#and like for fucks sake the hallway light switch to their unit they can just flip it on and off as they go 😭 there’s another switch at the

[onedirecton]

EMAILED MY LANDLORD and I was so brave about it!!!!!

[pinkhairedlily]

i'll be with you (but it'll be a different kind)

pairing: yoonkook/yoonjin | rating: G | ao3 read here

a short study on moving on

Yoongi broke the vinyl like he would a plate, a quaint awareness of a disaster but the quick denial of letting it fall – on the floor, in pieces. He swept each shard, vacuumed, and threw them in the bin. He crushed his music sheets and notes, thought better of it, and lit them with a scented candle.

Well, for fuck’s sake, the candle was his gift too.

So Yoongi walked to the collection area at three thirty in the morning, against the gusts of cold November wind, carrying all the evidence of the killer and the remains of its victim. He stood in front of the stack with an impulse to do something. Say a prayer? Curse them? Curse himself and bring them back to his apartment?

Ah, he wasn’t that stupid.

He truly wasn’t.

His stupidity was drained when he decided to fall in love with his roommate and friend that couldn’t be his in this lifetime.

So he came back to his home rid of everything Kim Seokjin owned and touched. Yes, even the bedsheets he washed yesterday.

“The couch it is.” He plopped down to its uncomfortable mattress and was immediately lulled not by the comfort of sleep but by the escape it offered.

He lost track of time in the next days… or probably weeks because the next time he went out for a walk to the mart, he was greeted by imposing Christmas decorations and too tall synthetic trees that wouldn’t look good in apartments that only housed one.

He came back, still alone, but at least joined now with ingredients for proper homemade food. He won’t be lonely on Christmas, not with two bottles of wine, a variety of seafood (which Namjoon hated the most, and Yoongi would order in the largest serving just to spite him), and his good old comfy socks.

He switched on the television to watch Melancholia, a fitting holiday movie in his honest opinion, and turned it up to the highest volume to tune out the looping Christmas carols outside his window and across the hallway where other occupants have rooms over to tide away the lonesome.

It was two thirty and two disaster films later that he heard the ghost of his broken heart.

It was one of the songs he wrote for Jin, the notes not at all the same, but the melody line was correctly embodied. He started up from his drunken stupor on the floor and trudged towards his kitchen sink where he dabbled his face in water.

It wasn’t the alcohol. So it certainly must be the crazy in him… well, until he realized the notes were coming from next door. The walls were thin anyway.

He nonchalantly knocked on the door of his neighbor, not caring at all if it was the devil’s hour, not when the tenant itself did not care about public disturbance.

It opened a crack wide enough for Yoongi to sweep the whole place up in seconds. Tidy floor, unmade bed, three monitors on a desk, neon lights, a christmas tree unabashedly decorated with the most frivolous pieces beside the dining table, and a guitar on top of it.

“Did I wake you?” He was taller than Yoongi, buffer, and very decorated like his Christmas tree. Daith, lobe, and eyebrow piercings, sleeve tattoos on his right arm, and shoulder-length electric blue hair tied in half-ponytail. But what caught his attention the most was the doe eyes that seemed too innocent, but Yoongi was familiar with the pretension that hovered on the surface. This boy knew pain enough to effectively cover it.

“That was my song,” Yoongi said in his usual deadpan delivery. He couldn’t get any cheerier than this.

John Doe perked up (if it could be any more possible). “Ah so you’re the one!” Then his expression immediately shifted to wariness. “Oh wait, you might be offended. I should apologize – “

“Some notes were mismatched, yes. Couldn’t be helped when you learned it by ear.” Yoongi looked at him for confirmation, and John Doe nodded enthusiastically. “But it’s all right. You played the piece so beautifully for someone who did not know it was a love letter.”

The way John Doe changed his smile to a thin line Yoongi knew at once that this was a person who simultaneously wore their heart on a sleeve but chained it before it could truly fall.

“Is it safe to assume the letter’s non-reciprocation when you haven’t played those songs for a month?”

“What else could there be?”

The neighbor bit the inside of his cheeks before answering, “Maybe you just didn’t need love letters anymore?”

Yoongi sighed. “Just keep it down. It’s three in the morning.”

“But it’s Christmas?” John Doe’s eyes suddenly widened. “Oh my manners! Merry Christmas Sir!”

“I don’t believe in Santa Claus. Or Jesus. Or capitalist splurges.” Yoongi shoved his hands into his sweatpants. “I have marinara surplus. Do you want a plate?”

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

When New Year rolled again, Yoongi knocked on his neighbor’s door. He slept with headphones in full volume, god be damned his hearing, on newly bought bedsheets that did not smell of Jin and pillows that did not have a strand of his hair. He really couldn’t turn down John Doe’s question of whether he could still play the cursed song or maybe he was two-bottles-of-wine-disoriented enough to put up a rather good argument why he shouldn’t.

“So will you cover your ears when you go to sleep?” John Doe asked after his second slurping of seafood marinara.

“Why should I?” Meanwhile, Yoongi surfed Netflix for his disaster anxiety fix.

“Try Seeking a Friend for the End of the World.” John Doe finished his plate clean. He let out a burp with an apologetic smile to his temporary Christmas host. “Well, I was wondering if I could still play the song. It’s yours anyway so you have all the rights.”

Yoongi’s eyes glazed over the first few seconds of the film, slightly amused at the insurance agent selling an apocalyptic package. “When music is released to the public, it never becomes the composer’s alone. It is also owned by the listener…and whatever they deem the music to be.”

“I’m Jeon Jungkook.”

“I just let you eat my food.”

“I’ll be your friend for the end of the world.”

A beat. “Fine. Min Yoongi.”

But it was a week of listening to ragged notes and misplaced sharps, and his (still) perfectionist ass wanted to right it.

“It’s open,” Jungkook yelled from what Yoongi presumed was his computer chair.

He sauntered inside with measured caution and watched his neighbor tick away in codes on three different screens. Yoongi silently slid the music sheets on a small free space on Jungkook’s desk.

“Software developer?”

“Not really. I’m a solutions specialist, the yes-boy,” Jungkook replied with a smug grin. He hit enter and the lines start to jumble together as he swiveled to face Yoongi. “You re-wrote your notes. You must be a producer or something.”

Yoongi clucks. “Close. A film composer.”

“Do you go to Hollywood?”

“I’m not made for performative limelight. The shadows are bright enough.”

“Cool. I want to make a film someday.”

“You have a day job.”

“Can’t a man have two dreams?”

“Touche. One can never have too many.”

“What’s yours then, Yoongi?”

“Just one but it won’t be mine.”

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

March. Spring coming alive, and for the first time in months, Yoongi genuinely thought he was getting better and over him. Jeon Doe (maybe he’ll always call him this) was a light companion – not imposing, a bit fluttery, but steady in his essence. Perhaps it was the continuous wonder that ebb in his eyes or the utterly soft disregard of pain for something nonchalant.

On the eve of March 1st, he stroked again the keys of his piano, and Jungkook came into his unit and accompanied him with a guitar. It was an improvisation of chaotic notes in Yoongi’s head and by magic, Jungkook floated with that tornado. The contrast and the blend gave way to an unlikely partnership of melody and rhythm.

And on March 1st, Yoongi felt butterflies again when Jungkook joined him on the bench and giddily watched his fingers dance on white and black.

But on the second day of the month, the butterflies were replaced with quicksand.

Kim Seokjin called and wanted to meet. It was funny how in a moment of hesitancy, it was his heart who doubled and his feet that led. Their favorite bar, whiskey on the rocks for Jin, dry scotch for him, and an expanse of silence of between them.

“He’s too busy with production at the moment.” Jin downed his drink in one gulp. Yoongi didn’t even need to ask.

And I’m the only one who’s available. “At the moment is how many months?”

“For three months now.”

“You should break up.” An unsolicited advice Yoongi gave more than twice with not much success.

“If I was a music company, maybe he would do me,” Jin jested, holding the empty glass in his hand. “Should I buy one?”

“Buy his affections as well and monopolize them.” It was a banter Jin was used too and maybe by now, he should have known that Yoongi hid half-truths in them.

“They’re too intense for me alone. He’s always destined for the world.”

What could Yoongi do but surrender at the unspoken request of comfort. “There’s someone who treats you like you’re his whole world.”

“I wish I did too.”

Yoongi never had a sip of his scotch, but Jin’s languid kiss was enough to get drunk on. He lost the flutter and the lightness, and dove headfirst in heavy, steely waters. Yoongi missed the suffocating pressure and the sensation of bursting at the seams. If his heart would burst at this moment, it would shatter a hundred times more for the many touches and whispers to follow. He would gladly die in this misshapen illusion.

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

“Your door was always locked,” Jungkook greeted a month after, carrying a big tub of fermented kimchi. “My dad dropped by to give me spares.”

Two weeks before this, Jin left in a hurry to go to the airport, saying Namjoon had been in an accident, and two weeks after, Yoongi never heard back from him.

He accepted the side dish from his neighbor, but nothing went past Jungkook. Realization was plain in his face, but he chose not to comment on it.

“Yoongi.”

“Hmm.” It was danger meeting Jungkook’s eyes so Yoongi kept his downcast.

“I told you before.”

“What?”

“That I’ll be your friend for the end of the world.”

Yoongi didn’t respond, and Jungkook took the cue to leave.

He repeated that same line later that night when he heard Yoongi trash his place, his bare arm catching the brunt of a baseball bat just before it landed on the piano keys.

“Why would you go so far?” Yoongi sneered, anger seeping through his controlled demeanor.

“Why would you go so far?” Jungkook cradled his arm like he cradled his pain. Like it was nothing. “It’s the end of the world.”

“I need a friend.”

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

It was easier being with Jungkook – lighter, happier, with no care in the world. He was also honest in a straightforward, unassuming, and endearing way especially when those doe eyes of his were used to an advantage.

When he told Yoongi in the middle of Battle Royale, out of the blue, with no precedence whatsoever that “I don’t want to be just your friend”, it knocked the air out of the latter. And when Jungkook followed it with “You can use me, however you want”, Yoongi knew he had to get things sorted.

Lest he wants Jungkook trapped inside the vortex of unresolved feelings.

So Yoongi didn’t give him a tangible response. He just skidded closer to him on the couch and Jeon Doe took the cue to lay his head on the crook of his neck as another student was slashed to their death on the screen.

When credits rolled in, Yoongi dipped his head and found Jungkook already waiting with bated breath.

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

“Ah, you found me.”

Jin was back in his penthouse in Seoul, alone with no Namjoon in tow.

“Am I a week early?” Yoongi asked.

“I just got in today.” True enough, unopened suitcases littered his living room. Too many suitcases for a vacation. “I’m relocating back. Is there such a thing?”

Yoongi went to one luggage and punched in the password Jin used when Namjoon and him got together, it did not open, so he tried another combination. Ah, only his birthdate. Yoongi packed the first of his clothes to cabinets he was all too familiar with. He went on with this rudimentary task with Jin at the kitchen, cooking up something for the two of them.

In a parallel universe, Yoongi would have been happily contented with this.

Tidied up, folded, and free, the two went through a simple steak and pasta dinner.

“We broke up.” He twirled his fork endlessly. “It hit me when I saw him go to an award show. I could never keep up with him, Yoongi, not when I’m taking a backseat while his dreams sit in the front.”

“Don’t be silly.”

Jin stared at him like he was betrayed.

“Don’t be silly,” Yoongi repeated, drawling each word. “Namjoon and his goals sit in another sports car while you drive a rundown secondhand.”

That made Jin laugh. “You’re merciless.” And then he grimaced. “I never felt this neglected. It was never this way when I was with you.”

“We’ve never had anything, Jin. You didn’t let me have anything,” Yoongi finished clean his pasta. He folded his napkin like a good guest and waited for Jin’s retort.

But he just sighed, defeated. “I destroyed what good we had. I’m afraid I also lost the friendship.”

“You know I can’t go back again to you.” Yoongi didn’t know if he threw a question or a statement.

“I saw it the instant you came through that door.” Jin put down his fork and trained his eyes on his best friend. “Happiness looks good on you.”

“You would have known already if you had just looked at me.”

Jin gave him a sad smile. “And it would have been the best sight had I tried harder.” He picked up again his fork, his lips pursed, his eyes brimming with tears. It was a foreign scene, Jin coming undone in front of him, not because of Namjoon, because of him. “So who is this guy?”

“I call him Jeon Doe.”

Jin kept brushing the side of his eyes while he twirled strands of noodles in his fork. When he opened his mouth to eat, tears brushed down his cheeks, breaking in rivulets as he chewed. “That’s a stupid name.”

Yoongi noticed the upwelling – the comeuppance of what was lost trying to mask itself as the crescent emotions. He knew it when Jungkook kissed him back that night, that he could never go back to this uncertainty. “And stupidly in love with me too.”

Jin continued to chew with salty tears. “I’m sorry, Yoongi.”

His hands clenched at the name that left his lips. “I got tired of being your placeholder. You couldn’t just leave and expect me to stay in one place. I also crack every time you touch me, and I shatter every time you go. I broke, Jin. I got torn apart, and I wasn’t sure whether I could still handle your overspilling love for someone else when I couldn’t even hold any for me.” Yoongi’s fingers stretched to touch the dam that escaped his friend’s eyes. “You must understand.”

“I’m sorry, Yoongi,” Jin repeated. “And I understand it. I get it now. I see it. It’s just overwhelming – this mountain of regrets and what-ifs and utter disregard I made for my own happiness.”

“I got in the crossfire.”

“A victim willing.”

“But not anymore.”

Jin shook his head. “No, not anymore.” He intertwined his fingers with Yoongi. “I hope it works out for you and Jeon Doe.”

Not a minute longer, Yoongi pulled away from Jin’s touch. “I hope you heal.”

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

Jin saw them on the same piano bench, playing a duet in the middle of a wedding reception, hands flying about, touches fleeting but enthralling, releasing captivating, fluttery sounds – almost akin to freedom.

He was seeing now in full high-definition panorama the gravity of his consequences. He let go of his two great loves, one he loved with no fail, the other he took to fail.

And so he welcomed the splendor of pain. He had two great loves, and regardless of how they ended, they deserved a thorough journey of grief. He could only hope that at the end of it was what he saw in Yoongi.

Freedom.

[quietrainfan]

Unsymptober Day 6: Mind Control

Trigger Warnings: Unsympathetic Patton, Mind Control, Forced self harm, Blood, Knives, Dehumanization, Verbal/Emotional/Physical abuse, Gaslighting.

Note: Beginning is after Accepting Anxiety and end is after DWIT.

Once Virgil had formed an understanding with the Light Sides, he felt a weight lifted off his shoulders. Of course this didn't mean all of their feuds were resolved. There was still the issue of Janus and Remus needing Thomas to be aware of them and accepting them as facets of his personality. Not to mention the tense relationship between them and the Light Sides. Hopefully, though, this could lead to the Lights to open up to the idea of understanding Janus and Remus as well. 

 

The anxious side opened the door that served as a barrier in the mind palace between the Darks and Lights. Virgil couldn't help the amused smirk that stretched across his lips as the spooky- most would call absolutely terrifying- sound echoed from inside the long pitch black hallway, confirming that the thing entering was another Dark Side. Janus had put a protective spell on their door that had been there- since forever, really- as a precaution in case the Lights tried to sneak in. It was strong enough that even Virgil had a difficult time getting in every once in a while. Thankfully, though, Janus could sense when it was him and can let him in at any time. 

 

Virgil shut the door behind him, the usual yellow glow around the rimms flashed for a brief second before disappearing, leaving the anxious side in complete blackness. The lengthy hallway was freezing and there were always sounds of...something growing along the walls. Virgil was able to proceed without a care, though. Maybe it was because his purple irises that were made to help him see in the dark automatically switched on by instinct or that he was just used to the atmosphere of the Dark Side home. Probably both. 

 

"Hey, hey! Look who's home! Say, Dee, ya think I should melt into the wall and try and spook 'im when he gets to the living room?!~"

 

"You do realize he can hear you, Remus. It wouldn't be much of a surprise. And no, I've already spoken to you about melting into the walls."

 

"Aw, you're no fun!"

 

Virgil rolled his eyes, the smirk never leaving his face at the familiar voices echoing in the distance. He finally made it to the aforementioned common room and waved at the two taller figures waiting for him. 

 

"I'm home.", Virgil greeted, letting out an 'oof' as Remus wrapped an aggressive- but affectionate- arm around his shoulders.

 

"Hey there, tiny! Took ya long enough!", The creative side pulled him closer for a rough noogie, laughing as Virgil tried to break free to no avail. 

 

"Augh, Remus! Let go!"

 

"How did it go today? I hope they didn't give you too much trouble.", Janus approached the two shorter sides with crossed arms.

 

 His voice was even and calm but Virgil could tell Janus was on the defensive, for his sake, against the Lights. He always was when he returned. The things Virgil told him of his experience with them had his protective elder brother mode cranked up to a million. 

 

Virgil snapped out of his annoyance towards Remus at the question, "Uh...yeah, about that. We need to talk."

 

"What did they do?", Remus had loosened his grip on Virgil a bit, his tone quickly went from playful to low and dangerous. Which prompted Virgil to explain before he did anything that would reverse all the progress they made. 

 

"N-Nothing! Well- not nothing but….", The anxious side saw their eyes narrow and he cleared his throat, freeing himself from Remus's embrace, standing up straight and rubbing his neck nervously, "Uh, so- They kind of...accepted me? They came looking for me and we talked. Thomas is no longer resisting my spot at the discussion table."

 

Remus scoffed, "Yeah, right. After all that?"

 

"I was skeptical at first, too.", Virgil admitted, "But they really made a genuine effort to understand me."

 

The creative side wasn't buying it, turning to Janus. The deceitful side nodded, "From what I can tell he's being truthful, Remus. And I doubt he'd speak of it if he didn't feel like all of this was for certain."

 

Virgil was calmed by Janus's ever present rationality. But he knew this conversation wasn't over. "Although", He began again, "I am curious about what they said about the rest of us."

 

The anxious side bit his lip. 

 

Janus's expression softened, "It's alright. Take your time."

 

Virgil sighed, "They-well, Roman, really- said that I was nothing...compared to you guys."

 

Remus chuckled bitterly, leaning against the wall, "Fucking typical. What'd I tell you?"

 

"I understand and trust me, share your anger, Remus. But they were not only willing to hear Virgil out but also came looking for him after he, to them at least, went missing.", Janus turned back to Virgil, "Remember that this is for Thomas's sake and working as a unit is far more efficient than doing it separately. Regardless of how...strained our family ties are."

 

Virgil responded with a smile which the taller side returned. He knew Janus would be understanding but it was still relieving to hear out loud. The deceitful side was known to be incredibly protective of all of them and unapologetic about his opinion towards the Lights. But thankfully that didn't mean he wasn't unwilling to make amends, provided they offered the same courtesy. 

 

"So we're letting them in just like that?", Remus protested.

 

Janus laughed, "Absolutely not. I'm not going to let go of all the bitterness I feel simply because they were nice once to one of us. They have quite a ways to go to earn my trust and even longer to earn my respect.", He layed a gentle hand on Virgil's shoulder, "But what happened is worth noting."

 

Remus hummed, still skeptical of the whole thing, "We're going to still have to worm our own way in. Plus Thomas isn't even conscious of us yet."

 

Janus nodded, "Naturally. We can't just have our stormcloud being the middle-man for us forever.", A fond smile stretched on his face at Virgil's small grunt in response to his pet name.

 

"Eh, whatever.", Remus sighed, "You're the boss. If it means I can get my ideas heard, I don't really care how."

 

"Very good.", Janus clasped his hands together, "Now, it's been a long day. We'll discuss this further in the morning."

 

The three sides separated for the evening. Virgil distinctly remembered the following morning. They had started discussing ways to ease Thomas into accepting the parts of himself that he blocks out and working from there to get the others to follow suit. Virgil still had the memory of the last thing he said to them. 

 

"I certainly hope any of these scenarios will work. Virgil, are you sure about this?"

 

"Yeah, no worries. Leave it to me. I just don't want you guys to have to hide anymore."

 

Leave it to me. 

 

He had said. And he meant it. He would've followed through with his promise but he didn't anticipate the situation he managed to get himself into. 

 

Virgil was speaking to Patton while they got together for a movie marathon. Everything happened so fast. He brought up the Dark Sides, their recent reconciliation, and the possibility of them being able to come to an understanding since he was accepted. Before he could read Patton's expression as his smile fell, Virgil...felt something change in him. The anxious side wasn't able to decipher what at the time but by the time he had, it was already too late. 

 

"I don't think you should trust them, kiddo. Stay with us."

 

That was all he said. Virgil opened his mouth to try and defend the others, try to convince Patton that it was possible for everyone to get along. But the words died in his throat. What came out instead shocked the anxious side.

 

"You're right, Patton. I'm so glad to finally be away from them. Thanks for...embracing me and giving me a proper family.", Virgil had a hard time processing what he said. He hadn't meant a single word of it yet his tone, body language, and expression reflected his words perfectly. 

 

"Your welcome, kiddo.", Patton smiled warmly at him. 

 

"I didn't mean any of that. Patton, the others can be trusted, you guys just need to give them a chance."

 

"Honestly, I don't know why I stayed with them for so long. All they did was cause trouble and made me miserable.", A spiteful growl left Virgil's lips. 

 

The anxious side thought he saw Patton's warm smile fade slightly. 

 

"Maybe because you didn't have any other option.", Patton smiled sadly, "We didn't give you any. We had no idea how horrible you had it. But now we do and there's no need to worry anymore. We won't let them hurt you."

 

The moral side placed a comforting hand on his knee, "I promise."

 

"They've never hurt me! I was perfectly fine! I just wanted respect. And they deserve the same!"

 

"I'm….still afraid, Pat.", Virgil mentally swore. What the hell was going on?!

 

"I know. But I'll always be here. And so will Roman and Logan."

 

"Thanks. That makes me feel a little better.", Virgil finally returned his smile. 

 

"No, you all are part of the problem. I'll never feel comfortable if I have to choose between two halves of my family!"

 

His true feelings were locked up nice and tight. Virgil learned very quickly that what he actually thought was met with consequences. Nasty ones. Patton pulled him aside after everyone had fallen asleep. 

 

"I'm sure you've caught on by now, Virgil.", The moral side said simply, "Unfortunately, as I predicted, you aren't weak enough to convince completely. You still have some free will in there. You Dark Sides really are a pain."

 

He adjusted his glasses with a sigh but smiled brightly nonetheless, "But that's a-okay! I've got a little back up! If you're going to be our family Virgil, I'll have to set some rules first!", Patton handed him a small pocket knife, "Hurt yourself."

 

Virgil blinked at the request. Patton's sweet smile remained, "For every forbidden thought you have, you are to hurt yourself with varying severity."

 

The anxious side's blood went cold. Judging by his expression, Patton wasn't kidding. "Hmm, since you had three forbidden thoughts today, let's start off with three wounds. Do it.", He commanded. 

 

Virgil's hand moved, despite him trying to fight back against the urge forced on him. He reached for his face, ready to cut just below his eye but the moral side caught his wrist, guiding it back down. 

 

"Ah, ah, kiddo. Not on areas where others can see.", Patton purred, "We wouldn't raise suspicion now, would we?"

 

He guided the anxious side's hand down further. , "Here. Your stomach. I think there's a good start."

 

Patton released him, watching as Virgil lifted his shirt. "Under your belly button, Virge. Since you had the guts to bring them up in a positive light."

 

Virgil's teeth sank into his bottom lip as he penetrated his skin, dragging it along to the other side, hot blood already beginning to soak his lower half.

 

"Your chest now, kiddo. One under and one in the center."

 

Virgil complied, holding back a scream as the excruciating pain shot through him. Patton let it drag on, taking his sweet time in telling him to stop. 

 

"Okey dokey!~ That's enough for now.", Patton clapped. 

 

Virgil stopped on command. He made a mess, though it was nothing compared to the agony he felt. His blood was still gushing out of him, the sight, the pain, made him burst into quiet tears. 

 

Patton's smile remained but he rolled his eyes, "Oh, hush. You're a Dark Side, you've had worse and those wounds will heal almost right away.", The moral side pat his cheek, "Now go clean up and head to bed. We have some filming to do tomorrow."

 

Patton began to walk away but stopped briefly, "Oh, and welcome to the family!"

 

With that, he left. 

 

From then on Virgil was forced to treat the Dark Sides exactly how Patton did. He didn't know how long Patton had him under control but it was apparently it was long enough that Janus had decided to take things into his own hands and make an appearance. Virgil was so overwhelmed with joy, he had completely forgotten the situation he was trapped in. 

 

"Dee! I'm so happy to see you!"

 

"Anyone who doesn't understand that should just shut up.", Virgil felt sick to his stomach. No, no!

 

The hurt on Janus's face filled him with so much guilt, "Virgil...it's me.", He said with an uncertain, broken voice, pointing to himself. , "Aren't we friends?"

 

"Of course we are! More than that, we're family!"

 

Virgil scoffed, "I'm not so sure we are."

 

Janus proceeded in his attempt to convince Thomas on his own and all Virgil could do was sit there, wishing he could scream that he didn't mean it.

 

Eventually, Janus being the clever snake he was, found his own way of having his voice heard. Virgil was happy, proud even but the guilt he felt was awful. If he had been there, this transition period would have been a lot smoother and they could've worked on it together. 

 

Patton was having none of it. The more obvious it became that the Dark Sides were getting closer to their goal, the more he doubled down on Virgil behaving more and more cruel forcing him to take his side at every turn. 

 

And every time Virgil wanted to shout that he was being controlled. That he didn't mean a word of it. He desperately wanted to embrace Janus and Remus and apologize for every nasty thing he was forced to say to them. 

 

And every time he thought that way, Patton punished him. There was nothing he could do. He may be stuck like this forever, regardless if the others were accepted or not. Patton would find a way to use him to undo all their progress. 

 

----

 

"Virgil really just abandoned us all and cozied up to ol' four eyes, huh?", Remus snarled with disgust. 

 

Janus hummed with agreement, resting his chin on his conjoined fingers, "Yes, it seems so.", He turned to the shorter side, "You know why, right?"

 

Remus kicked the chair next to him, " 'Course. I ain't fucking stupid! But what are we going to do? Personally, I just want to charge in there and beat the shit out of him until he lets Virgil go. But I'm guessing you're looking for something more tactful."

 

Janus, "Leave it to me, Remus. We'll go with the original plan of getting the other's defenses down."

 

"And Virgil?"

 

"We'll set him free, rest assured. But as you said we can't just rush into this. There's also the subject of demasking Patton's true nature. We'll have to settle that first if we want a solution long term."

 

"It sounds like Virgil's going to have to hang in there for awhile.", Remus gripped his sleeve in frustration. 

 

"Yes, with you watching over him."

 

Remus blinked, surprised. 

 

Janus merely smirked, "I trust you can protect him as much as possible in the meantime. Just...try not to be too obvious. I don't want to put our stormcloud in any further danger."

 

Remus beamed, pounding his chest proudly, "Roger that, cap!"

 

"Good.", Janus turned away from his younger sibling with a frown, "It'll be a long road but eventually, he will pay."

 

The deceitful side looked down, rubbing his thumb along the old hoodie Virgil had left behind. "Stay strong, Virgil."

@unsympathetic-october-2020

[iriswc1995]

Ash In Ordina

Chapter One:  ‘Home’

The screech of the railcar grinding to a halt startled her awake.  Ash peered from under her hood, instinctively grabbing the hilt of her sword.  The car was empty save for her and a few wandering ghosts.  It was difficult to see through the smeared windows.  It was utterly dark outside.  She sighed, wiping crumbs from her eyes and standing up.  After a moment, the doors hissed open, and she stepped through.

The ‘station’ was hardly more than a platform of corrugated metal, dripping with rust, that bridged two sides of the yawning darkness below.  Orange lights gleamed like eyes on the distant walls that did little to reveal the vastness of the dozens of floors extending above and below.  Ash made her way across, combing fingers through her matted hair.  Past the station, a blue light illuminated a lone figure leaning against the wall of the corridor.  He had a boyish face, a mess of dreadlocks, and perpetual bags under his eyes.  His left arm was a cybernetic prosthesis, which he waved as she approached.

“Heya.  Glad you made it.”

Ash nodded and pulled her coat closer around herself.  “Lead the way, Cygnus.” 

She followed a few paces behind him through a labyrinth of oily hallways, trying to stay alert.  There was never much in a given Tower to distinguish one area from another, save the occasional worn sign.  What was different was the layout, and the people.  Smells of dirt and skin and cooking meat surrounded them as they entered a crowded intersection crammed with dingy shops.  This district had working traffic lights to dictate the constant flow of activity, which the pair pushed their way through as hastily as possible.  A thin stairway led to an auxiliary floor, where Cygnus cut the chains on a gate that led to maintenance.  Ash perked up a bit.

“Home sweet home?”

“Not yet.  Watch behind us.”

Complex webs of pipes and wires guided them through the dark, claustrophobic maze.  Cygnus didn’t say much except to warn her about a gap in the floor or the sound of footsteps approaching.  Ash stayed relaxed.  She trusted people who lived behind locked doors or in cramped spaces more than whoever was patrolling outside them.  As much as she would trust anyone besides Cygnus, at least. 

The arrival of more ghosts, pale and eerily indistinct like clouds of water vapor, signalled their exit from maintenance and back into a populated area.  Cygnus slowed his pace as they entered a long living hall, lined with apartment doors and people who were either hunched over or entirely prone along its sides.  A nearby sign read ‘District 17, Floor 3.’  Ash squinted.

“I thought you said you’d found somewhere isolated.”

“Again, we aren’t there yet.  We’ve still got a bit to go.  Are there ghosts around or something?”

“No more than usual.  I hope you got some food, by the way.”

“Two large pizzas, right?”

She chuckled.  They carefully wove through the carpeted halls of the district.  Thousands of people could live in a single Tower, and the corporation heads tended to cram in a lot more than that.  Ash wove disdainfully at buzzing flies and ignored the hands reaching out for her as they passed.  It’s crazy the kind of thing that the city can make into a routine, she thought bitterly.

Then, her sword vibrated in its sheathe.  Ash slowed her pace and looked around, flicking the hilt with her thumb to reveal an inch of the blade.  A familiar surge of adrenaline pulsed through her.  Her vision reddened, beginning to switch focus, blurring the halls around her but sharpening the humanoid figures, including the wisp-like forms of the ghosts.  The sword was a slender katana Ash had held on to for almost ten years, and it was unlike any other piece of equipment she’d found.  Glancing to the left, Ash saw a small group of wisps huddling together, but these ones were bright red instead of pale. Though they were partially obscured by a wall, she saw them suddenly begin moving downwards as a single unit, presumably down an elevator shaft.

“Ash?  What’s up?”

Cygnus had stopped a little ways down the hall.  Ash looked around for another moment before running to catch up.

“Nothing, for now.”

“We can’t stop for every skeleton bird ghost you see flying around.”

“That was one time, dude.”

He smirked and continued walking.  The apartments fell away behind them as they climbed another set of stairs.  Ten minutes passed before Cygnus stopped in front of a door that was dirty enough to look like it had merged with the floor and ceiling.  Wires drooped haphazardly above their heads, some of them still sparking.  He typed in a code on the number pad and the door lazily forced itself open.  The lights inside flickered on.  It was a laboratory, full of old computers lined up on desks.  Every surface was coated in dust, and the shelves were lined with boxes that had long ago been combed for anything useful or valuable.  What few tools littered the floor were rusted nearly to pieces.  In one corner of the room was a set of monitors that looked newly-cleaned, hooked up to several smaller devices that no doubt belonged to Cygnus.

Ash sighed and stretched her arms, immediately settling into one of the darkest corners of the room.  A small sleeping bag was already rolled up here; Cygnus knew her well enough to know she wasn’t going to be using any chairs.  She started to unroll it as Cygnus sank down at his desk and started typing away.

“Where’s my pizza?”  Ash asked.

A moment later, Cygnus tossed over an almond nutrient bar.

“Fuck yes.”

She tore into it without hesitation.  It had been a while since it’d felt safe enough to rest.  Their last hideout had been compromised so completely that they’d come a long way to find somewhere new, as far as possible from the patrols of Ordainers.  An hour passed quietly, save for the tapping of keys and the rhythmic scrape of Ash sharpening her sword.  She wasn’t even sure it ever needed it, but it was something to do.  Surviving in this city consisted much of filling the silence.  Ash stood up and sheathed her sword, leaning it against one shoulder.

“I’m gonna take a look around.  I saw something with Red earlier.”

There was the heavy sigh she’d braced herself for.  Cygnus stared hard at the empty space beside her.  “Ash.  We’ve been here all of five minutes and you’re already wanting to find trouble?”

“I’ll be more careful this t-”

“Every time, she says that every time and what do I do?  Not much, just get walked all over.”

“You know that’s not what it’s like.”  She walked over to Cygnus’ desk and put a hand down on it, waiting for him to look at her fully.  He finally did, resting his cheek on his hand.

“It always starts like this.  That’s all I’m saying.”

“This is important.  I saw red ghosts.  Something serious could’ve happened nearby, maybe a Dissonance.”

“Ugh.  Fine.”  He sat back, firmly rubbing his brow with his non-cybernetic hand.  He always did that when he was annoyed.  It was charming enough to make Ash smirk a little.  Even when he was stressed, Cygnus always thought about things carefully.  He took an earpiece from the desk and handed it to her.  “Call me when you’re back.  If the cops are chasing you again, don’t lead them back here.”

“Mhm, I won’t.”

“I mean it.  I’m not getting in another gunfight.  Good luck out there, I guess.”

----

Charred metal and snapped wires made her surroundings smell like a welding shop.  Sickly white lights illuminated the elevator shaft at the end of hall, right where Ash had seen the red specters.  It looked like it had been out of order for a long time, and wherever the car itself was stuck certainly wasn’t on this floor.  Ash braced herself; before taking a running leap, wrapping her arms and legs around the steel cords suspended in the shaft.  After getting a decent grip, she let go with her hands and allowed herself to slide downwards with the cords braced against her shoes and coat sleeves.  Several minutes passed, and when Ash felt her muscles start to ache, she picked another opening in the shaft to leap outside again, now on a much lower floor.

She stared down a hallway that was so ill-maintained it was listing partially to one side.  The floor was a mess of rubble and detritus, but the power still worked enough to illuminate the hall with the flashing signs and video advertisements that lined the area.  Ash stepped carefully through the neon-painted darkness.  It seemed like this had been a major thoroughfare of some kind at one point, but had gradually fallen into disuse as people migrated to higher floors.  Sometimes it was almost surprising how decayed certain areas of the city could be.  It was less so when Ash remembered that most Towers were so large, a missile could hit one part of it without people who lived on the opposite side noticing.

A red blur suddenly darted through her vision at an intersection up ahead.  Another ghost.  She walked up to where she had seen it and focused her vision, unsheathing an inch of her blade again.  Ash had seen ‘ghosts’, for lack of a proper term, ever since she’d first claimed this sword, which she called ‘Red’ for simplicity’s sake.  From the very start, it had been obvious it wasn’t a normal weapon, and it only became more intriguing as she learned its exact properties.  In addition to greatly enhancing her strength, it had the ability to sense an afterimage of beings who had died but, as far as Ash could tell, not yet fully passed on to whatever comes next.  The red ones in particular were those who had died fairly recently or in an especially brutal manner, still clinging to the memory of blood running through their veins.  

However, the sword also left a murky redness in its wake that could be followed by Distortions - or anyone else with a means to track it.  The perfect weapon for finding trouble, or for trouble finding you.  

Ash made her way down a spiraling concrete staircase while checking the gun at her hip, making sure it was loaded and ready.  While bullets were typically ineffective against the Distorted, she always had it ready in case she ran into a less paranormal opponent.  

Emerging from the staircase, Ash entered a room so colossal that a layer of cold fog obscured the opposite wall.  She blinked a few times, hesitantly stepping inside.  It seemed like an old hanger of some kind for transport shuttles or private vehicles.  Monolithic pillars supported a dizzyingly high ceiling, through which soft footsteps would echo like rolling thunder.  Much of the hangar was flooded, knee-deep, with what Ash hoped was just dirty water as she waded through it, alert for any sign of movement.  

She caught some when another ghost darted into a nearby office building, a crimson haze trailing behind it.  

Ash followed, running up the stairs to the railway where it had vanished.

A few kicks to the thick iron door broke it open just enough for Ash to cut through the lock with her blade.  It had been a while since she’d seen this many red ghosts in such a short time.  This had to be a Distortion, a group of Harvesters, or maybe some kind of turf war between rival gangs.  

The dark, brutalistic hallway of the office was eerily silent.  Ash stepped inside.  Her breathing slowed, hand tightening around Red’s hilt.  The only sound was the water gently dripping from her cloak.  One of the doors on the side of the hall was leaning open.  Ash peeked around the corner.  

The stench hit her like a solid wall.  Rotting flesh.  A single light flickered on and off above a sizable office space with desks, computers, cubicles, all in disarray and coated with dust.  Stretched between them and along the ceiling were dark, ragged curtains that almost resembled party streamers.  Whole cubicles were wrapped in them.  Ash covered her nose and stepped inside, looking around.  A stench this awful meant the deaths were recent.  It smelled like a big  pile of corpses - Ash lamented how well she could recognize that.  Flies and moths danced beneath the broken light.  On the chairs in front of each desk, an old suit and tie was draped, presumably the uniforms of the staff who worked here.  All of them were drenched with blood.  That accounted for some of the stench, at least.  But there were no bodies.  

Ash’s eyes flicked back and forth, her hands shaking.  One of the curtains stretched across the entrance of a cubicle to her left.  She experimentally nudged it with the hilt of her sword.

A sickening squish.  A few drops of blood.  Ash’s stomach turned, her eyes widening.  Then, a voice.

“ᴡᴏʀᴋ ɪꜱ ꜱᴛᴀʀᴛɪɴɢ~ ɪᴛ’ꜱ ᴛɪᴍᴇ, ɪᴛ’ꜱ ᴛɪᴍᴇ… ʟᴇᴛ’ꜱ ᴀʟʟ ʙᴇ ᴏɴ ᴛɪᴍᴇ, ᴛᴏᴅᴀʏ~”

Scratchy and inhumanly shrill, the voice was shockingly close.  One of the ceiling panels near the flickering light gently peeled aside, until an impossibly long, sallow-skinned arm slithered from the darkness.  The panel thudded to the floor.  A horrifying visage, an absurd  facsimile of a human face, stretched and twisted, with bulbous eyes and stained teeth, smiled down at Ash.

“ᴛᴏᴅᴀʏ ɪꜱ ᴘᴀʀᴛʏ ᴅᴀᴀᴀᴀʏʏʏ~”

Ash drew her sword and leapt upwards, cutting at one of its arms, but like a skittering spider it retreated into the darkness.  The muffled tapping of fingers filled the room before it slunk to the ground a short distance away, fully emerging this time.  Its entire body was similarly twisted and elongated, and other than a vague humanoid shape and a head of patchy black hair, its overly-tight office suit was the only human thing about it, which only served to accentuate its monstrous, distorted nature.  Ash gritted her teeth, pointing her blade towards it with both hands clasped around the hilt.  This thing was disgusting, but it didn’t seem to have an overly adverse effect on her sanity.  Hopefully that meant no mental hazards to watch out for.  Its stance was spindly, off-balance.  Mindless.  She could win if she could corner it.  She slowly circled her prey, simply ripping through the curtains of flesh with her body mass.  The creature jittered and spasmed, lunging towards her with a clawed hand.  She ducked, and slashed upwards, but it was too fast again, skittering across the rims of the cubicles.

“ᴅᴇᴀʀ ᴏʜ ᴅᴇᴀʀ, ᴛʜᴇ ᴅᴇᴄᴏʀᴀᴛɪᴏɴꜱ!  ᴡᴇ ꜱɪᴍᴘʟʏ ᴄᴀɴ’ᴛ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴀ ᴘᴀʀᴛʏ ᴡɪᴛʜᴏᴜᴛ ᴅᴇᴄᴏʀᴀᴛɪᴏɴꜱ!  ᴘᴀʀᴛʏ ᴅᴀʏ ᴄᴏᴍᴇꜱ ᴊᴜꜱᴛ ᴏɴᴄᴇ ᴘᴇʀ ꜰɪꜱᴄᴀʟ ʏᴇᴀʀ!”

Ash took out her gun and aimed towards the creature.  It continued moving in its frenzied pattern, and she aimed for a moment before firing three times.  Two of the bullets connected, blood coating the wall behind it.  As expected, it only flinched slightly, and began scuttling towards her again.  Her eyes gleamed in the dark as she grabbed a nearby chair and twirled her body, throwing it as hard as she could.  It thudded against the creature’s torso, and at the same moment Ash charged forward, cutting a red line across its waist.  It let out an ear-piercing squeal, and a flailing arm caught Ash’s head, sending her sprawling.

It jittered in place for a few moments, a cacophony of screams and squeals, before suddenly charging directly for her.  Ash tried to get to her feet, but its hand locked around her throat and carried her forward with its weight.  Her spine thudded against the door she’d come through and they came fully through the wall.  They careened over the railing, spiraling two dozen feet down to the hangar floor and splashing into the murky water.  Ash’s head swam with color.  She coughed, gagged, tried to reach for Red... its gnarled fingers were still locked around her throat.  It picked her up out of the water, reaching high above its head.  Its face wore a warped smile.  

“ɪᴛ’ꜱ ᴘᴀʀᴛʏ ᴅᴀʏ~ ʙʀɪɴɢ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴅᴀᴜɢʜᴛᴇʀꜱ ᴀɴᴅ ꜱᴏɴꜱ, ʏᴏᴜʀ ꜱɪꜱᴛᴇʀꜱ ᴀɴᴅ ʙʀᴏᴛʜᴇʀꜱ~ ᴄᴏᴍᴇ ᴏɴᴇ ᴄᴏᴍᴇ ᴀʟʟ, ɪᴛ’ꜱ ᴀ ʜᴏʟɪᴅᴀʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋᴅᴀʏ!  ꜱᴛʀᴇᴛᴄʜ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴀʀᴍꜱ ᴡɪᴅᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ꜱᴀʏ ʜᴏᴏʀᴀʏ~ ᴡɪᴅᴇ, ᴡɪᴅᴇ ᴀꜱ ᴛʜᴇʏ’ʟʟ ɢᴏ~”

Fingernails dug into the back of her neck and tore outwards, beginning to peel the skin from her spine.  In doing so, its grip loosened slightly, and she swung back and forth to gather momentum before kicking it in the face.  One of its eyes popped, oozing dark pus, but it didn’t blink or flinch.  Ash’s lungs screamed for air.  This was bad.  She was too weak.  Her gun wouldn’t work.  Red was down in the water somewhere.  Out of reach.  Could she try to draw strength from it, even while she wasn’t holding it?  She had never tried before.  Seemed like now or never.

She closed her eyes and focused.  Focused on the red haze.  The smell of rust.  Sharpening instincts.  New sights and scents.  The world condensing to the head of a pin.  The tip of her blade.  Blood.  Thirst.  Strength.  Survival.  

Crimson haze ebbed from Ash’s form.  A guttural growl emerged from inside her, the raw sound of a desperate animal.  The creature continued laughing, and began slamming her against the ground, again and again.  Pain stabbed through her head, through her back.  But if pain was wood, she was a fast-catching fire.  She couldn’t muster as much strength as usual, but this had to be enough.  Her throat screamed for relief, but she forced her hands away from the creature’s fingers and grabbed its forearms instead.  She started to pull down, blood trailing from beneath her squeezed eyelids.  She felt the creature’s misshapen bones start to bend.  It squealed, shaking her back and forth, but she didn’t let go.  She pulled harder.  Harder.

SNAP.

Its arms broke at the wrists; its hands going limp around her throat.  She fell to the floor, sucked in a breath, and quickly dived, swimming between its legs as it screamed.  Her hand trailed along the concrete, searching.

“ᴅ-ᴅ-ᴅᴇᴄᴏʀᴀᴛɪᴏɴꜱ!  ᴅᴏɴ’ᴛ ʙᴇ ʟᴀᴛᴇ ɴᴏᴡ!  ɪᴛ’ꜱ ᴀʟᴍᴏꜱᴛ ʜᴇʀᴇ!”

She felt it, and picked it up.  Holding her blade aloft, she swept it into its sheathe and sprinted at the creature.  Staggering, arms hanging limp, it turned to stare at her.

“ɪᴛ’ꜱ ᴘᴀʀᴛʏ ᴅ-”

“Shut up.”

Warped guts exploded from the cloven rift in the creature’s midsection, the inertia of the blow forcing it backwards.  Ash twirled her blade, kneeled, and stabbed behind her, piercing what was left of its torso up to the hilt.  Blood rained down on her.  A few deep breaths later, she felt the creature’s weight begin to lessen.  She stood up fully as it dissolved into blood and flecks of pale ash that began to disintegrate in the dark water.  

Ash slashed the blade through the water to clean it before resheathing it, sighing and rubbing the back of her head.  She watched the pool of viscous remains spread further throughout the hangar.

“If someone else were here, I’d say something badass, like ‘party’s over’ or something.  But there isn’t anyone else here, so.”

She heaved another sigh and rolled her shoulders, starting to sluggishly wade towards the exit.  Hoping Cygnus would be able to stitch up her neck so she wouldn’t need to find a surgeon again, she began the long climb back to her new home higher in the Tower.

[suitofvibraniumarmor]

Boston Boys [Part Eight]

Summary:  Sebastian ends up in Aurelie’s trauma bay; Chris is MIA. Pairing: Chris Evans x OFC, John Krasinski x OFC Word Count: 1675 Chapter Warnings: Gun violence, gunshot wound, implied smut.   Square Filled: The entire series (well, bits and pieces of it) will fill my Crossover square for @marvelfluffbingo​​. A/N: This story contains a character who lost her hearing as she got older. I do work closely and regularly with the D/deaf community (I’m a sign language interpreter), but my own hearing problems do not involve significant hearing loss. It is not my intention to offend anyone, only to bring in a character with a quality I don’t see often in other fics. If you have questions about her, feel free to ask :)

Boston Boys Masterlist

“Dr. Juneau, you’ve been requested in Trauma One.”

Aurelie frowned. She hadn’t been requested by a single patient since the night John had come in to have his cut stitched up. Locking the computer she had been working on, Aurelie left her white coat behind and made way for the trauma bay.

“Adult male, approximately thirty-five. Dropped in the ambulance bay where an incoming rig found him.”

Aurelie took in as much of the information as she could while the nurses and techs hooked the man up to machines and started an IV. When the brief was over, she took a good look at her patient. Covered in blood and shaking, his face was pale and his breathing was labored.

Seb. No wonder he had asked for her. His eyes met hers. They were full of panic. She spotted movement from the arm where the nurse was attempting to start an IV. Seb’s hand was reaching out for Aurelie. She shook her head briefly.

“All right, I want a second IV, I want x-ray, CT. Figure out where this blood is coming from, what kind of injuries we’re looking at. Have a crash cart ready -- not just on standby, but ready. Now, move!”

The already chaotic movement of the team became more energized. Aurelie found the trauma scissors in her pocket and cut off his shirt while a tech cut off his pants.

“Doctor,” one nurse began, catching Aurelie’s attention, “I’ve got two GSW’s, one through-and-through in the left shoulder -- in the back, out the front -- and one still sitting near the diaphragm.”

Aurelie nodded. “All right, cancel CT, I want a mobile in the OR. Switch to oxygen on the gurney, start sedation meds, we’re rolling out now before that bullet moves. This needs to happen fast. Alert surgery.”

She let the team take Seb to the elevator; she jogged behind, texting Chris as she followed.

Seb’s in my trauma room. Wtf happened?! Heading to surgery now. Will keep you updated.

Aurelie was scrubbing out of the operating room when the familiar sounds of a scuffle called her attention to the hallway. If it was loud enough that she could hear and make out the sounds, it was serious. She finished her task and went out to see what was going on.

“Let me see him, you have to let me see him!”

Security was battling the determined mission of a redheaded woman, begging, pleading, demanding she let them see someone. Aurelie knew right away who she wanted to see.

“All right, all right, c’mon. She’s upset, can’t you see that?” Aurelie said sternly, getting between Scarlett and the guards. “Stand down, for fuck’s sake.”

Scarlett allowed Aurelie to help her to a nearby bench, but the guards didn’t go far. Aurelie motioned for them to stay calm, then sat down next to Scarlett.

“We got the stray bullet out. It was close to his diaphragm, so he’s on a ventilator right now so that we can control his breathing and allow the area to heal.”

“But he’s going to be okay?” Scarlett’s eyes were bloodshot from crying, and there was blood all over the front of her. “Aurie, you gotta tell me he’s gonna be okay.”

She hated when people called her Aurie, but this wasn’t the time to point that out. She looked sideways at the guards; one was genuinely not paying attention and the other was purposefully avoiding the personal note in the conversation.

“Barring any complications, he’ll be fine. He’s going to SICU right now, but you’ve got to let them get him settled and resting before you see him, all right? If you promise not to make a scene again, I’ll make sure you get ten minutes with him before you leave.” She held up a hand as Scarlett leaned in to hug her. “But you cannot -- cannot -- let on that you know me. To protect what I do here, I can’t be connected. To anyone.”

“I understand.”

Aurelie stood then, pulling the scrub cap from her head and shoving it in her pocket. No doubt Chris would be here soon -- they needed to talk. Stitching up random criminal lowlifes was one thing. Saving the life of someone she considered another brother was too close to home.

The pounding on Elsa’s apartment door spooked her from a deep sleep. She breathed heavy and fast as she sat up in bed, trying to decipher if the knocking was actually at her door. When the pounding started again and it was at her door, fear gripped her tighter. She just knew the bank robbers were on the other side of the door, ready to finish her off.

“Elsa, open up! It’s me, it’s Chris!”

Breathing a sigh of relief, she scrambled out of bed and went to the front door. She undid the deadbolt and the chain lock before twisting the lock on the knob. She let Chris in and immediately locked the door behind him.

“It’s three in the morning! What the hell is wrong with you? You scared the shit out of me!”

Chris wrapped his arms around her, pulling her flush against him and kissing her roughly. Elsa reacted in kind, going along with it when Chris tugged at her legs, lifting her up off the ground and wrapping her legs around his hips. He pushed them against the nearest open wall, knocking a few picture frames from a shelf in the process. Elsa bucked her hips against him, and that’s when Chris knew he needed to slow things and explain himself.

“I wanted to see you the other day, when you called. I’ve got a lot going on I can’t tell you about right now --”

“Chris?”

“Yeah?”

“Shut up and finish what you started.”

Chris grinned and pressed his lips to hers again. Elsa climbed down and pulled him toward her bedroom. She tossed off her nightgown and scooted back on the mattress while Chris tossed his shirt aside and pulled his belt from the loops holding it in place.

A few hours later, they were in the kitchen. Chris was making pancakes in his jeans, and Elsa was sitting on the counter watching in his t-shirt. She was laughing at a joke he made, thinking about how easy it was, being with Chris. There was no pressure to be anyone other than who she wanted to be, who she really was.

“I’m glad you came by,” she said, leaning over the griddle to kiss him.

Chris flipped the last pancake onto a stack with the others and turned off the heat on the stove. “I’m glad you let me in. What I was saying earlier, you know, I got a lot going on. Sometimes, there’s gonna be things I can’t tell you. But, I promise you, there’s no other girls, nothing that’s gonna hurt you. I want to tell you more, but I’ve at least got to tell you that because if I don’t -- if I don’t -- Elsa, I can be myself with you. I need that in my life, more than I can explain. You ground me, you keep me real. I know it hasn’t been that long, but you -- you’re a game-changer. I want to do better because of you.”

For a speech like that, Elsa could forget about the pancakes. She slid off the counter and put her hands on his bare hips. “I was thinking the same about you just now. About how I can be myself with you. It’s … it’s easy, being around you.”

Chris smiled. “Easy, yeah. That’s exactly it.”

Elsa went up on tiptoe to kiss him, effectively erasing the pancakes from his mind as well.

Before Aurelie closed out her shift the next morning, she went up to the surgical care unit to check on Seb. He was still on the ventilator, but holding steady. Scarlett was there too, curled up in a chair with a blanket. Aurelie was as quiet as she could be, but Scarlett was a light sleeper.

“Hey,” she greeted, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. “Thanks for whatever you said to the nurses. They let me stay all night.”

Aurelie nodded. “How long have you two been …?”

“Together. We’re together. It’s new. I was hung up on Chris for a long time, you know, but Seb never gave up. Guess I finally gave him a chance to show me what he was about and I was all for it.”

“That’s good. He’s been after you since before you and Chris, you know.”

“Really?” Scarlett’s eyes watered over.

“Yeah. Trust me. Sisters know shit.”

Scarlett nodded. “We were at a bar, some guy got mouthy. We made to leave and the guy followed us out, tried to grab me. I can hold my own, but --”

“But Seb wanted to protect you,” Aurelie finished.

“He did. I thought -- I thought he was going to die right there in my arms, you know? All the close calls we’ve had, all the referrals. Some dumbass in a bar was gonna be the one to take him out.”

Aurelie looked down at the gurney, and blue eyes looked back up at her. She motioned for Scarlett to come over. “I think he’s gonna be just fine. You’ve got a lot of years of this asshole ahead of you.”

Scarlett was out of the chair in an instant. She slipped her hand into Seb’s, and his eyes moved from Aurelie’s to hers. Aurelie promised both of them that things were going to be fine; she would send the floor doctor in immediately.

“Hey, real quick -- was Chris upset when he came by?”

Scarlett frowned. “I haven’t seen Chris since he left the shop yesterday.”

“Huh. Okay.”

So no one had heard from him since he went to see Robert the day before. Frowning, and with a million scenarios playing through her head, Aurelie alerted the charge nurse that Seb was awake, then hurriedly gathered her things to get out of there and start looking for her brother.

AlloftheThings: @captain-s-rogers​​​​ @star-spangled-man-with-a-plan​​​​@letsgetfuckingsuperwholocked​​​​ @hurricanerin​​​​@horsesandbandsforlife​​​​ @im-not-an-armrest-im-short​​​​ @captain-rogers-beard​​​​ @shynara51​​​​ @sea040561​​​​  @pinknerdpanda​​​​ @xtina2191​​​​ @jackryanplz​​​​ @beakami​​​​ @heartsaved​​​​@fullprunerebelstatesman​​​​ @blackwidowismyhomegirl​​​​

Boston Boys:  @the-murder-strut-murdered-me​​​​ @becs-bunker​​​​ @shield-agent78​​​​ @patzammit​​​​ @crazyandanonymous4u​​​​@ntlmundy​​​​​ @jennmurawski13​​​​​ @okay-maybe-i-like-marvel-too​​​​

[lullabieswrappedinlies]

Boston Boys [Part Eight]

Summary:  Sebastian ends up in Aurelie’s trauma bay; Chris is MIA. Pairing: Chris Evans x OFC, John Krasinski x OFC Word Count: 1675 Chapter Warnings: Gun violence, gunshot wound, implied smut.   Square Filled: The entire series (well, bits and pieces of it) will fill my Crossover square for @marvelfluffbingo. A/N: This story contains a character who lost her hearing as she got older. I do work closely and regularly with the D/deaf community (I’m a sign language interpreter), but my own hearing problems do not involve significant hearing loss. It is not my intention to offend anyone, only to bring in a character with a quality I don’t see often in other fics. If you have questions about her, feel free to ask :)

Boston Boys Masterlist

“Dr. Juneau, you’ve been requested in Trauma One.”

Aurelie frowned. She hadn’t been requested by a single patient since the night John had come in to have his cut stitched up. Locking the computer she had been working on, Aurelie left her white coat behind and made way for the trauma bay.

“Adult male, approximately thirty-five. Dropped in the ambulance bay where an incoming rig found him.”

Aurelie took in as much of the information as she could while the nurses and techs hooked the man up to machines and started an IV. When the brief was over, she took a good look at her patient. Covered in blood and shaking, his face was pale and his breathing was labored.

Seb. No wonder he had asked for her. His eyes met hers. They were full of panic. She spotted movement from the arm where the nurse was attempting to start an IV. Seb’s hand was reaching out for Aurelie. She shook her head briefly.

“All right, I want a second IV, I want x-ray, CT. Figure out where this blood is coming from, what kind of injuries we’re looking at. Have a crash cart ready -- not just on standby, but ready. Now, move!”

The already chaotic movement of the team became more energized. Aurelie found the trauma scissors in her pocket and cut off his shirt while a tech cut off his pants.

“Doctor,” one nurse began, catching Aurelie’s attention, “I’ve got two GSW’s, one through-and-through in the left shoulder -- in the back, out the front -- and one still sitting near the diaphragm.”

Aurelie nodded. “All right, cancel CT, I want a mobile in the OR. Switch to oxygen on the gurney, start sedation meds, we’re rolling out now before that bullet moves. This needs to happen fast. Alert surgery.”

She let the team take Seb to the elevator; she jogged behind, texting Chris as she followed.

Seb’s in my trauma room. Wtf happened?! Heading to surgery now. Will keep you updated.

Aurelie was scrubbing out of the operating room when the familiar sounds of a scuffle called her attention to the hallway. If it was loud enough that she could hear and make out the sounds, it was serious. She finished her task and went out to see what was going on.

“Let me see him, you have to let me see him!”

Security was battling the determined mission of a redheaded woman, begging, pleading, demanding she let them see someone. Aurelie knew right away who she wanted to see.

“All right, all right, c’mon. She’s upset, can’t you see that?” Aurelie said sternly, getting between Scarlett and the guards. “Stand down, for fuck’s sake.”

Scarlett allowed Aurelie to help her to a nearby bench, but the guards didn’t go far. Aurelie motioned for them to stay calm, then sat down next to Scarlett.

“We got the stray bullet out. It was close to his diaphragm, so he’s on a ventilator right now so that we can control his breathing and allow the area to heal.”

“But he’s going to be okay?” Scarlett’s eyes were bloodshot from crying, and there was blood all over the front of her. “Aurie, you gotta tell me he’s gonna be okay.”

She hated when people called her Aurie, but this wasn’t the time to point that out. She looked sideways at the guards; one was genuinely not paying attention and the other was purposefully avoiding the personal note in the conversation.

“Barring any complications, he’ll be fine. He’s going to SICU right now, but you’ve got to let them get him settled and resting before you see him, all right? If you promise not to make a scene again, I’ll make sure you get ten minutes with him before you leave.” She held up a hand as Scarlett leaned in to hug her. “But you cannot -- cannot -- let on that you know me. To protect what I do here, I can’t be connected. To anyone.”

“I understand.”

Aurelie stood then, pulling the scrub cap from her head and shoving it in her pocket. No doubt Chris would be here soon -- they needed to talk. Stitching up random criminal lowlifes was one thing. Saving the life of someone she considered another brother was too close to home.

The pounding on Elsa’s apartment door spooked her from a deep sleep. She breathed heavy and fast as she sat up in bed, trying to decipher if the knocking was actually at her door. When the pounding started again and it was at her door, fear gripped her tighter. She just knew the bank robbers were on the other side of the door, ready to finish her off.

“Elsa, open up! It’s me, it’s Chris!”

Breathing a sigh of relief, she scrambled out of bed and went to the front door. She undid the deadbolt and the chain lock before twisting the lock on the knob. She let Chris in and immediately locked the door behind him.

“It’s three in the morning! What the hell is wrong with you? You scared the shit out of me!”

Chris wrapped his arms around her, pulling her flush against him and kissing her roughly. Elsa reacted in kind, going along with it when Chris tugged at her legs, lifting her up off the ground and wrapping her legs around his hips. He pushed them against the nearest open wall, knocking a few picture frames from a shelf in the process. Elsa bucked her hips against him, and that’s when Chris knew he needed to slow things and explain himself.

“I wanted to see you the other day, when you called. I’ve got a lot going on I can’t tell you about right now --”

“Chris?”

“Yeah?”

“Shut up and finish what you started.”

Chris grinned and pressed his lips to hers again. Elsa climbed down and pulled him toward her bedroom. She tossed off her nightgown and scooted back on the mattress while Chris tossed his shirt aside and pulled his belt from the loops holding it in place.

A few hours later, they were in the kitchen. Chris was making pancakes in his jeans, and Elsa was sitting on the counter watching in his t-shirt. She was laughing at a joke he made, thinking about how easy it was, being with Chris. There was no pressure to be anyone other than who she wanted to be, who she really was.

“I’m glad you came by,” she said, leaning over the griddle to kiss him.

Chris flipped the last pancake onto a stack with the others and turned off the heat on the stove. “I’m glad you let me in. What I was saying earlier, you know, I got a lot going on. Sometimes, there’s gonna be things I can’t tell you. But, I promise you, there’s no other girls, nothing that’s gonna hurt you. I want to tell you more, but I’ve at least got to tell you that because if I don’t -- if I don’t -- Elsa, I can be myself with you. I need that in my life, more than I can explain. You ground me, you keep me real. I know it hasn’t been that long, but you -- you’re a game-changer. I want to do better because of you.”

For a speech like that, Elsa could forget about the pancakes. She slid off the counter and put her hands on his bare hips. “I was thinking the same about you just now. About how I can be myself with you. It’s … it’s easy, being around you.”

Chris smiled. “Easy, yeah. That’s exactly it.”

Elsa went up on tiptoe to kiss him, effectively erasing the pancakes from his mind as well.

Before Aurelie closed out her shift the next morning, she went up to the surgical care unit to check on Seb. He was still on the ventilator, but holding steady. Scarlett was there too, curled up in a chair with a blanket. Aurelie was as quiet as she could be, but Scarlett was a light sleeper.

“Hey,” she greeted, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. “Thanks for whatever you said to the nurses. They let me stay all night.”

Aurelie nodded. “How long have you two been …?”

“Together. We’re together. It’s new. I was hung up on Chris for a long time, you know, but Seb never gave up. Guess I finally gave him a chance to show me what he was about and I was all for it.”

“That’s good. He’s been after you since before you and Chris, you know.”

“Really?” Scarlett’s eyes watered over.

“Yeah. Trust me. Sisters know shit.”

Scarlett nodded. “We were at a bar, some guy got mouthy. We made to leave and the guy followed us out, tried to grab me. I can hold my own, but --”

“But Seb wanted to protect you,” Aurelie finished.

“He did. I thought -- I thought he was going to die right there in my arms, you know? All the close calls we’ve had, all the referrals. Some dumbass in a bar was gonna be the one to take him out.”

Aurelie looked down at the gurney, and blue eyes looked back up at her. She motioned for Scarlett to come over. “I think he’s gonna be just fine. You’ve got a lot of years of this asshole ahead of you.”

Scarlett was out of the chair in an instant. She slipped her hand into Seb’s, and his eyes moved from Aurelie’s to hers. Aurelie promised both of them that things were going to be fine; she would send the floor doctor in immediately.

“Hey, real quick -- was Chris upset when he came by?”

Scarlett frowned. “I haven’t seen Chris since he left the shop yesterday.”

“Huh. Okay.”

So no one had heard from him since he went to see Robert the day before. Frowning, and with a million scenarios playing through her head, Aurelie alerted the charge nurse that Seb was awake, then hurriedly gathered her things to get out of there and start looking for her brother.

Tags:

@themtbmbgirl @keithseabrook27​ @ulovemelightsout​ @rosie2801​ @professorkrasinski​

[okaywhateverokayyes]

Dichotomy

So I’m bringing this back because I have no clue when, or if, I’ll ever write again BUT, I’m here for the Deran and Adrian direction that is being taken this season-KIND OF, maybe. 

Summary: (Pre-season 1. This is me trying to show the ways that Deran cares about Adrian. In his own way)

It’s 2 in the morning.

He stirrs from his sleep when he gets the call.

There’s ragged breathing, some low growls and he almost goes to switch his phone off when Craig’s voice stops him.

“Dude.” Craig sounds hurried. Deran lifted his head up, had his elbow pressed into the pillow for leveling as he pressed the phone against his ear.

There’s silence on the other end. But not really. He heard a lot of shuffling, sounded like a cart was reeling-and maybe it was. But he pushed it aside when the ragged breathing picks up. Soon, there’s a low grunt and Deran had to blink his eyes when Baz’s voice replaced Craig’s.

“Deran. Get to the hospital.”

Deran rubbed at his eyes.

“What.” He muttered, “What. Why?”

Baz is mumbling as Deran takes the moment to flip over. He swipes his hand against his forehead when he’s met with static silence.

For fuck’ sake.

“Alright, I’m gonna hang u-“

“It’s Adrian. Get to the hospital.”

Suddenly, he’s awake.

Alert.

Every nerve in his body felt like they were on flames.

“What about him?” Deran has to grip onto the sheets as he lowly asks, when all he wants to do is scream into the phone. There’s this sense of urgency he feels that causes him to lift the covers up and over his body.

“Just bruised up. It looks bad but I just think he broke his nose. Makes sense why there’s all that blood,” Baz’s voice sounds distant, “They’re checking him out now. Just get to the hospital alright? Take my jeep. I put the keys on the rack over the unit. Also, don’t wake Smurf up.”

Deran has to clench his hand into a fist as he grits his teeth together.

“What happened?” He’s jabbing his nails into his palm as he asks.

Because blood?

He glances at the clock above his drawer-it says 2:11.

It’s 2:11 in the morning. And somehow Adrian finds a way to fuck with him.

Deran removes his cell away from his face as he lets out a growl.

“I don’t know. Once he wakes up-“ Deran digs his fingers deeper into his flesh because the thought of Adrian not even being conscious. He perches over the bed as Baz’s voice starts to be overwhelmed by his harsh breaths. He fizzles around until he brings his legs up and closer to his chest, rests his elbow against the knees and shoves his head in between.

He starts to count.

11.

8.

234.

It’s all random.

Counting from one to ten seemed too obvious.

234.

8.

11.

He says it over and over again, whispers it under his breath until his breathing levels out.

“Deran.” Baz is now barking as Deran places the phone against his ear, “Just get here alright?”

Soon his feet hit the ground running.

He doesn’t remember really putting on his sweatshirt, shoving his feet into his sneakers, walking into the shed, rummaging his over the rack-slides his hand to one side before he grips onto the keys. He doesn’t remember starting the jeep, or opening the gates. He doesn’t remember much as he pulls the jeep out onto the street and presses on the accelerator and having to swerve when he doesn’t see that he had just swerved past a stop light.

He glances at his phone, the screen lighting up. So he goes to grab it, levels the phone in front of his eyes and reads the address. It clicks that they’re not at a hospital. But a community clinic.

He doesn’t remember the anger that rummages through him as he continues to press down on the accelerator.

He doesn’t remember much as he pulls into the parking lot. Turns the engine off. Grabs his phone and shoves it into his shorts. His vision blurs. All the different color lights start to mesh into one. He sees ‘community clinic’ as bright as daylights. But that’s as much as clarity as he could see.

He grips onto the handle and pushes forward. The soles of his shoes are making rubbery sounds as he slams them against the ground. He drags his feet when all he wants to do is stop-

He wants to let the lump in his throat disappear.

He wants to clear his sight.

He just wants it to stop.

“Deran. Hey.” Cool hands brisk his shoulders. Deran swipes at his nose as he arches his back. Finds himself looking directly at Baz.

Baz was looking right back at him.

Deran lets Baz direct him around the corner, down a long hallway. The white starts to make him feel nauseous. His feet feel numb as he walks and the drumming in his ears begin.

Craig is perked up against the wall. Deran watches as Craig leans forward when he’s standing about twenty feet away.

“Dude-“

“A fucking clinic?” Deran’s surprised at the tone of his voice. It was somewhere between confusion and sheer anger that he thought he couldn’t muster. He also has to jab his hands to his sides when he feels the words start to crack. His voice would betray him. He knew they would.

They couldn’t see that.

He shrugs off Baz’s touch and slides to the opposite side of them.

“There’s a fucking hospital closer than this.”

He doesn’t look at them as he continues.

It helps that he doesn’t have to.

Because if he did.

Shit.

“Are you both stupid?” He seethes, “What if he had-I don’t know?!” The possibilities seemed endless, “What if he had burst his spleen or some shit?” It seems random. But it also seemed likely. “What if he cracked a rib? Dude, you could puncture your lung that way!” His mind is running as he turns to face the room that he had assumed was where they had taken him.

He catches his breath.

He feels his skin prickling.

He does what he knows best.

He rubs his hand over his eyes, rests them against his forehead as he focuses on his feet.

Because, shit.

“I swear to God…”

“It’s just a broken nose, Deran.” Baz is at his side as he answers, “That’s all. I searched him over. I tried to ask him if anything else hurt but he was already out by the time-“

“Oh, Jesus.” Deran takes a step back.

“-he’s going to be fine.” Baz continues, more sterness in his voice, “We took him here because I couldn’t find his card, man. They would ask too many questions if we took him to a hospital. You and I both know that that’s not what Adrian wants.”

Deran’s blood boils as he focuses on Baz’s words.

That’s not what Adrian wants.

They would ask too many questions.

Questions.

“Questions about what?”

Baz sighs, “De-“

“Fuck you.” Deran cuts him off, “Fuck. You.”

Craig’s at Baz’s side just as quickly. He has his hands out as if he’s trying to stop whatever might start. Deran wants to flip him off but he looks away when all he wants to do is throw his fist in Baz’s direction.

“Dude, A-man wouldn’t do stupid shit. We know that. That’s not what he’s trying to say.” Craig starts, “But we can’t take chances, right?”

He grips at his hair as he growls. He knows that his vision is blurred and that his eyes are starting to burn. He blinks away until he presses his forehead against the tiled wall. He lets out a breath he knows he’s holding but doing that makes him feel as if he had just given into something.

He shifts his head from one side to another.

Does so because the drumming in his ears begins to change in tune.

If he’s angled just a little bit to the side but hung his head, the sound was fine-tuned. It didn’t sound like scraping nails.

It just sounded like the motor of a cooler.

It’s never just a broken nose.

It’s never that.

“Deran, he’ll be fine.”

He knows it.

He has to be.

There was nothing else he could be.

He had to be okay.

“Don’t fucking tell me that,” he clears his throat as he growls.

Baz retracts his hand.

“Listen, I’m not going to do this entire schpiel with you, man.”

Deran looks at him.

“What, schpiel?” He repeats.

Baz gives him a once-twice lookover. He glances at Deran from the brisk of his toes to the top of his head. Does it once. Does it again.

“This,” he waves his hands in Deran’s direction, “You just-“ Deran waits for him to continue. He hopes Baz does because if he’s being honest, a fist in Baz’s face doesn’t seem like a bad idea. It seems like that it would feel much better right now if Baz continued.

So he waits.

His nostrils are flaring and his hands are in the shapes of fists.

He watches as Baz sighs.

His mouth forms an oval shape but then he drops his gaze as he turns to look at Craig.

And Deran realizes then what he was, how he was feeling, how he was displaying it-

He catches himself uncurl his hands. Coughs into his elbow as he sags his shoulders. He rubs at his elbow as he exhales.

He knew what he had looked like. Sounded like.

And they were noticing it too.

“Yeah,” Deran levels his voice, “He’ll be fine.”

Deran has to bite down on his lip when he feels the shudder crawl up his spine.

He’ll be fine because he has to.

There were no ifs, ands or buts about it.

“Whatever.” Deran adds because they’re still looking at him.

Like they’re noticing something that Deran didn’t want them to.

That the change in manner was just expected but also-

It’s as if they had caught Deran in something that he hadn’t mean to find himself in.

They’re looking at him.

So Deran looks away.

“It’s just a broken nose.” He finds himself repeating, but this time, he makes sure to scowl. Like, there. He can handle a broken nose. And if he couldn’t-

Well, then tough shit.

But the drumming is back and it’s louder.

And this time,  he let’s it swallow the entire room.

[okaywhateverokayyes]

Lose The Battles but Win The War

Part B: Deran’s POV

It’s 2 in the morning.

He stirrs from his sleep when he gets the call.

There’s ragged breathing, some low growls and he almost goes to switch his phone off when Craig’s voice stops him.

“Dude.” Craig sounds hurried. Deran lifted his head up, had his elbow pressed into the pillow for leveling as he pressed the phone against his ear.

There’s silence on the other end. But not really. He heard a lot of shuffling, sounded like a cart was reeling-and maybe it was. But he pushed it aside when the ragged breathing picks up. Soon, there’s a low grunt and Deran had to blink his eyes when Baz’s voice replaced Craig’s.

“Deran. Get to the hospital.”

Deran rubbed at his eyes.

“What.” He muttered, “What. Why?”

Baz is mumbling as Deran takes the moment to flip over. He swipes his hand against his forehead when he’s met with static silence.

For fuck’ sake.

“Alright, I’m gonna hang u-“

“It’s Adrian. Get to the hospital.”

Suddenly, he’s awake.

Alert.

Every nerve in his body felt like they were on flames.

“What about him?” Deran has to grip onto the sheets as he lowly asks, when all he wants to do is scream into the phone. There’s this sense of urgency he feels that causes him to lift the covers up and over his body.

“Just bruised up. It looks bad but I just think he broke his nose. Makes sense why there’s all that blood,” Baz’s voice sounds distant, “They’re checking him out now. Just get to the hospital alright? Take my jeep. I put the keys on the rack over the unit. Also, don’t wake Smurf up.”

Deran has to clench his hand into a fist as he grits his teeth together.

“What happened?” He’s jabbing his nails into his palm as he asks.

Because blood?

He glances at the clock above his drawer-it says 2:11.

It’s 2:11 in the morning. And somehow Adrian finds a way to fuck with him.

Deran removes his cell away from his face as he lets out a growl.

“I don’t know. Once he wakes up-“ Deran digs his fingers deeper into his flesh because the thought of Adrian not even being conscious. He perches over the bed as Baz’s voice starts to be overwhelmed by his harsh breaths. He fizzles around until he brings his legs up and closer to his chest, rests his elbow against the knees and shoves his head in between.

He starts to count.

11.

8.

234.

It’s all random.

Counting from one to ten seemed too obvious.

234.

8.

11.

He says it over and over again, whispers it under his breath until his breathing levels out.

“Deran.” Baz is now barking as Deran places the phone against his ear, “Just get here alright?”

Soon his feet hit the ground running.

He doesn’t remember really putting on his sweatshirt, shoving his feet into his sneakers, walking into the shed, rummaging his over the rack-slides his hand to one side before he grips onto the keys. He doesn’t remember starting the jeep, or opening the gates. He doesn’t remember much as he pulls the jeep out onto the street and presses on the accelerator and having to swerve when he doesn’t see that he had just swerved past a stop light.

He glances at his phone, the screen lighting up. So he goes to grab it, levels the phone in front of his eyes and reads the address. It clicks that they’re not at a hospital. But a community clinic.

He doesn’t remember the anger that rummages through him as he continues to press down on the accelerator.

He doesn’t remember much as he pulls into the parking lot. Turns the engine off. Grabs his phone and shoves it into his shorts. His vision blurs. All the different color lights start to mesh into one. He sees ‘community clinic’ as bright as daylights. But that’s as much as clarity as he could see.

He grips onto the handle and pushes forward. The soles of his shoes are making rubbery sounds as he slams them against the ground. He drags his feet when all he wants to do is stop-

He wants to let the lump in his throat disappear.

He wants to clear his sight.

He just wants it to stop.

“Deran. Hey.” Cool hands brisk his shoulders. Deran swipes at his nose as he arches his back. Finds himself looking directly at Baz.

Baz was looking right back at him.

Deran lets Baz direct him around the corner, down a long hallway. The white starts to make him feel nauseous. His feet feel numb as he walks and the drumming in his ears begin.

Craig is perked up against the wall. Deran watches as Craig leans forward when he’s standing about twenty feet away.

“Dude-“

“A fucking clinic?” Deran’s surprised at the tone of his voice. It was somewhere between confusion and sheer anger that he thought he couldn’t muster. He also has to jab his hands to his sides when he feels the words start to crack. His voice would betray him. He knew they would.

They couldn’t see that.

He shrugs off Baz’s touch and slides to the opposite side of them.

“There’s a fucking hospital closer than this.”

He doesn’t look at them as he continues.

It helps that he doesn’t have to.

Because if he did.

Shit.

“Are you both stupid?” He seethes, “What if he had-I don’t know?!” The possibilities seemed endless, “What if he had burst his spleen or some shit?” It seems random. But it also seemed likely. “What if he cracked a rib? Dude, you could puncture your lung that way!” His mind is running as he turns to face the room that he had assumed was where they had taken him.

He catches his breath.

He feels his skin prickling.

He does what he knows best.

He rubs his hand over his eyes, rests them against his forehead as he focuses on his feet.

Because, shit.

“I swear to God…”

“It’s just a broken nose, Deran.” Baz is at his side as he answers, “That’s all. I searched him over. I tried to ask him if anything else hurt but he was already out by the time-“

“Oh, Jesus.” Deran takes a step back.

“-he’s going to be fine.” Baz continues, more sterness in his voice, “We took him here because I couldn’t find his card, man. They would ask too many questions if we took him to a hospital. You and I both know that that’s not what Adrian wants.”

Deran’s blood boils as he focuses on Baz’s words.

That’s not what Adrian wants.

They would ask too many questions.

Questions.

“Questions about what?”

Baz sighs, “De-“

“Fuck you.” Deran cuts him off, “Fuck. You.”

Craig’s at Baz’s side just as quickly. He has his hands out as if he’s trying to stop whatever might start. Deran wants to flip him off but he looks away when all he wants to do is throw his fist in Baz’s direction.

“Dude, A-man wouldn’t do stupid shit. We know that. That’s not what he’s trying to say.” Craig starts, “But we can’t take chances, right?”

He grips at his hair as he growls. He knows that his vision is blurred and that his eyes are starting to burn. He blinks away until he presses his forehead against the tiled wall. He lets out a breath he knows he’s holding but doing that makes him feel as if he had just given into something.

He shifts his head from one side to another.

Does so because the drumming in his ears begins to change in tune.

If he’s angled just a little bit to the side but hung his head, the sound was fine-tuned. It didn’t sound like scraping nails.

It just sounded like the motor of a cooler.

It’s never just a broken nose.

It’s never that.

“Deran, he’ll be fine.”

He knows it.

He has to be.

There was nothing else he could be.

He had to be okay.

“Don’t fucking tell me that,” he clears his throat as he growls.

Baz retracts his hand.

“Listen, I’m not going to do this entire schpiel with you, man.”

Deran looks at him.

“What, schpiel?” He repeats.

Baz gives him a once-twice lookover. He glances at Deran from the brisk of his toes to the top of his head. Does it once. Does it again.

“This,” he waves his hands in Deran’s direction, “You just-“ Deran waits for him to continue. He hopes Baz does because if he’s being honest, a fist in Baz’s face doesn’t seem like a bad idea. It seems like that it would feel much better right now if Baz continued.

So he waits.

His nostrils are flaring and his hands are in the shapes of fists.

He watches as Baz sighs.

His mouth forms an oval shape but then he drops his gaze as he turns to look at Craig.

And Deran realizes then what he was, how he was feeling, how he was displaying it-

He catches himself uncurl his hands. Coughs into his elbow as he sags his shoulders. He rubs at his elbow as he exhales.

He knew what he had looked like. Sounded like.

And they were noticing it too.

“Yeah,” Deran levels his voice, “He’ll be fine.”

Deran has to bite down on his lip when he feels the shudder crawl up his spine.

He’ll be fine because he has to.

There were no ifs, ands or buts about it.

“Whatever.” Deran adds because they’re still looking at him.

Like they’re noticing something that Deran didn’t want them to.

That the change in manner was just expected but also-

It’s as if they had caught Deran in something that he hadn’t mean to find himself in.

They’re looking at him.

So Deran looks away.

“It’s just a broken nose.” He finds himself repeating, but this time, he makes sure to scowl. Like, there. He can handle a broken nose. And if he couldn’t-

Well, then tough shit.

But the drumming is back and it’s louder.

And this time,  he let’s it swallow the entire room.