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rangerbarbz · 1 year ago

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Losing Bets

Disclaimer: So this is not a Ford fanfic because I need to show my man Stan some love. Sorry about that. Also, I’m going to post the whole thing just to tumblr and to ao3, so you won’t have to click on a link to read it. This is a smut btw

Summary: Reader bets that Stan can’t go a whole day without touching them. It’s a win win situation 😉

If there was one thing about Stan Pines, he was a handsy man. You had been dating him since you first got a job at the Mystery Shack working the check-out counter when Wendy wasn’t working. There wasn’t a day that went by where he didn’t squeeze your butt as he shuffled behind you or grab your hips while you restocked. You didn’t mind it one bit, though. Stan always made you feel sexy and loved. He was a good man, and you wouldn’t have it any other way. However, you also knew he was a gambling man, and you were looking for fun.

It was a slow day at the Mystery Shack, and you were putting snow-globes on display when you felt a hand snake around your waist. “Lookin’ good, sugar.” When you weren’t expecting Stan’s voice, it always managed to give you butterflies. You smiled and set the one in your hand onto the unsteady wooden shelf in front of you.

“You talking about the snow-globes or me?” you teased, looking over at him. His eyebrow raised as his hand moved from your waist down to your ass. He cupped one clothed cheek in his big hand.

“Both,” he answered. “I love these shorts on you. Can’t help myself.” He had a devilish grin on his face and was staring into your eyes. God, he was so handsome. He had an almost intoxicating aroma of cigars and cologne that you wanted to drown in.

You giggled and patted his chest. “Stan Pines, you’d still find a way to get your hands on me even if you were handcuffed.” You picked up the empty cardboard box at your feet and carried it to the check-out counter to break it down.

“Wouldn’t be the first time,” Stan purred, following behind you as you flattened the box. You shot him a look that caused him to chuckle.

“You need to behave,” you playfully chastised him, bending down behind the counter to get your to-do list out. You set it next to the register and checked off the box next to “Unpack Snow-globes.” “There we go, that was the last thing I had to do.”

Stan set his elbows on the counter across from you. “Ah, I actually added something else for you to do. Should be at the bottom,” Stan stated.

Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “What? Really?” You picked up the notepad to see “Stan Pines” scrawled at the end of the lined paper with an empty box next to it.

Stan burst out laughing at his own joke. “See. I put my name there because I want you to do me,” he explained while you rolled your eyes.

“You’re so dumb.” You couldn’t help but laugh with him, though. “You know this reminds me; I have an idea for a bet. That is if your up to it.” Your eyes glimmered with mischief. You and Stan were always betting on trivial things, so this was a normal request.

“I’m all ears, dollface. Shoot.”

“I bet that you can’t go a whole day without touching me.”

Stan’s head perked up. “I better get something really good if I have to go the whole day without touching you,” he grumbled, crossing his arms.

“If you can go a whole day without touching me, I will do that thing you’ve been begging me to do for an entire week,” you declared.

He gasped. “You mean you’re going to cook me stancakes naked every morning for a week?” he asked incredulously.

You chuckled. “Yup, but if I win you have to come to karaoke with me at Greasy’s every Friday for a month.” At that, Stan groaned and rubbed the part of his nose where his glasses sat.

“Jeeze, you had that one ready didn’t ya, kid?”

“Oh, yes,” you replied. “You accept the bet, old man?” You extended your hand towards him. He flashed that million-dollar smile at you before shaking your hand in agreement with the bet.

“Deal.”

~ The Next Day ~

You looked in the mirror at your outfit you had prepared to tempt the “Man of Mystery” himself. You were prepared to play dirty to get karaoke nights with Stan. You were wearing a tight t-shirt that was tucked into some daisy dukes. You also were wearing some boots that went up to your knees that you knew drove Stan wild. He was a confirmed leg man for sure. You fluffed up your hair and applied some light makeup. It was nothing too crazy but just enough to have you singing BABBA with him Friday night.

When you were satisfied with how you looked, you walked out of your bedroom and down the hall to the gift shop. Stan was giving a tour outside, so he had no idea what you looked like just yet. You went about your job as usual restocking the freezer, sweeping the floor, and pricing new items. It was about thirty minutes later when Stan entered the gift shop with a group of tourists behind him.

“Step into our gift shop and marvel at the quality of the Mystery Shack’s merchandise. Such beautiful craftmanship is deserving of your money, so make sure to spend a lot of it,” Stan’s voice echoed throughout the room. Some tourists “oohed” and “ahhed’ at the new shirts you had just hung up on the wall while the others piddled about the store. You sat at the register waiting for customers pretending not to notice Stan ogling you from the other side of the room.

When you finally decided to give him your attention, you gave him a coy smile and a little wave. His mouth was slightly agape, and his eyebrows were raised. He looked you up and down as he approached you. It was go time; you got him.

“Y/N, you look smoking!” Stan exclaimed, his hands reaching for your hips. They stopped just inches away from them. He frowned and let his hands drop to his sides. “Damn. Forgot I can’t touch you.” He sounded disappointed. You were about to respond when one of the tourists got his attention by asking him about his newest taxidermy creation. This might be harder than you thought.

You exhaled through your nose in defeat. You couldn’t ponder on your plan too long, however, because a line of people had quickly formed in front of you. They held fistfuls of cash and novelties waiting to be paid for. It took a while, but finally everyone had picked an item they wanted and purchased them successfully. You couldn’t see him, but Stan had been eyeing you all over.

Once the last person left the shop and Stan reminded them about his “No Refunds” policy, he turned the “Open” sign on the door to “Closed.” You tilted your head at him and walked from behind the counter towards him. “Stan, why are you closing the shack? Are you-‘’ You were interrupted by him quickly turning around to face you and throwing you over his shoulder. You yelped in surprise as he bolted down the hall to your bedroom. You were not expecting this. He kicked the door open and dropped you on the bed.

“You like to play dirty, don’tcha?” Stan growled, grabbing your ankles and dragging you to him. “Dressing like that in front of me knowing I can’t touch ya. You’re such a tease.” His lips crashed into yours, his beard tickling your neck. You moaned into his mouth, letting your hands explore his thick, gray hair. The passionate kiss turned into a hot, open-mouthed one. Stan’s tongue slipped past your lips as you gripped his back. You grinded against him to get some friction going but to also see how hard he was. He was rock solid, his bulge pressing against your thigh. You wrapped your legs around his waist to bring him closer to you, earning a groan from him.

His lips parted from yours and he began to pepper kisses along your neck, stopping to suck at your collarbones. “Stan…” you whined.

“Use your words, baby,” he murmured against your skin. “Tell me what you want.”

“You.”

You felt Stan’s lips curl into a smile. “That can be arranged. But these,” he tugged at your shorts, “will have to go.”

You looked him in the eyes. “Then why don’t you take them off for me?” you asked, grinning at him.

“With pleasure,” he responded. He removed your boots before undoing the zipper of your shorts and pulling them off. You lifted your hips up to help him get them fully off your body which revealed lacy red underwear. He wasn’t a huge fan of any particular color, but he loved red on you. He let out a low whistle. “Sweetheart…You shouldn’t have.” Stan’s tone caused blood to rush to your throbbing clit.

His hands slid up the side of your legs to grab your thighs. “God, I love these legs,” he whispered, his thumbs rubbing into your inner thighs. His long, calloused fingers were splayed over the side of them as he admired the way they dug into your flesh. He adored the softness of them.

“Can’t wait to have them around my head,” he breathed, moving his hands over your underwear and under your shirt. “But first, I gotta get this off. Been wanting to get my hands on these.” You blushed as he pulled your t-shirt over your head. You were revealed to be in a matching red bra that pushed your breasts up to make a delightful cleavage.

“Fuck,” Stan said, his voice barely above a whisper. “Come here, sexy.” His hands found your waist and guided you to his lap. He began peppering kisses on the top of your breasts as his hands fumbled to remove your bra from the back. He eventually succeeded causing the straps to fall down your shoulders and exposing your hard nipples. His pupils were dilated and filled with lust as he gazed at your body. He took his time, letting his eyes wander.

Stan slowly exhaled before letting his lips make contact with your skin once again. His tongue licked across your nipple gently and cupping your other breast. He massaged the tender flesh and let his thumb drag over the nipple as he began to suck the other one. You hissed, raking his hair between your fingers. He repeated the same action but on the opposite breast causing your hips to instinctively grind down on him. You were so turned on you were becoming light-headed.

Stans arms encased you as he lowered you onto the bed, kissing in a line down your stomach. You knew what was coming next, and butterflies were already beginning to form. “Mind if I take these off, doll?” Stan asked gruffly, his eyes meeting yours. You nodded your head in response. His fingers hooked around the band of your panties and removed your last garment of clothing. He began to bury his face against your thighs, giving them little pecks. Your eyes rolled back in your head from how his mouth and stubble felt against such a sensitive area. He then removed his head away from your core to look at you.

“Let’s see how much I’ve riled you up,” Stan said, letting one of his fingers enter you. He slid in easily due to your wetness. He let out a shaky breath. “Shit, baby.” He began to pump his finger back and forth. You cried out in pleasure, letting your nails rake along his muscular forearms.

“Oh, God, Stan,” you whimpered. If he kept going like this, you were going to cum before his dick was inside you.

“As hot as it is to see you like this, I just gotta taste ya.” Stan muttered, removing his finger and lowering his head back down to your bottom half. “I’ve been craving you all day.” His tongue slid into you as his big hands held your legs around his head. He moaned into you as you gripped the bedsheets behind you. One hand travelled upwards to play with your breast as he used the tip of his tongue to manipulate your clit. Stan continued to lap at you, bringing you closer and closer to an orgasm. He knew you were close too. You were bucking your hips on his nose to help relieve yourself. He loved it when you did that; he wanted you to use him to get all the way.

“I want you inside me,” you pleaded. “Please, babe.” Stan stopped what he was doing to give you a sloppy kiss. His mouth and nose were covered in your slick which was now partially on you. He stood up to unbutton his shirt while you scrambled to unbuckle his belt.

He laughed cockily. “Someone’s eager,” he teased, waggling his eyebrows.

You glared at him. “Shut up,” you retorted, taking off his boxers to see his painfully erect dick. You slid off the bed and onto your knees. You started to suck on his balls and rub along the bottom of them. Stan moaned loudly; his hands were now in your hair. You licked a stripe of the base of his dick to his tip before taking him into your mouth. You went slowly at first, creating a suction with your cheeks.

“Y/N…” Stan breathed, pushing your head onto him, wanting you to go faster. “Okay, okay. I can’t go anymore. I wanna feel you,” Stan interrupted, holding your face. “Put your boots on. Those were so damn sexy.” You chuckled and put on the shiny, leather boots from before. You were entirely naked other than your feet.

“Alright, hot stuff, you ready to ride the Stan O’ War?” Stan asked, throwing your legs on his shoulders. A boot was on either side of his head.

You giggled in response. “Yes, captain,” you answered.

He lined up with your entrance, and finally was inside you. He stretched you out painfully good. He wasn’t the longest, but, God, he was wide. That’s how you like it. He held onto your boots for leverage as he pounded into you. His breathing became ragged as he went back and forth inside you.

“You feel s’good,” he groaned. “So fucking good.”

His voice sent you over the edge making your body start to quake and pulse. Your legs shook around his head which, in turn, caused Stan to cum. Your convulsions were enough to make a “dead man come back to life” as Stan would describe. As you both rode out your highs, Stan laid on your chest as you twirled his hair. You laid in blissful silence until you remembered something.

“So…does this mean karaoke Friday?”

His face scrunched into his signature grumpy frown. “Can you just let me enjoy what’s left of my dignity until I lose it all?” You giggled at his answer as he laid his head back on your chest. You kissed the top of his head and leaned your head back on your pillow. Little did you know, he was more than happy to sing cheesy songs with you in public. He would just never let you know that.

#pines family #grunkle stan #stanford pines #stanley pines #gravity falls #grunkle ford #ford pines #ford pines x reader #imagine #stan pines x reader #stan pines #smut #female reader

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conflictofthemind · 8 months ago

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Lucas knows about Mike and Will

First off, of course the context is needed that Lucas has known the two of them the longest out of any of the kids. He is Mike’s neighbour and joined their party even before Dustin. He also played wingman for Mike previously in S3, trying to help get Mike and Eleven back together. It’s not a stretch of the imagination that Lucas would end up in a role like that again.

So, the hospital scene at the end of Season 4.

There’s a few things within this scene that are a little suspicious, and then one big thing that basically has no explanation other than Lucas suspecting something is going on with Mike. I brightened the scene here- first let’s just acknowledge they held hands on Lucas’ back. This is the only kind of direct hand touch we get this season.

Lucas can’t see that.. but it’s on his back. Of course he would be able to feel it. It’s also another moment that separates Mike and Will as a pair, versus Eleven on her own. Here’s the full clip below. And then just LOOK at the expression Lucas gives Mike after he sees El lingering behind. Your friend just visited as soon as he possibly could to give you support. Why would you look at them like this after he hugs you? Because he knows there’s something weird going on in the relationship between Mike and El. No other explanation.

Lucas is clearly giving Mike a “what the fuck is going on” kind of expression, eye squinted, eyebrows furrowed. There’s also a blink and you’ll miss it moment where Mike’s breath catches after the contact with Will’s hand, and he makes a split second glance to look at their hands (which I captured in the first image).

Then after Lucas hugs El, he clearly parts and steps back to give room for Mike to join beside his girlfriend. But Mike crosses the room to put himself in between El and Will instead. Another thing Lucas would have found weird. Lucas isn’t dumb.

Then we have the shotlisting post from Ross’ instagram. Shot listing is where they plan out what happens within an episode and what kinds of shots they want. This image is obviously an Easter Egg for fans about who’s interacting with who in the first 2 episodes (ie Stonathan shenanigans of which we already know about). I didn’t see it at first but Lucas is clearly placed in the centre of a triangle between El, Mike, and Will. He’s the centre of the triangle.

This makes sense with what we know about S5 thus far as well. There’s a confirmed plot line that has Dustin trying to isolate himself from the rest of the group (if he hasn’t already been isolated enough from the party in recent seasons). It shows up in the shot list image too of course, with Dustin on the opposite side. For the kids, due to Max being out of commission, the only interactions we are going to get in the first two episodes before the time jump seem to be between El, Will, Mike, and Lucas. We also have confirmation from Millie that El and Lucas will be spending a lot more time together than they had in previous seasons.

Moving onto a bit of cornplating for the last points which just serve as some cherries on top of this theory - we already have imagery of Lucas acting as a bridge between Mike and Will in the party image Ross gave us. This is post time jump most likely because of the new outfits, so it’s interesting that this role could continue throughout the season.

We also have the imagery of Lucas holding a suspiciously coloured blue and yellow shield in Will’s painting of the party. A bit of a stretch, sure. But complied with everything else it is definitely interesting to consider.

Now for the character reasoning, which is always important to consider: why would Lucas end up in this position?

Lucas is going through his girlfriend being in a coma after they had a major distance in their relationship. A coma that Lucas in universe has no clue if she’ll ever wake up from, and realistically (in-universe) hopes are slim that she will recover. And if she does, she may not have all the memories of times spent together still with her. There’s probably so many regrets swirling around his mind of things he could have done or said in the time that they had together. Lucas doesn’t have this luxury - but his friends still do.

Lucas is Mike’s oldest friend outside of Will, and Will/Mike are Lucas’ first friends. They existed as a party even before Dustin.

Out of his pain of ‘losing’ Max and the wisdom he learned from it, I really do think Lucas is going to encourage Mike to seize the day and take control of his life once again. Will and Mike still have the luxury of time and still have chance. If anyone could convince Mike his feelings are reciprocal, it would also be Lucas.

Furthermore, Lucas understands that as a black man in fairly rural 80s Indiana, his relationship with Max is also one that is singled out due to prejudice against interracial couples. Interracial marriage would only have been legalized less than twenty years ago. It’s not quite the same, but again if anyone understood the position Mike would be in (other than say Robin) - it would be Lucas.

#anyway uhhh wheelclair is real and coming home #mike wheeler #lucas sinclair #will byers #byler #stranger things

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peachsukii · 8 months ago

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Okay I’m back I’m sorry your writing is like cocaine to me idk you’re awesome-

Bakugou x reader where they’re on a mission and it involves a teams of heroes to dress up like Dynamight to confuse the enemy??? Just like Bakugou’s reaction to seeing his girlfriend decked out in his gear like 😭😭😭

but like picture like reader trying to fit Bakugou into a version of her costume too-

Ohkay I’m going even further now- Bakugou and reader wearing formal wear modeled after each other at a Hero’s gala to debut their relationship to the world???? I can just imagine after the mission they just really like wearing each other’s stuff-

Anyways you’re amazing have an amazing day!!

I’m so so sorry this took me so long to get to! You’re the sweetest!! 🥰 thank you so much for rec and coming back! I’ve enjoyed the ideas you’ve suggested so much and hope you like this one. 💖✨

Substitute Gear

『 ♡』 k.bakugo x fem!reader ꒰ pro-hero au | age 24 | lovers (bf/gf) ꒱ ⇢ bakugo and reader are joking around in their apartment one night when they decide to try on each others costumes! this leads to a fun inspiration for the upcoming hero gala as their agencies recommend for them to reveal their relationship officially. Why not do it in style?

꒰ tags & warnings ꒱ no cw minus cursing | fun & fluffy ꒰ cross posted to ao3 | wc; ~1.1k ꒱ -`✧ katsuki bakugo masterlist

“Ugh, what an ugly shift,” you complain as you’re walking through the front door of your apartment. You’re kicking off your dirty boots in the entryway when Katsuki comes to greet you.

“Long day?” He asks, analyzing how filthy your hero suit is. It doesn’t stop him from giving you a light peck on the lips to welcome you home.

“More like what didn’t happen today. A kid threw up on me, and when I washed that off, some asshole bled all over me when I cuffed him! To top it all off, I tripped and fell into the mud while in pursuit of a robbery. Head first!”

As you’re rattling off the laundry list of shitty things that happened during the day, Katsuki’s silently instructing you to take the suit off. He spins you around, unzipping the neck piece and carefully removing all of your components and accessories.

“I broke my damn helmet in that fall,” you groan, wiping dried dirt from your cheek.

“Better than your head, dumbass,” Katsuki counters. “Ya got extras, no use cryin’ over one of ‘em.”

You shimmy the suit off of your shoulders and pull out of the material one limb at a time.

“You’d think as heroes, there’d be a professional laundry service or something,” you complain, letting your suit crumple on the floor. It comically puffs out a dried cloud of grime.

Katsuki stifles a laugh. “Weird way of sayin’ I do all your laundry. Get your ass in the shower, you reek.” He smacks your barely-covered ass to get you moving, continuing to snicker to himself as you waddle down the hallway.

───

After a long and hot shower, you emerge from the bathroom with a dramatic haze of steam following you.

“Ya done yet, peach? Dinners done,” Katsuki calls from the kitchen, dishes clattering as he’s prepping plates for the two of you. You scamper down the hall to meet him in the kitchen, a delicious aroma filling your senses when you approach the stove. He hands you one of the plates of beef and peppers stacked high on a bed of rice.

“Mmm, you even made me extra peppers!” You chirp, flashing him a cheesy smile. He grins in response and slips past you to sit on the couch.

The news channel is droning in the background during dinner, the news anchors excitedly discussing the upcoming annual Hero Gala - the glitz and glamour side of it, anyways. The Gala itself is an enormous event to celebrate Japan’s hero society and to announce the year’s hero ranking; however, everyone treats it as one extravagant event, red carpet and all.

“I’ve never been to the gala before,” you say before taking another mouthful of rice. “I never qualified to attend until this year. I’m kinda nervous to be…debuting us, if I’m being honest.”

Your agencies had caught wind of your relationship - rather, Katsuki’s assistant accidentally caught you two kissing in his office - and wanted to use you as an opportunity to introduce the “new hottest hero couple.” Agencies care about appearances and tabloid drama just as much as actual hero work. What's hotter than a top hero dating a lower - much lower - ranked hero?

The gala is in two weeks and the two of you haven't settled on what to do about it.

“Th’ agencies wanting to use us as an attention grab is fuckin’ stupid," Katsuki mumbles, brows scrunched in frustration. "Who gives a shit who we're dating? Doesn't affect my ability ta do my job."

He had a point, of course, but that didn't make you any less nervous about it. You were being pressured to have an extremely public date and let "fans" know that Dynamight was off the market. The thought of fans metaphorically bashing your head in wasn't ideal, but whatever gets "ratings," right?

"We might as well just show up in each others' costumes," you joke, rolling your eyes as the news anchor shifts topics to the latest update on another nonsense story.

"That's...not a bad idea!" He shouts, putting his plate on the coffee table and excitedly jogging down the hall to the bedroom. "Where's your backup suit?"

"In the closet, why? There's no way your muscular ass is getting in that tight suit."

"No, dumbass! C'mere!"

You place your plate next to his and get up from the couch, waltzing to the bedroom to see what he's on about. Both your hero suit and his are laying on the bed next to each other.

"What if we swapped colors?" He asked, pointing to the suit designs. "You wear mine and I wear yours. That'll give the media somethin' to yap about."

That's actually...a brilliant idea! The media would absolutely eat up the "bad boy" Dynamight strutting into the gala with his partner's color pallet, especially because your colors were pinks and purples.

You raise an eyebrow to him, smirking as you begin to imagine him in a sharp pink and purple suit. "You do look good in pink, the few times you've worn it."

Katsuki cackles and winks at you. "Course I do, I make anythin' look good."

He immediately calls his agency to request the garments - they agreed wholeheartedly and offered to fund both outfits.

───

The night of the gala has finally arrived! There are plenty of news crews from all channels present, huddled around the main red carpet entrance. The scene is bedazzled with flashing camera lights, the shutter sounds of multiple cameras capturing photos in tandem. Your complimentary custom outfits are pristine and Katsuki's hand is in yours as the limo pulls up to the gateway, giving you a soft squeeze to gather your attention.

"It'll be fine, sweets. Jus' follow my lead, 'kay?"

You nod while taking a deep breath to calm your nerves. "Thanks babe."

The limo attendant outside skips to the door, opening it for the two of you and ushering you to the entrance. You're both standing in line behind other heroes awaiting their turn to enter the building, attention already building in your direction. A few minutes go by before one of the hosts motions for the two of you to proceed to the entrance.

Your heart is racing, threatening to burst right through your ribcage as the hot spotlights are covering the two of you. Cameras are flashing rapidly, waves of unintelligible shouting invading your senses - "Dynamight! Over here, look this way!" "Just one this way, you two!" "To the left, please!"

Katsuki's jaw is tense as his eyes are roaming around to satisfy multiple camera men, the resting glare he normally sports on patrol adoring his features. Your attempting to keep a soft smile, posing and waving gently. Suddenly, you're tugged into Katsuki's side, his hand leaving yours and wrapping around your waist, pulling you into his personal space. He spins you to face him, cupping your chin and dipping you backwards as his lips grace your own, holding you in place.

The world around explodes with surprise, the peanut gallery clamoring with questions about the two of you - "Are you two an item?" "Oh! A higher ranked hero and a brand new one!" "What a scandalous amount of PDA!"

When you part, he pulls you back to his side and keeps his hand on your waist while the two of you continue into the gala together. The paparazzi outside are tailing the two of you as they're stopped at the door, shouting for answers as he flips them off over his head.

"Told ya it'd be fine. Now let's fuckin' eat and enjoy the damn night."

thanks again for the suggestion @queenpiranhadon ! ✨

#bakugo katsuki #bakugo x reader #katsuki bakugo #katsuki bakugo x reader #bakugo fluff #bakugo x y/n #bakugo x you #bakugo x fem!reader #bakugou katsuki #bakugou x reader #bakugou x y/n #my hero academia #☆.from the stars #☆.rei writes

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rosepetalsinwinter · 1 year ago

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Five Years That Felt Like a Millenium — Bucky Barnes

Pairing: tfatws!bucky x reader

Word count: 9,554

Summary: It’s been five years since Thanos snapped his fingers. Five years spent all alone. Now Sam is back and he has a new friend. Will Bucky be the one to uncover the secrets behind the bruises lining her body?

Warnings: illusions and mention of violence, abuse, manipulation, and cheating. Nothing explicit. Protective!bucky.

Note: It's been a while since I've posted. Here's a little slice to get you going before I continue with "Meant to Be." Hope you enjoy! 💜

Ao3│Wattpad│Ko-fi

Main Masterlist │Part 1 — Part 2 — Part 3

Happy reading!!

"Sammy!" A figure barrelled into Sam Wilson, almost making the five-foot-ten man topple over.

The girl's arms wrapped tightly around his bulky frame, hanging on for dear life. Her tears soaked his shirt, and her nails dug into his biceps almost painfully, but he said nothing. He only hugged her back with as much vigour and passion, letting his salty tears mix with hers.

Although no time had passed for Sam, years had passed for the girl—five to be exact—and he could feel all her emotions pouring out of her like a dam broken loose.

"Sammy!" she sobbed while her body shook violently. "You're back!"

"I've been back." Sam stroked a hand over the girl's hair, offering her comfort. "I've been here. Where were you?"

The first thing Sam did after he was blipped back to life was to call his sister, Sarah. Only to be told that five years had come and gone. His nephews, who were babies when he left, were now little men. The second thing Sam did was ask about Baby Girl.

He remembered when he first met her. Her family moved to the bayou when she was just five; Sam was fifteen. When her parents died, Sam's family took her in as their own, giving her the same amount of love they gave their other two kids.

So he was surprised, then, to find that Sarah hadn't heard from her in almost two years. Sam, himself, had no luck in locating her until recently. It took him eight months, but he finally found her. She had moved to New York and cut all ties with previous friends and family.

Sam wanted to ask why. Why leave Sarah and the boys? Why leave the only home she ever knew? His questions could wait, though. Now that she was here, he wouldn't ever let her go.

"Hey, Baby Girl," Sam shushed her when she sobbed louder, "I'm here. I'm not leaving again. Promise."

So fascinated by how she had aged from an awkward teen on the precipice of adulthood into a beautiful young woman, Sam did not notice the bruises lining her sides and underneath her clothes—or the circles under her eyes—from almost two years of interrupted sleep. Or the absence of light in her usually glowing irises.

When she let her entire weight fall on Sam and sobbed as she had when her parents died, he did not question it, only held on tighter and carried her towards the house.

"I've got you now, Baby Girl. Everything is gonna be just fine."

While he did not explicitly say anything, Bucky Barnes found the Wilson Family Residence quite endearing. His house in the thirties had been small, and even his current apartment in Brooklyn was compact—which he liked—but there was something so serene about the land surrounding the Wilson residence, so very peaceful.

After ninety years of constant fights, one after the other, all Bucky really wanted was some peace and quiet. And now, he could easily find it after absolving himself of most of the guilt he was carrying.

It wasn't easy, but Bucky told Yori the truth about his son's death and since then, had managed to cross a few more names off his list of amends. A weight lifted off Bucky's shoulders as everything began to make sense.

The Flag Smasher's fiasco was over with, and while the Powerbroker was still at large, there was no immediate threat. Bucky Barnes could rest for now before trouble found him again—as trouble often did. Sam had asked Bucky to stay over for the long weekend, and Bucky had happily obliged.

"It'll be good for you. Get away from that city life."

Bucky agreed. If all went well, he might end up buying his own house. He had a little... calm in Wakanda, and he missed the solidarity.

The axe was steadfast in his hands as he brought it down towards his target, and the sturdy stump was no match for the combined strength of both, the sharp tool, and Bucky's enhanced strength. In one meagre swing, half the stump broke off and landed on the ground with a muffled thump.

Bucky wiped the sweat off his brow with his right arm. It was the middle of June, and while the days were sweltering hot and sticky, the nights could get cold in comparison. Sam had tasked Bucky to get the logs for the fire, seeing as he was the most efficient.

Bucky continued with his work until he got a steady rhythm, stopping periodically to sip his still cold beer. It was then that his enhanced hearing picked up on the strangest sound. He perched the axe on his left shoulder and looked towards the house where Sam Wilson seemed to be consoling a crying girl.

"Huh." Bucky didn't find the exchange as odd as he should have. Everyone around the bayou was always coming to Sam for something. Whether it was a favour, or a shoulder to cry on. Bucky thought she must be someone special if he was hugging her like that.

When Sam took the girl into the house, Bucky shook his head and finished the last of his beer. He continued chopping more wood until the sun began to set, which is when he deposited the axe back into the shed and made his way inside to crash on the couch. Tomorrow would be a long day, what with the bonfire Sam was hosting, and all. Bucky fell to a dreamless sleep the second his head touched the pillow.

He was a light sleeper. So Bucky immediately woke up when he heard someone coming down the stairs. It took him a second to become aware of his surroundings, as it always did. He was in Louisiana, crashing on Sam's couch for the weekend.

Bucky turned his head to the left to see who it was. Probably the boys; they were early risers and loved pestering Bucky about his metal arm—not that he minded. He found their interest refreshing and loved putting a smile on their faces. He was surprised, then, to find a girl instead. The same one from yesterday.

Huh. The girl looked a mess, with only half her hair pulled back into a makeshift ponytail and black makeup smudged under her eyes. Her pants were unbuttoned, hanging precariously from her hips, and her jacket was falling off her shoulders, a few sizes too big. She was holding a pair of shoes in one hand, her phone and shirt in the other. She was also balancing a purse in the crook of her elbow.

It was the shirt that did it. Because, while the girl's own blouse was in her hands, she was wearing Sam's grey-green T-shirt. Bucky knew because that's what Sam was wearing yesterday. She was someone special then if she was wearing his clothes.

Bucky smirked. He was very aware of what the girl had been doing. He, himself, had been on both ends of the situation before. Though it was very long ago, he still remembered the embarrassment of being caught leaving a girl's room in the early hours of the morning.

The girl screamed when she saw Bucky, not expecting anyone to be up, much less lying on the couch and watching her horrible attempt at sneaking out. "Oh, God!" Her phone slipped from her grasp and landed on the floor with a loud clatter.

There was a moment of silence where the two merely stared at each other. Bucky, with poorly concealed amusement, and the girl, with mild horror. She moved first, crouching down to pick up her cracked phone.

"Does it still work?" Bucky's voice was raspy from disuse. When tears gathered in the girl's eyes as a reply, Bucky immediately sat up, dropping his amusement in exchange for concern. He knew nothing about her, but it seemed like she cried a lot.

"No," she murmured, though Bucky heard her as if she were beside him. "Oh, God. No, no, no, no, no..."

"Hey, it's alright," Bucky told her as he crouched down to pick up the purse she had thrown in her haste. He hesitated when he saw a shiny ring peeking out from one of the compartments—too fancy and expensive-looking to be something ordinary. He quickly tucked the circle back and ignored it. Had Sam proposed to her? Bucky was offended he hadn't told him. Maybe it was recent. "Is it turning on?"

"Oh God! N-no," the girl stuttered through her tears.

Bucky was convinced that this girl—who cried a lot—only knew how to say "no" and "oh, God."

"I'm sure Sam can get you a new one, no big deal. What's your name?" Bucky offered the girl his right hand, which she promptly ignored.

She shot up on unsteady legs. "I have to go."

Bucky mimicked her. "Okay?" It was turning out to be a very unusual conversation.

"I have to go," she said again, more slowly this time, as if he were a little kid who couldn't understand a word of English.

Bucky cleared his throat awkwardly, shifting on his legs before giving the girl her purse back. "Right."

The tally was now up to "no," "oh, God," and "I have to go." At least she wasn't crying anymore. Bucky hastily stepped out of the girl's way when he realized he was blocking the hall that led to the front door.

She moved as if someone lit a fire under her. One second, she was there, and the next, she was out the door with her pants still unbuttoned, her jacket still falling off her shoulder, and her shoes still in her hand.

"Nice to meet you..." Bucky dropped his hand and trailed off when he realized she couldn't hear him anymore.

Huh. Either Bucky still didn't know how to talk to people, or that girl was on something. A lot of youngsters nowadays did drugs for fun. Bucky didn't understand it, nor did he want to. He could just ask Sam about it later.

Bucky stretched his arms above his head and cracked his neck. A couch was considerably comfier than the floor but still gave him a stiff back. No matter, a quick run could swiftly solve that problem. Bucky turned on the coffee machine and was biting into an apple when a shirtless Sam came barreling down the stairs.

"You sleep good, man?" Sam asked.

"Yeah," Bucky shrugged, wiping some juice from his chin, "I slept good. Well, as good as I can, considering..."

Sam hummed before opening the fridge and taking a swig of the orange juice. "Nightmare?"

Bucky shook his head. "I don't remember it—Listen, you didn't tell me you had a girl up there."

"A girl?"

"Messy hair, pretty face. Was crying yesterday?"

"Baby Girl? You saw that?" Sam stopped peeling the banana in his hand to look at Bucky.

Bucky merely shrugged and grabbed a mug from the cupboard.

"Sorry I didn't tell you she was over," said Sam, taking a bite of his now-peeled banana. "We were up talking real late. I guess I forgot."

"Yup. Talking," Bucky muttered with a smirk as he poured his coffee. "I bet."

"What?" Sam implored.

"Uh, nothing. Just, the girl seemed nice."

"She is nice," Sam retorted. "You met her?"

Bucky nodded and took a sip of his coffee. Black, just as he preferred it.

"Didn't think she'd be awake," Sam said with a yawn. "She barely slept."

Bucky had to try really hard to keep himself from laughing. "Well, she was."

"She was?" Sam asked suspiciously. "What do you mean she was? Did she go back to bed?"

Bucky shook his head. "She left."

"She left?" Sam scoffed, propping a hand on his hip. He had never looked more like Steve.

"That's what I said," Bucky confirmed, taking another sip. "She's gone."

"Gone?" Sam grumbled. "Bucky, what the hell are you talking about?"

Sam's accusing behaviour was really starting to irk Bucky, making him think the girl's sneaking out was not mutual. Shit.

He laughed uncomfortably and put his mug down on the counter. "Your girl came running down the stairs, half-dressed. She dropped her phone, cracked it, didn't let me help. Then she said she 'had to go' and practically ran out of here, I dunno."

"When?" A vein popped in Sam's forehead as he grabbed a random shirt from the pile of clean laundry near the stairs.

Bucky hastily checked the watch on his right arm. "Fifteen, maybe twenty minutes tops."

That made Sam utter a series of colourful swears as he finished his breakfast and found his wallet.

"Wait, Sam, what's going on?"

Sam didn't answer Bucky, too busy looking for his keys in the wrong place.

"Sam!" Bucky asked louder.

"We talked about this!" Sam scoffed. "I told her to at least stay for the weekend. I can't believe this! We sat down like adults and came to an understanding." He finally found his keys on the key hook.

"Where are you going, Sam?" Bucky countered.

"I'm going to get her," Sam snapped before sighing dramatically and letting his shoulders droop. "Shit, I do not have time for this, Baby Girl."

Bucky moved over the kitchen counter and stood in front of Sam. "What about that meeting you've got?"

"What meeting?" Sam asked.

"That meeting about that thing," supplied Bucky.

"What thing?" Sam grumbled.

"You know what thing," Bucky countered.

"Oh. That. I'm gonna have to reschedule—Man! Where are my shoes?!"

"Why?"

"Why?" Sam echoed. "What's with all the questions, Buck? Because I have to get Baby Girl before she skips town and disappears on me again."

"Sam."

"I haven't seen her in eight months, man, and she hasn't seen me in five years. I'm not about to let her leave—"

"Sam!" Bucky shouted loud enough for his friend to hear. He grabbed his wallet and his keys and put on his jacket. "You're going to that meeting, Sam."

"Like hell I am," Sam retorted passionately.

"I'll go pick up your Baby Girl," Bucky said after downing the rest of his coffee. "You, go to your meeting."

Sam stopped for a moment and seriously considered Bucky's proposal. It was an important meeting. "She'll probably be at the taxi stand," he finally relented. "You know the one?"

Bucky nodded, tying up his shoelaces. "Yeah, I know the one."

"Buck?" Sam called when Bucky was stepping out the door. "You better bring her back, or else I'm gonna light a fire under your ass."

Bucky chuckled, pushing his sunglasses up his nose. "Understood, Sam."

The taxi stand was abandoned. Really, what did the girl expect so early in the morning? It was a long weekend, and the residents of Delacroix rarely needed a commute into the city on an ordinary Friday. She was arguing with the lone taxi driver, pleading with him, really, to take her to the nearest airport. But the man kept denying her. He had been up all night and insisted on napping, telling her to wait another twenty minutes.

She didn't have twenty minutes, damn it. If anything, she needed more time. Time she didn't have.

Her phone could be blowing up right now, and she wouldn't know it. She wouldn't know the consequences of her actions until she bought a new phone. But maybe—just maybe, a voice inside her reasoned—Quentin would be too busy with his work retreat to notice her absence.

The girl tried getting the driver's attention again, who shot her the most hateful look she had ever received before starting his cab and driving away. "Hey! Wait!" she called out, but he had already turned the corner.

A laugh made her spin around. It was the man from this morning, the one on Sam's couch. He stood before her with his arms crossed, a big smile overtaking his face.

"You must not be from the city," he mused, "if you're that bad at hailing a cab."

Bucky had no trouble locating the girl, what with her being the only person in a one-mile radius demanding to be taken to the nearest airport. Her feeble attempts amused him, and frankly, Bucky was having trouble believing she was Sam's girl. He didn't think Sam would've gone for someone as... difficult as her. But hey, it was Sam wanting to spend the rest of his life with her, not Bucky.

Bucky surveyed the girl from head to toe. Her hair was settled, her pants buttoned, and most of her composure seemed to have returned. However, she had gone pale once he revealed himself, her eyes wide with guilt. She was caught red-handed; now, he would be the one to deliver her to Sam.

Bucky pointed at her with his left arm. "Sam wants you home."

He was surprised to see that when she looked down at the shiny metal, recognition flared through her eyes rather than shock or disgust. Good, he thought. She knows who I am.

"No, thank you," she managed to squeak out, and Bucky was pleased to know that the girl's vocabulary extended past the three phrases he had come to know her for.

"You seem smart," he told her when he saw her looking behind him, "but not that smart."

"Yeah?" she challenged, gaining a rare bit of courage. "What makes you say that?"

"You know who I am and what I'm capable of. Smart. You think you can run from me. Not smart."

"Is that right?" she asked. Bucky nodded, and the girl took a deep breath. "I must not be too smart then."

He raised a brow in challenge, wondering where she would go from there.

Suddenly, the girl threw her arms above her head and waved them with abandon. "Mr. Thurow!" she shouted, running past Bucky. "Mr. Thurow!"

Bucky slowly walked towards the girl, unhurried in his steps. He wanted to know what she would do.

"Mr. Thurow!" the girl panted. "I need your help."

"Jesus Christ!" Mr. Thurow bellowed. "As I live and breathe! Is that you, Baby Girl?" He was a stocky man with a kind smile and welcoming eyes.

"Yes, Mr. Thurow," the girl began confidently, "it is. I need your help, please. This man," she pointed behind her at Bucky, "is—"

"Carlos!" Bucky interjected with a smile. "How are you?"

"Sergeant Barnes! Back again already?" Carlos turned his attention away from the girl.

Bucky watched with amusement as the girl's face scrunched with confusion. Her lips parted slightly, and she blinked rapidly. "What can I say, Carlos? I was missing your potato salad."

"Hell yeah, you were," Carlos guffawed.

The girl stood there dumbfounded as the two men embraced each other.

"You know, it was my great nan's recipe?" Carlos asked. "Been in the family for generations."

"I didn't know that. You bringing it tonight?"

"For the bonfire?" Carlos confirmed. "You bet I am."

"Well," Bucky gestured to the girl, "I was just taking Baby Girl here back home. She got a little lost, and Sam was starting to worry." Bucky made sure to make himself sound condescending on purpose.

He heard her scoff. "I was not lost."

"Well, you get her home safe, then. Understood, Barnes? I want to see both of you tonight." Carlos mockingly glared at the girl and winked at Bucky before departing.

"See you, Carlos!" Bucky called out to his retreating figure. "Well?" he questioned, turning his attention to the girl after a moment of silence. "Are you gonna run and embarrass yourself again, or are you gonna come with me?"

"I am not going anywhere with you!" the girl scoffed.

"I will take you kicking and screaming if I have to," Bucky warned.

The girl took a step back hastily, believing his threat. "You're a heathen."

Well, Bucky shrugged. He had been called worse. "Sam threatened me with fire, and that's not how I'd like to leave this world if it's all the same to you."

The girl seemed to consider his words for a moment. "Fire is a painful way to go," she finally mused.

"It is," Bucky agreed.

"I don't like you," she told him bluntly.

"Okay." A lot of people didn't like Bucky. One more wouldn't hurt.

"But no one deserves to die like that."

It seemed the spawn of Satan had a heart.

"Does seem excessive," said Bucky.

The girl paused again. "If I run, you'll catch me." It wasn't a question.

"Always," Bucky promised, and the girl must have believed him because her shoulders deflated, and she hung her head in submission.

"Doesn't seem like I have a choice," she whispered, though Bucky heard her all the same.

"You don't."

"Okay," she relented.

"Okay. Let's go." Bucky led her toward where he parked, and the girl followed silently.

Good, she isn't being insufferable any longer, Bucky thought. Though, luck must not have been on his side that day because not a second later, once his bike came into view, the girl started complaining.

"No. I'm not sitting on that death trap."

Bucky turned to her with an annoyed groan. "Really?"

"I hate bikes!" she told him.

"What? You rather walk?" Bucky crossed his arms.

"Yes, please," the girl replied, mimicking his posture. "I walked all the way here, didn't I?"

"Well, too bad!" snapped Bucky. "We're taking the bike." He grabbed his helmet and handed it to her. He groaned again when she didn't take it and only looked at him like she'd never seen a helmet before. Maybe she hadn't. He wouldn't be surprised. Bucky rolled his eyes and placed the helmet on the girl's head, securing the straps and confirming it fit snugly.

"It's loose," she complained.

"Your head's a lot smaller than mine..." Bucky took his previous statement back. He could definitely see the girl and Sam together. Both of them were insufferable shitheads and obviously perfect for each other.

"Sit," he gestured to the bike. And when the girl turned to him with the same blank look in her eyes, Bucky merely huffed in annoyance. He picked her up and deposited her on the seat as if she weighed nothing. And she didn't. He ignored her shouts of protest and sat in front of her.

"Where's your helmet?" She sounded worried for him.

Bucky laughed. "I don't need one."

"Yes, you do," she chastised him. "You could die."

"I'm a super soldier," Bucky said as an answer.

"Even super soldiers die," the girl retorted.

"I won't die," Bucky responded blandly before revving the engine. "Hold on tight."

"I am not touching youuuu..." The girl ended her sentence with a sudden shriek when Bucky unexpectedly released the throttle and speedily drove away. Her arms wrapped around his torso in a vice-like grip, and she hid her face in his jacket. "Oh, God!" she screamed. "Oh, my God!"

She took her flailing legs and tried wrapping them around Bucky's hips, which made him laugh in surprise. She was holding onto him like a koala bear, all while screaming bloody murder in his ears. Her nails dug sharply into his chest, but he ignored the sting. He couldn't wait to see her face once they stopped.

And eventually, they did. Bucky parked his bike in the back and told the girl to get off, which, of course, she didn't do. He got up anyway, taking her with him, though she didn't let him go once he was standing.

Bucky tapped on the hand around his shoulder. "You can let go now. It's safe."

The girl obediently unwrapped herself from his body, falling indiligently to the ground.

"See?" Bucky smirked. "We didn't die."

"Oh my God," she groaned, shaking on the ground. "I can't feel my legs."

Bucky laughed, extending his metal arm towards her, which she took without complaint. "Let's try again," he suggested once she was steady on her feet. "I'm Bucky."

The girl told him her name, and he repeated it with a smile. "I still don't like you," she said.

"The feeling's mutual, doll." And if she blushed at the pet name? Well, Bucky simply chose to ignore it.

He was on his third beer, a shame, really, since he couldn't feel it. But Bucky had developed a liking for the taste. It reminded him of better times. Before the war, and before his life completely changed.

Sam plopped down on the chair next to Bucky, a happy but tired smile on his face. Bucky turned to Sam and took a s'more from his outstretched hand, biting into the gooey center with a groan. "Man, this is good. I can't remember the last time I had one of these."

"Probably before Christopher Columbus discovered America."

"That's not funny, Sam," Bucky frowned. "Besides, everyone knows the Clovis people got here first, twenty thousand years ago."

"I didn't know that!"

"Because you're stupid," Bucky retorted.

"Whatever," scoffed Sam. He slid down in his chair and muttered "nerd" under his breath.

Bucky was preparing a retort when something caught his eye. The girl was playing with AJ and Cass, trying to catch them as they ran around the fire. Bucky cracked his knuckles and prepared to confront Sam. "You're really mean, you know that?

"Why? Because I called you a nerd?" Sam scoffed. "Well, it's true."

Bucky shook his head and levelled Sam with a glare. "Because you didn't tell me you're getting married."

A long silence followed. "Who's getting married?"

"You are!" Bucky exclaimed. "I didn't even know you had a girl."

"Because I don't!" Sam straightened. "And I'm not getting married."

"But—" Bucky was at a loss for words, then a thought struck him. "Holy shit, Sam! Don't tell me you—" Bucky leaned forward, lowering his voice considerably. "You slept with a married woman!"

Sam's face screwed up. "What the fuck are you talking about? I didn't sleep with anyone!"

Bucky was stunned, realizing a moment too late that he had completely misread the situation.

"Start from the beginning," Sam urged. And so Bucky told him what happened that morning, how the girl came down half-dressed and wearing his shirt. Bucky thought she was a one-night stand until he saw the ring in her purse, and Sam brought her back to his house.

"So, she's not your fiancé?"

"No! She's like a sister."

"But you call her Baby Girl!"

Sam rubbed his temples. "Everyone calls her that. Listen," he sighed, "maybe I should've introduced the two of you before, but I was overwhelmed by seeing her after so long. Besides, I didn't think you would start jumping to conclusions!"

Bucky rubbed his neck in embarrassment. Perhaps he was too quick to assume the girl was Sam's significant other. But if she wasn't involved with Sam, then who exactly was she?

The girl was sitting across from Bucky and Sam on the other side of the fire pit, nibbling on a s'more. The two men watched her as they talked.

"Her family lived in the plot behind ours. They were good people."

"Were?" Bucky questioned, feeling like there was more to the story.

Sam seemed to dissociate for a moment as if he were somewhere else. "Eleven years ago, my dad woke me up in the middle of the night and told me to run to town and wake as many folks as possible. There was a fire down the street, and the trucks had broken down on the highway."

Bucky tensed, hating the direction the story was taking.

"The smoke was so thick I was choking on it from a block away. Over half the house was up in flames by the time I got back. Three men went in and came right out not a second later. Folks were throwing bucketfuls of water to try and contain it, but I remember thinking that was useless. It's like the flames had a mind of their own."

It was then that Bucky accidentally made eye contact with the girl. She frowned at the intense look on his face, jerking her head as if to ask, "What?"

"What happened next?" Bucky asked without removing his gaze.

"I went towards the back, where the fire wasn't as strong. The upstairs window was wide open, and I found Baby Girl lying on the ground with twisted legs and blood oozing from her head." Sam scoffed a laugh, though there was no humour behind it.

Bucky's jaw dropped. "She jumped?"

Sam shook his head. "We found out later that her brother pushed her. My entire family was at the hospital when we broke the news that she was the only survivor."

"Shit." Baby Girl was glaring daggers at Bucky now, though he couldn't take her seriously. Melted chocolate dripped down her chin, and her hair was mussed from the wind. Bucky imagined her eleven years younger, wide-eyed and trembling as her life crumbled around her. He recalled her comment from that morning. "Fire is a painful way to go." "No one deserves to die like that." He looked away.

"She's acting like you're keeping her hostage," Bucky remarked.

"I might as well be," Sam grumbled. "She's dying to go back to New York, and she won't give me a proper reason why."

When Bucky looked back at the girl, she was chatting with Carlos Thurow, seemingly pleading with him. She waved her broken phone, and Bucky could see the cracks on the screen glinting from where he sat. Baby Girl slumped her shoulders in defeat when Carlos took his own phone out to show it had died.

Bucky felt a jolt in his chest as he watched the girl run her hands through her hair in frustration. Something was wrong.

Sam whistled beside him, waving Baby Girl over. The effect was immediate. Baby girl plastered on a shoddy smile, exaggerating a laugh as she waved back and made her way to them.

"You seem happy," Sam observed as the girl took the empty chair beside Bucky.

Bucky looked at Sam to see if he was joking. Sam was no spy, but didn't one have to be blind to not see how miserable Baby Girl looked under her fake smile?

"The party's very fun," Baby Girl answered. "It's—" guilt flashed across her features. "It's nice to see everyone after so long."

"Could've been sooner," Sam muttered.

"I told you I was busy!" she exclaimed. "I didn't have time to leave the city."

"But you won't tell me why," Sam countered. The fight seemed to leave his body, and he sighed. "I didn't call you over to argue with you. I won't bring it up again."

Baby Girl turned her nose to the sky in a way that made Bucky laugh. "You better not." And the conversation flowed smoothly from there.

Bucky offered her a beer, which she accepted with a smile, and the three laughed and joked about until tears ran unbidden down their cheeks. However, despite the mirth dancing in the air, Bucky could not ignore the lingering sadness in her eyes.

"You won't believe what this man asked me before," Sam guffawed, pointing accusingly at Bucky. "He asked if we were engaged!"

Laughter burst forth from mirth-kissed lips. "That's disgusting!" she managed between giggles. "What made you think that?"

Bucky felt flushed under her attention. "You were wearing Sam's clothes that morning," he explained sheepishly. "And I saw a ring in your purse."

Her face made a radical transformation. One moment, she was smiling in a way that made Bucky's heart flutter—the next moment, all pleasure seemed to drain away from her body, leaving her looking gaunt and haggard. Sam was too busy laughing at his untied shoelaces to notice the change in atmosphere, but Bucky felt the full force of it slam against his chest.

"I don't have a ring."

"But I—"

"No!" Her words seemed laced with desperation. Her sober eyes flicked toward Sam. "There was no ring," she stressed.

Bucky could see the hopelessness in her eyes. "Right," he muttered. "I must have been mistaken."

Sam, who had overcome his slight scramble with his shoelaces, sat upright. Inebriation laced his every move. "Right. But that made me think."

"That's never a good thing," Bucky interjected, trying to ease the lingering tension.

"Are you dating anyone? Sarah said she didn't know, but you can always tell me. Huh?" Sam teased. "Tell me. Who's the unfortunate bastard?"

Baby Girl's lips were a thin line, and Bucky anticipated the lie before she could open her mouth. "It's nothing like that. I'm not dating anyone." She finished the rest of her drink and immediately grabbed another.

"You can't lie to me," Sam wiggled his finger. "Come on, fess up. Whoever he is, he can't be worse than Beck."

Baby Girl froze, and Bucky's curiosity was piqued too much to ignore. "Beck?"

"Quentin Beck. Biggest asshole on the planet," Sam explained. "Beck and Baby Girl dated on and off in college. I would catch the bastard every other week with a different woman."

Bucky scrutinized the girl for a reaction, but she seemed to be holding her breath.

Sam began to pout like a child. "He always managed to win her over. At least I can die easy knowing they broke up before half the world blipped."

"He's not like that anymore," Baby Girl whispered to herself. Sam was too far to hear her, but Bucky had no such problem. "He's changed." She wrapped her arms around her body. "He's not like that anymore."

Bucky took in her dark under-eyes and trembling frame, her body sickly from stress. He believed her. Beck wasn't like that anymore. Perhaps he had moved on from his days of serial cheating and picked up a different hobby. Beck probably wasn't like that anymore, but he wasn't any better either.

The former spy suspected that Baby Girl was still involved with Beck. He observed her closely. Her eyes swirled with guilt, and her shoulders drooped in alarm. There was more to the story, but before Bucky could voice a question, Baby Girl stumbled onto unsteady feet. She swayed back and forth, betraying her inebriation, and Bucky reached over to keep her from falling.

Baby Girl pushed his hands away. "I'm tired," she croaked. "I'm going to bed." And she staggered away, bumping into people as she disappeared into the house.

Bucky relaxed back in his seat with a tired sigh. On his left, Sam was passed out over the arm of his chair, mouth open in a loud snore. Bucky craned his neck back and stared openly at the night sky. Stars twinkled brighter here than they did in the city. Everything was more serene and calm. However, since Baby Girl arrived, Bucky couldn't help but sense a slight shift in the air, as if the wind knew her secrets and was trying to warn them. One thing was made clear. It wouldn't be pretty.

It felt oddly like déjà vu. A light clambering of feet roused Bucky from his half-sleep, and as always, it took a second for him to make sense of his surroundings. He was on Sam's couch.

The steps were hesitant and controlled—so not AJ and Cass. Excitement and a sugar overload had kept them up late, and they wouldn't wake until a few hours later. Bucky was proven right when a lone woman descended the steps instead of two boys.

She looked a lot better than the last time he had seen her. Freshly showered and reasonably presentable in her own clothes this time—not Sam's. She hadn't seen him yet, so Bucky took the opportunity to observe her a moment longer. Her under-eye area was still dark, though not as sunken as before, and she carried an air of determination around her.

"Good morning," Bucky broke the silence.

Baby Girl shrieked, seemingly slipping over nothing. She tumbled backward, falling in an indelicate heap onto an armchair. "God above!"

Her vocabulary was steadily expanding.

Bucky sat up, regarding her with a guilty expression. "Sorry."

"I forgot you were still here," she mumbled sheepishly, straightening herself into a more respectable position.

There was a moment of awkward silence where neither acknowledged the other.

"I was wondering..." the girl started.

"Yeah?"

"Could I borrow some money? I didn't bring enough with me from New York."

"Uh, sure," Bucky replied, grabbing his wallet from between the couch cushions. "How much do you need?"

Baby Girl looked down at her hands, tracing lazy lines on her palm. "One grand?" she grimaced.

Bucky looked at her with wide eyes. "What do you need a thousand dollars for?"

"I can make do with less!" she rushed to explain. "I can try stretching an eight hundred," she murmured. "But a new phone would be too expensive, and I'm not sure I can find a cheap last-minute flight."

"Excuse me?" Bucky exclaimed. He was fully awake now, leaning forward to hear her better. "What was that about a phone and a flight?"

Her guilty eyes met his confused ones. "I broke my phone," she explained, "so I need a new one. I also need to get back home, so I need to buy a plane ticket."

Bucky eyed her skeptically. "I thought you were staying."

"I changed my mind," she dismissed with a shaky wave. "I already went over it with Sam."

Bucky knew for a fact she was lying. She wouldn't even meet her eyes. "Is that what he would say if I asked him?"

"Of course!" she proclaimed. But Bucky could hear the hesitance.

"Okay. I'll go ask Sam." Bucky made to get up, but as predicted, the girl stopped him.

"Wait! Don't!"

Bucky sat back down with a satisfied smirk. "You're a sneaky little thing."

"Don't tell Sam," Baby Girl pleaded. "I'm sorry I lied. I didn't have another choice. He locked my credit card. Otherwise, I wouldn't be asking you for this favour."

"Hmm," Bucky hummed, crossing his arms and getting comfortable. "I'd be willing to help you—Only..." Bucky stressed when she tried to interrupt. "If you answer a few questions first."

Baby Girl mimicked Bucky's posture with a frown. "That hardly seems fair."

"I can always call Sam."

"Fucking fine," Baby Girl grumbled.

Satisfied by the flow of things, Bucky started his interrogation. "Why are you in such a rush to go back home?" Bucky asked, deciding to start small. He could tell Baby Girl was thinking hard about her answer, trying not to give too much away. She squinted her eyes as if it were putting strain on her. He decided she would make a horrible spy.

"I left in a hurry. I only planned a day trip. I don't have any clothes or money on me."

Bucky shook his head. "That's not what I asked."

Baby Girl glared at him. "I don't understand the question."

"What's waiting for you in New York? Do you have a job? A prior commitment? A boyfriend?" Bucky stretched that last word, giving the girl a smirk.

"I don't have a boyfriend," she frowned.

"Fiancé, then," Bucky concluded. "I saw that ring in your purse." He suddenly leapt forward, grabbing Baby Girl's left hand and pulling it toward him to inspect.

She initially squeaked a protest but stayed still as he prodded her ring finger with his eyes. "Tan line," he observed, and she snatched her limb back, throwing the most menacing glare she could manage toward him.

"No fiancé," she hissed.

"I don't believe you," Bucky shrugged. "Job, then? What do you do?"

It took too long for her to answer, making it obvious she was concocting a lie in her head. "I work in the... customer field. Where I work with customers."

If Bucky wasn't on the verge of laughter, he might've cringed from the secondhand embarrassment.

"And... books." She was obviously lying. Even she didn't believe what was coming out of her mouth.

"I think my cat might be a better liar than you," He remarked drily.

The girl huffed but stayed silent.

Bucky decided to try a different tactic. "What year is it?"

The girl regarded him strangely. "2024."

"How many sides does an octagon have?"

"Eight."

"What's Sam's last name?"

"Wilson."

"Who was Iron Man?"

"Tony Stark."

"What colour is the sky?"

"Blue."

"Who locked your credit card?"

"Quentin Beck."

Bucky laughed. The girl stared at him, horrified. She gaped at him like a fish, only managing to make senseless sounds. "Y-you—w-what!"

Bucky laughed harder. "I told you that day. You seem smart, but not that smart."

"How dare you!"

"Last question. Does your boyfriend know you're here?" If looks could kill, Bucky would be dead. He raised his arms in surrender. "I won't judge. And I won't tell Sam. I'm just trying to understand the situation so I can help."

Her glare slowly softened to fatigue. "No. He doesn't know."

Bucky bobbed his head. "I figured as much." He grabbed his unlocked phone and tossed it to her, assuming she would catch it. She didn't. The device smacked her in the chest before falling on her lap, which she stared at dumbly.

"Call him," said Bucky, standing up to stretch. "Let him know you're safe. Tell him no one kidnapped you, and he can unlock your card."

She opened her mouth to reply, but Bucky beat her to it. "I can't get you a plane ticket out of here, so this is the next best thing. You want to leave? Tell Sam about Quentin Beck, and he'll let you. He isn't that big of an asshole to keep you hostage here. There's hope for him yet." Bucky stepped out of the living room but turned around and stopped to add one more thing. "Sam's been different since you arrived. He's happier. You're all he talks about to anyone. Do him one last favour; stay the weekend, and don't choose that Quentin Beck guy over him." With that, Bucky strode to the bathroom to freshen up, missing the first teardrop.

His phone was returned to him an hour or so later, accompanied by an uncomfortable smile and words of gratitude. "I told him I'm safe, and no one kidnapped me."

"Is he mad?" Bucky asked.

"He's a little upset," she confessed. "Promise you won't tell Sam?"

"Only if you promise not to run away." They stared at each other for a long moment, daring the other to disagree.

"Fine," the girl finally conceded. Bucky gave her a stiff nod and turned to leave. "Wait!" she exclaimed urgently. "He's still upset. Just ignore any other messages from him, okay? He should cool down after a while."

Bucky looked into her eyes. She was beautiful and unsuspecting looking. Fiery and transparent. He scrutinized her for deceit and instead found veiled resignation. He agreed and went to the backyard, leaving her in the kitchen.

It was an especially hot day, and there was much to do. Sarah wanted to landscape the back garden, and Bucky had volunteered. He didn't know the first thing about construction, but the boys had recently introduced him to YouTube, a magical place with the answers to all his questions. Bucky began to work, moving piles of dirt, levelling the uneven ground, and placing heavy slabs of concrete to form a pathway from the back porch to the lake.

Hours later, Bucky finished with the last slab of concrete, moving further away to admire his work. There was more to finish, but Sarah would be happy with his progress. Bucky wiped his brow, groaning at the sticky feeling of sweat dripping down his neck.

He grabbed his phone from the table on the porch to check the time, surprised at the number of notifications waiting for him. Bucky was by no means popular. The only person who contacted him somewhat regularly was Sam, but these notifications were all from the same unknown number. Bucky realized with a start that the barrage of missed calls and messages he was being attacked with were probably all from Quentin Beck.

Curiosity grabbed hold of him. He did promise the girl he would ignore any messages from him, but really, this was excessive. What if something was wrong and Beck urgently needed to contact her? He tapped on the message icon without another thought.

Bucky froze when he read the latest message.

You're dead when I find you.

He immediately scrolled to the top, reading the conversation from the beginning to try and gain some context to the threat. The thread started with a long paragraph from the girl detailing her situation, followed immediately with an exhausted apology.

I'm so sorry, please don't be mad. I'll be back as soon as I can.

Where the HELL are you?

Sam was asking questions. I tried to leave, but he got suspicious. I'll be back in a couple of days. I'm sorry.

You shouldn't have fucking seen him in the first place. I warned you.

Sam's career is in my hands. It'll only take one call to ruin him. I fucking warned you to never go near him.

He's trouble. He doesn't care about you like I do. He doesn't love you like I do.

The messages got progressively worse, teetering on the edge of insanity. Promising pain and broken bones, blaming it all on her.

Why do you make me do this?

Typical narcissist behaviour.

You're dead when I find you.

Baby Girl hadn't seen any of the messages after her rushed apology, but Bucky had a feeling she wouldn't be surprised by them either way. He clutched his phone tight, taking deep breaths to calm himself down.

What a bastard. What a self-entitled, psychotic prick. Everything came into clear focus, painting a detailed painting for Bucky to observe. Her behaviour started making sense. The bags under her eyes, the lack of light in her irises, the unworn ring... the secrets.

He decided then that he wouldn't tell her about the messages if she asked. Bucky would wait for the right time tonight to bring up the topic of Quentin Beck as innocently as he could, and offer her his help. She didn't need to know the extent of Beck's threats against her life.

Plan laid out, Bucky made his way inside for a well-deserved glass of cold water when the back door swung open. Baby Girl walked out with two lemonades and a plate of sandwiches balanced between the crook of her elbow. Some lemonade spilled over her hand when she abruptly stopped ahead of him. Bucky took the drinks from her and placed them on the small table.

Baby Girl put the plate of sandwiches next to the drinks and proceeded to lick the spilled lemonade from her hands. Bucky swallowed thickly, feeling flustered at such an innocent act. "You good?"

"Yeah," she replied. "I made us lunch and lemonade. Figured you could do with something cool."

"Yeah," Bucky was suddenly parched. "It's a hot day."

Baby Girl sat down at the table and took a large sip of her drink. "Sarah and Sam went to run some errands in the city. Said they'll be back late."

"What about the boys?" Bucky inquired, sitting down and taking a sip of his own. He groaned as the cool drink washed over him.

"They're having a sleepover at the neighbours." She handed him a sandwich, which he took with a smile.

"So it's just us today," he said, aware that the perfect opportunity for a less-than-pleasant conversation had just presented itself.

"Yup, just us."

An awkward silence fell over them, broken occasionally by the sound of chewing.

"The yard looks nice," Baby Girl blurted.

Bucky turned his neck to observe his handiwork. "Thanks. Still a lot to be done."

"You must be tired."

Bucky shrugged. "Not really. The heat is worse than anything else."

"Is that because of the serum?" she asked, immediately flushing with embarrassment. "Sorry! That's so insensitive of me. And it's none of my business."

"You're good," said Bucky. "I don't mind. Yeah, it's because of the serum. My stamina's through the roof."

"Wow," she admired.

"Could've been real handy with the ladies, back in the forties." Bucky flushed at the silence that followed. "During the war, I mean!" he corrected. "I could've used the stamina during the war."

The girl finished her lemonade in one long sip. "Right, of course."

"For battle. On the battlefield." Bucky finished his own drink, then stuffed another sandwich in his face to keep from further embarrassing himself.

Bucky's phone lit up with a notification, and the girl flicked her eyes toward the screen. "It's my neighbour," he told her. "He's looking after my cat."

Baby Girl visibly deflated. "That's nice," she smiled. "What's its name?"

"Alpine." Bucky decided this was as good a time as any to ask a few questions. "Listen, did you tell Quentin Beck where you are?" Bucky hated the scared look on her face.

"He knows I'm at Sam's," she started slowly.

Bucky took a deep breath and willed his expression to remain neutral. "Does he have an address?"

She shook her head in denial, and only then did Bucky find himself relaxing. He wouldn't need to worry about Beck showing up announced, which gave him more time to come up with a proper plan.

"I'm gonna take a dip," Bucky gestured to the lake. "Wanna join?"

"Maybe later."

Bucky stood up with a shrug. "Suit yourself." And he took his shirt off with one pull.

He felt Baby Girl's stare burning through his skin as he jogged toward the small lake, discarding his pants along the way. He entered the water in a running dive, letting gravity pull him to the bottom before kicking away and breaking the surface with a loud whoop. His body temperature slowly stabilized as he ran laps along the perimeter. He could still feel her stare as he stopped to tread.

"The water's amazing!" he yelled. "Join me!"

She threw her arms in the air. "I don't have a bathing suit."

Bucky floated on his back, arms crossed behind his head. "Who cares?"

After a moment's hesitation, Baby Girl laughed. "You're right. Who cares?" She grabbed the hem of her top and lifted it over her head, revealing a white camisole underneath. She stopped near the edge of the lake, fixing Bucky with a faux glare. "Well, turn around. You're crazy if you think I'm undressing in front of you."

Bucky smirked at her teasing nature and turned away, listening for a splash. After a moment, the water rippled, followed by a shrill scream. "Can I look?"

"Go ahead." Baby Girl laughed when Bucky whipped his head, sending a stream of water flying her way from his hair. "Damn, the water's cold."

"Feels good, though."

"Yeah."

They settled into a comfortable silence, floating on their backs and sneaking glances at each other. Her white camisole had turned see-through, giving Bucky a delicious glimpse of her skin and pale blue bra. He averted his gaze, trying to calm his racing heart.

"I'll miss this when I'm gone," said Baby Girl softly. "The peace and quiet."

"You don't have to leave," Bucky urged. "You could stay."

She turned to face him. "I can't," she replied sadly.

"You're scared for Sam," he observed, remembering the texts. "Why? He's the fucking Falcon. He helped defeat Thanos. Beck is nothing compared to that."

The girl's eyes widened in alarm. "How do you know that?"

Bucky didn't tell her he read the messages. He would've come to the same conclusion sooner or later. He ran his hand through his wet hair. "I used to be a spy." He fixed her with a pointed look. "And you're a horrible liar. Seriously, you are worse than my cat."

She huffed but didn't argue. After a moment of silent contemplation, she settled on her back and regarded him doubtfully. "Quentin has connections with the CIA, FBI, NSA, and Homeland Security. Any government official out there, he's probably on a first-name basis with them." Her face contorted in pain. "He could ruin Sam's life with a single phone call. I swore I would never give him a reason to."

Bucky's jaw clenched tightly. "What's the worst that bastard could do? Sam knows people too."

"Not enough. He could pin a drug charge. It wouldn't even have to stick. The bad press would be enough to ruin Sam's reputation."

"That's illegal," Bucky pointed out dangerously. Quentin Beck was turning out to be worse than Bucky imagined.

"He doesn't care about that when it comes to me," she dismissed. "Quentin can do no wrong when it comes to love."

"That's not love!" Bucky snapped, losing the last of his patience. They were floating dangerously close to one another, elbows brushing.

"Regardless. There's nothing to be done."

"You could stay," Bucky implored. "I'd keep you safe."

They were even closer now, both on their backs, faces turned toward the other, lips dangerously close. For a moment it looked like she might say yes. She opened her mouth to reply, but the sound of a car door slamming shut interrupted her.

"That must be Sam," she said, and the moment was broken.

Bucky moved first, swimming to the deck to grab his discarded pants. "I'll give you some privacy," he said, dragging the fabric up his legs. He left without another word.

Incessant knocking at the front door stopped Bucky in his tracks. Sam always carried a key. Bucky dropped his shirt and went around the house to the front. The car parked in the drive was unfamiliar and out of place. Sleek and shiny and black. Expensive. The man waiting impatiently at the door looked more out of place than the car. Dressed in a gray suit, brown loafers, and black shades, the man looked like he belonged on the cover of a real estate advertisement.

"Can I help you?" Bucky snapped, feeling on edge.

The man lifted his shades to regard Bucky with a look of contempt, eyeing his exposed chest and metal arm with barely concealed disgust. "Yeah, maybe you can. Is this the Wilson residence?"

"Depends on who's asking."

"A friend," the man replied.

"Funny. I didn't know Sam had any friends."

"That's because I'm not Sam's friend," he scorned. "I'm looking for a girl."

Bucky inched closer to him. "I know lots of girls," he quipped.

The man smiled dangerously. "I'm looking for a very specific one. Yay high, unchecked temper, tendency for trouble."

Bucky laughed without humour. "Doesn't narrow much down, buddy. I'm gonna have to ask you to leave."

"You must be the Winter Soldier," the man mused.

"I go by James Barnes," Bucky snapped. "You must be Quentin Beck." Bucky had recognized him right away.

Quentin Beck spread his arms in a wide gesture. "The one and only. I suppose she told you about me."

"She didn't have to. I can smell a bastard from a mile away."

Beck clenched his fists, face contorting nastily, and stepped forward. "You little—"

Despite the sweltering heat, Bucky felt a coldness wash over him. His advanced senses picked up on footsteps coming from around the back. His head whipped to the side just as the girl rounded the corner. She wore jeans and nothing else, her white camisole still wet and slightly see-through. Bucky watched with dread as she took in the sight in front of her, blinking confusedly. The colour slowly drained from her flushed cheeks, and she froze as her brain caught up with her eyes.

"Sweetheart?" Beck's demeanour rapidly changed, and he stalked forward with his hands raised non-threateningly. "I've been looking everywhere for you."

Bucky blocked his path with a glare.

When Beck noticed her state of undress, he became angry, clenching his fists at his side. He noted Bucky's bare chest, his low-hanging jeans, and the girl's see-through top. "What the fuck is going on here?" Beck demanded.

When he fixed his icy glare on her, she reanimated, staggering back with a loud gasp, Baby Girl tripped over a rock but continued scooting backwards as she fell over. The raw fear emanating from her was enough to undo Bucky. Bucky shoved Beck as hard as he could—without using his super strength—and slammed him against his car.

"Motherfucker," Beck hissed, clutching his side.

"I suggest you leave before you really piss me off," Bucky threatened, stalking closer.

Beck staggered away, putting his car between them. "Not without my fiancé," he seethed.

"Fiancé, huh?" Bucky turned toward the girl. She was still on the ground, carefully watching the scene with wide eyes. He waited until she looked at him, then gave her a soft smile, silently urging her to trust him. "Are you his fiancé, Baby Girl?"

She jerked her head in denial. "No."

"There you have it. You heard the lady." Bucky's voice lowered dangerously. "Now leave. Before I make you leave."

"She's lying!" Beck screamed. And Bucky got the impression he was used to getting his way. "I gave her a ring."

Bucky had cornered Beck against the hood of his car and was looming dangerously over his crouched figure. "I don't see any ring. Now leave!"

Beck unlocked the car, jerking open the driver's side and inelegantly lumbering in. "This isn't over yet, Winter Soldier," he spat, and with one last seething glare toward the girl, he sped off.

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thelostmagicians · 1 year ago

Text

Booksmart | Steve Harrington

Summary: Steve Harrington’s head may be full of air, but his heart is full of love. [4.4k]

Fluff, comfort, slight angst, insecure Steve

♡

Steve Harrington isn’t a genius. He barely passed his classes in high school, couldn’t get into college, and can barely keep his minimum wage job. He’s been belittled by his parents too many times to care about their opinion and he knows compared to his friends he isn’t as clever or witty, but he’s okay with it - at least he thinks he is. It might sting when Robin and Eddie tease him for being too slow or when Dustin sighs in frustration because he can’t keep up, but the ache dissipates when they look at him in adoration.

He blames his failing love life on his lack of intelligence. Although girls find his himbo-ness endearing, his relationships never last long. Most of the dates he goes on end up as dirty hookups in the backseat of his car and on the off chance a girl stays longer than a month he can slowly see the irritation replace the endearment in her eyes. He was just something to do during the inbetween phase of graduation and moving out of Hawkins, a trophy to conquer - to finally have slept with the previously known King. He used to be okay with that at the beginning, he got his needs met while girls crossed him off their list, but over time he craved more. He saw how Nancy looked at Jonathan, how Joyce laughed with Hopper, and how Robin blushed around Vickie. He was desperate for that feeling of being wanted and loved.

Even though he's surrounded by people who love and accept him as he is, he can't help but wonder if things would’ve been different if he was just a little smarter.

“Robin I’m telling you she started speaking a different language halfway through dinner,” Steve grumbles as he’s shelving the horror section.

Robin rolls her eyes at him, “Just because you don’t understand the words she’s using doesn’t mean she was speaking a different language, Steven. I don’t even think she knows anything but English.

Steve sighs under his breath.

He had gone on another date last night, but didn’t even make it past the appetizers before he made up an emergency and left. The night started off great, the Indiana summer evening had a cool breeze, he opened the door for her, and was rewarded with a kiss on his cheek when he presented her with flowers. Valerie had been nice, beautiful, and smart - maybe a little too smart for Steve. Don’t get him wrong, Steve loves strong, smart, and capable women. He loved hearing Valerie speak about physics and graphing linear equations, he loved learning about what interested her, but as the night went on he could see the light in her eyes fading as he kept asking her questions. The final straw had been when he told her he hasn’t read a book since high school and she laughed lightly before saying “you really are only a pretty face.”

“Maybe, I’m just destined to be alone, or like a back up plan for girls who come back to Hawkins after giving up on their big city dreams.”

Robin sighs and gives him a reassuring pat, “Steve, you’re a good man. You’ll find your one, trust me on this.”

Before he can say more the bell jingles as a gust of hot air is let in. Steve groans as he spots Dustin’s mop of curly hair and hears the chatter of 6 other teens. He holds the door open with his arm as he sees Lucas struggling with Max’s wheelchair.

“You guys can’t keep coming in here, Robin and I actually have work to do you know.”

“We wanted to pick a movie for movie night,” Max says.

He sighs softly as he meets her eyes. Steve’s always had a soft spot for Max ever since they’ve met and it’s only gotten softer since then, everyone knows this, but the kids tend to take advantage of this and use Max to get their way.

“Alright two movies max and no rated r ones.”

As he hears the bell jingle again he starts his greeting in a monotone voice, “Welcome to Family Video, my name is St—” he chokes.

“Oh my god, are you okay?” you ask softly.

He’s still coughing and panting slightly as he tries to give you a reassuring nod. Robin makes her way to the front to hand Steve some water and finish introductions.

“What he means to say is his name is Steve and I’m Robin. You can come get us if you have any questions.”

You nod politely, finally tearing your gaze away from Steve as you start browsing through the racks. Steve, however, can’t seem to stop looking at you. He’s seen a lot of beautiful women in his life, but none of them held a candle to you. Everything about you was just perfect to him and he didn’t even know you yet. His eyes repeatedly traced the slope of your nose, down to your plush lips, and back to your furrowed eyebrows as you read the back of a tape.

You lift your head up and he blushes as you make eye contact.

“Do you have any recommendations for sci-fi, I just moved to town and need something to keep me from getting bored?” you ask shyly.

“Err- We have a sci-fi section over there” Steve points to the rack behind him where the kids are gathered and quietly arguing over which movie to pick.

You speak as you make your way over, “Yeah, but do you have any recommendations for me? I feel like I’ve seen all the good ones already.”

Steve's face falls as he tries to come up with an answer.

“Have you seen Star Wars?” Dustin speaks up

Max and El groan loudly as you shake your head.

“I tend to stay away from franchises, but what’s it about?”

Before Dustin can answer, Mike beats him to it, “It’s about galactic adventures of these characters, it’s pretty cool.”

“We were planning on watching it tonight, we always have movie nights at Steve’s on Friday. You should join us!” Dustin exclaims as he tries to shoot Steve a sly wink.

Your eyes grow wide at the sudden invitation as Steve rests his head in his hands too embarrassed to speak.

“Is that alright with you, Steve?” You ask kindly.

Steve’s breath hitches as he hears you say his name, he slowly meets your gaze as he gives you a slight nod trying to avoid choking on air again.

Robin smirks at Steve as she hands you a post-it, “Here’s Steve’s address. Movie starts at 7 and bring as many snacks as you’d like!”

You grab the post-it and shoot everyone a small wave “I’ll see you guys then!”

Steve feels like he can finally breathe after he hears the soft slam of the door behind you.

“I can’t believe you would do that, just invite a stranger to my home like that,” Steve groans as he fixes his hair, again, in the hallway mirror. He glances down at his polo debating if he should change his shirt for the fourth time.

“Steve, she agreed to come while seeing you in a Family Video vest, I don’t think your outfit is what you should be worried about,” Jonathan teases him as he passes him a coke.

Steve shoots him a sarcastic smile before checking his watch. It’s 7:02, you should’ve shown up 2 minutes ago and he’s a nervous wreck. He sees your headlights before anyone else does and trips over Will’s backpack as he waits to open the door on the very first knock.

“Sorry I’m late, the petit fours took longer than expected.” You smile at him holding out a large container filled with small cakes.

He gives you a confused look too embarrassed to ask what petit fours are, so instead he takes the container and waves you in.

“What brings you to Hawkins?” Eddie asks.

“I actually came here for work, Hawkins laboratory needed another scientist to look at all the crazy stuff that’s happened here.”

Everyone basks in the uncomfortable silence as you mention the lab before Nancy speaks up, “You work as a scientist? You seem pretty young.”

You hesitate slightly, folding your hands in your lap, “I am young, but I graduated college at 16 and recently got my PhD and my advisor recommended me for this job, so here I am.”

Steve’s heart falls to his stomach, you were a genius, a child prodigy of some sort and you’ve accomplished so much at such a young age. There was no way you would even be slightly interested in him, but part of him was willing to take that risk - be okay with whatever you spared him because it was better than not having you in his life at all.

The movie is ignored as everyone pays more attention to you and your genius-ness. He hears voices all at once but all he can focus on is yours. The way your laugh ends in a higher pitch than it starts in, the way you softly reassure Nancy that college isn’t hard, but his favorite is when you say his name when you ask for his opinion on the theories the kids present to you. It makes him feel important like you care about what he has to say and you value his thoughts just as much as you would anyone else’s.

Steve might’ve only met you today, but he was already enamored. You might’ve knowingly opened the door only to Family Video, but you also unknowingly opened the door to his heart and started to fill every corner of it with you.

Steve doesn’t think he’s read this much in his entire existence as he has this month.

The first thing he did the morning after movie night was go to the library and check out as many books as he could about everything that sounded smart. He’s inhaled almost every book on poetry (specifically Shakespeare), astrophysics and European history. You’ve come to every movie night since the first one and you try your best to visit Family Video after work just to chat with Steve and Robin. He was slowly falling in love with you and he wasn’t going to let his dumb brain be the reason he lost you. He forcefully read every book from cover to cover, prying his eyes open with the memory of your impressed smile anytime he fell asleep. He’s made countless flashcards and pesters Robin to quiz them during their shift.

After two months of revising and memorizing he thinks he finally finds the courage to ask you out. You’re the last one to leave tonight, helping Steve clean up after everyone either left or claimed a spare room.

Steve’s hands are clammy as he ties the trash bag into a pretty bow, “I was wondering if… I mean you don’t have to… but umm, like if you wanted to go out. With me, I mean.”

Your eyes trace his face as you clench the empty red vines wrapper, “You mean like a date?”

Steve nods, unsure of your reaction. Part of him hopes you’ll say no and put him out of his misery, so he can finally stop learning, but a bigger part of him hopes you’ll give him a chance.

Your lips upturn in a shy smile as you fiddle your thumbs, “Yeah, I’d like that a lot. What did you have in mind?”

“How about next Friday, we ditch the losers and have our movie night? I’ll pick you up at 7 and we can catch a movie?”

You respond with a quick kiss on his cheek as you grab your purse and head out. Steve rests his head on the back of the door as he pumps his fist in the air and tries his hardest to not wake Robin and Eddie with his cheering.

You’re nervous as you pace in front of your door. Steve makes you nervous, but you don’t hate the feeling. You’ve never felt this way about a boy before, boys always had a competition with you, a majority of your dates ended up with the two of you trying to up each other with accomplishments, but with Steve everything is different. Even though the facts he tells are wrong, it was still endearing to watch him try.

You’re broken out of your thoughts with a knock on your door. You smooth down your dress and look in the mirror once more before swinging the door open. Steve stands there in all his glory, hair perfectly done, snug jeans, and a bouquet of flowers covering his stupidly handsome face.

“These are for you,” he pushes the bouquet towards you with a surprise force that you have to step back to avoid them pressing into your nose.

“Thanks Steve, they’re beautiful.” You set them down gently at the nearby table mentally making a note to find a vase after you come back home.

He opens his car door for you, waiting until you’re settled in before jogging back to his side. “There’s a French movie playing tonight, I think it’s about Marie - Annette, you know the queen who liked cake?”

You giggle quietly but opt to ignore his mistake because he just looked too fucking cute with furrowed eyebrows and a nervous smile.

“And after the movie I was thinking we can stop by somewhere for a late night snack?”

You nod excitedly eager to finally spend time with him far away from the eyes of your prying friends, “I didn’t know you knew French?”

“Uh, yeah.”

The movie was… boring and bland. Steve didn’t understand anything happening so instead spent the entire time admiring you, the furrow of your eyebrows, the tilt of your head, and the gentle bite of your lip. He remembered you mentioning to Robin that you were fluent in French, so thought a foreign film would be a good idea for a first date, but now he regrets his choice especially since you spent the drive to the diner asking him questions about the movie. Questions he didn’t know the answer to. Steve has charmed his way through life, but he wasn’t sure how much longer his charm would last with you, he had an inkling that sooner or later you would be able to see through his facade and you would see him as a disappointment.

You had a hunch that Steve was lying about knowing French and your hunch was confirmed when his shoulders tensed as the ticket guy told him the movie didn’t have English subtitles. He played it off with a laugh and a wave of his hand, but you could tell it made him nervous. You thought the movie was alright, but your favorite part was feeling Steve’s eyes on you. You try to be mindful when asking him questions, keeping them vague and more about opinions rather than asking him questions that have a right or wrong answer. He responds as vaguely as possible, gauging your reaction to see if you’re pleased with his answer or if he needs to backtrack and fix his opinion.

Your conversation at the diner starts to get more personal as you ask each other about your likes and dislikes. You learn that Steve broke his arm learning to ride a bike, his favorite color is green, and he’s always wanted a dog. Everything you learn about Steve just makes you like him even more and the potential of falling in love with him makes you giddy with happiness. Your hands brush occasionally as you walk back to his car. He bites his lip hesitating to grab your hand as he peeks at you from the corner of his eye. You make the decision for the both of you and take a hold of his hand swinging both your arms as he blushes.

“You’re really cute Steve Harrington,” you say as you force him to face you before gently pushing your lips to his.

You spend every free time you have with Steve now. It’s been a month since your first date and since then you’ve gone out plenty of times and if you’re not physically together then you’re talking for hours on the phone. Steve’s able to open up to you more than he has to anyone else and it’s only been a few months of knowing you but he knows he’s in love, yet he can’t ask you to be his girlfriend. He does everything a boyfriend should do, calling you during breaks, kissing your bad days away, and hugging you just right when you’re on the verge of tears, but he still can’t find the courage to ask you to be his, officially.

You express your concern to Nancy and Robin at an impromptu girls night, thrown together after a rough week for all of you.

“I just don’t know why he won’t ask me, I always want to ask him myself before I see him, but then I lose my nerve. Maybe he doesn’t even like me like that and I’m just reading into things,” you whine as you smear a homemade face mask on Robin's face.

“Trust me, Steve is a goner for you,” Nancy replies as she squints to make sure her brushes on the nail polish perfectly.

“Nance is right, Steve is in love with you, but you just make him nervous.”

“I don’t understand why though, how do I make him nervous when he’s Steve Harrington,” you sigh dreamily.

Nancy and Robin giggle as they see the childish frown on your face. You push your face into a pillow whining into it like a petulant child.

Nancy rubs your back gently, “Look it’s not my place to say, but Steve isn’t the smartest tool academically. And you’re this child prodigy and that makes him nervous.”

Robin nods in agreement, ��Yeah, you do know he spent months reading all sorts of books just to impress you right? He isn’t actually as smart as he pretends to be. He just memorizes a bunch of stuff the days leading up to your date.”

You huff in annoyance, “Yeah, I knew that on our first date when he took me to that French film. But I don’t love him because he can tell me facts about the mesozoic era. I love him because he’s him.”

Nancy and Robin share a knowing look.

“You love him?” Robin whispers.

“What?”

“You just said you love him,” Nancy clarifies.

You breathe in deeply before letting it out, the weight of what you said finally sinking in. “Yeah, I do. I really do.”

Both girls squeal as they pull you into a hug, face masks and nail polish quickly forgotten.

You fall asleep that night knowing the next time you see Steve you’ll tell him. Tell him how much you love him and how he means to you.

Unfortunately for you and Steve, you aren’t able to spend any time alone lately. Work is crazy for the both of you and any time you have off it’s spent with the group. While you love spending time with your friends, you’re dying for a second alone with Steve. A second that only you both can cherish when you finally tell him how you feel.

You’re hoping you can finally catch a moment alone with Steve at the summer bonfire by Lover’s Lake. Almost every young adult in Hawkins comes out of hiding for this annual bonfire, usually thrown by college kids as a final hurrah before summer break is officially over. You hung out with Nancy and Robin for a while and meet some new people, but you’re aren’t able to find the one person you want to see. You finally spot him parking his car and hurriedly shoving his family video vest in the trunk, but before you call out to him you’re blocked by a freckled boy wearing a smug smile.

“Well if it isn’t the new genius of Hawkins,” the boy teases, voice filled with malice.

You smile politely, “I’m sorry you’re–”

“I’m Hagan. Tommy Hagan, surprised Steve hasn’t mentioned me considering we used to be the best of friends before he became a loser.”

You’ve heard about Tommy, mostly through passing from Nancy and Jonathan and based on Steve’s disgruntled face every time his name was mentioned, you decided Tommy Hagan wasn’t worth your time.

“How can I help you?” You ask in a monotone voice to show how disinterested you are.

Before Tommy can start you feel a pair of arms wrap around your waist and lips brush against the side of your head. You turn to see Steve’s grimace at Tommy before his eyes soften landing on you.

“Hi hon,” he whispers gently, his left arm moving from caressing your hip to soothing the ache in your shoulder.

“Hey baby.” For a second it’s just the two of you lost in each other’s eyes, you wonder if everyone else can see how lovesick you are for Steve. Before you can whisk him away for yourself Tommy interrupts again.

“Damn, Harrington. Didn’t think I’d see you go all soft again after what Wheeler did to you.”

You rolled your eyes at the mention of Nancy. It’s been years, both Steve and Nancy were over it, being happy for each other and supporting each other as friends. Yet everyone still brought it up because they had no other dirt on Steve.

“Didn’t know you were home for the summer Tommy,” Steve replies ready to end the conversation with his former friend.

At this point you see Jonathan and Eddie glancing from their spot near the fire. Both of them looking at Steve, silently asking him if he needed them. Steve shakes his head at them and squeezes your shoulder readying to lead you away.

“Yeah, summer is the only time I have off now. Between college and my internship. It’s hard out there man, but you wouldn’t know that, would you?” Tommy smirks knowingly as he pushes Steve’s buttons. He knows college has always been a sore spot for Steve especially since he was still stuck working at Family Video.

Steve grunts in response hoping his disinterest is enough to stray Tommy away from the both of you, but with Steve’s luck Tommy turns his attention to you.

“Surprised he can keep up with a genius like you sweetheart.”

You wrinkled your nose in disgust, the term of endearment turning sour coming from a mouth other than Steve’s.

Tommy continues to go on, swaying from the few too many drinks he’s had. “Did he tell you he barely passed high school? His dad complained to mine about how much of a disappointment he turned out to be. Can’t even get a job at his dad’s firm with the brain he has.”

Steve loosens his grip around your shoulder, cheeks flushing in embarrassment.

“You’re telling me your girl hasn’t caught on to the kind of screw up you are Harrington? You sure she’s a genius, or maybe you found someone that aligns with your IQ.”

At this point everyone is watching the words fly out of Tommy’s mouth, some snickering others shooting Steve looks of pity. Tommy Hagan is ripping him to shreds in front of everyone and yet all he can focus on is you. A look of disappointment mixed with frustration glazing over your otherwise sweet disposition. He sees his friends pushing their way through the crowd but before they could defend him he hears your honey like voice calling out for Tommy.

“What university did you say you go to, Tommy?” you ask sweetly.

“Indiana University of Business,” he smirks behind his beer.

“And I’m assuming your daddy paid for it? Cause you sure as hell didn’t get into school by your merit, considering you spent most of high school with your head so far up people’s asses that you couldn’t get enough oxygen to your brain. Hence, why you and your stupid ass are still playing into high school politics at your grown ass age.”

The smugness on Tommy’s face disappears.

“And what do you want to do with your future Tommy? Join daddy’s business? Turn out exactly like him? Cause last I heard he spends more time with his new family than he does with you. Maybe he finally got a child he actually loves.”

You knew it was a low blow, bringing up Tommy’s family issues, but you couldn’t care less. After everything he said to Steve, he had it coming and you only wish you were around in high school so you could’ve put him in his place earlier.

You heard a low whistle from Eddie, “Well guess the shows over folks. And looks like we have a clear winner.”

People start clearing out going back to mind their own business and you grab Steve’s arm leading him far away from Tommy’s frozen stance.

“Guess the secret’s out,” Steve mumbles.

“Huh?”

“Now you know I’m not really smart, so..” he trails off.

You smile, arms twisting around his waist pulling him close. “You know, I’ve met a lot of smart people in my life, but don't you dare, even for a second take Tommy’s words to heart. Because I know you, and I know that you’re the greatest person I’ve ever met.”

Steve pinches your chin, holding your gaze before whispering out a shy “yeah?”

You hear the insecurity laced in his voice as you nod fervently. “I kinda figured you weren’t as smart as you let on from our first date, but I said yes because even though you aren’t a brainiac you have a heart of gold. I see the way you take care of the kids, how you take care of your friends. And I love how you take care of me. I love you and everything about you, Steve Harrington.”

Steve blushes, his cheeks turn a rosy hue as he grabs your waist pressing his lips to yours in a kiss so sweet you think you’ll get a toothache.

“You really love me?”

“I really do.”

Steve presses another kiss before murmuring out an I love you against your lips.

Yeah, Steve Harrington is stupid. Stupidly in love with you.

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sturnioz · 2 months ago

Note

Wait I need to know how you see confident!reader and fratboy!chris first interaction‼️

you needed a new supplier—and you needed one bad.

your previous one, once reliable and always putting you at the top of their priority list, had left town; dropped out of university, packed up their shit and left town without a word, chasing some dream in a place far from here. it was a fucking joke.

you were pissed, as many of the others were too, and the urgent need for a high gnaws at you as a constant reminder as you move through the sea of bodies within the unfamiliar frat house, your nose wrinkling at the thick scent of sweat, cheap cologne and fruity perfumes.

you clutch a red solo cup in hand, the alcohol sloshing inside with each step, a temporary distraction as you search for your friend who had invited you in the first place, trying to find her bleached blonde head in the crowd.

when you finally spot her, she's leaning against the wall, her body angled toward a guy. she bites her bottom lip, fluttering her lashes at him as he speaks, completely captivated. he licks his lips, smirking, and he raises his eyebrow as he pulls a joint from his pocket and tucks it between her breasts in her dress, his fingertips grazing her skin, sending an surge of protectiveness through you.

your brows furrow at the sight and you move forwards, the sound of your platform block heels tapping against the floorboards as you make your way over, wrapping your talon-like nails around her arm to draw her attention away from him.

"everything okay?" you ask, your voice steady but laced with concern as your eyes dart to the guy for a moment, giving him a pointed once-over before returning to your friend. "are you okay?"

"yes!" she giggles drunkenly, her eyes sparkling as she wraps her arm arounds yours. "this is chris — he's the dealer everyone keeps talking about!"

dealer? that catches your attention, piquing your curiosity as you take a more scrutinizing look at him, but your eyebrow arches in scepticism as you notice how he sizes you up, head tilting tightly, a smarmy grin stretching across his lips.

"what are you looking at?" you challenge, your irritation bubbling, unable to hold back.

"you." chris replies, his smirk widening with amusement swimming in his gaze. "you need a new supplier or somethin', kid?"

your eyebrow arches again, "who are you calling 'kid'?"

chris leans back against the wall, a flicker of annoyance crossing his features as his tongue rolls across his teeth, almost as if he's weighing your words. he then sniffs, the action a clear indication that he's taken something previously. "s'what is it that y'want? got weed, coke, pills, m—"

"pretty bold of you to assume that i'll even buy from you in the first place," you cut him off, noting the way his nostrils flare at your challenge, and a smile dances on your lips. "what? not used to being rejected?"

"rejected," he echoes with a breathy laugh, scratching at his jaw in mock contemplation. "s'funny 'cos uh... you're still here," his gaze locks onto yours. "you got that look in your eye too, y'know. obviously want somethin'... 'n right now, it seems like m'your best shot, yeah? 'cos your friend told me all about your lil' dealer runnin' off."

you cast a sidelong glance at your friend, who beams at you, her intoxication evident as she sways slightly. you can't blame her — she's just as frustrated about the disappearing dealer too.

turning your attention back to chris, you find him grinning as if he holds some secret power over you.. you can't help but laugh.

"you do realise that you're not the only dealer on campus, right?"

"known to be the best one," he replies quick, his voice dripping with confidence as he leans in slightly.

"i've only ever heard of you today," you point out, a smirk slipping across your face as you catch the twitch of his jaw, his eyes darkening with irritation. "so, you can't be that good.. kid."

#ᯓ꒰asks꒱#ᯓ꒰anon꒱#☆ fratboy!chris #☆ confident!reader #☆ fratboy!chris x confident!reader #★ ⋮ sturniolo hours !#★ ⋮ chris hours !

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angelwings-crossbowstrings · 7 months ago

Text

We Were Built to Fall Apart and Fall Back Together

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader Setting: Alexandria (pre-Saviors war) Warnings: Typical TWD violence and gore; blood, injury, illness; allusions to self harm; canonical character death Summary: After Denise's death, you notice something is terribly off about Daryl, but he won't let you close enough to find out what. A/N: This novel was written for @darylssunshine and my lord, I'm worried that I got too carried away and that's just a ton of rambling and ooc Daryl. 😢

*gif is not mine

Something was wrong with Daryl.

You couldn’t put your finger on it, but you just knew he wasn’t himself. Well, completely himself. He was amped up and ready to fight, ready to take revenge. Everyone seemed to understand why. He had watched Denise die, harbored that guilt upon his own shoulders alone. He had conceded and let her go with him and Rosita. It was his fault that she had been taken from the community, taken from Tara. Of course, that wasn’t true. The blame lay solely on the Saviors, but Daryl was nothing if not self deprecating and stubborn. That—the willingness to take full responsibility, to beat himself down—was commonplace. However, there was something else.

Something in the way he communicated, a quieter tone than usual. Of course, no one else picked up on it. No one else spent 99% of their time with him. No one else had conversations with him in bed, heard him vent or laugh or just talk when everything else was still and quiet. Not like you. No one else heard the different octaves, the slight trembles. To everyone else, he was just talking.

Something in the way he carried himself. Daryl had a specific gait. Nearly silent footfalls when stealth or care was needed but in everyday activities, his boots pounded the ground. He walked with purpose, long and even strides. Not with a slight drag of his left leg. So minuscule that no one seemed to notice. Except you.

Something in the way he ate. Daryl had a healthy appetite. He shoveled food into his mouth like someone would take it from him at any moment. Maybe someone had before. He gave it up willingly when supplies were scarce and he feared the kids would do without. Supplies weren’t at a surplus but no one was starving, yet no one seemed to notice that Daryl wasn’t eating. No one except you.

You had reasons to worry that others had no way of being aware. Daryl wasn’t coming to bed at night. Two nights in a row. You found him on the couch the next morning. That was concerning in itself. Daryl up at the ass crack of dawn Dixon was still asleep when you came downstairs. Once he was awake, there was no conversation. Not a word spoken. He’d forego his coffee and anything to eat and just trudge out the door.

“So.” You leaned back against the wall next to him, narrowing your eyes when he moved to the side just the slightest bit.

“So?” He crossed his arms, hands tucked away in his armpits.

“What’s wrong with you?” You pressed, forcing yourself to keep your distance. He angled his head toward you but kept his eyes on the meeting.

“Ain’t nothin’ wrong with me.” He rasped in a whisper so quiet that you needed to lean closer to hear him properly. You answered with a simple mhm. There was no point in pursuing the conversation there.

“Has anyone taken inventory since—” Rick let the words filter out, dropping his head with a sniff. “Tara isn’t up for it but we need to know what we’re running low on and—”

“I can do it.” Carol volunteered, standing and smoothing her pants and shirt. “I’ll go now. We know there was quite a list when she—” Even Carol couldn’t seem to muster the words.

“Died.” Daryl finished, his voice rough. Everyone looked at him, a variety of expressions. “What? No one else seems to be able to say it. She was murdered. Killed. Dead.”

Rick was quiet for a moment, as were you, waiting for the next thing someone would say.

“That isn’t on you Daryl. It was the Saviors, and she wanted—”

“The hell it ain’t.” The archer snapped, pulling his body from against the wall with the slightest stagger. You squinted, surveying the room. No one noticed. Of course they didn’t. “I took ‘er out there. Knew better but did it anyway.” He was challenging them, daring anyone to try and take some of the weight of guilt from his shoulders. When no one spoke up, he tapped his fist against the side of his leg and stalked out of the room.

Then it was all eyes on you. A wordless game of who’s gonna check on Daryl was set in motion.

“I’ve got him.” You nodded and left the room. He wasn’t in the foyer and unlikely to be upstairs in a house that wasn’t his own, so you opened the door and traipsed down the porch steps. “Daryl?” A look to the left and then to the right revealed nothing but empty evening streets in Alexandria.

You knew almost everything there was to know about the archer. Including that if he did not want to be found, you would not find him.

You did the only thing you could. You sighed and headed home, hoping just maybe he’d be there, though the odds were against you.

The house was dark when you got there, which was nothing new. Even if he was home, he could move around in the shadows like a ghost. Opening the door, you stepped inside and closed it behind you, opting to leave the lights off for the moment.

“Daryl, are you home?”

Nothing.

Another sigh as you removed your boots and padded into the kitchen, this time, turning on the lights. Coffee would have been the better option but your nerves won out with their persuasive argument for alcohol. You had two bottles of wine that you used in cooking—well, that was the intended use.

Glass poured and book in hand, you turned off the light and perched yourself on the couch, lighting a candle to illuminate the words on the pages while you waited for him. Even if you fell asleep, you’d know if he came home. If the apocalypse had made you into anything, it was a light sleeper. You’d know the moment that door opened.

It never did.

When morning came without a trace of your boyfriend, you passed into another level of worry, the part where the scenarios came intruding upon your usually levelheaded thoughts.

What if he had gone after the Saviors alone? What if he had been hurt? What if he had been—

No. That thought, you simply refused to entertain. Boots on and weapons holstered, you stepped outside. Carol was walking toward your house, but before you could ask if she had seen the missing archer, she was looking up with a hand hovering over her eyes to block the sun. A glance toward you but she remained silent.

Jogging down the steps, you joined her, shielding your eyes and looking toward the roof of your house.

Daryl was perched there, knees drawn up with his arms wrapped around them. He was just watching the townsfolk move about without a word or movement. You worked your jaw back and forth to stifle the annoyance of having him above your head all night while you waited for him until the candle had burned out.

“I got this. Thanks, Carol. Did you need anything else?”

She was still watching her best friend but reluctantly turned to you. “We’re running low on nearly everything in the infirmary. Gauze, gloves, ointments, antibiotics, painkillers, and the meds some of the people need to manage health issues. Would you—”

There was a loud thud several feet away, Daryl straightening—staggering and tilting but yes, straightening—from his jump. “I got it. Make a list.”

“Daryl, maybe you should—” Carol started.

“Make a list.” Was all he said before walking up the steps and into the house.

You started to speak but the other woman was faster. “Something’s not right with him.” She had crossed her arms and was staring at your front door. “He isn’t eating. He’s walking differently and there’s something about his tone.” You blinked at her. “What? Just because you’re sleeping with him, you think the best friend doesn’t notice these things too?” Carol smiled, squinting against the sun.

“Touché.” You conceded with a nod.

“I’ll make the list but go with him. You and someone else. No matter what he says.” Her hand came to rest on your shoulder and squeeze.

“You know I don’t listen to what he says anyway.” You placed your hand over hers and brought it down with a squeeze of your own, separating as you walked toward your house.

Your bag was on a hook by the door, all unused necessities still inside. You merely needed to replenish and pack up some extra clothes. As your boot touched the bottom step of the staircase, you heard the tap begin to run in the kitchen. You carefully hung your bag on the banister post.

Rounding into the room, you found Daryl grasping the edge of the kitchen island, arms outstretched with his head hanging between them. His hair was draped like a curtain, shielding any view of his face. The glass he’d filled sat untouched in front of him.

As you approached, it became apparent that he hadn’t realized you were even in the room. That was beyond concerning. Daryl had an eagle eye and the hearing of an owl. He should have heard you the moment you entered the house.

“Daryl.”

He didn’t startle, just simply squeezed the countertop’s edge. “Take it you’re goin’ too.” He rasped, his words followed by a harsh sniff.

“Of course, I am.” You stepped closer and reached for his hand, your fingertips barely making it halfway before he moved. “Daryl, wait.”

“G’on an’ get ready. Wanna head out, maybe be back ‘fore dark.”

“Listen, I know someth—”

“Take whatcha need in case we gotta make it a overnight thing.” His own bag was on the hook beside where yours had been moments ago. Daryl snatched it as he opened the door and headed outside.

“Stubborn fucking mule.” You grumbled, jerking your bag from the post on your way up the stairs.

You had been in the car for 45 minutes and Abraham had not stopped talking. You loved the big red gorilla but sometimes, he needed several layers of duct tape over his mouth. From the way Daryl was massaging his left temple as he drove, you would need to find that tape or the other man would be riding in the trunk very soon.

��Really puts a burr in my saddle what they did to Denise.”

Shit.

Daryl’s hand tightened around the steering wheel, his knuckles going white. The fingers rubbing his temple clenched into a fist. His jaw tightened and ticked. Abe had already been grating his nerves and it seemed the other man had severed the last one completely.

Time to defuse.

You cleared your throat. “So, according to the map, we should take the next right.” With a grunt, the archer followed your directions.

By the time he shifted the car into park, your worry for his well being had reached a crescendo. His eyelids were drooping. A thin sheen of sweat was glistening on any patch of skin you could see. And when he opened the door, he put his boots on the ground and sat for a moment before grasping the top of the door to pull himself up and out.

Something was definitely wrong with Daryl.

He opened the back door and grabbed his bag, slamming it before Abraham could even blink.

“Alright, little lady. What seems to have his panties in a bunch?”

Maybe you really could find some duct tape.

“I have no clue.” You watched Daryl light a cigarette behind the car while he scoped out the strip mall for any signs of danger. Even while standing still, he listed sideways and struggled to right himself. “But it’s nothing good.”

“I’m gonna go on ahead. You check on your dreamboat. See if he needs to sit this one out.” The large man nodded, climbing out of the cramped backseat.

“Oh. Yeah. Right. Cause that’s gonna work.” Abraham just grinned at you and got a clear view of your middle finger in return. Your eyes settled on your archer once again, now leaning against the trunk much as he had the counter that morning. Abraham stopped without getting too close, cracking some joke that at least made himself smile before moving on. Daryl simply shook his head.

Your lips trilling, you finally opened the door and climbed out. Working your arms through the straps of your bag, you closed the car door and rounded the back as Daryl’s hand fell away from his stomach. He caught your narrowed gaze and grunted, pushing himself away from the car.

“S’get this over with.” He grumbled, stalking away at a slower than usual pace. You didn’t even have to walk briskly to catch up as you normally would.

“You—pulled a muscle?” You said in your best game show contestant voice. The man didn’t stop but his eyes slid over to regard you quizzically without turning his head.

“What?”

“You have a migraine?”

“Y/N.”

“Indigestion?”

“Stop.”

“Stubbed your toe?”

“Y/N.”

“A goddamn splinter in your left asscheek? Would you just stop and tell me what’s going on?!” You reached for his shoulder but he sidestepped straight into a graceless stagger, expression pinched and angry.

“Told ya already! Ain’t nothin’ wrong! Just wanna get this done so we can get back to focusin’ on those assholes that killed ‘er!” With a groan of frustration, he pulled his gun from the holster, but you didn’t miss the pain that flashed across his face. “Would ya just—just go that way? Ya got the list. M’gonna see if there’s anythin’ else we can use.”

“Daryl, I know you. Would you please—”

His arm straightened out past your head, pointing a finger on the direction Abe had gone. “G’on.”

Your nostrils flared but you spun on your heel and stomped away. The insufferable archer couldn’t possibly understand how well you knew him if he thought he was hiding anything by being a jerk. Daryl had three types of anger: angry, homicidal rage, and—the one you and everyone else saw the most—deflection. He would use the fear of provoking his ire to keep anyone from detecting that something wasn’t right, whether that be physical or emotional.

Daryl was grieving and guilt-laden. No one could ever make him feel worse than he could on his very own, but per your observations over the last couple of days, that wasn’t the entire issue. There was a physical ailment of some sort. Precarious steps, sweating, exhaustion, poor appetite.

Your stomps slowed to a crawl before your feet were just no longer moving. Abraham had caught sight of you by then, nodding that he had located the pharmacy, but you didn’t notice.

“Oh, my god.” He would have told you, right? You, of all people. There’s no way he wouldn’t have, he wouldn’t have risked everyone. You were already running back to the spot where you had gone your separate ways, the tall redhead’s boots pounding the pavement behind you, but Daryl was no longer there. Not that you thought he would have just stood there anyway.

“What’s all hubbub, bub?” Abe called from just behind you.

You didn’t answer. You continued to take corners and weave in and out of alleys between shops, your gun drawn but not even poised to aim. “Daryl?” You called near frantically. The groans and snarls of hungry corpses grew nearer, sending your heart pumping into overdrive. “Daryl?!”

Rounding into an alley, his name was on the tip of your tongue when a tight grip on your bag yanked you inside the door you had nearly passed right up. With a squeak, you made to raise your weapon only for an overly warm hand to push it back down.

“Y’soundin’ the dinner bell out there or somethin’? S’gotten into ya?” Daryl snapped in a harsh whisper. His face was inches from yours, his hand still folded over your own. His skin was on fire.

Oh god, no.

Abraham’s shadow blocked most of the light from outside the storage room, your words spilling into the shadows. “Daryl, are you bit?” His hand was snatched away as if you had slapped it.

“The fu—no, I ain’t bit. Y’think I wouldn’a told ya?” Daryl hissed, turning to head further into the building.

“I’m beginning to wonder.” You laughed wryly. He just kept walking. “Then you’re sick.”

There came a frustrated groan from the silhouette walking in front of you in the poorly lit area. “Give it a rest, would ya?”

“You have a fever. I felt it. You’re burning up.”

“S’my blood pressure hittin’ the roof cause you’re pissin’ me off!”

You bit your tongue when Abraham chuckled from somewhere behind you. “Who needs the good ol’ boob tube when you’ve got relationships in the end times?” You barely stopped yourself from aiming your gun at the man. There’s a time and a place was a concept with which Abe was drastically unfamiliar.

“Would you stop waking please? I know you’re sick or—or you’re hurt. Just talk to me. I only—”

“M’a grown ass man, Y/N! Don’t need ya tryin’a be my mama!” He grabbed the handles to a set of heavy metal doors, but didn’t try to open them yet. “Get on back an’ find the pharmacy. Gonna meetcha there.”

“Daryl—”

A large hand came to lay heavily on your shoulder, fingers squeezing with a tenderness that brought tears springing to your eyes. “Come on, chickadee. I think we should get on over to that pharmacy.” Daryl was still gripping the handles, his head bowed, the door remaining unopened. “Come on now.”

You swallowed hard with the first step back, wiping angrily at your eyes as you turned to push past Abraham. “Let’s get the shit and go home.” Stepping outside, you squinted against the sun and glanced to your right where the walkers shuffled by in the back alley. They hadn’t noticed you. When a solid thud sounded from behind you, there was no hesitation in rolling your eyes. “Jesus, Abe. Be quiet.”

“Wasn’t me.”

You twisted to regard him, finding thick eyebrows raised while he shook his head. “Daryl.” His name came out across a breath. You pushed past the large man for a second time and navigated through the dimness to where you had left the archer at the door. A dark heap laid against the bottom of the entryway, unmoving. “Daryl? Oh god, Abe!”

“Ssh. The walkin’ uglies are gettin’ closer. We should—oh, shit.”

You were already on your knees, feeling the dry heat of fever in Daryl’s skin when you took his face into your hands. He was no longer sweating; simply burning. “Daryl. Daryl, please open your eyes.” With frantic movements, you started patting him down, moving clothing to examine his skin. “Abe, the flashlight.”

The redhead scrambled to shrug off his bag and pull the device from the side pocket. He clicked it on. “What’s wrong with him?”

“Hold it steady.” Parting Daryl’s vest, you began unbuttoning his shirt. “Turn your head.”

“I’ve seen a man’s chest before, darlin’.”

“Turn your fucking head, Abraham!” You shouted, flinching when you heard a snarl that was much closer than the rest. “Give me the light please.” Your left hand held Daryl’s shirt closed, the buttons undone, while your right hand extended and gestured with urgency. “Please, Abe. Give me the light and go see how many there are—if you can handle them.”

He glanced between you and Daryl, obviously not understanding but did as you asked. Once he had walked out of sight, you lowered your head with a long exhale. Over the months you had known him, Daryl had allowed himself to feel less and less defined by his scars. That didn’t mean he wanted to parade them in front of everyone, even if the individual had already seen them. You and Carol seemed to be the only exceptions to that rule.

The flashlight held beneath your chin, you parted his shirt, the culprit for his symptoms staring you in the face. A bandage covered the lower left side of his abdomen. It was clean but the skin just around the edges was an angry red. Nostrils flaring, you peeled away the gauze and then let go, the tape resticking to small areas. The flashlight fell to the concrete floor.

“You are un-fucking-believable, Daryl Dixon.”

The bullet wound was still open, torn and gaping from his own success in removing the slug, lined with crusts of yellow and a sickly shade of green inside. You knew what this was, this was his punishment. For himself. The burns for Beth. An untreated bullet wound for Denise. He wanted to hurt until he made it right.

“Goddamn you.” You sobbed, removing the bandage entirely. Bowing over him, you let your forehead drop against his chest, shoulders shaking with tears you no longer cared to suppress. No. No, you couldn’t break down. Daryl needed help.

Abe wasn’t fighting. Aside from the distant snarls and scrapes of shuffling feet, you heard nothing.

“Abe?” You called as loudly as you dared, sniffling, your face wet with tears and snot. “Abraham?”

“I’m here, girly.” He appeared within your sight, gore-covered knife in hand. “Got the ones outside.

“He was shot. It’s—it’s infected.” You scrambled to close Daryl’s shirt and picked up the flashlight, the beam trembling. “Would you—I need to go to the pharmacy. We’ll need the meds—everything that’s there. Can you stay with him?” He was shaking his head before you even asked.

“I’m gonna take care of that pharmacy. Then we’ll load up tall, dark, and broody. We’ll go home and get him all fixed up, you hear me?” He called your name quietly and crouched down when you just kept staring at Daryl. “He’s gonna be just fine. He’s got you lookin’ after him.” Your wet gaze fought to meet Abraham’s, finally succeeding even as your eyes danced and darted in a valiant attempt to maintain it.

The inhale trembled just as harshly as the exhale. “Okay. Okay, take our bags, too. You’ll need the extra space. I’ll, um—I’ll barricade the door after you go. Shave and a haircut when you come back?”

“Two bits.” He grinned, rising to his full height. Your fingers grazed over Daryl’s jaw as you stood, loath to leave him for even that meager amount of time. Abe checked outside the entrance, each way, and turned around to walk backwards as you started closing the door. “If I’m not back in five minutes, just wait longer.” You rolled your red-rimmed eyes and shut him out.

Searching the room with the flashlight lifted, you found a desk. It looked sturdy, heavy. You really weren’t even sure you could move it alone. Placing the flashlight on the floor, you pushed against the side, grunting and huffing between your sniffles and hiccups, but it was all for naught. The thing didn’t budge.

“Fuck.” Spinning, you pressed your back against it and used your legs, finally getting the damn thing to slide, albeit noisily. You couldn’t manage getting it firmly against the door, but nothing was getting by it and that’s what counted. Snatching up the light, you grabbed one of a stack of metal folding chairs and ran back to Daryl’s side. He hadn’t moved an inch, but his head was rolling back and forth against the concrete.

“Y/N—”

Longing to just sit next to him, you stood the flashlight on its end next to your feet and jammed the chair beneath the door handles. The dead weren’t coordinated or cognizant and could only open the door by accident but it was possible and you were taking no chances.

Back on your knees, you leaned over him, smoothing back his sweat-slick hair. “I’m here, love. I’m mad as hell but I’m here.” The heat radiating from him made your stomach churn. You pressed a palm to his cheek, his forehead, flipping your hand over to do the same.

“S’my fault. She’s dead—gone an’ s’on me.” He started to sit up, finding he couldn’t, either too weak or in too much pain. Daryl had a high tolerance for hurt, so it was likely the former.

“Ssh. Stay still.” His hand moved toward the exposed wound. You caught his wrist and brought his palm to your lips, kissing and lowering it back to the floor. “Nothing’s your fault.”

“You’re s’posed to say that cause ya love me.”

You laughed quietly. “Maybe, but I mean it. She wanted to go, Daryl.” Petting his hair in tender strokes, you watched his eyes struggle to remain open. They were only slits of bloodshot and blue as it was. There was a thud scrape thud outside.

“You’re pretty.” Daryl slurred, head turning to chase your touch when you pulled away to twist toward the alley door, blocked by several shelves and other junk. No coordinated knock, no light seeping inside. Walkers.

“That’s the fever talking.” Out of an unfortunate practiced habit, you checked his pulse, finding it thready, too fast.

“Nah. Always pretty. Even when I ain’t cookin’ from the inside out.” His eyes were closed, rolling beneath the lids.

“And you’re handsome. Even when you are cooking from the inside out.” You mused, tracing his jaw with a fingertip. The corner of his mouth ticked, as close to a smile as you were likely to get. “Abraham went to clear the pharmacy. Gonna get you all cleaned up. Head home. You’re gonna be in a bed for a while.”

“I like the bed.” You were wrong. Now, he was smirking, eyelids fluttering. “‘Specially when you’re in it too.” His hand left the cold floor and landed lightly on your right hip, fingers weakly flexing. “Could take advantage’a me right now.”

“Oh my god,” you laughed in earnest, “now I know it’s the fever talking.” It was a true statement. Daryl almost never initiated physical intimacy, but he also never turned you down when you craved it.

When your relationship entered into sexual territory, you thought he was only doing it because he wanted you to be happy, guilt had consumed you. As if his Y/N sense had tingled, he had reassured you, promised that he wanted it too but just didn’t know how to show it, how to come to you with his own needs. He was a patient and gentle lover, contrary to his rough and rugged exterior. He was comfortable showing you that side, that affection, behind closed doors. That’s all you could ever ask for, ever would ask for.

“Wanna kiss ya.” His hand carved a trail up your side, fingertips grazing your breast but not lingering. His hot palm settled on the side of your neck. “I love ya. Gimme a kiss.”

Smiling brightly at this vulnerability and feverish show of true emotion, feelings that would never receive a voice— even with you—you leaned down and brushed your lips over his. His mouth trembled as he began to shiver, chills setting in from his body fighting the infection, fever burning unchecked. “Easy, tiger.” You cooed against his mouth. “I love you too. You stay in bed when we get back and I’ll give you whatever you want, but for now, I just need you to rest for me, okay?”

“Whatever my girl wants, she gets.” He grinned, silly and lopsided, as you pulled away for a clear look at his face. Even in this state, you had not a single doubt that if Abe returned at that very moment, Daryl would morph into a scowling, grumpy asshat. Oh, how you were going to tease him later. He deserved it for hiding that injury from you.

Minutes ticked by, and it felt like hours. How long had Abraham been gone? Daryl was trying to roll over, attempting to curl in on himself, but you managed—with frighteningly little effort—to keep him on his back. When he groaned, arching his upper half with a hand trying to press against the wound, you caught his wrist again. “Ssh ssh ssh, leave it alone. I know it hurts but it’s infected enough as it is.” He didn’t appear to have any walker blood on his hands from what you could see with the dim flashlight beam but you’d take no chances.

“M’sorry I lied to ya.” Now he just sounded miserable, your heart clenching and aching despite your frustration.

“I know you are. You can make it up to me later. Right now, I just need you to rest and hang on, okay?” Your fingers carded through his hair, catching on tangles and snarls. You’d help him wash it later, give him the sweet attention he so desperately needed while hurting so deeply, physically and emotionally.

He went quiet after that, still trying to reposition, whimpering when you wouldn’t allow it.

“I know, baby.” His pain so bare, ailing from the infection, you could hardly find it within you to be angry with him. He had punished himself enough. He didn’t need the weight of your irritation on top of it. You would need to talk to him, but you’d have to hold back, douse that flicker of anger that he didn’t allow you to help him carry the emotions that were weighing on him so heavily.

Knock knock, na-knock knock.

“Abe.” You whispered, beginning to rise to your feet when you felt a weak tug at the bottom hem of your shirt. Daryl’s eyes were wide and unfocused, the pretty blue dull from fever.

“Don’t go.”

With a sorrowful look of apology, you worked his fingers loose, lifting his hand to your mouth to kiss his knuckles. “It’s okay. I’ll be right back. Not even leaving this room.” He didn’t respond, but allowed you to lower his hand back onto the floor. Standing, you quickly crossed the distance to the door, placed your back against the desk to slide it away. You barely achieved it, feeling wrung out from Daryl’s openness under the influence of his feverish state.

“We hit the jackpot.” The redheaded man held up two bags, the contents nearly spilling out. The one on his back was equally as full.

“Did you see fever reducers? Tylenol? Ibuprofen? Aspirin?” You grabbed the side of the bag closest to you, nearly tipping it too far in your haste. Abe was talking behind you, reblocking the door while you walked back to Daryl, your hand sifting through the bag. Come on. You weren’t looking while you walked, your body on autopilot while your mind concentrated on getting your boyfriend what he needed. When you could see a yellow label toward the bottom, just barely visible beneath the tubings, fluids, and other pills, you nearly shouted in relief. Bayer Genuine Aspirin. “Thank god. Abe, your canteen.”

You were already opening the bottle, punching through the seal. “Here.” Abraham tapped the container against your shoulder. With two tablets already in your hand, you took hold of the canteen and motioned for him to unscrew the lid.

“Thanks.” In the moments of your absence, Daryl had finally succeeded in turning onto his side, legs drawn up, body quaking. “Daryl.” There was no room on his opposite side. He was too close to the doors. “Daryl, I need you to take some meds for me.” The only reply was a groan while he pulled his knees closer to his chest only to jerk them away with a choked off shout, the movement aggravating the wound. “Daryl.”

“Need me to, uh—” Abe waved a hand toward the whole of Daryl. You knew what he meant. Even as you nodded, you could already hear the grumbled complaints about you allowing him to be manhandled. “Okay, Prince Charming, just need to sit you up a little for these pills. Then we’ll get the fuck out of here.” He started with the left arm, sliding a hand beneath it to roll the archer just enough to work his other hand underneath the opposite arm. “Upsy daisy.” Abraham moved slowly, his eyes telling a tale of worry when Daryl grimaced and groaned. “He’s hotter than a jalapeno’s ass.” His voice was quiet but there was an urgency there. “Give him those pills and then we gotta go.”

He was right. If the fever continued to climb, there was the risk of febrile seizures. No one wanted that to happen. “Here, take these.” You pressed one of the pills to the archer’s bottom lip, a spasm of pain crossing his face.

“Ain’t takin’ your stupid pills.” Daryl snapped—damn near literally—jerking out of Abe’s hold just to fall back into it. You reeled back, just from the sudden movement, not out of fear. Never fear. Not with him.

“Daryl, stop.” You walked on your knees to get a little closer, trying again. “I need to get started on getting that fever down.” Chapped lips pulled away from teeth in a snarl, his hand coming up to slap yours. The tablets disappeared into the shadows. “Daryl, what the—”

“Said I ain’t takin’ your fuckin’ pills, Merle!”

Your breath stuttered, saucer eyes flitting up to Abraham and back down. “It’s Y/N, Daryl. Merle—Merle isn’t here.” The canteen was placed next to the bag of medical supplies, keeping a few feet of distance between that and Daryl, in case he lashed out again.

“Think I dunno s’goin’ on?” Your eyes slid up to Abraham as he lowered himself behind your archer, large hands relocating to grip Daryl’s biceps. “I take the drug’a the week an’ you steal the rent money to get more! Ain’t fuckin’ happenin’!”

“It’s just aspirin. And it’s just me and Abe here with you.” He tried to lean toward you, halted by the other man’s strong grip. He was too weak to do much about it. “Merle’s not here. Do you remember where he is?” You risked reaching toward him, fever-bright eyes tracking every movement right up until your palm rested on his shin.

His breathing picked up as he lowered his head. It hung forward with his hair acting as a protective curtain. “Dead.” He rasped. “Merle’s dead.” You would have asked Abraham to let him go but he’d likely topple over without the support.

“I’m sorry.” You squeezed his leg, tilting your head when his whole body tensed.

“I hitcha.” The tone of his voice was both incredulous and remorseful. “Y/N, m’so—”

“Mm mm. None of that. You’re hurt. You’re sick. You’re burning up.” There was a sound from behind the double doors. “Daryl.”

“I’ll take ‘em.”

You didn’t wait for him to change his mind. Shaking two more tablets from the bottle, you ducked your head to encourage him to look at you, the small white tablet was pressed against his bottom lip again. “Come on, love.” The second pill was behind your other three folded fingers. That left your other hand free to grab the canteen.

His lips parted just as the first walker scratched against the other side of the doors. With time quickly running out, you pressed the pill past his lips, following it up with the second. You rapidly opened the canteen and brought it to his mouth before he could attempt to dry swallow the meds, smiling approvingly when he tilted his chin upward to allow you to help him. That in itself spoke volumes about his current state.

“Let me just rinse the wound and put some gauze over it and we can go.” Another thump had both you and Abraham looking at each door. “Shit.”

“Shit’s right. I think we’re boxed in.” He was careful when easing Daryl back into a supine position, hovering to make sure you asked nothing else of him. “Take care of him. I’ll go take a look at how deep the shit we have to wade through is.”

“Okay.” You nodded, digging through the bags. If there was nothing else, the water from the canteen would have to do until you could get him back to Alexandria. The wound needed disinfecting horribly, but your options were limited. Your lip was becoming sore, indented from your teeth pressing into it while you searched. “Please, please, please.” When your hand wrapped around the bottle of rubbing alcohol, you could have sobbed. Daryl was barely holding on to consciousness when you turned to him, breaking the seal on the bottle cap. “This is gonna suck, baby.”

He didn’t answer. You didn’t really expect it of him. What you did expect was the almost violent reaction the moment the cold burn of the liquid washed over the wound. His eyes flew open with a scream that you were likely to hear in your nightmares. It was easy to catch his shoulder with one hand but keeping him there was another problem entirely. His hands scrambled toward his stomach, fingers clawed as if he could scrape out the lingering sting of the alcohol. Forced to sit the bottle aside, somehow carefully enough not to spill it, you caught his wrists, one and then the other, alternating back and forth to keep his hands away from the festering wound. The doors trembled with the renewed efforts of the dead following the noise.

“Daryl. Daryl, listen to me. I know it hurts but I just cleaned it. It’ll stop soon.” His head fell against your collarbone with an accompanying whimper that made your eyes burn with moisture. “It’ll stop soon.” He was at least cognizant enough to heed your instructions, his hands falling limply to the floor, only for his nails to scrape back and forth over the concrete. “I need to put a dressing over it, cover it until we get home.”

“We’re boxed in.” Abraham said before even rounding the work table that blocked your view of him. “We need to wait it out and hope they move on.”

Your head was shaking back and forth, chin bumping into Daryl’s temple. “We can’t wait. He needs help now.” You had, at some point, wrapped your arms around the shivering archer, rubbing his back as he panted against your neck.

“M’okay.” He whispered, likely not loud enough for Abe to hear.

“No, you’re not.” It wasn’t supposed to come out as authoritative as it did but it had the desired result.

“Okay. M’not.” Daryl agreed, rubbing his fiery forehead against your skin. “M’sorry.”

“Stop it. It’s done.” You let your tone soften. He didn’t need anymore weight on his shoulders. “We just need to get you outta here.”

“You could find a way out. Leave me here, come back for me.” He rasped. You weren’t even sure he was entirely grasping reality at that point. He couldn’t be if he thought that you would ever leave him behind.

“We’re not doing that.” Abe interjected before you could even summon a refusal. “We’ll find a way. Just hang tight, man.” With another glance toward the door you were perched in front of, he looked at you. “You too, buttercup.” With that, he stole the flashlight and began searching the room.

You turned your full attention to Daryl. You couldn’t see enough to cover the wound but maybe you could still fumble through it. Reaching into your bag, you dug through the newly acquired supplies to find the few things you had brought with you. He was moving against you but you thought nothing of it until you heard the distinct clink of his zippo. His hand was vibrating when the flame lit up the small area around you.

“Thank you.” A kiss was pressed against the crown of his head while you relieved him of the lighter and placed it on the floor. The shivering had worsened and you worried again about seizures just as you found the gauze and tape you had brought with you. The rolls were almost spent but you likely had enough to cover the wound at least. “Will you lie back for me?” Daryl nodded silently and let you guide him until he was on his back, body jerking as the cold of the floor seeped through his clothing to cool his feverish skin. His eyes were barely slits.

It was a quick process, the bandage taped down and his shirt buttoned up. Replacing the lid on the bottle of alcohol, you crawled up to sit above him, pulling his head onto your lap. He turned his face against your stomach and sighed as your fingers carded through his hair, massaging his scalp.

“You’ll be okay.” You have to be.

It had to be hours that had passed, Daryl’s skin cooling only to burn again. He was unconscious, restless and moving constantly; head tossing, fingers flexing, legs drawing up only to straighten. How could you have let him get this bad to begin with? You knew something was wrong and you told no one, thought you could deal with it on your own. He was your boyfriend, your person, and you allowed him to suffer.

“Found a air duct.”

You startled, causing Daryl to flinch but not wake. “What?” Abe shined the light above your head, jerking it to have you looking up to a series of large ducts that likely led to other areas of the building, maybe ones that were not surrounded by the dead.

“We can crawl through, find an empty room. Go out a window or a door if there is one.”

The idea was sound except you weren’t sure Daryl could move on his own and dragging him would take longer than you were afraid you could afford. “What about Daryl? He can’t—”

“He’ll have to, or I could go. Bring back help, but those rotters are gonna take down those doors sure as my short and curlies match my head.”

I did not need to know that. Regardless, he was right. There was no other way. The doors beside you were trembling as hard as Daryl, soon to buckle under the weight and efforts of walkers seeking a meal. With a deep breath, you nodded.

“Wake him up.” Abraham ordered softly. “I’m gonna get one of these open.”

Another nod but he was already walking away. Looking down at Daryl, his face completely hidden against your belly, you stroked his cheek. “I need you to wake up.” He shifted and groaned, but didn’t rouse. “Daryl, baby, you’ve got to wake up. We have to get you out of here.”

“M’awake.” His voice was muffled against your flannel, syllables jarring with the shivers wracking his frame. “Where are we?” He took a deep breath while he turned his head, as if he had been suffocating himself against you.

“You don’t remember?” Worry churned in your gut, crawling up into your chest with a sickening grip on your heart.

“Can’t—can’t think.” His eyes struggled to open, face contorted in discomfort. He began trying to sit up, groaning and hissing through his teeth when you helped. His left arm wrapped around his middle as he looked around. “We—we went on a run.”

“Yeah, and we’re kinda trapped.” He snapped his head around to look at you, swaying slightly. “Dead at both doors. Abe found some grated ceiling ducts that run above. We’re gonna crawl through them and find a spot where we can get out.” You licked your lips and leaned toward him to catch his wandering attention. “Can you do it?”

“Ain’t got no choice.” Bracing his abdomen, he shifted to the side, slowly getting his knees beneath him. When you hastily stood, hands on his ribs, he said nothing against the assistance.

“Abe, you get one?” You called.

“Almost.” There was a loud clang. “Strike that. Got one.”

“On our way over.” Daryl was on his feet but still doubled over, trembling so intensely that you weren’t sure his legs would hold his weight. “Let me help.” It wasn’t a request. Firmly taking the wrist of the hand he had braced just above his knee, you pulled his arm over your shoulder. The fever was raging beneath his skin, boiling his blood into vapor. He needed the infirmary. Carol could start an IV. You could wipe him down with cold cloths. He could get antibiotics. The wound would need to stay open until the infection was under control. You could do none of those things until you got him back home. “A little further.” You encouraged, barely looking away from him to where Abe was walking toward you.

“We gotta get while the gettin’s good.” He pulled Daryl’s arm away from you, barely letting the archer’s feet touch the ground as he hauled him toward the duct. There was already a crate waiting to give you all enough height to reach.

“Abe,” you said as you studied the escape route, moving around to gather your bag onto your back and toss Daryl’s up and inside. “I need to go first. Then Daryl, then you.” Daryl was dazed, staring at you but seemingly seeing right through you. “I can scout for a door or window. Daryl behind me. If he struggles, I need you behind him so you can push him along.”

His eyes focusing, the archer squinted. “M’fine. Don’t need no pushin’.”

You stepped forward, his slouch against Abraham bringing him to perfect eye level. “If you say m’fine one more time, you won’t need to worry about walkers, Daryl Dixon.” With a huff, you side stepped them and climbed up on the crate, grabbing the edges and hoisting yourself up. “All I’ve heard is m’fine and ain’t nothin’ wrong for days and now you’re half dead and surrounded by walkers. I swear to god, I’m going to throttle you.” You rambled, not really even caring if he heard you.

Even if he didn’t, Abe did.

“Phew, man. I wouldn’t wanna be you when we get back.” He helped Daryl onto the crate, hands hovering to catch him as the archer began to pull himself up, his arms shaking violently with the effort. Abraham had to duck and let him use his shoulders and back to make it inside.

You crawled forward enough to make room for both men, turning on your side so you could look down to watch. Daryl made it onto his hands and knees, managing to crawl out of the way before he lowered himself gingerly, letting his forehead rest against the cool metal.

“Alright, girly! We’re all in! Let’s get the fuck outta here.”

You turned without a word, crawling forward. The ducting turned to the left and then the right, bringing you just above a herd, all trying to break through the double doors you had just left behind. Your movements were slow and careful, the drag of Daryl’s pack being nails-on-chalkboard loud. You didn’t want to attract attention and have them trying to follow the sound. It was fortunate that the combined groans and snarls concealed the movement above but Daryl was struggling.

You looked back, lifting your arm out of the way to get a clear view. He wasn’t crawling. He was on his belly, hooking his fingers into the holes of the grating below to pull himself forward, pushing with his legs as best he could. Abraham was just behind him, telling stories and jokes with a few words of encouragement in between. You needed to move faster, leave them a little behind so you could find a way out.

“He’s flagging, Y/N.” Abraham called out quietly after a few more minutes of crawling and dragging. You stopped again, and looked back. Daryl was barely pulling himself along, his sick and injured body just having no more of it.

“He’s right here.” The man in question groaned.

“Fuck. Daryl. Daryl, stop.” His body went limp with the exception of his heaving breaths, cheek against grating. “Rest. I’m going to find a way out and I’ll come back.” Abraham nodded from behind the archer, who merely turned his hand with a thumbs up. You left both bags and crawled with purpose, watching the areas below you for walkers, where you would slow down and minimize any sounds. Right, left, left. There were forks in the ductwork. You had to remember how to get back to where you had left the two men. Right, left, left. Your brain repeated as you headed straight. Looking below you, there was a well lit room. It was quiet aside from the distant groans blocked by a door.

Bingo.

You crawled until you found the opening, lifting the thick metal and turning it so you could drop it to the floor with a clang. You stayed still with bated breath. The door did not jar and the sounds remained distant. Lowering to be flat on your belly, you peeked out to get a full view. The room was empty; an office. A decaying body lay in the corner, jeans and a logoed t-shirt with a gun laying on their chest. Poor bastard. The door would lead out into the halls but there were windows. No shadows passed by in the few minutes you offered. When you felt dizzy from hanging upside down, you wiggled backward.

With three quick breaths you let yourself fall out and crash to the floor with a decent thud and a groaned ow. It took a moment to catch your breath, your back protesting as you levered yourself to your feet, quickly devising a strategy. The desk was just as heavy as the one in the warehouse area, sliding and catching on carpet this time rather than the smooth concrete. Somehow, you managed to get it in front of the door.

Climbing onto the desk, you winced at what was bound to be a painful disaster. Keeping your eyes on the edge of the duct, you walked to the far end of the structure. Daryl needs you. Daryl needs you. Daryl needs you. The running start was minuscule but it proved to be enough. While one hand slipped, one latched on and you were dangling from the vent. With nothing and no one beneath you, you had to grab hold with your other hand and pull yourself up.

“I knew I shouldn’t have faked cramps in PE class.” You grunted. The grates in the bottom of the duct made pulling yourself up a little easier once you could reach them. After what seemed like an eternity, you were finally inside and wasted not a single second, moving hastily, almost clumsily. Left. Right. Right.

“Daryl. Abe.” You breathed once they were in sight. Abraham, however, stared back at you with concern, stricken.

“Y/N, I didn’t know what to do.” You shook your head, clueless, and looked at Daryl. He was on his side, breathing in shallow pants. “Turned him on his side, that’s all—”

“Fuck.” Seizure. You crawled past the bags and brushed the hair away from Daryl’s face. The other man was talking, but you didn’t hear him anymore, feeling the inferno beneath the archer’s skin. “We gotta go. You push, I’ll pull.” With Abe’s help, you were able to maneuver the unconscious archer into his back.

You had a bag hanging from each shoulder, giving you even less room to shuffle properly, but you kept moving, tugging under Daryl’s arms while Abraham pushed upward using the sides of the archer’s knees. It was a long and grueling trek with you whispering to him all along the way.

“You’ll be okay.”

Just before you were set to pull him again, he groaned. “Y/N?”

“I’m here.” You let go and leaned over him. “I’m right here. Found a way. Just need to get you there.” He gave a noncommittal hum, blinking open tired eyes when a tear hit his cheek. You could have sworn it evaporated.

“Feel like shit.” He grumbled. Your hands hovered while he made slow work of turning himself over, rising onto his hands and knees.

“Look like it too, man.” Abe teased. Bless him for trying to lighten things up.

“Thanks.” Daryl mumbled, raising his head to meet your eyes. “We goin’ or not?” His entire frame shook.

You wanted to shove more aspirin at him, needed to, but letting him move on his own while he could would get you out of the ducts and closer to the car. “Uh, yeah—yeah, let’s go.” You were actually stuck crawling backwards but it wasn’t the worst thing. It gave you the opportunity to keep an eye on him. He seemed to be doing okay, moving slowly, clumsily, but doing so on his own. In the conscious back of your mind, running on autopilot, you kept up with the ducts. Right. Left. Left. “How’re you doing?”

“Peachy, sunshine. Just peachy.” There was no bite to the words, just exhaustion and pain. “How much further?” He was tiring again, movements becoming even more sluggish. If he stopped for a break, it was likely you and Abraham would be dragging him again.

“Not much.” You looked over your shoulder, backing around the last turn. “Almost there.” The duct began to grow brighter with the sunlight from the windows below through the missing grate. You looked back just in time to not fall out. “Okay, let me go take a look.” Daryl nodded, remaining on all fours even when his arms seemed barely able to take his weight.

You slid one bag at a time off your shoulder and out of the opening. Going out feet-first made it so much easier than the first time. You landed easily and pulled the bags with you toward the windows, checking outside and then listening against the door. You didn’t even hear the walkers from earlier. Maybe they had moved on to where the others were trying to break through.

“It’s clear!” You called up quietly. Before you could offer any insight, Daryl tumbled out of the vent and landed with thud and a sharp exhale. “Jesus, Daryl!” Grabbing beneath his arms, you helped him move out of the way for Abe to tumble out in a similar fashion. “You okay?” You tossed over your shoulder, propping Daryl against the wall to look him over.

“That was a bitch.”

You cracked a smile and nodded at the archer. “He’s fine.” Daryl snorted weakly. His head dropped back against the wall while you busied yourself with finding the aspirin and the canteen. “Here.” His eyes were barely open, reserves spent. “Come on, baby, work with me here. We still have to get you to the car but I need you to take these first.” Sucking in a breath, he raised his head and opened his mouth. He didn’t even try to take them on his own. This is so bad. You weren’t sure if he even knew what was going on, if he would remember anything after collapsing by the doors.

“Gonna need you to get the car, girly.”

“What?” You turned, almost spilling the water on Daryl. “Sorry.” You carried on with getting the pills onto his tongue and holding the container for him while he took two long swallows, turning his head away to let you know he was finished. Brushing back his sweaty hair, you leaned in to kiss his forehead and then joined Abe at the window. “I’m not leaving him.” You focused on where the three of you were in proximity to the car, ignoring the look the taller redhead gave you.

“Listen, I know that, to you, no one will ever be better at taking care of him than you,” when you shot him a look, he held up a hand, “but you’re faster and you can get the car to right there at the end of the alley, I can carry him out. You can’t.”

Crossing your arms, you twisted to look back at your boyfriend. He seemed to be caught somewhere between awake and asleep. His skin was pale in direct contrast to the fevered flush on his cheeks and chest. His eyelids were purplish, lips nearly colorless. You didn’t like it, but it was the most logical option.

“Alright.” You whispered, nodding as if responding to yourself. “Alright.” Turning, you dropped your arms and crouched down beside Daryl, digging through his pockets for the keys. “Daryl.” He hummed but didn’t move. “I’ll be right back, okay?” When you stroked a finger down the edge of his jaw, he leaned into the touch, scowling when it pulled away. “I love you.” You wanted to make sure he knew, just in case; wanted him to hear it.

“Me too, sunshine.” He said breathily, face relaxing. You thought he had passed out but then he inhaled deeply and lifted his head, opening dull, unfocused eyes. “Where are we?” You didn’t answer. Keys acquired, you strode purposefully for the windows and opened the nearest one.

Halfway out, you fixed a warning look on Abraham. “Don’t let anything happen to him.”

“Don’t worry ‘bout him. Just worry ‘bout me if he comes to his senses again and you’re not here. Go on, now.”

There was no way you couldn’t smile—because it was true. It didn’t matter what was happening to Daryl, if you were missing, he was razing everything in his path to find out why and where. He might not actually speak the words I love you but he would show you constantly. You were just fine with that. You didn’t need verbal declarations from a man that had literally almost died for you several times over and then shrugged it off like it was no big deal.

It had been one of those moments that you had bit the bullet, so to speak, and flung yourself into his arms, kissing him breathless. He had turned several shades of red afterward but then things began to change. He was more open with you, wanted to be around you, wanted you to be around him. And then there you were, several months later, and he was yours. You weren’t sure he knew the name of a single woman in Alexandria that wasn’t in your group. He didn’t give any of them a second glance, regardless of how they swooned over him.

Then your thoughts turned to Denise. She hadn’t really been one of your group, not in the beginning but her love for Tara and tenderness toward all of you had integrated her into the circle of survivors you called family. She had always been kind to Daryl. Making sure he ate and had vitamins—even if he said it looked like shit. She wasn’t afraid of him like so many others had been.

It was why he was taking her loss just as hard as Tara was.

Your feet touched asphalt outside the window without a sound, something you had picked up from Daryl. Creeping forward, close to the wall, you leaned around the corner toward the parking lot at the same time as pulling one of your knives from the thigh-sheath. The car was within sight. A quick run over and you’d pull it around. You’d have Daryl home and hooked up to an IV before nightfall. Staying low, you continued to stick close to the outside of the buildings. You would only put yourself out in the open when you needed to make the last sprint. Unfortunately for you, you weren’t paying enough attention to the wall you were sliding against.

The open door caught you by surprise, the walker that stumbled out of it, even more so. “Shit!” The old man barrelled into your side, knocking you into a concrete beam and down to the ground, the side of your face dragging over the rough asphalt while your knife went careening. Using your knee, you kept the body held off of you, one hand smacking away the cold, slimy fingers trying to dig into your skin. Your other hand fumbled for your second knife. Abandoning that endeavor, you concentrated on getting the damn corpse off of you.

With a swift movement, you grabbed the tattered jacket the body still wore and pulled sideways, using the momentum to swing yourself on top of the walker. Obtaining the upper hand, you were able to snatch your knife and drive it through the eye socket with a disgusting squelch. You sat straddled over the body for a moment, catching your breath. The right side of your face burned, the thick coppery scent of blood in the air.

“Asshole.” You pulled the knife free and stabbed it one more time just for pissing you off. With no other immediate threats, you took the chance to snatch up your other knife and resheath it before your boots pounded the pavement all the way to the car. From over the top, you could see the split up sections of the herd wandering the different alleys next to the building. None of them seemed to be heading to where you had come from, but sometimes they were sneaky bastards and you didn’t know until they were on top of you. Glaring daggers at the body you had left on the pavement, you mumbled “case in point.”

Behind the driver's seat, you started the engine and immediately moved toward the alleyway you had exited, throwing the shifter into park. You heard him before you could even get out of the car.

“The fuck ya let ‘er go out alone?!”

“Calm down, amigo. She’s just gonna get the car and bring—”

“Why didn’t you go get the car?!”

“Someone’s gonna need to carry you when you end up eatin’ shit cause you won’t calm the hell down!”

“M’goin’ to get ‘er.”

“I promised her I wouldn't let anything happen to you.”

“Don’t make promises ya can’t keep. Y’should know there ain’t many ya can anymore.” His voice had quietened but you could hear him moving as you got closer. The window opened just as you stepped below it. Grabbing the pane, Daryl started to haul himself out but stopped with a startled shit! and nearly fell back inside. “Don’t fuckin’ do that!” He hissed.

“Was it your turn to ring the dinner bell, loudmouth?” You grinned, only for it to widen when he flipped you off. “Abe! Toss out the bags. I’ll load them while you help him.”

“Ain’t needin’ no help.” Daryl argued, hand pressed against the side of his stomach while he struggled to climb out the window. Abraham was shaking his head fondly and tossing you the bags through the second window. You juggled all three bags at the same time, throwing them into the trunk. A group of two dozen or saw walkers had ventured out of the alley near the body of the one you’d encountered.

“Shit.” You made it back just as Daryl’s boots hit the ground. He staggered sideways and bumped into the opposite wall, panting as if he’d run a marathon. “Idiot, you should have let him help.”

“I got it. M’good.” He straightened and put his hands on his hips then crossed them on the top of his head, trying to catch his breath.

“Baby, you don’t look good.” He didn’t flinch away when you reached for him. It was likely because he had been avoiding your touch to hide the fever, but that cat was long out of the bag. He simply looked miserable, lowering his head when your palm rested against his cheek. “Come on, walkers headed this way.”

Only then did he seem to notice the blood on your face. “What happened?” His overly warm fingers gripped your chin and turned your head while his other hand slapped flat against the wall to keep him upright.

“I’ll tell you on the way.” Smiling gently, you turned toward the car, catching the concerned look that came over Abraham’s face.

“I don’t—well, shit!” He bolted past you and caught Daryl under the arms before he could hit the ground. “Open the door, get in the back and help me get him in.” You didn’t need to be told twice. With the back door open, you watched Abe scoop up the archer in a bridal carry that you’d have to remind the man not to tease Daryl about later. With a nervous glance through the back window, you whined at the closing distance between the walkers and the car.

“Come on, come on.” Abe angled Daryl toward you so you could grab beneath his arms and pull him in with a little help from the other man. He arranged the archer’s legs to hang off the seat while his head was on your lap. The walkers were touching the back of the car by the time Abraham closed the driver’s side door. He said nothing but held a peace sign out the window as the herd grew smaller and smaller in the distance. Finally able to breathe, you kissed Daryl’s forehead and smoothed back his hair. “We’ll be home soon. You’re gonna be okay.”

You were sitting by the window in your room, drinking a hot cup of tea Carol had brought for you after the initial chaos of getting Daryl stable and settled had fizzled out.

There had been two seizures on the way back to Alexandria, his pulse hammering beneath the fire of his skin. Between you and Carol with Rick and Michonne grabbing anything that was needed, an IV was started, Daryl was stripped down and covered with a thin sheet, the wound was debrided, and you had cleaned his skin with cool cloths until the tea was ready.

Carol had gone to do inventory with what hadn’t been used or wouldn’t likely be needed in his recovery, leaving you alone with your archer. Your head fell back against the chair and rolled toward where Daryl lay. The sheet was just above his hip bones, letting air get to the freshly cleaned wound until the inflammation was down enough to be stitched—if it could be at all. His color was a little better, improved after only an hour of fluids.

He groaned, heading lulling toward you, a spasm of pain fluttering over his features before he relaxed again. Abandoning the mug on the window sill, you dragged your exhausted body to sit on the edge of the mattress and wrung out the cloth over the bowl next to the bed. The fever was still present but likely to improve now that he was resting and receiving antibiotics, the fluids keeping him hydrated against what the heat stole from him.

He groaned again, eyelids fluttering but not opening. “Ssh.” You hushed, wiping down his face and neck. “We’re home. We’re safe.” He remained still, but you continued to soothe him. “I’m here, baby.”

He didn’t stir again until deep in the night, eyes blinking open to find you sitting in a chair next to the bed, thumb stroking the top of his hand.

“Y/N.” He croaked, grimacing. Clearing his throat, he tried again with the same result.

“Let me get you some water.” You used your free hand to push against the chair arm but his fingers tightening their hold brought you to a halt. Brow drawing inward, you sat back down.

“M’fi—” He visibly choked down the words at your withering expression. “Yeah. Water, uh—uh, please.” He cleared his throat again and coughed. When his fingers loosened around your hand, you got up and went downstairs.

Carol came in the door while you filled the glass, walking past the kitchen before stepping backwards to peek her head in. “Hey.”

Tiredly, you returned the greeting, sitting the glass on the counter as she approached. With a gentleness that you needed, she rubbed circles on your back.

“Go easy on him.”

You tossed your head back with a sigh. “I know.” Leaning forward onto your elbows, you rubbed your hands over your face. “I’m just so angry with him, Carol. He could’ve died.” Her soft ministrations continued.

“You both need some rest. He needs to heal and you need to forgive him.”

With a smile that was hard to summon through your exhaustion, you picked up the glass and took her hand, squeezing it before letting go. “I already did.”

Your feet dragged with each step up the stairs, finding Daryl still awake when you entered the bedroom. “Can you sit up?”

“Think so.” His voice scraped across his vocal chords and he winced. His arms shook but you waited him out, letting him do it himself since he seemed to be fully aware.

“Here.” His hand trembled but he managed to drink on his own as well.

“Better?” You took the glass, sitting it on the bedside table. He responded with a quiet mhm and leaned forward so you could pile the pillows up behind him. “Daryl.” You could see the dread in his expression.

“M’sorry.” He picked at the skin around his thumbnail, looking down at his lap.

“I know. Daryl, look at me.” You caught his wrist as his thumb was in route to his mouth. Swallowing hard, he looked the other way entirely. “Baby, look at me.” The flush that was already present on his face grew darker, but he finally acquiesced to your request. “I’m not mad at you, but you scared me.”

“I know.”

You leaned toward him and brushed back his hair. “You can’t keep doing this to yourself. I know what happened, it—it hurt, but Daryl, it wasn’t your fault.”

“Why ain’t it, Y/N? Shouldn’a took her out there. Shouldn’a—” His voice cracked.

“It was her choice to go. She wanted to go.” Your hand left his hair to rest against his cheek. He absently leaned into the touch but didn’t move when you saw the realization flitter across his face. “You took a bullet to try and stop them. You did all you could.”

“Wasn’t enough.” He whispered, turning his head away from your palm. You felt anger rising up, itching to crawl out of your throat in the form of harsh words. The silence was deafening, the tension smothering. With a deep breath into your nose and out of your mouth, you remembered what you had told yourself.

“You don’t have to carry this alone. I know—I know what you do to—what you allow yourself to go through feels like a penance, but if you’d just let me, I can carry some of that weight.” He chewed his bottom lip, shifting slightly until he winced, his hand almost covering the open wound before he caught himself. “That’s what friends do, Daryl.” When he lowered his head, you ducked to hold his gaze. “It’s what couples do.”

When he released his lip, red and indented from the press of his teeth, his chin wobbled, nose twitching and eyes squinting against the tears that threatened to fall. “Ain’t—” he swallowed and sniffed, turning his head even further from you. “Ain’t yours to carry.”

You didn’t hesitate. “If it weighs on you, then it weighs on me. Let me help you. Let me be there.” Standing, you took the two small steps that brought you to where he sat, your fingers tenderly stroking his cheek before you gripped his chin and willed him to look at you. “Let me love you right.”

You had only seen Daryl cry twice; when he lost Merle and after the self inflicted burns when Beth was taken too soon. He hadn’t yet cried for Denise or for Tara. You weren’t sure he ever would.

Then the dam broke.

It started as a shaky breath, a whimper, but then his head dropped, his shoulders jerking with each sob. You said nothing while walking away, placing a hand on the knob to close the door. Carol was in the hallway, a towel on her arm, heading to shower, when she caught your eye. Her smile was sad, tight-lipped but she nodded. You returned the gesture and closed the door.

Daryl had drawn up his right knee, his elbow pressed into it so his hand was over his face. There wasn’t much room on the side he was occupying, so you lifted the tubing for his IV and crawled up to sit on the other side, pulling him against you without protest, his face against your collarbone.

“It’s okay. It's just us.” You whispered into his hair. “It’s just you and me and I’ve got you.” It was impossible to hold back your own tears, listening to him release all that pain, everything the wound only delayed. So you held him tight, weeping into his hair and letting him cry until his energy waned, his breaths evening out.

“M’gonna try.” He whispered suddenly, causing you to startle.

“Try?” You brushed his hair back and angled your head to see the side of his face.

“Try to—gonna try to letcha help.” He sniffled and nuzzled against your skin. “Letcha be there.”

“I’ll always be there. Promise.”

His arm wound around your middle and held tight. “Don’t make promises ya can’t keep.” You laid your cheek on the top of his head.

“I’m not, baby.” His head tilted back, forcing you to move, but your lips instantly pressed against his forehead. He looked so vulnerable, so tired, but yet so much lighter. “I’m not.”

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