#because ive seen her and suddenly the ache in my body and mind is gone

[obsidiancrest]

the way my dad used to comb over my ear harshly with the hairbrush, and me telling him not to do that because it hurts with tears in my eyes. the way he would say ‘if you want to be beautiful you have to suffer’. and the way he always said im spoiled and do not know what real pain is. something about being voyeuristic with your pain as a woman something.

[whatifxwereyou]

The Oncoming Storm Part 29: Into the Empty Storm

Liu Kang x Reader and Kung Lao x Reader (gonna do both, two paths!)

You have more questions than answers and are starting to think that maybe there aren't any answers. When you wake up, Chen provides you with some but maybe they aren't what you wanted to hear. You have a crisis of faith- but pick yourself back up. Change is coming.

A/N: Change IS coming, on like... Saturday. That's when the choice is! I'm letting you know now that the choice is a weird mundane choice that will change the story! Also, it's almost my birthday, and all I want is more free time to write y/n and these boys LOL. Hope you are all well. Smooches. (title is from a song called believe in nothing, i steal many titles from song lyrics)

Part 28 Part 30 Chapter Index

Your eyes fluttered open.

Your head was splitting but the stone ceiling was at least familiar.

What happened?

Everything was fuzzy. You tried sit up, but your body was too heavy and your arms too weak. Your fingers were tingling and numb, your muscles sore as if they had gone unused for weeks.

“Oh! You’re awake!” Chen’s voice came from your right, but this was not the infirmary. Your stomach was in knots and your shoulder was stiff. You sat up to greet your friend anyway, but your body objected with pain. “Whoa, whoa, hey slow down!” Chen carefully helped you lay back and then propped your head up a bit higher when you tried to sit up again. You were in your room. You hadn’t recognized it immediately.

You were confused.

“Why?” You choked out and then cleared your throat. Your mouth tasted like you hadn’t talked in just as long as your body hadn’t been used. Chen looked nervous and weary, like she hadn’t slept in just as long. “Why do I feel like this?”

“What exactly do you remember?” Chen hesitated. You closed your eyes and tried to remember how you’d gotten there.

That was right. It had been chaos.

“Everything went to hell when I touched the artifacts and…” You knitted your brow and tried to remember. “Oh, god, then Raiden tried to read me and that’s… that’s all I remember.” Your shoulder ached at the memory. There had been nothing else after that. Only pain.

“That was… Y/N, that was three days ago.” Chen braced herself for your panicked response. You stayed silent. Three days? How was that possible? It had felt like both a blink and an eternity of pain and darkness.

“What?” Your stomach dropped and it occurred to you now that there was an IV in your arm. Chen had likely been there the whole time keeping an eye on your vitals and making notes. There was a bedroll on the ground nearby as if to validate your thoughts. Why there? Why weren’t you in the infirmary? You already knew the answer.

You were too dangerous.

Three days was too long to be unconscious.

Your hands were still tingling. That was right. Raiden had shocked you because you had nearly killed Liu Kang and Kung Lao.

“Is Liu okay? Kung Lao?” Whatever had happened to you was less important.

“One thing at a time, Y/N.” Chen tried to urge you to lay back as you tried to sit up, but you shoved her hand away. “Please lay down. You need to take it easy, okay? You had… a little just… don’t panic when I say it, okay?”

“Tell me and then I’ll decide if it warrants panic or not.”

“I don’t want to make you any worse.”

“You not telling me is making it worse.”

“Just try to remember that it’s more complicated than what I’m about to say.”

“Would you just say it already?”

“You had a heart thing.”

You froze. Your ears were suddenly ringing. A heart thing? What kind of heart thing? What did that mean? You let Chen help you lay back down so you could focus on taking calm and deep breaths. Chen was checking your pulse on your wrist and watching you with concerned dark eyes.

A heart thing.

You were young! Healthy! Or at least you had been before those assholes had broken into your dojo and turned your life upside down. This wasn’t fair.

You hadn’t realized you had been holding your breath until Chen was shaking your arm to remind you to breathe. You exhaled and your lungs ached in response. They’d been deprived of too much oxygen too many times now. You finally turned back to Chen whose brow was set in a permanent line of concern.

“Are you okay?”

“You said it was more complicated. How?”

“It wasn’t a heart attack. It was a cardiac incident. You don’t… there are no blockages or anything causing it, but…”

“Isn’t it still the same thing? Heart fails?” You didn’t know much about medicine but you’d seen enough bad Korean dramas to know that the two things were similar.

“It’s different, okay? Your heart is strong, Y/N. You’ll recover. It’s just going to take a bit.”

“I am so fucking tired of my fucking body just… fucking betraying me. Fuck. Just… fuck.” You wanted to rub your hand over your face but you felt so weak that you could have screamed in frustration if you had the energy. Instead, you continued to swear beneath your breath. Chen covered her mouth and laughed, her cheeks pink. Really? That made her blush? She could make dick jokes all day long but swear words made her blush? “I can’t seem to catch a fucking break.”

“It’ll be okay, Y/N. I promise.” Chen had a rare moment of seriousness and offered your hand a comforting squeeze.

“I know.” You heaved a sigh and closed your eyes, taking a few deep cleansing breaths. “I know.” You finally calmed and were able to lift your hand enough to rub over the gauze on your shoulder. It was aching. “I just had to get it out of my system.”

“I get it.” Chen pulled your hand away from the gauze. “Careful with that, please. I’m still trying to get that thing under control and understand what it is.”

“It’s the crack from that godforsaken bell Kung Lao and I found in Japan.” You said in a mocking tone that made Chen laugh again. You should have left the damn things where they were. Things had only escalated far beyond your control since you’d gotten back. You’d felt like you’d made progress before then. “Can you help me sit up?”

“I heard that part of the story. We’re trying to figure out what kind of a connection could cause that. Raiden’s still going with curse. Going with god-curse now actually.”

“Oh. Great.” You let Chen help you sit up and then scooted back against the pillows that Chen adjusted for you. You leaned your head back against the cold stone of the wall behind the bed and breathed a sigh of relief. It had taken tremendous effort to sit upright but you felt better now that you had. If you hadn’t used your body in three days, it would take some getting used to your muscles being used again. Thankfully, it hadn’t been any longer.

“Yeah, I imagine that can’t mean anything good. He didn’t tell me much more, just that it was important to tend to it and report any changes. I don’t think I was supposed to hear everything that I did.” Chen tended to the mess of medical supplies that she had set on the floor by your desk.

“You’re good at that.”

“Sometimes being a gossip comes in handy, Y/N.”

“You didn’t answer me before. Are Liu and Lao alright?”

“Lao’s fine. Not even a scrape. He’s proud of that.” Chen smiled sympathetically. “Liu needed a few stitches but he’ll heal up in no time. He’s resilient. Doesn’t ever complain. It’s sweet how worried you are for them.” You weren’t sure that you would ever forget the way that his blood had felt splattering on your skin. You’d been the one to hurt him. He’d been trying to save you from yourself and it had backfired. He’d tell you not to feel guilty but you felt guilty, dammit. There was no way around it. They had been so angry with Raiden for pushing you but you had volunteered to do what you did. It was important even if it had been the wrong choice. You hoped they weren’t losing their minds over you being out for so long. If you had been waiting on one of them to wake up then you would have been going completely crazy.

You wanted them to be okay.

“Thank you.” You were grateful that Chen was there to reassure you and take care of your health. You guessed that Chen had probably volunteered since you were considered dangerous.

“Happy to help, Y/N.” Chen smiled sympathetically. “I’m so relieved to see you awake, I can’t begin to tell you how much. And not just because Kung Lao has been here about a hundred times. He keeps asking to come in. How you’re doing. If he could take over for me for a while. I told him that I’d let him know when you were awake and he doesn’t listen.” Chen clicked her tongue in amusement. You rolled your eyes so hard that Chen snorted. Sweet but typical of him. “Liu came by exactly once and I told him the same thing. He took my word for it. So, par for the course with those two.”

“Sounds about right.” You leaned your head back against the wall again and closed your eyes. God, this was a mess. A cardiac thing? God-curse? There was a mark on your body that mimicked the crack in a cursed object. You’d been nearly choked to death by some gross pale demon-man and you’d maimed Liu Kang. Again.

Where was the line?

Would there ever be an end to this?

Guilt.

You were so tired of guilt.

And pain.

You would gladly take the pain for the rest of your life if it meant keeping the people that you cared about safe from whatever this was. You held your head in your hands and massaged your temples.

“Don’t get in a funk about this, Y/N. You’re going to be okay. It’s going to be okay.”

“Yeah.” You didn’t argue with Chen, but you wondered if this ended in your inevitable death. It didn’t feel like things were getting better. They had escalated violently in the last few days. No matter what control you’d had over your arcana, when you lost control? You lost it to a point where it was dangerous to be around you. Was it fair for you to still be there?

You were putting them all in danger.

Was it fair to consider Liu Kang or Kung Lao’s advances when you were such a danger to them? When it suddenly felt unlikely that you would survive this?

It felt particularly cruel to connect with Kung Lao again after years of having thought he was dead. To have him back only for things to wind up like this. And for Liu Kang, a man you had an insane draw to, unlike any you had ever felt. You’d hurt him now so many times. You knew he was strong but how long until you accidentally hurt him beyond repair? Chen took some vials of blood and you felt almost instantly nauseated at the sight of it. You fanned your face and were grateful to find that your body was adjusting to being used again. Chen helped you stretch and stand and get used to your body again before helping you back down and removing the IV.

“Do you know what will make you feel better?”

“Sleep?”

“I mean, yes, but also… getting you crazy drunk and then having one of those boys come over here to take care of you.” Chen made air quotes and you whined in response. You’d almost forgotten that Chen’s brain lived only in the gutter. “You just have to pick your poison. Kung Lao or Liu Kang.”

“I know that you’re joking but I still feel compelled to tell you that’s a bad idea right now.” If you drank right now, then you would wind up a sobbing disaster of a human being wallowing in self-pity. You didn’t need that right now and neither did either of them.

No matter how you tried to push it away, you couldn’t get it out of your head that this was how you died.

It felt very unfair.

“I need to see you smile, Y/N.” Chen’s voice was dripping with concern. She clasped her hand over yours. “Please?”

“I can’t pretend to do that right now, Chen. I’m still processing that three days have gone by. I’m still processing what happened in there and what any of it could mean. This was supposed to give me answers and all I have are more questions and every fuck up is more violent than the last.”

“We’ll get your answers, Y/N. It’ll be okay. Raiden is going to find a way.”

“Yeah.” You didn’t necessarily agree. Raiden was a God. You were sure that if he knew your existence was putting them all in danger then he would do what was necessary to stop that from happening. Not that you thought that he wanted that for you. He would try to help but there was only so much anyone could do. You assumed he saw a picture bigger than just your life.

“Y/N…” Chen looked to you seriously. “I don’t like this.”

“Wow, really? Because I am having a great time.”

“What an unhealthy coping mechanism.”

“Don’t judge me. It’s working.”

“Is it though?” Chen smiled sadly. “How are you feeling?”

“Like I need to get out of bed and get used to my body again.”

“You should rest a bit longer.”

“I’ve been doing nothing but resting for three days, Chen.” You wanted to do something, anything to feel in control of your body. Chen studied you nervously but then offered you a nod. Together you worked your body just enough to help you get used to being awake and moving around. There was so little that you could control that it felt good to have something small. Chen was willing to help you even if she had tried to get you to slow down. You refused and pushed through it. You knew your limits.

You wanted to feel like yourself and break the fog hanging over you.

After some time, Chen forced you to stop and you rested your hand over your sore shoulder. You could feel your heart beating beneath it. Everything hurt but it only made you want to fight harder to get past whatever this was. You wouldn’t let it win. You wouldn’t let that thing win. It had frightened you for a few minutes and, truthfully, it still scared the hell out of you, but the fear no longer crippled you. You were determined to beat it.

You were not going to die because of this.

“What’s this?” Chen pointed to the wilting flower on the desk next to your journal. You thought that you were much like that flower now. An unfortunate parallel, you thought. Chen was cleaning up some of her medical things and putting them into a small bag after rolling up her bed.

“Just a sweet trinket.” You smiled fondly at the flower. It was pretty, even wilting.

“Liu Kang? Seems like something he would do. Finding beauty in things that are even temporary or some nonsense.”

“It does sound like him but it was actually Kung Lao.”

“Is that so?” Chen pulled out the desk chair and sat. “Can’t say that I can picture him giving anyone a flower. And no offense, but I don’t picture you as much of a flower getting kind of girl, either.”

“And exactly what kind of girl do you think I am, then?” You laughed in surprise. Chen perked up when she heard you laugh.

“You seem more like a grand-gesture kind of girl. Not really a material things girl.”

“Nice save, Chen.”

“We’re off topic. The flower. Focus, Y/N.”

“Oh, right.” You picked up the flower, twisting the stem carefully between your thumb and forefinger. It was still hanging on. There was some life left in it. Not much though. “It’s just something from when we were kids. It was the last time I’d seen him. He gave it to me before we said goodbye and then… he died. Well, at least I thought he had died. Still wrapping my brain around that one.” You set the delicate thing on the desk again.

“Yeah, that’s a big thing.”

“Off topic again though. When he returned from his errand for Raiden, he had found me another. I need to press it between the pages of the journal or something.”

“…you are talking about Kung Lao, right?” Chen seemed skeptical.

“Yes.”

“That’s ridiculously sweet. I’m having a hard time associating it with him.” Chen looked to the flower suspiciously as if she thought you were making up stories to tease her.

“Well, presumably the original flower was burned up in the fire so… it was nice of him to get me another. Not that he would have known I kept it. I guess it had been as important to him as it was to me.”

“You still had the original one?”

“Yeah. I had pressed it between the pages of my favorite book and got special paper to protect it. I hadn’t opened it in years but I assume it’s been burned to a crisp.” You felt the weight of your truth settling on your shoulders. Your life was gone. This wasn’t some crazy vivid dream that you’d eventually recover from. That life was over. There were moments where you missed the monotony but you were also grateful that it had happened to you and not to someone else. You had never fit in back home. Everyone else had belonged there. This was a better place for you.

“And you’re sure that this was Kung Lao, right?”

“I’m positive.” You laughed. Kung Lao definitely didn’t come off as sweet to most people, you realized. It was kind of adorable that it was just for you.

“You were really hung up on him, huh?”

“That’s a different life now, Chen. I thought he was dead. I cherished the little time we had.” Your ran your fingers through your messy hair. It was getting too long.

“Have you thought about going back? To see what happened?”

“I have,” you answered honestly. “But it’s a bad idea, I think. I killed people that night, Chen. And then there was the fire. They probably think that I’m dead. It’s not wrong to assume that either. Part of me died that day. I’m different. I can’t go back to being that woman and I can’t risk being seen.” You had put distance between the woman you had been and the woman you had become. You’d had to. It had been the only way to cope. “I’ve been nervous to talk about it. I can’t explain why.”

“You should probably ask Kung Lao to explain what happened.”

“Yeah, he just loves having a serious conversation. But you’re right. I’m ready to find out, I think.” Of all the crazy things that had happened in your life that one didn’t seem so crazy anymore. After what had happened in Raiden’s chamber, after maiming Liu, after having a heart thing, you could handle what had happened in your hometown.

“I didn’t quite understand the hang up that you had with Kung Lao. He’s such a… difficult man to get along with when you do what I do. But I suppose that I can see it now, knowing a bit more about the history between you two.” Chen admired the flower. “That’s a deep connection. He’s sweet to you… which I find difficult to believe so you must be special to him. Where with Liu…”

“Chen…” You turned your gaze. “Can we not talk about this right now? I know that you’re trying to make me laugh but I’m… I’m scared and my brain is having a hard time with all of this. Tomorrow, I promise, that all bets are off. You can tease me as much as you want but for right now, I need a break.”

“I get it.” Chen smiled and then got up, sat next to you on the bed, and wrapped her arms around you in a comforting hug. “I really do, Y/N.” She held you for a moment before you finally returned the hug. It felt strange to be hugged but nice. No romantic conflict involved. No stress about what it might mean. Just a hug. Comfort. You sniffled, not realizing that your eyes were misty with tears until then.

After Chen pulled back, you wiped your eyes and cleared your throat.

“This is only because you’re in such a state, Y/N. Trust me. Tomorrow? I’m back to pestering you.” Chen scolded and you smiled. “Besides, I wanted to bring up something more serious before I left anyway.”

“Oh, good. Serious with you never ends well for me.”

“It’s not anything medical. I gave you all the news there was to give for that. But with… everything that’s happened? People are starting to talk about it. I mean, they already were to an extent but more about how… scary it is.” Chen avoided your eyes and you felt a familiar and unpleasant frustration in the pit of your stomach. Gossip. “I just wanted to brace you for it. You might get some looks while you’re out and about. Raiden wouldn’t let me keep you in the infirmary just in case something happened. I’ve never seen him so worried, Y/N. It scared us a little.”

You figured Raiden was worried that you’d hurt someone and there was the confirmation. You had hurt someone. You’d hurt Liu. Three times now. You nodded in understanding. People usually feared what they didn’t understand. You were afraid of it too but you couldn’t exactly hide from what was happening. “I can’t blame him for being concerned. I hurt Liu.”

“Oh, no, Y/N.” Chen seemed surprised by your assumption. “He was worried for you, Y/N. I’m sure that our safety was part of his concern but he thought that a familiar and comforting space might help you. I think he’s worried that the heart thing was his fault.” Chen wiggled her fingers and made a sound to imitate the crack of lightning. You hadn’t considered that. You also hadn’t taken Raiden for the sentimental type. He’d come across as a fatherly man, you supposed, but your father hadn’t been sentimental so your idea of that was skewed. “I just wanted to warn you about the gossip and reassure you that it comes from a place of concern. We really like you, Y/N. You make time for us when many wouldn’t. They’re scared for you but also for themselves.”

“I get that.” You weren’t sure what to say about it. This was all too familiar. You felt so guilty that you weren’t sure how you were going to overcome it. The gossip wouldn’t help, you were sure. Your shoulder ached at the memory. It wasn’t as bad as it had been initially. Chen had briefly showed it to you while changing your bandages. It was literally a crack. “Thanks for the heads up, Chen. You’re always looking out for me.”

“I’m happy to.” Chen sounded nervous and you felt the woman’s gaze flitter from you to the door. “I’m afraid to leave you alone like this. I don’t… I feel like you’re not okay, Y/N.”

“I’m okay, Chen. I promise.” You reassured her. You knew you sounded morose. “I know I don’t sound it, but I’m okay. I’m so grateful that you were here when I woke up. You’re wonderful, even if I give you a hard time about teasing me.”

Chen smiled and offered you another quick hug. “It’s going to be okay, Y/N. You’re going to be okay. We’ll figure it out.”

“We will. I’m going to be fine.” You did your best to sound sincere. You knew that you tended to come off as sarcastic and while you weren’t feeling your best right now, you had to believe that you would be okay. Belief was an incredibly powerful thing, more so than you had ever realized before coming to Raiden’s Temple. “You can go. I promise that I’m okay.”

“I’m trusting you, Y/N. Try and take it slow today. I’ll be in and out to check in on you. I expect you to rest for a few days before going back to the crazy nonsense you’ve been up to.”

“I’ll do my best but I’m not good at sitting and doing nothing. I’m probably going to stretch a bit more before I rest for the night. Maybe take a walk. I promise that I won’t overdo it.” You bowed your head in respectful gratitude. Chen gave you one more hug before leaving you alone. After she left, you meditated and exercised. You needed to be okay.

You would keep fighting until you had nothing left.

[vanillann]

within the vision (bucky barnes x f.reader)

a/n: i’m going to be naming each chapter based on a sitcom from that time era, cause i can!! also i’m so glad everyone liked the prologue!!

warning: WANDAVISION SPOILERS, swearing, suggestive language, talks of past trauma, AU

word count: 1.9k

within the vision masterlist

Chapter 1: Born Yesterday 

“Do you remember everything we just went over?”

I rolled my eyes, snapping the silver bracelet on my wrist, the little charm would be normal to anyone else but Bucky and I knew the content.

“No, I forgot everything,” I turned to Tony, smiling sarcastically when he frowned.

“We should have given you up for adoption,” Tony titled his head, the tiniest smile on his lips and he played with the technology again.

The room felt packed with people, Tony and Bruce running around the technology, Bucky and I waiting beside two beds that were shoved beside Wanda’s, and Steve and Sam leaned against the wall trying to tell me to stop with this plan.

“We don’t know what could happen,” Steve repeated again, his arms crossed as Tony gave Bucky his bracelet, thicker than mine but still normal enough to not have anyone question it.

We had taken extra steps to ensure our safety as nobody knew exactly where we were going.

“You both need to get out as soon as the mission's over,” Bruce nodded, to both of us. His finger danced across the different screen, Tony and himself were the only ones who understood it.

“I was planning on going on a walk before I came back.” Bruce rolled his eyes, but gave me a hint of a smile. He understood my defense mechanism, one of the few people who never got mad when I couldn’t be completely serious. One plus for anger management classes.

“I regret doing this already,” Bucky spoke under his breath, looking up to Sam who gave a fake thumbs up.

“If it comes down to it, leave Bucky,” he responded, earning a thumbs up from me.

“I hate both of you.”

Bucky and I both laid in our own bed, our combat gear already on as we laid back slightly, Tony taking Bucky's side while Bruce came to mine.

“We’re going to first hook you to this machine to keep track of your vitals,” I said nothing, watching Bruce shove the IV in my arm and playing with the machine a bit to make sure everything was okay.

“Next, on the count of three you’ll press the button on the bracelet. Remember you need to keep your mind focused on Wanda for this to work,” Tony continues with his run on sentence, only stopping once Bucky and I both nodded once.

I felt the chill suddenly run up my body, suddenly nervous to just hind out in my best friend's mind. Especially since she had always been younger than me, I felt weirdly awkward now.

“Are you both sure about this?”

I saw Bucky nodded slightly from the bed beside me, suddenly all eyes on me. I felt myself shift in the bed, avoiding eye contact.

“(Y/N)?”

“I’m fine, I just need a second,” I spoke after Steve, smiling at his worried glares but said nothing else of it.

You were doing this for her own good, you were helping her. This wasn’t you reading her diary after teasing about her crush, this was her turning into herself not knowing we were waiting for her.

“I’m good,” I laid down on the bed, not looking at anyone as my other hand searched for the button. I wasn’t going to mess this up cause I couldn’t find a button.

“Okay, remember to stay safe and think about Wanda.”

I nodded lightly, trying my best to zone in on Wanda while Tony’s count down filled the room.

“One.”

I thought back to young Wanda and Pietro trying to hide my shoes before one of my first dates when I was 14.

“Two.”

Wanda giggling in my room at the compound when Steve went on a manhunt for me because I was late for practice.

“Three.”

I felt my finger smash the button, thinking of Wanda’s face as she held off Thanos with Vision life in her hand. I thought of her tearful face as she gave me one last glance before everything blew up before my body was smashed against the nearby tree.

The weird feeling around me gave me a stomach ache. The feeling of falling when you were about to sleep almost, but my eyes refused to open as the wind rushed past me. I wanted to panic, to pull myself from whatever I walked into, but I simply couldn’t.

I couldn't sense anyone around me, my body was all alone falling and I couldn’t stop it. I was a controlled person, I enjoyed control and suddenly that word didn’t even exist anymore.

Then it stopped, the falling was gone and my eyes were pushed open. My body was moved differently, pushed against something. When I slowly moved around I noticed the slight dusk of the sky.

“(Y/N)?” My name whispered filled the same space I sat in, I looked around trying to get my brain to focus on one thing. I felt something cold against my wrist cause me to jump, pushing harder into the rough back.

I looked down, Bucky's face laid under whatever I was sitting on. I looked up, noticing the windows and the steering wheel slightly ahead of me. I took in the leather under my fingers, seeing there wasn’t a door handle in the back and how low the roof was.

But that didn't worry me, what worried me was I couldn’t make out any other colors besides black, white, and grey. I looked to Bucky, hoping to see the light pale skin on his face but was met with white, almost like a white crayon that had been run in black dust lightly.

“Where the hell are we?”

“Wanda’s head, I thought this was your plan,” Bucky slowly sat up from the floor of the backseat, I had luckily ended up on the actual seat. I looked out, hoping to see the colors of the sky but I was met with the same grey color.

“Can you see color?”

“Can’t say I do,” Bucky rubbed his arm, slowly moving to sit in the same space I had made for him on the seat.

I finally looked around the rest of the area, noticing the row of houses and other such things. The trees and bushes reminded me of the old movie Steve would make us watch, looking like something out of a sitcom.

“What are you wearing?”

I frowned as I looked at Bucky, his eyes held confusion as he looked me up and down once. I looked down at myself, shocked to find myself in a dress, definitely not my combat gear. The material was dark, I couldn’t tell more, and a fake belt was sowed into the thick fabric.

“I haven’t seen one of those in awhile,” Bucky picked up a piece of the dress at the end, rubbing the material between his fingers when I slapped it from his wands. That when I heard it, laughing. Not like you told a funny joke laughing, like a sitcom laugh.

I pointed to Bucky, my eyes wide as I waited for who knew what. When I saw Bucky slowly look up at me from the place he looked at my dress I knew he heard it. That's when I noticed the suit he was wearing, specifically an older looking arm suit. I looked back around the car, spotting the matching hat to the suit on the dash of the car. I didn’t say anything, slowly reaching up to grab it when I saw a door open.

A lady with dark hair and bright smiles walked out, held a hand slightly in the air if she were to hold a cigarette but no smoke came out. She was talking to someone, whoever was in the house. Suddenly I watched the owner lean out slightly, my jaw going slack as I saw Wanda’s bright smile hides behind loopy curls.

“Doll-”

“Don’t call me that,” I spoke softly, doing my best to keep the facade up but I was so shocked, Wanda was lightly pushing the woman out the house, almost as if begging her to leave with a little laugh. She looked the same, only dressed up similar to me.

“You’re going to want to see this,” he tugged on my dress, my hand slapping it away again but he yanked hard. He sent me flying to the back seat of the car. my side pushed into his with a loud oof.

I heard that stupid sitcom laugh again, trying to push it to the make of my mind as I pushed away from Bucky. I hit him in the side with the hat I had managed to take back with me, my mouth wide open to yell but Bucky shoved something in my face.

I could spot the coke logo from miles away, only it wasn’t the saem logo I had always remembered. The bottles were glass and the writing looked much more vintage. That when I noticed Bucky tapping on a part of the label, my eyes reading over the information their.

Expiration date: July 6th, 1953

“1953?” I looked around the neighborhood again, suddenly realizing the vintage cars that were parked along the streets and the dress that hung off my frame.

“How?”

“I don't hear you asking how we ended up in the wrong decade,” My voice was stern as he spoke, watching the dark haired lady finally leave Wanda’s porch and go to her own house close by.

“Not the time,” Bucky finally sat up slightly, watching the lady walk in her house.

“When is the time then? Maybe the 70s or do you wanna wait til the 90s,” I snapped, looking over my shoulder with a pout. His face was so close to me, I finally noticed his once long hair was cut short.

He looked like he had in those photos of Steve and himself, back from the 40s.

“Well, what do we do know?” Bucky looked at me, his nose almost hitting mine when he turned but I had slightly moved back.

“I guess blend it?” I shrugged, hearing that stupid sitcom laugh that I wanted ro punch in the face.

“How do you suppose we do that?”

I looked around the neighborhood, smiling when I noticed the house across from Wanda’s had a large “FOR SALE” sign standing in the front yard.

“Break into that house and act like we belong here,” I smirked, ignoring Bucky as I slowly climbed into the front seat of the car. I heard Bucky yell out about me kicking him but I didn’t care as I made it to the driver seat, pushing open the door.

“For your information, I do belong here,” were the last words I heard from Bucky before I closed the door, smiling over at the house and trying to keep my voice low to not attract wandering eyes. I stood in the same place for a second, suddenly my view changed from house to concrete. I felt a little bump on my backside and frown when I heard Bucky laugh.

“Should’ve held the door,” I noticed his combat boots beside my face. Normally I would have bought him down with me but I decided it would bring too much attention and simply pushed myself from the ground.

“I hate you,” I frowned, slamming my foot into the road when I heard that stupid laugh sound around me again.

“Okay okay,” Bucky held out two arms from me, trying his best to calm me down but it wasn’t any use, I simply pointed to the sign, turning back to look at Bucky with a serious look in my eye.

“We are stealing that sign and moving to that house.”

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<prologue - chapter 2>

[aggressive-positivity-network]

How do you think the mercs would react to engineer getting really tired and doing something absolutely idiotic? Like Engie don't lick the soap it won't taste good sweetie (totally not inspired by the fact ive done this same thing while exhausted)

Also your hcs are great!! They all seem super thought out and they're a thrill to read! Your writing is... Ok no word seems sufficient to describe it! It just too good!

Askers like you make my day! Thank you so much! Sorry if this is a little short, but I’m still working on the relationship ones, which take forever to write.

Scout:

“Hey, uh, Engie...buddy...you good?”

“Listen, I’m the only merc around here that does stupid stuff like that...you’re one of the smart guys, remember?”

Pretends to yawn so that Engie will feel more tired and go to bed faster.

When that doesn’t work - Engie doesn’t pay much attention to his surroundings when he’s working - he asks Sniper for help.

Sniper:

“Aw, bloody ‘ell, ‘as he gone into one of his fits again?”

‘Fits��� meaning bouts of creative invention that can last anywhere from several hours to a couple weeks.

Sniper waves a hand in front of Engie’s face, but to no avail.

“Nah, mate, he’s outta this world. All off in his own universe. There’s nothin’ that can bring him out now.”

Suddenly Medic walks by, and the pair practically pull him in to help.

Medic:

“Hm...zhere’s only vun thing that can avaken zhis building beauty!”

Medic wraps his arms around Engineer’s neck. No response.

Head on the shoulder. Nothing.

Chin resting on top of head. Nope.

Tugging on his collar. Still nada.

Finally, Medic uses his secret weapon: the cheek peck.

Engie still doesn’t look up - in fact, Medic has to pull his arm away from almost putting his hand on a sparking wire, something that an alert Engie would never do.

“Ach! Engie! Dummkopf! Vhat are you doing?!”

Suddenly, Spy peeks his head in as he walks by, but Medic grabs him by the tie.

“I need zhis vorktable for my experiment, and ve have all tried our luck. Any bright ideas?”

Spy:

“Why must I always find myself in these situations? Surrounded by idiots, waiting for my assistance.”

A murmur of complaints all around, but no one contradicts him. They still need a pair of fresh eyes.

Spy snaps in front of Engie’s face.

“Laborer? Do you mind coming down to earth so the good doctor can commit his nightly atrocities?”

No answer. Not even a look.

Spy thumps Engineer’s hat several times. Then knocks. Then takes it off completely. Still no reaction.

Spy has been getting increasingly more frustrated, as he has been waiting to unwind all week, and this is keeping him from a glass of scotch and a good magazine.

“Did your Texan weed of a mother never teach you manners? Or did she not know any herself? She most likely had yet to learn her alphabet, much less any sort of etiquette.”

Scout cringed, Sniper pulled his hat over his eyes, and even Medic put a hand on his bonesaw. You never talked about Engineer’s mom. Scout almost got a wrench through his forehead when he walked into Engie’s workshop in the middle of a Yo Mama joke.

This happened to be an exception, because Engie still stared blankly at his project. This infuriated Spy, whose sharp tongue usually had a much bigger impact.

“LOOK AT ME WHEN I’M TALKING TO YOU, YOU SLACKJAWED SCREW MONKEY!”

Spy gave Engie a stinging, backhanded slap.

Engie scarcely stumbled.

Spy roared in rage and walked out, using his cloaking device so he wouldn’t have to bear a walk of shame. He was also holding his raw hand, which was hurt from the slap.

Demo walked in right after, rubbing his eyes and looking really hung over.

Demo:

“Mmph...whasall this, then? Aye...onea those, eh?”

Demo, being the night owl that he is, had seen Engie in his zone before - in fact, he was usually the first to snap Engie out of it.

“Comere, I’ll show ya how it’s done.”

Demo took the empty beer bottle he was holding and cracked Engie over the head with it. It shattered on impact.

“Don’tcha worry, lads, that hard hat ‘a his is made for more than a strong drink.”

Demo laughed at his own joke, then slowly got serious as he realized Engie still wasn’t reacting.

“Lad? Are ya...did anybody check for a pulse?”

Medic walked over and put two fingers on his neck. After a few minutes, his eyes went wide.

“No bloody pulse?! How the hell-!”

Pyro suddenly walked in, holding a bag of gummy bears.

Pyro:

He mumbles excitedly, then goes over to Engie.

She takes a red gummy bear, which are Engineer’s favorite, and holds it out to him.

No response.

Pyro laughs good-naturedly, as if he was joking about how silly Engineer was being. He put the gummy bear in Engineer’s mouth.

It fell out, but Pyro giggled and put it back in again.

It tumbled out once more, and Pyro cocked their head.

This whole process went on a few more times before Pyro decided to tap Engie on the shoulder.

When that didn’t work, he walked over in front of the table to look at Engie’s face, and hopefully get his attention.

Pyro took one look, started, then backed away slowly. After they had gotten a good distance, he ran to Medic and hid behind him, starting to cry.

Sniper translated: “He doesn’t look good...he doesn’t look like Engie...he didn’t even look...did I do something wrong?”

There was a rattling from above, and Soldier popped his head out of the vent and looked around.

Soldier:

“Morning, maggots!”

“It’s ten o’clock, mate...”

“You shut your godamn mouth before I write you up for insubordination!”

Soldier leapt down, took one look at Engie, and grunted.

“Gone A.W.O.L, huh?”

Everyone nodded, albeit unsure.

“I’ll show you landlubbers what we did in the army...”

He very slowly crept up to Engineer, grinning. Everybody took a step back, just in case.

Finally, Soldier pounced, taking Engineer’s hat and replacing it with his own, whooping and laughing as he went back up the vent.

Everyone just stared at each other, and while they were all recovering, Heavy walked in, still in his nightgown.

Heavy:

“Team is all here...what is wrong?”

Everyone started talking at once, but Heavy just held up a hand.

“One at time. Doktor. What is wrong?”

“Engineer doesn’t have a pulse, he hasn’t reacted to stimuli, his facial expression doesn’t change...he is a dead man valking!”

Heavy just chuckled. “Engie just sleepy. Here. Heavy will take him to bed.”

Heavy picked Engineer up by the underarms, lifting him over his shoulder.

Before he knew it, Engineer was falling apart. Arms, legs, body. It all crumbled to the floor in a mix of wires and cogs.

Pure. Chaos.

Everyone was either screaming, crying, looking like they were about to vomit, or were trying to salvage the pieces.

Suddenly, they heard a yawn behind them.

“Well, howdy, y’all!”

Engineer:

After everyone had gotten over the shock and had made a huge hug pile, Engineer explained everything.

The Engie at the desk was a robot with a realistic skin suit on. In the dark and dusty workshop, no one had noticed the difference.

He was actually doing an experiment - something that resembled a “straight face” experiment they had done with children. He wanted to see how people reacted when there...wasn’t any reaction. His hypotheses were mostly correct - except for Soldier, put he was a random variable anyway.

Scout was mildly put off, Sniper and Medic came up with a logical solution, Spy was furious because of his job’s emphasis on reaction, Demo joked around until it wasn’t funny anymore and then just froze, Pyro was very upset, and Heavy tried to physically change the situation.

“It was all real interestin’...but it had to be a blind study. Sorry I had to worry y’all. It’ll never happen again.”

He looked down at his broken robot.

“Especially not with my Engiebot in pieces.”

Engineer told everybody goodnight, apologized one more time, said he’d make it up to them, and then went to his room.

Needless to say, everyone followed Engie to bed that night.

And he had a certain Frenchman to apologize to over a cold-shouldered breakfast.

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

I’m a writer...can’t you tell? No, but seriously, by the time I realized it was spinning out of control, I had written too much to delete. I know it wasn’t exactly a normal response, but I just couldn’t resist! I just felt a really good story in this one!

Anyway, I’m sorry this took so long! I have an ask blog and a lot of requests coming my way, so I may be a little slower on the upkeep. But a lot of the requests are pretty short, so I should be able to knock them out.

@catbunblue302

[gurneyhallecks]

PAPERCLIPS | a Javi Peña x reader fic

rating: T for dramatic elements; will change to M in future parts

summary: You think your crush on Javi goes unnoticed - until Steve and Connie take matters into their own hands. 

a/n: ive had this story idea in my head for months and im so glad it’s finally out of my head and actually WRITTEN!! there will be a part two for sure, and others if i feel inspired!!

Paperclips

Being Javier Peña’s neighbor isn’t the worst thing to happen to you. Being a secretary at the DEA office is. Seeing Agent Javier Fucking Peña every day of the week is slowing killing you. His cute little ass in those tight ass jeans. He knows what he’s doing, and you hate him for it. The suits are just as bad. Displaying his broad shoulders, showing off his sharp jaw. You want nothing more than to yank him to your level by one of his ties and kiss him harshly. Yeah. You hate him.

But you won’t do anything about this hopeless crush. You haven’t done anything for weeks.

Your desk sits up higher, you look down at the boys from your perch. Javi’s desk faces away from you, which allows you to stare at the back of his head (and ass) all day. Every once and a while you get lucky and see his face when he leaves his desk to go out in the field, or when he comes into work in the mornings. He’ll turn and offer a nod or a simple wave good morning.

You are friendly acquaintances. You’ve spoken on occasion at the dreaded office parties. The only reason you ever have gone to those are the free food and the small chance to see him.

Your staring at the back of his head is the most you do lately, your crush too strong to get up the nerve to ask him for coffee. Luckily, he can’t see you pine away for him.

But unbeknownst to you, there’s a watchful pair of eyes that have seen your longing gazes at the back of Javi’s head.

One Steve Murphy.

He’s seen every glance. Every flustered look cross your face. He doesn’t want to pry, not at first. But then he remembers how his buddies set him up with Connie. And hell, Javi could use someone nice like you in his life. Someone less dangerous to get involved with than communist informants.

Steve’s told Connie every detail, it’s much more entertaining to discuss then the heavy topic of death and drug lords. Connie’s only concern is the office romance drama, but she’s your friend. And she wants the same thing for you – Javi is a good man. And being neighbors with you, she’s also seen the looks you’ve given as Javi walks down the hallway.

They are planning more on how to get you with Javi than you are.

So far, your plan is hoping he’ll need a paperclip and will come ask you for one. And then suddenly ask you to coffee and then take you back to his place and-

Oh shit.

Javi’s wearing a blue shirt today, your favorite. And you might have let your eyes linger a little too long. And you’ve just made eye contact with Steve. He quirks a brow at you, and a small smirk appears on his lips. His piercing gaze just past Javi makes his partner curious, and the object of your affections turns his head in your direction.

When Javi’s eyes meet yours, you quickly avert your gaze. Trying to busy yourself with something important. Which consists mainly of organizing your already organized desk.

Javi is none the wiser, he shrugs and goes back to work. But Steve, he saw all that he needed to see.

You spend the rest of the day with your head down. You’ve had enough embarrassment for one day. It pains you that you’re missing out on the blue shirt though.

Normally after work you come up with some excuse to try and say hi and bye to Javi on his way out. He almost never goes straight to his apartment after office hours because he’s typically working out in streets. It’s your small chance to get some form of interaction with him.

Tonight though, you get out of there as soon as possible. It kills you to leave, you can hear Javi and Steve laughing at their desks. You want to turn around and see that smile you dream of.

So instead, you get out and head home.

You look forward to a quiet evening. You need a distraction. Something, anything to keep your mind off of him. Which only seems to make you think about him even more.

It’s getting later and the wine in your system has you feeling warm. There’s a warm buzzed feeling that spreads over your body and settles between your legs.

Maybe the wine wasn’t such a good idea. And you’re being ridiculous. So, Steve saw you looking at Javi. Is that a crime? Javi is handsome. Most women in the office notice him, even the married ones get a little smile on their face when he walks by.

It’s more than that. Having your crush discovered isn’t the end of the world.

Maybe you know that if Javi was interested he would have done something by now. Maybe you know that if Steve tells Javi about your crush that something will happen. Or that something won’t.

You want to get over this crush, but all you can think about is the arousal between your legs. You’ve seen him bring women home, but it’s been some time. That’s given you a false hope you think. Regardless, you know he’s a good lover. Thin walls.

You ache.

Those nights when he’s brought a woman home have been awful. You don’t listen on purpose, and more often than not you wish you couldn’t hear. Couldn’t hear women scream out his name, wishing it were you crying out his name into the dark.

On top of all that, you know that most times when he brings someone home, it’s been a bad day for him. He brings a prostitute home to ease his sorrows with the high of a release. You want to be there for him not just sexually, but emotionally. Living next to him isn’t the worst thing, but not being able to help him when you’ve seen the weight he carries is.

You’ll see him at work the next morning and try not to pretend you didn’t hear the headboard thwacking and how much you wish it were you.

Yeah. That wine wasn’t a good idea.

You’ve created a fantasy which you entertain, maybe it’s wrong but right now the wine is talking. Your fingers tease yourself and you’re close to the edge when you hear a rapid knock on the door.

Feeling flushed and disoriented, you quickly tug your pants back on and hurry to open your door.

You’re met with the sight of a woman, obviously drunk.

“Is Javi here?” she laughs twirling her hair with her fingers. You feel sick.

“You have the wrong apartment,” you tell her and point to Javi’s front door across the hall.

Disrupted by the noise, Javi’s door opens. His eyes widen in slight shock at seeing the two of you talking. He pushes his door open, and this other woman walks past him into his place. His eyes flick up to you in a silent apology and he closes the door behind him with a click.

The silence in the hallway is deafening. You stand in your doorway in disbelief. You can hear muffled voices across the hall, and you slam your door behind you in anger. You wince at the slam, then you sink down to the floor. Tears fall from your eyes, who were you kidding?

You get no sleep that night, and every sound that drifts over from his apartment to yours fills you with dread. You’ve heard nothing sexual in nature, but that doesn’t make you feel any better.

You don’t even want to go to work. You don’t want to see him. You’re mad at him, even though you’re actually mad at yourself.

Most of the day goes by before you really get a chance to see him. And for that you are grateful.

You smell his cologne before you see him, and his tall frame hovers by your desk. His voice comes out gentle and raspy.

“I’m sorry about last night,” he starts. A small part of you hopes he’ll apologize for what it looked like, apologize for hurting you. “I’m sorry she disrupted your night.”

Oh.

“Thanks,” is your weak reply. You can’t even bear to look up at him. Shit, he smells really good too. He almost never comes up to your desk. And now that he’s here, you just want him to go away.

“Javi, I-“ you manage to look up at him. And you don’t have a clue what you’re gonna say. His eyebrows raise as he’s ready to listen to what you have to say.

“Great!” You hear Steve’s voice cut through. “I’m glad I got you both together!” he claps his hand on Javi’s shoulder. “Connie and I are having a little get together tonight, and we want you both to come! Be there at 7!” he squeezes Javi’s shoulder and gives you a nod and leave before you can tell him no.

Javi shakes his head but gives you a soft smile. “Connie’s cooking isn’t that bad,” he jokes getting a laugh from you. Even though you curse yourself for laughing, you’re still mad. But when you see him smile at your laugh, you’re not….completely mad.

You spend the rest of the day and afternoon panicking about what to wear. Who else was going to be at this “get together”?

You can only assume it’s a casual thing, but still. Knowing Javi will be there has your insides churning.

You arrive early to help Connie, and to compose yourself. You’re helping her to set the table when Javi walks in. He gives a polite nod, and Steve is quick to greet him with a beer.

You flush, and Connie sees you actively trying to avoid any looks. She gives you a gentle nudge with her elbow, getting you to look up at her.

“It’s alright,” she whispers. “He’s into you.” She looks over at the boys in the small living area. Javi’s shrugged his jacket and is sitting with Steve, one of them laughs at a joke.

You nod your head ‘no.’

“He isn’t,” you tell her with a small shrug. “Is this all that’s coming?” you ask trying to change the subject. It dawns on you then that this is a setup, a double date. You start to panic.

“Hey,” Connie’s words are soft but firm, “it’s just dinner.”

She’s right, and you know she is. But you’re not sure if you can handle looking at him. All you can think about is the woman who came knocking on your door last night and him taking her in. What else would she have been there for other than to get a little taste of Javier Peña?

It’s hard to avoid those big brown eyes when he’s sitting directly across from you at the table. The conversation is light and humorous. But the way Javi is looking at you, it’s as if he knows something. Like he can read your mind.

“Dessert?” Connie’s cheery voice tears you from your thoughts.

“I’ll help,” you tell her. You need air, you feel like you’re suffocating under his glances.

“I’d say it’s going well!” she giggles once the two of you are out of earshot in the kitchen.

“How can you even tell?” you groan. “He’s not into me Connie.”

“I don’t know, he’s been making eyes at you across the table.”

“Connie,” you hiss. “He is not into me. He brought home some woman last night. Why the hell would he be into me?”

“How do you know-“

“I know. I know!” you hiss sharply trying to keep your voice down. “He brings those women home for a fuck, I know I’ve heard! And I will NEVER be one of those women.”

And not that you want to necessarily be one of them, that he fucks only – but-

“He doesn’t want me.”

“Who said that?” Javi’s voice has you turn in the little kitchen. You almost drop the plate in your hands. Connie and Steve exchange a look. Your eyes are fixed on Javi. You wish the earth would swallow you whole.

Embarrassed and upset, tears start to well up in your eyes.

“C’mon,” Javi offers you his hand. Your arms are crossed tight against your chest, but at the softness of his voice you relax and take his hand. He guides you out of the apartment, and you turn to Connie – she gives you a smile and a nod saying, “it’s ok.”

So, you follow Javi. He guides you down the hall to his apartment. He pats his pocket but doesn’t feel his keys.

“Shit,” he laughs, “they’re in my jacket pocket-“

“We can go in mine,” you reply pulling out your keys and open your apartment door.

You’re not entirely sure what is happening, but you open the door and he follows behind.

“I didn’t bring her home for sex,” Javi tells you the moment the door closes behind him. “She’s an informant, she only pretended to be drunk so no one would be suspicious. Her idea, not mine.”

“So, you know?” your voice hesitant.

“Know what?” he leans against your kitchen counter. Your arms have crossed against your chest again.

“Know how I feel?” your face heats up.

“Yeah,” he chuckles softly. “I could feel your eyes burning the back of my head, and my ass,” he says out of the corner of his mouth. He gives a gentle wink, his eyes bright and eyebrows lifted.

You bury your face in your hands, “was I that obvious?”

“Honestly, I thought you were checking out Steve at first,” he laughs. Your laugh joins his, and you feel more relaxed. “The only reason I never said anything was-“ he nibbles on his lower lip trying to think of what he wants to say. “I thought you wouldn’t want me.”

“What?” you gasp. “How could you think that?”

“My life is fucked up baby, why would you want in the mess?” He takes a step closer.

“All I wanted was to be there for you,” you admit, fiddling with the hem of your jacket.

“That’s all you wanted?” he takes another step closer. You can feel the heat of him. You look up at his face, he’s standing so close. His brow is raised. “That’s all you wanted?” he repeats in a whisper.

“Javi,” you whisper and melt into him as he closes the gap between you with his lips. His mustache tickles your upper lip in the way you hoped it would.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers against your lips and kisses the corner of your mouth.

“You don’t have to explain,” you cling to his shirt. You start to laugh and press your forehead against his solid warm chest.

“What’s so funny?” he laughs.

“This isn’t how I thought this would happen.”

“Oh?” he raises that eyebrow again.

“I thought-“

“What?” he kisses your forehead and cheeks.

“I just thought you’d come up to my desk and ask me for a paperclip or something and then ask me for coffee.”

“Baby, I will ask you for a fucking paperclip if that’s what you want.”

You snort out a laugh and he squeezes you tight. He kisses you again, and you feel dizzy.

“I don’t do this. Ever,” you flush.

“It’s ok,” he whispers kissing you again, “all I came over for was a paperclip.”

//

MASTERLIST

[romiithebirdie]

Epilogue for the Lost - Chapter 3

"Never fear, for I am here!"

 That was the cheerful catchphrase of the children's television icon, All Might. When anything bad happened, All Might would arrive and save the day. He always won with a bright beam worn proudly across his face, radiating pure joy not only in the show but for children all over the nation who tuned in to watch him.

 But for Toshinori Yagi it was a part of his past that he'd rather move on from. Living in solitude as a wealthy retired actor with only a few friends and family members made it difficult for him to genuinely smile nowadays.

 Something he could still not grasp to this day;

 He had everything.

 Money, fame, properties and adoring fans all around the world.

 Yet, his heart felt so hollow. Like somebody had reached in and torn in from his chest, discarding it like the useless piece of flesh it was.

If you asked him, he'd be surprised if he even still had a heart under his paper-thin skin.

During the last few years of his starring role as the smiling superhero, he had been involved in a major car collision that damaged his internal organs beyond repair. After months of surgeries and other frequent visits to the hospital, he had retired due to his declining health.

 His adoptive father-figure Sorahiko Torino always made it a habit to visit frequently, though Toshinori himself preferred to stay in isolation. Far, far away from the prying eyes of his stern and no-nonsense father and his constant lectures about bad habits and whatnot.

 Though he knew it was deeply childish, Toshinori still felt a rebellious thrill from aggravating Sorahiko just as he had done in his youth.

 While Torino had always been known for his grumpy attitude, he took up to eleven after the incident involving his closest friend, Nana Shimura. Like Sorahiko, she had worked as a high-ranking member of the Police Force and had taken a squad to raid the hideout of a dangerous wanted criminal.

 The notorious A.F.O killer.

 He had been given that name due to the fact that all of his victims had the three initials carved into parts of their bodies.

 However, it hadn't gone as planned and the entire building went up in flames. The majority of the squad had escaped with minor injuries, but Nana inhaled far too much smoke during her attempts at fleeing to safety which caused her to fall unconscious. Several hours later, she had passed away in the ER department.

 It was a massive shock to everybody. Nobody could have seen it coming.

 The criminal's body was never found or recovered, the authorities eventually pegging it down to have burned into nothing during the inferno due to the fact nobody had come forward with grievous burns in any of the hospitals in Japan.

 A fitting way to end the life of such a cruel and evil man. Scorched into a smudge on the ground, leaving nothing but joy to the civilians who had feared for their lives during his spree.

 While many would call it a horrifying end, Toshinori called it justice.

 Losing Nana was truly a tragedy and both Toshinori and Sorahiko suffered badly with mourning the kind woman's death. While Sorahiko took to his study and spent many days and nights alone, Toshinori's behaviour grew more challenging and he had started fighting at school and in public.

 He wasn't a bad kid.

 He just hadn't known how to deal with his own grief. It made him feel hollow inside, like his heart was devoid of anything.

 Nana Shimura was like a secondary parental figure to Toshinori. She would watch movies with him, take him and Torino out for long drives in the city and countryside while always proudly wearing a smile on her face.

 The television hero All Might's constant beam was a complete homage to Shimura in every way.

 If only she had been around to see him in his hayday…

 Would she still be proud of him now?

 Knowing how far he'd fallen.

 Turning to drinking and not taking care of his health properly… Every time he'd cough up the coppery taste of blood from the back of his throat, he truly felt as if the Grim Reaper himself was slowly approaching, waiting for his final breath before tearing his soul and taking his spirit to the afterlife.

 No. What he'd thought about Nana...

 That wasn't true.

 Nana would have never judged him. Back then and even now.

 She was kind-hearted and had so much empathy, especially for somebody who worked in the field that she did. It was something Toshinori truly admired about the woman, other than her fierce passion for her work.

 Glancing at the IV cord that was attached to his arm, he let out a deep sigh before heaving himself from his own hospital bed and beginning to hobble out of his private room. A coffee from the café downstairs sounded pretty good right about now…

 Whisky would have been better but beggars couldn't be choosers.

                                                              .-.-.-.-.

Izuku rushed through the hospital entrance, clutching the leather straps of his backpack as his crimson shoes squeaked along the polished floor. He'd been given the brief details of what had happened at his apartment by the police officers after his mother had been taken away in an ambulance.

 The kind officers had then given the teen a ride to the hospital where they had accompanied Izuku with getting the name of the ward where his mother had been taken. After giving a quick bow of thanks, Izuku had shot across the car park and towards the building at lightning fast speed.

 From the looks of the ward names, it seemed his mother was on one of the higher floors so Izuku decided to take the elevator up; only to almost crash into a tall, blond haired man holding a steaming paper cup who was also waiting for the elevator doors to open.

 "I'm so sorry!" the boy yelped, ducking his head while the blond chuckled, fondly shaking his head at the teen. Izuku noted the IV drip and was stricken with more guilt, so much so that he ignored an unpleasant feeling wash over him while being in close range of the stranger.

 You nearly knocked a patient over, you complete idiot.

 Ding!

 As sweet as mercy, the elevator doors opened and the two entered with Izuku allowing the older man to go in first out of respect. It was the least he could do after almost barrelling into him.

 "Why thank you, young man," Toshinori smiled, taking a sip of his coffee while watching Izuku fidget around the elevator buttons. He chose to step in, "I'm going to the fifth floor, my boy."

 "Ah, that's great, I'm going up to the ninth."

Izuku pressed the buttons and stepped back, feeling the weight of the floor lift underneath his feet. For a few awkward seconds, nobody said a word until a familiar, unwanted chill blew into the boy's face.

 He knew it all too well.

 They wanted to communicate with him again.

 The tiny space of the elevator only did more to trigger an overwhelming feeling of utter claustrophobia, it felt like the silver reflective walls were closing in on him. Izuku suddenly wanted nothing more than to shrink into himself and cower away with his face covered.

 Please go away.

 Izuku's desperate emeralds met with Toshinori's dull blue, the two immediately connected as the teen bit back a choked gasp that he tried to fight. Foggy imagery immediately began taking over his senses as the familiar raven-haired lady held onto the blond's shoulders like she was embracing him.

 No, no, no.

 Izuku was seeing them once again, just like all the other times.

 Usually he'd see them in short-timed wisps like the smoke of a dead candle flame. A few whispers in his ears and cold spots but nothing as humanoid as what he was seeing now.

He immediately reached for his bag and fumbled around for the zipper, shakily trying to fight against the fabric trapping his zip in the same position. Upon ripping it open, not caring whether or not he'd broken the lining, he began frantically raking through the contents inside.

 Where was that damned medication?!

 Various whispers combined into one ghostly chorus entered his ears, making them ring like a loud case of tinnitus as he stepped back, trying to compose himself.

 "Tell him. Please. Tell him."

 "Please," Izuku pleaded as he squirmed, hand darting out and snatching the blond stranger's striped pyjama sleeve. They wouldn't leave until he did what they asked, "She says she's proud. N-never think otherwise."

 Toshinori's mind screeched to a complete halt as he whirled around completely on the teen holding onto him, "What?" he spluttered, not quite sure he'd heard what had just come out of the kid's mouth properly. Surely he'd misheard?

"She's proud," Izuku squeezed his eyes shut, as if speaking the words pained him. "Nana says she'll always be proud of you."

 Toshinori turned his head around so fast, Izuku's own neck ached at the sight.

 Finally, he spoke; "How do you know Nana?"

 "I don't," Izuku wavered, glancing at the ghostly hands clutching the thin fabric covering Toshinori's shoulders. "But she said you knows you."

 Knows? The older male frowned, unsure of what that even meant.

 "Let me rephrase," Toshinori's grip on his IV tightened, a small wave of nausea threatening his weak body as he tried to steady himself. "How could you know something like that?"

 The words that had come out of the kid's mouth were enough for him to pray for the doors to open;

 "Because she's standing behind you and telling me what to say."

 As if by magic, the elevator doors opened and allowed the blond to shuffle out of the small space at the fasted speed he could. In silence, Toshinori dragged his IV along with him while keeping his gaze fixed on the boy.

 As the doors began to close, he finally chose to speak again suddenly finding his voice, though it was barely coherent;

 "What's your name, kid?"

 "Izuku," the greenette answered immediately, "Izuku Midoriya."

 "Toshinori Yagi," the blond responded, just as the twin doors shut and cut off their sight of one another.

 Toshinori set his cup down and covered his mouth, muffled exhales echoing down the empty corridor as he attempted to compose himself.

 Did that really just happen?

                                                             .-.-.-.-.

"Mum!"

 Previous issues with his unwelcome undead buddies immediately dropped the moment he saw her. The teen dropped everything and launched himself forward, sliding to a halt beside his eerily still mother. The heart monitor beeped slowly, duetting with Inko's raspy gasps for air from her oxygen mask.

 "Izuku?" Inko croaked, her face ghostly pale as she shakily attempted to lift her head from the pillows supporting her. Izuku immediately grabbed her hand tightly, fearful of letting her go.

 "What happened?" he stressed, trying to force down the hard lump in his throat. He couldn't cry in front of her. She needed him to be strong.

 "A man," she whispered, gently giving his hand a squeeze, "red eyes. He knew about Mitsuki, said I deserved it."

 "Deserved it?" Izuku repeated, dumbfounded. Deserved what? His mother had nothing to do with the Bakugou tragedy…

 "He knocked me down a-and did this," she used her free hand to shakily imitate stabbing motions. Her eyes welled up and Izuku fought back his own tears at seeing his mother so broken. "Tried to start a fire in the lounge b-but couldn't, the neighbours heard the commotion and he ran away."

 Inko heaved out roughly, each breath sounding painful as she shifted slightly, wincing every now and again while the monitor beeped beside her.

 "I'm sorry, Izuku," she whispered, mother and son's eyes meeting before she began closing them slowly. "I'm so sorry."

 "Mum?" Izuku released her hand and gave her a few gentle nudges. She moaned softly, streaks of tears lined down her cheeks as her chest slowly rose and fell.

 She was alive. Injured but alive.

 The teen pushed himself away and slowly made his way out of the ward, feeling like his head was filled with cotton wool. The second the doors to the ward shut behind him, he allowed himself to break down, sobbing quietly against one of the off-white walls of the long and empty hospital corridor.

 Who could have done this?

 His mother was the most gentle soul he had ever known, rarely raising her voice or getting angry. Why had somebody attacked her?

 The mystery person was wrong; his mother didn't deserve what had happened to her.

 Izuku thought back to what the police had explained to him, about the attacker. According to the report made, he had mentioned Mitsuki Bakugou. Which was not only confusing but odd too.

 Then there was that weird guy with the unusual red eyes back in his neighbourhood, he was wearing a hoodie so his hair was completely concealed. His mother had mentioned red eyes hadn't she?

 Izuku only knew one person with that rare eye colour and then there was another thought playing on his mind;

 Who truly knew Mitsuki Bakugou besides the Midoriya Family?

 Aside from…

 "Kacchan?"

[adrieunor]

the one where they’re married (1/?)

Fandom: The Good Place  Rating: T  Pairing: Michael & Eleanor Shellstrop (pseudo-Michael/Eleanor) 

amnesia, married-but-not, possibly dub-con bc identity issues but nothing explicit; implied Michael reboot or judge reboot  Notes: found this thing hanging out in my WIP and I don’t even remember writing it. but I had fun reading through what’s here, so I thought I’d go ahead and throw it out into the world. 

Story summary:  It didn’t quite top the discovery of waking up in a hospital bed with potential brain damage, but Eleanor is quite sure of one thing. She’s willing to stake money on it, no matter how out of character or divergent he is from her history:

this man is her husband.

Which, great – wow, whoa and every other questionable w-sound.

Hadn’t thought you had it in you girl, Eleanor thinks.

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

Eleanor wakes up.

Correction: Eleanor tries.

One moment, it’s the nothingness of unconsciousness and then the sudden clarity of what’s happening? Where am I?— except her body feels like it hasn’t caught up to this decision.

She feels heavy.

All of her feels heavy. From the bottom of her feet to the crown of her head, it feels like every atom of her person has suddenly gained ten extra ounces of new weight. Not enough to be a hardship, individually, but combined together—she’s drowning, suffocated by her own eyelids and the thick, still air that doesn’t give any hint to where she seems to be.

Her eyes feel heavy – the stupid gelatinous orbs feel like they’re suspended in concrete, while her lids struggle to flutter awake.

(It’s a stupid expression, anyway, because it’s more hippos doing ballet than graceful ostriches with large feathered fans prancing across the imaginary stage of her mind.)

Fuck.

It hurts.

It feels good to be able to give a resounding f-bomb in her mind. She doesn’t know why it feels good, just that it does—it shouldn’t, though, since Eleanor has been saying fuck and other double-dog-dare-you words since she was in secondhand velcro shoes. She says “fuck” more times on the daily than her own name, certainly more times than “please” or “thank you.”

Ten seconds of consciousness has her registering how rattled her bones feel. Someone has either taken her brain and expanded it to be too big for her skull, or taken her skull and fractured it, hot gluing the pieces back to fit her brain but accidentally leaving a few behind.

“Eleanor? Are you awake?”

Trying to be.

Even in her mind, the words she wants to respond with feel slurred, fumbled by a dull tongue that’s trying to unstick from the roof of her mouth.

She’s not sure if the keening sound is just bubbling frustration and pain she’s creating in her head, or if she’s really making it. Eleanor wants to open her mouth and let her sad, animal crying out, but it seems, between the last time she was awake and now, someone’s affixed her jaw with lead, super glue, and the caramel they use to cover those cheap, green apple pops.

Eleanor settles for a whimper.

It’s the trembling of her bottom lip that makes her realize something’s brushing against her face, threaded across her nose and mouth and affixed by sticky tape on her cheeks.

Dry fingertips, warm and calloused, brush over her temple. The stray, lanky hair that had been plastered to her forehead, tickling her brow and her nose, is brushed back and tucked behind her ears.

“Hold on,” the same person says, and something clicks or beeps beside her ear. She hadn’t thought of her wrists and hands yet, had only registered them being as weighed down as the rest of her. Now, she’s minutely aware of the tender clasp around her left wrist – a dry, warm steadiness that makes her joints ache painfully.

Eleanor wants to wiggle, wants to shake, wants to fucking jerk her arms and legs about until everything pops back into feeling, but she can’t. Something from inside must be conveyed outside, some twitch or snarl of frustration, because the warm hand gently turns her wrist. Unfamiliar (familiar) fingers slide and brush against her pulse before settling into a new position: her own hand cradled in a larger one, while a thumb that’s not hers gently strokes the tops of her knuckles.

The next sound feels like a land mine detonated in a pocket of silence. A heavy door opens with the force of five hundred hangovers, followed by heels clicking sharply and smartly against a linoleum floor. Rustling fabric, a pen clicking, a folder being dropped down onto a table surface all has her wincing, as if it’s been amplified right by her fucking ear.

Her companion does not let go of her hand, but he grips it until his thumb is a firm, anxious pressure that presses on the space between her ring finger and pinky.

“Is she in pain? She looks—“

Eleanor doesn’t catch the rest of it, but the voice has only picked up in volume, a little, harried but direct. Whatever answer the new body has, she doesn't hear it. 

Amidst the skull-splitting pain that pulsates from her crown down to the rest of her, like a tree suddenly struck by lighting, she registers only one thing: a dry press of lips against her fingers, solemn and unbearably present sensation, before she’s swarmed by other voices and sounds.

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

Eleanor is only catching every fifth word that is coming out of the woman’s mouth. The ice chips had alleviated the fuzziness on her tongue, but it hadn’t fixed what was wrong in her head.

Her head.

Words like damage, injury, sustained bleeding,

The wailing in her ears had subsided, a bit, since the last time she was awake. It was now a low, thrumming pitch in the back of her mind, like a loud fluorescent light bulb in an office space. She can ignore it, after a while, but it’s there.

Other things that are very much there and present: the man.

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

Her eyes drift towards his hand, the one that’s not holding her own – long fingers woven loosely to catch her own, between the gauze and IV line – where it rests on his knee. She's not sure what the glimmer is, at first, until she realizes it's two gold bands on one hand, a comically smaller one slipped onto his pinky. 

“Ah,” her eyes drift back up of their own accord to watch the way his brows furrow, mouth open in thought, “I thought it’d be better if I kept it, in case the tests and the machines…”

His mouth purses into a thin line, which only emphasizes the ones carved into the corners of his mouth and his eyes even more – he looks like the type that would frown a lot, Eleanor thinks. He seemed like the bookish-type that would have resting bitch face while deep in thought; a heavy oak desk with a tiffany lamp and a pen tipped in gold wouldn’t be out of place in a room with him, or a really fancy fucking wall of degrees and a sharp suit.

Her shameless eyes stray towards his thin lips, the defined line of his jaw, skipping back to the worn crinkles in his skin.

There’s a lot of something to him that seems to command the presence of whatever space he occupies. The corner he occupies wraps around him like a well-tailored jacket – even in his unassuming navy and pale blue.

 Well, she revises her thoughts; he looked like he might laugh a lot, too. Eleanor bets he laughs with his mouth wide open, or smiles to show nearly all his teeth.

He wasn’t laughing now, of course. Given the circumstances.

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

He is a man-shaped absence in her memory – she of the forgetful faces and even more forgetful names has seemingly forgotten her own husband, spouse, and partner-- legally bound tax accomplice, all of the above. Michael.

He’s got a face made for

He does a funny

Oh.

It didn’t quite top the discovery of waking up in a hospital bed with potential brain damage, but Eleanor is quite sure of one thing. She’s willing to stake money on it, no matter how out of character or divergent he is from her history:

this man is her husband.

Which, great – wow, whoa and every other questionable w-sound.

Hadn’t thought you had it in you girl, Eleanor thinks. She takes another second, ten, fifteen, a minute, to look appreciatively up and down.

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

She’s not sure if the muscles in her face contort into the expression of surprise like the light bulb that’s gone off in her head – her jaw is still a little slack and her eyes are slow to blink. He might not have noticed, in between one second and the next, how utterly thrown off she is.

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

It doesn’t look like a fake; Eleanor has seen a lot of fake gold jewelry in her time to know the difference. It’s beautiful in the way that all the ostentatious rings she would pick for herself would not be. She keeps turning her hand this way and that, until one of the nurses asks if she's having wrist pain. 

Despite protests, a tall nurse with too much arm hair pushes her in a wheelchair towards the curb where a burgundy crossover idles.

“Hopefully we won’t see you too soon,” Gary, Gerry, Gerald – or whatever – his name is, says cheerfully. She squints up at him, and he falters. Eleanor supposes that one good thing about being brain damaged was she now had a legitimate reason to forget people’s names.

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

The good news: if she had woken up too brain damaged to remember her own name, Michael would have fixed that problem easily—it would have been two minutes, tops. She’s pretty sure he says her name more than he uses any other noun or pronoun.

(Which, by the way, the fact that she still has a basic grasp of grammar makes her, again, want to keep track for curiosity’s sake what her loopy brain has decided to keep and discard. She’d stared at the red plastic dome on her hospital plate before, after a pronounced beat, Michael had reached across and pulled the foil top off of her gelatin.)

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

It just sounds funny – something in her brain itches like a scab underneath a cast, present but unreachable. The way he says her name. It’s been her name for over three decades, so she knows what Eleanor sounds like, usually, coming out of other people’s mouths (when they’re coming, even!). Even knows what it sounds like sung in different accents, thanks to that fucking song.

(All the lonely people, where do they all belong?

Fuck. Her brain couldn’t have erased that?)

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

It’s not the porch that surprises her; it’s the honest-to-god porch swing, pale wicker and decorated with springtime cushions. That throws her for a loop; breaks a little part of her brain that isn’t already struggling to function.

(“This…. This broke me.”)

(Something tickles her brain, there, too, but it’s gone.)

It’s a good porch, too. The kind that doesn’t fully wrap around the house, but gives enough room for someone to day drink and – ah, there it is, the little tea table that would be beside the—the ___________. She grasps for the word, shapeless and vague. It’s blurry in her head, the thing she’s thinking about also blurry and distant. Her mouth puckers in a frown.

Michael rolls the car to a commercial perfect stop. Eleanor still jerks in her seat. He unbuckles his seat belt and bounds around to her side, opening the door before she’s even lifted a hand to pop it.

“Here, let me-“

She wonders how often she’s let him do anything, in contrast to allowing him to – her hand moves to rest on the release of the seat belt, staking territory.

Her stomach does one, two, slow flops – a fat pancake turned by an amateur line cook.

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

She doesn’t need an entire love story’s memory to make an easy conclusion, not when Michael’s eyes sweep across her face with a slow, longing softness while his mouth twitches, again, as if it has something to say he won’t let it:

Michael is in love with her.

Eleanor thinks this should be a good thing, if they’re married, but the conclusion settles uncomfortably on top of her chest – it doesn’t sink in, doesn’t settle into a slot of rightness, and she ignores the feeling of disappointment.

Stupid of her, honestly, to think this observation was all it would take to remember why Michael is in love with her. Or how Michael is in love with her.

(What Michael is in love with.)

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

They have a cat. She doesn’t know why this is something that trips her up, but it does. She’d nearly tripped up on it, literally, when the thing had slunk up to rub itself against her legs, making figure eights around her legs and Michael’s. Michael had nearly stepped on its tail, foot stopping just before contact as if compelled by muscle memory or a glitch in the system.

“Oh,” he hisses, fumbling with the duffel bag, complementary hospital pillow (the socks she’d decided to “wear out” as she’d joked at the nurse, wiping drool from the corner of her mouth), and reusable water bottles, in his arms, “Vicky, stop.”

“Vicky?”

She hopes she hadn't been the one to name it. Vicky sounds like a bitchy girl name, and in Eleanor Shellstrop's book of past experiences she could confirm this. Twice.

Michael gives up on trying to carry everything into …wherever, instead dumping his load onto the love seat in an adjourning room.

Her fingers trail along the table in the entryway, eyes flickering up to give the large, round mirror at eye-level a glance before she’s turning away. She’s pale as a ghost in this strange grey-blue home.

There’s a kitchen island with real, actual stools that swivel plus a wooden dining table with upholstered chairs. She wants to hiss at how excessive it is – eating a bowl of cereal over a dirty sink was enough for her for years – but she bites her tongue. A voice in the back of her head asks if maybe she had picked some of these, had selected them herself. You don’t build a home for two from only one person’s purchases.

“What would you like first, Eleanor?” His expression is hopefulness strained through a sieve. He doesn’t seem to realize how he leans towards her, curves his entire, tall being to look down at her. “Anything you want, just- just let me know. If you’re hungry, I could fix us a snack before you’re due for your next round of meds.”

It should feel annoying and towering, claustrophobic, but instead, looking upwards at him, she feels watched. Seen. It’s an uncomfortable feeling for someone who has always depended on being able to grift just under the radar, but it also isn’t unpleasant.

His hands are pressed together, fingertips touching, long and lean, like prayer.

“Can I just lay down for a bit?”

Michael’s expression softens. “Of course, Eleanor.”

And he offers his hand, palm upturned, as if the hallway was some long, arduous passage instead of a short walk towards a few doors or a climb up the stairs. Eleanor’s hands are so small in his, but his fingers wrap around hers like old acquaintances—hers have forgotten the intricacies of where to go, his have not forgotten her shape and his thumb brushes, familiar, across her knuckles like hello.

It is a warm and dry hold, and what Eleanor has managed to scrape, glean, and covertly steal in her observations about Michael all lead to the conclusion that this is a good descriptor, the most basic, for Michael himself: warm and dry, like Arizona, but the postcard worthy-parts, not the dumpster fire, trash-bag parts that made her.

At the foot of the stairs he pauses, one hand on the rail, the other holding her hand lifted in the air like a debutante. Something flickers, for a moment, and Eleanor imagines a tall, dark woman in a gown and evening gloves, of all things, poised at the foot of the stairs as if to give a toast. She blinks and the image is gone.

“You know,” Michael says, looking up. His brows furrow. “Maybe we should use the guest room downstairs instead. Avoid the stairs.”

“No,” she says, surprising herself. “I want my room.”

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

She gives the pillow a sniff, leaning down until her nose brushes against the cotton.

Yeah. That’s her. It smells like the scent of her hair, a little to the left of unwashed and greasy. Faint, but there.

There’s stray, blonde strands of hair that curl, pale and almost invisible, in the space where the pillow had been just before—like sunny, thin worms caught only in a certain slant of light.

Eleanor is playing excavation isn’t she? She is rooting around, examining and putting together all these clues left behind for a relationship, a love; building some semblance of understanding for the ghost of a woman—is she an anthropologist? Or is this a forensic-type investigation?

Is Eleanor Shellstrop dead?

She’s here but not here—the pictures and the gold band around her finger tell her these are her memories but they’re not. Her dumb lizard brain hasn’t ______ it out yet.

Oh. Another word that’s fallen through her fingers before she’s even remembered it.

It feels wrong to roll around, smell, and sleep in someone else’s marriage bed—it’s not the first time she’s done it, but it’s never been her bed.

What other intimacies can she find just sitting in the small-person-shaped dip of this bed? She doesn’t think about the dead flakes or skin, but she breaths deeply and her body nearly lurches into that place between awake and sleep—the familiar smell of bed that can only belong to ones own so strong.

The pillows on this side are fat and soft, just the way she likes them. She knows her head would sink into an orgy of clouds if she were to flop down now. It is tempting to do exactly what she had told Michael she wanted to do.

Eleanor resists—there’s another side to explore, still.

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

It is during one of these days, where she rolls around on the bed (their bed) like a dog left unsupervised in an empty home, that a thought strikes her. It strikes her so suddenly and with a force that she has to press the palm of her hand to her temple, eyes wincing—

Dummy.

What’s under the bed?

She’d been thorough examining the faint layers of dust coating boxes and folds of laundry on the higher shelves, where someone like Michael would keep his things, that she hadn’t thought to drop below to see where someone like her—past Eleanor, GSTGSD-Eleanor, might have hidden and holed away her own treasure.

The only thing she finds, disappointingly, is a shoe caddy with shoes as big as her head, some dust bunnies, and a laptop still charging. 

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

Vicky the cat goes downstairs into the basement on a daily basis, almost always for half an hour to one, and cries for attention. It’s a bizarre, attention-seeking, and almost resentful performance and, despite being dead ass annoying, Eleanor can relate. What a mood, right?

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

Forgotten your password? She clicks it.

The prompt doesn’t help at all: you know it, bitch!!

What? Why would she do that to herself? Except, that is so on brand for her and Eleanor hates, hates, hates Eleanor (herself) and loves Eleanor (herself) and hates Eleanor (herself).

She scowls, flexing her fingers. Vicky takes this opportunity to leap into her lap, tail high and crooked for attention, with her unabashed asshole right in Eleanor’s face.

fuckyou! She types, exasperated; before clicking enter, she scowls and adds an extra exclamation mark for good measure—using two exclamations is just enough to push something over the edge, enough to look off balanced, but three would be too much. She wants to send the right amount of recalcitrant bastard to her past self. And if she’s only got one log-in attempt before the laptop bricks, then, fine. Fuck you, GSTGSD Eleanor Shellstrop.

The little ball whirrs for a moment, before the screen flickers, the desktop loading in seconds.

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

end thoughts: haha okay so I haven’t watched TGP for a hot minute, not since that finale broke me. but I legit don’t recall what GSTGSD stands for (if that’s a show ref) so fuck, haha, help me out here past-adrie. if there’s interest in this I’ll continue it. 

[all-you-need-is-paul-mccartney]

The Couple Next Door V (Roger Taylor x Female!Reader)

Read Part IV Here

A/N: I am so sorry I couldn’t get this out on Valentine’s Day like I promised. I wanted to have a wonderful day with my boyfriend, and we ended up falling asleep and I found no time to post. I really am sorry.

But anyways, I’m not sure how well this chapter is gonna go because the last one was kinda slept on :/ BUT, to be fair, the previous one had no reader, and it was literally just dialogue, so I get it. I just really hope this one does better.

Summary: Roger goes home with a proposal to change his deal with Y/n.

(Real or Borhap! Roger. Whatever seasons your chicken.)

WARNINGS: Swearing, sLoW bUrN, EXTREME Mentions of sex, but again, No SmUt, mature romantic subject matter, I think that’s it. This one was a lil sad too.

Hun, this is about to be steamy, so this IS rated M. Read at your own risk, peeps, and if you’re under 18, maybe skip the ending of this one.

Roger pulled into his driveway, and after he took his key out of the ignition, rather than going inside immediately, he sat in the driver’s seat listening to the loud taps of raindrops hitting his windshield. 

 He rubbed his face stressfully, glancing over to the rather expensive bouquet of flowers along with the stupid, cliché heart shaped box which only contained the most expensive chocolate Roger could find in any London supermarket. 

 "If this is too much, she’ll kill me,“ he mumbled to himself before reaching for the purchases and pushing the door open. 

 And out into the rain he went. 

 He unlocked the front door after being completely annihilated with the heavy, stinging rain falling fast and largely from the stormclouds above. 

 He was able to make it into the house before the lightning began to strike, and as he toed off his shoes in the front hallway, his hair dripping with water, the low rumble of thunder vibrating the floorboards below his socks. 

 No matter, he was safe, and at home, and… something smelled really good.

 Roger removed his soaked jacket and hung it up on a hook in the hallway behind the front door before moving deeper into the dark house. The only light that could be seen on was in the kitchen, at the end of the hall. 

 He turned into the room and stopped in the threshold, taking in your lovely appearance as you wordlessly chopped up carrots, turned away and unaware of the visitor behind you. 

 Roger quietly set the flowers and chocolates on the counter before moving behind you, and after you put the knife down, he rested his freezing, wet hands on the back of your neck. 

 Almost immediately, your shoulders rose to your ears, and you let out a loud squeal, turning on your heel and shoving Roger backward, to which he laughed hysterically as he backed into the counters on the other side of the room.

 "You scared me!” You groaned before turning back to dinner stubbornly. 

 "Ah, Love, I’m sorry. The look on your face was priceless.“ He softly combed his fingers through your hair, pushing it to the side to leave a soft, warm, innocent kiss on the back of your neck, where he’d just placed his hands. 

 At the contact, you shut your heavy eyes and hummed gently in appreciation. 

"Make that noise again, and we may end up having a late dinner,” Roger mumbled hotly, and deeply. Your face burned when you felt the drummer’s lips curl into a devilish smile against your skin.

 "Y’know, I bought you something today,“ he continued on, and you swallowed nervously. 

"Yeah?” You squeaked, to which Roger hummed in return, his hands planting on your hips over your clothes to not disturb the warmth of your body with his freezing fingers. He gave your hips a little squeeze, and let another hum reverberate in the back of his throat.

Your cheeks glowed pink, and you wordlessly brought your thighs closer to one another. 

 Make that noise again, and we may end up having a late dinner, you thought to yourself.

 "Oh yes. Because you’re such a good girlfriend to me.“ And like that, his touch was gone. 

You opened your eyes, and looked over your shoulder, where you found Roger cutting the stems off the bouquet of flowers one-at-a-time. Your eyes fell to the heart-shaped-box, and Roger put the knife in his hand down to move the box closer to you. 

”’S’ll be our dessert,“ he smiled kindly. You offered a friendly smile back, your cheeks still warm from earlier, as you turned your attention back to dinner.

 "Y'know… if we even get there,” Roger finished. Your eyes widened and you turned your gaze back to him. The little bugger was back to cutting the stems off the flowers he bought you, his lips gently upturned in an innocent grin. 

 "… Are you okay?“ 

 "Hm?” Roger opened up one of the cupboards to retrieve a flower vase. He moved to the sink, ran the faucet, and began filling it with water. 

 "What are you talking about? I feel great.“ 

 "You’re just…” You squinted your eyes. “You’re acting really weird." 

 Roger shut off the faucet, and leaned back against the counter to look at you. 

He was giving you this look… it was like how he looked at you at the Garrison’s the week before. But there was something off about it. 

His gaze seemed… Darker.

 "Just getting my mind off things,” was all he had to say before picking the vase up from inside the sink and returning to the flowers on the counter. 

You tried your best to return your focus back onto dinner, reaching for another carrot to cut up. Meanwhile, Roger was dissolving the plant nutrients in the water.

By the time you reached the final carrot, the room was still quiet, and Roger, moving to pick up the bouquet and redirect them into the vase, paused his movements to look over his shoulder at you.

 Roger watched intensely as you moved around the little area you were working in. His eyes were fixed on the back of your head, but as time progressed, he began to find it difficult to keep his eyes from viewing lower, and lower… 

 "… Y/n, have I ever told you how pretty you are?“ Roger asked suddenly. You turned to him in startled confusion, and Roger made a face of regret. He mentally chastised himself for saying that. 

This was how he picked up women. You were not just a woman. You were much, much more than that.

 You laughed nervously, and awkwardly turned back to the carrot that had nearly been forgotten on the cutting board. You tried distracting yourself from Roger’s strange behaviour by dicing each carrot slice you prepared. 

 "You do realize you’re not in public, right, Rogie? You don’t have to be that nice to me." 

 "But I’m being serious.” The sound of the knife hitting the cutting board ceased again, and you finally dropped the knife to properly approach Roger.

 You crossed your arms over your chest and sighed in pretend annoyance, though the charade didn’t last long. 

“Alright. You got me. What do you want?" 

 "A favour." 

 "What kind of favour?” you challenged with a smile, one you’d tried to suppress, but gave in to. 

Classic Roger, you thought, King of bribery AND flirting.

 Roger opened his mouth to speak again, but the words were caught in his throat. 

He suddenly went pale, and your smile contorted into one of worry. “… Roger?”

 "O-um… well Y/n, y-you see, uh…“ Roger’s gaze fell helplessly to the floor as he stumbled over his words nervously, his cheeks growing hotter with every try. This especially worried you. 

 Roger was the most confident man you knew, and watching him be this hesitant about something really bothered you. In a case like this, you would have probably made fun of him, but you could see how stressed he must have felt, so you rested a comforting hand on his shoulder. 

 It was as if your touch was magic. Roger’s stuttering ceased, and he looked at you with big round eyes. 

Then he took a deep breath. 

"Y/n, I talked to the guys today.”

 "… About?“ 

 "Us. This…” Roger gestured to the house. “… Situation we’re in.” You both knew he was stalling from asking what he needed to, but you tried to keep patient. 

“Look, Y/n, I feel awful, and I know I made a promise to you about no groupies…" 

 ”… This is what this is about?” you asked dryly. “You not being able to have women over?“ 

 "What?! No! Well– yes, but–” you removed your hand from Roger’s shoulder and went back to cutting vegetables, the sound of the blade hitting the wooden cutting board getting louder and louder as time ticked on.

 All of that stuttering just for him to tell you he needed sex. Of course you were pissed off, and Roger knew that. You had a deal. In fact, he was horrified with himself. And now that you were angry, he was certain you would say no to the burning question he needed to ask. 

 "Then go.“ You told him sharply. "Go find someone to sleep with. Just don’t bring her back here. If you’re ever caught, we are done for." 

��Roger’s heart ached at your words. He tried to speak, but, like before, he couldn’t get the words out. 

He didn’t care if it was too late, he had to tell you he wanted you; that he needed you. 

 "Y/n," 

 "I said go!” You turned to him angrily as you shouted, and Roger could swear your eyes were glassy with fresh, unfallen tears, though you blinked them back stubbornly. 

 He breathlessly apologized, and rushed out of the house as fast as possible, leaving you alone in the kitchen, homemade pizza in the oven almost ready to come out, and a half prepared garden salad that would never be eaten.

_________________________________

 Roger stood in the candy section of the supermarket for a second time that day, red eyes scanning the shelves for something you liked. 

 Rather than listening to you and getting laid, he was more focused on rebuilding the relationship he was unintentionally tearing down. 

 He needed to apologize to you as soon as possible, and going empty handed, Roger decided, was not a good idea. 

 "Pissed off your girlfriend too, mate?“ Roger looked to his right to see another man his age, looking at the wide selection of romantically-wrapped sweets before him. 

 ”… Yeah, you could say that.“ 

 "Figured. See, in times like this,” the stranger began as he slowly walked down the aisle before reaching out and grabbing a cheap candy bar from off the shelf. 

“The best thing you can do is buy her her favourite candy bar, give her a kiss, and tell her how much you appreciate and love her.”

 Roger silently thought this to himself, and although he wanted to somehow thank the guy for his advice, he was already giving Roger an encouraging slap on the shoulder and exiting the aisle to pay for his girlfriend’s gift. 

______________________________

 When Roger got home it was just before midnight. He made sure to enter the house and close the door as quietly as he could in case you were sleeping. 

 After toeing his shoes off and hanging up his once again wet jacket, he went to the kitchen. There, he set a large bag of your favourite candy bars down on the counter so the rustling of the plastic bag didn’t wake you up. 

 He pulled a carton of cigarettes out of his back pocket, and opened it to retrieve a new one. He mumbled a curse when he realized he only had two left, and he hadn’t bothered to pick any more up when he was in town more than once that day. 

 He just tossed the nearly empty carton on the table, and that’s when he saw the vase of flowers he neglected to finish preparing. 

They were placed and displayed beautifully and intricately; the definite works of a woman. Roger couldn’t pull off making such a display if he tried to do it on his own. 

 He guessed that was one reason to appreciate you: your creativity. 

 But he appreciated you for many other things. The list was just so long; if Roger had to name everything he appreciated about you, he wouldn’t even know where to start, and his rambles would surely never end. 

 He placed the cigarette between his lips, and wandered to the back door. He took his time getting there. 

There was no need to hurry. 

 He slid the door open a crack, and lit his cigarette with a lighter he’d left on the counter. 

 After the first inhale, and watching as he blew the smoke out into the wet, miserable night, Roger already began to feel a little better.

 He still felt guilty about his earlier conflict with you, but he planned out and repeated what he wanted to say to you to and from the supermarket. 

 "I don’t want just anyone. I want you.“ 

Like his journey home, Roger began mumbling the statement like a mantra between his draws of smoke. 

 After getting to the filter of the cancer stick, Roger flicked it outside before sliding the patio door shut and locking it. Afterwards, he went upstairs, prepared for bed, and went to his room. 

 There, he turned his bedside lamp on and retrieved a notebook, his book of lyrics and brainstorm ideas for songs, from under his pillow. He opened it up and began writing in it. 

 Hearing a knock on his door was the last thing Roger expected that night, but when you slowly walked in, and stared at him from your place at the door, he put the book down and gave you his full attention. 

 "Rog… Look," 

 "Y/n, it’s okay, it’s okay.” You pursed your lips, and Roger beckoned you over with his finger. 

You slipped into the room completely, and shut the door behind you. 

 When Roger felt the dip in the mattress, he reached out to touch you. He didn’t have an exact plan on what he was doing, so his hand fell to your back, and he decided to rub slow, soothing circles around your shoulder blades. 

 "… Y/n, I don’t want just anyone,“ he finally blurted out after a while of silence. 

You looked at him in confusion, and Roger’s hand stopped rubbing your back. The silence in the air was thick, and Roger tried his best not to start panicking again. 

"I uh…” He removed his hand from your back and awkwardly shifted in his spot. 

“I wanted to explain earlier that… that I wanted to um… maybe… talk to you about uh… adding onto this… this agreement." 

 The look you gave him was devastating. Big, sad eyes, and downturned lips. You felt guiltier than ever. You wanted to apologize for what you’d said, and how you acted earlier, but you didn’t even bother.

 Roger wouldn’t have allowed it, anyways. 

 "Yes…?" 

You asked gently, reaching your own hand out and placing it reassuringly on his thigh. Roger stared down at your hand for a moment, taking a shaky, deep breath. 

 ”… Don’t you think it’d… y'know… be easier if… we were friends but… helped each other uh…“ he couldn’t continue further than that. He tried, but he physically couldn’t say any more. 

 "Are you… suggesting what I think you are?" 

 "If what you’re thinking is that we can sleep with one another with no strings attached then yes.” His words rushed out of his mouth like a flood, and Roger felt as if he was overheating. 

He wouldn’t dare to speak, or move until you did.

 And he was glad to have made that decision. 

 You, after recovering from the shock of Roger’s confession, wasted no time in gripping Roger by the hips, and pulling yourself up into his lap. 

Roger exclaimed in surprise when you did this, and after wrapping your legs around his hips, your fingers slid back into his blond hair, and you kissed him with a hunger neither of you expected you to possess. 

 Kissing you, Roger decided, was better than he ever dreamed it could be. Your lips were soft; your kiss was forceful and controlling, only making this more enjoyable for him; and the way you were touching him– pulling his hair and tightening your legs around him– teased the absolute hell out of him. 

 And he loved every single passing second of it.

 Roger’s hesitation melted away quicker than he expected, and in no time one of his hands was gripping your thigh while the other held the back of your head.

You pulled at Roger’s hair harder, and a smirk played at your lips as he let a deep growl elicit from the back of his throat. 

You let your tongue slide past Roger’s lips and into his mouth, to which he made another, pleased noise. Both of his hands grabbed your hips, his fingers absentmindedly toying with the waistband of both your pyjama bottoms and your underwear beneath as he forced his tongue into your own mouth. 

 You encouraged him to continue when you whined rather loudly, practically begging him to kiss you like that again. 

 His confidence and ego only inflated from there. 

He moved the both of you around so you were lying beneath him, his hands on either side of your head. He dipped down to kiss and suck your neck like it was the only thing he knew how to do. 

 His hips lowered down onto yours, and you, without thinking, whined again and slammed your hips up to excitedly grind against Roger’s, who let out another deep, guttural moan. 

His hands tightened into fists as grasped his bedsheets beneath you and pulled at them tightly to restrain himself from either being too rough with you, or taking you right then and there. 

 In fact, he had to eventually force himself to pull back, but just enough to get a good look at you. He noticed your beautiful, untouched hair just waiting to be pulled; your hot, red face; your parted lips swollen from the assault of his own; and your quick, heaving chest.

 His eyelids lowered and he licked his lips. 

 You were the most beautiful thing he had ever set eyes on. 

 He shifted his hips around once or twice more, and when he watched you shut your eyes and bite your lip, he decided he couldn’t handle your erotic behaviour any longer. 

 "Fuck,“ he huffed deeply, hands releasing the blankets beneath you to grip your ass. You opened your eyes slowly, and smirked. 

You, of all people, had Roger Taylor hot, bothered, and completely at your mercy.

Roger reached over without breaking eye contact with you to retrieve a condom and a bottle of lube from the dresser in his bedside table, meanwhile, you clicked the lamp on the very same table off. 

 It was time to get to work, and see how beneficial this new addition to the deal would be for the both of you.

_____________________________

A/A/N: Man, I REALLY hope this chapter does well. Things are only gonna get better from here, and I promise! No more lacking!

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[unfolded73]

My Heartbeat Shows the Fear (2/4) - schitt’s creek ff

Summary: A canon divergent story: Patrick gets into a car accident and it brings the Brewers to town sooner.

Notes: This fic will be posted in 4 chapters, every other day. There is some description of injuries, but nothing too graphic or life-threatening.

The title is from “Overkill” by Colin Hay, which thanks to the show Scrubs puts me in mind of hospitals.

Thank you to Amanita_Fierce for putting so much time and thought into betaing this fic - you made it so, so much better. And thanks also to @high-seas-swan for some helpful suggestions, particularly on that one scene that I tore apart and rewrote.

Rated Teen, this chapter 5714 words. (ao3)

Chapter 1

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Chapter 2

Patrick first became aware of a constant, irritating beeping noise. He blinked his eyes open, his eyelashes crusty with sleep. Oh right, he thought as he took in his surroundings. He was in the hospital. It seemed like no time at all had passed since they told him that he was supposed to go into surgery for his arm. Was the surgery already over?

He looked down and saw his arm enclosed in bandages and a splint. Guess that's a yes to the surgery, he thought. The pain he remembered when he’d regained consciousness after the accident was gone, fortunately, numbed by what he assumed were some powerful drugs. He would have almost preferred some pain to this complete numbness.

Patrick had thought of himself as pretty unflappable when it came to getting injured — as a teen he’d suffered cuts that needed stitches more than once, and the sight of his own blood hadn’t really phased him. Once he’d suffered a ligament tear and knee dislocation playing hockey, and the sight of his leg bending the wrong way had been pretty grisly, but he’d still managed to joke around with his coach while he was being carried off the ice on a stretcher. None of that compared to the sight of his own broken bone protruding through the skin of his arm. That had triggered a visceral reaction, a deep, inborn knowledge from his hindbrain that screamed: this is very wrong! The paramedic in the ambulance had covered it with a bandage to keep any more dirt from getting into the wound, mercifully shielding it from Patrick’s eyes. The pain had been intense, though. ”He’s in shock,” he remembered the paramedic saying as he swam in a viscous soup of cold sweat and nausea and agony.

Catching movement out of the corner of his eye, he looked over to his right side and saw David sleeping on the pull-out sleeper chair in the corner of the room. He was still in his clothes, but he’d taken his shoes off and lined them up neatly next to the chair. The sight of David’s shoes brought a swell of emotion to Patrick’s chest.

“David,” he said. His voice was raspy, and he was suddenly aware of how thirsty he was. “David,” he repeated, louder.

David started up, lines on his cheek from the pillow under his face and his hair sticking up on one side. It made Patrick want to hug him.

“You okay? Need me to call a nurse?” David asked.

“No. Is there water?”

David nodded, standing up and grabbing a cup with a bendy straw off of a small rolling table. He brought it over, carefully directing the straw so that Patrick could take it in his mouth and suck down some of the water. It made him feel uniquely helpless, being tended to like this.

“How long have you been here? What time is it?” Patrick asked.

David glanced at the clock. “It’s 2:30 in the morning.” He pulled his sleeper chair closer and sat on it, taking Patrick’s right hand in his.

Patrick frowned. “How long was the surgery?”

“A couple of hours. Do you not remember when they brought you out of recovery?” David asked, the first hint of a smile that Patrick had seen flitting over his face.

“No. The last thing I remember was them prepping me for surgery,” Patrick said.

Now David almost laughed. “In your defense, you were very high when you first came out of anesthesia.”

“What did I say?”

“Well, you swore a lot, which was very out of character. And you said I was handsome several times.”

“You are handsome,” Patrick said with a smile.

“And now all of your nurses know it.” David squeezed his hand.

“I’m sorry I don’t remember that.” It sounded embarrassing, but he still would have liked to see a video of it — of himself high as a kite and gushing about his sexy boyfriend to anyone within earshot. He squeezed David’s hand back.

“Mm, don’t be. You threw up and you kept saying your ears were ringing and I might’ve gotten a bit… testy… with one of the nurses when she said it wasn’t anything to worry about.”

“My hero,” Patrick sighed fondly.

“How are you feeling now?”

Patrick tried to assess how he was feeling. He had flashes of more memories — agonizing pain when he was in the ambulance and when they put in him the CT machine, but now there was little more than a dull ache. “Not bad, actually.”

“Yeah, you’re on the really good drugs,” David said, pointing up to an IV bag. “Morphine, I’m pretty sure. Also some antibiotics, but it’s the morphine that’s relevant here.”

“That explains it.” Patrick lifted his uninjured arm and tried to smooth down David’s unruly hair. “Thanks for staying here with me.”

“They would have had to drag me out of here,” David said, his voice cracking with emotion. “You scared me.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It wasn’t your fault; it was the other driver’s fault.” David reached up and stroked a hand over Patrick’s forehead and cheek. “Do you remember the accident?”

Frowning, Patrick tried to probe his memories, and while he did so the automated blood pressure cuff around his arm filled up, squeezing his bicep almost to the point of pain before exhaling in a long hiss. “Not the impact. I remember flashes of being extracted from my car and put in an ambulance. Some stuff from when they first brought me in here.” He looked down at his arm. “I remember my arm looking really not good.”

David winced. “Yeah. Well, look at it this way: you’ll probably have a very manly scar when all this is over.”

“The car,” Patrick said. “I had all the products from the Mennonite farms in the car.” He knew insurance would cover the losses, but he still felt a stab of guilt that he’d caused some of their precious merchandise to be lost. It would take time to replace, time during which they couldn’t earn any money from the sales. He wanted to kick himself for not watching more closely at that intersection. He’d seen someone run that stoplight before. He should have been more careful.

Shaking his head, David said, “It doesn’t matter.”

“David—”

“Let me worry about it,” David said.

“You should go home and get some sleep.”

‘Not a chance. Besides, Alexis drove me here and I sent her home a while ago, so you’re stuck with me until she comes back in the morning.” He lifted Patrick’s hand to his mouth and kissed the knuckles. David’s eyes were suspiciously wet. “Also I may never let you out of my sight again.”

“I love you,” Patrick said.

“I love you more,” David replied, “as evidenced by me sleeping on this thing.” He pointed at the sleeper chair. “It makes me long for my bed at the motel.”

Patrick felt an itch between his shoulder blades, and shifted his body in an attempt to scratch it. A spike of pain shot through his side. Broken ribs, he remembered. Right. “Ow.” He chuckled uneasily. “This is going to put a real damper on our sex life.”

David leaned over and kissed his cheek. “Why don’t you try to get some more sleep? Your parents are going to be here in the morning.”

“My… what?”

His face cracking into a yawn, David answered, “I called your parents while you were in surgery. It seemed serious enough that they needed to know.”

Patrick’s heart began to race, which unfortunately he could hear echoed in beeps from the machines behind him. David noticed too, his eyes flicking up briefly to the monitors before looking back at Patrick’s face. Mind racing, Patrick tried to sit up, and another lightning bolt of pain kept him from executing that maneuver. “What did… what did you say?”

“That you’d been in a car accident and your arm was being operated on.” David’s face betrayed his confusion. “Patrick, I know you’re not super close with your parents but they needed to know that you’d been hospitalized.”

“Yeah, I know, but… David.” This was the worst case scenario, the thing that he’d hoped to avoid David ever knowing. If he could have just gotten up the courage to tell his parents the half dozen times he’d almost managed it, then David would never have had to know that he wasn’t out to them. That he was keeping his relationship with David a secret.

Well, there was no hiding it now. Patrick looked up at the ceiling and closed his eyes, steeling himself, before meeting David's concerned gaze. “I have to tell you something.”

David frowned. “What is it?”

“I’ve… I haven’t told my parents about the fact that we’re… together. I’m not out to them.”

“Oh.”

Patrick winced at the hurt on David’s face. “I wanted to tell them, I did, but then I didn’t go home for Christmas, and it’s just hard to… I don’t know how to say it, over the phone. I can’t get the words out.” He swallowed around a lump in his throat. “David, I’m sorry—”

“Mm mm, no. Don’t apologize.” David squeezed his hand and then kissed his fingers again, his facial expression difficult to read. The hurt wasn’t in evidence anymore, but perhaps because David was doing a better job of hiding it. “Coming out is very personal, and it’s something you should only do on your terms. Okay?” His mouth slanted to the side. “That’s why I brought this couple home from college one time and just told my parents to deal with it.”

Patrick chuckled in relief at the way David was trying to lighten the mood, but just as quickly his guilt rushed back to the surface. “I’m not ashamed of you, David. I promise I’m not.”

David’s lips quirked up. “Yes, that was obvious from the way you talked to the nurses about me when you were high.” He cleared his throat, sitting up straighter. “When your parents get here, I can just be… your business partner.”

His gut instinct was to say no. That wasn’t fair to David, or to what they meant to each other. But then he imagined it, lying here in a hospital bed, in pain and a little bit high on opiates, his arm in a splint, looking up at his parents towering over him and telling them he was gay. That he and David were boyfriends. It was an agonizing mental picture.

“Maybe… maybe just for tomorrow?” Patrick asked in a small voice. He sounded pathetic to his own ears. He looked up at the IV bag. “For one thing, I’d prefer to be sober when I do the whole coming out speech.” It was an attempt at a joke, but it wasn’t untrue. He didn’t feel like he was in any kind of mental shape to talk to his parents about his sexual orientation or his relationship with David right now.

Patrick couldn’t help but notice that David had pulled away from him a little bit, but he still had an encouraging smile plastered on his face. “That makes total sense. Don’t worry about that for right now. Just focus on healing, okay?”

Patrick reached out, putting his hand around David’s neck and pulling him in for a kiss. “I love you,” he whispered against David’s lips. “So much.”

David gave his shoulder a little pat when he pulled away. “Let’s try to get some more sleep, okay?”

“Yeah.” Patrick felt exhausted from just the half hour he’d been awake. “Okay.”

He watched as David resettled himself on the sleeper chair, twisting and turning before finally settling down and facing the wall. When Patrick finally fell asleep, his last vision was of David’s back, his shoulders rising and falling with his breath.

~*~

When the Lincoln pulled up in front of the hospital, David was outside waiting for it. He’d spent the rest of the night tossing and turning, noticing every time Patrick shifted in his fitful sleep, and then was woken for good at six in the morning when a new nurse came on shift and stopped in to check Patrick’s vitals and replace his IV bag. Patrick, meanwhile, was in more pain than when he’d awoken the first time, and he was in a mood to match. Alexis finally called to say she was ten minutes away, so David kissed Patrick’s cheek and told him he’d be back later and escaped.

He felt grimy, still in yesterday’s clothes, aware of his own body odor in a way that he absolutely despised. He walked over quickly to the car, wrenching the door open and collapsing into the seat.

“How’s Patrick?”

“Awake and coherent and cranky,” David said. “I told the nurse he needed to up his morphine, but they don’t listen to me.” He tilted his head back against the headrest and closed his eyes.

“You’re so sweet to stay by his bedside all night, David.”

He whipped his head around, looking for a sign that his sister was making fun of him, but her face was impassive as she concentrated on driving.

“Well, I couldn’t just let him wake up alone in the hospital. Can you imagine?”

“Yes, it happened to me in Singapore,” she said. “Also in Portugal, I think it was? Anyway. I’m glad he’s okay.”

“His arm is being held together with bandages and pieces of plastic and he’s in a lot of pain, but sure. He’s right as rain.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t have left then,” Alexis said.

David gestured emphatically down at his clothes. “If I can’t get out of these clothes and into a shower soon, then I might literally have a panic attack.” He turned and looked out the window at the passing fields. “Besides, his parents will be here in about an hour, his mom said.”

“Meeting the parents, David!” Alexis said, and he turned in time to see her execute an exaggerated series of blinks that seemed dangerous to do behind the wheel of a car. “I guess you do want to be freshly showered for that.”

He huffed. “I have to open the store this morning. I’ll meet them later.”

“David, no,” Alexis gasped, “you should go back to the hospital. Stevie and I can cover the store for a few hours. I talked to her about it when I got back last night.”

“I can go back tonight after work. His parents will be there with him,” David said, his stomach in knots, exhaustion weighing heavy on his limbs.

“Why are you being weird?”

“I’m not.”

“Yes, you are, David.”

Sighing, David rocked his head back to knock against the headrest several times. “Patrick’s not out to his parents. They don’t know we’re together.”

Alexis bared her teeth like that Chrissy Teigen meme. “Oh, David. Yikes.”

“I know. So being at the hospital means that I have to pretend to just be his business partner, and I don’t know if I have the emotional fortitude to do that right now when he almost died yesterday.” He turned and stared out the window again. “Can we not talk about it anymore?”

Alexis didn’t say anything, but she reached over and patted his shoulder in what he guessed was supposed to be sympathy. They drove the rest of the way back to Schitt’s Creek in silence.

By the time David was showered and dressed and had his hair in order, he felt almost human, and he was resigned to not seeing Patrick again until the evening. He stepped out into his and Alexis’s room only to see Alexis and Stevie standing there between the beds. They turned to him and folded their arms, determined looks on their faces.

He pulled up short, indignant. “What?”

“We’re going to look after the store for you,” Stevie said flatly. “You are going back to the hospital.”

“Patrick needs you, David,” Alexis said.

“Patrick doesn’t need me lurking around, making his parents wonder why his business partner is being so emotional,” David said, turning to the mirror and probing gently at the skin under his eyes. His lack of sleep was painfully obvious on his face.

“I’m sure he’ll tell his parents once he’s gotten his bearings. But in the meantime, he needs to know you’re standing by him,” Stevie said.

“That is a lot of sincere emotion coming out of your mouth, Stevie. Did you hit your head?”

“Fuck off,” Stevie said.

“You could also go by Patrick’s apartment and pick up some of his stuff,” Alexis said. “If he’s going to be stuck in the hospital, he’s going to need some comfy pajamas, and some changes of underwear. And a book or something.”

Okay, even David had to admit that was a good idea. He blew out a breath and crossed his arms, mirroring Stevie. “Are you sure you can handle the store?”

“Ugh, David, we’ve done it before,” Alexis said, stomping her foot. “Now go!” she said, shooing him out the door.

“Wait, I need you to do something else for me,” he said. “Can you contact the police and find out where his car was taken? I need to see if any of the things in it are salvageable.”

Stevie nodded. “We’ll take care of it.”

He made a quick stop at the apartment and packed a duffel bag for Patrick: pajamas, a pair of jeans and a t-shirt, underwear, a book from Patrick’s nightstand, and his toiletries from the bathroom. He packed Patrick’s phone charger, although he wasn’t sure if his phone had survived the crash. He started to put in Patrick’s favorite hoodie, but then he remembered that Patrick might not be able to get anything long-sleeved over his arm. Instead he grabbed the afghan from the back of the sofa, figuring that would have to do if Patrick was chilly in his hospital room.

The nurse at the front desk of Patrick’s floor recognized him, waving him through. It occurred to him that after yesterday, one of the nurses could inadvertently out Patrick to his parents.

David’s first impression of Patrick’s parents was of blue sweaters. I guess that’s where Patrick gets it, David thought as he hesitated in the doorway to Patrick’s room. The Brewers were standing by his bedside, his mother touching the top of his head affectionately. It was a perfect family tableau that he was loath to interrupt, but he couldn’t exactly linger in the hall all morning.

“Hey,” he said, stepping hesitantly into the room. “I’m David Rose,” he said by way of introducing himself. His eyes drank Patrick in, cataloging again the small cuts on his face. His instincts told him to go over to Patrick, to touch him, but he couldn’t do that now. Instead he stood awkwardly at the foot of the bed like an alien who didn’t know how to exist in the presence of humans.

“David! I’m Clint Brewer,” Patrick’s father said, holding a hand out for David to shake. David shifted his bag over to the other arm and suffered the overly firm handshake Clint gave him.

“And I’m Marcy. David, thank you for calling us last night.”

“Of course.” He turned to Patrick. “I went by your apartment and packed some…” He panicked. Was knowing where Patrick kept his things a tell? I mean, it wasn’t a big apartment; he probably could have figured it out even if he wasn’t over there all the time. “Some stuff for you.”

Patrick gave him a fond look. “Thanks.”

David fixated on the least intimate thing in the bag. “I grabbed your phone charger, but then I wasn’t sure if you even have your phone.”

“Yeah, I have no idea where it is. Still in the car, probably, and who knows where that is.”

“Stevie is looking into it,” David said.

“Thank goodness Patrick has you, David,” Marcy said, holding her hands out for the bag, so David surrendered it to her.

David met Patrick’s eyes, and then quickly looked away. “I’m just trying to be a nice person, Mrs. Brewer.”

Patrick snorted, suppressing a laugh.

A doctor David hadn’t seen before breezed into the room and picked up Patrick’s chart. “How are we feeling today, Mr. Brewer?” he said as his eyes scanned over the chart.

“Like I got hit by a truck,” Patrick muttered.

The doctor moved over toward Patrick’s injured side, forcing David to step out of the way. He watched with morbid fascination, unable to avert his eyes, as the doctor examined Patrick’s arm, then his side where presumably his broken ribs were. David caught a glimpse of terribly bruised skin under Patrick’s hospital gown, and he flinched. Pain was evident on Patrick’s face.

“No sign of infection; that’s what we are concerned with most with this kind of injury, so that’s a great sign,” the doctor said. He then checked Patrick’s pupils and asked him a few questions, making some notes before clicking his pen and putting it away. “Did they explain the surgery to you yesterday, Mr. Brewer?”

Patrick nodded. “Sure. That it had to be done quickly to prevent infection.”

“Right. We did what’s called an open reduction and internal fixation in this case. Metal rods were inserted which will allow your bone to fully heal.”

“Metal rods?” David asked, and then worried about how worried he sounded. Business partners shouldn’t sound so worried, he thought.

“How about that, you’ll get to set off the machine every time you fly,” Clint said, trying to lighten the mood.

“It’s routine,” the surgeon said, putting Patrick’s chart back on its hook. “If you continue to show no sign of infection tomorrow and the wound is healing well, we’ll go ahead and put a cast on it so that you’ll be able to move more freely.”

“Am I going to regain full use of my arm? I play baseball and—”

“And guitar,” David interjected, his stomach queasy at the idea that Patrick might never be able to play again.

The surgeon smiled. “Well, you’ll definitely be on the disabled list for the rest of the season, but there’s no reason that with a little bit of rehab you won’t be able to do everything you’re used to doing after a few months.” He gave Patrick a corny thumbs-up gesture. “Okay?”

“Yeah,” Patrick said. “How much longer before I can go home?”

“Well, that’s for the attending physician to decide, but I’d say tomorrow is a distinct possibility.”

“Thank you so much,” Marcy said as the surgeon gave them a wave and rushed out of the room as quickly as he’d rushed in.

David wasn’t sure what to do. There was no reason for him to stay now that he’d delivered Patrick’s belongings, and if he did stay, Patrick’s parents would probably wonder why.

“Is the store closed?” Patrick asked him. He had dark circles under bloodshot eyes, David noticed. He could probably use some more sleep.

“No, Alexis and Stevie are there,” David said.

“That’s your sister, and…” Clint asked.

“And my best friend.”

“Well, it’s very nice of them to help out,” Marcy said.

“Yeah.” David fidgeted with the hem of his sweater. “So I should go…”

“Do you have a hotel booked here in Elmdale?” Patrick asked his father.

“Not yet; we came straight here. I guess we need to find a place before we collapse,” Clint replied.

“Actually, I had an idea,” Marcy said, “if you don’t mind, sweetheart.”

“What?” Patrick asked.

“One thing you’re going to need when you get out of the hospital is food that’s easy to heat up. I was thinking we could stay at your apartment and I could use the kitchen to make you some meals and fill up your freezer before you get home.”

“Mom, you don’t have to do that—”

“Patrick, I want to. There isn’t a lot we can do to help, but I can at least do that.”

Patrick looked at David, and all David could do was shrug. It sounded like a good idea, actually, but he could also think of a few reasons why Patrick wouldn’t necessarily want his parents spending time unsupervised in his apartment.

“I can take them to your place, and… straighten things up.” David said, looking at Patrick pointedly to make sure he understood his meaning.

“Oh, we don’t care how messy it is,” Marcy said. “Don’t trouble yourself.”

“No, that’s a good idea,” Patrick said.

“It’s no trouble,” David added. “It’s on my way back to work. You can follow me in your car.”

“Thanks, David,” Clint said, clapping him on the back.

“Is there anything else we can do for you this morning, sweetheart?” Marcy was still at Patrick’s side, stroking his hair. David felt a stab of jealousy that he couldn’t stroke Patrick’s hair right now. Or kiss him.

“No, I’m good. I’m just going to get some more sleep, I think,” Patrick said.

“I… um… brought the afghan from your apartment.” David gestured toward the duffel. He wanted to spread it over Patrick’s legs, to tuck him in securely, but instead he stood to the side and watched Patrick’s mother doing it. Then he had to settle for a little wave as the three of them left Patrick’s hospital room.

“I’m just going to run to the restroom before we go,” David said, already pulling out his phone before he’d cleared the door to the men’s room.

911, he texted to Stevie. Need you to go to Patrick’s apartment and remove any evidence of our relationship IMMEDIATELY. There’s a spare key in the top drawer of the desk in the back of the store.

Stevie: why?

David: I’m bringing the Brewers over there. We’ll be there in 40 minutes.

Stevie: check. what should i be on the lookout for?

David: Photos, mainly. And there’s a shelf with some of my clothes on it.

He groaned to himself and then added, Make sure we didn’t leave lube out anywhere. Like the bedside table or on the floor next to the bed.

Stevie: gross. if I have to pick up a used condom, you’re going to pay.

David: What kind of animal do you think I am??? Although maybe also empty the trash. Thanks, I owe you.

She didn’t respond to that, but he’d have to assume she’d get the job done.

Stevie dispatched on her errand of subterfuge, he returned to find the Brewers in the lobby. “I’ll be driving an enormous black boat of a car; you can’t miss it,” David said to them as they walked out into the sunshine.

Once they were on the road, David’s attention bounced from the road to his speedometer to his rearview, making sure the Brewers were still behind him. By the time they got to Patrick’s apartment building, he was a tight ball of tension.

He had a text from Stevie waiting for him when he picked his phone up and looked at it. mission accomplished. who needs that many kinds of lube? im mentally scarred and also very curious.

“This seems like a nice neighborhood,” Marcy said, looking around.

David thought about the recycling bin he’d seen a couple of times outside the building that was full to overflowing with liquor bottles, and about the couple downstairs who had screaming fights on Saturday nights, but didn’t think either of those were anecdotes he should tell, particularly because they would indicate how much time David had spent in Patrick’s apartment already. Instead he just agreed noncommittally as he led them up the stairs.

It was only as he stuck his key in the lock that he realized that having Patrick’s spare key was one thing, but having it on his key ring with his keys to the store and his room key at the motel was quite another. He winced as he opened the door, hoping they hadn’t noticed.

“So this is Patrick’s place,” he said unnecessarily, his eyes straying to the mantel and then to the desk. Stevie had done her job — the photos of him were gone. His eyes raked over the shelving next to the bed and zeroed in on the shelf where he’d had a couple of sweaters and a pair of jeans. It was empty.

“It’s not very big, is it?” Clint laughed. “But Patrick never has been someone who kept a lot of things.”

David wanted to agree vehemently — the only reason the apartment didn’t look much more spartan was David’s influence — but he bit the inside of his cheek and nodded. “So here’s the key,” he said, unclipping it from his keyring and handing it over. So much for not drawing attention to his key ring, he thought. “There’s a grocery store, Brebner’s, that’s not far away. And you can get fresh produce at our store,” he added, which made Marcy’s eyes light up. “I should change the sheets for you,” he said, turning to the bed.

“We can do that, David. You don’t have to trouble yourself.”

“Nope! It’s no trouble,” he said, and he knew he sounded manic, but there was no way on God’s green Earth he was going to let Patrick’s mother touch the sheets that were currently on Patrick’s bed. “I help my friend Stevie change sheets at the motel sometimes,” he said as he quickly stripped the bed. “I’m very good at it.”

“Oh, Patrick mentioned the open mic nights,” Clint said, pointing at the framed poster on the wall. “Did you know he used to play at an open mic night in high school?”

David finished stuffing the dirty sheets into the hamper and grabbed a clean set from the shelf. “Mm hmm, he mentioned that.”

“I’m glad he’s picked it back up. I think he’d stopped playing guitar for a while before things ended with—” Marcy stopped herself, like it just occurred to her that she maybe shouldn’t be gossiping about her son’s past love life with his business partner.

“Rachel?” David supplied as he stretched the fitted sheet out over the mattress. Marcy came over and grabbed the other side, looking relieved.

“I wasn’t sure if you knew about that,” she said, putting her corners of the sheet on as David did the same on the other side.

He nodded, remembering the worst week of the last year (until this one). “I do.” Then felt like he needed to explain knowing it. “All those hours of working together, you end up telling each other things.” Although not, apparently, that he isn’t out to his parents, David’s brain supplied.

“Thanks for all your help today, David,” Clint said. “We really do appreciate it.”

David stifled a wince and nodded, trying to approximate a smile.

~*~

“Marcy, you don’t have to start cooking right this minute,” Clint said once they had the groceries unpacked. “You’ve barely slept in the last 36 hours.”

“I want to at least get a lasagna put together,” she said, organizing the ingredients for her meat sauce on the counter and then opening cabinets, looking for an appropriate saute pan.

“Well,” Clint said with a sigh, “give me the garlic and onion and I’ll prep them for you.”

Marcy fiddled with the knobs on Patrick’s stove until she had the correct burner heating up. “His store certainly was beautiful,” she said, thinking back to their brief visit that afternoon. “I never imagined that Patrick could put something like that together.”

“Well, he did tell us that he mainly handled the financial side of things, so I suppose the look of the place is down to David.”

“I guess that’s true.” She unwrapped the package of ground beef, worrying her lip between her teeth.

“He’s going to be okay, honey,” Clint said. “Don’t worry.”

She laughed. “Don’t tell a mother not to worry, Clint Brewer.”

She put the ground beef into the hot pan and began breaking it up with a spatula.

“I’ll tell you another thing,” Clint said. “I think David might have a crush on our son.”

Marcy frowned at him. “You know, it’s not okay to assume someone is gay just because they’re… you know. Effeminate.”

“It’s not that.” Off his wife’s skeptical look, he conceded, “Okay, it’s not just that. It’s the way he looks at Patrick. You didn’t see the way David looked at our son?”

Marcy blinked, trying to remember. She’d been so focused on Patrick, she’d barely looked at David while they were in the hospital room with him. “I guess I didn’t.”

“Well, I think there are some unrequited feelings there,” Clint said.

She mulled that over while she continued to put her meat sauce together. It wouldn’t be good for their business relationship if what Clint said was true. She wondered if Patrick knew, and if so if it made their relationship awkward. David seemed like a respectful person; surely he wouldn’t do anything to make Patrick uncomfortable at work.

Marcy was still worrying about it when she was brushing her teeth in the bathroom that night, beyond exhausted and ready to collapse into bed. She wasn’t sure what impulse made her reach out and open Patrick’s medicine cabinet.

“Hasn’t Patrick been saying he wasn’t seeing anyone?” she asked Clint as she got into bed next to him.

He was already half-asleep. “Yeah.”

“Well, he’s got a mostly empty box of condoms in his medicine cabinet,” she said.

“Marcy, you shouldn’t snoop.”

“I didn’t mean to!”

“You didn’t mean to open his medicine cabinet?” he yawned.

“It’s a big box.”

“Marcy.”

“Okay, sorry.” She curled up on her side.

“Maybe he hasn’t had any relationships serious enough to tell us about,” Clint reasoned.

She didn’t want to have to think about her son that way, having casual, meaningless sex instead of a real relationship. That wasn’t what she wanted for him. It was why she’d encouraged him to patch things up with Rachel in the past. And while she now believed Patrick when he said things were really over between them, she still hoped he would find someone else who would love him the way he deserved to be loved. All night as she slept, her hopes and worries for her son monopolized her dreams.

Chapter 3

[emybain]

After the Battle

hey @rubys-finger-cymbals im your secret santa for the gift exchange!!! ive never written an osby/tuckva-centered fic before so I hope I did okay with this one:) I had so much fun delving into ruby’s mind, and hopefully this wont be the last time I write these two beans! I hope you have a merry Christmas if you celebrate it, and if not, I hope you have a wonderful day!!

THIS FIC CONTAINS SPOILERS FOR SUPERNOVA!!! 

    It seemed like an eternity had passed in the amount of time Ruby spent searching for her friends. If it weren’t for Max, she wouldn’t have been there in the first place. He convinced her to sneak him out of her home, as her mom put the two of them on house arrest, and take him to the scene of the battle. For someone so young, he was a pretty persuasive kid when he needed to be. Now, after witnessing the near destruction of Gatlon and it’s unexpected reconstruction, she knew bringing Max was the right thing to do. However, she had dozens of questions in her head about what the heck just happened. Gatlon was saved, Ace Anarchy was finally killed, and silence...silence, and then out of nowhere, a powerful energy sweeping out from the cathedral and over Gatlon, bringing with it a beautiful light. At first, she was frozen in awe, until she felt familiar aches from her arm, chest, and stomach where she had been stabbed all those years ago. After being neutralized at the arena, her mom patched up her wounds, which had grown more painful than when she was a prodigy. Peeking underneath the bandages confirmed her giddy, although confused, suspicions. The murmurs and gasps and screams of joy further confirmed that she wasn’t just hallucinating; those who had been neutralized were prodigies again. 

    Ruby shoved through the mass of people gathered at the cathedral, only barely paying recognition to the gathering media stations and helicopters to the battle scene. There were three people on her mind, one more than the others perhaps. Her heart began to sink, tears springing to her eyes, at a possibility that she refused to be true. But then her eyes laid on Captain Chromium and the Dread Warden, embracing tightly. Nearby stood four figures, three of them that Ruby knew. A grin broke out on her face as she ran towards them, calling out their names. 

    Oscar was the first to turn, eyes widening at the sight of her. That dopey, relaxed grin that Ruby adored played at his lips. She all but hurled herself into his arms, burying her face into his neck. She felt his hold on her tighten, tugging her closer to him. Pulling back just slightly to look at him, she could tell he was exhausted but elated to see her. The tension in her shoulders relaxed upon seeing that other than a few scratches here and there, he was mostly unharmed. 

    “I was getting worried when I couldn’t find you,” she murmured, bringing her hand to rest on his cheek. “You’re a big, dumb, stupid idiot for doing that to me.”

    Oscar leaned into her touch. “Didn’t I promise I’d come back to you? We still haven’t gone on a first date, after all, and me dying would’ve been a bit awkward for timing.”

    Ruby rolled her eyes, and was pulling him in for a kiss when a throat cleared. She opened her eyes and glanced over Oscar’s shoulder at Danna.

    “We’re alive too, by the way,” she teased, gesturing to Adrian and herself. Ruby broke out into another smile and planted a kiss on Oscar’s cheek before her racing heart could decide for her otherwise. 

    She parted from him and hugged her other two friends, gripping them tightly. The fourth person she had seen earlier stood awkwardly off to the side behind Adrian, and Ruby gasped when she recognized who it was. But...why was Nova dressed like...like…

    “Nova’s Nightmare?” She frowned up at Adrian, then Danna, then Oscar. Clearly, she had missed a lot more than she had originally thought. “But...but what about Cronin’s granddaughter?”

    “It was a cover up to get me out of prison,” Nova explained, taking a hesitant step forward. Ruby stepped back, mouth agape. If Nova was an Anarchist, then why was she still alive? And here with Ruby’s friends? “Ruby, I-”

    “You betrayed us,” Ruby snapped, causing Nova to flinch. “You manipulated us and tricked us and...and-and…” her mouth struggled to find the right words, her body suddenly filled with anger, “you neutralized innocent people! Among dozens of other things,” she added. 

    “She’s on our side again, Ruby.” Adrian reached for Nova, who tentatively allowed him to pull her beside him. Ruby’s frown deepened at the protective way his hand rested on her arm. “Listen, it’s been a long night, and we’re all tired. We’ll explain more tomorrow, okay?”

    Ruby shook her head firmly. “No. I don’t trust her, not after everything she’s done to us, to Gatlon. And I frankly don’t understand why any of you would trust her, either.”

    Oscar wrapped an arm around hers. “She helped us kill her uncle, Ruby, as well as other Anarchists. I didn’t want to trust her at first, either, but I think she’s genuinely sorry for everything.”

    Nova coughed into her arm. “Right here, you know.” Her gaze shifted to Ruby, and her eyes softened, almost making Ruby’s frown lighten up. “I don’t blame you for not trusting me, Ruby, and I understand if you never want to speak to me again.” She glanced over the others quickly. “That goes for the rest of you. I’ve been blinded for most of my life, and because of that, I’ve been following the wrong cause.” She shook her head. “I thought I was doing the right thing, but it turns out I was just lied to my entire life and-” her voice broke, and she dropped her head to the ground, releasing a slow sigh. She raised it back up again, and at the sight of unshed tears in her eyes, Ruby’s frown disappeared this time. “I’m sorry, really. If I could turn back time and fix all my mistakes, starting ten years ago, I would.”

    Although she didn’t want to forgive Nova just yet, Ruby nodded.  Her apology would do for now, and in all honesty, Ruby had a feeling there was more to the story that she hadn’t heard yet. Deep down, even when she had previously believed Nova to be an Anarchist when the other girl was arrested, Ruby knew that she had a good heart. Too many instances had occurred where Nova had proven that, and Ruby couldn’t forget about them. There were still questions dancing at the tip of her tongue, but judging from the worn state of her friends, they would have to come later. 

_______

    Adrian and Nova had left to check on Max, who, according to Adrian, was more spent than the rest of them but resting. Danna had also left to speak with some other Renegades, leaving Ruby alone with Oscar. 

    They sat in front of the cathedral in the dirt, joined at the hip. She leaned against him, playing with his fingers that rested in her hand. They didn’t speak for a while, just letting everything sink in and settle before saying anything. Ruby didn’t want to talk about the fighting or the events of the night, not yet anyway. Not until her questions were ready to be answered. Oscar, apparently, didn’t either. 

    “I had a plan, you know,” he spoke up, turning his head slightly to look down at Ruby. 

    Ruby hummed, lacing their fingers together and letting their joined hands fall into her lap. “What do you mean?”

    “To ask you out.” A small blush formed on his cheeks; Ruby would’ve teased him about it had she not felt her own heat up. “Called it Operation Crown Jewels.”

    Ruby scrunched her nose in disgust. “Ew, seriously? What the hell, Oscar?”

    He threw his free hand up in exaggeration. “Because, you know, your gift and your name and all. Crown Jewels.”   

    Okay, she had to admit that the thought was sweet. She gave his hand a gentle squeeze, heart thrumming at the way his thumb traced a pattern over the back of her hand in response. “And what was this plan?”

    Oscar dropped his eyes to the ground briefly before returning them to Ruby, his expression sheepish. “Well, it was many things, really. Poems, speeches, grand declarations of love…” he trailed off, shaking his head. “But nothing was ever good enough. It had to be perfect.”

    Ruby snuggled closer to him, reaching her free hand up to push back one of his curls. She thought back to the arena and how he fiercely defended her after she lost her gift. And their kiss…

    “It was perfect, planned or not.” A teasing smile appeared on her lips. “Although, I wish you would’ve made a move sooner, dummy.”

    “Hey!” Oscar nudged her shoulder playfully, causing a laugh to escape her mouth. She pushed him back, their hands separating from one another. But the chill that went through her body at the loss of his warmth was brief, for he wrapped her up into his arms once more. This time, though, she was practically in his lap, his arms draped loosely around her waist; she had to twist her whole body toward him to be comfortable. Their laughs slowly disintegrated, their smiles falling shortly behind. 

    Oscar placed a hand under her ear, fingers curling around the hair at the nape of her neck. Ruby’s heart pounded in her chest. In her mind, she chided herself on this sudden burst of nerves. It was just Oscar. Her friend. Her best friend. 

    “I’ve had a crush on you since I first saw you at the trials.” Ruby’s lips parted a little at that; while she had been crushing on him as well, it hadn’t been as long as that. Her crush had only surfaced about a year and a half ago, confusing and terrifying and wonderful and painful all at once. “And since then, I’ve been a sucker for girls with white and black hair. Oh, and also the color red.”

    Ruby blushed furiously, wanting to look away in embarrassment but forcing herself to keep her focus trained on his eyes. “Oscar, I-”

    “You’re the most amazing girl I know, Ruby,” he interrupted softly. “You’re also the girl of my dreams, which is why I’ve been terrified to do this.”

    Ruby scrunched up her nose when he didn’t continue. “Terrified to do what?”

    Oscar inhaled slowly, then exhaled. His gaze shifted to the ground, then back up to her. “Ruby Tucker, will you be my girlfriend?”

    The world around her shrunk to just her and Oscar. No longer were they resting on a battlefield, surrounded by Renegades and the media. It was just the two of them and the overflow of happiness expanding in Ruby’s chest. She beamed at Oscar, laughing wildly before leaning forward and smushing her lips against his. 

    He hummed in surprise, but quickly reciprocated the kiss with enthusiasm. Her hands were just starting to wound their way around his neck, her fingers itching to dig themselves into his crazy curls, when he pulled back suddenly. Her lips, not expecting that, chased after his. 

    “Wait wait wait.” He held up a hand between them, a goofy sparkle in his eyes. “Is that a yes.”

    Ruby groaned loudly, fingers wrapping around strands of hair as she pulled him back to her. She had waited a year and a half for this, and didn’t want to waste a single moment. “If I say yes will you go back to kissing me?” While she was fully teasing him, like he had teased her, her answer wasn’t completely a joke. 

    His hand dropped to her waist. “Mhm.”

    “Then yes.” She peppered light kisses around his face, from his nose to his cheeks to his eyebrows, then to his lips. “A thousand times yes, Oscar Silva.”

    When they kissed again, Ruby shivered. Very quickly, the kiss deepened, possibly more than it should considering they were in public and surrounded by dozens of people. But Ruby didn’t care, not one bit.

    The only thing she cared about at the moment was right there in front of her.

[lia-jones]

Growing Stronger - Chapter Thirteen - The Fling and the Almighty

I sat silently by his side, holding his hand, the only audible thing in the room was the buzz of one of the lamps and the beep of the heart monitor. It had been 24 hours since I had arrived at the hospital, and I never left since. Victor still slept, large amounts of morphine coursing through his veins.

The doctor had come and talked about Victor’s condition, almost like an accountant declares loss of income to the IRS: Three cracked ribs on his left side, a distal humerus fracture in his left arm, a penetrating trauma wound in his left thigh that caused major bleeding and required surgery, and several bruises also on his left side, the side of impact, that covered his body with angry red and pink hues. His pale face was also bruised and swollen on his left side, so much that he couldn’t open his eye. And all things considered, as doctors and the officers at the scene put it, he was lucky to be alive and not destined to a wheelchair. Most victims of T-bone crashes don’t live to tell the story, and if they do, their existence is bound to be pure misery. Victor had the promise of recovery, but also the promise of intense pain, hence the need to keep him heavily dosed with opiates.

The nurses would let him “come out for air”, as they put it, every 8 hours. They would delay the next dose of morphine, and let him open his eyes for a minute or two. He would wake up disoriented, a desperate look on his face, and I would do the only thing I could do: hold his hand and talk to him. Victor didn’t seem to be able to focus on me, his mind still foggy from the drugs, but he would hold my hand tight, craving the comfort of my touch. That’s when I decided that, even if I was completely useless in his recovery, I could take that role. I could be his comfort, his support, his lifeline. So I would hold his hand at all times, to let him know that he wasn’t alone, that someone was there for him. He would never be scared.

I couldn’t help but wonder how big dramas can suddenly look so small under a new perspective. A couple of days ago, my heart was aching over the possibility of a reconciliation, or the lack of it. My mind was entertained with thoughts of sorrow, longing, pride, self-preservation. My heart was jumping with joy and, at the same time, fear with Victor’s confident words in that elevator. I was eager to feel the joy of reconnection and scared that it would fail miserably again. However, seeing Victor in that hospital bed, his bare chest covered with electrodes, an array of tubes sticking out of his arms, made all those hopes and fears pointless. I had only one thing in my mind: I wanted him alive and well, back to his old self. With me, without me, it didn’t matter. I just wanted to see him again, dressed in a charcoal suit, walking tall, proud, and most importantly, safe. I didn’t care if I could only watch him from afar, or on the cover of a magazine, as long as I could see it. My phone rang, distracting me from my introspection. It was Goldman.

“How is he?” Goldman sounded tired. I shouldn’t have called him during his honeymoon, but LFG was minus its CEO and faithful assistant, and I didn’t know quite well how to proceed.

“The same.” I studied Victor’s relaxed expression, his long dark lashes, and dark circles standing out in his pale complexion. “Still sleeping.”

“Our flight is in two hours. We’ll be in Loveland by tomorrow morning. You shouldn’t be alone in there.”

“I told you, you don’t need to come. You gave me all the details, I have it covered. At least until he wakes up.” It pained me that Diane and Goldman’s honeymoon was interrupted like that.

“Andrea, we can’t possibly enjoy ourselves knowing our friends are going through this. Besides, I bet you haven’t left his room since you got there. Have you slept at all? Have you eaten?”

Negative for both accounts. But I wasn’t going to tell him that.

“Don’t worry, I’m taking care of myself. I’m fine.”

I felt the grip in my hand tighten, and Victor stirred a little.

“I think he’s waking up. I need to go.”

I forgot the phone on my lap, Victor being my only point of focus. His breath changed, quickening just a bit, as he opened his eyes slightly and tried to take in his surroundings.

“Victor.” I called, squeezing his hand. “I’m here. It’s okay.”

His eyes slowly turned to me, and it took him a while to focus his gaze on my face.

“Andy…” His voice sounded weak and vulnerable. I felt my eyes water. Stop it, Andrea. Be strong for him.

“Are you in pain?” I studied his expression. Victor shook his head softly.

“Am I…” He tried to talk again. “I can’t feel my body.”

“It’s the morphine.” I hurried to answer, as I softly brushed his bangs. He closed his eyes and leaned against my hand, welcoming the touch. “It takes away the pain, but it also makes you feel numb. Are you thirsty? Do you want some water?”

After his brief nod, I filled a plastic cup with water, and with the help of a straw, I offered him to drink. He took it eagerly, almost emptying the cup. The nurse arrived shortly after with the next dose of morphine. Silently, she injected it in Victor’s IV. His eyes glazed over almost instantly.

“Try to sleep, okay? Get some rest.”

“Stay.” He sounded like a little boy, his voice soft and pleading, making my heart pang. I have never seen Victor so vulnerable before.

“I’m not going anywhere.” I assured him, holding his hand tighter. I watched as the drug took hold of him, his eyelids fluttering closed, his breath becoming deep and steady again.

Victor woke up again shortly that night, and I held his hand, offering as much comfort as I could. I must have dozed off after, because I woke up with my head leaning on the comforter on his bed, alerted by a loud commotion outside.

I heard a distinctive male voice almost yelling outside the room. It was Victor’s father. I wondered for a moment who called him, since Goldman told me he had specific orders from Victor not to call his family in case of an accident, except if it resulted in his death. The door of the room opened suddenly, and Gregory entered the room, followed by a lady in her 50s. I got up from my seat, ready to defend myself.

“What are you doing here?” He asked me, clearly offended by my presence.

“Victor!” The lady approached him, holding his hand. “What happened to you?” Victor slept away, unaware of what was happening around him.

“I asked you a question!” Gregory’s eyes were still on me, burning a hole through my skull.

“The hospital called me.” I answered calmly, trying to lower the tone of the conversation. “I’m Victor’s emergency contact.”

“You are Andrea, of course!” The lady turned to me. “I saw your picture in those tabloids. My name is Therese, I’m Victor’s younger aunt. You can call me Terry.”

“The hospital called you? A stranger? And I, his father, have to know my son is injured through the newspaper?” Gregory raised his voice a little higher, making Victor stir slightly.

“Greg, stop! You’ll wake him up!” Terry pleaded.

“Shut up, Theresa! I gave him everything he ever needed.” Greg bitterly stated. “The best schools, a good lifestyle, the best of everything. And how does this ungrateful child repay me? By shutting me out! By relying on strangers instead of his father!” He turned me to, hatred in his eyes. “I want you out of here.”

I didn’t move.

“My son should be with his family, not one of his flings. Either you leave, or I’ll make you leave.”

Seeing that, once again, I hadn’t budged, he took me by the arm and led me outside of the room. I turned to him to speak.

“You probably won’t see it that way, but I will be your best friend right now.” I said, done with being silent. This had gone too far. Victor deserved better. I would probably be forcibly dragged out of the hospital by security, but he was going to listen to me.

“You want to know why he didn’t call you? Do you want to know why he never calls you? Because you are a shitty father.” Gregory motioned to retort, but I wouldn’t let him. “I’m not done yet! Your only son is on that bed, mangled, bruised, knocked out with drugs because the pain is so unbearable that it would be torture to allow him to fully awaken and you are worried about the fact that the hospital called me instead of you?! Victor almost died! You almost lost your son to a stupid car accident! Why aren’t you holding his hand? Why aren’t you doing what a father is supposed to do, talking to the doctors, worrying, making sure he is comfortable, safe, and loved? Why are you here instead? Blinded by your ego because you didn’t get a phone call?!?”

Victor’s father was pale but unresponsive. Maybe if I read him the take-out menu I would get a better reaction. The man could be incredibly stoic. But I already knew that move. I learned it from Victor, who had clearly learned it from him. His lack of reaction was to show how strong he was, how impervious he was to my words. Fat chance, grandpa. I wasn’t finished.

“You know, I have had some insanely painful things happen to me. They were all over the tabloids, so I trust you read all about it. And God knows how much I blamed myself for letting that poor excuse of a man enter my life, but do you think my parents ever said the slightest thing to blame me? Do you think they told me they were disappointed, that I was a disgrace to the family, which I thought I was, actually? No, never, not once. They opened their arms and they loved me, they helped me to heal from the consequences of my mistake, they supported me. Because they are good parents, and that’s what good parents do. Victor started dating me, our lives got exposed in the media without us doing anything to deserve it, and you have the audacity to storm in his company, act like you own the place, humiliate him, and throw the mom card at him? How dare you? That crushed him! He was destroyed! Is that what a father does to his son? Is that how you teach him, how you support him, by leaving his heart in the same state his body is in now? So crushed it hurts to feel?”

By the time I was done, I was panting, tears in my eyes. I couldn’t possibly describe the hate I felt towards that man. But he was Victor’s father, and right now he had all the power, so all I could do was to at least try to ensure that Victor wouldn’t get more hurt than he already was. Try, even if forcefully, to make Gregory see things differently. Try to make him see what he was doing to his son.

The stoic stance was gone. There was rage in Gregory’s face, tears in his eyes. I didn’t know if he felt sorry for what he had been doing to his son, or if it was just anger showing. He spoke to me through gritted teeth, his voice raspy with emotion.

“Show your face here again and I will make sure your life is nothing but misery.”

I knew the threat was real. I was well aware of the extent of the power Gregory Lee held in his hands. But I was unafraid. Fear magically disappears when you are fighting for what is right.

“Do well by your son.” I warned him. “Give him the father he deserves. Because if you don’t, your life will be even more miserable than mine. I can die a disgraced woman, but I will have people that love me by my side. Maybe you won’t be able to say the same.”

“Stop, both of you.” Victor’s aunt called from the door of the room. “As much as it may pain you, Andrea is here because Victor wanted her to. It’s his choice and we must respect it.” She then turned to me. “Andrea, go inside. Go be with Victor.”

I didn’t need to be told twice. I promised I wouldn’t leave Victor alone. I walked in and resumed my vigil from my seat, holding Victor’s hand, my heart pounding hard in my chest. I had teased the lion. Now all I had to do was wait for the attack. A few moments after, Terry entered the room, alone, sitting next to me.

“I do not care for the way you talked to my brother just now.” I suddenly felt shame for being so harsh and was about to apologize, when she spoke again. “That being said, thank you for standing up for Victor. No one ever has. God knows I tried.”

“I’m not Victor’s girlfriend anymore.” I confessed. Terry seemed so nice, and it felt wrong to lie to her. “We broke up a couple of months ago. He just forgot to take my name off his emergency contacts, and when they called me… I couldn’t leave him alone.”

“It’s Victor. He’s not the kind to forget about things. If he wanted you out of his life, you wouldn’t be here.” Terry gave me a wide smile. “Now tell me, how hurt is he?”

I quickly filled her in on Victor’s condition, and what had happened since I arrived. She looked at me with wide eyes.

“You’ve been here the whole time? You never went home?”

I nodded. She shook her head in disapproval.

“Well, we simply can’t have that. Andrea, you need to go home, take a shower, have a proper meal, and sleep.”

“Please don’t tell me to leave.” I pleaded with her. My heart tightened at the thought of not being able to see him.

“I wouldn’t dare.” Terry held my hand, smiling. “I’m just telling you to take a break. Can you imagine how upset he will be when he wakes up and sees you spent like that? He will have both our heads!” Her exaggeration made us both laugh. “You go, take care of yourself, and come back refreshed. When you come, I’ll go home and do the same. We’ll take turns, so he will never be alone.”

I hesitated. He asked me to stay. How could I leave?

“Andrea, he will need you. He will need you strong and healthy, to support him. If he sees you are weakened, he will worry.”

I wondered how she could just assume those things. Obviously, she knew him better than I did.

“Thank you. Here’s my number.” I said, taking one of my business cards from my purse, handing it to her.

“I will text you so you’ll get my number too. And I promise I’ll call if I have news. Now go.”

I held Victor’s hand one last time.

“I’ll come back. I promise.”

[pocketfulofrogers]

Icarus Was Human Too Part 2

Pairing: Kelly Severide x Reader

Summary: Nicknames are a given in firehouses. Three months into your new post as a paramedic on 61, you don’t have one and Otis thinks this is a flat-out travesty. You? You have an incredible save rate you prefer to keep quiet, but does it really matter in the end?

Warnings: Character death? You’ll have to read to find out his fate!

Notes: Ask and ye shall receive. Thanks for all the love on part one, it’s making easing back into writing so much easier. There might be a part 3?

Part 1

First responders tend to carry their guilt wrapped in phrases like “what if”. Drown themselves in it like cheap whiskey and let the burn soften the sharp edges of the unknown.

You were no different.

You relive that day constantly, nitpick every decision you made, every move of your hands. Had you truly been his best option? You don’t treat loved ones for a reason, what if you had stepped aside? 

You curse yourself for having secretly simmered under their praises. Chicago’s Angel. Had you let it get to your head?

Did you take your wings of wax and fly them too high?

You talk yourself into a circle every day, replay it so many times your recall becomes fuzzy. You beg Casey to go over it with you again, and again, and again. The last time you asked Sylvie, her eyes had welled up. You don’t ask her anymore.

Miracle girl, where has your magic gone?

When Dr. Rhodes had cracked Kelly’s chest open right in front of you, you could’ve sworn you broke the tiled floors with your knees by the sickening crack you heard. It had echoed in your head and split your heart right in two. Joe picked you up, April asked if you wanted to be sedated. You ignored them, twisted your way out of their grasp to place a hand on the glass.

“Come back to me, please. Come back, baby, please.” Your voice was wrecked- throat raw and chest tight.

There’s a faint beep, then another. 

It wasn’t a normal rhythm by any means, but his heart was beating again. For you, that was enough. Dr. Rhodes looked to you, eyes weighted with something you couldn’t distinguish and ice flooded your veins. He came out, removed his mask and took your hand.

“We’ve bought you time.” He said softly.

You furrowed your brows in confusion. “What do you mean?

“Time to say goodbye.”

Your hand was stinging before you had even realized you’d slapped him. He held his face, eyes wide, but waved off security when they approached.

“No.” You said simply.

He lets you call him Connor after that.

He ends up placing Kelly in a medically induced coma and you cash in all of your furlough.

The Chief recommends that someone be with you. You tell him you don’t need a babysitter, you’re definitely fine. He points out the bags under your eyes, the sunken hollowness of your cheeks.

You still insist you’re okay.

Someone from 51 is with you at all times.

**

Fluorescent lights, garish walls, and antiseptic air weighing your lungs, the days blur together and you refuse to leave his side. The hospital staff stops trying to argue with you after about the third time you sneak back in. They tell you, “go home”, you tell them, “my home is in there”. 

April and Maggie special deliver you a cot, but you mostly prefer the chair by his bedside. Head on his thigh, arm draped protectively across him. 

Nightmares still haunt you every night, each one different than the last but somehow, they still ended the same: your hands covered in blood, your fingers sticking together.

Herrmann wakes you from today’s dream and hands you a glass of water.

“What was is this time?” He asks above you

You try to distract yourself by smoothing out Kelly’s blankets and untangling his IV line. “Pregnant woman, car accident.” You whisper.

He nods in response and places a comforting hand on your shoulder. There’s a gasp from Kelly before he begins convulsing, limbs flailing, head jerking. His heart-rate skyrockets and then there’s nothing. You watch the flat-line in horror, frozen where you stand. You think Connor pushes you back into Herrmann, but you can’t feel anything.

The scene unfolds before you like a movie as your mind distances you from it as best it can, tries to desensitize you just so you’ll survive the horrid ending. Compressions and needles, imaging, yelling. It feels so far away.

Connor looks back at you, and you know that look. You’ve seen it in the mirror every day.

Failure.

You swear you die right there.

**

The perfume of the pearlescent lilies makes your nose itch and you grasp onto the feeling, it’s the first thing you’ve felt in weeks. There’s a hand on your shoulder, but you can’t hear what its owner says. You don’t particularly care if you’re being honest.

You feel nauseous at the sea of black surrounding you, it’s bordering on being far too real. You already felt like you were falling into a void, drowning in all the nothingness that seemed to have invaded your life. You’re not quite sure when you’ll be able to laugh again, when colors will no longer be this dull.

You can’t bring yourself to look at his body.

A woman you don’t know tells you you’ll regret it and you want to laugh. Doesn’t she know you already have so many? What’s one more?

You’re told the ceremony is beautiful, you honestly can’t remember most of it. Benny has his arm wrapped around yours and you’re quite certain it’s the only reason you’re still standing. Sylvie tells you she misses her partner; you smile and repeat the sentiment. Boden tells you not to rush coming back. You haven’t decided if you ever will.

You must black out for a bit, because the next thing you see is the bright sun through squinted eyes. How dare it shine so bright when this world should be mourning the loss of its brightest light, of its golden hearted man.

There’s blood on your fingers, you must have pricked yourself on the rose you laid out. You wipe it on your dress.

There’s more speeches, analogies, and awful poetry. They hand you the folded flag and you place it in your lap. It sits there for a moment and suddenly it’s the heaviest thing you’ve ever felt. It crushes your legs and burns hot on your fingers- scorches the exposed skin of your thighs. You could swear your skin is bubbling.

Your breathing picks up.

When they start to lower the casket, that’s when you break.

You’re not supposed to be here; this is not supposed to be happening.

There are eyes on you and you’re hyperventilating. Your body feels scorching hot, flames licking your skin. Thick black smoke, your chest is tight, and you swear your throat is closing. Casey wraps an iron clad grip around your waist when you try to throw yourself into the hole.

Miracle girl, where has your love gone?

You beg with tearful sobs, claw uselessly at clothed arms. Your throat is raw and vision blurry. Something thick and slick coats your hands. When you catch sight of the red pouring from you, it’s your scream that awakens you.

You shoot up, a mess of wild hair and sweat dabbled skin. There’s salt on your lips, tear stains on your pillow, and your hand aches from gripping the sheets in your fist so tightly. You look over and the empty side of the bed stares daggers at you. You collapse into his pillow and let your sobs wreck your body.

Miracle girl, this world has broken you.

There’s a sound of footsteps pounding up the stairs and your door is flung open. The bed dips beside you and hands start to glide over your body. Frantic. There’s whispers you can barely make out, soothing words to stop your cries, but you bury yourself further.

Kelly brushes your hair back and messages his fingers into your back.

He tries to hush you. “What is it? What happened? Y/N, baby, talk to me.” You simply bury your head in his lap and he holds you close. 

He’s fairly certain he knows exactly what dream you had, it happens less than it used to, but you still have it sometimes. He thinks it might have something to do with the knowledge that you both have to return to work soon. He chooses to cover his basses anyways, assuring you that that he is fine, you are fine, everyone is fine.

When your tears have slowed, he moves you to the side, lays down, and pulls you too him.

“Talk to me.” You croak out.

“About what?”

“Anything.”

He complies. He starts with the weather report he heard that morning, recounts the Blackhawks game from the night before almost play by play, and drones on about a boat he’s fixing. You listen, try not to make a sound. You don’t want to miss a single word, not a single chuckle.

You trail your fingers along his bare chest. Run your fingertips between the divots of his abdomen, revel in his laugh when it tickles. You move your way up to the thick pink scar in the center of his chest and trace its edges. You quietly remark it’s healing pretty well.

He laughs. “Because you were directly involved. I find bandage changes pretty annoying.”

You look up at him and raise a brow. “Lowering your chances for infection and your healing time is annoying?”

“What can I say, I live dangerously.” He says with a smirk.

You laugh, a loud sound that bursts from your lips like stardust and he swears he could listen to it for the rest of his life. He’ll tell you one day that he plans to.

He smiles, bright and wide. “There’s my girl.”

You lay your head back on his chest, burrow your cheek right over his heart to listen to it beat. The sure sound that solidifies his existence and tells you with absolute certainty that he is here. He is alive. 

You tuck your hand beneath his side and hug him tight, he places a kiss on the top of your head.

“Can we stay here a little longer?” You ask, eyelids heavy.

“As long as you need.”

Miracle girl with the magic fingers, one day you will recover.

[felltheheavens]

Waiting Room

‘Are you family?’

‘No.’

That was it, that was all they needed to know to relegate me to the waiting room and its cold plastic comforts for the next few hours. Never mind her family was too busy, too addicted, too abusive to turn up. Never mind that I loved her.

I wrung my hands, again. I clicked my knuckles and stretched my fingers and checked my phone – not that there’s much to do on it at gone 3 o’clock in the morning. What a time to drag me to hospital, huh.

The coffee shop was shut, unsurprisingly, so I got myself a glass of water instead. I savoured it, trying to help the time pass, stopping and swallowing between every sip. I picked the polish off my nails. I paced until the tiredness kicked in. I asked if I could see her every chance I could, but she was in no state to be seen. My heart ached every time I pictured her hooked up to an IV, semi-conscious and alone, so I tried not to think about it.

I wrung my hands again, and I got some more water.

I used the sterile, impersonal hospital bathroom. I checked my phone, more out of habit than anything else. Even the other people that might have cared had gone to sleep.

4.07 a.m.

It takes a certain dedication to know how much over-the-counter cold medication will stop your heart. Trust me, I’ve done the research, and it’s not easy. But for a 49kg girl with 4 pharmacies in walking distance, it was doable. Too doable.

I closed my eyes and could hear my blood moving. It sounded like the ocean, like waves crashing into cliffs with lethal force. It sounded like one step wrong and your life is over. It sounded like a reminder that mine wasn’t; not yet, and I didn’t want to know whose life it would remind me of next, so I opened my eyes. The harsh fluorescent lights cast stiff, sharp shadows on the linoleum, and I wondered if I would see pictures in them if I was less tired.

‘Shit time to be waiting in a hospital, huh.’

I hadn’t noticed the man in the corner. From a glance he looked like the type you don’t want to start a conversation with, tall and dark with fingerless gloves and mildly slurred words, slumped into a chair. His hands were jittery, his jacket worn and stained, his slight beard an unkempt mess. But it was gone 4 a.m., so who gives a fuck?

‘Yeah, it is.’

He chuckled, and I looked at him properly. His eyes were so dark I couldn’t see his irises – or maybe he was so high his pupils had engulfed them.

‘You should go home.’

I shook my head. ‘Can’t, need to know whether my friend is okay.’

‘And you don’t think that answer will be there after a few hours’ sleep?’

He made such a good point I didn’t know how to respond.

‘Why are you here?’

‘Don’t have anywhere else to be.’ He shrugged. I didn’t want to pry, so I didn’t. ‘You know how many people die per day?’

I was a little taken aback, but I decided to answer anyway. ‘Um…a lot?’

He smirked slightly and fiddled with the fingers of his gloves, and I got the feeling he was far better acquainted with death than I would ever be.

‘One hundred and fifty thousand a day, on average.’ He took his time tasting each word, enunciating so clearly I suddenly got the impression that he was stone cold sober. ‘One’s probably gone since I started this sentence.’

I didn’t know what to say to that.

I believe in a God, I think, I believe in Life and Death and their eternal balancing act. I know that things are meaningless if they do not end, and life shouldn’t be meaningless. I know that life comes and goes, babies are born and old people die, and this is immutable. I know that no one and nothing is immortal. I know all this, and I know it doesn’t mean a damn thing when someone you love dies, because it still always feels like you are drowning and there is no lifeline.

‘Their poor family.’

‘Maybe their family is happy. Maybe they were a cunt. Or maybe it ended a good person’s suffering, maybe it was a relief, who knows?’

I didn’t respond, but I thought about how there are people that this world would be better off without, and I thought about how my grandmother was treated like an animal at the end, fed through tubes and wearing a nappy, and I thought he might have a point.

‘Sorry I’m not more talkative, but it is gone 4 a.m. and I’ve got my own shit going on. Nothing personal.’ I didn’t know if I was sorry, really, but it seemed the polite thing to say. The silence stretched for a few moments, long enough that I thought I he might have passed out, and I almost found myself disappointed by that idea. Then his head jerked up and his eyes met mine.

‘Do you think she’ll survive?’

I thought about it. I thought about her tiny, frail body and the number of pills she swallowed and how the first time she tried to kill herself she was 9. I think about her crazy fast metabolism and how quickly they got an ambulance and her resilience and how I cannot lose her, not tonight, not like this. I think about everything I know about her and overdosing and life and death, and I say what I have been scared to realise all evening.

‘Yeah, I think so.’ It seemed too good to be true, so I tried to justify it. ‘They would have told me if she’d gone, right? And she’s been here for hours and no one’s come to tell me anything, so she must be heading towards stable, right? Yeah, I think she’ll survive.’ I said ‘think’ but I meant ‘hope and pray’.

‘She will.’

I stared at him, because he didn’t know that. If he had been a sleep-deprived nurse, or a well-intentioned mother, I would have scoffed. But I wanted to believe him, and maybe want was all I needed that night, because I did. I mumbled something vaguely affirmative, but he seemed to hear me. I wanted to believe I wouldn’t lose her because I didn’t know if I believed I would survive if I did. I didn’t know if I could surface after another set of breaking waves, not after my grandparents, and my brother’s best friend, and my godmum’s parents, my grandad’s best friend, my second cousin in America, and that girl from my school with the brain tumour and-

‘She will,’ he repeated.

I had no reason to believe him. He was some stranger who struck up conversation in public; that alone is enough to have made me wary of him and anything he told me. His eyes were flicking around so quickly, his movements so unnatural and jerky, his entire demeanour so unsettling, I really thought he was probably high. But I was tired. I was sleep-deprived, sure, but I didn’t mean that kind of tired; I was tired of my friends hurting and I was tired of this shitty world and I think I might just have been tired enough to trust a stranger for no reason at all.

‘I hope so.’

‘It’s not her time. You both have a lot of life left to live.’

It was a strange reassurance coming from a stranger, but I accepted it. I was glad he thought I looked young. I was, I was barely in my twenties, but I felt world-weary and I had found another grey hair that morning.

I didn’t mean to let myself hope, but before I knew it I was imagining me and her in 10 years or so, I was imagining coming back here to visit her in the maternity ward instead of Accident and Emergency, and I wondered what this man would say to me if he met me then. I liked the idea that we had life left to live. I wanted us to go on to something amazing, something good at least, to keep going and get better and just fucking live. But she always seemed like she was just biding her time before she tried to kill herself again, and I hated the idea that she was waiting for death, and I knew that I couldn’t keep waiting with her.

Suddenly, as if he’d heard his name called, the stranger stood up, his head slightly cocked. I realised then that he must have been over 6 foot. He seemed skinny; his face was gaunt and his knuckles prominent, but he was in baggy trousers and oversized coat so it was hard to tell.

‘You take care now.’ He tipped his head towards me, as if acknowledging some connection between us, and he sauntered off into the bowels of the hospital, walking just wonky enough to seem high again.

I felt relieved; and I wasn’t sure if it was because I had met him, or because he had left. I brushed it off, and I drank some more water, and I checked my phone. I curled my legs beneath me on the hard plastic. At some point, in the bright white room, on that uncomfortable chair, my eyelids drooped. I remembered the stranger’s words, telling me to go home, to get some sleep, and then I don’t remember anything.

~

When I woke up, I was at home, and the sky was a few shades paler than dawn. I guess I must have gotten a taxi, or a bus, must have opened my door in a half-awake daze, and fallen into bed. I’d managed to strip off and tie up my hair, so that was good. I checked my phone.

She was okay.

She was okay, she was incredibly bored and quite tired, and I had 4 other people asking me about her, but she was okay, and that was enough to make me smile. It was strange, I didn’t feel that relieved. Is it relief if you know it’s coming?

I rolled over, pulled the blankets around me and committed myself to a few more hours in bed. I wasn’t quite awake, I was in that middle ground, that state between dreaming and consciousness where nothing is real and everything is possible. I slept, then, fitfully and in bursts. I dreamt of a hooded dark figure stalking the corridors of a hospital, scythe in hand, I dreamt of waking up next to a heart monitor when you weren’t sure you would wake up at all, I dreamt of Life and Death chasing each other through my old school playground, running in circles. I dreamt of the stranger, standing over me in sixty years, speaking oh so clearly as he took my hand and lead my soul from my body, and the overwhelming calm I felt as I left it behind.

I dreamt, and then I fell into oblivion, and I slept so peacefully I could have been mistaken for a corpse. I would wake, a few hours later, to a bright day full of sunshine and opportunity. To a world where no one I loved was in danger, where meetings with strangers were just anecdotes, where 4.07 a.m. a time I was never meant to see. I would wake to a world where things were slightly better than they had been the night before.

But for now, I slept, and I dreamt, and I was at peace.

[nicolewrites]

i apologize for my divinity (it is never enough) - iv

hey hey i guessed correctly in saying this would be too long. with the notes i have, i’m hoping for one more part, but who knows at this point.

Rating: T+ Genre: Angst, Friendship, Family Characters: Byleth/My Unit, Claude R., Dimitri B., the Blue Lions, the Golden Deer Words: 8,019

AO3 | FFN

pt i | pt 2 | pt 3

iv - verdant wind

- ~ -

/ ethereal moon /

She awakens silently this time. No voice calls out to her from inside the deepest parts of her mind and no villager stands above her, concerned for her safety. Byleth is lying with her lower half in the river, soaked through. The Sublime Creator Sword is clutched in her hand. Her grip is loose around its hilt, but the sword is still glowing.

Byleth sits up and her head aches. Her muscles are sore and she's cold. She looks around. The ruins of the village at the foot of the monastery are abandoned and have fallen to ruin. The scenario is vividly familiar, but also different.

Sothis, she calls into her mind. Did you wake me again?

There is no response.

Byleth pushes herself to her feet and leans on the sword to balance herself. She squints up at the sun where it is half-hidden by clouds and frowns. It's mid to late afternoon, if her prediction is correct, but she has no idea when it is. She feels a cold uncertainty creep through her bones.

What happens if she woke too early? Or, worse, if she woke too late?

"Faith," she whispers to herself. "I must have faith that this is the right time."

Despite every aching muscle in her body, she turns towards the looming, half-destroyed monastery above her. She takes a deep breath and soldiers towards it. Her body protests the march with every step and she stumbles more than a few times. Her blade becomes more of a crutch than a weapon as she treks up the path.

The walk is familiar but different. Last time, there had been bodies of bandits lining her path all the way to the top of the Goddess Tower due to Dimitri's rage and carelessness. The paths are clear this time and it makes her uneasy. Perhaps the Golden Deer had other things to worry about than to show up at a place in complete disarray five years after their professor's disappearance.

She ascends the steps slowly this time. Her fingers trace gouges in the stone and she can only hope that she is on time. She memorizes the moment and compares it to the one in her head and she knows that it is the same, but it feels just slightly wrong at the same time.

When she reaches the top, she sees him. He's bathed in sunlight, staring out over the rest of the monastery. He looks different–older and more gathered–but she recognizes this Claude too. This is the Claude who tried to kill Dimitri at Gronder Field. This is the Claude who, when out of options, forfeited the whole Alliance and placed his trust in a former teacher and a formerly-mad prince.

Surprise writes itself across his face as he sees her. Then he smiles and it's the same troublemaker smile she was so familiar with from their time at the academy. The smile drops quickly enough as he walks towards her.

"Hey Teach," he says softly. His eyes are still the same sharp green that she remembers. They track across her face–searching and seeking. "You overslept."

The phrase is a joke, but the fear in her catches on the underlying accusation and she steps back. Her brow furrows and she tightens her posture to something less familiar. Claude seems surprised by her reaction and he steps forward, following her lead.

"My friend, you didn't really think I'd given up on waiting for you, did you?" he asks. "There was something you said to Dimitri and me before we went into that battle. It stuck with me and I couldn't get rid of it. You told us that people would need us and that we would see each other again."

"Claude," Byleth says, shifting her weight.

He studies her again. It's less familiar this time and more assessing. "Where have you been, Teach? It's been five years."

"I've been asleep," she says. The explanation feels flimsy in her mouth and the frustration that paints itself across her former student's face makes her wish she had more answers for him.

"Five years? You can't expect me to believe that. Except," he pauses, brow furrowed. "What you said to us back then. You knew this was going to happen."

It's not a question. It's an observation. Byleth bites her lip and her reaction is all Claude needs to confirm his suspicions. Uncharacteristic surprise takes over his expression and he spins away from her, running his hands through his hair.

"You knew what was going to happen." He says it again like he still can't believe it and Byleth feels guilt prickle at her. "That's why you wanted to know if we would keep our promise and it's why you knew I would be here." He turns back to her and the friendliness in his face is gone. "How did you know I would be here?"

Byleth's knees give out and she collapses. Claude doesn't hesitate as he breaks for her side, gripping her arms and pulling her into a more comfortable sitting position. He still looks uncertain, but seeing her collapse has made him less angry. Perhaps the regret in her eyes also has some part to play.

"Because last time Dimitri was here," Byleth says. "Because last time I went to sleep I awoke and I found him here and five years had past and everything had changed."

"Last time?" Claude echoes, surprised.

She tells him everything. He listens stiffly, but he doesn't move away from her. The admission that he was her second choice doesn't seem to phase him, but she is throwing an awful lot of information at him so maybe there's too much to be phased by. When she's done her cheeks are wet with tears and her breaths are shorter.

"You knew she was the Flame Emperor the whole time. You didn't tell anyone?" he asks.

Byleth nods. "I had hoped that I might change something enough that she didn't find it necessary, but I was wrong."

"That's why you were so shocked by what she said in the Holy Mausoleum; why it was so surprising that it was all in motion before you arrived."

She nods again. "I'm sorry, Claude. I thought about telling you everything back then, but I was sure you would have thought I'd completely lost my mind."

He shakes his head. "No, you were right. I wouldn't have believed you. I barely believed you about Jeralt and the goddess the first time. I'm sorry, Teach."

Byleth smiles sadly. "I know and it's not important right now." She looks him in the eye. "Tell me what has happened."

His expression tightened and that's all it takes for her to know and something inside of her breaks. She turns away and closes her eyes. Hot tears burn and she tries not to cry because it has always been a possibility, but she had hoped desperately that it wouldn't be true.

"Dimitri is dead," Claude says carefully. "The Kingdom fell with Fhirdiad and his death. There's been a bit of chaos in Gautier and Fraldarius territory, but they're leaderless. The Alliance is divided. House Ordelia and House Gloucester are supporting Edelgard while House Goneril, House Daphnel, and House Reigan oppose her."

Byleth looks around the Goddess Tower. The structure has decayed from the polished image of devotion it used to be. "Rhea is missing," Byleth surmises. "The Knights are looking for her, but they're not here at the moment."

Claude nods. "No one has seen her since the battle, just like you."

Byleth pulls away from Claude's touch and pushes herself up to her feet. "We should get down to the village."

Claude stands after her and frowns. "Teach, you've been asleep for five years. Going down there right now would definitely mean getting in a fight we can't win."

Byleth gives Claude a tiny smirk. "Five years, right? I promise I'm still sharp and I promise that we will win that fight."

He narrows his eyes, but Byleth knows he will never back down from a challenge.

- ~ -

Alive, alive, alive,

her mind sings as her Deer arrive. Marianne and Hilda and Raphael and Leonie and Ignatz and Lysithea and even Lorenz. They swing into battle seamlessly and they start to drive the thieves away.

A part of Byleth had known they would be here. Her Deer were loyal to a fault and, as Claude put it, a bunch of sentimental fools. Not one of them would have missed an opportunity to reunite as a class, even if there was no Millennium Festival.

Claude whoops when he sees them arrive. His wyvern–that's new, Byleth notes internally–and Hilda's swoop around each other. Leonie and Lorenz are mounted and maneuver quickly around the ruins. Lorenz even gives Marianne a lift, bringing the healer to Hilda's side when the now-flying noble needs assistance. Ignatz has a sword now, but he still favours his bow. His draw has changed too and his shots are more deadly and precise. Raphael bashes through everything without hardly shaking at the blows he receives. Lysithea calls dark magic and blasts down any armoured thieves.

Byleth wants to celebrate, but then she sees the assassin sneaking through the shadows towards Lysithea. Her voice catches in her throat and there's nothing she can do as the rogue slips forward, sword in hand, to attack. Suddenly, there's a crack and a loud gust of wind. The thief flies back and Lysithea turns in time to see him. Dark spikes spring up at a wave of her hand and then both she and Byleth are looking for her saviour.

Annette stands fifteen feet away, drawing up another wind rune, and she looks exactly like the war-hardened woman Byleth remembers. Byleth's breath catches in her chest. Across the battlefield, the Blue Lions emerge, each of them vicious and unrelenting. Mercedes joins with Marianne to unleash a blinding blast of white magic. Felix cuts down anyone who dares to get too close to Leonie. Ingrid covers Hilda's back in the sky. Sylvain spins his lance to use the extra range to take out a mage that gets too close to Raphael.

Byleth stands dumbly, rooted in place, as her students–current and former–unite to drive back the thieves with vicious efficiency. When it's done, they gather around her and Byleth doesn't know what to say.

Her Golden Deer are warm and there are hugs and squeezed hands and happy smiles. Her Blue Lions look more uncomfortable, but Byleth still can't believe that they are here and alive. She counts them–counts again–and the celebration in her mind ceases instantly.

"Ashe, Dedue, where are they?" she asks, turning to Ingrid.

Ingrid shakes her head. "No one has seen Dedue since Dimitri," she trails off, uncomfortable at the thought of the execution of her childhood friend.

"And Ashe was last seen with the Western Church," Annette answers. She looks tired and sad at the statement. "He went to try to get information on Lonato and none of us have heard from him since."

Byleth takes a deep breath. It makes sense. Last time, Dedue had been presumed dead while rescuing Dimitri so maybe he was just laying low in Duscur if the prince was really dead. To have lost Ashe stings, but she understands. She studies the rest of the Blue Lions.

"What are you all doing here?" she asks finally. The Deer shift behind her, appraising and wondering all the same.

Sylvain answers: "Well, Professor, you said you had hoped to see us all for the Millennium Festival, so I guess we all just took a chance." He gives Ingrid and Felix a meaningful look and Byleth recalls that the trio of them had previously reunited to search for Dimitri. She wonders if they have done the same this time.

"Right, well, we're all here now, so we might as well head back to the monastery," Claude interrupts.

Byleth nods slowly, shaking her head out of a fog of memories. "Yes. We have a lot to discuss."

- ~ -

/ guardian moon /

Three factions unite under a banner bearing the Crest of Flames to protect the monastery. The former Blue Lions fight for the Kingdom they have lost. The Knights of Seiros fight for the church itself and for the missing archbishop. The former Golden Deer fight for the Alliance that has barely not crumbled yet.

Byleth fights because it is what she knows. She cuts down Imperial soldiers until she feels numb. Her Nosferatu burns across Randolph as he falls to the ground, dead. Byleth stands above him, ears ringing and veins burning.

She faintly hears the flap of wings behind her. Hands grab her arms and forcibly turn her away from the dead enemy commander. Byleth finds herself staring into Claude's face. The Alliance leader looks concerned and Byleth's trance breaks. She shakes her head and the ringing in her ears vanishes.

"Teach?" Claude asks.

Byleth nods to him, forcing a smile. "I'm good. Let's get back to the monastery."

She walks away and her mind recalls something Sothis had said to her before she went to sleep:

"Why are you still lying to him?"

- ~ -

/ pegasus moon /

The moment she sees Ashe amongst the Kingdom forces opposing them, all strategy leaves her head immediately. Byleth sprints over fiery craters to get in range of him. She swings her Levin sword and cuts three of his arrows out of the air as she gets close to him.

Ashe fumbles to reload and Byleth closes the distance. "Ashe!" she yells to him.

His head snaps up and he recognizes her. "Professor?"

"Please, don't do this," she begs. "The other Blue Lions are here. Come with us," she pleads. She wants him to be Ashe, the loyal and chivalrous young man she remembers. The Ashe with a bright smile and winning touch in the kitchen that can always make anyone smile.

Ashe swallows hard and she sees the pain on his face. He knocks an arrow and Byleth grips her sword more tightly, shaking her head. He takes aim, raising his bow, and lets the arrow fly. It whistles past her ear as he misses her. There's a pained cry behind her and Byleth turns to see the shot embedded in the flank of an Imperial pegasus rider. She turns back to Ashe, hopeful, and he nods.

"I'm sorry I wasn't with you from the start," he yells to her over the roar of combat and the bubbling of lava around them.

Byleth lets out the breath she wasn't aware she was holding. "Shoot like that and I don't think you'll have many more apologies to be making."

- ~ -

Judith compliments the way the three different groups seem to work together as one. Claude transfers the praise to her, citing her leadership as the unifying trait. Then Judith tells them about Rhea.

Catherine and Seteth go tense immediately and Byleth feels cold all over despite the suffocating heat of Ailell. She had almost forgotten about the church's boundless devotion to Rhea. The idea of seeing the archbishop again makes Byleth feel sick and she's not sure why. She has so many unanswered questions about her parents and about Sothis. Reading Jeralt's diary for a second time has only made her more confused and she has no intention of letting Rhea get off without answering her questions this time.

Honestly, Byleth had completely forgotten about Rhea last time as well. The Knights had always been transparent in their goal, but the Kingdom was entirely devoted to destroying Edelgard and the Empire so it was easier to focus on that. It made her miss Sothis less after she had merged with the goddess. Now, thinking of the archbishop and the goddess makes her ache for the lilting, childlike voice that she had grown used to in her head.

Displeasure must show on her face because Claude steps forward and takes her by the elbow, turning her away from the conversation as the army makes preparations to return to the monastery.

"Are you alright, Teach? As soon as Judith mentioned Rhea you got this look like you'd just eaten something really sour."

Byleth gave a short laugh. "I didn't mean to, it just dawned on me that I'd almost forgotten about her. She was never high on my priority list last time and I never even found out if Edelgard had kept her alive after all these years. My father never trusted her after my mother's death as I'm sure you remember, so it makes me wonder if she's the reason I am like I am at all."

"Why you were connected with the goddess, you mean?"

Byleth nods. "Yes." She pauses, taking a moment to probe around in her head, searching for any of the warmth Sothis used to hold. There is nothing. "As weird as it is, I feel weird without her in my head."

Claude laughs lightly. "I mean, you shared that space for a significant amount of time. Maybe it just means you're getting more time to feel like yourself, finally."

Byleth considers his words. "Maybe," she consents. "Either way, I have a lot of questions for Rhea that I'm not letting her avoid."

"I'm with you on that one, Teach."

- ~ -

/ lone moon /

A week before they carry out their assault on the Great Bridge of Myrddin, Byleth checks in with her former students. The tension between the Kingdom natives and the Alliance natives seems to have faded almost entirely and more often than not Byleth finds her students in small groups that cross territory lines.

Annette and Lysithea put their heads together in the library and work through spell after spell with hardly a break. Mercedes keeps them company sometimes, but the older girl is often happier in the Cathedral keeping Ignatz company as he draws or paints.

Raphael, Leonie, and Felix train relentlessly. Their vastly varied styles from axe and brawling to bow and lance to sword and black magic creates some entertaining chaos, but it keeps them all well-balanced. Ashe trains with them sometimes, but he spends a lot more of his time in the Dining Hall preparing meals. Byleth asks him about it and he mentions that he still feels a bit bad that he started the fight on the wrong side at Ailell.

Hilda and Ingrid do aerial patrols together and Sylvain, Marianne, and Lorenz care for the horses and muck out the stables. Sometimes Hilda will bat her eyes at Lorenz or Sylvain and get them to do something particularly undesirable for her, but it makes Marianne hide a smile behind her hand and gives Ingrid something else to poke fun at Sylvain for so Byleth doesn't stop her.

Claude plots. He paces the Cardinals' Room and moves figures across battle maps. He studies schematics of the bridge and looks for every loophole he can find. He writes letters to his retainer and consults with Judith and Seteth and Lorenz and Byleth. He fills scroll after scroll with plans and tears them all apart. Byleth spends one afternoon sitting with him, but the chaos in which he works drives her up the wall until she has to excuse herself for some fresh air.

Claude enters the common room five minutes after her, sighing heavily. "I'm sorry. I'm stuck on this one choke point and it's been driving me crazy for several days."

Byleth waves a hand dismissively. "You'll get it. Take a break and breathe, Claude."

He flops entirely ungracefully onto one of the settees in the room and sighs again. "How did you take it last time?"

Byleth sits next to him and raises a hand to her mouth to hide her smile. "You finally figured out you could ask me, huh?"

He shrugs. "I want to do this my way. This is my insurance that my idea will work."

"With your help, actually. You distracted Count Gloucester in the north with Judith and we stormed the bridge while Alliance reinforcements were busy, taking on just the Empire. Of course, reinforcements arrived anyways because Lorenz was always too good at picking out when you were scheming."

Claude held up a hand, cutting her off. "Lorenz fought with the Empire?"

Byleth bites her lip. "Yes. Although I honestly think he only did it so that the Empire didn't just straight up invade Gloucester territory. When I faced him on the battlefield I managed to talk him down and he retreated." Images of Ferdinand flash in her mind suddenly and she frowns.

"Teach?" Claude questions.

"Dimitri killed Ferdinand. He'll be one of the generals stationed at the bridge. I wanted to try to get through to him, but Dimitri got to him first." She shakes her head and closes her eyes. "It wasn't pretty."

Claude is quiet for a moment and when her eyes open she sees that he looks like he's thinking hard and dismantling something in his head. "If I got you to him, could you talk him down?"

Byleth raises her eyebrows. "Claude, I just told you I didn't get through to him last time."

"I'm not talking about last time. I'm asking you if you think you can talk him down."

"Maybe," she consents. "If he's the same Ferdinand I faced last time, I'm not quite sure. But, I can try."

Claude stands up. There's a sharp clarity to his expression and his eyes twinkle. "I'll get you to him, I promise. Just be ready for me."

He starts out of the room and Byleth calls out to him.

"Claude!" He stops and looks back at her. Byleth frowns. "Don't base everything off of that."

He gives her a glimpse of his signature scheming smile. "Better practice your recruitment speech, Teach."

- ~ -

As the assault begins, Byleth isn't sure what to expect. She certainly isn't expecting Claude to basically drop out of the sky on his wyvern to flatten the two soldiers she had been facing off against. She spins the Sublime Creator Sword in her hand and stares him down. Claude holds out a hand to her, tucking his bow over his back.

His earlier words ring in her head and Byleth grabs his hand and lets him pull her up onto the wyvern. He takes off quickly, navigating through the chaotic skies past Hilda and Ingrid and Cyril to get to the corner of the fortress where Ferdinand is fighting. He swoops down close to the ground and Byleth takes the opportunity she is given.

She leaps from the wyvern and tucks and rolls as she hits the ground hard. Her shoulders ache from the impact, but she comes up slashing and takes out the rear legs of Ferdinand's mount. The horse screams in pain and throws the noble.

Ferdinand didn't see her coming and isn't expecting to be thrown so he hits the ground hard. Byleth sprints to him and lowers her blade against his throat. Ferdinand's eyes lock on hers and widen in surprise.

"Professor?"

"Ferdinand, I don't have to do this," she tells him. "Edelgard ruined your father and your family and she's poisoning the Empire."

Ferdinand's eyes flash defiantly and for a moment she is afraid of what he may make her do. "I am Ferdinand von Aegir. I fight for the Empire."

Byleth withdraws her sword and looks at him pityingly. "Even if Edelgard has set you up to die without a shred of remorse? Even if Edelgard has so systematically dismantled the Aegir name there is nothing left?" His resolve wavers and she presses forward. "Stand with me, Ferdinand and we will fight for the real Empire and we will save it."

She extends a hand to him. Ferdinand hesitates, but after a moment he reaches up to grab it. She pulls him to his feet and he nods to her. From there, Byleth almost misses what happens. One moment Ferdinand is standing at her side and the next moment he is shoving her to the side and there's a terrible crash of lightning and she smells burning flesh.

Byleth turns and throws her hand out, sending a wave of fire behind her. Acheron calls an arcane shield to block it, but he's smirking. Ferdinand lies crumpled on the ground, his armour smoking from the shock of the lightning that had struck him.

"Stand a traitor, die a traitor!" Acheron sneers.

Byleth's vision goes white and tugs on the cord in her stomach. Time winds back and she's staring down at Ferdinand with her hand extended. He's reaching for it when she pulls back and turns to see Acheron approaching. She sends white magic after him and Acheron deflects it away. She snaps the Sublime Creator Sword and lashes it out.

Acheron calls lightning and Byleth rolls, avoiding it. She strikes with her sword and Acheron falls. She turns back to Ferdinand to see him crumpled on the ground again. Pain sears in her chest.

"No, no, no, no!" she cries out, rushing forward.

Ferdinand's armour is smoking again. His eyes are blank, staring up at the clear blue sky. His hair is burnt and mussed and his chest is still. Byleth curls her hands until her fingernails cut into her palms. It should have saved him.

She tries to call on the Divine Pulse again, but her stomach turns and she's nearly sick. She rocks back from Ferdinand's body and stares at it blankly. The sound of the fighting around her fades and the battle starts to wind down with two of the commanders slain. Sylvain takes out Ladislava soon after.

Byleth stays kneeling on the stone staring at her slain student. Her student that she had gotten through to. Her student that was ready to join her. Her student who died a brutal death in every life she had seen him in.

Claude lands next to her, but Byleth is still numb.

- ~ -

/ great tree moon /

Byleth likes Derdriu. What she doesn't enjoy as much is the stubborn quarrelling of the Alliance Lords. When Claude had originally asked her to attend the Roundtable Conference with him, Byleth had been glad to leave the monastery for a few days.

The Roundtable is exhausting. The lords are frustratingly stubborn and selfish and none of them are too willing to give up troops to Claude's main forces when they claim they should be protecting their borders. Byleth herself isn't half the charming orator that Claude is, but she can see that even his patience is wearing thin.

By the second day, they have managed to convince most of the Lords to side with them. House Ordelia tries to hold out against them, but with Daphnel, Goneril, and even Gloucester voting in favour of House Reigan, their power is slipping. House Edmund tries to lessen their own commitment and then all of the lords suddenly want to be sending fewer troops.

It's exhausting.

Currently, Byleth is alone in the war room organizing maps of Empire territory and of Fort Merceus where the Empire is said to be stockpiling troops. Claude had disappeared several hours earlier with the rest of the nobles for dinner. Byleth had been invited, but she had wanted a break from the chaos. Citing the need for privacy to pray, she requested a meal be brought to her instead.

As the current, though unwilling, face of the Church of Seiros, none of the lords dared to argue with her request. Her meal had been sent up and she had been left alone. Still, the isolation felt unnerving and she was starting to tire of staring at maps and army figures and the mixture of hers and Claude's handwriting.

Just as she's folding up the last few maps, the door to the room cracks open. Byleth looks over her shoulder and sees Claude reenter. He has shed much of the regalia he has been parading around over the last two days and has exchanged it for a loose cream-coloured linen shirt and brown pants.

Byleth relaxes when she sees him. "Hi," she greets.

Claude smiles briefly. "Hi," he replies. "What are you still doing here? It's late."

Byleth waves him off. "I'm finished now. I was just about to head back to my room. How was dinner?"

Claude sighs and rubs his temples. "Exhausting. Every second I spend with these nobles is exhausting. Nothing here is simple as it is at home. There at least if someone disagrees with you they tell it straight to your face, often accompanied by a poisoned blade or two."

Byleth studies him for a moment. Maybe he's tired or distracted, but it is unlike him to let something so telling slip about his previous life before he was announced as Reigan heir. In telling him about Sothis and Dimitri and her first attempt, Byleth knows she has created a line of trust between them that he does not have with anyone else. As a result, she knows more about him than most people do. In all the time they've spent together, Byleth has pieced together that he's definitely not from Fódlan.

After she doesn't say anything else, Claude continues, "May I escort you back to your room, Teach?"

The nickname feels strange in this place. Between two adults, one of whom is heir to an entire region (Claude) and the other who has not aged in five years (Byleth). Still, the familiarity and the intent behind it makes her feel warm inside, so she nods.

They walk in relative silence back to Byleth's quarters. She's staying near enough to Claude that he's not seriously inconveniencing himself by walking her back, but the escort feels unnecessary to her. He waves her off.

"We've barely had a moment alone since coming here," he points out.

Byleth nods. "I hadn't even realized. I didn't know what to expect from this trip, but this certainly isn't what I was thinking."

Claude chuckles. "You could have saved me from a few particularly weak and embarrassing arguments in front of Holst and Judith today, you know. With your whole time-changing thing and everything."

Byleth rolls her eyes and shoves him. Claude rocks onto his heels and tips back towards her in response, laughing. He slings an arm over her shoulders and she feels the warmth that radiates from his body in waves.

Her stomach twists as she smiles at Claude's antics. Here in Derdriu with him, she feels safer and calmer than she has felt in a long, long time. Their every interaction feels genuine and real and since he knows the truth, she's not afraid of being in the moment with him.

Her moment of distraction causes her foot to catch on one of the expensive carpets and she trips, nearly dragging Claude down with her. Instead, they stumble into the wall together and Claude's full body collides with hers. He catches himself a little, but still ends up landing one hand on her waist and the other on her shoulder.

He's closer now–much closer–and Byleth can smell the wine he must have consumed with dinner and the stronger, familiar scent of pine that clings to him. She can see the darker green rings in his eyes and the tension in his neck as he swallows slowly. The playful smile has vanished and he looks a little nervous. His pulse hums in his neck and Byleth stops thinking.

She slides a hand up, across his shoulder and up over his jaw so it rests along the side of his face. Claude leans down with no resistance and lets his own hand glide from her shoulder to cradle the back of her head, fingers winding through her hair. There's a moment where it looks like he has given in to her, but then something clicks and he huffs out a heavy breath.

He presses their foreheads together and exhales. "Byleth," his voice is low and cautionary.

Byleth leans back a little, hurt prickling across her skin. "Claude," she replies, trying to keep the disappointment out of her voice.

"I think you're getting the wrong idea here, my friend," Claude says gently. Byleth tenses and prepares to throw all of her defences up. "I have no intention of playing second fiddle to His Royal Highness in anything, but this especially."

Claude's eyes are burning green. The hand at the back of her head plays lightly with her hair and the touch feels gentle. Byleth feels warm all over, but there's a chill in her chest at his words.

"Second fiddle?" she questions.

A sadder smirk turns up the corners of Claude's lips. "Teach, I had an inkling back at the academy, but when you told me everything, it clicked. You're in love with Dimitri."

He isn't wrong. Byleth knows that even though she didn't lead Dimitri's house this time, a part of her soul aches for him. She misses the young, idealistic prince and the cracked, determined young man he became.

Byleth closes her eyes. "Dimitri is dead, Claude. You're the one who told me that."

"He lived last time, didn't he? Same scenario."

"Last time was different," she argues.

"I disagree. Maybe you led his house, but you were still his favourite professor this time. You were one of the only people who he trusted completely and I don't think that changed," Claude says.

Despite the words coming out of his mouth, he hasn't moved away from her and he hasn't moved his hands back to safer, more platonic territory.

"Maybe I'm different," Byleth says before she realizes what the words truly mean.

Claude pauses. Byleth opens her eyes and sees Claude's face. He looks doubtful, but he can't hide the spark of hope in his eyes. Byleth twists her hand along his jaw, feeling the scratch of his half-beard along her palm.

"Byleth," he murmurs. "You still love him."

She takes the plunge. "And if I love you too?" The admission comes as a surprise to herself, but the warmth seeping through all of her bones due to Claude's close proximity assures her that it is the truth.

He laughs breathily. "Then I suppose I have an uphill battle ahead of me."

Byleth is done talking. Her other hand lands on Claude's shoulder. She pulls him down and kisses him firmly. Claude's hand tightens in her hair and the hand on her waist pulls her tighter against himself as he kisses her harder.

The kiss is like a fire. Claude is warm and his lips taste like wine and the lingering spices from whatever he had eaten for dinner. Byleth presses against him and slides her hands into his hair, wrapping her fingers around dark curls.

Claude breaks the kiss to groan softly. He tilts his head and presses a kiss to Byleth's cheekbone and then another at the top of her jaw. He pauses for a moment, resting the side of his head against hers. His breath is warm and makes her feel dizzy.

"If I don't let you go now, I won't be able to," he breathes.

"If I asked you not to let go?" Byleth replies. Her voice is breathy and her chest swells against him as she takes deep breaths.

Claude slides his head back so they're making eye contact. Byleth drops her hands to the centre of his chest where her fingers fiddle with the laces holding his shirt together—not undoing them yet, just making it clear she could.

"Byleth," he says.

She's pretty sure that her name on his lips is the sweetest sound she's ever heard. She leans forward to kiss him again. She pulls back so there is a hair's width between their lips.

"Don't let go," she whispers.

Claude doesn't hesitate. He crushes their lips together again and it's hot and hungry. He backs Byleth into the wall and cups her face with both hands. The kiss is intense and dizzying and entirely inappropriate for a hallway in his estate where anyone could happen upon them.

Claude's face dips into the crook of her neck as his lips and teeth scrape across her skin. Byleth wishes that her pulse would change so that he knew what he was doing to her. Her fingers fumble with his shirt until she has it mostly undone and her palms find warm, scarred skin.

"Claude," she gasps. "Room."

He laughs against her skin and presses a soft kiss to her collarbone. He pulls back to look at her, green eyes twinkling.

"Should I stay?" he asks.

It's the last hurdle he gives her. It's one last attempt for her body to revolt and call for Dimitri. But, just as one part of her mind aches for and misses the Kingdom's prince, the other half is drunk on Claude's warmth and adoration.

"Stay," she says.

He does.

- ~ -

Byleth makes it outside before she panics. As soon as she had finished speaking with Claude, Judith, and the others in the cathedral, she had headed straight for the 3rd floor of the monastery. She had ensured she was out of sight of everyone when she had started running, but she had sprinted the whole way up to the top floor of the monastery. She had stumbled into the star garden with her chest heaving. She strides to the edge of the garden and plants her arms against the railing.

There is an army marching towards Gronder Field under the banner of House Blaiddyd. Dimitri is ALIVE. There isn't a doubt in her mind that Dimitri is the one leading the charge down through Alliance territory towards the Empire. If he has gotten word that Edelgard could be at the Battle of Gronder Field, he will be there.

The thought of seeing him again makes her head spin. She knows what kind of man she'll come face to face with. She is afraid that this time there will be no turning him back to the light. She hadn't been there to guide him this time so she is afraid she will not be enough to guide him back to the light. Additionally, she now has to juggle the fact that all of the former Kingdom students (Dedue as the exception) were now fighting at her side under the Crest of Flames.

Byleth breathes deeply to try to calm her racing mind, but the fear is deep-rooted and cold. It doesn't help that half of her is still undeniably in love with Dimitri, but the other half is frozen in the stolen moment in Derdriu with Claude. She closes her eyes and tries to conjure an empty image in her mind.

People would be expecting her in the Cardinals' Room soon to discuss strategy and she needs to be calm. She breathes in, centring herself.

If Dimitri is marching on Enbarr, he has to have support. He likely has Gilbert and any remaining Kingdom knights. If he has come down through the north part of the Kingdom, he likely has the permission of House Galatea and probably military support from House Fraldarius and House Gautier.

She needs to speak to the Blue Lions.

Byleth spins from her position and sees Cyril standing in the doorway from the third floor, watching her awkwardly.

"Cyril," she starts.

He shakes his head. "It's okay, Professor, I won't say anything. Do you want me to get anyone?"

Byleth exhales slowly. "No, I'm alright. I just need to speak to Felix and Sylvain. Do you know where they are?"

Cyril ponders the question for a moment. "I would guess either the Blue Lion classroom or the Training Hall."

- ~ -

She finds them in the Blue Lion classroom. Mercedes is standing at the front of the room, staring out the window into the grassy courtyard with an uncharacteristic frown across her face. Ashe is restringing his bow at the table closest to her. He looks detached and almost a little scared.

Annette is holding Felix's hands in her lap. She looks nervous and the swordsman next to her has a blank, eerily neutral expression. Annette's hands rub over Felix's like she's trying to keep him grounded, but Byleth easily picks up that much of her tension is her own.

Ingrid is standing at the rear of the classroom, arms crossed, while Sylvain paces the length of the room. His armour clicks and clanks as he walks and he runs a hand through his hair looking irritated. Ingrid looks more pensive and she keeps glancing at Sylvain like she wants to anchor him to the spot to stop his pacing.

Ashe looks up as she enters and stands in a hurry, bumping the table loudly with his knees. "Professor!"

Byleth feels a lump in her throat. "Someone told you all," she murmurs.

Sylvain stops pacing to look at her. "House Blaiddyd. Professor, what is happening? Is the ghost of Dimitri leading an assault against us?"

Felix laughs coldly. "You haven't figured it out?"

"Felix," Annette pleads softly.

He shakes his head. "The Boar Prince himself will be leading that charge, I guarantee it." He pulls his hands away from Annette and stands up. He gives Byleth a challenging look. "My father will be there too and if Annette's father isn't I will be surprised. Do you expect us to raise arms against our own people?"

Byleth shakes her head emphatically. "I expect you all to deploy on the Empire side and to retreat any moment you feel uncomfortable or out of your depth."

"So you intend to kill the Boar then?" Felix asks.

"No," Byleth says before she can stop herself. She drops her gaze to the floor. "I could never."

"Claude would," a new voice says.

Byleth and the Lions turn to see Hilda in the doorway. She looks troubled but steps forward into the classroom.

"The moment the Kingdom army turns its attacks our direction, Claude won't hesitate. You know that, don't you, Professor?"

Byleth sighs. "That is exactly what I am afraid of."

"If Dimitri is there, let us get to him," Sylvain says firmly. "We will get him to back down."

"No," Felix says. "Sylvain, you weren't there so you haven't seen him like this." Felix looks disturbed, but he hides his discomfort behind a sneer easily enough. "There's not enough of him left to save."

With that, he hurries from the room. Ingrid lays a hand on Sylvain's arm and the pair makes eye contact before Ingrid continues on, following Felix. Sylvain huffs out a sigh and sits on a bench at a table.

"Not to be a downer, but how are you so sure that Dimitri is still alive?" Hilda asks.

Annette shifts uncomfortably. She reaches into the bag at her feet and pulls out two scrolls of parchment. "Felix's father wrote to him, requesting that he return to Fraldarius territory so that he could join in the Kingdom's revival. My father wrote to me as well, asking for me to stay far away from Empire territory in the coming months."

"There were whispers amongst the Western Church that someone interfered in Dimitri's execution and that was why everything was carried out in such a hush-hush manner," Ashe adds. "People were saying it was warriors from Duscur that stormed the capital on the day it was set for. And, well, we all know someone from Duscur who would have done anything for His Highness."

Hilda takes a deep breath. "Well, that's plenty convincing for me." She turns to Byleth. "Professor, if there is even a chance that you can get through to him, you have to try. The Kingdom could unite behind him and with the Alliance united behind Claude and the Church behind you, the war would be as good as over."

With that, Hilda spins and leaves the classroom. Byleth bites her lip and turns back to face the remaining Blue Lions.

"You knew him as well as I did," she says. "Do we have a shot?"

"I don't know, Professor," Annette admits. "He changed after he found out about Edelgard being the Flame Emperor."

Byleth nods. "I know. She knows who was responsible for Duscur," Byleth admits.

Sylvain stiffens. "What?"

"Patricia was a part of the plot herself because she wished to see Edelgard again. That betrayal cut him deeper than anything else ever could." Technically Byleth isn't sure if Dimitri knows that Patricia had been a part of the plot in this timeline, but it's close enough to the reason that he felt so betrayed by her and Byleth thinks that her Lions deserve to know this at least.

"I want you to know that whatever happens," she pauses to look each of them in the eye. "I will do everything I can to keep him alive."

The promise is the best she can do right now.

- ~ -

The fog that dances along the earth makes her nervous. Her hand is curled around her sword and she stands with her back straight and every sense on high alert as they approach Gronder. She has made this march before and she knows how it will end if she isn't perfect in every choice she makes.

"Byleth."

She turns. Claude is standing a few feet away from her. He's dressed for battle and his wyvern is waiting anxiously behind him. Byleth steps toward him and raises her chin.

"Claude."

They haven't had a moment alone since Derdriu and since finding out about the Kingdom's approach, Byleth hasn't wanted to try to process all of the emotions whipping through her head. Even so, there is hardly another person she would trust to have her back in a fight like the one they are about to head into.

"I will need you today, my friend," he says. "Your command will win us the day, I know it will. Don't lose sight of what's important."

The last comment makes her angry. She exhales sharply. "I know what is important. Don't forget what I told you."

She has made sure that Claude knows to avoid the hill in the centre of the field because she has no doubt that Edelgard has rigged it with explosives again. Despite his insistence on it as a strategic point, Byleth had forcefully pointed out that it isn't worth the lives that will be lost in taking it. Instead, she has directed him to head up the right side of the battle to go after where she assumes Edelgard's magic corps will be.

There's a horn that sounds, lower and brassier than anything from the Alliance. Byleth and Claude both tense.

"That's an Empire war horn," Claude murmurs. He immediately takes off for the front lines, pressing through their own soldiers.

Byleth doesn't hesitate before following him. She has almost reached him when she spots the volley of fire heading their direction. "Scatter!" she screams to the troops.

Magic rains down around them and Alliance soldiers and commanders scream and drop formation. Byleth pushes forward until she stands next to Claude. Here, at the front of the army, she can see out onto Gronder Field. Edelgard's army is in the south in perfect formation and her mages still have their hands outstretched from the initial blast.

Claude's jaw sets. His hands tighten on Failnaught and he very nearly gives the order at that moment, but he hesitates.

Byleth looks to the eastern side and she sees him.

Dimitri is alive, her mind whispers.

Dimitri stands at the head of his army. His expression is dead neutral. His right eye is gone. His hair is longer. Areadbhar is resting on his shoulder. He looks like the shadow of the prince that Byleth found in the goddess tower five years ago and her chest aches.

Claude lifts a hand and the Alliance archers lift their weapons into position, waiting for the command. Edelgard's forces do the same, but it is Dimitri who breaks first. The disillusioned man points his relic forth and Byleth sees the darkness consuming him emerge in full force.

The Kingdom troops charge and all hell breaks loose.

[dark0angel13]

Something To Die For

So this if my first attempt at this pairing so I do hope you all like it! This is for you, @rosechi

Everything happened so fast, it’s as if his body is moving in slow motion while the world around him races at light speed, and his blood runs cold in his veins. How did it come to this? How had things gone so wrong? His mind is fogged with question after question, but without an answer to them, he’s left to rethink his entire life in the span of seconds.

“Where are you?” His voice cracks as the call rides the wind, but it’s drowned out by the overwhelming echo of sirens. Around him, buildings lay in crumples of concrete and glass, and his heart jumps into his throat. There is only one thing he longs to find, one thing that brings his life meaning and if he lost that, he’s not sure if he could go on living.

The dribble of blood on the side of his head brings him from his thoughts and as the adrenaline fades from his system, pain takes over and he’s doubling over, struggling to remain upright as every nerve ending in him is alight with white hot agony. Voices reach him before the bodies come into view and for the briefest of moments, he expects to see her, lopsided grin and eyes bright, but his hopes are dashed when his eyes settle on a limping man. He knows he needs to help, but he can’t bring himself to do it. It’s his job, it’s what he was paid to do, but right then, he couldn’t care less about wounded stragglers or victims. He only wanted one thing, only needed one thing.

“Where are you?” he screams until his voice is hoarse and his throat hurts but the only thing that comes back to him, is the rush of flames from what remains of the building before him. The hospital—a place of healing—was standing no more. Instead the walls are crumbled, the windows shattered and laying in jagged pieces littering the ground like a sick, twisted, version of confetti. His stomach lurches. This was her place of work, where she saved lives, and healed the sick. She was good at it too, he knows this, having seen her masterful hands at work many a time, content to just watch her from afar.

The sight before him now though—the tattered remains of a place he knew almost as well as his own house—was enough to reduce him to tears. She was his other half, the healer of his violent heart. When he would bring in a criminal for interrogation, she was always there to patch them up when he was done. When his work brought him to dangerous places, she was by his side, ready for the moment when her skills were needed and having her at his back made him confident in his own abilities. He wasn’t complete without her, and the mere thought of her absence was enough to drive him mad.

He moves with purpose, checking bodies as he goes, noting the ratio of survivors to deceased growing smaller and with it, his hope of finding her alive. The entire block looked like a war zone and if he bothered to check his phone, he would no doubt have dozens of missed called from his chief. He knows he should be aiding in rescue attempts, in trying to save as many lives as possible, but until he found her, until he knew she was alright, everyone else could go fuck themselves. Please be alive…please be alive… it repeats in his head like a mantra and when he sees the that all too familiar head of hair, his entire body goes rigid.

“No…” This can’t be happening right now! His panicked mind screeches to a halt, because with her unmistakable hair, he also sees the all too familiar crimson spreading out around her from her place under the collapsed ceiling. She’s not moving, he’s not even sure she’s breathing and just like that, his dreams of a future seem to fly out the window.

“Levy!” he’s at her side in seconds, flinging debris off her in a hurried attempt to extricate her from the undoubtedly heavy weight. She needs to be alive; she needs to survive. It’s entirely too long before he finally frees her and the severity of the situation finally kicks in, hitting him like a punch to the gut. Her mangled leg sends mind into survival mode. He’s stemming the bleeding with a tourniquet and checking for other serious injuries. Hell, he probably checked for a pulse four times before he finally grew brave enough to lift her. “Stay with me shrimp, I got ya.”

He’s not sure why he’s talking if he’s being honest with himself. She’s unconscious as he pulls her into his arms but talking to her seems to keep the panic from rising within him. She would always tell him that talking to patients in a coma was helpful because their subconscious could still hear them. So now, with her battered body in hanging limp in his trembling arms, he talks like it’s just a normal day, praying to God that she can hear him.

“I’ve got ya, just hold on Levy. I’m gonna get you some help.” He winces as he walks but his pain is nothing compared to the ache in his chest. “You’re safe now. You had me worried there for a second.” He’s rambling now but that’s okay, because it helps keep his head clear. He knows what he needs to do. The sight of the ambulance has relief washing over him and his eyes brighten, his words of reassurance hanging on the wind as he kept the unconscious woman in his arms up to date on what was happening. The men greet him with a salute, but he waves them off, barking orders before they even ready the stretched.

“She’s got a bad lac on her right leg,” he’s running on autopilot now, the words coming from him robotically. “Possible concussion and internal injuries. I pulled from under a collapsed ceiling, so she’s most likely got a few broken bones.” He watches them like a hawk after he sets her on the stretcher, her hand still clasped within his own

“Pulse is thready, she’s going into shock— “

His mind is racing as they rush her into the back of the bus, stopping only to determine the fastest way out of the area and his mouth is as dry as the desert suddenly. Were any of the roads blocked?

“Sir, you can’t come with us.”  A hand blocks his path and his thoughts. They try to argue with him but the look in his eyes show a man on the verge of a complete breakdown, and if they don’t let him on with her, he’s going to rip them apart. They concede after a string of curses leave his lips and as they speed off, her hand becomes cold in his grip. No, he thinks. This can’t be happening.

“Hey, do you morons know what the fuck you’re doing?” He snaps when one paramedic fails to start an IV. He could have done it better blind folded. “This woman means more to me than all your lives combined, you got that?”

“Please calm down sir,” the blonde who has been watching up until his point finally speaks and moves to help his partner. “Administering emergency aid in a moving vehicle is difficult under normal circumstances. Add to the fact that she’s in critical condition, and this bus is moving at twice the legal limit, do you think you can do a better job?”

Gajeel feels his body go stiff at the call out and even as the medic speaks, his hands move expertly to start the drip and something inside him relaxes. It seems at least this medic wasn’t completely incompetent. His eyes shift back to Levy, her pale feature sunken in and framed with unkempt and blood matted hair. Her body is riddled with gashes and bruises and even with the flow of oxygen from her mask, her breaths are shallow at best.

“She’s having a hard time breathing. Do something about it.” He barks, but the medic is already moving, opening her airway the best he can given the current situation and he lets out the breath he’s been holding. This man clearly knew what he was doing.

“The only thing we can do now is monitor her vitals and get her to the nearest hospital as soon as possible. We’ve arranged for a medivac to meet us if her condition worsens.” The words flutter through his mind but Gajeel doesn’t hear them, instead the only thing that runs through his mind is every possible way this could end badly. What if she dies en route? What if she loses her leg? What if… he can’t even think about it because if he does his heart is going to explode in his chest.

“Shit,” the small explosive word uttered from the medic makes his blood run cold and he’s watching the medic drag his stethoscope across her chest. “Get me a scalpel and some tubing. She’s got a hemothorax.”

He’s been around Freed enough to understand what the man is saying, but it doesn’t stop the surge of anger that rises within him when he watches as they cut into her side. He’s on his feet, hands balled into fists at his sides when they shove the tubing into her, and he watches the blood slowly drip out and onto the floor.

“What the fuck are you doing?” He’s seething now. How knows they’re just doing their jobs but god dammit, this is the love of his life.

“We need to get the blood out of her lung. That’s why she’s having trouble breathing. This should help. You need to trust me.” The medic speaks matter of fact but Gajeel can see that deep down, past his bravado, past his cold detachment because of his job, this man loves what he does, and he knows Levy is in good hands.

“Just save her…”  He collapses back onto the seat, unsure of how much more of this his heart can take. Nothing else matters now. Not his condition, not his pain or anxiety. The only thing that matters to him right then, is Levy.

-

-

-

“Hey,” his eyes have bag under them from lack of sleep and his body is covered in bandages but when she opens her eyes, his entire world brightens. “How ya feelin’ short stuff?” Her groan of pain goes right to his heart.

“Hey,” she croaks out and he can’t help the tears that well in his eyes. “I found you.” Its her usual way of greeting, like nothing ever happened.

“I found you too.” He takes her hand, afraid that if he’s not touching her, she will disappear, and he can’t even fathom that thought.

“What happened?” her question hangs in the air for entirely too long because he’s not sure he knows himself. He’s still trying to piece it all together if he’s being honest.

“Honestly, I don’t know. The chief has been on a rampage the past few days, but we’ve yet to get any answers. Only thing we do know, is that they suspect it was a terrorist attack.” He speaks with a heavy heart and the fear that flashes through her eyes, tug at his heart strings. She didn’t deserve this, no one deserved this.

“I see… makes sense with Magnolia General Hospital being the only trauma center in the city, it’s the heart of Magnolia.” She speaks automatically now, and he cant help the smile that grows on his face. She always rambles when she’s deep in thought, and her intelligence was only one of the many reasons he loved her.

“Take it easy, you’ve been out for a few days now. Had me worried half to death too.” He forces a chuckle, but she sees right through his act.

“How bad is it?” Her expression deflates when her eyes settle over the thick bandages on her leg.

“Bad…” he whispers with a tight throat. “I almost didn’t get to you in time.” He leans down to rest his head against her own, and the trembling takes over. “They’re not sure if you’ll be able to walk again.”

“Is that all?” her sigh leaves him confused and he’s looking up to meet her eyes. “I was worried for a second there.”

“Levy,” he can’t believe she’s so calm at a time like this. “Do you understand what I’m saying here shrimp? The building crushed some of the vertebrae in your spine and you have a few damaged nerves. You may not walk again.” He doesn’t even want to recall his reaction when the doctor told him all this. He almost killed the man.

“I heard you the first time Gajeel,” she says matter of fact, and her bubbly voice does things to him. “I’m alive though, that’s all that matters.” Leave it to her to see the silver lining in this dismal moment. Just another reason for him to love her.

“This is serious Levy,” he pleads with her, placing a hand on her right leg, watching and waiting for a reaction. She makes none and it only serves to confirm his fears. “You can’t feel this can you?”

“No,” she agrees softly and his jaw clenches. “But that’s okay because I still have you.”

“Dammit Levy, this is serious!” He’s on his feet, tears streaming down his face as he tries to get her to see the severity of the situation.

“Gajeel calm down,” her voice soothes him. “Whatever happens… we will face it together.”

He drops to his knees before her and does the only thing he can think of, he hugs her. He wraps her in his arms and holds onto her like his life depends on it. Her body is warm against his and though she grunts in pain, her arms entangle around his neck and he feels her calm wash over him in waves. She’s always keeping him grounded, always driving him forward and supporting him and its all he can do not to collapse against her, to let his emotions run wild because he had almost lost her in the accident.

“If I had lost you…” He can’t even finish the sentence and her hand rubs soothing patterns up and down his back.

“I know…” and she does. She knows him better than anyone. She’s his reason for being a cop. She’s his inspiration and motivation when he feels like the world is crumbling around him. She’s his rock.

“I love you Levy.” He leans in and kisses her gently, loving the way she melts into him and his heart skips into overdrive.

“I love you too.” Her words are what drive him forward, what give him the confidence to put his life on the line every day, and her very existence gives him life.

She’s his breath of fresh air when he’s struggling to breathe. His sunshine when clouds threaten to ruin his days. She’s the yin to his yang, and he want’s nothing more than to spend the rest of his life with her. She’s his reason to live when he loses all hope. She’s worth every sliver of pain in his body, every ache in his chest and he would take it all in spades if it meant he could save her from her own agony. For reasons he can’t explain, the words of his late father drift into his mind and he finds himself smiling.

“I’ve found it, Dad.” The words leave his lips and she looks to him with a raised brow.

“Found what?”

“Something to die for.”

END

I hope I did Gajevy proud because I think they are soul mates and I just love them together! Let me know what you all think! Any and all feedback is strongly encouraged! By the time I got around to finishing this, the ending was more rushed than intended, but I couldn’t keep you waiting any longer Rose, so I hope it brings a smile to your face!

[whattimeisitintokyo]

I Could Never Hate You (Part 2)

Heeeeeeey, did you miss me? Probably not. I have no excuses, but here’s the rest of the chapter. Bleep!

“Im… Imelda?”

“Héctor!” Imelda reached over and cupped his face with her hand, looking deep into his blurry eyes. “Are you here with me? Do you understand me?”

“S-si… I can’t… I can’t move my arms. Agh, Dios, my head!”

“Hold on.” Imelda made quick work to unlatch the thick straps wrapped around his wrists, and once one was free his hand immediately went up to his forehead to try to soothe the pounding ache. When she had finished with the other one she was back close to his face. “Héctor, I need you to relax and tell me what you remember last.”

It took a few seconds, as Héctor gazed dully at his wife, before the memories started to flood back. “Ernesto…” he choked out, lowering his hand over his eyes as he bitterly wept. “I saw him… He’s-”

“Okay.” Imelda shushed him and ran a hand through his dirty hair. “Okay, you don’t need to say anything else.”

Héctor blinked up at the harsh lighting and his gaze went around the room, recognition settling in and disgust coming in quickly. He recognized this place. This was where his little girl had wasted away into nothing while he foolishly believed that she was getting the help she needed. And anger was a much better feeling to have than despair. It helped him, gave him strength. It would do. “Why am I in this hospital?” he growled. “Why am I here?”

Imelda’s face hardened and she looked at him with exasperation and anger, making him shrink back. “Why are you here? Héctor, you… You brought yourself here! You’ve been drinking so much that your body nearly shut down when you stopped. You haven’t been eating, you are ten pounds underweight! Your lungs are so congested that I-… I watched you nearly choke to death Héctor! How could you have neglected your health so much?! Were you trying to kill yourself?!”

Did you try to kill yourself Ernesto?

With a shake of his head he turned away from his wife with a snarl as he focused on anything else but her and that horrible thought of his brother. “Of course not! I would never do anything so… so cowardly! What do you care anyway?”

She didn’t answer, but Héctor heard the sharp inhale before there was a quiet still. It lasted far too long, until finally the metallic screech of the chair she was sitting on startled him into looking at her again. Imelda had stood up and patted her dress down, refusing to look at him, and cleared her throat. “I must tell the doctor that you are awake and aware.”

As she quickly walked towards the door, each click of her heels sent a sharp stab of pain directly into Héctor’s heart. She was leaving him. Again. And this time he knew why. He shouldn’t have snapped at her. But his head was throbbing just as terribly as the ache in his chest, and he had lashed out in his pain and suffering. But it wasn’t just this. The past few years of distance, that had eventually grown into separation, had been on him.

It was all his fault. It had to be.

“I’m sorry Imelda.”

His desperate, whimpering voice reached her just as she had opened the door, making her pause. She turned her head towards him so he could see her beautiful profile, but still wouldn’t look him in the eye. Still, he had gotten her attention, and he could work with that.

Make her listen.

“This is all my fault… Not yours.” Héctor said softly, his vision slowly becoming even more blurry with tears. His head only felt worse, and it hurt to breathe, but he continued anyway. “I’ve been a t-terrible husband… and father, and a… a terrible friend. I couldn’t see how bad Ernesto was because I was only caring about myself, and now he’s… He’s gone. And it’s all my fault.”

It was at this point Héctor had dissolved into sobs and what he was saying could easily be described as blubbering. But he couldn’t stop. “I should have been stronger, I should have made him go to a doctor, or just have kept him in the room, just not on the stage. But I was too weak. I’m too weak. It’s all my fault. He’s dead… I couldn’t keep him off the stage, and I couldn’t make Matty stay at home, I couldn’t make you-… I’m so sorry, Imelda!”

He broke off into a fit of weeping, trying and failing to keep it at a low volume. Trying not to look as truly pathetic as he felt. With his eyes still squeezed shut in misery he heard the door solidly close, and his heart shattered. It didn’t work. He had poured his heart out to Imelda, and she still left him. He had finally talked to her, tried for one last time, and he had still failed. Curling as much as his IVs would allow, he buried his face into his pillow and continued to cry. So lost in his misery he didn’t even realize that he wasn’t alone, until a soft voice startled him.

“Who said that you were a terrible husband and father?”

With a gasp he looked up and saw Imelda staring down at him, with an unreadable yet soft expression. His breath stuttered to halt at seeing her look at him like that, and for the life of him he couldn’t answer her. His voice was stuck in his throat as he gaped at her with tears still spilling silently down his cheeks. Luckily for him Imelda continued on her own.

“You have been nothing but a loving and devoted father.” Imelda said as she sat down on the side of the bed, and now that she was closer Héctor could read the expression past his blurry gaze. She looked so… sad. “Our children couldn’t adore you more if they tried. Never think differently.”

With a sniffle, Héctor smothered a cough as he swiped at his eyes. “But… But Matty. I let him go. If he dies…”

“Then it will be the fault of whoever kills him. Not his, not yours.” With a bowed head she looked down at he clasped hands in her lap. “And you didn’t let him do anything. Mateo does what he wants.” Then, suddenly, Imelda did something that Héctor had not seen from her in quite some time and made his heart flutter. She smiled. “Remember when he wanted to join the fútbol team, and I was afraid that he would fail, or hurt himself? I refused to sign the permission slip, and what did he do?”

Héctor was surprised when, despite all his sorrow, the corner of his mouth twitched upward at the memory. “He forged your signature.”

“And despite my concerns, he surpassed my expectations an succeeded in it. Even kicked the winning goal in his first game. Probably just to prove to me that I worried over nothing.”

“This isn’t a fútbol game.” Héctor whispered, the fleeting lightness of mirth vanished. “I sent him off to war.”

“No.” Imelda shook her head firmly. “No he was already going, you sent him off with a lighter heart. With the knowledge that you didn’t hate him for his decision.  I�� didn’t realize that until afterwards. It’s what I should have done.”

“That’s why you sent him boots?”

“Si.” Imelda nodded and smiled again. “He is still an idiota, but I wanted him to know that I still love him with all of my heart… Like you did. I am sorry Héctor. I never should have said those things to you when it happened.”

Héctor sniffled again, the tight vice around his heart lessening just a little at her words. Knowing that she didn’t blame him for Matty’s actions made him feel a little better, but he still had to know the full truth. “But… you said it. Because you… wanted me to leave… Didn’t you?”

“…Si.”

Héctor sank deeper into the pillow and turned his gaze away from her. He knew it. She didn’t love him anymore. She truly didn’t want him with her. That was it. It was over.

“It’s for the best. You deserve so much better.”

Héctor’s head snapped back to stare at Imelda in confusion. A little too fast as his aching head protested against the harsh movement, but he struggled through the pain just as he struggled through his confusion. “Better?” he whispered. “I don’t… I don’t understand.”

Imelda looked away and crossed her arms across her chest tightly, almost as if she was hugging herself. Or maybe to prevent herself from touching him. “You’re a successful man, Héctor. And you’re still young. Young enough to find another woman who would be more than happy to start a new life with you.”

“Y-young?!” Héctor choked out in disbelief. “Imelda, I’m a grandfather.”

Imelda waved a hand at him dismissively. “That means nothing to a man. You’ll be as virile now until the day you die. You can expand your legacy even more with someone else. I’m finished Héctor. I have nothing more I can give you.”

Héctor’s brow furrowed in utter confusion, his weakened mind slowly trying to piece together what Imelda was saying.  “What are you talking about? Imelda, you’ve given me so much. How can you say you have nothing-”

“I am old, Héctor.” Imelda cut him off, and for the first time Héctor saw her cold façade crack into something vulnerable. “I am sagging and wrinkled. And not only that I am broken. Everything that made me worthy of being your wife is gone. Cut from me never to be replaced. I am a shadow of what I once was, and I am no use to you anymore.”

With a slow blink, Héctor suddenly understood.  “Imelda… Are you talking about the surgery?” She didn’t answer, but her silence was answer enough. “Imelda! You nearly died! The surgery saved your life!”

“And it ruined my body!” Imelda choked out, and she finally started to cry. “I see that scar everyday Héctor. It’s hideous and it’s disgusting. I’ve never felt so disgusted, and so… So embarrassed! And ashamed! I am not a woman anymore, at least not one that can bear you children!”

“I don’t want more children!” Héctor shouted, and the strain of the outburst proved too much as his chest was seized with a fit of deep hacking coughs.

Imelda was at his side in a second pressing a soft rag against his mouth as the violent coughs shook him. After what seemed like too long, to the point she was afraid that he would pass out again, Héctor finally drew in enough air to gasp and collapsed back onto the bed in exhaustion. As she wiped at his lips gently and shushed him, Héctor locked eyes with her and held her gaze.

“Imelda, I love you.” He whispered, his voice rough from his fit. “I’ve loved you since I was eleven years old… The angelic girl in the creek who sang La Llorona so… hauntingly beautiful… You’re all I ever wanted. But I wanted you for you, not as a… a baby factory.”

Imelda laughed softly, bitterly, as she stood up to walk towards the trash bin. “Some factory!” she sneered as she tossed the soiled rag into the bin. “I couldn’t even carry our child to term. I was just too old, and Miguel nearly died before he had a chance to live.”

“But he is alive! You’re alive! Everything is fine!”

“And I gave you the most beautiful little girl.” She whimpered and lowered her head into a dry sob. “Leticia… with flowers in her hair… and in the end she rotted away.”

Héctor choked on tears as he struggled to sit up. “No. Imelda, that’s not true.”

“And I made you give up on her!”

“That’s not true!”

“How could you love a woman who killed her own daughter?!”

“Enough! Imelda, I –UGH!”

It wasn’t until he had crashed to the ground did Héctor realize that he had forced himself out of the bed, desperate to reach his hysterical wife. His weakened limbs couldn’t bear even his own meager weight and landed heavily on his knees and arms in an awkward, painful kneel. He hissed as sharp pain shot through him and collapsed to his side, his ringing ears preventing him from hearing Imelda’s terrified gasp.

“Héctor!”

And then suddenly he felt her hands on him, pulling him up into sitting position and muttering frantically that he had to get back into bed. As the pain slowly subsided he managed to grab her hand with his, squeezing hard and trying to draw strength from her. When she stilled and looked at him, he brought her hand up to his face and nuzzled it. Dios, he missed her. And being so close to her he could actually smell her again. And her kiss her palm, and-

Ay, mierda. I kissed her palm!

With a start he looked up at Imelda, expecting to hear a barrage of curses or maybe even being on the receiving end of a few indignant slaps. But what he saw stole his breath away. She just looked at him with profound sadness in her eyes, tears still running down her cheeks, and there was something else. Something that pulled at his heart and gave him the courage to keep pressing forward.

It was longing.

“Imelda.” Héctor whispered as he again pressed her hand against his face. “You didn’t kill her. She was too sick, and you did not make her sick. And you didn’t make me give up on her.  You were right. All I was doing was hurting Leti. And you… You did it first.”

Imelda blinked. “Did what first?”

Héctor smiled. “You said I let Matty go with a lighter heart. Well… You did it first, to our little girl. She didn’t have to fight anymore. She died peacefully with her family at home. That was because of you, and I am forever grateful for that.”

“And I don’t want more children, or a young mistress, or anything like that. All I ever wanted was a real family. Ever since I was a little boy, after realizing that my Mamá and Papá were never going to come back for me. And when I saw the bossy, snooty girl who always made fun of me for being too short, sing my favorite song in the most beautiful way… I knew I wanted to start one with you. I don’t care if you can’t have any more children. I just want you to be healthy, Imelda. And no matter how many scars or wrinkles or gray hairs you’ll get, you will always be the most beautiful girl in the world to me. I don’t want you to hate yourself Imelda, and if you do I’ll just have to love you twice as much to make up for it. Because, when I married you… I was ready to be with you… for life.”

Imelda closed her eyes and nodded, fresh tears falling and a trembling smile suppressing her weeping. With a shaking hand Héctor wiped the tears off of her face, and soon she too was nuzzling his hand. Slowly they came closer together until their foreheads were resting against each other, noses barely touching, and they just stared at each other and cried.

“Imelda… Mi amor… Mi diosa… Please tell me you still love me… Por favor…”

…

…

“You are the love of my life.”

When the nurse came in several minutes later for a routine check on her patient, she was startled into a near heart attack and horrified at what she saw: Héctor Rivera, the man who all of Mexico had been waiting on with bated breath to wake up from Death’s door, and Imelda Rivera, the fashion mogul and shrewd businesswoman who had been coldly separated from her husband for months, were on the cold hard ground in a twist of IV tubes and blankets. Laughing, crying hysterically, and kissing each other with intense fervor.

The nurse frantically called for orderlies and doctors to come lift Héctor of the floor and back into the bed, difficult to do when he and his wife couldn’t stop clinging to each other. Once he was settled back into bed, and the doctors tried to treat him and question his wellbeing between all the kissing a crying, did they finally leave them alone again.

Ernesto was dead. He would have to be buried. Héctor would have to watch his friend be placed into his eternal resting place. It was the lowest he had ever felt in his life. But as his wife peppered his face with kisses and whispered words of love and apologies, that she did love him, that she wanted him to come home as soon as he was well, that she missed him and that Miguel missed him too, Héctor finally started to feel himself slowly rise from the pit of rock bottom.

It was a tragedy, but things couldn’t get worse than they were now.

Now it was time for things to start looking up.

“I can’t believe you’re kissing me!” Héctor said as he giggled.

“I can’t help it.” Imelda said as she kissed him for what seemed like the thousandth time in the last hour.  “I love you. And I miss you. Anyone would kiss their husband in this situation.”

“No, I meant that I’ve been the hospital for days! I must stink and taste too terrible to kiss!”

“I don’t care.” Imelda kissed him again, this time on the brow, and nuzzled his forehead. “I want you to come home Héctor.”

“Si, of course.” Héctor whispered. “I’ve wanted to come home for so long.”

“As long as you don’t mind sharing the bed with someone else… Someone younger. Like I have for the past few months.”

There was a beat of silence, before Héctor leaned back to look Imelda in the eyes again, a cold feeling of dread starting to creep back into his heart. “What?”

Imelda held his gaze for a second, before a sly smile curled her lips. “I got a new cat… Her name is Pepita.”

“….. You are so lucky I’m in a hospital right now. I think I just had a stroke.”

Imelda laughed again, with Héctor joining her, and they resumed kissing, and crying, and kissing some more. When the nurse came back in again later, she was once again shocked and exasperated at the sight of the both of them, cramped together on the small hospital bed, sound asleep in each other’s arms.

————————————————————

Ay! AY! This is terrible! Mierda! Basura! I can’t eat any more of this!

It had been a week since Héctor had woken up in the hospital and it had been a week since he had regained the love of his wife. With the promise that they would be together again, that he would finally get to go home, that he would get be with his adorable Miguelito and that that Coco would also be coming back with him, Héctor was ready to leave the hospital as soon as he had showered and shaved. The doctor, however, had abruptly dashed those hopes away.

‘Well Señor Rivera, I must say that you have some amazing lungs.’

‘Ha, you see Imelda? I’m fine! When can I-’

‘Amazing due to the fact that they’re both so full of fluid it’s a miracle that they’ve been able to absorb as much oxygen as they have been.’

‘… Ah…’

‘I’m sorry señor, but it’s going to be a while until you are properly discharged. But if you want to get out of here faster I suggest you rest as much as you can and eat everything that is put in front of you. You need to put on some weight.’

And so he had. It wasn’t hard to sleep; he was so weak nowadays that he could fall asleep at the drop of a hat despite the glaring lights and sunny rays pouring through his window. The eating, on the other hand, that was the challenge. Granted, since he had finally finished enduring a painful withdrawal from the alcohol and he was finally back with his family, Héctor had gotten back his appetite tenfold. He was still gaining weight painfully slow, which had always been a problem for him, but he had become a bottomless pit.

There was just one problem.

Hospital food was made in Hell by el Diablo himself.

With a hard swallow Héctor gulped down the mouthful of food he had been chewing on for two full minutes, and with a pleading whine and smile he held out the bowl to his two judges sitting on either side of him on the bed. Said judges being his youngest son and his granddaughter.

Miguel looked into the bowl and then shook his head. “Uh-uh.”

“There’s still some left.” Victoria piped up. “Finish it, or no dessert.”

Héctor groaned and looked up for any potential allies in the three adults sitting in the room with him. But Imelda, Coco and Vicente just stared at him with crossed arms and hard expressions, silently demanding that he finish his meal. Except for Coco. No, fire flashed in her eyes and Héctor shrunk away from her intense gaze, combining the last two bites into one huge glob and shoveling it into his mouth. He gagged a little at the taste and struggled to chew the large mass, but he did it. Anything to placate his sweet, terrifying little Coco.

Coco had always taken after him in temperament. Kind, motherly, always willing to help out others, and very gentle. But when she got really riled up, that was when the Imelda in her rose to prominence and blasted her ire at anyone in the wrong. So when Coco had visited him after he had woken up, had seen both him and her mother together and happy again, and was reassured that he would be all right, she had sighed in relief and smiled with happy tears.

‘Ay, gracias a Dios. I had prayed for so long… that you two… IDIOTS!… WOULD STOP THIS FOOLISHNESS!’

And so Héctor and Imelda had sat there in shocked silence while their little girl screamed and bellowed at them, and called them names, and shamed them to the point where in the end they could do nothing more than slump in pure dejection and just accept everything their daughter yelled at them like she was their own mother and they were the naughty children.

‘For months! NO! For years! YEEEAAARS! I have watched you sulk and whine and piddle and cry and not even try stand up for yourself while Mamá treated you like dirt! No, instead you drank yourself into a hospital bed and made all of us worry for your health when you didn’t care at all! What an wonderful example you’ve set for your son and granddaughter! No, you’re not a grandfather! You’re just a kicked puppy trailing after Mamá! And you Mamá, are the puppy kicker! Imelda Rivera, kicker of puppies! You should be ashamed of yourself! And why?! Because you were depressed about the surgery! All- of-this-could-have-been-prevented-if-you-had-just-TOLD-US!’

After she had finished, and making her parents vow that they would never do this to her or the family again, she had dragged an amazed Julio off by the wrist and had gone back to the mansion for the night. When they had returned the next morning to visit, no one mentioned the fact they both had suspicious marks and scratches on their necks and arms or that they were wearing the same clothes from the previous day.

With a heaving gulp and a disgusted groan, Héctor collapsed back onto the propped up pillows and let the bowl clatter to his side. Miguel picked the bowl up to inspect, and then held it up triumphantly. “It’s empty!”

Everyone cheered and clapped in such a patronizing way that Héctor growled and rolled his eyes in annoyance. “That was the worst one yet.” He groaned and held onto his gurgling stomach. “How can you screw up corn and beans so much?” He watched a Miguel curiously ran a finger through the lingering blob of gravy left in the bowl to taste it, smiling as the little boy’s face screwed up in disgust.

Vicente chuckled , stood up and walked over to the huge pile of flowers, balloons, gift baskets and presents that took up the whole side of the room. It had taken him and Julio several trips to bring up all of the gifts from the fans and Mexico’s elite, and the room was so overpowering with the scent of flowers. “I don’t think hospitals put seasoning in their food. It’s to nourish you, not upset a weak stomach. However, I think a little treat won’t hurt you.” He picked out an ivory box and brought it over to the bed. “Esther Fernández sent you a box of chocolates from Switzerland, along with a sweet note to get well soon.”

“Chocolate!” Miguel shouted and reached for the box, Victoria preventing him from flinging the lid away and placing it gently next to her. “Can we have some too, Papá?”

“Of course, but save some for me!” Héctor said as he plucked one out of the box. “Anything to get the taste out of my mouth.”

Vicente went back over to the pile of gifts and pulled out another, wooden box and handled it nervously. “Also, Emilio Fernández sent you this box of cigars. Very poor taste for someone getting over pneumonia, and… I thought since you don’t smoke I could give them to a friend of mine who would appreciate them more?”

Héctor waved him off and stuffed two chocolates in his mouth. “Take them, they’re yours. I can’t stand the smell of them.”

“Gracias, Señor.” Vicente said and sat back down with a drawn out sigh, rubbing the back of his neck and closing his eyes.

His exhaustion wasn’t unnoticed by the rest of the adults in the room, and when the three of them exchanged knowing looks Coco reached out to touch his arm gently. “Chente, you look so tired.”

Vicente blinked his eyes open. “Me? No no, I’m fine. It’s just… been very hectic for everyone this past week. We’ve finally settled on a burial site for Señor de la Cruz in Santa Cecilia and construction of a tomb for him is underway, but… there’s still so much to do. Like canceling the production on the movie, sending back the funding to the investors, a massive retooling for the new year’s schedual, and worst of all… I can’t find Señor de la Cruz’s Chihuahuas anywhere!”

Victoria gasped. “Oh, poor puppies!”

Héctor listened to Vicente’s woes in silence, nodding and smiling solemnly. “I’m sorry Chente. You’ve been under a lot of pressure for a long time.”

Vicente shook his head. “It’s all right. You’ve been sick.”

“Not just now.” Héctor said. “The whole time you’ve been my assistant you’ve been doing my workload as well as your own, while I’ve been wallowing in my own self-pity. I didn’t realize it but I took you for granted, and for that I’m truly sorry. You’ve been absolutely wonderful and I am very grateful for it.”

Vicente’s face flushed red at the praise, and he bowed his head humbly. “W-well… Gracias Señor Rivera. I would do anything to help you and your company. When you’re well again everything will be waiting for you back in tip top shape, I promise.”

Héctor smiled. “Oh, I’m not coming back.”

“… Que?”

Héctor looked at Imelda, who took his hand lovingly and nodded encouragingly, and continued. “I’m not an executive, Chente. I have no talent for business, and numbers. You do. Now I’ll still be the sole head of the company, but I’ll be leaving all those boring aspects to you. I’m retiring and going home to live with my family, and you’ll be the new CEO of Rivera de la Cruz Productions and Records.”

“… Que?”

“But don’t panic, Chente. It’s not going to be overnight. You’re going to get all of the training you need, set you up with an excellent team and board, get you all nice and settled in. You won’t be alone in all of this.” Héctor smiled warmly and held out his hand to the poor man. “You’ve helped me and the company so much this last year, it’s high time you get the right pay and a title to go with it. I hope you say yes, because there’s no one else I trust more than you.”

Vicente sputtered for a few seconds, his face turning from a burning red into a pallid white, before with a jerking nod he robotically grasped Héctor’s hand and shook it once. “Yeah… Yes! S-si! Gracias, Señor Rivera! Héctor! I won’t let you down- AY! What am I saying?! Yes I will! How can I run a company when I can’t even find four dogs and make sure that you eat?!”

“Don’t you worry about him, Vicente.” Imelda said as she squeezed Héctor’s hand. “I’ll make sure that he eats. You take care of the less important stuff.”

“O-kay. Okay, okay, okay, okay…” Vicente mumbled, standing up on shaking feet and walking over to Héctor’s unused oxygen cylinder. “Please excuse me. I think I’m going to pass out.” With trembling hands he strapped the mask over his face and cracked the valve open to full blast, taking in deep gulping breaths and sliding down onto the floor.

Miguel jumped off the bed and walked over to where Vicente laid slumped against the wall, gently patting his head. “You’ll be okay.” Miguel reached down, pried open Vicente’s shaking hands, and placed a half melted piece of chocolate into it, smiling sweetly.

A few minutes later, once it was determined that Vicente definitely would take the promotion and definitely wouldn’t throw up, Julio walked in with a large wooden box under his arm. “Hola Papá Héctor. How are you feeling? Did you eat?”

Héctor rolled his eyes. “Yes, yes, I ate! Dios mio, I’ll eat mud if it means these quacks will just let me out of here.”

“Well, I know how bored you are, so I brought you this!” Turning the box over, Julio showed everyone that it was in fact a small radio. “I thought that maybe if you could listen to the news or some programs it’ll make your stay seem shorter.”

“What a wonderful idea, mi amor.” Coco said.

“Gracias. It’s a wireless one and portable too!” Julio said as he tried to find a place to set it down amongst all of the gifts. “Ay… Chente, can I just move some of these on the ground?”

Vicente, staring off into space, barely acknowledged him with an affirmative grunt.

Once a spot had been cleared and the box switched on, Julio fiddled with the knobs until the radio static finally began to tune into a station. “Alright then, just a few more adjustments and here… we… go!”

“-you cry!”

“For even if I’m far away I hold you in my heart”

“I sing a secret song to you-“

Julio sighed. “Ay, they’re still playing his songs nonstop. It’s understandable, but still.”

Coco nodded. “Si, Tio Nesto endeared himself to a whole nation. It warms my heart to know how much he’s touched everyone so-”

“Héctor?!”

At Imelda’s cry, both Julio and Coco turned to see Imelda hovering over the bed as Héctor was… rocking back and forth, trembling violently and cramming the heels of his hands into his ears as hard as he could. His breathing became labored and a low, keening sound was coming out of his throat. His eyes were so wide and pinpricked, and even though the others couldn’t see it, all Héctor could see was red.

Blood! So much blood!

It’s all torn up! What happened?! Where are you?!

Ernesto!

The song won’t stop playing!

The bell won’t stop ringing!

It’s all over me!

STOP THE SONG! STOP THE SONG! STOPTHESONGSTOPTHESONGSTOPTHESONGSTOPTHESONG

“JULIO, TURN IT OFF!”

STOPTHESONGSTOPTHESONGSTOPTHESONGSTOP THESONGSTOPTHE-

“HÉCTOR STOP! Héctor, stop! It’s off! It’s off! Cálmese, mi amor. Cálmese… Shhhhh….”

With a sharp gasp, Héctor found himself lying back down of the bed. Imelda was hovering over him with a terrified expression, and the doctor was next to him drawing back an empty syringe and checking his pulse. As his eyes roamed around the room he saw Coco holding onto Victoria as the little girl cried into her mother’s shoulder, and Vicente was holding onto a wide-eyed Miguel.

As a wave of drowsiness started to engulf him, Héctor turned back to Imelda and stared up at her in anguish.

“It’s alright, Héctor.” Imelda said gently.

Héctor shook his head slowly as the sedative took effect, tears falling down his face. “No… it’s not… No more… ’Melda… no more… mu-…”

As he drifted off into a drugged state of unconsciousness, he didn’t notice the worried looks that the adults exchanged with one another, and he didn’t hear the innocent question his son asked them all. A question they couldn’t really answer.

“No more what, Mamá?”

———————————————————————

“~MEEEEEEEEEE!~”

“AAAAAARGH!”

Instead of the rapturous applause he was expecting after belting out the last note of his song, Ernesto was startled by the sound of a hoarse, raspy scream of an old man. His eyes shot opened and he flinched back in confusion at his surroundings. The stage, the lights, the orchestra, the audience, the theater! Vanished! In the blink of an eye they were all gone! Instead he was in a rather sterile looking room not unlike what you would find in a hospital, and he wasn’t standing anymore either, but sitting up on a simple fold-out gurney.

Where am I?

“Puta Madre! What the hell?! Who the hell wakes up singing like that?!”

Ernesto turned towards the gravelly voice of the only other occupant in the room with him: a short, stubby old man currently trying to totter over towards his head on the ground, wearing clothes common of either a bank teller or some other kind of office worker-

His head?

…

On the ground?

…

This man’s head was on the ground.

…

How much did I take?!

Finally, when the old man finally reached his head and plopped it back on his neck, Ernesto realized it wasn’t a head at all. It was a skull. A skull currently glaring daggers at him with eyeballs suspended in the inky blackness of his eye sockets. This was no drug trip. This wasn’t even a dream. Ernesto knew himself enough to know that there was no way he could dream up something so ugly or terrifying in his life.

“AAAAH!” Ernesto screamed and scooted himself back as far as he could on the bed, plastering himself to the wall. He continued to scream as the skeleton slowly walked towards his desk with a sigh.

“That’s more like it. This I can work with.” The skeleton said as he held up a clipboard.

“S-stay away! Stay away from me!”

“Please remain calm.” It said in a bored tone as it read from the clipboard. “You are safe now. Rejoice, for all of your worldly pains and ailments are a thing of the past.”

“Wh-what?!” Ernesto croaked out and continued to press against the wall, trying his all to get away from this skeleton. From this monster.

“We welcome you to your final resting place- heh, final, yeah right- where as long as you remain well remembered in the hearts of your loved ones you will live on far longer than you did in lif… Lif? Ay joder, they still haven’t fixed this typo?!”

Ernesto continued to gasp in terror as he stared transfixed at the skeleton before him. “Don’t come any closer!”

It rolled his eyes. “I’m not even moving.”

“Yes, you are! You’re creeping up to me right now!”

“No, you’re pushing against the wall and moving the gurney towards me, cabron!”

Ernesto paused at that and looked down, seeing that the bed was now two feet away from the wall and his hands were still pressed against it. “Oh.”

And then he looked up towards his hands.

…

…

“Oooohhh…..”

“There ya go.” The old skeleton chuckled hoarsely as he watched Ernesto stare at his new boney appendages in quiet, awed horror and went back to his clipboard. “Bienvenidos, Señor de la Cruz. Welcome to the Land of the Dead. Now, since the requirement to be here is to be dead, I must inform you that that’s what happened. You are now dead. My name is Chicharrón and I will be death counselor for this eve- and there you go, pat yourself down. Down the ribs, to the stomach- ay, no stomach!- and then the face. Every time, just like clockwork.”

Ernesto tore his hands away from pawing at his own cheekbones and glared at Chicharrón. “This is not funny!”

Chich smiled at him. “You know I always thought your bulbous chin was just fat, but nope,” and he smirked and tapped his own protruding chin with a pen. “You’re just as chiseled as I am.”

“How?!”

“How?… Ay, I don’t know. Genetics, I guess? I took after my Papá.”

“HOW DID I DIE?!”

As he cried out that choked, desperate plea Ernesto already knew deep down what had caused his far too early demise. The drugs. What else could it have been? What else could have affected him so suddenly during such an enthusiastic, triumphant performance. As he had belted out that last note, it was obvious his heart couldn’t take the strain. After gambling with his body for so long with copious amounts of drugs and sex, it had finally caught up with him. With one last song to his familia, he had perished right in front of his eyes. It was sudden, but strangely poetic. As tragic and as horrifying as he found his current predicament, he could not ask for a better way to go-

“Oh, that! According to reports, a giant two-ton bell fell from a stage fixture and flattened you into a tortilla.”

“………. What?”

“To save you some embarrassment I took the liberty of putting it down as ‘Acto de Dios’ as the cause of death.” Chich said, pointing it out on the file before placing it in Ernesto’s numb hands. “In hindsight maybe you should have sprung for papier-mâché props, eh?”

When Ernesto continued to just stare at the file in shocked silence, Chich made his way over to the telephone on his desk. “You’ve been dead for about three weeks now, but your body was just now buried. Guess they had to either build a fancy tomb for you or they had to finish scraping you all up. But it’s givin’ me plenty of time to finish the bulk of your paperwork. No deceased blood relatives on this side I’m afraid, they’ve all been forgotten, but I promised your goddaughter I’d call her the second you’d arrive.”

The mention of that word shocked Ernesto out of his stupor, and he glanced at Chich with wide eyes. “M-… M-my… goddaughter?” he whispered breathlessly.

“Uh-huh.”

“… Leticia… She’s dead.”

Chich quirked an eye ridge at him. “Like I said, it’s a requirement for being here.”

“Sh-she’s dead… I’m dead… Oh! Oh no, no!”

With a frustrated sigh Chich placed the phone back on the receiver and rose up to deal with de la Cruz’s breakdown. “Easy, amigo.”

“I can’t die. Not now.”

Chich snorted. “If you’re worried about missin’ out on your fans and fame, don’t worry. There’s plenty of people here just foamin’ at the mouth to see the great Ernesto de la Cruz. A lot of the office ladies here are actually jealous I was assigned to you. You’ll be fine-”

“Héctor…”

Chich blinked at the deep sorrow and pain that he heard in de la Cruz’s voice and frowned. “Your writing partner? Leticia’s Papá?”

Ernesto brought a hand over his mouth and, seemingly to overcome to hold himself any longer, collapsed back onto the dead to stare morosely up at the ceiling. “Héctor… I can’t die. I can’t be dead, not now.”

He had promised. He had promised years ago, as he had looked two little babies in the eyes, that he would never hurt Héctor again for as long as he lived. He had stood by his side throughout all of their successes, fame, riches, pain, loss, suffering. Anything to even try to make up for what he had tried to do.

He had promised.

“… I was going to tell you everything…”