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lexiwright · 4 years ago

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Building Jealousy

Benny watts x reader

A/N- so hey first benny sorry. This was requested by Anonymous with the second prompt. This is my first in a while so I'm a bit rust but I really hope it's well received and yeah.

Also a side note that isn't import but when writing this Ive been listening to ”You” by petit biscuit. I'm not sure why but any time I've been reading anything to do with benny or writing him this is my go to song. But yes thanks for reading and ya.

Word count - 1720

Warnings - none

Prompt 2 “your jealous aren't you.”

You weren’t amazing at chess. You knew that. Next to people like Beth Harmon and Benny watts you were well aware of the fact. But it was an interesting game which you did good enough when you put your mind to it that you had entered a few tournaments over the years just for the adrenaline rush. You’ve managed to build up to a good enough level that you were state champion for a while but it only lasted a little while.

You’ve known benny a while. And Beth too. You were closer with benny and for a time you thought maybe the pair of yous could become something more. But as soon as Beth came into the frame you lost his interest and you went back to just admiring him without him returning any ounce of feelings to you.

You met Beth in Mexico. Before the great loss against Borgov. You barely got past the second round and lost in the third but hey you weren’t to bothered. But you had noticed how often Beth appeared alone and you decided to see if she wanted company. She seemed to take to you fairly well and yous quickly became friends. After her mum died you comforted her for a little while before you both had to go home. You understood she needed a bit of time and you went to New York for a little. You’d called up benny in advance who wasn’t doing much that weekend so offered his living room.

Accepting the offer and hoping to get to spend some more time with the man you arrived outside his house at a quarter to midnight. Shattered out of your mind from travel. You came in and greeted him as an old friend before you sat down at his table that displayed his board and had a look to see what he was playing.

It took you a second before you realised he’d been playing Beths last game with borgov. It’s angered you a little bit you tried to not care.

“How was the trip Y/N? “ asked benny as he rounded the table to the kitchen for some glasses.

“Nothing special. How’ve you been keeping?” You yawned and watched as he poured you a glass of milk.

“Ah, you know. Not a lot to do around here. Just waiting for the next tournament as always. I hear you met with Beth Harmon. What do you think of her?” He asked. Placing the glasses in the microwave for you both.

“Of course. She seemed nice. We got along well enough. Shame about her mum though but her playing is beyond amazing.” You accepted the glass of warm milk as you spoke and failed to notice as he tensed at your praise of the redhead.

He pushed his hair back and sat down in front of you and watched for a second as you took a sip of your milk. Studying your face with admiration.

Leaning forward, elbows on the table, he leaned his face on hand, two fingers tapping his cheek. Something you noticed he did when he was in thought. You tossed him a quizzical look before questioning him.

“What?”

He took a breathe and held it for a second before speaking in a gentle tone. “You look tired. Are you okay? “

You chuckled at him. Thinking he was joking. “Well, Benny I have just got off a plane so of course, I’m tired.”

But he stopped you. “No. It’s more than that.” You didn’t know what to say and just stared at him confused. He cleared his throat and moved back and gestured at the board. Still set up with Beth's last match. And spoke, “care for a few speed games?”

You rolled your eyes. You rarely win against him at speed chess. You know he was only doing this to show off. But you indulged him and let him flex his bored muscles. Yous played about ten rounds, winning two and drawing one while the king in a loose black striped shirt won 7. And you were sure he was going easy on you but you didn’t mind. It’s still fun.

Once he was sure you knew who was the best player and had finished your warm milk he suggested time for bed. Which you gladly accepted. He left you with the blow-up but knew you were too stubborn to let him do it.

You said goodnight and melted into one of the comfy seats rather than taking the blow-up bed and found yourself involuntarily drifting to sleep where you sat.

You woke with a start as you were shaken awake. You were on the plane and the air hostess was shaking you awake. Clipping in before landing you looked out the window. You were landing in New York again. Only this time you weren’t going to stay at Benny's. Beth was there now.

It had been a few weeks or so since you last stayed. You smiled at the memory of being woken up by a laughing Benny cause you hadn’t made it into bed last time.

You were staying at a hotel a while from Bennys. There was a small tournament that you thought would be fun to go too.

After leaving New York last time you’d called up Beth to see how she was doing. She had Harry beltik with her so at least she wasn’t alone.

You ended up taking for hours. Going over matches verbally for the fun of it and discussing favourite theory’s. This turned into a habit every few days and yous both seemed to get along well.

She called when Harry decided to leave. You could tell she was upset but didn’t want to push it too much. She called before her match with Benny. After the losing rounds of speed chess and you told her not to worry. And she called when she beat him. And then the next day when she told you she was going to New York with him.

You were happy for then although a little sad you wouldn’t get to spend time with him but you understood why.

You had got there a few days earlier so when you heard cleo was in town you opted to spend some time with her.

It had been a week or so and you had been invited to benny's along with Cleo and some boys. You went and was happy to catch up with Beth and Cleo.

You didn’t notice a dismayed benny who was disappointed your attention wasn’t on him.

He thought he could win you over by playing Beth in speed chess but even then he lost spectacularly. You sat out for the games. Not feeling like losing today. But when you and Cleo applauded beths wins. You failed to see just how livid he was that she impressed you more.

He went to bed sourly that night. Tossing and turning. Unable to get the beaming pride for Beth he saw on your face as you clapped her and not him.

Your third match of the tournament had been the next day. Normally if you think your gonna struggle you call benny and get some advice while you listen to him speak. His voice soothing you from nerves even if you end up loosing. But he knew that the match was today and was subtly waiting for the phone to ring. However when it did this time Beth picked up and you felt that you’d annoyed benny enough over the years so you decided to talk to Beth instead.

She was fine with this. Beth is proud of being needed. However, she ( unlike you) noticed the way benny drummed his fingers on the counter and stared at her as she said the first few words “Oh, hello Y/N...”

she noticed as his pupils dilated and the drumming stopped.

He had expected her to hand him the phone after that but when she didn’t he couldn’t understand why. And when Beth started talking about the game you were about to play he could feel as something boiled in him. He was who you needed. Not Beth. Yes, Beth was better than him but you needed him. Benny like being able to give you that little bit of ease before a scary match.

He waited a little while longer in case Beth gave him the phone. Till he realised she wasn’t going too.

“Is that Y/N?” He questioned harshly.

Beth just nodded and continued the conversation.

Benny couldn’t take it. And marched over to stand in front of Beth. “What does she want?” He asked. Even though he knew.

“Well she’s got her match today and she said she was nervous,” Beth said deadpanning.

The look on Benny watts faces told Beth something was afoot. Then she realised and gave him a smug look as she said her next words slow and loud enough for Y/N to hear.

“Your jealous aren’t you?”

He froze for a moment. Realising what she said was right.

He barely registered as Beth spoke to you again apologizing “sorry Y/N. I’ve got a green ogre here that I’m going to pass you too. Good luck for the match. “

She preset to phone into his hand and moved for him to sit in her seat.

He held the phone to his ear to hear your voice and he frowned.

“Benny what’s wrong”

He paused thinking before speaking with an almost whiny tone.

“ you think you can drop me cause I was beaten by Beth Harmon at speed chess, no, uh uh. I'm here to stay Y/N L/N and I won’t sit back and let you go off to someone else. No. Your mine got it.”

You were speechless. You hadn’t realised benny felt like thins. He realised what he said.

“ well eh you know, your not my property that’s not what I mean. I just.”

He took a deep breath and spoke with confidence. “ I need you Y/N. You're like the queen to my king. I feel I’m nothing without you. So please don’t brush me off for someone better.”

You smiled over the phone and he could hear it in your voice. “ I’d never brush you off benny.”

He sighed in relief and smiled.

#benny watts x reader #benny watts #beth harmon #queens gambit #x reader #benny #thomas sangster #thomas brodie sangster

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let-me-write-shit · 4 years ago

Note

Hey! Idk if u r taking requests hint if you are, can u do one where harry+y/n+bby paxton are out and about but all the sudden get swarmed by paps and then one of the cameras accidentally hit the baby and the clip goes viral and celebs and ex-1D members and stans all start coming to the defense and share stories about how awful the paps are? U don’t have to haha

A/N: Thank you so much, @gwen-and-harry, for this request! I’m sorry it took so long! Hope this is alright!

Word Count: 5,227

Requests are OPEN! If you have a request for a blurb, oneshot, imagine, whatever, Send me a message HERE!!!

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Paparazzi

The outpour of love and well-wishes after the announcement of the birth of their firstborn son was touching and comforting. Harry and Y/N were lucky to be surrounded by so many wonderful people. Still, the eagerness of the public to get the first glimpse of the newborn and the new parents began to grow. No one had seen the couple out since before their son was born and Paxton was nearly three months old, now. People were becoming desperate.

There were more and more fans outside of their house as the days passed. Y/N and Harry had people running errands for them and luckily had the help of friends and family, as well, who would stick around for a few days at a time to give them little breaks and were more than happy to get some time with the happy baby. But as the sun stayed out longer and the temperature began to rise, the new family felt the yearning for a nice summer holiday.

They’d planned it for weeks, excited to take pictures and videos of Paxton’s first time at the beach. Harry had found a perfect house with a private beach off the coast of Italy and even decided to bring along security. And even though he didn’t do it often, he thought the circumstances warranted renting a private plane to take them to the beautiful country.

Harry and Y/N were very cautious in showing any images of their baby. No one, aside from close friends and family, even knew of his name. Having been the victims of stalking, they didn’t want their son to be subjected to that and tried everything in their power to protect their child. There were brief moments when it was typical for it to be vacant outside their home, so they planned their escape down to the minute; bags loaded in the car from the night before, and two security guards standing by to rush them to the car.

Paxton was already buckled into his infant car seat and kicking along, happily, as Y/N cooed at him, dangling toys and pinching his chubby legs while Harry peered out of the window, waiting until the coast was clear. She noticed her husband straighten up more just before the security guard said, “Let’s go.”

Harry hoisted the brown leather diaper bag further up his shoulders and tossed a muslin blanket over the top of the car seat to cover Paxton, just in case anyone happened to see them. He took hold of the car seat and carried his baby out to the car as swiftly as he could while Y/N followed closely behind him. It took two minutes for everyone to get settled in and pull out of the driveway before they felt like they could breathe a sigh of relief.

Y/N and Harry shared a look of burden. The lengths they had to take just to keep a bit of privacy and normalcy was insane. And still, they weren’t out of the woods yet. Although they were flying privately, they still needed to drive to the main airport where their plane would depart from a strip off to the side. Everything seemed to be alright, so far. Usually, Harry could tell if it were going to be crazy if there were cars of fans chasing them, and that was not the case, so he let his guard down.

But, as they approached the backup in the car queue through the airport terminals, they slowly came to realize that this wasn’t going to be as easy as they anticipated. They were at a standstill for over ten minutes, unmoving, with cars honking loudly around them. It seemed that there was roadwork on a few of the lanes ahead that caused a jam. Quickly, they had to make a decision that they didn’t miss check-in with their pilot.

After much deliberation, they decided that the only solution would be that Harry, Y/N, and their baby would have to walk down the strip accompanied by one of the security guards while the other security guard continued with the car and would eventually meet them at the plane with all of their luggage. Y/N couldn’t stay stuck in traffic, her claustrophobia was already starting to make her panic. The fresh air would do them all some good, and besides, there weren’t an overwhelming amount of people walking along outside. Most people were in a rush to get in. They thought they’d be able to handle it.

Poor Paxton was fast asleep, but it was a pretty far distance to be lugging a heavy car seat while trying to walk as quickly and discreetly as possible down the sidewalk to reach the end where their terminal would be. At least by carrying him, if someone did recognize them, they’d be able to shield their son better.

Gently, Harry unfastened the buckles from Paxton’s car seat and slipped him out, passing him over to Y/N without waking him. It was warm out, but Y/N made sure to wrap Paxton loosely in the thin muslin cloth and cover his face enough so that he could breathe well against her chest, but his face couldn’t be seen. The couple made sure to wear their sunglasses and Harry took hold of the leather diaper bag before the security guard jumped out and opened the door for them.

Quickly, they started making their way down the sidewalk, heads down to not call attention to themselves, and following their security guard’s strides who was barely a step ahead of them. Horns blared and echoed around them, stuffy fumes from car engines congested the area. For a moment, Harry thought they might actually get through unrecognized. But that quickly came to prove wrong.

It always started as just a feeling of being watched before turning into a slightly louder buzzing as people, wondering if it was really him, began to mutter. This then turned into a few shouts and calls. He ignored the first few calls until he realized that too many people started to notice. He turned, smiled, and waved at them as he continued. This usually satisfied fans enough to not follow him. But then he saw it. The cluster of cameras. Paparazzi.

They looked shocked to see him, at first. He guessed they were likely here for someone else at first and he was just a bonus. Just his luck. The security guard tightened his gap and Y/N felt a hand on the middle of her back as Harry protectively pushed her along so they could keep moving faster. Still, they were already halfway there and it wasn’t more than they were used to.

However, more people became increasingly aware that not only was Harry Styles there, but also his wife and newborn baby. Harry always had a good relationship with the paparazzi, but the incitement to get the first look at their son was causing them to swarm the new parents.

“Harry, how does it feel to be a dad?”

“What’s your son’s name?”

“Where are you headed?”

“Harry, does he look just like you?”

“Can we see?”

The questions were never-ending and almost too hard to hear as everyone talked at once. Surrounded by not only paparazzi but also curious fans, it became harder to move. Their security guard did his best to keep everyone at bay and to keep moving forward, but it soon became too crowded to move. Y/N held her baby closer to her chest as he began to wriggle and squirm from all the noise, sharing a brief look of concern with Harry who tried his best to remain calm and friendly while also trying to make way for his family out of the ring of paps that surrounded them who became more aggressive with their questions, closing in on them.

Cameras started bumping together, voices became louder, and the paparazzi began to shove each other, fighting to get closer to the celeb. Some fans began to notice how reckless they were becoming and started to yell at paparazzi along with the security guard who was still trying to push through to make room for them, only inching their way forward now.

“Back up, they have a baby!” a few girls screams were muffled behind the shouts of the paps.

Paxton was wiggling more now and started to whimper as Y/N and her husband were being yelled at in all directions. Y/N could feel paps nudging her back, getting too close for comfort. When the security guard noticed, he’d yell at them, but there wasn’t much he could do. He was only one person against dozens of others. Her claustrophobia was in full swing and her heart began racing, breath becoming more of a pant. She felt a tug on her shirt followed by a deep voice beckoning, “Come on, let us get a look at the happy family.” They had gotten bolder in touching her purposefully.

Y/N spun around, “Please don’t touch me,” she yelped.

Lights started to flash in her face and she felt a hand tug at the muslin cloth that was protecting her son. Instinctively she swatted at the hand and pulled her son in tighter, shouting, “Don’t touch him!”

Harry turned, protectively shielding his wife and son, urging her in front of him, fans still yelling as another pap shoved his camera in between them so hard that he managed to whack the top of Paxton’s head with his flash attachment, causing the baby to flail and burst into wails, sobbing into Y/N’s chest at an ear-piercing level.

Before Y/N of the security guard could even react, Harry leaped at the pap, shoving him backward, and began screaming at him so ferociously that it created a momentary standstill. No one had ever seen Harry so angry before.

“What the fuck is wrong with you, eh?! That’s my baby, you fuckin’ dickhead!” Harry’s accent became thick with rage, shoving the startled man’s chest which made him back away.

“I didn’t do anything! I didn’t do anything!” the pap could be heard saying, shrinking away.

A few other paparazzi were taking the side of the pap and snapping pictures and videos of the incident while most yelled along with Harry as well as fans. Harry kept at him, screaming even louder and angrier, “You smashed my sons head with your fuckin’ piece of shit camera,” he yanked the camera out of the pap’s hands and chucked it to the ground, a few pieces breaking off and sliding every which way, continuing to shove the pap back while the security guard tried his hardest to contain the situation and get people to back off.

“Harry! Please!” Y/N cried, her heart pounding in panic and on the verge of tears.

Harry was seething, glaring at the pap who had backed away, nervously, before the awareness that Harry was surrounded by people, most with their phones out, started to sink in. The crowd had given them some more space now, and he looked back to see the concern on his wife’s face as she bounced and patted the back of their crying son in her arms in an attempt to console him.

With one last scowl at the offender, Harry hissed, “Don’t come near my family again.”

He picked up the brown leather diaper bag off of the ground; he must have dropped it during his fit. Hiking it back up his shoulders, he wrapped an arm around Y/N’s waist as the security guard led them away from the crowd, fans calling their support after them and continuing to yell at the paparazzi.

The rest of the walk was silent, still too rattled by the situation to find the words to say. By the time they reached and boarded the plane, Paxton had fallen back asleep and it didn’t take long for their other security guard to reach them.Should have just stayed in the car, Y/N thought, getting settled in a seat with her son, She loosened the muslin blanket around his face, but not too much to disturb his sleep. Harry stayed towards the front of the plane, barely out of earshot, to talk to the security after their belongings were loaded.

A few minutes in, Harry could be heard raising his voice at them, angry about how the situation was handled. Y/N winced, trying not to listen in as she kept her attention down at her son who was suckling on the inside of his cheeks as he slept. It was almost time to feed him, but Harry still had the diaper bag. She felt bad for the security, there wasn’t much they could do, and she knew Harry was only yelling because he was upset that his son was in danger. It wasn’t like Harry to take things out on other people, but he had become increasingly protective since becoming a dad.

Moments later, Harry and the two security guards made their way back, and although Harry still looked tense, Y/N could tell that they had talked things out and was willing to bet that Harry apologized to them, too. It still didn’t make her husband any less angry. He plopped in the seat beside his wife with an exaggerated sigh and leaned over to get a good look at his sin, gently pushing the muslin cloth away as he ran his hand over the baby’s soft, fuzzy head. A splotch of raised red skin could be seen forming from where the camera had hit him.

Y/N snapped her attention to her husband and saw the distress stretch across his face and with an overwhelmed frown he said, “I better take a picture of this. Just in case,” and he pulled his phone out from his pocket.

She knew what he meant. Just in case that pap wanted to press charges for destruction of property or assault. If he did decide to press charges, there’s no way he would win. There’s more than enough photographic and video evidence of the assault on their baby. But over the years they had learned that they could never be too careful.

He shoved his phone back in his pocket, and the pilot and flight attendant introduced themselves, checked ID, and went over safety procedures before the plane started down the runway. Harry stared down at his son the entire time, not letting go of his tiny hand that was wrapped around his middle finger. Y/N knew how worried he was feeling, and with an understanding smile, she carefully passed him their baby.

She grinned as Harry shushed him back to sleep when he began stirring, stroking his cheeks in total adoration of the little boy he held in his arms. His heart ached as he caressed the red splotch at the crown of the baby’s head, angry that grown adults would act in such a way, especially in the presence of a child.

“Do you think we should get a doctor to look at him?” he asked as their plane ascended.

Y/N nodded her head, “I think he’s fine but better safe than sorry. We’ll take care of it tomorrow. I think we all need to relax when we get there. It’s been a long morning.”

It wasn’t a long flight to Italy, but it wasn’t calming, either. Y/N fed Paxton while Harry fretted about the flurry of texts and missed calls he was bound to have by his managers, PR, and legal team, certain that videos and pictures will have been released by then. And just like he predicted, they landed to nearly thirty missed messages of all sorts, including links to articles titled, ‘Harry Styles Attacks Paparazzi Outside of London Airport’. They couldn’t bring themselves to open or read any of it, but Harry did spend a majority of their nearly thirty-minute car journey on a conference call with his team talking about the situation and discussing ways with which they could handle it.

Harry cut in after a while, saying, “Alright, listen. I’ve got to go. I’m supposed to be on holiday with my family. Can someone please make an appointment with a doctor out here to look at my son tomorrow and text me the details? We’ll talk about this another time.”

Harry wasn’t assertive a lot, but when he was, it always turned Y/N on. She kissed his cheek with a grin as he hung up the phone and squeezed his hand. His mom and sister were one of the many who had texted them after seeing the news and they made a quick FaceTime call to them, venting about the encounter and reassuring them that Paxton was fine, showing them the sweet baby’s face when they finally pulled up to the vacation rental and ended the call.

It was just after noon when they arrived at the house, and instead of unpacking, everyone left their luggage by the front door and took the food they had picked up from a drive-thru on the patio by the pool where they overlooked a beautiful, private beach lined with white sand and water the most beautiful shade of blue. Harry bounced a cooing baby on his lap while they ate. The couple silenced their phones, trying their hardest to avoid the onslaught of calls and messages they were bound to receive.

After lunch, everyone finally put their things away, got changed into their bathing suits, and headed to the pool for their first swim of the year. For just a few hours the coupe was able to forget about the inevitable problem they were facing and enjoyed their time together as a family.

Paxton seemed to enjoy the water once he warmed up to it, screeching joyfully and splashing at the surface while mummy and daddy took turns holding him and pushing him in the inflatable raft they brought. They laughed at the baby boy’s reaction to getting water droplets on his face and all the noises that escaped his tiny lips.

They stayed in the pool until nightfall when they wrapped themselves in towels and sat around the fire pit to keep warm while one of the security guards left to pick up dinner for everyone. Normally, Harry would feel bad for having someone else get him food, but given the circumstances, he felt it was for the best.

He looked over at his wife, her eyes red and irritated from the chlorine, and the high points of her face sunkissed from the warm, Italian sun. Her hair was slicked back, though that didn’t stop Paxton from getting a hold of a chunk of her hair and tugging as she fed him. Harry’s smile started to face into a frown when he noticed the red splotch on the crown of his son’s head was not tinged a blue-ish purple. It had started to bruise.

Y/N noticed her husband’s silence, and with an understanding and reassuring squeeze to his hand, she softly said, “He’s okay, Bub. Just a little sore when you touch it, but still a happy boy.”

“I know,” he nodded, “Still pisses me off that it even happened, though. I should go see if anyone was able to make an appointment for him, yet.”

He ambled off inside to find his phone that he left on the nightstand, ignoring all of his notifications and going right to his assistant’s texts to see the information of the doctor that was kind enough to agree to come to them tomorrow morning and take a look at Paxton. He did a quick background search on the doctor, pleased to find that she had come highly trained and recommended, and he sighed a breath of relief.

He then decided to take a look at some of these notifications, a little worried about the backlash he might have received. But, he was surprised to see the response of support and even shocked by some of the names that had reached out to him or spoke up about the fight.

The first people he noticed were his mom and sister who both made and shared an Instagram text post that read, ‘There is a lot that you have to deal with and compromise on when you have a fanbase or a following, and one of those things is privacy. It’s something so many of us take for granted, and so far, Harry and his lovely wife have taken it in stride, rarely complaining. They’re aware, just like the rest of us, that being a ‘celebrity’ and the lack of privacy in his line of work is an unfortunate given. However, when the safety and privacy of a newborn child are at risk, this type of behavior can become extremely dangerous. There is a time and place for paparazzi, and hurting a child to get a few snapshots is deplorable. Change needs to happen’. In the caption of the photo, there was a petition link that called for adjustments on laws when it came to paparazzi and children.

A lump formed in Harry’s throat as he read, reliving the moment his son had gotten hurt a mere few hours ago. There was so much running through his head. He felt like an idiot for losing his temper, he should have known not to lash out like that, especially when there were so many cameras out. He was pissed that the paparazzi put him in a situation where he felt like lashing out was his only option. He was upset that he couldn’t enjoy their first vacation as a family with their new baby because he was too worried that people might spot him. He was scared for the future of his son, worried that he’d have to look over his shoulder every step of the way to make sure his son could have even just a shot at living a semi-normal life. And he was grateful for the support of his family and for them speaking out and trying to invoke change.

As he scrolled through his notifications more, he saw that Lizzo had also posted a video to Instagram and tagged him in it. He played the video and chuckled, feeling comforted, when her face popped on the screen, shouting, “If y'all don’t leave my baby daddy, Harry, and my sister-wife, Y/N, alone! They had a baby with them! Like this child is basically straight out the womb, and y’all sick motherfuckers are out here grabbin’ on ‘em just to try and take a picture?! A picture?!” she looked disgusted as she shook her head, “These paparazzi are getting bolder every day. This shit needs to stop. I need each and every one of you to click the link on my bio. Things need to change. Yesterday.”

He went to her page and saw the same link that Gemma and his mom had posted to their story. And that wasn’t all. As he continued to go through his notifications, he saw that he had been tagged onto one of Niall’s tweets a ton. He opened the link to see what Niall had written.

‘Absolutely disgusted to see what happened to my friend @Harry_Styles, his lovely wife @Y/N, and their little lad today. Truly criminal that these paparazzi can do things like this with little to no repercussion. I’m so sorry the two of ya had to go through that. Absolutely fuming for ya.’

With a tight-lipped grin, Harry nodded and made a mental note to text Niall later and thank him. For now, he pocketed his phone and rejoined his wife outside who had just finished feeding Paxton and putting him in a portable rocker beside her to nap, her feet propped up by the edge of the fire, wiggling her toes in the warmth. He kissed her forehead before taking his seat on the other side of her, informing her of the response, so far, of the day’s events.

Throughout the week, more and more people had started to speak up. The doctor had come around to take a once-over of Baby Styles, deeming him healthy, just bruised, and leaving them to enjoy their vacation, utterly astonished by the number of people who had spoken out to condemn the paparazzi and share their experience.

Louis had called him shortly after the doctor had left while they were on the beach. Paxton was screeching on his tummy, holding his head up and beating his chubby fists into the sand. Harry watched his wife smiling and clacking at her baby, completely smitten by the two of them, as he and Louis caught up. The last time they talked was when Louis congratulated them on the birth of his son. This time, Louis called to make sure they were doing alright. Harry was still trending online and, being a father himself, he knew how upsetting it was when your kid was brought up in the media. Especially when they had to deal with the repercussions of the paparazzi.

“Man, it just blows my mind the shit these low-lives can get away with. Please tell me you’re gonna press charges, mate,” Louis seared.

Harry groaned, “I don’t think I can, mate. I broke his camera and shoved him. We’re pretty much even.”

“Even?” Louis repeated, “Mate, he hurt a baby. He’s done much worse than you did!”

“Not according to the law, man. Not really. Besides, he’s fine. Just a bruise, thank God. Was more worried about, Y/N, if I’m honest,” he whispered, trying not to let his wife hear, “You should have seen her. Thought she was going to have a panic attack because of her claustrophobia.”

Louis tutted and sighed, “Poor lass. She's alright now, though, yeah?”

“We’re on the beach, so she couldn’t be happier,” Harry laughed, watching as Paxton gazed in awe at the little sandcastle Y/N had just made.

They had received texts from friends, like Mitch and Sarah, who made sure that they and the baby were alright as well as posted a link to the petition. Big-name celebrities with kids, like Chrissy Teigen and John Legend, as well as Hilary Duff and Matthew Koma, had also come forward in light of the issue to share their experiences of being paparazzi’d with kids. He’d never had the pleasure of meeting them, but was sure to send them messages of thanks.

Ariana Grande had tweeted ��Sending my love to the Styles Family. It’s scary when you can’t walk down the street with a newborn without being harassed. Please sign the petition to finally start holding those who cross the line accountable.’

Liam Payne texted Harry and mentioned it in one of his Instagram Live videos when asked by fans saying, “Yeah, I spoke to him. Apparently, the guy had bruised the poor baby’s head, but he’s doing alright. They’re a bit shaken by the whole thing, I don’t blame them. It’s-It’s just sad, you know? For all the years I’ve known Harry, he’s the last one to get rattled to the point of fighting someone I’ve met Y/N a few times and well and she was always kind and easy-going. But when you’re worried about the safety of your wife and child, I don’t think anyone could say they’d just sit back and take it. You’ve got to draw the line somewhere.”

James Corden dedicated a segment in his show talking about the dangers of paparazzi and his own experiences with being harassed, including the time he was out with his son, and Harry joined them.

“To see, very early on in his career, the amount of people that followed his every step- I mean, he was only with us for a couple of hours and it got so crazy that after thirty minutes I had to have Harry walk a bit ahead of us so that the paparazzi wouldn’t swarm my son. By the end of the day, we were exhausted. I can’t even imagine having to deal with that daily. I know how I felt about it at the time and my son was older. We were a bit more comfortable as parents. But these two have their first, brand new baby. The idea of leaving your house for the first time as new parents and being hounded by volatile people who have no care for anyone but themselves is terrifying. My heart goes out to him and his family,” he finished.

Dozens more came out of the gate to condemn careless paparazzi, but probably the most surprising of them all was Gigi Hadid.

It was no secret that Harry and the model had a strained relationship that dated back to the drama surrounding Zayn’s departure from One Direction. The two never really cared to get to know one another and there was always some unsaid animosity in between them for whatever reason. He never had anything against her. Still, it was there. So, when she spoke out in defense of Harry’s actions, it was in headlines everywhere.

Gigi was very vocal about it on all of her social media platforms, writing rants on Twitter, text posts on Instagram, and even making videos saying, “You know, it’s just disgusting how celebrities can be stalked and harassed every single day by people like these paparazzi and the response is always ‘well, that’s what you signed up for’. It never made sense to me. Like, why is it considered normal? Why does it have to ‘come with the territory?’ These celebrities didn’t sign up to have their lives picked through with a fine-tooth comb. Especially not their spouses or children. They don’t deserve to be harassed or stalked just because of who they fell in love with or made a family with. A lot of people forget that celebrities are just humans.

We’re normal people with abnormal jobs. My job is to model. Harry’s job is to sing. We shouldn’t be in fear to step out of our house that day, afraid of being stalked or our children being hit in the heads with fucking cameras. I’m no stranger to how dangerous and scary paps can be, and since becoming a mom myself, I’m even more cautious. We hardly leave our house. We have so much security it’s unreal. We shouldn’t have to live like this.

Having fans come up to us in the streets and saying hi or taking pictures with us is one thing, but to have these paps shoving their camera in a child’s face, blocking our way out, and endangering them is something else entirely. Paparazzi need to be held to a higher standard and they need to be held accountable. I really feel for them.”

By the end of their vacation, there was so much positive support from fans and other celebs that Harry and Y/N was feeling overwhelmed with love. They both reached out, personally and privately, to as many people as they could to thank them for speaking out and signing the petition. Their team decided that a simple response, in true Harry fashion, would be best. On Instagram, he posted a picture of Paxton’s sandy feet and captioned it,

‘All Is Well. Thank you. With Love, H.’

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

Taglist:

@odetostep @mylittleangel9403 @thurhomish @fallingfordolans @gwen-and-harry

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gumnut-logic · 4 years ago

Text

For His Brothers (complete)

This one has been bugging me for a while. So I finally went back and completed it.

This was started in December last year, so most of it has been posted here before, but I’ve decided to post it in its entirety since I haven’t written any of it since February.

But now it is finished. Yay!

Thanks as always to @tsarinatorment @scribbles97 and @janetm74 for their amazing support throughout. You guys are just sooo kind to me ::hugs you to bits::

I hope you enjoy this.

Warnings: angst, frustrated Gordon, angry John and a pair of idiot older brothers. 5861 words.

-o-o-o-

He reached over and gently brushed away a stray hair from his brother’s forehead.

The room was quiet. Considering the monetary clout the Tracy family sported, it was to be expected. Hidden away from the bustling hospital, this oasis of a room with its pale furnishings, white privacy curtains, the cushioned chairs in place of the usual plastic was a haven.

These comforts were to be valued and Virgil appreciated them even if his brother would have frowned at the extravagance.

But that was Scott.

Always thinking of everything and everyone but himself.

Virgil let his fingers glide through that soft brown hair, the severity of their situation clear by the lack of gel stiffening the strands.

Scott never left the house without every hair perfectly placed, fingernails manicured, skin clean and refreshed. Looking at him, you wouldn’t think this was a man willing to get his hands dirty. But then Scott was never what he seemed.

The hair gel, the spotless clothing, his deportment, it all spoke of a wealthy man who owned sixty sports cars, three yachts and a private plane.

Scott had the plane, sure, the fastest one on the planet. And hell, yeah, he had a fast car and even a motorcycle. He didn’t sport a boat, but then Gordon was the one to stash those and it wasn’t like he wasn’t willing to share…well, most things.

But Scott never had time to just drive his car. The bike was on the Island gathering dust in a corner of One’s hangar. Virgil was pretty sure Scott hadn’t been on a boat that didn’t involve some kind of life-threatening situation in about ten years.

No, Scott was not your average billionaire.

A sigh and Virgil let himself wilt in the chair beside the bed.

Please, Scott.

His brother was pale, his skin almost bloodless. If it wasn’t for that, he could have been asleep. Scott was neat even in slumber. He wasn’t one to sprawl. There was a certain quiet efficiency to everything he did.

Virgil had brought in his brother’s pyjamas. Even helped the nurse dress him. It wasn’t the first time, after all. If Scott had been awake at the time, the protests would have been epic. The man did not like needing help. Did not like showing vulnerability. Did not want any of it.

Virgil had fought him on this far too many times before using soft words and, if necessary, a pile of hard logic to get him to behave. Because there was one weapon Virgil always had up his sleeve. Catching Scott’s eyes, all Virgil had to say was that he needed to do this. Virgil needed to care for his brother. Look after him and see him well.

It cracked Scott’s obstinance every time, because Scott would do anything for his brothers.

Including sacrificing himself.

Virgil let his head drop to his hand and rubbed his face. There was an edge to his thoughts. A hysteria lurking in the corners, lured out by certain possibilities, accompanied by terror.

He couldn’t.

No.

Another sigh and he looked up again, forcing his eyes to land on his brother. The total inability to do anything grated on Virgil’s senses. His everything was to fix things.

He couldn’t fix this.

He reached down and caught his brother’s hand. It was cool, but not cold. The IV sticking out the back of the vein just beneath his skin shifted as Virgil moved and he clutched the tubing gently to his brother’s wrist to prevent stress on the site.

Scott’s fingers were long.

Longer than Virgil’s. Long enough to play the piano better than Virgil had ever been capable. It was Scott’s thing...to be better. Following him in everything due to age had its challenges. Scott was good at what he wanted to be good at.

The fact he had dropped the piano at an early age was just as frustrating as John not singing with his magical voice. Virgil felt like the last bastion of artistic pursuits in the family.

Virgil ran a finger over his brother’s limp digits. No longer playing the piano beyond what long term memory could provide, these fingers were tasked with so much more. The strength behind them controlled Thunderbird One, their dexterity manipulated equipment, their determination reached out to save so many souls.

His brother’s hand blurred and Virgil had to blink hard.

Virgil would follow his big brother anywhere, and to be honest, he had followed him into hell on many an occasion. He had no regrets. Sometimes he considered that perhaps he had been brought into this world to do exactly that. To follow the born leader his brother was. To enable the strategies he envisioned and, in turn, support him in their mutual endeavours.

And to keep him safe.

Virgil wrapped both his hands around Scott’s fingers and dropped his forehead to their cool touch.

God, please.

“Hey, Virg?” The voice was unmistakably Gordon’s, but it lacked vivacity. “Grandma wants you.” The aquanaut took a step into the room. “I can sit with Scott.”

Virgil didn’t answer.

“Virg, please?”

He closed his eyes and held on just a little tighter to his brother’s hand.

The same hand he had failed to catch.

“V-“

“No.” His voice croaked the word, but the emotion came from so deep inside it hurt to cross his lips.

A soft touch to his shoulder and he heard his little brother crouch down beside him.

Virgil expected Gordon to keep trying to persuade him, but instead a soft head of hair leant into his shoulder and an arm reached around his back, pulling him off centre and holding him there.

No words, just Gordon’s soft breathing, slow and strong. Swimmer’s lungs. Olympian. Rescuer.

Thunderbird.

Virgil squeezed his eyes tight and kept his insides in where they belonged.

Gordon began gently stroking Virgil’s arm with the tips of his fingers.

They sat there like that for Virgil didn’t know how long. He kept his eyes closed, his forehead down and his big brother’s hand clutched in his.

“You know he is going to wake up, don’t you?” It was flippant and out of the blue. It shattered Virgil’s carefully tended calm and his head shot up, inadvertently pushing Gordon away.

“We don’t know that.”

“Yes, we do.”

Virgil opened his mouth, but his throat closed up. Only one strangled word made it out and it was little more than a plaintive wail. “How?”

“Because he’s Scott.” The surety in Gordon’s voice tore at the remains of Virgil’s heart. “Scott Tracy. Commander of International Rescue.” Gordon’s lips thinned as his eyes reflected the fluorescent lighting. “Thunderbird One.”

Virgil stared at his little brother a moment. The intensity in those brown eyes screamed belief and determination.

Not unlike Scott, really.

It almost broke Virgil in half.

He looked away, back to his big brother laid out on the white bed, almost funereal in appearance. Virgil’s throat clogged up, fear, distress and grief warring for dominance.

His eyes fixated on Scott’s eyelashes once again and mentally begged them to open, pleaded to see that wise and inspirational blue. For his brother to return to him.

Please don’t leave.

God, please, I can’t do this without you.

“He’s going to be fine, Virgil.” Gordon’s voice again intruded on his stability, shaking the fragile framework his composure was sitting on.

“He trusted me.” The words fell from his lips, his voice wet, his eyes still fixated on his silent brother.

“He always trusts you. We all do.” Gordon’s voice was very much his rescue voice. Soft, reassuring and ever so kind.

Virgil didn’t deserve it.

The powerlines had come out of nowhere. He should have predicted that at least, but instead he had John yelling in his ears and Scott swooping in low with his jetpack, grabbing him by his exo-suit and literally shoving him out of the way. Virgil had spun on one tortured ankle, but the electrical wires had missed him.

They hadn’t missed Scott.

They slapped across his jet pack and vivid white and orange sparks blinded Virgil as he tried to reach for his brother. After-images haunted his sight as Scott’s jet pack died. Virgil reached for his brother, claws extended, but he was clumsy, poorly balanced, and he missed.

Scott fell limp into the dark water below.

And Virgil couldn’t follow.

Then it was all a mad dance to get out the reach of the still flailing powerlines, accompanied by the roar of his own ‘bird swooping into a low hover and his aquanaut brother taking a swan dive off her front hatch into that same dark water.

Virgil hurried to get off the bridge, but found he couldn’t.

He had been on the outside of the structure, rappelling down to secure a car that had almost fallen off the bridge due to the 6.5 quake an hour ago. The bridge was almost empty bar the last of the support personnel who had helped International Rescue evacuate the injured. Virgil had clambered out there simply to clip a restraint onto the car’s chassis to prevent it from falling off the bridge and possibly causing more injury. It should have been a simple job, mere seconds before they moved onto the next site.

The pylon had fallen without warning.

And the powerlines, which weren’t supposed to be there, came with it.

Scott had saved Virgil’s life.

At the cost of his own.

And now Virgil couldn’t even get off the damned bridge due to that same pylon, a tangle in his rappel line, and the very strong possibility he had a broken ankle.

He had to stand there and watch Gordon drag their brother onto the shore and start CPR in the mud.

The aquanaut was joined by Alan and a hovering One almost immediately. Scott was scooped off the planet and the rocket plane tore off into the distance.

He was stuck on that bridge for a good twenty minutes. Unable to reach his ‘bird still hovering until John landed her in a street nearby. Unable to climb off the bridge. He was little more than just another rescuee in need of his brothers.

Full of terror.

John reported on Scott’s status as much as he could and fretted in his own calm way over Virgil. His voice was, as ever, a balm, but the lack of a definitive answer on whether his eldest brother was going to survive kept Virgil’s heart rate in the red.

But then there was the familiar roar of that same brother’s ‘bird and One shot into an abrupt hover, Alan rappelling down and finally scooping Virgil off the side of the bridge.

Scott was still unconscious when Virgil finally made it to the hospital, and his brother had stayed that way ever since.

Three days.

Three long pain-filled days.

Virgil’s ankle had been splinted and he was mobile. Turned out the left strut of his exo-suit had actually snapped. How Scott had managed to shove him with that much force, Virgil had no idea. But it had achieved what his brother had wanted to do. He had saved Virgil, even if he hadn’t managed to save himself.

So quiet. So still.

Gordon shifted beside him, a small sigh passing his lips.

“Thank you, Gordon.” Virgil’s throat clogged again. “For saving him.”

“You don’t need to thank me. We’d all do the same for any of us.”

“You shouldn’t have had to. I should have known those wires were there. I should have moved faster.”

“What are you? Prophetic? John had the plans for that bridge, you had the plans for that bridge. There was no mention of hidden cables in that span. You know it, I know it. There wasn’t a damn thing you could have done. Some stupid idiot didn’t file the proper papers with the proper authorities.”

“I should have scanned the structure more thoroughly.”

“Virgil, it was a bridge, not a damned building. You and Scott located all the injured. You did good.” An exasperated sigh. “This was not your fault.” Gordon straightened. “And if you don’t leave this room and eat something, Grandma is going to have both our hides.”

Virgil didn’t even bother to look at him. “No. I’m staying here.” He had to, because Scott had to wake up.

He had to.

“I have to say, bro, I had to talk very fast to keep Grandma away. Forty-eight hours is ridiculous. You need food and rest.”

“I ate.” The discarded remains of breakfast sat on the sideboard. It had been cardboard and chaff in his mouth. The water had been welcome to wash it down.

And he’d kept it down...mostly.

Gordon glared at him. “More than three mouthfuls. Listen, if you don’t move yourself, John and I are going to move you for your own good.”

Virgil looked up at Gordon in shock. “No.” He had to be here.

“You’re forcing our hand, Virg! I will knock you out myself, if I have to, and I know...I know...Scott would agree.”

“Yes, he does.” It was parched and more breath than voice, but it was Scott.

Virgil spun in his chair as the fingers still wrapped in his hands curled around his. Dopey blue eyes pinned him from the bed. “What the h-hell are you doing, Virgil?”

“Scott!” Something inside broke. A dam, a wall of emotion slammed into him at the sight of that crease between Scott’s eyebrows, the twitch of his lips.

It took everything he had to hold it all in.

“Hey, big bro, you’re with us! How are you feeling?” Gordon was on his feet and practically bouncing. A blink and his little brother had thumbed his comms and was letting their family know.

The figure under the bed clothes shifted and groaned. “Stiff and sore. What the hell happened?”

“You got zapped like a bug, went for a swim, and made Alan fly you to these luxurious accommodations.” Gordon’s arm waved around at the white room.

Scott stared at Gordon a moment before blearily turning to Virgil, his expression pleading an explanation.

Virgil pushed it past the lump in his throat, voice parched. “You were hit by live powerlines and knocked from the sky. Fortunately, you were over water and fairly low. Gordon fished you out and saved your life.”

A blink as those blue eyes absorbed that. “What about you?” And there was memory in those eyes, worry for a younger brother, the drive that pushed Scott to give his everything.

For his brothers.

“I’m good.” Now.

“Bullshit, Virg.” Gordon’s expression was beyond exasperated. “You need rest.”

Lips thinned. “I know what I need, Gordon.”

The hand that was still in his tightened and Virgil was forced to look at Scott. Nothing was said, but everything was communicated.

For his brothers.

Scott would not rest if Virgil did not.

He swallowed his beating heart and with a gentle squeeze of his brother’s hand, Virgil stood up and straightened his shoulders. “I sh-should let the others know you’re awake.”

Virgil was vaguely aware of Scott frowning up at him as he reached for his crutches, but a sudden light-headedness distracted him. Perhaps he should eat something.

“Virg?” Scott’s voice was weak.

“What?” Virgil turned and the world turned with him.

A clatter of plastic chair and Gordon was suddenly in his face. “Hey, there, Virg. Take it slow.” His little brother was frowning as much as Scott, his hand gripping Virgil’s biceps holding him steady.

Virgil got his crutches under his arms. “I’m...good.”

Scott was struggling to sit up.

Gordon let go of Virgil with one hand and grabbed his eldest brother by the shoulder. “Hey, you stay put.”

“Virgil-“

“Virgil is fine, Scott. He is going to go to his rooms to eat and sleep for a good twelve hours even if I have to tie him to his bed.” A thumb to his collar. “John, I need you in here.”

Within seconds, the door opened and their red-haired brother strode in. The moment those turquoise eyes landed on Virgil, his brow creased into a frown, but it flickered as he turned to Scott, relief taking over.

Gordon didn’t give him a chance to say anything

“Johnny, a clear case of Operation Big Bro Tango. You want Scott? I’ll dance with Virg.”

A smirk curved John’s lips. “FAB.”

“What the hell?” That came from Scott.

Virgil had closed his eyes at some point. The world was still going around. The sound of a chair being dragged across the floor and an arm wrapped around his waist. “C’mon, Virg, let’s get you something to eat.”

He didn’t want to eat. He was nauseous and his head hurt and his heart was tied up in a mass of emotion that he could barely keep under control.

“Scott-“

“Scott will be fine. John has him, and I have you.”

“I’m...” But he wasn’t fine and he had to get out of this room before Scott realised it. Before... “I’m good.” That last word scraped over his larynx and left a bloody trail. He forced his eyes open to find a worried Scott staring up at him. John’s hand was on his eldest brother’s shoulder and he was speaking quietly to the man, obviously trying his best to keep Scott where he was. Virgil forced some steel into his spine. “I’m good, Scott. I’m going to get something to eat. Gran...Grandma will probably be here in a moment.” His hand tightened on his crutches and he carefully edged around the chair that had been his constant companion for the last few days.

Gordon hovered.

“Look after yourself, Virgil.” Scott’s voice was desperate.

Virgil didn’t look back. “I’m good. You worry about you.” A haggard breath. “Listen to John.”

He got a grunt for that as Gordon held open the door, urging him through.

A last glance at his big brother, now sitting up in bed, John’s hand still on his shoulder. Virgil turned his back to him and crutched his way through the door.

He made it all of five steps down the corridor before Gordon had to catch him as he fell.

-o-o-o-

“You idiot.”

It was breathless and close. It came from beyond the fog and outside the numb space he was inhabiting. It spoke of a place where pain existed.

Because there was pain in that voice.

“Why did you do this? Why?!”

The voice was familiar and it sparked hurt in his heart.

“Do you honestly think I would risk everything for your life just so you can go and flush it all down the toilet in some self-sacrificing vigil? Virg, why?”

Somewhere there was a thump as something fell beside him. It vibrated slowly through his body. He had a body. He had a hand. Because it was grabbed and held tightly, crushed up against soft skin backed by muscle and bone.

Breath tantalised the hairs on his wrist.

Whispered. “Virg, it wasn’t your fault. John hunted down the person responsible.” A soft snort. “You should have seen him. Our brother can be truly terrifying when he wants to be.” Another sigh across his wrist. A brush of fingers. “I can’t…”

Scott swallowed. Because it was Scott and there was something very significant about that.

“You can’t do this. I can’t…” The voice petered off again.

The hand holding his tightened a little more.

“You’re my brother.” The words came laden with so much emotion Virgil’s heart stuttered and he struggled to focus, to reach out.

His fingers wrapped around those holding them.

“Virgil?” There was sudden hope.

“What the hell do you think you are doing?!”

The new, sharp voice startled Virgil and he flung his eyes open. Blinded by ceiling tiles he groaned and shut them again. Hospital. He was in a damned hospital.

“Virgil?!” A clatter of footsteps hurrying close. Gordon. The new voice was Gordon.

Typical.

“What?” The single word made it past his dry throat.

Another hand landed on his opposite shoulder and he attempted to open his eyes again and found his fish brother smiling down at him. “’Bout time you woke up. Was beginning to wonder if you were trying to compete with electro boy over there.” Gordon waved a hand across the bed to the opposite side.

Virgil turned his head and found a wan Scott Tracy sitting beside his bed, holding his hand. His big brother was a picture of exhaustion.

Several neurons fired in the right sequence and facts aligned themselves into order. “Scott!” Virgil pushed himself up.

“Whoa, Virg! Take it slow.” Strong aquanaut hands caught him as his body protested the sudden change in orientation. “And you, keep your butt plastered to that chair or I’m calling Johnny back in here to kick it. Hell, I might do that anyway. What the hell are you doing out of bed?”

Scott grunted as Gordon shoved pillows behind Virgil’s back and fiddled with the automatic bed controls until Virgil was supported enough to relax.

Scott did not let go of Virgil’s hand.

Virgil didn’t let go of Scott with his eyes. “Are you okay?” His voice was dry and cracked.

“I’m fine, Virgil.” His brother straightened as if to prove the point as Gordon spluttered a scoff. Blue eyes targeted the aquanaut. “I’m fine.” Firm and decisive.

“My god, both of you are idiots.” It was pure frustration this time. “Scott, go back to bed before you collapse just like your idiot brother. If you fold, then he’ll rot beside your bed until he collapses again and the rest of us will be stuck with two sick idiots.” He glared at both of them. “Well, sicker than you already are.” Angry brown eyes flicked to Virgil. “Grandma is going to roast you, Virg. You are so dead. Since when do you not take her medical advice?”

“What?” And now there was a pair of angry blue eyes glaring at him, too. “You ignored Grandma? Are you insane?”

Gordon’s eyebeams zapped his eldest brother where he sat. “You can’t talk, Scott. You’re out of bed. Grandma told you to stay there. One flick to comms and you are toast.”

“Gordon-“

“No. Screw this. You guys might be worried about each other, but we care about you too. I’ve had to pick both of you off the floor just recently and it was not fun! Think about that!” Gordon was yelling. “Do as you are damn well told and get better!”

“Gords?” And Virg was moving, throwing off his covers.

“Didn’t you hear a word I just said?!”

Virgil froze. The anger emanating off his brother was fiery and so out of character, Virgil’s heart skipped a beat.

“Gordon?” And Scott rose unsteadily to his feet.

Those angry eyes whipped around and targeted Scott. “For God’s sake, sit down!”

The door behind Gordon was suddenly shoved open and John barrelled through. Aquamarine eyes caught the scene and Gordon was grabbed from behind before he could launch himself at his brothers.

“Gordon.” John wasn’t stronger than his fish brother, but his presence was enough and Gordon wilted in his arms.

“John, your turn to tango. I’ve had it.” He slipped from his brother’s grip and stormed out.

Virgil remembered to draw a breath, but then his eyes were caught by an aquamarine glare and he knew he was dead.

“Scott, get into bed.” It was said quietly, but with intent. Virgil was not surprised when his eldest brother did exactly as he was told without protest.

He did worry at how pale Scott was and had to fight the urge to climb out of bed and help him, broken ankle or not.

John pinned Virgil with his eyes.

Virgil pulled the covers back over himself and said nothing.

His space brother made sure Scott was comfortable, but didn’t say anything further until the pilot relaxed back onto his pillows. John then moved to the ends of their beds and turned to face both of them.

“I expect better.” He held their eyes a moment longer. “I need to see to Gordon.” Their little brother turned away, his back dismissing them. He flicked an eye to the ceiling. “Eos, monitor please. Alert Grandma as needed.”

“Yes, John.” Virgil startled at the sharp but not unexpected response.

John didn’t spare them anything else before he left.

Virgil’s heart sank through the floor.

-o-o-o-

Gordon was absent for most of the rest of Virgil’s stay in the hospital. Fortunately, that stay wasn’t very long, just one more night and Virgil suspected Grandma had had a word to the doctors to achieve that.

He slept most of it, comforted by the sound of Scott’s breathing. His brother had to stay in a little longer considering his three days of non-responsiveness, but Grandma intervened and sent Virgil home to the Island.

It felt like banishment.

But he also felt like he deserved it for worrying his family so much.

At the time it had seemed the only logical course. He had to stay with Scott.

Just had to.

Stepping out of the situation clarified it for him somewhat and gave him his family’s perspective, ever so clearly.

He vanished into his studio for two days.

Gordon had come home with him, obviously still playing the big brother tango thing that he and John obviously used as some kind of strategy to herd Scott and himself. It was somewhat ridiculous, but he could now see why.

There was more guilt, on top of guilt.

The paint was angry.

On the third day there was a knock on his studio door. “Virgil?”

John.

Virgil closed his eyes and sighed. Scott was returning today and the paint splattered all over the canvas he had been prodding since six in the morning was going nowhere.

There was a lot of blue.

So much blue.

“Virgil?”

He put down his paintbrush and realised there was also a lot of blue on him. He brushed at his shirt, but half of it was dry and the other half just smeared and made it worse.

All blue.

“Virg?”

“Come in.” It was resigned.

The door unlatched and John peered into the room, eyes exploring in that critical way his little brother absorbed everything until they latched onto Virgil. “Hey.”

“Hey.” Virgil grabbed a rag and scrubbed off the wet paint on his hands. His skin crackled where some had dried.

Those eyes fixated on him, drifting down to the ankle and the crutches on the floor.

John sighed. “Virgil...”

The engineer connected the dots and pressed his lips together. “I’m fine. Stop worrying.” To emphasise the point, he dragged over the stool he had been using for most of the morning and planted his butt on it. “See.”

John’s eyes lowered a little, but he didn’t back down. Instead, he shut the door behind him and made his way over to Virgil. Grabbing another stool, he sat down next to him in front of the painting from a blue sculpted hell.

John’s aquamarine eyes both blended and clashed with the colour scheme. “I sense a theme.” It was said lightly, almost an invitation to truce.

“It sucks.” The blue was smeared in streaks over more streaks. It spoke of canted speed and pain. Paint cracked again as Virgil tightened a fist.

It didn’t go unnoticed.

“It wasn’t your fault.” Ever so quiet and calm.

And days worth of frustration and guilt surfaced. “I have the equipment, John. I should have scanned. One little scan and so much hurt could have been avoided.”

“Fine. We will add infrastructure scans to our standard procedure. Name the type and we will do it.”

The simple statement brought Virgil up short.

John raised an eyebrow. “You expected something else?” His expression softened. “No one is blaming you, Virgil. No one but yourself.”

“Scott almost died.”

“But he didn’t.”

“John...” He let his head drop. “I can’t...”

A hand landed on his shoulder. “Virgil, you don’t have to. Scott will be fine.”

Virgil swallowed and turned back to his painting. An absent smear of blue with a thumb. He frowned and pushed himself to his feet. A finger here, another smear there. He grabbed his palette and added some red, still finger painting. White and a touch of Payne’s grey, more blue and more white and for a moment he lost himself in the process.

“It’s Thunderbird One.” It was said quietly, but with awe. “How did you do that?”

Virgil didn’t answer, grabbing a brush and, using the point at the end of the handle, scratched in the casual detail of his big brother’s ‘bird.

Lines he knew ever so well.

A fingernail of red and blue and Scott appeared aboard the facsimile of the rocket plane.

Virgil shuffled backwards on one foot. “I can’t fly her.”

He heard the frown rather than saw it. “Yes, you can.”

“No. No, I’m not Scott. Never Scott.” He turned to face his little brother as the emotions poured onto his face, raw and desperate. “I can’t lose him, John. I can’t.”

Aquamarine eyes widened. “Virgil?”

Realising exactly what he was saying, Virgil turned away and put the paintbrush down and swallowed his fear. “You’re right. I’ll write new procedures. It won’t happen again.” He grabbed a rag and concentrated on scrubbing the paint off his fingers.

But John was having none of it, he grabbed Virgil by the shoulders. “Now you listen to me. You have four brothers. Four, Virgil. If the worst happens. We will work it out.” Those hands tightened. “We. Will. Work. It. Out.” John pulled him into his arms and he was being hugged ever so tight.

John’s shirt was smooth against his cheek.

Virgil closed his eyes.

“I’m sorry.” It made it past his tight throat.

John didn’t respond other than to hold him even tighter.

-o-o-o-

John had him clean up and have a shower. Virgil was tired and arguing required more energy than he had. Thunderbird Five was doing his big bro tango with skill.

Following that, his red-haired brother rounded him up and escorted him, crutches and all, to the kitchen and the sounds of family.

Virgil almost baulked, but a gentle hand in the middle of his back nudged him down the stairs.

“Virgil! Scott’s home!” Alan bounced up to him, nothing but glee-filled relief on his face and the engineer couldn’t help but lift his own mood to match.

The sight of his big brother sitting at the table, pale and wan, managed Virgil a step further in relief, but a step back in worry. “Shouldn’t you be in bed?”

“And good morning to you, too, Virgil.” Scott shoved a forkful of pancake into his mouth, making a point to lick the maple syrup off his lips. “Besides, look in the mirror.”

Virgil was aware of Alan shooting him a concerned look, but he ignored it.

The room was filled with the wonderful smell of fresh cooked pancakes. A glance into the kitchen itself and Virgil found Gordon at the stove, busily producing the pancakes that Scott was so eagerly consuming.

“It’s lunch time.” It was a redundant statement, and said without thought.

He paid for it appropriately.

“Pancakes for lunch is perfect for an invalid fresh home from the hospital.” Gordon’s tone was sharp and Virgil was forced to realise his fish brother hadn’t yet forgiven him.

His heart sank.

“Sit down, Virgil, before you fall down.” Scott was eyeing him as he shoved another forkful in his mouth.

He got cream on his nose.

Alan immediately pointed it out and cracked up laughing as Scott purposefully attempted to lick his own nose and made a complete idiot of himself in the process.

Anything for his brothers.

Virgil sighed as John pointed him to a seat beside their eldest brother. A short stack of pancakes were procured and placed in front of him, as was some orange juice.

He opened his mouth, but before he could say anything, John shut him down. “No coffee. And don’t think I don’t know that you’ve been sculling the stuff all morning. I’ve seen the free range coffee cup herd in your studio.”

Virgil grunted and glared at the glass.

Condensation reflected his image back at him thousands of times at the microscopic level.

He let the sounds around him merge into the soundscape.

Each brother had his own pitch. His own timbre. Kayo waltzed through at one point, her voice a higher melody amongst the masculine chorus.

Alan’s laughter bounced around the room like someone had dropped a set of cymbals and they were clattering into everything.

Gordon’s tone was unusually sharp and Virgil closed his eyes, knowing it was his fault. His sunshine brother was well into the brass section today.

John was a woodwind. Calm, quiet, melodious. Subtle and sneaking up like a dramatic lead into a surprise.

And Scott…

Virgil’s forehead furrowed.

Scott conducted it all. His warm voice drew it all together and made it work. He was the creator of the symphony that was their family.

Something cold and wet was suddenly smeared on his nose.

What the-?

He opened his eyes to a mixture of white blob and laughing blue.

Somewhere, Alan cracked up again. He must have fallen over, because there was a crash and a squawking Gordon, who in turn began to laugh his ass off.

“That’s a great look, Virg.” Scott was grinning at him.

Beyond Scott, John was smiling ever so fondly.

Virgil turned back to his big brother. “That better be cream.”

His brother’s grin got even wider.

Virgil just stared at him a moment longer before poking out his tongue and casually licking the cream…it was thankfully just vanilla whipped cream…off the end of his nose in one quick swipe.

The room erupted in both awe and horror.

“How the hell did you do that?”

“Ew, gross!”

Even John had a rather weirded out expression on his face.

Only Scott was unfazed, still grinning as if he knew what would happen.

Which he did.

Which was probably why he had done it in the first place.

For his brothers.

Virgil grabbed a napkin and wiped his nose clean properly. He dropped it on the table and then, shifting his chair over a little, let himself slide gently sideways until his head was against Scott’s shoulder. “Glad to have you back.”

Still smiling. “Glad to be here.”

The exclamations of both awe and ew continued until it became a war between the terrible two and who had the longest tongue.

Virgil just let his eyes close and relaxed against his big brother. Eventually an arm crept around him and pulled him a little closer. It felt warm.

It felt safe.

“I’m sorry.” It was a whispered exhalation.

“Nothing to be sorry about.”

Virgil grunted, but was too comfortable to disagree.

Scott was home, and the familiar sounds of his family swelled around him, leaching away the worry and the fear.

It felt safe.

Because Virgil was a brother and obviously, Scott would do anything.

For his brothers.

-o-o-o-

FIN.

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds #thunderbirds fanfiction #Scott Tracy #Virgil Tracy #Gordon Tracy #John Tracy #alan tracy

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pl-panda · 4 years ago

Text

The vines that bind us - Chapter 2

Chapter 1 || Next

-----

Until a trip to Gotham came knocking on the front doors

“I can’t believe Lie-la of all people managed to somehow get us the trip to Gotham!” Mari moaned with a mixed expression on her face.

Adrien, who was walking next to them, showed absolute disgust. “Technically, It was my father and I that did the heavy lifting. She really wanted to go to the Wayne Gala and…”

“What Lie-la wants, Lie-la gets.” The three finished in unison before laughing a bit.

“Don’t worry Mari-bear. I can promise you that this no good liar won’t get to ruin your return home.” Chloe pulled her best friend closer. Best friend. Much better than a servant. Who would’ve thought? “And we can even try to find your mom on free Saturday.”

“Yeah…” The girl with black-blue hair didn’t seem particularly cheerful at that.

“Now I refuse to have you making sad faces throughout the whole flight. You cheer up right this moment and that’s an order!” The blonde commanded.

“Yes, Maman-bear.” Mari giggled.

The three of them finally arrived at the rest of the class, who were already gathered around madame Bustier. Of course, Lila was bragging about a million different things, but the three paid her no mind. Adrien did his best to hide behind the girls, cherishing the last moments of freedom. Finally, Mari and Chloe had to step forward for their tickets. The blonde got hers without any problem, but for Mari there turned out to be none.

“I’m so so sorry Marinette!” Lila said with fake regret. “I must have accidentally miscounted the number of students… It must’ve been when I was helping those poor orphans. You know, at…”

“Sure…” Mari didn’t even try to act as if she believed her for a moment. When Lila scowled, realizing that it didn’t affect the girl, she smiled. “I guess Chlo, Adrien and I will have to go with the contingency plan number 1.”

“What?!” The sausage-hair shouted.

“Of course my Daddy would not send us to travel like peasants. We have tickets for the first class.” Chloe supplied, looking smugly. “We did plan to maybe sit with the rest of the class. What a shame…”

“Yeah, My dad also didn’t want me to travel anything less, but I convinced him to let me stay with my friends. Guess he will get what he wanted in the end.” For his part, Adrien at least tried to look apologetic. He didn’t try hard at all, but it’s the thought that counts, right?

“But… But…” Lila tried to come up with something, likely a lie, to counter it. She didn’t have time as the trio handed their teacher the filled forms from their parents/guardians/Nathalie and proceeded to the plane. The tickets were personal, so she couldn’t do anything. The Italian girl came up with a lie to tell to the class, but it would do no good until they landed.

--------

“Did you see her face?” Plagg was rolling in the air while holding a giant roll of camembert.

“You were amazing my queen.” Pollen complimented.

“I still can’t believe your dad just… bought out the whole first class!” Marinette sighed.

“Phi! Daddy always gives me only the best. You should know it by now, Mari-bear.”

“Okay. Mari. You are the Gotham expert here. Any advice?” Adrien asked a bit more seriously.

“Gotham survival guide is probably unlike any other city.” She started. “The first rule is, believe it or not, run away if a person laughs too much or smiles too widely. The downside of living in the same city as the Joker is that most people don’t laugh in public. Secondly, never show that you are lost. Wherever you are, it’s exactly where you wanted to be. Finally, the third is to never flaunt your wealth.” She looked critically at Chloe before taking away her purse and lipstick in a golden case. “This,” She then pulled a mobile phone in a ridiculously sparkly case and popped it out of the cover, “this,” finally, she detached the golden chain on which the purse was supposed to be suspended and replaced it with a pre-prepared white one with copper clips, “and this must all go away.”

“Ridiculous! Utterly Ridiculous! Now it will totally clash with my comb!” Chloe complained.

“Oh no! How will you ever survive that?” Mari deadpanned. All three of them had another burst of laughter. After they calmed, Adrien started.

“Do you think it’s wrong that I want to bet which rule will Lila break first?”

“Ten macaroons she will say out-loud about money.” Mari threw.

“I raise, four tea parties she will start by asking for direction.” Chloe had a grin on her face

“Are you sure?” Adrien asked. When the blonde nodded, he shrugged. “Movie night and double popcorn bowl refill that she will do both in one conversation.”

“Hi, could you be so kind to point me to my exclusive hotel? You know, I’m staying at the penthouse of this luxurious new one.” Mari gave a quite good parody of Lilia.

“So to sum up, the pool is now ten Macaroons, Four Tea parties, and movie night with triple popcorn?” Chloe asked. When they nodded, she quickly noted it on her phone.

“Now, who wants a movie? I think they have the newest Thomas Astruck one.” Adrien pulled a disc from the container next to his seat.

“Good for me!/Go!” The girls said. Chloe, who was in the middle loaded it and the other two leaned onto her to watch together. The three were happy. Faintly in the background, there was knocking on the doors to their part, but nobody paid attention to very angry Liela and some classmates. For some reason, the doors were stuck and the blinder rolled down. Later if someone asked, Pollen would deny everything.

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

When the plane landed, the class was practically kicked out. The team walked calmly down the stairs, all of them having smug expressions. Lila wanted to comment, but a glare from Mme. Bustier shut her up quickly. Mari and co. would later try to guess, what got the crew so pissed at their classmates.

Once everyone was accounted for, the class made its way to the customs to retrieve their luggage. There was a small problem with Mari’s travel bag as it was apparently misplaced to the flight to Timbuktu, but luckily her true suitcase, which had her things inside, arrived safely. She giggled at the thought of custom office in Timbuktu receiving a bag full of Adrien’s old socks that smelled camembert.

Overall, the airport went mostly unproblematic. At least until they found themselves cleared and gathered in one place while Mme Bustier left to check on their bus. One of the men, wearing a dark blue suit started to laugh almost maniacally. Everybody immediately cleared away from him, out of sheer self-preservation. Lila must’ve decided that a show of kindness was a good way to regain class’ good grace. She was confidently approaching the man before suddenly Mari grabbed her and pulled her away. The designer might’ve despised the liar, but Joker… you don’t mess with Joker.

Of course, Lila used the chance. She faked falling on the ground and started crying crocodile tears. “Marinette?! How can you be so heartless? I wanted *sniff* to check on the man and you trip me?” Lila sniffled, eyes watering with crocodile tears.

“I might have saved your life genius!” Mari snapped. Joker was a really touchy subject with her. “Does the world Killer Clown mean something?”

“Don’t invent things, you bully!” Alya shouted. That seemed to break the dam and at once the class started to say awful things to Mari. A year ago, it would hurt her. Half a year ago, she would be sad. Now? Now she pitied them. Chloe didn’t, and she was ready to jump to protect her best friend.

“Ridiculous! Do you like… share a single brain cell? What if that man was…” she didn’t get to finish because Mme. Bustier returned. The commotion immediately calmed. By now the man stopped laughing and returned to talking with his friends.

“The bus is waiting. Come on children. Follow me.”

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

Arriving at the hotel, the class was split into different rooms. Of course, Lila tried to lie her way into some privilege, but Mari was too dead inside to care. The Jet Lag was killing her. At least she got some sleep on the plane. From the rumors she heard from the class, they didn’t because of Lila’s drama with the staff.

“Now I want you all to be ready here at eight a.m. sharp. A Wayne Enterprises representative will come here to explain the details of internships.” Mme. Bustier instructed them. This, for some reason, caused outrage in students.

“What do you mean internships?!”

“Wayne Enterprises?”

“Shouldn’t we be preparing to go to Gotham Academy or something?”

The terrible trio in the back had trouble holding back laugher. Adrien warned the girls about what his father planned, so they could all prepare. Gabriel Agreste, devious as he is, decided to punish Lila and teach Adrien something about running a company at the same time and using his connections to put the class up for an internship at WE. He did send the liar all the details, but she must have skimmed over the corporate jargon because the class was fed overexaggerated stories about what they would and wouldn’t do during two months trip.

Most parents were more than happy to send their children away from Paris for two months, especially since the Internship was free and the employment rate after it was quite high. WE kept quite a lot of the interns, if only out of habit. But perhaps it was mostly because the class has become a go-to place for the Akuma. Only Mr. Pidgeon and perhaps Gigantitan were akumatized more often. Mari actually picked up to cleansing their class weekly through a ritual she learned, otherwise there would be enough residual dark energy to power a demon portal. Not something one would want in the middle of a classroom.

“I was told you’ve all read the brochure provided and Lila summarised it for you.”

“I did!” The sausage hair defended. “Marinette must have told them some imaginary story about the trip!”

Immediately, several other people started to nod and confirm this. Chloe actually started to walk toward the liar almost red, but Mari grabbed the back of her blazer and held her in place. All the while she had a completely deadpan expression like it was normal for her (it was).

Mme. Bustier sighed. “Well, In that case, I will…”

“Excuse me, but shouldn’t we be going to sleep today already? We don’t want to be late tomorrow.” Adrien asked with an innocent expression, but there was some satisfaction hidden there too.

“Well… um… I…”

“We will be going then.” Chloe grabbed the key and led Mari to their room. Calline didn’t even question it. She wanted a pay raise after this.

-----------

The next morning, Mari was woken by a frantic Chloe

“Mari-bear! It’s already late! You don’t want to be late for your first day of Internship girl! It would be utterly Ridiculous!”

At first, the girl mumbled something, but once she finally processed everything she leaped out of her bed and started getting ready in record time. She was brushing her teeth, packing her purse, and tossing clothes at her best friend all at once. Once she had everything, she turned to see Chloe on the ground tied with a gray blazer. Mari just burst out laughing.

“How…”

“Ridiculous!” Chloe shook her head. “I demand you untie me this instant! We don’t have time for this!”

Once they dressed and did their hair, both girls were ready. Chloe now had a black button-down shirt, deep red blazer, and a matching pencil skirt. Mari also made her wear smart black stilettos (instead of her usual that were slightly more extravagant). The look was completed by a tablet in leather flip-over cover. Mari had a similar outfit, except her shirt was white and the suit was in dark blue. She opted for flat shoes to spare the embarrassment that was Marigold on heels.

“Ready to rock Gotham City?”

“Like you have to ask.” Mari smiled. There was something about the city of crime that made her feel safe and open up more. Maybe being on home turf gave her the much-needed confidence boost.

When Chloe tried to open the doors, she found them stuck. She was about to go on a rant about poor quality when Mari casually grabbed the doorknob and twisted it. There was a faint creaking sound as the mechanism gave.

“Um…”

“It must’ve been old,” Chloe said with a devious grin. “Nothing happened. Don’t you worry! I will deal with it.”

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

When the doors to the elevator opened and two girls strode into the lobby, their class was already pushing toward the exit. Adrien looked very much uncomfortable with Lila hanging off his arm, literally sinking her claws into him. He mouthed them a muted ‘later’. Alya stared at the girls with loathing.

“Ah, you are here.” Mme. Bustier spoke. “Lila said…”

“Whatever.” Chloe dismissed their teacher. “Aren’t we in rush?” The blonde practically seethed the last word.

“Yes, good to see that someone is responsible.” The teacher gave Mari a pointed look. Apparently, she still didn’t get over the fact that she resigned from the class rep position.

“But…”

“Drop it. She is not worth it.” Chloe whispered. “Daddy will take care of that once we are done.”

Mari just nodded. She knew Chloe was preparing a lawsuit against the school, but their hands were tied until they graduated or Damocles could try and undermine it. Both girls knew that no adult would help them with the lawsuit beyond Chloe’s father signing whatever dotted line she asked him to. That man was more whipped than a fresh can of whipped cream.

The ride to the WE was short and uneventful. Girls took up to gossiping in English, effectively limiting any eavesdropping. Mari spent most of the time tearing down the outfits of all the villains. She started with Riddler, more as a joke than actual rant, but then she somehow got onto this new guy Anarky. From there, she just kept on, smoothly sailing from one to the next. Even her mom got some shots. Mari still couldn’t stand how skimpy it was. Her rant carried over when they exited the bus and entered the WE. Security led them to a conference room, where they were told to take seats.

Mari guessed that it wouldn’t be Lila if she didn’t immediately start sputtering lies about how well she knew the building already because of her Damiboo giving her private tours (All while clutching Adrien like a leech). She didn’t have enough ducks left to give to try to expose Lila about several facts. Such as that Damian Wayne definitely wasn’t living with Bruce when he was five. Any Gothamite could tell her that. Bored, she returned to her rant.

She was nearing the end of the list and was very much engaged in complimenting Harley Queen for her recent change in wardrobe. She still considered it a disaster, but at least it was somehow human.

“Ekhm…” A voice broke her out of the rant. “Good morning. My name is Richard Grayson. You are the french class chosen for the internship program, correct?” When people nodded, he continued. Idly, Mari noted that Alya and Lila stiffened and suddenly stopped talking at all. “We reviewed the individual profiles and appointed each of you a mentor that will help you settle into your roles. As I read the names, please come forward so I can update your badges. Do carry them on your person all the time or we will have to take you to our human cloning facility.”

People stared at him.

“Okaaay… That’s that about jokes…” He sighed. “The rules will be explained by individual departments. Now, who’s up for a tour?”

People started to cheer at that and Dick smiled. Maybe it wouldn’t be that bad?

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

It was that bad. Even worse. He knew from the background check that the class was both insanely talented… and borderline criminal. It was like someone de-aged the Rogues and put them in one class. The report called them Akuma class, which (if google is to be believed) meant demons. He questioned how they got accepted into the internship.

They only toured two floors when Dick wanted to tear half of them to shreds. He noted immediately that they were bullying the girl with black (slightly blue? Maybe it was dyed?) hair. What surprised him was that the teacher didn’t react. If he was to be honest, the girl and her friend slightly irritated him too. They kept talking and seemed to ignore him. It was not because they kept tearing down each and every bats’ fashion choices. Definitely not that. When they brought up Discowing he had enough.

“Ekhm. Excuse me, girls,” he stared at them. Both immediately stopped talking and looked at him. “Could you pay attention? I wouldn’t want any of you to waste your internship lost on our maze-testing floor.”

“There is no maze-testing floor in this building.” The blonde pointed out.

“And besides, we memorized all you’ve said.”

“Care to recall?” He heard several people groan at his pun.

“The first floor is most representative, where guests are welcome and low-level meetings happen. There is a separate kitchen for employers there that is always fresh on fruits. Don’t use the coffee machine there as it was only patched up and there is a high chance it will set itself on fire again. The…”

“Fine. You’re good. Still, I don’t appreciate the chatter.”

“They are always trouble!” A girl in bright pink colors shouted.

“Yeah! Why do you have to ruin this trip for Lila!?”

“You’re just jealous of her boyfriend!”

More voices like this came from the crowd of kids. Dick started to feel bad that he singled the girls out. It definitely gave the class a reason to gang up on them. And the teacher still did nothing! He sighed. What did HR think when they accepted them. He would have to look into it later.

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

Mari decided that she didn’t like Dick. Everyone in their class kept talking, but for some reason, he singled them out. For the rest of the trip, she made sure to pay as much attention as she could. There was this silent determination on her face. Chloe wisely also kept silent.

After the trip class was led back to the conference room where another employer handed out the identificators and folders containing their assignments.

“Keep the IDs on you at all times. As opposed to the ones you received, this won’t expire and are synched with your jobs, so you will have access to anything you might need. They are also mandatory to receive lunch in our canteen. When you get acquainted with your tasks, you can go to the level specified at the end of sheet one. Your mentor will meet you there.” With that, he left. Dick really needed to do some in-depth research on this class. Something kept icking his detective sense.

“Well, I’m going to the law department. Apparently whoever made the assignments knew my well.” Chloe bragged to her friend after opening the folder.

Timidly, Mari also opened her folder. She skimmed over what was inside and groaned. “Apparently, I’m interning as personal assistant to one Tim Drake.”

“They actually assigned you to the sleep-deprived coffee addict?” Chloe asked in disbelief.

“You know him?” She asked in surprise

“He and his brother ruined my daddy’s parties two years ago. They got into an argument that ended up with them wrestling over a cake. It took me weeks to get the cake out of my hair! Weeks!” The blonde summarized.

“oh…” Mari tried to hold back the giggles.

“Don’t laugh! It’s a serious matter! Do you have any idea how much work it takes to have such a perfect hair?!”

“Of course… cakehead.” The girl couldn’t stop herself.

“Ugh, you… you… plant leg.” Chloe said.

“Really?” Mari raised an eyebrow. “That’s the best you can come with?”

“Well, I usually have better things to do than thinking about good insults.” Still, Chloe hugged her best friend. “Be careful. I wouldn’t put it past The Liar to try and sabotage you somehow.”

“I’ll be careful. Wish me luck.”

-----

The elevator took Mari all the way to the highest floor. When the doors opened, she stepped int a large room with one desk. As soon as the doors closed, the woman who was standing there rushed toward her. The girl tensed for a moment but she reminded herself that there is no real threat.

“Oh finally! I was asking them to hire someone else for months!” She had a messed bun of red hair on her head and looked like she didn’t sleep in a week.

“But… I’m just an intern madame!” Mari tried to explain.

“An intern?” The woman paused her packing and stared at the girl with wide eyes.

“Um… Madame Sarah Jackson?”

“Yes. An intern…” She said in a disappointed voice to herself. “Ah! That’s no problem at all!” She started to tap on her Waynetech Tablet and after a moment she smiled. “There! You’re hired!”

“Wha…?!” Mari shouted, but was interrupted when Sarah pushed the tablet into her hand, followed by a large box full of documents and a small mug with a coffee bean pointing a gun at the reader and words ‘Your Coffee or your life!’.

“They are your problem now! Everything you need is in the box. I left detail about ongoing stuff and whatever you might need. Don’t call. I’m outta here!” She shouted before grabbing her personal belonging and leaping into the elevator.

“But…! But…!?” Mari shouted after the closing doors. She could hear a cheerful shout as the elevator left the level.

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

#maribat #miraculous ladybug #maribat au #miraculous lb #batman #dc #mlb x dc #Marigold AU #Mother!Ivy

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donaidk · 4 years ago

Text

George Russell - We Don’t Have To Dance I.

In January I made a half ready au for something really outside Formula racing. Back then I was watching quite a bit of rally races before starting the F1 season off. Now I rewrote it as a George oneshot - which won’t stay a ONEshot - and finished it up. Sadly, this won’t be dripping from fluff just yet. Maybe there’s a chance for a happy end, but I didn’t decide on it yet 😂 Hope everyone will like it 🧡 (I accidentally deleted the previous post, so I’m just reposting it now again🤦‍♀️)

TW: car crash, injuries (not explicit but still, be careful) Title song is by Andy Black

Masterlist | Taglist/Queue | Request

" Welcome, everyone. Today will be quite a busy lobby as we have lots of people playing with us today. " He started his usual intro by describing what they will be doing. People were still arriving, but they had time until the first game would start.

Luckily streams like these were only chaotic in a funny way, making everything hilarious and ten times better. Just as the first notifications started coming in, he had to make sure the race's stream was still visible next to the other page. Then he could finally look at the incoming messages while they were waiting for the others to get ready. The first question made George realise he missed out important info from his intro.

" Hana isn't playing with us today. I almost forgot to tell you guys. I'm sorry in advance, but I will be quite distracted today. She is racing today, and the stream is open on my other screen. " He let out a laugh, already anticipating all the emojis and dripping comments about him and Johanna. " I usually put my off-days around her racing days, but it's a tournament, and I would have missed the whole week if I followed my usual plan for days like this. " He added, so they understood why today is like this. He had just a few streaming days planned every week during their off season, which always collided with Hana’s rally season, but luckily he could always play around with the schedule.

He hated not fully being there for his viewers, but at the same time, he wanted to support his girlfriend even when he couldn't travel there with her. Sometimes he could travel with her during his off-season but usually his training held George back, as he couldn’t miss them. It was the second-best way to get all the info of her racing in just seconds after the real events. Sadly the stream wasn't just about her, but as someone with a known name in the group, fortunately, they were showing her car quite frequently. By the time they went live, she already started and was on the first third of the track, completing that part in the perfect time, as she usually does. For a second, he just stared at the other screen as they were showing their inside cam but then had to focus back as they were starting the round in their game.

Luckily he manages the multitasking, mostly focusing on their game and trying to win, while catching every second they were showing Hana's car or maybe talking about her and how they're doing. He maybe lost a round because of an announcement about her time, but one game won't kill anyone, will it? In the first break, he retweeted a clip that was shared of her speeding down a straight, making him feel proud inside as they were saying no one has a chance against her. It always felt unreal how good she was in her category and how well they always talked about her. It was something that made him feel strangely proud, even though he had nothing to do with her skills. Everything she achieved was hers and no one else's, no matter what the haters would say. Her formula racing career may have ended early, but George was quite sure that she felt a lot more comfortable in the world of rally. After the first few bumps in the road, Hana found her place and style, getting her car onto the top half of the leaderboard every race.

The moment they start another round is when he hears the panicked voices in his headset, although lower than anything else. As soon as he looks at the stream, he sees the playback of a light blue car slipping on the road and flipping up in the air before hitting the ground with full force and starting to flip through the field until it finally comes to a stop as it hits a tree with Hana's door, the car staying on its roof. He waits for a second, hoping they will play the inside cam but as they don't include it, he knows there's probably a lot more to the crash than just a broken car. There are unmissable flames on the underside, but they switch to another driver just before he can see the marshalls getting to them and probably trying to get the team out before the fire consumes the frame of the vehicle and everything else inside of it.

" Fuck... " He doesn't even care about his own stream anymore, getting up and closing everything. As soon as the computer starts shutting off, he shoots out of the room. His phone in his hand already as there is an incoming call from Martha, his girlfriend's mother. " I just saw it, what's going on? " He spoke rushed, wanting to know everything that was said to them.

" They won't show anything, but the boss said they got them out just before it went up in flames. She was conscious but fainted as they took them to the ambulance. " Hana's mother was most likely in a full-fledged panic attack, and George could hear that they were packing in the background.

" I will get a ticket as soon as possible. I don't know when I'm getting there. " George sighed while pulling out a duffle bag to fill it with clothes for several days if needed. He didn't know how dangerous her condition was, and how many days they were spending there.

" It's okay. I will send you all the info when we get it finally. They will probably take them to the hospital. I just don't know which one, yet. Fucking hell. " It was the first time George ever heard her curse, but he didn't have the time to be surprised about it. More like it made him even more panicked as he knew the situation is probably worse than he anticipated.

He couldn't even push the phone into his pocket before another call came in from Alex. He knew they were probably puzzled about his disappearance, but he wanted to finish packing before talking to them. When he was in a taxi finally, on the way to the airport, he pulled it out of his jacket and dialled Alex's number.

" Hey, sorry for not answering. I just had to rush out of the house to the airport. Hana had a horrific crash. " He sighed, feeling as his body finally realised what's happening and started to stiffen up from the stress.

" Jesus Christ. Right. Just go, stay safe. I just wanted to ask if everything is okay, but fuck, didn't think it was this bad. " Alex mumbled out, and all the sounds were audible from the background as the others probably heard George's answer.

" She did a pretty high flip. They said she fainted just as they got to safety, so at least she's still alive. I don't think I would be if I have been the one inside. Man, I don't know what will happen. " The sentence was cut off by a choking sound as his throat tightened up at the idea of anything happening to Johanna.

" Hey, George. You know her. You know how fucking tough she is. Today's event won't be the one that stops her. Not even if she's injured. Don't even think about that as a possibility, because it isn't one. " He tried to reassure his friend, although he felt that it was almost useless. Without any real info about her condition, it's all up in the air and unstable. " The most important thing right now is for you to get there in one piece. You won't be of help if you fall apart. Her parents need you there. " He added with a sigh before saying goodbye and putting down the call so George can make the important ones towards Hana's friends and colleagues. It isn't easy but has to be done, as he knows her parents will be on their way to the hospital to be next to her, and won't be able to call everyone.

When he got to the airport, there was a ticket there already, waiting for him to pick up. It was a surprise, but a lovely one, as it saved him some time and stress before getting on the plane and starting his journey to Germany. He was sure he would have missed the first available flight if he had to buy it himself, but Hana's manager had the authority to get it for him in time. He made a note in his head to thank him for it when they met, as it wasn't something he had to do but decided to help George with it. As he had time on his hands, he tried to relax, although all the images in his head didn't let him sleep or anything. It was strange to see everyone so nonchalant about life while he was fearing for someone so much he was on the verge of throwing up the whole time. But he knew they were not horrible people, just that they didn't know what happened. They didn't have to know about everyone else's pain and life events. It was strange but completely normal.

As he knew he wouldn't be able to rest, he opened up his phone and went onto Twitter to see the news. Although there was nothing new on the tournament's page, Hana's team shared that she's on the way to hospital with injuries but nothing life threatening. It should have made him calm down, but as he thought how many small things can turn into huge problems, it didn't help. There were people, probably viewers and subscribers tweeting at him, sharing photos and thoughts with him, hoping Johanna is okay and healthy even though it was a nasty crash. The pictures of the wreck the car became, made all the good news unbelievable as he just couldn't understand how someone could get out of it without any injuries. He knew that her team wouldn't be lying and that they would have called him if there's anything he needs to know, but it was just all too much for his brain. He thought about putting out a tweet so everyone knew what was happening, but decided against it. Everyone knew already as they probably followed Hana's racing account and her team's one. He didn't need to put out everything and he didn't really feel like receiving even more messages than he already did. He knew they just wanted to let him know they were thinking about them, it wasn't good to see all of this 24/7. It was enough that he knew what was happening, he didn't need others to remind him every minute of the coming days.

' She's in theatre now, fractured leg and two broken ribs. They said she will need some days under anaesthesia to fully heal without the stress of the pain she will feel as soon as she wakes up. If everything goes as it should she will be out in an hour or so. We will get you a hotel room by the time you arrive, as our house is hours away from the hospital and I think we all want to be closer now. I'll send you the address of the hospital in a second. ' Came the awaited text from Martha, making him sigh out and save the address as soon as he got it, so he won't forget where he has to go after he arrives in the country. He remembered to send a message to the group, as they were people who deserved to know all the info. They were great friends of Hana and were probably pretty nervous about her state. They deserved to know.

It took him almost 20 hours to finally arrive and be able to get his baggage back. He first went to the hotel so he can put his stuff down before meeting up with Johanna's parents, so they can go to the hospital together. They had two rooms next to each other, so as soon as he had a shower and changed into fresh clothes, he went outside and knocked on their door.

" Hello! Are you okay? " He asked when the door opened, and he could see the worry on Martha's face.

" As much as you can be after something like this. " Martha let out a sigh, hugging George as he stepped closer. " They just called that she responded quite well to the medication. Her operated leg looks good too, although it was quite hard to fix in the surgeon's opinion. " She let go of him so they could leave for the hospital and finally really talk with the doctors that were part of the team caring for her.

" Is Andrew there already? " George asked while Michael locked up their door so they could head to the elevator.

" Yes. Theo wasn’t in need of medical care. Right after he was checked out by the doctor, they let him home. He and Andrew stayed. They wanted her to have someone while we were travelling here. " She nodded, pushing the first button inside, as it would take them down to the reception. " We got our car, so we won't have to call a taxi all the time. " She added, pulling out the keys from her purse, giving them to George as he was deemed the most put together to drive among the three of them.

" He was quite lucky if he's uninjured. " He let out a huff of air, feeling strange that while Hana was hurt, her co-driver walked away perfectly fine and without a scratch. Life took strange turns sometimes.

" Most of the damage was on Johanna's side. He's got a sore neck and back, but that's all. " She sighed, not saying more. She was probably blaming the navigator for her daughter's pain. In a situation like this no one could fault her for wanting someone to take the blame.

As they got down to the garage George opened up the car, and they all got inside. It was a 10 minutes long drive to the hospital and another 5 to find a parking spot not too far away from the entrance. Inside a nurse helped them find her room, but had to leave before they could ask any questions. She probably wouldn't have been able to answer them anyway, as she wasn't on her case. Although, looking at her and the huge cast on her leg answered most of their questions. She was asleep, as she was under anaesthesia to reduce the stress the pain would give her. At this point, George just hoped there wouldn't be any problems when they woke her up finally. They all knew that everything could change in 2-3 days, even though it looked perfect at the moment. Sitting down in the armchair he took out his phone to quickly text everyone, that they're finally at the hospital and in the room. He wanted to tell them more but could only type out that she looks okay, even though she was quite injured. Somehow the peace on her face made him calm down, even though he knew it was only from the drugs they gave her. It was nothing in connection with her being completely okay and perfectly healthy.

“ Family of Miss Braun, right? ” The german words made George turn towards the door, spotting a doctor who was the one taking care of Hana. Although his German wasn’t even close to perfect, he understood the question and nodded in synch with her parents. The following explanation of Johanna’s state was a bit too complicated for his basic knowledge, but George knew someone would eventually translate for him.

It took a minute or two before they told him that everything looked perfect on her charts, considering what her body went through. Although a relieved sigh left his body, everyone knew this wasn’t the end of the story. She will probably need rehabilitation after her leg heals, even if it’s a simple fracture and will heal easily. It didn’t help their worries that she was kept asleep for four days in the end, delaying the process and making them wait even longer before they got to talk to her. George hoped that with Hana awake they could get a bit more feedback for her treatment and also finally start the next part with physiotherapy. The sooner she got up and started moving around the easier it would be to get back to her previous physical fitness level. Everyone knew that laying around in a bed all day long didn’t help with staying fit and healthy.

George was in the middle of a meeting with the Williams engineers, sitting on his hotel bed, when he got the text that they would wake up Hana that day finally. Although he couldn’t just drop everything and leave for the hospital but made sure that their call finished as soon as possible, so he could get going. When he entered the hospital room she already had a bit more lively color but there was no sign of her being back to full consciousness yet. They were still inside the few hour window of the drugs finally working and didn’t really have to fear that something was going wrong. George was just sitting in the armchair next to the bed, legs pulled up and his fingers scrolling away on his phone while Hana’s mum was out for a coffee. Her dad couldn’t take off more time from work, but he was fine with the two of them looking after his daughter until he could visit in the late afternoons. The half-an-hour-checkups were slowly driving George crazy as the nurses never had answers, just took the data from the little screens and left with an understanding smile. It must have been between the 10th and 11th visit when they finally spotted a few movements, but it took another hour for her to finally open her eyes.

From the moment that she moved her arm for the first time George couldn’t get himself to sit back into the chair, rather opting for a walk down the hallway and then circling the room several times. Martha could only watch him pace but knew there weren’t any words that could help him calm down. They both knew they were finally getting closer to getting her back as much as they could in this moment of time, and it was nerve wracking to not have an exact time limit for it. It wasn’t surprising that he was the first one stepping next to hana’s bed when her eyes finally opened, with her mum arriving second. There were almost immediately several nurses and of course her main doctor stepping into the room, after being called through the installed button. While they tried not to overwhelm her they still had to run a few tests and George’s stomach turned at how scared Hana looked, before settling down at her mum’s gentle touch on her hand. They took their sweet time examining every little corner of her body and asking questions about her pain levels and just general state, leaving all of them tired from the stress and concentration when they finally finished everything up. There was only one nurse staying back to get some medication ready for Hana, when she could finally take a breather and look around the room. Seconds later her eyes finally reached George, and there was an evident smile getting onto her face.

“ Hello. ” Her voice was almost like music to his ears, after so many days of not being able to hear it, and George couldn’t help the relieved sigh that left his body.

“ Welcome back! ” He smiled down at her, squeezing her hand on the bed gently. He was still scared to use full force, after seeing how fragile the human body was actually. These were the few moments that made you realise you have no superpowers and that you’re not indestructible.

#george russell #george russell fanfiction #george russell fanfic #george russell ff #george russell oneshot #george russell imagine #george #russell #f1 #formula 1 #f1 fanfiction #f1 fanfic #f1 ff #f1 imagine #f1 oneshot #bydonaidk #not requested

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3pirouette · 3 years ago

Text

Fic: The Honey Trap (12/12)

Title: The Honey Trap

By: TriplePirouette/3Pirouette

Disclaimer: They're not mine.

Distribution: AO3 Anyone else please ask first :)

Story Summary: Peggy’d lost count. She wasn’t sure if she was a double or triple agent at this point, and in the end, it didn’t matter. What mattered was getting out of this alive.

A/N: See END for all AN for this chapter.

Chapter 12/Epilogue: Just One More Minute

The beeping was incessant, mechanical, and right at his ear, pulling him from sleep. He groaned, moaned, tried to move but couldn’t.

He heard a sigh, and settled.

~*~

The beeping was louder this time, and he could hear hushed voices in the room. He didn’t want to wake up: his body was still screaming for rest and even he had limits, but he wanted to know what happened, wanted to know how long it had taken them…

It was when he’d remembered exactly what had happened, exactly who he’d been with… that he fought to open his eyes. He needed to know how Peggy was. He needed to know she was alright.

He needed to know she was still alive. He struggled to move, his eyes fighting to open.

“Hey!” A warm, familiar voice greeted him. It was rough, and not as he remembered, but still unmistakable.

Steve’s tongue was thick in his mouth. His eyes finally blinked open, and even though the focus was fuzzy, he still couldn’t trust what he was seeing. “Buck?”

“Yeah, yeah pal.” Bucky smiled, but it was rimmed with wrinkle lines, even though eyes were just a the same under a flop of salt and pepper hair. Steve would have thought it was Bucky’s father staring at him, tears gathering in his eyes as he took his hand, except for the voice. He’d know his best friend anywhere. “This must… this must be a shock.”

Steve felt a headache coming on, and couldn’t quite get the words out. “What… why are you…”

“It’s been a long time.” Bucky swallowed hard, sadness and loss filling his words. “You were missing for a long time.”

The machines to his side started beeping, matching his elevated heartrate as he tried to do the math. Ten years? Twenty? He couldn’t have been missing for so long that Bucky had aged so drastically, could he? In a second, a young man who seemed more familiar than not rushed in, beckoned by the incessant beeping. “Uncle Buck, what did you—” He stopped halfway to the bed, surprised. “He’s awake.”

“He’s awake,” Bucky smiled, nodding at the man.

“How- Howard?” Steve blinked again, sure that the man looked more like his friend than not, but being far less sure in the assessment even though his vision was nearly clear now.

“Half right,” the man said, moving forward and reading over the displays to the side of his hospital bed. He turned, smiling as he shoved his hands in his pockets. “Tony. Howard’s son.”

Steve was baffled, looking between both men. Tony had to be nearly forty on his own, looking more like Bucky’s contemporary. “How long, Buck?” He finally whispered, fear growing deep in his belly. “How long has it been?”

Bucky tried and failed to answer, the words catching in his throat, so Tony stepped in, soft and serious. “About 70 years, give or take a few months.” He nodded gently, looking back towards the door. “Dad never stopped looking for you, but you didn’t make it easy.”

He was confused, but the answer was all he needed to know. The serum had saved him, but she had nothing to stop the icy water from taking her. The heart monitor beeped faster and faster as he felt the grief swell in his throat. His eyes snapped shut tight, trying to keep the well of emotion inside him.

“Steve?” Bucky leaned forward, holding his hand tight as Tony started reviewing the monitors, yelling for a doctor. “Tony, what’s happening? What’s wrong?”

“Dunno,” he looked between the man and the monitors, concerned. “I don’t- I don’t think it’s physical but we’ll have to get Doctor Cho in here.”

Steve shook his head, grasping his friend’s hand. After a second, he opened his eyes, tears falling down his cheeks. “Peg,” he whispered.

Bucky slowly sat, nodding. “We don’t know, Steve.”

He closed his eyes again, tight. “After all that,” he choked out, “I still lost her.”

“Huh?” Tony snapped his head around, surprised. “Lost her? No. No no no no no.” He moved to the side of the room and pulled at the sliding curtain, revealing a glass wall that showed an identical room on the other side, gesturing wildly to the figure in the bed and the elderly man sitting next to her. “We found her, too. Right there with you- holding on for dear life. Dad’s been sitting with her.”

Steve tried to push himself up out of the bed, but Tony and Bucky both pushed him down. “You just said—"

“I meant we don’t know if she’s gonna make it, still, Steve.” Bucky pushed his friend flat while Tony moved to push away the glass divider. “You recovered faster. She’s not out of the woods.”

Before the partition was even opened all of the way, Howard was up and out of his chair. “Steve?” He smiled, clapping his son on the shoulder as he passed him. “Holy shit, Steve, you’re awake!”

“Holy shit, Howard, you have a son,” Steve retorted, exhaustion starting to make itself known.

“Probably the least surprising thing for you right now, huh?” Howard chuckled, stopping by the edge of his bed. “Yeah, I uh- guess that’s not something you would have guessed for me.”

Steve tried to fight the heaviness of his eyelids, but it was a losing battle. “Peg?”

“Slow. But encouraging.” Howard smiled, and that was enough reassurance for Steve. “We’ll move you two lovebirds together.”

“Questions…” Steve mumbled, sleep pulling at him hard now.

“We’ll have answers,” Howard replied, moving to help Tony start to sort the monitors. “Sleep. We can talk more later.”

He didn’t need any more permission than that, and sank away from consciousness.

~*~

He was up and walking a day after that, feeling more and more like his old self by the hour.

He’d been sitting by her bedside for three days now, his own recovery deemed full and miraculous. Bucky often kept vigil with him, and when Bucky wasn’t there Howard was. It hurt, to see his friends so different, to hear the stories of lives they’d lived without him, to hear that Bucky had received a bastardized version of the serum from Zola and it took them longer than not to figure it out, but it was an ache that was tempered by the fact that they both still lived, that they were both still alive and well and underneath it all still the same sarcastic friends he’d left behind.

Peggy lay in the bed, the heart monitor beeping steadily away and her chest rising and falling with each breath. She didn’t quite look like herself with her hair straight and flat, not in the meticulous curls she worked so hard for, and with the bright red varnish cleaned from her nails for the monitors they clipped on her fingers.

“Tell me one more time,” Steve gently demanded of Howard, breaking the silence of their watch.

“I can write it down for you,” he joked lightly, closing the small laptop he was working on. “The army found you, not on purpose but by accident. A glacier had shifted and the snow fell away in an avalanche, revealing the wreckage.” He sighed, setting the laptop on the floor below his chair and pulling his glasses off. “That’s where I went wrong. I just assumed you sank. You didn’t: you landed in what was probably a thin spot on the glacier back then. It was enough to crack through and let the water up and in, but it stopped you from sinking. The snow covered you up and that was it.” He shrugged. “Arial recon all came back just icy white glaciers and clear water. I was looking on the bottom of the ocean for you. Didn’t even think maybe you’d been covered by snow already.”

“You can’t beat yourself up about that,” Steve whispered, taking Peggy’s hand. “We both knew exactly what we were doing when we got on that plane.”

Howard huffed a laugh through his nose. “Never could stop the two of you from doing anything.”

Steve did laugh then, shaking his head. “No, not you or Phillips.”

“He’d be happy,” Howard nearly whispered. “He felt horrible, too.” Steve moved to reply, but Howard cut him off. “You know, that was the only time I ever saw him cry? At the memorial the Commandos had.” Howard sniffed, emotion welling up in him, and he tamped it down with a cough. “You can ask Barnes about that, though.”

Howard sat tall and cleared his throat. “At first we thought we just found you, but she was hiding.”

He let his hand slide up and down her arm. Her skin was still cool, but warmer than it had been the day before. “Hiding? How?”

“Under you.” Howard shook his head. “It’s the damndest thing. She was just… under you. Like somehow between the two of you you’d managed to make this perfect little air bubble cocoon that just…” He laughed. “It almost looked like you were dancing, the way you two had your arms around each other.”

Howard scrubbed his face, looking back and forth between Steve and Peggy, then glancing around to make sure they were alone before he continued. “There was this… hole. In the ice.” He dropped his voice. “I didn’t tell anyone else, and I destroyed it, but there was this spot, right at your feet. A square hole.” He waited for Steve to meet his eyes. “Water doesn’t make perfect squares in nature, Steve.” He looked at him seriously. “It was the cube you found that day, wasn’t it?”

“It was called the Tesseract.” Steve looked over at Howard, hand still holding Peggy’s tight. “It was blue, and glowed like those energy weapons- but it was the source, the thing Schmidt and Zola used to make all those weapons.” Steve shook his head. “I’d never seen anything like it.”

Howard waited, but Steve didn’t continue. He rubbed his hand across he jaw. “We’ve still got those little blue bits and energy weapons locked away in Alamogordo,” Howard confessed. I’ve been trying to learn more for years, but… I don’t think it’s… I don’t think it was from Earth,” he nearly whispered.

“It’s not,” Steve replied evenly, as if he were talking about the weather. “The things I saw it do… it wasn’t.” He kept to himself the suspicions he had about Peggy, the thoughts he had about how the two of them had survived. Those were for another day when she was awake and talking to him and they could tell Howard together.

They were quiet for a moment before Howard took a deep breath and moved to grab his laptop again. “Tony will be here in a few hours with that tablet for you. Access to anything you want.”

Steve raised his eyebrows. “I have a lot of news to catch up on.”

Howard opened his laptop and smirked at his friend. “We’ll get you the highlight reel.”

They were quiet for a while before Howard leaned over and held the laptop over to Steve. “You should start with this, though.”

Steve gently undid his hand from Peggy’s, taking the laptop. “What is it?”

Howard grimaced as he looked over at Peggy, her color getting pinker by the minute. “For about 20 years Peggy’s disappearance was classified. You were publicly mourned, but they couldn’t say she was with you, or why. According to public record, she was your scorned lover and hadn’t been on that plane but rather just disappeared into Nazi Germany to never be seen again, listed as a traitor. At least, that’s what the government wanted everyone to believe.” Howard held up his hand as devastation fell over Steve’s face. “I know, believe me. But she was a spy. She knew the risks to her character if she died under deep cover. The information Peggy got us, and some of the names and places she supplied, helped us topple the regime from the inside out after that day you guys went down.” He smiled as he continued the story. “Phillips helped me and the Commandos petition to get her last mission declassified.” He tiled his head at the website on the computer. “That’s the write up the Smithsonian did on her. It’s nice. They call her a hero.”

“She was.” Steve looked up, eyes pulled away from the screen.

“She is,” Howard agreed. He sighed. “She’s coming back to us, Steve. You just need to give her more time.”

“Operation Honey Trap?” Steve asked, eyes drawn back to the article.

Howard tried not to let his amusement show as Steve gingerly touched the keys, trying to scroll the page. “That’s what they called it after the fact. Phillips hated it.” Howard kicked back his legs to and after a few seconds reached over and showed Steve how to scroll on the touchpad silently. “The CIA was the biggest pain in the ass about getting that declassified. Apparently, they’d modeled several operations off of what she did and thought we’d be outing them.”

“She’d hate this.” Steve smiled, reading the words.

Howard shook his head, standing. “She’ll have to get over it. She was one of the best spies during that war, and maybe ever. When you two are feeling up to it, there are going to be a lot of people who want to talk to you, who are going to want to get you back into the saving the world business, myself included.” Howard lifted his eyebrows and tipped his head. “But you get to decide. Whatever you need, we’re here for you.”

Steve looked up at him, genuine gratitude in his eyes. “Thank you, Howard. I mean it.”

“Eh, least I could do.” He clapped him on the shoulder, leaving it there just a second longer. “Damn, I forgot just how solid you were.” Howard poked his arm a few times and smiled, turning to leave. “I do good work.”

~*~

It was dark when she fluttered her eyes open, and the plain white ceiling baffled her.

Berlin.

No. Switzerland.

But it didn’t smell right, and the bed wasn’t quite the same as the last bed she could remember.

What could she remember?

She closed her eyes and took stock of her body. Everything seemed to be in working order, but she felt heavy, fuzzy. She felt like she was swimming through a fog and all she wanted to do was go back to sleep.

She fought, but the pull was too strong. She was about to let herself fall into the void of it when she felt a hand take hers.

A large hand.

A familiar hand.

“Peg?”

She smiled. Eyes closed, confused and lost, she’d know that voice anywhere, and it made her feel safe.

Safe.

She let sleep claim her again, knowing she would be alright.

~*~

She dreamt. She dreamt of the light of the Tesseract surrounding her, cradling her, making her feel warm and fine and irrationally calm as Steve held her in his arms, the cold water rising up around them.

Wallace. Zola. Schmidt. The plane.

It flashed past her thoughts in a second: months of work that left her battered and bruised and nearly lost in her own mind.

And Blue.

Everything was tinged blue.

Blue, like Steve’s eyes. Blue, like the sky on a warm day when she was a child.

Blue, like the glow of the Tesseract when she touched it, fearing for her life, but instead feeling instantly calm, like a higher power had taken her hand and commended her for a job well done.

Blue, like the cold water welling around them, touching them but not, staying far enough away that she could still breathe, that she could still smell the sweat on Steve’s skin as she took what she thought would be her last breath.

Blue, like space and time standing still, holding her close in its power, letting her know that her time in this world wasn’t done yet.

She could feel herself swimming to consciousness. She could feel it pulling at her, but she was afraid. She was afraid to see where she ended up, afraid to open her eyes and find that it was just a dream, that she was still in occupied territory and her mission was far from over. Afraid to find she wasn’t with Steve, but with anyone else.

She took a deep breath and blinked open her eyes.

She was alone.

Two slow breaths, and nothing about the room changed. It was dimly lit, giving her the feeling of night, and she was surrounded by three walls and one heavy curtain. The bed was like no bed she’d ever seen before: sleek steel and plastic, stylized buttons, and a mattress that felt too soft and too firm all at the same time.

Slowly she sat, looking at the stack of machines next to her. They seemed almost fake without levers or buttons, but flat glass screens displayed readouts from the leads attached to her. She worked hard to keep her breathing slow, to keep her heart rate down as the machine quietly kept time with her.

Nothing about it made her think it was Hydra, which was a comfort, but nothing about it seemed familiar, which was not.

She heard the door start to creek, and didn’t have enough time to lay down and feign sleep before it swung all the way open.

It didn’t matter.

There he was.

Steve.

He dropped the thin screen he was holding and took big strides to her, wrapping her up in his arms before she could even comprehend that he was actually, really there. She let herself sink in his embrace, in the familiarity as he held her, whispering her name over and over.

He smelled different: the sharp hint of frontline lye soap was gone, but her head fit in that nook against his shoulder just the same, and the tiny hairs at the back of his neck felt exactly right as she let her fingers run through them. Every muscle was in the right place and his voice was smooth as honey and wrapped around her like a cocoon. Even the way he hugged her, soft at first then slowly tighter until she felt completely engulfed by his frame, was exactly the same.

He pulled back, eyes soft and worried and somehow so sad and so elated at the same time. “Peggy, please tell me you’re alright? Do you feel okay?” He let his hand run over her cheek, thumb brushing gently across her jaw.

Her tongue was thick in her mouth and she couldn’t quite get the words out, but she nodded. “Fine,” she croaked finally. “Just fine.”

He laughed, a light happy sound that came out as he smiled, looking happier than she could ever remember seeing him. “Yeah, you would be, wouldn’t you?”

“What happened?” she managed to scratch out, her throat dry.

The smile faded. “What do you remember?”

She looked him over, the dark feeling that something was terribly amiss creeping up on her again. She swallowed, saliva starting to coat her mouth and throat, making the words come out just a little gentler. “The plane. And Schmidt. I—I shot him.”

He nodded. “Anything after that?”

She looked at him, the crisp blue of his eyes reminding her of that feeling, that safe feeling that was so foreign. “You. Falling.” She paused, unsure but not willing to hide it. “Safe. I felt safe. I don’t know why.”

Steve nodded, pausing. He couldn’t quite find the words, but then, she really didn’t need him to.

“How long has it been?” she asked softly, taking his hand tightly in hers.

“Peggy…”

She pressed her forehead to his, closing her eyes. “How long, Steve?”

“Too long,” he whispered, the pain evident in his words, a pain he hadn’t shared with his friends who were still around, but far, far different from how he’d left them. “Seventy years.” The words hung in the silence between them, heavy. “I’m sorry, Peggy. It wasn’t supposed to happen like this.”

She leaned forward, closing the inch between their lips. She kissed him softly, his lips unmoving under hers for the barest of seconds before he kissed her back. She pulled away and snuggled herself deep in his embrace. “There’s nothing to be sorry for. We did what had to be done.” She sighed, her eyes fluttering closed at the feel of his hands in her hair. “We always knew there might be consequences.”

“Not like this,” he whispered, reveling in the feel of holding her close. He waited another breath, squeezing her tight before starting to push away. “I should get the doctor.”

“Not yet!” She clutched at him, feeling panic rise in her. He immediately stopped, pulling her closer again as she let out a shuddering breath. “Just… just not yet.” She felt tears start to well in her throat, the enormity of everything hitting her at once. “I need a minute. It’s…”

“It’s a lot.” He held her close, hand rubbing up and down her back. “It’s a lot.”

She nodded, her heart slowing just the slightest bit. She still couldn’t wrap her head around what had happened, or how they’d ended up here, but there was time for understanding. There was time for explanations.

Right now, the war was over, Hydra was gone, and she was in Steve’s arms, safe and warm. Things might be a little different than she’d imagined, but she had all she wanted and she wasn’t about to let the opportunity to live her life the way she wanted slip through her fingers.

She just needed one more minute in his arms, something she’d lacked for too long while they both faced down their enemies, and then she’d be ready to face whatever was on the other side of that hospital room door.

Just one more minute.

~*~

A/N: Thank you all for taking this journey with me. This has been a really funs tory to write, even if it has given me fits and starts here and there. Yes, I know this opens up an entire new world to play in, but I don't plan on exploring it any further, at least not right now. This story, and I'm still not exactly sure why, always ended with Steve and Peggy together in the future, courtesy of the Tesseract. (Oddly, Wallace was always meant to be a good guy, too, but we all see how that went...) Again, thank you for all your comments and replies. They truly do mean the world to me, even though it takes me a while to get back to you.

#Steggy Fic #Steggy #3P's Fic #it's finally finished

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jvdes · 3 years ago

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david? it’s gretchen. i’m just returning your call about your niece.

alternatively titled: we’re all here for a fucking reason, you know. you don’t get sent some place like this for no fucking reason.

tw: violence, abuse, alcohol, vomit

it’s october 23rd, 2020, and it’s not like she’s not trying. you can say what you want about jude - a liberty nobody’s been willing to pass up before - but she is trying. contrary to popular belief, jude doesn’t, like, get off on being in a lousy fucking mood. she doesn’t like being miserable, it’s definitely not her big fucking goal. it’s just, misery seems to love her. but she’s a fighter, and she’s not gonna lay down and take it - she’s not gonna let it swallow her whole. not without a struggle, at least.

so, it’s the anniversary of her mom’s death, but she’s making an effort, you know? and at 8:30 pm, she’s sober, she’s made it to the weekend without getting in trouble at school, and she’s pretty dead set on pretending that nothing is as fucked up as it is, or she’ll at least die trying.

she’s even - get this - displaying a little bit of school spirit.

2:07 pm

“are you going to the football game?” clara wilkerson had asked in sixth period chem lab, and jude tried not to laugh. it was important that she didn’t laugh, because clara, her chem lab partner, was pretty damn hot. she was smarter than jude, a pretty brunette with big green eyes, and she seemed to think jude wasn’t a total waste of space, so, you know. big win for jude, who was hoping that, sooner or later, she might be able to get in clara’s pants.

“i dunno if that’s my thing,” jude had shrugged. she had nothing against sports, and she had nothing against standing around outside at night, but it still wasn’t an activity she’d ever been dying to partake in.

“what?” clara feigned shock. “watching the eleven meanest guys in our school homoerotically tackle the eleven meanest guys from our rival school while sipping watered-down hot chocolate that burns off your taste buds? what’s not to like?”

“well, when you put it like that,” jude laughed.

“exactly. it’ll be fun, you’ll see. here, give me your hand,” she instructed, and jude handed it over with a skeptical look. clara proceeded to write her address on jude’s hand, which was maybe some kind of weird power play and/or mating ritual, since clara had jude’s number, and could have absolutely just texted it to her. “so, you’ll pick me up at 6:45?” clara asked. and jude, to her credit, agreed.

10:38 pm

it’s not like it was easy, pretending that it wasn’t the day that it was, that there wasn’t that heat beneath jude’s skin. pretending that she was distracted, like it was okay. nothing’s ever easy, right? and it wasn’t okay, not exactly - there was the clipped tone of some of her jokes, a little too high, a little too thin. something inside of her chest at the center, aching a little.

but it was almost okay, or she could almost pretend that it was almost okay, and it was really nice to not be at home. it was nice to have someone to laugh at her jokes, nice to be standing around in the cold autumn night under the too-bright stadium lights.

and now, as she braces herself against the wind, walking through the parking lot hand-in-hand with clara, she thinks that maybe she almost had fun. “you’re smiling!” clara announces gleefully, and jude looks over at her. “told you it’d be cool. like i said - what’s not to like? you, me, a bunch of screaming teenagers around us; it was fun.”

jude grins over at her. the parking lot is busy, now, hoards of kids moving en masse from the bleachers, body heat between them in the sharp, cold breeze. “oh, sure,” jude agreed. “i’m all about football now. you’ve converted me.”

so it’s kind of nice. except - well. they’re walking, and there’s this plane overhead. and it’s such a small thing, jude knows that, but her smile fades all the same, because it’s like this bitter fucking reminder. like the world is mocking her for being stupid enough to think that she’d ever be okay, that she’d ever be able to make it through a night without spiraling, least of all tonight. for being stupid enough to think she deserved that much in the first place.

without thinking much of anything at all, she turns to kiss clara then, under the distant whirr of the plane, as if maybe the noise of their breathing will be enough to drown it out. it’s their first kiss, jude’s hands on clara’s hips, like blood on blood alone will be enough to ground jude, enough to let her forget. like if she couldn’t just say it ( any of it, what plagues her ), then being touched can be enough to anchor her to the ground. always a valiant effort with her, right?

but then they’re standing in a flood of light, a truck full of boys stopped in front of them. the boys in the back whistle at them, and the one driving hangs his head out of the window, face an ugly sneer. jude recognizes him, of course - just some asshole, like all the boys are, but she knows him; he beat the shit out of her at a party for talking to his ex, and jude had ended up in the hospital with 47 stitches. “moved on from your regular sluts, bright?” he says, and jude pulls away from clara. clara rolls her eyes, but jude, she squares her shoulders and flips them off, squinting in the light.

“they’re just being jerks,” clara said quietly, “let’s go.” jude’s car isn’t that far away. they could just go. they could just walk away. but when was jude ever going to leave well enough alone? that heat, that raw anger pulsing beneath her skin, barely contained all day, waiting for any excuse to slither out of her like a sickness. just give me a fucking reason. isn’t that what she’s always thinking?

“the fuck did you just say?” jude challenges, and clara tenses beside her, gripping jude’s arm through her jacket.

“just surprised you found someone willing to be out in public with you,” he said, opening the door and approaching them. he moved toward them in that quick, confident way that boys seem to always have about them. he was close to them now, so close, and fucking with them. fucking with them just because he could, just because he saw them, because they were in the wrong place at the wrong time, and boys love seeing if they can scare girls. “not that i meant to interrupt,” he adds, skeezy, gross. “go on. go ahead, i’m happy to watch. we can all have a little fun here, right? after party, yunno,” he continues, and jude can smell the alcohol on his breath, that’s how close he is to her.

she doesn’t stand down, though, not even as clara’s nails bare into her skin even through her jacket. it’s that wicked, wild heat inside of her, that vicious anger. ( you’re like a feral fucking dog, clara will yell at her in a few minutes, once it’s all been said and done. ) “he’s not worth it,” clara whispers, “we can just walk away.”

jude does not just walk away. “get back in your shitty fucking truck, and get the fuck away from me, or i’ll kick your ass,” she says, trying to feel taller than she really is. he has at least five inches on her, maybe more, but she crosses her arms anyways.

( she must know by now, though, that there’s no way this is going to end well, right? maybe she had been trying, maybe she had been sober and not in any trouble so far, but she must know now that the choice to not walk away is the fatal one, right? which just goes to show, she knows: anything that happens next is deserved. anything that happens next is just her doing it to herself. )

“oh, yeah. ‘cause we all remember how well that worked out last time,” the boy says, and that’s enough.

“jude,” clara says, “walk the fuck away.”

the high school parking lot hasn’t been redone since 1976, and the concrete parking blocks are falling apart, crumbling where they stand, chunks of concrete strewn around the parking lot. maybe, if anybody’d cared enough to try and fix up the parking lot any time in the last 20 years, there wouldn’t have been a chunk of concrete at jude’s feet. and without a chunk of concrete at her feet, she certainly wouldn’t have sent it flying through the windshield of the truck. but there was, and she did, and so the cop that parked in the high school parking lot during school events came over, and jude wound up being driven home in a cop car.

but she’d tried, you know?

11:21 pm

not that it mattered. not that she’d say so to her uncle, who dragged her inside by the collar, a hand on her neck she could just not shrug off. “what in the everloving fuck is wrong with you?” he asked, as soon as the door was shut behind them, closing out the cool autumn air and leaving room for only guilt.

it was a question that she was uninterested in answering, so she raised a middle finger behind her as she climbed the stairs. she moved to slip into her bedroom, but he followed her like a shadow, gripping her by the arm before she could manage. she whipped around, and she wanted so desperately to be calm, but she wasn’t. “have you got any idea how fucking lucky you are, jude? that they’re not pressing charges, that you’re here right now, and not in a fucking cell? jesus christ! and you’re looking at me like you’re pissed off. who the fuck do you think you are?”

jude glared up at him, chest heaving, eyes dark and wild. what a miserable fucking question. “i think,” she began flatly, “that i’m a future player for the Mets.” there was that vein on his neck again, and she knew, of course, that she was only making things worse for herself. that’s what she does best, but it’s okay, everyone - she’s going to get what she deserves. “it was a good throw,” she added, “you should have seen it. you would have been proud.”

“did you think of that on the way home?” he asked quietly. he, too, was trying to pretend he was calm, and doing a shitty job at it. “how long did that one take you, jude? ten minutes? twenty?”

“i thought of it on the fly, actually,” she answered, and he laughed - an unpleasant, humorless, bitter little laugh in the quiet, airless space of the house. “it’s a talent. a calling, even.”

“your calling is being a destructive piece of shit. good for fucking nothing, i swear. have you ever taken responsibility for a single thing in your goddamn life? no. everything is always somebody else’s fault, right, jude? just like your fucking mother. you’re not a future player for the Mets. I’ll tell you where you’ll be in two years, jude. you’ll be dead, or you’ll be in jail. you wanna talk about being proud? your mother, she was no prize, but even she would be so fucking ashamed of you.” it’s the way his voice bleeds into a vocal fry when he’s angry, the way his eyes burn.

she closed the door to her room behind her, and david let her. she allowed herself a minute or two to get herself together, shaking on her bed, before she slipped out of her bedroom window, into the cold night.

12:12 am

she’d tried, right? but that had gotten her nowhere, so obviously, it was a total waste of time. that’s what she was thinking as she sipped shitty vodka from the little bottle she’d pocketed from the skeezy liquor store down the street: what a waste of fucking time.

tonight was always going to end this way, wasn’t it? there was no reality where she drove clara home and kissed her goodnight; jude didn’t deserve that. there was only now, here, leaning over the railing of the overpass, vision drunk and swimming, thinking about what a waste of fucking space she was. she polished off the bottle, then flung the bottle into the street, closing her eyes and listening for the cracking noise of glass meeting asphalt.

maybe i’ll go get high, she thought, then turned around and started walking against the wind.

2:08 am

david bright stood around the corner of the wall, a metal baseball bat in his hands. it was the anniversary of his sister’s death - or had been, until midnight - and somebody had broken into his fucking house. well, broken in was a strong word to use, since he’d forgotten to lock the deadbolt in lieu of who had greeted him at the door the last time he’d opened it, so a bobby pin or a credit card was enough to jimmy it open. still - he could hear the culprit moving around in the dark, and from where he stood, he could see the front door, still wide open, swinging lazily on it’s hinges, letting in a draft, an open square of darkness in the wall like a missing tooth.

he was going to handle it, though. he’d had a bit to drink, but you don’t play piano for years without learning some hand-eye coordination, and whoever it was that was stumbling around his house after leaving the door wide open behind them, he could handle them. he was a man who handled things, wasn’t he?

he could see their shadow, swaying in the night, in the moonlight, and he turned the corner, swinging the bat as he did, proud of himself for catching the intruder off guard.

jude swore as the bat hit her shoulder, and, far from sober, that one hit was enough to send her slipping to the ground, landing on her ass.

david saw her, then - that flash of red hair, the wide, frightened eyes, the jacket that had belonged to his sister. he’d deny it, of course, even to himself - he’d thought she was an intruder, right?

( of course, maybe he always knew it was her, even before he grabbed the bat, even before the first swing. why else would he not call the police? )

he’d heard her voice, though, after he’d hit her for the first time, but he swung again anyways, like it was a movie he was watching, like things were already in motion, like they were outside of his control. so he swung again, his position readjusted to hit her in her new space on the floor, and there was that loud, sick and vicious sound of metal hitting skull. a horrific thud.

instinctively, slowly, a wounded animal, jude curled into a ball, arms above her head in defense, and he swung a final time, leaving an angry red mark on the soft flesh of her skin. “stop!” she slurred in the darkness, tasting blood.

jude saw, even through her swimming vision, that single flash on his face, that crack in the facade; an expression so familiar it made her feel sick. that horror. what have i done? anger that’s gotten the best of you. a burning under your skin. some things run in the family, she thought dizzily, terribly, and then, it was like it had never happened, and despite what had all just transpired in no time at all, despite the smell of alcohol coming so strongly from the both of them, he was calm again.

“you forgot your key,” he said, maybe as a question or maybe as a statement, and he took a shuddering breath. they stayed there, jude gazing up at him.

to david, her glassy, dilated eyes seemed to look right through him, a fever-bright stare that seemed to burn into his skin like a brand. ( had she always looked that much like delilah? with those fucking eyes, so fucking green? jesus. )

it was quiet for a long time before he finally said, “something needs to change, jude.” jude laughed, so quiet and so weak it was almost a rasp. and how.

without saying any more, he turned around, disappearing into the hall with footsteps that echoed in jude’s mind, making her head ache furiously. she sat there as he left her behind, body aching like one complete wound.

shame and anger spun in dizzy circles around her head, and it was a long time before she thought she’d be able to make it upstairs to her bedroom. she dragged herself up, eyes closed, her only true sense the metallic taste of blood. he’s going to kill me, she thought, as she closed her bedroom door behind her. he’s going to kill me one day, and i’m going to let him. and that will be on me.

she wants to break something. she wants to break. she wants the room to stop spinning, she wants the pain to stop, for the pain to get worse. FUCK! this is something she owes to herself. letting men do what they want to her - since when is that her? and her uncle was right, she knows; her mom would be so fucking ashamed. jude is so fucking ashamed.

something needs to change. she barely stifles a sob. i am so fucking spineless. holy shit.

she barely made it to the bathroom, but she did, vomiting vodka and stomach acid as she clung to the porcelain. please let me black out, she thought. please let me black out. i don’t wanna remember this. please let me just forget this.

she did black out. when she finally managed to stand on two feet, to crawl out of bed and drag herself into the bathroom to vomit again, she saw her reflection in the mirror, the skin of the right side of her face an angry swell of black and red, and she thought to herself, i must have been in a fight at a party or something. just a fight, or something like that. some stupid fight.

#／ JUDE . ABOUT !#wilds.musings #this took me like 4 days and its STILL very bad.... embarrasing #n e ways....

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rizlowwritessortof · 3 years ago

Text

Dreaming

Dean Winchester has always been a bit of a thorn in Kelsey’s side - a very attractive thorn, but still… A visit at her uncle Bobby’s reunites her with the boys, and she begins having vivid dreams - about Dean. Is it just her subconscious trying to tell her something? Or is there more to it than that?

So sleepy.

The sun is so warm on her skin, the breeze gently wafting around her.

His arms surrounding her, a safe haven.

She turns her head, her eyes opening slowly, almost fighting to remain closed. His face is a blur at first, coming into focus as her eyes finally obey her thoughts and open. His eyes are still closed, his long lashes against his skin, his lips slightly parted as he breathes softly.

She feels a surge in her pulse as she looks at him, so beautiful, so perfect, so peaceful. She is almost breathless as her eyes scan over the planes of his face, freckles still visible beneath the golden tan; the jaw line, unshaven, the cleft in his chin almost hidden by the soft growth. The small bump in his nose, almost unnoticeable, a flaw making the perfection seem even more unreal.

He begins to move, his eyebrows draw together in a small frown as he struggles, like her, to wake. The moss green eyes open, the full lips curve slightly as he sees her, and she feels everything inside her go molten and electric as he reaches a hand to her face and moves in closer to touch his lips to hers.

The kiss is soft, sensuous, the whole world is in it. There is nothing else in the here and now but that. His mouth slants across hers, their lips parting and their tongues gliding against each other, tangling sweetly, and her whole being is centered in this moment, in the feel of his lips and the taste of him, the soft sound of the whispered moan that escapes as he kisses her.

His hand moves, down her back, across her hip, fingers slipping beneath the soft fabric of her shirt, and there is warmth against her skin as his touch brushes over her ribs and he cups her breast. This time the moan is from her, deep in her throat, as he gently kneads the firm flesh, and she presses closer to him as their kiss becomes more frantic, and her arms tighten around his neck…

“Kel! You comin’, or what?” Kelsey shot upright in her bed, her eyes wide, her mouth open as she stared at Dean, who stood leaning nonchalantly in her doorway. "I tried to wake you up, but I practically had to come in and throw cold water on you.“ His brows drew together in a frown, his green eyes actually a little concerned as she stared blankly back at him. "Are you okay? You aren’t getting sick, are you?”

Kelsey blinked hard a couple of times, shaking her head a little, trying to clear her mind of the incredibly vivid dream she had been rudely awakened from. "No,” she said softly, raising a hand to run through her shoulder length golden brown locks. When she looked back up, Dean’s eyes were roaming appreciatively over her breasts, which were making themselves evident under the thin silk camisole she had worn to bed. She jerked the blanket up, holding it in place and glaring at him.

“Do you, uh, wear that to bed every night, Kel? ‘Cuz I gotta tell you, it’s hot.” His eyebrows raised and lowered a couple of times as a one-sided smirk curved his lips.

“Get. Out.” Kelsey pointed towards the door, and he had the audacity to look surprised.

“Sure you don’t need any help with…anything?”

“OUT!” A low chuckle trailed behind him as he left the room, and she sailed a pillow towards his back.

“Missed!” he called back over his shoulder, and Kelsey huffed out a frustrated breath. How could she be dreaming of that…that…that immature, juvenile, dirty-minded jerk?

She threw back the covers and swung her long, tanned legs over the side of the bed, stretching as she stood and headed to the bathroom. She looked in the mirror, and a pair of dark lashed hazel eyes stared back. A faint spattering of freckles across her nose annoyed her to no end, as always, and her lips pressed together in disapproval. She sighed and opened a small drawer, pulling out a washcloth for her face as she let the water run to get warm.

She was almost dressed, in her faded jeans, well-worn Lynyrd Skynyrd t-shirt and grey Pumas, when Bobby called up the stairs. "Kelsey Grace, are you comin’ or not?“

"I’m on my way down, you old grouch,” she countered, then smiled to herself as she finished tying her shoe and grabbed her denim jacket from the chair on her way out the door.

Dean glanced up as Kelsey’s footsteps echoed down the old staircase. She was slipping her arms into her jacket as she walked, leaning in to kiss Bobby’s cheek, an amused smile on her face, as she walked by him. Bobby couldn’t quite stifle the wry grin on his face as he shook his head. Kelsey was twisting her hair into a knot, sticking a clip into it to hold it in place. Dean itched to pull it out, watch that tawny-colored, on-the-edge-of-auburn mass tumble down around her shoulders again. He felt Bobby’s disapproving glare and reluctantly pulled his eyes from the sight of her bending to look for a bottle of water in the fridge.

He remembered the first time he’d seen her. All arms and legs, and those big amber eyes that, at the time, looked so large in her face. She was about ten, same age as Sammy, and he was fourteen. She was Bobby’s niece, his sister’s daughter, and she had come to visit. Or, more likely, she was farmed out to him for some other reason, which Dean never knew. Bobby’s place wasn’t really the type of place people dropped off little girls just to visit. Now, he and Sam were different. Boys, for one thing. And they were used to being left here and there. Bobby’s, for them, was almost like home. Only thing was, the stay just never lasted long enough.

Kelsey and Sam had become friends right off the bat, she called him Shaggy and he called her Freckles, which she hated, but she didn’t seem to mind too much from him. Dean only tried it once, and was informed that, since he had more of them than she did, he wasn’t allowed. She and Sam had the run of the place, climbing around piles of junk that they should have stayed away from, building forts out of car parts, having a ball together, while Dean, already made to act like an adult by then, helped Bobby work on cars or guns, or do research. God, he had hated research. He still hated research.

They had met up with each other several more times over the years, always at Bobby’s, and she and Sam had remained close friends. She and Dean, however, had a kind of rocky relationship, sniping at or outright fighting with each other most of the time, but still settling into a teasing, sarcastic friendship. Dean smiled a little as he remembered them actually making out once, in Bobby’s shop. John had almost caught them, and he would have… His smile faded slowly, the loss of his father too new to be able to remember without a rush of pain so intense it almost stole his breath.

At least Sammy was okay. That’s all that mattered now. After they got into that huge fight, his little brother had taken off on his own, and a hunt gone wrong had landed him in the hospital for a few days, a two-day drive away near Baltimore. But Sam had refused to let him drive out to pick him up when he was released, so now they were driving in to pick him up at the airport. And he wouldn’t feel better until he laid eyes on him in person, made sure he was really okay.

He grabbed his jacket, putting it on as he headed for the door, his hand shoved into his pocket to retrieve the keys to the Impala. Bobby was right behind him, turning to Kelsey as they stepped outside. "Kelse, you want shotgun?“

"No, back seat’s fine, Bobby,” she answered, glancing at Dean as she felt his eyes on her. She pushed past him, opening the back door and slipping inside, pulling her phone from her pocket and staring intently at the screen. Dean and Bobby crawled in the front, and Baby rumbled to life as Dean backed her up and aimed her towards Sioux Falls Regional Airport.

They waited, mostly silent, for almost half an hour before Dean spotted Sam’s head above most of the others coming towards them down the crowded hallway. "Sammy!“ he called out, and Sam’s eyes searched him out before he raised a hand to answer his big brother’s wave. As he drew closer, the crowd thinned out, and Kelsey heard Dean’s quiet curse. "Son of a bitch,” he muttered, walking towards Sam, his face tight with concern. "Dammit, Sammy! Why didn’t you tell me you had a broken leg? What else is going on that you didn’t tell me?“

"I’m fine, Dean. It’s not a big deal.”

“It’s a big deal to me. You should have told me.”

Sam rolled his eyes, and then his gaze came to rest on Kelsey, who stood a few feet behind Dean. "Kelsey?“

A wide smile brightened her face and put a sparkle in her eyes. "Hey, Shaggy.”

Sam dropped his duffle at Dean’s feet, using his crutches to move to where Kelsey stood. He propped one crutch under his arm and grabbed her into a hug. "I didn’t know you were back.“

"Proverbial bad penny, what can I say?” She backed away a step and looked up into Sam’s hazel eyes. "So - got a little banged up, huh? Girl scout?“

Sam grinned, flashing those dimples that Kelsey also loved to tease him about. "Still a smartass, too.”

It was Dean’s turn to roll his eyes as they headed for the Impala, the two old friends chattering nonstop. He threw Sam’s duffle into the trunk and climbed behind the wheel, while Sam maneuvered his plaster cast into the passenger side, and Bobby got into the back seat with Kelsey.

After lunch, Sam and Kelsey continued their 'gabfest,’ as Dean thought to himself, and he took himself out to the shop, finding whatever he could to keep himself busy. Later in the day, he came in to grab a beer, and heard them laughing in the next room. He walked closer, leaning in the doorway for a bit, listening to their easy give-and-take mixed with frequent laughter. He absently chewed on his lip as he stood there, finally turning to leave, tipping his beer as he went. Kelsey glanced up as he left, then looked up at Sam from her seat on the floor, where she was sitting to sign Sam’s cast. Sam shrugged, and she smiled, putting the cap on the marker she’d been using and standing. "I’ll be right back,“ she said, and followed Dean’s path out to the shop.

She could hear Metallica playing in the background as she walked in. Dean was at the workbench, shop rag in hand, cleaning tools. She stood quietly for a moment, then walked closer, and he turned his head to glance at her before returning to his task.

"Why don’t you come in and have a beer with us, Dean? We’ve just been catching up with each other, I didn’t mean to take over, but we haven’t seen each other for a couple of years.”

“Didn’t want to butt in,” he said, working on removing grease from a wrench.

Kelsey stood there for a moment, then walked up beside him and turned her back to the workbench, leaning back against it and looking up at Dean. "I’m sorry. He’s your brother, and I know you guys have some things to talk about. I didn’t mean to…“

"No problem,” he cut her off, his voice curt.

“Dean.” Kelsey spoke his name softly and looked up at him until he finally met her eyes and responded.

“Look, Sam would rather talk to you any day. Why do you think he ended up all busted up in the first place? He doesn’t want to be around me. He doesn’t want to be here, Kel. He’s never wanted to be here.” He turned and walked away, but Kelsey hurried behind him, grabbing his arm to stop him.

“That’s just crazy, Dean. Sam loves you and Bobby. I don’t know what happened between you two, but you need to talk to him about it. He’s the only family you’ve got.”

“You think I don’t know that?” Dean’s voice was raised a little as the words came out, but he lowered his head immediately, running his fingers roughly through his hair. "Sorry.“

"Dean…it’s okay. Just please, go talk to Sam.” He looked up, and the expression on his face made her want to comfort him somehow. And, for a split second, she held her breath, thinking he was going to kiss her. But the moment passed, and he stepped away from her, grabbing his beer and heading for the house.

“Okay. I’ll go talk to him. But don’t be surprised if we end up in another fight.”

Kelsey followed him into the house, helping herself to a beer, but staying in the kitchen as Dean walked into the next room. "So, Sammy, what got you?“ Dean asked as he dropped to the other side of the couch and propped his feet up on the beat-up old coffee table. "You never did say.”

She heard the sound of Sam opening the beer Dean had taken to him, a moment for a swallow, and, “Vamp. Stupid vamp. I got him, though.”

“So, just your leg?”

“Some banged-up ribs, and had a concussion. I’m doing okay, though.”

She shook her head as they talked around everything but what they should have been talking about, and she began preparing some pasta and garlic bread for supper. By the time the food was ready, the tension had eased between the brothers to the point where they could all eat and talk together.

By ten that night, Kelsey could hardly keep her eyes open, and headed up to bed. She sank into her pillows with a sigh, and was just starting to doze off when she heard Dean’s footsteps pass by on the way to his room.

Dean stirred restlessly in his bed, then his eyes opened and he was on full alert as he sat up, reaching to the bedside table for his Colt. He had heard something, and he sat there, completely still and silent, listening. He heard another sound, and this time he was sure. It was coming from Kelsey’s room.

He pulled on a pair of sweats over his boxers and headed barefoot down the hall. He heard it again, this time a little louder, a low moan. He opened her door, stepping into the room and looking around with eyes accustomed to seeing in the dark. Nothing there that he could see, but she moved under her covers, her head rolling to the side as her breathing became more harsh, and another soft sigh escaped her lips.

He laid his gun on the table, sitting at the edge of the mattress. He reached to touch her shoulder carefully, not wanting to startle her, and whispered her name. "Kelsey.“ His only answer was another moan, and it didn’t sound like she was in pain. He shook her gently, saying her name a little louder this time. "Kel. Wake up, you’re dreaming.”

He drew his hand back as if he’d been burned when she reacted just as she had that morning, sitting up quickly, her eyes wide, her mouth open, completely disoriented. Then her eyes fell on him, and before he could react, her hands were in his hair and her lips on his, frantic and heated. He found himself unable to resist at first, the intensity of it sweeping him along, and he kissed her back, almost losing himself in the moment. Then he put his hands on her shoulders, pushing himself away and holding her in place, as he fought to slow his breathing and stop the almost overwhelming desire to give in and just go with it.

“Kelsey. You’re dreaming.” She looked up at him, her eyes unfocused for a moment, then clearing a little as she took a deep breath. "Are you okay?“ He could feel her begin to tremble beneath his hands, and real concern pushed all other thoughts from his mind.

"Dean? What’s going on?”

“You were dreaming. I came in because I thought I heard something, but it was you. You were really out of it.” His brows drew together in a troubled frown as he looked at her. "Just like this morning. Are you taking sleeping pills?“

Kelsey dropped back to her pillow, her eyes closed for a moment before she looked up at him, shaking her head. "No. I’ve never taken anything like that. Just a couple of beers tonight before I went to bed, just like you.” She seemed to be all right, had calmed down, and Dean relaxed a little. A crooked little smile curved his lips, and Kelsey frowned. "What?“

"You kissed me.”

“I did not!”

“The hell you didn’t! I came in to wake you up, and you kissed me. And you were into it, too.”

She opened her mouth to argue, then closed it and looked away, feeling herself blush. "I - I didn’t mean to. I was delirious or something.“ She couldn’t look at him, at the smirk on his face and the warmth in his eyes, she just couldn’t.

"You were dreaming about me.”

“Was not.”

“Yes, you were. Admit it.” He ran a finger along her arm, and she jerked it back, hiding it under the covers.

“I’m fine now. You can leave.” She turned to her side, her back to him.

He sat there, silent for a moment, and when he spoke, the teasing note was gone from his voice. "Sure you’re okay?“

"I’m fine.”

He stood, looking down at her for a moment, then turned to leave the room. He looked back at her form, nearly hidden in the blankets, and smiled. "Sweet dreams,“ he said as he pulled the door closed, and she pulled the covers over her head.

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

#dreaming #dean fic #dean x kelsey #dean x oc #reblog to fix tag links

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templeofgloom · 3 years ago

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Be yourself; everyone else is already taken

Summary: Young Lara Croft is at the crossroads in her life. Meeting an elderly archaeologist gives her some insight on what she should do. Based on the original 90's version of Lara Croft and her backstory.

Lara Croft took a deep breath.

This was fine.

Before her father had time to say anything more she turned around. "Sorry, Father. I think I should go and mingle."

She stepped to the door and opened it. If her father wanted to say something more he'd have to cause a scene.

But he was too much of a coward to!

Lara stepped out, her heels clicking on the marble floor. She was trembling and didn't want her father to see it.

"Lara!"

She turned to look at the blonde man. "Oh, there you are. Dear." She spat out the last word out like a curse.

The Earl of Farringdon paused for a moment, before smiling again. "Yes. Had a good talk? With your dad?"

"Absolutely."

God, he was so... Boringly pleasant.

She had known Thomas Farringdon since she was ten, and had been as unimpressed by him when their parents had made them play together.

Lara wanted to spat on the polished floor. Of course, even then, her father had wanted her to marry the boy one day!

Her father's words echoed in her mind.

"You would be a fool to turn down an earl, Lara! Don't be a child!"

She was in her twenties! She had experienced things her father had no idea of!

She turned to glare at the man next to her. Or him.

He reminded her of a dog. And not even one of those sleek racing greyhounds, or feisty hunting dogs that would disappear into the undergrowth, running after a fox. If he was like that at least Lara could have respected him.

No, the blonde young man was like a Labrador, kind and friendly and loyal.

And so very very boring.

He offered his arm to her. "Shall we go?"

"Yes," Lara told him.

Instead of taking his arm she started to walk towards the main hall where most of the quests were.

Thomas walked after her. "Um, so. About the wedding..."

"Wedding?"

"I thought you talked about that with your father? I mean, my parents think, my mother told me to ask you when you-"

When Lara had gone to talk with her father it had been with the intention of telling him she was breaking off the engagement. But she hesitated now to tell it to him.

"I'll see-"

He was still following her. She looked around the room full of quests, trying to think of an excuse.

She felt like she was suffocating at the sight of aristocrats talking to each other, exchanging superficial greetings.

Her eye caught something.

An old man who looked completely out of place, standing up the stairs, apart from rest of the people.

He was not, apart from his battered old fedora, dressed untidily as such. But the quality of the tailoring on his old-fashioned suit and bow-tie set him apart from the other quests who would not have been seen dead in anything but the latest haute couture.

Lara started walking towards him. He seemed to be examining the stained glass window.

"I see someone I know," Lara lied.

The earl looked up. "Oh?"

"Be a dear and go get yourself some refreshments. I am going to catch up with him."

"Who?" He looked at the old man. "Doctor Jones?"

The name was familiar somehow.

"Yes." Lara turned to look at him. "So?"

Finally the earl took the hint and walked off.

Figuring out she might as well talk to the weird old guy, Lara stepped to the man.

Doctor Jones turned to look at her, and Lara noticed he had an eye-patch covering his right eye. He glanced at the earl. "Was that boy giving you trouble?"

So, nothing wrong with his hearing, at least.

"That boy is my fiance," Lara informed him. "Also yes."

"Long story I take it."

He turned to point at the window. "Wonderful work. 13thcentury, I believe. It might be even be older. Unfortunately it's hard to track that down, I believe it was moved to this mansion from a French church some time in the 19th century."

"Are you here for the windows?"

"Yes, actually. I heard this mansion was very interesting architecturally, so I managed to get an invitation. I did a favor to the count some decades ago."

Lara gave him a look. He looked old, at the very least in his 70's.

And the name was familiar...

Then it clicked. "Doctor- You are Indiana Jones!"

Indiana gave her a look and tipped his fedora. "The one and only."

"You wrote the adventures of Henry the Cat!"

Indiana gave her a surprised look before a pleased smile spread on his face. "Yes, I did indeed."

Lara blushed. "I mean, I read them when I was- very little. I did read your traveling books later, of course, and some of your historical novels."

"I hope you enjoyed them. Henry the Cat especially."

"I did."

"I did write them for kids. I wanted to write something children could read, or their parents could read to them, and it would teach them about history and different cultures in a child-friendly way. And maybe get them interested in actual archaeology and history and languages when they got older."

"It definitely worked with me."

She had treasured the books depicting the adventures of a smart little cat with a suddenly-familiar looking fedora. He had gone on adventures and traveled to different countries and learned new languages and discovered treasures in mysterious ruins. At the time Lara had not fully appreciated the way the author had woven real facts and lessons into the books, but they had first gotten Lara fascinated with mysteries and ancient civilizations, and when she had discovered the author had written books for older kids and even adults, she had been delighted.

Indiana smiled. "That's the best feedback you could give me."

Lara nodded. "Of course, just sitting behind the desk, writing, that's easy."

She couldn't keep the bitterness from her voice.

She shifted her weight slightly. Her side was still bandaged, and there was pain when she moved her body in certain ways. She couldn't have worn her favorite dress because of it, and had gone for something far more baggy than usual.

Indiana gave her a curious look. "It's a big world out there. I know you probably feel like an adult but trust me, I did think I had seen everything too when I was your age."

"Really? Had you? Had you watched your friends die in front of you?"

"Dear child..."

There was something more in Indiana's look now. Suddenly his gaze seemed sharper as if Lara was just some interesting historical artifact for him to examine.

He took Lara's hand and examined her fingers. "Frost bite."

"Yes."

"It should heal fully... You were lucky."

"Lucky, huh?"

"You are alive."

"And for what?" Lara turned to look at the party. "For this? For a marriage with some... Man who has never set foot outside England except to go on a beach holiday."

"You are still young."

Lara turned to look at him. He had to understand.

So she told him everything.

How she had been returning from a skiing trip with her friends. How the plane had crashed on the Himalayas. How she had been the only survivor, and fought to stay alive.

When she had set eyes on the small mountain village she had felt like she was saved.

But now that she was back home, she would have rather died.

"Or not died," she corrected. "Disappeared into the mountains. I was... I felt alive."

Indiana, who had been listening without a word, nodded. "But you lived to fight an another day. There is nothing stopping you from going back into the nature, to the unknown."

"There is."

Lara took a deep breath. "My father. Lord Henshingley Croft. I told him I couldn't... Even if I stayed, I can't live the life he wants me to."

It was easy to tell Indiana all this. Perhaps it was because Lara was convinced they would never meet again after this. She could finally put to words what she felt. What it was that felt so especially suffocating.

"I can't marry the man he wants me to. I don't think. I can't see myself marrying anyone. Definitely not someone picked up for me like we were two pedigree horses to be bred."

"And your father is... Old-fashioned like that?"

"I told him I was going to break off the engagement, and he told me I was free to do so. But that he would cut me off financially."

He would do it, Lara was certain of it. No more skiing trips to Switzerland, or holidays in exotic places. He would do his best to clip her wings.

"Ah. I know a thing or two about unsupportive fathers."

"What did you do?"

"I left home. Joined the Belgian army."

"To fight the Nazis?"

Indiana patted her shoulder. "First world war."

"You're old!"

"And I have seen a lot. Known many people. Believe me, you have it better than many people do. If you make preparations, and have at least some family members who will support you, you can do it. You can walk away."

"Maybe I will," Lara told him. "But I could marry the earl. Old Tom is very dull, but kind. I could wrap him around my little finger. Would it really matter I don't love him? Most of the marriages here are not based on love as much as being able to tolerate each other."

"That's not true. Well, not all of them. But want a piece of advice from an old man?"

"Why do I get the feeling you are going to give it to me whether I wanted it or not?"

"Fair. But indulge me. At my age it is sometimes fun to play the wise all-knowing sage." Indiana raised a finger. "Be yourself; everyone else is already taken."

"I think I have seen that on a greeting card," Lara mumbled.

She turned towards Indiana. "Anyway, once I'm back home, I will find my old Henry the Cat books and send them for you to sign.

Indiana tipped her hat. "It would be a pleasure."

Lara felt better now. There was clarity. She had clawed her way through both a Girls boarding school, and icy wilderness. She could find a way to support herself.

Be herself.

Be free.

#indiana jones #fic #lara croft #thanks fore my friend lena for help with this #(she's the lara croft expert)#tomb raider #classic tomb raider

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clintashaotp · 5 years ago

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Author’s note/summary: I’m pretty predictable at this point. Natasha!whump, Clintasha, team fic. April challenge day 13, I hope you all are doing okay in quarantine :)

1,686 Words

Fighter

The Avengers aren’t afraid of death. All of them have experienced life-threatening injuries in the past, especially the two assassins. All of them have woken up in hospitals they don’t recognize, or had surgeries, or been dragged a mile and a half to a medical jet. But bleeding out in the middle of a jungle is a new one.

The mission was supposed to be simple. Get to the terrorist’s bunker in the center of the jungle. Tony and Steve were supposed to break down the gate while Clint sniped out guards from above. Banner flew the jet, and Thor helped keep the gates open while Natasha snuck inside and retrieved the biochemical weapon that had been stolen from a SHIELD lab. But things always go wrong.

“Tasha. Natasha, can you hear me?” Clint whispers to the half-conscious woman in his lap. She stirs slightly, and Bruce bites his lip in concern.

“We don’t have any supplies, Clint, and they blew up the jet.” Bruce runs a hand through his hair.

“So what can we do?” Steve asks worriedly. “She’s been stabbed at least five times, for Christ’s sakes, and what about infection?”

“I don’t know!” Bruce repeats. “We….we need to find shelter. Somewhere for us to stay until SHIELD picks up the distress signal.”

“I can’t fly,” Tony shakes his head, gesturing at his suit. “They used an EMP during the fight and fried all my internal wiring. I doubt I could get above the treeline, not to mention all the way to the base.”

“Friends, I can fly ahead,” Thor offers, and they all turn to him. “I will go to the SHIELD facility that we came from and get some medical evac to come here, for Lady Natasha.”

“Okay,” Steve agrees in his captain’s voice. “We’ll look after Natasha for a while.”

Thor swings his hammer, then launches into the sky. The clouds darken, but when they don’t clear immediately, the fear of rain begins to set in.

“We need a shelter,” Cap says quickly, and Tony salutes.

“On it. Doctor, care to help?” he gestures to Bruce, who nods in agreement.

“Tasha. Nat.” Clint murmurs again. “Clint?” she mumbles, and his eyes widen. “Ah--” she winces. “Okay. What happened?”

“You’re okay. You got a few knives stuck in you, but we pulled them out. You’ll be okay.”

“Jesus.” she struggles to sit up, and when Clint tries to push her down again, she glares at him. “Clint, I can sit up on my own.”

When she gets into a sitting position, she sways slightly, and Clint helps her lean back against him to help her remain upright.

“We don’t have any medical supplies, the terrorists hit the jet,” Clint says, worriedly, and Natasha just hums in response. “On a scale of one to ten--”

“Six,” Natasha responds, lips tight, words clipped.

“Yeah, it doesn’t look like a six--” Clint tries, but she cuts him off.

“It’s a six, Barton. I’m fine. Okay?” he knows better to argue when she uses his last name, so he just lets her relax against his shoulder.

“Hey, Master Assassins, we got a shelter, if you want to come.” Tony waves them over to a makeshift hut, where the scientists have taken the shell of the jet and covered the holes with branches and leaves. “It’s not perfect, but it’ll keep us dry if it rains.”

“It’s fine.” Clint nods, and, to Natasha’s great protest, he scoops her into his arms.

“What do you think you’re doing?” she growls at him, and he looks at her apologetically.

“Nat, I don’t want you to hurt yourself more.”

“Clint,” she says, her voice tight. “Let me go.”

“No, Nat, I can’t, you need to--”

“I’m going to be sick,” she says quickly, and he sets her down gently on the ground, where she turns her head and vomits onto the ground. “Ah.” she hisses, grabbing her temple.

“Nat?” Clint asks nervously, and she waves him away.

“Just...give me a second,” she mutters, hands on her head. “Okay. Okay, I’m good.”

Clint looks up to see Tony, Bruce and Cap watching from the entrance to the shelter, concern reflected heavily in his gaze.

“I’m going to carry you to the entrance now, okay?” he says cautiously, and she nods, not opening her eyes.

He picks her up again carefully and carries her to the seats that Tony and Bruce managed to pull out of the wreckage, which has been fashioned into a makeshift bed. She hisses when he sets her down, her posture rigid and stiff, and he settles onto the floor next to her, ready for a long night.

After a quick sweep of the plane shell, they soon establish that no food or water is nearby. Thor should have come back half an hour ago, and they have no idea how long it will take to get Natasha to a medical facility.

It’s almost three hours before fever sets in. Her health has declined steadily, and as the team chatters aimlessly, awaiting extraction, her face has steadily paled, except for flushed patches on her cheeks.

“Tasha?” Clint whispers softly to her, as to not alert the team, but she shakes her head.

She shivers when he puts a hand on her arm, and he gazes at her, concern rushing through his mind.

He sets his hand against her forehead, only to withdraw it quickly.

“Tash,” he gasps, “you’re burning up.”

“Sorry?” she says, her voice hoarse, her eyes not quite focusing on his face.

“Bruce,” he says sharply and turns to see the other members staring at him. “It’s bad.”

“I’m fine--” Natasha tries, but Bruce steps forward, ignoring her protests.

“Natasha,” he says calmly, “how do you feel?”

“Fine,” she murmurs, but it lacks conviction, and when Bruce checks her temperature, his eyebrows contract with worry.

“Alright. Okay, the infection must be setting in on your wounds, there’s even a chance there was poison on one of the blades,” he mutters, frowning. “But we don’t have any med supplies, god--”

“I can hold out until Thor comes back,” she says firmly. “Really.” her tone leaves little room for protest, but when Clint leans against her, he feels her trembling against him.

“Hey, Natasha, JARVIS says your body temperatures at 101 and climbing…” Tony trails off, an expression of worry on his face.

“I’ll be okay,” she says, but her voice is weak, and she leans back against Clint, her limbs still shaking.

They sit there in silence. Clint monitors her closer after that, checking her eyes, her forehead, feeling her pulse. He knows that no matter the results, there’s nothing they can do, but he still feels the sense of dread in the pit of his stomach grow each time he feels her forehead get hotter and hotter.

It is almost an hour before the conversation starts again, but it’s Natasha who tries to speak.

“Clint,” she whispers softly, and he immediately bends down to listen. “I….I’m not feeling great.”

“Yeah, Nat, I know,” he mutters, guilt pounding through his chest. “From one to ten--”

“I’m getting a little closer to an eight now,” she says softly, and he can tell she’s having trouble focusing.

“Okay. Nat, I’m really sorry, all we can do is wait.”

“I know.” she nods. “Yeah.”

“Do you want to hold my hand?” he knows it’s an awkward question, but he knows she can get scared when blood loss sets in.

“Sure,” she mutters and laces their fingers together. “Ah.” she winces slightly.

“What’s wrong?” Clint frowns, eyebrows knitting together. Her blood loss makes her face pale, and her movements are slow. He can see her hand trembling when she grabs her temple.

“I don’t know. Everything hurts. My whole body hurts.”

“I’m really sorry, Na, what can I do?.”

“I’m feeling kind of dizzy--” she whispers, and Clint looks down at her to see her eyes lose focus completely.

Her eyes flutter closed and she collapses against him. He inhales sharply with worry and the other team members look up at him.

“What happened?” Steve asks, approaching.

“I think she passed out,” Clint says softly, placing a hand against her forehead. “Jesus.”

“103 degrees,” Tony winces. “And there’s nothing we can do?”

“Nothing.” Bruce shakes his head, and Steve slams his fists onto the floor. “We don’t have water to clean them, and we shouldn’t use rainwater. We’re in a polluted area, it’s likely that it would worsen the infection.”

“We could at least try,” Clint bites his lip, and Bruce sighs. “I mean, we’re in a jungle, for christ’s sake, how polluted can it be?”

“We’re right next to a weapons manufacturing facility,” Bruce starts, but at Clint’s look, he sighs and pulls off his jacket, tearing off a strip and walking outside to let the rainwater dampen the cloth.

“Jesus, she’s dying, and there’s nothing we can do.” the soldier hisses, and Clint raises an eyebrow, surprised by the outburst.

“She’ll be okay.” he tries to comfort them. “She’s a fighter. She’s been through worse.”

“We haven’t,” Tony shakes his head, “Not with her.”

They lapse back into silence. Natasha’s unconscious form rests against Clint, and he strokes her hair away from her forehead carefully. Bruce hands him the wet cloth and Clint examines her carefully, pressing the cloth gently to the gash along her ribcage, which is still bleeding sluggishly. She doesn’t even flinch.

“She’ll be okay,” he repeats, though it's more for him than any of them, he knows that.

She looks so small in his arms, her brow furrowed, her eyes shut tightly. He holds her close. It’s okay.

And she is. When she wakes up in the hospital two days later, Clint is sound asleep in a chair next to her bed. Steve, Tony, Bruce, and Thor are talking softly in the corner, and when they notice that she’s awake, they crowd around her bed.

Amidst the chatter, Natasha makes eye contact with a sleepy Clint, and she smiles at him reassuringly. She’s a fighter. She’s okay.

#clint barton #natasha romanoff #tony #steve #bruce #thor #avengers team #teamfic #clintasha #clintashaotp writes #clintashaotp fanfic #clintashaotp april challenge #april challenge #april challenge day 13

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pinencurls · 4 years ago

Text

Feels Like Home

Hiii this is another one shot I had in my drafts for awhile, hope u enjoy!!

A trip to visit Bestfriend!Harry pulls up feelings from the past.

To find places that feel like home when you're so far away from your own is always a blessing. I often find myself cooped up in train carriages for long empty hours travelling up and down the country - sometimes to nearby neighbouring countries too, with only a book and the view for company. Work in the photography and journalism industry can take you pretty much anywhere, photoshoots and research pieces usually mean I have to travel frequently. I've probably spent more weekends in hotels the past few years than I have in my small London flat, its lavender walls presenting more as a storage place these days and occasional safe haven for when I return.

Most of it is manageable - and exciting, really really exciting. A few times a year a piece will land me in the States and away from my bubble of European arts and culture. The company I work for has a New York branch outside of the London one, so in the times that I find myself flying miles away from home, I'm lucky enough to be welcomed by one of my oldest friends' open arms - and his guest room.

Harry works a lot too, splitting time between London and New York, but on this trip - as always, he's sworn an evening out of his day to pick me up from the airport. I don't get to see much of him anymore, we grew up spending every summer in each other's houses, our parents' old friends from university, but he moved away three years before me and never came back, at least not in the same way that allowed youthful abandon to drive us into the woods to build forts and swim in the river, or make us forget how old we were and fall asleep on his mum's old sofa watching questionable rom coms. I'd happily slip back into our shared holiday practises - every time I visit him there's a shadow of nostalgia when he brings two teas and a joint out to the living room, the same smirk clear on his now slightly unshaven face.

I try to focus on that moment, only a few hours away now. We'll spend tonight and tomorrow together before he can't miss any more studio sessions and I have to report to the office and start my week of work - an article on the rise of youth activists in underprivileged areas of the city. It's a heavy topic but something I've been interested in for a while - I love the music and cultural subjects I've written on before but I've wanted to branch out into a more political field for awhile now. Sandy, my editor, assigned me this a few days ago, a smirk on her face when she nonchalantly delivered it to my desk Monday morning.

. ... . .

My arms are folded up against my chest at an unnatural angle - I've spent the last hour like this in an attempt not to elbow the snoring banker to my left who is, undoubtedly, taking up more than his fair share of the three-seat row. I can't see much good coming from waking him to point this fact out so I stay settled in my awkward position. An eight-hour flight in the middle seat was never going to be comfortable anyway.

My morning had been typically rushed, I missed breakfast in favour of catching my flight before it left without me and found myself bustling through the crowds of families, business people and tourists that fill the airport as soon as I leapt out of the taxi. I didn't have to check any luggage in so sped through security straight to the gate being called overhead. I swear I've got to stop booking early flights if I'm never going to wake up in time to get a croissant from Pret en route.

I turn my focus to the phone in my hands and slip my headphones over my ears. There's only an hour left until we land, seeing no point in starting an inflight movie now, I open my "calm times" playlist and close my eyes. Soon I'll be sleeping on an unnecessarily expensive mattress bigger than this whole row.

. ... . .

"Excuse me, M'am?" The chipper voice of a flight attendant wakes me up, slightly muffled under the Adrienne Lenker song that continues to play through my headphones. The seat to my right, previously filled by a woman a few years older than me, is empty. On my other side, the suit-wearing man spreader is starting to stir. "We'll be landing shortly, please secure your seatbelts and pack away any loose items."

I stumble over a quick 'Thanks' as she leans out of our row and moves on to the next, her perfect customer service smile ready again. The missing woman makes her way down the aisle towards us and takes her seat, she seems hurried and agitated. Out the corner of my eye, I watch as she wrings her hands a few times, sighing heavily and leaning back in her seat. A nervous flyer. I lean over and pull my bag up from the small slot under the seat ahead and slide the book I'd taken out hours before, not having read a page of, back on top of my sweater and the wine gums I'd bought as a makeshift breakfast in my final flurry before boarding.

Overhead, the usual pre-landing announcements chime as people clip in their seatbelts and slip superstitious remedies between their lips. Suited man spreader has chosen a particularly eye-watering peppermint gum to finish our flight off with.

Closing my eyes I focus on the quiet music, too distant to take me out of my body as it's interrupted by the chatter of excited travellers and constant beeps around me. I don't hate flying, but I have developed a favoured fondness of trains. I've seen the ins and out of so many towns and mindlessly people watched for hours, always having the option to hop off at the next station and stretch my legs if any part of the journey is particularly unbearable or a city is too enticing to leave unexplored.

I fiddle with the two buttons along the side of my phone for a second, raising the volume a little and willing my thoughts away from the swooping plane as the familiar wary feeling settles in the pit of my stomach. Maybe I'm a nervous flyer too. But, with a clunk and a slight wobble, we're back on the ground. I keep my eyes shut a little longer, knowing the gridlock of impatient passengers to come is unavoidable. The orange light above me dims and I release the seat belt that had been cutting tightly into my shoulder. The woman beside me is noticeably calmer and we share a giddy - we're strangers but we're smiling at each other - look for a second.

I call Harry when I'm through baggage claim, having packed only a rucksack and a small duffel - both fitting as hand luggage, I head straight through customs where the queues are just starting to build up. I beeline to a near-empty desk on the far right as the dial tone rings against my ear for the third time-

"Hello!" Harry greets down the phone, his voice sounds far away, most likely using the speakers in his car whilst he parks - "M' just parking, love."

"I just got to customs, I'll be ten minutes - meet you outside yeah?"

"I was gonna come in, I'll only be a second." He always pushes to meet me before I make it out the airport, obsessed over the classic reunion scene from all his favourite rom coms. It was well-intended and actually really sweet but it wasn't worth the risk of new rumours being spread across the gossip sites if photos got out of Harry Styles meeting a 'mystery girl' at the airport, as I'd previously been labelled the few times shots of us out dancing in the city or talking over lunch in L.A had gotten out. Harry's protective over his private life and I prefer to keep out of his public one.

"I'm almost through customs...I'll literally be one minute Harry, just wait in the car - wait a sec..." I hold the phone up against my shoulder when I'm beckoned towards the free customs desk, smiling politely and sliding my passport towards the teller. I reply 'work' to her question and thank her when she pushes it back to me, freshly stamped with red ink. "-Okay I'm out, are you by the taxi bit again - you know you're not actually allowed to park there?"

"Actually I'm just...oh god you really are blind aren't you?" He laughs down the line, I look up, confused and only halfway across the long white room towards the exit. Even amongst the crowds, there's an unmistakable figure waving from the benches to the side, phone in hand. "Hey."

I laugh and hang up, slinging my duffel over my shoulder and making my way over to where Harry is now standing, an infamous grin etched across his face. Before I can complain about just how close I am to the car park already, he leans down and engulfs me in a hug.

"Been a while, hmm?" Out of instinct, my arms wrap around him and hold tight. He's right, it's been almost five months since we last saw each other in person. I was away the last few times he came home to London and he's always jetted back to L.A for important meetings by the time I'm on my way back. "Missed you, lovie."

Pulling away to get a better look at him, I rest my hands on his shoulders, his hair's a little longer, and he looks tired but cheery - as usual.

"I missed you too." There's that weird hesitant few second feeling when neither of us breaks eye contact and for a moment it suddenly feels surreal to have each other as real people you can touch and hold.

"Now help me with this bag - the flight fucking murdered my back."

He misses a beat and my duffel hits his leg abruptly, he grunts and grumbles for a second before picking it up and draping his free hand over my shoulder, turning us to face the exit. I forget for a moment that the group of very unsubtle girls on the other side of the room will fuel the newest dating rumour by the morning with photos of Harry pulling my against his side and holding my hand casually - like every few days out of the year we get to spend in each other company, it feels like we're fifteen again and blur into the background, too caught up in our own conversations to notice anybody else.

"Come on - I reckon someone's already pissed that I'm parked in the taxi rank."

... . .

It's late in my jetlagged brain, but not late enough in the city to miss the last bit of rush hour traffic. Harry taps his ringed fingers against the steering wheel to the beat of Peter Gabriels 'Sledgehammer.' I've pulled my knees up to my chest and slouched against the passenger door staring up at the busy lights and cloudy sky. My eyelids dip momentarily, the blurred scenery lulling me out of focus.

"Don't fall asleep on me, I've got a nice dinner planned yet." Harry protests, squeezing my hand in his, eyes on the road as he lifts and moves our now intertwined hands in the air, swaying along to the final chorus playing through his iPhone."C'mon, a little bit of Peter Gabriel should wake you up."

"I hate Peter Gabriel," I mumble and pull my hand from his, poking his cheek when he lets out an exaggerated gasp. I can't help but laugh at his appalled expression, too distracted to object when he pulls my hand back into his and continues his fun as the speakers click and a new song comes on.

Our faces glow yellow against the street lights. My legs ache and my head feels heavy - I tilt it back against the window and watch as Harry sings along to an old Scott Mckenzie song. He's let our hands fall against my seat now, focusing on the busy roads as he turns closer to his apartment. I notice now, for the first time, his subtle disguise; the grey hoodie and dark shades pushed back in his hair. He looks...soft. He laughs when he slips off-key and shoots me a glance, smiling again when he takes in my half-asleep state. He squeezes my hand, his rings are cold and clunky and wake me up a little. I peer out at the road ahead - Harry lives fairly near the airport so we must be getting close, the cafes start to look familiar and I figure we're only a few minutes from home, and sleep.

I wake again at the jolt of the car stopping and the consistent white noise of the engine cutting off when Harry's keys clatter against each other. His door opens and shuts - I think I'm awake?

I must have shifted slightly in my sleep because when the passenger door swings open I stay upright against the seat. I look up to see Harry's hand stretched out towards me.

"C'mon, missing my luxury homemade dinner s'gonna be a lot more comfortable in a real bed" He teases, his smile yet to leave since I first saw him twenty minutes ago sat on that bench - sticking out despite his 'disguise'

I take his hand and tumble slightly haphazardly to stand, looking up briefly to see Harry with both my bags over one shoulder, lifting his free arm to wrap around me. We start towards his building, moving easily through the lobby and into the elevator. I look up again from where my head's resting on his shoulder, surrounded by his hoodie. Yeah, he looks...soft.

When we get inside I head straight to the guest room, nudged forwards by Harry's instructions for me to get some rest before he starts dinner - I've stayed in Harry's apartment enough times to know my way around fairly well, the guest room, where I always stay, is down the hall on the left. The bed is made and there's a fluffy white robe folded on the nightstand. Already head to toe in comfy travel wear, I clamber under the duvet and breathe in the freshly washed sheets - washing detergent with a hint of Harry's vanilla aftershave. My eyes are heavy and my thoughts wander a little. It feels like home.

... . .

When I open my eyes, it's to a darker room. Harry must have come in and closed the curtains while I was asleep, my bags have been leant up against the dresser too. I sit up and look around the room, rubbing my knuckles against my eyelids, still groggy from sleep, but hungry now, the lack of a real breakfast and unsatisfying plane food catching up to me. The alarm on the bedside table reads nine pm, I'd been asleep for almost an hour - I change out of my well-worn flight clothes and into a sweater and soft grey jogging bottoms Harry had left at my London flat last time he stayed over, although it'd been long enough ago they might as well be mine by now.

The kitchen sounds get louder as I make my way out of the guest room and down the hall, yawning into the crook of my elbow amidst pulling a soft yellow scrunchie off my wrist and taming my hair into a lazy, loose ponytail. Harry's occasional grumbles and soft singing fill my ears when I reach the end of the hall and get the full sight of him, in just a t-shirt and jeans now, leaning over a pan of spaghetti trying to twist a strand onto the fork in his hand before dangling in into his mouth with a light hum.

"How's it going, chef?" He turns to see me, eyes wide as he fingers the end of the pasta into his mouth and smirks down at me.

"S'good, was just about to come get you," He turns momentarily to fiddle with what looks like courgette and red pepper frying in a pan behind the spaghetti before looking back at me and motioning for me to bring him the plates he'd left stacked on the counter.

He mixes the courgette, pepper and a fresh-looking tomato sauce into the main pot and stirs it all together before filling my plate up and handing it back to me - all while looking incredibly pleased with himself. He nods over to the table and I set my plate down, taking two wine glasses from beside him and filling them with the wine he's just opened. After double-checking the stove's been turned off safely and our glasses are full, Harry takes the seat in front of me.

"So-" He starts, smiling up at me over the gorgeous dinner set in front of us. "How're you?"

A burst of laughter escapes my lips at the situation, We hadn't been in the same room for months and within the first hour of reuniting I'd fallen asleep, now we were sat down to dinner, ready to discuss our day like old times.

"I'm good, sorry I fell asleep before we could talk," He chuckles before taking a sip of wine, we hear about each other's lives at least once a week - usually phone calls when our jet lag causes our time zones to match up, and always texts throughout the week - this kind of small talk seems silly when I'd spoken to him just this morning before my flight. "How's your mum and Gem?"

"They're well, haven't seen Mum in a little while, every time I call she always seems more interested in you," He replies between bites of spaghetti, "Apparently you're quite the enigma these days."

"Wha-How!" Anne was like a sister to my mum so our families were always close growing up, she often acted just as motherly to me and my sister as she did her own children.

"You don't call anymore." Harry smirks, recalling a frequently used quote from Anne herself.

"That's such I lie - I saw her a few weeks ago when she came down to see Gem and I always call, it's hard you know, I have my own parents to keep track of too."

Harry laughs at this, pleased to have his mothers attention shifted from his own absence for once.

"I'm not sure, apparently she's been gossiping with your mum and you're never home anymore." He must not notice the irony of his words because he's hosting the smuggest expression, staring back at me over his glass.

"Hey - you disappeared first, I'm allowed to have my turn." I fire back, shaking my head jokily.

Harry doesn't seem to catch my light tone though, or he's not keen on my choice of words. He turns rigid opposite me and stares back, agitation brimming in his gaze.

"What's that mean?" He's not bubbly and blushing anymore, sober now with a steady assertive tone as he questions me.

"Come on Harry, m' just joking, relax," He doesn't. "You moved away years before me and never came back, it's not exactly a secret, I didn't mean anything by it."

His fork clatters when it lands on his plate. He puffs out a heavy breath of air before speaking up again, making no effort to hide is disdain this time.

"Fuck off, I came back." I look up to watch him, he hardly curses outside of mild frustration or a lighthearted voice, this is different. "That's not fair and you know it."

"I'm not blaming you Harry I was just making a joke - forget it." The remaining food on my plate is an unsuccessful distraction, nothing's enough to stop Harry when he starts.

"No, you always do this. I didn't disappear, I was working for five years and then I continued to work after that, I came home as much as I could so don't pretend I was all aloof or something." I'm used to holding his gaze through an argument, and this is an argument we've had before - "It was my job to travel for months at a time, you can't blame me for not being around every time we see each other like I just ran off and never called."

"So it's not work for me then?" I shoot back, instantly angry that he finds it so easy to offload all the blame onto me when he's the one who made a meaningless comment into a fight in the first place. "And it fucking felt like that."

Harry's quiet. I finish the last of my wine and pour a second glass.

"I came back."

"Not properly." I put my glass down and massage my fingertips over my temple, this isn't the time to unpack childhood grudges. "I'm only here for a week, can we not fight...please?"

Neither of us speaks for a few moments, my words linger in the air. We never have much longer than a few weeks together before one of us is off again, there's never going to be time to confront that stuff. The transition between only having Harry a few hours away, treating his home like mine on the weekends me and my sister, Ellie, would visit him and Gem and moaning our way through hellish GCSEs together (he was a year ahead so always had a little more to complain about) to him travelling the world and everyone knowing his name was almost nonexistent. It all happened so abruptly, Harry went to London for a few days to film his follow up audition and never came back. I didn't see him until the Christmas of that year, by which time he'd already moved into a place in London and experienced so much that it was hard to act like anything would ever be the same again.

"What did I do wrong, just tell me and I'll fix it, please," Harry begs, earnest as he finally speaks up.

"I don't blame you for anything Harry, I didn't mean it like that..."I sigh, wringing my hands out as nervously as the women beside me hours before on the plane. "Let's just have dinner, yeah? It's really nice Har."

We finish our food with a little more small talk, he asks how Ellie's doing even though he already knows from Gemma's updates that's he engaged now and thinking about moving to London, I ask after a few of his bandmates I met last time I was in L.A. Things are too quiet when we lay down on his sofa to watch the notebook for the 20th time. Neither of us recites the lines we know off by heart and always mock - the air hangs heavy with the lingering anxiety of an argument we're never going to settle, we sit apart stiffly and far too composed for film nights we've shared since we were kids before heading our separate ways to bed.

... . .

Work goes well, the young people I talk to pretty much write the article for me with how much insight they offer up. There are so many parts to the topic that deserve to be covered well that my workdays and evenings at Harry's blur together and soon I've emailing my final draft to Sandy for notes and packing for the airport.

Neither Harry or I have brought the first nights argument up and it looks like it'll be brushed under the rug before I leave tonight. There's been a definite cloud over the last week - I think a more before I speak and Harry's eyes linger on me a little longer when I do.

He stills seems frustrated by our fight, I can't blame him, I am too. He's sat on the sofa with a guitar in his lap, going unplayed as his eyes trail after my last-minute rush around the apartment to gather together all my possessions that had found themselves seeping out into his home over the past week. He watches closely, contemplating whether to speak or just let me go like nothing happened.

"Have you seen my sweater?" I call from the guest room, the wardrobe's empty and my bags are laying on the coffee table in front of Harry - my sweater missing from both.

"The one you brought with you?"

He appears in the doorway, leaning against the frame of the door and peering down at where I'm kneeling before the bed, searching through the very empty and sweaterless dresser, humming a response back at him.

"Yeah, that'd be mine." I snap my head back to look at him, he must be joking.

"Um no, it's mine," He smirks, eyes still sad but fainter now in the looseness of the moment. "I've had it for years, I bought it in Amsterdam in that little thrift store by the cafe with the really good bagels."

"No," He chastises. "I bought it in Amsterdam in that little thrift shop by the cafe with the really good bagels, and you took it home when you left."

He's definitely wrong. Sure I might not remember all of the trip I took to Amsterdam to visit him on tour, but I remember the hours we spent traipsing through thrift store on his day off munching on really good bagels.

"Wrong - please return it now, kindly." I stand and hold out my palm to him.

"No can do," He grins, nudges my hand away from him to fall limply by my side.

"Harry, come on!" I whine, letting my maturity slip slightly as my patience lessens. "I'm already running late, I've gotta finish packing and I can't miss my flight."

"Why not?" He challenges, smiling still but paired with a serious tone now.

"Because, I'm not about to swim back to London."

"No, why can't you stay?" My hand wavers slightly at my side, I'm not sure if he's joking or I can hear sincerity in his voice - it reminds me too much of his solemn begging from Saturday night. "Just stay, a little longer."

He's asked me to before in the past. He isn't afraid to try and steal another day off of me to tag along to an artist friend of his' show the next night or just to get dinner at a restaurant I 'couldn't miss'. On occasion, I've given in to his pestering and rearranged a flight for a few days later. I could, I could. I'd just handed in my work for the week and it was only Friday morning, I won't be needed again until Monday. Flight's would be ridiculously expensive to change this late though, and this 'stay a little longer' felt less for the sake of good food and his favourite spin class and more of a, we need to talk - 'stay a little longer.'

"I can't," I reply simply, closing off the conversation by brushing past him into the hall towards his own room in search of my stolen sweater.

"I'll pay for your flight back." Harrys voice trails after me. "You've worked hard all week, you can afford to take the weekend off."

"I cant." I brush off again, avoiding his gaze as I scan over the room in front of me, heading to his tall chest of draws first and pulling open the one I know is filled with jumpers.

"I want to talk," Harry says softly. He lifts one arm from where he has them crossed over his chest and motions to the chair in the far corner, I investigate and sure enough, my sweater is tucked under a small pile of t-shirts. "Love, you can't ignore me."

"M' not, we're talking aren't we?" I'm just hovering in the middle of the room now, sweater in hand but Harry's tall figure blocks my way out adamantly.

"You know what I mean,"

"Harry, I can't-"

"I'm not letting you leave like this again." He takes a few steps across the room as he talks, "You said we couldn't fight cos you're only here a week, so stay a little longer."

"I don't want to fight." I shake my head, pulling my hand away when he reaches out for it.

"Then we'll just talk."

He's got that determined, soulful look about him. He reaches for my hand again and I let him, he brushes his fingertips over my knuckles lightly. His other hand comes up to my face and guides my head to look at him, still peering down at me expectantly.

Harry and I have always been open with one another. There was never enough time to tiptoe around what was bothering us when he was only home for a few weeks before work or another tour called again. Our parents always joke that we were twins separated at birth, the way we used to huddle in the garden as little kids and whisper to each other. He's my best friend, no matter how far apart we are he never hesitates to talk through his troubles with me, sure there are times we drift with our schedules, but there's too much pulling us back together for it to last long.

"I can't," It's a whisper, but he's close enough to hear it. I pull my hand from his and turn my head to the side. Inhaling, it's far too shakey to hide my nerves and before I can control it there are tears stinging my eyes.

"Love-" Harry coos, fighting my own hand to clear the tears from my cheeks.

"-I can't, Harry I," I say again, the lump in my throat making my words sound choked. He's looking down at me with that sad soft expression again and I can't piece together how we got here. "I can't."

He pulls me into his chest. His arms rest around my shoulders and he presses his face into my neck. He mumbling something but I can't make it out anymore, everything's warm and teary and slightly distorted by heavy breaths.

"We've gotta talk....we've gotta talk," He gets louder, "Love?"

I pull back to see his face. There's a red blush over his nose and cheeks and his eyelashes shine where they're wet. I push back, creating some space between us and clearing my throat.

"I didn't mean anything, we don't have to-I shouldn't have said what I did, I'm not angry, and I have no right to be so can we just, can we please just forget it?"

He shakes his head lightly, rubbing his hands against the back of his neck and standing straighter, feeling taller and intimidating.

"It's more than that, you know," He's swallowed the wobble in his voice, continuing to talk clearly now. "It's not about that, we've needed to talk for awhile - I don't want to leave it for weeks and weeks again, I can't keep pretending like nothing's going on."

"I've got a flight to catch Harry I really can't do this." I insist, walking around him and through the clear doorway, although his footsteps chase closely behind.

"Miss the flight!" Harry shouts as we make it to the living room and I start packing away the last few things on the coffee table. "I'll get you a ticket for Sunday night, just stay."

My throat burns when I push down another round of tears and furiously shove books down the side of my bag. Harry hovers to my side, fiddling with his rings and bouncing his knee back and forth.

"I love you."

I have a flight to catch. I have a flight to catch.

"Don't say it like that- I love you, of course, I love you too" I sigh, slowing down and turning to face him. "...my car's going to be here in fifteen minutes."

"No, I love you."

I have a flight to catch. I have a flight to catch.

"I have a flight to catch."

... . .

I feel shittier on the plane. I've got the window seat this time though so at least I can mope in peace. Not much more had been said after that, my car came, I thanked Harry for having me and our hug lasted longer than usual, again.

Maybe I should have stayed. Maybe I should have talked about the feelings that he'd noticed too before I left, or better yet, the first night I arrived. I'd spent hours stuck in an unproductive thought spiral on the subject over the years, we've had moments in the past, Christmas eves when we're the last ones up and the space between us dwindles down the further we get in our confessions or catching each other in a particularly domestic act in one our homes when it feels like it all just comes naturally and why isn't it like this with any of the guys I've dated?

It doesn't go unnoticed by us that we acted like a couple more often than we did close friends. Gemma and Ellie have confronted me, and most likely Harry too, together and separately for answers on several occasions. I always say the same thing - "We're just friends, we've always been close."

This time's different though. Harry's never brought the subject up outside of the jokes comparing us to his friends in relationships, he's always been in relationships and there's no chance of me broaching the issue of any potential romantic feelings I may or may not have for him while he's seeing somebody, even when he wasn't, it's not worth the risk of it all blowing up in my face and having to spend infinite Christmases in awkward humiliation.

I'd played with the idea of us as a couple, allowed myself to daydream about what it could be like for a few moments before reminding myself how low the possibility of Harry ever feeling the same is. Even if he did, the long-distance friendship we have now would never survive as a relationship - you can't go months without the person you're trying to build a life with.

But, maybe I should have stayed.

Maybe, when he told me he loved me, I should have been braver. In the one moment, it all finally felt clear and possible, and like I wasn't completely delusional and hopeless, I should have told him I love him too.

Either way, I have eight long, back aching hours ahead of me to decide.

#harry styles fic #harry styles writing #harry styles #harry styles one shot #feels like home #dani's writing #oop #i'm so tired

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izaswritings · 4 years ago

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all that’s left in the world | chapter five

Title: all that’s left in the world—

Synopsis: —is me.

Neku’s been shot and Shibuya is threatening to go the same way as Shinjuku, but just because the first Game is over doesn’t mean they’ve forgotten how to play.

Or: Neku deals with a nightmare city and his most annoying (and mathematical) partner yet; Shiki and Joshua commit an escalating number of illegal moves, Beat and Eri hunt down a stray Reaper, and Rhyme watches and waits for the counter-attack. Shibuya refuses to go down easy.

Fandom: The World Ends With You | TWEWY

Warnings: references to past canonical character death, self-esteem issues, vague descriptions of an apocalyptic event (Shinjuku at the moment of Inversion, etc), and Joshua, again. Please let me know if there’s anything I missed.

AO3 Link is here!

Previous chapters are here!

part five: joshua

Joshua opens his eyes to a wasteland.

Beside him Shiki Misaki has fallen to her knees in the dust and dirt, hacking up half a lung; Joshua politely gives her a moment to collect herself like the very considerate and understanding person he is, and steps forward, scanning their surroundings with a frown. Empty streets filled with white dust that clings to his hand like snow; the air smells of nothing, devoid even of the stench of smoke. A low fog has settled over the city, so gray and dense it could be mistaken for a storm, the buildings vacant shells and the roads worn smooth and featureless. It’s more than a ghost town—it’s a city hollowed, its heart destroyed, and Joshua frowns momentarily, picking up his phone, fiddling with the settings.

For the first time, no call goes through. “Interesting,” Joshua decides, and tugs at one lock of hair, twining the strand around his finger.

“W-what is?” Shiki asks, and Joshua tilts his head and snaps his phone closed. Her breath catches. Ah, she’s noticed the city. “Where are we?”

“Shinjuku, I believe,” Joshua says, and even though he’d guessed as much the sight makes him frown, disgruntled. Joshua’s always liked a good Game, but this one promises to try his patience. “Well. What’s left of it, anyway.”

Her eyes scan the wasteland, expression faltering. “That’s impossible,” she says, though she seems half-convinced already. Quick to adapt, isn’t she? Maybe this partnership 2.0 won’t be so boring after all. “That’s... how could this be Shinjuku?”

“Inversion,” Joshua sighs, and when Shiki’s brow furrows at the term he giggles and waves his hand. “A UG phrase. The RG and UG have merged here. The planes have gotten all tangled together—too many frequencies at once.” And, actually, liable to give Joshua a headache. He misses Shibuya’s song already. Ironic, considering his plans for it just last month. “Noise manifest in the RG, reality gets unstable...”

She’s pale. “And this is where Neku is?”

“Mm-hmm.” Joshua shrugs. “Unfortunate, isn’t it?”

“Yeah...” Joshua blinks at her, but Shiki has already stepped away, looking up and down the empty street. “I don’t understand. Where are all the people? And the stores...” She peers into a shop window and blinks fast. “Huh?”

“Oh?” Joshua steps up beside her, peering through the window, and then leans back, hands in his pockets and eyebrows raised. “My, my. That’s certainly something.”

The shop is empty. Not just devoid of people, but of anything—the mannequins stripped featureless and bare, even the fake features wiped away. The hangers hold nothing. The stands are empty. Even the picture frames on the wall, the art and decor put up just for flavor, have become hollow, the frames undecorated, the pictures turned to white noise.

Joshua lifts his hand, curious, and presses it against the glass. Against the blank slate of the store, he and Shiki and the colors they wear seem almost like a spotlight. Shinjuku is grey and cold around them, featureless and repetitive. Scrubbed clean of any life at all.

Joshua takes his hand back, frowning outright now. “Hm.”

“That’s so creepy,” Shiki says, drawing back a step. She shivers. “It’s like... anything that would have stood out, or anything that would have meant something...”

“A clean slate,” Joshua agrees, and rests his chin in his hand, thoughtful.

Shiki looks away, apparently unable to keep looking into the empty shop for long. “Is this... normal?” she asks, squinting up at the sky, like if she tries hard enough she’ll be able to see the sun. “For, uh... Inversions?”

Joshua giggles. “I have no idea.” It’d be a delightful mystery, if the situation weren’t so dire. He sobers. “This is the first time I’ve seen it myself. Though, I will admit...” He casts a glance at the sky, too. His eyes narrow. For a moment, there in the clouds... hm. “This doesn’t quite match up with the stories I’ve heard.”

“Creepy,” Shiki repeats.

“Quite.”

She rubs at her arms. “...Let’s go look for Neku.”

Ah, yes. Neku.

Joshua looks back at the shop, no longer smiling. His reflection in the display glass is pale and dim, faintly opaque. As if he isn’t quite there at all. He rubs at his arm, and wonders what Shiki would say if he told her Composers weren’t meant to stay outside of Their city.

Well, what’s done is done—he’s agreed to this, after all, and her reaction probably won’t be all that entertaining. Shiki Misaki, Joshua thinks, is too accepting. Adaptable to an annoying degree. At least Neku had a few moments of wanting to strangle someone before he compromised.

How funny, he thinks. The memory almost makes him want to smile, except he doesn’t feel like laughing at all.

In the dusty glass of the shop window, his own expression looks strange to him. Joshua turns away. He shakes his head and tugs at one bang, then drops his hand and sighs. “Yes,” he says, light. “Works for me. Lead the way, dear.”

She frowns at him, and he smiles back at her uncertain side-eye. And as Shiki picks her way across the city, and Joshua trails after her, he curls his hands to a careful fist, feeling the quiet tremor in his fingers with every step away from Shibuya, and cheerfully pretends that it hasn’t started after all.

It doesn’t take long for the first problem to rear its head. Ten minutes into the Game, Joshua and Shiki encounter their first Noise—and unlike how Noise are supposed to act, this one attacks on sight.

Joshua would suspect Taboo Noise, but no: normal Noise, just ten times more bloodthirsty. Shinjuku is getting more bothersome by the minute.

It takes a moment for them to work together—Joshua is back to summoning beams of light from his cellphone; Shiki apparently likes using her stuffed animal to rip the opposing side to shreds—but in the end, they sync up rather well, if Joshua is any judge. The Noise are nothing but static by the end. Joshua is half-way pleased. He’s missed this.

Shiki doesn’t look nearly so happy, however. At the end of their most recent battle, she kneels in the dust with the cat toy in her lap, staring down at it almost despondently. Joshua weighs his options, sighs, and goes to stand over her shoulder.

“Is this going to be a problem?”

“Maybe.” She opens her hands, glumly; Joshua looks down and tilts his head. “I forgot. Mr. Mew has a ripped seam. He’s fine for me to carry him, but...”

On second look... Joshua can see it. He presses his lips. “I hope you don’t expect me to do all the work,” he warns, coolly. “I hate working up a sweat, and this endeavor was your idea, Shiki.”

If she’s bothered by the over-familiar use of her first name, it barely even seems to register. Then again, she did offer. “Maybe I could stitch him up?” she wonders. “But I don’t have the right thread... I was going to buy some tomorrow...”

Joshua frowns at her, but Shiki isn’t even looking at him, mumbling under her breath. After a moment, he sighs—and reaches out, picking away one of the pins she’s clipped to her cardigan. He turns it in his hands, thoughtful. “Do you have any idea how you control him?”

She glances at him, startled, then looks uncertain. “Eh...”

He giggles, and flashes the pin at her. “Groove Pawn,” he tells her. “It’s a form of psychokinesis. You didn’t know?”

“Really?” She glances at the stuffed toy in her hands. “It always felt more like Mr. Mew was just doing his own thing.”

Interesting. “Maybe so, but without you to provide guidance, it wouldn’t be nearly as effective. It could be that your familiarity with the medium creates a stronger control of it... less direct commands, and more obeying of the implied commands—what you know you need?” Joshua tugs at his hair. “Hmm. You made him, yes?”

“Mr. Mew?” She hugs the stuffed animal to her chest. “Yes. Why?”

Joshua’s getting an idea. He smiles. “And your clothes?”

“I made those too, but why...?” She trails off, eyes widening. “You think—?”

“Worth a shot, isn’t it?”

She studies her sleeves, frowning slightly, considering. “I don’t know...”

“Try it,” Joshua cajoles. “Your pins will work here. The one nice thing about the merge between planes is that the Noise frequency isn’t needed to activate the pins. Lucky you.” Which is perhaps the only advantage they have in all this. But, regardless.

Shiki looks uncertain, but one last glance at Mr. Mew and her jaw firms. “Okay. I’ll give it a shot.” She rises to her feet, hand outstretched, and takes a breath. “Here goes!”

Silence. Nothing happens.

Joshua spins a strand of hair between his fingers. “...Have you considered—”

Thread cuts through the air like a whistling blade. Shiki screams.

Joshua, for his part, blinks over at what used to be a wall, and whistles through his teeth. “Wow,” he says, honestly impressed. “That’s going to be incredibly useful. Nice to see that you can pull your own weight after all, hm?”

Shiki doesn’t appear to be listening, but then, that’s little surprise. Her cardigan has been unraveled up to her elbow; the loose thread of the sleeve has reached long past its actual length and cut apart the air, slipping through stone like a hot knife through ice.

It’s like a net, Joshua thinks, and circles her, intrigued. It really is something. If she concentrates the threads, and focuses the force onto one impact point, she could cut right through the core of a larger Noise. Even the net of thread could cut apart quite a few of the smaller Noise, too... my, he thinks. Could she catch one? Fascinating.

His musing gets cut off by the loud, creaking groan of breaking stone. Shiki’s eyes go wide. Joshua looks up, startled, and steps back just in time to avoid a bit of rubble falling on his foot, as the building Shiki hit creaks, tilts, sways, and then ultimately tips back and falls apart into a burst of dust and debris.

Silence. Joshua stares. The building just behind the first, now walled off with ruin, also creaks, and then caves inward with a crash.

“Oh my god,” Shiki says, eyes wide and horrified behind her glasses. “Is that okay!?”

“…It’s fine,” Joshua says. A beat. He considers the rubble. “Well, maybe.”

There’s another pause, almost thoughtful. A wall on a third building goes loose and spills out onto the road. In the distance there is the sound of falling rocks. A small pebble rolls from the pile, taps Shiki’s shoe, and then falls sadly on its side.

Shiki covers her face.

“Useful, anyhow,” Joshua decides.

“Maybe this was a bad idea…” Shiki sighs, rubbing at her face. Then she lifts up her head— and at last seems to get a full look at her unraveled cardigan, because she blanches, and holds out her arms in horror. “Oh, no, my sleeve! I spent days on this!”

“I’m sure you can put it back.”

“Oh, you think?” She takes a breath, focusing again, and Joshua watches with interest as the thread pries loose from the rubble pile, pooling together and re-weaving back into the cardigan. Shiki peeks one eye open. “Did it work?” Pause. “It worked!”

Joshua claps for her. “Well done.”

She beams, then seems to remember who she’s smiling at and visibly falters. Joshua giggles at her. What a face!

“Um, thanks.”

“No problem at all.”

She tucks the stuffed cat in her arms, hugging it close as if in comfort, staring down at the ground. She bites her lip, then shakes her head and exhales hard. “I… never mind. I guess we should keep moving.”

He gestures. She looks at him for a very long moment, then nods and takes the lead, walking down into a small back-alley street.

Joshua follows leisurely behind her, one hand in his pocket and the other fiddling with his phone. He tries to place another call, but isn’t surprised when it fails once again. Well, he’s glad to still have the camera, at least, though he’ll have to be careful of its use. If he could find Shinjuku’s Room of Reckoning… though unfortunately, he has no idea where the Composer of Shinjuku might be located.

Hm.

He fiddles with it some more, as they walk, and the rest of the day passes by in routine—travel, fight the Noise that converge on them, move on. Joshua gets more in-tune with this new partner, and finds to some delight that their attacks mix well. Shiki is focused, direct, and methodical, as expected of her talent as a seamstress; she attacks her enemies one hit at a time until it falls, and then moves on to the next. Matched with Joshua’s habit of just blasting a general area and catching as many Noise as possible in the light, it covers a lot of ground. He flattens the ones he can without frying his phone—and she, in turn, picks off the stragglers.

After one such battle, Joshua touches to the ground and turns to smile at her, far more genuinely than before. He can say this for Shiki Misaki— in addition to being a living wrench in the works of Joshua’s plan, she’s also just a genuinely talented Player.

“This might just work,” he tells her, cheery, and toes a line in the soft dusting of ash lining Shinjuku’s streets. “I’ll admit, I had my doubts.”

She glances back at him, looking more confused than offended. “Then... why did you agree?”

“Hm.” Joshua tilts his head. “Why indeed?”

Silence, for a moment. Shiki’s expression flattens a little. “Okay. So you’re not going to tell me.”

It’s a little cruel, maybe, but this girl’s already thrown the first stone, back in the Shibuya River; really, this should be expected. “What makes you think you deserve the answer?”

His word choice is deliberate, and Shiki, of all people, sensitive enough to catch the subtext—her steps stutter, and she tugs the stuffed cat closer. “I... I didn’t mean it like that.” She eyes him again. Her fingers tighten. “You’re rude.”

He shrugs. “It’s an honest question. Really, Shiki, you haven’t changed much at all, have you?” He eyes her. “Wanting recognition is all well and good, but don’t go expecting it from me.”

She falters, steps stuttering in the dust. Joshua keeps walking, humming lightly. She doesn’t follow. He turns around. “We don’t have much time to waste,” he chides. “If you could, Shiki...?”

“How did you know that?” Her voice is tight. “How did you—”

“Composer,” he reminds her. “It’s my Game. I put in the entry fee requirement in the first place, you know.” Not for the reasons she probably thinks, but then, Joshua’s never claimed to teach kind lessons. “And you were Neku—my proxy’s—partner. Of course I kept an eye out.”

“Of course,” she echoes, a little hollowly. “So—so you know...”

That she is jealous? That she wants to be more than herself? That Shiki Misaki wants to be popular, and important, and at the center of it all? That she wants so much for herself she came to seethe at others who she thought stood above her?

Joshua knows a lot of things people wish he didn’t know.

“I do, yes.” He considers her, and sighs a little. She’s stepped on his toes, so to speak, but Joshua can relent where need be. “If it’s any consolation, you have changed.” Neku’s choice hadn’t been the only factor influencing Joshua’s unintended change of heart regarding Shibuya, though Joshua is never going to admit that out loud. “If this Game had an entry fee, yours would no longer be yourself.”

Green is a good color for Shiki Misaki. She’s still envious, even now. But it doesn’t fester in her anymore. She has come to learn her own strengths, started to realize her own Imagination— the value of herself. And Joshua will never, ever say it aloud, but he can admire that, a little. If all the world is secret gardens, then hers is finally growing again, no longer crushed beneath her own heel.

Shiki looks down like she can’t decide whether to be happy or offended about his words. Joshua shrugs and turns away. “It would probably be that ‘friend’ of yours,” he continues knowingly, and grins, a little wry. “Or maybe Neku?” The idea of Coco’s plot getting upended by something as a simple as an entry fee makes him snicker. “What a plot twist that would be, hm?”

“W-what?” And then her head snaps up, eyes wide behind the lens. “Wait, oh my gosh—entry fees— I completely forgot—” She stops, and visibly rewinds the conversation in her head. “There isn’t one?”

“Thankfully.” People really aren’t meant to play the Game more than once; Joshua shudders to think how much of Shibuya would have vanished if Neku’s fee had been taken again. “It’s more than the RG and UG merge. Whatever Game we’re playing...”

Shiki looks stunned. “There’s no Reapers.”

“Did you just notice? Well, anyway. That’s right. No Reapers, no walls, no mission mail...” Joshua frowns a little. “I’m... a little uncertain if anyone’s in charge of this Game at all.”

“What about that Reaper girl? Coco?”

“Let me reword. No one official, at any rate.” He leaves it at that, but deep down, Joshua can’t deny he’s getting uneasy. There is too much off—too much lack. A Composer encroaching on another’s territory is a heinous crime, and bringing an illegal Player with him? Even with his powers limited by sheer virtue of being outside Shibuya, that should have warranted some interaction, if nothing else. But no— instead they have been walking undisturbed, the city silent as a grave.

The Music gone.

It’s as if there is no Composer at all, Joshua thinks, but then—how is that possible? If the Composer were killed, both power and title would transfer to the killer; if the Composer were captured... well, the city still wouldn’t be like this. The power would live on and the Music continue. But this... what has happened to Shinjuku...

For once, Joshua can honestly admit he has no idea what’s going on. It’s kind of annoying.

“Either way,” Joshua says, with finality. “It’s not for you to know.” He smiles at her. “May we get moving again?”

And just like that, her hackles are back up. Sigh. “I’m just trying to be nice!” she snaps back, fierce. “Though I’m not sure you deserve it.” Her voice lowers. “You’re as bad as Neku was. We’re partners.”

“That’s a bit rude,” Joshua says, amused.

“Still. We made a pact. You could at least act like it. We have to work together!”

Joshua stares at her, a little disgruntled; Shiki crosses her arms and tilts up her chin and glares right back. For a moment Joshua considers pushing the issue, or perhaps ignoring her and continuing on anyway... and then, just as quickly, his annoyance fades, dull and tired. Joshua looks away first.

Shiki Misaki, Neku’s first partner in the game. Neku has learned a lot from her. And Joshua, though he is still only just able to admit this to himself, has learned from Neku in turn.

Joshua sighs heavily, the sound as loud as he can make it, and lifts a hand to his hair, tugging at the strands. “Oh, fine,” he says, only a little sullen, because he has learned something from his time playing his own Game and to pretend otherwise is probably beneath him, or something. “If you really want to know, I’m beginning to suspect this Game doesn’t have a Composer at all.”

Shiki looks a little stunned. Possibly she never expected him to admit anything; Joshua tries not to feel too offended about that. After all, if this were a month ago, she’d be right. (If this were a month ago, he wouldn’t have accepted her deal in the first place— but that’s not important either.) “Oh,” she says. “...Oh. Someone—someone killed Shinjuku’s Composer?”

Joshua clicks his tongue. “Not quite,” he says. “Killing the Composer wouldn’t cause an Inversion. Neither,” he adds when Shiki opens her mouth, “would kidnapping, or anything else of the like. This city has no Music. It’s silent. It is…” And this Joshua doesn’t like to admit, because the very idea is enough to make his skin crawl, but it’s the truth: “It’s as if it has no Imagination at all.”

“Um,” Shiki says. “Which is... bad?”

“You remember that storefront?” he asks her. “Yes, it’s bad. Imagination is what the entire UG runs on.”

“Oh. Oh.”

“Exactly.” He huffs, irritated. “Unfortunately, whatever happened, I’m rather in the dark. This event has very thoroughly erased any clues left behind.”

Shiki frowns, looking thoughtful. “Is there a place for Shinjuku like there was for Shibuya? A river?”

“Of sorts. I don’t know where it is, though.” Unfortunately. Joshua likes mysteries, actually, but it’s a bit more fun when there’s actual clues to follow.

“I remember the Noise around the river were pretty strong. The station underpass in general, too. Like they were just drawn there…” Shiki holds the stuffed cat in both hands, looking down at it. It’s almost as if she expects the cat to talk back to her; Joshua stifles a grin. “I wonder if we could ride on them.”

Joshua blinks. Backtracks. “On. The Noise?”

She looks a little red, but shrugs. “I mean, could we?”

He almost laughs, but then he makes the mistake of thinking about it. With the thread… and, well, Joshua understands the Noise better than anyone else, so…

There’s a long pause. Joshua looks over to the Noise, far off down the street. He thinks about it some more. And it is with great regret when he says, at last: “Mm. Better not.”

Mr. H would never let him live it down. Also, less importantly, “While stronger Noise tend to gather around the Composer’s place, it’s not exactly a homing beacon. It won’t lead us to the Composer.”

Disappointing, though.

Shiki hums, but seems to accept that, tapping her finger to her chin. “Then maybe...” She trails off, brow furrowing. “If not the Composer, we could find where it all centered? Like the Inversion? It had to start somewhere, right...?”

She sounds uncertain, but Joshua straightens up. He’s not entirely sure the issue of Shinjuku’s Composer and the Inversion are so directly linked, but if one mystery can’t be solved, it stands to reason they should move on to the next. “It must have.” He tilts his head, then grins. “Ah-ha. I have an idea.”

“What is it?”

Joshua is already on his phone, flipping through the settings. When she approaches, he generously doesn’t shoo her off. “Here,” he says, and tilts the screen to her. The idea has emboldened him; his foot taps lightly on the ground. Finally, a place to start. He has no doubt they’ll run into Neku on the way there, if he gets this right. Neku usually finds himself in the center of a disaster. “A while back I had a few... adjustments made to my phone. I never did remove them. This camera can take pictures of the past.” He waves the phone at her, grinning outright now. “Pick a direction, dear.”

Behind her glasses, Shiki’s eyes are wide. She claps her hands in front of her face. “Oh! So if the Inversion started somewhere, we can see what direction it came from?”

Her excitement is rather charming. Neku never got nearly as involved in the everyday mysteries as Joshua did; this response feels pretty gratifying, honestly. “Exactly! I’m impressed.”

She giggles, a little. “This is so exciting. I feel like I’m in a detective movie.” She spins on her heel, stuffed cat swinging from one hand, finger tapping her chin. She points down a random street, a once-main road turned hollow. “How about there?”

“As good a place to start as any, I suppose.” Joshua snaps the photo—he already knows the time they need, thankfully. Shiki leans over his shoulder; Joshua eyes her briefly, then sighs and lets it go. He opens the photo.

Oh, how fun. White light, the buildings crumbling, terrified people beginning to fade out... but it is vague, source-less, and impossible to tell the direction from which it’s coming from.

Shiki blinks at it, though, her eyes flicking from photo to the ruins and back again. “Oh, I know that building! Isetan department store… I went with Eri once.” She frowns a little. “Hmm. So we’re near the station?”

“Valuable info, but not quite what we were looking for… Well, two more photos left.” Joshua tilts the camera. “Choose wisely.”

“Uh... well, if we’re near the station, um, maybe the government building? Oh, where was it…” Shiki squints down a street. “There?”

Joshua snaps the photo, then sighs. Shiki frowns too. He’ll give her this much: she’d been right about the direction; he can see the tip of the Tokyo Metropolitan Government Building and even some of Park Tower, but beyond the vague reddish light and screaming people, nothing indicates the epicenter of the event. Tsk.

“Last one,” Shiki checks, and at Joshua’s nod, worries at her lip. “Hm...”

Joshua considers it. His finger taps against the case. After a moment, his eyes flicker up. He’s never known Shinjuku too well, even when he was alive; he’d stayed in Shibuya most of his life, and then the entirety of his afterlife. “Have you been to Shinjuku before?”

“Well... once or twice. Not as often as Shibuya. Uh, mainly around the station. Why?”

He frowns at the screen, not really seeing it. “Can you guess where the center of the city might be?”

“That’s...” She trails off. Her brow furrows. “Um. Maybe? One second.” She takes a deep breath. “Er... where’s Shibuya from here?”

This, Joshua could answer in his sleep. He is so aware of the city it nearly dizzies him; he smiles to hide the sudden tremor in his arms. Ah, it really does set in quick, doesn’t it?

“To our right,” Joshua says lightly, and cheerfully ignores the headache spiking behind his eyes.

“Okay.” She bites her lip. “Then... from there, to... and then turn left... by Golden Gai, maybe…?” She trails her eyes across the ruined landscape and finally settles for a direction slightly north-east from them. “There? I think. It’s hard to tell, with the buildings all... you know.”

“That’s good enough,” Joshua decides. He lines up the image. Then he pauses. For a moment he frowns. And then, not entirely sure why, he lifts the camera, taking in not just the street and the buildings but also the sky, high above.

He takes the shot.

His fingers tighten. His smile widens, but there’s no joy in it at all. “Bingo.”

“Yes!” She looks at the photo. Her eyes go wide. “...What?”

The photo is exactly what they need, but neither is it a welcome sight. The distant high-rise of the buildings is turning to dust and ash. People are cowering in the streets, covering their heads. A pale white light, tinged faintly bloody with red, shines out through all the streets with a piercing glow.

And high above, settled in the sky like a brand, the Reaper’s skull bears down on the city, blood red and burning bright.

“Interesting,” Joshua murmurs, and thumbs the phone off. “I believe we just got our first clue.”

Shiki bites her lip, then seems to shake herself. “We know where to start looking, now. So that’s good.” She brightens, a little. “And Neku’s sure to be there! He gets in too much trouble not to find it himself.” She’s smiling outright now, and pumps a fist to the air, triumphant, turning to Joshua with delight. “We did it!”

He giggles at her enthusiasm, and her smile falters, falling awkward and flat. Her eyes catch on his face and she seems to remember who she’s talking to for the first time. Her smile fades. Her fist lowers.

Joshua considers her, shrugs, and turns away to mess with his phone. His hands are still annoyingly shaky from earlier. He doesn’t speak. Shiki doesn’t say anything either. The silence stretches.

When it’s clear she’s not going to break, Joshua sighs again and closes his phone, looking down at the case briefly before tucking it back into his pocket. “You really don’t like me, do you?” Joshua muses, and tucks his hands in his pockets. “What stories Neku must have told you, I wonder.”

“He told me enough.” Her voice is quiet again. “But you already knew about that.”

He hums, not really answering. Another silence. This time, Shiki looks away.

“I can’t forgive you,” she announces, apropos of nothing, eyes on her stuffed animal. She hugs it close. “Which sounds silly, doesn’t it? Considering you never did anything to me. But even if Neku does forgive you, one day, I don’t think I ever will.” Joshua keeps his eyes on the skyline, and half an eye on her; he sees her fingers tighten. “I don’t know why you did it, and even if I did, I don’t think I really care.”

Something hardens in her voice. Joshua waits, patiently, for her to finish. “Your point?” he prompts.

Her jaw clenches, and for the first time she seems truly angry with him. “You hurt Neku. You hurt him— a lot. I remember that much. He was crying. I’d never seen him cry before. You did that.” I’m aware, Joshua thinks. Her eyes are fixed on the ground, now. “And you hurt him after it was over, too.”

Joshua frowns, briefly, the barest flicker of an expression, and Shiki looks up and smiles at the sight, an expression that is half-hearted and small and not very happy at all. “Yeah. I figured you didn’t know about that one. Neku doesn’t either, I don’t think. But he— he wanted to see you again, you know? No matter my feelings on it, that’s still true. Maybe he just wanted to hit you, or yell at you—um, maybe he just wanted answers?” She shrugs. “Maybe all three. But he did want to see you again. Whenever we meet up, he’s always getting distracted, looking for someone else. And I’m not stupid. I can guess.”

He has stayed silent thus far out of some amused hope of getting this out of her system; now Joshua is regretting that. There is something ashy on his tongue, settled cold in his throat. He takes a thin breath and exhales it slowly, like a test.

“You never came,” Shiki says, simply, a little harder. She’s looking at him, Joshua can tell, but he keeps his gaze turned away, fixed on the sky. “Maybe you meant that as a kindness? I don’t know. That doesn’t really matter either. Because it hurt him either way.”

Another pause. Joshua closes his eyes, opens them, and then finally looks back at her. She glares at him—not angry anymore, not really, just stubborn, stiff and holding her ground. He considers her.

“I don’t think you’re a bad person,” Shiki says, at last, reluctantly. Joshua raises an eyebrow at her. She huffs. “Which kind of makes it worse, maybe. But I don’t. Neku doesn’t either, otherwise he wouldn’t be trying so hard.” Her chin lifts, determined. “You probably aren’t sorry for what happened. You’ll probably never say it; it’s not really my business. But Neku’s trying. I don’t know why, but he is—and you know, if nothing else, you could stand to try too.”

Joshua doesn’t say anything. She’s caught him off-guard with this—of all things, this is not what he was expecting her to say. And maybe that is Joshua’s fault. Hasn’t he learned this lesson already? Isn’t that why Shibuya’s still standing? They lost the Game, all of them, Neku and Shiki and the Bito siblings; they lost the game, but they had changed his mind. They had surprised him. They had changed him in turn too, even if Joshua still doesn’t quite know how to admit it.

“Just a thought,” Shiki says, hotly, and this time she’s the one to turn away. “I don’t know if you even… N-never mind. This was stupid, I told myself I wouldn’t— let’s just go.”

How silly. All of his little asides, and yet this is what riles her up. It probably shouldn’t surprise him. She’s broken into a Reaper’s Game just for the chance to help; likely Joshua should have seen this coming. It’s still annoying, though. Why has he agreed to this again?

But he doesn’t move. He feels weary, and strangely drained, and he pinches at the bridge of his nose with a quiet exhale. Hah. He could say he’s still not sure why, but then, that would be lying, wouldn’t it? And while Joshua is rather good at lying to himself, he prefers not to make a habit of it.

He thinks, once, he would have been angry at this. He’s not sure what to make of the fact he’s not. He’s not sure what to say at all, actually—and isn’t that funny? That doesn’t happen often either.

Mostly he just feels tired.

Joshua watches Shiki walk away, and lingers there, at the edge of the sidewalk. His gaze draws back, turning away toward Shibuya; he looks past the ruined buildings to the streets that are His and His alone. He taps his fingers against his thigh. Trying, he thinks.

But there is no time. And so Joshua pulls his gaze away, and leaves Shibuya and his thoughts behind him.

#twewy #the world ends with you #joshua kiryu #yoshiya kiryu #shiki misaki #neku sakuraba #joshneku #twewy fic #iza fanfic #fic: all that's left in the world

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always5hineee · 4 years ago

Text

Profit Margin- Chapter 1: The Stage is Set

Chapter warnings: Mild language

Word count: 1181

Story can be found on the Profit Margin tab on my page, or on Wattpad and Quotev under Taffysamg

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"Yeahhhhh!" Y/N was screaming along with the hundreds, if not thousands of people on the ground floor of the arena. The lights were glaring and the heat of the bodies around her was pressing in, but the adrenaline rush was more than enough to keep her jumping with energy. Watching her idols in front of her, it was like a dream come true.

It had taken her ages to come across the opportunity to come to this show. Originally, they weren't even planning on playing in her city. She tried to find a way to afford both concert and plane tickets, but the journey was too much hassle. Devastated, she had come to terms with her lot. That is, until they released an updated concert schedule. They would be so close, she could practically walk to the arena if she tried hard enough!

Ecstatic, she had pulled together the money to attend in general admissions almost immediately. Lighstick and a small backpack in hand, she walked in as prepared as a fan could be for an event. She was there nearly a full day in advance, more than willing to wait in rain or shine. The people she met in line seemed to feel the same way, antsy to get into the building. Now, her ears were ringing, the floor was vibrating beneath her, and she couldn't be more excited.

WayV. By no means were they the most popular group, but that didn't matter to her. She knew every one of their songs, learning every lyric she could, no matter the language. She was happy no matter what photocard she got, thankful for whatever albums she could get her hands on. Although the group was fairly new, she started to learn the members' personalities, both from recent content online as well as old clips from other groups they had participated in.

As the last song came to a close, her eyes were almost watering, whether from physical stress, sadness that it was almost over, or the sheer joy she felt in seeing her idols on the stage, sweating in the heat of the glaring spotlights. Kun, Lucas, Ten, Xiaojun, WinWin, Hendery, YangYang- they were all such beautiful, wonderful people. And she was here, right in front of them! Every time one of them even so much as looked her way, she felt as though she was going to faint.

"Thank you everyone!" Kun said as one of his bandmates handed him an old-school microphone. "Have a good night!" The crowd went wild as they waved, lights dimming. She could just barely make out their silhouettes leaving the stage as the house lights rose and exiting directions began blaring over the sound system.

Heart still beating wildly, skin shiny with sweat, lungs gasping for air, and enough adrenaline to run a marathon, Y/N began to follow the masses out the side exits into the gaping corridors of the arena. Having been vacant for the several hours in which the concert was happening, the air was chilly, a stark contrast from the floor. Her muscles began to react to the cold, making her realize just how tired her body was. Feeling the effects of over two hours of nonstop fangirling, she looked up to the directional signs in search of a bathroom.

Sure enough, the closest one wasn't more than a few exits away. Following the arrows, she came to a door marked with a woman, tucked into a corner behind a cinderblock wall. Assumedly, the men's restroom was on the other side. Surprisingly, even after such a long show, she didn't see any line. Maybe there was a more obvious restroom on the way to the main exit? Regardless, she was thankful for it. Despite having just spent all that time crushed up against strangers, she wasn't really an extrovert. The opportunity to have a moment of alone time before starting her trip home was a welcome one.

She took her time in the bathroom, sitting in the stall for a minute scrolling through her phone. At least, she thought it was a minute. It was only when the silence started to get to her that she got up, recomposing herself and exiting. Walking up to the bathroom counter, she glanced into the mirror.

Her makeup was less than stellar, and a thin layer of sweat still graced her face. Her hair was a disaster, as was to be expected post-concert. Laughing to herself, she looked into her own eyes. Imagine if the band members saw her like this? Instinctively, she turned around, but obviously no one was there. This was the women's bathroom, after all. Plus, she had nothing to worry about. She couldn't really afford any insanely expensive meet-and-greets or fansigns, so she would have to settle for as close as she had gotten today. At least she had plenty of videos on her phone, no mater how shaky.

Washing her hands, she splashed water into her face, cooling her off and getting rid of a bit of the salt that still lingered. She couldn't wait to get home and take a shower. Her feet were beginning to ache from the weight of her body, overworked from the show. Adjusting her clothing, she made sure her bag was secure, looking around for the paper towels. She saw the dispenser, but- it was empty.

Grossed out by the idea of drying her hands on her sweaty pants, she considered just shaking them off, but the dampness remained. Going back into the stalls to grab toilet paper would practically defeat the purpose of washing her hands to begin with. Sighing, she just decided that she would have to deal with it. She had been in the bathroom for far too long anyway- if she lingered, she may end up getting locked inside the arena!

Putting her hand under her shirt to open the doorhandle, she reached out tiredly. At that moment, her vision went black. Surprised and scared, she realized that it was because something was over her face, dragging her backwards as she tried to regain her footing on the grungy tiles.

"Hey! What the fuck!" She started yelling. "Don't fucking mess with me, I have a pepper spray in my-" She started to say, before another weight clenched on her mouth. Feeling something leathery slide across her tongue, she bit down in a panic, causing the thing to retract.

"Fuck! The stupid bitch bit me!" She heard a male voice say.

"Suck it up, you have gloves on. Now knock her out and let's move!" A second said. Knock her out? Eyes widening under the covering, she took in a deep breath to screech. Rather than oxygen, though, her lungs were quickly filled with a different gas. It smelled sort of like chlorine, and left a sickly-sweet taste in her mouth. Against her will, she felt her eyelids growing heavy. She had been drugged.

She felt her knees fall out from under her as she sank to the ground, unable to do anything...

Go to Chapter 2

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