#and his hallucinations of dying are so descriptive in just the right way to get under my skin

[technicolorxsn]

love how there are pretentious video essays that just repeat the book and meander and ramble about house of leaves. it's what zampanó would have wanted. it is not, however, what I want

[literallyjusttoa]

One more doodle based on part of one of my fics. And cue shameless plug:

No, listen, you don’t understand, this line haunts me. Why is this never picked back up?? Did anyone actually tell Apollo that his son said this???? Apollo met with all three people who were in this room, did any of them pass the message on??? If so, why don’t we see it???? Actually, why is Asclepius barely mentioned AT ALL in ToA???????? WHAT IS GOING ON WITH ASCLEPIUS???????

[sammylkcho]

Please.. Forgive me.

Warnings/Notes: vague descriptions of dismemberment, descriptions of gory scenes, angst, deaths, anxiety, intrusive thoughts, mentions of suicide, more questions than answers

"I'm sure we’ll be able to get out of this, especially with Painter’s help.. distracting those disposables Urbanshade brings so we can grab the crystal" you said in a cheerful voice, swinging your legs back and forth from the box you were sitting on.

Sebastian let out an uncomfortable hum, his attention glued to the files marked "CLASSIFIED" in bold letters. He was pouring over the documents without even a glance away, barely even pausing to breathe. You’d seen him work himself to exhaustion like this before, sometimes even passing out from the strain. Secretly, you were starting to worry he’d begin hallucinating from the lack of sleep.

Your face unconsciously tightened into a frown, and your lips pressed into a thin line as you noticed his anxious habit—running a hand through his hair and trying to tuck it behind his fins. It reminded you of when he’d always push the hair falling down each side of his face behind his ears back when he was (well, still is) human.

Quickly replacing your frown, you kept chatting away about all the things you could do once you were back on the surface. You mentioned how living by a nice beach could be a fresh, relaxing start for both of you after everything. Painter could even capture the beauty of the sunsets there.

There was no sign he was listening, but you knew his mind was elsewhere. Still, you kept talking—it was a surefire way to help calm your own nerves.

Listening to Painter ramble on about whatever he liked—a new drawing or sketch he’d made, or even just complaining about the disposables—was one of the only things that could ground you, helping keep you tethered when your thoughts began to consume you. Somehow, it both soothed you and brought back all the anxieties you were left with at the end of each day.

Sometimes Painter noticed the shifts in your mood and asked about them. Usually, you didn’t tell him anything to avoid worrying him, letting him continue his usual ramblings, but today was one of those rare moments when you let a thought slip.

“.. Are you alright? I started complaining about Sebastian, and you didn’t even jump in to defend him or argue about it” he noted, trying to keep the worry in his tone hidden. Being soft or consoling wasn’t something his programming was used to after all his time in a place like this.

You looked down, trying to find the right words to explain to the AI the emotional mess you were in now (and, honestly, always) and to make him understand, even just a little.

“It’s just... Is it wrong that I’m becoming numb to someone dying? I used to feel sick, to gag whenever I saw a disposable’s corpse, and now it doesn’t faze me—their deaths or the brutal injuries. It’s like it doesn’t gross me out at all. I think picking through bodies with Sebastian is getting to me...” You chuckled softly, though it was more out of hollow irony than anything.

“And besides, it’s hard trying to help Sebastian when he only lets me tend to the disposables that end up here. Other than that, he doesn’t let me help him physically or mentally.”

You ran a hand through your hair, trying in vain to calm yourself or slow down the racing of your thoughts. You felt your breathing grow ragged, your hands shaking beyond your control as if they were reacting all on their own.

“It’s exhausting... I want to help him a little because I know the hell he’s dealing with, but I also have no idea what goes through his head, especially when he won’t tell me the full story.”

Your voice wavered, your teeth chattering as a tremor started to take over your body.

“He tells me I can’t help him when I can’t even help myself. I can handle my mess and his at the same time; I know I can.”

You could hear Painter’s voice saying something, but it didn’t register.

“I know I can do it, I’m fine. I wouldn’t get tired of hearing his complaints or thoughts.”

There was Painter’s voice again. What was he saying?

“I can handle it, I’M FINE—”

“You’re bleeding!”

Painter’s voice came through the old computer speakers so loudly you swore it sounded distorted.

You tasted something metallic on your lower lip, and your tongue quickly recognized the taste of blood when you licked it, realizing what it was.

You looked down at your hands, now stained red, with the indents of your nails pressing into your palms.

When you blinked, trying to focus on your surroundings, you noticed your eyelashes were wet, and your cheeks felt uncomfortably damp. You had been crying too.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to… Sorry.” You didn’t even know why you were apologizing or what for. You just felt the need to after putting poor Painter through this, letting him see you unraveling over your anxieties, showing him this sorry state.

“It’s okay... Just.. do you want to talk it over more calmly?” he asked, his words sounding a bit awkward as he wasn’t sure what to say or do.

You quickly shook your head, wiping your tears away with your sleeve. You braced your hands against the floor to stand, relying on it to steady you because your legs were still trembling. You didn’t trust yourself to get up without some support, given how shaky you still felt.

Before Painter could say anything else, you left as quickly as you could, trying to drown out the voices in your head blaming you for burdening him, for voicing your problems aloud. You didn’t deserve even his pity.

You were pathetic���worse than pitiful.

You couldn’t even bring yourself to show up at Sebastian’s shop, the place you called home.

You sprinted quickly into one of the rooms down the long hallway you’d been running through. Instinct drove you under the desk in the wide room, both hands clamped over your mouth and nose to stifle the sound of your heavy, panicked breathing. You needed to hide from this monster.

Scenes of the person you were escaping from replayed in your head like a film.

It was just another disposable who’d somehow made it this far while you’d been with Painter. You’d spotted him at a distance in a dark room before the voices over the speakers cut through the silence, alerting you and the disposable who was now only inches away from you.

“There’s another person inside the facility. They violated company regulations and are complicit with Z-13. Their elimination will yield twice the initial reward.” The HQ voice blared through the speakers, making you gasp when it mentioned your name.

You’d forgotten that some of the cameras still worked throughout the facility, likely monitoring the disposables and reporting on what was taking them down along the way.

The moment you took a step forward and your footfall echoed across the room, you felt a burning gaze on the back of your neck. Without daring to look back at the person behind you, you took off running, a prey fleeing from its hunter.

The sound of a missed gunshot made your blood run cold in an instant. You didn’t even want to ask how he got a weapon, but he had one—and you were completely defenseless.

That’s what brought you here, crouched under the desk, silently praying to God that, just this once, he would listen and spare you from this person.

You prayed to God, to Eyesfastion, hoping they’d appear out of pure chance and force him to look them in the eyes. Or for an Angler to come roaring through the rooms, Chainsmoker to slow his steps. Any miracle.

Of all the times you’d wanted to be six feet under, wished for death to just take you already, this time you didn’t want to go. No matter how often you’d begged for death to come, this time, you wanted to live.

You held your breath, clamping down on it entirely when the sound of firm footsteps filled the room where you hid.

Closer and closer.

The desk creaked as something leaned against it. He was mere inches away. You could hear his breathing and the clank of the gun as he set it on top of the desk.

Your shaking eyes drifted to the glass in front of you, showing a view of the vast, deep ocean no other human besides Urbanshade could ever witness at such depths. Due to your crouched, hidden position under the desk, you couldn’t see your own reflection in the glass, but you could see his. A sharp gasp escaped you when you saw the appearance of your hunter.

His gaze immediately dropped downward as your gasp echoed through the room. His hand swiftly gripped the gun before he moved around to the back of the desk.

Sebastian was tucking away documents and small DNA samples he found into the neoprene suit of the now-deceased expendable, also grabbing the unused batteries. He stored everything in the small pouches strapped along his tail.

When he finished organizing everything and made sure it was all in place, he started heading back to his tent, the quick thought of seeing you there to talk non-stop just to fill the ever-present silence. A humorous smile crossed his face; this time, he’d make sure to join the conversation.

The door indicator’s number flashed, crackling quickly, before the face of Painter appeared on the screen.

"SEBASTIAN."

The AI’s shout disoriented him for a couple of seconds, leaving him confused by its sudden appearance. Painter usually waited until Sebastian visited him in his usual location to relay any messages, so seeing him appear here and shout was odd.

"What’s going on? I’m doing inventory on the expendables, so you can tell me whatever you need later, you stupid—"

"Shut up, you filthy fish, and get to room 65. They’re in danger."

The mention of your name and that you were in danger ignited something inside him.

You had already mastered the dangers of this place, even if you still trembled with fear after an Angler encounter. What had stopped you now?

He didn’t take the time to respond to the AI, instead moving as fast as his instincts could carry him to the room number. He knew the place like the back of his hand and was only six rooms away—just a little more, and he’d be there.

He was greeted by a wide hallway and the stench of blood, sharply invading his senses and nostrils. The smell was sickening, but he could bear it for a few minutes—though this time, it felt disturbingly familiar.

The stench led him to a room where he immediately noticed blood-stained glass, crimson trails streaking downwards. The sight disgusted him more than anything else, for no clear reason.

His third hand moved to his three-barreled shotgun. Although he heard nothing, something told him that wasn’t a good sign.

His breath caught entirely when two bodies came into view, and he recognized yours immediately, even though he tried not to.

You were covered in blood, both your own and your attacker’s. Dried blood streamed from your nose, bruises becoming clear against the pallor of your skin. You had two gunshot wounds: one in your stomach and another in your leg.

Then he looked at your attacker.

The blood on the attacker’s face made it hard to see him clearly, but gray hair and a graying beard showed through wrinkles and lines that marked his features.

He had also been shot, but his wound was on the forehead, and there were a series of scratches on his neck, arms, and face—made with fierce aggression.

Sebastian could almost picture the possible scenario that led to all this.

A fleeting thought crossed his mind, wondering if your pulse might still be beating, but it vanished as quickly as it came.

He heard no breath, no desperate gasping for air. Nothing.

The silence terrified him; you were supposed to fill that silence with words, turn that "nothing" into "something."

Had your attacker enjoyed your suffering? Had he even regretted, at any moment, the shots he’d fired at you? Had he seen you lifeless and felt fear at his mistake? Would he have slept soundly knowing he’d killed you?

No.

No, he didn’t believe it.

He would have made him regret being alive. He would have killed him in a worse way than he killed you.

He would have made him swallow his own teeth, fingers, and scraps of skin while he was still alive. Being alive would have been its own torture.

More than anything, he wanted to avenge you, to have done something so that this repulsive creature hadn’t killed or tortured you, even if in some "stupid" way.

…

He needed you.

[perpetualcontrolleddrowning]

Blackbonnet Soulmate AU - Part 16

The Nettles in the Garden Don’t Go Away

JRaylin441

Summary: The fallout, Part 2

Content Warnings: similar content warnings as other chapters. Only things unique here are mentions of guns, some descriptions of hair clippings, and pretty significant internalized homophobia

Read on AO3 (x)

Read Part Fifteen Here (x)

Read Part Seventeen Here (x)

Stede has never been arrested before. Prior to the sudden and deeply fulfilling decision to run away and become a pirate, Stede had actually spent the entirety of his life doing his damndest to follow the rules. Not that he was very good at that, mind, but the effort was certainly there, and the kind of rules that Stede tended to break were not the sort that often resulted in a trial at sea.

This is all to say: Stede is lost and confused and overwhelmed. He can’t hear half the words people are saying and isn’t able to comprehend the rest of what makes it through the ringing in his ears.

Another thing that Stede is learning about being arrested: it involves truly staggering amounts of standing around doing nothing while not being allowed to talk to anyone. The fire is roaring inside of Stede, and all he wants is to find Ed (Ed, who came back). Instead, he is quickly removed to the jam room and locked inside, watching as the entirety of his crew is split and parceled out between the many rooms of his ship, waiting to be interrogated one-by-one.

And then, well, Stede waits. For hours. Presumably, while the English meet (on the deck of his ship) and discuss all the different potential ways they could handle this. Maybe they are setting up a proper courtroom. Certainly, they are bringing more people aboard, now that the fearsome pirate crew has been neutralized.

There is little for Stede to do beyond pluck sadly at the strings of various instruments and think about all the things he wishes he were saying to Ed at this moment. And, in the quiet waiting, Stede is forced to confront the fact that his last few days are catching up to him. There was the vicious up-and-down emotional tug-of-war that occurred yesterday throughout Jack’s visit, followed by Stede discovering that Ed was his soulmate, followed by Karl dying and Ed deciding to leave, followed by a sleepless night filled with drinking and mocking, followed by heavy conversations with his crewmates in the morning with the background of a raging hangover. All of this, within the last 24 hours, and topped off by an emotional speech to his crew, Ed’s return, and arrest by the English.

Stede is no longer a young man.

He can feel the weight of the last two days pressing down on him and blanketing him in exhaustion. The golden, hazy light drifting down from the grate in the ceiling of the jam room only adds to the feeling of distant unreality. Stede is exhausted and excited and so fucking happy that Ed came back. And it’s all getting to be just a little bit too much.

Stede experiences the rest of the day in a series of flashbulb images, glaring hyperpigmentation, significant touches. The sleep deprivation/hungover/overwhelmed feelings combine so that each moment rattles inside Stede and devastates his sense of stability all over again. 

There is the moment Stede walks into his own quarters for an interrogation and is met with the same hallucination that plagued him at the beginning of his piratical journey. Nigel, stabbed through the eye and spitting mad. But, no, it’s his shitty little brother, that always followed right behind and kept the jokes going long past when everyone else had moved on. Chauncy. The feeling of trying desperately to sound innocent and normal while Chauncy's face keeps being overlaid with the jarring image of his twin brother, sword through the eye.

There is the moment, an hour or so after Stede has been returned to his holding cell, when Chauncy calls him back for a dramatic reading of Stede’s journal. Which, when read out loud by someone else, suddenly feels so childish and silly and overdone. Like every other part of Stede’s life has felt when narrated by either one of the Badminton twins. And then, the sudden slap of information. Blackbeard, having confessed to the crime of Nigel Badminton’s murder. And Stede is done with leaning on others to take care of him. He won’t let Ed take this fall for him. Not when he’s hovered over by the ghost of Nigel. The man he killed. The man he murdered, whether or not that was the intention. Maybe Stede isn’t sad that Nigel is dead. But this can’t be the thing that brings Ed down. Sweet, wonderful Ed. Ed, who doesn’t kill. No, Stede would never allow him to take the fall for one of Stede’s mistakes. He signs the confession. He’s crying, and Chauncy thinks it's because of the death of Nigel. Maybe it is. Stede can’t even say anymore. It’s all just been too much. He’s so tired.

There is the moment Stede accepts that he is going to die for the act of piracy. Ed is frantic at his side, trying to think of some way out of this. And part of Stede is panicking too, but a much larger part of himself is tired and snowy and at peace with what he is losing. Thankful, at least, that he was able to experience life for a few months before it ended. Today has been a reminder of all the horrible things he’s done, that he’s spent so much time ignoring and writing over with lovely memories. How wonderful, to have experienced such fantastic things. How awful, to have gone on experiencing new things after all the lives he’s left ruined in his wake.

There is the moment he faces down the firing squad, experiences true impending death. Stede’s panic, mirrored and amplified by Ed’s panic. Until suddenly, Ed shouts again from directly in front of him, voice breaking. Act of Grace. He must have jumped between Stede and the guns.

There is the moment Stede feels the gentle brush of Ed’s hand against Stede’s temple as he oh-so-carefully pulls away the blindfold. His eyes catch and hold Stede’s for just a moment, speaking volumes without actually answering any of the burning questions that Stede has for him. And then, the way that Ed’s eyes dart to the threat behind him. The way he turns back around, using his own body to block any stray bullet from finding its mark.

There is the moment triggered by the sudden, shocking slap of Chauncy taking all of that away, once again pushing Stede to the outside. Pointing out that he doesn’t technically count as a real pirate. And Stede’s crew. His crew. The crew of The Revenge. Their earnest efforts to save him. Their insistence on Stede as their captain. Lucius reading aloud from Stede’s journal and Olu running to fetch the plant that Stede stole and nurtured so carefully. They are risking their own safety to protect Stede. His crew his crew his crew. If Stede had an open ribcage, he would hold them all within it. Keep them safe from the world with his own blood and bone. If Stede had wings, he would cover them and wrap them up warm and safe. Instead, all he has is a feeble heart, which he throws across the deck. He prays that they feel its impact. We talk it through, as a crew. He can’t believe he’d gone so long without them.

There is the moment of creeping, dawning understanding of what he has just committed to, what Ed has just committed to, with this supposed Act of Grace. The horror of what it will do to Ed’s life. To the life that Stede has built for himself. The relief that he hasn’t died just yet. The press of Ed’s arm against Stede’s own, as he reads through the contract. They are leaning into each other, maximizing physical contact in the midst of all this upheaval. Of course, it’s only valid if Mr. Teach signs on, and the way that Stede frantically meets Ed’s eyes, tries so hard to communicate that this is too large an ask. Stede knows that. You really don’t have to do this. And Ed, steady as an anchor, yeah, I know I don’t. Two signatures scratched onto thick paper.

There is the moment on the way to the English naval ship. The rock of the dinghy as he and Ed are rowed back to two separate ships, intentionally kept apart. The pride of being seen as such a threat.

There is the moment filled with the dank, rotting smell of a small brig. The collapse of Stede’s body against a molded-out stool. The cold of his head against the metal grating.

And then, finally, sleep.

*~*~*

Okay.

Okay okay okay.

Ed’s in it. He’s fucking in it, okay? For real this time. No holds fucking barred. He’s back and he’s not fucking leaving until the moment Stede specifically and clearly asks him to. Because of how happy Stede looked when he came back. Because he thought Jack was his friend but that was only because he put Jack in that category before he had any idea what a friend could be. Because of the devastating gut-stab of worry that destroyed him, first when he saw the English on the horizon, and then again a thousand times worse when he saw Stede’s panic in the face of a firing squad.

Ed’s been gut-stabbed before. Dozens of times. Sometimes intentionally. The secret, though, the fucking secret of it all is to make sure they miss all of the important bits. Do you get it yet?

It’s too fucking late for Ed to take away the importance Stede has for him. It’s too fucking late for Ed to cut and run. Stede’s the important bits. That’s done and done. There’s no going back. Ed’s fucking in it and he’s not going anywhere. That shit hurts, when the stab strikes true.

Ed keeps thinking he understands what’s happening, keeps throwing himself at Stede, keeps feeling rejected, keeps running away or lashing out, keeps coming back. He’s fucking done with all of it. Shit. He’s leaving it all behind. They just signed a fucking Act of Grace together, and Ed’s throwing his lot in with Stede until the moment Stede himself says out loud that he wants Ed to leave. No more assuming he knows what the fuck is going on inside Stede’s panicked head. He just keeps making a fucking fool of himself that way.

Stede is smart. He talks about emotions and feelings and shit more than anyone else Ed has ever met. If there’s something going on, he’ll tell Ed. They’ll talk it through, as a crew. Their own little two-person crew.

This is all that Ed’s been able to think about, for the whole trip to the ridiculous fucking privateering academy. His brain does this cool thing, sometimes, when he’s figured out something new, where it just chases itself around in circles, yelling the same ideas over and over and coming to the same conclusions over and over and kicking whatever emotional reaction he’s having higher higher higher-

And Ed, well, Ed’s actually fucking excited about this. Sure, he’s in some weird new stage of life and genuinely has no idea what he’s gonna think of fighting the Spanish and ten years of licking the king’s boots. Edward Teach, a military man. What a fucking joke, except it’s not a joke. It’s something new and it’s a complete reset and he’s going to do it with Stede what the fuck.

By the time they see each other again, they’re being shuffled toward a longer line of people, presumably other, much less remarkable pirates, that are going through the same thing they are. Wild. Ed could not give less of a shit about any of these other people. All he can see is the red-gold reflection of sun-off-Stede’s-hair. His favorite color, for the way that it makes his heart leap in his chest Every Fucking Time.

Stede Stede Stede

Ed has spent the last however-the-fuck long sitting alone in a dark room chasing himself higher and higher with excitement to start this new thing with Stede. When he actually sees the man, the energy feels like it’s going to go sparking off the ends of his fingers. There’s no time to think, to try and hold himself back, and he’s fucking done with that anyway.

“Stede!”

Ed’s running, and then he’s slamming his weight into Stede’s side, slinging his arm around Stede’s shoulder and jostling him back and forth, juddering into each other, away, and back again. Ed could raise his head and howl to the moon right now, if it was out. He’s giddy on the way that Stede fits against his side, the way that he turned and smiled when he heard Ed’s voice, the bright blush that’s making its way up his cheeks.

“Ed,” Stede says, in that same shocked, awed, quiet tone that is officially Ed’s favorite way to hear his name. No one else should ever be allowed to say it. Not now that Ed knows it can sound like that. “What’s gotten into you?” And he’s smiling. Stede’s smiling and Ed made him do that. It’s amazing.

“It’s a fucking adventure, Stede. You gotta get excited about this shit.”

Stede laughs, a shocked chuckle that seems to carry most of his tension with it as he does. Ed can feel, through the shoulders he just now realizes are still tucked under his arm, as Stede relaxes, leans a little further into Ed’s side. Puts a little weight on him.

Fuck yeah. Stede can lean on him. Stede should lean on him basically always. Ed’ll take care of shit and Stede can just hang out right here. Ed will drape him in beautiful things and show him off while protecting him from any harm. Protecting the important bits.

They’re being shunted along toward some huge entry to a building they’ll probably be sleeping in, based on the glimpses Ed is getting through the cracked and rotting wood that makes up the wall. Some very stick-up-their-ass types keep shouting at everyone to be quiet and waving guns around. It’s kind of hilarious. Ed and Stede fall in line, but Ed keeps laughing to himself and is thankful for the volume of his beard, hiding the expression on his face.

Stede keeps peeping over Ed’s shoulder, asking questions, asking what the grand plan is. The Grand Plan, currently, is to decide what they think of the privateering life.

He’s Edward Teach, born on a beach, born all over again on the deck of The Revenge.

They hand him his new uniform, and Ed steps into the barracks.

*~*~*

People are staring.

So many people are staring. Stede is still trying to figure out whether this is a training camp only for pirates who have decided to sell out or if it’s a navy training base that also happens to take on the occasional pirate or two.

Not that it matters much. Captain Blackbeard is a legend among both groups, so either option would explain the staring.

And they are staring.

So much.

Stede really can’t emphasize enough how much every single person in this barracks is staring at Ed as he saunters his way over to an indicated bunk. It’s hard not to notice him, what with the leather and the hair and the enormous beard. Stede is so fond of that beard. That black beard, with starlight caught in its strands, holding the memory of nights stargazing on the deck of The Revenge. That beard is also the main cause of all of this trouble. The thing that makes it impossible to hide who Ed is for even a second.

Stede slinks behind Captain Blackbeard, trying his hardest not to look like some random hanger-on. This is Ed. This is his good friend (soulmate, no) Ed. Stede and Ed have been co-captains for, well, okay, for only a few days, but it still counts. Ed thinks they’re equals, and that’s what matters. The reverence that everyone is showing toward Ed and the raw dismissal they turn toward Stede should not have any impact on him.

It’s impacting him.

Ed is holding the terrible scratchy blanket and the new clothes they want him to wear. They drop their things off on their new bunks (shared bunks, this will be so strange, how is Stede ever supposed to sleep knowing that Ed is just below him, able to see the divot in the mattress caused by Stede’s body?) and then follow directions toward a private area to change.

It’s fairly simple for Stede to get ready. His father was a passionate advocate for the military lifestyle despite a complete lack of personal involvement. He had staunchly enforced short hair and a clean-shaven face. By the time Stede was out from living under his father’s thumb, he couldn’t even fathom what it might look like to groom himself another way. The thought of having a beard is baffling. Stede doesn’t know what he would look like. How would he even pick appropriate clothing?

That’s all a very long way of saying that Stede simply needs to change clothes before he passes muster from the man blocking the door, at which point he’s told to stand around for an hour or so and then shunted along to a new job with a small group of men he’s never met before. They’re sent to sweep out the shorn hair from the new recruits and are set loose on the barber’s chairs with a couple of brooms.

“Jennings,” introduces the burly man sweeping next to Stede. He’s careless with it, not even looking at the ground while he works and leaving swathes of hair clippings behind.

“Stede Bonnet,” he says, grinning through the absolute shambles his life has become and reaching out to shake hands. The man glances dismissively at the gesture and continues moving his broom back and forth on the floor. Stede waits another second, just to make sure there’s not going to be some other social overture for him to completely mess up, before shamefacedly returning to his cleaning. There is silence for a good few minutes, before a quiet murmuring starts between the man who introduced himself earlier and his other neighbor.

“That was Blackbeard,” Jennings says. And Stede pauses, waits for him to elaborate or make a point. He doesn’t. Apparently, though, that’s all the other man needs to go on.

“Couldn’t’a been. He’d never let himself get caught.” There is a feeling in the air. One that Stede is intimately familiar with. The other men are listening to this conversation. They are silent and tilted in its direction, so that they can hear easily and watch out of their peripherals. No privacy. A group deciding all together how they will respond to something.

“Hear he’s been sailing with another crew, getting all buddy-buddy,” Jennings scoffs. “Though that could be bullshit someone was spewing.” There is a quiet ripple of derisive laughter through the room, attaching heavy weights to each of Stede’s limbs. “Not the first time I’ve seen someone claim an association with Captain Blackbeard just for a leg up.”

“I don’t know, Jennings,” drawls a voice from the other side of Stede. It belongs to another man, this one rail-thin and tall enough that he slouches to lean against his broom handle. Stede is studiously ignoring the sensation of being surrounded by a pack of rabid dogs. Stede has extensive experience with doing that. “He looked pretty cozy earlier with that other guy. Maybe the old man’s gone soft.”

“Bullshit.” Jennings spits on the floor. “I’ve crossed paths with Blackbeard a few times in the Republic of Pirates, and I’m telling you the man’s possessed by the devil himself. Captain Blackbeard’s never gonna soften. He’s gonna be a menace on the sea until the day his blood turns to salt.”

“If that’s true, how’d he end up in this shithole with the rest of us?” It’s another voice, from across the room. No one is even pretending not to be listening anymore. Stede is frozen, a rabbit in a bush. There are words he wants to say, but they won’t come out. These men are talking about him, but they don’t even realize that Stede is that person who came in with Ed. Blackbeard’s presence is so strong that it wipes Stede from the picture.

“He’s gone soft,” the leaning man is savoring the words. “Everyone fucks up eventually, and I’m calling it. Blackbeard’s getting old, and it’s time for him to step aside and let the new blood take over.”

“I still don’t think it’s actually Blackbeard. It’s probably just a copycat that messed up,” Jennings’s neighbor says.

“It was Blackbeard. I’ve seen him, like I told you. That’s him and if he’s in a place like this, then it’s for a reason. Maybe he’s coming to blow up the place, rob it blind, use it as a foothold to get access to the royal treasury.”

They keep on like that, debating Ed’s motivations. There are words Stede wants to say. He’s not a menace. He’s absolutely lovely. You all don’t know him.

He does not say them. He holds still, keeps his head down, sweeps up the hair without really seeing it.

The men speak. Stede sweeps. At some point, he becomes aware that, mixed in with the many different textures and colors of hair, there are long, coarse strands of gray and silver and black. Stede keeps quiet. He sweeps the floor. And, when he and the other men complete their task, he gathers up the piles of debris and loads them into bags to be taken to the incinerator.

It’s fine.

It’s all fine. Stede makes his way back to the barracks where he is, apparently, meant to wait. Again. Presumably, all that hard work that everyone always said comes with the military will start soon, but it seems like they’re waiting for people to get settled beforehand. Or they’re lazy. Or it was all bullshit from the get-go.

And Stede already caught up on his sleep in the brig on the way over here. His head aches, still, from the creeping cold of the metal bars that pressed against his cheek for hours. He can’t fall back asleep, so Stede rests in his top bunk and waits for Ed to come back.

There are a thousand things that have happened and Stede has not yet had the time or space to process a single moment of them. He probably should be focusing on the arrest, the loss of his crew, the question of who will be taking over now. Instead, his head is stuck like a skipping record on EdEdEd. Ed, Stede’s soulmate. Holy shit. Ed, Stede’s soulmate. For a flaring, staggering moment, Stede is hit again by shock that has ricocheted through decades of his life. He is 49 years old and he is 12 years old and Stede Bonnet has a soulmate. There is someone who was made for me! Stede’s heart is a set of butterfly wings. He is thinking about what it means to meet someone who is able to speak his language. How he had bonded with Ed so quickly, before he even knew that it was because they were made for each other.

And that’s. Hmm. There’s a difficult, thorny thought that is wrapped like a choking weed around this whole idea. Because Stede is 49 and also 12 and he remembers what he’d thought back then. A woman to fall in love with or a man to befriend. Someone to share life with. And then, that difficult, thorny thought: the memory of his crew. Lucius, with his effeminate gestures and high-pitched voice and penchant for illustrating male genitalia. Black Pete, with his joyful and passionate interest in Lucius, the way he trailed behind him in awe, happy to go along with anything Lucius started. Jim, with their insistence that they weren’t a man or a woman, were just Jim, just wanted to be treated for who they were without someone trying to come along and define just what box that fit into. Oluwande, who was best friends with Jim and followed them around in a desperate attempt to keep them safe and who might be soulmates with Jim and clearly loved them so much either way.

Ed is Stede’s soulmate, a woman to fall in love with or a man to befriend. Except, that’s not quite the way it’s been. Stede was drunk the other night, and he was thinking thoughts he never lets himself think, but that doesn’t mean that he doesn’t remember what those thoughts were. He remembers. He remembers the way that he stared through the spyglass for hours at Ed’s sleeping form on the beach. In a way that, looking back, was definitely in poor taste and probably shouldn’t have been something he did.

Or maybe, Ed would understand. Ed, his soulmate. A woman to fall in love with or a man to befriend. Except, the way that Lucius had kissed Black Pete after the fuckery, when he gifted the carved wooden finger. Except, the way that Jim was neither option and Oluwande was deeply in love with them anyway. Except, Mary, the woman Stede actually had married and raised children with and started a life with.

And Stede just wants to look at Ed, talk to him, pin him down to the ground and stare at him until this all starts to make sense. Because it can’t be what part of Stede is trying to scream it might be. Because Stede and Lucius are different. Because Stede and Jim are different. Because Stede is different and this isn’t that because it isn’t because it can’t be because-

And isn’t that a thought that Stede has been avoiding. A path that he cannot let his mind wander any further down. Anything is better than what he’s currently thinking.

Mary.

A woman to fall in love with or a man to befriend and Mary, the woman he had married and raised children with and started a life with. That terrible comment the man taking the role had made. Stede Bonnet. Wife, Mary Bonnet. Deceased.

Today is a day for remembering all of Stede’s horrible misdeeds, it seems. Chauncy Badminton arriving to charge him with the death of Nigel Badminton. A man that Stede did kill, whether or not that had been his intention. A man that no longer existed. And Chauncy, terrible teenager that he had been, was obviously upset by the loss of his brother. The brother that Stede had killed.

Nigel and Mary. Two of the people Stede has damaged the most. And the people tied to them, Chauncy and Louis and Alma. Stede can still remember with lancing clarity the pain of Mary’s comments at the dinner table, the way that they never connected over a single topic, the way their marriage was nothing more than a desiccated withered thing. Did that excuse his choice to leave? He’s removed himself as an influence over Alma and Louis, but what if it’s too late? What if he already did all the damage he could do and is now too far away to support and guide them as they go through the horrors of adolescence?

“Do they really think I’m dead,” he wonders aloud, because no one in this whole barracks has bothered to give him even a first glance, and he’s always thought better aloud. “Or did Mary report me dead out of spite?” It would be like her. Do the children know? Or do they think he’s dead? The bed rocks beneath Stede. Ed must be back from wherever they’ve sent him. “I wonder if they had a funeral. I mean, what would they bury? Would it be an empty-”

holyshit

The beard. That starlight beard. Stede leans over to share his thoughts with Ed but something is terribly wrong. It’s Ed’s face, but it’s more of Ed’s face than Stede has ever seen before in his life and there’s so much to take in. So that’s the shape of Ed’s mouth. That’s what his lips look like, how they move when he talks. Which he is doing. Talking. Stede can’t register a single word. The beard. The beard that smelled like beard oil and pipe smoke and leather and sweat. That soft, wonderful beard that had brushed against Stede’s face when he had been showing Ed how to dance, how to use the proper utensil, how to prepare for a party.

The beard is gone.

The beard is completely gone. Stede is on the top bunk, dangling above Captain Blackbeard except it can’t be that because he can’t be Blackbeard without the eponymous Black Beard. Stede brings himself down to Ed’s level. Needs to get closer. Needs to see the way that the muscles in Ed’s cheeks move when he speaks. Needs to not be above him. Needs to rewind time and break down the door before anyone dares to take a razor to Ed’s lovely beard.

Ed smiles. It’s not his usual smile. Not the smile where he bares his teeth at the world and throws himself into some ridiculous risk. Not the soft, crinkly-eyed smile that he only gets late at night, when he and Stede have been talking for hours and will probably keep talking for hours more, getting progressively more tired and slumped over on the loveseat, their legs tangled in the space between them.

This smile is. It’s sort of…flat. And stretched. But, also, peaceful? Stede doesn’t know how to get a read on this version of Ed, who keeps saying there is no escape plan, that he’s folding socks and that’s okay. That he isn’t even Blackbeard anymore. He doesn’t know how to read this Ed, with whole swathes of his face showing where they hadn’t before. Stede had learned how to read Ed through the eye crinkles and the movement of his beard. Is this how his smile has always looked, underneath it all? Or is something wrong? How are you supposed to tell, when people can just go around changing their appearance?

Stede’s feeling dizzy. It’s this and the soulmate and Mary and the children and Chauncy and the men in the corner of the barracks watching him sit on the bed next to Ed and Stede needs to get out.

He runs.

*~*~*

Ed’s having an amazing time. Things are so different here. How long has it been since he spent this much time on land? He keeps trying to adjust for the motion of the ship and stumbling over his feet instead. Ed’s so focused on where his center of gravity is that he’s only using a small part of his mind to listen while he’s asked to put together the laundry and bedding piles for new recruits. And then he keeps messing it up and having to start over and watch what everyone else is doing to make sure he’s getting it right. And the time flies. When was the last time Ed did something new? It’s a shame Stede didn’t get assigned to the task with him. They could learn it together.

Doesn’t matter, though. They’ll get assigned to the same ship. Ed’s going to make sure of it. They’ll have time, then, to learn all these new things, try them together, just like they’ve been doing from the moment they met.

When he gets back to the barracks, Stede is quiet and a little subdued. He’s laying on the top bunk and staring at the ceiling, muttering to himself. When Stede finally gets around to looking down at the bottom bunk, he definitely gets a little bit of a shock. Ed can’t blame the man. His face is freezing cold, and he keeps reaching up to adjust his beard automatically, or stroke it for dramatic effect, only to have his hand fall through thin air. It’s hard for Ed to adjust too.

Stede seems to be struggling to adjust to a lot of this, though. Not just the beard. He keeps talking about escape, about grand plans, about fake heads made out of facial hair. It’s all ridiculous and wonderful and exactly the reason why Ed is so fucking obsessed with him. This is why it’s all going to be worth it in the first place.

“We got caught, alright? There is no escape. Now it’s time to accept our fate,” Ed says. And the beast can’t get enough of it. Can’t get over the idea that it’s our fate. That they’re going to try something new, something together. Stede smiles, but it looks a little strained, and Ed can’t figure out how to fix it.

Wait. Shit. Ed’s not making assumptions based on Stede’s facial expressions and body language anymore.

Stede keeps talking. Keeps smiling. Keeps keeping up hope. It feels like there’s something else going on in his brain, but he won’t just say it and Ed is doing everything he can to stop trying to read into any of this. He’s not making assumptions anymore.

“Besides, it’s kind of comforting, really, once you wrap your mind around it” Ed says, still talking, trying to get Stede to realize just what a fucking incredible time this is going to be. “I mean, look at this! I’m folding stuff. And that’s okay.” Ed scoffs, mostly at the utter ridiculousness of the turn his life has taken, and partly in complete joy that he’s here, with Stede. That he keeps being allowed to be here, with Stede. “Who would have thought?”

Something shifts. Something weird. Ed’s not reading into subtext anymore, but that was definitely a blank space in the conversation, and Ed has learned the flow and rhythm of a conversation with Stede. It’s time for Stede to say something, but there is a stark silence and Stede’s not moving. Until suddenly he is moving, up and running toward the door out of the barracks.

Ed casts around, trying to figure out what it is that could be upsetting Stede right now. There are other men in the room, which Ed has given exactly zero fucks about until this moment. A few of them are gathered over in a corner. They are glancing towards Ed’s side of the room.

Nothing Blackbeard gives a shit about. Potentially something Stede gives a shit about.

Ed’s up off the bed with a shove and a snarl, the beast leaping to life in his chest and gnashing its teeth in the men’s direction. He’s over here trying to fucking do something, and it’s exactly none of their business. Ed reaches for the jewel encrusted knife at his belt, realizes it’s not there, decides that he can do this with his hands anyway.

A brief sound of impact. Ed glances back over his shoulder just soon enough to see Stede bump into someone on his way out a side door, away from this whole situation.

And, well, obviously Ed’s going to follow Stede. No fucking question. He’ll end these guys later.

Gotta protect the important bits.

*~*~*

Stede is sitting on the small hillock overlooking the beach for only a minute or so before Ed makes his way over as well. He sits close, bumping their knees into each other to get Stede’s attention before he ever says a word.

“The fake beards idea wasn’t bad,” he whispers, as if that’s anything to do with why Stede’s upset. And Stede is so, so grateful to be able to talk about this instead of everything else.

“Oh, come on. Stupid idea,” and then, because he’s always been terrible at shutting his mouth when someone actually takes the time to listen to him speak, “I’ve only got stupid ideas.”

“Oh, shut up,” Ed laughs, rocking in place to bump into Stede again. And Stede still has his knees right up to his chest, hands on top of them, wrapped up around the sparking and popping fire in his chest, but it feels like he can maybe let down his guard a little bit here. If it’s just Ed. If he’s going to leave the space for Stede to come around and decide that he actually does want to talk about some of the harder stuff.

And Ed, Edward, he looks lovely in this light, actually. He’s smiling, and it’s another one that Stede hasn’t seen before, but it’s so much warmer than the one over the socks in the barracks. Sideways and soft and warm and Stede thinks he could curl up inside that smile and build a home there, maybe, given enough time. And maybe everything isn’t so bad.

“How are you handling this so well?” Because he wants that too. He wants to know how to leave behind all the horrible things he’s done and focus instead on all the small joys of some new phase of life. He wants to forget about Nigel and Mary and Alma and Louis without having to bury his head so far in the snow that he can’t feel the devastating warmth of seeing Ed’s whole face at once when he smiles.

“I don’t know,” Ed slouches back, giving Stede’s inane question proper consideration. “It’s kind of nice just to take a load off. Just to, just to be Edward.” And he looks so settled, so peaceful, in this moment with the sea wind tangling in his hair, that Stede almost doesn’t register the horror of the next sentence. “I don’t know if I want to go back to the old days.” As if Ed could leave behind piracy. Leave behind his crew. Leave behind Blackbeard. But, no, it’s not quite that, is it? Ed lists off horrible things, endless drinking and torturing turtles and eating toes. If that’s the life he’s trying to leave behind, well, he’s already started doing that with Stede. They can leave that behind easily. Go back to co-captaincy.

“I suppose, what I’m saying is that, right now, I just want to do what makes Ed happy.”

In this safe, warm bubble Ed’s created for just this moment, Stede feels brave enough to ask the next question. “And what makes Ed happy?”

“These past few weeks have been…the most fun I’ve had in ages?” Impossible. “Years?” No one says these kinds of things about Stede. That can’t be what he’s referring to. “Maybe ever.” No, no, no stupid Baby Bonnet it’s not what you think it is. “So.” No. “So, I reckon, what makes Ed happy,” and he pauses again, as if Stede hasn’t hung his entire sanity on the end of this sentence, “is…you?”

Stede doesn’t see it coming, when Ed leans in for the kiss. He’s sitting there, on the beach. There’s sand stuck to his palms. And then, suddenly, there’s Ed. Ed, so close, grabbing hold of Stede’s shirt to pull him around in a kissable direction.

And its. It’s a short kiss. Barely a moment. Just a press of dry lips to Stede’s mouth. Stede doesn’t even move much. Because he doesn’t know what to do with this.

He’s kissed before. He and Mary, they kissed a great many times, over the decade or two that they were married. Stede knows the technical expectations. There should be some movement. Some softness. He can’t make himself focus. He can’t process what’s happening. He’s pretty sure he shouldn’t be thinking about his wife while this is happening. Or, maybe, he should be thinking about her a whole lot more than he is.

Ed is there, right there, right in Stede’s face. He’s exhaling through his nose while he kisses, and it’s brushing lightly across Stede’s cheeks. Because Ed is kissing him.

Stede is frozen. He can’t make himself move. He’s half snow.

This isn’t. This isn’t how it’s supposed to go. This isn’t right. Why can’t he make himself move? Why isn’t he kissing back? Is he even supposed to kiss back? This is his soulmate. This is a man. This is Ed.

And maybe, maybe, if it’s Ed…

Ed pulls away. The kiss is over before Stede even has time to decide what he wants to do with it.

And he doesn’t know, he doesn’t know, he doesn’t know what any of this means, but he knows that Ed is looking at him from soclose and that he’s smiling again, that warm home of a smile, and Stede doesn’t know what to do with any of this, but he does know that 

“You make Stede happy.”

[true-blue-sonic]

I recall you mentioning a Time God AU involving Silver before that you've been working on? If it's not gonna be trouble, could I ask to learn more about it? 👉👈

Sure thing! ^-^

So, the ideas I have right now aren't a hundred percent solid, so to say. But Silver is a Guardian of Time/some kind of godly-ish spirit or being, who is tasked with protecting the Time Stones. This is the Silver from '06, who got erased from time when Sonic and Elise blew out Solaris' flame: whatever deities are out there in the world of Sonic took pity on him and allowed him a new life as a protector of the time stream. This does mean that he's very far removed from actual living people and kind of has a very big important duty he must do (protect the time stream from shenanigans and protect the Time Stones), but Silver is naturally curious and thus seeks out society all the same. He meets with Espio when Espio is mere seconds away from dying through getting ran over by a car, and he uses his godly powers to intervene and allow Espio to safely get away. However, somehow the Time Stones scatter (I don't have an idea yet why, though. I do really need something, but I just don't know why they would disappear, and considering the whole plot hinges on this it's a bit of an issue😅), which means Silver needs to go look for them with Espio's help. Once Espio has accepted that the time guardian is real and not just a hallucination from the what-was-meant-to-be last moments of his life, he takes Silver with him to the Agency, and from there onwards I'm not sure yet what they can do other than search for the time stones together. And of course fall in love, hehe.

Also you can have the draft of the whole first chapter, since that is basically finished :> I hope you like it! ^-^

~~~~

Espio woke up without knowing his life was meant to end that day.

That was something most people did not know when waking up, he would have reasoned when looking back ages later, but that morning he got out of bed like he always did and went through the motions as usual. “What do we have for upcoming jobs?” he inquired at the kitchen table like every other day as well, and the shrug from Vector was nothing out of the ordinary either.

“One case of a missing person, but that seems more like a runaway little child than anything else. And some sleuthing for a transport company in the harbour, to see if another is reliable. That’s it.”

“Better than usual,” the chameleon smiled, helping Charmy fill up a bowl of cereal while the little bee was chanting something along the lines of marshmallows. “How will we divide the tasks?”

“I’ll take Charmy to find that kid, they’ll hit it off immediately. Harbour for you, then?”

“That works for me,” the chameleon agreed, and breakfast had gone by just the same as it usually did. With no odd feelings or worries at all Espio left the Agency, something akin to a little smile on his face as he briskly stepped his way over to the dock at the ocean. The spring weather warmed the world around him, they finally appeared to have some decent jobs, Eggman was behaving – for however long that would last – and the world was filled with happy chatter and cheerfulness; what did he have to fear?

To such calm future prospectives his thoughts drifted as he investigated the company at the harbour, meeting with their client and helping make sense of legal documents and past descriptions of others who had worked with the same people. “A good day,” he spoke out loud at the end of it, permitting himself a few moments to bask in the light of the setting sun and nodding contently at the orange glow shimmering on the waves of the ocean. With an envelope of money in his possession and a grateful client assuring him they were more than willing to ask the Chaotix for their services again, he could only be happy.

Except something nagging sparked up in his chest, something that made him blink amidst the idyllic scenery.

And as soon as it had appeared, it was gone again.

Strange, Espio noted to himself, scrutinising the whole harbour for any danger and finding none. His ninja senses were honed sharply and his intuition had never failed him before… but there truly did not seem to be something here to cause him trouble. “An omen of things to come?” the chameleon mumbled under his breath, turning around briskly and stepping home even more quickly than he had been on his way this morning. If something were to occur, he wanted to be with his colleagues for it.

The worries the odd nagging had elicited refused to leave his mind, Espio flicking his tail as he mingled inbetween the people making their way home after a long day of work. Curling his lip the chameleon sidestepped around them all, ignoring the busyness as best he could; having so many people around was far too stifling, his eyes flickering around to find a way that did not trap him right into a short burst of rush traffic. Across the street stood a bench, that part of the roads much less crowded…

Nimbly flicking his way around some of the people taking up too much of his personal space Espio came to a halt at the traffic light, ramming his pinkie into the button. Almost immediately his light became green; a perk of being a pedestrian, he smiled to himself as he stepped onto the road while first looking left before his gaze drifted right… and he could not even react to the car that was rushing at him at a speed that would make Sonic jealous.

And then, time froze around him.

Espio stared, yet nothing moved. He blinked, yet the way a frightened man reached out to him on the sidewalk was just as motionless as the scream on another person’s lips.

And someone was behind him on the road, someone who floated above it in a silver-hued light with seven glowing rocks circling its body while looking surprisingly calm compared to the horror of the people on the streets.

“You have to move,” the creature spoke. “The Time Stones can only do so much- it won’t be like this for much longer, and you’ll get hurt. Move.”

“…Oh! Apologies.” And with that Espio finally managed to kick his legs into movement and scamper over onto the sidewalk, and with a blink of an eye his surroundings came alive once more, the chameleon grunting at the gust of wind tugging at his body from the car racing past without stopping or the cries of fright around him.

“Hey- you! Boy! Are you okay?!” The man who had reached out to him raced over, Espio flinching as he was snapped out of his stupor. “That… that driver nearly hit you!”

“…Yes,” the chameleon retorted. “Yes, they… they did.”

Only able to stare bleakly at the road he merely hummed at the man’s fussing, other people beginning to mingle in as well- but he could only stare at where his life surely had almost come to an end.

He could have sworn something shimmering and glowing hovering over it.

“Are you sure you should not go to the hospital-“

 “I am fine,” Espio spoke up unexpectedly calmly, turning around and nodding his head at the man. “Truly. Thank you for your concern, and my apologies for worrying you.”

“Yes, but you-“

“Merely had to take some moments to stop reeling.” Nodding at everyone crowding around him the chameleon took a quick step back, scales prickling at their fussing. “Which I have now, so I must continue on my way. Be careful out there.”

Keeping his movements calm and deliberate Espio kept his face as neutral as possible, the people around him trading nervous glances still- but inwardly he kept his fingers crossed the calm of his words would convince them, and his shoulders sagged just barely as the group eventually let up. “You should be happy with such quick reflexes, they really saved your life. It was as if you’re teleported, you came to the sidewalk so quickly,” the man eventually spoke. “Well, take care out there yourself. I am glad you’re okay.”

“Yes… I am grateful, too. I will.” Though, the question kept burning on his mind… “Pardon, but did you… see someone behind me, when the car nearly struck?” he asked the man more quietly.

“Someone- no, it was just you, luckily.”

“Odd. I could have sworn- well, nevermind. Surely that was simply the stress.” Nodding politely at the confusedly-frowning man Espio quickly turned around in full to make his escape- that had been much, much too close, and that one second of frozen time and odd people telling him odd things had just been an imagination of his mind while he’d long made it to the sidewalk already and was simply reeling from the stress, nothing more.

It couldn’t be anything more.

Right?

A sudden wave of anxiety barrelling into him Espio tensed, gaze drifting over to that one spot where his life nearly ended before he could help it. The road looked just like it usually did on any other spot in the city, grey with white paint drawn over it and the occasional car or cyclist coming past; absolutely nothing that pointed towards the accident that had nearly occurred.

And yet, and yet…

Espio could have sworn something in that particular spot was glimmering still. Not the same glow of silver as the odd person had had around them, but…

Peeking around to see if anyone who had concerned themselves with him was around still Espio set a few more paces until the coast was clear, the streets having gone quiet anew after the small rush of people. The button for the pedestrian’s crossing was pressed quickly enough, its ticking noise changing to indicate he had green light, and a tentative pace onto the grey road followed suit…

And Espio’s eyes widened at the glowing object that laid on the pavement, a rock that had the exact same shape as those that had floated around the creature.

And he was still standing right on the streets.

Reaching down and grasping the rock from the asphalt Espio darted over to the side he came from again, the ticking noise of the traffic light slowing down anew as he leaned as closely against the buildings as he dared. Almost bashfully he studied the rock; it was shaped along the lines of a hexagon with two parallel lines elongated, with a front and six sides moving down. Not a Chaos Emerald, the chameleon decreed immediately, but there still was some sort of power running through it, that his well-trained senses did not miss…

And he had seen them around the creature, he was sure of that.

“Nonsense,” Espio spoke out loud, ignoring the odd looks from some people making their way through the city across the road as he turned on his heels and briskly stepped back towards where the Chaotix’ Agency was. Surely that stone had always been there on the road and he merely had not seen it, or someone had dropped it in the few minutes of his distraction or it had fallen from a car- he had hallucinated the creature and it had been his quick reflexes that had led to a good ending, after all, so there was no way the rock in his hands meant anything.

But as he walked over the pavement and flinched at every single noise of a car driving past the chameleon could not help himself and sent a single glance over his shoulder, where the cyan glow was no more, and he could not help shake the feeling it hadn’t been his reflexes that saved him after all.

[roodborstjes]

daddy issues

[read here and check out the art on ao3]

[cw: graphic descriptions of violence]

-

Jason’s reaction to Bruce going down is not fear. It’s not . It’s smug satisfaction and vindictive pleasure. It’s not a skipped heartbeat or a caught breath, and it most certainly isn’t an aborted step forward and a muffled half-cry.

Because if it was, that would mean Jason still cared about him. That would mean Jason doesn’t want to see him in the future, lying broken and bruised at his feet, cowl off, locking his eyes with Jason’s and realising just how badly he’d fucked up all those years ago.

Jason doesn’t care. Not at all.

But Bruce goes down, hands clutching his bloody abdomen, and doesn’t get back up .

“Shit,” Jason hisses, shooting dead the man who’d just stabbed Batman. “ Shit .”

If Batman dies now, then Jason won’t be able to finish his plan. He’s put so much into this. Bruce is not allowed to die before Jason can deliver his ultimatum. Batman is not allowed to die before the Joker does.

“I can’t believe you, Old Man,” Jason says, skidding to his knees next to Bruce’s limp body. “A knife is not gonna be what takes you out.”

Next to him, Bruce struggles to drag himself away from Jason. A batarang is clutched in a weak hand, and he makes a feeble attempt to swipe it in Jason’s general direction.

Jason can’t breathe.

The helmet is on the floor in a second, and Jason gulps in deep breaths of copper-tinged air. The smell hits him hard without the filters between him and the heavy scent of Bruce’s blood. Jason’s hair sticks up in all directions, and some of it is plastered to his forehead.

Bruce drops the batarang, and his mouth opens in surprise.

“Jaylad,” he whispers. “Oh, Jaylad .”

Just like that, Jason is fourteen again, broken and bruised in a warehouse in Ethiopia, desperately wishing Batman would show up and save him.

It’s a horrible parody of the night Jason died. Except this time, Bruce is the one bleeding out on the warehouse floor, and it’s up to Jason to save him.

Jason has to keep Batman alive for just a little longer. He has plans, after all.

No other reason.

“Hey,” Jason says before his brain can catch up with his mouth. “Long time no see.”

“They didn’t tell me I’d hallucinate while I die,” Bruce says. “Though I’m glad it’s you, Jaylad. My boy. I’ve missed you so much.”

Jason has absolutely no idea what to do. This wasn’t part of his plan. This wasn’t meant to happen. How’s he meant to cope with Batman telling him he loves him in his dying moments?

By making sure these are not Batman’s dying moments. To do that, Jason has to stop the bleeding and get him to a hospital, or the cave, or something .

“Do you have an emergency beacon?” Jason asks, frantically flicking through his and Bruce’s first aid kits. He tears his gloves off, shoving them into his jacket pocket, and coats his hands with antiseptic spray.

“Pressed it on my way down,” Bruce says. “I’m not coming back from this one.” He coughs weakly, smiling up at Jason with a strange look on his face. “I don’t want to die with my cowl on. I want to see you with my own eyes one last time. Please, Jaylad, I know you’re not real, but I need it.”

“Let me - alright - fuck - let me staunch the bleeding first,” Jason says, shovelling cotton into the stab wound. “Fucker took the knife out. That’s like, rule one of what not to do with a stab wound.”

Bruce’s laugh fades into a cough. “You haven’t changed a bit.”

“Fuck off,” Jason snaps, face colouring red enough to match his helmet. “I have. You’d hate me if you weren’t stabbed right now.”

“I could never hate you, Jaylad.” Bruce says it with such sincerity, even though his voice is failing him as he slips closer to unconsciousness. “Never. I have loved you since you hit me with a tire iron. Bruised me for weeks .” He laughs. “Bruised. Sounds like Bruced…”

“Fucking hell, you’re delirious,” Jason says. “You cannot have lost this much blood already.”

Bruce shakes his head. “I got shot a few days ago,” he explains. “Shouldn’t be back in the field, really, but… I don’t care if I live or die. Not really.”

“What - what the fuck , Bruce?” Jason’s voice comes out strangled. He pauses in the middle of sticking a bandage to the entrance of the stab wound. It won’t keep for long, but Alfred should be on his way soon. “How could you say that? Are you an idiot?”

“Yeah,” Bruce says. “Big one. I… haven’t cared since you died, Jaylad. Not really. I’ve been an awful man.”

“Oh yeah?” Jason’s lips are numb.

“Yeah. I hit Dick. My boy, and I hit him. The worst thing a father could do. Nothing I ever do is going to make up for what I did.”

“Have you tried talking to him?” Jason asks, putting his hands on the wound in order to keep pressure on it as much as he can. Bruce groans in pain, the noise echoing around the empty warehouse.

“He needs time,” Bruce moans. “I screwed up, Jaylad. I screwed up with you both. I got angry and I hit Dick. I got angry and you died .”

“I’m not mad at you for that,” Jason tells him, and finds that he means it. “You couldn’t have done anything.”

Bruce’s next noise is a weak one that sounds too much like a sob. His hand scrabbles at his cowl, and Jason briefly lets go of the wound to pull the cowl away from Bruce’s face.

Bruce is sobbing .

“My Jaylad,” he hiccups. “My boy. You look so handsome . I wish I could’ve seen you grow up. You’ve done… you’ve done me so proud, you know. I couldn’t have asked for a better son.”

Bruce’s bloodstained hand reaches up to Jason’s face, wiping away a tear Jason hadn’t realised he’d cried. He can tell it takes all of Bruce’s strength - gone so quickly because Bruce didn’t want to live - and Jason can’t do anything about it.

“Of all the things I could have seen,” Bruce whispers. “I’m so glad it’s you.”

“Fuck!” Jason yells as Bruce’s hand falls to the floor and his eyes roll back into his head. “FUCK! Dad! No! No! Shit!”

The only thing keeping Jason sane is the fact he can feel the pulse of Bruce’s heartbeat - slow and faint, but undeniably steady - under his hands. Bruce looks horribly, impossibly pale, contrasted with the darkness of the cowl.

When Jason hears the roar of the Batmobile, he pulls Bruce’s cowl back over his head and puts his own helmet on with shaking hands. It takes him four tries to get the clasp to lock, and he wants to just throw the damned thing into a wall.

By the time Alfred comes round the corner, letting out a panicked cry at the sight of Bruce’s prone form, Jason is out of the warehouse and on his way to who-knows-where.

[vamp-luvr999]

Ramblings + Triggering content, don’t read if ur easily trigger by things like sui, SH, Psychosis, descriptions of sexual hallucinations, etc.

It’s not my fault if u get triggered by ignoring that warning.

I think I’m losing it again. I can’t tell if they’re real or not anymore. This happens every fucking summer dude. EVEEY. FUCKING. SUMMER.

I can’t enjoy life like this. I don’t think I’ve ever enjoyed life…

There’s this hallucination (???) that keeps hurting me and making me hurt myself. I don’t know what that’s called. He wants to hurt me. He’s going to hurt me. If I go to the psych ward again, they’d put me in a room on my own with a door.

That’s giving him the chance to hurt me. I’m scared. To leave my house but if I don’t go to school, I’ll be nothing. A nobody. I don’t want to be a nobody. I want to be a somebody, a good somebody.

He keeps sexually touching me even though I tell him no. I know it’s not real but I still freeze up. And when I freeze up and get triggered, I can’t tell what’s real or not.

My mind’s trying to rape me. It’s going to hurt me and I’m not safe here. If I die though, I’d go to hell

And yet, I sit here. Typing this with a straight face with a blanket over my head. Like nothing’s happening cause I’m home alone with my little sister. If something happens again, I’d be another liability. She already wants to slit her wrists bc of me, she said so herself. She has nightmares and wakes up crying because of me. She said so and I witnessed it first hand.

I try not to listen to them. But when pastel starts fo talk fo me again, I know it’s getting bad. When I’m not like this, whatever This is, I can barely hear him and we have to talk out loud.

When I get bad, we can talk telepathically up to at least 30 ft. I’ve measured it with him. It used to be shorter when I was younger by I’ve gotten worse since was younger.

I Can See it on his face, he’s worried too. He’s fucking worried and for waht? He’s the only thing I truly find myself caring about, but is he even real?

Is our relationship even real? Am I Even real? Sometimes I think I’m dead. In a corn field with really tall grass, that my abuser left me for dead near my house. My parents still think I’m with him and the only thing I can do while dying is imagine a world where I’m grown up and no longer with him.

But it seeps in. The trauma, the flashbacks, the dangers. I can sometimes hear cops and sometimes hear my mom crying loudly at the edge of the field.

I know I’m dead and they can’t find me. I want to scream “I’M right here, mom!” But i can’t . He ruined me. He ruined me and now my mum will never get closure and neither will my dad. My little sister will never know me as a nice person cause let’s face it, I was an ASS. I deserve to die. I deserve this pain. This has to be a purgatory… fo evil kids like me

Ughhhh I might just donit. i want this go end. ghe only way for thr find me is go scresm and i can'h scream if i'm hallucinationg my lifr as olxer. i have fo kil myself. u have fo.

[meteor752]

Logbook

Based on these posts, specifically this one, where the kids all survive but are left on the server

Tw: Death, Abandonment, Description of corpses, killing of dogs, depression, grief, starvation, dying of thirst, suicide (But like a mild way), insomnia, hallucinations, probably something else that I forgot but like this is not a happy story at all

Logbook day 1: Mom and Dad died a week ago now. We buried them by the ravine where dad’s bleeding heart used to be. There wasn’t much to bury though, the dogs had gotten to the majority of what was left of them. For any normal person it would be freaky, but it just felt fitting to have dad look like a maimed corpse just like mom and I always look.

I’ve started writing these just to have something to pass the time. We’re stuck here, so it’s not like I have anything else to do

I’ll keep you updated

Logbook day 3: Wes has finally finished the shelter he’s been working on. Since the majority of our homes were either blown up or burnt down, we decided to just make new ones. Novo and Gertrude are staying together, as are Jassy and Liana. Johnny still hasn’t left the ranch. I see him there sometimes, by his parents graves, either sleeping sobbing or staring into the abyss. I think I’m gonna go check on him

Logbook day 8: The last one of Pearl’s dogs has been killed now. Jassy and Novo have been doing that for a few days. It was Novo’s idea.

Wes talks in his sleep. He’s always done that, but before it was just incoherent mumbling. Now it’s pleas and cries for his fathers. I usually wake him up when it happens, but sometimes I just let him sleep. People like him need their sleep

Logbook day 24: Liana has spent the last few hours trying to fly. I don’t know why she’s doing it, she’s known since she was a kid that she can’t fly, but she’s not stopping. I think she’s just trying to find something to do

Logbook day 88: Jassy and I spent the day raiding the pillager tower. We got some good exorcise out of it, but little progress was done as they just kept on respawning. I only died five times, and Jassy three.

Logbook day 147: I saw a goat today. Hasn’t seen one of those in a while. I went to show Johnny, but he still hasn’t left their grave. There’s vines and moss growing on him now. I left him be

Logbook day 233: My cloak got torn to pieces by a spider earlier. I didn’t care enough to stop it. It’s weird not covering my hair, but I don’t mind it as much anymore

Logbook day 454: Novo and Gertrude had an argument, so Gertrude is staying with us for a few days. She snores, but I don’t mind it. It makes the nights less lonely

Logbook day 896: Saw a frog today. I petted it and it hopped away

Logbook day 1233: Novo has decided to stop sleeping. I don’t know what his reasoning for it is, though to be honest I never know what’s going on with him. Jassy and Gertrude are both joining him, and technically so am I. It would’ve impossible for me not to join

Let’s see how long they last

Logbook day 1246: The sleep strike is over. Novo’s visions got worse and he eventually killed himself. Gertrude said that when he respawned, he fell right to sleep and hasn’t woken up yet. I knew it was a stupid idea

Logbook day 2456: Something strange happened yesterday after I finished the log. The sun stopped in the middle of the sky. It’s been up there for longer than it should’ve, and I would know considering our house is decked with clocks. Gertrude also informed us that the animals don’t breed like they used to, and that the crops don’t seem to grow. I don’t know what’s going on but I don’t like it

Logbook day 2463: It’s official, the world has stopped moving. None of us know why

Logbook day 2657: We ran out of food today. Starving is a painful way to die

Logbook day 3121: I was tasked with getting Johnny away from his dads grave again. He looks more like a zombie than I do nowadays

Logbook day 4555: It’s getting harder to keep track of the days. I’m just guessing at this point

Logbook day 5367: Liana and Jassy married each other today. None of us can legally officiate, but as the child of the winners Novo took it upon himself to do so. We managed to get Johnny to show up, though he didn’t look present at all

Logbook day 8965: Novo has been repeatedly slamming himself into the border, hoping to somehow escape it. It’s tempting to see all the cows and pigs move about outside, when we can’t reach it

Logbook day ????: I don’t know what day it is anymore. I don’t know a lot actually.

Final logbook: We were exploring the undercity for the hundredth time earlier, when we found a rift. It looks like a Nether portal, but bigger, and grander, and just…different. There’s nothing left for us here, hasn’t been for a while, so we’re gathering our few essentials and leaving. I’m not gonna bring this book with me, so this will be the last you hear of me.

Jekiv out

[buckybarnesdiaries]

longing, rusted, seventeen, daybreak, furnace, nine, benign, homecoming, one, freight car

© mine.

bucky barnes x reader. ⎢ masterlist.

Bucky is kidnapped by Hydra to reactivate the Winter Soldier.

word count: 2.924 words. it worth it, i promise!!!

warnings/tags: none. angst as hell mostly. but it has a happy ending.

author notes: i don't speak russian, but i haven't used google translate either, so no worries. none of my stories contain reader’s body descriptions to be inclusive.

join the tag list NEW!!! here.

No. It couldn't be possible. It had to be part of a terrible nightmare. Bucky couldn't have been kidnapped by Hydra again.

You didn't know what to expect in the ship flying to the secret location of the organization. For Stark, it didn't take more than a couple of minutes to track the arm down, since Shuri put a small monitor on it when the soldier stayed in Wakanda. She never told it, wanting to use it in some kind of circumstance like the one you all were going through now. And you couldn't be more grateful, but it didn't help to make you feel better.

You were sitting close to the back hatch. Back rested against the metallic wall and legs curled to your chest. Nothing inside your head more than the hallucination of a pair of blue eyes staring at you. Blaming yourself was something you couldn't avoid. You should have been with him, by his side, protecting him as many times you promised him. But in fact, you just failed him. You failed his trust, his love. You let them take him. Only God knew which torture Hydra was putting him under, while you were there, lamenting.

You didn't even notice Steve's presence squatting next to you until he placed a hand on your shoulder. Then, you raised your face towards him. He was suffering too. In the end, Bucky was his long-life friend, his big brother. He lost him once and felt like he was going to lose him twice. Although this time was different. You were carrying the dispositive that could put to sleep back the winter soldier, but, at what cost?

“Buck got you now. Everything is gonn—”. He spoke in plural, referring to your last night's talk.

“How could you be so calm, Steve? How do you do it?” You whispered through your trembling lips, about to break in crying.

“Because he needs us focused, not distracted”.

He was wise. Captain America was wiser than anyone in that ship. He curled the left corner of his lips up, trying to make you feel good, trying to transmit you the encouragement you needed to not give up. And he did, more or less. You had to fight harder than ever. For Bucky, and only for Bucky. That's why you didn't hesitate on jumping out from the ship when it landed on the cold hard ground, as the freezing weather hit you on the face.

Following the plan, you ran quietly to the back door hidden under a huge layer of snow. Shaking part of it with the palm of your hand, you placed the device with technology from Wakanda on the locker. Not later than fifteen seconds, it deciphered the code to open the hatch. Once in position, the Avengers followed you downstairs. The passage was empty and silent. The only sound that broke it was a couple of rats running away from your presence. You all had studied the plans of the building, mostly underground, remembering exactly where you had to go.

The coast was clear, that was the reason why you all were so confused. You were expecting to find more than a dozen of agents, but when T'Challa enunciated through your earwigs that he only located two heat spots, you couldn't believe it. How only one man kidnapped the most fearless assassin up to now? Tortuous and bitter screams dragged you back to reality, causing your brain to react to make your legs run faster than ever in your whole damn life. You knew by heart that voice beneath all the pain.

Your skin bristled when your gaze landed on that chair of horrors, connected to an enormous power source. Bucky was sitting there against his want.

“... добросердечный… возвращение на родину… один…”

“STOP IT”. Steve yelled.

Huge mistake. You were aware of it when —yes— that man stopped reciting the Russian words to re-activate the Winter Soldier, but only enough time to push a red button near to him and close the heavy door in front of you. Everything happened in the blink of an eye. At the moment you glimpsed Steve’s shield sliding above the floor, straight to the inside of the room where Bucky was being tortured, you followed the same way. Never in your life, you were this fast. Like a lightning bolt, you snaked yourself under the small distance between the door and the ground before being closed. Now, it was you, that man and the soldier.

“You’re late…” He mocked with an awful American accent, under James crying out loud in pain. “грузовой ваг—”.

Your left hand moved quickly to unholster your gun and shoot him. One… Two… Three… Four bullets right to his head. The man fell dead before he couldn’t complete the command. You didn’t lose time, running to the controls to try to turn that machine off. But it was impossible. Even if you knew Tony could do it, there wasn’t signal inside those large and wide walls made of steel reinforced. You were in one of those abandoned soviet bunkers, that could save you from Armageddon. You were inhaling and exhaling so fast that your lungs never got really full, trying to focus, trying to shut every single noise around up. Trying to think of a plan b. But it was your heart who pushed you to act and not your brain. Grabbing Steve’s shield, you aimed for the energy source before tossing it like a damn frisbee.

That thing blew up, turning off any kind of light and dispositive around, as the sparks and the cables decorated your surroundings. Just like the fire that started to burn down a pile of boxes with different documents of Hydra. But that wasn't why you were impatient. Catching the shield when it came back to you, your legs moved immediately to Bucky, still stirring on his seat for a few seconds else. Then, he simply stopped shaking. Her eyes were wide opened. Reddened, in tears. His chest rose and fell violently. His heart was racing. And you could see the trauma taking control over his body in holy silence.

You didn't doubt removing the protection from his mouth along the restraints keeping him on the chair. Your fingers trembled like never before, not having any more time to lose. Probably, the Avengers would be trying to open the door when the emergency red lights illuminated the bunker, producing a loud alarm sound to indicate that something was going wrong inside the facilities.

“C'mon, Buck… C'mon, we have to leave”. You told him, trying to help him to stand up.

But as soon as your hand was about to land on his arm of vibranium, the five cold digits got closed around your throat. Soon, the lack of air for you was more than evident. He got up on his own, not needing you to do it. The ocean blue in his eyes turned into a dark storm. There wasn't any gesture on his face, more than his jaw clenching, pressing his teeth together. That wasn't Bucky —your Bucky—, but the unstable trained assassin Hydra turned him in. You could barely gulp saliva, gripping his metallic wrist with both of your hands to try to stop him from murdering you.

He couldn't. He couldn't kill you. His strength was suffocating you with no mercy, though.

For a moment, you felt too weak to fight, seeing everything around you getting blurred and darker. Blacking out. But there was something inside you, a sweet tone of voice calling your name. A male voice. Your eyelids rolled down bit by bit, wanting to concentrate on that honeyed sound being closer and closer.

“любить”.

The sore whisper left your lips. Love. The first time Bucky told you about love came to your mind. He told you about his family. George, Winnifred, Rebecca. He told you how much he desired to have a family of his own. To be loved.

“новый”.

Your almost dead fingers traced the form of his new arm made in Wakanda when you felt him lifting you from the floor, being suspended on air.

“сороковых годов”.

Trying to keep a firm tone of voice as much as the pressure let you, the Russian words were spat to the confused soldier, who wasn't understanding what you were doing. The forties changed his life. He was sent to war and, lately, captured by HYDRA. It was something he'd never forget, part of his DNA.

“заката”.

You didn't know what the hell your subconscious was doing either till that precise instant. You were reprogramming him. You were using his own memories to reset his wiped brain from them. Dusk. The first night he spent in Wakanda, Bucky was terrified. But you stayed with him. You comforted him by saying that everything was going to be okay, that his life would be different. That he was safe. That he was at home.

“лето”.

His last night of summer in that kingdom, Bucky took you to his favorite place between the woods, wanting to show you the fireflies fluttering in the middle of the gloom. He used to walk there whenever he woke up from a nightmare. Those small insects used to make him feel better for some reason he didn't comprehend. Until he saw their light reflecting on your amazed orbs. Bucky knew then he was in love with you. Besides his long-life friend, the only person who never judged him, who never ran away from him. The same person that now was dying under his fingers.

“шесть”

Six years took him to be Bucky, after his last war, after the last effort, after the last jump. He was a new man. You made him a new man. A good one. You guided him through the right way. You helped him to get used to the twenty-one century. You accompanied him to therapy and stayed in the waiting room every single session until he finished.

“заткнуться”.

The soldier ordered you to shut up, earning quite the opposite when you knew it was sorting some kind of effect on him, as soon as you felt some relief by the grip loosening around your throat and your tiptoes touching the ground. Little by little, you opened your eyes again, gluing them on the blue ones fixed on you.

“боец”.

He wasn't a super soldier, he was a fighter. He spent the last six years of his life fighting for it, fighting for ruling his existence, fighting for being pardoned for crimes he didn't want to commit, fighting for your love. Bucky furrowed swallowing, allowing you to place your feet on the floor.

“Бруклин”.

And when he demonstrated to the world that he was no longer the Winter Soldier, but James Bucky Barnes, he moved to his birthplace. Brooklyn. You and he rented an apartment together when you both learned that you couldn't live apart. That you were made for each other.

“Отец…”

A tear ran down your cheek, slowly moving your left hand to his free one. A shiver toured his backbone when he felt your warm touch holding his hand and, even if his cold fingers were still around your throat, the soldier bowed his head to follow the connection between the two of you. His flesh hand landed on your stomach, pressing it under yours, trying to transmit to him the news about your pregnancy status. Bucky was going to be a father. You were going to build a family as he always wished.

“Свобода”.

As the sob escaped your soul, his hand made of vibranium released your neck. Freedom was what he got after all those years.

Bucky was free.

His hold was the only thing that kept you on your feet, pining to the cold hard ground, as well as you trying to fill your lungs with the heavy air around you because of the dense smoke coming from the flames burning down that damn place. You watched Bucky picking the shield close to you, probably believing it could be easier to kill you with it than with his own hands. Your arms automatically wrapped your abdomen, as if you could protect your unborn child from that horror, crying James' name to remember you.

“James… James…”

You weren't able to stop whining, feeling a heavy sorrow under your chest, covering your vitals organs. The noisy sound from the bunker was suddenly turned into a constant beep, beep, beep that caused you to frown yet keeping your eyes closed. You called him once and again until a warm hand laced his fingers with you. Peace invaded you eventually, after a fond squeeze around your skin followed by a pair of rough lips pressed on your forehead. You let yourself go, not finding any strength inside your heart to continue awake.

The next time you opened your eyes, you needed a moment to adjust your gaze to the sunlight. Purring feeling more comfortable than before, you rolled on your stomach, sinking your nose into the large pillow. Bucky's scent was like a punch of reality. Your eyes snapped open as your pulse increased, starting to panic. Sitting up, your orbs moved quickly all around the room you recognized instantly. It was your dorm in the Compound, the one you used to share with your boyfriend —and the father of your child. It was empty. No trace of James anywhere. You tossed away the oxygen mask and the sheets covering your stiff anatomy, getting up from the bed. Another huge mistake.

Everything spun around you, feeling strong dizziness hitting your head, having to sit down for a second. But as soon as you felt recovered, you stood up again walking straight to the main door to step out. The hallway was deserted, hearing some voices coming from the meeting room. You followed them slowly, finding balance with your palm against the walls. Sam was the first one noticing your presence, coming faster to help you.

“James… James…” You mumbled, not really sure about when you started to sob again, whilst your muscles got tense with every syllable.

“He's okay, he's okay, take it easy, girl”. He tried to calm you as Steve reached you to bring you to the closest chair.

“We don't know what you did… but even if that man introduced the commands again… you turned it off”. Natasha spoke this time.

“I re— I repro— reprogramed him”.

The confusion was more than evident between the Avengers present in the room. But no one of them had the need to ask how. The spy taught you Russian in your free time, you weren't a fluent speaker, but it was enough to have a chat. Even so, you weren't going to say the words you used. You weren't going to make Bucky go through another wipe. If they worked, you'd make sure that he'd hear them when the occasion required it.

“I wan— wanna see him… please”. You cried covering your face with both hands, desolated after the hell of the situation you had to live.

“He's resting”. Steve informed you, squatting close and placing a hand on your right thigh to gently caress it. “And you should do the same. For your baby”.

“There's no way you're gonna stop me from seeing him”. You replied, raising your head and looking at him through your eyelids. Silently pleading.

He snorted, convinced that you wouldn't change your mind. Nodding two times with his head, he stood up and offered you a hand to hold it and help you to walk. Steve guided you through upstairs, following your pace step by step —he could have carried you onto his arms, but he wasn't sure if he could hurt you accidentally. You were too weak, barely breathing properly because of all the smoke you swollen inside the bunker. Although you started to feel somewhat erratic and excited as you were coming to Bucky's old dorm.

Steve opened the door for you, letting you walk inside before closing it behind your back. Your boyfriend was peacefully sleeping under the sheets. There were some scars on his face, already healed but yet seeming painful. The only explanation you found to be there was that Bucky used the shield to open the door and take you out of the bunker. A theory that made more sense when you noticed that he hadn't his prosthesis and his shoulder was covered by a thin black microfiber.

You headed to the bed, tucking in to wrap his warm and heavy body between your arms. At the moment he felt you, he embraced you as better as he could, not opening his eyes but shedding a tear. His lips started to tremble as you pecked them, previous to hiding his face into your neck.

“I'm so sorry…” Bucky sobbed, causing your whole anatomy to shudder because of the sorrow in his voice.

“We're gonna be okay, my love… You, me, our baby… Our family”.

His crying increased after those two words, caressing his back slowly to comfort him somehow. You knew that this recovery would be hard and painful, being conscious of how close he had been to end with your life. He didn't want to do it, nobody could deny it. You were everything he had, everything he always wished for deep inside his soul and heart. And the acknowledgment of having a baby with you only provoked him to feel guiltier.

But as you said so, everything was going to be okay.

feedback is appreciated, please, leave a comment to let me know if you liked it.

and REBLOG!!!

support the writers 🤍

tag list: @whatrambles @cleopatra12345 @phoenixhalliwell @homesicam @marvel-diaries @amelia-song-pond @heartbeats-wildly @met4no1a @weenersoldierr @petlaufeyson @sillygamingartghost @wildflowergubler @isnt-it-loverly @zealouspursecowboydeputy @rvgrsbrns @artisancowbells @plagooey @tinylumpiaa @hemsbucky @bxmaaa @quxxnxfhxll @soldierstucky @knowyourworth-sellyoursoul @hateinthemorning @asemistablehundredyearoldman @purpleelfwizard @twinerd14 @meg4n_hughe5 @nikkixostan @stolenxkissess @wintersfilm @whoreforsamwilson @thatcrackheadsadbitchtm @shinynewboots @baconmuffins1216 @28cnn @hxlyhoax

** the @ crossed out is because tumblr doesn't let me tag you, but you can activate notifications for when i post any writing!

[equestrianwritingsstuff]

I know everyone likes the "secretly good villain whumpee..." but what about when the villain was a rat- bastard with very few redeeming qualities... just being injured and sick and oh so broken. Just begging for mercy, even though they were so arrogant and vicious before.

I melt at those scenarios.

I agree with that. If the villain is secretly good, you might as well call him or her a hero- or at least a vigilante.

Vicious and Bloody

Warnings: gorey(?) description of injuries, maggots, blood, vomit, mention of people dying, pus, field medicine, bathing, vomit, sleep deprivation, pills (tylenol and ibuprofen), attempted murder, implied past torture, hallucinations, fever, delirium

~

There was no rational answer for the scene in front of her. Not even the greastest minds in history could comprehend it- figuratively speaking. It was just so peculiar, odd and out of place, that it was like from a different dimension.

The said scene would be absolutely mortifying to the squeamish soul. Between the blood and the vomit and the maggots, the sight was more than revolting.

But still, ignoring her instincts to gag and run, Civilian crouched down next to the poor man- not touching, of course, it would only irritate his injuries further and be disgusting on many levels.

"Should I call an ambulance?" Civilian asked the man softly, brushing back the part of his grimey hair that wasn't intoxicated by maggots or too much blood.

But in doing that, she realized that the man wasn't even conscious. Which, was not surprising and brought a small relief to the nervous civilian.

But it also revealed his identity. Even without the foreboding mask, his features unmistakably were those of the most feared and vile human of the city.

Villain.

"If you ever see Villain, call the heroes. If he so happens to be incapacitated, kill him or injure him further to limit his ability of escape or to destroy."

That mandatory lesson rang through Civilian's ears nearly as loud as semi's horn. It was every civilian's responsibility- whether they were a certified hero or not- to hand it or dispose of any being against the government.

Especially Villain.

Especially without any doubt Villain.

Civilian sighed and observed the injured man's face. It was her responsibility to do this, the city would thank her, applaud her.

She brought her hands to Villain's neck and squeezed. His breaths hitched, but he didn't wake, not even to the sensation of suffocation. Civilian squeezed her eyes shut, but it did nothing to rid her mind of the horrendous sight of his already crimson stained face growing even redder... his lips paling then morphing into a grayish blue...

Civilian gasped, drawing her hands away from his neck. The villain's eyes shot open as he tried to fill his lungs, but as he heaved and wheezed, they kept rolling up and sliding closed.

"Hey!" Civilian exclaimed, tapping his shoulder. Villain's eyes shot open and he looked at Civilian with an expression filled with the unthinkable.

Fear.

Villain's lip trembled as he tried his hardest to scoot away. He whimpered something unintelligently and weakly held up a hand as if to protect himself from futher harm- as if the shaking limb could do anything other than wave aimlessly in the air.

Upon coming to the conclusion that escape was impossible, the villain resumed a position of pointless mewling.

"Don't hurt me," he whined, tears streaming down his cheeks, making the small cuts sting and itch. "D-don't hurt me. I've been bad, please don't remind me. P-please." He shifted his head into his elbow and sobbed.

Civilian didn't know what to do with the scenario, so she just allowed him to cry until he was too exhausted to do anything other than whimper pained pleas.

When his eyes started to droop, Civilian wrapped her arms around his upper body and heaved him into a sitting position- somewhat shocked of how limp and pliable he was.

Then she stopped. What was she doing? Villain was the most notoriously evil person in the city, if not the universe. He killed hundreds, thousands even including men, women, and children. He was undeserving of any level of comfort, whether that be love, care, or compassion.

Yet someone had to be worse than him to put him in such a nasty condition.

"Don't hurt me," Villain whispered, clinging to Civilian's shirt with all his might- as little as that was.

"I won't," Civilian promised, smiling down at the injured villain. The villain sighed and closed his eyes.

She had to help him now. It would be practically illegal to turn him in, or harm him even further. Well, metaphorically speaking.

Civilian dragged Villain into her house. Luckily, she owned a one-story, so bringing him to the bathroom was not too big of a deal- apart from the exertion on her slender arms, that was.

Immediately, Civilian stripped off the remains of his tattered clothing and sat him in the tub. Gingerly, she washed out the infection wounds, making sure all the maggots were gone.

After thirty minutes, she only finished the lower half of his body and his back and shoulders were much, much worse. It took another hour to get done with those.

Civilian took a second to catch her breath, she didn't realize how diligently she was working. The villain was completely clean, other than countless uneven holes that looked like someone grabbed his skin and pulled it out.

The next line of business was whether or not to give him stitches. Many of the remainding wounds were heavily infected and would benefit from being dried out.

Many of those infected wounds needed to be drained and removed.

Civilian sighed, thinking of her nursing classes. She had school tomorrow...

Someone was dying.

Someone with the name of Villain.

Civilian ran into the kitchen and grabbed a knife. She ran in through the sharpener a couple times before heating it on the stove to remove bacteria. Here goes...

Civilian cut into one of the infected abscesses and carefully drained the pus out. She sighed and wiped her hands on a papertowel. She should really be wearing gloves...

Villain jerked, suddenly awakening with a shriek. His eyes saw the knife and he froze, staring at it for a long time, before erupting into unstoppable sobs.

"Don't hurt me! P-p-please don't... knife," he wailed, trying to curl into himself.

"Stop it," Civilian tried to reason, clenching her teeth, as she pulled Villain away from himself. He started to rock, back and forth... back and forth... back and-

"Hurts," he whimpered.

"I know," Civilian whispered, rubbing the back of his head. "I'm trying to help."

"No. Pain."

"No pain?" Civilian repeated, trying to make sense of what Villain's intent of the statically said statement.

"No pain," he murmured, resting his head against the tub. "Take away."

"I don't have anything for the pain," Civilian told him softly. "Some nyquil, but I'd rather give you tylenol for the fever."

Villain looked up at her with pleading eyes. "Please," he begged..

"It's just gonna make you tired, not take away the full extent of the pain."

Villain let out a strained sob and kicked out with his feet. Pouting in the most pitiful way.

"Just," Civilian sighed. "Just. It's gonna hurt."

Civilian leveled the knife to another wound and drained it. Villain writhed in the beginning, but stopped when he realized his fate.

By the time each major abscess was drained, Villain was barely conscious, his head lolling groggily against the bath tub. Civilian gulped. She would have to disinfect the wounds now, but she didn't have anything for it...

Salt water, a saline solution.

Villain's screams did not leave Civilian's memory for a while, even when he was finally asleep on the couch. Civilian aimlessly rubbed his hand, whispering to him as he slept, but it all felt wrong. So, so wrong. All the people he hurt never got the same level of care that he was receiving- as if they had any at all.

But at the same time, it felt right. None of Villain's victim's injuries were as extreme as his- they either died or went to the hospital. Whoever tortured Villain wanted him to suffer, not that Villain wanted people to not suffer...

Crap, this was confusing herself.

Civilian cared for Villain throughout the night. The open textbook on her kitchen table did not even remind her of her class in the morning. Nothing could, especially when someone so sick seeked her hospitality.

Villain's fever raged and he was fed more and more tylenol. Eventually, she started to put ice packs around his neck and major arteries, but he was still so, so miserable.

He started to hallucinate. Sometimes whimpering about a bat flying around his head, or laughing giddily. But one of these episodes really stood out to Civilian.

"Curve, curve," he muttered as his cheek rested against the mattress- for some reason he kept flipping himself to his stomach. "Fall."

"Then cave." The delirious, but intense gaze the villain had made Civilian wonder if he was trying to tell her something in his fevered state.

"Man hurt."

Civilian shushed Villain and gave him a quick sip of water with an ibuprofen tablet. He sighed and closed his eyes.

"Don't hurt me," Villain whispered, scratching at the sheets. "Please."

"I won't, sleep."

Villain slowly, oh so slowly nodded as he allowed his eyes to slip closed.

Civilian took care of Villain as best as she could. She really needed to get supplies, but it was dangerous to leave the villain unattended as sick and injured as he was. Infection set in agai, fever rose...

Civilian groaned and rubbed her head. She had a horrible headache from stress and lack of sleep.

Maybe a short nap wouldn't hurt...

When Civilian woke up, seven hours later, she found Villain shivering on the ground with vomit all over him.

"Dangit," Civilian groaned and rubbed the sleep out of her eyes.

Just dangit.

[pentechnics]

Puzzle Piece

Chapter 12 of Of Love and Time

Summary: Your sickness takes over. A surprise visitor just might have an unexpected cure. You discover a space filling up that you didn't even know was empty.

Pairing: Din Djarin x fem!reader (no y/n)

Series content: teacher/parent AU, fluff, slow burn, lots of mutual pining, sexual tension, mentions of past trauma (tagged in detail for specific chapters), depictions of violence (nothing explicit, no gore), angst, a dash of hurt/comfort, angst with a happy ending, Grogu is at the equivalent age of a human 4-year-old and can speak

Notes: Y'ALL. Okay. I seriously need your attention for a sec before you start reading. This chapter right here? This is the chapter. The one I've been waiting to write ever since I thought of this idea, which happened around when I posted chapter 2 or 3. I have poured my entire soul into this one and I am SO HAPPY with it. I fought so hard with myself, wondering if it was ready to post or not, and I'm not sure why, but it's here now and I hope y'all enjoy. I have been dying to share it with you!! But this is where things get tricky and I'll need your help. I'm worried that now that I've written this one, that I might lose motivation for this story. Especially as new fic ideas start to crowd my brain. I'm 100% still writing this fic and seeing it through to the end, fret not, but it's just that chapters might take a bit longer to get out than they have so far. So just pls keep up the love and let me know you're still invested! It'll definitely help with my motivation! Also if any fellow fic writers have any advice for this phenomenon?? It'd be greatly welcomed and appreciated! 🥺

Okay, that's all! Thank you for your attention! Please enjoy this Long Boi and let me know what you think! I'll say this now because I have a feeling I'll be saying it a lot as you all react: you're welcome, and I am sorry. 😜

I'm beyond grateful for all the love you continue to give this story. It means the world to me! I love you all so much! ❤️

As always, taglist is under the cut! Let me know if you'd like to be added!

Chapter content: mention of vomiting, nothing descriptive

“...Din?”

It was hardly a whisper. You were frozen in place, staring at Din, who stood on your porch with several bags cradled in his hands. His brown shoulder bag was also slung across his body. Butterflies filled your gut as if a box filled with them had been opened, releasing them to freedom. You blinked several times to make sure you weren’t hallucinating.

“Are you okay? I… heard you weren’t well.”

The sound of his velvety voice after so long felt like a splash of cool water on your burning face. You took in a gulp of air.

“I-um, yeah, just a little under the weather.” You hated how coarse you sounded, but pushed the thought away and stood to the side, opening the door for him.

“Come in.”

He nodded and made his way through the door. Your mind was racing with questions — the loudest one being how you were supposed to treat this encounter. You stepped toward him after shutting the door and took a breath, gesturing to what looked like every grocery item the planet had to offer.

“What’s all this?”

Din set the bags down before looking back at you. “I was asked to deliver something to you.”

“Was it the entire grocery store?” You teased, trying to add a little laugh that came out sounding like a dying Loth Cat.

Din reached into his shoulder bag and produced a large piece of yellow poster paper.

“This is from your students.”

Your lips parted as you looked between Din and the paper, your frail hands accepting it from him. The cover read ‘Get Well Soon!’ in very squiggly writing, along with a variety of little drawings — planets, creatures, hearts and other shapes, even some portraits of the artists themselves — surrounding the words. You bit your lip as your heart swelled.

You opened up the card to find fourteen little messages with a signature and drawings next to each one. They wished you well, said they missed you, and sent you soup and other treats via their drawings. It was all so precious. But the message that had you fighting tears was near the bottom on the right side, next to a heart and a familiar-looking drawing of a Blurrg:

“You can count on us too, Miss! Like 1 2 3! We love you, feel better soon! -All of us”

You cupped your mouth with a hand and took in a breath through your nose while you took in the sweet words. Their kindness sent a wave of warmth through you, like a fuzzy blanket tucked around your heart. It was overwhelming. You closed the card and held it to your chest, watery eyes returning to Din.

“Thank you for delivering this. It means a lot.”

“You’re welcome.”

You glanced back down at the pile of bags at Din’s feet.

“So then, what’s up with all that?”

Din looked at the pile as well, gloved hand coming up to scratch his neck.

“I-uh, wasn’t sure what you liked, so I picked up a few different things.”

Your mind went blank. You opened your mouth to say something, but your brain wasn’t producing any words.

“I wasn’t sure what you were sick with, either, so I brought stuff to help different problems.”

“You-... you got all this for me?” you asked, your tone betraying your disbelief.

“Din, you didn’t have to do that-”

“I know.”

His gaze snapped to you, arms snapping to his sides.

“I wanted to.”

You sighed and gave him a weak smile.

“Well, thank you. I… really appreciate it.”

He nodded before picking up a couple of the bags.

“There are some things that need to be refrigerated, could I…?” he jabbed his head towards your living room.

“Oh- yeah, of course. The kitchen’s just through there.” You stepped into the living room and pointed the way for him.

“Thank you.”

Just before you could offer to take care of it yourself, he cut you off.

“Don’t even. I’ll just be a minute.”

You were caught off guard, but recovered after a moment with a laugh and a shake of your head. You tucked the card into the space between your wall and your holo stand and stepped back to the entryway to peek in the other bags. Some crackers, various hydrators, fresh produce, and other such goodies were tucked inside.

Wait- were those your favorite cookies in there? Your brow raised as you eyed the box.

“So what have your symptoms been?”

Your head snapped up as Din re-entered the room, causing it to throb. You squeezed your eyes shut.

“Um, I’ve been vomiting, my head’s hurting, chills, when I stand up I get kinda light-headed. I can’t really tell if I have a fever or not since I’ve been constantly hot and cold.”

Din didn’t answer right away. You heard a tiny beeping sound.

“You’re burning up.”

You opened your eyes and tilted your head. Din just pointed to his helmet.

“Ah, thermal map?”

He nodded.

“Very cool,” you said with a nod. He took a step towards you.

“You know, I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to be alone with symptoms like that. It could be dangerous if you faint or fall.”

“I’ll be fine,” you insisted.

He tilted his head in that exasperated way.

“You’re not standing straight, Missy.”

“Pssh,” you scoffed, “sure I am.”

You were wrong. A moment later you were falling over. Din was quick to catch you. You grasped his upper arms to steady yourself.

“Yeah, okay — I’m cashing in my winnings from the race now.”

You looked up at him.

“Let me help you. I just want to make sure you’ll be okay.”

You stared into his visor, unsure of what to do.

“Say the word and I’ll leave. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable. But… I’m worried for you. If you’ll let me, I’d like to help.”

You couldn’t help feeling guilty; after everything you’d done, he still wants to help you? It didn’t make total sense, but you weren’t in a position to say no. Not when he was right and you were presently too dizzy to stand on your own. And you couldn’t lie — the last thing you wanted was for him to leave.

“... Okay.”

He let out a breathy sigh.

“Thank you. Let’s sit you down now, okay?”

You nodded and let Din walk you over to the couch. He pulled your covers up over your legs. You smiled and invited him to sit next to you. He did so, though he kept himself stiff as a board.

“So when did this start?” he asked.

“Early this morning.” you said, letting yourself hit the back of the couch. You recounted the details of waking up to a nasty surprise and then calling in sick.

“I’m sorry that happened,” he said when you finished. “It sounds familiar to me, though.”

“What do you think it is?”

“My best guess is stress,” he said as he turned his body to face you. “You might’ve put yourself through too much, and now your body’s shutting down and forcing you to rest.”

You scoffed. “Sounds like me.”

A light silence fell over you both. You were grateful it wasn’t uncomfortable or awkward, but the guilt of not contacting him in so long still swirled about in your mind.

“One thing that might help is letting it out. What sort of stress have you been holding?”

You looked at him with raised brows, you brain going through a checklist of what had been bothering you as of late: having feelings for Din, not knowing how to express them, knowing you shouldn’t express them — yet, at least — guilt for leaving him hanging, fear over how he felt about you now, guilt for not telling Gila about what happened and going through whatever process that would jumpstart-

Your stomach churned again. There really was a lot on your mind. You took a breath.

“Well,” you started, “I guess I’ve just been doing a lot of thinking about things. And some of it has been hard to work through.”

He motioned for you to continue.

You bit your lip. He said to let it out, right? What was the use in keeping this in, especially now that Din was right in front of you? You let your tongue take over and say the first thing to come to mind.

“I was scared you were angry with me.”

“What? Why?” He asked with a tilt of his head and a small scoff.

“I shouldn’t have run out on you like that, and I’m sorry I haven’t called or messaged you. I just needed to figure myself out and there’s so much to talk about… I just didn’t know what to do.”

“Hey, wait,” he scooched a bit closer to you. “I don’t blame you for that. Not at all.”

You looked at him. There was no way for you to visually gauge his sincerity, but you didn’t need to — it was in his voice.

“I understand that the circumstances are tricky. I knew that going into it, but I guess I couldn’t help myself.”

You gave him a little smile.

“I am sorry, though,” he continued, “I don’t regret doing it, but I do regret the pain it’s causing you.”

“I don’t regret it either, really, but I do have to report myself to the admins for it. And I just don’t know what that’s going to look like.”

He let out an irritated sigh.

“I’m so sorry, Miss.”

“Hey,” you placed a hand on his where it rested on his thigh. “I might be scared, but I can face the music. I’m just worried about what it’ll mean for you and Grogu.”

He turned his palm up to clasp your hand.

“Don’t worry about us,” he said, visor locked on you. “We’ve seen worse.”

You took in a breath and gave him a small grin.

“See? How does that feel now?”

“A little lighter.”

“Good.”

You squeezed his hand.

“Thank you for listening.”

He nodded.

“So then…” you trailed off, eyes finding his visor again. “Are we okay?”

He bowed his head down to you, scooching closer before sandwiching your hand in both of his.

“Of course.”

You smiled.

“I do think we should have an actual conversation about everything, just so we know we’re on the same page.”

“That sounds good,” he said with another nod. “But let’s wait until you’re better, okay? Wouldn’t want to aggravate your system while it’s healing.”

You grinned.

“Smart idea.”

He caressed your hand with both of his. The feeling reminded you of that night, when he drove you home and told you his name. You remembered how much you wanted to keep holding on. You took a deep breath and squeezed his hand.

Just as you were settling back into silence, your stomach lurched. Your hand flew up to your mouth. Din sprang into action and handed you one of the stray plastic bags. You projected your head into it just in time to let your body release whatever infuriating substance that remained in your stomach. Your throat burned with each heave.

After a moment you felt Din scooch closer to you, gathering your hair behind your head. One hand held it back and the other came to rest between your shoulder blades. His fingers ran slowly back and forth from their position. The sensation was so gentle and warm; it immediately began to ease the tension in your body. You sighed before your body jumped back into its protest.

“It’s okay, you’re okay,” Din whispered.

“Let it all out, I’ve got you.”

After some more coughs and spurts, your breathing evened out. You poked your eyes out from the bag and looked around your messy floor. The sight of discarded gloves and gauntlets had you furrowing your brow.

Your eyes widened as Din’s bare hand held the tissue box out to you.

It was beautiful — large, with thick, defined appendages. Glowing brown skin that had you gasping for breath for reasons unrelated to your health. You took a tissue to wipe off your face and kept your gaze away, a bit grateful for the excuse to hide your flushed cheeks.

After tying the bag shut Din took it from your shivering hands and set it on the floor.

“Let’s lay you back down.”

He gently gripped your shoulders and guided your weary frame back down onto the couch. He removed his cape and draped it onto you, then brought up your covers and tucked them around you.

“I’m going to go take care of this for you real quick, okay? I’ll be back.”

You whispered a hoarse ‘okay’ in response. You stared into his visor and tried to manage a little smile to show your gratitude. He gave your shoulder a small squeeze and stood from the couch. He gathered up all the bags holding the contents of your current and previous episodes from throughout the day and turned back to you.

“Is the trash bin out back?” he asked.

You nodded and pointed behind you.

“By the back door.”

He nodded and walked off. You sighed and rubbed the worn fabric of his cape between your fingers. Despite the lingering embarrassment of the situation, you were happy he was there. Both he and Gila had been right about it being a bad idea to try handling this alone. And his presence was so soothing — like reaching an oasis after spending weeks in the bone-dry desert, moments away from your last breath only to be saved by the relief of sweet water down your parched throat.

With the thought of parched throats, you eyed your water bottle on the ground. But your face immediately scrunched up at the notion of putting more things in your body. You shook your head and pulled Din’s cape over your mouth, closing your eyes and resting your head against the couch. The faint sound of running water filled your ears as you focused on your breathing.

You heard the faint tap of Din’s boots on your carpet before some shuffling, then the sound of plastic being moved about. Moments later the couch sunk beside you as Din sat back down. He brushed a stray hair out of your face before his hand came to rest on your forehead. You sighed and leaned into the contact. His skin was cool against the fresh sweat that covered yours. His thumb traced upward from your eyebrow in a continuous motion. Your muscles relaxed.

“Is that a little better?” came his gentle tone.

You nodded under his hand.

“Good. Just keep resting, okay?”

He replaced his hand with a damp cloth before he stood from the couch. You frowned and cracked your eyes open. Din was opening your living room window, mindful to keep the curtain down to shield you from the sunlight. Once he was finished, he strode across the room once more. “I’ll be right back,” he called.

You closed your eyes again. The calming sound of a wind chime swaying in the breeze flew through the window. You focused on it to keep from thinking about your stomach.

~~~

Boba finished preparing ingredients for dinner as his comm buzzed in his pocket. It was a message from Din.

‘I’m going to stay here for a while,’ it read, ‘She’s really not doing well and it’s not safe to leave her alone.’

Boba let out a small ‘huh.’ He began typing a reply.

‘Figured it was bad. We’ll take care of the child. Give her our best.’

He moved to pocket his comm when a light bulb went off in his head. He whipped the message feed back up and added another note.

‘Packed you some spare clothes in your sack. Y’know, just in case. Let us know if you two need anything.’

Boba set the comm in his pocket and headed over to where Fennec and Grogu sat on the sofa in the living room, watching a program about the misadventures of some fictional aquatic creature. They both turned to him.

“Any word from Mando?” Fennec asked.

Boba nodded.

“He’s with her now. She’s very sick, so he’ll be staying with her to make sure she’s taken care of.”

“Is Miss gonna be okay?” Grogu asked, wringing his fingers together in his lap. Fennec tugged him into her side.

“She’ll be just fine, kiddo. Promise.”

Boba nodded in agreement and knelt down to look at Grogu before adding,

“And now your papa is there to help, and he gave her the special card you all made. I bet she’ll be better even faster than you think.”

“Really?” Grogu asked with a smile.

“Maybe,” Boba said with a shrug. “It’s always possible.”

Boba gave Grogu a wink, which made him giggle.

“Miss is gonna be better soon,” Grogu said, clenching his hands into fists.

“That’s right. No need to worry, little guy.”

Boba stood and patted Grogu on the head.

“How about a little treat before dinner?”

“His dad wouldn’t be too thrilled about that,” Fennec said between chuckles.

“Well, he’s not here now, is he?” Boba replied, booping Grogu’s nose while giving him a mischievous smile.

“Shh, I won’t tell,” Grogu whispered, putting a little finger to his mouth.

The three of them shared a laugh. Boba lifted Grogu into his arms and the trio made their way into the kitchen to peruse their options.

~~~

You blinked your eyes open and immediately winced at the pain returning to your head. Din was sitting next to you, head facing the holofeed. He turned to you as you stirred.

“Hey,” he said.

He had removed his boots and the rest of his armor, the pieces sitting in a neat pile against the wall.

“Did I fall asleep?” you asked, removing the now warm cloth from your face.

“Yeah, for a little bit. How are you feeling?”

“Fine,” you said with a little yawn. “My head’s still killing me, though.”

He nodded.

“It might be a good time to try these out.”

He reached behind him and produced a box of plain crackers. You pulled the covers over your mouth.

“Don’t worry, these are meant to stay down. It’ll be a good start for your stomach.”

You looked up at him. He solidified his words with a nod.

“We’ll need to get some food in you before you can take any medicine.”

You furrowed your brow before slowly nodding and sitting up. He opened the box and handed you a packet of crackers. You took one out and examined it. Big salt crystals decorated its surface, and little holes created a neat pattern in its center.

“It’ll be okay. I’ve got you.”

You glanced at Din before taking a deep breath and biting into the cracker. Its salty flavor pleased your taste buds, and you didn’t feel any dread from your body as you swallowed.

“It’s good,” you said as you finished it off.

“I’m glad. Grogu likes these a lot. I honestly think they’re too salty.”

“The salt is the best part!” you said with a little giggle, taking out another cracker.

He laughed and shook his head.

“Just be careful, don’t eat them too fast. I’m guessing you haven’t had much food today.”

You shook your head.

“We’ll get you a real meal after your body adjusts to those. Once you’ve had a few more, try one of these.”

He reached behind him again and pulled out a bright green drink in a tiny bottle.

“This is filled with electrolytes, it’ll help replenish your body. It’s also meant to be easier on your stomach.”

“Okay,” you took the little bottle and placed it in your lap next to your crackers.

“Thank you again for all this, Din. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate it.”

He gently placed his hand on your knee.

“It’s my pleasure, Miss.”

You stared at his hand. Large and strong, easily taking up the entire surface area of your knee with space to spare. Bones protruded through the skin as his fingers moved about. A similar sense of confusion flooded your senses, just like when you saw his chin. Was this a sight you deserved to see? What made him trust you enough to be so vulnerable? You looked up at him.

“I know we said we were going to wait, but… can I ask you something?”

His visor locked onto you, his hand going stiff on your knee.

“Okay.”

“Why me?”

“What do you mean?” he asked back with a tilt of the head.

“I mean… I guess I’m just wondering how you trust me enough to do things like this-” you motioned to his bare hand before looking back up.

“We haven’t known each other very long, and I know gestures like this are a big deal, so I don’t quite understand it.”

He didn’t answer right away. A little ‘tch’ sound bounced out of his modulator before he shifted to face you.

“Let me tell you, then.”

He took his hand away from your knee and tucked your hair behind your ear.

“For me, trusting someone isn’t so much a matter of time. It’s a matter of action. Of words. I choose to trust someone after seeing for myself what makes them who they are, and how they treat other people. With you…”

His knuckles ran up and down your cheek. Your heart rate increased as electricity flowed through your face. You were blown away by how soft his skin was. You gulped and tried to focus on his words instead of the way his touch clouded your mind.

“With you, I knew I could trust you after talking to you about Grogu those first few times. It didn’t take long, because he’d come home and rave about you. And I trust his judgement. Then I’d go see you and you’d be the same way about him. That told me you genuinely cared about him.

As time went on and I saw more of you, I noticed more things that I liked. And I wanted to start trusting you… with myself.”

Your mind went blank. You couldn’t believe what he was saying. Your tongue ran on without you, your brain too tired to think before speaking.

“Din,” you breathed, “how does someone as broken as me give you the confidence to do that?”

He sat straighter.

“What? Broken?”

A little shock pierced your gut. He sounded angry. You looked down at your crackers.

“I just- I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but people don’t typically stay around me for very long. Gila’s the one exception but more often than not, I’m more of a pit stop.”

You took a breath.

“Something about me makes people leave. I don’t know what, but I don’t want to disappoint you by not being capable of being constant or long-lasting. I don’t want you to regret any of these choices.”

You stared at his hand again, memorizing every curve of the bones, every little spot that decorated the beautiful skin. You took it all in as if this would be the last time you’d ever get to see it.

“Hey- look at me.”

You didn’t move. You couldn’t bear to look. Your chest fell with the heft of your words, a dull pain seeping through. He called your name as he grabbed your chin and brought your face up. You froze in his grip.

“There is nothing wrong with you. Nothing you’ve done has made you deserve to be treated badly. I need you to understand that.”

You didn’t say a word.

“And I know it hurts,” he went on, “but you can’t let those experiences stop you from letting people in. Believe me.”

All you could do was stare as he continued, hand leaving your chin and coming around to cup your cheek.

“You are an incredible person. Strong, smart, determined, feisty,” he let out a little laugh.

“… Breathtaking… in every sense of the word.”

He paused with a sigh, thumb sweeping across the apple of your cheek.

“Just because some people couldn’t handle all of that does not mean you have done anything wrong. Those traits are part of what makes you you, things I have grown to... appreciate.”

You had a feeling that last word wasn’t what he wanted to say, but you didn’t push it. You were helpless under his gaze, mind completely blank. He whispered your name, soft and tender, like he was keeping it safe on his lips. The sound of it filled your heart with warmth and life, as if a dormant volcano was suddenly erupting in your soul. His hand fell to your shoulder before he continued.

“I choose to trust you because of the person you’ve shown to me. All of those things, plus how kind, loyal, caring, selfless…”

His hand squeezed your shoulder, his other one moving to cover one of yours in your lap. How was his skin so soft? The contact sent a blaze through your every nerve.

“... and so, so much more, that you are. You deserve to have people in your life that recognize and uplift these things about you — don’t forget that.”

Those words pierced you, as if you’d been shot in the heart with a blaster. You hadn’t expected any of this. Your chest squeezed as tears pricked behind your eyes.

“You want to know what amazes me most about you?”

You didn’t speak. You hardly breathed.

“How you choose to love people. Even though life has been cold to you, you go into it with warmth. You treat everyone with the things you weren’t even getting. That kind of love is so rare. Don’t you see, that’s what defines you — the way you choose to love despite what you’ve been through. Does that really sound broken to you?”

A tear spilled from your eye. Your mind was swimming. Your heart was pounding. You stared at Din as he tilted his head closer to you, his thumb running across your knuckles. You didn’t know what else to do other than lean forward, your head falling onto his shoulder. His muscles tensed before settling again under your touch, his hands coming to rest on your back. He quietly cleared his throat before pulling you a little closer.

It was as if he’d taken your abused heart and kissed the bruises that decorated it. Not getting rid of them, but easing the ache, and then held it close to protect the fragile organ from further harm.

He held you in his arms like the most precious of gems: a gentle and firm caress that had you sighing against the fabric of his flight suit. You mumbled a little ‘thank you,’ and he squeezed your frame.

You’d never felt so at home before. He was so warm. So safe. His being encased you in a shield of soft affection that you never wanted to part from. You surrendered to the sensation, your hand coming up to rest on Din’s chest.

This was different from when he’d held you as the two of you put Grogu to bed — this was yours. Right now, he was all yours.

And you were all his.

~~~

“Yeah, I think that’s doable,” Gila said into her comm. She jotted a note down as she spoke.

“What other ideas did you have?”

A small knock proceeded Kos entering her office, waving a hand in apology. She nodded at them.

“Someone wants to see you, says it’s urgent.”

Gila scrunched her brow, ducking her head towards her comm.

“Hey- I’m going to have to call you back.”

After a brief goodbye she hung up the call and asked Kos to send in the visitor. Her brow shot up and her mouth made an ‘o’ as they walked in. Kos closed the door to her office, leaving the two alone.

“I didn’t know you were still here — what can I do for you?”

The visitor walked up and took a seat across from Gila, hands folded together in their lap.

“I need to file a report.”

~~~

You weren’t sure how long you stayed in Din’s arms before your stomach growled. To your dismay he nudged you back up and encouraged you to keep eating, separating from you aside from a hand on your leg.

Once you’d had a few more crackers and downed the little bottle of green liquid, energy slowly began to flow through your system. The dried layers of sweat on your face became more apparent when you scratched your nose. You grimaced.

“I feel kinda gross,” you said, “I think I’m okay enough to take a shower.”

“Sounds good, in the meantime I’ll get some food ready for you.”

You narrowed your eyes at him.

“On one condition,” you held up a finger. He tilted his head.

“You make sure to eat, too. Can’t be taking care of me if you’re not also cared for.”

He scoffed.

“Says you, Missy.”

You tried to keep down a chuckle and fix him with a look.

“But don’t worry. I will.”

You smiled and poised your feet on the ground. You took a deep breath and held onto Din’s offered hand to hoist yourself up, your other one holding his cape to your frame. You wobbled a bit before finding your footing, your mind still going foggy from the movement.

Din stood with you and gathered your things into a bag.

“You okay to walk?” he asked.

“I think so,” you said, wrapping the cape around your shoulders. You took a few small steps towards the stairs, Din staying just behind you.

You made it to the staircase before you needed to stop, your body still weak and heavy. Din placed a hand on your back.

“Can you make it up?”

You took your breaths slow and deep, never feeling like you were getting enough air. You glanced up at Din with a small shrug. He stepped closer and wrapped his arm around you.

“May I?”

You nodded. But you didn’t expect him to scoop you up in his arms, balancing the bag of items in his hand while his arm came under your knees to hold you secure. You let out a little squeal; he snickered.

Your head landed in the crook of his neck. The fabric of his cowl was softer against your skin than his flight suit. Half of your face was shielded by the lip of his helmet, cloaking your vision in partial darkness. The slight turbulence that came with each step had you slightly bumping up and down in Din’s grasp, the motions relaxing you when paired with the heat from his body.

Your mind wandered to your dreams, where your head ended up in this spot almost every time. In a home, in a park, in other places you didn’t recognize. No matter the context, you gravitated to it. Now that you were actually here, it was no wonder your subconscious wanted it so badly. You fit perfectly, like this spot was made for your head to rest on. You smiled and nuzzled into the cowl, breathing in that crisp scent that always accompanied Din’s presence.

His neck muscles flexed when he swallowed. He gave you a little squeeze.

When you two made it up the stairs, you pointed the way to your room, reassuring him with a giggle that he could enter when he hesitated at the door. He set you down by your bed and began placing your essentials on your nightstand. You tossed the cape on the bed and started walking towards the bathroom.

“I’ll go start on the food now,” Din said when he finished. “Is there anything you’d like me to bring from downstairs?”

You stopped to face him and thought for a moment. You briefly remembered that cookie box you spotted and bit your lip.

“Don’t worry, I’ll bring the cookies.”

Your wide eyes snapped to him, and he laughed. He doubled over, hand on his knee, and he laughed.

There it was. The belly laugh you’d been aching to hear. Nothing was covering it up, nothing at all interrupted the path between his laugh and your ears. It only lasted for a moment but it had you gasping for air.

It was beautiful.

The ethereal sound of his baritone hysterics reverberated through every inch of your body, sending goosebumps up your arms. Your cheeks ached from the stretch of your smile.

“How did you know?” you asked, glee pouring out of your voice. He took a second to catch his breath.

“I saw you looking at them earlier. Guess I made a good choice.”

You giggled.

“Anything else?”

You shook your head.

“I think I’m good. But bring anything you want, too, and please use whatever you need. Just make yourself at home.”

“Thank you,” he said with a nod before making his way out.

You crept into your bathroom and popped into the shower. The warm water did little to help your situation. Your body was already so hot, but a cold shower would only exacerbate your symptoms. Though washing away the sweat and grime from the day still filled you with a sense of refreshment. You took your time, washing off every surface and letting the steam cleanse your sinuses.

There were moments when you’d talk yourself into staying in there just a bit longer, so that Din would have more time to eat in peace.

When you were done you changed into a clean set of pajamas and wrapped a towel around your dripping hair. Your body felt a little stronger than it had beforehand, which you were grateful for. Though your steps were still wobbly as you made your way to the door and opened it.

You stopped.

There was Din, sitting on the edge of your bed. A bowl of food sat on your bedside table behind him. The faint daylight from the window bounced off the beskar, making the chrome surfaces glitter like crystal. The image of him here, in your bedroom, having made you a meal, stirred something in you. You wanted to cry.

What gave him the right, you wondered. What gave him the right to bring you to your knees just by existing.

It was as if someone had reached into the recesses of your mind and pulled out your idea of what perfection looked like, then molded it into reality before your eyes. It seemed so natural to have him here, being part of your home. You wondered how you were ever able to live in this room alone, much less the whole house. After this, you never wanted to do that again. A small huff left your lips.

Shit, you thought.

Oh.

Shit.

Shit shit shit.

Your head began to spin and your hand clenched around the doorframe. You leaned over, your free hand gripping the air as your legs began to give out.

Din looked up and immediately made his way to you, arms extended in caution. Your eyes never left him.

“Are you okay?”

You blinked as you looked into his visor. Your chest heaved with short breaths. You nodded quickly, not trusting your words to dismiss his worry. He was not convinced.

“Are you sure? Come here.”

He wrapped his arms around you and stood you up straight. He supported your frame as he brought his hand to your forehead, pressing the back of it against your freshly cleaned skin. Your eyes didn’t move from where they stared into the black abyss.

“At least you don’t feel feverish anymore. Let’s get you some food.”

You let him lead you to the bed with his hands on your shoulders.

He helped you settle in. You pulled his cape over your legs before laying against the headboard and letting him put your covers over you. He handed you the bowl. You stared at his figure: broad and strong. Hands capable of just as much gentleness as they were of wrangling bounties. The stories those hands could tell, you thought. You wanted to hear them. You took a couple deep breaths, filing away your thoughts in favor of maintaining at least some of your composure.

You tapped the bed next to you, inviting Din to sit with you. He hesitated, looking between you and the spot before rounding the bed. He stopped again and looked at you. You smiled and nodded, tapping the spot again. He slowly lowered himself down, stretching his legs out beside yours and folding his hands in his lap. The extra weight on the bed had you feeling secure; you smiled.

“Thank you for making this,” you said as you looked at the food.

It was so colorful; Din had created a soup with a clear broth, noodles, and plenty of veggies swimming with what looked like Bantha meat. You recognized most of these ingredients from the grocery bags he’d brought with him.

“I hope you like it. It usually helps me when I’m not well.”

You took a bite. Your eyes went wide.

Warmth encompassed your mouth and spread throughout your body. The combination of flavors from the produce and the perfectly prepared Bantha marched in a colorful parade around your taste buds.

Tears welled in your eyes. It had been so long since you felt this sensation.

“Is it okay?” came Din’s quiet question beside you. You nodded profusely as you swallowed.

“It’s amazing!”

You took another bite, a smile growing despite you trying to chew. Din chuckled.

“Now don’t go too fast, your stomach is still fragile.”

You nodded again. You’d forgotten about that. You slowed down the pace and put your spoon down in the bowl. You looked over at Din.

“Did you eat?”

“Yes ma’am,” he said with a laugh. “I had some soup downstairs.”

“That’s good,” you replied with a nod.

The two of you sat in a small silence. You took a couple more bites of your food. Even though the silence was comfortable, you started worrying that Din might be bored.

“I don’t have a holoconnection in here,” you started, ”but I do have a data pad if you want to watch something… or something.”

He hummed.

“Is there something you’d like to watch?”

“I don’t watch too many things nowadays,” you started, “but there is this one show I found that’s pretty funny. I just started it not too long ago.”

“Let’s do that,” he said, “it’ll probably help get your mind off things.”

You smiled and reached down to retrieve your data pad from your bedside, a hand keeping the soup stable on your lap. Din reached for the data pad, offering to put on the show for you while you continued eating.

“What’s it called?”

“Parks and Recreation.”

He tilted his head toward you.

“I know, it’s a weird title. But I promise it’s funny.”

He huffed and pulled it up, setting the data pad down between his legs and yours.

The next episode in your lineup played. You and Din watched along as you ate your soup. You glanced over every now and then to see if you could gauge a reaction from him.

As the episode went on you got worried; he had been letting out little laughs here and there, but you had no idea what was coming. When Ron Swanson got back together with Tami II again and things got weird, you wondered if he’d be turned off from it.

On the contrary; he laughed all the more. He asked questions. He would point and provide commentary, giving you looks that you swore you could match actual expressions to. You grinned and released the tension in your muscles. He could be very animated when he wanted to. You loved it.

You set the bowl down on your side table once you’d emptied its contents, you and Din having watched three episodes at that point. He paused the show when the third one ended and pointed towards your table.

“There’s some medicine next to your water bottle. It’ll help with your head.”

You gulped it down along with another tiny green bottle that Din had set there for you. You settled back down with a full stomach, a sigh escaping your lips.

“How are you feeling?” he asked.

“Better,” you said as you smiled at him. “Thanks to your expert care.”

He chuckled.

“I’m glad.”

He lifted his hand, keeping it still in the air for a moment before placing it on your thigh.

“I… I was worried.”

Your heart swelled at the crack in his voice. He ran his thumb back and forth on your leg. When you looked up at him, his gaze was fixed on his hand.

“I’m sorry to have worried you, Din. I promise I’ll be okay.”

“I know,” he said, looking up. “You’ll be just fine.”

You smiled. A pleasant silence cloaked you both for a moment before you heard a faint beep.

“Oh-” Din breathed as he pressed the side button on his helmet.

“Everything okay?” you asked.

“Yes, Fett’s just updating me on Grogu.”

“Ah,” you started, “how is he?”

“He was worried about you, too. Made sure to tell him that you’d be okay before I left.”

“Aw, that angel,” you whispered as your heart squeezed.

“He wanted to come along, you know. Almost stowed away in my bag.”

You threw your head back and laughed. The image of Din putting on his bag and then opening it to see why it was extra heavy, only to see Grogu’s little pleading face poking out filled you with joy.

“That’s so sweet,” you said when you caught your breath. “I’m sorry to be worrying everyone so much.”

He shrugged.

“That just means we care.”

You smiled.

The two of you jumped into conversation after that, talking more about Grogu and the rest of Din’s little family. He told you more about how they all met and stayed together after Din’s ship was destroyed — what you now realized was the ‘Crest’ in Grogu’s family drawing — and Grogu went off with the Jedi, and then how they decided to continue raising him after he came back.

He told you about having to take an important pit stop on Mandalore before that because he’d wound up with the darksaber. The very same darksaber that gave him claim over the Mandalorian throne. How in the hell did that happen, you asked in utter disbelief. He told you about his face-off with Moff Gideon, and how he’d tried to ditch the glowing sword shortly after getting it.

“The only way they’d let me out of it is if I got publicly challenged and defeated. Bo Katan, the woman who wanted it, insisted the people of Mandalore witness my royal ass-kicking.”

You laughed.

“What even is your life?” you teased.

“A mess,” he deadpanned. You laughed harder.

~~~

Time checked out as the conversation went on. You were enthralled by Din’s tales, no matter how much he tried to play them down. You shared a few of your stories as well. The hours passed you both by, the sun slowly disappearing from the sky and bathing your room with its glowing farewell.

When the night arrived, Din got up to turn the lights on. That’s when reality returned to your mind.

“I don’t know how long you were planning to stay, I know it’s getting late. Do you need to head home?”

Your voice was hesitant. Your health aside, you just didn’t want Din to leave. The idea of being alone in your house after today was almost painful.

He returned to the bed and sat on the edge, right next to your legs.

“I told Fett and Fennec I’d be here for as long as you need me. They’re fully prepared to look after Grogu for however long that is.”

He took your hand in his.

“How do you feel?”

“Fine,” you answered, “I’m still feeling some of it but it’s not as bad as it was earlier.”

“Good,” he said.

The two of you looked at each other for a moment. You weren’t sure what to say next. He probably wouldn’t feel comfortable spending the night, you thought. Plus, he wouldn’t be able to take off his helmet to sleep if he did that.

“I understand if you’d prefer I didn’t stay, but you might relapse in the night.”

Your brow shot up.

“You- you’d be okay with staying?”

“Of course,” he said, squeezing your hand. “LIke I said, I’ll be here for as long as you need. If you’re comfortable with that.”

“I was just worried about you,” you said. “I didn’t want you to be uncomfortable.”

“I’ll be fine,” he said with a little laugh.

“If you want to sleep without the helmet, you’re welcome to the guest room. I want you to be able to rest well.”

“I don’t think I would if I couldn’t be here in case something happens,” he said slowly. “But I will do that if you’d prefer it.”

You shook your head with a smile.

“Do you want to wear something more comfortable? I might have something in my closet-”

“It’s okay,” he said with a wave of his hand. “I have some clothes. How about this, I’ll go change while you wash up and we’ll meet back here?”

You nodded. Din helped you stand before taking your dishes downstairs. You walked over to the bathroom and took care of your nightly routine. You looked in the mirror. Your hair flopped about, frizzy and unkempt since you didn’t brush it after showering. Your face was still a little pale, and your clothes hung loose on your frame. Not the way you imagined spending a night with this man for the first time, but you were comforted with his presence all the same. You took a deep breath and headed back to the bedroom, grateful that you were too tired to overthink any of this.

You settled back in your bed. When you heard Din enter the room you turned to the door with a smile, which was quickly replaced with parted lips.

He had changed into a pair of sweats and a zip-up jacket that was half open, leaving his neck exposed to you. Heat rushed to your face; this was more skin than you’d ever seen from him.

He made his way over to the other side of your bed, asking silent permission before settling down beside you. You tried to not let your eyes linger on his collar bone peeking out from the neckline of his shirt. Especially as it flexed when he moved.

As per usual, you failed. You bit your lip and took a deep breath.

“I don’t know if you want this, but there is one little thing we’ve forgotten about.”

Din’s tone was deep. It sent a shiver down your spine. You furrowed your brow, unsure of what he was referring to. You ignored the directions your mind wanted to go in, quietly clearing your throat.

“And what’s that?”

Din kept his visor locked on you as he reached behind him, ducking down to fetch something off the ground next to the bed. He resurfaced with the box of cookies. The sight of it made you gasp.

“Oh yeah, I forgot about those!”

He chuckled.

“You’re probably okay to have a couple. But be careful.”

You nodded and Din opened up the box, pulling out the tray that held the sugary disks within. You grinned as you took one out and ate a bite, relishing the sweet sensation that took over your mouth.

“Good?”

“Mhm,” you mumbled with a nod. Din chuckled before taking out a cookie for himself and setting the tray between you both.

You kept your gaze fixed on your lap when you heard the familiar hiss of his helmet. The gesture filled you with warmth rather than anxiety after your earlier discussion. You smiled and pulled out a second cookie.

“What made you pick these out?” you asked.

“Hard to say,” he replied as he also reached for a second cookie. “I was looking around in the store and these just looked good.”

The clarity of his voice was a bit jarring. It was soothing to your ears. Though you were surprised; all this time you thought the modulator roughed up his voice, but the raspy undertone was still evident outside of it. You chanced a glance in his direction. Familiar pink lips parted to make way for a set of strong teeth to bite into the cookie, a small glimmer of tongue poking out to lick away a crumb. You looked away, face hot once more.

“Well, you’ve got good- good taste.”

You downed the cookie, stuffing it in your mouth to keep from stumbling over yourself again. You declined a third one when offered, causing Din to put them away and set the box aside. You took a sip of your water before settling deeper into your bed.

“I should probably sleep propped up tonight, yeah?” you asked.

Din nodded.

“Probably best. Here, sit up for a second-”

You did as he asked and he leaned over to help adjust your pillows, fluffing a couple of them up before nodding at you to lay back down. It was the perfect position. You looked at him with a smile.

“Thank you, Din. Not just for this, but for everything today,” you paused and let out a sigh. Your voice grew groggy as fatigue settled in.

“I’d probably be in much worse condition if you weren’t here.”

He tilted his head, a hand coming to rest on your head.

“Thank you for letting me help.”

Your smile grew as you took a deep breath, your heavy eyes staring into the vast abyss of Din’s visor. You looked for where his eyes were resting behind their black shield.

You wanted to know what color they were.

You covered your mouth as you yawned, stretching your body out for a second before snuggling deeper into your position. You pulled Din’s cape up over your chest before pulling your blankets over it.

“I’ll be here if you need anything, okay?” Din whispered, leaning in closer to you.

You nodded, nuzzling your head into his hand.

“Good night, Din.”

“Sweet dreams… Miss.”

~~~

Din kept his hand in place until he was certain you’d fallen asleep. As your breaths grew deeper and your eyes ceased their squinting, he stroked the skin of your hairline with his thumb before slowly removing his hand and sitting up.

He let out a sigh, a weight leaving his shoulders at the sight of your peaceful face. He leaned back until his helmet thumped against your headboard and took a deep breath. Worry had plagued his mind long before Gila told him you were sick. That information only made it more intense. But what mattered was that you were okay now, in every sense.

He’d make sure of it.

It was strange; the only other being to make him worry this much was Grogu. It had been that way for so long. And then out of nowhere, you came along and changed everything. Din tried to figure out when you had crept past his walls and into his heart, but he couldn’t. It was almost as if you were always there.

He played through the memories of the day: the moment he first saw your face he’d almost dropped all the groceries. You looked so fragile, as if the slightest gust of wind would just carry you away. He wanted nothing more than to hold you. He remembered your talk on the couch, how shocked he was to hear how you felt about yourself. How could someone like you not see what he sees?

That was another thing — Din wasn't very good with words. He shocked himself with how he spoke to you in that moment. Something about the situation inspired those words to flow, and it had all been so natural.

Adoring you was so natural. He loved it.

He recalled carrying you up the stairs; the small weight of your head in the crook of his neck… it felt so right. As if your embrace was the puzzle piece he didn’t know he was missing. He didn’t want to let you go.

His thoughts continued to wander, thinking back to past moments he spent with you. Moments spent hearing about you when Grogu would tell him about his day at school. Moments of a joy he didn’t know was possible when the two of you would talk, or explore the night sky. Moments of annoyance when Fett and Fennec would point out how obvious his feelings were.

But they were right.

He wouldn’t be this open with you if it wasn’t true. He wouldn’t be doting on you this much if it wasn’t true. He wouldn’t be considering the current thoughts in his mind if it wasn’t true.

What your face would look like… if he were looking at you with his own eyes.

Din leaned up and shifted his position to face you. Your chest rose and fell with each breath you took, your face tranquil. He wondered what you might be dreaming about. He smiled under the helmet. Maybe you were running around with your students like you did at the zoo and at Grogu’s birthday party. Maybe you were beating up drunk assholes. Maybe you were holding Grogu in your arms.

Maybe Din was holding you both in his, like he did in his own dreams.

He shook the image away. Wishful thinking at best, he thought to himself. But it didn’t stop the desire he had. Din closed his eyes and gathered his bravery. He brought his hands up to his helmet. The seal hissed as he lifted it off and placed it in his lap. After another breath, he opened his eyes. All at once, the air left his lungs.

He already thought you were stunning, but… He’d truly been missing out.

Your features were so much clearer, so much more defined. Your skin was soft, that much he knew by then, but now he could see that. And he could see how your lashes curtained over your cheeks, how your hair cascaded over the pillows, how your adorable nose twitched every now and then as you slept. The natural palette of your existence was unlike any set of colors he’d ever seen before. It was definitely preferable to the blue tint his helmet placed on the world. Tears teased their presence behind Din’s eyes as a smile stretched across his face.

Damn… he wanted to see your eyes. Wanted to look into them with his own.

And damn, did he want to kiss you.

But not like this.

Your guard had been lower today, the filter he suspected you’d been keeping around him essentially gone with your strength. He didn’t want to take advantage of that. No, if he was ever so lucky as to kiss you, you’d both be involved.

Instead he set his helmet to the side and leaned down, cheeks growing warm when he stopped just above you. He took in the expression on your face before closing his eyes and gently pressing his forehead against yours. He took in a sharp breath through his nose. Every muscle in his face clenched together. His eyes squeezed more tightly shut as he took in the sensation of his bare skin touching yours. It was the most minimal of contact, but it still sent his mind spinning.

He lifted his head and slowly opened his eyes to see you, expression unchanged aside from a small smile pulling at your lips. Din grinned at the sight, and said the words he'd wanted to say as you fell asleep:

“Sweet dreams, my dear.”

***

taglist: @dincrypt @anrimdjarin @kodye1018 @persie33 @janebby @allmahfeels @c-a-v-a-l-r-y @onomatopoetic-aesthetic @queen-since-97 @tobealostwanderer @darlingotaku @fangirlalexia @justdrawings101 @bluemacaron @onebrownoneblue @440mxs-wife @what-iwish-you-knew

[helloalycia]

worth the wait [three] // daisy johnson

summary: when you're out chasing a story that leads you to the unanticipated hands of HYDRA, you certainly don't expect to be rescued by a girl you presumed dead for nine years.

warning/s: descriptions of violence, torture, injuries.

author’s note: here’s the next part, hope you all like it!

part one | part two | part four | part five | part six | masterlist | wattpad

Nine years later...

"I'm meeting with my contact now. He said he knows something about the weapons."

"Okay, just make sure you're safe, Y/N."

I smiled with amusement. "I always am, Taylor. I think this could be the source to break the story though. I'm gonna try and get them to speak on the record."

"Just be careful," he warned.

"Will do," I promised, before checking my watch for the time. "Okay, I gotta go. See ya."

"Good luck," he finished, and I hung up before putting my phone away.

Looking around, I saw the village was quiet seeing as it was pretty late and everyone was in their homes. It was the perfect place to meet with a source for my story on human trafficking.

I headed down the street and waited outside the apartment building for my source. I had no idea what he looked like, but nobody else would be out this late into the night, so he couldn't be hard to spot.

A few minutes passed before I saw a guy approaching me, holding some files in his hands. I straightened up and held his gaze as he stopped before me. He glanced around before looking me up and down.

"You are Y/N?" he asked with a Burmese accent.

I nodded, speaking fluent Burmese as I said, "Yes. You must be Ohnmar? We can speak Burmese if you prefer."

"Okay. We talked earlier, but it wasn't safe then. I have information on the missing residents," he answered in Burmese, before shaking the files. "It's all in here, but you mustn't open it until you get home."

I accepted the files and nodded, though was mildly confused. "Is it about the labour they're doing? I have a theory, but I have no proof. I... I think it might be HYDRA."

He pursed his lips and I figured he was confirming my thoughts, which concerned me.

"I'm right," I realised, before moving to open the file. "I need to–"

"You should've stayed away," he suddenly said in English, and I looked up in confusion.

Before I could question him, he pulled a gun from behind him and hit me on the head, knocking me to the ground. I tried to blink my eyes open, but my vision was blurred and I eventually blacked out, unable to stay awake any longer.

I woke up in a dark room with an aching head and confused mind. It took a moment for me to catch myself up, but I soon realised I'd been tricked by my contact. I was so easily fooled and I felt stupid as I hadn't seen it coming, instead too blindsided by my need for information.

Looking around, I realised I was tied to a chair. The only light in the room was from a single electric lamp plugged in the corner, shedding light on the damaged walls and, to my dismay, a HYRDA logo.

"Well, fuck," I mumbled, before shaking my wrists to try and get free, but they were tied pretty tightly with rope, making me shift uncomfortably at the chafing.

Panic started to set in when the door slammed open in front of me, flooding the room with light and making me close my eyes with discomfort. I heard another slam and opened my eyes when I saw the door closed behind whoever entered.

Two people were in the room and one of them turned the lamp, shining it in my direction and also revealing my assailants' faces. One of them was Ohnmar, my contact, which I guess wasn't his real name. The other wasn't anybody I recognised, and they were both wearing uniforms with the HYDRA logo on the pocket.

"I wouldn't try to escape if I were you," the fake Ohnmar said.

I clicked my tongue and looked between the both of them. "I'm guessing I got a little too close to the truth which is why I'm here. Right?"

"You've been putting your nose in where it doesn't belong," the other guy said. "Did you really think you would get away with this? That we'd let you write about this?!"

I flinched at his loud volume before clearing my throat. "I didn't think I needed your permission. And in case you didn't notice, it's my job to report on this."

Fake Ohnmar scoffed. "We don't care what your job is. Now tell us what you know and what you've told your superiors back home."

I narrowed my eyes. "Do you really think this is the first time I've been captured? I've spent nine months in this village. If you think I'm going to throw that away for you, you better think again."

Fake Ohnmar's friend cracked his neck, pacing with discomfort, before pulling out a gun. I chewed on the inside of my mouth, nerves settling as I tried not to show it.

"We have someone going through your electronics as we speak," he told me, gripping his gun. "Your superiors will get their updates as expected, but you won't be giving them."

"Look, you're gonna kill me whether I tell you or no–"

I was cut off when he smacked me across the face with his gun, making me see stars momentarily. I felt something warm gush from my nose and realised I was bleeding.

"You have no idea who you're dealing with," he muttered, his face inches from my face as he stared me down threateningly. "Now tell us what you know of the missing villagers."

I wiped my nose on my shirt the best I could and chose not to speak. They couldn't do much without knowing what I knew. Everything I'd learnt had been sent back home to the news organisation I worked for, and if I didn't get back to them or call them, they'd know what happened.

"Two things I despise," he mumbled with irritation. "Journalists and Americans." He waved to his friend dismissively. "She won't talk. You know what to do."

Fake Ohnmar nodded obediently before suddenly punching me in the face, once again, leaving me dazed. This went on for a while, him beating me up as an attempt at torture, before the two of them left me alone to 'think about' if I wanted to tell them.

I had been in this situation, surprisingly, two times before in my journalistic career. Both times I was able to get out either by escaping myself or managing to get found by the authorities. Of course, in this case, the latter seemed impossible, so my only hope was escaping myself.

I looked around, but realised I was in too much pain to hatch a plan right now. They'd done a good job on me, and I was sure my ribs were bruised pretty badly. Honestly, I didn't expect nine months of investigative journalism in Myanmar to lead to HYDRA of all places.

—

"You've beat me, starved me..." I coughed because of how dry my throat was. "I'm not talking."

Fake Ohnmar placed something rectangular on the table in front of me. I realised it was my laptop – they must have taken it from where I'd left it in the room I'd been renting downtown.

"You're clever, I'll give you that," he said, crossing his arms and shaking his gun impatiently. "Where did you learn such complicated encryptions?"

I couldn't help but smile when I knew he couldn't get into my laptop. At least not the parts that exposed what I'd learnt so far.

"You do what I do and you learn from past mistakes," I told him, making him clench his jaw.

It wasn't much, probably the only trick in the book I knew as I wasn't exactly an expert with computers. Clearly it was benefiting me today though.

He slammed his hand on the table suddenly, making me jump. "Tell me the password, now!"

I licked my dry lips, choosing to stay quiet. I began to wonder just how advanced these guys were if they couldn't even afford to get a hacker to break through.

"So it's gonna be like that," he said with a shrug, before pointing his gun at my face.

He flicked off the safety and I closed my eyes as calmly as I could, already saying my goodbyes in my head. A few days in a HYDRA cell was like weeks anywhere else. I'd accepted my fate.

I expected the shot to go off any minute now, wondering what things would be like afterwards. Would it hurt? Would it be an instant death?

I certainly didn't expect my left ear to be ringing as an excruciating pain shot up my neck from my shoulder. My eyes opened and I tried to breathe through the pain whilst hoping my ear would stop ringing. The man began to laugh, but I couldn't hear him, only see his evil smile.

When I looked down, I saw blood seeping from a bullet wound in my left shoulder. Despite my experience in this profession, I can't say I'd ever been shot before. It certainly hurt a lot more than I'd imagined.

"You talk and I get you patched up," he said when my hearing returned to normal. I looked up and saw him watching me with narrowed eyes. "You stay quiet and we see how long it takes for you to bleed out."

I swallowed hard, squeezing my eyes shut to contain the pain, before opening them again.

"You're gonna move operations," I realised aloud. "You want to know whether you can. Because if I've told them about you, you know you can't stay here much longer. And if I haven't, you just get rid of me."

He squeezed his gun with irritation, watching as I spoke the truth.

"But either way I die," I repeated. "So why the hell would I want the last thing I do be to help you?"

He grabbed the laptop before kicking the table away with anger. "Call when you feel like talking. We can make your death quick and painless or long and painful."

I smiled bitterly as I watched him leave the room, slamming the door behind him. I released a deep breath as I looked down at my shoulder, trying to make out the damage. I didn't know much about first aid, but I was pretty sure there was no exit wound meaning the bullet was still in there. That was good, right? Or wasn't it...? I couldn't remember. I just knew it hurt like hell.

—

Hours had passed and I began to hallucinate. Silly things like cheeseburgers and dancing water bottles – lack of food and drink, the blood loss and the heat was making my head spin. I wasn't sure if this was where I wanted to die – in a small, dirty, hot room by myself. Was it worth it? Dying over a news story?

Of course it was. I pursued this story after some social media posts about disappearing villagers in Myanmar. I stayed here nine months with each day leading me closer and closer to the supposed human trafficking that was going on. I got to where I was because I wanted to get justice for those who suffered and stop anyone else from suffering. Yet the only people who knew were my editors back home, and I wasn't sure they'd ever know the full truth.

It was better than helping the enemy though.

Just when I thought cheeseburgers were the worst of my delusions, I saw a face I hadn't thought about in a long time. A person who I least expected my mind to drag up in a time like this.

The door opened and I was sure I was going to be questioned again, but in ran none other than Skye. The same Skye who had ran away all those years ago and wasn't to be found.

She looked a little older with her shorter hair, but otherwise she was just as I remembered.

"Hey, I'm gonna get you out of h– Y/N?" she started, before furrowing her eyebrows with confusion.

She even sounded the same, and if I could feel anything at that moment, I'm sure I would've felt my heart beating quickly at the sight of her.

"Can you hear me?"

I began to laugh with what little energy I had left. Is this what it was like to die? Seeing things that you'd pushed down for so long to stop your heart from hurting? It was strange. Why was my mind playing with me like this?

"Y/N, look at me, can you hear me?!" she asked quickly, grabbing my face and forcing me to meet her eyes.

I continued to laugh because it all felt so real. Her touch, her voice, her eyes that peered into me. I wished it was because maybe after all of these years I could have made things right.

—

"Miss, can you hear me? Y/N?"

I blinked the tiredness from my eyes and opened them, trying to remember what was happening. But I was confused and my body was numb and nothing made sense.

"Y/N, sweetie, can you hear me?"

I turned my head, realising I was laying in a bed. There was a woman beside my bed – a doctor, I presumed – staring down at me with a friendly smile on her face. I nodded slowly, my mouth dry.

I couldn't remember getting out of that cell, being rescued. Unless I wasn't rescued and this was still a trap.

At this thought, I widened my eyes and tried to move, panic setting in, but I was attached to a bunch of tubes and my body was still numb.

"Hey, it's okay, you're okay," the doctor tried to reassure, resting her hands on my arm, trying to keep me still. "You're safe here. You're on a S.H.I.E.L.D. quinjet. That's like a plane...? We got you out of that HYDRA cell and I've bandaged your wounds. You don't need to be afraid anymore."

I wasn't sure whether to believe her, but something about the way she spoke and the kindness in her eyes made me relax.

"My name is Agent Simmons," she introduced as she grabbed something from beside me, "but you can call me Jemma."

I opened my mouth, but no words came out. On cue, she held a glass of water towards me and helped me sit up enough to have some from the straw. It felt good to have actual water in my system after not being given anything the past two days.

"Not too quickly," she said gently. "Take your time."

I listened to her before laying back down. It took a few tries, but I managed to get out, "Thank you, Jemma. I'm Y/N."

"Y/N Y/L/N, investigative journalist for the New York Times," she stated before an apologetic expression crossed her face. "Sorry. Facial recognition an' all... I hope that doesn't freak you out."

I sighed, not the slightest bit surprised. I knew enough about S.H.I.E.L.D. to know they had the resources to know exactly who I was.

"I don't remember you getting me," I said with confusion. "How did you I know I was there?"

Jemma took a seat on the stool beside my bed. "Well, technically it was Quake who got you out. We had reports of HYDRA activity in that area for a while and we knew an American journalist had been taken, but we didn't know it was you."

I nodded, though I was still confused. "Who's Quake?"

Jemma chuckled, thinking I was joking. But when I met her eyes with confused ones, she lost her smile.

"You're serious? You don't know who Quake is?"

I shook my head. "I've been in Myanmar for nine months, and not in the most advanced areas. I haven't had much access to American news."

"Seriously?" she asked with disbelief, before putting her arms out and shaking them. "Earthquake-causing, vibration-manipulating, tremor-shaking superhero Quake?"

I raised an eyebrow judgementally, making Jemma lower her arms sheepishly.

"Oh, well, she's a hero that works for S.H.I.E.L.D.," she explained.

I nodded slowly, deciding that was something to ask more about later on. For now, I was more concerned about my story.

"You said S.H.I.E.L.D. had been watching that area for a while," I recalled. "Does that mean you found out what happened to the missing villagers? I got as far as working out HYDRA had been using them for some sort of forced labour, but never beyond that."

Jemma got up from her stool and busied herself with other things. "I, er, that's actually classified...? You see, it's not good if we tell you, especially as you're a journalist..."

"But it's my story," I countered with annoyance. "I've been trying to work this out for almost a year. I deserve to know the outcome. Did you save those villagers? Were they all alive? Did the local authorities know?"

Jemma seemed to be getting uncomfortable the more questions I asked and I forced myself to sit up, groaning at the ache in my shoulder.

"You can't hide this from me," I told her. "Please, just tell me."

She grimaced. "It's not my place. I'm not in charge–"

"Then tell me who is!" I shouted with frustration, before taking a deep breath. "I'm sorry. I just– I've put a lot of work into this and it can't just be taken away. I need to know what happened."

She nodded, avoiding my eyes for fear I'd get angry again. "Look, I can talk to my superiors and find out what I can say. For now, you should really be resting."

I leaned back and breathed out slowly, already feeling my fatigue catching up to me.

"Okay," I said quietly, before asking, "You said we were on a plane. Where are we going?"

"That's actually classified as well," she said regretfully, making me sigh. "We're going to our headquarters. But after that, we'll be taking you home or wherever you want us to take you."

At the mention of home, I grew hopeful. It had been so long since I'd been back. I wasn't exactly in the right state to be living by myself, so I was glad that I had made the choice to leave my flat and move in with my parents before leaving for Myanmar. Plus, I had missed them dearly. To be back there was almost unimaginable.

"Can I ring my parents?" I asked hopefully. "Just to let them know I'm okay? And that I'm coming soon?"

Jemma nodded, offering a small smile. "Of course, Y/N. I'll go grab you a phone."

She left the room momentarily and I took that as my chance to get a good look around. It looked like a hospital room you'd find anywhere, except without windows and with card-activated doors that had tiny glass windows showing a narrow hallway. I didn't get to look around for too long as Jemma returned pretty quickly, handing me (what looked like) a normal mobile phone.

"I'll give you a moment of privacy, but please only call your parents," Jemma warned as politely as she could.

I cracked a small smile. "What – are you guys tracking the phone or something?"

She chewed on her lower lip as she looked down, making my smile fade as I realised that's exactly what they were doing. I wasn't surprised, I guess.

"Right, okay, no other calls, got it," I agreed with a nod.

She left me to it as I dialled my mum's mobile number and eventually spoke to both her and my dad. It was emotional to say the least, as I tried not to worry them too much without withholding the truth. They knew when I was lying so it was better to just be honest. Of course, they were happy to have me stay at theirs until I was back on my feet and the call ended with my mum scolding me for not resting as the doctor recommended.

Finally succumbing to the tiredness I was feeling, I fell asleep for God knows how long, but when I woke up, I felt more refreshed. Similar to before, Jemma was in the room, checking some charts. She caught my eye when I woke up and smiled reassuringly.

"Feeling better?" she asked, setting down the chart and rounding the bed.

I nodded. "Yeah, thanks... how long was I asleep for?"

"About six hours," she guessed, waving her hand. "We've landed at S.H.I.E.L.D. HQ and our agents are debriefing. Once everything is sorted here, we can take you home to New York and arrange a driver to take you to wherever you want."

"My parents' house," I clarified.

She smiled and nodded. "Right. Your parents' house. How are you feeling?"

I tried to sit up and she helped me as I smiled gratefully in return.

"I'm not gonna lie, being shot hurts like a bitch," I admitted, grimacing as I glanced at my shoulder and arm in a sling.

"First time?"

"And hopefully the last," I retorted, before looking to her. "How long will this take to, y'know, get better?"

"Well, I'll need to keep you here for observation over the next few days," she explained. "When I'm happy with the outcome, I'll send you home and you'll need fortnightly checkups at the hospital. Overall I'd say a month? Maybe more if there's no... er... other issues."

"I know you mean PTSD," I told her bluntly, before frowning. "Doing what I do requires knowledge of that."

"There's going to be support available for you, both here and back home," Jemma reassured, resting a hand on mine and offering a small smile. "You're not alone, Y/N."

I nodded, clearing my throat. "I know... I know. Thanks."

She nodded and moved to the other side of the room to grab something, before wheeling a tray of food over to me.

"Hope you're hungry," she joked. "It's nothing fancy, but it's pretty good."

I smiled and accepted the food. "Means a lot, thanks."

I took a bite out of my sandwich as I remembered something. When I finished chewing, I wiped my face with the napkin before looking to Jemma who was at her desk.

"Er, Jemma," I called, making her look up. "Did you find out what happened to the villagers?"

She pursed her lips and nodded. "I've spoken to my superiors. I know you've been working on this and I'm only permitted to tell you so much."

I waited patiently, not wanting to snap at her like last time.

"The missing villagers were in fact taken by HYDRA, like you predicted," she explained. "They were forced into labour at a facility that was under the guise of a food warehouse."

"What was the labour?" I asked curiously.

She ran a hand through her hair. "I can't tell you much, but I can say that it was a nuclear weapon that could've hurt a lot of people. S.H.I.E.L.D. managed to stop it before they could finish it, which is when we found out that a journalist had been taken. That was when we came for you."

I released a deep breath, definitely not expecting that. At least they had been stopped.

"Did the missing people return to their families? Were they okay?" I asked hesitantly, remembering the many families I spoke to of the missing. I'd grown attached and I don't think I could have taken more bad news.

"Most of them, yes!" she exclaimed hopefully, but I could tell the following news wouldn't be good. "But not all of them were okay. There's some psychological damage and unfortunately physical damage, too. HYDRA did a number on them."

I massaged my head with my right hand, trying not to get upset, but the guilt in the pit of my stomach wasn't helping. I had one job, literally, and I couldn't even do it right.

"Y/N–"

"Do you have a list?" I asked, cutting her off. "A list of who made it?"

"Y/N, I don't think–"

"Please," I pleaded. "I spoke to the families of those who were missing. I got to know them. I need to know who's not getting their loved ones back."

She frowned, but nodded slowly. "I'm sure I can do something."

I sighed and my shoulders sunk with disappointment. Just another day on the job.

—

It had been a few days since being rescued by S.H.I.E.L.D. and I was itching to get home, but Jemma insisted I be observed for at least another day.

Under different circumstances, I would have been eager to explore the quinjet and get more information out of Jemma about her place of work, but I was too exhausted to care. Instead, I revelled in being taken care of and having a break from work.

I was laying in bed, reading a book, when Jemma walked in and caught my attention. I tried not to bother her as she was clearly working on other stuff, but it got pretty boring sitting in a room by yourself all day.

"Hey," I greeted with a smile, lowering my book.

"Hello," she returned as she took a seat at her desk, going on her computer. "You doing alright?"

"As alright as I can be, considering," I said, shrugging with my right shoulder. "Just a bit bored."

"The book not good?" she asked, nodding to my hand.

"I've read it," I admitted. "I just didn't wanna be a bother and ask for another one."

She chuckled. "You could have said something."

"It's okay," I assured her, before leaning back. "So, up to anything fun?"

She gave me a knowing look. "Are you seriously that bored?"

I nodded, pursing my lips, making her laugh. Eventually, she stared at me curiously.

"There's actually something I wanted to ask you," she admitted, crossing her arms and leaning back on her chair. "If you don't mind."

Wanting any distraction from my boredom, I nodded. "Go for it. I'm all ears."

"I've been reading some of your work," she shared. "You're really talented and you've been through your fair share of tough scrapes."

I chuckled. "I guess, yeah. And thank you. What's the question exactly?"

She looked at me like it was obvious. "What made you want to do this as a job? Investigative journalism?"

I played with the corner of the book as I answered thoughtfully, "Well, I guess I've always enjoyed writing and delving deep into stuff. The important stuff, y'know?" I looked down at my hands as I remembered Skye. "There was actually this girl I knew back in school. She was a friend and she, er... she was always wanting to find and expose truths. About herself, the world... I guess she kind of influenced me in a way."

I chewed on the inside of my mouth as I remembered my hallucination. Skye seemed to be coming up a lot more in my life lately, more than I was prepared for.

"I'm guessing she isn't with you anymore," Jemma realised, expression softening. "I'm sorry."

I forced a small smile, looking up and shaking my head reassuringly. "It's okay, it doesn't matter."

Jemma smiled in return, but I could see the pity present in her eyes. "I'm sure whoever she was, she'd be proud of you now. For everything you've done."

"Thank you, Jemma, but I... I'm not too sure about that."

"I am."

I froze at the sound of a familiar voice. Was I hallucinating again? No, that couldn't be. I was getting better. But that sounded so real...

"Proud of you, that is," the voice continued, and I risked looking towards the door where I saw none other than Skye standing there with a nervous smile on her lips.

When I met her gaze, I knew she wasn't a figment of my imagination. Those piercing brown eyes couldn't be fake.

"Hey," she got out, barely a whisper.

I licked my lips and tried to look away, but my heart was suddenly racing in my chest. She was just how I saw her last, but I guess that had been real now.

"I should give you guys a moment," Jemma said, pulling me from my reverie and making me look away.

She walked out, past Skye, leaving us both alone. I was still in shock though, too startled to say anything.

"How are you?" she asked gently, and I still couldn't believe I was hearing her voice after all these years. When I didn't say anything, she continued, "I know this is strange, but–"

"Strange?" I finally found my words, eyebrows raised. "What exactly is strange? The part where I'm sure I'm seeing a ghost right now as I you presumed you were dead after not being able to find you for years after you left, or the part where you've probably been at S.H.I.E.L.D. the whole time and didn't bother to tell me you were okay? Which part is strange exactly?"

She frowned guiltily, eyes falling to her shoes. "When I left–"

"Ran away," I corrected her, bitterness slashing through like a sharp knife, surprising the both of us.

She glanced at me, nodding. "Right... when I ran away, I left you a message."

I almost laughed, a sarcastic smile on my lips. "Don't even get me started on the excuse veiled as a message you left me. The cowardly way out you took because you couldn't face me."

She met my gaze nervously. "I didn't think you'd be this angry after all this time. It happened so long ago."

"Of course I'm angry!" I shouted with frustration, making me grimace at the pain in my shoulder, but I didn't stop. "You left without a single trace of Skye or Mary left behind! You left me with nothing but concern for your wellbeing! I thought you were dead!"

I hadn't realised how I angry I was after all this time, but it made sense. When she first left, I always imagined what I would say to her when I found her again, what our reunion would be like. But when the years went on and I accepted she was truly gone, all of that worry turned into bitterness and resentment. And now, seeing her here... I was furious.

"Y/N, I know you're upset, but–"

"Just get out," I told her with a glare. "I appreciate you saving me and all, but get out."

"Y/N," she pleaded, but I looked away and pressed the button on the side of my bed.

Jemma soon returned and looked between Skye and I with confusion and reluctance.

"Everything okay here?" she asked.

I looked up and met Skye's guilt-filled gaze. "My shoulder hurts."

Skye seemed to get the hint and nodded once more before finally leaving the room. I breathed out a shaky breath, before swallowing the lump in my throat and letting Jemma help me.

I couldn't believe she was back.

[hexensalbei]

play with fire

find on ao3

This is going to be a fun ride.

The silence in the car is scary because itʼs uncomfortable and that has never been a problem before. Buck shoots a quick glance at his friend. Eddieʼs eyes are fixated on the road, his jaw so clenched, Buck swears, he can hear his teeth gritting. His hands are on the steering wheel but his grip is so tight, his knuckles are white. Yeah, heʼs definitely mad.

The problem is that Buck doesnʼt know why Eddie is so furious.

Fine.

Maybe he knows. But that doesnʼt mean he understands. Heʼs never seen Eddie that angry. He remembers vividly when Eddie snapped at him in the grocery store right after the lawsuit—but itʼs just a pale comparison to his rage now. It doesnʼt make sense—because Buck didnʼt do anything stupid like another lawsuit—he just... He just did his job.

He risked his life to save someone elseʼs but he does it almost on a daily basis; Eddie does the exact same thing and yet, Buck has never snapped at him. So why is it different now?

Because you almost died today says an annoying voice in his head that sounds suspiciously like his sister.

Because you almost died in Eddieʼs fucking arms.

Buck tries to ignore it; he has to ignore it because if he doesnʼt, heʼll drown in guilt and shame. And probably wake up some long forgotten demons.

He canʼt re-live it again and again.

When they stop, he realises, theyʼre in front of Eddieʼs house and heʼs genuinely surprised his friend brought him here.

“This isnʼt my apartment.” He blurts out. He knows itʼs probably the dumbest thing he couldʼve said but he doesnʼt understand why Eddie took him to his home if heʼs pissed off at him. Itʼd be definitely easier to cool off if the source of his anger wasnʼt there, right? 

“Like hell Iʼm letting you stay alone after the shit you did.”

Thereʼs something in Eddieʼs voice that makes Buck squirm. He sounds angry, sure, but also hurt, broken. Resigned. He sounds exactly like when Shannon died.

Buck knows that because he was there. He remembers how mad Eddie was at his wife for leaving him and Christopher again, this time for good.

Eventually, Eddie gets out of the car and goes to the house. Buck quietly follows his best friendʼs footsteps and he flinches when Eddie drops off his bag on the floor.

“You can take a shower if you want, Iʼll make up the bed.”

He knows Buck too well; he knows that Buck hates the specific smell of the hospital and always tries to get rid of it as soon as possible. Buckʼs really grateful for that also because he can simply postpone their argument, just for a little bit. Maybe shower will help him cool off because heʼs irritated too but he doesnʼt truly want to fight with Eddie. He goes to the bathroom, takes off his clothes and steps under the shower. He lets the cold water run down his body and he really tries to calm himself; there was enough drama today and yeah, he almost died so he deserves to have a moment of uninterrupted peace. Or so he thinks. Heʼs getting more and more cold and he knows he should get out before Eddie will storm inside and drag him out of the shower. Buck wouldnʼt be even surprised if his friend did something like this.

Then, with a long sigh, he turns off the water and steps out of the shower. He quickly rinses himself with a towel and slips into his most comfortable clothes. Whatʼs a little funny and maybe even ironic, his favorite grey, worn out t-shirt is actually Eddieʼs and it even smells like him.

Crap.

He really needs to finally leave the bathroom and face his friend but heʼs trying to delay the inevitable by thoroughly brushing his teeth. And then, he doesnʼt find anything else he can do so he goes back to the living room. Heʼs quite surprised that he doesnʼt see the pillows or blanket on the couch because he thought heʼs gonna sleep there and heʼs even more surprised he doesnʼt see Eddie there. He finds him in the kitchen instead, leaning against the counter and nursing his favourite beer. Thereʼs a glimpse of hope in Buckʼs chest that maybe Eddie cooled off a little, that maybe he realised he has exaggerated and his anger isnʼt completely justified. Heʼs wrong, though. Eddie is not even slightly less annoyed and it takes Buck one look at his best friend to realise that.

He sighs again because Eddieʼs anger starts to get on his nerves. He moves closer until he stands against Eddie and looks him in the eye.

“Do what you have to do, letʼs get this over with.” He says with a tiredness in his voice. The only thing he wants right now is sleep, he wants to fall asleep and forget about the whole world for a couple of hours. “If you want to yell at me then be my guest and do it. I donʼt even care.”

“Oh, so now youʼre annoyed at me? Really?” Eddie asks wryly and sets aside the bottle with a little too much force, it almost smashes. Neither of them care anyway. Theyʼre now standing against each other, so close they almost hear each otherʼs heartbeat and they fix each other with a glare. 

“Yeah, I am. You act like Iʼve done something wrong, like I wasnʼt supposed to do this and—” 

Heʼs cut off by Eddie who lets out a humourless laugh and answers in a higher voice than usual. 

“God, do you even listen to yourself? You went to that building all by yourself, you disobeyed Bobbyʼs specific orders to not go there because youʼre you and youʼre above all the orders, right? It doesnʼt matter if Bobby did it because he didnʼt want to risk one of us dying there. But you just couldnʼt listen.”

“Funny thatʼs coming out from the man who cut his rope and almost died in the well.” Buck interjects viciously because heʼs truly angered by now.

Something flashes in Eddieʼs eyes but Buck canʼt name it. He doesnʼt even have the time to think about it because his best friend doesnʼt back out.

“Itʼs not relevant now, weʼre talking about today and your stupid, reckless behaviour. What were you thinking? Or-Or maybe donʼt. You probably werenʼt thinking at all. Obviously. And it almost cost you a life! Your life! How can you be so reckless?!” Eddie shouts and the pain in his voice is very noticeable but Buck pretends to ignore it.

“Iʼm a firefighter. Itʼs kinda in a job description, donʼt you think? Sometimes I have to be a little reckless. Besides, I did save a life and I didnʼt die either, right? Otherwise I wouldnʼt be standing there and listen to you being all pissed.” Buck shrugs like itʼs nothing, like he really doesnʼt care about his life. Itʼs probably another thing he shouldnʼt have said because Eddie straightens up and now, thereʼs almost no space between. For the second Buck thinks Eddie will lash out and just hit him. He kinda wishes he did. But Eddie only sighs heavily and rakes through his hair with frustration. 

“God, youʼre driving me crazy, Buckley. Youʼre so dumb and stubborn and you donʼt even stop for a second to think about the consequences of your actions. You donʼt even care what would happen if you actually died, do you?”

Thereʼs something in Eddieʼs voice, something hard to catch and name that stops Buck from responding immediately. His words are ringing in his ears because they are annoyingly true. He didnʼt think about the consequences of his eventual death. He literally just stormed inside the building to find a man despite Bobbyʼs direct order to not go there because it was already too dangerous. He did it anyway, he managed to save a life but he didnʼt manage to get out in time and the whole building just collapsed. He doesnʼt remember much but he certainly remembers being held out by Eddie and his donʼt you dare die here, you dumbass. 

It mustʼve been scary, he admits, and he thinks he understands how Eddie mustʼve felt because he also saw his best friend almost dying. But the anger? He still doesnʼt get it.

“Iʼve had a few close calls during the years. Why is it so different now?” He finally asks.

“Because Iʼm in love with you, you asshole!” Eddie cries out. “And you just keep dying on me and I canʼt take it anymore!”

Buckʼs brain short-circuits. He mustʼve died after all, right? There is no real possibility Eddie just told heʼs in love with him. Thereʼs no possibility he may actually reciprocate his feelings. Thereʼs no way itʼs not just his hallucination or some kind of weird dream in his afterlife. But he desperately wants to be the truth, desperately needs validation for his thoughts. So he does the first thing that comes to his mind: he grabs Eddie by the collar of his Henley and crashes their lips together. His friend is definitely surprised, even shocked and for a moment, he does nothing. Buck already starts to panic because he thinks it’s real and he might’ve misheard everything or even projected it and just destroyed their friendship. But then, Eddie suddenly changes position and pushes Buck until he leans against the counter. And when he kisses him, all thoughts and doubts are completely gone from Buckʼs mind. The only things that matter are Eddieʼs lips on his, Eddieʼs hands on his body, Eddie utterly focused on him and that desperate need to fulfil their desire. Buck mightʼve kissed a lot of people in his life; he has had both awkward and amazing kisses but they cannot compete to make out with his best friend. It feels entirely different, maybe because Eddie loves him back. They break apart only for a couple of seconds to take a breath; Buck sits on the counter and brings Eddie closer by the belt. He canʼt take his eyes off him; Eddie looks wonderful with already swollen lips, flushed cheeks and a spark in his eyes. He probably looks no better but he doesnʼt even care.

“I know youʼve probably already noticed but I love you too, asshole.” He says in a teasing voice, inches away from Eddieʼs lips.

“Well, I mightʼve suspected it when you kissed me but itʼs nice to actually hear it. But donʼt even think that you say you love me, bat your eyelashes and kiss me this way and I wonʼt be angry at you.” Eddie warns half-seriously.

“I can try.” Buck just smirks and kisses him again. This time, he also quickly unbuckles the belt Eddieʼs wearing and starts to lift his shirt. His friend doesnʼt even protest, he lets him do whatever he wants and thatʼs why his Henley ends up somewhere on the floor. Then, the blonde moves from his lips to his neck and slowly makes his way down, planting kisses on his chest. Itʼs crazy how quickly their anger turned into lust. Now, the tension between them is much better, more exciting, easy to resolve. 

Eddie lets out a loud moan when Buck—this sneaky bastard—grabs his ass and squeezes it.

“Youʼre a menace.” He hisses.

“Oh, you should wait with the sweet talk after Iʼm done with you, Diaz.” Buck grins and he doesnʼt stop with the teasing. He unzips Eddieʼs jeans painfully slowly and Eddie almost whines to hurry up. The younger man notices it and winks at him before he adds. “Although Iʼm not sure if youʼll be able to talk at all.” 

“So maybe quit talking, Evan, and show me your skills?” 

“As you wish, Edmundo.”

[randomingoftherandomness]

The Bone of Impurity

So with the upcoming Winner is King, my brain got whirling with the thought of The Bone of Impurity which is arguably one of the main plot points of the novel and I thought I would do a bit of a meta for it? It is definitely something I hope they do not dilute for the Live Action adaptation but even if they did touch upon 1% of the shit that goes on into making a Bone of Impurity, it's still pretty Dead Dove Don't Eat. So I thought I would preempt it by actually putting down a primer on the Bone of Impurity.

I did not read the novel in Chinese and read it in English, so some of the more subtle themes present in the original work will have been missed by me. If anyone who has read the Sha Po Lang novel as it was written by Priest, do let me know if I have made any mistakes on any of the below ( •̀ᄇ• ́)ﻭ✧

Fair warning, there's some pretty Nightmare Fuel inducing shit, so I'll be keeping things under a read more in case people get squicked by this lol I'm also basing my references around the translation that Northwest Flower did because that is the one I read.

Just a basic background on The Bone of Impurity:

It is essentially a curse unique to the Northern Man people who utilise it in moments where someone's country is broken and nothing remains but revenge. To attain that, they make a sacrifice to the 'evil' gods of their beliefs

It is a cruel and horrible affliction to put on the person, but the return for it is that the person who becomes a Bone of Impurity gains the strength, intelligence, foresight and abilities of two persons

Whoever becomes a Bone of Impurity is someone who is single-mindedly ruthless and bloodthirsty when pressed towards a goal; they will attain power and their near supernatural abilities will make them unstoppable in achieving their goals

They will also gain a sort of existence that is neither alive nor dead. Sort of a zombie-like living. They also don't live very long

For all this super abilities, the flip side for anyone living with the Bone of Impurity is that they will be constantly highly suspicious and paranoid of everyone and everything; they will be slowly driven mad by the visceral hallucinations that will leave them incapable of knowing what is real and what is fake (Volume 1, Chapter 26; Volume 3, Chapter 70)

A Bone of Impurity attack comes about when the afflicted experiences heightened emotions or moments of extreme stress (I seriously cannot list out all the times it popped up in the novel because we would be here quite long lol)

It manifests in dual pupils being observed in their blood-hued eyes, hypersensitivity of the senses, their body burning up, almost sleep paralysis levels of body-lockedness and they will experience extreme pain with the bouts of attacks lasting hours at a time (Volume 2, Chapter 50 & 51)

The method of 'refining' a Bone of Impurity is...

Basically taking two babies and putting them in a dark place with no air, no water, no food. One of the babies will survive while the other one dies (Volume 3, Chapter 70)

I'm not quite certain if they have to be blood related or not, but the examples given in the book all indicate that if they have a strong connection to each other, then it would be better and that the Bone of Impurity would better take

The dead baby is then... 'refined' with the arcane arts and medicines of the Northern Man Goddesses and fed to the surviving baby (re:baby cannibalism)

I told you it wasn't pretty...

In the novel, Chang Geng is the Bone of Impurity made by Hu Ge Er, his aunt, in order to bring about chaos and tumult to Great Liang that had subjugated her people. Chang Geng is repeatedly described to have almost scary levels of intelligence and foresight, to the point where some of the characters actually wonder if he is omnipotent.

Chang Geng is also revealed to have obtained characteristics of his cousin

One of the ways Shen Yi and Gu Yun identified Chang Geng as the missing Fourth Prince is the congenital defect of a toe - which, lol, the worlds where DNA testing did not exist - and Chang Geng insists that his toe deformity was caused Hu Ge Er (Chapter 8)

It is later revealed that this was one of the further side-effects of the Bone of Impurity where the afflicted would reflect characteristics of the 'devoured' counterpart (Extra: Souls returned home)

Now on to the meta bit:

Chang Geng has a pretty much single focus sexuality on Gu Yun; even when he wasn't clear on what the nature of those feelings were, he was already dedicated to the man, already thinking up ways of how he can support him in the future

Even when he was heartbroken by the reveal of who 'Shen Shiliu' was and the lies and the subterfuge that had flowed between them, just with an apology and assurance from Gu Yun, Chang Geng was already ready to forgive him

Now, we know that Hu Ge Er said with her dying breath that the Bone of Impurity will cause him to lose his mind and will cause the death of everyone he will ever love. I think she said this because she has already detected the level of dedication he has built for Gu Yun and also because she is a horrible person and wanted one last pot shot at tormenting Chang Geng

Through all his Bone of Impurity attacks, Chang Geng has one consistent thing that he fears the most above everything else - Gu Yun abandoning him, rejecting him, leaving him in any way

My thought is simple; what makes him different from the other Bone of Impurities that were explicitly said and described in the novel? One person. Gu Yun.

Had Gu Yun not saved him from the wolves outside of Yanhui Town, he would have definitely died right there and then being killed by the Northern Man wolves. I truly believed that at that time, Chang Geng really ran out there to die. With just the scant descriptions of what Hu Ge Er did to him throughout his childhood, even the brief glimpses into her horrible abuse, is enough to cement that he was very likely unable to handle everything anymore.

If Gu Yun had not shown up and took on the mantle of Chang Geng's Yi Fu - as clumsy and as emotionally stunted as he was to deal with a dependent - was kind to him without any sort of condition attached to it, if Gu Yun had not taken that spot in Chang Geng's heart and mind as a moral compass, guiding his path to tempering the more extreme effects of the Bone of Impurity, I have no doubt that Chang Geng would have destroyed Great Liang before he even turned 21.

Because of Gu Yun, Chang Geng plotted the way to peace for Great Liang; divesting of weak emperors and ushering in a new age of stability and peace, building a foundation for his nephew to take over and build upon. All because he knew that Gu Yun loved his country, loved the people, has broken his back time and time again to toil for peace and defend its borders.

In the novel, they even explicitly say that when Gu Yun is out doing routine inspections of the borders and stuff, Chang Geng essentially shuts down; starts living like a monk and a life without colour until Gu Yun comes back to him (I don't know which extra or chapter this is in because this post has been waaaayyyy too long at this point)

With Gu Yun, especially when he learns that his supposedly unrequited and unfilial feelings were not as unrequited as they seem, he found a path to a future where he can strive to live without pain and without worry. With Gu Yun, he could focus all of the ruthlessness and all the bloodlust and the brilliance and the horrors and make it into a fulfilment of Gu Yun's dream; to be able to walk away from the battlefield and live out the rest of his days in peace and leisure.

Think about it, especially if you have read the novel, how scary can Chang Geng get when Gu Yun isn't around to temper him?

Basically, yes, I am definitely saying that Chang Geng and Gu Yun doing the horizontal dance with no pants resulted in peace for the country lol

[Bit of Trivia] Chang Geng's name is also significant because, according to Hu Ge Er, it is the name of the 'Bone of Impurity' in the Chinese dialect (Chapter 6)

[ambiguousdisorderken]

in your expert opinion what are some of the most destiel-heavy episodes of spn? i stopped watching around season 7 and have no interest in engaging w the plot of the show at all but i’m in the mood for some gay yearning ykwim

Hi anon! Thank you for reaching out to me about this, I’m, no-joke, very flattered. I’d seen a couple posts on this same question, very thorough and detailed lists on Destiel-centric episodes, but at the moment I cannot find any of them, that would’ve answered your request much faster. So, in advance, sorry, my reply is probably coming in extremely late, but I did write this from scratch, so yeah.

Even though storylines in SPN can be very shitty and hollow, I do feel that to get the full Destiel experience -that long-drawn yearning- one would have to watch the entirety of the show, even if Cas isn’t in the episode or if there’s no explicit mention of their relationship/bond because it gives you a better understanding of them as characters and of how their relationship affects the narrative.

Now, you mentioned you stopped around S7, which is completely understandable and justified given the Dick plot game was very weak and, in my opinion, annoying (so little Cas!). I’m going to start listing from S7 in case you want to refresh your SPN before jumping straight into unseen episodes. Also, since you mentioned no interest in the plot and are specifically craving those sweet crumbs of gay yearning, I’ll skip most one-sided / too subtle episodes and cut to the chase.

Lastly, I hate spoiling things, but you’ve probably seen it all on Tumblr. I tried to keep the episodes’ descriptions short, as it might come in useful. Stuck to key words, quotes and/or little comments.

 Season 7

7x01 – Meet the New Boss: Godstiel, sincere apology. Cas: “I'm gonna find some way to redeem myself to you.”

7x02 – Hello, Cruel World: Mourning. Trench coat melancholy. The heart-wrenching eulogy: “Dumb son of a bitch.”

7x17 – The Born-Again Identity: Emmanuel!Cas, reunion, longing, hurt.

7x21 – Reading is Fundamental: Honey!Cas, hug, hurt, reunion, that painful SORRY (board game) scene.

7x23 – Survival of the Fittest: Honey!Cas, forgiveness, adorable, wified Cas. Dean hits us with: “Nobody cares that you're broken, Cas!" but also “I'd rather have you, cursed or not.”

Season 8 (this season is so good and Destiel is the driving motor of it, I swear. If you can, watch it complete.)

8x01 – We Need to Talk About Kevin: Dean in Purgatory looking for the angel.  Cas is referred to as “your [Dean’s] angel.”

8x02 – What’s Up, Tiger Mommy?: HUG!!!, Purgatory reunion, face touch, very romantic. Monster: “ You'll find your angel there.” //  Dean: “Let me bottom-line it for you. I'm not leaving here without you.”

8x05 – Blood Brother: Cas vs. Benny cat fight lol. Dean: “Cas... we're gonna shove your ass back through the eye of that needle if it kills all three of us.”

8x07 – A Little Slice of Kevin: Cas comes back from Purgatory, but before that Dean starts seeing him in places. Very tragic; hallucinating your dead significant other trope. Has That boner scene. Dean: “I did everything I could to get you out! EVERYTHING!” Cas helps Dean see what truly happened in Purgatory and not his self-altered memories. PACKED!

8x08 – Hunteri Heroici: Hilarious, romantic, intimate. Dean and Cas have an heart to heart. They actually communicate. Cas “I’ll watch over you.”

8x10 Torn and Frayed: They work a case together, and when I say heart eyes…

8x17 – Goodbye Stranger: THIS. EPISODE. Dean “I need you.”

8x19 – Taxi Driver: Separation. Naomi to Dean: "You're hoping Castiel will return to you. I admire your loyalty; I only wish he felt the same way."

8x22 – Clip Show: Lack of trust, hurt, tense interactions. Romantic too (basically, Cas gets Dean an apology basket).

8x23 – Sacrifice: Meaningful conversation and a gay couple hit by Cupid parallel. Dean “So this is it? E.T goes home?"

 Season 9

9x01 – I think I’m Gonna Like it Here: Dean prays to Cas IN.A.CHAPEL. Worry, longing, separation. Dean “Please, man, I need you here.”

9x03 – I’m No Angel: Human!Cas and jealous!Dean.

9x06 – Heaven Can’t Wait: Human!Cas TEXT-BOOK LONGING. GAY AS FUCK. Gazing, touching, they even TALK (for real).

9x09 – Holy Terror: Adorable Cas, flirty vibes, happyish, funny. Cas: “Cas is back in town!”

9x10 – Road Trip: Cas comforts Dean, Cas and Crowley bitching at each other, overall protective!Cas.

9x18 – Metafiction. Cas finds out about the Mark of Cain.

9x21 – King of the Damned: Hug, strong boyfriends vibes.

9x22 – Stairway to Heaven: Cas gives up an entire army, for Dean. Metatron about Cas “He's in love………………………. with humanity.”

9x23  – Do You Believe in Miracles?: At this point, it’s canon stated that Cas will do anything and lose everything if that means saving Dean. Metatron to Cas “You draped yourself in the flag of heaven, but ultimately, it was all about saving one human, right?”

 Season 10

10x01 – Black: Demon!Dean and sick/brokenhearted Cas in a slutty robe missing his man.

10x03 – Soul Survivor: ICONIC. Angel on Demon action! Cas turns down Hannah because he’s too gay and in love. Intimate Deancas talk.

10x05 – Fan Fiction: No Cas, but Destiel references. 

10x09 – The Things We Left Behind: That.Lunch.Date. Deancas introduction to co-parenting.

10x14 – The Executioner’s Song: We get Daddy Murder aka Cain. This is a Pivotal episode to understand Dean’s character development. Plus, it has Deancas interactions.

10x16 – Paint It Black: No Cas, but Dean opens up in confessionary; repressed BISEXUAL AS FUCK.

10x18 – Book of the Damned: Charlie meets Cas. Gay energies everywhere. Cute domestic little scene.

10x20 – Angel Heart: PARENTING! Essential to understand Cas from this point forward.

10x22 – The Prisoner: Just… just watch it. One of THEE Destiel episodes.

10x23 – Brother’s Keeper: No Deancas interactions but it’s the finale, and I recommend watching it because next season takes off literally right from here. No time jumps.

 Season 11

11x02 – Form and Void: Could skip to the very end which is when Cas comes back.

11x03 – The Bad Seed: Cursed!Cas. Dean takes care of him, even wraps him in a blanket. He also cradles his face. Extreme Hurt/Comfort. Jacting joices rejoice.

11x10 – The Devil in the Details: Could skip but has Casifer in it. Interesting to see his dynamic with Dean.

11x18 – Hell’s Angel: Casifer. Dean "It? It's not an it, Sam, it's Cas!"

11x23 – Alpha and Omega: Huggg! Cas willing to go on a guaranteed suicide mission with Dean. Very tender and sad.

 Season 12

12x02 – Keep Calm and Carry On: ANOTHER HUG! Dean presents his boyfriend to his mom<3 Soft and romantic.

12x09 – First Blood: Reunion hug<3, Cas pining… as in he counts his every minute without Dean.

12x10 – Lily Sunder Has Some Regrets: Direct parallel with canon couple. Crystal-clear mutual affection. One of the best. Angel Ishim to Cas about Dean “I'm gonna help you. I'm gonna cure you of your human weakness same way I cured my own… by cutting it out.”

12x12 – Stuck in the Middle with You: A dying Cas confesses his love. “I love you. I love all of you.”

12x19 – The Future: We find out Dean gave Cas a MIXTAPE!!! Very romantic and full of yearning, also worry and what could be seen as a betrayal (ish…).

12x23 – All Along the Watch Tower: Hands down, one of the most distressing Destiel episodes. Cas dies.

 Season 13

13x01 – Lost and Found: This is the worst because you have Dean trying to assimilate Cas’ death. Core of Dean’s widow’s arc. Jack introduction, that’s their new kid.

13x02 – The Rising Son: Widow’s arc (you could skip it, but why would you?).

13x03 – Patience: Widow’s arc (you could skip it, but why would you?). Dean to Sam “He manipulated him, he made him promises, said, ‘paradise on earth’ and Cas bought it and you know what that got him? It got him dead! Now you might be able to forget about that, but I can’t!”

13x04 – The Big Empty: Continuation of widow’s arc and Cas wakes up in the Empty. The Empty to Cas: "I know who you love. There's nothing for you back there." // Dean to Sam “I need you to keep the faith, for both of us. ‘Cause right now, I… Right now, I don’t believe in a damn thing.”

13x05 – Advanced Thanatology: Suicidal and hopeless Dean gets his win. Cas comes back. Gives me the chills.

13x06 – Tombstone: COWBOY BOYFRIENDS!

13x14 – Good Intentions: Happy and fun Destiel scene. So Very Married.

13x23 – Let The Good Times Roll: Season finale, Dean talks about retiring (plans include Cas of course) and just very nice to see them interact.

Season 14

14x03 – The Scar: Reunion.

14x08 – Byzantium: Deanand Cas dealing with their child’s death, then bringing him back by Cas making a deal with the Empty. IMPORTANT EPISODE.

14x09 – The Spear: Cas uses the royal We – married behavior.

14x10 – Nihilism: Dean is stuck in his own mind, and Cas and Sam try to bring him back. Cas “Please, you have to -- you have to try to remember, because the people in your life -- in your real life, out there -- we need you to come back.”

14x12 – Prophet and Loss: Dean gets his very own Dr. Sexy, aka Dr. Cas.

14x14 – Ouroboros: Basically another date (their kid tags along) and They TALK. Very intimate and established marriage vibes.

14x18 – Absence: Shits starts to go south. [ Dean: “Who cares what Jack said? We don't know what happened! But I swear, if he did something to her, if she is -- (points to Castiel) Then you're dead to me. (Castiel looks crushed after Dean says that).]

14x20 – Moriah: Tense and very upsetting. Relationship very damaged.

 Season 15 (I would advise watching the entire season because it relies heavily on Destiel. They’re the heart and the emotional motor leading the plot onwards.)

15x01 – Back and To The Future: Deancas’ in the aftermath of their kid’s death. Tension gets worse.

15x02 – Raising Hell: Tension rises, this is very intense. Cas “Dean. You asked, "What about all of this is real?" We are.”

15x03 – The Rupture: Breaking point ends in divorce.

15x06 – Golden Time: Painful phone call which speaks volumes about the current state of their relationship at the time. Also, good to see where they’re standing and how they’re coping.

15x08 – Our Father Who Aren’t in Heaven: Strained relationship so obvious they’re offered couples’ therapy.

15x09 – The Trap: MASTERPIECE. Back to Purgatory. Can (and is) taken as Dean’s love confession (because it is). 

15x12 – Galaxy Brain: So married. Little domestic date, you can see LOVE written in their faces.

15x13 – Destiny’s Child: AU!Dean and Sam. Not a yearning episode per se, but AU!Dean? SO GAY.

15x17 – Unity: God reveals that the only act of free will in any universe he ever created has been Cas choosing Dean.

15x18 – Despair: Cas confesses his love to Dean.

[flyinghome-againstthewind]

the best by far is you: chapter 18

Read on AO3

Previous Chapter

For all the things my hands have held, the best by far is you -  Cecilia and the satellite

————

Summary: An exploration of Claire & Jamie’s story if their firstborn had lived and they had the chance to be parents together of wee Faith Fraser before the Battle of Culloden.

Chapter 18

It was half a day’s journey from the port in Le Havre to the Abbey of Ste. Anne de Beaupré. They stayed one night in a tavern before arranging a coach to take them to the abbey. Though the impulse to head straight for Paris to Jared’s home was strong, the abbey was another consideration they couldn’t rule out ‒ and the closest location upon arriving in France.

The carriage rolled to a stop in front of the abbey and the three of them stepped out into the bright sunshine. They approached the abbey with only the faintest flicker of hope. Months on this trail had left them anxious enough not to get their hopes up too soon.

The exterior and grounds of the abbey were lovely ‒ a 12th century Romanesque structure with a large garden that was carefully tended to. Claire’s gaze was inexorably drawn to it as they walked up the path leading to the abbey.

And then she glimpsed a flash of red-gold hair in the sunshine from up ahead in the gardens.

Her breath caught in her throat as her feet refused to move any further. Absently, she registered that Murtagh and Fergus had stilled beside her, puzzled.

Ahead of them, a small red-headed toddler registered the presence of three new visitors and boldly went out to greet them.

Claire’s vision burned with tears. She won’t remember, she reminded herself. And just the same, it didn’t matter. After all those months, Faith was right there in front of her, and she didn’t care if she had her work cut out for her still in winning her child’s heart back.

Her feet moved then of their own volition, unsteady at first and then picking up the pace to close the distance. Claire dropped to her knees as gracefully as she could in her condition and pulled Faith abruptly into her arms as soon as she was within reach.

“Oh, my baby. Oh God. I’m so sorry.” The words spilled out of her in a rush and then it was like a dam breaking open. She clung to Faith and wept.

Claire had her. At last. Faith was alive and real and heavy in Claire’s lap.

She felt the girl squirming in her grasp, her little hands pushing against Claire’s chest, and reluctantly, she let her go. Fergus was at her side, she realized, and he gripped her by the elbow to try and help her to her feet. They managed, a bit awkwardly.

It was only then that she noticed who Faith was with ‒ and who Murtagh was helping ease onto a stone bench after she looked about ready to faint.

“Y-y-y-you’re dead…”

Claire’s gaze flicked over to Murtagh briefly. In all their time searching, they hadn’t given much thought to how they would explain this to Mary ‒ or anyone else who wasn’t Jamie for that matter.

“Whoa, lass!”

The sight of Mary beginning to hyperventilate snapped Claire out of her thoughts. “Easy now. You’re alright.”

She was aware of Faith trying to burrow behind Mary’s skirts, but couldn’t give that her full attention just then. Murtagh stepped aside to let Claire in next to her. “Easy now. Cup your hands together over your mouth and nose and breathe into them. There you go. Try and breathe slowly.”

Faith moved to lean against Mary’s knees, watching anxiously. Claire stifled the impulse to reach for her. God, this was all going so poorly…

“I d-don’t… understand,” Mary said between labored breaths. But she was calming down and a little color was returning to her cheeks, Claire noted.

“I can imagine it’s quite a shock, and I’m sorry for that.” She rubbed Mary’s back lightly. It helped her own nervous state to be able to focus on helping someone else. “It’s a long story, but we’ll tell you it all later. Where’s Jamie? Is he inside?”

“Oh God,” Mary uttered suddenly and she looked as though she might be sick. “Oh I wish you had been here even a day earlier.”

She felt her stomach lurch at Mary’s words and wondered if she would be sick. “What do you mean? Where is Jamie?”

Mary began to tremble. “Th-th-there was an a-accident…”

They had started towards the abbey with Mary leading them, but in their panicked haste, Claire and Murtagh quickly overtook her. Mary shouted directions at them, but it didn’t matter. Once inside, it only took one frantic request to the first monk they ran into before they were brought to Jamie’s room.

Seeing her husband bruised and bandaged, unconscious, Claire didn’t realize at first that she was physically leaning on Murtagh for support, holding tightly to his arm. It was a different time, a different abbey, and yet her mind made the connection to just after Wentworth, when she almost lost him. She felt dizzy and weak.

“What‒” Her gaze took in the leg wrapped in splints and soaked through with dried blood. Whatever had happened, his leg seemed to bear the brunt of it, though the rest of him was covered in scrapes and bruises as well.

One of the brothers had followed them in and was explaining softly in French what had happened and how Jamie was faring. In all the commotion, they attracted a few more residents of the abbey, who filtered into the small room.

She caught enough to understand Jamie had developed an infection, most likely from his leg. Her stomach roiled and her hand came to press high on her pregnant belly out of habit, though it did nothing to help.

It was then her eyes fell to a cut on the inside of his forearm, too perfectly placed and neatly cut to be a coincidence. Still, her mind rebelled against the idea. No, they couldn’t have…

“You bled him!”

Stillness descended on the room following her outburst. She finally tore her gaze away from Jamie to look at the monks for explanation, to Mary who was trembling in the back.

“ARE YOU TRYING TO KILL HIM?”

Just as quickly as the room had fallen silent, it roared back to life with voices raised and overlapping ‒ each person trying to explain or justify or placate. Above them all was Claire, unable to contain her horror. “--already weakened from the accident and trying to fight off an infection and you bled him!”

She was vaguely aware of Murtagh’s tug on her arm, but it wasn’t until he screamed for the rest of them to be quiet that she paid him any attention. Her gaze flew to him, but he wasn’t watching her. And that’s when she heard the hushed, gravely voice of her husband, straining to be heard above the noise.

She caught his fevered gaze and felt her heart tumble in her chest.

“Sassenach?”

Murtagh quietly cleared the room, though in the moment, Claire hardly noticed this kind act.

Claire’s words clogged in her throat but she moved closer to the bed and sat carefully on the edge, taking Jamie’s hand carefully in her own. His skin felt hot to the touch.

“Am I‒ I…” He struggled between labored breaths and his eyes fluttered shut but he seemed to muster the energy to force them open again and find her. “Am I dying then?”

The implication of his words hit her hard, and she shook her head vehemently, feeling silent tears spill down her cheeks. “This isn’t a hallucination. I’m real. I’m here.”

He smiled weakly, his eyes drifting shut again.

God, to find him after all this time and to find him like this…

Murtagh cleared his throat as he re-entered the room. “Ye can save him, Claire.”

It wasn’t a question, but she heard the need for reassurance.

“I’m damn well going to try,” she said as much for her own benefit as for Murtagh’s, but her voice wobbled even as she tried to sound confident. She squeezed Jamie’s hand and brought it to her lips. “I can make a poultice for his infection,” she said with a bit more authority. “And maybe a tea.”

She brushed the hair back from his forehead ‒ faded dark locks with his natural red coming in at the roots. They’d caught on that he had dyed his hair through some of the descriptions they’d heard of him along the way. He must’ve stopped worrying about it once they reached France. He looked ridiculous and she wanted to be able to tease him about it, to see the way his ears turned pink when she did and hear his laugh. Later, she told herself. Get him well.

She pushed herself to her feet and went to examine his leg. Whoever had tended to it had done well ‒ the gash across his thigh had been stitched by a steady hand, and though the wound had become infected, that might not have been avoided even under Claire’s care.

But the bloodletting…

Indignation still fizzled in her veins. He’d already lost some blood from the accident, from the looks of it. And of all the things they could’ve tried to help him once infection set in, this was the worst.

“Where are the children?” she asked suddenly.

“Mary has them.”

“Did Faith see me‒”

Scream like a lunatic at everyone within earshot?

“Nay,” Murtagh said quickly. “She wasna in the room.”

Claire nodded at that. She knew the ground she was on with Faith was shaky at best. And the last thing she wanted was to give Faith any reason to fear her.

“Madame?”

She followed the sound to its source ‒ a frail, kindly-looking monk in the doorway that Claire got the distinct impression was sent in as an intermediary. But behind him stood a stocky figure with black hair and familiar slanted eyes. Jamie’s uncle, Alexander Fraser. Though she’d heard about him, they’d never met even during her time in France two years ago.

“You must be Claire,” he said. His voice had a strange dialect that Claire knew at once to be the result of a born and bred Highlander living so many of his adult years in France. “I must admit it is a shock to meet you at last, given that Jamie told us you were dead.”

“A misunderstanding,” she supplied lamely.

“Un miracle,” said the quiet monk with a kind smile, and Claire decided that she liked him very much, even if he was sent in to placate her.

Abbot Alexander nodded to the man. “This is Brother Thomas. He can assist you with Jamie and bring you anything you need.” His eyes darkened as he added, “It was a terrible shock, what happened. We all want Jamie to be well again.”

She knew this was as close to an apology for the bloodletting as she would get. And that whoever’s call it had been would never be revealed to her. “Thank you, Abbot. I shall be very happy to have Brother Thomas’s assistance.”

  Jamie heard her voice again, and felt his whole body orient toward the sound. Softer this time. Hushed. Bleary-eyed, he looked about and found her right there within reach, though he dared not try to touch her in case doing so would somehow banish the vision of her. No matter ‒ he hardly felt strong enough to turn his head let alone lift his hand.

“Am I dying?” he asked again.

“Not if I have anything to say about that,” she shot back at him, eyes snapping up at his in challenge. He smirked at this, weakly. Even as he neared the end, this part of his soul that Claire occupied and materialized before him was just as fierce and unrelenting as the real woman.

“Do you hear me, James Fraser?” she spoke again, gripping him by the chin as he fought to stay awake. “You do not have my permission to die.”

“Aye, lass…” He couldn’t manage more than that before darkness crept in once more.

  Some time in the evening, Brother Thomas came around with supper for Claire and made her sit and eat. When he tried to encourage her to leave the room for a break and go see the others though, she resisted the idea.

After how she’d found Jamie, she sure as hell wasn’t leaving him unattended.

But at the moment, he was resting and there was nothing immediate that she could do for him ‒ and Brother Thomas swore he wouldn’t leave Jamie until she came back.

With enough prodding and reassurance, Claire left Jamie’s bedside in search of the rest of her family.

She found them in a small library and stood in the doorway watching them. Mary was sitting with them, one hand resting on her rounded belly. She still looked pale and drawn with worry, the poor thing.

And Murtagh had Faith on his knee, bouncing her slightly and talking in a low voice to her. Claire felt her throat clog with emotion, watching the two of them. She knew what that moment meant for Murtagh, having been the one to bring Faith to Culloden three months ago, to hold her again and see Faith’s family restored to her.

Claire stayed frozen in the doorway, a voyeur to this moment, never fully part of it. She had a visceral desire to walk right over to Murtagh and pluck Faith from his lap, to hold her close in her own arms again ‒ oh god, even to look at her and know she was real ‒ and yet that desire was overpowered by one thought that kept Claire in check. That whisper of doubt in her ear telling her that she’d already screwed up. She’d startled Faith out in the gardens and now what did the girl think of her?

She felt the baby kick and her hand went automatically to the spot. Hadn’t been that long ago that Faith was just a little nudge felt from within and now they were nearly strangers to each other.

Fergus noticed her first and raced to her side. “How is Milord?” he asked in a whisper, and she realized her hesitation to join them had come off as being the bearer of bad news.

“He’s alright.” She pulled him to her side and gave him a squeeze. “He’s still fighting.”

“Can I see him?”

She drew in a steep breath, choosing her words carefully. “Well, he’s resting right now, darling. Maybe tomorrow, alright?”

He gave her a half-hearted smile, but she knew she had crushed him. Of course he wanted to see Jamie, but if… if he saw him while he was fevered and weak, heard Jamie’s talk of dying… no, she didn’t want that for Fergus.

He slipped away from her and went to join the others. Claire watched as he bent down to talk to Faith and then as she jumped down from Murtagh’s knee to take Fergus’s hand. Claire’s hand came up to press just below her collarbone where it felt like her heart was splitting open at the seams. To see them together again and slipping easily back into a rapport with each other, as children often did without much difficulty… Her children ‒ Hers and Jamie’s ‒ together again.

The ache was still there for the time that was lost with Faith, the guilt over any unintended pain she’d caused her wee girl. But there was something tender and hopeful in knowing she’d returned Murtagh and Fergus to Faith’s life. They both loved her so, and Faith would know that soon enough. Claire held both things, the hurt and the hope, as she watched Fergus and Faith.

Murtagh saw her then, still standing in the doorway. “Come sit down,” he called out.

She pushed away from the doorway and went in.

  It was later in the night when Murtagh came to check on her and Jamie. With Brother Thomas’s help, she’d made a poultice for Jamie’s leg and also managed a few times to get Jamie to drink some tea for his fever and pain. He slept fitfully, tossing and turning, and the fever hadn’t broken. Every time he spoke to her, it never felt like she was speaking to the real Jamie.

“Take another break,” Murtagh insisted gruffly. “I’m no’ sure all this pacing is good for the bairn.”

Her hand smoothed over the bump. She’d forgotten how everyone treated her as though she was made of glass as soon as the baby was visible. “Baby’s fine. I’m fine.”

Murtagh pulled a face at that and grunted, which she ignored.

“Ye’ve hardly gone near the lass since we’ve been here.” He said this bluntly, and Claire blinked quickly against the burn of oncoming tears. She’d hoped no one had noticed. “She’s awake still, wi’ Mary. Go an’ put the lass tae bed, Claire. I’ll sit wi’ Jamie.”

She chewed the inside of her lip, considering. With Jamie, she knew how to care for him ‒ a little too well, the damn fool. But Faith…

“And if anyone tries tae bleed him, it’ll be the last thing they ever do.”

She chuckled softly at this and her heart swelled with affection for the old grump that loved them all better than they deserved. “Thank you, Murtagh.”

He grunted and dropped into the chair at Jamie’s bedside.

“And where’s Fergus?”

“They gave him a room and he’s gone tae bed.”

“Thank you,” she said again, patting his shoulder as she moved past him, “for everything today. I didn’t expect… well, it’s been a shock, with Jamie. I couldn’t have managed without you.”

Without looking at her, he reached up and squeezed her hand where it rested on his shoulder. “Get some rest, a nighean.”

“I won’t be able to sleep. I’ll be back in an hour or two.”

“Alright,” Murtagh said with a resigned sigh. “Go and see Faith then and dinna hurry back. I’ll find ye if anything happens.”

She slipped quietly out into the hall and turned a corner leading to more sleeping quarters. She knew where Mary’s room was, but she went first in search of Fergus. He was still awake when she found him.

“Your own room, hmm?” She sat on the other small bed across from his, looking about the room. “Haven’t had that luxury in a while.”

Fergus’s mouth twitched slightly, like he was trying not to smile. “If you’re scared, just say so and you can stay in here, Milady. Nothing to be ashamed of.”

She grabbed the pillow on the spare bed and flung it at his head, relishing the sound of his laugh as he ducked and covered his head. Cheeky little arse…

But when his head poked back up, the moment of teasing had passed. She stood and dropped a kiss to the top of his head. “Just wanted to see you before you went to sleep. Have sweet dreams, love.”

“Goodnight, Milady.”

He caught her hand as she was turning away, and gave it a tight squeeze.

“I love you, my boy,” she murmured.

“I know. je t'aime aussi.”

Mary’s door was open and there they were by the fireplace, Mary sitting in one chair and Faith leaning against the other one. She had something small in her hand, some kind of toy, and alternated between moving it along the seat of the chair and turning to talk to Mary.

Faith glanced up and noticed her. Claire forced a smile and took that opportunity to enter the room.

“Claire! Oh, come sit. Here, Faith, let’s make room.”

Faith shuffled backwards until she bumped into Mary’s knees, staring curiously up at Claire as she took the other seat.

Mary asked about Jamie and she gave her the same update she’d given Murtagh and Fergus and any one of the monks who had poked their head into Jamie’s room to ask about him.

“I am sorry for startling you earlier,” Claire added. “I hope it wasn’t… well, I hope you’re feeling alright now.”

Mary exhaled a smile. “You’re actually the second person I’ve thought was dead to show up out of the blue, and both of those instances happened in the last few months…” Mary shook her head at that, and Claire realized with sinking dread that it had been Jack Randall she referred to. She’d all but forgotten… but no, she could see now that Mary didn’t want to discuss that. “Come to that, both times the message came from Jamie that you and‒ and‒”

“It was a terrible misunderstanding,” she said quickly. Firmly. “Jamie had no idea I was… alive.” Still had no idea, really.

Claire took a deep breath, unsure what Jamie might’ve told Mary already. “We knew that we couldn’t win. We knew if we fought the Redcoats in our current state, there was no way the Jacobites would be victorious. So we had Murtagh bring Faith to us and we were going to run. But there was… some confusion on that day. It was chaotic and we were desperate to get out of there. But I got separated from Jamie and Faith. And I think Jamie thought I was taken by the Redcoats and killed. He didn’t lie to you intentionally. He just didn’t know the truth.”

Mary’s gaze drifted towards the fire, still shaking her head slightly, though Claire got the impression it was more to do with the improbability of all that had occurred than any sort of ill feelings. And Claire didn’t blame her one bit.

“I’m glad you’re alright,” Mary added shyly. “And that you’re here.” Her hand dropped gently to Faith’s head, stroking her soft red curls in a familiar way. Her gaze flew to Claire suddenly, eyes wide. “Oh I’m so stupid! You’re here for Faith! Of course you are. And here I am chattering away with you.”

“No, no it’s alright,” Claire said swiftly. She had come here for Faith, but… “I did want the chance to speak with you, too. To explain.”

Mary breathed a sigh of relief but she still smiled politely and moved to stand. “She’s slept in here since the accident. You’re welcome to stay in here as well. But I’ll‒ well, I’ll make myself scarce for a bit. Give you two some time together.”

She moved a bit slowly, her much smaller frame balancing a larger belly than Claire, but Mary extricated herself from the room as swiftly as possible, closing the door behind her.

And then it was only Claire and Faith.

With the sound of the door closing, Faith seemed to realize then that no one she knew was with her. Just Claire. Just this odd woman who had wept hysterically at the sight of her earlier today. Claire had already been preparing herself for this ‒ No more tears. Not from herself, at least. She wouldn’t scare Faith again.

Faith stood stock still by the chair Mary had vacated, no longer wide-eyed with curiosity. Instead, she seemed to search the room for something familiar. She made a beeline for the door, which she wasn’t tall enough to open.

“Lovey, it’s alright…” Claire moved to her feet, but hesitated to take a step further. But when she stood, she drew Faith’s gaze and felt something wrench in her chest. The panic in the tiny girl was palpable. “I know you’re frightened and you don’t remember me, but I’m‒”

Faith’s expression pinched with worry and she breathed in deep, and it made Claire pause.

“Want my da,” Faith croaked in her little voice, and then her face scrunched up and she began to howl.

Claire moved in an instant to scoop the girl up. She held Faith close while she cried, the small girl’s body resting above the swell of the baby.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered so quietly that she knew Faith couldn’t hear it over her own wailing. “I’m so sorry. I’ll never leave you again. I promise.” She slowly paced the small room and rubbed circles on Faith’s back, just as she used to when Faith was a baby.

Faith’s howling didn’t let up, that stubborn streak making itself known. But the longer it went on, Faith crying in her arms and allowing Claire to comfort her, the less her tiny girl felt like a stranger to Claire. How many nights in Faith’s life had been spent just like this?

And eventually, her cries became more of a whimper and then ceased altogether.

Her head popped up from Claire’s shoulder with a red face still streaked with tears and her brows still creased together. “Want da,” she tried again, her lips forming a pout.

Claire’s fingers caressed the sweet face, wiping at the tears. It broke her heart that she couldn’t just bring her to him. “He’s still here, but he’s sleeping. You’ll see him as soon as he’s better, I promise.”

“No,” Faith whined half-heartedly. Claire swayed in place with Faith and watched her yawn and then shiver slightly and burrow into Claire’s warmth.

“Shall we sit by the fire?”

“Aye.” Faith murmured, succumbing to another yawn.

“Here,” Claire grabbed a woolen shawl and draped around them both, and sat in one of the chairs by the fire. Faith sat up straight once she was in Claire’s lap, glancing about again. Her gaze turned back to Claire.

“Wha’s yer name?” Faith asked in her sweet little voice. Her head cocked to the side in a familiar way and Claire felt the sting of tears but blinked them away swiftly.

“I’m your mama,” Claire said, feeling her heart clench at saying those words. She delicately traced the sweet face that she longed to smother with kisses, wiping at the last of Faith’s tears and brushing curls off her sweaty forehead. Faith’s brows furrowed together again and Claire wondered what she made of that, what she could understand of the word at the tender age of two.

“My mam?”

Claire made a slight sound, caught between a laugh and a cry. “Yes. Yours. I carried you inside me for several months while you grew. And when you were born, I held you close and I couldn’t believe that you were mine. My baby.”

“Baby.” Faith pointed to her rounded belly and Claire exhaled a soft, surprised laugh at this.

“Well, yes, there is one in there, but I meant you. You were a baby in my belly once, too.” She brushed Faith’s curls back out of her face again and cupped the back of her head to pull her forward, meeting no resistance from the girl. Faith’s head rested on her mother’s chest, a little awkwardly draped over the baby bump. Claire sighed. She was already running out of room in her lap and a desperate feeling gripped her, that she needed to rebuild her relationship with Faith before the next one arrived. “I would hold you here and let you hear my heartbeat as a newborn baby, the same sound you heard from within when I carried you. And you knew who I was from that sound.” Faith stayed quiet and relaxed under Claire’s hands as they cradled her head and slowly rubbed her back. “My baby.”

She wasn’t sure at what point Faith drifted off to sleep, but she stayed in that chair with her girl curled up on her chest much longer than she needed to. She felt Faith’s exhales of breath caressing her skin once more, no longer the quick little puffs from when she was first born, but deeper now. This was how they had started out, the two of them, and this was how they were finding their way back. Claire’s arms went about Faith’s still form, anchoring her there, and she pressed a kiss to the crown of her head, lingering there to breathe her in and know she was real. The tears did come then, spilling fast down her face. She shook slightly with choked-back sobs but didn’t make a sound.

Barely three months ago, Claire had been in 1948 with Frank. It seemed like another lifetime ago ‒ and Culloden with Jamie and Faith, another lifetime before that. She’d searched for months and now that she had this girl back in her arms again, she’d never let her go.

“Faith Elizabeth Janet Beauchamp Fraser,” she addressed her sleeping child slowly, pronouncing each name distinctly as Jamie had done with his own name when he first told her. “I don’t know what your future holds, but I promise to do everything in my power to see you living a long and happy life. And I know you don’t know me anymore, but you will. You’ll always have me from this moment on. I traveled 200 years just to find you… I’m not likely to let anything else stand in the way. And you won’t ever lose me.” Her lower lip trembled and a few rogue tears spilled onto Faith’s head. “You and me, Faith,” Claire rasped, resting her cheek on top of Faith’s head. “We’ll be alright. I’m here. I love you.”

She didn’t want to move for fear of waking Faith ‒ and in doing so, of ruining the moment of being able to hold her baby to her chest ‒ but she couldn’t stay there all night. She needed to check in on Jamie.

So she stood slowly, carefully, and readjusted Faith to rest her head high up on Claire’s shoulder. The girl breathed in sharply during the move, but turned her head into Claire’s neck and let out a sleepy sigh, settling back in.

Faith’s bottom rested just above the swell of the baby, which was almost protruding far enough to sit Faith on top of it, but not quite. “I really will have my hands full in a few months, won’t I?”

Claire sauntered quietly down the hall with Faith and turned into Jamie’s room to find not only Murtagh where she had left him, but Fergus, who had joined him too.

He must’ve snuck in as soon as she went to see Faith, since he was already sound asleep in a chair near the foot of the bed. Murtagh caught her eye as she entered and merely shrugged. “Didna see any harm in letting him stay. Jamie’s been out since ye left.”

“It’s alright.”

She reached over and brushed Fergus’s curls back from his forehead before shifting Faith’s weight higher in her arms. Despite wanting to keep the children from seeing Jamie in a distressing state, she felt strengthened by their presence and by Murtagh’s. They were whole, finally. And as long as Jamie stayed strong, they would remain so.

“Jamie?”

Claire’s voice called to him, and he whined. What punishment was this? He had fought so hard these last few months to give Faith the best life he could, to accept his future as just a father but no longer a husband. And while he was torn between fighting to stay for Faith or give in and be at peace... be with Claire… it felt as though the spirit of Claire was urging him to stay put. Stay with Faith.

“Jamie, don’t give up on me.” Her voice was pinched with worry. “Not now that I’ve got you back.”

But he didn’t know that he was strong enough to keep fighting.

Oh, lass, dinna be pained on my account, he wanted to say, i’ll be wi’ ye soon. But no words came out.

  The gardens provided an escape during the day as well as allowing for Fergus and Faith to run off some of their energy. Even though she’d been slow to walk at first for her age, Faith was quite steady on her feet now and Fergus made a game of chase with her, running at a slow pace to keep her after him. Every now and then, he’d slow down enough to let her catch him and flop dramatically onto the grass, which never failed to make Faith burst into laughter.

It was a short-lived escape from their worry, and inevitably for Claire, something would happen between Fergus and Faith that made her wish Jamie were present to witness it. They’d already lost so much time…

“Want my da!” Faith declared as she sped ahead to Jamie’s room before anyone could stop her. Claire huffed and picked up her pace as best she could.

“See? Da’s sleeping. We have to be quiet.”

Faith stood beside the bed, and her tiny frame shook. She was close to tears, Claire could tell. Nothing about the situation made sense to Faith, and she didn’t need to verbalize her distress for everyone else to know it was deeply upsetting to not have Jamie awake and alert.

“How about some cuddles for Da? You have to be careful of his leg but you can go up here by his shoulder and cuddle with him, if you want.”

It was nearing Faith’s nap time anyway, from what Mary had said. Faith didn’t need further invitation and started to scramble up the side of the bed.

“Easy, love,” Claire laughed, jumping in to help situate Faith to the other side of the bed where there was more room. She moved Jamie’s arm away from his body, creating space for Faith to curl against his side. “There we go. Rest your eyes, sweet girl.”

Jamie muttered softly and shifted in his sleep. Claire reached over and felt his forehead. He was sweaty and didn’t feel too terribly warm, which was promising. Claire tried to keep her hope tempered.

“Fergus, do you know where they keep the herbs for making tea? Could you run and grab me some more?”

Fergus shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “I do not know, Milady,” he said regretfully. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright.”

She sighed. Brother Thomas wasn’t around and neither was Mary, but she wanted to make Jamie a fresh cup of tea and see if he would drink some of it the next time he roused.

Faith was still knocked out against Jamie’s shoulder and it was only Claire and Fergus awake in the room. “Come with me. I’ll show you so you know for next time. It won’t take long.”

  Jamie opened his eyes and felt like he was waking for the first time after a very strange dream. Tired and still weak, but his head felt clear. No more chills or aches through his whole body. No, just a dull pain in his thigh when he twitched his leg. He felt too warm and tried to kick his uninjured leg free from the blankets.

The fever was gone and he let out a sigh that was only partly relief. If the fever had left him… then so had Claire.

He became slowly aware of a small, warm weight on his right shoulder and looked to see a head full of wispy, red curls that could only belong to Faith. His arm tightened around her as best as he could and he turned to press a kiss to the crown of her head. “Deo gratias…” He whispered hoarsely into her hair, holding the only remaining testament that he had of his and Claire’s love. I’m sae sorry I almost left ye, a nighean...

She slumbered on, undisturbed by this even as Jamie’s hand came to rest on her head in supplication and he offered up a plea for this child’s safety and a humble request that if he should have to live the rest of his years on this earth without his wife, that he might still live to see this child of theirs grow up…

“Oh thank god!”

He stiffened at the sound of his wife’s voice, knowing it meant he was not as well as he thought, if he was still hearing her. But even as he wouldn’t turn his head to look towards her voice, he was aware that he and Faith were not alone. Out of the corner of his eye, a figure filled the entryway and in his peripheral vision, his sight told him it was Claire. But his head knew better. It wasn’t her. It couldn’t be her.

Then she drew near and her hands framed his face. His eyelids slammed shut in disbelief, pushing tears down his cheeks. “Thank god!” she said again in a tight whisper.

“Claire?” His voice came out ragged. Her hands gently held his face and turned him towards her. His eyes fluttered open and there she was, smiling down at him through her own tears. He breathed in sharply and could only stare because she would always be the most beautiful sight to his eyes ‒ And a sight he thought he would never see again. “How‒”

She leaned down and kissed him, tentatively at first but feeling him respond, she let the kiss unfold, lingering for what seemed like a blissful eternity until she pulled away, leaving them both panting softly. He reached up and touched her, tracing the outline of her face.

She was trembling terribly, almost on the verge of crying, as her eyes slid shut at his touch, and she let out a shuddering sigh. “I thought you were going to die on me.”

His heart felt as though it were trying to march right through his ribcage, it was hammering so fiercely. “I thought… I thought you were a dream. I canna believe ye’re real.”

He shook his head then as the truth set in. “Ye came all the way to France?” He was aghast, still shaken by the very presence of her. She smiled through a fresh wave of tears.

“I came two hundred years and all the way to France,” her hand reached tentatively for Faith, hovering just above the girl’s head before gently making contact, “Just to find you two.”

There was a soft scuffle of feet and Claire glanced over her shoulder, smiling brilliantly. “And I didn’t come alone, Jamie.”

“Milord!”

He’d hardly processed her words before Fergus was there, flinging himself haphazardly at Jamie. Fergus’s head buried itself in Jamie’s chest, and Jamie clutched him close, feeling a sudden, sharp sob tear from his throat. Oh God, his son.

His vision clouded over, but not before he’d noticed his godfather standing in the doorway. One arm tightened around Faith while the other held Fergus to him, and his resolve not to openly weep like a baby finally crumbled.

He had believed for so long now that his family as he once knew it was lost for good… and to have them returned to him in one instant, he felt a brief flicker of doubt. That this was nothing more than a fevered dream, to have everything his heart desired.

But he could feel the weight still of Faith leaning on his shoulder, awake now and sitting up from the sudden bursts of noise around her. He could feel where Fergus held a fistful of his shirt in a clenched fist, refusing to let go, and where the boy's tears were soaking through the fabric to Jamie’s chest. And he could feel Claire’s delicate hand brushing his hair back from his face, the softest touch but unmistakably real, before she framed his face again and kissed him, first on his lips and then peppering soft kisses across his face like she needed to cover every inch of him with her love.

And it was everything and all too much.

His family was here. And they were real. Deo gratias.