#don't worry the gun shoots webs not bullets

[drempen]

It’s near the end of February. Heading a new month. Don’t know if I'm still doing art requests before the end of this month, but hey get this request out of the way. What if Kaine wore more casual superheroes you know like Red Hood with Jacket and Pants (with few major changes like replacing bat-symbol with his spider symbol and helmet swap-out with his scarlet Spider black mask. But rest is fine to keep. Thought Kaine is similar to DC Red Hood.

I Know it’s a lot of work, if you draw that. It’s still an interesting idea. It’s fine don’t do requests. It already ended of month.

So, turns out when you combine Kaine and Jason it kinda just ends up looking like Spider-Boy

[periprose]

Angsty/Sad imagine idea for insomniac!peter parker

Reader dies in his arms or he visits her grave for the first time and he says something like "we weren't supposed to end like this" and its just sad....

😭 this ask made me sad but also excited to write! Thanks for requesting it.

/

"How is Spider-Man supposed to reach us in time?" The woman tied up next to you quivered in fear. "Those assholes having been taunting their guns for the last twenty minutes... oh God..."

You never worried if Peter would show up to rescue you in time. Ever since Fisk had gotten jailed, multiple up-and-coming criminals had taken this as their chance to shine.

Unfortunately for you, that meant being kidnapped or harassed, and often you'd get out of those situations thanks to the police- but being Spider-Man's girlfriend sometimes had it's privileges, namely that you could text him discreetly for help and he'd be on his way.

You always felt bad about it. You knew there were worse, harsher things happening out there. But Peter always insisted that you ask for help.

Usually it would end in a quick brawl, and you'd be safely thwipped into his arms, no harm done as you'd swing back to your apartment in safety.

This time, though? It's a lot more serious. These thugs want to "directly send a message to Spider-Man", and it's by poor luck that they've discovered your connection to him.

Every once in a while, they taunt you, but you're sure Peter will rescue you. You've sent him a text and he's read it- he must be frantically swinging right now.

"He's coming, don't worry." You try to comfort the woman beside you, but to no avail- she mutters that Spider-Man doesn't deserve a girlfriend if this is what happens to her, and that you need higher standards.

"This one's getting too confident, boss." One of the thugs kicks your side after hearing your remark, and you wince. "Being pretty won't save you now, bitch."

The woman next to you shrieks in fear- but she suddenly gasps in relief, and you see him, red-and-blue Spider-Man saviour swinging directly to the intersection you're currently kneeling at.

"I've got you, stay down!" Spider-Man shouts at you and the other hostages. He doesn't have a hint of his usual, tension-breaking humour, and it fills you with dread.

The pavement hurts your knees, but you stay down, not wanting to draw attention now as Spider-Man attacks and webs up your kidnappers. He's putting a lot more emphasis into his punches- it seems like they've really ruffled his feathers this time.

Of course, Peter's actually furious- he doesn't know how they figured out your connection to him, and he's desperate to take you away and hide you somewhere safe.

He wonders if he can convince you to move to New Jersey.

After a blur of punches, Peter sees that there's just one more guy to defeat- he swings forward, the guy shoots his gun, a flurry of bullets ricocheting everywhere, and Peter doesn't care about the sudden searing pain in his side- he takes him down.

He turns- hoping that you're still okay to go home now- but the woman next to you is crying hysterically, pointing to your slumped over body.

Oh no. Oh no. No, no, no.

Peter starts running, not with the confident poise of Spider-Man, but with the fear of a young man about to lose the one person he truly, truly cared about.

He scrambles over the pavement, where you're lying in a pool of your own blood, gunshot wounds scattered across your body- it just seems unnecessarily unfair, so needlessly cruel that the universe decided that you would take all those bullets. They should've hit him- he would've gladly taken every single shot.

"No, no. Please-" Peter squeezes your hand, as you look up at him, tears falling out of your eyes. Your face is ghostly pale, you're shuddering- but you still have enough time to say something.

"Keep... going..." You try, because you don't want Peter to blame himself for your own stupidity.

"No. Please, somebody help her!" Peter shouts, gritting his teeth, and there's nobody left here but him and you. Everyone else has ran off- and Peter's too shaken to call an ambulance at this moment. "I don't know what to do, don't- don't-"

You know what he means, and you're trying. You're using all your might to not die here, to let yourself be rescued and healed. But you can't let Peter stay agonized like this, not when he means so much to people, not when he protects so much more than just you, so you use your last reserve of energy to speak, even though he tries to shush you.

"New York... needs... you."

"I need you!" Peter yells, and you can tell he's crying under the mask. "It should've been me, I could've taken it- please don't-"

But Peter's luck always runs out, and it seems like the universe wants him to lose even more than he ever has. Your grip loosens from his hand, your eyes glaze over, and even though he sobs, clings on to you even more tightly- you just aren't there to hug him back this time.

/

It's been a month since Peter lost you so unceremoniously.

He stares at your gravestone in disbelief. None of this feels real- he was sure that if anyone in this world had to die from random criminals, it should've been him.

All the time, he feels like he's waiting for a phone call from you. He still swings by your apartment- your things have been removed, he can see that through the window.

Even though he saw your body being taken away into the ambulance, where you were immediately proclaimed dead, and he was at your funeral. It's like the reality of the situation is refusing to sink in his mind.

Even worse, he's taken out his rage on every petty criminal that comes his way now, as Spider-Man. J. Jonah Jameson loves it, calls him even more of a vengeance on the city, and that he should be behind bars.

Peter would be behind bars gladly if it meant you would've been safe. Maybe being Spider-Man was a mistake.

But he can't forget your last words. The last thing Peter would ever do is disappoint you, and he knows what you wanted. That he would keep protecting the city, that he would keep going despite it all.

Damn it, he hates you sometimes. Hates that you still know how to inspire hope in him, that you're such a significant presence in his heart that you're permanently etched there now. He hates how much he loves you, and how he's going to forever listen to you.

He just wishes you were here to see it through.

"We weren't supposed to end like this. It was supposed to be me and you, together, living a full life." He whispers. "It... it was supposed to be us, and our kids, our grandkids, hell even great grandkids, and then, only then, would I accept it. That we would be allowed to-"

He still can't bring himself to say die. So he lets himself swallow the agony, the sobs that always threaten to ebb out of his throat, and rests another bouquet of flowers at your grave.

[songsofbat]

come hang out cause you're outta your mind

The world is scattered emotions. Lingering traces of dust in the air. Corus Corvid traces their hand along familiar brick and hums safety-warmth-protection into it.

Their other hand pressed against their gunshot wounds.

Things that shouldn't exist.

Corus isn't foolish. They know, of course, that they're not bulletproof. That they can't dodge everything.

But they are also aware that that shouldn't have happened.

They weren't visible. Weren't audible. Nobody should have known they were there, because they'd told the world otherwise.

They'd whispered into the web of consciousness that they weren't there. That there was nothing to perceive. It made things easier, after all. Criminals taken down by seemingly nothing.

Corus Wayne does not exist.

But in some flickering moments, Corvus Corvid does not either.

That was one of those moments.

But they got shot.

Twice.

To be shot is one thing. To be shot twice is another.

Because they were looking out the second time.

Because they were searching.

Malice. Anger. Anything- a hint of emotions. Anything that would explain why they were shot at. Who shot at them.

But they got nothing at all.

Shouldn't they be able to know this? Shouldn't they be able to see?

Corus Corvid has never liked guns.

Nobody ever uses a gun for happy reasons, after all.

...some do. Some do. But those are rare, fleeting things that Corus can't quite understand.

Guns are meant to hurt, after all.

Guns are songs of anger and rage, of malicious joy and cruelty, of hope crushed beneath something darker.

So why didn't they sense any of that?

Touching the bullet in their side...they'd felt nothing at all.

Someone being able to see them- not completely out of the question. Someone with mental defences- someone with something like a camera- well. Corvid's whispers of not-existing would be drowned out.

But someone they couldn't detect?

...they didn't like this.

If they thought too much about it, they were worried. If they thought a little more, they were scared.

And being scared is useless here.

Not when whoever shot them was capable of seeing right through them- and hiding away in return. Or at the very least- capable of not letting their emotions leak into the air.

But Corus is very scared anyway.

Isn't that foolish? Isn't that ridiculous?

Thankfully, Corvid is not.

Their golden gaze sweeps over the city, soaring through the world. A bird's eye view- literally. Their heart beats with the bird's, and they let the bird's mind wander with theirs. Just a little.

They don't need to become birdbrained. Literally. Again.

But there is everything-too-little-too-much-nothing-useful so they disconnect to try check with a rat instead.

Or, well, they would, if it wasn't the the immense pain that shoots through their head.

Thankfully, it's not a bullet.

It burns. Clings through their mind an invasive thing almost familiar that taps-taps-taps against their mental shields like a jackhammer.

It is loud, too loud, because people are Loud and Overwhelming and Emotional and they See too much sometimes Hear and Sense too much a trick of the mind and twist of the brain-

but this might be the first time someone's done it on purpose. The first time they've actually been attacked like this.

...they might have preferred the bullet.

Luckily for them, they proceeded to get shot.

...wait, that's not lucky at all, is it?

It's a distraction from the attack on their mind. A worthless, horrid thing.

Just like them. Hah!

...no time for that, now.

An enemy they cannot see.

An enemy they cannot sense.

But they isolated themselves away from civilians for a reason, didn't they?

Gotham is love.

Gotham is fury.

Gotham is survival through it all. Gotham learns. Gotham adapts. And it lives on.

Corus Corvid has always been a survivor.

They press metal claws into the concrete and sing.

It sounds like wailing.

It sounds like sobbing.

Gotham sings back.

The area around them bursts into flame and rage.

And throughout Gotham, a hint of fear and anger juts through the air like electricity.

[imabiscuitinthousandworlds]

Okay, but like, the Spider has got to be terrifying (especially since we're going all subtle body horror on him).

Say, you live in the noir 1930s, just trying to get by, trying to stay off the mobsters' radars, trying to keep a low profile and keep your home and make sure you have enough to eat - it's not really a good life, but hey, at least your home hasn't burned down yet.

And then all of a sudden there's this new guy everyone's talking about, and no one knows who it is. He just shows up one day, and he fights criminals, and that's good, right? It's overdue. The police isn't doing it.

But then you see him, and he's shooting webs from his wrists and he sticks to walls and he moves - he moves like he isn't human. And you realize that it could be anyone - anything - under that mask, and you realize that you don't actually know his motives.

He's everywhere. He's both judge and executioner. You know he's not with the criminals - but he's not with the police or FBI or any law, either. He can't be held accountable. What if he decides to go after someone else, too? What if he thinks you're "guilty" in whatever way he uses to judge? You can't tell.

You don't actually know about his motives. You don't actually know who he is. You don't actually know what he is.

You go about your day, you keep living as usual, you can't afford even more worries, but maybe you cast half a glance upwards at times, just to make sure there's no hero or monster or whatever he is waiting for you.

Say, you're a criminal in the noir 1930s - maybe you joined because you get better money here than any other job. Maybe you read the newspaper one day, and you've been relatively safe so far except for the occasional fight, but now there's this unknown thing killing people like you without second thought, without consequences, without anything to stop it.

The Spider is called that for a reason - you know it's not human, not really. And you know that in a fight, you'll end up the loser. You don't have any special abilities outside of throwing a punch or throwing lead. If it ever shows up to one of your operations, you're as good as dead.

And even if not - you can't count on the law to turn a blind eye anymore. You were never important enough that any of your bosses cared about you, but the police are so deeply in their pockets that they never look your way at all. But this new "vigilante" doesn't care about that. He can't be bribed. He can't be contained. You're not sure he can be killed.

Many of your - let's say coworkers - try to change careers. It's not always an option, many bosses are less than happy with that, and you know you won't get another job and you have bills to pay, but every time you step outside, whether on the job or not, you cast a fearful look around as if you could escape those spider webs, those bullets.

You know that if (when?) the Spider decides to go after you, you won't see it coming.

Say, you're a government agent in the noir 1930s, and you're trying to do your job, trying to go after criminals even while they're protected by this broken and corrupt law system, and then you hear about the Spider.

And at first, maybe, it seems like a good thing. There's someone whose hands aren't tied by corrupt officers and a government that cares more about its looks than actual justice, there's someone actually putting a den in the crime scene.

But after a while you realise that you don't actually know whom he stands with, what he fights for. He's not a human like you. He's not bound by any rules like you. He shows no fear or respect to either mobsters or police - and who knows if he'll ever decide to turn on you?

At the moment it seems like you have the same goald, like you're fighting for the same thing, even if you officially cannot express that ever. But for how long?

Every day there's the chance you'll wake up, you'll go out, and you'll find yourself on the business end of that gun.

That is to say, no one can actually trust the Spider. He's an unknown variable. He seems to have a goal in mind, but you can never know what it is. He seems to be mostly human, but only mostly. Even if you think somewhat positively of him, there's no guarantee he'll think the same of you.

There's always been unequal powers, fighting for the city. There's always been uncertainty and the very real threat of death. But suddenly all of that is in one person - one person, who took out the Goblin and his goons all by himself.

And that's pretty fucking terrifying.

[dasillypacowaco]

Cannon event

Where was Spider-Man when everyone needed him the most?

"No no no no no no NO!" My voice cracked, knees weak as I lifted pieces of building off of her. I kneels down next to her as my hands shake uncontrollably. "Mom..?"

Where was the superhero who swear to protect everyone he loves?

The body is not moving, heart's not beating, I was too late.

"No...no please, PLEASE, MOM!"

Tears wetting my mask as I lifted her off the ground silently, hugging her in my arms as if it would help.

1

"...Why..." I turned my head, seeing a gun pointing directly at me. "WHY!?!"

"Spider-Man!" A familiar voice came rushing towards me with worries, not knowing the danger that he put himself in.

"NO! STOP!" I shouted, but the gun was faster. Before anyone could react, the trigger got pulled. "MILES!!"

2

I didn't waste a second to charged at the gun holder, rage filled my mind as I pinned them down to the ground.

We fought, they didn't even break a sweat while I struggled to even stand. My suit and mask was torn with injuries all over me.

"who the hell are you... what do you want...?!" They slowly walked towards me, the LED mask covered their entire face.

Something hit the back of their head, distracting them. They turned around to see a girl looking at them with terrified eyes. Pam.

"No...NO! RUN!" And she did, she ran as fast as she could while I tried my best to shoot webs and slow them down with my remained strength.

With a blink of an eye, they have her throat. I rushed towards, hoping to save her but they throw her across the street, then pulled out the gun once again.

I ripped off my mask. I don't care anymore if anyone will recognises me, all I care is her.

"Pam...P-Pam Pam, I'm here." I held her upper body up in my arms, tears running down my face as her hand reach out for me, and I hold her hand.

"Pim...I'm scared-" her voice was so weak, the blood won't stop coming out of her wound as I pressed my palm on it, hoping it would stop. "It's- it's okay, Pam, I'm here now. Your brother's here, you're gonna be okay."

I couldn't call for help. My phone is gone, no one was there, the only person other then me and her was the villain that I knocked out and webbed against the wall.

"Don't- Don't close your eyes, okay? I know you're tired but please stay with me, please don't leave me..." I chocked out, trying to carefully lift her off the ground.

But her body stopped moving, she didn't breath anymore, I was too panicked to even realize that she was already gone.

3

Everything happened so fast, too fast. The next thing I know my hands and suit was full of blood that wasn't mine as I held the villain's gun. They finally stopped. I killed them. Put the bullet in their head as they deserved.

I calmly approached the body, slowly remove the mask to see the face that did all this. My heart sank, it was her, my girlfriend, the love of my life, the one I trusted.

...4

"what...?" I fell a step back from her lifeless body, gun slipped from my hand to the ground. "No...no no no no no what the- what is- what- what have I done..."

Why would she do this? She knows my family, and me! She loved me!...right?

I feel like I'm gonna pass out, throw up, I can't breathe, my vision blurred, my ears rang, hundreds of thoughts rushing through my head as my heart rate going impossibly fast. I stood there, breathless body of the 4 people that I loved the most in my life laying around me.

It's my fault...It's my fault. It's my fault it's my fault it's my fault it's my fault it's my fault it's my fault it's my—

My body jumped up into a sitting position on my bed as I gasped for air. Then something raised up in my throat.

I quickly rushed to the bathroom and ended up throwing up. The sound of toilet flushed filled the dark, quiet bathroom as I sat on the floor, not even realising that I didn't turn on the light.

I have no idea how long I sat there, but I stood up when my eyes focused, my breath return to normal and my brain progressed what just happened.

I used whatever my hands could reach as a support to help myself up, turn on the light, and stumbled back to the sink. I washed my face and stared blankly at myself in the mirror...god, I'm ugly...and look like shit. Those thoughts and voices didn't go away.

It was all your fault. If only you got there faster. If only you were stronger. If only you didn't give up. If only you didn't decided to quit. You're a failure. They died because of you. If only...

I turned off the light and walked back to my room. My ears still ringing with those voices in my head. I sat down on the bed, grabbing my phone to check the time.

2:37 am.

I looked over at a bottle of Benzodiazepines on the nightstand, but the thought of going back to sleep made me winch. I grabbed the bottle and shoved it into my drawer then stand up.

"looks like another late night patrol for Spider-Man."

[canon-fcdder]

✩ 「   @super-hero-support-group​ 」 ✩  -  Continued from ★

「 ☆ 」 Pavitr has somehow managed to go this long without being shot ( which is surprising considering how many baddies have a fondness for guns ) and because of Hobie, that streak can go on even longer... But if Pav had a choice between a bullet and the pang of pure, unfiltered fear that had shot through his chest when the other male dove in front of him without so much as a word of warning, he'd take the bullet every time. Because there's no way it could possibly hurt worse than the sight of his friend— one of his closest —wounded on his behalf.

He's already brought unimaginable pain to those he holds dear, mistakes of the past plaguing his nights and lingering in his Aunt Maya's smile when she thinks he's not looking. Failed to save someone who deserves every breath he takes, every moment he lives, far more than Pav ever could. Trying to be worthy of a life selfishly preserved, Hobie could have added another name to the debt he owes.

Thankfully, that wasn't the case.

Too shocked to move, Pavitr vaguely feels gratitude for Miles and Gwen being there to ensure that Hobie's kind act doesn't go wasted. Were it only the two of them, he doesn't doubt the villain would have ample opportunity to take another shot. Frozen to his spot, memories of another body flashing through Pav's mind— slumped and bloody against cold, unforgiving concrete —he shakily exhales a breath he hadn't realized he was holding when Hobie has strength enough to move. To hide the wound. It works for the most part; Miles and Gwen don't suspect a thing. In their mind, it must have been a lucky shot. Missing everyone and offering an opening to take down the clumsy villain. What a stroke of good fortune. How wonderful it is when no one gets hurt during a mission... Pav lets them keep thinking that.

It's what Hobie seems to want.

Pav doesn't feel himself following his friends, barely recalling the sound of Police sirens and questioning cops, his body moving on instinct. Gaze trained upon Hobie ( fighting to find the evasive hero whenever he slipped out of sight for even a second ) as if expecting him to collapse at any moment, even behind his mask there's no hiding the radiating worry. Thankfully, Miles and Gwen are occupied with things Pav feels he should probably be helping with... If they notice he's quieter than usual, steps uncharacteristically fumbling for the naturally-graceful male, they don't mention it. He appreciates it, if that's the case. He'd rather not have to decide whether to keep Hobie's secret or tell the others that he got the Spiderpunk shot.

And then Hobie tries to LEAVE and all subtlety flies out the window. Abruptly shooting a web through the portal with a strained, ❝ Wait!! ❞ Pav swings toward the poor Brit as if chasing down a retreating felon. Surprised that his haphazard web actually managed to find a suitable target, he fumbles forward through the air and CRASHES into Hobie's unknowing back with a startled yelp. As if this entire situation wasn't born from Pavitr's impulsive action. Tumbling forward through the portal with his injured teammate, Pav grunts as he hits the ground with a harsh THUD, fairly certain that he might have made things a bit... worse for Hobie's condition.

True Pav isn't the biggest person— strong as he may be, he's never been one for stature —but Hobie DID get shot earlier. Most probably wouldn't recommend rolling around when trying to keep from bleeding out. Sitting upright with a groan, he rubs his aching head, wincing at the bit of non-suit red that stains his palm. ❛ Well, shit. ❜ Still, it doesn't feel like more than a superficial wound and even if it wasn't, that wouldn't be the priority. Scrambling onto his feet with frantic apologies, Pav rushes over to help Hobie up should he need it, ❝ Sorry, didn't mean to come in quite so hard... Are you uh, how— ❞ Clearing his throat and trying to regain some semblance of composure, he awkwardly asks, ❝ So... How's the bullet wound doing? ❞ 「 ☆ 」

[tati3001]

Peace, Love, And... [Four]

Summary: Running with your girlfriend should not start at 5 am in the morning. Nor should include a five hours run, nor saving a baby from cyclists. But Wanda wasn't gonna complain anymore if she found someone she thought was dead.

Words: 2,273

One I Two I Three I Five

The figures were quick to disappear. Natasha knew the moment she was no longer staring at people but instead only the dark. She sighed angrily and walked back to Wanda. They had the information, they could only now get out of that place.

She took the hand of the brunette and walked her away from the hall with her senses at 200%. Not even the wind could move a spider web without her knowing. They walked in silence to the quinjet and once they were safe, Natasha took a medical kit to put enough pressure on Wanda's wound to maintain her safe until they arrived at the compound.

"Wake up!" Within a cell, Natasha found herself tied down to a metallic chair, with chains she would have trouble getting out of. But she wasn't worried about that. No, she could get out of any chains if she really wanted to. No matter the material they were made of, she wasn't the best assassin Dreykov had for nothing.

What truly worried her, was the pale, unconscious Sokovian tied in front of her. "Fuck, Wanda! Wake up!" Their chairs were facing each other, which was perfect for Natasha. She kicked her girlfriend's leg to try and wake her up but that wasn't even working.

She analyst the situation. Wanda always seemed to wake up when someone in the tower had thoughts loud enough to pull her out of her slumber. No matter how tired she was. So Natasha closed her eyes. It seemed weird, and maybe stupid.

But to Natasha, nothing was stupid enough if Wanda ended up being okay. So she tried. She thought as many things as possible at the same time and as loudly as she could. And it worked. Seconds later, Wanda was waking up.

"Shut up" She weakly said. Nat smiled. "I'm not talking". "Then stop thinking". "How are you feeling?". "I'm a little dizzy but I could be worse" She slowly lifted her head to look at Natasha and smiled at her. Okay, dizzy wasn't so bad. It could definitely be worse.

"Time to get out" She smiled at her. Within seconds Natasha was out of the chains and moved closer to set Wanda free. "I had a feeling that you were the weakest twin. I always tried to make you better, make you stronger. Always wasted my time, trying to make you indestructible. And a simple bullet can push you to death".

The redheaded turned around pointing the gun Wanda had hidden for cases like this, and shoot. It was a perfect shoot, straight to the jugular vein. But seconds after the shoot, Strucker was still facing them with a smirk.

"And the assassin? I'm sure Dreykov would want her back" He mentioned. Natasha was surprised. She wasn't showing it. She was taught to never show emotions. And her confident stare was enough to full anyone. "How's he alive?" Natasha thought.

"I don't know. Ultron said he had killed him". Wanda answered. "I'm very disappointed in you, Wanda". "I don't care" She answered. Her chest hurt, and she knew she was ready to collapse at any second. But Natasha was stopping Strucker from having a good look at her.

"Don't you?. Because of your inability to get the job done I had to do many things. Digging your brother's grave was one of them. And let me tell you it wasn't easy" Talking about Pietro was not ideal, everyone knew that. It struck a nerve in Wanda, everyone also knew that.

"Shut up!" A wave of red energy pushed him straight to the wall behind him. "Don't you ever talk about him again". "What a shame. And I was about to get to the good stuff". "What good stuff?" Natasha asked. She felt Wanda's hand using her back to hold herself, and Natasha knew she had to get her out of there fast.

"I'm sure Wanda doesn't want to hear about it" He mentioned. "Don't talk about him". "Oh no, it's worth talking about him. How could I not talk about the twin that's not a failure to anyone?".

She would let him keep talking about her like that. So she shot. Three, four, and five times. None of the bullets were able to get to him. Something or someone was stopping the bullets. Strucker laughed at Natasha's angry stare.

"That's not going to work, Romanoff. You can shoot as many bullets as you can, but you'll have to find another way to kill me". She didn't want to believe it. She actually refused to believe that the person she thought was behind the bullets was no one other than Wanda's twin.

The Russian felt Wanda's hold becoming sloppier and Natasha knew she couldn't take it anymore. She took a knife out of her tight and send it straight to Strucker, holding him in the wall.

She turned around and grabbed the brunette in her arms as he screamed in pain. Knowing the knife was deep into his skin, she left the room in a hurry. "Sam... Sam!". "Romanoff!? Where the hell are you?". "Somewhere down the building. I need you to take Wanda and leave". "Are you crazy!?". "Natasha, we are you?".

At that moment, Natasha was able to push a door away and was received by the dark blue sky. "East side of the building... I think". "Sam sent the bird".

Redwing spotted them very easily and within seconds Sam and Bucky were in front of her. Wanda was unconscious at this point, and Natasha had little to no problem moving her to Sam's arms. "Get her to the hospital". "What about you?". "I have some things to do".

In an unspoken deal, Sam flew away with Wanda to get her to the hospital. Bucky on the other hand stood with Natasha. "Let's go" He mentioned the building and Natasha didn't take a second to go back inside.

Strucker was trying to pull the knife out of his shoulder unsuccessfully. When Natasha got to his side, she pulled the dagger and cleaned the blood while Strucker held his shoulder in pain as he slowly slid to the floor.

"You have some anger Romanoff," He said in pain. Natasha kneeled in front of him and put the knife on his neck. "Why were you talking about Pietro" She demanded. Strucker chuckled. "Because she needs to know. She needs to know how much of a failure she is. Pietro... Oh, that boy. I always knew he was going to be successful".

"Natasha, what is he talking about?" Bucky asked. The redheaded stood up from the ground and looked at her teammate. "I don't know". Bucky looked between her and the man on the floor, thinking about what to do. Natasha walked closed enough to Bucky, so he could be the only one to hear her.

"Pietro's dead. I don't know why he's talking about him". "How?" Bucky asked. "He was shot. Multiple times". "He's faster than the sound itself. A few bullets would do nothing to him," Strucker said. Natasha turned around and look at the man on the floor.

"I think he didn't get that memo". He smiled. "He's not the dead twin". Seconds after, Natasha was pushed out of the way and Bucky was not fast enough to stop whatever hurt the Black Widow. The spy growled in annoyance being this one the third time something she couldn't see hit her, and it was getting on her nerves.

"Do we need him?" Bucky asked her. "No" She took the previous gun out of her belt and shot him straight in the head, and this time, the bullet caught him with no problem.

"Now what?" He wondered. She signal him to follow her, and they started to walk. Within a few minutes, Bucky discovered her plan. "So, your plan is to find a guy that you thought was dead for how long?" Bucky followed Natasha throughout the hall as she opened every door, looking for Pietro. "You know he might have lied to you, right? There is no way someone could've to survive so many bullets. Especially if they shot his heart".

"Shut up and start looking," Natasha asked. "Romanoff, it's stupid. It's time to go home. You have a kid to take care of, and Wanda's hurt". Natasha stood still for a moment. She knew Bucky was right, but finding Pietro... Wanda had made it back to the compound, she would be fine there.

"Let's keep going" She simply said. Ignoring Bucky completely, they kept walking more and more into the building, until Bucky was sure they were in the basement. "What are you hoping to find?" He wondered.

That's when she heard him. A small and almost inexistent ringing of a bee. Exactly the same sound, a tennis racket does when it breaks the sound barrier. And this time she was prepared. Better than that, she wasn't the only one.

Bucky turned around and with his metal arm, he held the subject by the neck. In front of them stood the one and only Pietro Maximoff, struggling to find his ways out of Bucky's grip. Natasha put the gun away and slowly walked up to him.

"Let him break" Bucky softened his grip enough for Pietro to breathe but not escape. "Let me go!" He tried. Both Russians looked at each other before looking at him. She nodded, and Bucky knew she had a plan.

She pointed her wrist at him and as soon as Bucky let go she shot him with her widow bites, leaving him on the floor. "Let's go home".

═══*.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.*═══

Sam stood as close as Wanda as he could as Cho took the bullet out of her shoulder. However, she had shortly informed him they had a big, big problem.

"What did she said?" Tony asked him. They were watching Wanda through a mirror. The girl was pale and unconscious, using a machine to keep her alive. They were trying everything they could, but the news was so intense the rest of the team had to be there to hear them.

"Wanda needs a blood transfusion". "Then get her one" Tony demanded. "That's the problem. Wanda has a unique type of blood". "What type?". "O negative". "There are donats for that," Steve said. "Yeah, but since the experiments, Hydra did on them were injected directly to their veins...". "They changed her blood type?" Carol asked confused.

"No. She's still O negative. But her body will not accept any type of blood" Bruce explained. "Well, how's blood is going to help her?" Thor asked. Sam sighed while Tony and bruce shared a look.

═══*.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.*═══

Pietro was put straight in a cell, and neither Bucky nor Natasha decided to leave him alone. She did ask Friday where Wanda was, and she was a bit calmer after knowing she was in the MedBay.

"Why were you helping Strucker?" She asked him, but Pietro kept his mouth shut and his glare on her. "Pietro, I want to help you. But I need you to tell me what were you doing with him". "Why would I accept your help!?" Natasha was confused as to why he was reacting that way. Sure, they were enemies before. But Natasha had not been too much in contact with him when Ultron happened.

She truly had not done anything to him.

"Why would I accept anything from an Avenger?" His tone was degrading. He pronounced her title like garbage, like if it make him sick of his stomach. And Natasha knew at that moment that nothing she could say would make him talk. But she would have to persuade him.

"Because if you talk, maybe I'll let you go" She started. "I'm not going to help you". "I'm not asking you to. You would be helping yourself". "I don't need to". He definitely was more center than Loki. He wouldn't be so easily fooled... Ironic for the God of mischieve. So she had to use his weak spot. She hated to use her for that tho. She would hardly forgive herself after that, and she knew it.

"I think Wanda would want you to talk" His reaction was immediate. He threw himself at the glass of the cell and hit it with his fist. "Don't you dare talk about her!". "Why?" She raised her eyebrow. "I might strike a nerve?".

"DO NOT TALK ABOUT MY SISTER LIKE SHE WAS SOMETHING TO YOU!" Now she was confused. Wanda had confessed to her when they arrived at the tower shortly before the battle of Sokovia, Pietro had to find out she had a crush on Natasha and mocked her until they reached the quinjet. He knew Natasha meant something to Wanda.

But most importantly, he knew Wanda meant something to Natasha. He knew because he stopped her in the middle of the fight to question whether or not she was a good fit for his sister. "DON'T EVEN PRONOUNCE HER NAME WITH THAT FILTHY MOUTH OF YOURS". "Pietro-".

"NO! YOU DON'T GET TO TALK ABOUT HER" In seconds, in front of her eyes he broke. "Not when you took her away from me". And a sob broke from his throat. "Not when you killed her".

═══*.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.*═══

Author's note: I really wanted to finish the series here, but as it turns out the ending was larger than I thought it would be. And good news for you guys, there will be a part five.

TAG LIST: @xxxtwilightaxelxxx @marvelwomen-simp @madamevirgo @temptationsbrew @mainly-rebloging-fics-i-like @yuhloversxx @chaekhan @diaryoflife @taschamonnii @simperingghoul @coldmilkshakestudent @sweeet-likeeee-cinnamonn

[mercurysstars]

The Shadow Thief (part 3)

Summary: What happens when Peter has to work with the girl he hates to possibly save the world.

Word Count: 2.8k

Warnings: Swearing, Blood, Violence.

A/n: Sorry it took me so long to post again! I’ve wrote like 3 different versions of this chapter because I didn’t know what direction to go in just yet.

_

"Woah, dude. Did you see this?" Y/n held out Peter's phone shoving it in his face.

Y/n had gone over to Peters house early that morning to get the last finishing touches on their project done. So they both reluctantly decided to walk together to school.

Peter snatched his phone out of Y/n's hands as they crossed the street. "How did you even get my phone? It was in my hands." She shrugged and pointed back at the article.

Peter scrolled down the page. Incoming reports say Avengers went on a mission and since gone MIA. How didn't he know about this? And why didn't the Avengers at least tell him they were going to be gone. Peter was confused, to say the least. Were they in trouble? No, they couldn't be they are the earth's mightiest heroes. Right?

"They probably just had to extend their mission and forgot to report back in." Or at least he hoped. He didn't want to think of the latter. He decided after school he would go to the compound and make sure everything was alright.

"If you say so." They walked up the stairs to the second floor of the school.  Peter opened the door and they both walked into English. Y/n took her seat next to Mj and Peter next to Ned.

The thought of the Avengers missing did worry Y/n a bit. She wasn't a big fan of superheroes but she also was not, not a fan. It was complicated. Sure she liked the security of having someone to save the day. But she hated that they pretended to be better than everyone else. They judge criminals as they themselves have never done anything wrong. They tend to blame everything on everyone else and never take responsibility.

Y/n felt a nudge to her arm. She turned her head to face Mj. "Penny for your thoughts?"

"No, no it's alright I'm just thinking," Y/n said. She pulled out her laptop and opened her and Peter's presentation to have it ready just in case they had to go first.

Their opening slide was a picture of Anne Frank surrounded by a pretty border and Anne Frank’s name in cursive in the middle. Peter insisted their project had to look nice and not like some shitty last-minute one like she had originally done. Y/n had teased Peter relentlessly about it saying maybe he should be a graphic designer instead of Spider-Man. And he of course huffed and pretended to ignore her.

"Well, you just looked worried. Anyways tell me if you need any help." Y/n gave Mj a grateful smile. Y/n knew Mj could have this cold, hard exterior but she knew she secretly cared.

The bell rang signaling the first period started. The teacher stood up from her desk and walked to the front of the room clasping her hands together. "Good morning class. Today is the first official day for our presentations. We'll be picking who goes first by random. Any questions?"

One girl toward the front of the classroom stuck up her hand "Yes, Betty."

"Did you see the news? About the avengers?" The class erupted within hushed conversation everyone stating their theories of what happened and their worries.

"Alright, class settle down. I did see but we will continue like normal." She said. It kind of seemed like to Y/n she didn't care at all but she didn't really think anything of it.

The phone rang and the teacher quickly excused herself. Y/n picked at her fingers mindlessly. The teacher muttered a few words into the phone and hung up "Y/n, Peter." Her eyes snapped up at the sound of her name "They want you down in the office. And bring your things."

Y/n furrowed her brows. Her eyes met Peters "What did you do?" He mouthed just as confused as her.

What did she do? What the hell did he do. She hasn't done anything wrong. Well, at least nothing she gotten caught for.  "Dude if anyone did anything it was you! I've only been here for like 3 weeks." She whispered-yelled back.

He put his hands up defensively. Y/n shoved all of her things in her bag and zipped it up. Mj raised an eyebrow at her and Y/n just shrugged with a clueless look on her face.

Y/n walked over to the door opening it with her free hand while her chrome book was in the other.  Peter followed not too far behind. They step out and began to walk down the hallway shoulder to shoulder not a word muttered between them.

The hall was empty. No teacher, no janitor, no late students, not even the common lost freshman. It was strange to Y/n. She turned to Peter "This is weird. It's almost like it's too."

"Quiet." He finished for her. Peter felt off. His spidey sense wasn't alarming him with anything but it was almost like a gut feeling you'd get when some strange guy came up to you at a party being a little too friendly.

"Yeah." Exactly. They continued down the hall both on high alert. When they passed a window Y/n could see two men dressed in suits around the corner through the reflection.

"I think they're following us." She whispered to Peter. Y/n has picked up a thing or two of trying not to be noticed but the men behind them didn't seem like they cared much for subtlety. They had their eyes set on Y/n and Peter taking wide quick steps.

This time his spidey sense went off. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up. Peter reached for his web-shooters "We need to get out of here."

"You think?" Y/n back said in an aggravated tone. The next time they passed by a window she could see them screw something together slowly by their side.

Y/n glanced down to get a better look, it was a gun. All she could hear was the beating of her heart thumping loudly in her ears. Thinking quickly Y/n shoved Peter into a locker. A bullet whizzed past where his head once was and made a tiny thump when it hit the wall.

His eyes went wide momentarily stunned before he sprung into action. He shot out a web, grabbed the gun out of the man's hand, and flung it across the hall, making sure he couldn't get to it.

The men paused for a minute before muttering something to each other end breaking into a spring toward them. Well mostly at Peter luckily for her but still in her direction. Peter began to fight the one whose gun he had stolen hand to hand. The man got in a punch to Peter's face. Peter tripped him and tied him up with his webs.

The second man was coming toward her. Before she could second guess herself Y/n took her chrome book and slapped the man across the face with it. The man was momentarily shocked and Y/n opened an unlocked locker hitting him in the face. She watched him slide down the lockers unconscious.

More men turned the corner and came down the hallway. Y/n kicked a waist-length garbage can with wheels toward them as a small distraction. Peter grabbed Y/n pulling her into an empty classroom.

Y/n locked the door before she grabbed Peter and dragged him further into the classroom into a supply closet. They both crouched behind a mop bucket leaving the door cracked for a tiny bit of light.

"Would you like to tell me why there's someone outside this classroom trying to blow my brain out!" She huffed.

"Don't ask me. For all, we know they could be after you!" They both flinched as they heard the door handle shake.

"They were attacking you. Shooting at you. And you'd have a bullet in the back of your head if I didn't push you out of the way if I might add." She poked him in the chest.

The men began to start kicking at the door trying to break it down "Maybe if we figure out who they are we can get out of this."

"You know what I have an idea." Y/n reached back and grabbed the gun out of the waistband of her pants. Y/n started not to care much for introductions when they tried to assassinate her. Her motto was to shoot first ask questions later because she was not going down without a fight.

"What the hell Y/n! Where did you even get a gun?" Peter tried to put some distance between them but failed and ended up bumping into a shelf.

"Calm down bug boy I'm not going to shoot you." She rolled her eyes "I grabbed it off the guy while I smashed my laptop over his head."

"You are not shooting anyone!" He exclaimed. He was going to die with a psychopath. A literal psychopath. What would his uncle Ben say if he could see him right now?

"Fine whatever. How many webs do you have left?"

"Only one." He muttered.

"Only one! How the hell do you only have only one web left?" Oh lord. She was going to die in a janitor's closet with an idiot.

"Oh well, I'm sorry I didn't know I would have someone trying to paint the walls with my organs. I must have forgotten to mark it on my calendar!"

"Oh god, Okay." Y/n rubbed her forehead with her free hand.

She took the clip out of her gun and counted the bullets she had. Two. Okay, she could work with that, Somehow. She just had to live long enough to beat Peter up for almost getting them killed.

She turned back to Peter "Alright here's the plan so we are going to jump out of the window and see just how far that web can exactly get us." She could hear the pounds on the door getting more frequent and if she was being honest she was surprised it held this long.

"Are you crazy! You going to get us both killed." He didn't need the answer because he already knew she was. He swore he could see the shadows swirl around her for a moment but as quickly as it was there it was gone.

"Do you have any better ideas because I'm all ears, Parker?" He didn't say anything and just ran a hand through his hair letting out a frustrated sigh.

"That's what I thought." Y/n knew there was a good chance that they get hit by incoming traffic like a bug on a windshield but it was either that or the SWAT team outside.

"Let's get this over with." Said Y/n. They both stepped outside of the closet. The men outside the room gave the door one last kick and it broke off of the hinges. "Go." That was all Peter said.

Y/n shot the window with the two bullets she had. Peter ran over to Y/n and grabbed onto her tightly. They jumped through the window shattering it. Peter shoots out his last web hooking onto a nearby tree. At the peak of the swing, Peter let go of the web. They flew over the traffic narrowly avoiding the cars.

When they finally reached the ground they hit it hard. Peter took most of the impact but Y/n still hit her head. They continued to hold tightly onto each other as they rolled through the grass from the momentum of the swing.

They came to a slow stop and Y/n landed on top of Peter. She slumped off to the side of him and sat up. Peter did the same but with a groan feeling all of the bones in his body.

He noticed blood began to trickle out of Y/n's nose. "You got something." He pointed to her nose.

She wiped under her nostrils with her fingers and then again with the bottom of her shirt without a second thought "Oh, Thanks."

Peter rested his head on his knees. What was he going to do? As much as he didn't like Y/n he felt bad for dragging her into this. "We need to get going they are going to come looking for us soon."

"Where are we going to go?" The light was starting to become too much so Y/n put her hand over her eyes to shield her from the sun. She was starting to get a headache and just wanted to lay down. Peter stood up and dusted off his shirt and pants.

"Avengers compound." He held out a hand to her. She took it and he pulls her up onto her feet. They began to walk toward the street.

"I just don't know how we are going to get there." He added. They made it onto the sidewalk. Y/n was stumbling around so Peter kept his pace slow so she could keep up with him.

Y/n stopped walking "What do you think of this car?" She nodded to a 1997 Honda Accord.

"It's cool I guess." He said confused the car was a little old but he didn't say anything.

"Alright good. Now hand me your web-shooters." She held out her hand toward him.

"Okay?" He didn't really know what she was trying to get at. Peter just assumed she hit her head too hard but he complied anyway.

Y/n crouched down facing the car. She broke his web-shooters over her knee taking out two long curved metal pieces. She handed him back the rest of his broken web-shooters. Peter stared at her wide-eyed as she stuck the two metal pieces into the lock of the car.

"What are you doing." He hissed. Peter walked closer to Y/n trying to cover her as she picked the lock to the car.

"I just gave our problem a solution." She said without looking. She continued to twist the pieces around until she heard a little click. She gave a little cheer and opened the door.

"Yeah by stealing someone's car. Need I remind you is illegal."

" I like to think of it as borrowing. Besides I will happily leave you if you wish." She rolled her eyes. God, her head was throbbing.

Y/n took the plastic cover off of the steering column. There were three sets of wires and she grabbed the middle one. Y/n cut the red and blue wire. She touched the wires together until she heard the car start. She smiled to herself and lastly twisted the wires together.

She turned to Peter "Are you getting in or what?"

Peter looked around and then sighed "Fine, but I'm driving."

"What? No way, you don't even look old enough to drive." She crossed her arms.

"You have a concussion so I'm our best bet at not dying." He gave Y/n a sarcastic smile.

"Whatever." She rolled her eyes but got out of the driver's seat.

"You know if you keep rolling your eyes they are going to get stuck like that." She flicked him off and he laughed.

Y/n basically collapsed into the passengers seat. Peter closed his door and started the car. He pulled into the street and Y/n rested her head against the window. The cool glass felt nice against her forehead. She notice a bruise on Peter's pale cheek from when he got hit earlier.

Every now and again he would glance at Y/n to see how she was doing. He figured she must not feel the best because she hasn't said one witty remark since they got into the car.

He hoped by now the Avengers were back at the compound and could Tell them what's going on and who was following them.

He looked over to her again and she had her eyes close. He jabbed her with his elbow "Hey, don't fall sleep. You might not wake back up."

"Hmm Okay." She said but didn't budge.

"I'm serious Y/n, open your eyes." Peter was starting to get worried. It wasn't that he cared about her. But he didn't know what to do with a dead body. Or at least that's what he told himself.

"Don't get your panties into a bunch, my eyes are open."

They pulled into the road of the compound. When it came into view Y/n suddenly sat up wide eyed "Holy shit."

"What?" Peter took his eyes off of Y/n and followed her line of sight.

"What the fu-"

Part 4

Taglist

@fandom-strumpet • @ginger-swag-rapunzel • @libraries-and-coffee

[wordsysayswords]

How about some tuckington for the angst war: "Please, don't go."

Read on Ao3

Please Don’t Go

The stupid part is, Tucker’s angry at the helmet. He couldn’t leave it behind, Goddammit, he just couldn’t. Abandoning it felt like abandoning some small part of Washington. And the thought makes Tucker’s stomach churn.

Warnings: minor blood, violence, swearing

The space pirates are laughably uncoordinated. They couldn’t even get an ambush right. The Chorus patrol spotted their tracks a mile back. Everyone was already on high alert when one particularly enthusiastic pirate sprinted out of the jungle screaming, yards ahead of his comrades – ruining the surprise aspect of the surprise attack.

A pirate rushes Tucker, howling. What is it with these guys and dramatic war cries? The sim trooper sidesteps easily, tripping the pirate. Tucker’s sword slices the man’s weapon clean in half and the pirate doesn’t even try to retaliate. Instead, he hightails it for the cover of the jungle. There aren’t a lot of options for those retreating. The edge of a cliff runs along the other side of the clearing. Strategically, it’s a good place for an ambush – if you know how to properly flank and corner the enemy. Thus far the pirates have only managed to get themselves pinned down by soldiers they’d intended to ambush.

Across the clearing, Tucker sees Caboose physically lift a merc off the ground with one hand. Holding the pirate by the back of the suit, the blue soldier hurls the man across the battlefield and straight into an approaching pirate. Caboose sees Tucker watching and waves. Meanwhile, in the other hand, Freckles takes care of another pirate coming up behind the hulking sim trooper.

Something flies by Tucker’s helmet. He tenses, the cry “Grenade!” is on the tip of his tongue. Tucker’s ready to dive for cover, when he looks down and doesn’t find a grenade, but instead a regular old rock.

He spots a space pirate, cowering and only armed with another stone he’s poised to hurl.

Tucker throws out his arms. “Seriously? Seriously, man? We’re throwing rocks now?”

The merc scrapes together some courage, rears back, and chucks the stone as hard as he can. The fist-sized projectile pings harmlessly off the teal soldier’s chest plate.

Tucker looks back up at the merc. The man’s off and running before the sim trooper’s even taken a step.

“Yeah, that’s right!” Tucker shouts after him. “It’s power armor, ass hat. What did you think was gunna happen–”

“Tucker!”

The sim trooper whirls because that’s Wash screaming, and Tucker’s just in time to see the Freelancer tackle a space pirate to the ground. At the same time, there’s a resounding crack and a bullet whizzes past Tucker’s visor, missing him by inches.

Tucker starts to thank Wash for the quick save, only to look up and see the Freelancer on the ground. All thoughts dissolve in one electrifying moment of fear. The merc’s knee is on Wash’s chest and one hand grips the thrashing agent’s neck. Tucker’s already sprinting their direction.

The pirate raises his rifle like a club and smashes the butt of the gun down on Wash’s visor. Once. Twice. Three times and the glass doesn’t break, but it cracks. Tucker flinches as the radio picks up the static-laced thud and the sharp splintering of glass.

“Shit,” Tucker pants, slicing through another pirate blocking his path to the Freelancer.

But Tucker shouldn’t have worried. Wash pulls a knife, buries it in the man’s leg, and twists. The merc howls and Wash throws the man off him, springing to his feet to fire off a roundhouse kick. The pirate falls to his hands and knees in front of Wash. Instantly, the Freelancer has his battle rifle trained on the merc.

Tucker heaves a relieved sigh, slowing his pace. He’s only a few yards away when Wash whips his head towards Tucker, visor laced with a spider web of cracks. It’s a distinctly un-Washington move. Tucker realizes too late that Wash can’t see out of the patchwork of cracked glass. That he can only hear Tucker coming and is turning to check what Wash assumes is an approaching hostile. That he’s risking taking his eyes off the enemy to do so.

The pirate must realize it at the exact same time Tucker does. The merc lunges. Raising his gun like a club, the pirate heaves a mighty swing and strikes Wash across the face.

The butt of the gun smashes into visor and Tucker sees shards of airborne glass catch the light as it shatters. There’s a punched out gasp – Tucker can’t tell if it’s from him or Wash – and the radio roars with static. The agent topples backward. But he’s still got hold of his rifle, firing off a single shot that hits the pirate in the chest. It lodges in the flesh between armor plates and the man crumples. Washington crashes to the ground and tumbles.

Right over the cliff.

“No!” Tucker screams, surging forward. He leaps, throwing himself to the ground at the edge. Tucker’s whole world narrows down to that flash of gray and yellow armor, disappearing over the cliff. His arm shoots out, hand grasping for Wash’s.

Tucker’s glove catches only air.

The cliff isn’t a sheer drop plunging hundreds of feet to the bottom. It’s a jagged slope with plenty of rocks and boulders for Wash to hit on the way down.

At least it’s easy for the blues to rappel down.

“Wash!” Twenty feet from the bottom, Tucker unhooks the cable tethering him to the cliff top and slides the rest of the way to the ground. Sarge is yelling something about blue team only getting one dramatic injury per mission, but Tucker ignores him, skidding through gravel and sending up a cloud of dust in his wake. He drops to his knees at Wash’s side, hesitant hands fluttering over his chest.

Wash is lying on his back, head slumped against one shoulder. Rivers of blood travel across his forehead from a nasty gash on his hairline. There’s a series of scratches across his nose and cheek bones, courtesy of having his visor smashed into his face. The useless helmet’s lying a few feet away, glass shards lining the face like teeth. It must have come off during the fall.

Cupping Wash’s cheek, Tucker turns the man’s head towards him. With shaking hands, he feels for the pulse point on Wash’s neck before patting at his face.

“Hey, Wash. Hey, come on. Asshole.”

“Is Agent Washington sleeping?” Tucker looks up to find Caboose has reached the bottom and is towering over them. There’s a hollow look under the blue soldier’s furrow brow. It asks a much more serious question.

“He’s alive,” Tucker breathes. “He’s alive just –” He nods to himself and leans over Wash again, slapping at his face harder this time. “Hey, hey. Wake the fuck up. Wash. Wash.”

Caboose kneels at Wash’s other side. “Wash?” He asks, voice subdued. “Are you okay? Because you have to be okay. Because we haven’t taught Freckles to play dead yet and you said we would.”

Tucker wants to punch something. But he’s distracted when the Freelancer’s head twitches against the hand still cupping Wash’s jaw.

“Holy shit, Wash?” Tucker takes the man’s face in both hands as Wash frowns and squeezes his eyes tight. “Come on, wake up. That’s it.”

Eyes fluttering open, Wash blinks blankly at the sky for a few moments, squinting. As Tucker leans in, though, Wash jolts and makes an uncoordinated grab for the sim trooper’s wrist.

“Whoa, whoa, dude.” He catches Wash’s hand. The Freelancer tries to jerk out of Tucker’s grasp but only manages a few weak tugs, his breathing coming in uneven gasps. “It’s me. It’s me and Caboose. Tucker.”

Wash stops and sucks in a slow, shuddering breath. “…’boose an…” He tries shaking his head, but cringes, squeezing his eyes shut.

Tucker puts a steadying hand in Wash’s hair. “Whoa, no moving, okay?”

Wash’s eyes shoot open again and the idiot actually tries to sit up.

“God fucking dammit Wa–”

“Are you alright?” The Freelance blurts out, barely able to lift his head off the ground. “Are you alright, are you…?” Fighting to keep his eyes open, Wash’s gaze flickers sluggishly over to Caboose. “Caboose is– are you okay? Is everyone…?”

Caboose reaches out and pats Wash on the arm.

“Everyone is okay, Wash,” Caboose says, smiling down at the team leader. “I am okay. And Freckles is okay. And Tucker is okay. We are all okay.”

Tucker clenches his jaw. “Oh yeah, you just fell off a fucking cliff,” the teal soldier grits out, “but besides that everyone’s great.”

“Oh,” Wash says, laying back his head with a distant look in his eyes and the faintest twitch of a smile at the corner of his mouth. “That’s good.” With that, his eyes roll back in his head.

“Wash!”

Tucker doesn’t remember who handed him the helmet.

Maybe it was Sarge beside him in the warthog as the red leader pressed gauze to the gash on Wash’s head and kept a steady hand on his pulse.

Maybe it was Donut, keeping a hand on Tucker’s shoulder as the blue punched the car seat so hard his knuckles bruised.

Maybe it was Grif, after he drove them back to Armonia at breakneck speed.

Maybe it was Grey when she stopped Tucker in the hall outside the infirmary doors, asking him to let go of Wash’s gurney so the medics could wheel it inside.

It’s all Tucker’s fault. If he’d just noticed that space pirate taking aim, this all could have been avoided. But no, he was too absorbed in looking like a badass with his sword – swish, swish, stab and all that. Carolina told him in training weeks ago to be more mindful of his surroundings. He’d worked on it, he had. But when it counted?

On a bench outside the infirmary doors, Tucker leans forward and buries his face in his hands. To his left, Caboose sits on the floor hugging Freckles to his chest. He’s got a stack of coloring pages and a box of crayons in his lap. Caboose was the one to hold Wash as the reds used the warthog cables to pull them back up the cliff. The blue spent the whole ride back telling the unconscious agent about the coloring party they were going to have back in Armonia because Caboose saved the cat pictures for Wash.

Tucker fucked up. And now Wash might be dead all because Tucker was a fucking idiot.

Thinking back, Tucker might have grabbed the helmet himself. Maybe he stuffed it under one arm so he wouldn’t feel so useless as Caboose carried the Freelancer to safety. Maybe he set it beside Wash in the back seat because leaving the helmet, the colors, felt wrong. But why?

The broken helmet sits to his right. Tucker’s been alternating between refusing to look at it and checking to see it’s still there every few minutes.

Tucker raises his head to stare at the infirmary doors. It’s stupid how angry he is. He’s angry at himself, which is a given because he’s the idiot that almost got Wash killed. But the stupid part is, Tucker’s angry at the helmet. He couldn’t leave it behind, Goddammit, he just couldn’t. Abandoning it at the bottom of the cliff felt like abandoning some small part of Washington. And the thought makes Tucker’s stomach churn. And that makes him angry at Wash.

Tucker picks up the helmet, a burning desire to throw it against the nearest wall rising in his chest. Instead, he grips the cold metal so hard his hands shake, and drops his forehead to the yellow stripe.

Tucker can’t bring himself to leave a bit of armor. Meanwhile, Wash sacrifices himself to save him and Caboose. Dying for your friends, it’s heroic, sure.

But to Tucker, it sure feels a lot like getting left behind.

“You can’t leave,” he whispers to the cold metal. “You can’t. You’re not allowed. So, please.

“Please, don’t go.”

[kacydeneen]

'I Don't Feel Safe': Synagogue Shooting Victims Include 8-Year-Old Survivor

A long-time member of the Chabad of Poway synagogue, Lori Gilbert-Kaye, 60, died from her injuries after a gunman opened fire during services to celebrate the end of Passover.

Her rabbi, 57-year-old Yisroel Goldstein lost his index finger when he put his hand up as the gunman approached him. He later wrapped his wounds in a prayer shawl and told his congregants, "we are a Jewish nation that will stand tall." 

Almog Peretz, 34, was declared a hero after he was shot in the leg while shuffling out a group of school-aged children, a group that included one of his nieces, 8-year-old Noya Dahan, who was hit by shrapnel and who described the shooting in an interview with NBC News.  

Here are their stories: 

Lori Gilbert-Kaye: "Jewel of Our Community" As a gunman unloaded bullets inside the synagogue filled with about 100 worshipers, Kaye performed what her friends and Rabbi Goldstein called a last act of heroism when she protected the rabbi from gunfire.

"In my own interpretation, Lori took the bullet for all of us," Goldstein said outside the synagogue a day after the deadly shooting. "She didn’t deserve to die right in front of my eyes." 

The word "giving" was used repeatedly by friends to describe the 60-year-old woman, who has lived her entire life in San Diego. She leaves behind a husband and a 22-year-old daughter. 

"When you ask me, 'Why’d she put herself in front of the rabbi,' it’s like, anyone who knows her, that’s what she would do," her friend Roneet Lev said.

Both Lev and another friend of Kaye's, Audrey Jacobs, said that as the rabbi was being wheeled into surgery, he said, "Let everyone know Lori Kaye saved me."

Lev said Kaye was a pillar of San Diego's Jewish community and was known by people across the globe for her acts of kindness. Jacobs described Kaye as a "jewel of our community." 

Kaye was attending Saturday's service to pay tribute to her late mother with a traditional prayer for the dead. She was a member of the synagogue since its founding. According to the rabbi, Kaye helped secure funding that helped open the Chabad of Poway in 1986. 

Kaye's husband, a doctor, rushed to the shooting scene to help and while performing CPR on a victim fainted when he realized it was his wife, Lev told The Los Angeles Times. 

Lev said that despite the tragedy, the Jewish community will continue to "make this world a better place." 

"She did not die in vain, Lev said. "Her death must bring goodness to the world. If anybody does some good act, whatever it is – calling a friend, saying hello, anything kind – would bring a blessing to Lori’s memory and keep her memory alive."

Noya Dahan: "Too Scary to Not Cry" Eight-year-old Noya Dahan remembers she was playing with the other children her age before the service started on Saturday when she heard loud noises as she entered the doorway to the synagogue. 

Dahan described the chaos to NBC News, detailing the moment her uncle, Peretz, scooped up more than a half-dozen kids and rushed them away from the shooter.

"I was one of them and the person was aiming right at [Peretz] and he was holding me so it hit him and the second one hit me," she said. 

Meanwhile, her dad was screaming, "Everyone run! Run! Run! Someone's shooting," she recalled. 

The 8-year-old said the whole incident happened so quickly it seemed like movie. "It was like too scary to not cry," she said. 

What she does remember, though, was the feeling of getting hit.

"Yes, I definitely remember when it was coming straight at my head like, I'm like 'what's happening"' and then I realized that something hit me and didn't go out so I was really afraid," Dahan said.

Dahan said her family has been the target of anti-Semitism in the past. Five years ago, swastikas were etched into their home and someone tried to light it on fire, she said. 

"I'm still worried, like I still picture things in my head and I still picture the sounds and noise stuff and it's just scary," Dahan said. "But, um I don't really feel safe here. This is not the first and definitely not the last time this happened."

Dahan's family moved to the U.S. a few years ago from Sderot, Israel, which has been the target of rocket attacks from the nearby Gaza Strip, the Israeli newspaper Haaretz reported. 

"We came from fire to fire," Noya's father, Israel Dahan, was quoted as having told Israeli radio. "We left Sderot after our house was hit a few times. My mother's house was hit. I was wounded."

Noya Dahan was released from the hospital Saturday night.

Almog Peretz Peretz is also from Sderot, Israel, and came to visit his family for Passover, according to Jacobs.

When he first heard the gunshots, he immediately gathered the children and lead them to safety, Jacobs said.

He scooped up Noya, his niece, and rushed the rest toward the exit, attempting to dodge bullets along the way. He was hit in the leg, but did not feel it.

He continued his mission to shield and protect the children of the synagogue. He said he couldn't think about his bullet wound because he was nervous.

After leading a large group of kids to a safe place, he paused and noticed that he was missing one, his other niece, so he ran back in.

Terrified, but not immobilized by her fear, she locked herself in the bathroom and sheltered. The shooter was gone by the time Peretz got to her, and that's when congregants pointed out that he was bleeding.

When asked what led him to run back inside, Peretz said simply, "My niece."

"I don't care," he said, responding to a question about whether or not he was scared. "She was alone."

"Because the kids, they stand in shock," he continued. "They're like frozen, they stand. I'm scared they'll run the wrong way. I tell them, 'No, this way, this way!' And I scream."

In the moments that followed, the congregation was beginning to realize what had just happened. Peretz said there was a sense of disbelief that they all shared.

Peretz saw medics trying to resuscitate Kaye. He also passed by the rabbi and saw he was missing his finger.

"You know, I want to forget," Peretz said. "I want to forget. I hope I forget that, but it's coming all the time."

Peretz said he hasn't been able to get the terrifying image -- the shooter standing there with his weapon raised, sight at his eye, firing rounds -- out of his mind.

He didn't eat or sleep that night.

"This is sad, but I am originally from Sderot so we know a bit about running from the Qassam rockets," Peretz told Israel’s Channel 12 from his hospital bed, according to The Times of Israel.

Peretz is recovering from shrapnel wounds and a gunshot to the leg. He has since been released from the hospital.

Rabbi Yisroel Goldstein Rabbi Yisroel Goldstein said he heard a “large bang” as he walked into the banquet hall before services at the synagogue, then immediately found himself in the line of fire.

"A young man standing with a rifle, staring right at me, he had sunglasses on," Goldstein said. "I couldn’t see his eyes, I couldn’t see his soul."

Within seconds, bullets were fired in his direction. All he could do was put his hands up to protect himself, he said. 

"I turned around and I’m face to face with this murderer -- terrorist -- who was holding a rifle and looking straight at me, and then as soon as he saw me, he started to shoot toward me, and that’s when I put my hands up and then my fingers got blown away," Goldstein told NBC's TODAY show in an exclusive interview Sunday morning.

He was struck in both of his index fingers. As he fled from the shooter he spotted a group of children, his grandchild among them, and he gathered them together and rushed them outside all the while not knowing his right index finger had been severed from his hand.

"My granddaughter -- four-and-a-half years old -- sees her grandpa with a bleeding hand and she sees me screaming and shouting, ‘Get out! Get out!’ She didn’t deserve to see her grandfather like this,” Goldstein said.

In the midst of his life-saving dash, he wrapped his hand in a prayer shawl.

After the shooter fled the property, synagogue congregants sheltered in an outdoor area waiting for authorities to arrive. Goldstein saw an opportunity to speak from his heart and remind his people of their resiliency.

“I got up there, and I just spoke from my heart and giving everyone the courage to know -- you know, it was just 70 years ago during the Holocaust, we were gunned down like this. And I just want to let our fellow Americans know, we’re not going to let this happen here -- not here in San Diego, not here in Poway, not here in the United States of America,” Goldstein said.

At a Sunday press conference, the rabbi said that President Donald Trump called him and spoke with him for about 15 minutes. He said President Trump offered his condolences on behalf of the U.S. and was very comforting.

"I’m really grateful for our president for really taking the time," Goldstein said.

Goldstein, a rabbi at Chabad of Poway since he co-founded it in 1986, wondered how the suspected shooter could arrive at a point where he would want to inflict this kind of pain.

"How does a 19-year-old, a teenager, have the audacity, the sickness, the hatred?” he said. "How does he come to our house of worship and do what he did?"

Goldstein called Kaye a dear friend that he's known for 33 years. He said she died to protect everyone in the synagogue, and said her legacy will continue.

Photo Credit: NBC News/Roneet Lev This story uses functionality that may not work in our app. Click here to open the story in your web browser. 'I Don't Feel Safe': Synagogue Shooting Victims Include 8-Year-Old Survivor published first on Miami News