#and of course no one is gonna help me get my prescription of painkillers until tomorrow

[saintslaughter-a]

my mouth HURTS i need to kill

[bestintheparsec]

The Same Coin - Part 1

Prologue | Masterlist

Pairing: Javier Peña x Reader

A/N: Thank y’all so much for the nice comments on this new series! This picks up shortly after the prologue. I had to hold back a lot for this chapter because pining is not allowed yet - patience😌 I hope you enjoy, and as always feedback is welcome!❤️

Words: 3.4k

Warnings: some mentions of violence, angst (but not the Yearning kind yet)

You’ve just finished getting ready to start the day when you hear three loud knocks at your door. Hurriedly buttoning up your blouse, you go answer it and find Steve standing outside with his hands on his hips.

“Peña’s out of the hospital and back home now,” he informs you.

You briefly remember the scene from a couple days ago. He’d been fine, of course, just bleeding out and unable to stand. A local helped you call an ambulance while you got Peña upright and put pressure to the wound. Much like he always did, he spent a bit of time swearing under his breath when he claimed you were making too much of a fuss over it. You had to drive the Jeep back, so he went off to the hospital on his own once the paramedics arrived. You made sure he was going to be okay before you left him, and Steve went to visit him so you assumed he was recovering.

“Okay,” you comment. This couldn’t wait? “Is he alright?”

“He’ll be off work and on crutches for a few weeks,” he answers. He looks down at the floor before looking back up at you.

“What is it?” you ask suspiciously.

“They...put us in charge of watching over him until he’s back at work. Mostly you.” He mutters the last part, and you raise your brows.

“What? Why me?” you ask, confused.

“You’re the one who lives next door to him,” Steve answers, matter-of-factly. He and Connie live a couple floors above you, so logistically he’s right. But that doesn’t mean you want to be his personal nurse.

“Yeah, but—” you start to say, a little louder.

“It’ll be fine,” he insists, patting you on the shoulder. “You just need to check in every now and then and make sure he’s getting some food and water in him.”

Steve grabs your hand and slips a key into it. “I’ll come by too, but you’ll be able to hear if he falls or something at night, right?”

At that, you can’t help but chuckle dryly. Yeah, you can hear plenty, alright.

~

After work, you drive back home and feel the tension leave your muscles once you step into the apartment complex. Work was uneventful, without any new leads or intel. Mostly it was just you and Steve poring over mindless paperwork. As expected, you’d gotten quite the scolding from the colonel and Messina today. This was nothing new; not with Peña for a partner. But it was the first time he’d gotten himself hurt in one of his schemes, which didn’t look good on either of your parts. You didn’t feel like hashing it out with them, so you took your warning and left, opting to chide Peña on it on your own time.

Steve had gone out with Connie after leaving today, so it’s on you to check on Peña first. The heels on your shoes clack as you make your way down the dim hallway to his door. He should still be fresh off the IV painkillers from the hospital, so he probably won’t be awake to answer. You pull out the key Steve gave you and unlock it, the cool air greeting you as you enter his flat.

It’s not your first time in his apartment. You and Steve have often had late nights here, working on some new lead after hours. Only a lamp's faded light is on, but you hear rustling inside.

“Peña,” you call out. You find him in the kitchen, trying to heat something up in the microwave while leaning on his crutches. His hair is tousled and messy, and he's in a t-shirt and loose pants��a surprising sight and a stark contrast from his usual attire. He greets you with only a glance. You almost ask how he’s feeling but the cold gesture makes you decide against doing so.

You hold up the paper bag in your hand. “Steve picked up your painkillers,” you tell him, putting it on the counter.

“No need to knock before you enter,” he remarks sarcastically, pulling his food out of the microwave.

You roll your eyes, figuring he’d be in a bad mood. “You’re supposed to be in bed. Doctor’s orders. And you’re welcome,” you counter. How does he manage to be insufferable even when fully medicated?

“You really always go by-the-book, don’t you?” he clips, the sound of his crutches clanking on the tile as he walks over to you. Jesus, Javier thinks to himself. He already has to deal with you at work, and now he has to deal with this in his own home, too?

“The hole in your leg says otherwise, although I wouldn’t say that’s my fault,” you answer tersely.

“Well, if it makes you feel better, Messina seems to have made you and Murphy my punishment,” he grumbles.

You purse your lips. “Believe me, this thrills me, too, Peña. But I can’t have you collapsing on me anymore,” you say, which catches his eye. “I’ll get in trouble again,” you add, and he smirks at that.

“Ever the caring partner,” he huffs, though he’s mildly amused. He looks you up and down for the first time since you came in. He notices how you’re playing with the fabric of your shirt; another habit you have, typically when frustrated. Javier hates that he knows this, attributing it to how much all three of you are around each other. You see each other around the clock, so it’s impossible not to pick up on the little things. For a moment he ponders what you might have picked up about him—not that what you think of him matters.

You ignore the sarcasm in his voice, eyeing the box of bandages and bottles of antiseptic on the counter. In all honesty, you’re not sure how well he’s dressing his own wounds; he probably gives them a quick swipe and calls it a day. “Do you...need help changing your bandages? I know how to clean them—”

“No,” he cuts you off.

“Okay, well if you need me to get anything—”

“I’m fine,” he interrupts again. “So unless you want to help me shower…” he says, sneering at the face you make.

“Yeah, I’m not sure even Steve will help you with that,” you wave a hand dismissively.

“Anyways, these meds should knock you out for a while,” you continue, changing the topic. “Which means I can get some quiet on the other side of your wall, for once.” You're only partially joking, but Javier doesn’t miss the mild embarrassment in your eyes. He chuckles without humor, but doesn’t respond.

A moment passes before you speak again and readjust the bag on your shoulder. “Get some rest, Peña,” you instruct. With that, you head back out the door as he watches you leave.

He sighs deeply, running a free hand through his hair. Why can't Murphy be the one who lives next door?

~

You continue to alternate check-ins with Steve daily, always trying to come during evenings, when Peña’s more likely to be awake. The visits are brief and somewhat civil, although they usually involve you nagging him about one thing or another and getting snippy comments in response. Really, you know he’s a grown man and all, but even when injured he’s not terribly careful.

It’s not his fault his place is getting messier—he’s not fully mobile—but his flat is usually decently tidy, most likely for his “guests”. Now the place is covered in half-empty glasses and bottles of liquor, along with random things strewn haphazardly on the floor. You’ve told him often that the papers spilling across the floor are a safety hazard for him, but he brushes you off every time.

“You’re not on the job right now, you don’t need to be an asshole,” you tell him.

“You’re not at the office now either, lighten up a little,” he rebuffs.

Javier swears that if he hears you remind him to drink more water or be more careful one more time, he’s going to lose it. He tells you as much, but you’re never able to get through to each other. It’s always been like this as partners; of course it’s no different when you’re off the clock.

You seem to be under the impression that he’s impulsive; maybe he is, and maybe he’s not proud of everything he’s ever done. But Escobar plays the game according to his own rules—playing it safe only puts more people in harm’s way. Sooner or later you might understand, but until then he’s not going to wait around worrying until you do.

~

One night, you’re met with the sight of him, shirtless, sitting on the couch. He’s smoking a cigarette and barely looks up as you enter and walk towards him.

“Steve and Connie went grocery shopping and wanted me to bring you some stuff,” you tell him as you unload the plastic bags you’re carrying. “Looks like you’ve got some snacks and instant dinners to hold you over.”

“Thanks,” Peña answers, and you're almost taken aback by the tiny bit of politeness.

He picks up the prescription bottle on the coffee table and uncaps it, shaking a pill out onto his hand before picking up his glass.

You look across the room at him and frown. “Are you taking your meds with alcohol?” you ask, probably louder than necessary.

You walk over and forcibly remove the glass in his hand, replacing it with the water bottle from your bag. He looks up at you, annoyed at your snatching of his drink. “Jesus, Peña, don’t you know anything? Are you trying to get yourself back into the hospital?”

He responds by muttering something under his breath before throwing the pill back and downing it with the water.

“You know, me and Steve would have to come over a lot less if you took better care of yourself.”

“I don’t need you mother-henning me in the first place,” he retorts. “It’s a fucking leg wound, not something that’s gonna kill me.”

“That’s exactly what I thought, too,” you snap back. “Unfortunately for both of us, our bosses think otherwise.”

“Hey, I didn’t ask for this,” he tells you, shaking his head. God, you’re infuriating.

“No? Neither did I,” you quip. “Fuck, Peña, do you not—I'm just trying to help.”

He exhales and puts the cigarette to his lips again, leaning back against the couch. You dig around in your bag for a granola bar and shove it in his direction.

“Do yourself a favor and eat something, or those meds aren’t going to sit right.” He groans but takes it, and you turn on your heels to leave.

Except, Javier never misses anything; especially not the way the thin fabric of your sleeve slides up on your skin as you hand it to him, revealing a sliver of something white on your arm.

He abruptly grabs your wrist, gently but it still takes you by surprise. “Wait,” he mutters in a low voice, stopping you mid-step. He turns your arm over, not making eye contact as he pushes the loose fabric of your sweater upwards, revealing the large white bandages that are covering the back of your arm, near your elbow. He can’t see the damage underneath, but his mouth presses into a hard line.

You bite the inside of your cheek as he examines it for a few seconds before you pull your arm away from his hand.

“I thought you and Murphy haven’t been in the field recently,” he whispers, his tone suddenly much softer than it was moments earlier.

“We haven’t,” you reply quietly. You know he’s not going to drop it by the way he’s looking at you. “It’s...from the broken glass. When the sicarios shot at us in the car,” you shrug.

“Just because I was in a hospital, you didn’t think to mention you were injured?” he sounds offended, but there’s a different feeling cutting through the air, one that you can’t place your finger on.

It really isn’t a big deal, just a few superficial gashes that will heal easily—you’ve had much worse, working in the field. You hadn’t even meant to hide it, but the bandages aren’t a pretty sight and your work attire often consists of three-quarter sleeve blouses, or your favorite cardigan.

“Peña, it’s literally a few scratches. Hardly newsworthy,” you answer, though your own voice is calm now, too.

He has an unreadable expression in his eyes. “I’m sorry,” he finally says.

“It’s not your fault,” you tell him simply, and you mean it. “And I’m not the one who got a bullet put into my leg,” you continue, offering the smallest of smiles.

Javier glances at the ground before looking back up at you, but you’ve already turned to leave.

Hunting Escobar meant you were all in life-or-death situations regularly, one way or another. But for an unknown reason he suddenly feels a bit heavier, and he doesn’t like it.

~

The radio’s playing as Javier sits on the floor, tossing away some bottles of liquor that are crowding his coffee table. Christ, your nagging was starting to get to him. He wishes the stations would play something besides the latest news on Escobar. If there’s anything he hates about not being able to work, it’s that he has too much free time when he’s home alone. That, and the fact that Escobar and his sicarios are still out there, and there’s currently not a damn thing he can do about it.

He’s been on crutches for a few weeks, and is now used to your coming and going. He watches as you drop some more groceries off in the kitchen, but notices you’re quieter than usual tonight. It’s not a proper check-in from you unless you’ve reprimanded him about not taking his meds, or skipping meals, or something else. Not that he’s complaining about a break from the incessant nagging, but his attention is drawn to the more pronounced lines that have appeared under your eyes lately. It doesn’t take long for him to drop his gaze, but he knows there must’ve been things happening at work that you haven’t mentioned. Or it might have just been one of those nights; he knows those too well. He definitely knows better than to ask about it.

“Wait,” he calls as you leave, and you take your hand off the doorknob before turning to him.

“Any new leads?” he asks. You almost have this look of pity for him in your eyes, which he hates.

You shake your head. “Messina’s running some intel by the ambassador tomorrow. If all goes well, we’ll be back to business soon.”

He nods. “Thanks,” he says curtly.

Your lips press together into a tense smile before opening the door and shutting it quietly behind you.

Javier rubs the back of his neck, his eyes lingering on the door for a moment. He exhales quietly; there’s nothing except the sounds of the radio show and the ticking clock on the wall. What annoys him most of all is how dangerous it is when he has this much time to think.

~

It’s the weekend, so you make plans to get breakfast at your favorite spot around the corner. The few people you know prefer to sleep in on Saturdays, so you’re on your own. It’s early, but your stomach still grumbles with hunger. This makes you think of what Steve said about making sure Peña kept himself fed—you know very well that on many nights, whiskey is the only thing anyone is able to keep down. For a second you hope he hasn’t been drowning his boredom with alcohol anymore—not that it’s your problem.

At any rate, it’s probably too early to check on him, so you head out and plan to do it later.

~

Javier wakes up after an unrestful sleep, still groggy, and shuffles into the kitchen to find something to eat. He walks over to the cupboard to find a bowl, propping himself up on one leg. How much longer with these damn crutches? he grumbles to himself.

He takes the crutches out from under his arms, resting them against the wall and limping over to the sink. Pain sears up his leg and he hisses, but he hates needing the physical support—or any other support, for that matter. He’s about to fill a pot with water when he sees a package on the counter, wrapped in tin foil.

He grabs it, realizing it’s a large, warm plate of food with a note on top. Dinner. Eat, cabrón, it says in your scribbled handwriting.

For the first time since the incident, his lips curl into a small, genuine smile. You really are infuriating, he thinks. But somehow, it’s almost endearing.

~

It’s raining outside tonight, a light shower but it seems relentless. You hop over a puddle of water as you step into your complex and close your umbrella. It’s Steve’s turn to check on Peña, so you can go straight to your flat, much to your relief.

Your clothes are wet, so the cold air conditioning gives you goosebumps as you open the door. Turning on a single light in the foyer, you pry your wet shoes off, followed by the damp cardigan you have on. You’re not dry yet, but you almost feel a little better. Tonight calls for a hot shower, but you don’t have the energy for it, so you make your way to the bedroom.

You don’t bother turning on the lights as you strip yourself of the day’s burdens and change into something cleaner and lighter. If only your mind worked that way, too. As you crawl into bed, you feel as though you could just sink right in and disappear. The soft covers don’t do much to comfort you, and you’re not quite ready to lie down yet so you sit with your back against the headrest, rubbing your eyes from exhaustion. The rain continues to fall outside your window.

Images from today fill your mind. It was another day in the field, one you were supposed to spend tracking down a low-tier sicario. Instead, you found a bloody crime scene Escobar decided to leave behind to prove a point. You had no doubt Steve was at a bar now, doing what he could to drown out the sight.

It’s not something you’ll ever get used to. Despite yourself, you think of more mundane things—your many meals eaten alone, the quiet drives home with only your mind keeping you company. Somehow, it makes things easier for you this way. You don’t want to imagine the possibilities otherwise.  It’s for the best, you tell yourself on nights like this—but repeating it doesn’t make it any easier to believe.

When your head finally hits the pillow and you pull the blanket up to your chin, you can’t help but allow yourself to wonder what it would be like if you didn’t have to face all of this on your own. It’s a common thing for you; empty thoughts in a dark and empty room, before fatigue finally overpowers your conscience.

On the other side of your thin bedroom walls, Javier lights another cigarette, deciding whether he wants to turn up the volume on the TV or turn it off entirely.

He’d already heard what happened from Steve. No, he wasn’t at the scene. But he should’ve been, instead of being stuck at home and helpless. When he’s out in the field, he likes to think he’s able to stomach it all better, running on pure adrenaline. He runs his hand along his jaw, willing the anger and tension to leave him. He wasn’t even part of this mission, nor did he make any of the calls, but somehow he knows it’s going to be another long night. He’s had worse days where he can’t take it anymore, finding comfort only in the arms of some woman he doesn’t know. Even then, it’s more of a distraction than anything else.

The guilt never leaves him—it’s a weight he deserves to carry. Every decision he makes affects something, or someone else. Whether he’s ever made a good choice, he’s not sure. But when he looks at the bandages covering the wound in his leg, tracing the edges with his finger, he knows he’s tired of dragging other people down with him.

 ~

Translations:

Cabrón = asshole

~

Series tags: @mytinybaguette​ @mrpascals​ @dindjarindiaries​ @synystersilenceinblacknwhite​ @pascalesque​ @lady-sigyn​ @bel-13  @positivelife3000​ @larakasser @buckstaposition​ @watsonwise​ @irishleesh93 @gigilame​ @lostingoogletranslate @yabby-girl​ 

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[honey-dewey]

True Trans Soul Rebel

Pairing: Din Djarin/Trans Reader (Not specified whether reader is FTM or MTF)

Word Count: 2,220

Warnings: Mentions of needles and injections, transphobia against the reader. 

Traveling with Mando was an experience, especially after being beat up all your life for being transgender. It’s taken a lot for you to love yourself, but the mandalorian who definitely supports and probably loves you absolutely helps. 

Traveling the known galaxy was a very unique thrill. Seeing new planets every week and sleeping every night on a ship suspended in hyperspace, it was an experience like no other. You highly doubted much could top it. 

Well. Maybe one thing. 

Traveling the known galaxy with a Mandalorian might be able to beat just traveling. 

He was kind to you, which was odd because all your life you’d heard nothing but hushed whispers about mandalorians as takers and hunters. Despite your home planet being in the mandalore sector, mandalorians themselves didn’t have a high reputation there. The only bright spot was the story of Mandalore the Binder, who had been born on your planet. 

But that was in the past. Now, years after you’d left that planet, you were traveling with a mandalorian, which was a huge rush in and of itself. You’d seen so many new planets, and Mando, as he insisted you call him, never questioned the abnormality that had gotten you thrown out of your old family. He saw past the physical and into the skills you had as a mechanic, plus you’d been basically at death’s door when he’d met you. And if there was one thing this mandalorian had, it was a soft heart. 

“Where to now?” You asked, slumped loosely in the copilot’s chair, Grogu asleep in your lap. 

Mando turned, as if he’d forgotten you were there. “Shikaakwa.” 

You paused, trying to remember where that was. “The Tython system? Why are you headed out there?” 

“The quarry I’m hunting is out there.” 

“Oh.” Sometimes you forgot you were traveling with a bounty hunter and not just a weird single father. “Is that the system with Kalimahr?” 

Mando nodded. 

“Sweet,” you said, flicking one of Grogu’s ears simply to watch it move. “I need more Imitoin.” 

You could’ve sworn you heard Mando sigh, but he didn’t move or say anything, so you assumed he’d taken what you said into consideration. 

Shikaakwa was a weird planet. The atmosphere was breathable, so Mando let you take Grogu out to play for a bit. But he was extremely uptight about it, and for good reason. Best you remembered, the planet was still under horrible gangster rule, meaning it was likely unsafe for you outside of the Crest. 

That didn’t stop you from playing outside. 

Mando kept a stern eye on you and Grogu, fiddling with his pulse rifle and tracking fob before finally standing. “I’m going,” he said, catching your attention. “Get back on the Crest and do not leave until I get back.” 

You nodded, scooping Grogu up and waving goodbye. 

“C’mon kiddo,” you said happily, stroking down Grogu’s ears as you walked back to the Crest. “Let’s go screw with daddy’s shit.” 

Four days later, you’d organized everything on board twice and actually got around to fixing the mildly faulty left engine that you’d been putting off for months. Mando hadn’t returned, but you’d gotten a message from him on the third day that he shouldn’t be too much longer. 

On day five, he returned in the middle of the night, the quarry immediately being frozen and locked up before he even thought about finding you. 

You, of course, had been woken by the sounds of Mando returning. It was horribly late and you fell back asleep almost immediately, knowing that Mando would wake you if he needed help. 

When you actually woke the next morning, Mando was landing the ship, which was odd because you hadn’t felt him take off. However, you just yawned and sat up, adjusting your oversized shirt that had once had a logo on it. You slipped out of your bed, patting around for Grogu until you heard him cooing in the cockpit. 

Continuing to adjust your sleep shirt and horribly stained shorts, you wandered around, entirely barefoot, until you reached the cockpit. 

“Good morning,” Mando said, looking over his shoulder as you entered. “We’re on Kalimahr. My docking pass lasts twelve hours, so make them count.” 

You nodded, rubbing sleep from your eyes. “When’d you get back?” You asked, yawning halfway through your sentence. 

Mando’s modulator made an odd noise before he answered. “Late. You fell asleep in my bed, by the way.” 

Immediately, you squeaked out an apology, but Mando waved it off. 

“I wasn’t going to sleep anyway,” he reassured. “Couldn’t stay there any longer.” 

You nodded, still embarrassed. “I’m gonna go get dressed,” you said. “Can you find the closest pharmacy?” 

Mando gave you a gesture of affirmation while you slid out of the cockpit and down into the fresher. 

Dressing was always interesting. Mando thought it was impressive that you’d learned how to care for yourself in the dark, and you hated how sad you’d sounded as you explained why. Every time you saw your body it made you want to scream and cry. 

“One day,” you mumbled to yourself, blindly locating your favorite tank top. “One day I’ll get that damn surgery.” 

When you finally got dressed, you were able to flick the lights on, admiring yourself in the grimy mirror. This outfit was a favorite of yours, with the olive green tank top and overalls you hadn’t stained too badly yet. You preemptively wrapped a grey fabric baby carrier around your chest, knowing you’d probably be taking Grogu today. Overtop that, you had a loose brown jacket that came down past your knees, the patches and overly large hood giving it character and telling your story. 

Lacing up your black work boots, you grabbed the tiny trash can that was stowed away in the fresher corner, intent on getting rid of whatever trash had been accumulated. 

“Let’s go!” You shouted up to the cockpit, using your foot to open the portable incinerator you kept on board for the trash. 

As you emptied the trash can, you absently watched the contents burn. Your syringes took a minute, along with the few empty glass medicine bottles. The bandages burned quickly, but what made you recoil was the very strong smell of burning hair. 

“Mando!” You yelled, looking behind you as his boots firmly stepped off the ladder. 

“What?” 

You closed the incinerator, wrinkling your nose and walking past him to put the trash can back. “Next time you cut your hair,” you said, walking back to him and taking Grogu from his arms. “You’re emptying the trash into the incinerator. It smells like shit.” 

Mando chuckled, watching you adjust Grogu into your baby carrier. “Deal.” 

Your trip into the city was relaxing. At least, much more relaxing than waiting for Mando on board the Crest while he probably got himself shot at multiple times. When you stepped into line at the pharmacy, a few people gave Mando a look, one mother tugging her child closer to her side. You rolled your eyes. Mando wasn’t a completely uncivilized killer. At least not all the time. 

He turned a blind eye to the hesitation as the line moved forward. When it was finally your turn, you put on your kindest smile and spoke sweetly to the four armed woman manning the window. “Hi! I need a six month supply of Imitoin-126, with the syringes.” 

The woman eyed Mando and Grogu before addressing you. “Can I see your card?” 

You dug your prescription card out of your pocket, sliding it across the counter. The woman took it and examined it before giving it back. “I’ll go grab you a box of that. Is there anything else I can get you?” 

You thought about the supplies on the Crest. “Mando?” You asked. “Do we need anything?” 

“Bacta patches,” Mando said after mulling it over. “And probably some more painkillers.” 

“Cool.” You turned back to the woman. “Two boxes of bacta patches, one medium and one small, and one bottle of Omnipril please.” 

The woman nodded. “I’ll be right back.”

While you waited, you stroked Grogu’s ears, making him giggle whenever you gave them a light tug. Mando watched, occasionally reaching out to tug on Grogu’s ears himself. 

The woman came back after a few minutes, your various purchases in her arms. “That’ll be three twenty five.” 

You gave her the credits, accepting the bag of stuff she handed you. “Have a nice day.” 

“You too!” You said cheerily, putting the bag in your leather satchel for safekeeping.

The rest of your day was mundane. You picked up a few more purchases, namely food and parts for the Crest. Eventually, Mando split off to find something specific for his pulse rifle, leaving you to absently browse in the city’s center. 

While you looked over a new pair of welding goggles, you heard a commotion behind you. Turning, you noticed a group of protesters standing outside an unassuming white building, harassing someone who was just trying to get in. 

“Excuse me?” You stepped up, despite knowing you’d probably be giving Mando grey hair if he could see you right now. “What’s going on?” 

One of the protesters pointed at the person, who you assumed from the white coat was a doctor. “This doctor is a disgrace!”

“Why?” You were genuinely curious now, putting a protective hand over Grogu’s chest just in case this got ugly. 

“They are willingly defiling the natural form!” The protester said firmly. “They would actually perform a procedure to change the body and make it something else! To turn people into ungodly abominations!” 

You stepped back, not wanting to get involved now. “Oh. Well.” 

The protester glared at you. “You do not find this disgusting?” 

“I-“ You took another step back, flinching away from another protester who grabbed your bag, the abrupt action spilling its contents on the cobblestone. 

“They are a disgrace!” The protester shouted, seeing your Imitoin hit the ground. “A disgrace!” 

Immediately, the protesters ganged up on you, forcing you to your knees, curled around Grogu in a desperate attempt to protect him. 

“Hey!” A loud and familiar modulated voice broke the vicious cycle of abuse, causing you to look up. 

Mando stood in the center of the cobblestone circle, his shoulders squared. 

“Leave,” he growled, taking a step forward. 

The protesters scattered, running off, leaving you and the doctor. The doctor reached your crouched form first, slowly helping you to your feet and gathering your purchases to place back in your bag. “Are you okay?” 

You nodded, wiping tears from your eyes. “Yeah.” 

The doctor smiled, looking up at Mando. “If you ever need anything,” she said softly to you, handing you a small card. “Come back here, okay?” 

Mando put an arm around you, carefully tugging you to his side. “We’re going home,” he said tightly. 

The walk back to the Crest was silent. Mando kept his arm around you the entire time, and your head remained bowed as the Crest got closer and closer. 

When you were finally curled up in the cockpit of your home, you broke. 

Mando, thankfully, wasn’t as much of an emotionally stunted brick as people assumed. He wrapped you in a beskar hug, slowly putting his forehead on top of your head as you sobbed. “It’s okay,” he reassured softly, smoothing a hand up and down your back. “It’s okay.” 

You continued to cry until your body had nothing left, leaving you exhausted and horribly dehydrated. Mando let you sit in the pilot’s chair, grabbing a water bottle and watching closely as you drank half of it in one go. 

“Let’s do your medicine and then you can take a nap,” he said finally, once you’d put the water bottle down. “While you sleep, we can head back to Nevarro.” 

You nodded, silently taking your coat off and unwrapping the grey baby carrier from your body. Grogu was in his pram, half asleep already. 

Mando carefully helped you to his bunk, turning away so you could take your overalls off and slip into your sleep shorts. Once you’d done that, he handed you the empty syringe and the new bottle of Imitoin. You expertly filled the syringe and stuck yourself in the thigh. It didn’t make you nervous anymore, as it did in the beginning. Mando watched, sticking a bandage to the small puncture hole while you disposed of the syringe. 

“Are you okay?” He asked finally. 

“Yeah,” you whispered, settling down on the mattress. 

Mando sighed, beginning to take his armor off and pile it on the floor. Once he was left in just his tank top, pants, and helmet, he laid down beside you, shutting the door and plunging the small sleeping area into darkness. 

“C’mere,” Mando murmured, tugging you closer. You tangled your legs with his, losing yourself in the broadness of his chest. 

You drifted off, waking up a bit when a small hiss filled the space. 

“Whassat?” You mumbled, looking up at where you thought Mando’s head was. 

A dull clunk and a soft sigh woke you a bit more as you realized what was probably happening. 

“Go to sleep,” Mando murmured, his voice richer now that it was unmodulated. “I’ll stay until you do.”

You fell asleep slowly, cuddled up to Mando. He did his best to relax you as you drifted, scratching slightly at your scalp and hardly moving as you finally let the world melt away, held safe in the arms of the mandalorian who loved you.

[emospritelet]

Twisted Fate - chapter 15

Last time, Gold rushed back to Boston when Belle broke her arm, and decided that it was time for the two of them to talk. It's going to be a slow process, but he makes a start in this chapter

[AO3]

x

It was after midnight by the time the doctor told them they could leave, and even then they had to wait at the hospital pharmacy for Belle’s prescription of painkillers. The baby had been given the all-clear, and her scrapes and bruises had been treated, her arm put in a cast. She had broken it in two places, along with three of her fingers. Gold watched her absently running her left hand over the new cast, and wondered how she would cope with her dominant hand out of action. 

“Emma’s not still here, is she?” asked Belle, and Gold shook his head.

“She left earlier,” he said. “She had to get back for Henry. Says she’ll call you tomorrow.”

“Okay.”

She looked small and broken, dark hair hanging around her face, her head bowed. Gold wanted to touch her, to give her whatever reassurance he could. He doubted it would be welcome, and he was worried about hurting her. She seemed to be bruised all over. He looked down at his hands, folded in his lap, and wished he felt less helpless.

“Are you still in pain?” he asked, and she wrinkled her nose.

“Yes, but it’s like I don’t really care about it,” she said. “The painkillers are working. I’ll be okay, I guess.”

“A pity it’s your right arm.”

“Yeah.” She sounded gloomy. “Don’t know what I’m gonna do about class.”

“I’m sure the university will be reasonable,” he said. “I presume you hadn’t intended to study right up until the birth, anyway.”

“No, but every hour counts, right?” she said. “I was planning on doing another couple of weeks, at least.”

“If there’s anything I can do to help, let me know.”

“How are you with Library Science?”

It was said in a dry tone, but she sent him a brief, sad smile, as though letting him know she was joking.

“I was thinking of something more practical,” he said, and she looked thoughtful.

“Did you check into a hotel?” she asked.

“No.” He ran his hands over his face with a sigh. “Damn, I forgot to call about the room. I’d just pulled up outside when I got Emma’s call.”

Belle looked hesitant, and licked her lips almost nervously.

“It’s just - I thought maybe you could stay with me,” she said in a rush. “I’m gonna need help, like you said, and - and the baby’s due soon, and I can’t exactly change diapers with a broken arm, and I can’t rely on Emma, she has her own life and her own family to take care of, and - and I thought maybe you could take the spare room...”

Her voice trailed off, and she looked at him anxiously, chewing her lip. Gold nodded, a sense of relief flooding over him. She was willing to let him help her. That was a start.

“Of course,” he said. “I think that’s a good idea.”

Her mouth quirked in a faint smile, and she looked away again. One step at a time.

x

It was still raining when they left the hospital. Belle was subdued, the bruises on her face darker in the dim light. She limped as she walked, and Gold kept pace with her, trying to match his own uneven stride to hers. Raindrops bounced, showering their lower legs with droplets as they walked. Belle stumbled a little as they exited the hospital, feet splashing in the puddles that had formed, and Gold grasped her good arm firmly, steadying her.

“Try not to fall again, sweetheart,” he said quietly.

Belle glanced across at him, her lower lip trembling a little. She looked as though she wanted to cry, and he gestured in front of them, towards the parking lot.

“The car’s just beyond that sign,” he said. “Can you walk that far, or do you want me to pick you up here?”

“I’m okay,” she said wearily. “I just want to get home.”

They made the journey in silence for the most part, Gold stealing glances across at her. Since he had told her that he wanted to talk, and she had agreed, neither of them had raised the subject again. The hospital was not the place for the sort of conversation they needed to have, but now that it had been mentioned, it seemed to hang heavy in the air between them, an unwelcome presence. He wondered where the hell to start with it all. Bae. She needed to know about Bae. Though perhaps she wouldn’t want to get into it at one in the morning when she was doped up on painkillers. At least that would give him a little more time to think it over. He wasn’t sure if that made it better or worse.

“Are you hungry?” he asked, his voice sounding too loud in the silence. “I could make you something to eat when we get in.”

“I just need sleep,” she said listlessly. 

“Maybe just some chamomile tea, or something.”

“That’d be good.”

“I’ll make some.”

More silence.

“I don’t think the bed in the spare room has been made up,” she added. “I wasn’t exactly planning on having a sleepover.”

“I can make the bed,” he said, and glanced across again. “Would you like a bath? I know the doctor said not to get the plaster wet, so maybe a bath would be better than a shower.”

“In the morning,” she said tiredly.

She really didn’t want to stay up, then. He couldn’t help feeling relieved, even as he told himself he would have to face her eventually.

“Just tea and sleep, then.”

“Yeah.”

The word was spoken in a whisper, her head rolling to the side, and he fell silent again, letting her rest as he drove through Boston’s streets. 

The apartment building was eerily quiet when they entered, and even the elevator seemed unnaturally loud as they rode upwards. Belle looked as though she wanted to curl up and go to sleep right there, and Gold put a hand on the small of her back as they stepped out, guiding her along the corridor towards the apartment. She had difficulty getting out the key, and struggled to unlock the door, wincing as she tried to turn the key. He took it from her with a gentle word, opening the door to let her in. Belle nodded her thanks, not quite meeting his eyes. The apartment was warm, a soft light coming from the lamp in the lounge, and he steered her towards the couch, helping her to sit down. Belle let out a heavy sigh, letting her head roll back against the cushions.

“Just rest,” he said quietly. “I’ll make tea.”

She nodded wearily, and he made his way to the kitchen almost on tiptoe.

Finding his way around was easy enough—Belle hadn’t moved the groceries or utensils since he had moved her in—and he set the kettle to boil, getting out cups and the chamomile tea. He was a little hungry, and after a brief search of the cupboards he found a packet of chocolate chip cookies. Shoving one into his mouth, he opened the fridge and scanned the contents. Enough for a few different meal ideas. He could get more groceries in the morning, depending on what Belle wanted to eat.

The cookie was good, and Gold tucked the packet under his arm as he carried Belle’s tea through to her. She gave him a wan smile, shoulder lifting a little as she automatically tried to reach up with her right hand. She winced, face twisting, and he shook his head.

“I suspect that’ll take some getting used to,” he said.

“Yeah.”

She sounded weary, but took the cup from him and set it on the coffee table, followed by the packet of cookies. He hoped she would eat one, but she simply tossed it onto the table and went back to staring ahead. Gold felt awkward hovering near her, so he went back to the kitchen to fetch his own tea. When he entered the lounge, Belle had picked up her cup and was blowing on it to cool the tea. He set his cup down on the table and lowered himself onto the chair adjacent to the couch.

“I’ll need to go out and get my suitcase,” he said. “Are you okay to let me back in?”

Belle took a sip of her tea and winced.

“Just take the key,” she said. “I guess you’ll need to get a spare cut, if you’re going to stay here.”

“Oh, I have one,” he said. “I left it with Marco in case you had an emergency. I’ll pick it up in the morning.”

“Okay.”

Belle gazed into her cup. It looked as though she could barely keep her eyes open.

“Here, why don’t you go and get ready for bed?” he said gently. “Do you need help with anything?”

“I don’t know.” Teeth tugged at her lower lip. “I can manage to take my makeup off and brush my teeth, I guess.”

“Alright.” He sat back. “I’m just a shout away, understand?”

She eyed him cautiously, and nodded.

“Guess I’ll make a start, then.”

She pushed to her feet, wincing again, and shuffled towards the bedrooms, carrying her tea. He watched her go, anxiety prickling at his skin as he thought over how she would cope in the latter stages of pregnancy with one arm bound up in plaster. He was aware that she hated feeling helpless. Perhaps there were things he could do to limit her dependence on him, but for the moment he couldn’t think of any.

“Alex?”

A muffled call from the bedroom made him look up, and he pushed to his feet immediately. Belle had taken her coat off, but was struggling with her dress, mouth flattened in displeasure as she plucked at it, the shoulder on her injured side sticking out of the neckline. He could see that the dress had been put back on with the injured arm outside, the bodice buttoned loosely at the front to cover her breasts and her cardigan draped over the top like a cape and fastened with one button at her throat. 

“Can’t get it off,” she muttered. “The nurse dressed me.”

“Here, let me.”

He set his cane against the dresser, reaching up to unfasten the buttons. His fingers felt too large, too clumsy, but he pushed each button through its hole without fumbling them too much. The dress fell around her ankles, and Belle crossed her free arm over her chest, hiding her breasts in the lace cups of her bra, her eyes downcast.

“You need help with the rest of it?” he asked quietly.

“Could you unhook my bra?”

He nodded wordlessly, and she turned on her toes, showing him her back. Reaching up, he unhooked the bra, the back straps snapping back against her pale skin. Belle nodded.

“Thank you.”

“What about the boots?” he asked.

“No, I can manage. Thank you.”

“Okay.” He wavered, shifting from foot to foot and feeling as though he was very much in the way. “Is - is there anything else you need?”

“Not right now.”

“Okay.” He grasped his cane, taking a step back from her. “I’ll - uh - I’ll leave you to it, then.”

“Will you be okay making the bed?” she asked. “The linen’s in the closet.”

“I’m sure I’ll work it out,” he said. “Just - just call if you need anything.”

“I will. Goodnight.”

“Yes.” His fingers opened and closed on the cane handle. “Uh - sleep well.”

She nodded, sending him a brief smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. He realised how much she must hate having to rely on him to help her, but she was letting him do it, and even letting him touch her, which he saw as a good sign. Perhaps, given time, he could earn her trust.

x

Belle woke when it was still dark, feeling groggy and a little nauseous. The painkillers had worn off, and she winced as she moved, her immobilised arm getting in the way. Getting ready for bed had been a complex series of events that made her realise just how much she had relied on being able-bodied. She wondered how the hell she would cope when the baby was born, and wanted to sigh. No doubt she would learn to deal with everyday tasks, but at this early stage it all seemed overwhelming.

She needed the bathroom, so she pushed out of bed, stepping into her slippers and grabbing her robe one-handed, putting one arm into it and shrugging the other half over her shoulder to cover her cast. She fumbled the belt around herself, looping it through and tugging it closed with one end of the belt in her free hand and the other between her teeth.

Glancing at the digital clock on her nightstand, she saw that it was just before five. She had managed a few hours of sleep, but her body was aching from exhaustion even without the pain of her broken arm. Bathroom first, then painkillers. Perhaps they would ease her pain enough to let her get a little more rest.

She noticed that the lights in the kitchen were on, but she thought little of it. It was only when she had finished in the bathroom that she decided to investigate, and found Gold seated at the kitchen table, his laptop open and a cup of coffee by his side. He had changed into a loose pair of silk pants and a close-fitting T-shirt, his black silk robe over the top. The light made the robe gleam where it draped his shoulders, and a brief vision tickled at her mind, a memory of a time she had stayed at his house. She recalled the feel of the silk beneath her fingers as she stroked her hands over his chest and whispered to him to come back to bed, and he had picked her up and laid her down on the kitchen table, teasing her with his tongue until she screamed.

“Couldn’t sleep?”

His voice made her jump, an unexpected noise in the quiet before dawn, and she could feel herself flush a little as she chased away the memory of his touch, of his mouth on her. He looked tired, shadows beneath his dark eyes, his face a little drawn.

“Painkillers wore off,” she said, and he nodded, sitting back in his chair.

“Have a seat, I’ll get them for you.” He pushed to his feet. “You want some tea?”

“Please.”

She sat down while he fetched the painkillers, placing two in front of her with a glass of water. Belle took them, listening with half an ear as he made the tea. She glanced at the laptop, wondering what he had been working on, and frowned as she saw something odd sitting next to it. A toy rabbit, brown and cream fur beneath a faded blue jacket, two shining black beads for eyes. It looked old and worn, and she wondered at its presence. She vaguely remembered having seen it on the shelf in Gold’s shop, and wondered why he had brought it with him.

“Here.” Gold set down the teapot, following it with the cup and the little jug of milk. “Are you hungry? I could make some breakfast.”

“Could we leave it an hour or two?” she asked. “Five would be a little early even if I’d had a decent night’s sleep.”

“Go back to bed if you’re still tired,” he said. “I can bring you anything you need.”

“I probably will when I’ve had the tea,” she said, and put her head to the side. “What about you? Did you sleep?”

Gold pulled a face.

“Lay on my back and stared at the ceiling for an  hour or so,” he said.

“Is the bed not comfortable?”

“No, it’s fine, it’s just―” He waved a hand. “Nothing. An eventful day. Took longer than I hoped to wind down.”

“Drinking coffee probably doesn’t help,” she observed, and he looked rueful.

“No, but when I get out of bed, I make coffee,” he said. “I’m a creature of habit.”

“I noticed.”

The briefest of smiles flickered across his face, his eyes crinkling a little.

“How are you feeling?” he asked. “Other than the broken arm, I mean.”

Belle scrunched her nose.

“Not great,” she admitted. “Everything hurts, and I’m a little queasy.”

“Is that the painkillers?” he asked, sounding anxious. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“I’m fine, really,” she said. “As fine as a heavily-pregnant woman with a broken arm can be, anyway. Sit down, finish your coffee.”

Gold nodded, slipping back into the seat he had vacated and running a hand through his hair, making the strands ripple like gold and silver grass.

“I’ve been looking for some things to make it easier for you,” he said, gesturing at the laptop screen. “A few aids for those with only one arm. I - I thought it might help.”

“What kind of things?” she asked, interested.

“Oh, there are all manner of tools on here,” he said. “Things that help you fasten buttons one-handed, handles to help you get in and out of the bath, even things to help wash your hair.”

“Well, I definitely need the button thing,” she said, in a wry tone.

“I’ll order one.”

“Thanks.” 

She reached out to pour herself some tea, eyeing the toy rabbit. Gold hadn’t mentioned it, and she wasn’t sure whether she ought to, but curiosity got the better of her.

“What’s this?”

He glanced up, and his mouth flattened a little, Sitting back in his chair, he closed the lid of the laptop and ran a hand through his hair again, as though he felt awkward. Belle waited, and after a moment he picked up the rabbit in gentle hands, turning it slowly over and over.

“This,” he said quietly. “Belonged to my son. It’s all I have left of him.”

His eyes flicked up to meet hers, and there was something she had never seen before in his gaze. Anxiety, and the first glimpse of a deep, all-consuming pain. She licked her lips, suddenly nervous, wanting to ask questions, but unsure if she was ready for the answers.

“Your son?”

“Yes.”

The word was barely audible, and he dropped his eyes, head drooping a little.

“So,” she said softly. “You did have a child.”

“I did,” he said. “I - I do. When I say this is all I have left of him, I don’t mean that he’s dead. Or - or I don’t believe that, at least.”

“Will you tell me about him?” she asked gently.

There was silence for a moment, and she waited for him to speak. Gold sighed, looking at the toy rabbit in his hands, his fingers still turning it over and over as though it were a talisman. Eventually he glanced up, and took a deep breath.

“His name is Bailey,” he said. “He’ll be twenty-eight by now. And I have absolutely no bloody idea where he is.”

Belle shook her head.

“I - I don’t understand,” she said. “Did you two lose touch?”

Gold let out a short, humourless bark of a laugh.

“You could say that,” he said grimly. “His mother picked up and left one day, taking him with her, along with all their things, except for that rabbit. Haven’t seen him since.”

“How old was he?”

“Two.” 

He let his head drop again, and Belle chewed at her lip in distress.

“And you’ve no idea where she went?” she asked. “Surely there must be some way to track her down - the police, or…” She cut off as Gold started shaking his head. “They couldn’t help?”

“No,” he said shortly. “I had no rights to him.”

“Why not?”

Gold set down the rabbit and sat back in his chair, sucking in his cheeks and looking uncomfortable.

“Because I was never named as his father,” he said, his tone calm and cold. “We weren’t exactly in a serious relationship before she was pregnant. She left town one day without a word, and I thought that was that. Didn’t even know I had a son until he was eighteen months old, and she came back looking for me to take them in.”

“She - she didn’t tell you she was pregnant?” asked Belle, in a small voice. She could feel a twinge of guilt over her own delay in telling him about their baby, and Gold fixed her with a flat, dark-eyed stare. 

“No.”

“Why not?”

His mouth worked, as though he wanted to snap out a response, but he shrugged.

“I never did get a satisfactory answer to that question.”

Belle tried to picture a Gold nearly thirty years younger, but the image wouldn’t quite form in her mind. She found herself wondering whether he had always been emotionally distant and cold, or whether his past was the cause. Perhaps his son’s mother had been unsure whether returning to him would be the best course of action. Perhaps she, too, had tried to give her child the best life she could, in the circumstances. The thoughts made her feel uncomfortable, almost disloyal, and she frowned to herself. Don’t be an idiot! You’re not in a relationship with this man, and recognising someone’s flaws doesn’t make you a bad person! Maybe you and this woman had something in common.

“So - so what happened to her after she took your son?” she asked.

Gold picked up his coffee, taking a sip before setting it down.

“I don’t know,” he said grimly. “I found out later that she’d left town with someone. She’d apparently been seeing him every time I worked late or went away with work. Left Bae on his own in the house more than once, or so I was told. A bloody toddler! Surprised no one called Social Services.”

Oh. Okay, so maybe we have nothing in common. 

“That - that must have been painful,” she said awkwardly, but he merely shrugged.

“Oh, she’d never been faithful, so that wasn’t exactly a surprise,” he said. “Milah never was one for being settled. Always on the move, always - searching - for something. I thought, given that I had a decent job and made a good wage, that she might stay. For Bae’s sake, at least. A child needs its mother.”

The obvious question in Belle’s mind was whether he was certain he was the father of this child after all, and Gold seemed to sense she was thinking it.

“You have the same look on your face my father did when I told him she was back,” he said dryly. “And before you ask, no, I didn’t take a test to prove I was the father. I had only her word for it. That and what I felt, anyway. What I knew. I knew he was my son.”

It was the first time he had ever mentioned his father, and Belle felt a surge of curiosity, but she didn’t feel equipped to handle a long conversation about his family history. She filed the information away for later, when she was more rested.

“Tell me about him,” she said. “Tell me about Bailey.”

The grim expression melted away, and there was a softness around his eyes, the faintest hint of a smile.

“You know, Henry reminded me of him a little,” he said. “That same bright-eyed curiosity about everything going on around him.”

“Henry’s a great kid,” agreed Belle, and Gold’s smile grew a little.

“Bae had my eyes,” he said. “Dark hair, like his mother, but my eyes. Pretty much all he had of me, if I’m honest. He was a happy child, affectionate. He loved stories, and painting in the kitchen. Made a terrible mess, but I didn’t mind that. Curious about everything he saw, and full of joy. He was always laughing, always happy. Filled with light.”

His head dropped a little, and Belle wanted to reach for him again, to send him comfort. She tried to imagine the pain of losing a child, of not knowing their fate for decades. It was too horrible to contemplate, so she pushed the thoughts away.

“But she took him away,” she said. “Without saying a thing?”

"Oh, there were hints, looking back," he said tiredly. "She kept saying she wanted to move, that she wanted some excitement in her life. I knew she was unhappy, but I thought stability was more important than chasing the horizon. I wanted Bae to have everything I never did, you see."

"I can understand that," she said, and he wrinkled his nose, reaching for his coffee.

"Yeah, well," he said quietly. "Boring, apparently. All work and no play."

He took a drink, and Belle chewed at her lip.

“And - and you never heard from her again?” she asked.

Gold shook his head.

“It’s how I ended up over here,” he said. “When the authorities wouldn’t help, I tried to find them myself. Eventually I tracked them to the US, and found out that Bae had been in the care of Social Services when he was six or seven. Since then, no trace of either of them.”

“Oh.” 

Belle buried her face in her cup. Uneasy thoughts were brewing in her mind about what could have become of his son. Perhaps he was no longer alive to be found. It was a horrible thought, and one she had no doubt had plagued him many times over the years, so she kept it to herself.

“I’m so sorry,” she said. “I - I had no idea.”

“Why would you?”

It was said in a dismissive tone, followed by a sip of his coffee, and she frowned. Why indeed?

Gold sighed, closing his eyes, and ran a hand over his face.

“I’m sorry, that came out wrong,” he said. “I - I just meant that I never really talked about it, that’s all.”

“Why not?” she asked softly. Why couldn’t you talk to me? Why can’t you let me in?

She wanted to press him on it, but something held her tongue; she sensed that he would only talk when he was ready, and that it wasn’t the time. Gold shrugged, looking awkward.

“Because it was private,” he said eventually.

It wasn’t much of an answer, but she suspected it was all she would get.

“How does it feel to talk about it now?” she asked tentatively, and he glanced across at her.

“Painful,” he admitted. “Like poking at an old wound, and realising it hasn’t really healed, just scabbed over. You still bleed.”

“You must miss him,” she said softly, and he swallowed hard.

“Yes,” he whispered. “Oh, every day.”

There was silence for a moment. Belle took a sip of her tea, wondering whether to speak first, or to leave it to him to steer the conversation. Gold was staring at a point in the distance, his mouth set in a flat line, and she could sense pain deep within him, and loss, and guilt.

“It’s the not knowing, really,” he said quietly. “Whether he grew up happy and content. Whether he’s warm, and safe. Whether he went to college or got married or had children of his own.” He grimaced, mouth twisting. “In the darkest times there’s a tiny, terrible part of myself wondering if he’s even still alive.”

“Of course he is,” she said firmly, and he glanced at her, a brief flash of something in his eyes. Gratitude for her reassurance, perhaps? She wished he was easier to read. 

“Yes,” he whispered. “He’s alive and well, and living a good life. He has to be.”

His jaw tightened, and she could sense a determination in him, a certainty. She wondered how many times he had repeated that assertion to himself over the years. How many times he had feared the worst, and tried to reassure himself.

“Do you think he’s ever looked for you?” she asked, and he sighed.

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “Like I said, I was never named in any records, so I suppose it depends how much his mother told him about me, if anything. I doubt he remembers the time he lived with me, after all.”

“I guess not.”

More silence. Belle felt a rush of sympathy for him, and reached out instinctively to grasp his hand. Gold looked down at where her fingers were tucked between his, as though he was surprised to feel her touch, and she squeezed gently.

“I hope you find him one day,” she said. “And - and thank you for telling me.”

The corners of his mouth twitched, and he looked across at her.

“Well, you were right,” he said. “You needed to know.”

“Yeah.”

There was silence for a moment. She pulled her hand back and picked up her cup, watching him out of the corner of her eye. He seemed to be thinking hard, his fingers twitching a little on the table top, and he glanced across at her.

“I know that one of your concerns was that I would get bored of being a father, and leave,” he said. “I assure you that will never happen, Belle. Whatever may happen between us, I will always play a full part in this child’s life.”

She nodded.

“I believe you,” she said. “And I’m glad. Really.”

She drained her cup, setting it down on the table. Gold was watching her with an unreadable look in his eyes, but she sensed a slight change in the atmosphere. Tiny cracks spidering across the wall that had been built between them. The first tentative steps towards a positive relationship. Whatever form that took.

“Well, I’m gonna go back to bed,” she said. “Could you do me a favour and wake me at ten if I’m not up?”

“Of course,” he said. “I’ll make breakfast. French toast?”

“Well, now you’re spoiling me.”

His eyes gleamed a little.

“Are you going to let me?”

Belle returned his tiny smile.

“If you insist.”

[nancywheelxr]

it’s no better to be safe than sorry (read on AO3)

Penny, in true Penny form, rolls his eyes, stepping aside to impatiently motion them out of the elevator and into a shockingly white room. “Calm down, you guys don’t have to worry about me. I’m fine down here,” he hands them two glasses of what turns out to be an also shockingly good Scotch. “You’re here for Quentin, right?”

“Yeah,” Julia nods, eyeing his suit and tie suspiciously, “are you going to try and stop us?”

It brings a burst of laugh out of Penny. “God, no. Please, take him with you,” he shakes his head, “do you have any idea how much trouble he’s causing here?”

And that brings an almost-smile out of Eliot, because yes, that does sound like him. “Please, do tell.”

* or, first, Eliot grieves. Then, Julia finds a hare-brained solution that's right up their alley. After that, a lot of talking happens. 

Alternatively titled, Eliot and Julia's adventure in the Underworld.

“Are you going to be okay?”

Margo asks because she’s off to the library– the one in Brakebills, lower case, less fascist, less likely to stab them in the back– and Eliot has probably been staring out the window for too long now. It’s been three weeks since Fillory, and it’s been three weeks since Eliot woke up, and it’s been three weeks since– it’s been three weeks, and she’s given up on asking him to join her, on dragging him with her, on leaving her eyeball on the desk, staring at him, daring him to do something stupid.

“Of course,” Eliot says, because yeah, he’s been staring out the window for too long now and she needs an answer and he can’t drink while he’s on pain medication, he knows that. The orange bottle is on her coat’s pocket or maybe on her bedroom and she’ll either be back on time to hand him the pills or send Penny 23 to dutifully stand in her place. “Call me if you find something. I’ll look into some books while you’re gone.”

That’s a lie, a well practiced one that falls off his tongue with ease. It’s the one that convinces Penny to give him an extra pill because today, oh dear, the stitches are hurting to breathe. What’s the point of getting prescription Vicodin if he can’t even get high while he’s at it.  

“El,” her forehead creases, eyebrows knitting together, and Eliot reaches for her, drawing her into a hug because Margo has a whole Kingdom to worry about, she shouldn’t add Eliot to the list. There’s been enough worrying over him. There’s been– Eliot’s fine, or fine enough at least. He wishes he were a better person, a stronger person, the kind that would follow her to the library and help find a way to go back to Fillory in the right time and stop this dethroning business, but while Fillory as a land is alright for him to think, the books– Fillory and Further, El, look, the answers have to be here somewhere, we just have to look– the books are off limits for him.

“Go, Bambi,” he presses a kiss to her hair, and pulls back, smiling the closest thing to a smile, “I’ll be fine.”

She nods, straightening up and visibly pulling herself together. A warrior queen, once again. High King Margo, the Destroyer, he thinks fondly and watches her walk out of the cottage, head held high.

*

The thing about grief is that Eliot is no stranger to it, and yet, it still catches him off guard, even after he mourned enough times, enough things in his Happy Place. How ironically fitting it is that here Eliot is again, in the Physical Cottage, grieving for things he can’t fix and opportunities he can’t change.

“Why did you do it, Q?” He asks the ceiling of his bedroom, “did you want to be a hero? Did you think it would be okay?”

Predictably, he gets no answer, except for the low chatter downstairs and the birds chirping outside.

“It’s not. Okay, I mean,” Eliot continues, imagining the nervous way Quentin would fidget, looking away from Eliot and hiding behind his hair. “Didn’t Margo warn you, Q? Because that was one dumb decision and–” his voice breaks, and it would be embarrassing if there wasn’t already a shit load of things broken with Eliot, “no one likes a dead moron, Q.”

Fleetingly, Eliot thinks of Quentin and Alice’s disastrous seance spell from their first year, so, so long ago, a lifetime ago. He wonders idly who might come through this time, with no more Beast to terrorize them, and he’s in the process of letting it slide off the hazy static floating around his mind when there’s a knock on his door.

Quick, direct, but still gentle. Julia, then.

He waits in silence while she decides if she truly wants to come in, not particularly feeling like talking with her. Nothing personal, truthfully, it’s been a while since he wanted to talk to anyone, really.

His door opens slowly, Julia peeks her head in first before slipping in. “Hey,” she says, holding a cup of water like a white flag and on her cupped hand there are two little white pills. “Painkiller time. How are you feeling?”

A standard question that begs for a standard answer. “Fine,” he shrugs.

“Margo is busy at the library and Penny is busy at, well, the Library,” she explains as if she needs a legitimate reason to be there, as if Eliot might kick her out otherwise.

Julia hands him the pills and the water.

“So you’re on nurse duty,” Eliot surmises, nodding sagely, then swallowing down the Vicodin like a shot and wishing it would leave him half as numb. “There, you can report back to Margo now. Tell her I took my medicine like a good boy.”

The look she gives him is not one of the pitiful, understanding ones, or the confused, accusing ones. It’s clear and dissecting, like she’s peeling away his patchwork, fragile armor he had hurriedly built up after leaving the hospital. “Eliot,” Julia sighs.

“Julia,” he counters.

Her sigh is heavier now, and she closes the door to Eliot’s bedroom, taking a seat beside Eliot, on Eliot’s bed, without asking for permission. She’s a warm weight beside him and the dip of the mattress to accommodate another body is painfully familiar, but Eliot still feels terribly cold.

“I know you loved him,” she says, staring at the wall opposite them, legs crossed at the ankle. “And I know you’re wondering why I’m here. So, that’s why.”

Eliot refuses to look at her, refuses to give away more than she already pieced on her own. He means to be brave, but it’s so much harder when he can’t even remember how to be a full-fledged functional human being anymore. Time is an illusion, like he said two lifetimes ago, nevertheless, he thinks he might need more of it. “Shouldn’t you be consoling the actual widow instead? You know, short, blond, and pretty?”

“Alice is,” Julia searches for words, pulling a complicated face. It’s a journey to watch, half-amusing, really, so he gives in and turns to gaze at her, until she settles into something almost diplomatic. “Diving into work. With the Library. And Kady. However that’s gonna work,” she adds, quieter, then shakes her head. “She’ll be fine.”

“So will I,” he tells her honestly. Or, he hopes it’s honest. He would like to be okay again, someday, maybe. It feels helplessly impossible now, but it’s a nice dream, like Fillory– like a rundown cottage in the forest with a garden of peaches and plums and a mosaic to finish, like Quentin, like being in love, like being happy. Then, something occurs to him. I know you loved him, she had said, and Eliot remembers he’s not the only one who did, who does. “What about you, Julia?”

“I know,” she smiles sadly, patting his knee, and her voice is wobbly and brittle and sounds as cracked as Eliot feels. “I’ll be fine, too. It’s just– I still miss him so much.”

A choked out sob breaks through her clenched jaw, and Julia grips his arm with claw-like fingers, nails digging into his skin through his shirt. Eliot feels oddly empty, watching her overflow like this, as if all the too much– ness that had been weighing him down lately had been drained, taking the stuffing out of him as well. “Do you ever,” he pauses, swallowing thickly his own sob and closing his eyes briefly to steady himself, starts again. “Sometimes, I find myself looking at the door–”

“Expecting him to come home?” Julia guesses, wiping a tear track with the sleeves of her coat. “It’s like I’m still waiting for him to just, I don’t know. Show up here, awkwardly apologizing for making us worry and ready to drag us into another quest.”

“With his ridiculous little smile,” Eliot half-smiles himself, imagining the scene so clearly on his mind like a memory or a dream. “And tripping over the new rug in the living room.”

Julia hiccups a laugh and rests her head on his shoulder, shifting so she’s curled around him more comfortably. They had never been very close, but once upon a time, Eliot had offered her a hand to bring her out of her downward spiral and Julia had the same kind of Monster-flavored guest on her body not too long ago. It’s enough of a bridge to share this loneliness between them– Quentin left a differently shaped void in both of them, but when Julia asks if Q ever told him about that time when we tried to skip class and ended up trapped in the school’s kitchen, and Eliot repays her with did he ever tell you about the time when he accidentally saved a talking cow– it feels a tiny bit less empty.

*

After that afternoon, Julia turns up in the cottage enough times that Eliot now is privy to an assortment of sort-of secrets that he’s not sure what to do with. He now knows Alice and Kady are working with the Library, capital L, allegedly ex-fascist organization, and the situation between the Hedges is not looking so good. He is not to talk about that too much, it’s all very delicate. Julia can do some magic, but not all kinds and it’s just as screwed up as the rest of magic around the world. He is also not to talk about that, see, Penny 23 is the only other who knows.

Eliot, for some reason, finds that keeping these secrets is easier than he thought it would be, but he figures he’s got a lot of empty space within himself to hide them in.

And it’s not like they are actual secrets. They’re just sort of secrets, so if Margo hears bits and pieces of them, definitely not enough for her to figure out the big picture, only for her to send him odd looks, half concerned, half confused, before shaking her head and kissing his cheek, it’s okay.

It becomes almost a routine and Eliot finds a calming blanket on that. He knows what to expect and he feels less like he’s drifting at sea, no land in sight. There’s peace in habit and it’s during one of her visits that he finds hope too.

“Eliot,” she says, dragging him upstairs and closing the door behind them. Her eyes are alight with a wild gleam and Eliot is forcefully reminded that she used to be a goddess. “I think– I have an idea.”

She doesn’t have to elaborate further for him to understand the fine writing in between the lines. About Quentin, on how to fix this, to bring him back.

His own heart kicks up the dust and cobwebs to drum in his ribcage as he takes in a ragged breath. “Tell me,” he orders, pulling the last shreds of himself together.

“Back when we were looking for the keys, Josh and I, we found one of them in timeline 23, right?”

“Yes, no need for the recap, I was there for the first time,” he waves her off, impatiently gesturing her to hurry up and get to the point.

Julia nods, grinning. “Yeah, so. Quentin had,” she hesitates so briefly, stumbling over the word nearly imperceptibly, “died there too. But Alice23 brought him back.”

It takes a moment for what she’s saying sink in. Quentin dies in the other timelines, that was a given, they all do, Penny23 and Marina23 are proof, and Eliot had heard Julia and Josh recounting their adventure at the time in all of its creepy glory. But for the first time since the keys, since the Monster, since, he shifts the emphasis from the key and the Beast to–

Alice23 brought him back.

“You can’t tell Penny,” is the first thing he says, because one of the sort-of secrets is that Julia and Penny23 are having a thing and Eliot won’t have her little love affair stop them from saving Quentin.

“I know,” Julia nods back, decided and giddy and spilling her relieved excitement all over the place. She pulls him into a hug and wraps her arms around his torso, burying her face on his chest. It reminds him a bit of Margo, in the early days after the hospital, when he still had a cane. “We’re going to get him back– Eliot, we’re gonna get him back.”

Something warm and light and syrupy bubbles up on his chest, filling in the blank spots around his lungs, under his ribcage– with a start, Eliot realizes what it is. Hope. Because this plan is absolutely crazy and desperate and insanely dangerous, but it’s a plan.

It’s enough.

“We will, darling,” he whispers into her hair, his tears falling unprompted. It’s an unspoken decision that this will be another one of their sort of secrets, that they need to hash out a few more details beyond it’s our only idea before telling people. They don’t need their friends throwing an intervention, gently guiding them away from what they would call stupid, grief-induced plans.

Sure, Eliot will be the first to admit it might be a terrible, insane plan that did not work all that well in the 23rd timeline, but in his experiences, it’s exactly the kind of Hail Mary they’ve pulled off over the years.

*

“Wanna run that by me again?” Margo asks, eyebrows raised impressively high as she looks between Eliot and Julia. Then, her forehead creases in that worried frown of hers, “you two are up to something.”

“Of course not, Bambi,” Eliot reassures her, slipping an arm around her shoulders and leading her towards the cottage front door. “I’m merely helping our cause. Julia is now the closest thing to a Fillory nerd we have,” he tells her in a stage-whisper, and a piece of his heart falls to the floor but he barely notices it. None of it will matter once Quentin is back. “Go look in the dusty library. We will get Julia’s books in her old apartment. The doctor said fresh air might do me some good, anyway.”

Margo pins him with a suspicious look, glancing behind his shoulder to narrow her eyes at Julia. Then, her shoulders sag and she sighs. “You know what, fine. You’re out of bed, you showered, and now you’re back to scheming– in my book, that’s progress, baby,” she smiles fleetingly, relieved beyond belief, before steeling herself and pointing a finger in their general direction. “But whatever this is, it better not come bite us in the ass, hear me?” To Julia, she adds, “and you better return him in pristine condition, or I’ll fuck you up, alright? Sorrow and Sorrow are still in my bedroom and they work just fine to cut a bitch,” she exhales, adjusts her clothes, “and please, make sure he eats something.”

With that, Margo is gone, hurrying through the campus to get to the library.

“Well, she’s still terrifying,” Julia comments, lips quirking up amusedly.

“Yes, the axes do suit her, don’t you think?” Eliot can hear himself softening as he watches Margo disappear in the crowd of students. God, he had missed her. A part of him feels guilty for keeping this from her, but Eliot knows he wouldn’t have been able to bear if she had looked at him again with wide eyes brimming with teary understanding that had felt so much like pity. He’ll tell her as soon as they get solid proof it can be done. “What shall we tell your Penny, when he comes in?”

Julia scrunches up her nose. “He’s not my Penny,” and oh, the lady doth protests too much? “But I told him we needed to talk with Alice about the Fillory situation.”

A sting of pain echoes on his chest as Eliot thinks of Fen, alone and dethroned, but he can only help one dead friend at a time. After they get Quentin back, after the world is once again right in its axis, then they will save Fen and Josh and Fillory. Would you look at that, Q, another noble quest for you to tag along.

“Sounds mildly believable,” he graciously allows, just in time for Penny23 to pop into existence in the middle of the living room without warning. “Why, do make yourself at home.”

Penny ignores Eliot, making a beeline to Julia, fussing over her in a way that Eliot has to look away; it reminds him a bit too much of a time when he had been the one searching for his own little nerd and checking him over for any injuries. Perhaps, staying in Brakebills might have been a mistake. Perhaps, Margo was right, a place with fewer memories would have been preferable.

“Eliot?”

Julia’s voice snaps him out of his thoughts and both she and Penny are looking at him like it was not the first time she had called his name. Oh well. Spacing out is hardly the worst of his attitude lately. “Are we finally getting a move on?”

“Yeah,” Penny drawls, studying him for a drawn-out minute and sounding like he’s been talking about Eliot. With Margo, most likely, and Julia, although he expects the latter to have been more skittish about the topic recently. “Are you sure you’re alright, man? I mean, the whole possession thing must take a toll, right? And with–”

“I’m perfectly fine, thank you,” Eliot cuts him off before Penny could say something ridiculous like– something Penny hasn’t the slightest idea of what he’s talking about. “Now, if you would be so kind?”

He raises one eyebrow, waiting for Penny to take Julia’s hand and offer him the other, one last warning look sent his way, and then the world blurs as they travel to the Library and hope talking with Alice, their Alice, isn’t a mistake.

*

The Library is under renovations.

It should not come as such a surprise, Eliot thinks in hindsight. With both Alice and Kady in charge of things, some fundamental changes were bound to come. Though he’ll admit he had expected them to be more philosophical than literal, he won’t complain about the new color palette.

Grey is terribly dull.

“Are you insane?” Alice hisses, her glasses glinting off the artificial light, and she looks beautifully sad. Melancholy has always suited her, Eliot supposes, even in the early days of their little ragtag family. “Look, I miss him too, you know I do, but this is too crazy, even for us.”

She pushes away from the desk, her new Head Librarian desk on her new Head Librarian office– no, sorry. Co-Head Librarian. Julia trades a warning look with Eliot, her patented don’t be a dick look, and steps closer to Alice approaching her like she’s an injured animal. “I know how it sounds,” Julia begins, choosing her words carefully. “But think about it. We already know what went wrong in the 23rd timeline. We can do it right this time, here.”

Her arms are wrapped around herself like Alice needs to physically shield herself from this conversation. She shakes her head several times, purses her lips. “Do you know what you’re asking me to do?”

“Help us save Quentin?” Eliot can’t help prodding. It’s not fair, he knows, but it still irks him that she’s not jumping at the chance to get him back.

“You know it’s not that easy,” Alice glares, softening after barely a minute. Her grief seems to sharpen and dust off her edges in random intervals, and ever since the bonfire, what had once driven a wedge between them now makes her reach for Eliot with a shared sense of understanding. “You can’t just go to the Underworld branch and bring a soul back– and even if you could, you,” she points to Julia, “told us he became the Beast when I– when that Alice did it. Can you imagine what that would mean with magic the way it is now?”

“Then let’s make sure we bring his shade back,” he shoots back, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Stop pretending it’s easy!” She finally snaps, and Julia quickly slips between them, hands in front of her chest, but Eliot isn’t done.

This is their best shot at saving Quentin and they already took a big leap of faith in telling Alice about it. He hasn’t even told Margo. “Listen,” he says, walking around Julia to place his hands on Alice’s shoulders. “When you were a niffin,” at that, her eyes widen and she tries to move away, so Eliot holds her there tighter. “When you were a niffin, he stopped at nothing to bring you back whether you wanted to or not. When Julia was shadeless, he did his best to help her and never gave up on her, no matter what. And when the Monster possessed me,” he trails off. They all know how that turned out.

“So who cares if it’s not easy,” Julia joins him, giving him a sympathetic look, “it’s Q. We can’t give up on him now.”

Alice purses her lips, but something about the way she sighs, deflating under his hands, tells Eliot she’s giving in. “Even if we did bring his soul back,” she caves, averting her gaze and adjusting her glasses, “he would still need a body.”

“A golem?” Eliot suggests. It’s not a very good solution, but he knows from first-hand experience that you can’t feel the difference. And it certainly beats death. Alice, though, twitches in that awkward way of hers. “Unless you have a better idea?”

“When Penny died,” she confesses, “I tried to make him a new body. With Osseus Confervium.”

“Bone-knitting?” Julia’s eyebrows rise.

“Yes,” Alice nods earnestly, apparently warming up to the idea. “It’s difficult, but you said it yourself– who cares, it’s Q. And with magic overflowing like this, it’s probably the best time to do it.”

Eliot smiles something so close to a smile, he even surprises himself. “So it’s settled then,” he says, uncharacteristically optimistic, “all we have to do is make a new body and break Q out of the Underworld. Sounds like a regular Wednesday, no?”

*

As it turns out, bone-knitting is even harder than what they had expected, even after Alice had admitted failing to make Penny a body. It’s a long, drawn-out process and they take turns working the spell, unwilling to stop the process.

“You know,” Margo says, her fingers weaving smoothly over the ever-growing skeleton. Never let it be said this spell isn’t creepy as fuck. “When I said you should get a hobby, this wasn’t exactly what I had in mind.”

Eliot huffs a laugh, his brow still furrowed in concentration, but he has to admit relief is there too because he hears the it’s okay, I get it, in between her words. And she really does, especially now with Josh long gone in Fillory, he supposes. “Then what did you have in mind, Bambi? Golf? Jogging? Book club, perhaps?”

Thank you, he hopes she hears.

The brilliant smile she gives him, relieved and hopeful, tells him she did. Margo snorts, and it feels almost like back to normal. “Like half of our problems didn’t come from those goddamn books.”

*

Is this brave enough already, Q?

*

It takes them two weeks to get the body ready and it takes Eliot until the body bag is zipped all the way up for him to breathe again. Seeing Quentin like that, so still and unmoving– a shudder wracks his body. It’s disturbing and wrong and Eliot can’t understand how Alice and Julia can pick it up without throwing up on the carpet.

No longer depending on modern medicine, he takes a swing from his flask, lets the alcohol soothe the shaking of his fingers.

“Let the record show, I think this is shitty ass plan,” Penny23 scowls from where he’s leaning against the wall of the cottage. For the last two weeks, he had refused to help, needlessly reminding them of what happened in his timeline as if they didn’t already know. As if Julia hadn’t already told every little detail about the pathetic state Alice23 had been, how it all went to shit. They all know the risks.

More importantly, they all know Quentin.

“Yeah, we heard you the first twenty times,” Margo glares; the shadows under her eyes, the ones so deep and pronounced her makeup can’t quite cover, betray her worry, though.

“I’m just saying,” he continues, fiddling jittery with the bracelets on his wrist. “If this goes sideways– like it probably will– I’m killing the motherfucker before he can go all psycho this time.”

Before Eliot could do anything, Margo takes his hand, holding it tight enough to hurt, to pin him in place. It’s not worth it, she means.

Out of the corner of his eyes, he sees Kady do the same with Alice and oh, okay, interesting.

“Can we just go?” Julia asks, sounding hurt and weary. Her hands shake as she drags them across her face. “The sooner we do this, the better our odds.”

Penny steps away, his reluctance reminding everyone that he’s only doing this because Julia is asking, because Julia had been torn apart by– she’s been hurting as much as Eliot, as much as Alice. He holds out his hand to her and Julia reaches for Eliot and Margo while Alice grabs Penny’s other hand, taking Kady with her. Quentin’s new body is a heavy weight between them.

Traveling to the Library makes his stomach churn as always and everyone gasps, blinking to get their bearings inside Kady and Alice’s brand new office. “Okay,” Kady recovers first, marching to her desk to root inside her drawer. “Everyone knows the plan?”

“You and blondie over here keep the Librarians from reading our books out there while these two Orpheus the shit out this,” Margo’s summary is a pretty accurate one and her satisfied smirk as she caresses her axes is so Margo, a rush of fondness washes over Eliot. “I and Mr.Sunshine will keep guard, just in case.”

Kady produces two small bottles from her drawer, throwing them to Eliot and Julia, the bright red liquid sloshing inside. She nods at them, giving Alice a meaningful look before slipping out the door. “Right. The potion will stop your hearts and all brain activity for exactly an hour. Your bodies will be in stasis until it kickstarts again,” Alice explains, nervously tucking her hair behind her ear, “it should give you enough time to look for him in the Underworld, but you have to be back in the elevator before time runs out or you’ll be stuck out of your bodies forever.”

He trades a look with Julia. She nods. “Well, this is encouraging and all,” he says, exhaling heavily, “but we’ll be fine.”

Alice hesitates, biting her lip. “I would go with you guys, but,” she trails off, looking helplessly at the door.

“You and Kady are our best shot at keeping them in the dark,” Julia finishes, smiling knowingly, “we know.”

The door closes quietly behind her as Alice hurries out of the room.

And with that, there’s no more delaying it.

It’s now or never.

Eliot turns to Margo, finds her already watching him with worried eyes in a display of vulnerability she rarely ever shows, much less in front of other people like this. Although, Julia and Penny do seem to be completely lost in each other. “Hey, don’t cock out on me now,” he says softly, brushing her hair out of her eyes, “it’ll be fine. We’ll be back home before you notice, making that martini you love and most likely hearing about some other fastly approaching apocalypse.”

She slaps his shoulder, laughing quietly and involuntarily. “Don’t go around stealing my lines. Asshole.” She pokes his chest, trying to go for a threatening expression. “And you’d better make it back, hear me? We didn’t just get you back for you to disappear on me again, alright?”

“Of course,” he does his best to smile back, gently cradling her face to press a kiss to her forehead. “See you in an hour, Bambi.”

At his left, Julia moves, uncorking her bottle, and Eliot does the same. They knock it back like a shot and between a blink and the next, the world stays dark.

*

Dull, cheerful elevator music is playing when Eliot opens his eyes again and it takes him a second to recognize that he is, in fact, in an elevator. Another second, and Julia blinks beside him. “Fuck,” he breathes, “we’re dead.”

“Still hate this song,” she mutters, rolling her shoulders and readying herself into a fighting stance, and Eliot wonders if he should do the same. Between the two of them, he’s the one with reliable magic, after all. Not battle magic, but still.

With a loud ding! the doors slide open and–

“Hey, welcome to the– oh, thank fuck.”

“Penny?” Eliot stops short, lowering his hands, and beside him, he sees Julia do the same. “Penny 40, I assume?” Then, quieter, he whispers to Julia, “should we have made him a body too?”

“I don’t know,” she whispers back, eyes glued to Penny in front of them, “is this a double rescue now?”

Penny, in true Penny form, rolls his eyes, stepping aside to impatiently motion them out of the elevator and into a shockingly white room. “Calm down, you guys don’t have to worry about me. I’m fine down here,” he hands them two glasses of what turns out to be an also shockingly good Scotch. “You’re here for Quentin, right?”

“Yeah,” Julia nods, eyeing his suit and tie suspiciously, “are you going to try and stop us?”

It brings a burst of laugh out of Penny. “God, no. Please, take him with you,” he shakes his head, “do you have any idea how much trouble he’s causing here?”

And that brings an almost-smile out of Eliot, because yes, that does sound like him. “Please, do tell.”

“Since I left him at the station, he escaped security at least ten times,” Penny does tell them, “he refuses to board the train and move on, and since dead people don’t have books, he’s getting real good at evading security.”

Julia grins. “That’s Q,” she bites her lip, visibly relieved they won’t have to convince him to come with them. Or worse, Eliot realizes. “So you’re gonna help us?”

“I could get in trouble for this,” Penny admits, looking around as if he’s afraid librarians might step out of non-existent shadows, “but fuck it, follow me.”

The Underworld branch is weird, Eliot decides as soon as they go through a door that definitely had not been there before and end up in what looks like a perfectly ordinary parking lot, except for the inexplicable door in the middle of it. “That’s where he first went through,” he explains, handing them two brightly colored in blue metro cards, “this is as far as I can go, but I’ll keep the portal open for as long as I can while you look for him.”

“Thank you,” Eliot says sincerely, tilts his head, “you know, you are surprisingly nicer here. Is it a death thing?”

Penny laughs, shaking his head. “Why does everyone say that?” He claps Eliot in the back, makes a shooing motion, “yeah, it’s a death thing. Now go, before someone realizes we’re not supposed to be here.”

Once again, they go out of the blue and into the dark.

*

The door leads them into a metro station, busy bustling with people. They pass through them in a daze, and Eliot watches them enter fill in the wagons, not once looking back. A few seem to be sniffling, others openly crying, but most walk calmly away, letting the train carry them through the dark tunnels.

“It certainly smells like a subway,” Eliot comments, scanning their surrounds. Above, robotic voice filters through the speakers, announcing another train would be leaving the station shortly. “Points for realism, I suppose. Although, I could really do without the piss.”

Julia purses her lips, her fingers curling around Eliot’s wrist with white knuckles. “Don’t get lost,” she warns, frowning soberly at the crowds stumbling over them. “There’s something off about these people and it’ll be hard enough to find one person here.”

Eliot blanches. From what he can tell this place stretches for miles in both directions, with trains coming and going non stop and no ending in sight. There could be hundreds, thousands of souls here if this is where everyone goes when they die. And if Quentin is already hiding, it’ll be impossible to find him in half an hour.

Unless–

“Maybe we don’t have to find him,” he smirks, hope igniting in a flickering flame on his chest.

Following his gaze, Julia looks up at the sound system hooked on the ceiling. She grins. “Maybe he can find us.”

He offers her his arm with a flourish. “Shall we follow the wiring?”

“Yes,” she links their arms, tugging him forward, “let’s.”

*

For once in their godforsaken lives, things go slightly according to plan and the small broadcasting cabin is blessedly empty. The security is most likely still chasing after Quentin, then. Or, Eliot hopes they are, anything else could mean a scenario he doesn’t want to think of.

They didn’t come all the way here just to drown a few feet from the shore.

“Do you think this will work?” Julia asks, looking up from where she’s ripping cords and cables and replugging them in different exits. It looks random to Eliot, who has no idea where to even start, his degree has never been anywhere near technology, but he hopes she knows what she’s doing and the lost little shadow on her eyes is simply a case of the what ifs. What if Quentin is gone? What if he doesn’t hear us? What if it’s too late? What if he doesn’t want to come back? “Hey, try saying something on that,” she points at the microphone closest to him.

“It will work,” he reassures her, sounding way more confident than he truly feels, but considering anything else would render Eliot unable to carry on this rescue. He has to believe it’ll work or the weight of this world will be too crushing otherwise. “Hello? Good night– or good morning, I can’t tell, it doesn’t matter– listeners, this is your host for the duration of my stay in this truly dreadful place,” the speakers screech with static in the beginning, distorting his voice, but after Julia changes yet another bright blue wire, it runs smoothly, echoing around the station.

She crowds into his space, pushing him aside none too gently to hog the mic. “Q, if you’re listening,” Julia grips the receiver tightly, her tone tinged with a desperation she had been previously keeping at bay, “we’re here, just follow the wires– we have a plan, we’re bringing you back, Q.”

Since this isn’t a cell phone, there’s no reply beyond a few static hissing, and in the silence that follows, Eliot can hear his own heart drumming up a circus in his chest. “Q,” he says, hesitating briefly and clearing his throat. “You have to hurry, we don’t have long now,” the watch on his wrist ticks on mercilessly, counting down to their deadline. “And I was hoping to get another fifty years with you.”

Julia squeezes his shoulders, unplugging the microphone and gently setting it aside. “Now we wait,” she says quietly, “he’ll find us.”

“Do you know,” Eliot can’t help asking, not when they're so close to making or breaking it, not when she’s politely averting her gaze from the way his eyes are shining with unshed tears. “Do you think he knew?”

Did he die thinking I didn’t love him back?

“I– he wondered. I think he didn’t not know,” Julia answers hesitantly.

The answer is yes, then.

They fall silent after that, tension and anxiety humming in the air like a tightrope ready to snap, and if Quentin doesn’t make it to them in the next fifteen minutes, there won’t be time to go back to the elevator in time, and Margo would kill him if Eliot gets lost outside his body and it’s not fair of him to make her worry like this again, not after all she went through in the past year and all she sacrificed to get him back.

Eliot wants more than anything to stay and wait forever if that’s what it takes, but he owes it to Margo to survive at the very least.

“Five minutes,” warns Julia, glancing at her own watch.

Neither of them moves.

Then–

The door bursts open, slamming hard into the wall, and Quentin dashes inside, hurriedly locking it behind him, and–

Quentin leans against the metal door, panting. His black hoodie stands out in stark contrast with the light blue paint–

Quentin looks up, his eyes– impossibly dark, melted chocolate eyes– find Eliot and he smiles– beautiful, and shy, and happy, and heart-stopping– and Eliot stops breathing, stops thinking, stops–

Quentin smiles, says, “hey.”

“Hey, yourself,” someone with Eliot’s voice speaks, except it can’t be Eliot because Eliot’s mind is still in a loop–

Quentin, Quentin, Quentin–

“Q,” is all Julia gasps before flinging herself at Quentin, clinging to him as if she’s afraid he might disappear if she lets go even an inch, as if her life depends on it, as if the world is ending and this is all there is.

In the meantime, Eliot looks away and tries to remember how to breathe.

She finally pulls away and she’s crying, but that’s fine, Quentin is crying too, and Quentin is still ridiculously mesmerizing, even if his hair is shorter now, too short for him to hide behind it, and the artificial lights are framing his silhouette in a way that reminds Eliot of a priest preaching about angels a long time ago in a dusty town surrounded by corn fields, and this time Eliot agrees– it’s all terrifyingly beautiful.

“Hey,” Quentin says again, takes a step closer, pauses. His hands twitch at his sides like he wants to reach for Eliot but isn’t sure if he’s allowed and Eliot wants to say he’ll give Quentin whatever he asks for, it’s all his already anyway, it always has been.

So instead, he thinks show, don’t tell, and crosses the space left between them and draws him in a hug, marveling at how easily Quentin fits against him. They curve around each other– Quentin buries his face on Eliot’s neck and Eliot cries quietly into Quentin’s hair, and arms wrap around waists with a familiarity that comes from fifty years of muscle memory. “It’s really you,” Quentin murmurs, half in awe, half in disbelief, and entirely in longing. “I missed you so much, El.”

“No more than I have missed you,” Eliot whispers back, feeling for the first time like his chest isn’t collapsing into itself, like he’s one breath away from toppling down like a house of cards. “Q,” he says helplessly, “Q.”

The letter falls heavily from his lips, packed with so many more words, it dissipates in the air like cigarette smoke, the kind that he could shape into anything at all– a dragon, a ship, a heart, a cottage in the woods, a little boy laughing in the backyard, two people growing old.

Julia chokes on a laugh, hand flying to her mouth. “Sorry guys,” she blinks back tears, wiping her cheek, “we gotta go.”

Quentin pulls away, and takes Eliot’s hand. “I’m ready,” he says, sounding like means it, and smiles, “lead the way, Jules.”

*

The walk back to Penny is a giant blank space in Eliot’s memory.

He’s too distracted with how solid, how warm, how alive Quentin feels to pay attention while Julia explains their plan. Everything feels like a dream and Eliot is too scared to pinch himself to check, isn’t sure he wants to know the truth, because does it even matter if it feels this real?

They might have been chased by security, they might have run for their lives, Eliot might have thrown someone in the rails and Julia might have cracked someone’s skull against a light blue concrete wall, Penny might have said something about thank fuck, you little shit, do you know how much of a pain you’ve been? to Quentin, but it all happens from a distance– for a second, Eliot almost worries he’s slipping back to the Happy Place, but Quentin’s hand is still warm and sweaty and clinging desperately to Eliot’s to the point of his fingernails breaking skin in tiny half-moon shapes, so it must still be Eliot at the wheel.

It’s only when the elevator’s doors are sliding closed and the godawful song starts chiming again that it dawns on him.

They did it.

“We did it,” Julia exhales, breathlessly and giddy, hugging Quentin again, and they’re both laughing and jumping together in a mess of limbs. “Q, we did it!”

Eliot lets them celebrate with an amused half smile, an overwhelming wave of fondness rushing unbridled inside his ribcage.

Idly, he notices Quentin has let go of his hand. Then, the world goes dark and the music abruptly cuts out–

– and Eliot sits up, gasping for air, heaving in a breath like a man drowning at sea.

“Oh, thank god,” Margo gathers him in her arms, and from behind her shoulder, he sees that Julia is already on her feet, leaning heavily against her Penny, and oh, Quentin is holding Alice like a lifeline, or maybe Alice is holding Quentin, it’s hard to tell with how entwined they are, but yes, that checks. Margo draws back to glare at him, shakily fussing over his hair. “Always had to make a fucking entrance, didn’t you?”

“I thought you appreciated being fashionably late,” he teases, hoping to balance himself in their usual banter. I’m here, I’m alright, he means.

“I’d appreciate you not giving me a heart attack every other week,” she shoots back, helping him up gently, and her hand stays firmly at his back even after his knees no longer threaten to give out.

“Just to check,” Eliot calls out, waiting until Quentin disentangle himself from Alice and look back at him. “Before Penny 23 here decides to undo all of our hard work, do you happen to feel any murderous urge? An irrational liking to moths?”

Quentin scrunches up his nose in his adorable puppy way, and Eliot’s traitorous heart skips a beat obediently in response. “No? I– should I? I mean, I’m hungry, I could definitely eat, but– not moths?”

It works to loosen up the room, as if the building itself had been holding its breath and now it’s suddenly let go. Julia and Alice chuckle softly, wetly, and even Penny rolls his eyes, looking less like he might be hiding a knife behind his back.

“Hey,” Quentin continues, shaking off his confusion to beam down at his hands, “my arm is not made of wood anymore– nice.”

*

In the days that follow, not a lot happens.

Except for a lot of serious conversations, it seems.

Having Quentin dying on them, sacrificing himself like a goddamn martyr, like he never heard of live to fight another day, may have kicked them all with a sort of urgency to resolve their unfinished business.

Because their group of sort-of patchwork family has never been particularly good at talking things out but have always excelled at sneaking around, Eliot never quite catches these talks, only glimpses.

He sees Quentin helping Margo clean her axes one afternoon, talking in low voices, but their eyes are suspiciously shiny and Quentin’s hands shake as he wipes a cloth over an already pristine patch of iron.

There’s a morning, Eliot wakes up to the smell of eggs and bacon and when he enters Marina’s kitchen, Quentin and Penny are silently having breakfast.

That same night, Julia asks Quentin to teach her a card trick, but when Eliot walks past her bedroom later before going to sleep himself, the sounding of crying is unmistakable. He doesn’t know which one of them is sobbing, but the next day, they trade a hopeful smile over coffee, the it really is going to be okay kind.

Then, it’s suddenly Eliot’s turn.

“We’re ordering pizza,” he says, knocking on the open door and leaning against it. Quentin looks up from where he’s sprawled on the bed, drops his phone on his chest. “I have been tasked to find out which topping you would like. Please,” he holds up a hand, “before you decide, do take into consideration that there is a wrong answer.”

“Are you threatening to kick me out of Marina’s flat if I ask for pineapple on my pizza?” Quentin snorts, raising one eyebrow.

“It’s technically Kady’s apartment now, she already paid this month’s rent to the Babayaga downstairs,” Eliot informs him mildly. “But yes, absolutely.”

“You know,” he sits up properly, his phone falling to the side and nearly to the floor. The expression on Quentin’s face is so softly amused, Eliot’s chest aches. “That would’ve been more threatening if you hadn’t just broken into the Underworld to rescue me.”

Eliot finds that sighing theatrically is better than overthink the sentence in his head. Be brave, he thinks. Be brave, even if it’s scary, even if it hurts, be brave, you promised. “You got me. I love you, but that still doesn’t mean I’ll allow that crime against humanity inside this apartment.”

A pin-dropping silence blankets the room. Quentin’s eyes are wide and dark, and if the curtains had been open, Eliot is sure the whole night sky could have reflected off them. “Did you just– I mean–”

“Q,” Eliot deflates, ignoring the urge to flee from this, from the chance– from the possibility– and sits at the edge of the bed, carefully keeping a good distance between them. Quentin could still cross it, could still cover Eliot’s hand in the mattress with his own if he wanted. He doesn’t, though, and Eliot tries not to be disappointed. “I love you. I thought– I hoped you knew by now, but in case you don’t, there. I love you.”

“But, I mean,” he blinks, forehead creasing in his confusion and he runs a hand through his hair, just like old times. “That day, in the throne room–”

“I was scared,” Eliot admits, the words rushing out of him like a bursting balloon, “and I thought not knowing was better than having and then losing.”

Quentin pauses. “That sounds familiar– is that a poem?”

“Sort of, it kind of goes the other way around.”

“Sorry, that doesn’t matter,” Quentin shakes his head as if he could physically disperse his thoughts. They tend to get tangled in his head, Eliot had noticed. “I– so when you said– back when you broke out of the Monster for a minute, and then at the metro station– you really meant it?”

“Yes,” he simply says, “but I’m not expecting anything from you, don’t worry your pretty little head. I just– I’m trying this new thing, being brave, so I promised myself I would tell you. You deserve to know the whole truth.”

You deserve to have the chance to choose, he doesn’t say.

“Eliot,” Quentin breathes, and for a second it looks like he’s leaning forward, but there’s a knock on the door and it startles them even further apart.

It’s Penny, looking like he’d rather be anywhere else in the world except here. “Hey, huh,” he clears his throat, “Margo’s asking what you guys want? She’s on the phone with the pizza place and, well. We need an answer.”

“I’m fine with anything, thanks,” Quentin stumbles out his reply, still looking caught like a deer in headlights.

So Eliot shoves his feelings into the back of his mind and pulls himself together, getting to his feet. “I should go relay the message,” he says, smoothing out his clothes, “someone should stop her from scaring away the delivery guy.”

He forces himself to leave the run in a sedated pace, and he never looks back.

*

After that, Eliot pours himself into helping Margo find her way back to her Fillory, tearing through books like he never did in his time at Brakebills. They raid Marina’s library and camp out on her living room, and only when it’s late at night, when everyone else is asleep, when it’s only him and Margo and the low light from the candles– only then he lets her hug him and spills the aching sadness that had pooled where his heart used to be.

To be honest, it’s neither better nor worse. If anything, the only change is that he sees even less of Alice. She leaves them for the Library more often than not, Kady defiantly in tow, so Eliot figures she knows.

And Quentin– he avoids Eliot, or perhaps Eliot avoids Quentin, or they avoid each other, or there’s no avoiding, there’s only Eliot losing himself in his research and Quentin taking his time to process things. Either way, it takes him three days and two hours before he seeks Eliot out.

“Can we talk?” Quentin asks, fidgeting in the threshold of Marina’s library, and Margo kicks Eliot hard under the desk.

So he nods, wincing at how loud his chair screeches when he pushes it back, away from the table.

“Look,” he says, closing the door to his room beside them. Quentin looks decided, serious, nervous. “A lot of shit happened since the last time I saw you. I mean, you you, and I– things got kind of twisted at the end, I was in a really bad place, and then in the Mirror World, I thought– I don’t know– wait, hey, did you know I figured out my discipline?” No, Eliot had not known. “Yeah, Mayakovsky told me. Minor Mendings.”

“That’s great, Q,” Eliot smiles honestly, “it really suits you.”

Quentin grins back, wide and brilliant before huffing. “Thanks. Anyway, that wasn’t– what I’m trying to say is, dying puts a lot of things in perspective, I guess? No, that’s no right. It’s just, after Penny gave me that metro card and I was suddenly there, at that station, and I was supposed to fucking move on– I realized I didn’t want to. There was so much shit I still wanted to do, that I wanted to say, and I had never even gotten to talk to you after the Monster was gone, and I– all I wanted was to come back, to take it back.”

“Yeah? Penny said you caused a lot of trouble down there,” he says slowly, studying Quentin’s face, trying to decipher the look on his eyes. It seemed familiar, but Eliot couldn’t quite place a name.

“Yeah, they really didn’t like that,” Quentin shakes his head, “but it didn’t matter, because I knew– El, I knew you would come for me. Do you know why?”

“Why, Q?” Eliot asks, feeling his heart suddenly clawing its way up his throat.

“Because if it was the other way around,” he says, smiling, and takes a step closer, then another, and another, until there are only a few inches between them and Eliot can count his lashes, each of the freckles he got from walking in the park with Julia every afternoon since coming back, “that’s what I would do. I guess, what I’m really trying to say, is that I love you too.”

Time stops and the world spins out of control as Eliot lets these words sink in, wondering if this is a dream, if he’s still in the Happy Place– how can it be real?

But Quentin is smiling up at him softly and his hands are tugging Eliot down, burying in his hair, and then they’re kissing and it has to be real because none of Eliot’s dreams have ever felt this good.

“What about Alice?” Eliot has to ask, pulling away to breathe in oxygen into his aching lungs, and waits to see if his heart is going to be handed back to him battered and bruised in a silver plate.

“Broke up a week ago, get on with the program,” is all Quentin laughs, breathlessly against Eliot’s lips, and Eliot is more than happy to swallow the sound and the moan that follows.

There’s still so much to do– they have to find a way to save Fen and Josh, and the Library isn’t happy with them for stealing Q back from the Underworld, and magic is still haywire, and the situation with the Hedges is precarious at best, and there’s a lot of shit to talk about, therapy possibly, but. Quentin loves him and Eliot is terrified but there’s strength in numbers and look at all the things they already survived.

For tonight, they kiss and it tastes like peaches and plums, and a cottage in the woods, and a golden tile. It tastes like magic and it tastes like stars, and Eliot knows, whatever happens from here on out, they’ll be alright.

[365daysofsasuhina]

[ 365 Days of SasuHina || Day One Hundred Fifty-Seven: Blogging ] [ Uchiha Sasuke, Hyūga Hinata ] [ SasuHina ] [ Verse: Best Years of Your Life ] [ AO3 Link ]

She has no one to blame but herself, really. While Hinata wouldn’t describe herself as a klutz, per se...she has her clumsy moments. Clambering up atop the roof isn’t something she’d typically do, but when the neighbor kids got their frisbee stuck, she thought she’d be a good neighbor and fetch it for them.

The wobbly ladder should have been warning enough. But, she made it up after a careful struggle. With frisbee in hand, she gave them a grin, and then...made the biggest mistake of the year.

She threw it.

Which, by itself, was harmless. But on a steep roof with slick tin, the momentum was just enough to make her lose her footing, landing on her backside and swiftly sliding down the slope and into the bushes below.

That, at least, helped cushion her fall...but not quite enough. As soon as she landed, the sharp pain in her left lower leg was telling.

...she just broke a bone, didn’t she?

Thankfully the kids called for help, and the neighbor rushed over to check on her. Trying to hobble out, she attempted to wave him off, but...it was obvious she needed to get to a doctor.

Her husband was so going to kill her…

Calling him as her good samaritan neighbor drove her to the doc’s, she flinched as he shouted. He wasn’t angry at her, per se...well, maybe a little. She was being foolish. But mostly he was just angry his wife was hurt.

A few xrays later, and it was confirmed: she had a (thankfully) clean break in her tibia. And while the doctor can’t given an exact recovery time, they tell her it will be at least four months until she’ll be considered healed...and even then, the bone will still be vulnerable for several more.

Outfitted with a cast (purple, of course), Hinata’s allowed to head home, a prescription for some painkillers to be filled and a pair of crutches in the back seat. “I can’t believe this...I’m such an i-idiot…”

Having met them there, Sasuke gives her a glance as he drives. “...accidents happen.”

“That’s you agreeing with me, isn’t it? That I’m an idiot?”

“...maybe a little bit.”

She just sticks her tongue out at him.

“So,” he asks as they pull into the driveway. “...how are you going to pass the next four months with a bum leg?”

“...I have no idea,” she admits with a sigh. “I doubt it’s wise to do any yard work...my poor flower beds are going to go wild with weeds.”

“I can help you. Anything that needs doing, I can handle for a while.”

“Thank you…”

“Mostly I’m just not sure what you’re going to do to keep from going out of your mind with boredom.”

She mulls that over as he parks, heading around to grab her crutches for her and open the door. A bit wobbly at first, she manages to swing-hop her way to the front door, carefully navigating the steps to the porch. “Well...I guess I can get back into knitting. I’ve been too busy for it lately.”

“True. You still owe me a new hat.”

A pause, and then a snort. Ah, right...the hat that was lost when Naruto pushed him into the lake… “I’ll have to do that, yeah.”

“In four months, our entire house will be full of knitted things,” Sasuke sighs as he has Hinata sit at the kitchen table. “There won’t even be any room for us.”

“Or Bowtie,” she giggles, referring to their new cat. “Ooh! I should knit her a onesie...think she’d like it?”

“Knowing cats, she’d tear it to shreds.”

“Aww…”

“...maybe you could set up one of those online shops and sell the stuff you knit. People go gaga over that stuff.”

“You think so?”

“Yeah, sure. You just gotta build a following to bring people to it,” Sasuke explains as he starts preparing lunch.

“But...how do I do that…?”

“I think a lot of those kinds of people blog. Make a website, and just...talk about the stuff. People get hooked because of the info, and just...following someone they find interesting.”

Hinata’s nose wrinkles. “...I’m not interesting.”

“Sure you are. You just have to...play it right. Maybe look at some other blogs and get a feel for it. People who look for knitting then find it, read it, follow it...and maybe order some of your stuff. If you get popular enough, you might even get sponsorships. Maybe some big woll company will pay you to plug their yarn.”

“Hm...maybe. I guess that would give me something else to do, too.”

“Sure. You can make it all cute and stuff. I bet it’d be right up your alley.”

Hinata muses over that as they eat. Truth be told, she peruses a number of blogs herself, but she’s never thought about making her own. Is she really someone anyone else would consider reading about, or following?

Well...only one way to find out.

Thankfully it doesn’t take much to set up. Lying atop the bed, she keeps her laptop atop her thighs, finding a decent free blogging site. Fiddling around with it for a while, she manages to get a basic blog made that doesn’t look too terrible. She makes a mental note to look up ways to...personalize it a bit. Until then, it’s a start.

Hm...I could put pictures of things I’ve done…

Digging through a bin where she keeps all of her past projects that aren’t actively used, she manages to set up a little table with a cloth draped over a box for a backdrop. The only camera she really has is her phone, but...well, it should work well enough.

Now...to set up the store.

She hits a roadblock at the first step: it needs a name.

Something...unique. Simple, memorable, and summing up what she wants to accomplish with it.

Asking Sasuke, he too seems a little stumped.

“...how about...Pins and Needles Knitting Shop!”

He blinks. “...sounds good to me.”

Beaming at her clever title, she goes on, setting up the shop. Of course...she has nothing to sell quite yet, but best to be prepared in advance! Besides, it might be a bit pointless to have anything listed until people find her blog…

She spends the whole day fiddling with all the little details, easily engrossed until Sasuke reminds her it’s time for dinner. Looking up with a blink, a glance to a window shows it’s almost dark! “...oh!”

Sasuke just finds himself amused at how taken she is with it all already. “Having fun?”

“Mhm! Gosh, it’s so easy to get lost in customizing things...I could spend all d-day just fiddling with how everything looks!”

“Good. Even if things don’t take off, it’s still giving you something to do, at the very least.”

“True...but I hope at least something comes of it…”

“I guess we’ll have to see. Just keep up with it - consistency is usually what keeps blogs afloat. And in the meantime, knit your little heart out.”

“Oh, I plan to!”

                                                           .oOo.

     ...well, this is mostly just random fluff, but uh...wasn't sure what else to do with it xD      Not gonna lie, I think this turned out pretty cute lol - and it features the kitty from day 155, Bowtie! Who I might make a staple in the modern ones - most aren't really connected, but I think she's adorable x3      Anyway, not...much to say about this? I think Hinata would run the CUTEST lil knitting blog. She'd have it all done up with pastels and cute pictures of her stuff. Who knows? Maybe she'd do pretty well with it!      Buuut on that note, this nerd needs to get some sleep - thanks for reading!

[notveryglittery]

Flirting With Danger, Ch6

summary: Patton is late. Roman is also late.  words: 2,700 / ships: romantic royality, platonic moxiety warnings: robbery, injuries, threat to one’s life, hospital mention, negative thoughts notes: thank you all so much for your patience on this update!! @do-your-socks-have-holes-in-them @fandersfic-royality​ @fandersfic-moxiety​ read on ao3 | Ch1: the first time | Ch2: *mcelroy voice* hotboy! Ch3: sky soliloquy | Ch4: the interview™ Ch5: you have my heart | Ch6: the second time Ch7: is this allowed??

The second time it happened wasn’t Patton’s fault either, he would insist, although some may disagree. He was on his way home from the daycare where he worked, a little over a week after the events that led to him meeting the new love of his life, and although he knew stopping to step on every crunchy leaf littered on the sidewalk might make him miss his bus, he couldn’t really bring himself to be worried. It was practically a rule for autumn! You had to step on crunchy leaves! The noise was satisfying beneath his shoes and he giggled at each one, earning delighted smiles from children being hurried along by their parents. If Virgil were with him, Patton knew he’d have that “exasperated but fond” look on his face. He kind of wore it all the time whenever they were together…

A particularly nice bunch of leaves was just a few feet ahead of him and Patton guessed that they’d been swept there from the entrance of a store so as not to be accidentally tracked in. His expression lit up upon seeing it, and he was about ready to hop or skip his way over to those good good crunchy boys when a loud clatter came from his right. Patton paused, foot extended in literal mid-step, turning to see what the commotion was. He’d stopped next to a jewelry store; its lights were off and they looked closed for the day.

It seemed kind of early (the sun had yet to set) but Patton wasn’t going to blame anyone for wanting to be home as soon as possible. If they were closed, though, what was making so much noise? Before Patton could begin to investigate, the door swung open so fast, the glass pane within it shattered. Yelping in alarm, Patton moved to take a step back, but several things happened all at once.

There was an odd blurring of the air near the door, but Patton didn’t have time to wonder about it before he found himself flat on his back in the strip of grass between street and sidewalk, and at the same moment there was a ridiculously loud crash and he instinctively turned away and covered his head with his arms, and a second after that he finally registered the pain resulting from something colliding hard with the leg with which he’d been about to step forward. As he blinked quite a few times in utter confusion and started to sit up, he heard loud swearing nearby and realized that “something” had been a person. From Patton's point of view, he could only see their ankle boots and heavy jacket -- definitely too thick a material for the current weather. Patton was even warm in his thin cardigan. That was Florida for you, he supposed…

“Sorry,” Patton called, pretty sure it was his fault that the person had tripped in the first place… Although he had no idea where they had come from… “Are you okay?”

Patton became vaguely aware of the sound of alarms going off in the jewelry store behind him but he was sufficiently distracted from it when the stranger stood up so quickly, Patton didn't even see it happen. One moment, they were collapsed in the street, and the next they were storming towards him with fury in their eyes. They were wearing a mask that was golden, sharp at the edges, with lightning bolts striking down their cheekbones; whether they were part of the fabric or painted on or something else entirely, Patton wasn't sure. Their hair was auburn red, looking like they had permanent bedhead, and the eyes glaring at him were a shade as blue as the sky on a clear day. Now that they were facing him, Patton could see the outfit beneath the coat was a material not unlike spandex and just as flashy as the mask. 

"You!" They snarled, grabbing a fistful of Patton's shirt and lifting him off the ground by his collar.

“I'm sorry!” Patton said again, raising his own hands in a display of peace. It seemed like the best course of action, especially since he was pretty sure most normal people couldn't have picked him up so easily.

“Do you have any idea what you've done?!” They snapped, jabbing a finger into Patton's face.

“Been in the wrong place at the wrong time?” Patton offered meekly, hoping they'd realize this was all just one big misunderstanding. Gosh, what would Virgil say now… It really was starting to look like Patton was getting into trouble on purpose! He'd been joking when he said so last week, honest!

“That heist would have been perfect were it not for your idiocy! Just who do you think you are?” They sneered, scowling down at Patton. “Not even powered, are you?”

Patton frowned. Would it have been so bad if he wasn't? Having superpowers was rare! In fact, Patton was the normal one here! He tried to pull himself free, his legs aching from having to stand on the tips of his toes with the way this person was holding him. It didn't help that it hurt to put any weight on his left foot, given how badly his ankle was throbbing. He wasn't given the opportunity, however, as they shoved him away in disgust. Patton stumbled back, landing hard on the sidewalk. He winced and mentally added a bruised tailbone to his list of injuries.

“Clearly, you're a menace to everyone around you, so I might as well take care of that.”

Whatever it was they were planning on doing, Patton wouldn't find out. The alarms inside the jewelry store were joined now with the sound of police sirens coming down the road. Their head snapped towards the noise; the movement was so sudden, Patton thought they'd hurt their neck in the process. He tried to crawl backwards and away from them, slowly so as not to be noticed.

And speaking of noticing…

Patton saw now, littered along the sidewalk and all the way out to the street where the villain (it was so obvious now) had fallen, various pieces of jewelry. It was a lot of shiny and expensive looking necklaces, for the most part. Unfortunately, so distracted in getting away and realizing exactly what he'd done, Patton failed to remember the broken door from earlier. He cried out in pain as his palm came down on the shattered glass. He’d only just recoiled, curling his arm against his chest and blinking rapidly to slow the tears in his eyes, when a foot stomped down in front of him.

“This won't be the last time you see me,” the villain promised and Patton wondered distantly why it sounded like he was being threatened right now.

He closed his eyes against the wind that kicked up as they disappeared and Patton finally connected the dots: he’d just inadvertently stopped a super fast bad guy from robbing a jewelry store. That would explain why his ankle hurt so badly; they’d had to have crashed into it while making their getaway. Patton fumbled for his phone and fired a text off to Virgil before he could get swept up in the police investigation. It was a little hard with one of his hands hurt but spell check helped a lot. 'Gonna be home late! Love you <3'

Patton stayed put where he was as the cars pulled up to the scene. He explained as best he could what had happened, pointing out the jewelry and the shattered window pane. He described the villain, making sure to detail the mask as best he could because he figured that would be the easiest way to identify them. The officer — a nice lady named Eva — called an ambulance for him and insisted he not move much so that he wouldn’t aggravate his injuries any further. It wasn’t until he was laid out on a stretcher in the back of the vehicle that Patton remembered how expensive hospitals were. How was he supposed to afford something like this? He worked at a daycare! Virgil would insist on helping but it wasn’t like coffee shop tips would do much.  

It all sort of started blurring together at some point. There were pages to fill out and sign, insurance questions to answer, and it was so much sitting still that Patton was really starting to get antsy. He hadn’t been able to check his phone since messaging Virgil and he was beginning to worry about Virgil worrying and he just had to step on all those crunchy leaves, didn’t he?

“Oh, honey, it’s okay,” the nurse said softly, resting a hand on his arm.

“Huh?” Patton asked and it was then that he realized he’d begun to cry. “Oh.”

He wiped at his eyes and gave her a watery smile. “Sorry.”

“I’m sure you’ve had a very long day. We’re almost done here, alright? We just need the doctor to prescribe you some painkillers. Will you need crutches?”

Patton turned the offer down since he wasn’t sure he’d actually use them. They were kind of clunky. Thankfully, his ankle was only mildly sprained, and they figured he would only need to stay off of it for a couple days. They’d gotten all of the glass shards out of his palm and his hand was wrapped up so snugly that it was a bit awkward moving it. Unfortunately, it was his dominant hand, which meant the next couple of days with that were going to be uncomfortable.

Wow. He was not having a great day.

Eventually, they released him with a bunch of important papers and a prescription that he couldn’t get filled until tomorrow. The moon had risen during his time inside and the cool fall weather was starting to set in. Was he crying while trying to use his phone in his left hand to call an Uber? Maybe. It was okay, though, just as long as he could pull himself together by the time he got home so he wouldn’t have to worry Virgil anymore than he already was. He hadn’t replied to the text and Patton wondered if he was stuck late at work.

A loud thud sounded to his right and Patton flinched, too tired to do much else.

“Are you okay?!”

Patton startled, finally looking to see who joined him. He squeaked in surprise. “Ah! You! Uhm!”

The superhero he’d fallen head over heels for was taking a seat beside him on the bench. While he’d initially looked rather panicked, his expression softened as he took Patton’s bandaged hand in his.

“Oh no,” he murmured. “I’m so sorry. I should have been there.”

Patton was pretty sure he was melting. “It’s alright… How could you have known?”

The Prince scoffed. “It’s my job. I let you down.”

Patton frowned, pulling his hand free just so that he could jab a finger against the hero’s chest. “Hey! None of that! You did no such thing. It wouldn’t be fair to you for us to expect you to be everywhere at once.”

He didn’t look convinced.

“What if there had been a building on fire?” Patton asked. “I would rather you take care of that over silly little me accidentally stopping a robbery.”

He hummed. “I suppose… you might have a point.”

“I’m fine, anyway!” Patton said suddenly, smiling brightly. “My ankle should only take a few days to get better.” He waved his hand. “This will take even less time. And I stopped a robbery! Isn’t that so exciting?!”

His voice was starting to get wobbly and his eyes were beginning to sting again but Patton hoped it wasn’t obvious. They were still practically strangers so maybe his crush wouldn’t even notice. Patton knew that he was pretty good at hiding these sorts of things—well, from everyone except Virgil, of course.

“... Could I…” The hero hesitated. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

Patton laughed in the sort of way people laugh when they’re trying not to cry. “I dunno, can you pay for the hospital bills I’m going to end up drowning in?”

“Yes.”

Patton blinked.” What?”

“Yes,” the Prince repeated. “Absolutely.”

“Wha—” Patton stammered. “No! I… that’s not what I meant! I was kidding!”

“It’s the least I could do since I wasn’t there for you.”

“Prince! Er… Your Highness? Uh, I’m not sure what— It’s okay, really, you don’t have to do that! I was just… it was a joke.”

The hero was smiling at him through his rambling and Patton was sure he’d combust any moment now. For once, though, he seemed to have his head on straight. He needed to get home. He needed to talk to Virgil.

“May I escort you home?”

Patton’s entire face felt like it was on fire. “Wh- what? Are… are you sure?”

“Only if you’re okay with it, of course.”

Patton looked down at his phone. The screen to call an Uber was still up. It displayed the cost of the drive. He didn’t really need that on top of everything else…

“Okay,” Patton agreed. “Do you… have a car?”

The Prince laughed as he stood. “Not for cases like this. You aren’t too far from here, right?”

Patton went to stand as well, teetering a little as he tried not to put weight on his injured ankle. He wasn’t, thankfully; the hospital was closer to home than the jewelry store was. “I’m close! I guess I ought to get used to walking in this ankle boot...”

“Ah, ah, ah!” The hero tsked. “Here we go, ready?”

Before Patton could ask what he was supposed to be ready for, the Prince was sweeping him off his feet. Literally. Patton gasped, arms shooting to wrap around his neck.

“Oh! Okay,” he laughed a little nervously. “Okay! Yeah, this… this is fine. Good. It’s great.”

He was going to die.

Roman tried very, very hard not to think about the proximity of Patton’s face to his own as he carried him in the direction of his apartment building. He seemed a little embarrassed about the situation already, ducking his head against Roman’s shoulder to hide the very cute blush coloring his cheeks, and it wouldn’t do to make him any more self-conscious by staring. (Also, there was a non-zero chance of walking into something if he got too distracted, and Patton was known to be extremely distracting.)

In the silence that stretched between Patton’s occasional directions, Roman recalled how he’d gotten to this point. Regrettably, it’d been a chores kind of day, and so he hadn’t even been doing anything important or heroic when Patton could have used his help. Afterwards, he’d donned his costume, and headed out for patrol. The sun was on its way to setting by the time he’d stopped at the nearest police station for a report. He liked to check in on days that he wasn’t able to properly keep an eye on the city, just in case he missed anything important. Most crimes were small enough that the local police could take care of it but Roman just liked to be there for the people.

When he’d found that a jewelry store robbery had been stopped by a civilian, Roman’s curiosity was piqued. The moment the name “Patton” fell from the officer’s lips (he hadn’t even got the last name out), Roman was demanding which hospital they’d taken him to. Immediately, he’d taken off for it, reprimanding himself the entire way for being negligent; at least his timing had been good enough to catch Patton before he left. The offer to pay for his hospital bills was sudden but it wasn’t like Roman couldn’t afford it and, besides, it really was the least he could do. Besides taking Patton out on the most extravagant of dates, anyway, and spoiling him with flowers, gifts, affection—

“Pardon?” Roman asked, blinking and clearing his head of his daydreams.

Patton giggled, though it still sounded a bit forced. Roman frowned. “I was just saying, my building is this next one.”

They headed in and Patton pointed Roman in the direction of the elevator. He focused very hard on the music playing through the tiny speakers and not of how warm Patton felt in his arms. He may have been familiar with elevated temperatures, but this was entirely different. It wasn’t until they were very nearly to Patton’s apartment that his phone went off. Roman was going to make a comment on the The Nightmare Before Christmas ringtone when the door swung open to reveal a very panicked Virgil. 

Oh dear.

[feynites]

If you're still taking prompts, Maibrit and Lela? I miss our space lesbians.

You got it! Have a snippet for a new AU, inspired by the LoL K/DA music video that’s been going the rounds! ^_~

Maibrit slams a hand down on the table in front of her.

“Neon darkspawn!” she exclaims. “Neon blacklight darkspawn!”

“No,” Kel immediately replies, not even looking up from her phone. “That’s tasteless.”

“It’s cheeky,” Maibrit refutes, climbing up to sit on the table.

“I like it,” Lela loyally defends, even though, in all honesty, she doesn’t actually know for certain what Maibrit’s talking about. Still, her girlfriend has good ideas. The best ones for the videos, most of the time - unless Olwyn comes up with something. Olwyn begged off to go sleep an hour ago, though, giving Kel her veto rights, which means they’ve been constantly coming down to draws over everything because Kel and Maibrit have entirely opposed definitions of ‘tasteful’.

Hashing this stuff out themselves is still better than risking another disaster like the Ice-Cream Video, though. Lela swears her horns still smell like that godawful plastic from the costumes, and the video had been a laughingstock, had run the very high risk of turning their group into an actual joke.

“We need something edgy,” Maibrit emphasizes, for the third time.

Kel puts down her phone, and folds her arms. She tilts her head back in her ‘thinking’ pose. Lela wishes Olwyn hadn’t left for the night; she’s good at getting compromises to happen. Not that Kel or Maibrit are actually unreasonable people, but it’s a little like oil and water sometimes.

“You shot down the Dread Wolf idea, and I agreed,” Maibrit reminds her.

“Isn’t this kind of similar?” Kel replies.

“No. Darkspawn fuck things up for everyone. Universally. We all have as much right to turn them into spooky ambient effects for a music video,” Maibrit reasons. Kel’s resolute expression wavers. Seeing that, Maibrit pounces. “Okay, okay, but what about if it’s just me? We can do cool neon effects across the board, but I’ll be the neon darkspawn. Culturally speaking, they’re the historic enemies of Orzammar anyway…”

“Oh!” Lela says. “What if we do that?”

The other two look at her curiously.

“What if we each do something dark, that’s from our own cultural backgrounds?” she expands. Maibrit looks intrigued. Kel looks wary.

“We already agreed no Dread Wolf…”

“Ooh, what about light vs dark?” Maibrit suggests, jostling the table as she bounces in sudden excitement. “I’ve got it! We’ll do night and day. Day costumes, heroes - I can be a Paragon, Lela can be a Fog Warrior, you can be an Emerald Knight, Olwyn can be a champion from the Mage Rebellion. Then, switch off, nighttime scenes. Everything lights up with neon accessories and paint, boom, monsters. I’ll be the darkspawn, and you guys can pick whatever bad guys you want for yourselves! We can make it look cool, I guarantee it!”

Lela nods excitedly, already liking the idea.

It takes Kel a minute.

But after that minute’s gone by, she seems to actually be in favour of it!

“We’ll need costumes,” she decides.

Maibrit dramatically rolls off of the table, and into Lela’s lap.

“Thank fuck,” she exclaims. Lela helps keep her eyepatch straight, and notices some of the telltale signs of a building tension headache.

“Okay. We’ve decided; let’s call it a night,” she suggests.

Maibrit smooshes her face into her stomach.

“Sleep here,” she decides, fully willing to show her exhaustion now that they’re no longer debating. Kel gets up and stretches, and offers to let them stay the night. They’re at her apartment, anyways. Olwyn’s already passed out in the guest room, but Kel just waves it off and gives them her own bed, grabbing some clean sheets and the prescription out of Maibrit’s purse.

Lela thanks her and shuts the door behind her, and listens as Kel goes into the guest room.

“Are she and Olwyn sleeping together or not?” she murmurs.

Maibrit huffs from the end of the bed.

“I don’t know,” she says, exasperated. “If they have sex they do it quietly, I’ve tried to listen in like sixteen times now.”

Lela gives her girlfriend a look.

“For science!” Maibrit insists, popping a couple of pills, and taking off her eyepatch. Her actual eye she took out a few hours ago, which Lela should have seen as a sign. She hums as she makes her way over, kicking aside some stray cushions - they look more like Olwyn’s style than Kel’s, come to that - and dropping onto the other side of the bed.

“C’mere,” she says.

“I know it’s cliche, but I actually have a headache…” Maibrit says, sounding genuinely remorseful about it. She scooches closer anyway, though, already knowing what kind of thing to expect. Lela sinks her fingers into her curls. They’re a little sweaty from the long day, but she doesn’t actually mind, as her fingers press towards familiar spots on her girlfriend’s skull. She massages carefully, listening for sounds of pain. Maibrit just sighs, though, and leans into the touch. Curling up against her front, and then stretching out even more as one of Lela’s hands starts to press carefully at the base of her neck.

“Mm,” she hums. The sound deepens into a throaty moan as Lela summons up a little bit of electrical magic, and some of the very minimal healing craft she’s managed to scrape together. It’s a combination that works especially well on Maibrit’s chronic pain, though it only lasts while she does it.

“We could have picked things up again tomorrow,” she mentions.

“Was taking too long,” Maibrit murmurs.

Lela kisses the top of her head. Mostly it gets her a mouthful of hair, but the sentiment is there.

“You don’t always have to try so hard to get things done. Another day wouldn’t have hurt,” she opines. “I like your idea, though.”

“Your idea,” Maibrit counters.

“I only had one part of it.”

“Still counts.”

The conversation trails off. Lela can tell when Maibrit’s painkillers have kicked in by the way the tension eases in her neck. A minute later she scooches even closer, and presses her face up towards Lela’s breasts. Settling a hand on her hip, and rubbing her thumb slowly back and forth.

“You have a headache,” Lela reminds her.

“Feeling better now, though…” Maibrit says, wriggling a little as Lela brushes some curls away from her face.

“Well, in that case, let’s keep the good feelings going…”

Before Maibrit can counter, she rolls her short, dwarven girlfriend over onto her back, and moves down to press a kiss to her lips. Maibrit’s store of mischief seems to be depleted, though, so she just sighs and leans up into it. Chasing her lips as Lela peppers her with a few more. The heat rises up in her own cheeks, and she feels the telltale flicker of excitement bringing her magic to the surface.

But it’s easy, right now, to subsume it in affection instead. She brushes a thumb over her girlfriend’s cheekbone, and then rubs slow circles over the temple next to her bad eye. Maibrit gets her hands onto her shoulders. As Lela’s kisses trail down to her neck, and chest, those hands move to rub at the sensitive skin along the base of her horns.

“Sparkplug,” she sighs. “You’re an angel. A goddess.”

Lela responds by sucking one of her breasts into her mouth, and watching the blush in Maibrit’s cheeks spread down past her collarbones. She whirls her tongue over a hardening nipple, and teases the other with her fingers. Indulging a while before she finally moves down to kiss her bellybutton instead.

“Should I keep going?” she checks, just in case.

Maibrit spreads her legs invitingly, and tugs at one of her curls in mock reproach.

“If you stop now I’ll never recover,” she declares.

“Dental dam?” Lela asks.

“Back pocket, where are my jeans…?”

The jeans are beside the bed, so as it happens, it only takes a minute for Lela to fish out what they need. She unwraps the little latex square, and then sets it between her mouth and the inviting heat of Maibrit’s sex. Brushing her fingers over it first, gently teasing, before she sets about forgetting the little barrier is even there, as her tongue moves over the smooth surface, and she tastes the scent of her girlfriend’s arousal.

It’s not the fervent, passionate, grinding-and-demanding kind of sex they sometimes have, but she wouldn’t want it to be right now anyway. She keeps a steady pace, holding Maibrit’s thighs while Maibrit’s fingers rub at the base of her horns, and send pleasant little sensations down her spine in return. Her hips twist a bit as her own arousal grows, spiking with every encouraging move her girlfriend makes. Maibrit arches into her mouth, and pants a few times as Lela reads the cues and picks up the pace, licking and sucking and pressing her tongue more firmly to her clit. Until finally her girlfriend shudders and comes, slippery enough that the latex nearly slides out of place.

Lela stops it, of course, and then kisses her fluttering entrance for good measure, before pulling it away and crumpling it back into the wrapper.

Maibrit tugs her insistently back up for another kiss.

“Your turn,” she says.

“I’ve got it,” Lela counters. She kisses her nose, after, and winds an arm around her. “You can pay me back tomorrow.”

“Baby I’m going to pay you back a hundred times tomorrow…”

Maibrit’s voice is sleepy, though. Finally relaxed and sated. She slides one leg between Lela’s and keeps close, as Lela moves a hand to take care of herself. Relishing the heat of their skin against skin, the soft feeling of her rumpled nightshirt, and the way Maibrit’s hands keep rubbing across whatever part of her they can reach, as she finishes off. Then she lets out a deep sigh of her own, and just tangles them more thoroughly together.

“It’s gonna be so awesome,” Maibrit murmurs sleepily. “I’ll get you shades. Glowy lightning shades. We’ll make you a giant succubus. So sexy.”

Lela has no idea what she’s talking about. Again.

But as usual, she still thinks she likes the sound of it.

[thefanficmonster]

Caught Red-handed

Corpse Husband x Reader (Gender Neutral)

Warnings: Swearing, Struggling with migraines 

Genre: Fluff, Comfort, RPF (Real Person Fic)

Summary: Having suffered from migraines all their life, Y/N knows better than to give them much attention or let them hinder their work too much. However, their boyfriend is a lot more worried than they are and has taken it as his personal duty to ease their pain as much as he possibly can. 

Requested by Anon. Hi dear! Thank you so much for your request, I’m so sorry it has taken me so long to get to it, write and post it, but here it finally is and I hope you come across it and read it! I’ve never experienced migraines nor have I known someone who has so if I’ve misrepresented or written any misinformation, anyone who catches it, feel free to let me know either in the comments or in my inbox/messages! Love, Vy ❤

The first time I got a headache was in the middle of math class in eighth grade. I remember it so distinctly because I had never before experienced such sudden and such intense pain. I got to go home early that day and spent a good portion of the day trying to sleep it off but to no avail.

Since then I’ve grown used to having to deal with a pain so strong it renders me unable to function for a whole day about two times a month. Sometimes, I even try to be stubborn with it - I try to push through as much work as I can despite the migraine, but that never works out for a long time considering it ends up crippling me in the end. That’s never kept me from trying over and over again though!

Now, to contrast my nonchalance and even annoyance with these pesky attacks, is my boyfriend Corpse’s concern over them. I’ve tried explaining to him that I’ve grown used to them and that I try not to let them bother me and that he shouldn’t stress over them so much but I may as well be talking to a wall because all he has to do is see me squint my eyes or cringe and he enters concerned-mother mode. Don’t get me wrong, I appreciate it to no end, I just don’t want him worrying over something so small. Also, a minor convenience: if the migraine doesn’t hinder me from tending to my tasks, Corpse will. He’ll make sure I’m off the task I’m working and transported into bed in an instant.

That’s why I’m now clenching my jaw, struggling to maintain a poker face as I work on an important project I have to send to my boss by the start of next week. I’ve got plenty of time, but I like to stay on top of my work so it doesn’t pile on top of me, you know what I’m saying. Corpse is sitting on the couch next to me, casually glancing at me every now and then while remaining quiet as to not disturb me. So far so good, he hasn’t noticed anything and, if I didn’t know any better I would sigh in relief. There’s nothing to trigger the pain to arise any further - the lights are dim, I’m staying hydrated, and I downed two painkillers in the bathroom about an hour and a half ago - so I’m sure I’ll be in the clear at least until dinner.

“Wanna watch a movie when you’re done?“ Corpse asks, “Unless you’re tired or anything...“

I flash him a grateful smile, giving his knee a squeeze of reassurance, “I’d love to, babe. But I can’t promise that I won’t fall asleep.”

He chuckles, “Yeah, I know you’ve got a tendency of doing that.” Giving me a side-glance he adds, “It’s cute.”

I roll my eyes, already sensing a blush creeping up on my cheeks and neck which I hide by turning to face my laptop screen. One thing I can’t hide though is the wide grin that’s spread across my face as I mutter: “Shut up.”

Just then, a particularly sharp jolt of pain courses through my head, testing that ability to maintain a resting face. Thankfully, Corpse is turned in the opposite direction, searching for his phone, so I allow myself a brief cringe at the discomfort. 

Guess the painkillers are dying down on me, I think to myself, a second away from sighing exasperatedly at the thought that I have to down two more. It was wishful of me to think I could enjoy the luxury of a dull ache until dinner, now the migraine is straight up mocking me.

I quietly stand up from the couch and make my way to the bathroom so I can take another dose of aspirin because I don’t think I’ll be able to focus on my work for very long if it keeps hitting me with this intensity. Opening the door to the small cabinet above the sink, I automatically reach out for the bottle of pills but stop when I see a surprise.

Directly in front of the bottle stands a note written in, you guessed it, Corpse’s handwriting.

‘Already losing effect, huh? When are you thinking of coming clean?‘

Well shoot, am I that transparent?

I sheepishly exit the bathroom, walking back into the living room where Corpse greets me with the same stance as a parent greeting their kid who’s gotten home past curfew: legs crossed, arms folded over his chest, one eyebrow raised, the whole nine yards.

“Yeah, they’re already losing effect.“ I admit, a small apologetic smile tugging at the corners of my mouth, my cheeks burning with an embarrassed blush. “And I wasn’t gonna tell you at all.” I hurry to add: “Please don’t be mad though.“

Corpse shifts slightly, his gaze giving me a onceover as he contemplates how to pursue the case. I’ve already got several arguments/defenses ready - the perks of working for a lawyer - but I know he’ll dismiss all of them no matter how strong they might come off as in court. Bottom line: even statements that would fly in court can’t fly with Corpse sometimes. Especially when my health and well-being are the topic of observation.

“What have we said about lying?“ He finally asks, causing me to cringe and ball my fists in guilt.

However, I still have my arguments ready: “You never asked me so I never technically lied.” One might say I have quite the audacity to plead not guilty right now, even though I’ve been caught red-handed, but what can I say, I’m stubborn in nature. And Corpse knows this, he’s just testing me for his own amusement.

“Poor excuse, Y/N.“ He says with disapproval, shaking his head and fully embracing his disappointed parent persona. “You’re lucky I’m feeling generous today. So, as punishment for hiding the truth from me, you are to ditch that project you’ve been bugging yourself over and come cuddle and watch a movie with me. Bonus points for you if you fall asleep.“

I needn’t be told twice - not only will it wipe that look off his features but it’ll also get earn me a movie night with the additional benefit of cuddling with my boyfriend? - how could I refuse?

I can’t help it, I just gotta push my luck here and poke the bear with a stick, “If the punishments are so sweet I might start being dishonest more often.“

Corpse rolls his eyes, scooting on the couch and tapping the space he’s freed up for me, “I said I was feeling generous, don’t bet on it happening often though.”

Alright, enough luck-pushing, I should be grateful for this generosity instead. I should be using it to the max.

So, what’s stopping you from doing just that?

Good question, brain, good question.

Head still pounding just not as intensely, I slip under the thin soft comforter to find myself not only wrapped in it but also in Corpse’s arm, his warm embrace bringing me instant comfort, walking me on the tight-rope of falling asleep right away.

“Sneaky bastard.“ I attempt to mutter, yawning halfway through. 

I feel his lips on the top of my head, placing a quick and gentle kiss in my hair before he says, “You’re welcome, babe.”

Count your lucky stars, Y/N. You’ve got one of the good ones.

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[writtenwinchester]

War - Pt. 2

Masterlist | Send In Requests | Buy Me A Coffee

Warnings: Suicide, depression, pissed off reader, Sam and Dean being asshole of brothers, swearing.

Word count: 2,374 

Part 1

Okay so ya’ll wanted this so badly so I wrote it ASAP and here it is!

Glancing down at his phone as soon as it started ringing. Y/n’s name popping up at the screen as he shook his head, choosing to ignore his little sister’s call and tossing his phone in the back like it was useless until he heard her voice.

“Hey Dean, it’s your least favourite sister.” Rolling his eyes as he grumbled, at the current moment, she really was. She was silent for a moment, before taking in a deep breath she continued on. “I’m sorry.. It’s my fault, I know I’m a disappointment. I get that you hate me, and it’s okay, don’t worry. I hate me too. But you won’t have to worry about me anymore, okay? Take care of Sammy for me, just like you always do. Because he’s more important than anyone else, right?” Never in a million years has Dean Winchester ever heard his sister sound so vulnerable. And taking care of Sam? What was all this about? He already took care of both Sam and her. And him being more important? Sure, sometimes Dean needed brother to brother time because Sam was the only guy, but it didn’t mean he didn’t love his baby sister. “I love you Dean. No matter what. I’m sorry for everything.” And with that she hung up, hearing a small click as Dean furrowed his eyebrows. Confused at the voicemail she had just left. “Dammit Y/n.” Turning the car around, Dean started heading back to the bunker hoping to find her there.

“Y/n!” He yelled, walking into the bunker straight to her room and opening the door. “Listen, I-“ He stopped. She wasn’t even there. Maybe she was with Sam? Quickly walking down the hall, the door flung open, revealing Sam leaning on the doorway as he sighed. “Is she with you?” “No.” “Dammit! Where is she?” “She’s at the motel in town, I tracked her phone as soon as I got her voicemail.” Dean raised an eyebrow. “You got one too?” He nodded. “Show me.” Both of the hunters walked out to the library, Sam placing his phone on the table on speaker with her message.

“Hey Sammy..” It was silence until she sniffed and continued. “I’m sorry for everything.. You getting hurt because of me, it’s all my fault. I’m not worth it, I don’t know why you did it. Thank you for being my big brother, even when you weren’t there for me when I needed you, you were still my big brother. And I could never hate you. I’m sorry. I love you.” Sam’s eyes were glistening with tears as he furrowed his eyebrows, looking up to his older brother with concern. “What’s she talking about?” “I don’t know.” “Maybe she ran away?” “I don’t know Sammy. But we sure as hell are gonna find out.” “Alright.” Both men got up as Dean shook his head. “You’re staying here.” “Dean, she’s my sister too. I deserve just as much as you to go find her.” A sigh fell from Dean’s lips as he gave in. “Fine, but it’s your funeral.” He grumbled, turning to leave him in the room as he rushed to the steps and outside with Sam following behind. “She’s probably fine Dean.” “She better be.”

Both brothers quickly exited the Impala, rushing to the front entrance of the small Motel. “Hey, we’re looking for a girl? About, yea’ high?” Dean said, holding up his hand to around your height. “She’s our sister, E/c eyes, H/c hair, wearing a red flannel maybe?” Sam butted in, wanting desperately to find his little sister in hopes nothing bad has happened to her yet as the man raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, came in just about twenty five minutes ago, room twelve.” Dean ran off, leaving Sam to smile and mutter a quick ‘thank you’ to the man before rushing off along side him.

Both of them came to a halt, room twelve directly in front of them as Dean gently rapped his knuckles against the wooden door. “Y/n? Sweetheart you in there?” There was no response as Dean shrugged, looking up at Sam who had furrowed eyebrows. “Let me try.” He said, pushing his brother out of the way who dramatically threw his arms up in the air. “Y/n, it’s me, Sam.” Again, Sam also knocked on the door. With no response once more, Sam backed up. “Screw this.” Dean muttered, kicking at the door as it fell off its hinges to the floor. Both hunters rushed into the room, gun in hand as they skimmed the empty room. “Y/n?” “Dean..” Sam whispered, continuing to stare into the bathroom as Dean walked over. “What is it?” There. Laying in the bathtub was their baby sister.

“Y/n?..” He mumbled, quickly rushing over and picking her up out of the tub as he shook her limp body. “Y/n!” Tears were forming in his eyes as Sam ran his hand through his hair. “Sammy call an ambulance..” “Dean-“ “I said call an ambulance dammit!” Sam didn’t protest anymore, leaving the room and quickly calling for an ambulance like his brother requested. “Y/n sweetheart open those pretty eyes of yours for me..” He whispered, clutching her body close to his chest with tears starting to slowly run down his face as sirens were heard in the distance. Glancing around the room, looking for the cause of whatever happened. His eyes landing on a small prescription bottle of painkillers as Sam came rushing into the bathroom. “They’re here, c’mon.” Dean quickly stood up, lifting his sister in the process and rushing outside while medics swarmed them, taking her away as he started to panic, reaching out to try and hold her again until a female medic came in front of him. “Sir, sir. Please calm down. Can you tell me what the cause of this was?” There was no reply. He was too lost to speak, too broken to function. But yet, he managed to force the words off his lips. “Suicide.”

You were instantly rushed to the hospital, being sent to the emergency room right away while both brothers waited in the waiting room for any response of your health.

“It’s all my fault..” “Dean, it wasn’t your fault. We’ll talk to Y/n when she wakes up…” “I yelled at her Sammy. I told her she only slowed us down.. What kind of a brother does that make me?” “Punishing yourself isn’t going to get us anywhere Dean, Y/n wouldn’t want that.. If anything, it was both of our faults. We didn’t watch or pay attention to her like we should have.” After that, both brother’s sat in silence. Both weren’t ones for praying, but hell, did they pray.

“Winchester?” Both Sam and Dean’s heads looked up from where they were, instantly rushing over to the nurse. “How is she?” Sam asked, furrowing his eyebrows as Dean nodded while the nurse pursed her lips. “She’s in critical condition, we were able to revive her just in time, you boys are lucky you got to her in time.” “R-Revive her?” “As in.. She died?” The nurse nodded. “Died. Yes. She’s just in a coma right now, doctor doesn’t know when she’ll wake up, but he says to give her some time.” Can we see her?” “Of course.” She nodded, walking down the hallway with them trailing behind her as she came to a stop. “This is her room, be very cautious please.” Both of them nodded, with a smile the nurse opened the door for them. Seeing as the two brothers slowly stepped into the room, their breaths hitching in their throats at the sight. IV’s attacked to you, tubes down your throat as well as a heart monitor. “T-Thank you.” Sam mumbled, glancing back at the nurse who nodded. “Take your time.” She replied, closing the door quietly.

Dean dragged a chair over to beside her, gently taking her hand in his as he gently gave it a squeeze and kissed her knuckles. “Hey princess.” Sam followed after, sitting on the other side as he took her other hand. “Your big brother’s are here for you Y/n.”

Days went by, weeks went by. Just two an a half weeks, and Sam and Dean even dare to ever leave your side. Sam would sit there, reading to you. And Dean would talk about your favourite Tv show, and how how the nurses and doctors were and how he wished you could be there to see them yourself. “You know, it’s getting kinda boring without you around sweetheart. I mean, Sammy’s great and all. But, you know.” Dean chuckled bitterly, giving off a sad smile as he brushed the hair out of your face. Sam came walking back into the room, two cups of coffee in hand as he handed one to his older brother. “Anything yet?” He sighed shaking his head and taking the cup. “No, nothing.” “She’ll come around Dean, she’s strong.” “Yeah but that’s not the point Sam, we failed her. Not just to be there for her, but as her brothers.” Mid conversation, your eyes twitched, hearing the voice of Dean, was relieving. But, where was Sam? Forcing yourself to slowly open your eyes, you started at your two bickering brothers as you went to speak. Only for the breathing tube down your throat causing you to choke on it and gasp for air catching the attention of your two brothers. “Hey, Hey, Y/n, just calm down, relax. I promise you’ll be fine..” “We need some help in here!” Dean yelled, having a nurse run into the room and remove the tube from your throat, allowing air to fill your lungs as you sighed with relief. “Thank you..” You croaked, voice still hoarse from days without anything to drink. “Here,” Sam mumbled, grabbing a cup full of water and placing it to your lips as you wrapped your hands around the plastic and downed every last bit. Nodding your head for another thanks, your brothers stared at you with furrowed eyebrows and concern. “Y/n why- what happened?” Swallowing a small lump in your throat, you gazed down at your hands. Tears filling your eyes as Sam reached out to hold your hand. “Hey, it’s okay we’re not mad.. Just..” “Scared..” Dean muttered. “Yeah, scared. Just like Dean said. We’re scared for you.” Glancing up at your brothers you bit your bottom lip, enough to probably make it bleed. “Why would you care?” Dean furrowed his eyebrows “What- What do you mean ‘why would you care?’ You’re family, we love and care about you.” “Is that the only reason? Because I’m just your useless little sister?” Tears started slowly running down your face as Sam stood up sitting at the edge of your bed. “Hey.. No, who told you that?” “Nobody had to tell me for it to be obvious..” You mumbled softly, glancing back down at your hands just wanting to numb out the pain. “ “Listen, Y/n I know I’ve been kinda of a dick lately-“ “Lately? Dean you’re never there.” “What’re you talking about?” Busted. A sigh fell from your lips as you closed your eyes. “Y/n answer me.” Well, here goes nothing. “I just don’t feel wanted from the both of you, It’s always Sam and Dean, or Dean and Sam. You don’t let me on hunts, you don't attend things I invite you too. You even skipped my birthday to go hunting.” Both boys mentally hit themselves. Did they actually forget their baby sister’s birthday? “This isn’t even the first time you’ve done it so don’t apologize.. And every time I ask for one thing I get blown off like I don’t matter, or interrupted in a conversation like I wasn’t even there and I’m so fucking tired of it!” By now, tears were streaming down your face, you were tired of it all. Of being treated like you were just a doll to be taken off the shelf when needed. “I listen to your problems all the time, that you two bet I don’t even have any myself. I light myself on fire for you and you just watch me burn like I was meant too. Well I’m not, okay? You think you know me so well that you can’t tell the difference if I’m happy or sad because I’m always wearing a mask just to make the two of you happy. And I’m tired, I’m done and I’m giving up. I can’t do this anymore..”

By now, the room was silent. Your brothers staring at you like you just revealed you were dying. And mentally, you were.

“Sweetheart I’m so sorry.. W-We never knew..” “Of course you didn’t.. You never asked.” Sam licked his lips and hung his head, it was as if someone had just kicked a puppy.

“Y/n I know there’s a war going on in your head..” He mumbled, gently reaching out to hold your hand. “And we’ve all been there, I promise. And I’m sorry Dean and I couldn’t have been there when the war started for you, but we’re here now, okay?” Dean nodded grabbing onto your other hand tightly. “Sammy’s right, I mean. We’ve been terrible brothers, we’ve failed you in every way possible. But let us make it up to you, let us in. Tell us what’s going on, and that war in your head that Sammy was talking about? We’ll help you. Because you’re our little sister, and we care about you so much sweetheart, and so far you’ve done an amazing job taking care of yourself.” Tears fell down into your lap as you slowly glanced up at them. Tears glazing their eyes as a small sad smile appeared on Sam’s face. “We’ll face this war together, okay?” Licking your lips, you slowly nodded your head. For the first time, you had two brothers who loved and wanted you. For the first time, you could speak your mind and not have to worry about it.

For the first time, you weren’t alone in this war. This war in your mind, isn’t everlasting. No. Because all wars, must come to an end.

~Tag List~

@unicorndreamer1622 @attackonjackson @raylin19 @fangirl-moment-x  @are-you-sure-its-me-you-see @superimpala1967 @percussiongirl2017 @bee-wrecker @wonderxland00 

@winchesters-favorite-girl I know you didn’t ask to be tagged but I feel like you would wanted to be? 

__________________________

A/N: Thank you all so much for the comments and encouragement, I’m glad all of you wanted a part two, here it is :)

Canadian Hotline - 1-800-668-6868  

American Hotline - 800-273-8255

[quaememinisse]

Title: At Best

Genre: Romance, Drama, Smut, Alternate Universe

Warnings: Violence

Relationship(s): Corey Taylor/OFC, OFC/OMC

Word Count: TBA

Chapters: 6/6

Summary: One fine summer, an up and coming drummer catches Corey’s eye.

Author’s note: And now I’m bored with this. Here’s the final chapter, for that one person reading. Lmfao. Corey is great, I’ve just done all the venting I needed to do using this story as an outlet.

Previous chapter: 5 (<–Click there to read)

           When Nanette awakens from a sleep she hadn't meant to fall into, it's because Lars is gently shaking her shoulder.

           "They finally discharged you," he explains. She can only recall signing something and a couple of random moments with a nurse before she had drifted off. Lars is tying her shoes before she has a chance to ask where Corey is, and telling her to come on because there's an Uber waiting for them. Nanette realizes that her phone had died while she was waiting to be discharged, and she doesn't bother to ask Lars where Corey is while they sit in the back seat of a middle-aged white guy's sedan. By the time they make it to the pharmacy where they stopped to pick up pain medications that the doctor had prescribed, Nanette steals a chance to ask Lars where Corey had disappeared to.

           "He told me he would stay," she explains, going to rub her head, and instead wincing and pulling her fingers away from the stitches she'd forgotten where there. What she'd gotten in the ED is finally starting to wear off. Lars looks at Nanette sadly and shakes his head, the same way he did when she went to his house for the first time, crying to him about how Nolan cheated on her. It's a pitied look, one that says everything to Nanette without her having to ask further questions.

           "I was really pissed when I saw you with blood on your fucking face," Lars admits as she hands her debit card to the cashier. Nanette sighs.

           "It was all a misunderstanding."

Lars looks at her like he thinks she's insane, "It's no misunderstanding when you smash a woman's head into your glass coffee table," Lars admits, holding the door of Walgreens open for her as they step back out to the sedan where the driver is patiently waiting in the comfort of air conditioning. They're silent again in the back seat, but Nanette notices Lars swipe left to ignore an incoming call. He's then furiously texting the rest of the ride back to his place, and without having to ask, she just knows that it's most likely Corey he's texting. She walks towards Lars's front door, arms crossed, the small plastic bag containing her prescription painkiller dangling on her wrist. The grass blurs as her eyes water, and crying is making her head hurt worse.

           By the time Lars turns around and sees her standing there crying, he tries to convince her to take it easy.

           "I just need to talk to Corey," she explains, "And I need to charge my phone, so can I use yours?" In the midst of everything, she has no idea where her own charger is.

           "Of course, Nan. Corey just went to…uhm—"

           "I know exactly where he went, Lars. I'm not fucking stupid. And you let him take your car, too?" she asks, realizing just how dumb and impulsive it was of Corey to do such a thing. She hadn't thought before about the fact that he could get himself hurt; Nolan isn't exactly The Rock, but he's tall. And wishing she hadn't slept with Nolan is at the forefront of her conscience as well; she was just supposed to get her shit and leave. She walks inside and Lars hands her his phone after unlocking it, taking hers to plug it into his charger. She doesn't waste time dialing for Corey, but by the time the phone rings for the third time, she hears Lars's car pulling up in front of the house. She rushes back out the door to see what's going on. Immediately, she can see that there are things in the back seat. Her things.

           She nearly trips making her way to the car as Corey steps out and walks around to the trunk. He pops the hood, opening it and finally catching sight of Nanette hurrying towards him. His bottom lip is split and there's a bruise forming at his left temple.

           "I'm sorry I left," he says as soon as she's close enough to hear his voice, his arms naturally falling around her middle, "I know I said I wouldn't..." She just starts crying anew when she takes in the bruises and scratches on him up close.

           "I'm fine, baby."

           "You shouldn't have—"

           "Yes, I needed to. He fucking made you bleed," Corey interrupts, his jaw clenching as he grits his teeth far in the back of his mouth. He closes his eyes a few seconds, taking a deep breath, something he sometimes pauses to do when he's about to get really angry. Nanette quietly decreases the distance between them some more. She observes Corey's face, touching his cheeks gently, and at this distance, she can see what looks like bruising around his thick neck. She doesn't need to ask what happened, and only wishes she knew what level of damage Corey did to Nolan. Corey looks down at her, anger still present.

           "I couldn't let him just…fuckin' get away with that," he admits.

           "Corey," she exhales, dusting her fingers over his bruised knuckles where his hand had gravitated to clutch the trunk's hood. And she spots the bat in there, a hairline crack in the wood. She picks it up, her eyes having widened.

           "I was just scaring him—I didn't do anything crazy—but if I had, I can't imagine how you wouldn't understand why," Corey explains, taking the bat from her and shoving it under the things he had put in the trunk.

           "C-Corey, what if he presses charges on you—?"

           "On me?! You should be pressing charges on his fuckin' ass, Nan. Have you seen your face yet?" he asks, looking so furious that Nanette takes a step away from him. He visibly dials it back about five notches, realizing he must have scared her, showing up with all these bruises and dried blood on his knuckles. Nanette steps out of the one arm that's still holding onto her. Corey's eyes sharpen, as if he's staring into her soul.

           "I'm not sorry either, Nan. Do you have any idea what just happened to you? If someone ever tries to hurt my son like that…" And his chest heaves as he takes another deep breath, shaking his hands out. Nanette turns around to find that Lars is nowhere in sight, and she knows that Corey must have already texted him everything that transpired between him and Nolan while she was in the ER.

           "Please, don't tell me you feel bad for him? He hurt you, Nan," Corey explains, his expression softening greatly. She contemplates telling Corey that instead of being strong enough to get her belongings and go, she slept with Nolan.

           "Look—I didn't kill the man. We just beat the shit out of each other for a bit, and then I convinced him to stay the fuck away from you, or I'd do it again. I got your things, and now you don't have to go back there, ever," Corey explains. She has sat on the curb by now, covering her eyes.

           "Nan—what's—?"

           "I had sex with him," she blurts, unable to hold it in any longer, "It meant nothing—and I didn't plan on it—I was just going to get my things and—"

           "I know," Corey interrupts, and she can feel his hands massaging her hips where he has knelt on the asphalt in front of her. Corey pries her hands away from her eyes, forcing her to look at him.

           "He told me. Tried to brag about it, just to piss me off."

           "I'm so sorry," Nanette explains desperately, "It just happened. I fucked up. And when I tried to leave…" Corey's rage wells up once more, but somehow, Nanette knows that this rage isn't directed at her.

           "I don't love him. I swear. I just—" Corey pulling her into his arms cuts her off and they sit there for moments that feel like hours.

           "I didn't want you to get hurt," she explains, "Now everyone is hurt. I should have waited for you to get here. I shouldn't have gone by myself—"

           "Nan, stop. It's…it's alright now," Corey explains, pulling away to meet her eyes.

           "I hope that you know I love you, Corey, and it didn't mean anything," Nanette promises. Corey nods, and his eyes water, but tears never fall out. He fixates on the stitches on her forehead. She feels that she deserves them now, after fucking Nolan.

           "We can be together now, Nanette. That's all that matters to me," Corey reassures her, pressuring his fingers into her lower back in comforting circles. He kisses her, and her hand rests on the hot curb, burning her, and she just lets it sear.

           "I should have waited until you got here," she says again, shaking her head.

           "Well, he's just a shitty guy, and he cajoled you, and then he got violent. Just know that he's not gonna touch you again." Corey stands, helping Nanette up.

           "Okay?" he adds, holding her hands firmly. She nods, smiling the weakest smile she's ever given him. She can't help but feel guilty on the inside. Everything with Nolan, up until he threw her into a coffee table, had felt natural…or not so much natural, just that she was used to it. She didn't envision herself sleeping with him when she went to get her things from his place. But as Corey starts to unload the trunk, she realizes how much he's nothing like Nolan; he wasn't going to hold her slip up against her. He was just angry that Nolan had hurt her, emotionally and physically. Corey seemed to believe that she felt remorse for going over there alone, and after a few seconds of standing there watching him pull her belongings out of Lars's car, the emotional pain eventually lightens.

           "I just think we should crash here for a night or two," Corey explains, "Let you rest before we head to my place in LA. I know Lars won't mind." His icy eyes never stop fixating on her stitches, at which she just feels saddened for his displeasure. Corey had made it clear just how he feels about her; there are no gaps that she worries about filling, and she starts to pull one suitcase out of the car and roll it up towards Lars's house. She can't stand allowing Corey to touch her much further before showering; she excuses herself from Corey and Lars who have started cooking in the kitchen to go and shower.

           The guestroom she's staying in is littered with trash bags of her clean clothes; she has been washing them since coming back from tour. All she wants is to replace any of Nolan's essence with Corey's. And when she finishes showering, the whole bathroom just smells like her favorite body wash, mingled with something Corey and Lars are cooking downstairs. Nanette changes into PJs and sits atop the bed she had made earlier, staring at the suitcase Corey wouldn't let her lug up the stairs; when she tried to, parts of her body ached from crashing against Nolan's glass coffee table. There's a knock at the door and she takes a deep breath before telling whoever it is to come in. Corey pokes his head through, spotting her.

           "We made barbecue chicken," Corey explains with a satisfied grin on his face. The bruise at his temple is no longer the only thing Nanette can focus on. She's just glad he's smiling now.

           "Well—actually I really made barbecue chicken. Lars just threw some peppers and veggies on the side, but I made you a really nice salad," Corey adds. Nanette laughs. Corey walks into the room just as she's standing up, and swiftly wraps her in his arms tightly, and she winces, causing his eyes to widen and grip to loosen.

           "I'm sorry. Are you okay, baby?" he asks genuinely.

           "Yeah, just exhausted. I haven't even eaten today," she explains. Corey drags a hand down her back, kissing her.

           "Then let's eat." She takes his hand and follows him into the kitchen. They all complain about the bullshit that's going on with Trump on the news while stuffing their faces. Soon enough, Nanette can't keep her eyes open, and she excuses herself to the guestroom. Not long after she has brushed her teeth and laid down in the lamp-lit space, Corey joins her.

           "Why do you keep running away?" he half jokes, sliding into bed beside her. As she turns to face him and rest her head in the bend of his arm, she grins.

           "I'm not running anywhere," she explains, "It's just been a crazy day."

           "You can say that again," Corey admits, closing his eyes and exhaling deeply. She gently lifts her head to kiss his lip where it's cut. Corey's eyes are smiling when he looks down at her again. His hand keeps passing up and down her hip, but then he focuses on the stitches on her head again, sighing.

           "I'm sorry I wasn't here," he says, "I wish you had waited for me." He speaks quietly, though the door is closed and they both know that Lars is already asleep downstairs.

           "None of this was your fault—"

           "But it is. You know I empowered you to confront him just to get your shit back. I shouldn't have done that," Corey explains with guilt, "Had I known this was gonna happen, I would have—"

           "It wasn't your fault. I went and tried to do what needed to be done. Neither of us could have predicted his behavior." Nanette grips Corey's forearm, shaking her head.

           "…You're right. You're right, Nan. But…I have to get this off my chest now, or it's going to keep me awake. I need you to understand…that if he ever touches you again, I know I'm gonna kill him." Nanette stares into Corey's eyes for silent seconds. She gravitates closer to him, placing her hand comfortingly on his neck.

           "I'm never going to see him again. I promise," she whispers. The moment is sealed with a kiss. Corey nods.

           "I was gonna tell you that I want you to meet my son," he explains, sitting up on his elbow and continuing to rub Nanette's side.

           "...Really?" she asks, unable to believe him for some reason.

           "Yeah, really, baby," Corey laughs, "I plan on you being a constant in my life, Nan. And I need you, and love you. I want my kid to love you, too."

Heaviness pulls at something in Nanette's core, a pleasant pull. She presses her lips repeatedly against Corey's neck, until he maneuvers her on top of him and they're making out. He moans sorely here and there, causing Nanette to pause and gaze down at his grimace, eyes pinched, lips still smiling, nonetheless.

           "I'm okay," he promises, "Give me everything." Nanette giggles.

           "You're not. You’re banged up worse than I am. Let's just sleep."

Corey sighs with longing as she slides off of him, and he turns to face her, staring with need. She smiles shyly.

           "You do not know what you do to me." He whispers. She shushes him, allowing one more kiss before outing the light and snuggling into his chest.

[twisted-broth]

Demons- Dean x reader

Reader gender- Not mentioned

Warnings- Swearing, angst, attempted suicide, depressive topics

A/N- I am sorry this took me ages! This story is based off of Demons by Imagine Dragons.

When the days are cold

You couldn't get the picture out of your head.

And the cards all fold

Dean clutching Sam's cold, blood- soaked body.

And the saints we see

You don't think he's coming back this time.

Are all made of gold

And of course when you need an angel, or even just a friend, Cas was nowhere to be found.

When your dreams all fail

You felt your way through Dean’s medicine cabinet until you found a bottle of prescription painkillers.

And the ones we hail

Your hands shook as you unscrewed the cap.

Are the worst of all

You didn't dry swallow pills often, but it wasn't all that hard.

And the blood’s run stale

“What the- shit!” You looked up at Dean running towards you.

You followed his gaze to the empty pill bottle then looked back to his face.

He sighed before shoving his fingers down your throat. You weakly shoved his arm away but the damage had already been done. You turned and vomited into the toilet.

“We don't have time for this.” He picked up the bottle, looked at the label and threw it back down. “Was gonna use those.” He muttered.

You shakily got to your feet and clung onto his arm before he could leave. He looked back at you and you could see the misery in his eyes for a millisecond before he pulled his arm away and left.

At the curtain's call is the last of all

So you tried, again and again.

When the lights fade out

And he stopped you, again and again.

All the sinners crawl

“We don't have time for this.” He'd say. Or “Pull yourself together.”

So they dug your grave

And every time, he hurt you more and more.

And the masquerade

This wasn't your Dean.

Will come calling out

This isn't your Dean.

At the mess you made.

You sighed while packing up the last of your things. Sadness struck you as you looked at the necklace Dean had gotten you what seemed like years ago. You tossed it to the side and zipped up your suitcase.

As you got to the stairs that would lead to the outside world, a voice made you stop dead in your tracks.

“What are you doing?” Dean's voice was so quiet, so broken. He made you want to drop everything and run to him.

“I have to leave. I can't stay here anymore. Not with you, Dean.” You cringed at the emotion breaking through your cold tone.

“Please. Please, you can't leave. Y/N, you're the only thing helping me through this.” You turned to look at his tear stained face.

“You've been treating me like a piece of gum stuck to your shoe, Dean! Do you expect me to just tough it out and play housewife for you? The Dean I know would have held me when I tried to kill myself. He would have told me how it would all be okay and we'll get through this together. That's the Dean I know. That's the Dean I love.” Tears were freely falling down your face now as you let out all the pent up emotions you had been hiding.

“I love you.” Was all he whispered.

“Well maybe you should have considered that before.” You wiped your face with your sleeve and quickly ran up the stairs and out the door, ignoring Dean’s calls for you to come back.

You walked for miles before you came across a small town with a motel that you could crash at.

You flopped onto the uncomfortable bed and sighed, slowly registering everything that had happened. You closed your eyes, finally able to rest after the emotionally draining day. They shot back open when you heard the fluttering of wings. You quickly retrieved the angle blade from your back pocket and aimed it at the intruder.

However, you lowered it and stood in shock when you saw who it was.

“Castiel?” You asked in astonishment.

“I'm sorry it's been so long, there was trouble in heaven as usual.” He said.

You dropped the weapon and flung yourself into Cas’ arms.

“I missed you so much, Cas! What are you doing here?” You pulled away and sat on the bed, patting a spot next to you.

Cas sat down next to you and said, “Dean prayed to me. He asked me to find you. I could sense how much pain he was in so I obliged.”

“Seriously?” The smile quickly left you face as you continued, “What about all those times when I was in pain? What about all those times I tried to kill myself because I didn't have anyone? I prayed to you everyday, Cas! But when Dean is hurting once, you sprint to his side! I can't believe you, Castiel.”

“Y/N, I'm sorry. I didn't know.” He said quietly.

“Yeah how could you know? It's not like I begged you to come help me everyday. Oh wait.” You hated the guilty look on his face but you refused to apologize.

“You're right. My actions were unjustifiable and I am truly sorry. But I think it would be best if you came with me.”

“No. You tell Dean that I'll talk to him again when he learns how to actually have emotions.” You spat.

“I will do that. I hope to see you again soon.” With a flutter of wings he once again disappeared, leaving you alone.

Alone. It felt like you were always alone these days.

You pulled out a book from the bag you had packed. It was one that you had read many times before and the paperback cover was so worn that it had become soft around the edges. Despite having the story nearly memorized, you opened the book anyways, preferring to ignore your problems and replace them with fantasy.

You quickly took the words from the page and created an image with them, almost like a movie. You had made it through a couple chapters before a flutter of wings was heard yet again.

You put your book down and looked up, expecting to be greeted by Cas. You sat back a little in shock, not expecting to find Dean by his side.

“Cas, what the fuck?” You yelled.

“I'm sorry, Y/N, he insisted.” Cas sighed.

“I don't care if he insisted, get him out!” You backed up more as Dean made his way towards you.

“Y/n, please. Hear me out.” Dean reached out, lightly touching your arm in an attempt to grab it before you pulled away.

“Why the hell should I, Dean?” You hated to be cruel to him, but after all the pain you had gone through, you were left with no choice.

“Listen, I know I've been nothing but a complete and utter douche bag to you but please believe me when I say that I didn't know.” His desperate pleas were almost pitiful.

“That's the problem, Dean! How can someone possibly be so blind? You saved me from killing myself countless times and you didn't once stop to think that something was wrong? What the fuck is wrong with you?” You groaned in annoyance of the whole situation and even more so when you realized Cas had left while you had been arguing.

“I know, I know. I'm an idiot. Trust me, I know.  I was just so focused on trying to bring Sam back that I didn't stop to think how much you were hurting. But the moment you left, I realized that you were the only thing holding me together. When I came to dead ends on Sam, when I tried to call fellow hunters and no one answered, when I start drowning in my self pity thinking that everyone I loved was dead, I remember you in just the other room. I remember your laugh, your smile, the way your eyes light up when you're happy. I remember your sense of humor and your optimism and just how much of an amazing person you are. I remember how I've loved you since the day I met you. But I can just never bring myself to take those few steps and go see you; go tell you how I feel. So here I am now. Telling you that I love you, Y/n. I love you so much and I couldn't live with myself if you died. I'm sorry I never told you sooner.” Dean, at this point, had tears racing down his face, as did you.

Your heart was in your throats after hearing what he had just told you. It hurt to hear it because you had buried your reciprocating feelings deep down long ago. But, Dean's confession quickly dug them back up and caused you to only cry harder, but from happiness this time.

You suddenly jumped towards him, wrapping your arms around his neck and causing him to stumble back a bit. You buried your head in his neck and embraced the feeling of his stubble lightly grazing your cheek. Your nose dug deep into his flannel and you breathed in the smell you had grown to love: whiskey and gunpowder.

“I love you too, Dean. So much.” Your tears had begun to seep into his shirt but he didn't seem to mind.

After a moment of shock, he returned your embrace, clutching you tightly against his chest. It didn't seem as though he was inclined to ever let you go.

But you didn't really mind.

Supernatural Taglist

@casbabydontgoineedyou, @kirstentheineffectiveemo, @mistypancake10666

[fromtheringapron]

Observations from ‘92 WWF Episodes of Superstars

After years of demand, the WWE Network has finally uploaded episodes of WWF Superstars, although not without a catch. They can’t yet upload any episodes before April 18, 1992, which is when the show’s named was shortened from Superstars of Wrestling to simply Superstars due to some legal wrangling over the “Of Wrestling” part. This date also happens to be just a couple of weeks after I was born, so please begin your conspiracy theories on how these two events are somehow related.

Regardless of the controversy, these episodes are a blast. Each hour is packed with the perfect amount of nostalgia and leaves you wanting more. Wrestling on Saturday mornings as a concept may seem like a such strange one to audiences in 2019, but there’s so much to these episodes that three-hour Monday Night Raws can certainly learn from. It’s also a nice glimpse into what the WWF was like in 1992, which was just as much a transitional year on-screen as it were a tumultuous one off of it. Allegations of steroids and sex abuse had damaged the WWF’s public image, familiar faces who’d been on the roster for the past several years were beginning to disappear seemingly by the week, and the wrestling business in general had entered a recession. Perhaps the biggest game-changer was the absence of Hulk Hogan, which caused Vince McMahon to start shifting focus to the likes of Bret Hart and Shawn Michaels.  

I’ve been breezing on through these episodes as of late. They’re a sweet treat that goes down easy, like a tube of mini M&M’s. I’m up to July 1992 in my binge watch, and here’s the most notable stuff from them so far:

The WBF and Grade-A Beef

The first few months of episodes on the Network are stuffed with Vince hyping his failed venture into bodybuilding, the World Bodybuilding Federation. He can’t stop talking about the weekly show WBF Bodystars, the WBF magazine, and the upcoming the WBF pay-per-view special (which turned out to be a commercial dud and ultimately spelt the end for the organization). Worst of all, he refers to both his wrestlers and bodybuilders as “100% Grade-A Beef” which makes me vomit just thinking about it. Note to anyone: referring to any appendage on your body as any sort of meat is disgusting. Seriously, I get grossed out when dudes on Grindr refer to their piece as “beef.” It’s just not a good look. Interestingly enough, a few of the articles in the WBF magazine talk about the dangers of steroids, which feels like Vince desperately trying to deflect attention of himself. This also marks the beginning of the ICOPRO era and to be honest, all these years later, I still don’t know what the fuck Vince was thinking if he believed the kids in the audience would’ve cared about creatine.

Unscripted Promos

Each episode features cuts to the Event Center hosted by Sean Mooney, where the superstars give promos on their feuds, grudges, house show programs, plans to challenge Bush Sr. and Clinton in the presidential election, etc. The magic of these promos, outside of the excellent characterized green-screen backgrounds, is how unscripted and ad-libbed they are. In a time where superstars are now force fed lines from TV writers, there’s something about this approach that feels so refreshing in contrast. Truthfully, a lot of what comes out of these guys’ mouths is nonsense but, in a way, that’s precisely why it comes off more realistic. If a reporter held a mic to Tom Brady right after his umpteenth Super Bowl win, chances are that he’s not gonna give this five-star, ultra-rehearsed promo. He’ll probably ramble on a bit, give a vaguely satisfying answer, and move on. The characters and storylines are still campy as hell, but still feels like something within the realm of real-time sports. That’s exactly how this era works best.

The Fan Reaction Shots Are Everything

These episodes also unintentionally serve as audiovisual evidence of what human beings in 1992 looked like, in case you didn’t know. As with anything in the early ‘90s, there’s a lot in terms of fashion that still makes everything look like the ‘80s. The hair is still pretty big and teased out, the neon is bright and unrelenting, and you’re bound to find a few dads in the crowd with some pretty thick mustaches (and if there’s isn’t a mustache, you can except some thick-rimmed glasses instead). Crowd reaction shots are an underrated aspect of getting an angle or character to over to the audience. A more modern example would be that shocked, hapless Edvar Munch painting of a man when the Undertaker lost at WrestleMania 30. Here is no exception. I particularly love the shots of terrified children when Papa Shango walks down the aisle, most notably an adorable little red-headed child who looks like he just saw a ghost.  

Cartoon Violence! Cartoon Violence Everywhere!

At some point during the early ‘90s, the WWF had successfully captured the feel of a darkly humorous comic book, and these episodes boast plenty of it. The Berzerker tries to stab The Undertaker with a viking sword! Rick Martel stealing Tatanka’s feathers and blinding him with cologne! The Repo Man hanging the British Bulldog! The Mountie shocking Sgt. Slaughter with a jumbo-sized shock stick! What makes these angles so fun is that they’re completely ridiculous yet manage to stay true to the characters. Of course The Repo Man wouldn’t just use a steel chair or any other ringside weapon on the Bulldog. Of course The Model would try to maim Tatanka while also promoting his signature fragrance. Sure, Lou Thesz wouldn’t have liked it, but you can’t deny it sells the characters to the audience pretty well.

The Papa Shango/The Ultimate Warrior Saga

 And speaking of a darkly humorous comic book, the Papa Shango/Ultimate Warrior feud is perhaps the most infamous of this particular era in Looney Tunes hijinks. As you may know, this involved Shango putting a curse on the Warrior, which later caused the Warrior to spew green vomit Exorcist-style and have black goo drip out of his head. A visual feast, indeed. The craziest part is that none of this resulted in a huge blowoff on TV, which would be considered a cardinal sin in today’s climate. It was instead used to promote house matches between the two. Maybe they thought people in Fort Wayne, Indiana or wherever the fuck would attend their shows hoping Warrior would puke all over them? I don’t know, but I can’t help but the feel all of this was supposed to be some sort of artistic statement. Was this commentary on our collective ennui? A hard look at the appropriation of Haitian voodoo in pop culture? An obscure nod to the then-recent fall of the Soviet Union? Send me your thesis papers, grad students!

The Big Bossman Deserved to Get His Ass Kicked

The Bossman/Nailz feud has aged poorly. It was easier for viewers to gobble up the narrative the WWF were trying to sell back in 1992 but we, in 2019, know better due to the shift in rhetoric surrounding law enforcement and the abuse of power that system can often breed. If you’re not familiar, promos began to air in the spring of ’92 where a mysterious voice accused the Big Bossman of abusing him when he was in prison. The man later turned out to be Nailz, who then attacked the Bossman on an episode of Superstars and gave him an absolutely brutal thrashing. 

And the Bossman deserved it. You see, for as much as Vince McMahon tried selling the Bossman’s innocence, there’s plenty of evidence supporting Nailz’ allegations. From day 1 of his WWF tenure, the Bossman loved to beat poor, defenseless jobbers with his nightstick and handcuff them to the ropes, even when he turned into a happy, smiley babyface. In fact, right before Nailz beats him up, he can be seen taking his anger out on a barely conscious jobber. It’s not that much of a stretch to believe he did the same to several of his inmates in Cobb County. And don’t even get me started on the Confederate flag on the Bossman’s sleeve, or else this post will take a seriously dark turn on the extent of his brutality and prejudice. When you consider all of that, is there any surprise this is the same man who killed Al Snow’s dog and crashed the funeral for Big Show’s dad later in the Attitude Era?

The Tornado’s Last Spin 

I hate to discuss an even darker topic, but I was so stricken by how these episodes are essentially some of the last recorded moments of Kerry Von Erich’s career and, ultimately, his life. It’s often forgotten that he lingered on in the WWF until August of ’92. He was arrested for forging painkiller prescriptions in February, which led to his suspension from the company. He made his return to the ring two months later and would toil around on the undercard for the next four months before leaving/getting released altogether. It’s next-level tragic to watch him cut promos on repurposing his life toward God and his family, knowing he’s making allusions to all the trouble he’s found himself in. It’s even sadder knowing how much more trouble he’d find himself in before his untimely death, including a possible prison sentence that, had he served fully, wouldn’t have seen him released just a few years ago. 

The Jobbers Are Ugly

This is going to sound mean, but the jobbers on these shows are not attractive men. I mean, seriously, some of these dudes look like they just got off their shift at the local liquor store before they hit the arena for their scheduled thrashing. I do wonder how much of this was a deliberate choice by the bookers themselves. You need guys who are going to make Nailz and Sgt. Slaughter look appealing by comparison because that only enhances their star power. The lone exception to this rule is Ron Cumberledge, who would be classified as a hunk in any decade. A true renaissance journey man.

Squash Matches Galore

Even if you’re only slightly familiar with the WWF’s old syndicated weekend shows, you’d know most of the matches were these quick squashes where a superstar would easily trounce one of the jobbers I discussed previously. Matches between name superstars would only happen occasionally on TV, as it this was still an era where those were kept to draw buys to pay-per-views and house shows. While it would be highly unrealistic for the WWE to just revert back to them 100%, and they still do them on the main roster occasionally, it’s definitely something they’d benefit using more. And don’t just give your top talent squares either. In these episodes, Virgil gets squash matches. The Bushwhackers get squash matches. Repo Man gets squash matches. Obviously none of these guys were key players or anything, but it still gave them TV time and wins under their belt. Imagine if they did that today for, like, No Way Jose or Dana Brooke. It doesn’t seem like much, but it goes a long way in building credibility to your roster.

So that’s that. Or at least for now, anyway. I’ve still got plenty more episodes to watch for 1992, and who knows? Maybe in the future the Network will upload episodes from 1993, 1994, and so on. In the meantime, I’ll go back to chilling out, binge-watching, and daydreaming about Ron Cumberledge.

[lpdwillwrite4coffee]

BLOODY SUNRISE CHAPTER THREE

“Hand me that gauze, honey.” A man’s voice said, faint like he was at the end of a tunnel.

“Is she gonna be okay, Mama?”

“We’re gonna help her as best we can,” a woman answered the child. “Just stay over there, alright?”

Like rising from a thick patch of mud, Caitlin slowly came back to her body. Her breathing was tight, someone was holding her arm, something scratched her left temple… But she was alive.

Blinking took a lot of effort, lids heavy, and the opportunity to slip into unconsciousness all too appealing. But Caitlin forced her eyes open.

“Wh…at,” she rasped.

The silhouette of a man leaned closer, and she could just make out the brown curls over his forehead. “Hey,” he soothed. “Don’t worry, we’re getting you patched up.”

Caitlin closed her eyes and struggled to open them again. “Where… am I?”

“We brought you inside,” the same woman said, but Caitlin couldn’t see her. “You’re safe here.”

Shifting her head on what she realized was a throw pillow, Caitlin nearly started crying.

Safe. She was finally safe.

Sleep took her then—real, healing sleep.

When she came to again, she was covered with a throw blanket and a water bottle was next to her on the end table.

The house was anything but quiet though. Voices, adult and children alike, filled the home. Pockets of conversation bumped against others as they filtered through the air—some discussing food, some playing with dolls, some asking about supply rations.

Caitlin tried to sit up and yelped, ribs refusing to yield.

“Oh, hey, hold on,” a younger man called, standing up. “Jeremy, she’s awake!”

Glancing around, Caitlin tried to follow who he was talking to. “Who?”

Several people emerged from the kitchen, and she recognized the brown curly hair on Jeremy. The woman looked familiar as well, and Caitlin guessed she was the one on the porch.

“Hold on, don’t try to sit up yet,” Jeremy told her. “We had to tape your ribs up and you’re gonna be sore for a while.”

Caitlin swallowed dryly. “Can I…”

“Here honey,” the woman said, unscrewing the cap on the water bottle and kneeling at her head. “I’ll help you.”

The woman tilted Caitlin forward just enough to drink comfortably, and she guzzled the water.

When she finished, Caitlin asked, “What’s your name?”

“I’m Hannah,” she said with a smile. “And you are?”

“Caitlin.” She leaned back on the pillows, looking around. “Is this your house?”

Hannah nodded. “Can you tell us what happened, Caitlin?”

She inhaled as deeply as her injuries would allow. “I… I was flying out of Atlanta. And just after take-off… Something… Our engines exploded and…” She steadied herself. “We crashed. But nobody came. I must’ve been unconscious for a while, ‘cause when I woke up it was almost dark.”

The younger man—barely out of his teens, she could see now—glanced at Jeremy, expression grim. “We saw that plane go down. When dad and I were leaving school.”

“They said they were grounding planes, but we didn’t know they’d shoot them down.”

Caitlin shook her head, confused. “Wait, shoot them down? Who’s they?”

Hannah reached for her hand. “The National Guard. They put this area in a state of emergency after the outbreak.”

Outbreak. They must’ve been talking about…

“Those things,” Caitlin mumbled, voice hollow. “Those…”

“Geeks.”

The little boy behind Hannah piped up, craning his neck to look around his mother.

Hannah turned to shush him. “Josh—”

“But Mama…”

Caitlin smiled faintly at him. “Where’d you get ‘Geeks’ from?”

The little boy got up, running to a bookshelf and coming back with a comic in his hands. “It’s from this.”

“He’s always been into monsters,” Hannah said. “I still think he’s too young, but Jeremy tells me I’m being overprotective.”

It clicked for Caitlin finally. Jeremy and Hannah were married, and Josh was their little boy. The others were friends, neighbors, relatives.

Jeremy was pulling out a stethoscope to listen to Caitlin’s chest as he said, “I read stuff like that when I was his age. I turned out alright.”

Watching him, Caitlin furrowed her brow. “Are you a doctor?”

“ICU nurse,” Jeremy told her. “You picked the right neighborhood to stumble into.”

Caitlin nodded, breathing out a harsh laugh. “Tell me about it.”

After listening to her heart and lungs, and seeming satisfied with what he heard, Jeremy took the stethoscope off and smiled reassuringly. “Everything sounds okay. We checked your blood pressure while you were asleep, and from what I can tell you don’t have any internal injuries. Just these broken ribs and sprained ankle and that cut on your head.” He patted her arm gently. “You have no idea how lucky you are. Surviving a plane crash and walking away like that.”

“No, I really do,” she told him.

Others started to pass by, curious about the newcomer but trying not to intrude too much. Hannah gave another woman a nod and then looked to Caitlin.

“We should get you something to eat,” she said. “And I think I have some pain killers left over from my back surgery last year. I’ll go dig those out.” Standing, she called to her son. “Josh, leave her be, okay?”

“No, it’s okay,” Caitlin hurried to say. “I… I appreciate the company.”

With an agreeable sound, Hannah glanced at Josh and said, “Don’t be a pest, okay?”

“Okay Mama,” Josh called as she walked away.

Looking up at Caitlin, he offered her the comic in his hands— a popular series that had gained a following. She’d seen them in bookstores before but never thought to read them herself.

“Wanna take a look?” Josh opened it up for her. “See? It even shows you how to kill Geeks and what happens if you get bit.”

Flashes of the scene in the gas station flickered behind her eyes. She already knew what happened when someone was bitten…

“Thanks,” she told him weakly. “Wanna read it to me?”

Settling against the pillows, she pulled the blanket up higher as Josh curled up against the side of the couch, making sure she could see the panels as he read.

A little while later, Hannah brought her a peanut butter sandwich and more water. She also handed Caitlin the bottle of prescription painkillers with a nod. No one blinked twice at her taking two with her sandwich.

Caitlin drifted off to sleep again, lulled by the hum of the group and Josh’s reading.

                                                               ***

The next morning, Jeremy helped her move around a bit, acting as her crutch as she hobbled the length of the living room and back. Once she seemed steady enough on her feet, Hannah and another woman—Jessica—helped her upstairs to use the shower. It was kind of an awkward shuffle, trying to keep herself covered while they assisted her, until Caitlin finally threw her hands up and said, ‘Screw it. The world is ending, who cares if you see my ass.’

They all had a laugh at that.

Caitlin was given fresh clothes to wear while hers were being washed and Hannah helped re-tape her ribs.

“Thank you,” Caitlin murmured as the other woman adjusted her bandaging. “Your whole group has been so generous. I’m sorry I don’t have anything to give you in return.”

Hannah waved her hand dismissively. “It’s not a trade. You were in need and we could provide. And we’re happy to do it.”

Over the course of the day, Caitlin learned more about what happened in Atlanta. The virus outbreak had been an accident—the escaped patients the papers were talking about were actually test subjects. But something had gone wrong according to Hal, the ex-radio host in the group. He’d heard the reports of a deadly virus and that they were going to quarantine the whole city and had bolted to get his son, the younger man Caitlin had seen before, from college. The whole neighborhood had come together, deciding to wait for news together.

All the television stations looped the same messages over and over.

Stay away from the city. Stay inside. Do not approach infected individuals. If you’re bitten, please seek medical care immediately.

Jeremy had scoffed at the last part.

“There’s no cure,” he said, turning the television off. “We had five people come into the hospital on Thursday, all of them infected. And you know what happened? They bit more people. Five turned into ten turned into twenty-five in less than two days.”

Caitlin adjusted her leg propped up on the coffee table. “When did those patients—test subjects, get out?”

“A week before they started reporting it. Apparently, the lab was in the government’s pocket. They were trying to keep it all quiet, but…” He crossed his arms. “See how well that worked out, huh?”

“By the time people were starting to notice things were bad, it was too late,” Hannah commented. “Now we just gotta wait and see what happens.”

“I still say we should pack up and bug out,” another man said from the corner.

“Carl, we talked about this,” Jeremy started. “We’ve gotta wait for the evacuation plans, otherwise we won’t know where to go.”

Carl, in his tattered ball cap and hunter green Carhartt, scowled and shook his head. “Gunna trust the same people that shot that poor girl’s plane down?”

Jeremy didn’t have an argument articulated, but he looked frustrated with Carl’s side.

“Atlanta’s too close,” Carl continued. “We saw five of those freaks on our last run to get propane for the generators.” He looked to Caitlin then, asking, “Miss? You saw them, didn’t you?”

Caitlin nodded, trying not to think about the grotesque monster that had chased her.

“Can I ask where you were?”

“I’m not sure how far…” She frowned, glancing out the window. “It was a gas station. A Citgo.”

Carl seemed to know the one she was talking about. “That’s less than three miles from here. It’s too close, Jeremy.”

“It’s dangerous on the road too,” Jessica interjected. “If we leave, we’re putting ourselves at risk. At least here we have water, food, electricity—”

“How long you think that’s gonna last?” Carl leaned forward, propping his elbows on his knees. “I’m not saying we gotta head out this second. But we need to start thinking about a plan of our own. We can’t rely on anyone else tellin’ us what to do or where to go. And those things are spreading out, far and wide.”

Hannah stepped up. “I happen to agree with Carl,” she said.

Jeremy cast her a shocked stare, but she continued before he could interrupt her.

“I’m not saying we should leave today, or even tomorrow, but we need to start planning. We have enough food to last us a while, and our water and electricity haven’t been cut, but we can’t take those as givens. We need a Plan B. I think if we put our heads together, we can figure out something that keeps us all safe.”

After a moment of thought, Jeremy nodded. “Alright. I guess over dinner we’ll look at some maps. Try to get organized.”

Josh and two other children jogged through the living room, grabbing a few board games and taking them into the dining room. A flash of innocent optimism amid the horrors around them.

The rest of the afternoon, Caitlin floated on a painkiller high, drifting in and out of short naps. When she was lucid she played cards with Josh and the other kids, keeping them entertained as best as she could from the couch. Some of the other women whose names she hadn’t yet learned would stop by to chat or offer her extra pillows. Their kindness still overwhelmed her.

That night, Carl spotted the first Geek trudging down the street towards the house. It took several shots to put the creature down, but finally he landed a bullet in its skull and the thing fell with a sickening thud.

“Coming closer,” he muttered on his way back inside. “Told y’all.”

No one slept well that night. Not even Caitlin, despite still being doped up on borrowed meds.

The illusions of safety were starting to wane.

                                               ***

Two days came and went with little excitement. Caitlin did her best to help where she could, which usually meant watching after the kids while they played in the living room or occasionally on the porch. Jeremy wanted her to get some sunlight and fresh air, and she couldn’t argue.

She helped Jessica and another woman fold laundry, dried the dishes as long as she could sit while she did it, and answered as many questions as they had about her life in New York.

Even as a zombie virus was taking over, she was still a big city girl living a glamourous life in their eyes. It was endearing and helped her focus on the positive.

She’d make her way back somehow. She’d see her friends again. She’d find her loved ones.

Over dinner the group hatched a plan. They would start stockpiling supplies, consolidate their essentials, and in a couple days they’d begin scouting for a route out. Being just outside the city, they knew it was only a matter of time before things got worse.

Caitlin went to sleep listening to Carl and a couple of the other men discuss who should focus on what task. She barely remembered Josh coming by to tell her goodnight and leaving another comic with her in case she wanted to read it.

Someone jerked her awake, violently yanking her.

“Caitlin, Caitlin get up.”

Hannah, it was Hannah’s voice…

Bleary eyed, Caitlin tried to focus. “What… What’s happening?”

“We gotta go,” Hannah told her, pulling her up. “There’s… God, there’s so many of them, c’mon.”

“What?”

“A whole group of those zombies are coming this way,” Hannah explained, getting Caitlin to her feet. “There’s gotta be a hundred of them. Come on.”

The house had erupted into chaos. People were running, yelling for each other—orders and directions as to who should go where. She could only catch snippets.

“… Don’t have enough guns…”

“… The street is blocked, what do we…”

“…Keep calm, head upstairs…”

Caitlin whipped her head around, trying to tell them not to go upstairs, they’ll get themselves trapped, but Hannah was hauling her through the living room and into the kitchen.

“Hannah, I can help—”

Hannah shook her head. “Honey, you’re still too hurt,” she said. “Jeremy told me to get you somewhere safe while we figure this all out.”

“Where…” Caitlin was too dizzy from the painkillers, too rattled by the terror flooding her system, to understand where Hannah was taking her until the door swung open and she was being led down a small flight of stairs.

“It’s gonna be a little uncomfortable for a while,” Hannah told her, pulling a chain and turning on a light. “But it won’t be for long. At least you’ll be out of harm’s way.”

“But, Hannah…”

“It’s okay,” she told her, rubbing her arm comfortingly.

The fear in Hannah’s eyes told a different story.

Leading Caitlin to a crate, she helped her sit, and made sure she was steady before turning back towards the stairs.

“Hannah, what about Josh? The others?”

She was running up the staircase as she called, “They’re okay, they’re upstairs in the bedroom.”

“No, Hannah, that’s—”

The door slammed shut, cutting her off.

Minutes later the first gunshots rang out.

Glass shattered somewhere above her, and someone screamed.

More gun fire.

The heavy footsteps of a mob trampling through the living room.

The screaming didn’t stop.

In a panic, Caitlin searched the dimly lit basement for something to wedge under the doorknob, settling for a broken shelf painted with little toy cars.

Josh’s.

It was agony, but she carried the shelf up the few stairs and lodged it securely. All while sounds of carnage clawed at her ear drums.

Inhuman groans and snarls. People screaming as they were being attacked. Useless gunshots that could never bring down a herd that large.

Something hit the basement door and she covered her mouth to stifle her gasp. As silently as she could, she went back down the stairs and cowered in the corner, wrapping her arms around herself tightly.

All she could do was wait. Wait and listen, as people she’d begun to truly care for were torn apart.

Eventually, the screaming stopped.

But the other noises… lumbering gaits, scuffling along hardwood, wet smacking… It all painted a horrific picture Caitlin didn’t know how to accept.

They’d been okay. They were going to get to safety in just a few days. They’d made plans, started gathering up things they needed…

She covered her mouth and cried.

Josh had just told her he wanted to read her another comic he liked— a superhero one she’d never heard of. They were going to read it outside, on the porch, in the sunshine.

Her sobs wracked her broken ribcage, but she stayed silent.

Hannah… Jeremy… Jessica… Hal… Carl… Everyone…

Maybe some of them escaped, she thought, staring at the halo of light on the floor cast by the light bulb. Maybe they’d managed to get to one of the SUVs. Maybe…

Something dripped onto the concrete a few feet in front of her. Viscous and red…

Blood was seeping between the floorboards over her head.

Her tears stopped as she went ice cold. Pulling her knees to her chest, ignoring the burn in her sides, she watched in a catatonic daze as the small droplets became a small puddle, and then a pool of blood.

The monsters above continued to feast.

                                               ***

Time didn’t feel like a tangible thing anymore. She didn’t know if it was day or night. If she’d been there for hours or days. Weeks? Had she died without realizing it?

Did ghosts haunt a broken world?

The first clue that maybe she’d survived was the pain in her legs and ribcage.

She had to stretch out, rub the soreness from her joints.

Ghosts didn’t feel pain, did they?

When her bladder begged for relief, she took that as another sign of life.

Afterwards, she paced quietly, staring up at the barricaded door. The sounds of Geeks moving about in the house had long since faded, but she couldn’t bring herself to go up there.

She was in the basement of a death house now.

Something rattled in her pocket and Caitlin fished out the bottle she’d forgotten she’d tucked away.

A handful remained. Enough to keep her comfortable for a few more days.

Or enough to put her to sleep permanently.

With trembling hands, she placed the bottle on a nearby tool rack and backed away. She never dropped her gaze, even as she lowered herself to the ground again.

A decision to be made, she figured. But not right now. Not yet.

Leaning back, she pressed the back of her head to the cold cinderblock and closed her eyes.

                                               ***

The few cans of food she’d found with pop tops lasted her several days. She didn’t want to eat much to begin with, and the cold beans and Spam didn’t entice her appetite any.

The pool of blood had congealed and was starting to smell, putting her off even more.

Every time she took a bite, she stared at the pill bottle.

Life or death.

Survive or let go.

The plane crash. The gas station Geek. The broken ribs taped up by a nurse who was now rotting upstairs somewhere.

What was left for her? Where did she go from here?

It wasn’t the first time she’d thought those things, only her past hadn’t included things like a zombie virus and apocalyptic conditions. No, her past had been brutal and not at all unique.

Divorced parents. An abusive stepfather. Years of therapy. Jagged wounds barely hidden by her over-achieving tendencies and intimacy issues.

The world she’d learned to traverse before was nothing like the world she faced now.

She stared the pill bottle down like a challenge.

She’d decide what to do in the morning.

                                                               ***

Caitlin woke up with a raw throat that burned like she’d been screaming in her sleep.

Maybe she had been.

But at least she’d made up her mind.

Snatching the pill bottle off the shelf, she tucked it into her pocket and dragged herself up the stairs. Pushing the barricade out of the way, she took several deep breaths before covering her nose and mouth and opening the door.

Flies buzzed all around, and the stench made her eyes water.

She couldn’t look away though. She wouldn’t hide from the horror they endured.

Some of the bodies she recognized. Jessica… Hal…

Some were too decomposed. Some were barely bodies at all, so gnawed on they were little more than bones and greasy sinew.

As she walked through the kitchen, she spotted Carl’s tattered ball cap dropped on the floor. None of the bodies near it looked like him though.

She kicked a few game board pieces as she entered the living room and her heart sank into her hollow gut. If the children had survived, she would have heard them.

The comic Josh had left out for her was now torn and scattered in a gelatinous pool of blood and fluid.

She was standing in a graveyard.

Forward, she thought. Keep going. Survive.

On numb legs, she wandered into the laundry room, finding the clothes Hannah had washed for her. She took a few extra pairs of socks and clean underwear in her size and stuffed them into a plastic grocery bag. It would be the only thing she took from the home that had sheltered her. From the family that had taken her in and perished.

Walking back into the living room, she forced herself to look at each remaining body. They’d been kind, generous with her when she had nothing, and she’d been unable to protect them. The least she could do was honor the tragedy of their deaths.

Checking that the street was empty, she opened the door that barely hung on its hinges and left.

                                                               ***

One of the houses a street over was safe and out of the way and untouched by the numbers of Geeks that had trampled through.

There Caitlin found a large backpack, and enough supplies to last her for a while. Food, bottles of water, aspirin for the pain. She kept the prescription bottle but didn’t plan on using it unless absolutely necessary. She was heading out into unknown territory and needed to be sharp. She couldn’t afford to be doped up and loopy now.

Packing everything she could find, she tested the weight of her bag and decided it was just light enough not to hurt her too much. Caitlin didn’t know how long broken ribs took to heal, but her chest didn’t scream with agony every time she moved, so she guessed she was improving.

Going into the kitchen, she found a steak knife she could easily tuck into the side pocket of her backpack and drank a full bottle of water before heading for the door.

She only had one plan now—Get away from Atlanta, get out of Georgia, find her way back to New York.

Keep going.

Survive.

Survive for those who didn’t.

[jwut]

why am I like this why am I like this 

why do I constantly give and give and give to people who just take and take and take and just call me horrible things and say horrible things to and about me and then go even further and lie to try to make me look worse?? I don’t understand. I woke up yesterday to the sound of my sister and her best friend yelling and arguing and then I heard my sister running and then a loud crash and then she started screaming and I immediately jumped up went to the stairs, saw her screaming in pain on the stairs and immediately jumped into action got pillows for her, her foot/ankle, got ice packs, got blankets bc she started getting cold, got water, loaded a bowl even offered one of my personal emergency cigarettes and also even offered her my emergency oxy which i changed my mind and kept bc i gave her 2 of my xans and she took a bunch of her own and other stuff I don’t even know and then was asking me to ask my dad if she could have one of his lortabs like really anyway and this was my one day off by the way, and I had already agreed to take her to her tax appointment and this happened so of course i have to help her do everything get up the stairs go to the bathroom change and the whole time im helping her scrambling to make preparations to get her into my car and stuff and shes taking selfies and posting on snapchat the whole time like dude we’re already late for your tax appointment this is the last day and then after I have to take you to the hospital anyway so like wtf  anyway finally after she calls and reschedules her tax appointment for an hour later and we finally go, everyone is so nice and caring and helpful and shes just rude to everyone and always has an attitude and is just so short and rude and loud to them and ugh anyway after that’s finally  done after an hour and I have no gas in my truck okay and I’ve literally already been catering to her every need and shes like “can you google places that take walk ins that don’t have insurance like where am I supposed to go” my sister just turned 28. She’s five years older than me. And she’s asking me where is she supposed to go that is cheap and will take her without insurance. While I’m already driving her and she’s in the passenger seat. like. so I tell her I have no idea she has to figure it out herself dude I’ve never even broken a bone okay anyway we go to UMC or whatever and like that whole thing itself is another story of me having to be her fucking mother and do everything for her and then she’s telling me she wants me to drive 30 minutes to Northtown okay, not the best area, go to her random friend’s house, some guy I’ve never even heard her mention before, to get painkillers and crutches for her. Unbelievable. Anyway after a million years of waiting she’s seen by the doctor and everything and we’re leaving and I still have no gas okay and they gave her a prescription so we had to go fill it and she only goes to the walmart pharmacy or whatever okay cool I ask, “when do they close?” so that I can see if I have time to get gas or if I just have to go straight to the pharmacy and she doesn’t say anything so I look it up, they close at 9 okay I start driving to walmart and she freaks out bc she was trying to call the other pharmacy to see if they could transfer something I don’t even know okay and idk literally she just always has a bad attitude and whenever she has to do anything herself or something doesn’t go how she wants, she just gets upset and awful and just horrible to even be around like i’ve been helping her all goddamn day it’s 8:30 at night dude I haven’t eaten all day, didn’t get to do my laundry or chores that I wanted to do on my day off and she always has to make a big scene so that other people think I’m so horrible to her fuck anyway she was rude to the walmart people she was in there for almost an hour, didn’t get her script, I have to go in and help her go to the bathroom and all this stuff all this stuff whatever she’s rude the whole time and expects me to stop and get her cigarettes and all this other stuff anyway finally after I had already cried and called my mom and told her I’m bringing Britt home and not helping her anymore I can’t do it, we’re on the way home and idk we saw this horrible accident happen like we saw the whole thing it was rpetty intense and actually really crazy but she’s in full on horrible bitch mode so shes like oh too bad that wasn’t me too bad I didn’t die idk so of course we’re arguing while I’m driving us home okay we’re so close to home dude and we’re just screaming at each other okay to the point where I can’t even scream because my voice just comes out raspy I can’t go that high okay anyway and we come to a red light and she gets out of the car she has a splint on her foot okay and she starts making a huge fucking scene close to our neighborhood in the middle of the goddamn street she stands out there trying to get hit by a car people start coming out of their apartments to try to help her of course I look like the bad guy because she’s like, “I BROKE MY FOOT AND MY SISTER REFUSES TO TAKE ME HOME REFUSES” screaming telling everyone that I punched her (I’m like a third of her size first of all, second, we were arguing my arms were moving and I slapped her arm lmao) anyway whatever I’m the bad guy I finally get crazy bitch back in my car (100% regret not just leaving her in the middle of the road so she can see what a fucking dumbass she is) anyway still screaming the whole time of course, I pull up into the driveway and I’m like dude get out of my fucking car and don’t ever fucking talk to me again and she got out but she wouldn’t get her stuff out so I tossed her purse out it’s fucking huge and heavy and i’m in the driver’s seat I can barely even toss it lol anyway I toss her shoe out throw it and she fucking leans in the car and tries to punch me in the face but she has shit aim I guess and missed and hit my shoulder/neck and she really hits like a bitch I didn’t even feel it my blood was pumping so my car is still on because I’m a dumbass but I’m just like fuck this I’m getting my mom to get her out of the car so I start going in and I turn and see her reach in my truck and get the keys from the ignition so I go in the house and say mom she has my keys she’s taking my truck she’s going to fuck it up and I go back outside and she threw them and I heard them land somewhere and so I go back over idk it’s kind of muddled idk maybe after she punched me was when I got out and like idk but like I was fucking done dude I was livid and she was getting in my face and I pushed her a few times and she got real in my face so I shoved her by the throat and like she was like oh you’re gonna choke me now like nah dude I’m just trying not to punch you in the fucking face anyway then she goes where’s my knife so I stand there and I’m like hell yeah get your knife you’re going  to stab me? and she’s like yep and she fucking takes it out and I start walking toward her like yeah dude fucking stab me PLEASE and my mom comes out and is like are you fucking serious I have to live here blah blah bc we’re loud as fuck making a scene in front of our house okay oh I forgot to mention before my mom came out and my sister was like yeah when you go to your room give me back that grinder I gave you and I was like you never gave me a grinder I’ve always had my own and she was like um no I gave you one and when you go up there and find it you better fucking apologize (I left out a loooooot of dialogue of her saying stupid horrible shit about how I’m selfish and need to respect her bc she’s older and all this like nah dude respect given is respect fucking earned and you’ve treated me like shit my whole goddamn life anyway) and she’s like yeah I gave you a grinder I don’t fucking lie I never lie blah blah anyway back to when my mom comes out trying to diffuse the situation, my sister immediately says, “MOM SHE CHOKED ME TO DEATH SHE CHOKED ME SHE BROKE MY FOOT TODAY” she literally said I broke her foot after I spent 10 hours catering to her every fucking need okay. Anyway she cut my aux cord in my truck, the only thing that brings me daily joy, being able to listen to my music, it’s an old truck I had a cassette tape aux cord thing and idk I ended up bleeding on my arm probably from her disgusting ugly ass huge fake nails I didn’t even know until after and like anyway I go upstairs, find the SCALE she gave me bc she said she didn’t need it (it was janky as fuck anyway and I had already gotten a new one from my friend) and I put it in front of her door and I hear her trying to come up the stairs and I was like I put the scale in front of your door and she was like “OH THE ONE YOU SAID YOU DIDNT HAVE YOU FUCKING LIAR” and I was like no you said GRINDER and it was a scale you fucking idiot and shes like oh i’m a stupid fucking idiot huh blah blah blah I was like no apology needed just don’t ever talk to me again and like I locked my bedroom door and went to go get gas and she texts me “YOU STOLE MY RED BAG MY RED BAG WAS IN THE TRUCK AND YOU STOLE IT IT HAS MY PIPE MEDICINE AND MEDICATION!!!!!!! (she doesn’t take medication she doesn’t even have insurance she has drugs yeah but she already had those on her and her pipe was in her room anyway) AND IT’S NOT IN MY ROOM IT’S NOT IN MY PURSE IT’S NOT IN MY POCKET IT’S NOT IN THE HALLWAY IT’S NOT OUTSDIDE i RANSACKED EVERYWHERE YOU HAVE IT IN YOUR TRUCK THAT’S THE ONLY ANSWER I NEED IT. and I replied, “Nope it’s on the table downstairs where you left it before we left earlier today like I told you, earlier today. No apology needed again. Don’t ever talk to me.” 

and she was gone I was gone my friend picked me up and let me cry and vent while we smoked and she texted me yup same and then she was typing still so I blocked her and later after my night had already gotten so much better (I got drunk, went bowling, had steak and eggs with one of the coolest fucking people I know okay) and then later I got a text from my mom that she forwarded to me which was originally from my sister, which was telling my mom a bunch of bullshit to make me sound/look bad about me sneaking -people into the house and all this stuff and I was just like wow yeah okay I was like how would I even do that you have cameras everywhere? Like I remember Britt telling me she had her friend Cy over to the house and I was pissed bc she let him be around Link and I don’t know/like that guy? but it’s whatever so yeah my sister broke her foot yesterday and I helped her all day and that’s the appreciation she shows/has :) no more. 

I’m still always going to be a giving caring person, I swear to god I wish I wouldn’t, but I can’t help it, but I’m not giving any time to people that try to make me feel bad when I’ve never done anything but try to fucking help them. Already spent almost two years with someone like that and I’m finally recovering from it and I get hit with this lmao. Doesn’t matter who it is, next time, I‘m just going to leave them in the middle of the road. The people who know me well, always see the truth and who I really am and they’ve seen my ugly side too but they know that I’m not a bad person and I only get ugly and mean when I’m provoked. Literally I wish yesterday didn’t happen lol bc I don’t like acting like that, I never get like that she is literally the only person that gets that reaction out of me and it’s only happened maybe twice? Alec was the only other person who ever provoked like a smaller degree of that kind of reaction from me. I don’t like being that person and I don’t like people that force me and push me to be that person. People think they can keep pushing me and pushing me and I won’t push back but I do have a breaking point and when I reach it, it’s not good for those that push me. I’m not very intimidating and when it comes down to it, it’s my advantage when it gets to that point. I was always scared to get into a real fight with my sister but honestly I have 100% faith now that I could kick her ass. Like with two working feet lol. she talks a big game but she really is not shit. I wish I could love her. Never trying again.