pushing you down.

“Lay back down y/n, you're hurt.” Natasha, there it is again that sweet voice you've spent months waking up too, but it's different. It sounds broken like she has been crying and is about too again at any given moment. Opening your eyes was a struggle but you finally got there. In the room stood Steve, Wanda, Sam and Bucky and sat next to you ever so gently holding your hand is your Natasha. You go to turn towards Natasha but Bucky catches your eye, everyone sees the hesitance in whether or not you want to finally speak.

“He looked like you.” that's all you manage to choke out before Nat is passing you a cup of water to drink slowly. Everyone starts to look around confused straight from you back to Bucky. Until you finally speak up again.

“The guy that attacked me at the base, thanks Steve by the way maybe next time send two people instead of one into an ‘abandoned’ base, yeah abandoned my arse.” Everyone smiles at your sarcasm but quickly pushes that to the side to ask the question everyone is so desperate to know.

“Babe,what do you mean by he looked like Bucky?” ah, Natashas voice, you simply turned and smiled at her squeezing her hand.

“Well like I said Talia, he looked exactly like Buck. Metal arm, red star. Long black hair. All the facial features are the same but not the eyes, they just looked black. Was hard to know for definite with the amount of punches I was receiving but if no one was to know Bucky like we do, then people would be sure that the Winter Soldier is alive and well.”

Bucky stood there dumbfounded not even knowing what to say or even think, everyone just looks confused at what you’re saying it makes no sense but then again yous are all in a room with three super-soliders, a witch, a highly trained ex-assassin and a guy that has robotic wings for christ sake.

“Ok i think we should all take a break give Nat and y/n some space ok? Come on guys, we can debrief you later y/n/n yeah?” Steves the one to speak up this time probably too confused and tired to have this conversation.

“I know what you're gonna say Tasha, and i'm not in the mood to hear it so can we leave the telling off until tomorrow? Ok, thanks means a lot.”

“No. we are talking about this now so it can be over with and we can move forward. Its simple really y/n/n youre a fucking idiot!” her voice starts to get louder as she continues her rant.

“You call for backup no matter the excuse you call for it or you get back on that jet and come back home no mission is worth more than your life you know that! Ugh, i’m so fucking angry at you for being so fucking reckless! You could have died? Why can't you see that? Just because you have that serum it doesn't make you invincible you know that but you've acted it! All of this for some files? How can you expect me to not be upset or angry? You’re my partner, and i love you more than anything but when you act like this it makes me think if you are even thinking about me when youre risking your life for some stupid usb.” she looks away as she continues to cry, your brain now trying to process all of these words but also all of these emotions. Wait, did she just say she loves you? You have been together for nearly a year now and neither of you had even said that yet, you both knew it but never dared to say it.

“You love me?” it's your turn to choke out now, you know you love her but one minute she is calling you reckless and an idiot then she is telling you she loves you?

“Of course i love you, you fucking idiot!”

“Ok, ok, still mad i got it” she slowly turns to glare at you this time but she sees your tears slowly rolling down your face and she instantly softens her glare. You take her hands into yours and you know you have to say it back because if you don't she is going to be even more mad than what she already is and one thing you don't want to deal with right now is a mad girlfriend because she is so scary.

“Hey Talia, listen ok? I love you too. I do, I really do. I'm sorry i was reckless, i should have come back but it was like my body was on auto mode and yes like you said that isn't an excuse i know that ok. I thought i'd be ok on my own and well clearly i wasn't as i’m in a hospital bed but i’m here. I know we both worry when we go on separate missions and I know you probably worried more because I didn't come and say goodbye but I was hoping to be back by the time you woke up. Steve said it was abandoned and when I got off the jet and started walking no one was there and then I was ambushed by some guards but I took them down with ease and there was no one else in sight, my comms went off and they were buzzing and I just carried on. I needed to do this mission baby, I needed to get this information about the serum so we can try and stop HYDRA creating more soldiers and putting them through pain. I’m sorry I've hurt you, I didn't mean to do that, I was just doing my job but I'll tell Steve for next time that if i’m to go on a solo mission that you need to be with me ok? No more solo missions, not just for me but for everyone. We need to be safe. Especially with another Winter Soldier walking around like he owns the place ok? I love you Natalia, I’m sorry.” you've already lowered your head at this point too embarrassed by telling her we all need to be safe and that you love her.

You feel one of her hands move from yours, you think she is gonna walk out but instead you feel the softness of her fingertips tracing the bruising on your cheekbones before you even have the chance to hiss at the tender touch her lips are pressed so intensely against yours. You've kissed many times before but this kiss, it's just so different it's as if she is trying to tell you exactly how much she loves you and how much she is happy you're here just by this kiss. You move your hand up to her face and slowly move it round to play with the hairs at the back of her neck, she hums and slowly stops kissing you. You didn't want that kiss to end and you groan in frustration and she chuckles at your little outburst, Nat leans her forehead against yours and finally lets out a breath. You're ok, she knows it now.

You both sit in comfortable silence for a while forehead to forehead until you feel a shooting pain in your stomach, you hiss in pain and move away to lie back down on your back. Natasha is up in an instant thinking she has hurt you but you're quick to calm her nerves.

“Baby it's ok, just some pain. Come and lay with me, please?” you pull your puppy dog face, a face you know she cannot resist. She simply smiles and makes her way back over to the bed as you shuffle over to make room for her. The next minute you're both lying and she is snuggled into your side, your hand drawing patterns on her back and her arm ever so carefully laying above your wrapped stomach.

You understood why she was mad at you, you put your life on the line and didn't think twice about how she would feel with the consequences. You hated yourself for that, you knew you'd feel the same if it was her laying here injured and not you but it wasn't.

The room was silent, a comfortable silence. One you and Natasha both could just relax too.

“When I said I love you y/n, I truly meant it. You're it for me” she moved her head off your chest to look into your eyes, her eyes held so much emotion and you knew right then and there again like you had known for the past year that you were going to marry this woman.

“And you're it for me Natalia Alianovna Romanoff. I love you Talia, forever and always.”

[shurisneakers]

harmless (xiii)

Summary: Bucky volunteers to go stop a small time villain, but nothing can prepare him for what exactly he has to deal with. (Bucky x villain!reader)

Warnings: cursing, frustrated bucky, dramatic reader, smidge of angst, guns, little bit of violence, obnoxious flirting, and kidnapping lol

Word count: 6.2k

A/N: welcome to chaos week >:) this is the first of three updates coming out this week (if i can finish the last one in time).  big thank you to my love @no-shit-sherl0ck for the kidnaped!reader idea, and that one anon who suggested the inator that’s used here. i know you wanted to see it in a zoo but i couldn’t really figure out a way to use that so i referenced it a bunch in previous chapters. oh and also @ginevranights​ for this specific imagery 

Previous Part  || Series Masterlist

Who the fuck kidnaps a villain in this day and age?

Saturday started normally enough.

Nat kicked Bucky’s ass in training, evening the score to 120 and 120. He blames it on the lack of sleep. She tells him that it’s his fault he stayed up late to binge watch 911 Lone Star.

He still thinks it was worth it.

The team’s sunshines and rainbows that morning. Someone had cooked up a batch of pancakes and fresh orange juice. Someone else burnt the bacon but left to feed his dog before anyone could complain.

Nat opened up the newspaper. Different sections went to different people until Bucky got stuck with the entertainment section. Fun, considering that he doesn’t even recognise half the names. He’d have to pretend to be interested until the next rotation.

He watches the orange juice levitate in front of him from the corner of his eye and just assumes that Wanda’s getting a refill even though she could have just asked him to pass it. He smells the next batch of bacon burning and figures that Clint is back.

Sam’s beside him, annoying him about how long it takes for him to read about which new celebrity relationship just ended and Bucky retaliates by reading even slower. Fuck you.

He’s on his second stack of pancakes absolutely drenched in maple syrup when the doors to the elevator open and Marie steps out, laptop in her hand.

An instant chorus of hello’s and invitations to have some charred bacon resound through the table. She politely declines them with a small smile, instead opening her laptop and placing it in front of Bucky without further ado. 

He looks at her questioningly, slowly swallowing whatever was in his mouth.

“An email for you.” She tuts her head towards it. “It has a video attachment of your friend.”

Bucky has plans to not watch the video in front of everyone, given that the content could range anywhere from you reading out fanfiction about him to a deep-fake of him singing a Whitney Houston song.

Both of which you have done before and would do again, without any hesitation.

“Aren’t you gonna watch it?” Wanda asks from across the table.

He slowly shakes his head no, cutting his stack into smaller pieces.

“If what’s in it is real, it’s important,” Marie stresses.

“What’s in it?” he inquires instead, hoping that the team would stop staring at him. If Marie was implying strongly that he needed to watch then something was wrong.

“Just watch it, man.” Sam’s statement has everyone agreeing with him. Bucky can’t refuse now, and if the team makes fun of him for the next month about how he looks good belting Greatest Love of All, he’s going to personally assassinate you.

He clicks on the email, noticing it came from a throwaway address. Probably untraceable, if the cards are played right. 

The video opens to grainy footage, which is stupid considering modern technological advancements. If this is one more of your stupid LARPing sessions, it could definitely wait till after lunch. 

But, he instantly recognises your silhouette strapped to a chair and suddenly the room feels very cold around him. His hand automatically clutches onto a bead from the bracelet you gave him that still remained tied to his left arm more often than not.

“Speak,” someone commands off camera.

“About what?” You sound annoyed, exasperated even.

“Why you’re here.”

“I’m here because you have unaddressed feelings of childhood insecurity.”

“I warned you to take this seriously.”

Bucky’s eyes widen slightly but his body relaxes the minute he reads the situation. 

The team’s crowded around him, he can feel it. His attention remains on the screen in front of him.

“Who even are you sending this to?” You don’t sound the least bit threatened. “My roommate’s not at home but my cat is and I don’t think she’d care.”

”You’ve made a complete joke out of villains everywhere. Fraternising with the enemies, the Avengers,” he spits the name with so much vitriol. “You’ve erased what it’s like to be truly evil. Turned us into a laughing stock.”

“If it takes one person to undermine your whole movement then maybe it wasn’t strong enough to begin with.” You look at someone outside the lens, face scrunching in distaste. “Also your costume’s ugly.”

“F.R.I.D.A.Y., can you trace this voice?” Bucky asks, receiving an immediate confirmation. “Figure out who it is.”

“On it.”

“Tell them. Tell them we are a serious threat and are to be feared.”

"No,” you say resolutely. “You’re an overgrown manchild. Go watch Teletubbies or something.”

“She does not give a shit,” Clint marvels at the situation, a piece of half eaten burnt toast between his fingers.

You didn’t. And if he knew you in the slightest, which he prided himself on at this point, you already had six different ways of getting out of there.

“She knows she’s going to be fine,” Bucky murmurs, returning back to take a bite of his pancakes. “She’s probably still there just to irritate him.”

He zeroes in on your wrist to see if the teleportation watch was still there but no, your wrists are bare. Guess you forgot.

“You have to.”

“Why?”

“Because that’s how a real villain does it.”

“A real villain- what are you, gatekeeping the villain community?” You scoff. “You sound like a fuckin’ incel.”

“Just send them a message,” the guy bellows, hitting a table.

“She’s going to frustrate them to death.” An accurate observation, Sam.

“Okay, jeez, fine.”

Bucky just knows that you rolled your eyes at that moment.

He had faith in you, or in your abilities at the very least. While every wisecrack could possibly inch you closer towards harm, you probably wouldn’t be making them unless you felt completely secure in your situation.

“Help, I’m totally kidnapped and in danger. Save me because I can’t do it myself. This man is too powerful and strong and sooo scary.”

“Do you think she has a strategy?”

“Definitely.”

“You’re not worried, James?” Wanda asks curiously. “I thought she was your friend.”

“She is my friend.” He reaches over to take the jug of orange from across the table. “That’s why I’m not worried.”

“Are you going to fight the Avengers?” you interrupt his endless tirade. “Because that’s a stupid plan. You get how that’s a stupid plan, right?”

“Let them come. I’m prepared.”

“With what? A stick you found outside? A Nerf gun? Man, you’ve tied my hands with fuckin’ zip ties, you can’t be serious-”

“Shut up,” he roared and the stand shakes slightly from where he stamps his feet. “Our army is enough.”

“Wow,” you exhale. “I wish I had your confidence, I really do. I want to study you under a microscope.”

“I have reinforcements.” It sounds like he turns to the camera to address it directly. “This is a warning. Your friends have an hour to find you or things are gonna turn ugly. This is what real evil looks like.”

“Evil dresses in a dollar store Speedo, apparently.” The man pays you no heed, instead picking up the camera. “Hey, sarge, if you’re watching this, don’t bother. I’m fine, it’s not even the real me-”

The camera cuts to black.

“When was this video sent?” Nat looks at Marie, eyebrows drawn together.

“About ten minutes ago.”

Bucky clicks out of the email, determined to get at least half his breakfast in him before he left to see what’s up with your situation. A notification pops up immediately.

evilkneival123@gmail.com just sent you an email.

A video attachment.

“We got another one,” Bucky informs the team, drawing their attention back to the screen from the informal conversation that had erupted between them about what they could do.

This time, there’s a subject line included.

Attack on the Clone.

"Ain’t that a Star Wars movie?" he asks, craning his neck to look at Clint.

"That's Attack of the Clones," Sam corrects. "Probably autocorrect."

Bucky narrowed his eyes in suspicion at him, jaw sliding outward before falling back into place. Enough times had Sam called him Fucky in the group chat and gotten away with it for him not to be wary.

“Or a code,” Wanda suggests, too many crime thrillers read and podcasts listened in her spare time. She occasionally brought them over to Self Care Saturday, introducing him to the world of true crime as a bit of light content while they snacked on chocolate chip cookies he baked. “Like the Zodiac.”

“For what?” Bucky peers over at her.

“All I remember from that movie is them rolling around a field together,” Clint mutters. “Maybe that’s how you’re supposed to save her.”

“I’m not saving anyone. Look at her, she’s fine.” Is he the only one who saw it?

When he’s met with skeptical looks and no other useful suggestions, he presses play on the video.

This time it's clearer footage. It hardly takes him a second to ascertain where it was.

"That's her lair." It showed the pathway leading up to the flat concrete building, exactly where the intercom should be.

There was a black Sedan parked haphazardly outside, engine still on judging by the sound of the radio blasting an AC/DC song. 

Within a few seconds, someone drags you from the entrance of the lair to the car, despite your very clear protests and opposition, shoving you inside before it takes off in full speed, tires screeching. 

"F.R.I.D.A.Y., track the car from that video. Check all the CCTV and surveillance footage from around the area that you can find," Bucky commands, taking a sip of orange juice.  

"Why would they send us that?" Clint pipes up. "They make their email untraceable but send us a video of the fuckin' abduction itself?"

"I don't know." Bucky shakes his head, setting his glass down. "She probably convinced them to."

It was an unusual scenario, he realised that. But his eyebrows lower in contemplation, his lip caged between his lip before a thought suddenly occurs to him. A laugh in disbelief almost escapes his throat ad he pushes it down with some freshly cut strawberries. 

"And they listened?"

"I don't think you realise how annoying she can be." He knows, though. He knows. "Bet they regret it, though. I should tell them to keep her for a little longer."

"Voice recognition registers voice to someone named Chad, better known by his alias Soul Crusher. Surveillance footage places the car about thirty minutes away. Exact location sent to your phone GPS."

Soul Crusher. That was worse than Dr. Strange.

"I can make that fifteen." Bucky shrugs, setting down his fork and knife. If his hunch is right, the team didn’t really have to get involved. “See you guys later.”

“Do you want any of us coming with you?” Wanda gestures to the crowd at hand.

“I got it.” He pushes away from the table, depositing his plate in the sink, dropping an extra piece of bacon on the ground for Clint’s dog. “She’ll be alright.”

They watch him trail out of the room briskly, heading up to his room to change.

“Is it just me or is he too casual about this?” Clint continues staring long after he leaves.

“Both of them are weirdos.” Nat pulls open the newspaper again, going back to the sport’s section. “Who knows what goes in their heads.”

“Can confirm that not a lot goes on in his.”

Without Bucky to retaliate or grumble, a Steve walking into the room, sweaty and shiny after training becomes the new subject of jokes that morning.

__

For the first time in months, he’s had to bring a weapon or two along with him. Two revolvers and a couple of knives kept out of plain view. He wouldn’t need more than that anyway.

True to his word, it takes only fifteen minutes to get there, thirteen if he didn’t stop for the chain of ducks that crossed the street.

He’s also dressed in a little more leather than he usually reserves for your meetings. A jacket that brings to act as a windbreaker and tightly laced up combat boots make him look like he either stepped off a runway, or more menacing than usual depending on who was looking.

The GPS points him to an old warehouse near a more subdued part of the city. It was abandoned by the looks of it, and had been for a while judging by the lack of upkeep. Prime real estate.

He pulls off his helmet, hanging it on the handlebar along with his backpack before kicking the stand into place. The bike’s a few metres away just in case they decide to blow something up.

Bucky looks up at the warehouse, assessing the most damage he could do to it if at all it was needed. That thing could barely stand on its own, a grenade would absolutely decimate it. That wasn’t good news for you.

He sighs once before putting on his death glare, straightening out his shoulders into a stature that screams stone-cold, and pushes the door open, gun raised.

A mini-army of people ranging from their early twenties to late thirties stood guard at the entrance, all with rifles pointed at him. He counts fifteen, maybe eighteen.

“Oh, hell no,” a voice erupts from the back, followed by the sound of his gun being thrown to the ground. “No one told me that he was coming.”

Bucky raises an eyebrow, his death glare not shifting and Glock not lowering.

“I’m out.” The same guy raises his hands up to show he meant no harm, slowly brushing past Bucky as he squeezed out of the building.

“You got five seconds to leave before I shut this door,” Bucky gives the rest of them an ultimatum. Not like there was a point anyway. SHIELD was sending down some people to account for the one day rise in new morons. 

They all looked at each other, swallowing thickly before raising their weapons.

“I hope he’s giving you good insurance.” The second he finishes his sentence they all cry out in what sounds like a fucking war chant, launching themselves at him. 

______

“They’re here.” Someone presses his ear to the door as if the gunshots and screaming weren’t enough. 

“Brilliant. We’re ready.” Chad picks up the knife, running his finger along the sharp end. You try to see if you can use your Twitter-ordained powers of manifestation for a paper cut.

“How much are you asking them for?” You put forth a query instead, when it disappointingly doesn’t work.

“Asking who for what?” Chad stops his dumb intimidation tactic for a second. 

“You know,” you insist like it was obvious, “my ransom. How much did you ask them to pay?”

“We didn’t-” He looks around at the other people in the room for confirmation. “-we didn’t ask for any.”

“Because I’m invaluable?” Your head droops to the side in mock flattery. “Aw, you guys.”

“We didn’t think of it,” someone from the corner behind you speaks up, coming to the aid of their boss.

“Now that’s just rude.” You tut, shifting maybe an inch or two in your bounds to try and get more comfortable. “Leaving aside your lack of preparation, let’s just assume he bursts in here, desperate and ready to bargain. How much would you ask for?”

“Three million,” Chad says confidently, gathering a nod and sounds of agreement from everyone else.

“Are you serious?” Your jaw drops, a scoff escaping you. “That’s all?”

His self-assurance falters a little bit, you can see it under his 5 Minutes Craft mask.

“Three mill-” You stop mid-sentence. “With this wiring? Ridiculous. Make it ten, I demand it.”

“We’ll ask for fifteen mil,” Chad proposes, his teammates agreeing again, a little more delighted than last time.

“Ask for thirty, you coward,” you argued. “Thirty million and a jet.”

“You’re not worth that much.” The dipshit diagonal to you pipes up with his unwanted and, frankly, useless opinion.

“And you are?” You whip around the best you can. “Henchman number four?”

“Megedagik,” he informs, standing up a little taller now that he was given some importance. “It means ‘killer of many’.”

“Did you just say your name was Mega Dick?” 

“Megedagik,” he corrects.

You stare at him hard before turning away. “Alright, other than Mega Dick here, does anyo-”

A knife lands right next to your feet, driven at least an inch into the ground. You look up at the guy you managed to piss off within four sentences, his face now a beet red. 

“These are brand new, asshole,” you barked, shaking your shoes around. “You’re gonna pay if there’s even a scratch on it.”

“Permission to kill her?” Meg growls, casting a side eye at Chad.

The boss man looks at you thoughtfully, assessing the repercussions of what might happen. You raise an eyebrow.

“Slow and painful,” he settles. 

A small smirk makes its way onto your face. 

“Title of your sex tape,” you quip as the man in the corner storms towards you.

_____

It’s all a flurry, really. A bunch of inexperienced newcomers versus one of the most skilled assassins the world had ever seen? Ten minutes tops.

Bucky doesn’t do any serious damage. A couple of broken bones but only out of necessity, a lot of concussions, and maybe a bullet wound, or three, here and there. 

Most of the time he spends thinking about things that have absolutely nothing to do with what was going on. He forgot to take his laundry out of the machine. There was a biscotti recipe he had been procrastinating on trying. His succulents needed watering but he could do that once he was back. Was he wearing his good combat pants or was it the pair that had a hole in the pocket?

His left hand thrust outwards to shove someone away while he stuck his right hand into his pocket to check if it had frayed away. The person he pushed slams into a wall with a loud groan and no, his pants didn’t have a hole in them. 

He stops to take a breather, assess what was going on. There are bodies scattered all around, mostly writhing in pain from minor injuries. Someone very bravely stands up, hands posed in front of him in a regular fighting stance.

“You sure about this?” Bucky asks, reaching for one of the concealed knives he hadn’t had a chance of using yet. It twirls rather nimbly between his fingers for something so dangerous, the hilt finally landing in his palm for a sturdy grip.

The man takes one look at the knife before sitting right back down on the ground. 

“Good choice,” his voice drops to an octave lower than his self-esteem. He’s tired of this old routine but it works like a neat little party trick, often getting him the result he wanted. “Where?”

A few fingers point down the hall to the only room whose door was closed.

He makes sure to step over everyone who was lying along the way, ears tuned in to even the smallest of noises just in case one of them decided to attack him from the back. It doesn’t come.

He doesn’t bother creeping down the hallway. With all the ruckus that just went on outside, he’s pretty sure it’s obvious that they had an intruder. 

Bucky kicks in the large steel door with ease, given that it was barely hanging on its hinges. His gun’s raised, muscles tight, and senses on high alert for any immediate threats. 

It lands with a large thud, reverberating through the room. He’s reminded of your first meeting with him.

There’s a chair in the middle of the room with a person tied to it by a mixture of rope and tape. Others found themselves slithering around on the floor in a similar fashion, trying to get out of their bondages.

“Hey, James,” you call out, drawing his attention to you. You were sitting atop a table, legs swinging back and forth without a care in the world, a blade in your hand. 

“You okay?” He tucks the gun into his waistband when he realises that none of the henchmen are going to be going anywhere soon.

“All good.” You hop off the table with a little spring in your step. “Did you bring your bike? I need a ride back to the lair. I think I left the TV on when I was, you know, getting kidnapped.”

“You coulda teleported back home before all of this even happened.” Bucky does a quick assessment of your body to make sure there weren’t any bruises or anything of the sort. “Avoided the whole thing.”

“Don’t have the watch with me.” Odd, since he knows you consider it one of your essentials but it just fuels his theory further. “Besides, if I just quit before we started, they’d keep messing with me over and over again.”

“Do you want me to punch someone’s face in?” He glances around the room at the ones wiggling about on the floor like fucking worms. “I’d be happy to.”

“Nah, I got a few in myself.” You rotate your wrist, other hand still holding onto the knife. “You know what, maybe I’ll have another go.”

He simply makes a noise in acknowledgement before he places a hand on the hem of your shirt, gently reeling you back. “I think you fixed ‘em up real good. That’s enough for today.”

“Fine but only ‘cause you said so.” You huff, looking past him and at the weirdos on the ground. “You hear that? This man just saved your life. Say ‘thank you’.”

A muffled chorus of what sounded like appreciation echoed through the room. Bucky awkwardly looks around.

“Damn right.” You walk over to the guy in charge of the whole event, bending down to his level. “If you ever try to fuck with us again...”

You stare straight into his eyes, unblinking. You hold up the knife to his Adam’s apple. Chad doesn’t dare to move other than the thick swallow.

You raise your finger and flick him in the forehead. “Get a better costume.”

The corner of Bucky’s lip quirks upward.

“Let’s go, sarge,” you announce, standing upright again and making a motion to follow you. “D’you have an extra helmet I could use?”

“Yeah.” He had brought one along in his bag, assuming that you’d need one once he noticed the watch was missing in the footage.  

“Yay.”

The only storage space on his bike was under his seat and it’s just enough for an extra revolver. Clint asked him if it was his way of flirting with someone, give ‘em a quick spin around the city and then show them his gun. If looks could kill, Clint would be 7 feet under. 

“You sure you wanna ride it, though?” He cringes immediately when he realises what it sounds like, waiting for you to smack the innuendo in his face. “We could wait for SHIELD.”

“Don’t really have another choice, Bucky,” you say absentmindedly, strolling out the room as you tossed the knife behind you.

He frowns at your indifference but turns around for a second to look at Chad. The man in question looks back viciously, his grandeur from that morning basically deflated and left to die along with his reputation.

“Might wanna reconsider the name,” Bucky remarks, doing a quick sweep of the area once more. “Soul Crusher.”

He waits until both of you are outside the cell and the door is shut on the ringleader and his circus clowns, handlebar twisted out of place so that they don’t escape for the time being.

“One second,” he calls, touch gently lingering on your forearm to stop you without even thinking twice about it. A famously uncharacteristic move for him.

"Hm?” You don’t even look like you notice his action.

“You sure you’re good?” he asks seriously, actual concern slipping through the question. “Do you need medical assistance?”

“They couldn’t hurt me anyway.” There’s something strange about the way you say it, almost assuredly. “I’m good.”

“Okay,” he concedes, his hand darting back when he realises it was still on your arm. His eyebrows furrow when he realises how instinctively he had reached out in the first place.  He didn’t touch anyone, ever.

“What are we gonna do about them?” you inquire, stepping over someone on the floor to get to the exit.

“Marie told Agent Hill. They’re sending someone over.”

“They’re sending SHIELD for these wannabes?” Someone groans in protest from somewhere and you elect to ignore them. “Ew.”

“Just to make sure confidential information isn’t compromised in any way.” There’s a large bang that comes from the room they just left. Maybe one of them shot their teammate by accident. They were more than capable of doing it.

“I would never,” you exacted a little more solemnly, pushing the door open with your elbow to let the sunlight flood in.

“I know.” He doesn’t realise how dark it was in the warehouse until he steps out into the noon sun. “I’m pretty sure this is more about the fact that you were abducted.”

“For me?” The smile doesn’t quite reach your eyes the way he kinda likes. Something definitely felt off. “I love being class favourite.”

He doesn’t reply, a small grunt as he twists the handle of the warehouse door upwards, effectively jamming it. 

“Can I drive?” You bat your eyelashes at him innocently, disregarding the loud screaming that came from inside as those less injured probably regrouped for a last ditch attempt. 

“No,” he doesn’t hesitate in replying, handing you a helmet and buckling his own securely.

“But I just got kidnapped,” you complained, watching him swing a leg over the bike and straddle it. Okay then. 

“All the more reason for you not to drive right now.” He mentions for you to get on, squinting at the warehouse a few feet away.

“Fine, but next time I’m driving,” you grumble, climbing on the back.

“Do you even know how to?” His head is tilted to look at you from the corner of his eye, voice heavier on account of the obstruction on his face.

The door starts shaking violently and he knows for a fact that it won’t hold up for much longer. Some of those who he had knocked out probably had been shaken awake again for manpower. 

“I can learn.” You take a pause, mischief seeping into your next words. “You can teach me.”

“No.” He didn’t exactly practice what was considered safe, law abiding driving. He just got from one point to another and that’s all he cared about.

“Then I’ll do it myself.” You sound determined. “I’m going to leave a note for us in the lair.”

“You do that.” He revs the engine when something solid hits the metal door. As guessed, their usage of props to push it down faster was coming into play. “Now, can you hold on to something? We need to go.”

If only those idiots just realised that the windows covered by newspapers were right there, ready to be broken.

“Only if you promise to let me drive next time,” you say defiantly, drawing this whole ordeal out.

“Whatever,” he urges. “I promise. Now can we go?”

“Wait for it...” There’s a devilish smile on your face. “One.”

There’s a loud creak as the door finally gives way.

“Two.” The same people you left tied up in the room burst out, almost stumbling over each other in the process.

“Three,” he completes it on his own, not waiting for you to finish because God knows how long you’d stretch it out just for the drama.

Your excited screech of laughter as he narrowly misses a rod that gets thrown at him like a fucking javelin temporarily distracts him from the brain freeze he gets when your arms wind around his waist to hold yourself in place. 

There’s angry screaming and bullets that whiz past in an attempt to get him to stop but a swift turn around a corner, pulling the both of you out of their sight is enough to get rid of them. 

“We should get a few weapons and go back,” you yell over the wind rushing by, barely audible.

“You do that in your own free time,” he shouts in response, yanking you through narrower lanes and less popular streets.

“Maybe I will, you bore.” 

Still, you shut up for the rest of the ride, only grumbling when he stops the bike to tell you that no, you cannot let go just because you want to throw your hands in the air like in the movies.

You hop off when he finally pulls up on the street outside your lair, adrenaline still pumping through your veins. He waits patiently as you unbuckle the helmet, switching off the engine. 

“You gonna drop me off at my door too, now?” You snicker, fingers pulling off the helmet.

He looks at you for a second before dropping the kickstand into place and dismounting from the motorcycle.

“I was kidding.” You laugh, handing him your headgear that he shoves into his backpack. 

“You’re pretty capable of gettin’ abducted along the way.” An absurd notion, considering it’s a short path from the road to the door. 

“Oh, how chivalrous.” You let him tag along anyway, for his peace of mind. 

“My ma didn’t expect any less.” A couple of sharp lessons from Winifred Barnes and Bucky was nothing short of a damn angel. 

You knock on the door three times, crossing your arms over your chest as you waited. 

“Aren’t you the one with the key?” Bucky questions, one hand on his waist. 

The door swung open in the middle of his sentence revealing... you.

Another you.

“Nah, she has it.” Ex-Kidnapped-You raises your head in acknowledgement at Doorway-You.

“Ah.” He fucking knew it. An unnatural sense of smugness blossoms in his chest. 

“Hey,” the both of you said at the same time.

Doorway-You looked way more relaxed, a little less grimy and dishevelled but exactly the same.

“Buck, I see you met my other half,” the you from the doorway greets him. “Or other whole, actually.”

“Sure did.” He sends a glance at Ex-Kidnapped-You.

“You can go on in. Big first day, huh?” Doorway-You refers to the you beside him.

“You wouldn’t believe,” Ex-Kidnaped-You mutters, pushing past the entrance and disappearing inside.

“She gonna be okay?” His gaze trails after your clone.

“Oh yeah, just needs to recharge.” You turn around to make sure she’s fine. “She’s made of some pretty strong carbon, technically almost indestructible.”

No wonder ‘you’ said they couldn’t hurt you.

“Heya, sarge.” You draw his attention back to you. “Always good to see you.”

“Can’t really say the same about you.” 

“Ever the emotional repressor, Mr Barnes. I like this little leather show you got going, did ya wear it just for me?”

He shifts his balance to his other foot, feet slightly wide apart. “Take it that the clone machine finally worked?”

“I was in the middle of celebrating.” You sigh, recalling the events of that morning. “Teleported home for a second to get some champagne and when I came back she was gone.”

“Irresponsible.” He tsks, head shaking in disappointment. 

“Sorry I didn’t take amateur kidnappers into account for my risk factor analysis, Bucky,” you shoot back, pressing on his name for added annoyance. “Anyway, I did the responsible thing. I sent all the evidence I had to you guys.”

“Real clever.” Bucky looks at you in dry amusement. “Attack on the clone? Really?”

“Hey, always make time for a good pun.” You finger gun, lopsided grin on your face. “Did the team like it?”

“They thought it was a typo.” Or a code. He really had Wanda to thank for his big revelation. “Your video didn’t help either.”

“Don’t tell me they couldn’t make out it was me.” You laugh, crossing your arms over your chest.

He doesn’t reply, pursing his lip inwards in sympathy, but more so to conceal a smile.

The happiness drops from your face slowly, horror taking its place. “Don’t tell me they couldn’t make out it was me.”

“Good job, your machine worked,” he adds helpfully.

“C’mon, there were so many differences,” you whine, the success of your endeavour the last thing on your mind. 

“That is your literal clone,” he points out, only to see you- clone you- walk into the giant box in the corner of the room, bright green light emanating from it like a xerox machine.

“How could they not tell the original apart from a copy?” You look genuinely offended. Insane. “Not even Sam?”

“Guess you’re not unique enough.” A rise and fall of his shoulders signify his attitude towards this whole thing. “Think I like your copy better, too, actually.”

“You’re so mean.” You puff in disbelief. “I’m a 100% original. How many mad scientist teachers do you know?”

“Two.” 

“I don’t mean now, that’s not even the-” You poke at his rock hard chest. “You are so much more annoying than when I first met you.”

He thinks it’s good relationship development.

“I have to deal with you every weekend.” He watches your finger drop from his chest. “Picked it up along the way.”

“Boo hoo, talking like you don’t have deep, deep feelings for me.” You roll your eyes. “I see right through you, Bucky Barnes.”

“Can you see the part that couldn’t give less of a shit?” He gestures to himself. “It’s all of it.”

“You think you’re such a comedian, huh?” You narrow your eyebrows. “How did you know she was a fake then, huh?”

Busted.

“Probably ‘cause you didn’t talk as much today,” he dodges. “Actually had some peace of mind for a change.”

“You knew before you got there, you liar.” You push past his fabrications. “You figured it out before everyone else.”

“You literally put it in the title.”

“Yeah, but the rest of the team saw it too.”

“Rest of the team didn’t know you were building a goddamn clone machine for months.”

“You remembered that?” You pulled away, palm over your heart. “Oh, sarge, you paid attention to me.”

His nose twitches.

“You said it, like, eight hundred times.” He could use both his hands to count the number of references you had offhandedly made in the last three weeks alone.

“Why'd you go save me when you knew it wasn't real?” you continue to challenge relentlessly, knowing fully well that he was fibbing. 

“Because you fuckin’ peer pressured me. Had the whole team around me when you sent your little video during breakfast.”

“Just admit it,” you coo, ignoring all his justifications. “You noticed it was fake me right away but showed up anyway because you’re wildly in love with me.”

“No,” he says stiffly. 

“No as in you won’t admit it you have a crush on me, or no as in you didn’t know it was fake me?”

There was no winning this. 

“Good day to you.” He pulls the motorcycle helmet on to hide the expression that plain as day screamed the former of your two options.

“Also,” you bring up indignantly, “she even got to ride the fucking bike and I’ve been asking to drive it for months now!”

“We-” he chooses his words carefully. “-compromised.”

“Oh, you did?” Your voice lowers at the newfound information, interest piqued. “I’m gonna hold you to that then, whatever it is.”

“Doesn’t count.”

“Absolutely does,” you huff. “A promise is legally binding. Blue’s Clues taught me that.”

“Bye, Y/N.”

“You’re my knight in leathery armour,” you swoon, switching sides immediately, “Kinda.”

“See you next week,” he says in farewell, determined to leave before you made it worse. “Try not to get killed by then.”

“Why, so you can do it yourself? Protective much?” You pull him back when he starts walking away, laughing slightly. “Wait a second, you weirdo.”

He sighs, staying put anyway, arms crossed impatiently over his chest.

You pull out the pen tucked behind your ear and slowly tap him twice on each shoulder in a makeshift knighting ceremony. “For your sacrifice.”

He rolls his eyes at the ludicrousness, tongue clicking against the roof of his mouth.

You ignore his lack of enthusiasm, pressing your fingertips to your lips in a small kiss and then to his nose, given that it was the only part of his face you had access to.

“That was for your bravery.” You grin brightly at him and he sure as hell is glad he’s wearing the stupid helmet because he can feel his cheeks light up a bright crimson.

“Thanks.” His voice sounds gruffer than a second ago. He clears his throat.

“Now you’re my knight in leathery armour,” you fawn, nearly falling over yourself dramatically. “Let’s ride into the sunset together. I love you.”

“You’re ridiculous,” he calls out over his shoulder, turning away to return to his bike. “I despise you.”

“But you don’t.”

He really didn’t.

also i managed to fuck my phone up really bad so all proceeds from my ko-fi go towards getting it fixed

Next part

[madmaddyenby]

/rp /dsmp

ok so- c!tommy. we are all aware he’s traumatized, and experiences ptsd from being in traumatic experiences, this is basically fact.  while i’d like to talk how c!tommy experiences ptsd, i’d like to bring up a thing i haven’t seen mentioned a lot when it comes to c!tommy and his trauma- c-ptsd.  also known as complex-ptsd.   it occurs when someone experiences something traumatizing for a period of time.

[image description: A screenshot of text with the words “CPTSD stands for Complex Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder. It is a mental health condition in which a person might experience intense PTSD symptoms that coincide with other mental issues. CPTSD occurs in people who have been subjected to on going traumatizing experiences”. end description]

which, as we know, the exile arc fits the description of “ongoing traumatizing experiences” pretty fucking well.  the exile was basically just two weeks of trauma.  for a lot of reasons too, there was dream abusing tommy, tommy being isolated, tommys own depression/suicidal thoughts/bad mindset in general.   this would all be considered a ongoing traumatizing experience(s).  

ptsd is very similar to c-ptsd in how it develops, but ptsd occurs after one singular traumatizing event . (by the way, the event doesnt have to be life or death, it could be something like witnessing or hearing about a shocking event!!!)

symptoms of c-ptsd overlap with ptsd a good lot of the time, due to them both being trauma disorders.  however, there are a few differences.  here r some symptoms of c-ptsd, alot of which are ptsd symptoms that alot ofpeople with c-ptsd experience as well

reliving the traumatic experience

avoiding certain situations 

changes in beliefs and feelings about yourself and others

hyperarousal (jitteriness, being on alert, etc)

somatic symptoms (physical symptoms with no underlying cause)

lack of emotional regulation 

change in consciousness

negative self-perception

difficulty with relationships

distorted reception of abuser

loss of system of meanings

now, i’ll go over which of these fit our boy c!tommy, and how they fit for some of them atleast.  i will only be talking about the things that are a result from c-ptsd, but also c-ptsd works where it coincides with other mental illnesses a person has so.  its also important to note that within a person these symptoms might not stay the same over time, and not everyone who has c-ptsd or ptsd is going to experience it the same.   (so not talking abt how pain affects him after dying in the prison, though that is a clear sign of ptsd) 

reliving the traumatic experience

tommy’s done this with exile a few times, when revisiting logstedshire, when he saw the craters in logstedshire, when visiting dream in prison, when during the disc finale dream dug the hole and told him to put his armour in, etc etc, he’s even described himself as being trembly in the fingers near plain biomes, while visting logsted he mentioned how shaky it made him to be there, and when he visited logsted one time he had an immediate reaction to seeing a hole in the ground that came off as him reliving it. flashbacks come in from sensations during a traumatic event, like sight, feeling, emotion, etc, etc.  it seems like with these he’s experiencing more of a reliving the emotions kind of thing. 

avoiding certain situations 

i was originally not gonna include this one, but thinking about it, he kind of does in a way.   this symptom also includes keeping yourself preoccupied to avoid thinking about it, which is something c!tommy seems to do alot.  with focusing on building the hotel, and doing tasks, or grinding for supplies instead of actually thinking about it.  

changes in beliefs and feelings about yourself and others

c!tommy uh. does this a lot.  a lot of it stems from how during exile tommy was isolated and made to believe no one cared for him, and even if that wasn’t true c!tommy never really got much closure on that.  hes not really trusting ppl that b4 were really close to him, tubbo n ranboo for example

lack of emotional regulation

this can also be described as uncontrollable feelings.  this is the one i’ve wanted to talk about the most i think- because this is really fits c!tommy.  he tends to lash out alot, for example burning the flower c!ranboo gave him, there are a bunch more examples of this that include him yelling at others, that one time when he spleefed c!jack 

negative self-perception

yeah.  theres a few examples of this one, the one that first comes to mind is that time during the green festival where he was talking about how he was worse than everyone he didn’t wanna be (including his abuser, c!dream...) .  theres now when he was building his tower by the prison when he was saying he couldn’t use the cobble because it was too him, and people didnt like the cobble. alot of this i think comes from c!dream making him feel basically worthless in exile :(

difficulty with relationships

  Yeah. um.  Alot for this one!!! The first to come to mind is c!tubbo.  c!tommy and c!tubbos relationship is very very wonky, especially considering recent events with tommy feeling like he is being replaced with c!ranboo.  (which he isnt by the way! he just feels as though, which is a valid feeling for him to have :]) .  another person that comes to mind is c!ranboo.  he’s even mentioned how his and ranboos relationship goes back and forth quite alot.  its not very surprising to see that he has difficulty with relationships especially considering a lot of the reason that the exile affected him so badly was because he felt so alone and was so isolated from his friends.  another thing that comes to mind, is when he made c!sam sign that contract promising hat he’d be his best friend and protect him.  theres most likely way more that can be said here, but this is the first stuff that comes to mind.  

distorted reception of abuser

um... yeah.  this one.  this can also be described as , “ becoming preoccupied with the relationship between you and your abuser. It can also include preoccupation with revenge or giving your abuser complete power over your life. “  which is um.  yeah.  c!tommy.  he’s mentioned how whenever he’s around c!dream he feels like hes conditioned to be his friend (which. yea . he was .).  right after he left logstedshire this was very very prominent, he was the biggest c!dream apologist around (/j), saying things like “dream didnt do anything wrong” and even explaining how he wasnt sure about things when it comes to c!dream, that his mind became flip floppy whenever he thought about him.   right now, hes focused on getting back at c!dream, not fully for revenge, mainly for his friends and how he doesnt want c!dream to go around killing and reviving everyone, but the point still stands.  (this all makes me extra sad because he had gone to the prison the second time in the first place to get closure :(( )

loss of system of meanings

Systems of meaning refer to your religion or beliefs about the world.  This can also refer to getting a strong sense of hopelessness or despair about the world, which as of late mainly c!tommy seems to have.  mainly referencing in his stream where he visited dreams bunker, he was asking what the point was of finding things that made him happy if dream was just going to get out the prison and destroy it.  theres also a few things that also go with this, in one stream while he burnt down ponks lemon tree for sam nook he said  "thats still decaying, but yknow, arent we all." and that one time when he gave that hotel invitation to c!techno he was like “ahahha we could die tomorrow anyway” 

-

its also important to note that, “Any type of long-term trauma, over several months or years, can lead to CPTSD. However, it seems to appear frequently in people who’ve been abused by someone who was supposed to be their caregiver or protector. “ Which is.. fairly accurate in c!tommy’s situation.  c!dream might’ve not been a caregiver or protector necessarily but he was still someone that was looking after him yknow? 

there are most likely more things than what i layed out that show that c!tommy most likely also has cptsd, however this is just the stuff that i thought up :] add to the post if you’d like to!

(also this isn’t saying that c!tommy doesnt have ptsd, he had both ptsd and c-ptsd. also i am not an expert about ptsd, cptsd, or mental health in general, if i got any information wrong let me know)

[celeste-clearwater-06]

Hello! I was wondering if you could please write something about how the Fellowship (+ Thorin?) Would help a s/o who's Disabled and Chronically ill. Like she has a lot of symptoms like chronic pain, chronic fatigue, difficulty sleeping, difficulty breathing at times, difficulty walking at times, higher sensitivity to the cold, difficulty talking at times, and anxiety, depression and executive dysfunction?

I've been really struggling with my chronic illnesses lately, namely my Autism, Anxiety, Sleep Apnea, a really bad Overbite, Raynaud's Syndrome, Asthma, etc, so I'd really appreciate an Imagine like this. I have a really weird disorder where one of my legs is longer than the other, and it's been causing me a lot of pain and difficulty walking lately, and people have been bullying me for it a lot too, so I could really use a Comfort Imagine right now. Thanks so much hun!!

It's no problem! I'm glad I can provide some comfort!! For each character, I'll use a specific struggling area, to make it a bit easier!! I hope I got these accurate enough, and of there are any mistakes, feel free to point them out!! You are strong, beautiful and so, so amazing!! Keep being you!! ❤❤

Help (The Fellowship// Thorin x Fem!Reader)

Aragorn (Autism)

Aragorn has known you for a long time, so helping with your autism is not new for him

He's particularly experienced in reading your emotions and meeting your needs, whether it's helping you out of stressful situations or calming you down, he's there 🥺

If there are large and boisterous gatherings in Rivendell, its almost guaranteed that you can become over-stimulated quickly, and Aragorn immediately senses this (spidey senses õoõ)

He's fast to find your hand and give it a gentle squeeze of reassurance

If that doesn't seem to help, he'll instantly stop what he's doing and take you out of the room

If you're someone who prefers lots of space and little physical contact, he is 100% respectful of this and asks if you'll let him touch or hug you (very much gentleman 😌)

If ever you're confronted by someone of importance, Aragorn is right by your side to ease some of the tension

Sometimes there are things you find difficult to say or get out of your system

The king seems to know exactly what it is and will help you out by saying it or asking you simple questions that you can easily answer

And he always reminds you, no matter WHAT

YOU ARE NOT STUPID 😤😡

You may struggle with some parts of your life, but every day, he's constantly telling you that you're very intelligent and kind

His patience is unending and he'll never let you think down on yourself

Overall, Aragorn is always someone and reminding you that it's all going to be okay ❤❤

Legolas (Anxiety)

Most nights, Legolas keeps watch (since elves don't require much sleep) and notices that you jolt awake out of the random

Now, most of the Fellowship notices that you're usually awake and ready to go before anyone else

But Legolas is really the one to address you first

You were a bit nervous to explain, since you didn't want to worry him or the great of the fellowship, amount the other disadvantages you have

He gently encouraged you, and finally, you explained to him your sleep apnea

Yeah, he was very concerned

I mean, his blue eyes widened with terror when you told him that you could basically die in your sleep if you weren't attentive enough 🙃

Legolas, from now on, sleeps directly next to you, or keeps extra careful watch over you at night

Because he could NEVER see his precious mortal friend become injured... Or worse 🥺🥺❤

The other members had noticed a change in his behaviors towards you as well...

Gimli teased him whenever he caught Legolas giving you some extra lembas bread or offered to carry you 👉👈

You really tried to assure Legolas that it wasn't a big deal when you were awake, since you're aware of your breathing situation

But still 😤

Legolas will always bring you comfort and take great care of you, and that will NEVER CHANGE

Because he loves you very much ❤🦋

Frodo (Anxiety)

Frodo is familiar with the feeling of great anxiety, seeing he had a stress-free life while living in the Shire and suddenly was forced to carry a piece of jewelry all the way to giant ass volcano

It's easy for you two to comfort each other and seek refuge in thoughts and feelings ❤

He's not super comfortable with the thought of you having a panic attack though...

Only because he's never had one

It starts to give him a panic attack whenever you have one around him the first time 😳-

Any time you begin to breathe heavy or hyperventilate, halfling boy is hot at your heels, rubbing your back and reminding you to breathe gently

(So many hugs, if you're up for it)

After you calm down, he's constantly checking on you, asking if you need anything etc.

Really, he just wants to know if he can help 🥺

And even with the weight and stress of carrying the ring, Frodo manages to cheer you up somehow

Samwise (Asthma)

Sam has never had to deal with asthma once in his life

He's very nervous when the subject is brought, afraid it might trigger something inside of you 🥺👉👈

But you just chuckle, assure him that it's alright, and you have ways of keeping it under control

And now, he wants to know everything about it, just to have the awareness in case something happens

Sam just wants to protect you forever, and this was a great way for him to start

He constantly reminds Aragorn that you'll need breathing breaks and will convince Gandalf to let you ride on his horse

He'll scold Pip and Merry if they are trying to drag you around and be silly, because as he says

"You'll rouse him/her/them up! We can't have Y/N gettin injured!" 🤨😠

Sam is MOM

As always, he's very kind and always makes sure your needs are met ❤🥺

Pippin and Merry (Raynaud's Syndrome)

Very confused halfings 🤔

Also extremely concerned!

You were eating one of the lesser pleasurable nights

It was cold and rainy, and a fire couldn't be started, not to mention the quiet arguments of Aragorn and Gandalf in the nearby woods

And Pip's eyes widened when he saw the tips of your petite fingers begin to pale upon hearing Aragorn mention Orcs

"What's wrong with your hands?!" He squeaked, pointing towards your now white-colored fingertips

You hadn't even noticed, nor felt, considering they were numb anyways

Merry looked over his cousin's shoulder and his eyes also widened, not with fright, but wonder

They were both fascinated with your condition, convinced that you were casting some spell Gandalf showed you

Although you reassured them it was just an extremely frustrating inconvenience that you had, among other things

So from then on, the disastrobus duo did their best to keep you out of the cold (and stressful situations!!)

As a distraction, the pair will tell you great stories of the shire, doing little dances and skits that always cheer you up 🥴

Sometimes, they can be a little rambunctious though...

Merry will pick up on this fact quickly, and nudge Pippin to get him to calm down

Even though it may not feel the best

They find your syndrome absolutely fascinating!! 🤔🤔

All in all, these two are always up for keeping your beautiful smile on your face and your spirits high!! ❤🌺

Boromir (Depression)

Throughout the journey, Boromir has always found an easy way to make you smile

After all, he himself has a fascinating way of brightening anyone's spirits

Yours included ❤

Boromir may not have great stories from The Shire, like Pip and Merry, but he sure has a lot of positive things to say

He'll often suggest sparring with the two troublemaking halflings, just so you can see him goof up and get knocked over 🥺

If the nights become cold and weary, he'll give you a warm hug or a nudge on the shoulder

And a few words of helpful encouragement along the lines of;

"Don't fret Y/N. You have more strength than you'll ever know."

"Let our spirits never dampen! We've come this far!" 😊

He's also an incredible listener

Boromir wants to hear what you have to say if you ever need to rant or get something off of your chest

And don't think for a second that he would ever judge you 😤

Son of Gondor sees past all of your insecurities and knows you for your beautiful, amazing self ❤❤

Gimli (Walking disadvantages)

As you travel across great plains and mountains, your limp doesn't go unnoticed by Gimli

It may take him a while to open up about it, since he's afraid he might offend you in some way

And once he asks you, you inform him that it's a difficulty that unfortunately cannot be changed any time soon

And where you come from, lots of people tease and bully you about it

He did NOT handle it well 😳

"wHAT BLUBBERING DULL-MINDED PIGNUTS-" 🤬

Although this Dwarf is short and a bit slow at times

He's fascinatingly strong 😳

And so, he makes it his duty to be your designated carrier 🥺

At first, your a tad skeptical...

I mean, he's only around 4 feet tall...

BUT HAVE YOU SEEN HIM THROW THAT HUGE AX AROUND?!

Gimli will happily carry you great distances when you need a break, and even longer

(Sometimes it's just to show off around the others-)

"Gimli, are you sure you don't want a break?"

"Aye lass! The strength of Dwarves is unending!" 😌

*struggling to breathe*

11/10, fantastic dwarf, will never let you down!!

Thorin (Executive Dysfunction)

Another Dwarf??

Absolutely

Thorin himself has trouble keeping composure with his time management (and sense of direction 🙄)

This means that he'll have an undying amount of patience for you and you only

There's just something about you that he fond of, and it fills in that little sassy, brooding place in his heart

Can also relate to you whenever you grow frustrated at the setback of your journey or lack of sleep

Is 100% willing to help you find your lost belongings (and once again, ONLY YOU)

Thorin will literally make the whole traveling party stop so that you can put something in your bag and make sure that you put it somewhere you'll remember

Always happy to give you extra gentle reminders of keeping your pack closed

The company is utterly SHOCKED with how he treats you

I mean, this man has always been extremely stubborn and hard headed

But when you show up, it's another person he can easily relate and share frustrations with

Also a master at organization?!? 🤔

The one thing he could do successfully was organizing the damn journey and traveling company, so ofc he's gonna be good at that 😂

Yeah, Thorin definitely has a soft spot for you

King under the mountain will never run out of patience and kindness for you 😌💙

Sorry these took so long!! I hope you like them!! ❤❤

[darthfrodophantom]

Ectoberhaunt Day 5: Ouija Board

Summary: To get into the spooky season spirit, Tucker and Sam convince Danny to play a video game late at night, and Danny isn’t pleased about the subject of the video game.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/34303123 

Too Close to Home

“Let me get this straight,” Danny interrupted. “I fight ghosts - real ghosts - on a nightly basis. And now that I actually have a free night you want to take up the time that I should be sleeping to fight fake ghosts?”

He shook his head as he looked at his computer screen, the only light in his entire bedroom aside from the digital clock that showed the hour: 11:45. From the first-person view of the computer game on his screen, he watched the avatars of both of his friends attempt to throw basketballs into a hoop.

“But this is way more fun,” Tucker’s voice said over Danny’s headset. “And it hurts a lot less! Ah! Dang it Sam - you messed up my throw!”

Sam cackled triumphantly. “Better pay more attention to your timing then.”

Tucker groaned as his avatar abandoned the basketball for spray paint cans, which he chucked at Sam. “Besides Danny, we’re not fighting ghosts: we’re hunting them.”

“Fine, fight, hunt, whatever. I still do both of them,” Danny argued.

“Not like this you don’t,” Tucker grinned. “God he’s gonna get creamed.”

“You know Danny, maybe we should let you go to bed. You’re gonna ruin my perfect streak,” Sam teased.

Danny rolled his eyes. “Or maybe you’ll actually do better because you have a true ghost hunting professional on the team,” he defended. He had no idea why he was bragging - he’d just been given an out and given the late hour he should take it, but now it felt like he needed to defend his pride as a ghost hunter. …That thought sounded a little too similar to something his parents would say and he quickly dismissed it. “Besides, I played the tutorial, I know what I’m doing. I’m just trying to figure out why we’re doing this.”

“Because it’s spooky season,” Tucker replied with a hint of sarcasm.

“We are only five days into October, Tucker, and if you’re gonna keep doing this all month I am going to hit you with the Fenton Anti-Creep Stick,” Sam threatened.

“I dunno, it might be worth it,” Tucker teased. “What do you think Danny?”

Danny shook his head, even though none of them could see it. “As the only person in this group who has actually been hit by the Fenton Anti-Creep Stick, I would back off,” he advised.

“Listen to Danny Tucker,” Sam chuckled as her avatar walked over to the white board to set up the hunt. “He’s actually speaking wisdom for once. Now come over here and pick out your gear.”

The playful teasing between best friends stopped as they actually got serious and picked out the gear they would need for their mission. Since Danny had no money, he couldn’t really participate in the conversation, but it seemed like Tucker and Sam had played this enough to know what they needed to bring. Sam started the mission, and their avatars found themselves inside the trailer looking at another whiteboard.

“Alright, looks like our ghost is named Thomas Clark and he responds to all of us,” Sam informed the group while Tucker’s avatar walked over to the shelves to equip supplies.

“Well that’s a dumb name for a ghost,” Danny complained as he looked at the bulletin board next to the computer. He had to squint at his screen to read them, but the articles were fairly legible and contained ghost stories he remembered hearing his parents talk about. It also had a recent article that he actually remembered running in USA Today proclaiming Amity Park as the most haunted city in the world - he didn’t know whether to feel proud or annoyed.

“Yeah, you’re right,” Sam agreed, though her voice was laced with sarcasm. “He should have gone with Thomas Phantom instead.”

Danny rolled his eyes as Tucker burst out laughing. “Oh yeah, now that sounds like a proper ghost,” Tucker added between laughs.

“I knew I was going to hate this,” Danny groaned under his breath. “Can we just get this over with?”

Sam’s avatar turned to face the new whiteboard. “Alright, fine. Objective one: find out what kind of ghost we’re dealing with - standard. Objective two: witness a ghost event.”

“I am a ghost event,” Danny smirked, causing Tucker to burst out laughing again.

“Objective three,” Sam snapped, “capture a photo of the ghost.”

Tucker’s avatar grabbed a camera and snapped a picture of Danny’s avatar. “Got one!” he proclaimed, which drove both boys into laughter.

“Objective four,” Sam said louder, “get a ghost to walk through salt.”

“What? That’s dumb. Everyone knows that’s an old wive’s tale,” Danny complained as he shook his head. Did the creators of this game actually do any real research before they made this game?

“Are you regretting this yet Sam?” Tucker asked as he finally stopped laughing.

“Let’s just get in the house,” she groaned. Danny smirked in triumph, and he could tell Tucker was sharing a similar smirk on his end.

They divided up equipment between the three of them, but not before Danny could comment on the inaccuracies of each of the pieces of equipment and how useless they’d be in an actual ghost fight. From faulty science to just being plain incorrect, Danny made sure to have pithy comments about all the equipment. He didn’t know why it bothered him so much that it had to be accurate - he was not his parents - but as a ghost and a ghost hunter, it just felt a little more personal than he wanted to admit.

Because he was the newest one, Danny got stuck with the Spirit Book (“What? Are they trying to imply all ghosts can’t write? That’s alivist!”) and the EMF Reader (“...Okay that one’s actually accurate”) because they were apparently the easiest to use. Laden down with their gear they walked up to the small house. Sam’s avatar unlocked the door and they headed inside. Danny noticed the tonal shift immediately. Outside he could hear wind and crickets chirping, but once he stepped inside the doorway, an oppressive silence covered his headphones. It reminded him of the sensation on a pressurised airplane and it unnerved and unsettled him...a lot more than he planned to admit to his friends.

“Alright, spread out,” Sam instructed. “See if you can find the ghost room.”

Ghost room, right. He remembered that from the tutorial. It had been the garage in the tutorial, so he figured he should start there. He walked back through the dark house, turning lights on as he went. It wasn’t because he was scared - absolutely not, he was a real ghost hunter! - it was just much easier to see. He pulled out the EMF reader and walked into the garage. It had an eerie quality to it, and he couldn’t tell if it was because he remembered seeing the ghost there last time (a mean looking (and inaccurate) ghost covered in blood and holding an axe) or if it was because he was alone and the room was so large, but he did not like being in here.

“You know, in the tutorial, the ghost was a bloody axe-man,” Danny remarked over the walkie talkie.

“Yeah, I think he’s standard in the tutorial,” Sam remarked offhand. He did not want to admit how good it felt to hear her voice in the oppressive silence of the house. They were clearly focused on their tasks, and that was a good thing, but it felt a lot better hearing their voices.

“Red blood,” he continued, simply to trigger more conversation. He didn’t get any EMF readings, so he gratefully left the garage. “Not ectoplasm. It’s like they didn’t even try.”

“Ugh, Danny, they’re going for a horror aesthetic, not something real,” Sam sighed.

“What? Ectoplasm-stains are horrifying,” he countered as he walked through the rest of the first story. Still no EMF readings.

“Only when it’s yours,” Sam said, and the weight of those words echoed in the silence of the house that made him stop moving for a moment. “No cold spots upstairs,” Sam informed them to break the silence.

“Yeah, no EMF downstairs,” Danny added. “I’m gonna check out the basement.” That’s where they loved to hang out in the real world, so it seemed the next best choice.

“Oh hang on, if you’re going down there I’ll go with you,” Tucker spoke up.

Danny stopped halfway down the stairs. “It’s fine, I’m pretty used to basements,” he joked weaky.

“Yeah, well the last time you went into a basement alone with untested ghost equipment you died.” Tucker said it light-heartedly as a joke, and it was one they’d said a bunch of times before, but somehow it just didn’t feel the same in this tense environment. It felt too...personal.

He waited for Tucker’s avatar to appear before they walked down the stairs together into the basement. Unlike Sam’s basement or his own, this basement had a much creepier feel to it, with the foreboding worn brick walls and discolored cement flooring. Honestly he was glad Tucker went down there with him because it just felt better having another person there.

“Sam, maybe you should get down here with the thermometer,” Tucker mentioned as they both walked through the basement. “Because we’re not--”

Danny whirled around as he heard something thud hard against the ground behind him while he jumped in his chair. The EMF reader in his hand jumped up to three dots and blared at them while he stared at a box of tools now on the ground. The ghost was clearly in the room. Danny half-expected his ghost sense to go off, but he had to remind himself it was just a video game. There wasn’t actually a ghost here.

“What happened?” Sam’s urgent voice said over the walkies.

“Ghost knocked something off the shelf down here,” Tucker said as his avatar walked over to the toolbox. “Ooh! We’ve got fingerprints!” he cheered as his avatar shined a light on a glowing handprint.

“Oh that’s so not how that works,” Danny complained, just to help lighten the mood. Honestly he felt a bit jumpy knowing that the ghost was in the room...and he couldn’t sense him. He’d dealt with invisible ghosts before, but his ghost sense always gave him a vague idea of where they were...except for now. He turned in his chair to check the room behind him. No ghosts, no ghost sense. It’s just in the computer game.

“Figures that the ghost would be in the basement,” Sam remarked as her avatar walked down the stairs and opened her journal. Right! Journal. Danny opened his and placed their one piece of evidence inside. The sooner they got all of those the sooner they could leave, and he really liked that idea.

“I’m not seeing freezing temperatures, but it is a little cooler than the rest of the house,” she continued. “So let’s start setting stuff up in here. Tucker get the DOTS up and I’ll place the camera. Danny place the spirit book.”

Okay, this wasn’t so bad with the three of them in the room. He could hear them moving around and he could see them, so it made him feel a bit better. And there was still no sign of the ghost. He put the spirit book down near the toolbox and looked away from it. Maybe the ghost wouldn’t write in it while he was watching? He didn’t know.

“Ooh!” Tucker cried excitedly.

“Did you see it in the DOTS?” Sam asked.

“No - Ouija board! Oh yeah!” Tucker cheered. “Now we’re getting somewhere.”

“Oh I love these,” Sam agreed. Danny’s brow furrowed as he looked at the screen. Why were they acting so happy - didn’t they forget there was a ghost in this room with them?

“Hang on, let Danny try the Ouija board,” Tucker suggested. “You know, because he’s never seen it before.”

“Ooh good idea,” Sam agreed. Danny walked over to where they were and saw Sam’s avatar set down a light brown board.

“Yeah, I’m pretty sus about your motives right now,” Danny said. He had a bad feeling about this...

“No Danny, it’s fine. These are actually pretty cool in this game,” Sam assured him. She quickly explained how the Ouija boards worked in the game and what questions to ask, and against his better judgment, he walked over and activated the board. The numbers and letters glowed orange against the light color of the wood.

He decided to start with something easy, so he swallowed and forced his voice to come out clear. “How old are you?” He jumped in his chair and his avatar backed up quickly as the planchette moved across the letters.

“Y - O - U - N - G,” Tucker read. “A young ghost.”

“Oh God, I hope that doesn’t mean it’s the crawling baby ghost,” Sam sighed. “I really hate that one.”

“Ask it something else,” Tucker encouraged.

“I don’t know,” Danny hedged. For some reason the Ouija board set him on edge. Something deep in his gut did not like this. Even if it wasn’t real and he kept telling himself it wasn’t real, he didn’t like it.

“No dude, it’s okay,” he assured him. “You can ask two questions before a significant sanity drop. Just ask it one more and you can go back to the truck.”

He very much wanted to go back to the truck. He just needed a chance to regroup. He was a ghost and fought ghosts for a living and he could not understand why this game unnerved him so much. But Danny Phantom wasn’t scared of ghosts, any kind of ghosts, and he wasn’t about to show it on a video game. “Fine,” he groaned as he picked up the board again. “Who died?”

This time he knew what to expect, and didn’t jump as much as the planchette started moving. First to the D, then to the A. Over to the N, then looping back to the N. It ended on a Y.

All three of them stopped moving. The silence became even more deafening around them. Danny dropped the Ouija board and backed up as far as the game would let him. He felt a cold sweat drip down his back. Danny. It spelled Danny. How did it know his name?

“...That has got to be a coincidence,” Sam finally said after the silence that seemed to stretch on forever.

“The ghost’s name must be Danny,” Tucker suggested, voice full of forced bravado.

“...No it’s Thomas,” Sam said slowly. “It must just be reading your username to scare you,” she decided.

“No my...my username is GhostBoy,” Danny reminded them, finally feeling like he could speak.

“Is this game actually haunted? Danny, what did you do?” Tucker accused, voice bordering on hysterics.

“What? I didn’t do anything!” Danny yelled back. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest. He put a hand up to feel his breath - still normal temperature. He looked around his room. There wasn’t a ghost here. But how did it know his name? And that he did almost die in a basement? “You’re the one that told me to use it!”

“Okay, let’s just calm down,” Sam interrupted. “It’s gotta be a coincidence. Let me try it and see if it says the same thing or gives me my name. It could be a new update that checks the name on the Steam account or something.”

Sam moved closer to the board, but before she could touch it all their flashlights flickered.

“Shit!” Tucker yelled.

“Run!” Sam cried in a panic.

Danny followed them up the stairs to the main level. The idea of running from a ghost, not fighting it, was so foreign to him, but he had no choice. He was powerless here. No ghost powers, no weapons, no thermos. He was completely helpless against this ghost.

He bolted for the garage, the one other room he knew how to get to. Sam’s avatar was running next to him. He could hear footsteps behind him and he swore as he ran towards the garage. Sam diverted into another room, but he continued into the garage. He found a locker he’d opened before and rushed into it. He barely remembered to turn off his flashlight and he waited. Seconds passed and he realized he was holding his breath. No...not holding his breath. Not breathing. He looked down at his hands and saw the glowing white gloves. When...when did he change into his ghost form?

Sam’s voice over the walkie startled him. “What the--? Oh my G--” The walkie feed cut to static and then nothing.

“I...I think it got Sam,” Tucker’s voice said over the walkie. Danny turned on his flashlight and saw that it was no longer blinking. He threw his head back in relief. The hunt was over. He climbed back out of his locker, keeping the door open again just in case.

“Dude, she was running right next to me. It must have followed her instead of me,” Danny told him. “Ugh, well what are we going to do now? She’s the only one who knew what she was doing!”

“Wait, I thought you would be a pro because you’re a ‘professional ghost hunter’ - isn’t that what you kept saying?” Tucker teased.

“Yeah, well I lied! This is nothing like ghost hunting!” he argued as he walked out of the garage. He was going back to the trailer. “Real ghost hunters would bring some kind of weapon and wouldn’t just run around helpless! We should just call it.”

“What? No! We’ve got two more pieces of evidence to collect. And we haven’t done any of the objectives! Tucker retorted.

“Fine!” he snapped as he walked down the main hallway. “if you want to keep looking for clues you can, but I’m going back to the trailer to check--”

The front door slammed shut. His flashlight blinked again.

“Shit!” Tucker cried.

Danny could hear the footsteps behind him. He could feel a heart thumping in his headset. He started running off to a room but stopped. No, he was not running again. He was going to stare this ghost down and prove that Danny Phantom was not scared of some ghost. His image struck fear in the hearts of ghosts and his name carried respect in the Ghost Zone. He was not going to let some video game ghost get the better of him and spook him with some Ouija board trick.

He turned around to face it, camera at the ready. If he was going down, he was getting a picture of it. The ghost blinked in the hallway and Danny saw the cause of his anxiety for the first time. The ghost floated down the hallway, with white hair and a black and white jumpsuit. It...it was him. The ghost was Phantom.

He completely forgot to take a picture as his own image rushed at him. He saw two gloved hands cover over the screen and then everything went dark. He heard the crash of breaking glass, saw a strange underground cavern for a second, and then he was back in a foggy blue version of the house.

The ghost of Sam’s avatar approached him, and he heard her laughing over the headset. It sounded like she’d been laughing for awhile. “Oh my god Danny, did you see the ghost?” she asked between laughs.

“It...that was...oh my God,” he groaned. It all made sense. Spelling Danny was likely an Easter egg, a cute nod to his name of Danny Phantom. The fact that it happened in the basement was just a coincidence, because it’s a creepy spot and a commonly haunted area. He hadn’t summoned anything. He wasn’t being targeted by some ghost in the computer. It was just an Easter egg paying homage to him.

Suddenly all the stress left him and he laughed. God, it felt so good to laugh after all that panic. This game had gotten him so worked up and over what? Over a ghost that looked like himself? Suddenly it all seemed so silly that it scared him that much. He had felt actual dread and fear, enough to trigger an unconscious transformation out of a need to protect himself, but there weren’t actually any real consequences. Now he just got to walk around unhindered in this ghostly version of the house, but nothing else actually happened.

Sam laughed along with Danny. “So you did see it then?”

“It was...oh my god Sam it was me! It looked just like me!”

“I know!” she exclaimed. “As soon as I saw it I forgot to keep running and stared. So of course it killed me. I did get a picture though,” she bragged.

“Oh man. I meant to, but I was just too stunned.” Now that he felt much better, he decided to wander around the house following Tucker who, for some reason, was still trying to finish the level on his own.

Sam suspiciously stopped her laughing. “Wait...Danny, your voice sounds weird. Are you...are you in your ghost form?”

Danny bit his lip as a slight blush graced his cheeks. “I don’t want to hear it.” But the telltale whoosh of the glowing rings turning him back to his human form seemed to be all the confirmation she needed. Except, he didn’t hear her laugh.

“...Danny, I wanted to apologize,” she said, and that made Danny stop moving and look quizzically at the screen.

“What? Apologize for what?” he asked.

“For goading you into playing this game,” she clarified, her voice surprisingly serious. “While I’ve been hanging out here in the spirit world, I realized why this game set you off so much.”

“What do you mean? I never said it set me off,” Danny defended. How could she possibly know that? He thought he was playing it pretty cool.

“Oh please,” she scoffed. “You’re in your ghost form and you were panicking after the Ouija board thing.”

“Hey you would panic too if--”

“Danny I’m trying to say that I get it,” she interrupted. “Being near a ghost without your powers? Without any weapons? Being powerless? It’s one of your biggest nightmares, that your powers will fail when you need them. And this game, it’s too close to home.”

Danny stopped moving and stared at the screen, because she was absolutely right. This was too close to home. How many times did he have to check to make sure his ghost sense wasn’t actually going off? How many times did he keep thinking about how similar everything felt to his own experiences? How unnerved he was about a ghost in the basement? It was too similar to his real life...except he had the tools he needed in his real life. Not a flashlight and some dumb spirit book, but actual real tools and powers and weapons, but here they were all taken away from him. Everything he relied on to fight ghosts had been stripped from him in the game and trapped him helpless in a house with his friends. Of course that bothered him. It was, as Sam said, one of his more recurring nightmares.

“...Yeah I think I’m good never playing this game again,” Danny admitted, the closest he planned to get to acknowledging everything she said was true.

“Honestly? I don’t blame you,” Sam agreed softly. “I think it’s easier for us because we’re used to this role: when there’s a ghost in the area, we help figure out what’s going on and support you. It’s not all that different from this game,” she explained. Her ghostly avatar followed Tucker out of the house and he followed after them. “But when you’re used to doing the fighting and defending and can’t...I guess it’s probably harder to separate yourself from the game.”

He reached behind him and rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeah,” he sighed. As much as he hated to admit it, she was right. It was too similar to his daily life, and as he tried to argue at the beginning, he didn’t need to hunt fake ghosts poorly when he knew how to fight real ghosts well. “You know you sound like Jazz,” he pointed out, trying to lighten the mood and change the subject.

“Wow, you’re going to insult me after I tried to help you?” Sam scoffed. “See if I ever help you again!”

Danny smiled at the screen, glad to be back to the teasing. He definitely felt more relaxed and more like himself. “Oh look, Tucker’s finally calling it quits,” Danny observed as Tucker closed the door to the trailer.

“God, I can’t wait to find out if he saw you.” He could hear her grinning through the headset and honestly he felt the same. Out of all of them, Tucker would be the most excited about this addition.

The screen changed over to the menu screen, showing all their accomplished objectives. It also meant that all three party members could talk to each other again. “I can’t believe you left me!” Tucker complained. “It’s even worse when you’re in there on your own! Do you know how much more evidence we needed to collect? Um, a ton!”

Sam laughed, and Danny had to join in. “Okay so we are sorry about that, but Tucker did you ever see the ghost?”

“No, which is probably why I’m the only one that survived!” he complained.

“Oh my god Sam, he didn’t see it,” Danny groaned.

“Oh my god.”

“No wait, didn’t see what?” Tucker asked. His voice had calmed down a bit and was colored with curiosity.

“Tucker...the ghost was Danny,” Sam told him.

“Uh no, we clarified his name was Thomas,” Tucker corrected.

Sam and Danny both groaned. “No Tucker, the ghost was Danny Phantom. It was skinned to look like Phantom,” she clarified.

Tucker’s line sat silent for a long time before he finally exploded in a shower of shock, excitement, and regret. “NO WAY! No! That is so cool! I mean I knew the developers were fans, but this is so cool! Like literally the best tribute ever. Oh my god I can’t believe I missed it! No!” he cried. He was so loud into the microphone that Danny had a hard time believing Tucker didn’t wake his parents.

“It’s why both of us died,” Danny explained. “We were just too shocked seeing it.”

“We’re going back in. I need to see this,” Tucker demanded.

Danny bit his lip. He was not going back in. He meant it when he said he was done. He almost had his explanation on his lips before Sam spoke up first. “I doubt it’ll show up two times in a row. I Googled it and the skin will be here for the whole month of Halloween as a random draw, so you’ve got time to see it. But if you want to try again tonight, I’ll keep playing if you want. Danny...he needs to get some sleep.”

“What? No, it's so much easier with three people. Come on Danny,” Tucker pleaded.

“Nah, Sam’s right, I should go to bed. Gotta be rested for those real ghosts tomorrow,” Danny chuckled. “Besides, being killed by my own image was a little weird.” And also a little too close to home, considering some of his memories of Dan.

“Yeah, this game isn’t Danny’s jam,” Sam explained simply. He had a feeling Sam would talk to Tucker more about what they discussed while their avatars were dead, and honestly he didn’t mind. He didn’t want to keep secrets from Tucker, he just really didn’t want to talk about it any more tonight.

Tucker sighed. “Alright, fine, you’re off the hook. At least you gave it a try though.”

“I did, and you’re both gonna owe me one for doing it too,” Danny reminded them.

“Dude, pretty sure you’re in the negatives when it comes to IOUs from us,” Tucker pointed out with a good-natured laugh. “Testing out inventions, excuses at school, doing your homework, remembering the thermos when you forget it, distracting your parents…”

“Okay okay, I get it,” Danny groaned as he left the screen and exited out of the game. “Well fine, then I’m less in the negative now. And on that happy subject, I’m going to bed. Good night guys.”

“Good night Danny,” Sam replied. “We’ll see you tomorrow.”

Danny almost hung up on their private Discord server when he heard Tucker speak up. “Hey Danny, wait.”

“What?” he asked curiously, his mouse still hovering over the disconnect sign.

“The type of ghost...was a Phantom.”

I’ve never cross-posted on tumblr before, so this will be a first! I hope you enjoy!

[ifmywishescametrue]

i don't know if you're still taking prompts (so please ignore this if you aren't) but i cant stop thinking about your recent buckytony fic (and how much i love breaking up and making up as a trope) - so i was wondering if you'd be up for doing smth else w that trope for buckytony?? maybe they re-unite at a mutual friend's wedding?? and it brings up emotions about their almost wedding?? idk i just really love breaking up and making up as a trope and i really love your writing :))

thank you!! I'm very much up for doing another buckytony break up/make up, plus you deserve nice things for finishing law school - congrats on that!🎉🎉hope you like this one 😊

There's a ring on Bucky's finger.

It's the first thing Tony notices when he walks into the bar for Natasha and Sharon's joint bachelorette party. He stands there in the doorway, frozen and staring until someone clears their throat pointedly behind him, and he mumbles an apology as he moves out of the way.

He thinks about turning around and not coming back, just ditching the event entirely and maybe even the wedding tomorrow, but he tosses the ridiculous thought the second it comes. He promised Sharon when she asked him to be her man of honor that he could handle Bucky being Nat's. Living on the other side of the country afforded him to miss the rest of the events and planning along the way, and he could deal with one day of being cordial to his ex, even if the day comes with walking down an aisle together.

But now there's a ring on Bucky's finger.

The silver catches the light, and it's on prominent display with his left hand wrapped around a beer bottle. It shouldn't be possible for him to have moved on that quickly. Eight months shouldn't be long enough to bury three years of memories. Three years of hopes and dreams and plans for a future built together. Years of love so blindingly intense that it burrowed into Tony's soul to make a home and refused to be evicted just because it was supposed to be over.

Tony wonders what the timeline is. Did he find someone new while Tony was still just beginning to pick up his own scattered pieces? A first date for him while Tony was barely getting out of bed. When was it that he replaced Tony as the last person to have his heart? And how did he find forever in someone else so soon after losing the one he used to call his soulmate?

Natasha notices him first, still hovering near the entrance, and she raises a single eyebrow that calls him a coward. He rolls his eyes at the accusation, though it's accurate. She elbows Sharon to catch her attention, and before he knows it the entire small group is turning their heads his way, giving him no choice but to join them.

It's less bachelorette party and more pre-wedding celebration with the crowd they've gathered, all mutual friends of both brides with no regards for gender traditions that usually come with this night. Tony used to fit in well with them all, back when gatherings like this were just a typical Friday night. But he made himself an outsider between the move to California and the breakup with Bucky. All he has now with most of them is a dead group chat that hasn't been used in months. He wonders which one of them made the new one without him in it.

Sharon is the first to pull him into a hug, then Natasha follows suit. He gets a nod from Sam, a wave from Clint, and what might pass as a smile from Steve. Bucky stares so intensely that Tony can feel his eyes with his back turned, but when Tony looks his way, he pretends to be interested in the floor.

He had a plan before the ring threw him off. Step one should have been the entrance. Head held high, shoulders square, perfect outfit that shows everything off and compliments the Malibu tan he has now. Step two should be nonchalance. A light hearted greeting to everyone, accompanied by an easy grin and relaxed body language, and catching up with subtle brags slipped in. Show them all that he's doing better than he ever was, sitting on top of the world these days, even if most of the time it feels like he's barely above rock bottom.

Step three in his ideal scenario involved Bucky breaking down and begging to get him back. Some versions even had him on his knees for it, with tears running down his face. Others required it to be raining outside, and the cloudless sky ruined that before the ring on Bucky's finger did.

With steps one and three out the window, he tries to salvage step two.

“Hey,” Tony starts, a little too loud. He swallows the lump in his throat and tries again, “Hey, Bucky. It's good to see you.”

Bucky nods, a strained, jerky motion. “Yeah, you too. How, uh, how have you been?”

“Good. Really good, actually. Company just had its highest sales quarter yet, so it’s been a little crazy around there, but good.”

“Good,” Bucky repeats, and there’s a long awkward pause.

“And what about you?” Tony asks, and then because he can’t help himself, he adds, “I see you got engaged. Or, hell, I guess it could be married, even.”

Bucky freezes with parted lips and wide eyes for the briefest of moments, like he wasn’t expecting Tony to know about it or bring it up, and his eyes shift to the ring on his hand and stay there.

“Yeah,” he says slowly. “Engaged. Last week.”

Tony ignores the ache in his chest and plasters on a smile like he’s happy for him. “Congratulations. Who’s the lucky guy?”

“Oh, you wouldn’t know him. Steve introduced us. They work together.”

“So he’s at the museum then? I thought you used to say that you hated all those stuffy guys and Steve was the only one worth knowing.”

Bucky smiles, a fond thing that widens the crack in Tony’s heart. “Yeah, well, I guess I was wrong. Felix is a great guy.”

Tony resists the urge to roll his eyes. Stupid name that probably matches a stupid, punchable face.

Some masochist thing pulls at him to make him keep digging for more information, a twisted need to know even as each word pushes the knife in deeper. He aims for casual, leaning back against one of the high top tables as he asks, “So how long have you been together?”

“Just a couple of months. Kind of fast, I know, but when you’re sure about something, it doesn’t really matter, right? Why waste time waiting?”

“Right, of course,” Tony says, a little flatter than he intends. “So why isn’t he here tonight? Hope it wasn’t to spare my feelings, because it’s really not necessary.”

Bucky falters, “It’s not? You, uh, you’re dating someone, then?”

Tony nods, and he wishes he had grabbed a drink before this so he could hide behind it as he lies through his teeth. “Only a few weeks, though. A little too early to be a wedding date, but I’m sure your guy will be there tomorrow right?”

“Oh, um, yeah, definitely. Why wouldn’t he be, right? There’s no reason I can think of,” Bucky says, stumbling around it. “But tell me more about your thing. Your person. How’s that going?”

Tony shrugs, and he finally pulls off that easy smile he’s been trying for. “Well, it’s not get engaged in a couple of months good, but it’s been really great. We’re taking it slow. Trying not to rush anything and just get to know each other first. I think it could really be something, though.”

“That’s good,” Bucky mumbles. “You deserve something good.”

He isn’t meeting Tony’s eyes anymore, almost like he’s upset that Tony moved on, and the vindictive part of Tony wants to be happy about it, but another part wants to be angry because it isn’t fair. It’s not fair to act like Tony should stay stuck in time, forever longing for him when he already moved on with someone else first. It’s hypocritical and selfish, even if Tony is lying about there being anyone else.

“Well, I’m gonna go get a drink,” Tony says, pushing down every feeling. “Should catch up with everyone else, too, while I’m at it. I’ll talk to you later.”

He heads over to the bar and isn’t surprised when Sharon joins him a moment later, right after he orders a double shot of whiskey. She puts an arm around his shoulder and asks, “Are you okay?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” Tony laughs, running a hand through his hair. “My ex is engaged to somebody else and apparently doing really fucking well. Meanwhile, I’m making up fake boyfriends that I’m taking it slow with, because last week I went on my first real date in eight months and cried in the bathroom in the middle of it. And then, at the end of the night, he literally told me to my face that he didn’t think a second date was a good idea. We weren’t even talking about it, Sharon. He said it unprompted when we were still ten minutes from his apartment, and I was driving.”

Sharon nods slowly as she processes the rant. “He told you he got engaged?”

“Yeah, thanks for not telling me, by the way. It was really fun to get blindsided by it.”

She ignores the complaint to ask, “What else did he tell you, exactly?”

“Oh, just the whole line about how you know when you know, and Felix is such a great guy, and all that bullshit.”

“Felix,” Sharon repeats.

Tony knocks back the rest of his drink and orders another. “Please tell me he’s not better looking than me. Tell me it’s a downgrade. Don’t lie, because I know I have to meet him tomorrow, but please give me something that will make this better.”

“Well, I can guarantee he’s not as attractive as you. But he’s a little too perfect, you know? Like how could this guy possibly be real, he’s so unbelievably perfect,” Sharon says.

“I told you to make me feel better, not worse.”

Sharon shakes her head with a smile, the arm around him tightening into an approximation of hug. “I wouldn’t worry about it too much. I don’t think they’re going to last. He’s kind of flaky, too. Always cancelling at the last minute and all that. Bet he won’t even show tomorrow.”

The amusement on her face that she’s failing to hide confuses him. He’s starting to feel bad, though, for making the night about him when it should be about her and Nat.

Resolving not to dwell on it anymore, he squeezes the hand on his shoulder and says, “Alright, enough sad drinking, and definitely enough about me. We’re celebrating you and Nat and a lifetime of sickeningly wonderful happiness for both of you.”

Sharon grins, “Hell yeah, we are.”

“Shots?”

“Is that even a question?”

_____________

He wakes up with a headache and hazy memories. Shots of tequila that turned into shots of vodka when Nat got involved, then Clint’s terrible suggestion to try a shot of every liquor they had to offer. He vaguely remembers the round of toasts and drunken impromptu speeches from everyone, locking eyes with Bucky and failing to look away on both their parts. There’s a blur of wandering hands and heated, messy kisses. A bathroom stall turned into a cab ride which turned into his hotel room. He knows what he’ll find next to him when he opens his eyes, and guilt comes in full force.

“I know you’re awake,” Bucky says, voice still rough with sleep. It used to be Tony’s favorite sound in the world. “And I know we’re both sorry about what happened, but pretending to be asleep isn’t fixing nothin’.”

Tony shifts over to his back, and if there was any question before about what happened between them, the all too familiar ache in his body would answer it. He stares up at the ceiling to avoid the acres of bare skin on display next to him.

“You should probably leave,” Tony says to the walls. “I’m sure your fiancé is wondering where you are.”

“I doubt it.”

Tony puts an arm over his eyes, partly to block out the light that makes them ache and partly to hide his face. “Just go, okay? It was a mistake, and it won’t happen again, and we don’t have to talk about it.”

“Was it a mistake?” Bucky asks. “It didn’t feel like one to me.”

He doesn’t answer, and it’s soft and broken when Bucky says his name. Too much for him to handle.

Tony pushes back the blankets and searches for Bucky’s clothes in the mess they’ve made. He finds the shirt first and throws it at him. “You’re engaged, which means it was a mistake.”

His boxers are on the back of the couch, jeans right in front of the door, and they join the pile on Bucky’s lap. “You promised the rest of your life to somebody else, and I’m pretty sure fidelity is supposed to go with that.”

He tosses a shoe in the general direction of the bed, and it hits the nightstand with a loud thud. The second shoe is still in his hand when Bucky gets up and walks over to him, taking it and letting it drop to the floor.

His eyes hold a level of intensity that Tony has spent months dreaming about, and Tony couldn’t look away or move from this spot even if he tried.

“Felix isn’t real,” Bucky says. “I made him up when you asked, because I didn’t want to tell you the truth that I haven’t moved on in the slightest. That I’m so pathetic that I’ve spent the last eight months wearing an engagement ring that I bought for a guy who doesn’t love me anymore because I don’t know how to let him go.”

Tony stops breathing. “What?”

Bucky slides the ring from his finger, holding it between them so Tony can see the inscription. Always yours. He can’t remember the last time he heard the words get spoken.

“When?” Tony asks hoarsely. “When did you get that and why didn’t you ever ask me?”

“About a year ago,” Bucky says, slipping it back on his own finger. He sits back on the edge of the bed and stares down at it, twisting it around. “I thought about doing it on your birthday, but Nat and Sharon had just gotten engaged the week before and I didn’t want to take anything away from them. You were working a lot of late nights after that, and I thought it would be better to wait until things slowed down. You were so tired all the time, and you deserved a better proposal than when you’re falling asleep in the middle of dinner. It never slowed down, though. And then you got that big promotion and somehow we fell apart instead. If I’m honest, I still don’t really know how. One minute I’m getting ready to come with you, and the next you’re telling me not to bother.”

Tony sits down next to him, shoulders touching, and he pulls Bucky’s left hand into his. “You didn’t really want to go.”

“That’s not true,” Bucky says, but Tony shakes his head.

“All you talked about was how much you would miss New York. How much you’d miss your friends and your family and your job. Every day, everywhere we went. Even the fucking hot dog stands got sonnets about them. It really didn’t take a genius to figure out that you weren’t exactly looking forward to leaving.”

“I still would have gone for you,” Bucky argues. “I told you I would go anywhere with you, if it was what you wanted.”

“And then what? You move with me, and you’re miserable all the time, because my job never slows down so I’m still not around as much as you want, except now it’s compounded because you’re in a city that you hate with no one else that you know. You resent me for making you go, and the outcome is the same in the end either way.”

“Or I move with you, and I finally ask you to marry me like I’ve wanted to since almost the day we met. I find new friends and a new job, and even if it’s not perfect, it’s still worth it because at the end of the day I have a husband coming home to me.”

Tony runs his thumb over the ring and murmurs, “I wanted you to be happy. I didn’t think I could do that for you anymore.”

Bucky cups his cheek, tilting his head up to meet his eyes. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but baby, you’re an idiot.”

“Oh, thanks,” Tony laughs.

“You’re my idiot, if that helps.”

Tony smiles, still fragile but growing more hopeful. “Am I?”

“Always have been,” Bucky says. “Always will be if you stop assuming I’m going to leave you all the time. Let me decide for myself what I’m willing to sacrifice for us.”

Tony nods slowly, then says, “I’m sorry for ending it like that.”

“I’m sorry for making you feel like you had to.”

Tony climbs into his lap, circling his arms around his neck, and Bucky pulls him in closer with his hands on Tony’s hips. The ring is strange to feel against his skin, but also completely right. He wants it to stay there and to mean what it was always supposed to. Wants one of his own to match.

“We can fix it, right? We can be us again?”

“I don’t know,” Bucky says, and Tony’s heart sinks for just a moment. “Is your boyfriend as real as my fiancé?”

Tony laughs again in relief, “Yeah, they’d be a good pair.”

“I knew you had to be lying. You’ve never taken it slow in your life,” Bucky grins.

“Do you want me to start now?”

Bucky flips them over in one fluid motion, and he kisses up his throat as he murmurs, “Absolutely not.”

[cjsinkythoughts]

FATWS One Shot #6 - No One Said Anything About a Metal Arm

Word Count: 2011

Warnings: Explosions, Gunshots, The Winter Soldier, Implied Death, Stevie Almost Crying

Setting/Characters: Towards the End of Captain America: The Winter Soldier; Reader, Steve Rogers, Sam Wilson, Natasha Romanoff, Maria Hill, Nick Fury, Bucky Barnes; Mentions of Alexander Pierce, Arnim Zola

A/N: This one took me a while to write and I’ll tell you why. Rewatching this movie made me want to do a complete rewrite of it. I had so many ideas of where the reader could be and why and what she was doing then and all that. But…I told myself this is a One Shot of her unofficially meeting Bucky for the first time. Which is why it seems incomplete - because it kinda is - it’s just that scene picked from the movie. Am I happy with it? Eh. Am I holding back from writing more parts and just saying “forget this piece, it never happened”? Maybe. But, I can’t. I wish I could. But if I were to rewrite this movie, I’d rewrite the next one. And the next one. And it would take me months to finish these. So…this is what you’re getting.

Also, NO ONE MENTION WHAT’S ABOUT TO HAPPEN IN A COUPLE HOURS! I’M THIS CLOSE TO FREAKING OUT!

Thanks! As always, it’s not beta’d, so please excuse mistakes! Enjoy reading, be kind to yourselves and others, and stay tuned!

FATWS Masterlist

cjsinkythoughts Masterlist

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Sitting on the edge of the old dam was calming. Peaceful, even. The constant sound of the flowing water, the trees swaying in the slight breeze. It was nice to take a breath after everything that had gone down the past week.

To say you were worried was an understatement. The last time you saw Steve was the evening after you met Sam. He dropped you off at your place, refusing your invitation to stay saying that he should probably check on his apartment since he hadn’t been there in a while.

A lot had changed since then.

Steve was wanted by SHIELD, along with Natasha. Fury was considered dead, but was actually still kicking in the structure beneath your feet with the help of you and Hill. You had tried to go after Steve, but it was too risky. Pierce - who you were almost 100% certain was behind this whole thing - had been keeping a close eye on you since Steve ran away, knowing you’d be behind him. You tried to catch the blonde at the hospital, but you were seconds too late, meeting up with Natasha who told you STRIKE already took him away for questioning.

You had been called by Hill and she told you what had happened. Fury had asked for your help specifically, considering the amount of times you’d had to fake your own death while being undercover. And you’d been dealing with that ever since.

You had wanted to go get the three of them - you learned Sam joined Steve and Natasha, which somehow didn’t surprise you - but Hill refused, saying you needed to stay there just in case.

But Fury was fine, no one was coming, which is how you found yourself swinging your legs above a hundred feet of rushing water.

It didn’t last long. A car pulling up to the side entrance caught your eye and you immediately swung your legs around to rush towards the stairs. It’s not like you haven’t gone longer without seeing Steve before. You’d gone months without seeing him. It was your job. But this was different. Whether it was because for the first time he was the one who left or because he was on the run from the organization you worked for, you didn’t know and didn’t care. All you knew was you needed to see him. Make sure he was okay.

It took you a while to get there, all the stairs and corners and twist and turns. You got there just as Fury ended his explanation, hearing him tell the trio, “can’t kill you if you’re already dead. Besides…I wasn’t sure who to trust.”

Your footsteps were echoing and you were sure Steve heard you but when you entered the room, his eyebrows shot up, his eyes widening. “Honey?”

“Oh thank fucking God.” You breathed out, jogging over to squeeze him tightly. 

“Y/N…” He murmured in your hair, hugging you tightly back. “What happened? Why are you here?”

Pulling back, you jerked your thumb over your shoulder to the director. “I’m saving his ass.” Your finger then jabbed into his firm chest, your lips falling into a frown. “And worrying about yours. Are you okay?”

“I am. Natasha got shot, but she’ll live.”

You looked over at Natasha, who nodded in confirmation, before looking back into those azure eyes of Steve’s. “What happened? Pierce is keeping a tight lid on everything. I was gonna come find you, but I couldn’t because he was watching me. It’s a miracle I got away from them to help Nicky boy. I haven’t gone out since. But, honest, I was gonna-”

“Honey, honey. You’re rambling again.” Steve chuckled, hand resting on the back of your head, fingers tangling in your hair. “It’s okay. I’m glad you’ve been safe here. Pierce is behind this whole thing-”

“Yeah, I figured that-”

“-It’s HYDRA, Y/N.”

You froze. “What? HYDRA? Whaddya mean?”

Steve nodded. “HYDRA’s what’s been infiltrating SHIELD. It’s a long story, but Zola continued it when he was hired for-”

“Operation Paperclip. Yeah, I remember learning about that.” You ran a hand over your face. “Okay…” You hummed, looking at the three of them. “Let’s…talk about it more in a little bit. I know we gotta act soon, but Natasha and Fury need to heal a little bit longer and you should get some rest. You look tired.”

Everyone seemed to agree with your statement, starting to disperse from the room. You started walking out, too, when Steve grabbed your bicep and pulled you aside, down the hall a ways away. You opened your mouth, only for him to pull you into his chest.

“I’m really glad you’re okay.”

You nodded, lightly scratching his back, your arms around his slim waist. “I’m glad you are too.” You could feel how tense he was, which was understandable considering what he’d gone through the past couple days. But there was something else. Something in the grip he had on your shirt. The way his heart was hammering against your chest. His erratic breathing and his ducked head. You pulled away to catch his jaw between your fingers, eyes scanning the anguish in his own. “Bubba? What’s wrong?”

It took a moment for him to answer, his eyes growing sadder with every second that passed. “It was Bucky.”

“What?” You felt like the air was knocked out of you. “What do you mean?”

“The Winter Soldier. The assassin who shot Fury. The one who tried killing us on the bridge. It was Bucky. It is Bucky. I saw him, Y/N. I saw his face. It’s him. He survived. When they experimented on him, it must’ve…God, I’m so…I didn’t even notice…I didn’t even check…I left him…” he shook his head, which fell to your shoulder. “Stupid. I’m so stupid.”

“No, no.” You shook your head quickly, fingers playing with the hair at the nape of his neck as you twisted to kiss the hinge of his tense jaw. “It wasn’t your fault, Steve.” You mumbled softly, lips brushing over the shell of his ear. “It wasn’t your fault. You couldn’t have known. He fell thousands of feet, Stevie. You wouldn’t have found him even if you did.”

HIs grip on your hips tightened. “But I didn’t even try.” His voice broke on that last word. “And how could I not notice something going on with him? There were two years between being experimented on and falling. How-?” Voice catching in his throat, he stopped talking to stop himself from crying. You knew he hated crying.

“You can’t do anything about past Bucky.” You reminded him gently. “But you can help him now.”

“He didn’t even remember me.”

“Then make him.”

********************

To say you were pissed was an understatement. “I’ve been doing undercover stuff for years! This is a piece of cake!”

Steve shook his head. “You’ll be more helpful with Hill. You know more about Project Insight than me, Sam, and Natasha.”

“Bullshit, Steven! You just don’t want-”

“Honey, please.”

You clenched your jaw, glaring at him as he gave you those fucking puppy eyes, his dumb pink lips stuck in a pout. Letting out a rather aggressive puff of air, you looked away. “Fine. But I hate you.”

He beamed and nodded. “I can live with that.”

“Okay.” You glanced at the others. “You all ready?”

“Let’s get these sons of bitches.” Sam stated, making the final adjustments to the wings.

Natasha gave a smirk. “As long as you are.”

Turning back to Steve, you raised an eyebrow, waiting for the captain’s orders. He nodded. “Let’s head out.”

****************

“There’s a problem on the flight deck.” Hill informed you, looking at the alert. 

“Alright. I’ll-”

“Stay with Hill!”

You rolled your eyes at Steve’s voice through the comms. “Sorry, Cap. You’re breaking up.”

“I know I’m not, Y/N! I’m serious! Stay there!”

But you were already moving towards the flight deck. “I’m not gonna sit on my ass here, Rogers! Hill’s got it covered! I’m just gonna go check it out!”

“Honey-!”

“Bubba!”

The line went quiet and for a moment you thought you lost connection. “Please stay safe.”

You let out a sigh at his quiet pleads, nodding even though he couldn’t see you. “That goes for you, too, Steve.”

By the time you got out there, most of the jets were in flames, pilots and crew members scattered around the deck. You scanned the wreckage, trying to find the source-

A gunshot made your head whip to the side. Found it. Or, more accurately, him.

He was standing on top of one of the jets, gun pointed down at the pilot that was sitting in it. Before he could slip in the cockpit, though, you took out your gun and fired at him. Even though you knew who he was, when he looked at you it made your blood run cold. It was confirmation - not that you didn’t trust Steve - but still. Seeing is believing. yet seeing the same eyes you’d seen sparkling up at you from pictures now staring you down, void of any emotion? It was hard to believe it was the same person.

“Oh shit. Bubs?”

“What?! What’s wrong?! Are you okay?!”

You took a couple steps back as the Winter Soldier, no. Bucky - Steve’s Bucky - strode towards you. “Uh…nothing, nothing. I just I, uh, found your Bucky.”

“Y/N, get outta there now! I told you to stay with Hill!”

“Fuck!” You dove out of the way as the assassin started shooting at you. “Now’s not the time for reprimanding, Steven!”

You tuned out his cursings so as to not get distracted when you became engaged in a hand-to-hand fight with the fucking Winter Soldier.

“Hi.” You grunted, ducking under his arm and throwing a kick at him, faking it at the last second. Except, he’d already grabbed your ankle. But you did kick him with your other foot. But…he didn’t really move and it made you fall back, so…fail. You let out a grimace when the wind was knocked out of you, but you couldn’t lay there for long as he moved to slam his foot down. You rolled out of the way, swinging your legs up to hit him in the back of the knee. “Nice to finally meet you.”

He growled as Sam exclaimed, “are you seriously chatting with him?”

“It’s mostly one sided - dammit!” The both of you had gotten on your feet again, and you tried hooking your left knee around his left shoulder to tug him down, but he had slammed you against a jet, your leg stretched in a very uncomfortable position as your free foot stood on your toes. He had his metal arm - which no one had informed you about and you were kinda salty about it - against your throat, his other hand coming up in a fist.

Bouncing on your toes a bit, you finally lifted your free leg up to knee him in the side of his face, making you wince slightly at the stretch and the burn in your left thigh, which was the only thing besides his metallic limb holding you up against the jet.

He stumbled to the side, throwing you by the leg on his shoulder. You went sprawling against the pavement, a hiss leaving your lips at the serious roadburn you no doubt just got. Sitting up quickly, not wanting him to get the upper hand, you let out a breath seeing him swiftly moving into the cockpit of the jet he just had you pinned against.

“Guys…he’s…heading your way…just a…heads up. Also…thank you. It was nice…to fucking know…about the metal arm…beforehand. I’m just gonna…rest here for a minute…”

“You’re not hurt too bad, are you?”

“No, Cap. No, just…gonna be aching for a while. Ugh…” Begrudgingly, you got up to your feet. “I think I’m gonna…go back and chill with Maria.”

“Told you so.”

“Shut up, finish your job, and don’t die, Rogers! And next time, please, for the love of God, mention the metal arm!”

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