#but maybe six or so minutes into the surgery I start tearing up and eventually fully sobbing forcing them to stop

[l-cereta]

-

[missymurphy1985]

Nobody's Perfect (part7)

Will Liane crash the wedding?

Warning - angst / injury

Taglist @queenshelby @margoo0 @being-worthy @peakyscillian @ntmynouis @janelongxox @elenavampire21 @noctvrnalmoth @ysmmsy @cloudofdisney @lauren-raines-x @namelesslosers

You woke in Cillian's childhood bedroom to the sound of his alarm going off. Fortunately he had a double bed, even though the way the two of you curled into each other, a single would've been fine.

"Morning beautiful lady..." He always woke you up like that, with a gentle kiss on the top of your head.

"Morning handsome. How you feeling about your baby sister getting married?"

"Weird. She's still 7 in my head. It's really odd!"

"She was telling me about her dress last night, it sounds beautiful."

"I'm sure it will be. Come on, me mother will be downstairs already fretting and I'm gonna be kicked out in 30minutes so you women can do whatever it is you women do before a wedding..."

"Am I not coming with you?"

"Nope. I'm going to be with the other groomsmen making sure Damien doesn't do a runner."

You laughed and dragged yourselves out of bed to get ready.

You'd arrived at the venue with 5 minutes to spare. Everyone, including Cillian, would be inside waiting for the bride. You headed into the toilets to touch your lipstick up before heading inside to wait yourself. Walking in, you noticed a blond woman doing the same as you. You smiled warmly, but she didn't return it. Not everyone in his family is as friendly as the others, clearly.

Thinking no more of it, you applied your lipstick and headed back to the wedding. Spotting Cillian at the front adjusting Damien's cravat, your heart soared. He looked incredible in his navy blue groomsman suit, combined with an ivory shirt and red rose boutonnière. His Peaky haircut only added to the attraction.

Silé and her father entered the room as A Thousand Years by Christina Perri played softly on the piano in the corner. You couldn't help but watch Cillian as he winked at his sister walking towards him and Damien at the altar. He wasn't just a groomsman, he was the best man. And what a best man he was. He nudged Damien, and he turned round, tears in his eyes as he watched his soon-to-be wife approach him. Cillian caught your eye and he smiled.

The ceremony over, it was time for drinks on the large patio area outside. You were stood talking to Cillian's youngest sister Orla when two hands wrapped themselves round your waist, and a pair of lips on your neck.

"Hey beautiful..." Orla made a vomit face, making you laugh as you turned and faced him.

"My word Mr Murphy, don't you scrub up well?"

"Not so bad yourself there." He held you at arms length, admiring the floor length light blue summer dress you'd chosen.

"Does this mean there's going to be an epic best man's speech from you then?"

"Yep. Had it written for months. Plan on embarrassing the shit out my little sister - perfect revenge for the stories I'm sure she told you last night." He smirked.

You were sat next to Cillian's other siblings at the wedding breakfast - there was a seat spare anyway - this wedding was three years in the planning, that seat would have been Liane's when it was put together. Silé had left it empty on the off chance her brother would find someone. Eventually, the time came for Cillian's speech. He took the microphone, and stood. Starting with the obligatory thanking everyone for coming, before cracking jokes about how he used to play practical jokes on his sister, and how he'd set her up on a blind date with Damien six years earlier. Liane got a mention - only to say that Damien setting him up with his sister 6 years earlier than that hadn't exactly gone to plan.

"I've only just forgiven you for that," he smiled, earning a laugh from the crowd. He made eye contact with you, and was about to speak before a voice from the back of the room interrupted him.

"Wasn't all that bad now, was it Cillian?" The room fell silent, you saw Cillian's face turn white as a sheet. Turning round, you saw the blond lady from the toilets earlier... It couldn't be...

"Can't have all been bad, you married me after 6 months of dating, didn't you?" Cillian cleared his throat, determined not to ruin his sister's wedding day.

"Liane, come on.." Orla took her shoulder and tried to walk her out of the room, but she was shoved violently away and hit the floor. Cillian had seen enough at that point and made his way over, pulling Orla off the floor and glaring at Liane.

"You need to leave, now, before I make you leave.." he seethed.

"Doesn't 12 years of marriage mean anything to you?!"

"Liane this is my sister's wedding day! We're not doing this now!"

"And who's this little slut you've brought with you, huh?" She turned to you, glaring as she made her way over. You were frozen to your seat as she picked up a wine glass and smashed it off the side of the table. Cillian shouted for someone to call the police as he grabbed her from behind and pulled her backwards onto a table. He managed to pin her to the floor, holding her hands up, writhing against him trying to get at you.

"Can someone take over.." he groaned, as Padraig grabbed her arms, another man had her legs. Cillian stumbled backwards, and you saw him clutch at his abdomen, blood on his hands and over his shirt. It was then you realised she wasn't holding the glass anymore..

"Someone call an ambulance!"

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

You'd been waiting at the hospital for hours. As soon as he'd arrived he'd gone straight in for surgery. You'd gone in the ambulance with him, his mum and dad followed in the car. Everyone else stayed to give the police statements after Liane had been arrested.

His mum was holding your hand in the private room when the doctor finally came in.

"We managed to get all the glass shards out, and stitched him up. It went deep - a few centimetres to the left and she would have hit an artery. He'll need to stay for a couple of days so we can keep an eye on him, but he's awake now. He's asking for y/n?" His mum squeezed your hand. The doctor led you through to his room and you took a breath before going in. He was lying on the bed, wires in his arms and a sleepy look in his eyes, but he still shot you a smile.

"Feels like I'm filming 28 Days Later all over again," he smirked.

"You scared the shit out of me Cill..." The tears finally fell, you'd held them back up to this point but you couldn't stop them now. You sat next to his bed and held his hand, sobbing into it as he stroked your hair with his other hand.

"Just a scratch y/n. Better that than what I thought was gonna happen."

"There was so much blood..."

"She did a good job didn't she? Fuck it hurts..." He chuckled and immediately regretted it.

"Can you get my mam?" You nodded and went to fetch her. She came into to room and kissed Cillian's head lightly.

"Mam, y/n is good to stay with you til I'm outta here, right?"

"Not even a question son, you know that! Plenty of old photo albums I can show her." She smirked. So that's where he got that from...

"On second thoughts, maybe you should head to my place in Dublin..." He laughed nervously.

"Mrs Murphy I don't want to be a bother..."

"Shh now, I won't hear another word of it. You'll stay with us as long as you need to." You kissed Cillian's hand, a few tears still falling down your cheeks.

"Don't wind up the nurses Cill..." You warned, his mother told you the last time he was in hospital he spent the majority of the tine doing just that.

"Won't be flirting with them this time though at least." You raised an eyebrow, his mum slapped his shoulder.

Back at his mum's house, you'd settled on the sofa, his Dad on the armchair still in a bit of a daze and his mum bringing you a glass of wine.

"How's Silé and Damien?" You asked as she sat down next to you.

"They're more concerned about Cillian than the wedding - as long as he's okay, they're okay."

"Was she always crazy? Liane?"

"Not at first. She was a sweetheart. Once they got married and Cillian became more famous, she changed. Became possessive over him. Always checking up on him, making sure he wasn't having his way with co-stars... Ironic really!" She laughed.

"I'm so sorry for all of this... She wouldn't have done it if I'd not been there..."

"Not another word of it - the woman's a nutcase. This isn't your fault at all. I haven't seen my son this happy for years - and I mean it. If anything, I thank you for that." She took your hand as you welled up, and pulled you into a huge hug.

"You've all been so wonderful... Sorry I keep crying, my emotions are all over the place..."

"Understandable, it's been a hell of a day. Take yourself off.to get some rest. I'll wake you in the morning, we can go see Cillian. Maybe a spot of shopping after, what do you say?"

You grinned, and nodded. Saying goodnight you headed upstairs. Getting into bed, you sent a text to Cillian.

"Hope you're okay? I'm heading to bed, love you X"

He didn't reply but you figured he was probably resting, until his dad shouted up the stairs.

"Y/n??!!!" You rushed out of bed and ran downstairs.

"What's wrong?"

"Cillian's in a bad way, we need to get to the hospital now..."

[winterscaptain]

permanent.

Aaron Hotchner x Fem!Reader a joyful future fic

a/n: just in case you missed it, i published a family tree for the hotchners! at this point, jack is married to bella and living in d.c. she’s a journalist for the washington division at the new york times and is generally pretty awesome. as always, lemme know what you think!

words: 3.1k warnings: language, hospital setting, canon-typical injury

summary: “write your injuries in dust, your benefits in marble” - benjamin franklin. au!december 2035

masterlist | a joyful future masterlist | ajf faq | taglist | what do you want to see next?

“Come on, Soph! Go, baby, go!”

Your daughter is a vision. She streaks across the field, her green and yellow uniform almost melding with the grass as she keeps control of the ball. You can’t see her face too clearly, but you know she’s scanning the field with the same intensity you see in Aaron’s face beside you. 

Isaac plops down on the bench behind you, home from Los Angeles for winter break. “How’s she doing?” 

Aaron half-turns his head, keeping his eyes on the field. “Going for a hat trick - if she makes it, it’ll be her third this season.” 

“Excellent.” 

Caroline, down the field with her choir group, lounges happily between the legs of one of her friends, eating popcorn. When she sees you looking, she waves at you.

You wave back for a moment before your attention’s caught by a collective gasp and Aaron’s hand shoots to your forearm. You turn back to the field, but you missed it. 

Everyone’s moving and you don’t know why. 

With shocking agility for his age, Aaron all but leaps down the bleachers and onto the field. Your eyes search for Soph, but there are too many people on the field, all of a sudden. 

Caroline’s standing on the seat of the bleachers, her friends steadying her with their hands on her arms and ankles. 

There’s a hand, soft and scared on your shoulder. “Mom?”

You open your arms, and your nearly-grown son ducks under it, curling into you as you stand. “Do you want your earbuds?” 

You feel him nod and you pull them out of your bag. His trembling quiets a little after he fits them in his ears. 

There’s a clamber, and Caroline appears at your side. “What happened?” 

“I don’t know. I wasn’t watching.” 

She exhales, shaky and worried. “Where’s Dad?” 

“On the field.”

But where? 

You find Aaron, his salt-and-pepper hair stark in the autumn light. He’s talking to the referee, his brows low. 

You hear sirens. 

+++

“Oh, hey! What’s up, Mom?” 

You almost hate to ruin his mood. 

“Jack, honey, can you get down to the house at any point tonight?” 

You try not to grip the handle above the car door too tightly as Aaron races through the suburban streets, following the ambulance. Soph was definitely lucid when they loaded her up, but definitely in a lot of pain. 

“Ye - Yeah...Why?” 

“Soph’s headed to the ER - something happened on the soccer pitch today and her knee…” You shake your head. “I dunno. Her knee looks really bad.” 

“Fuck. Okay.” You hear him shuffle around and click his mouse - checking his schedule. “I can get down there after my last meeting at four - I’m headed there in a few minutes, but won’t be able to swing any earlier. I’d cancel it, but it’s literally SecDef and the Joint Chiefs and -” 

“That’s fine - I just need someone at the house with the kids until one of us can get back. Elliot’s at baseball practice until six and I’m not sure if -” 

“I’ll be there. I’ll get El and then I’ll swing by for Isaac and Caro if they’re still with y’all down there.” 

You glance over at Aaron and nod. He heaves a sigh of relief and mouths Thank you. 

“Thanks, Jack.” 

“Yeah. See you soon. Love you.” 

“Love you, too.”

+++

When you’re finally allowed in to see Sophia, her eyes are red and puffy with tears. Her right leg is braced and elevated at the knee. 

Her doctor explains the situation - dislocated knee and splintered patella with a torn meniscus and ACL. “This kind of traumatic knee injury poses a couple of issues…” 

He explains that the rehabilitation and surgery needs for both the ACL and meniscus are exceedingly different, and “It’s entirely possible Miss Sophia will experience permanent joint damage. However, we won’t know that until we have an orthopaedic surgeon look at it tomorrow.” 

“What about sports? Can I still play?” Soph tries to sit up farther, but Aaron’s arm shoots out, locking her against the bed across her shoulders. 

The doctor looks hesitant, and it’s all she needs to burst into tears again. Aaron moves, sitting on the side of the bed and wrapping her up in his arms. He looks over her head at you and your lower lip disappears into your mouth as you meet his gaze. 

You shift your attention to your other children sitting patiently behind you.

Caroline’s practically bit her nails to the quick - her hands looking more and more like her Aunt Emily’s as the moments pass. 

Isaac’s been sitting in the wide windowsill for the entire afternoon, his headphones on, staring out the window, his mouth tight and fingers tearing into the foam stress ball you keep in your purse. 

We’ll need another one of those. Or five.

 You get a phone call, and you step out. “Hey, Jack.” 

“Hey. Just got Elliot. We’re headed over to the hospital now. How’s she doing?” 

You sigh and press a hand to your forehead. 

“Oh, shit. That bad?” He asks. 

You don’t comment on his tell pickup. It’s in his blood, at this point. “Yeah. She’s definitely out for the rest of the season, and we’re looking at some long-term stuff, too.” 

“Fuck.” 

“Hey! I’m still here and she’s gonna kick your ass if you keep swearing in front of me, dude.” Elliot shouts from the back and it almost makes you smile. 

“I’m actually inclined to agree with you, Jack. We’ve got a dislocated and splintered patella in addition to a torn meniscus and ACL. It’s going to be a long rehab.” 

You hear a deep sigh into the bluetooth system in Jack’s car. “Well, I’ll stay here for the duration.” 

“No, no honey it’s alright. Your dad is home full-time and you’ve got a huge project reaching critical stages. Your room is all ready for you, but you really don’t have to hang around if you can’t manage the drive every day. And Bella -”

“Bells is looped in. She’s fine. She’s more than happy to tag out if we need to. Her deadlines are really loose right now what with the whole ‘nothing going on in Arlington’ thing this week. She’s heartbroken for Soph and wants to help where she can.” 

“Alright.” 

“Hey,” He huffs, sounding a lot like his dad. “I’ll let you go. I’ll text when I’m outside.” 

“Okay. Thanks, bud.” 

“Of course,” he says, like it’s the simplest thing in the world. “Anytime.” 

+++

Sophia’s sleeping when Alice and Hank come to visit later in the evening. Aaron went home a couple hours after Jack, planning to tag out with you later so you could get some sleep in your own bed before work tomorrow. 

Alice immediately embraces you, all but falling into your lap as you hold her. She’s shaking.

“Is she okay?” 

You push her back, smoothing some wayward edges at her hairline. “She will be.” 

Alice’s dark eyes fill with tears, and you brush them off her cheeks as they fall. 

“She’ll need your help, though. It’s gonna be a long time before we figure out what’s permanent and what’s not.” 

Alice nods and retreats, sitting in the plastic chair by Soph’s side, folding her arms on the mattress and laying her head on them. “Hey, Sofa,” she whispers, though Soph can’t hear her. 

“I haven’t heard that one in a while,” you tell her. Sofa is a nickname Derek gave Sophia when she was little. No big meaning to it, but it stuck. 

You wouldn’t be surprised if she stayed there all night. 

Hank lingers by the door. In the shadow of the room, you could easily mistake him for Derek, but that concerned pull at the corners of his eyes screams Savannah. 

Eventually, he crosses the room and sits on the little lounger beside you. 

He takes your hand and you kiss his knuckles. “I bet this isn’t how you wanted to spend your winter break, huh?” 

A little laugh leaves him. “Maybe not, but little Miss Thing over here dragged me out the door before I could get two words in edgewise.” He gestures vaguely toward Alice and you actually smile. 

“Yeah. In my experience, Morgan women don’t fuck around.” 

“You got that right,” comes a voice from the doorway. It’s Savannah, fresh off her shift and still in her white coat and scrubs. She scours over Sophia’s charts and checks on her before sitting on your other side. 

“Do you want the bad news or the good-but-also-kind-of-bad news?” She asks, almost inaudible. You glance up at Soph but Savannah shakes her head. “She’s out - those pain meds will leave this entire visit a blur.” 

You sigh. “Fine. Hit me with the bad shit.” 

“You sure?”

“Yeah.” 

Savannah rests her elbows on her knees. “I’ve seen a knee injury like this exactly once before. No matter what you do, they can’t and don’t always heal right. She could need a mobility device permanently, even after she’s healed, and I can tell you now she won’t play again.” 

That’s okay. She’s okay. 

Better soccer goes than her life. 

Soccer is her life. 

You only know that Alice can hear everything when her shoulders start to shake. She doesn’t make any noise as she cries. She’s like her dad that way. Hank stands and places a hand between her shoulder blades, but says nothing. 

“Is that the worst of it?” 

Savannah nods. “Yeah.” She takes a breath. “The kinda good news is that she’ll be totally fine no matter what obstacles she may run into. She’s tough. I wouldn’t expect anything less from a Hotchner.”

She snorts. “Hell, I watched you bounce back from crazy life-threatening shit with a quip and a grin.” 

You raise your eyebrows and shrug. “I do what I can.” 

+++

Caroline curls into her father’s side, her double bed big enough to manage the both of them. It feels a lot like when she was little - she’d have nightmares or couldn’t fall asleep and Aaron would come and sit with her until her breath was even and slow.

“Dad?”

“Mhmm?”

“What’s Soph gonna do about college?” Caroline’s voice is small, nearly smothered in Aaron’s shirt. “She already has scouting offers and stuff.” 

“Yeah,” he says with a sigh. “I’m not sure. We’ll all have to figure it out together, won’t we?”

+++

Aaron steps into the room, closing the sliding glass door behind him. Alice, just as you predicted, snoozes next to Sophia, her head pillowed on her arms. Sophia’s upper body almost arcs around her and she managed to snag one of Alice’s hands in her adjustment. 

Those two…

Maybe he won’t escape the inevitable after all. 

Morgan-Hotchner? Hotchner-Morgan? 

He really only ever prepared to lose his name with Caroline. Soph always seemed far too… herself to take on a new one. 

We’ll see.

You’re asleep in the pull-out chair, your brow drawn and arms crossed over your chest. He approaches you as quietly as he can, putting his go bag down and sitting beside you. 

Much to his chagrin, you startle awake. 

“Sorry,” he says in a whisper. “I didn’t mean to wake you.” 

You shake your head. “You didn’t.” Talking through your yawn, you add, “Just had a weird dream is all.” 

Aaron pulls you close and you relent, tucking into his side with a hand pressed to his chest. 

“Did Savannah come by?” He asks. 

You nod. 

“What did she say?” 

You sniff a little, more from the antiseptic smell than any emotional response - that will come later. “Soph won’t be able to play again unless fuckin’ divine intervention or some shit comes along and fixes her knee from scratch, but she’ll be able to move around just fine with a cane or brace or something after a while.” 

Aaron can only imagine it now - fits and righteous anger about getting around the house, watching games from the bench - the list could go on forever. “She’ll hate that.” 

You hum in agreement. “Just another parenting challenge. Already have the rest of the gamut covered neurodevelopmentally, so we were bound to get a physical challenge at some point.” 

“Never more than we can handle.” 

Shaking your head, you note, “This one just might do us in.” 

+++

“I swear to God, if I see you in the office at all this week I’m gonna smash your kneecaps in.” Emily pauses. “Sorry. Too soon?” 

“No, no, it’s fine.” You laugh a little and Soph sits up, her brow asking a question. 

You answer, pulling the phone away from your mouth. “Your Aunt Emily told me she’d smash my kneecaps if she saw me at the federal building this week.” 

Soph snorts. “Nice. We could match.” 

You reach over and tweak her nose. “We already match.” 

“Hey.” Emily grabs your attention again and you put your cell back to your ear. “I’m serious. I don’t want you to be here. Stay home for Soph right now and I’ll sign off on it and turn everything in for you.” 

You roll your eyes. “I can’t believe you turned into Rossi, Miss I’m Past Retirement Age But Twisted the Bureaus Arm to Let Me Work Myself to Death.”

She laughs and hangs up, leaving you and Sophia alone again in the hospital room. She tucks back into her Jello, taking bites that are way too big. 

“How are you feeling, bug?” You brush her cheekbone with your thumb and she shrugs. 

“Can you hand me my headband?” 

You reach over and dig around in her back until you find the wide swatch of colorful fabric. She takes it from you and shoves it over her head, pushing her hair back with practiced ease. 

She’s just like her dad. 

What? Loyal? 

Yeah. But also chronically avoidant. 

“You didn’t answer my question.” 

She huffs, playing with her fingers. “I’m fine. I think.” Her breath is shaky. “I can’t really tell with all the meds I’m on, but it feels… really bad.” 

When she looks over at you again, her eyes are glassy, tearful. “I know I can’t play again, maybe not even run.” 

You reach out for her hand, but don’t say anything. 

“Momma…” She pauses, looking down at her blanket. “Momma, I don’t know what I’m gonna do. I feel like I only know how to play soccer. I don’t know how - I don’t know if I want to do anything else. I’ve never thought about it before.” 

You run your thumb over her knuckles. “Soph, you can do so much. You have a great strategic mind - you think in these big, creative webs. It’s such an asset.” 

“Don’t profile me.” 

“I’m not profiling you, baby,” you tell her with a smile. “I just know that about you because you’re my daughter.”

Her mouth twists. “Right.” She looks down when her phone buzzes. 

“Who is it?” 

The corners of her lips tip up. “It’s Alice. She’s asking me if I want anything from the drive thru.”

You mirror her little smile. “That’s nice of her.” 

“Yeah.”

+++

“Alright so you have twenty nuggets, large fries,” Alice digs around in the bag, taking things out as she speaks. “And… a vanilla milkshake.” 

“God, I love you.” Sophia wraps her hand around Alice's head and pulls her close, pressing a kiss to her temple. 

Alice laughs, deep from her chest. “Shit, Soph, if all I have to do to secure your love is get you crap chicken, sign me up.” 

“You could get damn close.” 

Aaron watches the girls sit beside each other in the bed, taking turns dipping their nuggets in the sauce. They’ve always been this way, exchanging barbs and affection in equal measure. Symbiotic in the extreme, one is never far from the other. 

You’re home, getting everyone else in bed and settled for the evening. Isabella drove in a night early - Jack’s headed back to D.C. apartment for a series of days-long meetings at the Pentagon regarding his latest project. 

Aaron’s excited to see her. It’s been a helluva thing to see his son married, even more surreal to know and love his son’s wife like his own daughters. 

His phone rings. 

Speak of the devil. 

“Hey, Bella.” 

Sophia looks over at the mention of her sister-in-law, and Alice looks beside herself with delight. As well as being a hit among the parents, Bella’s a winner with the kids, too. 

Some days, Caroline likes her more than she likes Jack. 

“Hey, Pops. Want to tag out?” 

“Sure. I’ll switch with you. How long do you want to be here?” 

He can almost hear her shrug. “Eh. I’ll spend the night. My column isn’t due until the end of the week and I’ve got it covered. Don’t need to work, don’t really need to sleep. Win-win.”

“If you say so.” 

“I do. I’ll be there in twenty.” 

She hangs up before Aaron can respond, so he just pockets his phone and takes the loss. Sophia, after taking a sip of her milkshake, asks. “Is Bella here all night?” 

“Yeah, bug. She’ll be here.” 

Soph and Alice share a look. 

+++

“Well, Bella has more patience than I do,” Aaron says, dropping his go bag at the bedroom door. “She’s stuck with H&M for the rest of the night at the hospital.” 

You laugh, wrapping your arms around him. “I’m glad the girls have company, and fun company, at that.” 

“Fair enough.” 

The two of you quiet for a moment, and you tuck further under his arm, placing your hand over his heart. 

“Aaron?” 

His hand traces up and down your back, slow and steady. “Yeah?” 

“What can we do for her? She sounded so… defeated today.” 

And it’s true. You’ve never seen Soph like that, even at her lowest. If you were honest, it scared you a little. 

“We can be her parents. That’s all. And she’ll figure something out. If she needs to take a gap year, she’ll manage. She and Alice can search for programs together.” He sighs before he continues, leaning back to look at you. 

“All we can do is ask her what she needs and support her as best we can.” 

+++

tagging: @avengersbau @ambicaos @angelsbabey @arganfics @averyhotchner @bwbatta @capricorngf @cevanswhre @crazyshannonigans @criminalsmarts @deagibs @forgottenword @genevievedarcygranger @hotchsflower​ @hotchslatte​ @hurricanejjareau @joanofarkansass @kelstark @kerrswriting @little-blue-fishie @lotties-journey-abroad @mandylove1000 @missdowntonabbey @mrs-dr-reid @pan-pride-12 @popped-weasels @quillvine @qvid-pro-qvo @reidingmelodies @reids-mismatchedsocks @roses-and-grasses @shesbiochem4 @ssahotchnerr @ssaic-jareau @ssareidbby @starsandasteroids @stxrrywildflower @sunflowersandotherthings @sunshine-em @teamhappyme @this-broken-band-girl @ughitsbaby @unicorn-bitch @venusbarnes @violet-amxthyst @word-scribbless @writefasttalkevenfaster @zizzlekwum @iconicc @avatarkorraswife @mooneylupinblack @ssworldofsw @nuvoleincielo @kaemarie23 @violentvulgarvolatile @abschaffer2 @ellyhotchner @rousethemouse @baumarvel @reidtomestyles @dreamsonthewall @jhiddles03 @willlemonheadsupremacy @infinity1321 @messyhairday-me @itsalwaysb33nyou @finnologys @hotch-meeeeeuppppp @hothothotchner @happyvol7 @ssa-holmes @mac99martin @ssahotchner99 @triangularroses @vagabond-ing @itsmytimetoodream @magic_in_the_eyes_of_the_beholder

[bangtanreadingcorner]

all my tomorrow’s • min yoongi

plot – yoongi gets it in his head that you wouldn’t stand by him through just about anything, so you help him remember.

words – 2.6K

“Hey, can we talk?” Yoongi asks when you two walked out of your ensuite bathroom, having just taken a shower together. You were going to make some tea and then cuddle in bed, watching a movie or a series.

“Yeah, sure, what’s up?” You grinned at him, towel drying your hair over your shoulder.

“So, my surgery is coming up in a few days.” He started, clearly nervous, sitting on the edge of your shared bed in a shirt and flannel pants.

You frowned a little, not sure where exactly he’s heading with this conversation, but you nod anyway. “I know. Three days, to be exact.”

He hums, then looks at you, gripping the sheets. “What I’m trying to say is, these next few months, they’re not gonna be easy, so, I’d understand if you want to take a break.”

You looked at him, watching as he lowered his head, wondering how he could have possibly come up with this ridiculous idea. Maybe he was joking. When he didn’t say anything else, and you realised that he was being dead serious, you scoffed.

“You’re a real fucking idiot, you know that?” You said, completely serious. He looked up at that, eyes widening in surprise but there was relief on his face too.

“I’m just giving you the option.” He defended.

You clicked your tongue at him, offended. “Well, I never asked for it.”

He sighed gently, voice low when he spoke. “This isn’t what you signed up for.”

You turned away from him, trying to suppress the urge to scream at him. Maybe you could get one of the other members to beat some sense into him. Definitely not Jeongguk, the maknae would take it a bit too literal.

You sighed, taking a deep breath before turning to face your idiot. “Yoongi, why do you think I’m with you?”

“Because you love me.” He answered without hesitation and you felt relieved that he knew at least that much.

“Great, so you know.” You deadpanned, the smile on your face edging on sharp. “Now, can you please explain to me why I would want a break from our relationship when you would need my support most?” You glared at him slightly.

“Because I will be in pain, and difficult and I will need to do P.T and I will probably be short tempered.” Yoongi blurted and you felt anger starting to stir inside of you.

“Did it ever occur to you that I might want to be there despite that? That I want to take care of you while you heal?” You asked, voice a little heated.

His silence was more than enough of an answer.

“Jesus Christ.” You felt a little defeated, anger washing away and tears stinging your eyes. “Five years, Yoongi. Five fucking years we’ve been together. Doesn’t that mean anything to you?”

“I’m sorry, I just thought you might want to sit this one out.” He shrugged, looking a little guilty.

“Heaven and hell, good and bad – that’s what we promised each other. Do you remember?” You looked him in the eyes, hoping the memory flashed to the surface for him as it did for you.

Two years ago:

“I want to marry you.” Yoongi said while you two were walking hand in hand on a secluded beach somewhere in Turkey. You couldn’t remember the name.

You tilted your head at him, a warm smile on your face, skin golden under the light of the setting sun. “Are you asking me or telling me?”

“I’m telling you.” He said firmly. “Let’s get married. Tonight.”

You wanted to laugh, but one look at his serious face had you stopping in your tracks. “Are you insane?”

“Insanely in love with you, yeah, but that’s besides the point.” Yoongi waved you off. “So, what do you say?”

“What about your fans and your members?” You asked, throat feeling dry and your heart beat speeding up because the longer you thought about it, the more you wanted it. Yoongi being your husband.

Husband.

The thought was a little dizzying.

Yoongi stepped in front of you, taking hold of your hands. “We don’t have to make it public. It’s just a piece of paper anyways, and it’s not like your surname would change like in other countries if we did sign papers, so what’s the point? Marriage is more than a piece of paper. Years ago, people didn’t sign any papers and they were still married, so why can’t we do it? As for the guys, they know. They’ve known since I looked at rings in Hawaii a year ago.”

“A year ago?” You echoed, grip on his hands tightening. “You’ve really thought about this.”

“I have.” Yoongi nodded in agreement. “I asked the others earlier and they’ll be witnesses for us. We can do it right here.” He gestured to the beach you were walking on.

Tears welled up in your eyes as the looks on the guys' faces suddenly made sense when Yoongi asked you to go for a walk on the beach earlier. “Well, I mean, I do have that white dress Hoseok bought for me as an early birthday present yesterday.”

Yoongi smiled at you, eyes twinkling as he gave you a pointed look. You gasped, tears finally rolling past the brims of your eye banks. “Oh my God, that was actually from you?”

When he nodded, you let out a half-laugh, half-sob. “I know it’s not exactly what you’d consider a traditional wedding dress, but I thought it would do nicely.”

“It’s perfect.” You assured him.

His eyes lit up, “Is that a yes?”

“Yes, I’ll marry you.” You nodded, another tear rolling down your cheek.

He pulled something out of his pocket, a ring. An engagement ring. You gasped again, "Where did you even get that?"

"My mom bought it for me a few months ago." Yoongi admitted with a shy smile. "I would have done it myself, but then I would have trended on Twitter five minutes later." He said, taking your hand and slipping the ring on your finger.

The next few hours went by in a blur as you showered, did your hair and then pulled on your dress, forgoing shoes because it was a beach wedding, after all. You felt so giddy at the thought that you let out a squeak of happiness. Finally, there was a knock on the sliding door that lead outside to the beach. You opened it and grinned at the person at the other side.

“Hey Hoseok.” You stepped aside and let your oldest friend in. He was wearing a white button up and white dress pants that were rolled up to his ankles, also barefoot.

“Wow, you look really beautiful, Y/N.” He gave you his sunny smile and you felt a little less nervous.

“Thank you.” You told him, sincerely. “For everything.” Because he was the one who introduced you to Yoongi. Sure, it was to the whole band at the time, wanting them to know his best friend in the whole world. You and Hoseok grew up together in Gwangju, next door neighbours and best friends from the first play date your mother’s arranged. “If it wasn’t for you, I would have never met Yoongi.”

“Ah, it was nothing.” He waved you off with that cheery grin of his. “You two did all of the hard work, nearly killed each other too.”

You rolled your eyes fondly, “We weren’t that bad.”

“Yes, you were.” Hoseok said with a serious look on his face. “Yoongi-hyung thought you weren’t interested and you thought he hated you because he almost always left the room the second you came in, when he was just really shy around you.”

“We figured it out eventually, didn’t we?” You pouted.

“Only because we locked you in a room together and wouldn’t let you guys out until you talked to each other.” Hoseok pointed out.

“Eh, semantics.” You two giggled and when you called down, you looked at him seriously. “Hoseok-ah, can I ask you a favour?”

“Anything.” He said and meant it. Yoongi often joked and said that you and Hoseok were like Jimin and Taehyung – soulmates. He also said that you’d probably murder and cover up a murder for each other.

Personally, you like to think that neither you or Hoseok are that violent.

“So, we’ve known each other since we were six months old, we went to school together and did everything we could together and if there is any truth in soulmates like Jimin and Taehyung believe, then I’d like to think that you are mine. So, Jung Hoseok, partner of my soul and best friend of my life, will you walk me to the beach and give me away?” You looked at him.

“Yes, I’d be honoured.” He nodded, eyes shining with tears like yours did. And so he did, he walked you down the makeshift isle to the beach where Yoongi was standing with the rest of the band.

You’d have like your parents to be here but it’s okay, they are here in spirit, having given Yoongi their blessing long ago.

Yoongi and the rest of the guys were dressed exactly the same as Hoseok, white button up and dress pants, rolled up to their ankles.

“I’d say take care of her, hyung, but that’s all you’ve ever done.” Hoseok said with a bright, teary smile as he gave your hand to Yoongi.

Namjoon would be ‘officiating’, so he stood with his back facing the ocean, while the rest of them stood on the other side of you and Yoongi, looking at the ocean and you and Yoongi looked at each other, holding hands.

“I’m not exactly sure how this works, but I’ll try.” Namjoon said, causing all of you to chuckles. “We are all here to celebrate the union of Yoongi-hyung and Y/N. They didn’t have the easiest road but they got here, with hard work and being dedicated to each other. Yoongi-hyung said they wanted to do their own vows.”

Yoongi nodded, smiling at you. “Ladies, first.”

“I didn’t have time to write something, so I’ll just speak from the heart. Yoongi, my love, my heart. There is so many things I could say to you, comparisons I could make and metaphors I could use but in the end, they could never fully explain everything I feel for you and they all add up to the same thing: I love you. And I will love you for as long as there is breath in my lungs and even after. Heaven or hell, I’ll pick whatever road you take. Good times and bad times, I’ll be by your side. For all my tomorrow's.”

Yoongi was smiling that gummy smile at you, the one you fell for the first time you saw it. “Y/N, that was beautiful and I loved it. I hope you like mine. I’ve been thinking about vows for a while now, knowing that I’d want to say something to you. And in the end I realised that there is nothing I could say here, today, that I haven’t already said and will say again to you, so instead I’ll tell you a secret you’ve always wanted to know – how I fell in love with you. The first time I saw you, I knew there was something about you. It wasn’t until a few months later, when you came over for dinner and laughed with Hoseok about something Jeonggukie did, one of those belly deep laughs, and I couldn’t take my eyes off you, that it finally hit me. I was falling in love with you. And everyday since then, I’ve been falling. And like you said, heaven or hell, good or bad, I’ll always love you and I’ll always be by your side.”

You both turned to Namjoon, who smiled at you, dimples showing. “I guess asking if you’ll always be there for each other is kind of moot now, huh?” You laughed a little, feeling so full love that you might actually combust.

Namjoon looked at you, “So, Y/N, do you take Yoongi-hyung as your husband?”

“I do.” You grinned.

“Yoongi-hyung, do you take Y/N as your wife?”

“I do.”

“In that case, I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss your bride.”

Present Day:

You looked at him, eyes searching desperately to see if he could still remember your vows from your wedding.

“I’ll always remember.” He looked at you softly, and so full of love, like he always does.

You walked to him, until you were right in front of him. His eyes followed you. Your voice was quiet and full of hurt when you asked him, “Then why would you tell me something like that?”

Yoongi took your hands and pulled you closer until you climbed onto his lap, straddling him with your knees. He rested his forehead against yours. “Because I’m an idiot who is hopelessly in love with you and I’m still terrified that one day this life is going to be too much for you and you’ll leave.”

“At least we can both agree on that – you’re an idiot.” You told him in a whisper. “But you’re my idiot.”

“I love you.”

“I love you too, but if you ever say something like that to me again, I will withhold sex for a month.” You threatened seriously.

“Just a month?” He teased. Both of you’ve gone longer without physically touching each other when he’s been on tour.

“There’s only so long I can resist you.” You admitted, cheeks heating up a bit. “Especially when you are in my immediate vicinity.”

“Like that time you jumped me when I stepped through our door after a world tour?” He gave you a smug look.

You sighed, “Oh, not this again. I didn’t jump you.”

“Okay, fine, you didn’t jump, you leaped into my arms.” He snickered.

You pouted, “To give you a welcome home hug.”

“And remind me again, what did we do right after that hug?” He raised a brow.

“As far as I remember, you were a very willing participant.” You grumbled.

“Never said I wasn’t.” Your husband said. You glared at him.

Yoongi chuckles, the sound making you melt as he leaned closer and kissed you. You kissed him back, not hesitating. You loved being kissed by him. His tongue asked for entrance and you granted it, moaning into his mouth when he thoroughly explored your mouth with his tongue. When you pulled apart for air, Yoongi went for your neck, kissing, biting and licking wherever his lips touched, setting your skin on fire, blood roaring through your veins.

His hands moved up your bare thighs, fingers nudging the seam of your pyjama shorts.

Something occurred to you in your desire filled mind, want slowly drowning out any coherent thought.

“How’s your-” You cut yourself off as he gave a particularly hard suck on your pulse point and you knew there would be marks.

“How’s your shoulder?” You finally asked – gasping in pleasure when his teeth scraped the sensitive skin, eyes fluttering shut – the knowledge of Yoongi being in pain would be enough to douse the fire inside you.

The next moment you were on your back, eyes opening to see Yoongi looking down at you with wicked grin, a hand on each side of your head. “It’s fine. I haven’t had any pain today, you know that.”

“Just checking.” You said with a pointed look as you wrapped your arms around his waist, slipping your arms beneath his shirt. The look was to remind him of that time when he didn’t tell any of his members that he was in pain during a practice and passed out from pain.

“Yes, mom.” He rolled his eyes.

You pinched his waist with a light huff, “Fuck you.”

“Oh, trust me,” Yoongi smirked, eyes full of intent. “You will.”

the end.

[suituuup]

When Beca Mitchell is diagnosed with MS, she agonises over what it will mean for her career and more importantly, her relationship. But if there’s one thing Chloe Beale knows for a fact, it’s that nothing, including MS, will get in the way of their love.

for better or worse

Rating: T

ao3 link

*

Multiple Sclerosis.

Beca blinks at the doctor’s words as she sits in his office, the news shaking her to the core. The last few weeks have been a whirlwind of medical tests ever since Beca went to her GP after dealing for months with blurred vision, vertigo, pains in her hands, and general exhaustion.

She didn’t think much of it at first. Work has been crazy since the start of the year and Beca’s been too excited about Chloe’s pregnancy to focus on her state, but Chloe has been worried it might be more serious and insisted she got some tests done.

Beca’s heard of MS before, but isn’t sure of what it means or if there’s a treatment for it. “What-- um… How is that going to affect my life, exactly?”

She suddenly wishes she’d said yes when Chloe offered to take the afternoon off to come with her to this appointment, because she really needs a hand to hold right now. Beca assured her it would be fine, that it was probably nothing.

But now… she’s fucking terrified.

It doesn’t help that her doctor doesn’t have time to answer all those questions barreling into her brain at full speed, instead sending her home with a few pamphlets and the number of a specialist.

Beca’s walk home is a complete blur, her feet carrying her on auto-pilot back to their building complex. She spends the rest of the afternoon online, researching whatever she can on the disease. Her panic only grows the more she learns about it, and when Chloe steps through the door an hour later, Beca’s still sat on the couch with her computer propped against her thighs, pamphlets and handwritten notes sprawled around her as she stares blankly at her screen.

Two words have etched their ways into her skull.

No cure.

“Babe?” Chloe asks as she takes off her coat, hanging it by the door. “What did the doctor say? I got worried when I didn’t get a text after I got out of surgery.”

Beca snaps out of her daze, her gaze finding her wife’s as she rounds the corner to their living room. Chloe’s eyes drop to the documents laying next to Beca, and she takes it between her fingers, her silence deafening as she reads the title.

“Oh my god,” she eventually croaks out, her trembling hand blindly reaching out for the back of the couch as she lowers herself on the surface. “You should have called me.”

Beca shrugs. “I know you were in the middle of surgery,” she says quietly, puffing out a breath as her eyes roll towards the ceiling to keep from crying. “So this really fucking sucks.”

She knows a dozen of questions if not more are hindering Chloe’s ability to think right now, much like they did to her back at the doctor’s office, and Beca reaches across the pamphlets to cover Chloe’s hand.

“I have an appointment with a specialist next week, she’ll answer any questions we have.”

Chloe visibly swallows, blinking away the moisture in her eyes. “Right, okay.” A few tears slide down her cheeks despite her efforts to get rid of them, and she hastily wipes them off, swearing under her breath. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t,” Beca requests softly, squeezing her hand. “I know it’s a lot.”

Chloe shuffles closer, draping her legs over Beca’s and snuggling into her side. “I love you.”

Closing her eyes, Beca basks into the comfort only her wife’s affection can provide. She knows whatever’s ahead of her, they’ll figure out how to live with it. “I love you, too.”

The next few weeks and months don’t bring much change to Beca’s daily life. She’s still tired and achy, but it doesn’t prevent her from going to work and getting the job done on her many projects. She can tell Chloe is trying her best to be supportive without crossing to the overbearing side of things.

Her first relapse shows up six months after her diagnosis. It starts with blurry vision towards the end of her work day and dizziness throughout the evening. She retreats to bed around seven and sleeps for twelve hours, waking up in more pain than she’s ever felt before. Her limbs feel exceptionally heavy and tingly all over, and it takes Beca a few minutes to realize the bedding underneath her is damp, and so are her pajamas bottoms.

Humiliation washes over her in a cold sweat when it dawns on her that she peed herself during the night. She can hear Chloe in the shower and is determined for her wife not to find out about that shameful episode, attempting to get up to change the sheets. Her body is not agreeing with her though, and the simple act of sitting up is too much for her weakened muscles that she soon gives up altogether.

The reality of her disease crashes into her all at once, the emotional turmoil she’s been trying to push down over the last few months spiraling in her chest like a tiny tornado. She bursts into tears right there, ugly sobs wrecking her from the inside out as she curls up into a fetal position.

“Baby?” She feels a hand on her arm and burrows deeper in the covers. “It’s okay, let it out.”

“I can’t get up,” she eventually manages, opening her eyes to find Chloe staring at her in concern. “I can’t get up.”

“Oh, babe…” Chloe strokes her hair gently and leans in to kiss her forehead. “I’ll call your work, okay? Tell them you’re not feeling well. You stay in bed, I’ll be right back.”

It takes Chloe a few minutes to do so, and she comes back with a glass of water which she sets on Beca’s bedside table.

“Do you want to eat anything?”

Beca shakes her head faintly. “Chlo…” Her chest tightens with shame. “I need to get up.”

“No, you don’t. Work can wait, alright? You need to take care of yourself first.”

Beca shakes her head once more. Even finding words is exhausting. It feels as though her brain is all fogged up. “I wet the bed.”

Realization and brief shock flash in Chloe’s eyes, but she quickly recovers. “Okay, that’s okay. I’ll help you up and change the sheets, alright?”

Beca whimpers; Chloe is her wife, not her caretaker, she shouldn’t have to do this. But It’s not like they have much of a choice right now.

“Come on, I’ll help you into the shower.”

With Chloe’s help, Beca manages to slowly shuffle towards the bathroom. She sits down on the toilet, more tears leaking out of her eyes as she takes in her current state.

“Hey,” Chloe whispers, kneeling beside her and cupping her cheek tenderly. “Nothing to be ashamed about. It’s not your fault.”

Beca remains silent, keeping her eyes fastened on the bathroom tile.

“I’ll go grab a chair so you can sit in the shower, okay?”

“K,” Beca mutters.

Chloe returns less than a minute later and helps Beca undress, then helps her into the shower. Beca is thankfully strong enough to wash herself so Chloe doesn’t have to do it for her, though it feels like a work-out of its own.

“Chlo?” She calls out ten minutes later. “I’m ready.”

“Coming!”

Chloe’s obviously seen Beca naked more times than Beca can count, but not like this; frail and weak and unable to fucking take care of herself. She wraps a large towel around Beca’s body and guides her back to the toilet.

“I took today off, too,” Chloe says as she rubs Beca’s skin dry.

Beca wants to argue with that, but she can’t; she doesn’t know how worse it’s going to get throughout the day and doesn’t feel like she can deal with it on her own.

“Thanks,” she croaks out, sniffling. “‘M’sorry I’m like this.”

“There’s nothing to apologize for,” Chloe murmurs, glancing up. “You hear me?”

Beca puffs out a breath and eventually nods. Chloe helps her put on a clean pair of pajamas, long sleeve shirt and a hoodie, and Beca settles down on the couch with a blanket, preferring to be in the living room.

She weaves in and out of sleep for the next few hours, waking up just after lunch claiming she’s not hungry. She does accept the herbal tea Chloe makes her, and Chloe settles at the head of the couch once she’s done drinking it, Beca propping her head onto her lap.

“Maybe you should think about telling your boss?”

Beca has avoided doing so since finding out, because she didn’t see the point of making a bigger deal out of it than it was up until today.

“I know, I just…” She sighs. “I’m afraid the label might give me shitty projects if I tell them. What I’m doing right now, it’s been my dream for so long, Chlo. And I finally have it and now--” She inhales sharply, forcing the lump in her throat back down. “I’m terrified it might crumble. Not only my job, but our marriage whenever it becomes too hard for you and--”

“Baby,” Chloe interrupts softly, stroking Beca’s forehead with the pad of her thumb. “That is not going to happen. I’m not going anywhere.”

“You don’t know that,” Beca croaks out. As much as she wants to believe Chloe, neither of them has a crystal ball to predict the future. “We don’t know how bad it might get. I could lose my sight, or not be able to walk anymore or-- we have a baby on the way. I just, I can’t be a burden to you.”

“We’ll learn to live with it,” Chloe murmurs, sliding her free hand in Beca’s. “This is all so new, we need to find our footing. You just started your treatment, and the relapses aren’t going to last forever. We’ll find professional help for whenever you do have them, and losing your sight or ability to walk is not going to make me love you any less, Bec.”

Beca swallows. “Promise me you’ll put yourself first if it becomes too much, okay? Promise me.”

If the disease were to ruin her life, Beca doesnt want it to ruin Chloe’s or their child’s as well.

“Okay, I promise,” Chloe whispers, blinking back tears. “I love you so much.”

Beca closes her eyes, letting those words wash over her. “I love you, too.” She twists her head to press her lips to the gentle swell of Chloe’s belly. “And you.”

She’s bedridden for four days, and requires the use of crutches for a week after that as her balance is really off. There’s no more avoiding possible in telling her boss about her condition, but he proves to be incredibly understanding and reassuring about Beca’s future with the label.

Over the next few months, she works with a personal coach to strengthen her balance, and finds a neurologist who specializes in MS. It takes a little while, but they eventually manage to find a treatment for which the side effects aren’t too heavy and which considerably slows down the progress of the disease.

Chloe is incredibly supportive, not that Beca is at all surprised, and somehow, learning to live with MS brings them closer and strengthens their bond.

She relapses a few months after Micah’s birth, and Chloe’s parents move in for the couple weeks it lasts as Beca can’t do much to help out. Micah’s presence keeps her from falling in a depressive state over that lapse of time where getting out of bed is difficult, as her entire right side is paralized. He often naps with her, or hangs out on she and Chloe’s bed during tummy time, his smiles and gurgles keeping Beca afloat.

“Hi,” Chloe whispers as she rounds the corner, hearts flashing from her eyes as she takes in the scene before her. Micah is fast asleep sprawled across Beca’s torso, his fingers curled around loose fabric from her top.

“Hey,” Beca attempts a smile, though it comes out crooked as she can’t control the right side of her mouth. “How was work?”

Her speech is slurred, too, but Chloe manages to understand her most of the time.

Still clad in her scrubs, Chloe gently climbs into bed, settling on her side beside her family. She kisses Beca’s cheek. “It was alright. I missed you guys, though.”

“Missed you, too.”

“My parents just went out to get groceries,” Chloe lets her know. “How’s my sexy pirate doing?”

Due to vision loss in her right eye, Beca wears an eye-patch to lessen skewed vision. She should regain her sight once she’s in remission.

“Feeling very unsexy,” she replies with a soft chuckle. “Same old. My leg’s been tingling though so that’s progress.”

“You’ll be walking again soon,” Chloe states, smiling softly. “And the three of us can have a fun day at the park.”

“Mhm, that sounds perfect.” She sighs as Chloe’s head finds her shoulder, and twists her head to kiss her hair.

As Micah grows up, he learns that sometimes his Mama has “bad days”, which means she can’t get out of bed much. One of his things whenever he’s home during those times is to move his toys to Mama’s room and play quietly on the floor so she’s not lonely. He also naps next to her and reads stories to keep her entertained, and sometimes wears an eye patch when she has to, so he can be a pirate himself.

He and Chloe are Beca’s sunshine, always there to battle the clouds with smiles, laughter and hugs, whenever they get too dark.

[ofmythsandmadness]

i need a favour - seven.

PART SEVEN - bullet wounds and wounded hearts. (or, in which, they’re just too eager for some relief from the pain that no one gives a shit about labels anymore). WORD COUNT - 3318. A/N - forgot i wrote this, forgot about it for months & here we are. sorry. i’ve not really had much interest in writing this or anything in this style on here lately, but i didn’t want to leave this totally abandoned. figured, there’s no point in letting it rot away, might as well post (and for some reason, there’s been a spur in people reading this, so.) START FROM THE BEGINNING - one | two | three | four | five | six

PEOPLE THEORIZE A LOT ABOUT COMAS. And more specifically, what they do to a person.

More specifically than that, where a person goes, once in one. What the mind and psyche creates for them, where and when they escape off to while their body falls apart. If they relive their life’s best and worst moments until they can return to reality, if they dream on continuously - like the world was just one bad trip, and waking up they would not even realise their sleep had lasted more than a day. Or, if the person’s aware of everything around them, just unable to open their eyes and rejoin life - but maybe that was something totally different entirely.

But it was nothing like that, for her.

There was no way to tell just how much time transpired, when out; it could have been an hour, a couple days, three years tossed down the drain, for all she knew. Time moved so much differently, lost in the hellish dreamscape of the inbetweens of life and death. 

For the most part, she felt absolutely nothing at all. Not even a sense of drowning, or darkness, or anything around her; like she was dead, her brain was turned off, and really...nothing at all. The only way she knew she was still alive and things were happening was when her brain woke up just a little, enough to send her into panics she could not express. She still could not move or speak or fucking breathe on her own, but she felt the world crashing in, sluggish and deafening around her. People moving around her, voices, loud noises echoing like crashes and explosions that she could not place. It felt like she had been laid down in a warzone, paralysed from head to foot and forced into silence. Just waiting for her eventual death.

And the voices...she really could not distinguish most. Or if they were even real. She got flashes of familiarity, phrases and sentences that added up to only nonsense in her mind - threats of violence, promises, old memories so faded they might as well be someone else's. None of it made sense. It just made her feel more and more scared, and trapped, every time she ‘woke up’ again. Left her craving the still of death once more, waiting for its skeletal hands to cradle her trembling figure again.

Finally, however, she heard the first real sound in a long time. She left the stillness to a strange noise, not a voice but a repetitive beep that would not turn off. At first, she thought it was also in her mind and that if she just ‘shut’ her eyes, sleep would once more overtake her - but despite her mental protests, the sound wouldn’t stop. If anything, it got louder, forcing her forward until she could just about think of opening her eyes.

And then, the beeps were joined by another sound; soft, almost non-existent mumbles, or snuffling of something? Something alive, not a machine, but...Y/N wasn’t sure what it was at first. 

That was, until she began to move. With all the strength possessed in her frail figure, she pushed her lids open, blinking away copious tears welling at the bright light and forcing her eyes to work again.

She found herself in a small, white room - and though her mind seemed a million miles away, she could sort of guess it was a hospital room. There really was not much around her, the bed being the main furniture. The beeping came from her right, and she was able to crane her neck just enough to see some sort of monitor, the sort she would have seen on a crappy doctor’s show. With flashing lights and graphics she really couldn’t make out and honestly just hurt her head. She turned away from that pretty fast.

To her left, however, was a different story. She found the other source of the noise; Diego was slumped over in a chair too bony to be comfortable, softly snoring away. Which was never a good sign. The man was a quiet, still sleeper, like he was always waiting for something to happen - but after too long without sleep, his body would collapse into emergency catch-up mode. She had seen it many times after he’d come to her. And he always snored then.

She sighed, letting her head fall back against the pillow. There was no pain, which she guessed was either good or bad (who knew what the doctors were pumping through her veins, eh?) but her mouth was bone dry and she felt helpless, like even calling out for Diego was a deathly trial.

Y/N craned her neck again, taking his slumped figure in. He was almost right next to her bed, close enough that if she could reach out -

-her hands shook like tsunami waves, crashing against his black jacket like jagged knives of limestone on a cliff. She just could not find strength enough to angle them right, finding herself only able to brush the man and hope he felt her touch from wherever he had drifted to. Forget calling out; she could only mimic motion in the barest of touches, waiting for something to happen.

Luckily, it only took maybe a minute for him to stir. Slowly at first, then when realising what woke him up, he was up in seconds. His hands met her own, squeezing tight.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he croaked out, voice hoarse and worn out - she could only imagine how much stress-induced yelling he had been doing. Begging for something to be done, snapping at anyone who tried to get him to move; the guy was all too predictable. “I just fell asleep, I-”

“-s….okay…” Her vocal cords felt rusted over; how long had it been since she spoke? Her hand left his, gesturing weakly towards her throat. “Wa...wa...ter?”

“Shit, right.” He left her side and grabbed at a glass by her right. Within a moment he was by her left again, bringing it up to her lips. His hands shook ever so slightly. “Careful.”

But she ignored his word and slurped at it eagerly, too parched to be ashamed at how childlike her actions were. Too long had her throat been forced dry - how long had it been since the relief of a glass of water? 

Once she had drunk enough, she waved it away, doing her best to smile. “Thanks.”

“Course.” His eyes remained on hers, steady and dark. “How...how are you feeling?”

She glanced away for a moment to look down at herself in the bed, before looking back. Slowly, Y/N shrugged. “M’not sure...weird. I don’t know how I should feel.”

“Right. Well, you’re on a shit load a’drugs, so I guess that’s stopping the pain. Uh...you remember what happened?”

She frowned. “Sort of. More...I don’t know. Remember the pain...like burning, on my side. Talking...was there a Polish chick?”

Diego didn’t crack even the tiniest of smiles. “Ukranian. But yeah. She was with you when it h-hi-she called the ambulance.”

“Right.”

“Look, Y/N, I am so-”

Before he could continue, a new voice joined the duo, one Y/N was certain she did not know. She tore her eyes away from the man by her side to take him in; tall, gray-haired and smiling from ear to ear. It made her a little uneasy, the look; was this how all gunshot victims were treated? With doctors who thought big grins and happy tones were a good answer? If she didn’t already have a headache, she would by just one look his way.

“Good to see you up! Was wondering when that’d be happening.” He seemed to grin even larger, if that was even possible, and made his way around her bed. She watched him fiddle with something behind her, before moving into her view once more. “How are you feeling?”

“Um...weird,” she mumbled, struggling to find any words to describe the feeling. “Tingly.”

“No pain?”

“Not really.”

He nodded. “Good. You’re going to be hopped up on pain meds for a while, but just let someone know when you start feeling anything.”

“Okay.”

Once more, he nodded. He looked like a bobblehead, almost, in the ways his head swivelled and shook on his too-small neck. “You got quite lucky, I must say. Good support system. This guy, right here? Barely moved at all while you were out.”

Her hand squeezed a little, in Diego’s. “How long was I out?”

“About three days, after surgery.”

“S-surgery?”

His grin got a little strained, there, but somehow still remained. Impressive. “Yes. Yeah, we had to get you straight into intensive care after you were brought in. The bullet hit your right hip, just about here-” he grazed the blanketed leg lightly, “-but then travelled downwards into your leg. Which was somewhat good, you avoided serious damage to your hip, but it did nick your femoral artery.”

Y/N frowned, glancing down to where his hand hovered. She could not even remember feeling pain in her leg; it had radiated from her hip alone. “How...how did it go down?”

“Well,” the man sighed, “from what we could gather, you were at just the right angle for the bullet to go straight through the hip. Since it didn’t hit that bone - again, a lucky point on your part, it tore right through and down to your upper thigh. The bullet actually remained lodged, which made reason for surgery. If it had come straight through, well, I don’t know what situation we’d be in but you were very fortunate. Held you from bleeding out on us.”

Something about the emphasis on ‘lucky’ made her feel somehow worse. Like she was a kid all over again, and before getting the bad news, her parents had to amp up the few ‘good’ things about the situation. She really wished he would stop smiling.

“How much...I…” she weakly lifted her hands, gesturing downwards. “How much damage has been done? In simple terms...please.”

His grin shrank a little more. “Well, that’s a bit complicated. The surgery was a success, although there were several blood transplants needed to cover that hit your artery sustained. However, because of said bleeding, and the way the bullet hit, it will be a long recovery time. The leg muscles are built to be used, but when damaged as yours was, well - I can bring in the charts and explain this to you simply, if you want?”

Y/N bit her lip, hard enough to rip through. Absent-mindedly, she noticed the taste of blood, licking a bead of red off. “Long?”

“The timeframe is hard to estimate,” he said - and at least that time, he had the courtesy to look semi-apologetic. “After a couple days, we’ll check in and see how well the limb is functioning, if the muscles are healing properly. You should be able to head home by that time, if it's healing right. But I’m afraid you're not going to be able to use the actual limb for a while.”

Vaguely, from what felt like far away, she heard Diego curse. The doctor kept talking, throwing around words she could not understand, verbal warfare against her already panicking mind, creating a chasm of stress and fear inside her brain. She wanted to do something, reassure him, ask the doctor what she could do and when - but it was impossible when she herself was drowning in panic.

Where had Diego gone? Why did he feel so far away? He sat beside her, but his hands were fidgeting and his face tight, and she just wanted him to tease her, hug her, promise her that she wasn’t lo-

“-judging by your faces, this isn’t sounding great but I promise, you’re in the best possible case scenario. I mean, you got here at the best time, you’ve had the best working to put you back together. And physical therapy will be a big help, you’ll be recommended some top-tier-”

“-whenwillIbebetter?” 

Her words were hardly a breath, leaving right along with the little air in her system, but Diego still heard it. He clutched tight to her tsunami waves for hands and looked pleadingly the doctor’s way. “Can we h-have a moment?”

“I-” his eyes darted between the two, before resigning to an answer. “Sure. A nurse will be in at five, with me. Let me know if anything happens.”

Diego just nodded and watched him leave. The second he was out the door, he turned her way, hands moving from hers to hold her face, brush away the tears quickly slipping down her cheeks. Blearily, she made out his own eyes, swimming with emotions she had not seen from him in a long, long while. “Hey. Hey, it’s - it’s g-g-gonna-”

“-I got shot,” she huffed, struggling to get the words out between sobs. “I got shot, I got - I can’t walk?”

“That’s not -”

“-holy shit, Diego,” she cried, and in an instant his arms were around her, holding her as close as he could to his own trembling figure. She tried to talk, but failed and simply gave into the sobs. Words struggled to make their way through, really indiscernible and lost. Whatever it was, Diego could probably guess the point they were making - and it did not ease the guilt bubbling in his stomach for a second.

“I’m so fucking stupid,” she whispered, sobs turning into quick huffs of breaths caught like she was running out of air. “You - the guy - the way he talked - I’m so fucking-g screwed.”

“Don’t say that.”

“That’s how they do it, don’t they? Make you feel...lucky, like you dodged a -” she stopped to snort, like any of this was funny - “-a bullet, but you’re really screwed.”

“Stop.”

“What if I never walk again?”

His arms stiffened around her - only for a second, but enough for her to notice. It was not a thought only she had had. What more did he know? “I...l-look, you’ve always said it best. Look at the bright side.”

She slipped out of his grasp then, pulling back so he could see her face. Stained with tears and puffy, with red and dark circles alike taking a toll on the previously bright expression. She was scared, and rightfully so. 

“I don’t know how to do that,” she mumbled, staring him down as though somehow, she could give him all the fear through her eyes, make him feel all the things she did. And maybe she could, because the longer he looked, the harder it felt to keep his own composure. 

“I don’t know how to do that...not with this.”

Diego didn’t say anything to that. All he did was hold her a bit tighter and sigh heavily as he traced circles into her back with shaking hands. In return she used his shoulder as a tissue and openly sobbed, uncaring as to who saw or what repercussions came. As far as she could see, it didn’t matter anyways. Did it?

“What do I do now?”

Her words were soft, kitten mews into the heavy silence. Accented only with another heavy sob.

“I don’t know, Y/N.”

She cried a little harder. His arms couldn’t hold her close enough.

“But I’ll be right there with you. M’not letting you go, not now.”

She sniffled. “Don’t say that.”

“Why? I mean it.”

“I’m a fuck-”

“-shut up,” he murmured, hand finding hers and closing over it. He held it to his own pounding heart. “I’ll be there. That’s that. Okay? W-whatever happens, I will be there.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Y/N shut her eyes and leant her head against his dampened shoulder. She let herself focus on the sound of his heartbeat and the steadily beeping machines, somehow a semi-relaxing melody despite the stress behind each. She squeezed his fingers gently.

“O...kay. Okay.”

She felt his lips meet the crown of her hair, then his own head fall against hers. And then it was just nothing more than the two of them. A small duo, amidst the chaos of it all, finding just a moment of peace before things got even worse.

That was not the end of her tears shed that day, far from it. She cried more than she had in years, maybe more than her entire life. She cried when her sister came, when her dad showed up and told her her mother couldn’t get away from work, she bit through her lip trying to hold back the tears when her class’ warm messages of ‘get better’ finally got delivered. The dam was broken; the water dripped freely down her cheeks, waterfalls of emotions held back for too long.

Six weeks was a minimum of her being able to properly walk again, and it felt like it was a lifetime. The doctor broke down physical therapy rules, recovery times, prescriptions and all the ways she could be fucked otherwise by this wound, and the nurse pumped her to the brim with all sorts of medicines she couldn’t begin to pronounce. Her sister pretended to cry before leaving and her dad drank through six straight coffees, dumping packet upon packet of Splenda until the garbage can was filled with paper and cardboard cups. The doctor droned on and on, and the nurse kept ‘checking up on her’, and everyone kept wishing her fake sentiments and fake smiles that might as well be placebos, sent to placate her weakening psyche.

It was only hours later, when there was any relief. When they were all gone, and yet for some reason, Diego stayed.

“Don’t’cha have to…” she cleared her throat, trying to speak past the lump in her throat. “Y’know. Fight crime? Play neighbourhood superman tonight?”

Diego shook his head. His grasp on her hand tightened and it was only then when she realised how long he had held on. She had gotten used to the feeling, with her own fingers limp and weak throughout the day, and yet he had traced steady circles into her skin for the entire day and into the night.

“Not tonight.”

“Diego...I’ll be okay.”

He shook his head. “No.”

“Just go, I’ll-”

“-m’not leaving,” he grunted, firm and hoarse. He ducked his head so she could not see his expression, but Y/N did not have to see his face to know what he was thinking. “S’all.”

She was exhausted and still weak, and the limbs that did work didn’t seem to want to, but still she tried. Y/N adjusted herself on the hospital bed and laced her fingers properly through his, gripping tighter than she could all day. His head moved at that, but did not lift.

Carefully, she lifted their joined hands to her chapped lips, pressing a soft kiss to his knuckles. The lump in her throat grew larger, and she found herself unable to speak more than a ‘thank you’, but maybe it was more than suffice, for the two of them.

Only then did their eyes meet, and his other hand moved to grip tight to theirs. Diego’s lips quivered, but he stayed silent, simply letting go of the breath held back in his own throat. Their faces remained close, separated only by their own hands, but holding onto the matched caring gaze reflected on both of their faces.

There was a feeling of mutual fear, and grief, and shame and loss that ascended the wound - years of pain between the two of them that sped up to meet this moment joyfully. But they did not speak on any of it. Just held tight to one another, even as her hands grew weary and trembling and his gaze grew dark.

She fell asleep looking at him, and feeling finally, the littlest bit of hope.

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[tanoraqui]

[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3]

[now all on AO3!]

Nie Huaisang wakes up from his overexertion-induced sleep after about 14 hours, and about 24 hours before his brother wakes up. He has this time to think

He doesn’t use it to think, because his brother is still unconscious, comatose from a severe qi deviation. Chief Physician Nie Fengji, Wen Qing, Wen Qing’s Uncle Six, and assorted Nie physicians do obscure medical things to him involving spiritual energy, needles, a dash of surgery, and actually more of the poison that nearly killed him, in what Nie Huaisang can only assume is some sort of physician-approved hair of the dog scheme, and Nie Huaisang participates by sitting quietly in the corner until even that is deemed too in-the-way and he’s banished first to the hallway and then, with physician authority, to his own bed

they do search, and find some of the yin-storing grass hidden in Wen Ning’s pillow. Nie Huaisang doesn’t go to bed; he goes down to the third guest room and takes A-Yuan and Granny out for a walk just long enough for a couple disciples to beat Wen Ning enough to look good later - split lip and bruises, etc. In case anyone comes checking the story he gave Jin Qixian

Wen Ning, he hears, bears it with aplomb. Just in case it’s the Wens who are lying, Nie Huaisang doesn’t really give a shit

But on the third day since he collapsed off Baxia into the main courtyard, Nie Mingjue wakes up. He’s groggy and weak, physically and spiritually, but he shoves himself into a sitting position with a glare, catches and holds Nie Huaisang reflexively when he flings himself at his brother with a relieved laugh. Someone pulls him back - “stop putting weight on him!” - but it’s enough. It’s enough.

Wen Qing has three-day bags under her eyes. She says quietly, “That he’s awake - it shouldn’t leave this room. Not until Nie-zhongzhi is more recovered, and has decided what he wishes to do.” She nods toward Nie Mingjue

“What the fuck happened?” he demands, and it’s the weakest snarl Nie Huaisang has ever heard. His brother is already sagging back against his pillows. “Jin Guangshan was actually polite before I left Lanling, but I don’t remember...”

“He poisoned you,” Nie Huaisang says bluntly, because he’s thinking again and that was the last straw he needed to be convinced of how this happened (he never really stopped thinking, deep beneath the anxious terror and anticipation.) “No, this stays here...or can he be moved to his own bedroom?” he asks the Chief Physician. “It’d be more comfortable, and easier to hide his state from any spies Jin Guangyao might have - I mean, I assume he has spies. I’d want to...”

[the mastermind]

A few days later, Nie Huaisang arrives at Lotus Pier and begs his friends to take him out on the town. Distract him with food and wine and cheer from the stresses of home, where his brother is still comatose and everyone is starting to expect him to be responsible instead

Jiang Cheng is busy with Sect Leader duties but Wei Wuxian takes him up on it immediately. There’s nowhere quite like Yunmeng’s piers for goofing around - somewhere around the fourth street theater show and second jug of wine between them, Nie Huaisang leans over and asks, “The next time there’s a cultivational conference at Carp Tower - would you be interested in making a ruckus?”

they’re walking down the street in a crowd. It’s very hard to be overheard on the street in a crowd

“Like tonight?” Wei Wuxian grins and he, too, looks like this night has been a welcome break

“Without me,” Nie Huaisang admits. “Just to have some fun - make a scene! Cause a fun distraction!”

A single jar of wine in Wei Wuxian means he’s still mostly sharp. “A distraction for what?”

“Oh, you know,” Nie Huaisang says airily, hides half his face behind a coy fan and says more quietly. “Helping some of those Wens dying in Jin Guangshan’s work camps.”

Wei Wuxian has never had much head for intrigue, but at least he whispers. “The same Wens who assa- who tried to assassinate your brother?”

“No, silly!” Nie Huaisang baps him with the fan, laughing, and hopes WWX sees in his eyes that he’s serious. “That’s a different thing. This is just to have some fun!”

Wei Wuxian meets his eyes, and his face splits back into a grin. It’s regained the sharp-toothed edge its been carrying since the end of the Sunshot Campaign. “Why not? I could use a little fun myself!”

The next cultivation conference at Carp Tower is in just three weeks, and Nie Huaisang spends them frantic. There’s so much to do, and he can’t let anyone know about any of it. There are plenty of empty houses, empty entire villages - the war was fought in Qinghe only second to Qishan, for Wen Ruohan’s determination to capture the impenetrable fortress clan 

he wants to err on the side of making sure people will have shelter, especially with winter coming on, but he needs to err on the side of stealth or they’ll never pull this off - 

but how are they (how is he) going to pull it off anyway, honestly; there’s only so many times he can storm in and demand things with a wild combination of pitiful tears and borrowed authority...he can’t exactly get another note for the actual Jin clan - 

...though...

they don’t need that many extra roofs, at least, if there won’t be that many people (priority of the Dafan Wens, of course, to repay Wen Qing and because, honestly, they’re the largest group that survived the initial purges, being mostly non-combatants)

he tried and failed to put the distraction out of mind, because there’s really no way to know in advance what Wei Wuxian would do, much less how to handle it. whether it would create a day or a week or several more years of chaos...

and then there was the really difficult part: getting Nie Mingjue to stay the fuck in bed, or at least in his own suite of rooms. Nie Huaisang’s brother was the worst patient possible, which was unfair, because Nie Huaisang himself would’ve loved to have an excuse to lounge in his bedroom doing leisurely, sedentary activities for few weeks. Instead he was out running around organizing things - while letting as few people as possible know what he was organizing or even that he was doing it - and Nie Mingjue was being threatened every other day by Wen Qing and her needles

To make matters more exciting, 10 days out from the cultivation conference, a delegation arrived without from YunmengJiang - Jiang Wanyin himself, and riding with him, Jiang Yanli. Nie Huaisang met them in the courtyard; she stepped gracefully off her brother’s sword and gave him a hug that was, honestly, meltingly comforting and kind

“Nie Huaisang! I’ve been so sorry to hear about Mingjue-gongzi. I would have come sooner, but, you know, we’re only stealing this time from a trip to Lanling for more wedding planning.” She gestured to a pair of disciples who between them hauled a tureen the size of a small child. “I brought some of my best medicinal soup - I don’t know if it will possibly be right, but A-Xian told me how hard it’s been for you, and I just had to try to help.”

offer

“You’re too kind, Jiang-guniang.” He fluttered his fan anxiously. “I’m sure Da-ge would thank you if he could, but...” he blinked away tears. “I can’t even let you in to see him; the physicians even turned away his sworn brothers.”

skeptical outlining of situation

(Jin Guangyao was obviously right out, and the idea of involving earnest, idealistic Zewu-jun in any sort of conspiracy made Nie Huaisang think fondly of breaking out in hives)

“Of course,” Jiang Yanli said sympathetically. She took her brother’s arm back to lean on, and Nie Huaisang took his cue to bow and offer her refreshments and a set - maybe with a view? He knew all the best places. Jiang Yanli, genuinely frail enough to not be expected to do much more than look lovely, accepted

they had a very pleasant conversation about other things - poetry, who was and wasn’t being invited to the wedding, the latest fashions in Lanling (Nie Huaisang sighed wistfully) 

eventually Jiang Yanli asked, between one sip of tea and the next, “This event you’re planning with A-Xian - could it be postponed? Say, six months?”

the wedding. Nie Huaisang’s breath caught briefly - now that would be a distraction in its own right, even without anything Wei Wuxian could pull

but he thought about the emaciated, flinching Wens in the Qiongqi Pass camp, and those back in Qishan who weren’t much better off, and shook his head. “Not for those to whom it would matter most.” 

and, frankly, he couldn’t ask his brother to stay quiet so long, and he really would prefer than Lanling not know Nie Mingjue had truly survived until they were ready to strike back

Jiang Yanli hummed thoughtfully. “What about...two, two-and-a-half months?”

...there was nothing happening in two months, except the middle of winter. which would make roads more impassible, maybe to their advantage, but only if a couple different things went wrong...

but Jiang Yanli was smiling sweetly, like someone with a plan

“I think that would be wonderful,” he said, and sipped his tea back at her

Jiang Cheng punches him on the shoulder before they go and says he doesn’t seem like he’s doing completely terribly at everything, which is the Jiang Cheng equivalent of a supportive hug and 10-minute earnest pep talk. Nie Huaisang is genuinely warmed

Jiang Yanli, mentally cracking her knuckles as her brother flies her to Carp Tower: time to seduce my fiancee, the third hottest man in the kingdom, into putting a baby in me so we can speedrun our wedding prep - for a good cause! god I love my life

[the grifter]

unfortunately, two-and-a-half months is too long a delay to use the usual “ask for forgiveness, not permission” method, not least because Nie Huaisang has to explain to his brother why he wants him to keep pretending to be comatose, when even his physicians are starting to agree that he needs exercise more than rest

“No,” Nie Mingjue says flatly

“Da-ge,” Nie Huaisang pleads. “It’ll just be so much easier if everyone thinks I’m running around like a terrified rabbit!”

“Why do you insist on being useless at all times?” Nie Mingjue growled, a familiar old song. “If you just applied yourself - ”

“Because it’s easier!” Nie Huaisang cried (a newer tune). “Because I don’t want to be a great warrior, I just want to make pretty things and have friends and have fun - and when I do want something, it’s much easier to get it if no one thinks I’m worth anything - ”

“Of course you’re worth something,” Nie Mingjue snapped. “You’re the heir to QingheNie and you’re my brother!”

Nie Huaisang really did cry easily. He blinked away the tears.

“The Jins tried to kill you, da-ge,” he said quietly. “And they tried to make it look like a qi deviation.” (Like Father, went unsaid. Like my mother and your uncle and three of our cousins, one of whom was only thirteen.) “I want to make clear to them what we think of that.”

Nie Mingjue unclenched his hand from Baxia’s hilt, with whom Nie Fengji and Sixth Uncle had finally agreed to let him reunite. “Then we kill one of them back,” he said. “Not this underhanded, indirect...and with Wen-dogs...”

“If I could kill Jin Guangshan and Jin Guangyao in one stroke, right now, I’d do it. But that would start another war, and we could survive another war, but a lot of our people wouldn’t. Only about seven out of ten survived the last one.” He bit his lip. “And the Wens...not all of them were monsters, we’ve seen that, and the Jins tried to blame the ones we know are alright. This will show them that we can make up our own minds.”

Nie Mingjue was silent for a long moment, and Nie Huaisong resisted the urge to shift from foot to foot. His brother was never impressed with fidgeting.

“Fine,” Nie Mingjue said at last. “Do your scheme. But you’d better prove that you’re right, Huaisang.”

“I will, Nie-zhongzhi.” He stood at parade attention.

“And you won’t use it as excuse that you’re too busy to practice your saber.”

“Da-ge!” he whined instantly. “But I will be busy! We need to tar all the house roofs in Ning Village, and find about fifty spare horses, and weed out any spies in our household - oh, and do you have any letters from Jin Guangyao I can look at? And...”

News came that the wedding of Jiang Yanli and Jin Zixuan had been moved up to two months rom now and Nie Huaisang whistles under his breath then flinches reflexively, before he realizes there’s no "Twin Prides” around to smack him for disrespecting their sister

But two months somehow passed even faster than that first week had. Homes to quietly repair and no few medical supplies to stock up on, winter snow-ready horses to find and discard with another trip to Yunmeng, social visits to carefully negotiate...

Gossip flowed, as always. Gossip said: Nie Mingjue has survived the dastardly attack on his life; he’s still half-dead or he’s twice the warrior he ever was or he personally executed every Wen in his dungeons. Gossip said: the witch Wen Qing had seduced him and stabbed him with a poisoned blade; the witch Wen Qing had fallen in love with him and saved him from a random qi deviation; the witch Wen Qing was actually the Yiling Patriarch in disguise and both of the above were true. Gossip generally agreed that Nie Huaisang was still wavering between disconsolate over his brother’s brush his death (and his own brush with Sect Leadership) and dragging anyone who would heed him out for drinks and entertainment 

Jin Guangyao did have spies in the Unclean Realm, of course; he knew their value. His girl in the kitchen got fired over some mistake with a roast, but the guest cultivator and the chambermaid and assorted people in the nearest towns generally agreed: Nie Mingjue was back on his feet but still rebuilding his strength under the careful eye of his Chief Physician, and didn’t remember anything from the day of his qi deviation. Wen Qing was dead, as were all the other Wens - she and Wen Zhichen had preformed well in healing the damage she’d done in her attempt to poison the sect leader, under threat of their own deaths, but when Nie Mingjue woke up he'd ordered their deaths without even the dignity of public execution. Nie Huaisang was so wracked with guilt over bringing them into the house that he’d actually started practicing saber sometimes, and just a little heartbroken over the death of the child in particular

this last, Jin Guangyao found out himself, as well as confirmed most of the rest when he was allowed to visit his sworn brother and ended up letting Nie Huaisang sob on his shoulder for two straight hours. He had to have the robe steam-cleaned, but it was very informative

“Would you like us to kill the rest of the Wen-dogs?” he asked his sworn brother. “Or you can do it yourself, of course.”

Nie Mingjue snorted dismissively. “I killed the ones who were the biggest problem. Keep working your dogs to death as you like.”

The night before they were supposed to leave for the Jiang-Jin wedding, Nie Huaisang sat in his brother’s chambers (as he had taken to doing many evenings) and absolutely failed to focus on his paints.

“ - I’m sure I can handle the lieutenants left in charge, though really I haven’t talked to them as much so they’re more likely to be suspicious, especially if I didn’t get the calligraphy right - ”

“Huaisang - ”

“ - and the Wens themselves, I mean, this has to go quickly if it’s going to work at all - what if Wen Ning hasn’t gotten word around - we haven’t heard from him since yesterday, what if they found him, he could be- Wen Qing is going to kill me - ”

(the Nie sect wasn’t given to duplicity, but that didn’t mean their fortress of a sect building didn’t have a few spare secret rooms and passageways, in which to hide a handful of Wens for a couple months)

“A-sang - ”

“ - hell, what if the arrays don’t work and we all just die - but it’s the only way; horses wouldn’t be fast enough, especially with the heavy snows this year - ”

“Nie Huaisang!” Nie Mingjue barks in a parade-ground voice.

Nie Huaisang spins around mid-pace to stand at attention, one hand behind his back and the other on his saber hilt. A very few reflexes have been successfully trained into him

His brother scowls at him from the bed, where he sits in lotus position as the world’s grumpiest, most broad-shouldered guru. Nie Huaisang braces himself

“I’m proud of you,” says Nie Mingjue

“I- what?” 

Nie Huaisang has spent the last two and a half months careful of every expression he made, but now he isn’t sure what to do at all.

“You’ve actually put effort into this. It’s needlessly elaborate and only just barely honorable, and it’s certainly not saberwork. But it’s...something.” He nods.

“...oh.” 

his posture does relax in surprise. but then, the parade-attention was never going to last

“You will pull off this absurd scheme, and you will not be in any way injured in the process, because if you are, we will go to war with LanlingJin.”

“Yes, da-ge”

“Now shut the fuck up, or I’ll call Wen Qing in to put you to sleep, while I do this bullshit boring nightly meditation.”

Nie Huaisang ducks his head. “Yes, da-ge.”

oh, a smile. a smile is the expression he wants to make

The day of the wedding of Jin Zixuan of Langling and Jiang Yanli of Yunmeng dawns auspiciously bright and the ceremony lives up to every portent. Carp Tower is decorated with even more red than gold. The bride is radiant enough to make the sun weep for jealousy; the groom looks pretty good, too; and they only have eyes for one another. Both her brothers cry, Jiang Cheng stoically and Wei Wuxian loudly; Madame Jin looks even happier than the newlyweds; and Nie Huaisang makes sure he’s among the first to offer the happy couple congratulations, so he can equally quickly slip out and set off a teleportation talisman

He appears in the woods near the first town in the Qishan that the spare Wen cultivators and other prisoners of war are being stored in. A dozen Nie cultivators are waiting expectantly, led by Zhao Huandi

Nie Huaisang quickly strips himself of the outer layer of wedding-appropriate finery, leaving his ordinary day’s slightly-nicer-than-most-would-bother-with finery. He tucks the extra beautiful stuff carefully in a qiankun pouch and asks, “Everyone ready?”

nods and salutes and murmurs of agreement

He briefly channels a completely different work of fiction: “Let’s go steal a small populace.” 

It’s actually...very easy. “Isn’t the young lord’s wedding today?” asks the man left in charge while Jin Qixian, being a cousin of the family, is at that wedding. “Why aren’t you at that?”

“I didn’t practice my saber for a week and my brother got sooo angry.” Nie Huaisang pouts. “He forbade me from the party of the year, and gave me a job to do instead! It’s not fair - I’d be happy to do a favor for san-ge any other day!”

The lieutenant eyes the orders he’s been handed, in Jin Guangyao’s handwriting with Jin Guangyao’s signature. “Well, it does all seem to be in order.” He waves to the nearest guard. “Hey, start rounding up the prisoners - all of them!”

Nie Huaisang had two months, a lot of correspondence, and a great deal of practice imitating art styles. He’d been able to forge his own brother’s handwriting since was twelve - Jin Guangyao’s was much easier. Much neater

Nie Huaisang spotted the guard who’d been kind enough to let Granny come with A-Yuan, that first time, and pointed at him. “Make sure you get all the old people and babies and stuff, too! Anyone who can’t come on their own!

As Wens start to gather (be gathered) in the main square, most of the Nie cultivators clear a space and sketch out a large array in blood, a little from each cultivator’s hand. It’s wide enough for about forty people to stand in. When it’s done, Nie Huaisang nods to a disciple standing to the side with a bow. She leans back and shoots an arrow with a red ribbon into the sky. It vanishes in a spark of golden light

one of Nie Sect’s messenger arrows. It will land at Wen Qing’s feet in Qinghe to let her know that they’re on their way, and she can be ready with whatever medical care and reassurances she wants

He claps to get the muttering, anxious crowd’s attention, and can’t quite help but grin as he gets it. He gestures to the bloody array, reminiscent of a teleportation talisman on a grand scale. “All right, who wants to leave this terrible place where everyone hates you in exchange for a new terrible place where everyone hates you, travel by serving as the first test subjects of the Yiling Patriarch’s new mass-teleportation array?!”

[the hacker]

(a jest. Wei Wuxian definitely tested it first, on himself and a bunch of rabbits and himself+Jiang Cheng (in that order.) He promised.)

it’s a little out-of-character, but most of the guards who react just laugh meanly. And the Wens, hell yes, have been prepped. A handful protest, beg mercy or insist that this is their home, but for the most part, Nie Huaisang can recognize amateur acting when he sees it

thank goodness - they need a ratio of at least 1 participating cultivator to every 6 civilians to power the array, or the Nie cultivators supporting it from outside will exhaust themselves immediately

as the first group is going, a burst of light bright enough to blind, an arrow falls from the sky to Nie Huaisang’s feet. The note attached is from Liu Lifang: won’t take Lianfang-zun’s orders

aw, hell. He hesitates - another arrow lands, a green ribbon on the end. The first batch of Wens arrived safely in Qinghe

he passes both arrows to Zhao Huandi and murmurs, “I’m going to go sort this out. Make sure everyone gets through, stop it if something goes wrong with the teleportation. If something goes wrong with the Wens or the Jins...try not to kill anyone”

Zhao Huandi bows, turns and immediately starts shouting for the array to be checked for the next batch. Nie Huaisang makes some hasty, whining excuses to the Jin lieutenant, pulls out another teleportation, and-

arrives in the filthy refugee/prisoner city with a bit of the ache of an over-taxed golden core. He rests his hands on his knees for a moment, catching his breath

Still better than sword travel. He’s going to bother Wei Wuxian for these all the time, now

the woman left in charge in Jin Guangchao’s place is engaged in a staring glaring contest with Liu Lifang at their supervisory office. But have their arms crossed and the tension is so thick they’re both clearly itching to slice it with a sword

Nie Huaisang tumbles through the door with a whining, “What? Why did you call me?”

“I actually sent my message to Sect Leader Nie...” says Liu Lifang, with masterful confusion

“Well, he sent me,” Nie Huaisang complains. He turns to the other woman. “What’s the big deal? Da-ge said we should have a note for san-ge - that is, Jin Guangyao, Lianfang-zun - ”

She scowled even more darkly. “My orders come from Jin Guangchao and his from Sect Leader Jin Guangshan, not from Jin-zhongzhi’s bastard son”

[split-second thinking]

“Oh, but Guangyao-ge really knows what he’s doing,” said Nie Huaisang, wide-eyed. “He was so good at organizing everything, before da-ge had to banish him that one time” Bait...

“’So good’?” she challenges. “Then why’d he get banished at all?”

“Oh, you must have heard of my brother’s temper,” Nie Huaisang whines. “He gets so angry when one little thing goes wrong, and then Meng Yao - back then - did a pretty big thing...you’re so lucky Sect Leader Jin is more forgiving.” Hook...

“It would be terrible if Jin Guangyao did something to so anger Sect Leader Jin,” she said thoughtfully.

“I’m glad I doubt he ever would!” He gestured to the forged papers in Liu Lifang’s hand. “And as you can see, we have direct orders from him for you to release these prisoners into Nie Sect’s care - so won’t you do your duty and obey, so I can get back to my party?”

Do your duty, the orders themselves aren’t your responsibility, they’re his. The Jin cultivator nods slowly, then bows sharply, formal and faux-friendly. “Of course, Young Master Nie. How good of you to help your brother like this.”

Sinker.

(also not the worst idea, actually. a little dissension thrown into the Jin clan would be great)

Once again, most of the Wens are almost more willing the queue up than the guards are to make them, though many do blanch at the twenty-foot teleportation array drawn in blood (maximum power for minimal cost, Wei Wuxian had explained). A few are genuinely terrified of leaving; a few are almost certainly just enjoying the drama

a young man, as grubby as the rest and face hidden behind a shy curtain of hair, steps into the array without a flinch, and gives Nie Huaisang a subtle thumbs up. He waves back, just as underhanded, and lets slip a relieved sigh as he mentally crosses out “accidentally got her brother killed and/or captured/tortured/etc” on the list of reasons Wen Qing might kill him one day

[the thief spy]

(it hadn’t been easy to convince her to let him go in the first place. but really, Wen Ning was quick-thinking, trustworthy to all who met him, and good at staying hidden when he needed to. and they needed the Wens helping power the arrays, not to mention just not putting up a fight - everything going much quicker with word spread as to what was really happening. And, Nie Huaisang prided himself, it was just a little bit kinder)

this city’s worth were half gone to Qinghe when another messenger arrow landed at his feet in a burst of golden light. A purple ribbon - First Disciple Han Xiaoshi was done at Qiongqi Pass

she’d taken a much higher percentage of skilled warriors (not that all Nie Sect cultivators weren’t skilled warriors) than the other groups, as well as a “signed” note from Jin Guangyao. The work camp at Qiongqi Pass was the place Nie Huaisang least minded if the rescue of the Wens turned into a fight with the Jins. Sixth Uncle had taken nearly as long to get back into good health as Nie Mingjue, and he hadn’t liked hte way the inspectors smiled

[the hitter]

a few minutes later, a blue-ribboned arrow meant the first Qishan group was all through, too. Nie Huaisang and Liu Lifang’s group was the last to finish

they went with the last batch. One disciple stayed behind to clean it up and fly home - no point in sharing the Yiling Patriarch’s proprietary inventions with Jin Sect if they didn’t have to

the mass teleportation array is much worst than the single-use talisman. Nie Huaisang feels like he’s been turned upside-down and inside-out, and wrung out like a wet cloth besides. Golden core, more like yellowish pith. He does his best to stay standing

he’s knocked flat by the impact of a small mass slamming into his shins at high speed. “Sang-ge! Sang-ge! You didn’t say everyone was going to be at the wedding! Was it fun? Where are your pretty clothes?”

“My extra pretty clothes are in my qiankun bag, A-Yuan.” He pushed himself to sit up, and attempts to distangle the toddler from his legs. “Which is good, because you’re getting my normal pretty clothes all dirty on the ground!”

A-Yuan squeezed him even tighter, to show that nobody was the boss of him, then sprang away with his hands behind his back, looking like butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth. That, too, lasted for about half a second before the boy was bouncing in place again. “Did you know that Uncle Four is here now, and Auntie Three, and Zhui Li and Mengmeng and Han Yao got a puppy - ”

“A-Yuan, stop harassing the poor man!” Granny hurried up behind him at a much slower pace than a toddler could manage. She bows, over A-Yuan-head, eyes shining. “Young Master Nie has done a great service for us this day. You should be saying thank you.”

“It’s the least I can do,” he says, dreaming briefly of sliding a sword through Jin Guangshan’s throat. He forces himself to stand - the world has mostly stopped swimming - and pulls her upright, and pokes A-Yuan with his foot so he follows suit. “A-Yuan was just giving me a report - yes, we’re the last batch!” he calls to a cultivator approaching with a querulous expression. “You’d better send an arrow to da-ge to tell him that it’s all okay!”

Second Disciple Ling Jiaoshi nods and scribbles out a note, and hands it to a junior trailing behind him with a bow and arrow

behind them, around them, about five hundred Wens and Wen-associated people are milling around a deep valley tucked into Qinghe’s mountains. Most are avoiding the three great arrays painted in blood in the center of a some fields, mirrors to the ones in Qishan and Qiongqi Pass, though the landing sites will be inactive with their pairs destroyed. Many are exclaiming to see family and friends again, or looking around in wary uncertainty, or both. The main source of order is being imposed by the multiple triage tents, sorting out who needs medical attention and who just needs a blanket and hearty meal. Nie Huaisang can hear the Chief Physician yelling at someone in the distance

A-Yuan tugs on his hand and repeats accusatorially, “You didn’t say everyone was going to be at the wedding! That must have been so big! Are we all staying with Sang-ge and Miss Yi now? And Aunt Qing and Uncle Ning and Uncle Nie-Who-Needs-Quiet?” His eyes widen and he tugs even harder. “Did you bring new candy?!”

Nie Huaisang laughs and pulls from one pocket a silk flag in brilliant red, filched from the wedding decorations. “No, but I did get material for a new fan. Do you want to help me paint it?”

To be concluded with a brief epilogue!

[monaisme]

One Week Later - Chapter Two

This is the sequel to my one-shot, “The Battle”

He woke up in stages.

The first time he sort of came around, Peter didn’t even bother to open his eyes. In his sleep stupor, he noticed only the blanket. It smelled—which was weird ‘cuz Aunt May knew that scents bothered him, but this smell wasn’t offensive at all—it was fresh, real, maybe spicy? Its weight was off, too. It was heavier than his favourite Iron Man comforter, which was nice. The extra pressure made him feel safer than he could remember, though he didn’t understand why. He just knew he felt like he could sleep forever, and so he burrowed a little deeper into the warmth and drifted off.

The second time he thought about waking up, it was a quiet, underlying hum that drew his limited attention. It was like something, no—everything was vibrating, and not crazy like an engine... more like a cat’s purr and Peter imagined soft fur through his fingers as he pulled the blanket up to his chin. He hummed in contentment. It felt good. It felt relaxing. It lulled him back into sleep.

The third time Peter was aware of his surroundings he knew he had no choice but to stay awake. The blanket still pressed against him, and the hum of whatever still strummed through him—but hushed whispers of a man and woman nearby meant that people were there, that they waiting for him to come back...

And then he remembered.

His eyes flew open as he gasped which alerted whoever was in the room to his waking. Who that was, Peter wasn’t sure as he clamped his eyes shut in embarrassment. How could he have behaved so... gah! How would anyone ever take him seriously when he kept acting like a baby? –First on the battlefield and then before his surgery. If only he could just figure out some way to toss himself in front of a train, then maybe everyone would be distracted from what had happened.

Thoughts flew through his suddenly racing brain at a mile a minute and Peter tried to throw the blanket over his face to hide himself. He couldn’t face them... but then the pain of trying to move his still not healed arm caused him to gasp again and cry out in pain.  He’d hoped for invisibility but his reactions brought the hands of his visitors to him, straightened him on the bed.

The pain brought nausea and he was sure he was going to puke all over the nice smelling blanket and he couldn’t feel the hum anymore for the panic he was trying to tamp down and it hurt- it hurt- it hurt...

“You’re okay, Peter. Just breathe through it.” Mr. Stark was at his side, trying to settle him. “You’ve got this,” he encouraged as he ran his calloused fingers through Peter’s tangled locks. “Just keep breathing.”

It only took a minute for Peter’s breathing to regulate, which helped the pain, which helped the panic, which helped with the nausea—and Peter was left only just as tired as he’d been before he’d decided to spazz out like a weirdo, again.  He groaned and finally managed to pull his blanket over his head using his good arm. “Kill me now, please?” He whispered to himself as he flushed in utter humiliation.

Mr. Stark heard his pleas, however, and simply replied. “I just got you back, Petey. I’d much prefer it if you made an effort to keep breathing for me, bud.” Mr. Stark gave a light tug on the blanket and stayed beside him.

—Which was new?! Mr. Stark was supposed to say something snarky and then hightail it out of the room to call someone better suited to whatever occasion, be it a nurse or doctor or... well. It didn’t matter. The point was, he didn’t do all of that emotional stuff. The man had always insisted that he was stunted that way—which was maybe true, but it was alright, because he was just... Mr. Stark.

So Peter waited under the blanket and hoped that the room would clear, like it always had... even if Mr. Stark had been off-script, he’d leave, right? Peter just needed to wallow in private for a bit before he had to face—

“Peter?”

He closed his eyes and wondered if he could wait him out.

“Peter? Please?”

Mr. Stark would grow tired and leave eventually, right?

“Hey, kid, c’mon. Let me just see that you’re okay, okay? And if you want some time to yourself after that, I’ll go—I promise.”

Peter snort laughed. That sounded exactly like the old Mr. Stark. “Yeah, right,” he muttered.

Even under the blanket, Peter could hear the huff of frustration from his mentor, and then the scraping of chair legs against the floor as Mr. Stark seemed to station himself more comfortably at his side.

“You’ll find, my dear Mr. Parker, that many things have changed over the last five years... and one of those things is my ability to wait out all things stubborn—be it teammates, children, or alpacas. So if you think this is gonna put me off, you can think again, kiddo. I’ve got all the time in the world.”

Peter didn’t believe him.

He knew Mr. Stark. He knew him almost as well as his Aunt May—and was sure that Mr. Stark would start up a fuss soon enough—that this was all a bluff, but then he started to think too much and too fast... again.

Five years had passed. He had no reason to believe anyone was lying about the length of time he’d been in that place. Dr. Strange had said it before the battle, Mr. Stark had said it just then, and May wasn’t... well, May wasn’t here.

Maybe no one would judge him for his freak out?

And he needed answers and hiding under a blanket wasn’t going to get him anything.

But coming out of from under the blanket meant getting those answers, and the start of the now telltale tingling of his spider-senses told him that putting this off just a little longer might—or might not—be a bad thing.

Peter sighed as he warred with himself.

“Peter?”

His eyes filled and he fought back tears. “I’m okay, Mr. Stark. Promise. I, um...” his voice warbled. “I think I need a second, please.”

A gentle press of a hand against his good shoulder, still trapped under the blanket, “You can take all the time you need, as long as you’re okay. I’m right here when you’re ready.”

Peter blew out a slow breath and a few tears fell. “What happens if I don’t think I ever will be?”

The hand squeezed in support. “You will be, sweetheart. And when you are, I’m going to be right here.” Mr. Stark laughed that self-deprecating laugh that he always did. “And I’m not nearly the asshole I used to be so when you’re good, well, you know, I may even be helpful, but take your time. Honest. There’s no rush.” Another squeeze, and then Mr. Stark pulled his hand away.

A rush of urgency washed over the boy, and he knew that while Mr. Stark wasn’t lying to him, what he’d said wasn’t true.

He blew out another breath, this one of determination. Peter almost threw the blankets back—almost, but then thought better of it. Instead, he took a second to wipe away the wetness on his cheeks. Only once he’d done that, and was sure that no more tears would escape, did he ever so slowly pull the blanket down from his face. His cheeks were flushed and his eyes still shone with wetness, but he made himself look over at the man at his side. He cleared his throat and whispered, “Hi, Mr. Stark.”

He’d have thought Mr. Stark had just seen a pile of puppies for the soft look on his face. “Hey, Peter. Are you okay?”

Peter nodded a ‘yes.’

Mr. Stark nodded as well. “That’s good. Dr. Cho said your surgery went really well... and your blood work is almost back to normal. The guessing game starts now, though. Will your shoulder finish healing before your spider-powers come back completely or will your powers come back and then it heal your shoulder?” Mr. Stark chuckled. “Regardless, it’s almost over and I’m hoping that you never... ever have to go through that again.” He shuddered in remembrance. “It was awful to watch. I couldn’t imagine having to go through it.”

Peter shrugged with his one good arm. What could he say to that? “It’s okay.”

“No,” Mr. Stark replied. “It’s not. I didn’t even think that you coming back would have meant and we thrust you into the middle of a...” He stopped himself from speaking. Peter could see him visibly shift gears and then deflate. “No, we’re not talking about that yet. So much has happened, kiddo, and I don’t know where to start.”

Peter fiddled with the blanket underneath his hand nervously and voiced his biggest concern. “Can you tell me about May?”

Mr. Stark smiled down sadly at the boy. “I told you that we’d get you in front of a screen for a reunion once you were done with all the medical stuff, kiddo, and I wasn’t lying.” Mr. Stark gestured to the room at large. “I did manage to convince Dr. Cho that you would recover better in here, by the way, so you’ve managed to already hit the ‘temporary quarters’ portion of the event.”

Peter couldn’t help how unsure he sounded. “... and May?”

Mr. Stark looked at his watch. “New York is six hours behind us and it’s just after 1pm here, so that means that May is getting ready for an appointment just now...”

Mr. Stark knew Aunt May’s appointment schedule?

“... but I can give her the heads up that we’re waiting for her and maybe we can make some magic happen?” He smiled and gave Peter a wink. “But for now, why don’t we get you out of bed and get some real food in your stomach? I promised Dr. Cho that we’d stay on top of food and hydration if she took the IVs out, so...” Mr. Stark was trying to look nonchalant about the request, but he seemed concerned. “Does that work for you?”

Peter really wasn’t sure about the food idea, and he definitely wasn’t a fan of leaving his bed. It felt like sanctuary in what was about to be chaos and Peter couldn’t help but wish he could feel that way forever—but Mr. Stark seemed keen on seeing movement and Peter had already caused so much trouble—he nodded, “Okay. I can do that.”

Mr. Stark clapped his hands together and stood up. “Good man! Now—“ He started reaching toward the bed. “Let me help you out. You’ve been off your feet for far too long and, nutrients or not, I’m sure you’re gonna feel a little unsteady.” He pulled the blankets back and supported Peter as he swung his legs over the edge of the bed. “Okay. How are you feeling right now?”

If Peter were being honest, he’d have told Mr. Stark that he was feeling a little vertigo—that the room was tilting a little funny and that he wasn’t sure he was up for the task. And it wasn’t like he thought Mr. Stark would keep things from him, but delays because Peter couldn’t pull it together meant potentially waiting to hear word about May and he couldn’t risk it. “I’m good, sir. Thanks.” He gave a half smile, committed to the ruse and wiggled toward the end of the bed.

“You’re killing me, kid! I thought we were friends! You know that ‘sir’ garbage is absolutely unacceptable.“

Peter grinned at the familiarity. “C’mon,” he lowered himself to stand up on the floor, “You know I was raised to respect my elders.”

Mr. Stark rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah. Respect, my ass.” Mr. Stark cuffed Peter playfully across the back of his head. “The day I get any respect, is the day I sprout flowers out of my ass.”

A light tap on the door drew Peter’s attention as the words left Mr. Stark’s mouth, and then it opened enough for Ms. Potts head to peek into the room. “Now Tony, you know better than to use language like that in front of impressionable young children.” Ms. Potts playfully chastised him.

Mr. Stark rolled his eyes, “Sure he’s impressionable like I’m a—“

“Yes, Tony. I know, you’re the victim here and Peter was being a big meanie.” She looked at Peter and smiled affectionately before staring down the man beside him. “You know I wasn’t joking about the swear jar. Behave, Mr. Stark, or else.” She shook her head in mock disapproval and looked back at Peter. “I’m sorry to interrupt, I heard you two talking and was wondering if you wanted me to order something from the kitchen for lunch.”

Peter smiled awkwardly at her consideration and turned to Mr. Stark. “I’m not sure...” he started, only for Mr. Stark to interrupt.

“Yeah, Pep, that would be great.” Mr. Stark scrutinized Peter for a second, and saw enough that he turned back to Mr. Potts. “I don’t think his sandwich made it past Clint, so we’re gonna have to improvise. Can you see if they have a vegetable soup or broth—maybe some bread or crackers or something, too? I think we’ll keep it light for now... just until his metabolism is up to snuff again.” The request was made as he turned to Peter again. “Does that sound good?”

His stomach churned, and while it may not have sounded good, it was probably going to be at least manageable so he nodded ‘yes.’ “Thank you, Ms. Potts. That’s sounds great.” He smiled feebly.

The atmosphere in the room shifted, and Peter wondered why both adults seemed so uncomfortable.

“Actually, Pete,” Mr. Stark rededicated himself to getting Peter up from where he’d propped himself against the bed. “It’s Mrs. Stark now.” He chuckled nervously and cleared his throat. “It’s all official and everything. No take-backs.”  

Peter brought his attention over to Ms. Potts—um, Mrs. Stark, where she nervously wiggled the fingers of her left hand to show off a simple wedding band.

“Oh.” Peter frowned, then blushed, embarrassed again at his reaction. That had been unkind, and it wasn’t their fault. He tried to recover with what he hoped was his normal exuberance. “I mean—Oh! That’s awesome! Congratulations on your marriage, Mr. And Mrs. Stark.” He imagined the fanfare; imagined a large ballroom with dancing and food and laughter. He figured that May had gone. She and Ms. Potts—damn it! Mrs. Stark had been friends before—And his mentor? The man he thought of as his... crap. He stopped that train of thought and tried to shake off those five missed years. He huffed out a breath of regret. “I’m sorry I missed it...” He half smiled as his voice trailed off. That had made it no better. “I’m sorry,” he finally whispered.

Mr. Stark wrapped his arm around Peter’s waist and started moving them slowly toward the door Mrs. Stark was still standing at. “There’s nothing to be sorry for, Pete... at least for you. You’ve been in and out of it for the last week and we didn’t think it made sense to fill you in on all of the changes while you couldn’t really retain it. That’s on me, and I’m the one who should be sorry.”

Mrs. Stark moved out of their way and excused herself to get lunch for everyone, “That will give you boys a chance to talk,” she said quietly, and she left the suite for the kitchen.

Neither of them said anything as they shuffled toward the living room, which Peter appreciated. His emotions were all over the place in that moment, and physically, he knew he needed to sit down before he did something stupid like fall on his face.

“Peter? Are you doing alright?”

They were mere feet from the couch so Peter waited until he was sitting before he nodded. “Yeah,” he panted from the exertion. “I guess I’m just a little out of shape.” He joked. Peter took in the room around him with its glass and metal as he continued, “But sitting is good.” His head spun, but just a bit. “I guess I’ll take this over the being stuck in bed.”

Mr. Stark sat on the coffee table across from him and smiled. “That sounds like the Peter Parker I know.”  He leaned forward and put a strong hand on his knee. “Now, how do you want to work this? Do you want to ask questions, should I start at the beginning, or will this devolve into one of your trademarked Peter conversations where any semblance of order is thrown out the window so we should just jump right into it?”

Peter shrugged and simply answered, “I really want to know about Aunt May.”    

Mr. Stark exhaled slowly, then nodded. “Okay, so—May.” He pulled his hand back from the boy’s knee and clasped his hands together, almost like he was praying. “Alright. First and foremost, May is alive. She was not dusted so she’s still here. She knows you are back and has been updated regularly regarding your recovery... Oh! Thanks for the reminder! She says you’re grounded, by the way and,” Mr. Stark leaned forward and planted a big ol’ kiss on the top of Peter’s head. “That is from her, and she is so excited to hear from you now that you’re awake and coherent.”

Peter couldn’t hide his relief. “Okay. That’s so good. That means she’s okay, right? Is she just busy with work? I can’t even imagine how crazy the world must be...” Peter rambled before seeing that Tony wasn’t sharing in his exuberance. “Mr. Stark?”  

Mr. Stark jumped into it with an explanation, “Before I start, kid, please know that most of the story is what I’ve been told. I was stuck floating on a spaceship for three weeks and only found out about this after we came back, so I may not be able to answer your questions... but if I can’t, we’ll find someone who can. Okay? Maybe Pepper? Heck. Maybe we should wait for Pepper? She shouldn’t be too much longer and then—“

“Is it that bad?” Peter asked.

Mr. Stark closed his eyes, like he was steeling himself up to do something awful, and that’s when Peter knew. He closed his own eyes for a second, tried to temper the emotions warring within him. He needed to be strong.

“After the first snap, she couldn’t find you—or Ned, or anyone, I guess, so she called Pepper who didn’t know what the hell was going on either. Steve... uh, Steve Rogers,” Mr. Stark added, in case Peter needed clarification, “He got in touch with Pepper and brought her over to Wakanda to rally the remaining troops, I guess, but—yeah. May was invited to come, too, but with all of the chaos after that snap, May decided to stay and keep working. The ratio of healthcare workers to the injured was horrifying, Pete, but your aunt was a freakin’ hero. She worked harder than anyone and saved so many lives over the course of the week after...”

“And?” Peter was growing impatient.

Mr. Stark hesitated.

“Mr. Stark, please.”

Mr. Stark leaned forward again, “She’d worked another overtime shift and was leaving the emergency department sometime around 2am. From what the police could gather, a drug addict was heading into the hospital hoping to get a fix when he saw your aunt in her uniform and approached her instead.” Mr. Stark tried to catch Peter’s eye, but Peter refused. “She tried to talk him into going in and getting help but this guy’s dealer and his back up had both been dusted and he was next level desperate and, um...” Mr. Stark’s mouth twisted as he tried to say the words. “She was stabbed in the side eight times, and would have bled out in minutes if not for the fact that she was only steps away from the ER doors. She was rushed into surgery, where the doctors were able to save her, but she ended up losing a kidney.”  

Peter blanched. “She was stabbed?” He squeaked.

Mr. Stark held his hands again, “Yeah, bud.” He ran his thumbs gently over Peter’s knuckles. “Do you need to take a break? I’m not expecting that we’ll be able to talk to her for a bit, so there’s time.”

It was like the universe was listening as a disembodied voice interrupted them and announced, “Incoming video call from May Parker’s primary physician.”

Peter dropped his head into his hands waiting to see what cruel joke it had in store for him.

Mr. Stark didn’t hesitate to reply. “Answer it, FRIDAY.” He stood up and moved to shield Peter from the camera. “Dr. Bonwick, we didn’t have a call scheduled for today. Is everything alright?”

Peter couldn’t see him, but could hear the concern in his voice, “No, we didn’t, but Mrs. Parker has developed an infection at her access site and we’ve had to move her back into the med bay for further treatment. She had mentioned a video call to her nephew,” Mr. Stark shifted again, “and had seemed quite agitated about missing it, but with the fever, she’s struggling with pain levels and we’ve had to adjust med dosages temporarily.”

Mr. Stark placed a hand on Peter’s shoulder. “So no phone call today,” Mr. Stark stated.

“No, Sir. We had to bump her dialysis treatment up to very early this morning in order to accommodate the antibiotics schedule, so she’s currently sleeping.  We anticipate that she’ll stay that way until we can get the right dosage working for her.”

Mr. Stark sighed. “Alright. Please let me know when she’s awake, Doc.” Mr. Stark’s hand moved and he ran his fingers through the curls at the nape of his neck. “She wasn’t the only one excited about that call. FRIDAY, disconnect.”

Neither of them moved, but Peter spoke first. “Tell me.”

Mr. Stark dropped to the seat beside him, but kept his fingers moving through Peter’s hair. “When they removed her kidney, it was obvious that it wasn’t healthy, so they did every test under the sun. It turns out that May has a genetic condition called autosomal dominant polycystic dominant kidney disease—and you’re lucky that I got it right that time, ‘cause I’m never saying it again.” Mr. Stark shifted to wrap his arm around Peter’s torso and hugged him to his side. “Some people can have it and never know, while others get sick, suffer chronic headaches, develop cysts, high blood pressure... there’s a list somewhere.” Mr. Stark stopped for a second, regrouped, and then continued. “Regardless, your Aunt May didn’t know she had it, didn’t even know it was something in her family, what with—“

“Them all being dead?” Peter finished his sentence for him.

Mr. Stark side hugged him again. “Yeah, that.”

Peter shook his head. “I don’t know what to say—like, what kind of treatment is she receiving? Where is she? Is she gonna be okay? Can I go see her?”

“Breathe, Peter.” Mr. Stark reminded him. “Of course you can see her. We were waiting for you to be better before leaving, just in case things went all topsy-turvy, but you seem to be in the final-final stretch so Pep and I were thinking that we’d head back to New York tomorrow.”

Peter nodded eagerly, ignoring the lingering dizziness.

“We’ll head straight to the tower then, okay? May’s been there since she was released from the hospital five years ago. She’d wanted to keep working, but I figured you’d want me to keep an eye on her, especially after... so we compromised and she moved into Nat’s old quarters. When she started getting sicker, we moved her into the penthouse and brought in a team to treat her specifically. She’s in the med bay right—“

“Wait! Sicker?” Peter interrupted. “It’s just an infection, right? That’s what the doctor said!”

“Peter, your aunt’s condition worsened in the years after the stabbing,” Mr. Stark moved again to sit back on the coffee table—took his hands in his again. “Peter, I need you to understand. With only one compromised kidney, it wasn’t long before your aunt was on dialysis and the organ transplant list, but with half the population gone...”

“No.”

“Peter. Look at me.” The stern tone brought Peter’s eyes up. “We have done everything humanly possible to take care of your aunt, I promise you that—and now that everyone is back, there may be a chance...?”

The laugh that came out of Peter bordered on hysterical as the reality he’d reformed into came crashing down around him before he’d even taken a breath. “Stop. I can’t hear it.” He looked wildly around the room, “I just need to process this and then figure things out and then I’ll be good.” He stood up, forcing Mr. Stark to lean back on the table. “I need to talk to May.”

“Peter, she’s—“

“I know, okay!?. I know! I heard him!” He was trying not to panic but it vibrated through him like that earlier hum. He wished he could go back to however long ago and that peace and safety but he’d already wasted so much time recovering and five years in that damned stone! How could he--? May had needed him and he was gone and she was hurt and sick and he was gone and now he was here and he was still too far away! Why couldn’t he ever be in the right place at the right time? First Ben and now—Damn it! “I need to—I need to take a walk,” Peter stepped away from the couch, unsteady, but determined to pace. “I’m gonna take a walk and then I’m gonna sit down and make a list—“ Aunt May always said to make a list if he felt too overwhelmed, and if ever there was a time—Peter’s heart started to race as he gulped in air. “I’ll do that and then I’ll have a plan—and then when I talk to Aunt May, I won’t need to worry her—“ He swayed. “I can’t worry her, Mr. Stark.” Peter could feel his heart breaking. He crouched low and curled in on himself. “I can’t do this again.”

Peter felt him come up beside him and usher him back to the couch. “C’mon, sweetheart. I hear you, but we need to get you lying down before you pass out.” He pressed him down onto the couch and manoeuvred Peter back so he was stretched out. Some throw cushions somehow made it under his feet and Mr. Stark was again sitting on that stupid coffee table at Peter’s head. “You’re okay, kiddo. Just breathe for me.”

Peter turned away from his mentor and pressed his face into the back of the couch. “No.” He brought his arms up over his head, not even noticing that the pain in his shoulder was almost gone for the pain in his chest. “I can’t.”

Mr. Stark moved from the coffee table to the narrow strip of cushion behind him. “Yes, you can, Peter. You do it all the time.”

“But what if I don’t want to...” He sounded so pathetic even as he gasped.

“Well, if you don’t want to do it for you, then you do it for someone else—like your aunt... just until you get the strength back to do it for yourself.”

“But when she’s gone...”    

“Then you do it for someone else, Peter Parker.” Mr. Stark shifted a bit, then came in for a hug from behind. “Because if you think, for one damned second, that you’re alone, you are wrong—do you understand me?”

A gut wrenching sob tore from Peter’s throat and he couldn’t—he just couldn’t. He shook his head to disagree, but the warm pressure of his mentor at his back, staying beside him as he struggled, told him that he was wrong. It was too much to bear and Mr. Stark was there and he needed something—someone to anchor him before he lost himself completely. He forced himself to move right then, because if he didn’t, he never would again. He sat up, awkward and gangly as he fought against cushions and emotional exhaustion. Mr. Stark was there, waiting to see what Peter needed, and so Peter threw himself into his arms and wept as Mr. Stark’s arms came around him. “I wanna go home, Mr. Stark. Please. I just wanna go home.”

Mr. Stark rocked him, “Alright, buddy. We’ll get you there,” he promised. “We’ll get you home to May.“

* * * * * *

Mrs. Stark found them that way only a short time later, and Peter was drained enough that he couldn’t bring himself to care.

“Tony?” She whispered as she gently placed a tray laden with food on the coffee table. “Has something happened?”

Mr. Stark continued rocking as he answered. “May’s doctor called. We had to postpone the video call and we talked about May—all of it.”

And that was enough for Mrs. Stark to understand. “Okay. So what’s the plan, honey?”

“When Peter’s ready for me to move, I’ll get in touch with T’Challa and Dr. Strange and arrange for a portal back home.” Peter snuggled deeper into Mr. Stark’s chest and the man pressed a kiss into Peter’s hair. “Not yet, baby, I know.” He shifted to accommodate Peter’s wiggles and continued. “Other than that—“ Mr. Stark shrugged. “I guess we figure out how to move forward from all of this?”

And Peter wondered to himself if he ever would.

[dontshootmespence]

Aastha

Part 1 of 4

Summary: After an unimaginable loss, you discover your powers and become even more cemented in your faith. Sam experiences a similar loss and struggles with it. When you meet, how will your lives change?

Pairing: Sam Wilson x Indian!Superhero!Reader

Words: 1,382

A/N: This is for @bucky-smiles 2K Bollywood Writing Challenge! My prompt was Jab Tak Hai Jaan. The thing that stood out most to me was both of the protagonists’ struggles and/or commitments to faith, so that’s what I drew on for this fic. Although I know that Sam is an orphan in the comics, having lost both his parents to violence, I had him be raised by his mother, so she’s still alive here.

Beta’d by: The lovely @bucky-smiles herself. I wanted to make sure I did the culture and religion justice, so thank you! Also beta’d by another Indian lovely @emilyshurley​, who also made the above aesthetic for me. Thank you both for working with me. It meant a lot for me to get the culture and religion right because representation fucking matters, so your help was invaluable to me. <3

It had started off like any other day in New York City, except it wasn’t any other day. On this day, you’d accompanied your mother and father to work. You’d been waiting for months to go with them to the hospital, to see what they did, and watch what you would do too when you were old enough and out of school.

Alongside your parents, you gave offerings to Krishna murti, setting a flower picked from your yard, a ghee lamp and incense at the feet of the murti. As the mantra passed your lips, you thanked Him for the honor you were about to receive.

“Ready, beta?” Your mother said, smiling proudly upon you.

Excitedly, you nodded, standing tall between your parents on the labyrinthian subway ride to the hospital, knowing nothing about how your life would soon be changed forever.

----

Among the sterile hallways of the vast building, you felt vitality, blood pulsing through your veins as you watched your parents perform surgeries through the glass partitions. Despite your young age, their bloodied hands didn’t scare you; you knew the heroics they performed each and every day.

After a lunch break with them both, during which time you regaled them with knowledge that they’d one day have a brain surgeon in the family, you returned to watch your mother work – performing a triple bypass on an older gentleman.

Underneath your feet, you felt a quick thud, like the bass drum of the music you loved – registering it and moving on. Before you could glance back up, the floor gave way, debris pelting you from all directions as the flames consumed you.

----

Standing at the apex of the explosion, no one had expected you to make it out alive, no less make it out without a scratch. Everyone else in the area, including your mother, had been killed when the boilers exploded. “Why, baba?” You asked, hand engulfed by his as he sat at your bedside, in a different hospital a town over. “Why Ma and not me?”

Sadly, he grazed his fingers along your cheek. “I don’t know, beta. But I have to believe Bhagwan has a plan, and that he saved you for a reason.”

----

For many years, it wasn’t apparent to you why you would’ve been saved from the blaze. Without your mother, you retreated into yourself, becoming angrier and angrier at Bhagwan, everyone, the world. You should’ve been consumed by fire. But you left the hospital without a burn in sight.

As you got older, you noticed things moving without the slightest pressure on your part. And occasionally, you’d get a small cut and have it disappear within what seemed like minutes. But you didn’t think anything of it. You were growing, still a kid in most senses, so maybe you just had a really amazing immune system.

It wasn’t until nearly five years later, when you were just on the cusp of your 16th birthday, that you found the reason – the purpose He had for you. Walking home from school, you heard a woman screaming, gasping for air as she begged whoever was nearby to leave her alone. Approaching the noise, you peeked around the corner of the alley to see an imposing man, who had to be well over six feet, towering over a small woman, probably no more than five years older than you.

When he put his hand on her, your blood boiled and without thinking, you came out from your hiding spot and screamed. “Leave her alone!”

The man looked at you with a sinister sneer, easing his grasp on the young woman and turning his full attention toward you. “Run along, little one,” he said condescendingly, waving you off as the woman stared at you in terror, her eyes brimming with tears. “Go back to school.”

“I’m going home from school actually,” you said without thought for the consequences. You should’ve been scared, but it’s like you were imbued with purpose. This moment – right now. “Get your hands off her.”

Turning from the young woman, he reeled back and punched her in face, undoubtedly planning on dealing with you before he returned to her, but as he approached, you didn’t sink into yourself. You cemented yourself in place, pushing against him with all of your might the moment he was within your reach.

Taken aback, you watched as the man flew nearly 30 feet forward, hitting his leg against the brick wall of the alleyway. A string of curses flew from his lips as he got up, ready to charge at you again, when a searing heat curled its way around your hands and arms, stopping him in place. Tales had been told of superheroes before. But they were just stories, right? Why you?

Shakily, you lifted your arms and held them in front of your body, challenging the man to test you. But he didn’t. In astonishment, he stepped back, his eyes drifting toward the young woman who was attempting to get up. When you saw him weighing the possibilities, debating whether or not to go after her or run, you ran forward and screamed, an intense firestorm barreling toward him.

When the flames dissipated, he was gone, his footsteps getting further and further away by the second. Turning, you saw the young woman, eyes wide, but not afraid. “What-what are you?”

“I don’t know,” you mumbled in reply. Is this why Bhagwan had saved you?

----

As steel gray fell unhindered against the backdrop of a clear blue sky, Sam felt his grip on reality - everything he’d come to know – slip through his fingertips. Flying toward the ground at breakneck speed, Sam retracted the wings of the EXO-7 Falcon and bounded toward Riley, who was tumbling head over heels, careening toward the sea of sand and stone below. “Please, God,” he muttered, his face stinging against the hardened wind. “Please.”

Screaming toward the approaching earth, Sam dove as fast as his body would take him. Blood pounded in his ears; his muscles alight with fire. No matter how fast he willed his body to move, he remained suspended in the air, watching as Riley smashed into the ground below.

On reflex alone, Sam extended the EXO’s wings and glided into the ground, watching as his fellow troops descended upon Riley’s disfigured form. Falling to his knees, he let out a blood-curdling scream, only able to look on helplessly as his fellow soldiers attempted to resuscitate him – but it was to no avail.

He was already gone.

-----

In the days and weeks after Riley’s death, Sam found himself going about his life in a daze - as if the world stood still and he moved through it, slow as molasses out of a bottle. Nothing anyone said penetrated. Nothing anyone said mattered. Unwilling to put anyone else in danger because of his ‘inability to deal,’ he returned home.

Though he felt grateful to return to his loved ones, to see his mother again, he walked around in constant anger. Not sadness, but anger. And he couldn’t understand why. Until his mother spoke. “Go speak to Jesus,” she’d said. “He’ll help you through this.” It took every ounce of strength to keep himself from snapping at his mother. Instead, he turned his anger to where it truly belonged.

Excusing himself, he moved through the streets of Harlem with a purpose he hadn’t felt for many years. When the deep-red brick, mottled from years of neglect and the elements, came into sight, Sam clenched his fists, unable to stave off the broiling anger rolling through him. He walked up the stairs and through the heavy wooden doors, eyes welling up with unshed tears.

When he was a kid, he remembered feeling welcome there, among the bright, white walls, delicate stained glass and red upholstered, wooden chairs. But in that moment, he had tunnel vision, everything around him blurring into nothingness as he stared down the statue before his eyes. If a glare could destroy, the statue would crumble. “Never again,” he breathed through clenched teeth.

From that moment on, Sam believed what lay before him. The color of the sky. The stories told by those in his support group. And eventually, the man with the shield. And you.

[bygosscarmine]

W: Worlds Apart - Volume 4: Worlds Estranged

Kang Chul X Oh Yeon Joo - Fix-It Fic (T)

Read from beginning or find previous chapters here: Stories

All that’s left to write together is an epilogue.

Chapter 131 - Oh Yeon Joo and Kang Chul Have A Future (1560 words)

On Monday morning, Seok Bum stuck his head into the office and said, "Oh, hey Yeon Joo. Been a bit since I saw you here."

He sat at his desk, and started to write an e-mail, then stopped and peered at her.

"Are you...humming? Did something good happen?"

And Yeon Joo knew she was blushing, but she wasn't ashamed to say, "Yes. My beautiful friend from out of town that you didn't like hanging around Soo Bong is here now.

"Oh, congratulations!" He went back to typing for a minute.

After sending his e-mail though, he rolled his chair over to her and put an arm around her shoulders.

"Really, I'm so relieved to see you happy. We should all go get dinner sometime. I don't resent him anymore, I promise." After a pause he said, "Wait, how did you know I disliked him hanging around Soo Bong?"

"Soo Bong thought it was really funny, at the time."

Seok Bum made a disgusted noise, and wheeled himself back to his own computer. Soon after this, their productivity was again cut short by the appearance of Mad Park.

"Oh Yeon Joo, I saw a file today that made me think of your father. It's another six months before he comes in for his check-in, so I thought I'd see if you were here. How's he doing?"

"He's doing well. Did you see the release about the animated adaptation?" she added with a false air of innocence.

"That studio has produced nothing but saccharine love story comics! Absolutely not!"

"You know the rights have been picked up before, you only have to worry if it goes into production."

"No, no, no. What we need is a gritty drama, a procedural, and scrap the last volume or two. Maybe starring Won Bin!"

"Speaking of the last volume or two, Oh Yeon Joo's boyfriend who looks like Kang Chul is back," said Seok Bum, forever sowing the seeds of chaos. "That's why she's looking so well today."

Unexpectedly, Supervisor Park gave her a close look, and said, "Well, I'm glad to hear that. You've had a tough time. What's his name?"

"Kang Chul."

"Funny," said Mad Park. "Just as well."

"Why is it just as well?" Seok Bum asked. "Was there someone else you had in mind? That guy I saw MK yelling at the other day?"

"I don't want to talk about that," said Mad Park. "My spirit is broken. And I blame you as much as your father, Oh Yeon Joo!"

He walked away.

"What were you saying about MK?"

"Oh, one of Barking Mad's friends was here, but he was having an argument with MK. I think you got set up with him once. Tall guy, handsome-ish. Apparently up to MK's weight in a fight, which is really something."

Yeon Joo wasn't sure how to think about that. Clearly she needed to catch up with MK soon. She made a mental note to text her--later.

Mad Park stuck his head back in to say, "And that epilogue did not cut it by half! The script has to be by someone who will get it on track. I did like the twist with So Hee, but I hope your father read my comments about the final love-line."

"I assure you he did not," said Yeon Joo waving him away.

-

They were laying skin-to-skin, not ready to fall asleep when Chul summoned the courage to ask, "When did you first think that this might really work? Not closing W's narrative--us together."

He felt her take a breath to speak, ribs pressing a little deeper against his.

"That's a kind of complicated answer. But when you came here and were so appreciative of Soo Bong letting you stay with him, though it was not a great apartment or situation? I was relieved, because you seemed to be able to deal with real world inconveniences with grace."

"But that was nothing," he protested.

"The fact that you thought so meant a lot to me," she said, fingers gently brushing his collarbone. "I didn't know how much your privilege in W would form you."

"Ah, I see. My memories of my childhood are of a very normal home, though."

"What about you? You must be asking because you've been considering it."

"It was a process for me, too. But I have to say when you asked me firmly to let you finish eating, after sneaking into So Hee's apartment, I had this sense that I was experiencing something new and important."

She chuckled. "Yes, someone who wasn't an actual side character."

"Not just that. Even here, people look at me a certain way because of how I look. Or the expertise I have, or whatever. But you looked past that. You can see me, under the all-caps KANG CHUL of my origin."

"I'd already had a chance to become a little resistant to your face," she said, still amused.

"When we met again, after I'd gone into hiding, I understood why you were so devastated every time you met me. But you had still risked your life to help me, and you continued to do your best for me. Even being gentle when I fell in love with you, though it was such a hard thing for you to deal with."

"Was I kind?" she mused.

"Yes," he said firmly. "Because you didn't run away. You were honest with me."

"Looks like it all paid off on my end."

He accepted that she was not going to see herself as a hero in any way, and didn't protest again. It was enough that he'd let her know.

"In case you're tempted to cast yourself in the light of the sole beneficiary," she said after a moment, "what we went through together, all this time, gave me a fresh start. When I saved your life I was on hiatus from medicine and not sure I'd ever go back to it. I didn't remember creating a character that then became so popular, and I didn't know what I was capable of in hard circumstances. This story saved me, too."

"Then it's worth it, and I'm glad," Chul said.

His love in his arms, he listened to the erratic pulse of cars and city life, real and alive.

End Notes, from Park Soo Bong:

When I first set out to write the story of Kang Chul and Oh Yeon Joo, I planned to set the record straight. I realized eventually that even with first-hand accounts and raw material to draw from, I was creating yet another version of the truth. It was a little bit more story than real in some parts, because it made a great narrative. I hope you enjoyed the story you read, and it answers a few questions you might have had.

And now, since it is a story, just like W the comic I'll leave you with the fitting conclusion:

EPILOGUE

Understandably, all those involved in creating W felt wary of continuing work in manhwa after this and moved into different fields.

Park Soo Bong worked as a consultant on new comics under Editor Kim until he sold his first novel. Acclaimed as psychological horror with vivid settings and relatable characters, it sold well, and he is known a prolific writer with a knack for subverting expectations, sometimes with surrealist twists.

Oh Seung Moo's retirement from comics was considered dubious by the general public after the several false ends of his webtoon, but he never released any more material. He created a blog where he reviewed comics which enjoys a modest readership. His die-hard fans loved it while his detractors noted he seemed more focused on aesthetics than substantive writing. Nevertheless, his words of appreciation have encouraged many a new creator in a tough business.

Kang Chul got the job at the publishing house that sold his manhwa using an assumed name. He did well in management and eventually started his own division specializing in true crime and cold case books. He did particularly well interfacing with television companies, and a contract with his imprint was considered a foot in the door for adaptation. After getting more established, he also founded a prize in literature for investigative writing, with a clear mission to vindicate the falsely accused or expose those who escaped justice.

Oh Yeon Joo continued to work in diagnostics and post-surgery support rather than operations at Myung Se until Barking Mad Park recommended her to a colleague at the university who was doing a paper on traumatic impact of emergency surgery on hospital workers. Discovering this field of inquiry was a light-bulb moment. She studied counseling, became licensed, and specializes in medical trauma for both patients and medical personnel.

A year after registering their marriage, Oh Yeon Joo and Kang Chul had a small wedding at which both her parents, Mad Park, MK, Park Soo Bong and Kang Seok Bum were present. There were no arguments or gunshots or even tears, barring Yeon Joo's mother's slight emotional moment saying goodbye to the couple on their way back home. (She tentatively likes Kang Chul, mainly because Yeon Joo is happier now, and partly because her daughter isn't getting any younger.)

And while they still live today, in our world, they are all very happy to have made it to The End.

[downwardfalling]

the world is moving

“Did it hurt?” Tony reaches over with his right hand, a piercing red silhouette in the night, and gently grazes the swollen skin.

“Oh,” Peter blinks twice. Then, “No.”

- Or, Peter and Tony’s relationship in five acts, as told through bruises.

Read on AO3 :))

;;

Act I

The length between the tip of Tony’s pointed dress shoes and the threshold of Peter’s hotel door is simply a single footstep. And yet, Tony stands on one end, struggling to cross the distance. Peter’s fourteen, his more rational side reasons, and has already been spiderman for a couple of months at least. He should know how to treat a black eye.

“Mr. Stark?” Peter looks surprised to see him when Tony finally works up enough nerve to knock on the door. His worst worries are confirmed. Half of Peter’s face is swollen, marred by a bruise that encroach on his otherwise youthful features.

“In the flesh.” Tony gives something of a wan smile as he brushes past him.

“Wha-what are you doing here? I mean, not- not that I don’t want you here, of course.”

Tony doesn’t know how to answer the question without seeming like he cares too much, so he doesn’t. “Are you enjoying the hotel?” 

“Oh, uh, yeah, it’s great.” Peter pauses for a moment. Then, more quietly, as if sharing some great secret, he adds, “There’s even a TV in the bathroom, Mr. Stark. The bathroom. ”

Steve must’ve hit his head one too many times because he hears awe in Peter’s voice, and worse, finds it reassuring. But even sleep deprived and beaten, Tony knows the real reason why, as much as he refuses to admit it. The fact is, he messed up bad, and Peter saw the repercussions: Tony’s life work– his friendships, his career, his family– fell apart, loud and rickety like an unoiled machine. A part of him feared that Peter would finally see him for who he is. Not a hero. A fuck up. That same part of him is glad that Peter doesn’t. It’s selfish, but he puts it in the back pocket to unpack later.

“Thank you so much for this, Mr. Stark. It’s really great. I haven’t even been on a plane before, and now I’m fighting with the Avengers in an airport. I mean obviously, I would rather be fighting with the Avengers and not against the avengers, but you can’t win them all.“

Tony swallows hard, fighting back affection that Peter seems to command without knowing. He’s just too young. Too good. “No problem, kid. Do me a favor, and sit on the bed over there.”

Peter sits on the edge, clasping his hands neatly on his lap in front of him. He smiles, genuinely (teeth, gums, and all), even though he has bruised flesh under his left eye that forces it halfway closed. His right eye shines with reverence and youth and excitement that, along with affectionate, makes Tony sick to the stomach with guilt.

“You need ice,” Tony croaks, quickly turning away to hide whatever emotions he was uncareful enough to let show.

Peter either doesn’t notice, or doesn’t point it out. “Hm? For what?”

“For your face.”

“Oh.” He gingerly presses his fingertips against the skin under his eye, as if he had just remembered the bruise that had been the source of Tony’s penitence since he first saw it forming in the car ride back to the hotel.  

Tony hands Peter the bag of ice. “Keep this on for a little while.”

“Yeah, thanks.” Peter presses the ice to his eye and leans back to rest against the headboard. “Oh, by the way, Mr. Stark, I just wanted to let you know that you were super badass today.”

“Oh?” Tony snorts, sitting on the edge of Peter’s bed after his curiosity wins out over his better judgement. “How so?”

Peter grins. “Well, you’re always kind of badass. But seeing you in person today was on another level. And more importantly, seeing you fight for what you believe is right and what you believe would be the best for other people.”

“Oh,” Tony frowns, unbelieving and unused to receiving so many genuine compliments at one time. “You think so?”

“More than think so. Know so.” Peter presses on passionately, as if he somehow sensed Tony’s doubt. “My uncle Ben used to love Harry Potter, and he would always say that it is the quality of one’s convictions that determines success, not the number of followers.”

Peter leans closer to Tony, clenching his fist against his chest to show how strongly he believes in what he’s saying. “You’re a really good person, Mr. Stark! That’s why you will always be badass, even if Mr. Captain America doesn’t think so anymore.”

Tony blinks, trying to stave off sweet relief and the beginnings of tears that came with it. “Wow, kid. Are you always this…?” He makes a roundabout gesture with his hands, as if it were sufficient enough for his lack of a better word.

“Honest?” Peter offers.

Tony scans Peter’s face, looking for some hint of sarcasm, or some form of mockery, because there’s just no way someone can have so much faith in him. Instead, he sees what he’s seen all along, youth, and reverence, and just pure good. Tony has to get out of here fast before Peter gets himself into something he doesn’t want to be in.

“I should get going now.”  He gets to his feet as Peter blinks at him in confusion. “Rest, and keep that ice on for at least another ten minutes.”

“Will do!” It’s the last thing Tony hears before he’s out the door.

The distance between Peter’s hotel room and the tip of Tony’s shoes had only been a single footstep. When Tony crossed it, he had unknowingly crossed a fine line. But as he walks to his hotel room, shaking his head, he vows to stay away. Because he destroys everything he touches. and the last thing he wants to do is destroy Peter.

;;

Act II

“Who knew shattering your leg would cause severe internal bleeding? Weird, right?”

“Pete, please stop talking, or I swear to Jesus himself, you will regret it.”

“Yessir,” Peter salutes, and for two seconds, looks like he actually considers listening to him. “But wow, I can’t feel my entire right side.”

“That’s it.” Tony says, stepping around Bruce to make threatening eye contact with him. “When you’re better, you still won’t feel your leg. Why? Because you won’t have a leg. And why is that? Because I will have ripped it right out of its socket.”

Peter’s eyes start to droop, the likely effect of the medication they had given him when he first arrived. Quietly, he mumbles, "That’s just cold.”

Bruce stops to remove his hands from the IV on Peter’s arms and places them on Tony’s shoulders, slowly guiding him backwards and out of the room.

“Hey, buddy, I think you should step out for a bit. Get a breather. Maybe even a cup of water.”

“What, why? I’m fine.”

“No, you’re hysterical.”

“No, I’m not"

“Yes. You are.”

Tony looks over Bruce’s shoulders and sees nurses frantically working around Peter’s bed. Peter, finally asleep from medication, looks peaceful and blissfully unaware, even when his right leg is mangled enough that pieces of his bone pierce through the skin, and the majority of his thigh is black from severe internal bleeding. Tony isn’t privileged enough to be spared from the sight. His stomach churns uncomfortably, and it makes him lightheaded. He looks down, and his hands slightly shake from adrenaline.

“Yeah, I could use a cup of water,” he finally relents.

“Good, I will let you know when we’re done.” Bruce pats him on one shoulder. He must see the reluctance on Tony’s face because he adds, “He will be fine, Tony,” and then shuts the door.

In the time he was locked out of the medbay (which he owns, Tony bitterly points out to himself), he had the time to get not one, but six cups of water. He could have gotten more, but had been too busy making an internal list. The first thing he had to do once Peter was out of surgery was strangle him. Then, he’d call his scary, yet attractive aunt, and suffer the consequences of Peter’s actions, while May coddles Peter through phone, and promises to visit straight away after work. Finally, he’d strangle Peter again, lovingly this time, and force him to promise to never pull a stunt like this ever again, only for Peter to break it, at most, three months later.

Bruce finally steps through the sliding glass doors as Tony tries to figure out the best way to break the news to May. “Alright,” he says, taking off his gloves. “He’s all fixed up.”

Tony gets off the chair he had been sitting on for the past three hours, and furrows his eyebrows. “As easy as that? No permanent bone damage?”

“As easy as that. His healing factor is really quite something else.”

“Don’t tell him that, or he might get more creative next time.”

Bruce rolls his eyes, but steps aside to let Tony through. “You can see him now. Be gentle, he just woke up.”

“Oh Brucie Bear,” Tony sighs, patting Bruce’s shoulder as he steps by. “What am I if not gentle?”

Peter had nearly fallen back asleep in the time he was left alone, and Tony, seeing him slowly nod off like the kittens in the cat videos Peter forces him to watch, feels all the previous agitation and anger leave him, as quickly as air deflating out of a balloon.

“Hey Pete,” Tony whispers. His fingers hover hesitatingly over his forehead, but eventually, he reaches to brush Peter’s fringe out of his eyes.. “How are you feeling?”

“Hm?” Peter squints at him, pushing up on his elbows. “Oh, hey, Mr. Stark. M’fine.”

“Wow, and the press calls me a dirty liar,” Tony says drly, leaning over to help Peter sit upright against the pillows. “You wanna tell me what happened?”

Peter winces. “Not particularly, but I’m guessing if I don’t, you’ll go through Karen, and I have some pretty embarrassing footage I don’t want you to see. Shit. Shouldn’t have said that.”

“No harm done,” Tony says, his voice laced with faux comfort. “I’ve already seen them. Your impression of Thor is really cream of the crop. Absolutely spot on. I’m sure Thor would agree. You know, once I show it to him.”

Peter gasps, pressing his hand to his chest. “You wouldn’t.”

“Oh, but I would if you don’t tell me who did this to you.”

Peter groans into his hands and sinks further into his pillows, deliberating his options for a few moments.

“Ugh, fine,” he eventually concedes, embarrassment too large a price. “But you have to promise me you won’t commit first degree murder.”

“No can do. Thou shalt not lie, and all that. Besides, I don’t think you should worry too much about what happens to him when he nearly tore you to shreds.”

Peter glances down at his tightly bandaged leg in a disappointed frown. The turn of his lips create harsh lines around his mouth and between his brows that make him look wrought with fatigue, and years beyond his age.

“Yeah,” Peter mutters, a bit breathless. “He really got me good.”

Tony places a hand on Peter’s shoulder. “Pete,” he says gently, leaning down to make eye contact. “I know that you think you have to do this all alone, but you don’t. Whoever hurt you is dangerous, and deadly. You could’ve died, Peter. It does not make you weak to ask for help.”

Peter reaches up to grip the cuff of Tony’s button-up, tugging on it until Tony sits on the edge of his bed. He doesn’t make an attempt to move after that, simply clutches the fabric tightly between his fingers, wrinkling the material where it disappears underneath his fingertips.

“He calls himself the Green Goblin,” Peter whispers, many minutes later. “He’s large, and strong and…and scary.“

“Okay,” Tony says, nodding his head. “Thank you for telling me. We’ll figure it out together. Maybe I can even threaten Rhodey into helping. Not that I would need to. He’s putty in your hands.”

Peter laughs, releasing his grip to press the back of his hand against his mouth. “ Mr. Stark,” he says, giggling. The lines on his face disappear to reveal the youth and naivety that Tony will always associate with Peter.

“It’s your stupid cat videos,” he says, smiling, pleased with his laughter.

“Thank you,” Peter whispers. His hands fidget for a little, until finally settling to fiddle with the loose seams of the blanket. “And I’m sorry if I scared you.”

Tony grunts. “Why do you always thank me for doing nothing? And yes, but you’re always scaring me. I’m only just a little used to it by now.”

“Really?” Peter’s voice pitches. “Because it didn’t seem like it. At least from what I remember.”

“You probably don’t remember much. You were all delirious with the drugs.”

“But seriously. I really want to thank you for agreeing to work with me. Showing me the ropes, and all that. I haven’t… completely figured out how to handle all the superhero stuff yet, if you can’t already tell.” Peter gestures to his leg. “And there’s no one really better to show me how than you.”

Tony smiles, satisfaction settling in his body, warmly. Peter is always so startlingly sincere with his gratitude and admiration, and Tony has only gotten used to taking  the compliments and thankfulness in stride rather than succumb to doubt.

“Thanks buddy,” he pats Peter on the shoulder. “Let’s see if you think that once I force you to call your Aunt.”

;;

Interlude.

“Hey,” Peter leans against the door. He shifts his weight from foot to foot and it makes him look small, and vulnerable and unsure.

“Come here,” Tony whispers, lifting his bed sheets. Peter stops playing with the hem of his shirt, and slowly walks over. He slips into the bed, and leans his back against the headboard, brushing his shoulders against Tony’s own.

He doesn’t say anything, and Tony doesn’t ask him to. Together, they sit in silence. Tony takes the time to contemplate life, and death, and chance. Peter, he assumes, thinks the opposite: war, and renewal, and luck.

Finally, Peter asks, “Did it hurt?”

“The snap?”

“Yeah.”

“No,” Tony lies.

Peter shifts side to side. He doesn’t believe him, and for a moment, Tony waits for Peter to lean away and call him a liar. Instead, he presses his head against Tony’s left shoulder, and, in doing so, reveals the large, blue bruise that blemishes his temple.

“Did it hurt?”

“What did?”

Tony reaches over with his right hand, a piercing red silhouette in the night, and gently grazes the swollen skin.

“Oh,” Peter blinks twice. Then, “No.”

They settle back into silence. Tony presses his cheek against Peter’s hair. They look across Tony’s room, past the leather armchair, past Morgan’s bunny from where it was abandoned on the floor, past the wall. They look ahead.

Tonight, they pretend that everything is fine. Tomorrow, Peter will help Tony dress the burn wounds on his right side, and Tony will press an ice pack against Peter’s temple. Tomorrow, they’ll heal.

;;

Act III

“Morgan, honey, what do we say when we do something bad?”

Morgan tilts her head and squints her eyes, thinking hard. “Shit?”

“Morgan!” Pepper presses her hand to her chest, aghast. She turns to Tony, lifting her finger accusingly. “ You.”

“I have no idea where she learned that, Pep. Scout’s honor.” Tony replies, trying to school his face into indifference. A futile attempt when Morgan twists to face him on her mother’s lap and gives him a small smirk that is the consequence of weekend sleepovers with Natasha, forcing Tony to hide his grin behind his hand.

“You were a boy scout?” Peter, who is holding a bag of peas against his head on the couch next to him, looks up with just a hint of a smile playing on his lips.

“No. He wasn’t.” Pepper gives Tony a glare over Morgan’s head, her eyes narrowed to a squint that meant she was only seconds away from sending Tony to the couch tonight, and shifts Morgan gently onto his lap. “You caused it, you deal with it.”

Tony leans over and presses a kiss to the top of Morgan’s head as Pepper walks down the hall, and out of hearing distance. Morgan giggles, and turns around to return it on the cheek. “What did I tell you before? Those are only Mommy’s words.”

Morgan nods seriously, looking as if she was hearing God himself dictate the eleventh commandment. “Mommy’s words,“ she repeats.

“That’s my treasure.”

“Treasure? She nearly took my life!” Peter scoffs, but with an undertone of care and affection that Tony hears more and more often when Peter talks to and about her.  She’s going to grow up to be very spoiled, as clear when he thinks back to this morning– she had coaxed Tony into giving her yet another banana for breakfast, and after she finished, left the peel by the doorway for Peter to trip on when he finally got out of bed at noon.

“Petey,” Morgan says, reaching out to group three of Peter’s fingers in her hand. “I’m sorry.”

“Aw M, of course–”

“I should have known you weren’t smart enough to avoid it.”

Peter’s face goes slack, and Tony can read the shock on his face from the way his eyebrows disappear into his hairline and how his mouth falls slightly ajar. He slowly turns towards Tony, and narrows his eyes in the same manner Pepper had done just moments before.

Tony shrugs his shoulders. There was only one person capable of teaching impressionable, five year old Morgan such wyrness, and opposed to popular belief it wasn’t him. It was Peter.

“Morgan, that wasn’t very nice,” Peter warns threateningly. “Now you have no choice but to suffer my wrath!”

Peter reaches over to tickle Morgan’s stomach. Morgan shrieks, and falls off Tony’s lap and onto the couch in a fit of laughter.

“Noooo,” she cries. “I’m sorry, Petey! I’m sorry!”

“No can do, M.” But, Peter relents anyways, and leans down to give Morgan a peck on the cheek, even as he simultaneously presses peas against the bump on the back of his head. Tony changes his mind. She is already  spoiled.

“Alright,” Tony says, playing peacemaker. “Now that this is settled. Let’s hit the lake!”

Morgan gasps, sitting upright on the couch. “The lake!” She cheers, already running to grab her flip flops.

“How is it that she’s the most adorable and cutest yet most evil person I know?” Peter sighs dramatically, placing the peas on the coffee table, now warm. He gets up off the couch and offers Tony a hand.

“You’re too little too late, Pete,” Tony says, groaning softly as he lets Peter pull him to his feet. “I asked myself the same question when she shat on my hand five years ago.”

“Petey! Dad!” Morgan runs by, now with her hair in a ponytail and with flips flops in hand. “C’mon let’s go! I want to take the boat out!”

“Coming, pumpkin.” Tony straightens his back, joints cracking loudly. “Ugh, that can’t be good. I’m getting too old for this.”

Peter laughs, patting Tony’s shoulder as he brushes past him. “Let’s go, Old Man. Before you hit the hay.”

Later that night, after Morgan fell fast asleep from a long day boating around the lake, and Pepper had dozed off after arguing with investors from Hong Kong, Tony does end up on the couch, but in his own volition. He’s nursing a cup of hot chocolate when Peter ventures into the living room.

“Hey,” he says, sitting down next to him. “What are you doing here? I thought old men slept like logs after their evil daughter connived them into speeding ten circles around on a boat.”

Tony snorts. “I could ask the same about older brothers.”

Peter looks content, and the sight of it unravels some knot that had been building at the pit of Tony’s stomach. It hasn’t been too long after the large and dramatic stand-off against Thanos, and a part of him had worried about life after. Life with both Peter and Morgan, but no Iron Man.

“How are you feeling?” Peter asks, eyes shifting across his face, as if he were searching for signs of distress. “Is it the nightmares again?”

Tony chuckles, and reaches over to brush back Peter’s hair. It’s gotten long, and if possible, even more curlier. May has been going on about having it cut, but for now, Tony counts it as a small blessing.

“Nope,” he says. “Another day scotch free. I think we should celebrate. Three months, a new record.”

“Oh,” Peter says, leaning back into the couch, his posture much more relaxed. “Then what are you doing out here?”

“Just enjoying the silence of the night. God knows we don’t get enough of it around here.”

Tony throws his arm around Peter’s shoulders, and Peter sags against him, cuddling into Tony’s side. Inside his bedroom, Pepper is dreaming of investment meetings, and new punchlines to throw at misogynistic corporate leaders. Down the hall, Morgan sleeps soundly.

Everything is as it should be, even if the only piece missing is Iron Man’s signature red and gold hues, tracing shapes into the sky like Earth’s brightest star. Tony has everything he needs right here.

;;

Act IV

“Tony,” Peter groans, pressing an ice pack onto his cheek, where a bruise was black, and blue and blooming around a long gash that reached from his upper cheek to chin. “Please stop pacing, and sit with me.”

“No,” Tony quips, but sits on the chair next to the medbay bed anyways. “I’m too busy trying to figure out why you felt the need to keep this from me.”

“Because you get all crazy? Like right now?”

“It’s me, ” Tony replies, leaning forward in his chair and ignoring Peter’s remark, looking all types of the tormented soul he is and will always be. “You used to tell me everything. And now you’re off on secret missions with Shield–”

”–yes, because that’s what secret means–“

”–or taking down whole New York crime syndicates by yourself, making friends with that human embodiment of a tabloid Johnny Storm, or worse– sneaking off to go to a party . It’s like I don’t even know who you are anymore.“

A look of understanding comes across Peter’s face. Like he’s just realized this is about more than Fisk’s underground Mafia work, more than even the illegal multiverse experiment that had been one spilled beaker away from tearing the universe into two. It makes Tony miss the years right after the Snap, miss when Peter’s first instinct would be to call him, before he had left for college, became war torn and world weary, and for whatever reason, decided that Tony simply wasn’t needed anymore.

“Tony,” Peter says, more gently this time, reaching his hand out. Tony takes it, holding it tightly in his own as if should he let his grip slack for even just a moment, Peter would break into a million pieces of dust, unmendable and gone, but never forgotten– just like he did on Titan, just like he does over and over again in nightmares that continue to plague him even years later.

“I’m always going to need my old man.” Peter jokes, but his face says otherwise: lips pressed together in a small smile, eyes bright with the beginnings of tears and something else. Love, Tony will amend, months later, thinking back to this memory as Peter hands him the invitation to his wedding.

“Then why didn’t you tell me? I could’ve helped you. Called for back-up, tracked him for you, Iron Man–”

“–is out of commission.” Peter’s eyes drift to Tony’s right arm, red and metallic, a synthetic replacement for the original which had been tragically incapacitated by the Snap.

“How am I supposed to help you if I don’t even know?“

Peter drops the ice bag to reach over and lay his hand on top of Tony’s, cupping it tightly between both of his own. “I don’t need Iron Man. I need Tony Stark. Tony who might not be there for the battle, but will always be there for me in the aftermath.”

Peter doesn’t say anymore, and he doesn’t have to. Tony has since learned the art of reading into the unsaid.

;;

Act V

Peter grips Tony’s hand too hard, and it creates fingerlike bruises on his skin.

“I can’t do this, Tony,” he says, using his other hand to wipe at his face. “I can’t. I just can’t.”

“Yes, you can,” Tony gives Peter’s hand a reassuring squeeze. Peter doesn’t bother to squeeze back, too busy looking down the hallway, eyes shifting left and right in search of the nurse.

“Do you think it’s done? Why hasn’t anyone come out yet? Do you think something went wrong? What if–” Peter’s face goes slack, and he slumps down on the chair, finally letting go of Tony’s hand to run them through his hair. “I think I’m having a breakdown.”

“Oh hey. You’re not that bad. If it makes you feel better, I vomited on the nurse twice before Pepper popped Morgan out.”

Peter gives Tony a long look and proceeds to groan. “Is that supposed to make me feel better?”

“I don’t know. Do you feel better now?”

“Not particularly. But I am more distracted. The image of you vomiting is equally too familiar and hilarious.”

Tony smiles and lovingly pats Peter’s cheek, now less flushed from his previous outburst. “Then my job here’s complete.”

Peter returns the smile, and looks contemplatively at his hands. “Do you think MJ will be mad at me for not being with her?”

“Michelle? Probably not. She’s a strong, independent woman. And I’m pretty sure she’s the one who told you to leave after you started to freak out.”

“Ugh,” Peter grimaces, most likely reliving the memory. “I’m just not sure if I’m ready yet. To be a father.”

Tony reaches over to brush back Peter’s hair from his forehead. When Peter took over Stark Industries two years ago, he had gotten into the habit of gelling it back. It was one of Tony’s greatest losses. Today, he relishes in the fact that Peter left it undone, too in a hurry to get to the hospital in the middle of the night. His baby, who no longer looks it, is all grown.

“Do you know what’s the most important part of parenting?”

“No?” Peter slumps in his chair, saddened by his own ignorance.

“The answer’s more obvious than you think: love, and honesty and respect. Being emotionally open, loving your kid, and letting your kid know that, but also, somehow respecting their boundaries.”

Tony’s words do nothing to appease Peter. If anything, he’s more discouraged and sinks further into the uncomfortable waiting room chair.

“It’s a learning curve, but I’ll let you in on a little secret. Peter, you’re the most honest and affectionate person I know. Before I met you, I don’t even think I was capable of saying I like you, nevermind love. And look at me now, I spend all my time with you and Pepper and my baby Morgan who’s got me wrapped around her small yet powerful finger.”

Peter laughs, his eyes looking suspiciously watery. “Don’t worry. She’s got us all in her evil clutches.”

“My point is,” Tony continues, chuckling softly. “You’ve taught me all of these things about parenting, just by being yourself. I have so much faith in you, there are not enough words for me to even describe it.”

Peter looks as if he’s about to break into pitiful sobs, but the nurse steps out of Michelle’s room, smiling brightly as she calls Peter’s name, and saving him from what would’ve been inevitable seconds later.

“Oh god, I think I might vomit.”

“Oh no. Vomiting during labor only needs to happen once in history.” Tony jokes, feeling as if he might vomit himself. He pushes lightly on his shoulders. “In you go, Pete.”

The room is quiet when they walk in. Michelle is propped up against some pillows, simultaneously exuding tire and glowing with the newfound joy of motherhood. In her arms, swathed in light blue blankets, is the baby, sleeping comfortably.

“Oh my,” Peter chokes, approaching the side of the bed. “He’s just so tiny.”

“And yet he took so long to come out,” Michelle says, lids heavy as if she were on the brink of passing out. “Do you want to hold him, Peter?”

Peter hesitates for a few seconds, but reaches down shakily, and gently lifts the baby off Michelle’s arms. “Oh wow,” he says quietly, adjusting the baby’s blankets with one hand. “Hi there, baby. It’s me, your dad.”

Slowly, he turns towards Tony, tears making their way down the side of his face. “Look, Tony. It’s my baby. He’s beautiful.”

Tony looks down at the bundle, and indeed, burrowed between the creases of the fabric, is a baby boy with the beginnings of Peter’s hair, his nose, his ears, and if he looked closely enough, maybe his smile.

“Hey there, Beautiful,” Tony’s voice cracks. “You got a name yet?”

“Say hi to Grandpa, Ben. Benjamin Anthony Parker.”

;;

End.

The hospital room is dark, mostly lit by the dim yellow light that emanates from the small lamp next to the bed. Michelle is sleeping quietly, and beside her, still wrapped in baby blue blankets, is Ben. Across the bed, is a long, grey ottoman sofa. On one end, May is sleeping with her head tucked on Pepper’s shoulder. On Pepper’s other side is Morgan.

Tony watches everything from the other end of the couch, and tucked into his side, is Peter, exhausted but still clinging to the last dredges of consciousness.

“Are you still worried about fatherhood?”

Peter looks up at him with glassy and wistful eyes. “No. I have the best role model.”

At that, Tony smiles, content. He has all he needs, and then some, right here.

[holidayblindspot]

Season of Hate/Season of Love (part 3/3)

The third and final part of rAnsomedr0gue’s seasonal Reller fic. She doesn’t have a Tumblr account, but I do give her a link to these posts, so please do comment and let her know what you think!

Previous parts are HERE and HERE.

***

Remi wakes with a start, a silent scream still caught in her throat.

It was a nightmare, she realizes. Kurt, getting beaten to death in an alleyway. Arriving too late, sobbing even though there’s no one there to pretend for.

She turns to see if she’s disturbed his sleep and groans when she realizes he’s not in bed. Remi wonders if she reached out for him in the middle of the night, the way her body often does, and hurt him by accident. She had told him she would sleep in the other room, wary of his injuries. But he’d insisted he needed her near him to rest and she had been unreasonably relieved to be able to stay.

It had been a long night of x-rays, CT scans, various other medical procedures. Eventually he’d received nine stitches for a cut above his left eyebrow and been diagnosed with three broken ribs and a concussion. Not bad considering the doctor had been worried about a skull fracture, bleeding in his brain. And about as well as possible considering how he’d looked when she found him in the alley.

Remi shudders, exhales the bad memory. There had been a lot of blood and it hadn’t been immediately obvious that none of it was life-threatening. Her heart had frozen in her chest until he sat up, tried to pretend he was okay. Of course all she could do then was hold him in pure relief, none of it an act.

However much she needs to get rid of him, Remi can’t deny the way it had felt to cradle his stupid heroic self. Her moronic pretend FBI husband who somehow survived an encounter with an armed giant intent on murder suicide. On Christmas Eve.

They’d gone to dinner and he’d saved their server’s life. She was almost glad he’d forgotten his gun or else he’d be insufferable about being right. As it was, he seemed to think his mistake nullified any reason to praise him and had kept apologizing for ruining their night. Even though she told him countless times that she wasn’t upset, kind of wanted to punch him in his already-concussed head for even thinking it.

Remi gets up, really hopes to find him sleeping in the spare room. But when she opens the bedroom door she sees him in the kitchen, making coffee and pulling out breakfast ingredients.

“Hey, sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you,” Weller says, looking up as her with a smile. “Merry Christmas.”

Remi sighs, shakes her head at him.

“You should be resting,” she admonishes. “I can make breakfast, you need to take it easy.”

Weller shakes his head at her then winces and frowns at the movement.

“I couldn’t sleep, and you needed the rest. We were at the hospital until past two and I know you didn’t fall asleep for awhile,” he argues. “Besides, Allie’s going to be here soon with Bee and I promised her French toast with berry sauce.”

Remi walks over to him, feels an almost primal need to touch him growing in her gut. Wraps her arms around his hips from behind, rests her head between his shoulders gently.

“Merry Christmas, Kurt,” she rumbles into his back. “I am so thankful you’re here.”

There’s still so much truth to that statement that she’s momentarily stunned. While Remi had come to accept that some part of her cared about Weller, she’d never been forced to confront the extent of it. But seeing a beast of a man about to break his head, that had made her react so strongly that it was impossible to ignore. And she hasn’t shaken it yet, the fear of losing him.

Kurt turns carefully until her head is just above his collarbone, lying on top of the bullet burn across his chest. It’s hard to even think about it. A bullet that close to his heart, the slightest change in angle and he’d be gone.

Remi looks up at his bruised face, the dried blood on the gauze over his stitches. He’s already developed quite a shiner on his left eye and makes him look soft yet hard, reminds her exactly what he’s like.

“Did you tell Allie what happened?” she asks, thinking of little Bee, how she’s going to react to Weller’s appearance.

“Yeah,” Kurt sighs. “She was pretty upset.”

“Hmmm,” Remi replies. “Yeah well, having to tell Bethany that her Christmas Day visit with daddy is cancelled because he’s dead would probably ruin a lifetime of Christmases for both of them. So I think she has the right.”

“She called me a dumbass about ten times in five minutes,” he groans.

Remi hides a grin into his chest, enjoys it that Allie can call Kurt on his shit so readily.

“And I couldn’t even defend myself. I forgot my gun!” he exclaims irritably. “I’m never going to live it down. I shouldn’t even be here.”

She can feel him suddenly tense up in her arms, become taut with self-blame, what ifs.

Oh Kurt, she thinks. Only Weller could feel bad about getting beat up in an alley while saving a woman’s life.

“Hey, hey,” she mutters into his ear. “Calm down, Kurt. You know she’s just worried about you and that’s how it comes out.”

Remi briefly pictures Allie spitting fire and tears, everyone sobbing. Yet again she is so glad he’s still there, that she isn’t spending Christmas crying with his family, mourning with his team. She’s also pretty darn thankful that her earlier self didn’t kill him back when she hated him more.

The truth is so glaring, it’s impossible to ignore. She had failed again. Made the same mistake twice. Apparently Kurt Weller was her fucking kryptonite.

And here she is, Christmas day, trying to comfort him, his pounding heart under her ear. Thinking how he can be so fragile with her, how it should make her feel disdainful. She has no time for emotions other than anger, hate.

But it’s Kurt, and it’s so sad to see him hurting. So maybe she has the time, a whole day in fact. With overly emotional Weller, who she inexplicably loves.

“Breathe,” she says. Rubs her hand up and down his spine, relishes the warmth of his body up against hers.

Weller must finally hear her because he takes five deep breaths and then lets out a tired sigh. Remi looks up at him, at his face pale and exhausted eyes.

“Did you sleep at all?” she asks, fairly sure she already knows the answer.

He shakes his head just slightly and she can tell he has a bad headache. No wonder he’s especially reactive; he hasn’t slept and is obviously still in pain. He is in no condition to deal with a toddler on Christmas Day, even one that is usually quite well-behaved. And he is going to be extremely upset with himself if anything goes wrong, that she already knows. Which she really doesn’t want.

Kurt deserves a nice day, Remi thinks uncharacteristically. He’s been trying so hard.

“Look, it’s just six am,” she says. “Allie isn’t due until eight, I’m going to text her and get her to bring Bee at eleven instead. You can make French toast for brunch if you insist but only if you get some sleep between now and then.”

She sees Weller forming a ‘no’ with his lips and she shushes him with a finger.

“She’s a toddler, Kurt. She won’t have any idea we started Christmas three hours later than planned. And you need some rest if there’s any hope that this day will turn out the way you want it to. So I’m going to clean your cut and you’re going to close your eyes and relax. Do you want to do this on the couch or the bed?”

Remi wears a look that brooks no argument and, for once, Weller doesn’t try to fight her.

“Couch,” he sighs.

She smiles her relief and takes his hand silently, leads him over to the couch. He is surprisingly docile considering how tense he still is and she thinks he must just be so tired he can’t bother to resist.

Remi starts by sitting him down on the sofa, helping him find a comfortable position for his sore body. Knows from experience the constant pain of broken ribs, how hard it is to get proper rest when it hurts just to lie down. When he’s finally settled, Weller leans his head against the back of the couch, closes his eyes when she can’t help but sift her fingers through his hair.

She fetches the first aid kit and a couple ice packs then returns to tend to Kurt. It’s strange, to want to take care of him, to not be pretending anymore, not even to herself. She remembers when he first got out of the hospital after that abdominal abscess surgery, being disgusted at having to change his bandages. How she had made sure to be ‘accidentally’ too rough as often as she could.

Now she gently wipes at his stitches until all the dried blood has loosened off, ensures that his cut is neat and clean before brushing her lips against his wound, another small soft moment that’s hard to reconcile with her usual hard self. It’s entirely worth it though when he dons a sleepy grin at the kiss, blindly reaches for her hand.

Remi responds automatically, grasps his hand tightly and weaves her fingers between his. She brings their hands up to her lips, plants a kiss on his thumb. Then impulsively she brings their matched hands to her own chest, holds them there against her heartbeat.

It’s a thing that Kurt does and it’s always made her feel uncomfortable. It’s much too intimate, more emotional than kissing or sex because she can feel how special it is to Jane. So of course she’s never thought to initiate it before, but at the moment Remi instinctively knows it will soothe him.

His eyes flicker open for a moment and settle on their hands against her heart. He’s wearing a soft satisfied smile, looks at with such love that she feels tears rise unexpectedly, turns to blinks them away before glancing back to see if Kurt’s noticed.

But thankfully he’s already fallen asleep, his lips still wearing a gentle upwards curve. So she kisses his hand one more time before letting it go, resists the urge to run her fingers through his scruffy hair again. Stands up and looks down at him fondly, so glad he’s getting some rest before the small whirlwind known as his daughter arrives.

There’s a chance she will still need to kill him. But first he’s going to have the Christmas he deserves with his daughter and a wife that loves him. Even if it’s not his wife.

***

Kurt wakes to a tender kiss, thinks it must be one of those dreams where you think you’ve woken up but you’re still dreaming.

He keeps his eyes closed for a moment, not wanting the experience to end. It feels so real, like a memory come to life. Jane wanting to touch him, initiating physical contact. A fragment of their lives before they found out she was sick.

Finally, he has to see for himself and opens his eyes, confirms that he’s curled up on the couch and Jane is leaning over him, her lips on his.

I should almost die more often, he thinks idly. It’s the closest she’s been for so long.

Of course that thought is immediately followed with a wave of guilt, the thought that she should not have to be worrying about him on Christmas. Especially considering it was all due to his own stupidity.

He tries to wipe away the negative mood, revel in the moment as Jane trails a line of kisses from his mouth to his jaw and then up to his bruised eye. She finishes with her lips against his left temple, her breath warm in his ear.

“Time to wake up,” she whispers. “Allie and Bee are going to be here in less than an hour.”

Jane stands up and he reaches for her reflexively, too aroused to think about his movements. Then immediately pays for it when his broken ribs remind him of reality, jolt him awake with a grunt of pain.

Jane passes him some ibuprofen and a glass of water without commenting on the pathetic noise he just made. She is being so good to him, he can’t help but revel in it. Even though he feels unmanly somehow, letting her take care of him while she’s sick. Especially because his injuries are entirely his own fault.

He forgot to bring his gun to a gun fight. It’s so ridiculous he can’t even think about it.

Vaguely he knows he’s being hard on himself when he should focus on the fact that it’s Christmas and he’s about to spend the day with his daughter and his wife, the two people he loves most. But it’s so easy to think about what could have been, how the hell Jane would have explained it to Allie and Bee.

“Kurt, snap out of it,” she says, as if she’s reading his mind. “Everything’s fine. Christmas is going to be great.”

Weller tries to focus on Jane, is thankful that the pounding in his head has ebbed to a minor throb after some sleep. He tells himself to believe her words, that he isn’t going to ruin the day by being a mopey bastard. That he has a wife who loves him, a daughter he adores.

“Do you want to try and shower before they come?” she asks.

As much as he likes the idea of coercing Jane into the shower with him, reality sinks in quickly when it takes all he has just to pull himself into a sitting position, get his feet on the ground. Every movement makes his broken ribs grate painfully and he wonders how he’s going to deal with Bee flinging herself at him the way she usually does.

“Uh, I don’t know if I can,” he admits.

“I thought you might say that,” Jane replies sympathetically. “So I started running the bath. I think that’ll be easier.”

Kurt looks up at her gratefully, takes the hand she’s holding out to him and lets her gently help him up from the couch. When he’s standing he expects her to let go but she keeps pulling him towards her until she can wrap her arms around him.

“Does your head feel better?” she asks, scrutinizing his eyes for clues.

He nods and manages not to wince, or feel sick. Definite improvement, he thinks.

“Good,” she sighs. “Now let’s see what a bath does for the rest of you.”

Jane turns and leads him to the washroom, sits him on the edge of the tub as she unbuttons and removes his pajama shirt. Then stands him up again to drop his pants to his ankles, help him step out of the and into the bath without jostling his ribs too much.

She lets him get settled in the tub before starting to bathe him, running a soapy washcloth over his lurid bruises, gently rubbing shampoo into his hair. Despite all his injuries, it feels fantastic to just sit there in the hot water, let it soothe his aching body as Jane scrubs him clean, rinses him off and then helps him stand up, wraps him in a giant towel.

Life with Jane is the best present he could ever imagine. On Christmas or any other day. Even when he’s an achy mess, feels down on himself.

Kurt lets her lead him into their bedroom, sit him on the bed and finish toweling him off. Then she lightly rubs analgesic muscle relaxant over his chest, frowning at the all mottled bruises already starting to darken.

He reminds himself not to tell her that it’s worth being in that much pain to have her touch him like that. No matter how true it is, it’s self-pitying, pathetic.

“That must hurt a lot,” she murmurs, running her fingers over the deep purple of his torso.

“I’m fine,” he grumbles.

“Liar,” she replies, a proud but exasperated look in her eyes. “I’ve put some clothes out for you then if you’re so fine. Get dressed, they’re going to be here in ten minutes.”

She leaves him to consider his mistake as he stares at the clothing, tries to mentally will it onto his body. Getting his boxers and a pair of sweatpants pulled up to his waist takes nearly five minutes and leaves him sweaty with the effort. He’s only managed to do up a few buttons on his shirt when there’s a knock at the front door and Weller’s suddenly filled with excitement, so ready to see Bethany that he forgets to worry about her being a human missile sometimes.

By the time he’s got his shirt done up Jane has already let Allie and Bee in and opens the door to their room to check on his progress, smiles when she sees he’s dressed.

“Looking good, Special Agent,” she teases as she steps aside to let him out the door.

His daughter must have been searching for him because she comes hurtling at him right as he steps out of the bedroom, clearly expecting to be swept up in his arms as usual. Kurt beams reflexively but then realizes his predicament, knows he’s going to end up shouting and scaring Bee if he tries to pick her up and that she’s going to be very disappointed if he doesn’t.

Thankfully Jane reads the situation perfectly and intercepts Bethany by sweeping her into a huge hug first before ‘flying’ her over to him and gently placing her in his arms. Even just supporting her toddler weight is a challenge but he manages to breathe through it as she wraps her arms around his neck and squeezes as hard as she can.

“Hi Daddy,” she screeches with glee. “Is Christmas!”

It’s insane that a drunken fuck up could have brought so much pure joy into his life. Maybe the only good thing to have come out of finding Taylor, arresting Jane.

“Hi Bee,” he replies enthusiastically. “Merry Christmas.”

He snuggles his daughter until his body screams and then Allie comes and pulls Bethany off of him, reminds her that they have to be gentle with daddy because he’s hurt.

“Daddy, owie,” Bee says, pointing at Kurt’s black eye and nodding seriously.

“Yeah, that’s a pretty big owie alright,” Allie agrees as she passes Bee off to Jane and steps forward to wrap him into a hug.

“We would have both been devastated,” she mutters into his ear. “Don’t ever do that to me again.”

She holds him for a lot longer than expected and there’s a shimmer to her eyes when she finally lets go and runs her thumb over his bruised face.

“Now make us that goddamned berry French toast that Bee won’t shut up about,” she demands.

“Yes, ma’am,” Weller replies, still a bit stunned at how emotional everyone is being about him. He still feels guilty extracting sympathy for having made such a monumental error. But he can’t deny that it does feel good to be cared about, especially on Christmas.

He walks over to the kitchen and starts making a berry compote while Jane and Bee examine the ornaments on the tree and Allie quietly asks him for details on the previous night. He gives her the full blow by blow, knows she won’t let it go until he does. But at least she refrains from calling him any names, just shakes her head at him when he admits why he hadn’t been wearing his holster.

Weller serves up breakfast, but somewhat disastrously forgets he’s not supposed to laugh when Bethany’s eyes light up maniacally at the powdered sugar being dusted on her French toast.

The laughing leads to a moment of panicked pain, then some wracked coughing before his ribs stop screaming at him and his vision clears up.

He hadn’t even noticed Jane getting up to rub his back, Allie distracting Bethany by feeding her breakfast, telling her that there was nothing to be worried about. He feels so useless and horrible in the moment, frightening his little girl by sputtering in pain, unable to even laugh without screwing things up.

But then he hears Jane muttering in his ear, telling him to breathe, that the pain is only temporary, that he’s going to be okay. And, once his heart rate settles, the panic in his chest fades too, lets him look up and smile reassuringly at Bee, who instantly changes her little toddler frown into a matching grin.

“Sorry honey,” he apologizes, walking over to kiss his daughter. “I didn’t mean to scare you. How’s your French toast?”

“Yummy!” she shouts, any fear clearly already forgotten.

Bethany shows off her berry-stained smile, reaches up for another hug. He wants to pick her up but realizes it’s a bad idea just as Jane comes around and scoops Bee up towards him so she can wrap her sticky hands around his neck and he can hug them both without the risk of dropping his kid or crying out in pain.

Kurt stands there, one arm wrapped around his daughter, the other around his wife. Sees Allie smiling broadly as she takes a photo of their cute Christmas moment.

What would he do without the women in his life?

Certainly he’d be a mess. Probably miserable and alone, wallowing in guilt. Not feeding his daughter her favourite ‘bewwy’ sauce, stealing fruity holiday kisses from his wife.

Somehow his near fatal mistake hasn’t ruined things, and he feels so loved it brings tears to his eyes again. Which doesn’t make any sense to him, that he could screw up so badly yet things could turn out so perfectly. But for once he’s not going to overthink the issue, is just going to accept his incredibly good fortune. After all, it’s rather fitting that his best Christmas with Jane involves a life or death incident, broken ribs and a concussion.

***

She was raised on hardness, no time for sentiment. The only love she and Roman had ever experienced after the death of their birth parents was tough love, even for each other. A product of a life of harsh environments, intense competition, where affection was a rare commodity to be hoarded.

Remi always thought, was always afraid, that she didn’t know how to love. Even with all her boyfriends, even with Oscar. Because she was so steeped in hate, raised on it. She thought she’d loved Oscar, but then she had left him so readily, could have easily chosen not to. The mission had meant so much more than what she felt for Oscar, it was all that really mattered to her.

Somehow she knows it hadn’t been nearly as easy for Jane to leave Kurt, that she only managed to force herself away because her presence put them in danger. Jane left to save him, give him a life with his kid. Because he was what mattered to her, nothing else.

It’s what made her so jealous, angry. That Jane got the chance she never had. A blank slate. A chance at love.

Because how could Remi have learned love from a mother that was willing to sacrifice her own daughter?

She watches as Weller helps Bethany push a giant snowball through the park, makes her clap and shout with happiness as he picks it up gingerly and puts it on top of the one they had previously made.

“Okay, now we just need a head,” he comments. “One more snowball?”

“One more!” Bee hollers, already smashing snow together to get things started.

It is beyond obvious that there is nothing Kurt Weller would ever sacrifice his daughter for. That he would hurt anyone that even suggested it.

What’s troubling is that, right now, she feels the same way. She wouldn’t trade Bethany’s life for anything, not even to free Shepherd. It’s an unsettling feeling to realize that her terrorist goal of regime change can suddenly not mean anything when love is in play. That she will never be able to kill Kurt Weller, even if she keeps telling herself she will, even if her mission requires it.

As if to prove the point, Remi’s chest warms as she looks up to see Kurt and Bee charging up to her, all rosy cheeks and soggy gear. The moment of affection costs her as she realizes too late that it’s an ambush and can’t avoid the oncoming barrage of snowballs, takes hit after hit before finally managing to scoop up some ammunition of her own, start firing back.

Thankfully Weller can’t really throw hard due to his ribs and she ends up turning Bethany into a double agent, sends her in for a sneak attack that ends up with the three of them soaking, Kurt asking for mercy. He’s got the look of a fevered young boy, joyous but exhausted when she reaches up to kiss his snow-cooled lips, their breath all steamy around them.

After the snow battle she scoops the tired child up in her arms and they walk home, Bee still awake enough to remember that she gets presents next. The toddler babbles on about Santa while Kurt walks beside them and beams at his kid. It is all sickeningly cute. But Remi loves it anyways, can even admit it at the moment.

Of course there’s hot chocolate once they’re back inside and changed into dry clothes, the sugar in the drink breathing energy back into Bethany. She starts in on her stocking, marveling at all the trinkets in the way only a two year old can. And Kurt is so relaxed, all smiles as he gives his daughter way too many presents, everything her little heart desires.

Remi watches and thinks about her own gift to Kurt, all the anxiety she has tied up around it. He’s made no mention of anything for her yet either, which seems out of character for him.

She still wonders if she made the right choice; it had been really difficult to come up with what Jane would give him. Other than more of those crime novels he’s obsessed with, except he already has all of them, of course.

Remi’s still thinking about it nervously when there’s a knock on the door and she looks at Weller, surprised. They aren’t expecting anyone else for Christmas and Allie isn’t due back until dinner. But she notes that Kurt is looking at the door with a rather self-satisfied expression as she gets up to answer it.

When she opens the door and Avery is standing there shouting Merry Christmas, Remi realizes she should have guessed. Even though Avery didn’t know about Jane’s diagnosis, had been spending the holidays with a best friend from home. Kurt would have wanted Jane to have at least one Christmas with her daughter, would have found a way.

“Merry Christmas! Oh my god, I can’t believe you’re here!” Remi exclaims, her emotions all stirred up. She wraps Avery into a hug, bites down hard on her own lip. She had not expected this, has to blink away tears.

“Yeah, and I brought your other gift from Kurt too,” Avery replies cryptically. “Because he’s incapacitated. I just have to haul it in.”

Curiosity piqued, Remi stands there, feels Kurt approach from behind. He wraps his arms around her waist, leans into her gently.

“I didn’t tell her your diagnosis,” he whispers in her ear. “I just said you weren’t feeling well and it was her idea to come.”

“Sure it was,” Remi replies as she turns to face him.

Kurt grins, looks so fucking proud of himself.

“Merry Christmas Jane,” he says fondly.

“Thank you, Kurt,” she replies, the damn tears threatening again. She had never expected to meet her daughter, much less spend Christmas with her.

Avery returns with a gigantic beanbag chair and Remi grins genuinely at the ridiculous object. Kurt had found her lounging in one after an exhausting day arresting criminals ended in a furniture warehouse. She had been so comfortable she was almost asleep when Weller surprised her by leaping on top of her, then snuggling in beside her.

Now she can admit it had been pretty cute. Special Agent Weller all curled up on the job in a giant beanbag. The image comes back to her head, makes her smile again at the memory.

They pull the chair into the apartment and Bee looks at it with wide eyes, then shyly runs up to the big sister she’s only recently met. Avery pulls the toddler into a hug and then tosses her into the beanbag, much to Bethany’s delight.

“More!” she shouts, clearly an adrenaline junkie like her parents.

Remi takes over the task of entertaining Bethany to give Avery a chance to talk to Kurt. He seems to understand her daughter better than she does, gets on just fine with her even after Avery helped set him up, almost destroyed his marriage.

“I can’t believe you got shot on Christmas Eve,” Avery frowns, wrapping her arms gingerly around Kurt. “That is not cool.”

“I didn’t get shot, the bullet barely touched me,” Weller grumbles. “I’m fine.”

“If there was blood from a bullet, you got shot,” Avery argues. “And yea, you look so fine. How would you feel if I hugged you a little tighter?”

Remi grins at Avery’s demanding, worried tone, Weller’s useless attempts to deflect her concern. Finding her daughter as a result of ZIP-ping herself was the most unlikely result she could have ever imagined.  She had never let herself think about searching for her, Shepherd would have never allowed it. But the chance to meet her kid, see how she’d turned out. It meant even more to her than she realized.

A bit later, just before dinner, they’ve somehow all managed to squeeze onto the beanbag, even Weller and his sore ribs. Remi looks at her fake family and thinks she’s never had a Christmas like this. For her it’s been a childhood of stark loveless military style holidays, an adulthood that had no space for celebratory love.

She realizes it’s time to give Kurt her present, suddenly feels extremely anxious. Remi is not a timid person, yet she’s nervous about this, really hopes she got it right. It had been a real conundrum; one she couldn’t exactly ask anyone for help with. She had tried so hard to think like Jane, channel her hated alter ego for this one favour. And of course Jane would think about  about what matters most to Weller, would give him something straight from the heart.

Remi extracts herself from the heap of bodies, goes and gets the present from under the tree. Passes it to Kurt who’s just about managed to sit up in the big floppy chair.

“Merry Christmas, Kurt,” she says shyly.

He opens it carefully, looks a bit apprehensive himself. When it’s finally out of the wrapping, he stares at it wordlessly for a long time, then looks up at her with moist eyes.

“It’s perfect,” he says.

Remi feels all her worry fall away, warmth pumping through her heart.

“Daddy and Jane and Avewy and meeeeeee!” Bethany calls out, pointing at the framed drawing in Kurt’s lap.

Weller smiles broadly, his eyes still glistening.

“It sure is, Bee,” he replies. “It’s beautiful, Jane.”

It’s all Kurt Weller wants, what he loves best. His wife, his little girl. His big girl that he readily takes responsibility for, because that’s the kind of man he is.

And if she can give it to him, even just for a day? He deserves it. For Christmas.

Remi crawls back into the beanbag, snuggles up against Kurt who’s lying back, still staring at the picture with a satisfied smile.

“I’m glad you like it,” she says, settling in close beside him.

Weller passes the drawing over so Avery and Bethany can see, turns his attention to his wife. The look in his eyes is overly expressive, the way it always is for her.

“I love it,” he replies.

“And I love you,” he adds, with an air of reverence.

“She knows,” Avery groans. “You tell her all the time.”

Remi laughs, nuzzles her nose into the crook of Kurt’s neck.

“I know,” she murmurs. “I love you too.”

She could never have seen this coming, Love, a family. Making her teenager scurry off to check on dinner by kissing her husband too passionately on an absurd piece of furniture.

The thing is, it’s not her life. It doesn’t belong to her. She should be so very disdainful of it.

Remi had woken up six months ago with a husband she hated voraciously, alone and spiteful in a world gone wrong. But if someone came in tonight to try and tried to hurt him, she knows she would defend him to her last breath. Even though it would mean failing her mission, giving up on Shepherd.

Because he’s a good-hearted stubborn bastard, Mr tough guy Fed with a thoughtful loving soul. And right now she wants this more than anything. For him and for herself. Their family all together on a perfect Christmas day, Kurt at peace with himself, feeling loved.

Even if it isn’t really her family, even if she has to give it all back to Jane one day. This is her Christmas present to her other self.

I saved him for you, Jane, she thinks as he trails pre-dinner kisses up her neck. And gave him the Christmas he deserved.

Because Kurt Weller won her over too. Screwed things up epically by making her love him, giving her the best goddamned Christmas of her life.

[qualquercoisa945]

could you love this? would this one be right? well if i'm being honest, i'm hoping it might

AO3 link

Title Inspiration- If I'm Being Honest by Dodie

so. here we are. last chapter, huh? we've come a long way, honestly- can you believe it's been six months?- and i've changed a lot since the first chapter. not just as a writer, but as a person. and this is gonna sound sappy, but i owe a lot of it to this fic. it's the first multi-chapter i've finished and the first fic i've ever posted. i don't know where i'd be without it- and quite honestly, i don't want to know. but i do have some people to thank, in no particular order (and these are all tumblr urls so just bear with me here). first of all, one of, if not the first person to ever know of this fic's existence, @ichlugebulletsandcornnuts, who was the actual sweetest when reacting to it and was one of the main forces behind me beginning to post my stuff. thank you so much for everything, i owe you so much 💙💖 then, the actual ray of sunshine who beta-read through this fic, @lailaliquorice, who has been nothing but a positive force in my life and is just an all around great friend and is again, an actual ray of sunshine personified. so laila, thank you for everything and i hope i get to hold you again soon, sunshine 💖💙 next, @i-was-a-writer, someone who's been nothing but supportive and enthusiastic about everything i've told them about, and who's helped me keep a level head when my mind decided to be bitch so many times. thank you for helping me and supporting me, rico, i'm so glad you're in my life 💙💖 but obviously this wouldn't be complete with the actual angel in my life who's been there for me since fucking day one, @the-quiet-winds. when i first dmed you julie, with that crappy ass maragon fic, i had no clue that i would find one of the most supportive and fantastic people in my life. i'm not joking when i say that you've changed my life. i love you so fucking much my angel, you're the best older sister i could ever ask for 💖💙 and last but definitely not least, you all, who have read, liked, reblogged and commented on any of my fics. i wouldn't be where i am today without you all, and thank you all for giving me a reason to keep on posting them. i love you all 💙💖 i'll probably rewrite this fic eventually. i've considered maybe from a different point of view? we'll see. but for now, this is the end. so with all the sappy stuff out of the way, sit back and enjoy the last chapter of the kitty snaps fic. it's been a wild ride, but a good one. thank you all for everything 💖💙

Trigger Warnings- Hospitals, mentions of appendicitis, surgery, and stabbing in the context of a metaphor. As always, ask me to tag anything

The day had started… Well, definitely not well, considering her and Kitty’s… situation, but not terribly, all things considered. At least, Jane had managed to stick to her usual routine, which considering how chaotic things had been lately, was a win in her books.

Well, until she’d gotten that phonecall while on her way back to the theatre from her break between the two shows. She’d nearly let her phone fall right then and there as she heard Cathy retell how Kitty had fainted and how she’d had to call an ambulance, and that they were currently on their way to the hospital.

As soon as she knew where they were heading, Jane made her way to her car, not daring to hang up in case she’d miss any updates from Cathy, just barely keeping herself from speeding there as she drove to the hospital.

She was just barely out of the car when she noticed Cathy running over, and swiftly she pulled her bandmate into a hug, that was cut short by the latter pulling away. “It’s appendicitis.” Cathy explained without much pretense, and Jane herself could only barely mask her panic. “She’s in surgery right now.”

She felt Cathy’s hand give her own a light squeeze as, at least she assumed, her expression begin in morph into one of panic. “Hey, breathe. Times have changed, love, especially in this regard. It’ll be alright.”

Jane forced herself to take in a deep breath, nodding quickly. “Right, well, let’s go in, yes?”

The time spent in a waiting room felt like torture for Jane. The other queens had tried to get her mind out of it, but eventually they’d had to go on and thus it was just her and Cathy, whose mood wasn’t much better than her own. Finally, she resorted to simply watching the time, waiting in silence as she tried not to slip into panic.

She looked up from her lap when she hear three sets of footsteps rush over, watching as Catherine, Anne and Anna rushed over. She vaguely listened as Cathy gave them the same explanation she’d given Jane, before they all sat down near them. To her surprise, she noticed Anne sit down on her free side, and then they all fell into silence.

It was a few minutes later when she felt a light tap on her knee, and she looked up to face Anne, who nodded towards the door before getting up- a silent invitation for her to follow.

So she did. Jane followed Anne outside, and they stood there in silence for a moment before the latter spoke. “How’re you holding up?”

Jane couldn’t help but role her eyes at that. “Take a guess.” She muttered out, a seldom-heard bitterness lacing her words.

“Welcome to the club.” Anne replied with a shrug, leaning against the wall. They fell into silence for a while longer, before Anne spoke up again. “I’m not gonna say all that “oh, times have changed” bullshit because you and I both know that’s not gonna help. But Kitty’s tough, even if she doesn’t seem like it. She’ll be alright.” Anne seemed to pause for a minute, and Jane opened her mouth to speak before she continued. “And if you need to talk about it, which no one can blame you for, we’re all here for you.”

Jane nodded, but whatever she was going to give as a reply disappeared when she noticed Catherine go through the doors.

“Jane, she’s awake, and she’s looking for you.”

Kath had woken up to dull noises and a hazy vision. She just barely remembered asking for Jane, but now that she was slightly more awake and sitting on the hospital bed cross legged, she couldn’t help but lightly bite her bottom lip in anxiety as she waited for Jane to come.

If she did come.

The thought snaked its way into her mind nearly silently, only to immediately hit her like a truck. Would Jane want to come see her? After her outburst, and her behaviour following it… She couldn’t help but worry, wrapping her arms around her waist as tightly as she could without it hurting.

She was snapped out of her reverie by the sound of the door opening, and she swallowed dryly as she waited to see who it was.

And it was Jane.

Kath wasn’t quite sure what went through her mind once she’d seen her. All she knew was that a sudden wave of emotions hit her far too quickly, and a word she’d been wanting to say for god knew how long finally made its way out her mouth.

“Mama.”

She wasn’t sure what Jane’s immediate reaction had been, but she did remember quiet footsteps hurrying over, and a gentle kiss being pressed on the top of her head, followed by a dip on the mattress next to her and Jane pulling her into her hold, which she sunk into, her face buried in Jane’s shoulder as she let out a week’s worth of emotions through her tears.

“I’ve got you, love.” Jane’s voice felt just a bit more distant than it should be, and so Kath pulled her tighter, whimpering softly. “It’s alright.” She focused on Jane’s soft touches and words, using them to keep herself grounded as she cried in Jane’s hold.

As the tears slowly started to slow, Kath’s hold on Jane slackened while she slowly, slowly processed just what she’d called Jane before her outburst. Once it hit, though, she all but jumped out of Jane’s arms, not even able to look Jane in the eyes as she mumbled out a teary “I’m sorry.”

“What for, love?” Jane’s gentle yet confused tone only served to push the metaphorical knife deeper into her heart, twisting it around so it’d cause her even more agony.

“For calling you…” Kath gave a sideways nod, hoping Jane would get the message. It would seem she did, though her response was nothing like the one Kath had been expecting.

“Oh, darling…” Kath froze when Jane cupped her cheek, finally looking up to meet Jane’s soft gaze. “It’s alright, dear. I’m not mad.”

“You should be!” Kath finally exclaimed, sitting up straight. Jane recoiled her hand in shock, and so Kath made herself slow down a bit. “I was awful to you last week. An- And I’ve been ignoring you ever since and I-”

“Kitty.” Jane’s firm yet soft voice snapped her out of her reverie, getting her to focus on Jane. “You were understandably angry, love. I should have listened to you, and I’m sorry you felt like you had to lash out for us to listen. And…” Jane paused then, and Kath braced herself for the worst.

“And you’re right.” She blinked at that reply, tipping her head to the side ever so slightly. “You’re right, he wasn’t- he didn’t love us.” Jane finally murmured out, and it was then Kath noticed an odd sort of vulnerability that she couldn’t recall the last time she’d seen on the eyes of the third queen.

“M- I mean, Jane-” “If you want to call me mum, you can.” Jane interjected softly, giving Kath a soft smile when she looked up in shock. “I mean it, love. We can ignore it and pretend it never happened, or, if you’d like, you can call me it. Whatever you’re comfortable with, love.”

Kath found herself pondering on that for a few moments, she’d wager maybe a minute, then nodded and fell back against Jane. “Well, mum,” she spoke the word slowly, almost hesitantly, but the light squeeze from Jane’s arm around her shoulders pushed her to continue, “it’s alright. And, I’m sorry for losing my cool like that.”

She felt herself relax even further into Jane’s embrace, struggling to keep her eyes open as emotional and physical exhaustion began to seep in after the incredibly loaded conversation she’d just had. She perked slightly when she felt a light pressure on top of her head. “Sleep, my little love. I’ll be here when you wake up.”

Jane’s soft words were all she needed to fully relax, and although she didn’t feel like everything was fine just yet, she felt like things were heading there. Slowly, but surely, she’d get there, she found herself promising to herself, no matter how long it took.

[withasideoficing]

Soon You’ll Get Better

Summary: Just after the Avs get knocked out of the 2018 playoffs, you get news from home. Tyson is there for you every step of the way. 

Features: Angst. Tyson Barrie as a Colorado Avalanche 

Notes: TW: Cancer; I heard Soon You’ll Get Better and sobbed because damn if that song doesn’t sum up my experiences and the experiences of so many. This one is based off the song and my experiences. 

As always, requests are open, but I might be slow at getting to them. Be sure to check out my guidelines! 

Word Count: 1671

You had moved to Denver for college, stayed because you fell in love, both with the city and with Tyson. You had settled into your career and life there. It was the middle of the first round of the playoffs. You and Tyson were spending a quiet day in after his practice when your phone rang. It was your mom. 

“Hey mom,” you said when you answered. You didn’t talk to her as often as you used to. You tried to talk to her once a week, but with how busy your schedule was, it wasn’t always possible.

“Hey sweetie, do you have a minute?” she asked. There was something off about her tone. You had a sinking feeling in your stomach. You felt yourself tense.

“Yeah, what’s up? Is everything okay?” you asked. You heard a sharp intake of breath. You could feel your heartbeat quicken as anxiety started to set in. It was a minute before your mother spoke again.

“Your dad had a doctor’s appointment last week, just to check up on something that’s been bothering him. You know how he is. They found a mass,” your mother said. Tears started stinging your eyes. You spoke to her for a few more minutes, getting more details. Biopsy, potential surgery, chemotherapy. Words you didn’t want to associate with your father, words that terrified you. You spoke to your dad for a few minutes before they had to get going to his procedure. They had waited to tell you, not wanting to worry you. 

Tyson held you while you cried. You were terrified. You wanted to scream. You wanted to hide from the world. Curse at the universe. Instead, you settled for letting your tears fall freely while your boyfriend held you tight. 

“Just tell me everything is going to be okay,” you cried. He whispered words of reassurance as he held you. You felt like you were falling to pieces and the only thing keeping you held together at that moment was Tyson’s embrace.  

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------It was a couple days after Game Six ended in a disappointing loss for the Avalanche. You and Tyson were already planning on flying to see your family. Your mother called you while Tyson was at locker cleanout. 

“The results came back,” your mother started to say. She struggled to find the words, but you knew. The gist of it was after the initial biopsy your father had to return to the hospital after a complication where further testing told them what it was. They were keeping him there for surgery after they had treated him for the complication. 

Tyson found you curled under the blankets in the bedroom when he got home. He didn’t ask questions. He got into the bed next to you and held you close. It was the only thing he could do. 

“I can’t lose him,” you said, your voice cracking. He pulled you closer, kissing the top of your head. He let you talk for as long as you needed. 

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You and Tyson arrived in your hometown by mid-afternoon the next day. You didn’t want to go to the hospital. You busied yourself with doing chores around your parents’ house. Your mom knew you were in town. They had been able to schedule your father for surgery that morning and he was already out and in recovery by the time you and Tyson had gotten to town. 

“How is he doing?” you asked your mom, eyes watering. You were trying to keep your composure, for her. It had been hard enough on her.

“Scared. The doctor said he’s confident that they caught it early enough, but you know your father,” she said. You were finding excuses not to go to the hospital. You didn’t go that night. The next morning, your mom was gone as soon as visiting hours had started. You made yourself a cup of coffee and sat in the living room watching the news on the couch with Tyson.

“What time do you want to go see your dad?” Tyson asked. You just shrugged. 

“I’d rather not,” you said. Tyson frowned. 

“What do you mean you’d rather not?” he asked.

“I mean I’d rather not go,” you said defensively. You hated hospitals. They were the scene of heartache and tears. 

“What’s bothering you?” he asked, pulling you onto his lap. You just took a long sip of your coffee. You didn’t want to say it. You weren’t sure if you could.

“I don’t...what if something happens and the last memory I have of my dad is him in a hospital bed? What if they missed something?” you said. You were starting to ramble. You felt the sting of the tears that started to fall. Tyson took your cup from your hands, setting it on the table before he pulled you to his chest.

“Don’t think like that. Your pops is a fighter,” he said. You just sobbed as he held you. There had only been a handful of times the Tyson had seen you as upset as you were at that moment. He hated it, because there were no words he could say that would make it better. Nothing would ever take away that fear. It had taken hold of you and it wasn’t going to let go easily. The only thing he could do was hold you.

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He had talked you into going. You had taken your time getting ready that morning, but eventually, Tyson caught on to your stalling tactics. He guided you to the car and opened the door for you. You shut the radio off as soon as he turned the car on. You didn’t want to listen to it. 

You barely registered the woman speaking as you and Tyson checked in to visit your father. You didn’t even know the room number. Tyson squeezed your hand and handed you back your wallet with your ID and the name tag. You hadn’t even realized he had them.

“I grabbed it before we left. You forgot it on the nightstand,” he said softly as the two of you walked, answering your unasked question. 

“Thank you,” you replied. He pulled you close and kissed the top of your head. 

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The two of you found your way to your father’s room. Your mother just nodded and excused herself to get coffee while you and Tyson sat and spoke with your father. 

“Sweetie can you go see if you can get me some ice?” your dad asked suddenly. 

“Sure?” you said, confused because the nurse had just been in the room and he could’ve asked her then. You had a feeling it was more than just ice that he was sending you out of the room for. You headed out to track down a nurse and ran into your mother along the way. 

When you returned to the room, Tyson and your dad were both laughing. You raised an eyebrow at the scene. Tyson just had a big grin on his face.

“Not getting into trouble, are you?” your mom joked. Your parents adored Tyson. When you had moved to Denver, they were worried about you being there all alone. Tyson made them worry less as the years passed and they got to know him. He was the kind of guy they always hoped you’d end up with.

“Nah, not enough flammable material to cause any real trouble,” Tyson quipped. He had a way of easing any tension in a situation. The gravity of what was happening and what could happen wasn’t lost on him. But sometimes in the darkest moments, the levity brought some much needed light. It was one of many reasons you adored him. 

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A week and a half later, your dad was released from the hospital. He wasn’t necessarily out of the woods just yet. He would need check ups regularly for the foreseeable future to make sure it didn’t come back. 

As your family gathered in your backyard for a small barbecue, you smiled as you took in the scene. Your dad sat with some of your relatives, no doubt reminiscing about their younger years. Meanwhile, Tyson was playing with your younger cousins. It was a warm day, hot enough that the hose had come out and the kids were playing with the water and the kiddie pool had been filled up. 

The sun was soon starting to sink low in the sky. Someone got the fire pit set up and you sat next to your dad.

“You’re going to marry that boy someday, and I hope I’m there to walk you down the aisle,” he said. 

“You will be, pops,” you said. The fear of losing him creeped up again. 

“There’s always a chance I won’t be. We won’t know for a while if I’m in the clear,” he said. You frowned.

“Don’t talk like that, pops. The doctor said they got it all,” you scolded. He sighed.

“It could be back in six months, a year. You know how these things go. I just want to make sure you know, Tyson’s got the dad seal of approval, not that he needs it, but I don’t want you to ever doubt that,” he said. You felt the tears welling up. 

“Pops, is there something you and mom aren’t telling me?” you asked. 

“There’s at minimum, a 50% chance it comes back,” he said. You could feel the pit of anxiety growing. 

“All that means is there’s a 50% chance it doesn’t,” you replied. Your dad laughed.

“Always the optimist,” he said.

“Yeah, well, someone in this family has to be,” you teased as Tyson sat down. For the first time since that phone call, you felt like the black clouds that had been surrounding everyone were dissipating. A sunshower passed through and over a line of trees you saw a rainbow appearing. You gestured to it.

“Maybe this storm’s passing through,” you said, before taking a sip of your drink. You felt like things were going to be okay.

[leowenila]

On The Brink (Day One, Again)

Hello! I started writing this about a month or two ago, but never finished it because life got in the way and prevented me from writing it; but I finally took the time to finish this from just missing early season fifteen Omelia and how spontaneous that kiss was. Throughout the beginning of this story, it may seem like it favors a particular ship more but please read the entire fic for the real and true ship; Omelia! There are many moments in this story that actually pained me to write and might be slightly out of character, but I guess that’s the feeling that happens in writing fanfiction that sadly will never be canon. I wasn’t sure of a good title, so it has two titles. 😊 Please enjoy this very angst filled (reunion worthy) and long one-shot!

Part two of “Shepherd’s Superheroes” will be posted eventually (I promise) and part two of “Strength Runs in the Family” is being written. Thank you all for your patience!

Regardless of the alternative pain relief she sought out with the blonde orthopedic surgeon and the delicious donuts they shared on an occasion as of late, there was one thing Link and Amelia never seemed to come to an agreement on or at least an understanding. The course of treatment and bedside manner they used with their patients in doing so. His charisma and overly optimist charm usually disallowed the realism she had always used with her patients as explaining possible complications or side effects. That terrible evening was no different than all the others.

The emergency department was crowded yet under control from the management of Teddy Altman; who hovered back and forth between triage beds as doctors of all rankings treated patients lying on beds. Once seeing the female attending from the main elevator; Amelia walked towards her for where a neurological consult was needed.

“You needed a neuro consult?” The brunette asked with tiredness but awareness heavy in her voice. Teddy checked the electronic tablet in her hands that listed all the patients that made their way into the hospital.

“Yes; bed seven. The paramedics said when they found him he was unconscious due to a potential overdose but needed confirmation. Is that okay with you?”

Amelia confusingly looked at the blonde cardiothoracic surgeon, in hopes to receive an answer as to why she questioned if it was okay with the brunette. But her mind was focused elsewhere. Choosing not to question, the neurosurgeon casually made her way over towards the seventh bed along the wall. Once standing in front of his lifeless and extremely pale body, Amelia removed her penlight to confirm if the man’s bright green pupils were fixed and dilated. She then moved onto a nerve test which came back with no response. Amelia glanced up towards the ceiling and sighed with disappointment after having a small hope for the middle aged man.

“Damn it.” She cursed under her breath quietly as she tore off the blue gloves from her hands and stopped by the main nurses station to inform them.

Over the past six months with no matter how many fake smiles or AA meetings she attended, a rather large part of her was craving an icy vodka tonic or maybe several; since the trauma surgeon’s daughter was born. And although Teddy chose Tom as her partner and to be Allison’s father; Amelia still felt on the brink of losing everything if for some reason Owen wanted the blonde in his life permanently again. With the constant arguments with Link, having to watch her sister-in-law’s children more than she did before due to Meredith picking up more hours at the hospital and finally, the patient that strangely resembled Ryan that night; everything felt overwhelming in Amelia’s life again and panic was ever so present. She missed the family life she had been creating with Owen. And Betty; she missed that girl everyday. If she was being honest with herself; she even missed her mom dearly ever since returning home from New York.

Roughly twenty two minutes after she had confirmed that the patient was dead, the brunette made her way towards her quiet but well lit office and sat back to hopefully catch her breath, but was interrupted by a knock at the door.

“Come in.”

Broadcasting a large smile on his face that caused almost tooth in his mouth to appear, Link beamed upon seeing the woman in front of him who held the handset of the business phone, his smile lessened.

“What’s going on?” The blonde orthopedic surgeon questioned the brunette. She exhaustively looked at him and shook her head before speaking. With Link she always felt as though she had to be careful of what she would say to him, he was so positive about everything and the brunette did not want to drag him down into her sorrowful mood; but with the trauma surgeon, she felt herself. Eight months without Owen was exhausting. Eight months of being a shell of the person she was becoming after her surgery, was slowly killing Amelia as the days passed by.

“I am about to call the girlfriend of a man who suddenly overdosed and I already know the unimaginable pain she will feel, from the second I tell her.” Amelia told him flatly. The man in front of her looked confused as to why she would know the pain of losing someone to an overdose; and although he had many questions, he allowed her to make a phone call and walked out of the neurosurgeon’s office for privacy.

“Ms. Copeland; this is Dr. Amelia Shepherd, the chief of neurosurgery at Grey Sloan Memorial, I am calling in regards to your fiancé Lucas Bishop, who came into our emergency department about three hours ago now. Do you have a moment to discuss this matter?”

Once the phone call was made; the brunette grabbed her rather large purse and light sweater hanging over a wooden coat rack before switching the light in her office off. Amelia walked past Link with an electronic tablet in her hand and set it down on the nearest nurses desk.

“If Marie Copeland comes into the emergency department; ask for her to speak to Dr. Korarick for further details. I called him and he should be here in about ten minutes.” The neurosurgeon told the charge nurse, sitting at the desk. The nurse shook her head as she watched the brunette with understanding eyes.

Link saw Amelia and ran towards her, and placed his large hand on her back. He sensed her anger and sadness but looked past it before speaking to her, the orthopedic surgeon needed an honest answer to his unsaid question; but hopefully wishing he could take her back to his place to enjoy some seafood.

“Hey; so uh, How about we have some sushi delivered to my place tonight, and we could maybe talk about whatever is bothering you. I know you care deeply about your patients; but there is going to come a day when his fiancé forgets about this day completely. You know? Let’s go and get some sushi.”

The brunette quickly whipped her head back around, causing her hair and coat drift slightly. Her nose was a pinkish-red tone and her eyes were bright red with the slightest bit of puffiness to them. Amelia was about to break sooner or later, the sharp yet crystal clear vodka was screaming her name, she knew that she was going to order the moment she sat down at Joe’s Bar and the voices in her head telling her to stay sober were whispering in the distance but she was trying to shut them out; just like she was trying to do so with Link.

“A woman’s fiance just died and your first response is that “she will get over it some day” I told you that I know the pain she will feel, so what? Do you expect me to be over the loss I had years ago due to an overdose? What makes you seem like the nicest guy to all your patients but whenever it comes to your co-workers, you nitpick every detail they do in their personal lives! Why does it even matter if this case is bothering me or not?”

Nearby doctors began to form a small crowd around once hearing the chief of neurosurgery scream the last question to the orthopedic surgeon. He stood there confused and surprised that the woman confessed such a private thing to him in practically the entire intermediate care unit and doctors on the floor.

“Because Amelia! That is what people do; they take care of each other when they spend almost half their work lives together! Who was it? Your brother? Oh; that’s right, it couldn’t have been. Because your sister-in-law didn’t call you when the great god of neurosurgery was his death-bed so you didn’t get to say goodbye to him. How does it make you feel knowing that if you were called; he would still be walking these halls? He is dead because of you!” Link bravely told Amelia with not an ounce of regret in his voice and allowed his true feelings to come out. The neurosurgeon stood still where she was standing as a silent tear escaped her sky blue iris; never in her life did she have someone say something quite like that to her. Trying to stay strong as long as possible, Amelia needed to leave and without her knowledge her legs ran faster than she knew.

From afar stood Maggie with an electronic tablet in her hand; unbelievably shocked and saddened to hear what the orthopedic surgeon just had said to her sister, she quickly removed her phone from her lab coat pocket and placed the phone in the crook of her neck.

The streets were dark and nearly empty as the brunette traveled through the quiet suburbs of Seattle. Just like the people in them, many of the homes were sleeping while a few remained well lit. Although the roads were pitch black, there was one home and it’s driveway that she could never forget. Before she shut off her engine after pulling into the familiar driveway, Amelia wiped away the constant flow of tears that escaped from her eyes. She wasn’t sure if they were tears of sadness over her life as a whole lately or tears of realizing that just an hour earlier; she could have potentially relapsed but stopped herself. The young neurosurgeon knocked on the colored door until it felt like her knuckles were bleeding from the cold air she waited in, she began to grow anxious. Maybe she should drive to the bar. She thought to herself right before the door opened to reveal a still very awake trauma surgeon.

”H-Hi...” Amelia started to speak to Owen as to why she was currently at his doorstep that late at night; but because he essentially knew everything about the woman who he still considered his soulmate and based on the phone call he had received from Maggie, the man watched the brunette try and attempt to form sentences and at least give him a small clue how he could help. He received no response.

“Amelia? Is everything alright? Would you like to come in?” He offered and questioned, the brunette continued to stand outside of the house as multiple tears fell down her face and her arms were wrapped tightly across her own smaller frame. She shook her head, Owen could sense Amelia was embarrassed by showing up this late, he just didn’t know why she was or why it was so hard for her to show her emotions.

“I don’t want to interrupt your nighttime routine with Leo or your dinner or whatever, I am just gonna go.” Amelia hesitated and began to walk away before the trauma surgeon’s calm voice called her back.

“Amelia; it’s ten at night and I think it’s trying to snow, maybe. I put Leo into bed about two hours ago and the only time I eat dinner late is if I was on call. Please come in, and at least let me make you some of your favorite tea.”

And so the brunette accepted his offered request and walked side by side him. The two made it into the warm and dark home before Owen switched on the main living room light. Amelia sat on their comfy couch as she saw Owen wander into their kitchen near where she kept the tea steep. Water rushed through the pot before he placed it on the oven and watched Amelia from afar; without her knowledge. He has seen her broken but in the current moment, for the second time since knowing the brunette, he felt afraid of what she might have done if he did not open the door or like the first time; find her.

“You know? There are days that I still get really angry at the friend that gave me my first pill. She told me it would take all my pain away.” Amelia said out loud, not sure if Owen had been listening or not but sensing his lake blue eyes on her. A laugh escaped from her lips after the last sentence before telling the rest of her story.

The trauma surgeon removed the now warm liquid into his soulmate’s favorite mug and began to walk back into the living room to place the glass mug on the coffee table in front.

“It is funny, because ever since that day; instead of Oxy taking the pain away, it only adds to the pain. I have been so in pain recently, and I think that’s because I miss the relief.”

Amelia’ mind wandered off as she stared into the distance and replayed the last eight months in her head, and how being in the present moment with Owen again was the first time in a long time she felt safe. She felt like she could request a hug from trauma surgeon and he would wrap his arms around her without feeling ungenuine. She felt at home. And in the current moment she felt unafraid. Before Owen could think or offer for himself to drive her to a meeting in hopes her cravings would pass, Amelia leaned back and brought her lips to match his to passionately kiss him. As if no time had passed between them Owen reciproted her passionate kiss and matched her rhythm. Once getting comfortable, the two stood up at the same time and knowing exactly what the trauma surgeon was planning, Amelia nodded to Owen indicting that he could lift her up in his arms.

So he did. Carefully Owen supported her legs as he made his way towards his bedroom; their bedroom. Gingerly Amelia removed one of her hands that held onto Owen’s neck to quietly turn off the living room light as he continuously held her and kissed her soft neck.

Owen’s heart felt complete while Amelia felt rescued from being on the brink of making the next day; day one again, but instead she chose to make that night day one again with her soulmate. The whole time it wasn’t the drugs she craved; instead it was Owen who she craved the most.

Thank you so much for reading one of my favorite stories, I’ve ever written!

[bluehhj]

listen to me — chapter 42

LISTEN TO ME — 0042

listen to me masterlist;

WORDS: 1.6K

Seungmin barely waited for Chaerin to park the car on the side of the road, and sped off. The Canadian also wasted no time and tried to call the ambulance as she descended the slippery ravine. The wet soil made her sneakers sink and made the task of getting to the scene of the accident even more complicated, but the adrenaline that ran through her veins made her able to get through all the obstacles and set the location for rescuers at the same time.

The lack of lighting also made a lot of things difficult. One of Jisung's car headlights was still on, but the pale yellow light was pointing in the wrong direction. Seungmin turned on the flashlight on his phone and didn't have to think about deciding who should try to help first, and even though he had attended several surgeries at the hospital and witnessed things considered traumatic for many people, he swallowed as he looked at Jinah.

The front window was shattered, and the driver's side door was so damaged that just one pull was enough to make it pop out. Seungmin was puzzled that only the passenger-side airbag was deployed, after all, it was a current car model and was supposed to work properly. His attention, however, wasn't on that detail for more than a few seconds, and then his fingers touched Jinah's bloody neck for some pulse. Seungmin closed his eyes.

On the other side, Chaerin had a little more trouble touching Jisung, since the other door was firmly in place and she had no choice but to finish breaking the already cracked glass. Kwon tried to raise the lock, but it didn't move. She eventually gave up on it when she heard Jisung moan in pain and struggled to punch the airbag away and allow Han to breathe better. His forehead was bruised and there was an ugly cut on his left shoulder which was bleeding considerably, but nothing too serious seemed to have happened to him.

Chaerin took off her sweatshirt, wearing only a white shirt, and folded the fabric vertically to stop the bleeding on Jisung's shoulder. The boy, who was, obviously, stunned, tried to dodge the painful pressure, but Kwon didn't pull away.

"Calm down, it's going to be worse if you move," Chaerin said, squandering a calm she didn't even feel inside. It was the first time she had been helping anyone under those conditions, she wasn't used to so much blood. "There's already an ambulance coming, it'll be fine."

"Don't let him sleep, Chae," warned Seungmin, focused on doing what he could for Jinah, even though his resources were scarce. "It appears to have been a concussion, his blood pressure must remain high so that there is no coagulation or lack of chemicals in the plasma."

"I didn't understand anything you said last, but okay."

It was as if Jisung's head could explode. Even though the pain bothered him, the feeling of helplessness and lack of processing in his mind was a thousand times worse. He had no idea how and why Chaerin and Seungmin were there, nor was he aware of the way the oak slanted after the crash. The only thing Jisung really cared about was Jinah and her snow-white blouse was getting more and more dirty with red.

"J-JinJin..." his right hand touched his girlfriend's arm, but she didn't move. The tears were already running free and salty down Han's face. "No, please, no. You c-can't leave me alone."

"She'll be fine, don't worry" Seungmin lied and forced a weak smile. His hands were soaked with blood that wasn't his own, which made the scene somewhat ironic in the eyes of anyone who could see. Anyone but Jisung, who was so bewildered, that he wanted to hold on to any hope, so he believed Kim's words very strongly.

Han's eyes weighed and he closed them for a moment. Half of his conscience wanted to stay active, but the other half was slowly getting lost. Realizing this, Chaerin fussed with his hair, warning him.

"You can't sleep now, Jisung. C'mon, talk to me about anything, just don't sleep."

"My shoulder hurts."

"I know."

"Then stop squeezing it, damn it."

"I can't," lamented Chaerin. "Blood is still coming out."

"Where the hell is this ambulance?" muttered Seungmin, almost sounding pained. Kwon watched Jisung's sleepy state and, before messing with him again, muttered to Kim:

"On a scale from zero to ten... How much?"

Seungmin met her gaze and knew she was referring to Jinah. Sighing softly, he answered using the same minute intonation: "Two. Maybe three."

"Two what?" Jisung wanted to know.

"Two ambulances" Chaerin brightened when she heard the sirens. The red and blue lights began to glow in the distance. There was little left. "Hold on."

Please.

                                          ♡˖°

Jade never thought she could cry watching Toy Story 4.

The purpose of going to the movies was to cheer her up and make her think of nice things that didn't involve her ex-boyfriend — it was so hard to talk like this about Changbin! —, but, when they settled into the soft chairs of the dark room, the american ended up comparing the company of friends to Seo's company and came to the conclusion that eating popcorn without having someone hugging her or stroking her hair was horrible! Not even Chan's affection, Felix's jokes, and the many candies Hyunjin put in her mouth filled Changbin's lack in her life. In short, Jade had red eyes when the credits started to rise. Maybe the snacks they ate at the diner, right after the movie, were the only really good part of the night, but, otherwise, she just wanted her bed and her therapeutic pillow.

"At least you smiled about six times," said Felix, trying to be optimistic. The quartet was standing on the sidewalk of the building where Kang lived. Hyunjin was the driver of the time and still had to take Felix home, but got out of the car anyway to wait for Yoorim, who should have stayed around after Changbin had left. "It's a significant value compared to the rest of the week, right?"

"Right," the corners of Jade's lips merely lifted. After all, she was happy for her friends' attempts. "Thanks for putting up with me."

"You put up with all my existential crises, nothing fairer," said Chan. "And thanks for the ride, Hyunjin."

"I'll charge you next time, just letting you know," Hwang joked, drawing a chuckle from the two boys and one more minimal smile from Jade. His attention was directed to Woojin as he approached the group, alone. Hyunjin, therefore, said, "I thought Yoorim was with you."

"She went home shortly after Jinah left" the elder one shrugged. "Said she had a headache."

"That's weird, she didn't even text me."

"I thought it was kind of weird too, but it's Yoorim. We get it."

The ringing of Jade's phone was the next thing to hear. She fumbled in her pants pockets and picked up the vibrating device. A frown appeared on her forehead as she read the contact's name.

"Why is Chaerin calling me?" she asked rhetorically and answered. "Hello?"

Woojin observed her reactions. From confused, Jade turned unreadable as Chaerin told her something on the other end of the line, then, turned pale as a sheet of paper. Jieun parted her lips and they trembled, her restless eyes starting to water.

"W-where?" she stammered in a small voice and, after a few seconds, muttered a 'thank you' and ended the call.

"What happened?" Chan asked, startled by her mood swings.

"Hospital," Jade gasped, not knowing what to do with her hands, or the words they wanted to run over each other. "Jinah. Jisung. Accident"

"What?!" Hyunjin practically screamed and was driven by the urge to run back to the silver pickup truck. Woojin forced himself not to be robbed by the trance state that came with the news shock and was the first to accompany him, followed by Felix. Chan had to pull Jade into the remaining seats, and then the tires sang down the street, marking only the most turbulent night of their lives.

                                                  ♡˖°

It was as if Chan was anesthetized.

Most people's biggest mistake is thinking that similar tragedies happen only to others, never to themselves or anyone close to them. When proven otherwise, ecstasy comes in much greater and devastating proportions. It's as if the floor is opening and an infinite void is ready to swallow the rubble, and as much as you blink your eyes and want to wake up, it's not a nightmare. It is real, solid as a stone.

Chan began to shiver when he saw Chaerin and Seungmin at the hospital reception. They paced, restlessly, and if until then he was having trouble believing what had happened, he had only to look through the couple's bloody clothes to have his last proof. Without even asking anything, Chan cried. It was stronger than him, much stronger.

"How are they?" Hyunjin asked, his voice screaming urgency. Jinah had become someone very special in his life, but, above her, came Jisung, his childhood friend, his confidant, his mate, his little brother. Hyunjin didn't want to lose him. He didn't want to lose them both.

"We haven't had any news yet," Chaerin replied.

"But you two were with them before help came! You're a doctor, Seungmin! Of course you know!"

"Jisung will be fine," the younger Kim said slowly, contrasting with Hwang's obvious agony. It was no cold matter, Seungmin was simply being trained to remain calm at times when the collective will consisted of throwing everything into the air.

"And Jinah?" Jade asked.

"As Chaerin said, we haven't had any news yet. She's having surgery now, but..."

"But?" in the face of others hesitation, Woojin encouraged.

"... But I'm so sorry."

a/n: you guys can interpret this last sentence as you wish hehe i'm laughing but i'll just leave it to you guys to create your own theories

i’ll be back soon, byebye <3