#ferne Sterne

[yumiayumu]

the downside of liking a new ship that’s only recently getting attention is the lack of fanfics (╥﹏╥)

[fluffygreenkoala]

AND WHEN WE'LL GET A MUTUAL CONFESSION THEN WHAT

[ebiebii]

loser has no friends so he made his gf and grandma game with him dont mind the oher doodles

[everydayfrimmel]

August 16, 2024

Taking an unannounced one-day break from Daily Frimmel to bring you. One-Time Starkfern? "Missing Person" 300 words, Stark/Fern, established relationship, fluff, a tiny pinch of spicy spice

Stark has hardly slipped off his jacket and thrown it over the back of a chair when something takes its place.

Fern can't cover as much as the jacket does, but she drapes herself over him like its replacement, and he can feel her warm breath against the back of his neck and smiles.

"Hi, Fern."

Her slender arms wrap themselves like rope around his waist, and she tells him, "I'm looking for my husband."

She doesn't talk this way often, low and teasing. Goosebumps break out over his arms where they're not covered by his wraps; he likes this enough to play along. "Are you?"

"Mm." She lets go of his waist to press her palms to his shoulderblades, and her fingers dig in a little as they inch their way up from there. "He's…tall, handsome." She reaches the top and folds her fingers over the top of his shoulders and squeezes. "Broad shoulders."

Keep going, he would very much like to say, but if he does she'll realize that she would normally be embarrassed by a display like this and do the opposite. And she can't make him feel like he's going to catch fire and then douse him with the ice-cold water of her usual shyness, so he simply says, "oh?"

This was the correct choice.

"Strong arms," she goes on, running her flat palms along his biceps. There is a sly smile in her voice and mischief in her hands, and both of those things are not like Fern at all. "You seen anybody like that around?"

He turns, exposes himself for the stupid ear-to-ear smile on his face, puts his hands on (around) Fern's slender waist and squeezes.

"I dunno," he replies. "Have I?"

She giggles, mischief successful, and pulls him down to kiss her.

[munsons-maiden]

𝐒𝐚𝐟𝐞 𝐖𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐘𝐨𝐮

Here's a little oneshot for you, lovelies! I hope you enjoy 🖤

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 | Eddie Munson x female reader (no physical descriptions, though)

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 | Based on this request: could i request maybe eddie brings reader to a deal but wants her to stay in the van so she’s safe but the people he’s dealing to see her because she walked out to tell eddie something and it doesn’t go so well. and after the situation eddie and her argue but eddie’s upset and just what’s to protect her 🥺 but ofc it ends well🫡

- I hope you like it, dear!🖤

𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐭 | fights turning into love confessions, angst with a happy ending, friends to lovers

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 | 3k

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 | angst with a happy ending, attempted (sexual) assault

𝐈𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐞𝐧𝐣𝐨𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲, 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝🖤

You can barely make out your surroundings, the little dirt path leading you deeper into the woods, in the darkness between the trees as you slowly draw closer – the moon and stars have vanished behind the clouds as if they’ve gone into hiding, and the taste of a summer storm already laces the stuffy air.

In all these years of being Eddie Munson’s friend, there’s been one simple rule when it comes to him meeting his customers for a drug deal:

Stay in the car.

The customers are harmless. It’s the cops I’m worried about, he tells you, expression stern, whenever you crack a joke about him being scared you could scare away a customer.

It’s tiny little Hawkins, and the deals gone wrong that sometimes make it into the TV news or newspaper headlines are over coke and heroin and all the hard stuff Eddie would never sell, not over something as harmless as weed or the occasional pill of ketamine.

Tonight has been no different.

It was supposed to be a quick deal on your way to the Carnival two towns over at Sycamore where you’re supposed to meet the rest of Hellfire.

Some new customer sent by Reefer Rick.

But the longer you’ve been sitting in Eddie’s van, in the dark, in the middle of the lonely road that cuts through the woods surrounding Hawkins…this nagging feeling started to grow in your chest. First into worry, then into outright panic when you’d watched the clock on the old van’s display tick, one minute turning into five, and five into ten.

What if something went wrong?

What if something horrible happened to him?

What if Eddie needs your help?

You wanted to tell him, tonight at the fair, beneath the see of glittering lights of the Ferris wheel. That you’re in love with him. That you’ve been, for a very long time. That even if he doesn’t feel the same, you need to say it out loud, how you first fell for all the tiny little pieces that make him Eddie and then wholly and utterly and completely.

When ten minutes bled into fifteen, and your mind had come up with the most horrid scenarios fueled by news coverage of drug deals breaking into violence, conjuring up gruesome images of Eddie bleeding out between the ferns and brambles covering the forest floor, blood soaking the moss, you couldn’t stay cooped up in the confines of his old van a second longer.

You broke Eddie’s one rule. You left the car and went looking for him.

As you’re now traipsing along the small dirt path cutting through the brambles and ferns, the fabric of your summer dress you’ve spent an entire weekend picking out at the mall just so Eddie might finally start seeing you as something else as his friend, sticking to your sweaty skin and thorns scratching at your legs, you realize that even if Eddie needs your help…how the fuck would you even be able to help him?

It’s not like you’re carrying a gun in the little bag you’re clutching at your side.

The sound of voices startles you out of your thoughts, and in the dark, your eyes lock on the two silhouettes in the little clearing ahead of you.

You recognize Eddie first – you’d recognize him everywhere.

He’s standing with his back to you. Even with the remaining distance between the two of you, the darkness of the woods, you can tell that his shoulders are tense.

His whole body is holding a kind of tension you’ve only ever seen on him once before, a few years ago, when his deadbeat father had shown up at the trailer park drunken and shouting curses into the wind before Eddie had dragged you into the safety Wayne’s trailer.

A twig snaps beneath your sneakers, and both Eddie and his customer whirl around to you.

And you realize you’ve made a huge mistake.

The guy in front of Eddie is no nervous classmate, not one of the chill stoner guys always hanging around beneath the bleachers. No friendly family dad or stressed housewife looking for a little relaxation or piece of rebellion.

The guy’s buzzcut does nothing to soften the harsh angles of his face, the lines around his mouth formed by the frown that seems to be engraved there.

There’s something menacing in his eyes as they lock on you.

Something evil and predatory.

The guy licks his lips, and his mouth curls into a lewd smirk, a twisted mirror to the abysmal panic in Eddie’s wide eyes as he stares at you.

You can read them like the pages of an open book.

What the fuck are you doing here? I told you to stay in the car!

The guy slaps a meaty hand on Eddie’s shoulder, hard enough to make Eddie sway a little on his feet with the impact. And contrary to what the jocks at Hawkins High believe, Eddie is strong.

“And at first I thought you’d brought the cops,” the guy laughs – but it’s not a friendly laugh. It doesn’t reach his eyes, either. He’s got muscles. A lot of them, flexing beneath his skin as he lets his arm sink from Eddie’s shoulder. “Wouldn’t do that to your old friend though, would you? Instead, you brought me a present.”

There’s an eagle tattooed across the guy’s throat, wings spread wide. It’s fitting, this bird of prey marking him. You feel like a tiny little robin beneath his gaze.

Eddie’s eyes haven’t left you for a single second.

“I told you to stay in the car.” His voice is strained with barely suppressed fury and, above all else…panic.

“Nah, we’re good,” the guy grins, letting his eyes roam over you.

Making you wish you were wearing something other than a short little summer dress.

“Come on closer, little birdie,” he drawls, “Don’t be shy now.”

“Go back to the car,” Eddie says, louder, the vehemence of his tone flashing in his panicked eyes. His voice is trembling. “Now.”

“What, you don’t want to introduce us?” The man drawls. The threat in his own voice is as clear and tangible as the panic in Eddie’s umber eyes as he shakes his head, the movement subtle, barely visible. Go, he mouths. Now.

At the guy, he adds, “I thought we were here to talk about business.”

“You want me to focus on business when you brought your pretty girl with you, boy?” The guy makes a beckoning motion at you, still frozen like a deer in the headlights, rooted to your spot only feet away from him and Eddie. “Come closer, doll. Don’t be shy now.”

“No,” Eddie interjects, fervor smoothing his voice as it cuts through the rain-laced air of the clearing, despair flashing out beneath the panic, “She’s not part of this.”

You’re scared out of your mind.

But hell will freeze over before you leave Eddie alone with this man.

So you do what the guy told you.

You step closer, coming to stand beside Eddie.

“Tell you what, boy,” the man purrs, tearing his eyes off of you to meet Eddie’s, a flash of yellowed teeth in diffuse moonlight, as his smirk grows into a grin so devilish you wouldn’t have been surprised had they been pointed, “I’m gonna give you a few more bucks and you’re gonna give me a few minutes with your lovely lady here.”

Beside you, Eddie inches closer to you, shifting to place himself between the guy and you.

Trying to shield you with his own body, you realize.

Eddie Munson, who always swore he was no hero outside of D&D, is becoming your hero right now.

“I’ll give you everything I got with me right now, and you leave,” Eddie counters, voice hard.

A desperate attempt to get you out of this situation.

Almost completely hidden from the guy’s field of vision with Eddie having placed himself in front of you, his muscles taut and ready to fight, your hands slowly dive into the bag slung over your shoulder, fingertips carefully feeling for something, anything, to use to protect him, to protect both of you –

“Or,” the man drawls, taking a step closer, with the ease of a predator rounding in on a wounded fawn, “I’ll just take whatever you got and have some fun with your pretty lady.”

It happens too fast to see it coming.

There’s a snapping sound as the flick-knife the guy must have been holding, concealed in his meaty fist and the dark of night, is flipped open, the jagged blade flashing in the obscure beams of moonlight filtering through the clouds and the foliage of trees above your heads – and Eddie pushes you farther behind him.

Placing yourself between you and the knife’s path as he snaps, voice vibrating, “Stay the fuck away from her.”

The man lets out a low, rumbling chuckle. “And what are you gonna do, hm?”

There. Your fingers wrap around something smooth and cool nestled at the bottom of your bag.

And not a second too soon.

Before the guy can let the knife in his fist soar down to hurt Eddie, you duck around your friend, your own hand flying up as you press your index finger down in the spray bottle in your sweaty grip, sending a blast of hair spray straight into the guy’s face.

He screams, hands flying up to cover his eyes as he stumbles backwards, and the flick-knife lands between the ferns.

Eddie doesn’t waste a single second.

His hand finding yours, he pulls you away from the screaming, staggering man and pushes you towards the path that leads back to the road and the van and safety. Together, you break into a run.

You don’t notice the thorns of the brambles cutting your legs, the burn of your lungs, your muscles, because it all fades to white noise beneath the roaring of blood in your ears, the wild pounding of your heart, Eddie’s own racing steps behind you.

Only at the edges of your panic-addled mind you realize that he’s staying behind you to make sure you’ll get away, first.

The van comes up in the distance, a flash of white among the leaves and branches, and you feel the first tender burst of relief wash through you at the sight.

Eddie rips the driver’s side door open, all but shoving you inside and onto the passenger seat as he climbs in after you, and the old engine comes to life with a sputtering roar. The van jerks forwards with screeching tires as your hands shoot out to grab the door’s handle to avoid toppling over into the footwell.

As the vehicle bolts down the country road leading out of the woods, silence descends upon you, heavy and loud even beneath the roar of the engine, your own panting breaths slowly calming.

You cast Eddie a careful sideways glance.

He doesn’t look at you.

His eyes are glued to the road the way his foot is glued to the gas pedal, jaw set, and his knuckles clamped around the wheel are white.

You’ve never seen him so angry in all the time you’ve known him.

You’ve never felt so angry in all the time you’ve known him, either.

When the van emerges from the woods and lights of the carnival come into sight, the twinkling form of the Ferris wheel rising over the rolling fields of wheat covering the landscape, Eddie steers the vehicle to the side of the road.

By the time he cuts off the engine and pushes the driver’s door open with a force that makes you fear it’ll just rip off its hinges, he still hasn’t uttered a single word.

You reach for the latch in your own door, but before you can open it, Eddie has already rounded the hood, and the door is ripped open to reveal his face, unreadable and void of all the usual humor and goofiness.

“Are you okay?” It sounds strangely hollow, the way he says it.

“Eddie –“

“Are you okay?” It’s nearly a shout, but not an angry one. Only scared. So fucking scared that it makes his voice shake as much as his hands coming up to rake through his curls while his dark eyes roam over you in the diffuse moonlight over the field, the dim glow of the lights inside the van, scanning the tiny cuts decorating your face and arms and legs where the brambles and branches of the woods have left their marks during your flight.

You give a tentative nod.

The breath he seems to have been holding leaves in a sharp exhale as he rakes his hand through his dark curls once more, sending stray leaves falling out as he starts pacing at the edge of the road.

You climb out of the car.

And the storm that’s been building the past few minutes breaks lose – not in the sky, but down beneath it.

“I TOLD YOU TO STAY IN THE FUCKING CAR!”

Eddie has never shouted at you.

You’ve never shouted at him, either, but it breaks out of you like a flood-wave.

“ME?! THIS IS MY FAULT?!”

“YES! FUCKING HELL YES IT IS! SHIT. IF YOU HAD, JUST FOR ONCE, LISTENED –“

“ME?! I’M NOT THE ONE MEETING FUCKING KILLERS IN THE WOODS IN THE MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT!”

“THAT’S WHY I TOLD YOU TO STAY –“

“IF I’D STAYED IN THE CAR, YOU’D BE DEAD ON THE FOREST FLOOR NOW!” The thought of it, of Eddie, bleeding out between the ferns, scared and alone and in pain, makes the tears spill over and your voice shatter as you choke out the rest of the sentence in a miserable little whisper. “You’d be fucking dead!” Saying it aloud brings back the fury at him for being so fucking careless. “HE WAS ABOUT TO HURT YOU!”

“AND THAT WOULD HAVE BEEN WAY BETTER THAN IF HE’D HURT YOU! I CAN’T LOSE YOU, I FUCKING LOVE YOU!”

Eddie’s words shut you up.

They ring through the night, mingle with the soft summer breeze that ruffles the stalks of wheat in the nearby field, the rustling too loud in the shellshocked silence.

The tears which have been glittering in his dark eyes have started running down his pale cheeks.

For a few wild heartbeats, you just stare at each other in the moonlight piercing through the passing clouds, the glow of colorful lights of the fair at the edge of the field sending flares into the night, the stuffy summer night’s air pressing down on the two of you.

In a few quick strides, both of you cross the small distance between the two of you, meeting in the middle.

And then, you’re kissing.

And the world stills, heartbeat accelerating as panic and adrenaline bleed into something entirely else, something that’s been trapped within you for so long it takes a second to realize this, right now, is truly happening.

Eddie’s lips, soft and hot against yours, his palms cradling your face, the metal of his rings warm with the heat of his body as they press gently against your skin.

He kisses you like he’s been waiting for this moment just as long as you have.

He kisses you like he really, truly means it.

Because I fucking love you.

It’s better, so much better than even your wildest daydreams.

You know you’ll never want to kiss anyone else after this.

You know you don’t ever want this kiss to end.

It does, eventually. Eddie pulls away, wide-eyed and panting, lips slightly apart in a gape and curls in a tangled mess – from his own hands raking through it or yours right now, you can’t tell. Even in the half-dark of the night, you can see the blush dusting his cheeks.

“I – I’m sorry,” he breathes, the kiss-dazed gleam in his eyes making room for an appalled expression. “God, fuck, I’m – I didn’t think. I didn’t even ask –“

“I’ve been waiting for you to do this for a very long time,” you say quietly, giving him a soft smile.

For a moment, Eddie just stares at you, as if he’s contemplating whether his mind is playing tricks on him. “You, uh. You did?”

“Yeah,” you whisper into the few inches of between the two of you. “And now I’ll be waiting for you to do it again.”

He does. Not a single beat of hesitation.

This time, when Eddie’s lips meet yours, it’s softer, slower, yet just as intoxicating and feverish as that first kiss.

His hands snake up to cup your cheeks and angle your head as he slowly walks you backwards, until your back meets the side of the van, the metal still warm from the day and the sweltering night air, and butterflies flood your belly, your entire body, a colorful swarm of them making your skin tingle in all the places his body brushes against yours. His chest against yours, one of his knees between yours, his calloused fingertips gently trailing down the column of your throat.

Kissing Eddie Munson is as easy as breathing.

“I meant it,” he breathes into the kiss, before resting his forehead against yours, the curls of his bangs tickling you, “What I said. I’m so fucking sorry I dragged you into this mess. I’m so fucking sorry I put you in danger.” He swallows. “And I’m so fucking much in love with you.”

“I love you, too,” you whisper, placing a kiss to the corner of his lips, feeling his smile. “I’ve been loving you for a very long time, Eddie.”

You place your hands over his, still holding your face.

“I was so fucking scared,” Eddie murmurs, voice trembling again with new tears. “Fuck. I was so stupid –“

“We’re okay,” you whisper, fingers squeezing his, “We’re safe. You saved me.”

“Shit, you saved me. What even was that? Pepper spray?”

You chuckle. “Farah Fawcett hair spray.”

Eddie blinks, before he gives a breathless little laugh, as if he’s not sure he’d rather laugh or cry. Probably both. “Pretty fucking metal.”

“I wanted to look pretty for you tonight,” you amend, and Eddie’s expression grows serious again.

“You always look pretty, sweetheart. I’ve been having a pretty hard time not ogling you every second we’re together.”

“You need to promise me you’ll never ever meet clients in the middle of the woods. Not at night. Not by day either. And –“

“I promise,” Eddie interrupts, voice sincere. “I’m gonna stick to the clients I know. No expanding the business.”

“Good,” you breathe, letting your hands fall away from his to lock them at the nape of his neck, fingertips playing with his dark curls.

“Your hair is really soft,” you breathe, lips not an inch from his, feeling stupid all of a sudden for saying it out loud, but Eddie replies with an adorable little giggle that makes your heart soar and race and squeeze with love all at the same time.

“Thanks. It’s…uh. Don’t laugh. It’s Farah Fawcett conditioner.”

Your own soft laugh fades into the night as Eddie’s lips find yours again, the summer storm brewing over your heads and the glittering lights of the carnival in the distance and the moment of terror in the woods blurring against the radiant joy of knowing the one you love loves you back just as much.

𝐈𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐞𝐧𝐣𝐨𝐲𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲, 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝🖤

Requests for angst/smangst remain open. If you want to check out my works in progress, here's the list🖤

[definitelynotstable]

Trouble [Ghost x fem!Reader]

AN: hurt/comfort will ALWAYS be my fave.

Synopsis: You find yourself caught in an explosion during a mission. Ghost looks after you. Words: 1.2k Warnings: swearing, injuries Ghost x fem!reader (callsign Fern): Not explicitly romantic but there’s certainly a spark. SOFT GHOST <3 Slight hurt - lots of comfort. 

.·:*¨¨* ≈☆≈ *¨¨*:·.

You knew something felt off about this mission. But you weren’t gonna sit this one out based on a mere hunch. Maybe you should’ve. Because now you were buried under a heap of rubble, ears ringing and head heavy. 

“Fern?” A voice called from somewhere in the distance. You didn’t know what was up and what was down. Gun shots echoed nearby.

You swallowed, coughing as dust clogged your mouth and nose. “Y-yeah?” You rasped as loud as you could. Comms were useless. 

“What’s your status, soldier?” Ghost.

You wriggled slightly, stopping as a flash of pain radiated up your leg. 

“Leg’s fucked, might be broken and a concussion.”

“Can you move?”

You bit your lip as you tried again, nothing budged. “No, sir. Something’s got me pinned.”

“Alright,” his voice called back, calm and stoic as usual. “Price? We need backup, Fern was caught in the blast, need some extra hands to move rubble.”

You couldn’t hear the reply. Your comms hissed with static in your ear. Blood dribble from your temple, down your cheek and into your mouth. The sounds around you were fading. Everything ached. You could rest, right? Just for a moment?

.·:*¨¨* ≈☆≈ *¨¨*:·.

You woke to a searing pain with a cry. Someone was moving the beam which compressed your leg. 

“Fern?” A Scottish accent called out from somewhere behind you, “we found what’s got you pinned. Try not to move while we shift it.”

You groan as it shifts again. “Couldn’t even if I wanted to, Sarge.”

The scot huffs, chucking a chunk of concrete into the pile behind him. “Humour me, Fern.”

You cough again as a cloud of dust forms from the moving rubble. “Where’s LT?”

There’s a heavy thump and Soap groans with effort, finally uncovering your twisted form. He squats in front of you with a grin, patting your head lightly. “Getting a spinal-board - you sure are trouble.”

You squint up at the man and mirror his grin. “So I’ve been told.”

“Soap!” 

The man in front of you turns to the side and you see Ghost running, gun across his back and a spinal-board tucked under his arm. Soap gestures to where you lie amongst the debris.

“Hey LT, look who I found!”

Ghost doesn’t laugh, pushing past the scotsman and coming to kneel beside you. He pulls his glove off, tossing it to side. His scarred hand brushes your hair from your eyes. 

“Always gettin’ yourself into messes, aren’t ya?” He murmurs, fingertips ghosting the laceration on your temple. You wince but your lips quirk up. His hand lingers on your cheek for a moment, cobalt eyes intense as they meet yours. 

He stands, hand dropping away as he turns to Soap. 

“We need to get to EXFIL now, I’ll need your help to move her.”

Soap nods, shifting his gun to sling it over his back and out of the way. “What do you need me to do, LT?”

.·:*¨¨* ≈☆≈ *¨¨*:·.

They manage to roll you onto the stretcher, Soap mumbling apologies while Ghost swears lightly under his breath at each noise of discomfort you make. 

They manage to get you to the truck waiting at the extraction point. Gaz is behind the wheel, engine running, while Price squats behind the open side door, his gun poised. 

You make to get of the stretcher, Ghost holds you down, eyes stern. “We’ve gotta rule out a spinal injury, Fern. Stay down.”

There isn’t room for argument in his eyes, Soap helps the Lieutenant slide the stretcher into the bed of the pickup. Ghost settling in beside you, his gun now in his lap as he surveys the area behind you. Soap joins the Captain and Gaz in front and the vehicle spurs forward. 

It doesn’t take long to get to the safehouse but everything feels bruised twice over by the time the truck comes to a rolling stop. 

“Please tell me I can get off this fucking slab of plastic, LT. Everything hurts.” 

Ghost looks down at you, eyes softening slightly. “Just let Gaz look you over first. Then I’m sure we can find you a bed or a couch to settle on.”

.·:*¨¨* ≈☆≈ *¨¨*:·.

There’s a bang as someone lowers the side of the pickup bed. 

“Let’s see the wounded soldier then,” Price’s voice barks, his hat and beard coming into view, smiling but his eyes worried, “what’ve you done this time, love?”

Soap and Ghost slide the stretcher off the pickup and make for the safehouse. You look up at the Captain with a sheepish expression. 

“Picked a fight with a wall.”

“Oh yeah? Who won?” Price inquired, holding open the door for you, looking down with a grin.

“The wall.” Ghost interrupts as him and Soap lower you to the floor, Gaz brushing past with a med kit. 

You scoff as the younger sergeant wraps a cuff around your upper arm, taking your blood pressure.

“Put up one hell of a fight by the looks of it,” Gaz quips, moving your neck gently from side to side and getting you to squeeze his fingers and wriggle your toes. He cleans and wraps you leg quickly, a scarred and pale hand squeezes your shoulder as the antiseptic burns. Ghost.

“Thank you Gaz,” you huff, letting him ease you up as he gives the ok. Ghost silently moves forward to wrap an arm around your waist and helps Gaz deposit you onto the rugged couch against the wall. 

Price and Soap’s laughs echo from the makeshift kitchen, cupboards opening and closing as they look for food. Ghost settles on the arm of the couch and you slump against him, too tired and sore to sit up straight. He stiffens slightly before relaxing, moving to shift you over and slides off the arm of the chair to settle next to you.

Gaz rustles around in the med-kit before popping a few pills into his hand, offering them to you as Soap appears next to him with a glass of water. 

“Take these, I’ll give you more in a few hours. They should tide you over till RTB.”

You swallow them, sculling the water. Ghost takes the empty  glass from your hands, handing it to Gaz who returns to the kitchen with Soap where Price has managed to turn on a radio that looks older than you. 

Jazz crackles through the cabin and the hiss of a kettle sings as dishes clink. You sigh, sinking deeper into the couch and the warm body beside you.

Ghost clears his throat. You look up, pulling back. 

“Oh shit, sorry, LT.”

“’S’alright,” his chest rumbles, an arm pulling you back into his side. “Rest, Fern. You did good.”

You don’t have the energy to refuse. He is so warm and safe. You feel yourself drifting off, the murmur of voices in the background lulling you into a peaceful haze. You feel him shift beside you and your limp arms are threaded out of your vest. Someone tosses a blanket into your lap and Ghost whispers harshly at them to fuck off. Probably Soap. The lieutenant shakes it out before tucking it around you.

A hand brushes through your hair.

You sigh.

Everything fades to black.

.·:*¨¨* ≈☆≈ *¨¨*:·.

Masterlist

[eccentricgrace]

the one who left behind his name || BatFamily

summary: dick gets hit with fear toxin. this experience reveals a lot of surprising conversations he needs to have with his brothers.

tags: dick grayson’s eldest daughter syndrome, bruce wayne’s c+ parenting, fear toxin, lots of hugs, hurt/comfort, found family feels

wc: 12,100

⚠️tw: canon-typical violence, blood, injury

cross-posted on ao3 under the same name!

The irony was, Dick didn’t see the green mist settle in until it was on his tongue. An acrid, medicinal film, seizing his lungs in a chokehold while he buckled over, hands clutching at his knees for a sense of stability.

In a second, his mind sparked back on like a match lit in a gas chamber. His hand shot up to his mouth, it clamped around his nose, he held his breath; all attempts in vain to undo what he knew would begin soon.

He made an ‘abort’ gesture, stumbling back into the shadows. “Robin,” he rasped out. “Code Fern. I’ve been hit, we’re heading out. I need Agent A to—“

“I’ve got it,” Damian snapped. “I’ve collected a sample for Agent A to analyze as we sit here wasting time. What’s your status?”

Dick grimaced as he tried to think of a way to soften the blow, to ease the fears edging from his baby brother’s voice. It was hard to think when he could feel his heart start to pound, when he knew the beginning of something terrific was stirring, except ‘terrific’ meant—

“Nightwing, status,” Damian repeated, his voice strung tight. “Do we need to call an assist?”

“No,” Dick said quickly, even though his legs shook and there’s a stutter in his heartbeat. He ignored it and pulled himself down the dark street.

In a moment, the world twisted on its axis, and in the second that Dick paused to blink, Damian was at his side. He shoved his small frame under Dick’s arm, trying to support his weight.

“Liar,” Damian hissed. “You can’t even stand straight, Grayson—“

“Names,” he chided lightly.

Damian ignored him and pressed forward with determination. “We need to get you to the cave before Crane’s delusions kick in.”

Dick half-heartedly agreed, and tried not to acknowledge the growing twitchiness of his mind. He felt eyes at the back of his neck, something lurking in the dark, watching them.

“Stay alert, Robin,” Dick directed, turning his head to get a view of his peripherals. “We’re still on the ground, baby bat.”

Damian made a frustrated sound and continued ignoring him.

“Nightwing,” a voice filtered in through his comms. Low, gruff, stern. Shit. “Status.”

Dick exhaled stiffly through his nose and brought a hand up to his earpiece. “I got hit. Low grade gang, I wasn’t expecting them to have toxin. I think they stole it, but still— I should have known Scarecrow’s long silence was a red flag.”

“You should’ve,” Bruce cut in. His tone was clear, made up of all his no-nonsense inflections that always made him feel like he was eight years old again, with all of the false confidence and none of the worthwhile experience. “That’s disappointing, Nightwing. I trained you better than this.”

The words sent a rush of anxiety through him, like he’d been mentally knocked back. His throat went tight as he tried to form an argument. “I—“

Dick paused. His hand hesitated on the comms, and he pulled away. He looked to Damian, who was watching him with a not-so-subtle side eye. “Isn’t B off tonight? I thought he had a gala.”

“Father isn’t online,” Damian confirmed, his eyes narrowing through the domino. “Are you hearing him now?”

Dick sighed in agitation and let his hand drop from the earpiece. He avoided Damian’s exact question, instead saying: “We need to move faster.”

Damian nodded, schooling his expression into determination. His face faded in and out of view as they marched through the dark alleyway, his hand retaining its tight grip on Dick’s elbow.

“I failed you tonight,” Damian said. He was sure. Certain.

He’s never certain of himself, not really, not unless he believed he had made a mistake. It’s one of the many things that Dick had learned the hard way, one that still broke his heart when he caught it.

“I should have noticed the toxin before you got hit. I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.” Damian ducked his head once.

“It will,” Bruce said, his voice ringing metallic through comms. “He’ll disappoint you again, and again, and you’ll have to watch until you can’t do it any longer. Not even I could stand you for too long. The cycle won’t break.”

(“You’re firing me?” Dick guffawed, his arm still in its sling, fresh blood still on his bandages. “Bruce—“

“This isn’t for discussion. You’re done,” Bruce said. He turned around. He won’t look at him. Why won’t he look at him? “You aren’t being safe, you’re taking too many risks.”

“Necessary risks!” Dick cut in, the forced smile slipping from his face. His eyebrows are pulled tight in a stressed glower. “You can’t just take Robin away from me, Bruce. Robin is mine, I am Robin.”

“Not anymore,” Bruce snapped. He stalked toward the door, still hiding his face, the damned coward. “You were fatally injured, Dick. You were reckless. You failed the mission. You don’t deserve—”)

Dick’s exhaled sharply. He forced himself down to his knees and gripped Damian’s shoulders. His head hurt. He swallowed thickly. “You’ve never failed me.”

Bruce made a low, disapproving sound. “That’s not what I said, Robin. I’m in your head, I know you haven’t forgotten what really happened.”

Dick flinched, his shoulders hiking up to his ears. He shut his eyes tightly. “We’ll talk more about this later, but the serum, it’s getting worse.”

“You can’t listen to it,” Damian reminded him, his face pulled into a determined scowl. “It isn’t real. None of it is real.”

“It was real, though,” Bruce scoffed. “Wasn’t it?”

(Bruce’s mouth snapped shut before he finished the sentence, his teeth audibly clicking together.

“I don’t deserve what?” Dick asked quietly. His face was hot, the air rushing out from his nose like a dragon, like some beastly inhuman thing.

Bruce said nothing. He said nothing, and wouldn’t look at him, and Dick felt more alone now than he had since…)

“Nightwing!” Damian shook him off. “Focus!”

Dick groaned and pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes, his head spinning. His heart was beating out of his chest, he felt sick. He couldn’t move, not even if he wanted to— he just felt paralyzed.

“It’s not real,” Damian said, grabbing his wrist. “Damn it, Nightwing. Snap out of it!”

(“You made me this, Bruce, I don’t have anything else,” Dick said, and as he said it the words bubble into a manic laugh, like he’s just realizing it for the first time.

For so long he’d seen it as the only good thing in his life, that Bruce had been able to save him from himself. That Bruce had scooped him up from the bloodied floors of the Circus, cold floors of the Gotham City orphanage— but now the floors of the cave are just as bloody, just as cold.

A gilded cage is still a cage.

The only good thing in his life has now just become the only thing. He’s a bird without wings.

Bruce didn’t say goodbye to him before he left.)

“I was busy,” Bruce said lamely. “You were acting like a child.”

“I was a child,” Dick rasped, the words keening from his throat. His vision tunneled, going dark around the edges, and he bit back a swear. “Robin, call backup.”

If Damian replied, he couldn’t hear. There’s another hand pulling at his wrist, to which he knocked away in his panicked instincts. A following clatter on the ground echoed through the darkness, then a muffled sound of pain.

“Shit,” Dick said. “Shit, I’m so sorry. Are you okay? I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt you—“

Bruce sighed with resignation. “Always reckless. Always endangering the people you claim to love. You won’t ever learn, will you, Robin?”

A blinding light hit his eyes, and he hissed, his arms shielding his face from the spotlight. Wind whipped around him, and there was so much sound that started at him in waves. Cheers and whistles, the steady tin dribbling of a timpani, a symphony of thunderous applause.

Dick weakly dropped his arms, squinting out at the lights, all white beams that strobe past him, that move in and out of view. In the light, little bits of paper fell: cheap, thin squares in colours of faded red, yellow, green—

He’s been here before.

A million times, more, he’s been here. He breathed in, was hit with the scent of hay, of chalk, of sweat, of blood. On his tongue he could taste it, the metallic tang of sheer horror and a scream so deep it could only be felt.

“Richard!”

Dick’s head shot up. Crouched on the edge of a platform an entire tent’s length away, he could catch the blurry figure of Damian. He was injured, blood dripping from his nose.

A spotlight dropped on Damian, and the boy winced, ducking his head to cover his eyes. Dick’s mind stalled. He couldn’t tell what was real or not.

“LADIES AND GENTLEMEN… BOYS AND GIRLS… HALEY’S CIRCUS IS PROUD TO ANNOUNCE…”

A trapeze dropped from nowhere, the bar dull with chalk. The timpani sped up, drumming impossibly in tandem with his heartbeat.

“…FOR ONE NIGHT ONLY…”

In all his nightmares, Dick could see where the rope was fraught, could see what he missed the time that it counted. This wasn’t an outlier. He could see the singed edges, he could see them.

“…THE FLYING GRAYSONS!”

(He was four when he learned to fly. He was never nervous. He never felt safer than he did holding onto his Tată’s warm hands, and he never felt more free than when he was swinging through the air with a laugh in his chest.

“I want to do this forever,” he insisted after his first day of practice, standing on his toes. “Can I, Mamă? Please?”

“My little Robin,” Mamă laughed sweetly, combing his hair back between her fingers. “You were just born to fly, hm?”)

The band was playing loud, circus music that twisted in all the wrong ways, in all the wrong shapes. Dick hazarded an alarmed look towards Damian.

“Dami,” he called out frantically, stepping up. “Damian, hang on. Don’t move, okay?”

Damian’s eyes look back at him, all wide, unsteady. He looked so young now that he had removed his domino— Dick can’t remember when he’d done that.

“Richard!” He called out. “Do you have a plan?”

(He’s eight years old and it’s the end of this summer’s tour. His Mamă did his hair, gelled the short waves down nice so they wouldn’t fall in his eyes when he hung upside down, because he’d fretted when they started practicing their big act.

He’s got his perfect show-stopping smile on, one of his front teeth missing, but bright and cheery all the same. His outfit had been pressed last night, glittery red and green with stripes of yellow dashed along the chest to look like a bird.

His knees locked around a trapeze bar, and he swung back and forth, grinning at Mamă because she’s always so beautiful when she soars through the air. She winked at him, and to his glee, he caught a quick glimpse of her sparkly eyeshadow.

The crowds cheered. He felt like he was on top of the world.)

The platform Damian stood on wavered, and he gritted his teeth, holding out his arms to keep some semblance of balance. He looked back up, barely-concealed panic in his eyes. “Richard, we’re running out of time. I should— I have to jump.”

“No!” Dick shouted, a sudden bark of a word. He made himself sound as stern as he could, the panic ramping up in his chest. “Damian, do not jump. Stay there.”

Damian was going to fall. There wasn’t a question about it. Dick looked at the bar dangling in front of them, and he made a choice.

“I’m—“ Dick took a steadying breath, and forced his shoulders to relax. “I’m coming to you. Just stay there.”

Bruce had trained him for moments like these. Times if his cable broke, if some accident occurred to his grapnel while he was still in the air. He knew, theoretically, the least-damaging way to land from a potentially lethal height.

That was with one person. Not two.

He pictured the steps in his mind. Grabbing Damian, tucking him to his chest, turning over before the inevitable impact. Injury would be the best case scenario.

Dick’s ready to take that chance.

(Dick’s swinging back and forth, the blood rushing to his head, and something about the rope—

Mamă was swinging towards him, and something wasn’t right. The rope thinned, and before Dick could even process what the problem was— it happened.

SNAP.

His Tată gasped, his Mamă’s eyes went wide, her hand still stretched out to take his.

Dick’s arm lunged as far as he could without falling, his small fingers strung out as if the centimeters would make a difference.

It didn’t.

He screamed, and he kept screaming, and sometimes it felt like he never truly stopped.)

“Damian.” Dick smiled, attempting to pacify him before the damage. “You’ll be okay.”

Damian furrowed his eyebrows, his eyes wildly darting from the trapeze bar to Dick. “What? Richard, don’t do anything stupid! What are you—“

He took a few steps back, shook out his limbs, and swallowed his fear.

He leaped towards the bar. The rope strained under his weight, he could hear the way it pulled. Damian yelled a swear, seemingly having connected the dots. It didn’t matter now. He needed to build more momentum.

He swung his legs back and kicked them forward, and a loud round of applause shook the stadium. The platform Damian stood on wavered, and he nearly toppled over the side of the uneasy ground.

Dick swore, and he kicked harder, using every bit of his weight to get the trapeze moving.

“Damian!” He shouted. “Jump on three! Okay? I’ll catch you!”

Backwards, forwards. Dick’s hands were sweaty through the gloves of his suit. Damian was mouthing to himself: One.

Backwards, forwards. The rope pulled taut. It creaked. It was almost over. Two.

Backwards, forwards. He launched off, the rope pulling apart with an echoing snap. His eyes locked on Damian, who had jumped towards him just as the platform crumbled. Three.

Dick reached out his hands.

(Mamă reached out her hands.)

He’s falling.

(She’s falling.)

Damian’s fingers brushed against his, just barely, just enough for Dick to pull him closer. The two of them tumbled through the air, birds without wings. The world spun, and Dick turned Damian away from the impact as it grew closer—

It took two seconds for the world to explode in a menagerie of bright, painful colours. Two moves. His spine, the ground. The wind knocked out of him.

Under the sound of the audience, still clapping, still cheering, oblivious to the blood, he could hear them— the circus clowns laughed, and laughed, and laughed.

In his arms, a crumpled bundle shifted and cried out. Dick hissed weakly as the movement jostled his back. A spark of fear gave him the energy to lift his chin, just enough to look down.

“Damian?” He wheezed. “Dami, you okay?”

Damian climbed off of his chest, and held a hand to his head. It came back blood-soaked, crimson running down his wrist. He looked back at Dick with dazed eyes. He made a small, confused sound at the back of his throat.

“Fuck,” Dick sat up, ignoring the white hot pain shooting through his entire body. He stumbled close to Damian to investigate the wound.

Somewhere during the fall, he’d hit his head. There was a lot of blood. Inevitable– head injuries were always the bloodiest because the brain needed a lot of blood; there were a lot of vessels to be broken up there. He definitely had a concussion.

He pressed pressure onto the wound, sinking a terrible warmth into the fabric of his suit.

“Okay,” Dick said quickly, cradling Damian’s head in his hands. “You’re okay.”

(He was always more tired after a mission.

Usually the farther it was, the more free he felt— an effect of his nomadic early years. He learned pretty fast that the rule didn’t apply to extraterrestrial travel. He preferred his feet on the ground he knew best, and the long space missions the Titans had to go out on lately were really good at draining him of all his energy.

That’s why he spent the entire trip home soothing the bone-deep exhaustion by imagining himself walking through the door. He’d collapse on the couch, sprawl all his limbs out and laugh at the way Jason would trail in after him with a scowl.

Jason would stumble over his explanation that the first living room’s TV had the best audio quality, to shove over so he could watch The Princess Bride, and Dick would move over just to kick his feet back over Jason’s legs.

They’d wrestle over the remote and then Jason would glare at him and say “welcome back, by the way,” and then Dick would finally feel like he was home.)

Someone dropped behind him. The fall of heavy boots. A familiar sound. Dick turned around and faced a red helmet and full weaponry.

“You called for an assist,” Hood said bluntly.

“Damian,” Dick rattled off quickly, keeping his hand clamped on the bleeding wound. “I mean Robin, he’s injured. TBI, external bleeding head injury, I haven’t had time to properly triage.”

(He’s walking up the hill, the winding road up to the foyer, and he’s thinking about Alfred’s hot cocoa. He’s thinking of Bruce, and mimicking his facial expressions everytime he turned away until Jason cracked and let out one of his kiddie high-pitched laughs.

He got to the door, and something felt wrong, like the rope, like the—)

Hood stalked forward. He clicked his helmet off and tossed it to the side, the metal clanging on concrete. He leaned down beside Damian and looked over the wound.

“Definitely a concussion,” Hood sighed heavily. He said something mumbled to himself, then tried snapping his fingers in front of Damian’s face.

Damian was wildly out of it, drifting in and out of consciousness. His fingers twitched from where they were held in one of Dick’s hands, his eyebrows furrowed and his mouth curling in an annoyed sneer— he was scared, disoriented, and he was trying to fight it off. Oh, Dami.

(Maybe he was paranoid. Recent events had definitely made him noticeably more twitchy, but he couldn’t imagine why it would make him feel like this.

Not even paranoia could cause this, he wanted to think— this feeling of something so deeply off center, a molecular-level change that he couldn’t place.

He took a breath, shook off his shoulders, and put on a smile— perfect, show stopping, just like Mamă taught him — before he knocked on the door.

The door opened promptly. Alfred had been waiting for him.

Alfred’s hand shook lightly on the door handle. His handkerchief was tucked messily into his suit pocket, wrinkled and well-used. His hair was thinner, his eyes were sunken in, red-rimmed, his lips were pulled together primly. Grief emanated from every tired line of his body.

Dick’s smile was whisked away and paranoia was replaced with dread, shuddering over him faster than he could breathe, from his hair’s split-ends to the soles of his feet.

He swallowed, his gaze going steely. “Who was it?”)

Dick shuddered, everything was hurting so badly— the world was blurring, he’s messing everything up, and Damian was injured in his lap and he needed help.

“We have to get him to the cave, or Leslie’s,” Dick pleaded, looking up to Jason. “Whichever’s faster.”

“The cave. Leslie’s on the other side of town, and Agent A is already prepared for a shit show,” Jason said. After a moment, he sighed. “I got here on my motorcycle, though. Not enough room for three, even if Demon Brat is a shrimp.”

“Take him,” Dick said immediately. He lifted Damian up, his entire spine screaming with pain. He winced, and pressed on. “Take him to the cave, I’ll find my way back.”

“Whatever.” Jason reached down and took him in his arms. “What happened, anyway?”

(“Bruce. Tell me you’re lying,” Dick said, barely getting the words out with the way he shook. “Tell me you didn’t bury my…”

Bruce didn’t speak. He was looking at him, finally, after all the time, but his gaze was empty. His eyes were grey, devoid of feeling, of focus.

“Bruce!” Dick shouted, slamming his fist on the desk. He needed Bruce to flinch, to blink, to breathe. Anything would be better than this.

Bruce just stared.

“God damn it, answer me!” Dick punched the table again, his eyes scanning furiously over Bruce’s void of energy.)

“Dickface,” Jason snapped, sounding mildly alarmed. He shifted uncomfortably, the unconscious kid groaning in his arms. “Hey, what the fuck. It wasn’t that serious, why’re you crying?”

Dick blinked rapidly, his hands coming up to his face. Tears made his cheeks wet and cold. “I don’t know,” he said, wiping them away. “I don’t know, I— he fell. That’s what happened. We—“

“Did you fucking drop him?” Jason spat out, looking at Dick with disgust.

“I didn’t drop him,” Dick bit down, his teeth clicking together painfully. His stomach turned with waves of nausea. “We fell together, I tried to—“

“You did,” Jason scoffed. “You did drop him. Nice fucking going, Dickie. Do you know what a fall from that height does to someone as small as him? You may be able to take it, but chances are he fucking won’t.”

(Bruce swallowed. “I’m sorry, Dick,” he mumbled drunkenly. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

Dick’s vision was beginning to blur, a familiar rage burning its way back into his veins, back to the circus, back to screams and police sirens, back to Zucco.

An empty whisky glass from Bruce’s desk found its way into Dick’s hand, and was thrown across the room with a brilliant amount of force. Dick didn't look while it shattered and fell to the carpet in a million shining pieces.

“Sorry is something you say when you break a fucking glass,” Dick gritted out. “Not when you kill somebody’s fucking little brother.”

He couldn’t breathe. He’s taking in air faster than his lungs could register it. “What did you do, Bruce? What the hell did you do?!”)

“You’d think the first one would be enough for the lesson to stick,” Jason spat bitterly. “But no, somehow, you just keep collecting dead birds, huh?”

“No,” Dick scraped out. He bowed his head, pressing into the gravely pavement. A gasp forced out from his lungs as the tears made him heave. “No, no, no.”

The boots trailed around him in a lazy circle. “Another baby brother lost. Stop fucking crying, Dickie, I know you don’t actually care. You gonna miss his funeral, too?”

“I’m so sorry.” Dick made fists, he grasped uselessly at the concrete, catching and ripping at the fabric of his gloves. “He didn’t tell me. Jason, please. Please, I’m so sorry.”

“Sure. Sure, he didn’t tell you, so it wasn’t your fault.” Jason gripped his hair and yanked his head up. “Which is it, then? It isn’t your fault, or you’re sorry? Which is it?”

He’s pissed. His eyes a manic green, the way animals carried vibrant patterns so predators knew to steer clear. It’d been so long since his last bout of pit madness, he’d already fought this battle before, it was supposed to be over.

“Everything you are, was what I wanted to be,” Jason said slowly, his eyes dark and gleaming, tilted and dangerous. “Now I can’t even look at you without feeling sick.”

“I know,” Dick croaked.

“When we finally kick the bucket, I pray we go to different hells.”

Jason released his grip, and Dick’s skull slammed against the floor in a blinding white flash.

(“Nightwing. We’ve gotten a code red from Titan Tower.”

Dick paused, his movements lilting in confusion. “Tim’s the only one there this weekend.”

A sharp inhale through the nose, B’s telltale giveaway of panic. “The Red Hood has been seen at the location.”

Something heavy fell in Dick’s stomach. His eyes darkened. “…Leaving now.”)

Rather than waking up in one of Gotham’s infamous back alleys, Dick lifted his head in an indoor grey hallway, industrial, stretching a long way before an inevitable turn.

His heart was still pounding, his breath still stuttered with every inhale and exhale. Two brothers gone, two fathers lost, one mother dead. He wanted to curl up and stay there shaking until it was all over, let the misery wash over him until the bubbles stopped.

“I didn’t train you to give up,” Bruce said, his voice cracking through his skull. “If you’re going to die, you’re going to make it useful.”

Someone was calling his name. Somewhere else, as it echoed and rebounded through the ominous hallway. He lifted his head again to look.

At the far end of the hallway, just before the turn, a dash of red smeared on the wall. Dick knew like the back of his hand what was meant to follow, every horrible moment that awaited him.

“Don’t just lay there,” Bruce commanded. “Run, Robin.”

(Dick’s voice was hoarse from how loudly he’s bellowing as he sprinted through the tower’s floors. He barely heard Tim at all, a cry, weak and frail as a baby bird’s, and then he was running again towards the sound.)

He was running through the hallways. He couldn’t remember getting up, all he could remember was—

(—blood on the wall. Blood on the floor. It was everywhere.

Good god, it was everywhere, and in the center of it all there was—)

“Tim!” Dick fell to his knees, gathering up the teen and pressing his hand to his bleeding neck.

Tim keened, tears and spilling crimson on his cheeks, his chin, his nose. He grasped helplessly at Dick’s arms, his feet pushing against the floor in a squirming mess as he tried to deal with the pain.

“It’s okay,” Dick repeated feverishly. He’s moving like a ghost, like a possessed man, like a puppet. “I’ve got you. Come on, we’re going to the med bay. Come on.”

He scooped Tim up and half-dragged him to the medical bay, and he’s digging through the drawers with one hand and—

(— he’s holding Tim’s bleeding throat with the other, and Tim kept trying to speak. He was gasping and floundering like his life depending on choking the words out, rather than actually living.

Dick kept shushing him. He’s razor-focused, he’s scatter-brained, his hands are doing a million things at once, he’s not moving fast enough. He packed the hemostatic gauze and—)

— he wrapped the injury with more cloth, and—

(—it’s hiding the red, it’s working, his little brother will be okay, Dick will make it okay and—)

—there’s so much blood, it was soaking through, and nothing was working. It wasn’t supposed to be this. This wasn’t supposed to happen. These weren’t the way the words were written. This wasn’t how the story was supposed to go.

“You’re—“ Tim gasped, the sound wretched and wet. “A murderer. A fraud. You…”

Dick made a panicked noise as he pressed more gauze, more cloth, more pressure, and the shock was starting to settle into Tim’s body. His eyes were going glassy. His face was so pale underneath the bruises and drying blood.

Tim gurgled, his hands going limp and falling to the side.

“Not another,” Dick shook. “Not— Not again.”

He reached out—

(—to take his mother’s hand—)

(—to call Bruce—)

(—to ruffle his brother’s hair—)

(—to keep pressure on the wound—)

—and his hand is caught by someone else’s.

It was akin to the exact moment a storm cleared, or taking a proper breath after a marathon. Atlas with a sudden bout of freedom, shoulders free of the world for one clear, distinct moment.

He exhaled, squeezing the hand in his in a strange desperation. He needed this to be real.

The hand squeezed back. Someone’s speaking to him in low, soothing tones.

The scene in front of him faded away into nothing, a cloak of darkness falling over his view. He felt tired enough to sink into the dark, enough to breathe now like it wouldn’t be his last breath.

Distantly he thought maybe his heart had finally given up, that this was the peace before his consciousness gave into oblivion. A pang sat in his throat, a heaviness at the thought that he would be leaving his family in need of him, but — but this couldn’t be stopped. Not anymore.

“Shh…” a callused hand gently graced his face. It’s warm and it’s safe, and he was so tired. His eyes shut, his body went lax at the abrupt crash of adrenaline. “It’s all better now. Just rest.”

In the end, it hardly felt like a choice at all.

He went to sleep.

Waking up properly was a slow, miserable process.

He kept getting flashes of awareness, fragments of scents, of sights, of sounds. Sometimes he panicked, and then there was that voice again, gruff and steady, telling him everything was going to be fine.

All the while, he dreamt.

In dreams, everything was just as fuzzy, so much so that it was hard to distinguish from reality until he would jerk back awake.

He was nine, carrying his things in a big black grocery bag he got from a social worker up the front steps of the manor. He’s thirteen and he’s broken his ankle on patrol. B won’t stop fretting and Dick won’t stop rolling his eyes.

He’s fifteen and he hated the world and he loved his dad. He’s seventeen and he wanted to come home now, really, he did.

He’s eighteen and he loved to sit next to his little brother and listen while he read books with words so big he couldn’t pronounce them out loud. He’s twenty-two and his little brother was dead and every morning he made two bowls of cereal for himself and a ghost.

He’s twenty-four and there’s a scrawny boy with messy dark hair and determined blue eyes on his doorstep and his brother’s voice was in ear telling him about “the importance of remembering history, Dickface.”

He’s twenty-five and Robin kept looking up to him with such hesitancy, and Dick hated himself because he couldn’t remember how to be who he needed to be. His smiles became more bright, the unfortunate but necessary byproduct of an artificial sun.

He’s twenty-six and everything was upside down. Damian was so angry, Tim was too confident, Jason wasn’t himself. For a moment Dick knew how Bruce felt. Maybe they were never cut out for loving people. He didn’t think it was supposed to hurt this much.

Now, Dick lazily blinked the sleep away from his eyes and swallowed the stagnant saliva in his mouth. He felt warm from what he assumed to be an IV drip, and dizzy from whatever drugs he had to be on.

“Dick.”

Dick glanced over to the chair beside him, where Bruce was still sitting. He had a neutral expression on his face, but his shoulders were tight, and he knew exhaustion when he saw it. He knew Bruce.

“Are you with me?” Bruce asked.

Dick exhaled carefully through his nose. Chances are that this wasn’t another hallucination— especially because he felt like an actual human being and not anxiety personified. “Depends. I thought you had a gala tonight.”

“I had a gala two nights ago.”

Dick sighed. He used his strength to push himself up into a sitting position. Bruce’s eyes never leave, tracking along each movement with quiet calculation. “I was out that long?”

Bruce grunted an affirmative.

This was the part of the mission where Dick would give his report, try and point out all his mistakes, inevitably fail, and listen to Bruce’s lecture about the most important thing he missed.

No reason to mess with tradition, he figured, so he let his head fall back on the pillow and went back to where it all went wrong.

“Damian and I were on patrol. I got dosed with toxin,” Dick recounted, closing his eyes. “I gave the order to get out of there. I told Damian to call backup after the hallucinations started feeling more real.”

A flying trapeze. The Red Hood. Tim. Dick sighed again, his cheeks going hot. “The hallucinations were unrealistic, I should have been more logical with my approach. It was the flashbacks that screwed me over, I think. It made everything… feel real.”

Bruce wasn’t saying anything, only watched him carefully. All this time and Dick still hated when he did that. He looked back at him and waited for the reproach, the promised lecture.

Bruce finally cleared his throat. “Fear toxin alters the mind,” he said. “Often the first thing to go is rationality and logic. I don’t blame you, Dick— you were strong, you and Damian made it out alive. Today, that’s what counts.”

Dick hesitated, watched the way Bruce’s eyes flickered, the way his jaw tensed minutely between certain words.

“Something happened when I was out,” he surmised. Bruce looked away, effectively confirming that he was right on the money. “What was it?”

“It proved… challenging,” Bruce struggled, “to get you en route to the cave. The footage is available, but I would avoid it this time. It was a close call.”

“Was I the only one hurt?” Dick asked, swallowing the lump in his throat. His mind flashed him pictures of Damian in his arms, of Tim on the ground. He hated fear toxin.

Bruce nodded once. “Nobody else sustained injuries.”

Dick sighed with instant relief. He let himself relax back into the cot. “Where is everyone, then? I figured at least Damian would be here.”

“I sent him to bed,” Bruce crossed his arms, a very tired amusement passing his face. “I stopped letting him argue back at hour forty-four. He hadn’t even changed out of his suit.”

Dick smiled. “How long ago?”

Bruce flicked his wrist out and glanced at his watch. “Six hours ago. It’s two in the morning.”

Not enough sleep for Dick to justify waking him up. He’ll wait for a few more hours, or until Damian wakes up to find him. Whichever came first.

“You should go to sleep,” Dick told him, because he could see the dark circles and knew Bruce probably had been too busy working on an antidote with Tim to rest. At Bruce’s visible hesitation, he rolled his eyes. “I’ll be alright here. I know you have me hooked up to monitors anyway. Seriously, get out of here.”

Bruce took a moment, and then relented with a heavy sigh. “If something comes up, you know what to do. Goodnight, Dick.”

Dick found the footage on the lenses of Robin’s mask.

He didn’t like watching himself on fear toxin, not that anybody did. The vulnerability is unsettling, sure, but watching himself behave like a wild animal never sat with him the right way. He couldn’t be like Bruce, who would watch his patrol footage and pick it apart mercilessly just to improve his technique.

Furthermore, it was weird to see himself from Damian’s eyes. Himself, crouched down so they’re eye-to-eye. In the footage, Dick was trembling. He flinched at nothing.

“The serum,” he had said, but his voice sounded distant, like his head wasn’t fully there. “It’s getting worse.”

Then, Damian. Sure-fire and defiant. “You can’t listen to it. It isn’t real. None of it is real.”

With Damian’s eyes, he watched himself look around the alleyway like a hunted dog. His chest stalling every few seconds and then his breath increasing in speed.

“Nightwing!” Damian reached for his arm and shook violently. “Focus!”

He made a wounded noise and didn’t move, hiding his face in his hands— he remembered this. He remembered this happening. This was when the first flashbacks kept catching him off guard.

“It’s not real,” Damian had tried. “Nightwing, snap out of it!”

This was where memory started to trail off from reality.

In reality, Damian was on his comms, his eyes locked on target to whatever Dick was doing, ready to catch him if he flew off. He was calling a code— Oracle sent everyone to pick up collateral. Hood, Red Robin, Spoiler, and Orphan. They went in teams.

Damian doesn’t leave his side. The footage clipped to a later timestamp.

He watched himself flounder in terror, looking around with choked gasps and half-mumbled words like he was caught in a nightmare.

“Damian. Dami.” Dick caught Damian’s arm, his eyes distant, his pupils shrunk small. He was whispering. “Damian. You’ll be okay.”

Damian froze. He quickly turned away as a motorcycle was heard behind.

Dick watched as Jason came into view, much like he did in the hallucinations, although here he moved forward more like he was approaching a feral animal.

“You called for an assist?” He tried to joke, his usual deadpan failing with the undercurrent of worry that pulsed through. (Neither of them did well with fear toxin. They hated it both equally.)

Dick watched himself react to the words like he’d just taken a bullet. The way he lurched away, the immediate hurt that followed on Jason’s face.

“It’s not you,” Damian said immediately, echoing the thoughts Dick had. “You know that, Todd.”

“I know,” Jason shrugged. He inched forward tentatively anyways.

“No,” Dick scraped out, gasping. He started to scrape at the ground with his hands, leaving them bloody. “No, no, no.”

“Fuck,” Jason said quickly, as both him and Damian rushed to stop him from shredding any more skin. Jason flinched as Dick let out another keening cry.

“I’m so sorry,” he said, his head lulling uselessly forward. His body shuddered violently. “He didn’t… tell me… Jason, please. Please, I’m so sorry...”

Jason made a frustrated sound, strangled at the back of his throat. “Fuck. I’m making it worse. Why didn’t you call Tim? He likes Tim.”

“You’re not making it worse,” Damian snapped. “Stay focused.”

“I’m focused,” Jason snapped back. “Let’s get him to the cave. You think you can keep up with me with your grapple?”

Damian marched forward, taking the hook from his belt. He exhaled stiffly through his nose. “Don’t ask stupid questions, Hood. We’re wasting time. I’ll see you there.”

The footage jumped again, rerouting to the security feed in the cave. It showed the medical bay at the forefront, the cot he was lying in, and the computer in the back. It was chaos.

Jason and Bruce argued loudly as they held down Dick’s arms and kept him pinned to the cot, as he seized and gasped. Alfred stood to the side holding an oxygen mask to Dick’s face, trying to get the two to stop shouting. Damian stood still at the foot of the bed, scowling while he overlooked vitals. His hands shook.

“His BPM is too high,” Damian growled over the noise. He spun around to where Tim had been pacing in the back. “Drake, his heart is going to inevitably fail if you don’t work faster.”

Tim, muttering to himself, moving around computers and flasks like a mad scientist, didn’t meet him with even a look. “I’m working as fast as I can,” he spat back. “Yelling at me won’t make a cure magically exist.”

“I’m just saying,” Jason insisted, “he got worse a hell of a lot faster after I showed up, and now with you here, he’s about to fucking die!”

“I didn’t ask you to just say,” Bruce cut sharply. “You know just as well as anybody else that the effects of Crane’s toxins are unpredictable, and–”

Dick managed to land a stray hit in all his panic, shoving Bruce away and sitting up from the cot. His eyes wild, his chest heaving; he pushed out of Jason and Alfred’s hands and tried to stumble off the cot.

“Fuck,” Jason swore. “Now look what you fucking did–”

Damian clenched his teeth. “You idiots– can’t you do one job correctly?!”

Tim swung around. He marched over, pushing Damian to the side, shoving past Jason and Bruce, and ignoring them all as they turned their attention. He leaned down beside Dick, who had fallen to his knees. He held a syringe in his hand.

“Tim,” Dick stammered, reaching forward. “You’re bleeding, you’re…”

Tim grabbed his arm and stuck the syringe into a vein, his jaw set in a firm line. Dick made a panicked noise and seemed to flounder back, but he had already finished injecting the antidote. It was done.

“It’ll set in an hour,” Tim said, looking around the stunned room of people. “He’ll probably sleep a lot, so someone should sit with him. And all of you should apologize to Alfred for the headache.”

After a beat of silence, it was Damian who spoke first.

“I’ll take the first shift.” He paused. “...Hopefully you did a considerable job, Drake.”

The footage ended.

Dick turned the device off with a shaking hand and closed his eyes for a long, long time. He breathed in. He breathed out. He did it again, and again, and again, until it didn’t feel like he was living it anymore.

He had barely been drifting when the door to the medical bay creaked open. When there was no following noise, Dick knew it was Damian. His footsteps were always too quiet to hear unless he wanted someone to hear them.

He opened his eyes, and Damian was scowling at him.

Dick smiled easily. “Hi, there.”

Damian scowled harder.

Dick’s smile faded, and he swallowed, letting himself go solemn. “I’m sorry, Dami. I know, I shouldn’t have let myself get hit. I endangered you, I could have hurt you, or worse—“

“Don’t flatter yourself,” Damian scoffed. He marched into the room, sitting down in the nearest chair with a huff.

His hair stuck up in all directions, he was still wearing his pyjamas. Dick noted with unrestrained glee that it was the joke Nightwing pair he bought last Christmas. He just looked like any normal kid who had been woken up too early, and Dick loved him more than words could express.

“Do you want to talk about anything?” Dick asked instead, tilting his head. “I know whenever B got hit with a fear toxin, I would get pretty freaked out.”

Damian watched him quietly for a long moment, his eyebrows furrowed as if he were considering this. He knew sometimes it took a moment for Damian to decide whether or not he was safe to engage in a particular conversation, and he respected that— so he went quiet and patiently waited.

“You spoke a lot,” Damian said finally, his expression easing. “Much of it was incoherent, but there were times where you would say something clear. I believe you were convinced I was in danger.”

Dick nodded. He kept his hands folded on his lap to prevent himself from fidgeting too much.

Damian then looked down. “I believe you lied to me. You told me it would be okay. Or, tried to.”

“I did,” Dick said slowly.

Damian’s jaw clenched, his eyes very focused on the floor. “You nearly died several times before Drake synthesized a working antidote. The fear was making your heart dangerously fast— anybody else not used to the stress would have died.”

Dick frowned, but remained quiet.

Damian looked back up, the scowl returning, albeit weak. It couldn’t hide his watery eyes. “It would not have been okay, Grayson.”

The youngest of all of them. Underneath all the violence and sharp words, it was hard to forget that Damian was still just a kid — a kid who had lost everything just like the rest of them.

“I’m sorry,” Dick said quietly. He hesitated. “You’re right, Damian. I’m sorry.”

“I do not wish to grieve you,” Damian warned, an imperceptible waver in his voice. “It would be inconvenient. Your life is–”

The words broke, and he quickly looked away, glaring harder at the floor.

He sniffled and his hand quickly swiped over his cheeks. He kept his shoulders tight, his body language full of fire and brimstone, spiked and thorned just like he’d been when he first arrived.

“If you die,” he said coldly, baring his teeth, “I’ll hate you forever.”

There are few things on this earth that meant as much to Dick as his family. After everything he’d lost, the things he gained only meant that much more. His little brothers; they all came from grief, born and bred.

Jason had crept through after Dick thought he had nothing left to fight for, when he instead fought everything as if it would repair the loss.

Robin replaced Robin. Dick learned to grow around the loss and gave it new life instead.

Tim was the one nobody thought to worry about, the anomaly, the one who bypassed the firewalls in the midst of the crisis. Broke down faulty systems, repaired them, forced his way through the cracks that Dick couldn’t find it in himself to caulk.

Robin replaced Robin. Dick learned to grieve the present and appreciate it at the same time.

But nobody had expected Damian. When he crash-landed in like a jet on fire, it was like the ground underneath them went uneven, and he continued to break their expectations with every step he took.

Robin replaced Robin. This time, Dick learned a lot of things. He learned what it was like to have a Robin.

He learned the weight of holding a sleeping kid on his chest, how he would do anything to keep him looking that peaceful. He learned to keep an ear out at night, to keep his door unlocked in case there was a nightmare, in case he was needed.

He learned how it felt to have a piece of his heart living outside of his body— and, like anybody, Dick didn’t like it when his heart was broken.

“Everybody dies, Damian,” Dick said carefully. “I really hope you won't hate me, when I do go.”

He exhaled, watching as Damian wiped away more of his angry tears.

“But,” he continued. “I’m not dying today, or hopefully anytime soon. I’m here, just like I said I’d be, and… I’d rather not spend the rest of my long life with someone that I love so much being angry at me.”

Damian shifted in his chair, like he was ready to bolt at any moment. Despite his best efforts, his bottom lip quivered and his scowl was starting to falter.

“I hope you can forgive me,” Dick said quietly, the words cracking at the end. He cleared his throat, ignoring the burning at his eyes. “I’m sorry that I scared you. Next time, I’ll—“

Damian stood up promptly and marched forward, his face properly scrunched up to avoid tears. He crossed the room in three steps, and by the third step his resolve had fully broken.

Watching Damian cry was like watching the world tear itself apart. He’s twelve years old and had the same rocky edges of the mountains he’d been forced to climb, had the same ferocity as the currents he’d been forced to swim against, had the same chill as the tundras he’d survived.

He held onto so much, so much; all before he’d barely started to carve out a spot in life big enough for him to stand in. It was hard work. It only ever got harder.

Dick would reshape the earth in his own hands if it meant the land would soothe the old aches and reset the broken bones. He’d take every hurt and every pain and he would do it smiling if it meant his little brothers never saw an inch of it.

But he couldn’t do that. Instead he had to be content with letting his arms open, and trusting that Damian would crawl up into them. That would be their peace.

Damian wept, broken little sounds choking their way through his tears. He buried his head into Dick’s abdomen and kept his arms curled up to his sides.

“Oh, Damian. Băiatul meu dulce,” Dick soothed, hushing his voice to a murmur. His heart was bleeding, a messy thing in the cage of his chest, and he quieted it down, too. “You’ve got me, Dami. I’m okay now. I’m okay.”

He pressed a kiss to his baby brother’s head and tried not to let himself lose the last semblance of emotional control he had as Damian’s cries racked through his small frame.

“This is your fault,” Damian stuttered through tears. “I’m still mad at you. Just... don’t leave.”

“I know.” He kept his hands busy by drawing circles over Damian’s back. He took deliberately slow breaths and rocked gently back and forth. “I’m right here, honey. You can be as mad as you want, I’m not going anywhere.”

And then words dwindled into nothing, because sometimes the silence was better. He pressed his nose into Damian’s hair, kept himself close. His hands worked their soft rhythm on his back, continuing even as Damian’s breathing slowed to a calmer pace.

His chest and upper stomach was soaked in salt and he didn’t give a damn about it.

After a few minutes of quiet sniffling and the sound of a hand smoothing down the wrinkles of a fleece shirt, Damian huffed. He kept his face hidden as he spoke.

“Emotions,” he said tentatively, drained of energy, “are exhausting, and embarrassing.”

Dick smiled shortly. A rush of relief passed over him, because talking was good. Talking meant he hadn’t truly ruined everything.

He passed his fingers past Damian’s forehead, carefully folding loose strands of hair away from his eyes. “Get some sleep then. It’s early, nobody will be up for a while.”

Damian was quiet for a few moments, considering. He exhaled. “You’ll wake me if—“

“You know I will,” Dick assured him softly. “Just your eyes, baby bat.”

Damian made an aggrieved noise, but made himself small while he settled into the cot.

His baby brother fell asleep in two short minutes— and a piece of Dick’s soul clicked back where it belonged.

Getting out of the medical bay was always a victory. His consistent visitors had been Damian and Alfred— while Batman and Red Robin had picked up slack on patrol, which was reasonable. Dick watched from cameras and would give occasional commentary through the comms with O.

(Jason, he hadn’t seen anywhere.)

Since the toxin, Dick had been trying to get himself back to normal. He wanted to let the memories wash away to the back of his mind where they usually were, instead of lingering on the forefront like a bad breakup.

For him, getting back to normal meant doing normal things— or, as normal as it could get. He sat on communications and bothered Bruce with his puns. He helped Alfred collect laundry. He watched animal documentaries with Damian. He practiced defense in the training room. He bothered Bruce some more.

He finally caught Tim in the kitchen, falling asleep into a bowl of cereal— bits of soggy cheerios stuck to his cheek and his hair saturated in almond milk.

Dick smiled to himself and then knocked his knuckles on the counter.

Tim lifted his head and looked up with an amount of unconcern that was almost impressive for someone who had almost drowned in their (12pm) breakfast.

“Dick,” he said, blinking a few times. “You’re out of the medbay?”

“Second day out,” Dick informed, giving a sympathetic smile. He yanked off a paper towel from the roll and wiped the milk and cereal off of Tim’s face.

“Oh.” Tim’s eyebrows furrowed, frowning imperceptibly. “…Nobody told me.”

Dick made a noise of disapproval and grabbed his own bowl from the cabinets. He sat down beside Tim and poured the cereal in. “I would have been in there a lot longer if you hadn’t figured out the antidote. So, thank you.”

“You would’ve been dead, actually,” Tim corrected, stirring soggy cereal around with his spoon. “And it’s fine. It’s what I’m here for.”

Dick frowned into his own bowl and poured in the milk. “Right. I actually wanted to talk to you about that, when you had a second. That must have been pretty stressful for you, I wanted to see if you were doing okay.”

“I see you’re at the getting-to-normal stage,” Tim observed, glancing over. “I know you probably already talked to B. Definitely talked to Demon Brat, because he’s less Demon than a few days ago. Jason’s next, right?”

Dick looked up to reply, and then paused.

Tim’s face was of its usual paleness, the normal dark purple shadows painted under his eyes. He knew about Tim’s bad working habits, his insomnia, but seriously— when was the last time this boy got any sleep?

“Why can’t you be next?” Dick asked instead.

Tim scoffed, his lip lifting up in a half-smile like something was amusing to him. He shook his head. “I think you could probably find Jason in—“

“I’m serious,” Dick interrupted. He set his spoon down in the bowl, letting it clink. “You’re my brother too, Tim.”

“Sure,” Tim said with a nod. “It’s just, you know. You have to add a ‘too’, don’t you? Implying there’s an original to be added to. Which is fine, seriously. I don’t know. I’m not offended or anything— you don’t have to lie to make me feel better about something that doesn’t affect me anymore.”

Dick stared, his jaw loosely hung open as he tried to fumble together the pieces of what Tim just splayed out.

“Tim, I—“ He shook his head, feeling slightly hysterical. “Explain that again?”

Tim huffed a laugh. He pushed his bowl away from him. “We don’t have to do this, Dick. Seriously. Whatever it is, I forgive you, we don’t have to make it this big thing.”

“Tim,” Dick said sharply. Tim straightened, his tired smile gone in an instant, his eyes alert, and Dick felt a wave of regret hit him. He sighed, scrubbing a hand over his eyes. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to snap. I shouldn’t have. I just— I need you to explain. Please.”

Tim frowned and pushed his hair out of his face. “I don’t know how to explain this without you getting pissed at me. Or you.”

“Start from the beginning,” Dick said tightly, his eyes still shut. Images of blood on tile and a little boy at his doorstep kept fading in and out of view.

“My beginning, or yours?” Tim asked, a lilt of a joke on his tongue.

“When we met,” Dick answered, not understanding the question. When was the beginning not just the beginning?

“We met at—“ Tim paused. He looked over Dick with something calculative in his eyes, and his lips twitched before his entire body went still, eerily calm. “We met at your apartment. You remember. I knocked on your door until you let me in. My hands hurt.”

“And?” Dick asked painfully.

“And what? And you hated me,” Tim said, laughing grimly. “You hated that I asked you to come back to Gotham, and then you hated when I became a Robin.”

Both true, but the reasoning of it was all wrong. Dick’s face must have contorted in a truly horrifying way, because Tim quickly put his hands up.

“Hold on, I’m not saying you hate me now,” Tim explained. “I know that’s not true. Don’t worry. But I also know that we don’t have any kind of bond, right? You and Jason were special. You were the blueprint, Jason was the one to make the pattern… And I mean, he’s right, isn’t he? I was the replacement. You were even the one to decide when I wasn’t needed anymore, because then you gave the role to Damian, and he was your Robin.”

Tim finished, and slumped back in his chair with a shrug. “So, it’s fine. I know I’m important to you. I’m just not at the top of the list. I made my peace with that a long time ago, it’s not a big deal.”

He felt sick.

Dick got up from the counter and walked to the other side of the kitchen, bending over the sink, and just standing there. His hands gripped onto the porcelain edges. He kept his eyes trained on the water that dripped from the faucet.

“Dick?” Tim called out from behind him. “Shit. I’m sorry, I knew I shouldn’t have said anything. None of this is your fault, really—“

There were a lot of questions running through his head, and he felt dizzy from the guilt racking over him in waves. He turned the faucet on to its coldest setting and splashed the water on his face.

He turned around and Tim was behind him, his eyes intense with concern, his eyebrows furrowed, his shoulders up to his ears like he was ready for a war.

“Should I get Bruce? Alfred?” Tim asked carefully. “If you don’t answer, I’m getting them both, so choose wisely.”

Dick shook his head. He kept shaking his head. There was so much he needed to fix, he wasn’t sure where to even start.

“Can I hug you?”

Tim blinked. He looked him over quickly, like he was scanning for injuries. Seemingly satisfied, he gave him a very confused: “Yes?”

Dick pulled him in by the shoulders and hugged him as if it were the first time.

The more he thought about it, he actually couldn’t remember the last time that he hugged Tim. Tim always seemed to shy away from physical affection, seemed to stiffen up, so Dick had always tried to respect that.

But in the few seconds that Dick didn’t pull away, something different happened. The stiffness of Tim’s shoulders slowly eased away. He exhaled softly, and seemed to melt into touch. Hesitantly, his arms lifted to hug him back.

Dick tightened his hold and grieved every time he hadn’t been more patient, every time he hadn’t given Tim just a few seconds.

“You’re my little brother,” Dick said firmly. “No ‘too.’ I’ll make it up to you. All of it.”

“Why?” Tim mumbled.

“Because,” Dick laughed brokenly. “You thinking that you don’t mean everything to me, just like Jason and Damian do, kills me. I don’t know how I let it go on this long— but it’s done. It’s getting fixed.”

Tim was quiet for a long moment. “But I don’t know how to fix it,” he said anxiously. He pulled away, staring at Dick with those blue eyes.

The same blue eyes as before, the ones peering at him from across a dingy living room, the ones staring blearily from a blood-smeared hallway, both saying: I’m trying to pick up the pieces. There’s too many for me to hold.

His little brother: and it’s about time Dick acted like it.

“Tim.” Dick looked back at him seriously, his hands on Tim’s shoulders. “This one isn’t for you to fix, baby bird. This is my screw-up. And it looks like we’ve got a lot to talk about.”

Tim stared at him, nodded surely, and ducked back in for another hug. He’d never done that before.

Another piece of his soul moved. It wasn’t fixed, but it was healing from something he hadn’t known was broken— and he thought it would be okay.

A week, and he still couldn’t find Jason.

As it turned out, nobody had really looked. He’d been entirely radio silent since Dick’s encounter with fear toxin had been resolved with a synthesized antidote, and nobody had thought to bother him since.

Dick had been texting Babs consistently with questions of whether Jason was alright, and she’d always just sent him a simple message describing that he was safe and checking in with her on his patrol routes. Which meant he’d only been avoiding the family comms. Which meant something was wrong.

In the end, it was Alfred who had finally given him a tip. Polishing dishes with a fresh cloth, his lips pursed, he seemed to be contemplating a variety of decisions and their determined effects.

“I know he needs his space,” Dick explained, taking each plate as Alfred dried them to stack them away in the proper cabinet. “But I just have this terrible gut feeling that he’s overthinking something and that it’s my fault. Arguing is the last thing I want to do, I’m just…”

“Worried,” Alfred finished for him after a few helpless seconds. He sighed softly, setting the cloth down on the counter. “Yes. I figured as much. My hesitancy is not with your capacity to handle these things with care, Master Dick. I know you care for your brother a great deal.”

Dick frowned, leaning backwards. “What’s your hesitancy?”

Alfred met him with solemn eyes, effectively pinning him where he stood “My hesitancy is your unwavering willingness to fix things before you’re ready to fix them. You’ve been through a great deal this week, and I’m very familiar with how these particular experiences take a toll on you. Do you think you’re ready to speak with him?”

Whatever Dick had expected, this had been the last on the list. He floundered, taking in the words, and then looked down thoughtfully at his hands.

“I think,” he said after a moment, “letting this linger is hurting me more than talking about it will. I need to talk to him, Alfred. I need him to know how much this matters.”

It was apparently the right answer.

When Jason didn’t want to be found, there wasn’t much to be done about it. Crime Alley was only a small part of Gotham, but also the most dense in shadow– and if there was anything a bat could do, it would be to disappear where the light wasn’t.

With Alfred’s tip though, he found Jason in thirty minutes. The roof of a mom and pop ice-cream parlor, tucked into a city street corner between a laundromat and a piercing place. He’s a looming shadow against an air conditioning unit, and there’s a flickering glow of light coming from the cigarette between his fingertips.

Dick landed behind him, his feet soft on the asphalt. “Didn’t you quit?”

The shadow didn’t respond at first, exhaling a slow plume of smoke. “Only on good days.”

Dick walked up, standing beside his brother so they were shoulder to shoulder. Jason offered the box, and Dick silently shook his head. He put the box back in his pocket without so much as a shrug.

“The hell are you doing here, Dickface?” Jason asked. He sounded tired. “Figured the big man wouldn’t have let you leave the house in costume for another week.”

“Well, what B doesn’t know won’t hurt him.”

Jason grunted noncommittally.

Dick glanced at him through his peripheral, his mouth twisting in thoughtful complication. He thought up different ways to start a conversation. He discarded each one.

It didn’t use to be like this. Dick remembered. He remembered nudging his little brother to get him to talk, taking him out of the house– seeing his little brother’s stomping grounds, taking him to old restaurants and parks that Jason never wanted to ask Bruce about– as often as he could. Not often enough.

It used to be so easy, like it was part of him– and maybe it had been part of him. It just happened to be the part that had died with Jason.

Dick laughed bitterly, running a hand through his hair. “Shit, Jay. I used to be better at this, didn’t I?”

“If that’s what you want to believe,” Jason said bluntly.

Dick shoved their shoulders together. “Come on, I’m being serious. This wasn’t always so bad, was it?”

Maybe his voice was strained. Maybe his pleading was too obvious. Maybe he shouldn’t even be asking Jason this at all— it wasn’t his fault that Dick was so miserable at being the big brother. Jason shouldn’t have to comfort him about his failures.

It was just—

He just—

“No,” Jason said after a moment. “It wasn’t.”

The relief was painful. It was hard knowing, truly knowing, that there was something so important to improve upon. That somewhere along the way, he had fallen so far from his standard.

Dick rubbed a hand over his chest, right over his heart. He pressed deep into the muscle, hard enough to feel the bone underneath. His throat felt heavy. He opened his mouth to let out an apology, but—

“Sorry,” Jason said first, his voice gruff. He kept his eyes trained on the street. His fingers fiddled around the cigarette as it burned and cinders flicked to his boots.

Dick quickly looked up at him. “Sorry?”

“Yes,” Jason gritted out. “I know that’s not what you expected to hear because you don’t give a shit about yourself, but I’m sorry. I’ll stay in my own lane from now on, you don’t need to fake it anymore.”

Dick leaned back, furrowing his eyebrows as sudden bouts of defensiveness coursed through his head. Jason leaving was the last thing he wanted, for the rest of time.

“Jason, what the hell are you talking about?” Dick strangled himself for words. He started pacing across the rooftop, tugging at his hair again. “Fuck, do all of my baby brothers think I just want them gone?”

“That’s the thing, Dick,” Jason said back, his words sharper than his knives. “I don’t even think you realize it. I think you’re just so good at ignoring your own bullshit that you don’t see how much you’re still fucking terrified of me.”

Dick stalled. He slowly turned around, his hands falling from his hair.

“Is that what this is?” Dick asked, pressing forward. “You think I’m scared of you?”

“No need to get theatrical. I’m not blaming you,” Jason rolled his eyes, finally flicking the cigarette to the floor. “I’m violent, I don’t play nice. I nearly fucking killed Tim, that alone is enough to cement a piss-poor relationship. I’m not the little kid you used to take out for fuckin’ milkshakes anymore.”

Dick bit down on his tongue, watching the way Jason stumbled over his next few words. He crushed the cigarette under his boot and pulled out a new one from his pack, holding it unlit in his hands.

“I thought we’d resolved it,” Jason admitted finally. He looked up at Dick with his lips pulled into a tight smile. “Or that, at least, you didn’t totally fucking abhor me anymore? I don’t know. Whatever, it doesn’t matter. I fucked up. I’m still fucking up. I’m still atoning. I know that now. So, I say again, genuinely. I’m sorry.”

Dick stared at him for a long moment, feeling fire in his blood. An uncomfortable heat in his head that made him sick from pressure, a volcano that didn’t know where to burst from. He took a steadying breath and shut his eyes.

“Sit down,” he said.

Jason scoffed. “What?”

“Sit down,” Dick said again, and slumped next to him on the floor. He extended his legs out and leaned back on his palms. “Please.”

Jason slowly crouched down to join him. He leaned his back against the air conditioning unit again. There was a tenseness to him, his jaw set in a firm line. He wouldn't hesitate to start fighting again, if the conversation called for it.

They sat quietly while Dick put his thoughts in order, Jason fidgeting in an obvious discomfort.

“When I got hit with the toxin, I saw the circus,” Dick said. “Damian and I were on the trapeze.”

Dick had told him once, about the circus. Had showed him the pictures of his parents, had told him why Bruce really adopted him. Told him about Zucco. About Robin. About all of it. Jason knew what it all meant to him. He knew.

Jason’s gaze dropped to the floor, and he sighed heavily. “Shit. You don’t have to—“

“Damian fell. I caught him, but it wasn’t enough,” Dick continued, growing louder over Jason’s interruptions. “He was bleeding, he had a concussion, it was bad. That was when you showed up to help. And you took him, you asked what happened. You figured out I hadn’t saved him, and you said that—“

His voice cracked, and he cleared his throat, determined to continue. “You didn’t say anything that wasn’t true. That’s why it hurt so much.”

“You weren’t hurt. You were terrified, Dickie,” Jason said lowly, looking at him with haunted eyes. “What the hell could I have said to make you so fucking scared?”

Dick hesitated, letting a shiver run over him as he thought back to the hallucination. He made a complicated sound. “That's not the point, though, is it? You don’t really want to know that.”

“No,” Jason decided quietly. “No, I guess I don’t.”

“The point is,” Dick leaned forward, looking right at him. Making himself as clear as he could be. “I was never afraid of you.”

“You should be,” Jason croaked weakly. “I’m no good. I always have been.”

“No, Jay,” Dick shook his head vehemently and lightly nudged his side. “You’ve always been good. Always. More than good, even. Magic.”

Jason barked out a wet laugh, covering his eyes with his hand. “I said it one time. You’re such an asshole.”

“But it’s true,” Dick smiled, his eyes bleary. “From way back when you were all bony elbows and small enough for me to haul over my shoulder, you’ve been magic. You made me who I am, Jason. We have quite the big crew now, but you’ll always be the one who made me a big brother. Once upon a time it was just the two of us. That means something.”

“I ruined you,” Jason argued roughly, his voice cracking up faster than he can repair it. He swallowed. “You said it yourself, all this shit used to be easier before. I fucked it all up.”

Dick put a hand on his shoulder and squeezed. “You didn’t fuck it up. I can prove it too: we’re both still here, and against all odds, you’re by my side. That tells me more than anything that we can still salvage this.”

“Do you really want that?” Jason asked dryly.

“Jason, the years I didn’t have you next to me were the worst ones of my life,” Dick said, the humor leaving him completely. “I didn’t know what to do with myself. It felt like I was always a day away from giving up. Now that I have you back again…”

He trailed off, and they both fell into a silence. Words intoned. Words left unsaid. Jason nudged him with the toe of his boot, a nonverbal sign of acknowledgement. A physical sign that he was still there. Dick nodded once, and Jason looked away.

“You know,” Dick said after a moment. “I actually think I have something that can fix this.”

“And how do you plan to do that?” Jason sniffed, cocking his head to the side. His eyes red-rimmed, but focused. “D’you got emotional superglue in that fucking utility belt?”

“Close,” Dick said, and wiped his face of all tears. He pulled out his wallet, and held up a twenty dollar bill. “I have it on good authority that milkshakes fix everything.”

Jason let out a heavy sigh, staring at the money in hand. “Well, shit. When you put it like that…”

Dick wiggled his eyebrows, and Jason cracked an indulgent smile.

Just like that, it became easy again. A familiar song played on rusty strings. Their eyes still red, their voices still raw— they hauled themselves up by eachother’s arms and started again.

As they bump shoulders on their way through the front door, the last piece of his soul jostled into its rightful place.

"Little Wing, you know I love you, right?" Dick asked, stirring his milkshake aimlessly with a frosted metal straw.

Jason looked up the crummy diner table and stared for a long moment, before relenting.

"Yeah," he said easily. He had chocolate on the corners of his mouth, just like a little kid, like nothing had ever changed at all. "I know, Dickie."

Dick smiled and nodded to himself.

Yes, every piece of his soul where it should be. Even if cracked and dented in odd places, they were all there. Finally, he felt like the world was righted.

[bellaxgiornata]

You're Safe With Me [Chapter Six]

Pairing: Frank Castle x Fem!Reader Word Count: 5.8k

[You can find the full series summary and masterlist of chapters for You're Safe With Me here.]

a/n: Finally we get the next chapter! There's a surprise in this one; can y'all catch it? Things are starting to get even more interesting...and dangerous, maybe. Feedback is always appreciated!

Tag list: @lunaticgurly @allaboardthereadingrailroad @linamarr @hollandorks @sleeperthelazy @marcysbear @mattkinsella @mattmurdocksstarlight @xxdrixx @v4leoftears @aoi-targaryen @danzer8705 @anon-cat-posts @heimtathurs @kmc1989 @thepunisherfrankcastle @agirlcandream84 @americaarse @desert-fern @youmakelovinfun @callmebrooklynbabes @jooheoniesdimples

"What are you doing?" you asked in confusion. 

Looking out of the front windshield, you watched as Frank pulled off onto the exit ramp on the side of the interstate. Frowning, you glanced over at him in the driver's seat beside you. He was focused on the road, his face set in his typical flat and stern expression as he drove with one hand on the wheel. His other arm was resting against the window beside him, his hand absently running across the firm set of his lips. 

"Takin' a detour," he replied simply, eyes remaining fixed ahead. 

"A detour to where?" you pressed.

Frank’s attention shifted to you for a moment, his eyes briefly scanning the inquisitive look on your face before his focus returned back to the road. Eyebrows rising up onto your forehead, you impatiently waited for a response of some sort from him–anything at all–but he remained mute. Not even a grunt of acknowledgement. 

With an irritated huff you glanced back out of the windshield, noticing the van was now gradually rolling to a stop at a stop sign. Eyeing the shops and gas stations around the area, you were still confused as to what would make Frank take a sudden detour. You thought he'd said this morning that he was trying to put as much distance between you and what had happened back at that motel you’d been ambushed at the other night as fast as he could. He wanted to make it as difficult as possible for the Patriot Militia to pick back up on your trail.

So what the hell was he doing stopping? It was still a bit before dinnertime and therefore still earlier than when he usually stopped for a motel. A look at the van's gas gauge showed you that the tank was just over half full. If he was stopping for a bathroom break he usually just said so because he always warned you not to 'fuck around,' always eager to just get back on the road.

And really, you couldn't have him stopping. Not here. Not right now. Not after yesterday.

"A detour to where ?" you pressed further.

"To Walmart," he finally answered.

One of your brows quirked up onto your forehead at the simple response. As if a detour to Walmart was the most obvious thing in the world right now while you were driving state to state with the Punisher trying to stay alive. When he predictably didn’t elaborate, you pushed for more information. 

"What's at Walmart?" you questioned.

Frank’s focus remained on the road as he drove, a muscle twitching in his cheek. "You need a phone in case of emergency," he replied, his tone a bit clipped. "And I'm guessin' you need some things since you left your place so quick." He shot you a look over his shoulder as he added, "You don't even have a coat. It's gettin' cold in some of the places we're driving through."

At his response, you sat in the passenger seat completely stunned, entirely forgetting about your current location and the shooting you'd seen on the news last night for the first time today. He was making a detour just for you ? So you could get things you needed because you hadn't had a chance to properly pack before you'd slipped out of your house?  

"You're taking me shopping?" you asked incredulously. 

Frank shot you a firm, stony look as he pulled up to a stoplight. "Let’s get one thing straight right now. I am not taking you shopping, Spunky," he snapped. "It's a Walmart, not a goddamn mall. You're going to quickly grab whatever the hell it is you need while I grab you a prepay. This isn't a fun stop. Got it?"

You nodded, still in shock that Frank was actually taking the time to do this for you, even if Walmart was not the first place you'd want to stop and buy clothes at. But if you were being honest, with the way he'd been treating you so far, you figured you'd be begging him to let you find a laundromat just to wash the few clothing items you had. Yet here he was letting you grab some necessities–and you certainly were going to make sure you grabbed some tampons while you were there. 

The light turned green and Frank continued to drive, turning farther up ahead and navigating his way to the nearby Walmart. Your eyes were staring out of the windshield as your mind raced, quickly trying to make a mental list of everything you needed while attempting to ignore other thoughts. You weren't about to test Frank's patience; you were sure he wasn't kidding about not wanting you to spend a lot of time there so you had to prioritize what you absolutely needed.

A few minutes later he'd pulled the van into a parking spot in the Walmart parking lot, your eyes still glued to the window as you took in the sight of all the other parked cars around you. Frank cut the engine before shifting in his seat, the movement of him reaching towards the center console and grabbing his wallet catching your eye. Wordlessly he opened it, pulling out a stack of bills and counting some out. Folding the stack in half, he held it out towards you and you froze in your seat, eyeing the cash.

"Take it," he ordered. "It's two hundred. Should be more than enough for a coat and a few things. Can't have you usin' a credit card or anything for them to track."

For a moment you just stared at the cash, feeling awkward about taking it but also increasingly aware that it meant you and him would be splitting up inside the store. Nerves shook loose in your stomach as that realization fully hit you, but when he held the cash out further towards you with an irritated grunt, you hesitantly reached out, accepting it from his hand. Though it still felt weird taking the money from him even if he'd told you that this little road trip was being funded by the government. 

"Should probably get yourself a hat and some sunglasses," Frank added. "To help disguise yourself. Might be useful at some point while we're running."

"Okay," you replied softly, mentally adding it to your checklist. 

Frank held your eye, his stare making you a little uncomfortable with how hard it was. Especially with the way your palms had begun to sweat at the thought of him not being right beside you in the store. Ever since he'd tossed you into the back of the van at Ruby’s Diner he hadn't left your side for longer than a quick bathroom break.

"We don't have long," Frank told you. "I'll give you twenty minutes. Get the necessities. Take a piss. Meet me at that exit–" he said, gesturing to the doors nearby, "–in exactly twenty minutes. No later."

"But what if–"

"No later," he reiterated firmly. 

"Alright, Sunshine," you grumbled, unbuckling your seatbelt.

Opening the van door, you slipped out of the seat and onto the pavement, pocketing the cash and carefully surveying the parking lot around you yet again. There were a handful of parked cars–about the amount you'd expect in a small town a little after two in the afternoon on a Monday–but no one was wandering around outside. Though that didn't stop the prickle of fear beginning to form low in your gut as you anxiously hugged your arms around yourself, increasingly becoming more nervous. 

You knew exactly where you were right now. Ever since you and Frank had gotten on the road this morning and left the Happy Lodger Motel, you'd made a point to pay attention to the road signs and read the maps posted at the rest area stops. You were currently on the outskirts of Harrisonburg, Virginia. Which was very near Glen Allen–the place where the shooting had happened just yesterday afternoon. Meaning you were currently very near recent Patriot Militia activity.

And Frank had no idea.

Frank's form appearing around the front of the van startled you, causing you to jump on the spot. His eyes narrowed at you curiously as he paused mid-step. He had clearly caught the way you'd frightened just now. You knew that he'd noticed something had been going on with you today with the way he kept watching you with those perceptive eyes of his. He had asked you a couple of times now if you were alright, but you'd always simply lied and answered yes. He hadn’t said anything past that, but the way he continued to silently stare at you with a look of disbelief on his face was unnerving. It was as if he was waiting for the right time to pull the information out of you. 

Truthfully you knew you probably needed to tell him exactly what was going on because clearly Madani hadn't told him much herself. If there was possible danger nearby, you knew he should be made aware of it. For both your sakes. But Frank was still hard for you to read. Would he think you were far more trouble than you were worth to protect if he knew the full story? If he knew what was actually going on? Is that why Madani hadn't already told him herself? Because as much as you didn't like the killing he did, you had to admit, you'd be dead without him. You needed him. You couldn't have him bolt on you and leave you an unprotected target for an entire militia with members that spanned the countryside.

The thought of you on your own without Frank had your fists curling around the fabric of your shirt, arms hugging your chest a bit tighter. You were too terrified right now to question when your fear of Frank had shifted to a fear of losing him in just a matter of days. 

"You good?" 

Drawn back to the moment, your eyes darted over towards Frank. He was standing there with that hard to read expression on his face, but it felt like he was seeing right through you. He knew you weren't good. But instead of telling him the truth, that fear of him abandoning you to fend for yourself in a Walmart parking lot so close to a place you knew there were militia members, you simply nodded and hummed out an affirmative. Frank's eyes narrowed further, his lips thinning out. You forced a smile onto your mouth, but even you could feel how tense it was.

Without another word, Frank turned and headed towards the entrance of the store. Sucking in a deep breath you followed after him, each step further increasing your panic. By the time the pair of you stepped inside, Frank was gruffly reminding you that you had twenty minutes to meet him back here before he walked off. And then you were alone and fully panicking. 

Ducking your head, you tried to keep your breathing even as you hurried towards your right. You were going to try to focus on why you were here and not on where you were. Attempting to remain calm, you prioritized grabbing tampons first because the thought of asking Frank to stop and let you buy some later was absolutely mortifying. 

For a few minutes you navigated the Walmart, trying to orient yourself and read the aisle signs as you went. The store was massive and all the aisles looming above you felt suffocating right now. Internally you kept repeating the items you needed, listing them off in your head as you tried to ignore the racing of your heart and the way your breath was starting to come in faster each time someone in the store made eye contact with you. 

You wished you could say you felt safe in the semi-busy public place, but you knew better. The Patriot Militia clearly had no qualms with opening fire in public and killing innocent people. The only place you felt safe anymore was at Frank's side. But as your jaw clenched tight, you fought the surge of fear roiling in your stomach at the reminder that Frank wasn't by your side right now.  

Grabbing the box of tampons from the shelf, your hand nearly crushing the side of it with how tight you were holding on to it, you turned and headed back out of the aisle. You needed to find a hat, sunglasses, and a winter coat. If you had time, you'd find a few more clothing items for cold or hot weather. Since you and Frank were going to be all over the country, you knew you needed to be prepared for all types of weather wherever you found yourself with him. 

As you continued your shopping, trying to keep track of the time with a clock that was on the wall just past the registers, you felt that gnawing guilt since watching that news segment last night at the bar return to you. Somehow it crept its way past the fear still holding you in a vice and you suddenly froze, overcome with that guilt that had been steadily chipping away at you all day until it abruptly drowned you in it. Your hand fiercely clutched the hanger of the tee-shirt you were holding, your left arm crushing the other items you had to your chest as the thoughts hit you again all at once.

You'd heard them talking about Glen Allen at the Patriot Militia rally where this whole nightmare had begun. At the time, the city hadn't rung any bells in your mind because nothing had happened there. But you'd told Madani about it and your fears, and you knew she'd obviously heard it mentioned on the recording you'd sent her. But still, the shooting still happened. People had still been injured and killed. The proof of that was on the news last night at the bar you'd been at with Frank. And somehow it felt like it was partially your fault for not doing more to stop it. For not finding a way to warn everyone in Glen Allen or finding a way to stop the shooters ahead of time instead of just running and hiding and saving yourself.

Your hand began to shake, gripping the hanger even tighter in your fist. Your breath was coming in even faster and sharper now than it had when Frank had initially parted ways with you at the store entrance. Eyes closing, you tried to fight the lightheadedness washing over you. But the longer you stood there, guilt and fear mingling together and clawing at your mind as it spiraled further, the more you felt yourself freeze up and your feet root themselves to the floor.

You weren't going to survive this. Eventually these people would find you and kill you. And all the deaths and terror they caused before and after that would partially land at your feet. You were a news anchor, you could have reported this. Tried to stop them somehow. Maybe even told Frank ahead of time and been in Glen Allen and he might have been able to stop them. 

But you'd done nothing instead. 

Your hand tightened so hard around the hanger that you felt it snap in your fist. Feeling like you could barely breathe, your eyes clenched closed tighter as your thoughts continued to spiral further and further, your chest constricting firmly around your lungs and your heart. You were hyperventilating now, having a panic attack in the middle of the Walmart.

Something grasped onto your shoulder and you gasped, eyes flying open. Frank was standing just beside you, concern written clear across his features. Those warm, dark brown eyes of his were boring into you, but instead of fear, you felt relief flood you at the sight of him. 

"C'mon," he urged softly, gesturing his head towards the registers. "Let's get your things and go."

He gently pried the shirt you'd been holding onto–the one you'd snapped the hanger on–from your hands. And then slowly, he carefully took all of the items from you without a word before making his way towards the registers. You followed after him easily, the promise of safety in his presence quickly quelling the panic in your mind as your breathing became less shallow.

Once again you'd wrapped your arms around your chest, nervously hugging yourself as you stood next to Frank. He was focused on ringing up all of the items you’d had, his face expressionless as he used the self-checkout. You were far too relieved that he’d found you when he did to care that he was currently ringing up your box of tampons.

After he’d bagged all of your items into three bags, Frank grabbed them all into one hand before he turned towards you. His left hand reached out, landing on the middle of your back and surprising you with the touch. Gently he began to guide you out of the store without a word, though you knew plenty of them were soon coming. For now you focused on keeping in step with him, surprised to discover yourself relaxing even further underneath that large, warm palm of his on the center of your back. 

It was a minute before you were both back at the van, Frank opening the back doors of it and setting your bags onto the floor of the vehicle. You had significantly calmed down in his presence and under his gentle, reassuring touch by now. Whether Frank had noticed that was unclear because he had quickly focused his attention on a cellphone he had retrieved from one of the bags, typing away on it as he sat down on the edge of the van.

"You gonna tell me what's actually goin' on now?" Frank asked, breaking the silence as he continued to focus on the phone in his hands. "Or you just gonna keep pretending you're alright?"

Exhaling a breath, you leant up against the side of the van opposite him, your eyes continuing to survey the parking lot. Thankfully the pair of you still seemed to be alone. Though you figured Frank was currently more aware of your surroundings than even you were despite it appearing that he was currently distracted. 

"Wondered when you'd push," you whispered.

"Been in your head and jumpy ever since you saw that news story at the bar last night," Frank observed. "That story that upset you and made you want to leave last night." He glanced up from the phone, holding your gaze. "Guessin' that shooting’s got something to do with why you're on the run from this militia. Got me thinkin' there's some things I should probably know that you're not tellin’ me."

Guiltily you focused down on your shoes. Of course he’d picked up on all of that. Frank was smart and perceptive.

 "Madani told you I'm running from the Patriot Militia then?" you asked softly. 

"Said you accidentally stumbled on some information that proves they're a terrorist organization," he replied, attention returning to the phone. "And that there's some big names involved in the mess, too. Making it so she can't trust everyone in Homeland and any other federal departments."

"Yeah," you admitted nervously, looking up at him through your lashes. "That–that shooting on the news last night? That was them. The militia."

Frank's hands momentarily paused what they were doing, his jaw tightening as he glared at the cell phone in his hand. A second later he locked the phone screen, his attention entirely shifting to you now as his hands lowered to his lap. There was a hard set to his eyes, but you could also see the way he was trying to piece things together with that soft furrow between his dark brows. 

"The shooter?" Frank clarified.

"Yeah," you told him with a nod. "Things must not have gone as planned because the shooter was apprehended by police, but he was supposed to be shot by a bystander. Like some of those other shootings going on around the country lately." Feeling your guilt beginning to creep back into your mind, you could feel the sting of tears in your eyes as you continued. "The–the bystanders who shoot the assailants in these mass shootings are also Patriot Militia members. It's all planned out, meant to paint them as heroes for carrying a gun and using it for protection. The others–martyrs for their cause."

"To push some rich political bastard's agenda, I assume?" Frank asked. “Considering there’s federal officials involved in this.”

" Many rich political bastards' agendas," you replied, nodding. "But I–I overheard them talking about Glen Allen, Virginia at that rally. I knew they were going to hit that city somewhere like this and it's–it's my fault it wasn't stopped. Its my fault–"

"Stop," Frank said firmly. "Stop it."

You froze, mouth still half open as you stared back at Frank. He was shaking his head as he looked back at you, his expression softer than it had been a minute ago. 

"'S'not your fault," he repeated. "What those assholes are doing is not on you. You did what you could–you took this to Madani. She's dealing with this now."

"But I'm a news anchor," you continued, the tears further building in your eyes. "I could have gone on the news. Warned people. Outed them. Something more than just running and hiding."

"Doubt your station would let you air that," Frank told you. "And you'd have only ended up with a bullet right here," he said, pressing a finger to his forehead, just between his eyes. "Because you'd have had them on you instantly. If there's big names involved in this, I can guarantee you there's worse out there looking for you than these half-assed organized militia members, Spunky. People like me. Maybe worse. You’d have had them on your doorstep so goddamn fast if you’d have taken this public."

And that was what did it. The thought that there was possibly something or someone worse than an entire militia after you right now sent the tears running down your cheeks, hot and wet. Frank winced when he spotted them, running a hand across the top of his head.

"Shit, I didn't mean to scare you," he said. "'M'sorry. I just meant this isn't on you. You're doing your part to try to stop them. You can't control what those assholes are doing out there."

"Except you're probably right, though," you choked out. "There probably are others out there after me right now. And I–I can’t outrun them forever. Not if they’re all out looking for me.” 

Almost immediately that tightness in your chest returned and you pushed off of the van, turning your back to Frank and burying your face in your hands. You couldn’t fight the sobs that wracked through you, ashamed that you were breaking down like this in front of Frank. But his words had set a new fear loose in you, one that felt like it confirmed the fact that you were on borrowed time.

Tentative hands were on your shoulders, your body going rigid at the touch. The tears continued to stream down your cheeks behind your hands, but you tried your best to hold back your sobs, though they kept coming out in strangled hiccups.

“Hey, hey,” Frank’s soothing voice said, his hands on your shoulders very gradually pulling you in towards himself. “You’re alright. Everything’ll be alright.”

“They’re going to kill me,” you breathed out, your hands muffling your words.

“No they won’t,” Frank said firmly. “I won’t let them. They’d have to get through me first. And I’m a stubborn asshole.”

You couldn’t resist the laugh that slipped out of your lips, Frank’s deep chuckle that followed somehow soothing. Slowly you lowered your hands down your face, the tears beginning to fall a little slower. Frank had somehow wrapped you in his arms, one of his hands soothingly rubbing back and forth across your upper back. The feel of it had you relaxing into him, though it didn’t help that you were now quickly becoming aware of your proximity to him.

“Told you I’d keep you safe,” Frank murmured. “And I’m gonna do that. You’re gonna help Madani take these assholes down. And I’m gonna make damn sure you’re alive for that. You hear me, Spunky?”

A slow smile spread across your lips at his words. You nodded, your forehead brushing lightly against his firm chest as you did.

“Yeah,” you whispered.

“Good,” he stated, unwinding his arms from around you.

He turned back towards the van, grabbing the cell phone he’d set down when he’d gotten up to comfort you. With his back turned for a moment, you hurriedly wiped the back of your hands over your cheeks, trying to wipe away the tears that had fallen. If you were being honest, you were still terrified of the nameless and faceless people out there after you, but Frank’s determination and confidence to keep you alive was certainly comforting.

“Here,” Frank said, turning back around and holding out the phone to you. “Already programmed mine and Madani’s number in there. Don’t think you’ll ever need it, but just in case you do, you have it.”

“Thank you,” you said.

Reaching out, you accepted the phone from his outstretched hand. Your other hand slipped into the pocket of your jeans, pulling out the cash he’d given you earlier. When Frank saw it he immediately shook his head, waving a hand at it.

“No, keep it,” he told you. “Probably makes sense you have some cash on you in case we’re ever separated.” When he saw the way your eyes widened he immediately added, “Which we won’t be, but it’s better to take precautions. Don’t need you stranded somewhere without money, right?”

“Right,” you whispered weakly, slowly returning the cash to your pocket.

Frank’s eyes narrowed at you for a moment, studying your tear stained face. You noticed his expression wasn’t as hard as it usually was at the moment. 

“How far from that shooting are we?” he asked curiously. “I’m guessin’ you’re aware.”

“Less then two hours away,” you answered instantly.

Frank let out a grunt at your response before he turned, closing the doors to the van with two solid bangs that echoed in your ears. Your eyes followed his movements as you stood there quietly, grateful that the urge to cry in front of him again had disappeared for the moment. Though at some point you knew you were going to have to unpack whatever that unexpected moment with him was when he had yet again comforted you.

“Next time, tell me this information,” Frank said, turning around and facing you. “That’s the kind of shit that I need to know to keep us both alive.”

“I was–was worried you’d think this whole thing was too big for you to want to deal with,” you admitted awkwardly. “Was afraid if I told you that you’d…leave.”

Frank’s eyes fell closed, his expression briefly looking pained. A second later his eyes opened again, focusing back on you. The look in them was almost pleading when he spoke.

“I’m not gonna leave you behind,” he assured you. “Can you just–just please trust me on that? I’m here to see this through to the end with you.”

You nodded slowly. “Okay,” you whispered.

“Okay,” Frank confirmed. He gestured his head at the front of the van. “Get in. I’m gonna drive a bit in the opposite direction before we grab an early dinner and a motel. We’ll be on the road first thing tomorrow morning and puttin’ as much distance between us and this Glen Allen as we can. Alright?”

You nodded again in response. “Alright,” you agreed.

“Let’s get the hell outta here, then,” he said, turning and making his way towards the driver’s side.

Silently you made your way over to the passenger side, suddenly realizing that you were beginning to really trust Frank. And maybe you were even beginning to like him a bit.

°•°•°•°•°•°

Standing beside Frank in the motel lobby, your hands held the greasy bag of fast food that you’d both picked up just before stopping at this shady little motel, your duffle bag slung over your shoulder. Just like he’d said he would, Frank had driven a couple of hours in the opposite direction of Glen Allen, trying to put more distance between you both and that city. The pair of you were planning to get a room and call it an early night in the hopes of getting back on the road early tomorrow morning and putting even more distance between you and here.

Though neither of you had expected to be waiting in a line at this motel, something you could tell was irritating Frank with the way he kept impatiently running a hand across his mouth. You also noticed it wasn’t just you who’d been eyeing the young blonde with the long curls that were pulled into a pony-tail booking a room in front of you with interest, either. Frank had also been curiously eyeing her, something like concern written on his face. She looked barely eighteen–if she even was–and that combined with her staying in a place like this was admittedly strange and a little worrying. You couldn’t help but wonder what the hell she was doing here.

As if she could feel the weight of both sets of eyes on her, she glanced over her shoulder back at you with distrust on her face as the woman behind the desk filled out some paperwork. The blonde’s eyes narrowed, especially when they landed on Frank just at your side. She gave him a quick once over, her nose wrinkling in distaste as she did.

“What’re you looking at, rough road?” she snapped.

“What?” Frank asked her, head cocking to the side as surprise washed over his features.

“Why don’t you stop staring at me?” she shot before abruptly turning back around.

Frank’s attention shifted towards you as he sent you a look of confusion at the interaction, his dark brows pulling together. You shrugged wordlessly in response, shaking your head at him. Though you had to admit, part of you wanted to laugh at her comment. Not even knowing who Frank was, he already looked intimidating as hell for someone like her to just say something so brazenly.

It was a minute later that the girl had grabbed her key from the woman behind the desk, turning and storming off out of the motel lobby, giving you and Frank a wide berth as she went. Frank briefly watched her leave, a frown on his face before he returned his focus on the woman behind the desk who was looking rather bored.

“Can we get a room?” he asked, approaching the desk and pulling out his wallet. “Two queen beds.”

The woman immediately began to shake her head at him. “Uh uh. Don’t have any more of those,” she replied, gesturing a hand at the door. “She just took the last one for her and her father. All I’ve got is a single queen left.”

You heard Frank swear under his breath, running a hand in frustration through his short hair before he reluctantly agreed to take it. As he paid for the room, you nervously clutched the bag of food tighter in your hands, wondering what having only one bed was ultimately going to mean in a place like this. A moment later the woman was handing Frank the room key before you were following after him out of the motel lobby, silently making your way past the rows of doors while looking for room eleven. 

As you approached the door behind Frank, you watched as he stuck the key inside and unlocked it. Awkwardly you stepped into the room after him, your eyes immediately falling on the single queen bed in the center of the space. Glancing around, you noticed that the only other piece of furniture was a very uncomfortable looking armchair and a small table beside it.

“You can take the bed,” Frank said, closing and locking the door after himself.

“And where do you plan to sleep?” you asked, looking over at him.

Frank turned, taking in the room himself. His mouth pressed into a firm line before he gestured to the armchair.

“I’ll just sleep here tonight,” he answered.

“That thing looks way too small for you,” you pointed out.

“Then I’ll sleep on the floor,” Frank shot out with a shrug. “Don’t care.”

Your eyes dropped down to the worn and very dirty motel carpet. You weren’t entirely sure what color it had been initially with how faded and stained it was. You cringed at the thought of him laying down and sleeping on it. Gradually your eyes returned to the single bed as Frank shrugged out of his coat, laying it along the back of the chair.

“We could…share the bed,” you said awkwardly, not entirely sure why you were suggesting that idea.

Frank stiffened beside the armchair at your words, his head slowly turning back towards you. One of his dark brows rose onto his forehead as he studied you questioningly for a long moment.

“You sure you’re good with that?” he asked.

Feeling heat creep into your cheeks, you stepped over to the coffee table and set the bag of food down onto it before dropping your duffle bag to the floor. “I mean I trust you’re not going to do anything other than sleep,” you muttered. “You’re doing all the driving and–” you broke off, shuddering as you continued, “–protecting. You need to get decent sleep. I’d give you the bed and sleep somewhere else, but…admittedly I don’t really want to sleep on that floor or that chair, either. So…we could just share the bed?”

Hesitantly you glanced over at Frank beside the chair, anxiously chewing the inside of your cheek as you waited for his response. He was still studying you with one of his usual impossible to decipher expressions on his face. Eventually you saw him give a single nod in answer.

“Alright,” he agreed. “If you’re sure. Should probably eat though and get to sleep. I want to get outta here early tomorrow.”

With a sigh you turned, opening the bag of fast food and grabbing the chicken sandwich you’d ordered out of it before making your way to the edge of the bed to eat. As Frank rooted around in the bag for his burger, your eyes lingered on the muscles in his back and the way his shirt was straining against his thick arms. For a brief moment you wondered how it would feel to curl yourself around his hard body in that bed tonight, having him wrap those strong arms around you while he comforted you yet again.

Though you quickly shoved that thought aside, blinking rapidly as you averted your gaze, beginning to unwrap your chicken sandwich. You were both just going to sleep in that bed tonight, and whatever those thoughts were that you occasionally found yourself having about Frank needed to stop.

[leciaverger]

SCHLAFLIED

.

.

.

Über die Ferne der finsteren Fluren

hebt mich mein Stern in dein schwärmendes Blut.

Nicht mehr am Weh, das wir beide erfuhren,

rätselt, der leicht in der Dämmerung ruht.

·

Wie soll er, Süße, dich betten und wiegen,

daß seine Seele das Schlummerlied krönt?

Nirgends, wo Traum ist und Liebende liegen,

hat je ein Schweigen so seltsam getönt.

·

Nun, wenn nur Wimpern die Stunden begrenzen,

tut sich das Leben der Dunkelheit kund.

Schließe, Geliebte, die Augen, die glänzen.

Nichts mehr sei Welt als dein schimmernder Mund.

·

by Paul Celan

.

sorry I didn't find the English translation, so I just put the original text here.

[bernhard-brause]

Abwärts

Viele Wege die nicht meine sind / Keine Sterne die mich führen / Kein Licht das für mich scheint

Kampf

Viele Kämpfe die verloren sind / Keine Narben die verblassen / Kein Schmerz der nicht meiner ist

Vergessen

Viele Zeiten die schon fast verloren / Keine Worte die für immer sind / Kein Leben das für morgen reicht

Vorwärts

Neue Wege die bisher verborgen / Ferne Ziele die zum Greifen nah / Aufwärts auf die höchsten Gipfel / Träume werden wahr

Mein Dank für das heutige Bild geht an Brigitte 🙏

[fallenclan]

The trees were bleeding their leaves again, the vibrant reds and oranges blurring together in a colorful cascade. With leafbare fast approaching, Silverpaw knew the medicine den would need to be fully stocked. She was so engrossed in her task that she hardly noticed the crunch of leaf litter behind her until a familiar scent hit her nose.

"Applepaw?" Silverpaw hissed in shock. "What are you doing here?"

"I sneaked away from Toro," Applepaw giggled. "What are you doing? Boring medicine cat stuff?"

"I'm collecting herbs," Silverpaw replied. She felt the need to chastise Applepaw but couldn't bring herself to do it, the silly grin on Applepaw's face making Silverpaw's chest feel warm.

"Is Sunwish around?"

"She's nearby." Silverpaw gently placed the burdock she had been collecting on the ground. "Was there a reason you snuck off to find me?"

"I like hanging out with you, and Toro keeps lecturing me about proper hunting etiquette or whatever. Who knew hunting had so many rules!" Applepaw groaned, dramatically collapsing to the ground for emphasis. Silverpaw couldn't help but laugh, whiskers twitching in delight.

"She'll only lecture you twice as much for sneaking off, you know."

"Worth it." Silverpaw felt herself grow warm again. Applepaw thought she was worth getting a stern lecture for.

"Actually, there was something I wanted to tell you," Silverpaw admitted, feeling her heart begin to race. She didn't know what she'd do if Applepaw reacted poorly. "I, uh. I've been talking to Sunwish and I think. . ." Silverpaw trailed off.

"Think what?" Applepaw's nonchalant demeanor had vanished, the beginning of concern in her gaze.

"I'm a she-cat," Silverpaw blurted. "I think I've always been one, I just didn't know. It's why I was so happy to change my name to Silverkit instead of being. . ." Sylvester.

"Oh." Applepaw shifted to her paws. "Okay."

"Okay?"

"I guess I'm not the only she-cat in the friend group anymore," Applepaw purred. Silverpaw practically felt herself melt with relief. "Thank you for telling me. I'm sorry if I ever made you feel uncomfortable by calling you a tom-"

"No, no! You didn't. . . I didn't know either," Silverpaw spoke hurriedly.

"Okay, I'm glad, because-"

"Applepaw?" Sunwish's stern voice sliced right through whatever Applepaw had been about to say. "What are you doing bothering my apprentice? Where's Toro?"

"Uh." Applepaw smiled sheepishly. Sunwish was unimpressed, her tail twitching irritably.

"We're done collecting herbs anyway. Make yourself useful and help us carry them back. We can discuss the punishment for your misbehavior with Goldenflare and Toro later."

"Sorry," Silverpaw mouthed behind her mentor's back. Applepaw only shrugged. Her gaze said it all. Worth it.

...

"This is daisy, it's highly toxic to cats so don't grab any of those. . . ah, here's what I was looking for! This is yarrow, it can be super useful for treating wounds that have poison or venom in them." Silverbelly waded through a patch of fronds to reach the aforementioned yarrow, scooping up a pawful. "I'll carry these if you can get the borage." A pause. "Applebranch, are you listening to me?"

"What?" Applebranch blinked, coming to the sudden realization that she had been staring at Silverbelly. "Oh, yes. I've been listening, I promise. Your fur just looks so beautiful in the sunlight. Not that it doesn't always look beautiful, but you know what I mean."

Silverbelly ducked her head behind a particularly tall frond to hide her face. "Thanks." That warm feeling in her chest was returning. It seemed to happen more and more lately, everytime she was around Applebranch.

"You don't need to thank me." Applebranch padded forward, crushing a few ferns as she went. She swiped the borage from Silverbelly, pelt brushing against Silverbelly's own.

"Well, I've been meaning to thank you, not just for the compliment. It's nice having someone to talk to while I collect herbs. Sunwish's never really been one for conversation; she can be a bit grumpy, but she means well."

"I don't know how many times I need to say it. I like spending time with you. No, not like. I love spending time with you," Applebranch insisted, brows furrowed. "You're compassionate, intelligent, understanding. . . you're my best friend."

Silverbelly couldn't help the purr rising in her throat. She could even feel her eyes watering slightly. "I love spending time with you too, Applebranch."

"Then let's keep spending time together."

"Always."

...

"I like you."

"I think that's already been established."

"No, I like you."

"Well, I like you too."

"Really?"

"Obviously."

"So are we. . . ?"

"If you want to be."

"I do."

"I do too."

...

It's only been a moon since they've become mates when Applebranch told Silverbelly that she was expecting kits.

"I won't let anything happen to you, or our kits," Silverbelly promised. She had been told what happened with Morningbloom.

"I know." Applebranch rested her chin on Silverbelly's shoulder, wrapping her tail around the medicine cat's flank. "I trust you."

"Are you nervous? I'm nervous."

"About the kitting? A bit. About being a parent? No. I think we'll do great."

"How can you be so sure?"

"I know us. I know our kits will grow up loved and well cared for."

"I can't wait to meet them," Silverbelly purred. She didn't bother to hide the tears in her eyes.

...

Flykit was running like a whirlwind around the medicine den. Mudkit couldn't stop giggling, watching her brother race about with glee. Silverbelly was laughing too, even as some of the herb stores were scrambled. Sunwish was decidedly less amused.

"Flykit, what in StarClan's name are you doing?"

"I'm showing Mama my warrior skills! Look how fast I am!" The tom came to an abrupt halt in front of Sunwish. "Wanna see my battle skills? I'm gonna be a great warrior!"

"Sunwish is a medicine cat, silly," Mudkit chirped. "She isn't interested in warrior stuff."

"Mama likes to watch and she's a medicine cat," Flykit argued.

"I would like to see your. . . 'battle skills,' Flykit, but I would like to see them out of the medicine den, okay?" Sunwish interceded before the kits could get into an arguement.

Silverbelly blinked gratefully at Sunwish. Silverbelly wasn't certain the senior medicine actually wanted to watch kits attempt fighting stances, but she was glad that Sunwish had at least feigned interest.

"Come on, kits, let's go find Applebranch and then you can show her and Sunwish your battle moves."

"Not me. I just wanna watch," Mudkit mewed.

"That's okay, sweetheart. You don't have to join in."

For not the first time, Silverbelly wondered if Mudkit would follow the path of a warrior or chose something else entirely.

...

"I just can't believe it." Silverbelly's voice was trembling slightly. "I know a lot of cats didn't like her, but she wasn't--she wasn't cruel. Sunwish was a great cat. She. . . I look up to her so much. Why would someone do this?"

Applebranch pressed herself against Silverbelly's side, licking her mate's ear. Applebranch had never been the best at comforting cats, but she was ready to support Silverbelly in whatever way she needed.

"I feel so lost, Applebranch."

"You'll make it through this, Silverbelly. I'm here for you. So are Dawnshine and Maplethorn. Even Honeygleam, though he can be a bit of a mousebrain sometimes. We'll all support you, no matter what happens."

"I love you, Applebranch."

"I love you too."

...

"So Lichenstripe came from ShallowClan?"

"Yeah, isn't it crazy? Floodstar exiled him over some vision he had."

"Floodstar must be a real mousebrain to exile a medicine cat and ignore a vision from StarClan."

"I guess it's nice to have extra paws in the medicine den. Stormpaw has been such a blessing, honestly. He's so sweet with patients and so funny, too. He makes me laugh."

"He can't possibly be more funny than me, right?"

"How badly would you be hurt if I didn't respond?"

"Terribly."

"You're such a goose, Applebranch."

"I know."

...

"I'm a tom," Crowflame stated firmly. "Also, I might be in love with Blizzardfang."

Applebranch let out a delighted sound similar to a squawking bird, nearly knocking Crowflame over in an embrace. "Blizzardfang? Oh, honey, she'll be great for you!"

"What's that supposed to mean?" Crowflame wrinkled his nose, detangling himself from his mother's embrace.

"We're just proud of you, sweetheart. Always be true to yourself, no matter what," Silverbelly purred. "My wonderful son."

Crowflame couldn't help the purr that rose in his chest.

He would later deny it.

...

Applebranch could barely process what was happening through the haze of fever. Her leg was mangled beyond repair, twisted at such an unnatural angle that Applebranch knew she'd never be able to walk on it again.

The medicine den was filled with the scent of death, with a gentle blanket of rosemary and lilac overtop. Was it her own death that Applebranch could smell? It couldn't be. And whose tears were those? "Silverbelly?" Applebranch croaked.

The sniffling abruptly stopped. "A-Applebranch? Are you awake?" A silver muzzle came into view. "Applebranch, we're going to have to remove your leg. It's-it's going to be okay."

"Why. . ." Applebranch trailed off, having trouble focusing. Everything was so colorful and swirly. "Why are you crying?"

"Oh, Applebranch, something terrible has happened."

It was only a few days after Applebranch's leg was amputated that she learned Molesong had died.

...

"How do you know if you like a cat? I mean, wanting them to be your mate and all?" Eaglestripe was padding alongside Silverbelly, both she-cats weaving through a tangle of ivy to reach a hollowed out alcove. The best moss could be found within, so soft even the grumpiest elder couldn't complain.

"Oh. May I ask where this is coming from?" Silverbelly glanced at her granddaughter curiously. The she-cat had been spending a lot of time with Daisypetal lately.

"It's just that you and Applebranch have such a strong relationship. You both really love each other, you know? I want that kind of relationship. How do I know if she--I mean, if a cat, hypothetically, is right for me?"

Silverbelly chuckled fondly, eyes crinkling with affection. "I knew Applebranch was right for me because she made my heart feel warm."

"What?"

"Whenever I'm around her, I feel so warm and fuzzy. I feel like I could do anything. I'll never feel lost as long as she's by my side."

"Wow." Eaglestripe had stopped walking. "You've always felt that way about her?"

"For a long time, yes. I think I knew for sure when I first became a full medicine cat. You're young, Eaglestripe. If there's someone who makes your heart warm, you should tell them and see if they feel the same. It's worth a shot, at least."

"Thanks, Grandma." Eaglestripe purred softly. "I had one more question."

"Yes, sweetheart?"

"How did you know you were a she-cat?"

...

"A mediator?" Silverbelly had been sorting herbs when Mudsplash padded into the den, exitedly rambling about an idea she'd had.

"Yes. I'll help cats solve their problems, with each other or with themselves. I could even solve problems with the other clans!" Mudsplash grinned, her one visible fang peeking out. With such enthusiam in her gaze, Silverbelly was struck by how much Mudsplash took after Applebranch, not in temperament, but in expression.

"Then FallenClan would be lucky to have you as its first mediator."

"You're just saying that 'cause you're my mom. That's okay though, I know I'll be a great mediator," Mudsplash declared. "I'm going to go talk to Goldenstar about my idea. Would you come with?"

"Wait."

"What?"

"Your fur," Silverbelly chided, padding closer to inspect the unruly and often matted fur of her daughter. "Let me clean you first. You'll want to look presentable."

"Mama. . ." Mudsplash let out an annoyed exhale. "Grandpa doesn't care about how my pelt looks."

"He may be your grandfather, but he's still your clan leader."

"I'm not a kit. You don't need to fuss over me," Mudsplash sighed, but her tone relayed affection rather than annoyance.

"I'm your mother. I'll always fuss over you."

"As long as your fussing is quick! I really want to talk to Goldenstar, before he's busy with some other thing."

"I'll try not to take too long, sweetheart."

"Thanks, Mama."

...

Every shadow, every flicker of light. They were all out to get her. Silverbelly hadn't stopped shaking since Otterslip had been exiled. Her wound was bound tightly with a poultice and cobwebs, but she could feel the way his claws had torn through her flesh.

He killed Stormsight. He tried to kill me. He's going to kill me. What if he comes back? What if he attacks me while I'm out on the territory? What if-

Uneven pawsteps approaching the medicine den caused Silverbelly to flinch, but she quickly forced her fur to lie flat. She recognized those pawsteps, and her suspicions were confirmed when Applebranch poked her head into the den.

Her gaze was haunted. "Silverbelly, I'm so sorry. I should have been there."

Silverbelly opened her mouth to respond but no words came out. Instead, a strangled sort of cry escaped her. Applebranch was beside her in an instant, curling into Silverbelly's nest alongside her. "Eaglestripe saw to your wound? . . . good. You aren't bleeding anymore? Have you eaten? Do you want me to go get-"

"No." Silverbelly bristled and Applebranch's eyes widened in alarm. "No, don't leave me. Please."

"Oh, Silverbelly." Applebranch pressed her nose against Silverbelly's cheek. "I won't leave you, I promise. If he ever dares show his face around here again, I'll-"

"Let's not talk about Otterslip, please."

"Okay. Do you. . . want to talk about anything?"

"Not really."

"Why don't you rest, and I'll keep watch, okay?"

"Okay. . . okay, thanks Applebranch."

"I'll keep you safe."

...

"How's Moosepaw doing?" Applebranch yawned, a wash of contentment spreading over her. A half eaten squirrel lay at her side, which Hawkwish had now begun to finish off.

"He's doing really well. I had a talk with him and he's been feeling a lot better lately." Hawkwish mumbled around a mouthful of squirrel, "He's going to do great things, I know it."

"You're doing great things too, honey." Applebranch blinked warmly at Hawkwish. "I'm really proud of you."

"Thanks, Grandma. That. . . means a lot."

"I mean it."

"I know."

...

"Salmonpaw and I caught that foxheart at the border yesterday."

"Did you?" Silverbelly's eyes widened in surprise. Nobody had told her.

"We chased him off, of course. I even gave him a good scratch, but the rat scrambled off before I could do much else," Applebranch grumbled. "I'd like to tear his flea-ridden pelt off."

"Just be careful." Silverbelly pressed herself against her mate's side. "You're old, Applebranch. You could always-"

"I'm not retiring," Applebranch sniffed, growing irritable. "You can't make me, Silverbelly."

"I wouldn't try to," Silverbelly chuckled lightly. The thought of Otterslip disturbed her, but the tom didn't frighten her as much as he used to. Now thinking about him just made her. . . sad.

"I know. Sorry for snapping at you. I think I'm just, I don't know, feeling insecure about getting old or something." Applebranch let out a frustrated grunt.

"If it helps, I'm getting old too," Silverbelly replied gently. "And so is Maplestar. Have you talked to him about any of this?"

"No, Maplestar is stressed enough without his sister complaining about her aching joints."

"Have you been in pain lately?" Silverbelly frowned, briefly scanning Applebranch's pelt for signs of tension.

"My leg has been aching again, that's all."

"Well, tell me if it gets worse, okay?"

"Will do." Applebranch paused. "Do you want to go swim in the star-pool? It might make my leg feel better. . ."

"You just want an excuse to show off your fishing skills."

"Guilty."

"I can afford to take a break," Silverbelly replied. "Let's go, before it gets dark out."

...

"I'm not a she-cat or a tom."

"That's all right, sweetheart. Should I start referring to you as 'they' or is there something else you'd prefer?"

"They works just fine for me," Eaglestripe grinned. Silverbelly gave their shoulder a supportive lick for good measure.

...

Silverbelly let out a delighted yowl. "I can still touch the bottom with my paws!"

"No way!" Applebranch guffawed, splashing water at Silverbelly. "I keep trying to swim down there but I always run out of breath before I can make it."

"Remember when you used to swim to the bottom and grab little pebbles for me?"

"I can't believe you remember that," Applebranch chuckled.

"You taught me how to fish, too."

"Yeah, you were actually really good at it, too."

"What! You told me I was bad at fishing!" Silverbelly scoffed in disbelief.

"I might have lied," Applebranch purred, a mischevious glint in her gaze. "I wanted to keep 'teaching' you how to fish," Applebranch admitted sheepishly.

"So all those times you were 'correcting' my technique, you were really just making stuff up?"

Applebranch opted to duck beneath the pool's surface instead of answering, once again trying to reach the pool's bottom. Silverbelly shook her head, fondness flooding her.

Later that day, Silverbelly added a new pebble to her collection.

...

"I feel numb."

"I feel ancient."

"Do you think we've lived good lives?"

"Mostly, yes. I'm glad we lived them together."

"I miss my brothers. I miss my father. I miss our daughter. I miss all of the friends we've lost. I don't know if I can live with this grief anymore."

"There's a lot of cats I miss, too."

"How do you get by?"

"It's simple. I know that they're waiting for me. Soon, they won't have to wait any longer."

"Does it scare you?"

"Not anymore. Are you afraid?"

"I don't think so. As long as we're together."

"Always."

"I love you."

"I love you, too."

-🐉

(cat romance, cats in love... here is the promised silverapple fic! a collection of moments from their lives, including some moments with their children and grandchildren as well.

please go read lollipop anon's silverbelly fic and beetle's maplestar & silverbelly fic! they're both so good and gave me lots of inspo

hope you enjoy❤️)

SCREAMING AND CRYING.... DRAGON ANON THIS IS SO GOOD!!!!!!!!!!!! i am in LOVE with your characterizations of everybody, especially Sunwish--you captured her perfectly. prickly but wanting to do better.

THE LAST BIT..... i will live out the rest of my days in a grain silo. absolutely DEVESTATING. you dont know the kind of agony you are causing me

[bobfloydsbabe]

FIC REC FRIDAY | october 13th 2023

saturday in the park – @wkndwlff ↳ beau simpson x reader

WHY I LOVE IT

In this fic, we get an entirely different version of Cyclone than the one we’re accustomed to from the source material. While Cyclone is stern, gruff, and serious, Beau is sweet, contemplative, and almost wistful. Setting this fic at a farmer’s market was a stroke of genius on Taylor’s part, as it created a beautifully calming atmosphere. This story feels like a modern fairytale, but remains grounded in reality by Beau’s reflection on his divorce and what led him to this moment. Centering the fic around the little green flower stand adds to that reality. Shy and lovestruck Beau is something I didn’t know I needed, but it made me feel all warm and fuzzy inside. It made me root for him and Reader, despite her already having a partner when they first meet. Beau’s disappointment upon learning this was so palpable it made my heart drop. The dialogue flowed naturally, and nothing feels forced. I was smiling from ear to ear during their second meeting, and the ending made almost made me cry with joy–it’s what they both deserved. It’s a cute fic about Beau Simpson who just wants a quiet life, peaceful mornings, and Saturday farmer’s markets with his special person. It also made me yearn to be this man’s controversially young girlfriend, but that’s besides the point.

TOP 3 REASONS YOU SHOULD READ IT TOO

➛ Cyclone drinking a pumpkin spice latte. That's it. That's the reason.

➛ If you like instant chemistry and love at first sight fics, this one's for you. You'll be rooting for these two from the first shared look.

➛ One of the fluffiest fics I've ever read, and one that's definitely worth a reread if you need a pick-me-up on a rainy day. You can't help but smile.

A NOTE ON THE PROCESS

fics are assigned a number. i then use a random generator and recommend you the fic corresponding to the number the tool picks. all recs are my personal favorites. if there's an author whose work you think i should check out, please reach out.

JOIN THE TAGLIST

REBLOG TO SPREAD THE WORD AND SUPPORT THE WRITER

TAGLIST: @joaquinwhorres, @anniesocsandgeneralstore, @callsign-magnolia, @desert-fern, @sylviebell, @wkndwlff, @blue-aconite, @callsignspark, @bradshawsbitch, @scarlettwidow19, @seresinsweetie, @teacupsandtopgun, @roosterforme, @fanficfandomlove, @bobgasm, @notroosterbradshaw, @nenelysian, @b-bradshaw, @cherrycola27, @kmc1989, @sweetwhispersofchaos, @keyrani, @ereardon, @sebsxphia, @withahappyrefrain, @laracrofted

[lebertransuelze]

"Das Ende einer Liebe ist wie ein verblassender Stern am Nachthimmel – einst hell und strahlend, nun nur noch ein fernes Licht."

eigenes

[the-forests-blessing]

Chapter 9

Little white paws bound across a mossy fallen tree that lies in a pool of ferns and ivy. He stops when reaching the fuzziest moss patch to claw at. Sharp talons pierce and pop at the tree bark, tearing up moss bits like the perfect cat scratcher. After that, he hops off the fallen tree and darts forward into a cluster of ferns and bushes. Here he catches the scent of prey. The sleek spotted pelt acts as perfect camouflage, hiding him in the dense thicket. He creeps forward carefully, keeping his belly low enough to brush against the forest floor. Easing his way beneath another bush, he sees it. A field mouse cleaning itself near a large tree root. He stills… waiting for the perfect moment… he wiggles his rear in preparation to strike and-!

     “Dewey? Where’d you go?” 

     The voice alerts the mouse and it quickly scurries off into the undergrowth… Dewey thrashes his tail irritably, huffing from his little black nose; forced to give up the hunt. He turns and exits the way he came, emerging from some ferns to see his owner perk up from the sound of his rustling. 

     “Oh there you are!” Lukas approaches his ocelot now, giving him a stern finger. “What did I say about running off?” Dewey flattens his ears and lowers his head. “I know you like exploring, but we just can’t afford to get separated out here. It’s too dangerous with those traps laying around.” Dewey looks around, even glances down to lift and look at the earth beneath his paws. “Okay not here.. I think..” The author takes a few looks around the surrounding woodland. “I haven’t seen any traps in this part of the forest, only the Admin’s forest so far, so we must stay vigilant once we get past the fog. Put your keen ocelot instincts to use and keep an eye out.”

     Dewey gives two nods and turns around, pawing ahead before he’s being suddenly lifted up, the ocelot emitting a soft squeak as he’s held in his owner’s arms. “Hang on a second, you got sap on your forehead.” Lukas gives his own thumb a lick and smears the sap out of the ocelot's fur, Dewey scrunching up his face in the process. A few light kicks and Lukas lets go and Dewey lands on his feet. “Okay you can walk ahead but no running out of sight. The next forest layer is just up ahead.” Dewey rolls his eyes and turns his nose up, trotting along with his tail held high, leaving Lukas to stand there and watch as he goes. “So sassy..”  

     Approaching the dense forest fog, Dewey hesitates, gazing up into the mist with his eyes blown wide. Lukas comes to a stop beside him. “Stay right beside me, okay?” Dewey nods and Lukas returns the gesture. The two venture into the fog. Dewey is apprehensive of his surroundings while this time around while Lukas is confident with his head held high. The ocelot trots close to his travel companion, hopping over wide tree roots and ducking beneath ticklish ferns. The dark conifers come into view finally and Lukas stops once they exit the fog to glance down at Dewey. His ocelot instantly becomes alert to his surroundings, his eyes wide and his ears swiveling in all directions. The ambience here in the Admin’s forest is different compared to the previous layer. Unlike the birds and other wildlife making the woodland lively with sound and movement, the most noise here is the occasional wind that stirs the dark pine needle coated branches of the giant trees watching over them. 

     “I promise you there’s nothing to be afraid of,” Lukas attempts to reassure, though Dewey isn’t convinced. His spotted tail has puffed up like a pine cone. Lukas leans down and gives him an affectionate head pet. “Just stay close and like I said, watch for anything suspicious on the ground.” Lukas begins to head deeper, leaving the ocelot hesitating for a moment, glaring at his owner before looking around and pinning his ears back, then boosting forward to once again stride beside the author. 

     Today the sun shines bright and the dark gray clouds of yesterday have gone. The rain stopped sometime late last night, leaving the field outside BeaconTown wet with dew once morning came. In his adventure gear, the spindly grass touched over Lukas’ exposed legs, just as they soaked Dewey’s freshly groomed pelt as they approached the forest tree line. 

      Now that the Admin gave him permission to adventure in his part of the forest, Lukas is eager to break into gear and really get into the study mindset. He’s been… awfully distracted as of late, so hopefully being in a fit more suitable for work will help him get his head in the game. 

     Here in the Admin’s woods, the temperature is lower and the bright forest colors have drained into shades relative to the darkness. Dewey stays close to the author’s feet as they travel deeper and deeper, eventually coming across the flower patch from the other day. 

     “Here,” Lukas says, “this is where I last encountered the Admin.” He looks down, checking on his ocelot’s current composure. The jungle cat gives the azure bluets a curious sniff, then stands back with his jaw slightly dropped, allowing the floral scents to absorb into his scent glands. Finished, he looks back up at Lukas with a deep meow. The blond walks ahead, keeping his head raised, continuously searching the surroundings trees for… something. Dewey glances around too and sees nothing. He’s confused and curious about what Lukas keeps stopping to look for. 

     “Let’s keep going,” Lukas says, nodding in a new direction. Dewey gives one last look at the azure bluets.. Giving them another good sniff, causing him to sneeze. Yuck! Too much pollen. Dewey sprints forward to catch up with Lukas who’s wandered onto a trail less occupied with dense ferns and bushes. Here the ground is muddy and wet. Dewey sticks one paw forward before quickly retracting it, flattening his ears at the way his paw is now coated in sticky brown mud. Unfortunately, Lukas is determined to stick to the path and well, what he did say before about the swamps was true. They have experienced worse. Dewey growls and decides to just force himself forward, succumbing to dirty paws he no doubt will be spending hours grooming later.

     “You know, Dewey, I have a good feeling that the Admin will like you. He has an Allay as his own companion, and he cares about the forest. I’m sure a cute little ocelot will catch some positive attention from him.” Lukas smiles at the thought, thinking how nice it would be for Dewey to greet the Admin and they both instantly take a liking to each other with Dewey showing him his loud rumbling purrs and Admin showing… Well… Literally any other emotion besides grumpy. 

     Dewey couldn’t be any more doubtful. After hearing what that red haired human bearing the sword at her hip said yesterday, he thinks Lukas is getting himself into nothing but trouble again. 

     Dewey’s in the midst of scowling when something strange catches his attention. A weird light enters his surroundings, causing the area to glow briefly around him. Dewey stops and quickly turns his head around, his green eyes wide and searching, then narrowing and his ears pinning back again. He decides to walk faster, getting closer to Lukas when he hears a shuffle in a bush nearby and that blue light once again surrounds him. Dewey springs into action, turning tail quickly and looking back, then practically leaps out of his own fuzzy skin at the sight of some… some thing following him! 

     It too startles, then quickly floats up and flies towards Lukas. A bird! Dewey immediately unleashes his claws and surges forward, running after the strange blue creature. 

     Lukas stops at the sound of something coming up behind him. Coming up fast. “Woah!” He gasps as he turns and nearly trips over Dewey running past his feet. Lukas watches his ocelot burst to life, then to his horrors, sees the Allay flee from his friend. Immediately Lukas’ blood runs cold. No… Nonono! He quickly runs after them. “Dewey, no! No!!” He shouts, only able to see the Allay’s wavering light float in the distance, the ocelot taking his hunt to the shadows of the undergrowth. Fear instantly sets in. “Dewey I swear if you lay a single paw on that Allay, I’m going to find an ocelot-sized pitfall and bury you in it! Leave it alone!” Lukas yells out, running as fast as he can whilst the mud grabs at his boots and the ferns smack against his legs. The branch of a bush even slaps him in the face, forcing Lukas to a stop he must quickly recover from. He shakes it off and rushes forward.. 

     To his horror.. the Allay’s light had faded and Dewey’s rustling could no longer be heard. Lukas stops, breathing heavily as he frantically searches the surrounding trees for the Allay’s light. “A-Allay?” Lukas calls out. “Dewey?” He calls again. There’s no response. Nothing but the stillness of the trees and shrubs. Lukas’ heart hammers with anxiety. “Oh please, Dewey. Please don’t hurt it.” He pleads in a desperate whisper. Lukas runs further into the woods, unsure of where to go now. The forest is like an endless maze of the same sights over and over again. No matter where he looks it’s just trees and fog. 

     He calls out for the Allay once more and with a few passing seconds, the sound of familiar laughter snags Lukas’ heart in a different direction, his attention caught by a blue glow he nearly falls to his knees with relief to see. “Oh thank goodness,” Lukas lays his hand over his pounding heart and sighs. The Allay comes, fluttering between the tall conifers towards him. Lukas reaches out and is pleasantly surprised with the Allay accepting his open gesture, emitting a happy chirp as it wanders over and settles in Lukas’ hands. The creature is so lightweight, neither is it cold or warm. With it in his hands, the human’s pounding heart can finally ease. He’s so relieved, he doesn’t think twice before bringing the Allay close to his chest. “Oh I’m so glad you’re okay.” He says, giving the tiny creature some semblance of a hug. The Allay makes a surprised sound at the gesture, completely wide-eyed as its held against his chest before Lukas holds it out again. 

     Then, the bushes nearby shudder. The two look over to watch Dewey emerge from the flora, absolutely soaked in mud. Lukas can’t pay any mind to the mud with how much red he’s seeing. He holds the Allay close and snaps his fingers. “Dewey. Get over here this instant.” Then points at the ground. Dewey flattens his ears and slowly steps forward, sitting down a few feet from his owner. “Dewey the Ocelot, this ,” Lukas gestures to the Allay, “is off limits. Forever . Absolutely no hunting the Allay! Do you hear me? It isn’t a bird.”

     The Allay sits upon Lukas’ palm, glancing between the two. “It’s our friend, so don’t ever let me catch you hunting it again.” The little blue spirit perks up and looks at Lukas with extra wide eyes. Lukas glances back at it and quickly realizes what he’d said. Friend… Lukas glances away, taking one hand back to press the knuckle beneath his chin so he can ponder on that. Meanwhile, the Allay lifts itself up from the human’s hand and descends the short distance between them. 

     Dewey keeps his head low and his gaze lower. Only when that strange light shines in front of him does he glance up, then move his head to look upon this… Allay creature. Far more trusting than a bird ever could be. The spirit gets close to Dewey, then.. A familiar toy catches his eyes. Dewey’s eyes widen as the Allay pulls out his mouse toy from thin air. The action catches Lukas’ eyes too and his jaw drops, quickly reaching into his satchel for his journal. 

     “I can’t believe it. You have an inventory space too..” Lukas notes in the Allay’s section of his journal, watching closely as the little creature waves the toy mouse.. Then tosses it off into the bushes. Dewey instantly chases after it, making the Allay laugh, a sound Lukas won’t ever tire of hearing. “I wonder how much inventory space it has? For something so small.. It can’t be anything close to a human’s. I’ve only ever seen it carrying Dewey’s toy. I wonder..” Lukas continues his writing, glancing up to watch in amusement at the way the Allay and Dewey do this back and forth game of fetch. 

     From such an anxiety inducing chase, to something as light-hearted as a game of fetch.. Lukas is utterly relieved with this outcome. 

     Although…

     His hand raises, feeling the hair on the back of his neck standing on end. He looks down to his exposed arms, noticing the goosebumps. Lukas looks up from his journal and the playful scene, his eyes scanning the surrounding trees… The massive dark trunks produce shadows everywhere he looks, as do the plenty of other plant species living here in the forest. He searches for a particular set of glowing eyes.

     Lukas’ gaze lingers on the trees… On the shadows and the mist beyond them. 

      I know you’re watching me, he thinks, turning his head back down to the journal in his hands. He closes it shut and stores it away, then lifts his gaze up to the trees again. “Come on guys, let’s look for something fun to explore.” Lukas turns around, carrying on his walk. The other two follow, with Dewey dropping the mouse toy for the Allay and both quickly catching up. Dewey once again walks beside his owner, while the Allay floats in and settles on his shoulder. 

     Lukas is overjoyed with this. He glances at the Allay, smiling so wide it hurts. I can’t believe this is my life right now.. And they said I’d never make it this far! Lukas reaches down, unclasping his right thigh pocket and reaches in. “I have something new for you today.” Lukas offers it up now, handing it to the Allay. “It’s a donut hole. Have you ever tried one?” The Allay takes the baked good into its tiny blue hands and looks at Lukas, then shakes its head. "Well don't hesitate- try it!" Lukas encourages. The Allay inspects the ball closely, closes its eyes and brings it close to sniff, then proceeds to take a 'bite'. Lukas smiles fondly at the adorable display. "Do you like it?" The Allay nods, emitting a happy sound that makes Lukas' day. 

     Dewey droops his head down as Lukas gives his attention elsewhere. 

     “That's all I brought today. I have more treats, but these are for Dewey.” Dewey’s ears perk up and he lifts his head, his eyes wide and shining as he’s offered a dried minnow. The jungle cat boosts up on his hind legs and snags the treat from Lukas’ hand. “He’s sweet, I promise. Sure he’s full of attitude, but he’s got a good heart like you.” Dewey purrs at the compliment as he finishes up his treat, only to have his purr cut short when he feels something strange beneath his paw. He glances down and immediately jumps out of the way, spinning around and it’s already too late. 

     “You two will get along great, I prw WOAH– ” The sound of a click and woosh! Dewey watches in shock as his owner is caught in a net and swooped up into the air with a startled yell. The branch above them sways up and down, bobbing in time with the captured author, making many pine needles fall to the forest floor. “Wh-what!? Huh?” He grasps the rope netting and looks down, blinking rapidly as his eyes attempt to readjust with the new height. The blond searches the forest floor, spying Dewey looking up at him, meowing loudly, and next to him, the unmistakable switch of a pressure plate. Once again.. Hidden by leaves.. “Oh come ooon..” Lukas lays back against the net, running his hands down his face. 

     Dewey’s meow sounds from below. Lukas sighs and glances down, taking in just how high up he is. Hmm.. This can’t be any more than eight feet off the ground.. He glances up and examines the knot, as well as the ropes wrapped around the tree limb. “This is insane,” he groans and lifts his hands, attempting to pull at the knot, but his strength meets an unimaginable amount of resistance. Lukas stops and does a quick inventory check, then does a pat down of all his pockets. “Uuugh.. Dammit.” He lays his head back again, closing his eyes and drawing in a sharp breath. “Why do I always forget to bring my stupid survival knife.” 

     ~

     The Allay beside him had risen from his shoulder, its pure white eyes taking in the netted walls that surround it. The panicked trill it makes sends ice through Lukas’ heart, his focus changing from his own predicament to the scared little creature. Watching it press itself against the tight netting, desperately trying to squeeze through the small openings. Lukas looks around the mesh and judges whether it's possible for it to escape.     “Hold on, hold on there, little guy.. We’ll get you out.” Lukas reaches for the Allay, only for it to dash out of his reach in a panic. “Hmm..” He squints his eyes in focus, looking for a better opening. Not even a moment later he spots a tear in the netting beneath his left leg, a perfect area for him to exploit for the Allay. “Oh! Perfect! Here, Allay!” He speaks a bit stern to garner the creatures seemingly scattered attention. “Try this..” Lukas hooks his fingers in the knotted rope, pulling as hard as he could to keep the space wide enough.     Skepticism keeps the Allay in place, though the need for freedom outweighs its hesitation. It floats down and wriggles its way out through the knots, making strained crystalline noises until it finally pushes its way out. Eyes gleaming, Lukas celebrates as the Allay swirls with relief. “Yeah! There we go! Good job, buddy.”

     Dewey seems to be indifferent, only wanting to get out of the mud and to be with his owner. So he looks from the Allay and its joyous freedom before returning his gaze to his trapped friend. Though in another instant, his black rounded ears perk, then swivel toward the sound of snapping twigs and the loud rustling of the dark bushes in the not so far distance.

     With a low mrow, Dewey rises to his paws, ears pinning back as a massive dark shadow takes form. The dark form seems to be the source of the approaching, nearly ground shaking steps. Dewey's eyes blow wide as glowing turquoise irises lock onto him, causing his fur to raise, tail puffing up as his back begins to arch. He lets out a mighty hiss, his slitted eyes furious with.. fear.     The Allay seems to be calmed now, dashing away past Lukas.     “H-hey! Where are you going?“ He chokes out, grappling the net and pulling himself up onto his knees as best as he possibly can. Without the Allays glow, it’s so dark now. The sounds he hears are making him uneasy, though he’s very much trying to convince himself he’ll figure out a way to get himself out.. Even without any proper tools.     “Dewey-- It’s okay!” He tries to comfort his hissing ocelot. “I’ll figure this out!” He says with a defeated sigh. The ocelot hisses again, his growling makes Lukas all the more uneasy.. Then the blue light returns, his heart shaking as the net is grabbed at the very top by an unseen force. He suddenly realizes how the air has changed, how the net has suddenly stopped swinging now that it’s being held still.. Lukas feels his anxiety rising, fending off his comforted ideals of the Admin coming to have saved him. While he wants to get out on his own, he knows that.. Isn’t all that likely. So he calls out,     “Admin? Is that you?!” Of course there’s no reply. He listens to the heavy steps squelching in the mud. Allay greets Lukas first, then it’s massive companion.     For a moment, Lukas finds himself speechless and warm with embarrassment as Admin stands before him. Tired, he just huffs with a soft laugh and must look away from the emotionless glowing gaze. “Come to save me again?” He asks quietly.     The Admin crosses his arms, taking in a deep and slow breath as he stands a comfortable distance away from the captured scholar. He tilts his head, looking at Lukas’ change in clothes, looking at the Allay as it happily circles the snare netting.     “I swear I’m not usually so clumsy! I was looking where I was walking, I tried to stay on the natural paths, I– Dewey! Stop hissing at him!” Lukas began his rambling before Dewey’s insistent aggression towards the Admin drove him crazy. The ocelot has puffed up three times his size, straying further away when the Admin looks back at him. Muddy pawed and out of his element, with his owner still trapped.. His fearful eyes glanced between the powerful deity and Lukas. Another hiss fills the air.     Completely unfazed, the Admin nods to the ocelot and turns back to Lukas. The scholar sees something he hasn’t seen yet, and that’s a change of expression in the Admin. His thick, scarred brows no longer furrowed, and his lips no longer in a scathing frown. Instead the Admin looks.. He doesn’t know, calmer? Tired… Lukas watches Admin reach into one of his brown leather belt pockets, obviously being more than prepared for a snare like this.     Either way, not being greeted with a harsh glare comforts Lukas in the moment. And with his perfect smile, Lukas emits his own special light. “I-I’m sorry about him.. He’s just- AH!” Without warning Lukas plummets toward the ground. The net had loosened up with a quick swipe of an impossibly sharp blade, the blond yelping without so much as a prepared thank you. Lukas squeezes his eyes closed and braces for the impact. This is gonna hurt!     Until the impact never comes.

     Lukas opens his eyes with grave hesitation, his surprise knows no bounds. He’s hovering just a few inches above the ground, of course the moment he attempts to speak, he lands with thud. “Tch--Whoa!.. Oof!” Now he’s.. Just covered in mud, the front of him at least. His fault for not bracing with outstretched arms, he knows this. But this still blows! He seethes as he untangles himself out of the netting, then stands up from the ground, “Whhyyy…”

     Oh how the Allay giggles as it swirls above Lukas, overjoyed now that they’re both free.      Admin makes no motions toward Lukas, watching him this time rather than watching the Allay. Even as the little blue creature rubs itself against his grizzly cheek with visible affection, his gaze stays locked on the author. The Allay floats back to Lukas.. Then to Dewey, only for the ocelot’s unease to spark into flame. He runs toward his owner and stands his ground, facing toward the Admin and putting on his biggest, most frightening look.     “Dewey.. Please . He isn’t going to hurt us!” Lukas tries, embarrassed and dejected he can’t find the energy in properly comforting the ocelot. “You want another minnow?” To his shock, the ocelot doesn’t even look back at him. “Good grief, Dew.. I’m sorry, Admin. Thank you for your help.. Again. I’m sorry he’s so..” he trails off, noticing how the Admin is now staring at his ocelot.      The Admin’s eye gleam with an unreadable emotion, as if examining the jungle cat. Lukas watches the way Admin’s head tilts, he hears the short huff that comes from his nose. And so, the Admin reaches a single hand into his inventory, and pulls out the ultimate deal breaker.. A fresh cut of a Salmon filet. Instantly, the ocelot's ears perk up, though he still holds his ground, scared and hesitant, yet undoubtedly interested. Seconds pass.. Seconds for Dewey to judge the offer and make a decision. 

     He approaches hesitantly. His spotted coat is still puffed up and his emerald eyes are still wide with uncertainty.. He dips his head, eyeing the Admin’s watchful gaze then stopping for another few tense seconds. Dewey’s skepticism is clear, sniffing the air.. Then in a flash, he quickly snags the aromatic filet from the Admins palm! Dashing a few blocks away so neither of them can attempt to take it from him.     Admin seems to be some semblance of pleased with this; straightening up his back, wiping his glove off on his clothes as he watches the ocelot tear into the fish. Those big green eyes rounded with glee, hearing that purr from where Lukas and himself stand. 

     ~

     Lukas is at a loss for words at what he’d just witnessed. He watched the Admin’s every move as he offered Dewey, his Dewey, a special gift for what the author can only assume is a peace offering. The way the large man bent down.. Held his hand out.. Then rubbed any remaining fishy residue off on his clothes. The interaction was very human and.. Lukas can’t take his eyes off the deity. When the man turns, Lukas is still staring, only when they lock eyes does he freeze up and glance away, feeling his cheeks warm. 

     He pretends to be focused on Dewey. “Thank you for that..” He says, watching the ocelot tear at the flaky piece for a few seconds before slowly returning his gaze back to the Admin. “A-and thank you for getting me out of that net. Heh, you saved me.. Again.” Lukas glances away, scratching awkwardly at the back of his neck. “I’ve really got to be more careful where I’m stepping.”

     A quirked brow and deafening silence tells Lukas that the deity agrees with him.

     Lukas again is distracted by the change in expression on the Admin’s dark blue complexion. His mouth falls open, yet no words come out. 

      Why is my heart pounding so hard? 

     Lukas draws in a deep, soothing breath then glances away. He watches the Allay float over to Dewey. The little spirit lowers itself in the ocelot’s space, curious at the predatory display. Dewey just snags the remaining bits of salmon and curls his lip, turning his body around and away from the fairy. Lukas drags his gaze down to the ground now, looking upon the pressure plate that had evaded his vision. 

     “Why are there so many traps out here? They belong to the hunters, but what exactly are they hunting?” Lukas looks slowly back up to the Admin. The deity’s dark brows furrow and he raises his gloved fist, pointing his thumb towards himself. Lukas’ eyes widened, confusion clutching him in its own confining trap. “What? You?” He shakes his blond head, only realizing now as he does that that his hair had mussed up during the fall. His usually slicked back tuft has fallen forward. Lukas quickly attempts to brush it back as he speaks. “I don’t understand.. Why would anyone want to trap you? You’re..” The author gives up fixing his hair, instead gestures with both hands to the Admin. “You aren’t bad.” 

     ~

     The surprise in Lukas is genuine, the words he speaks are kind if not also misplaced. Lukas has.. no idea what he’s dealing with, and seemingly what happened there in BeaconTown. All that's happened to, and with The Admin. It leaves Admin’s expression falling back into its tempered scowl, though this time it's not aimed at the uneducated author. It’s not his fault, Admin recalls that BeaconTown has been rather unwelcoming and shrouds itself in secrecy. 

     He turns his head toward the duo, how happy the Allay seems with its new feline friend. Despite the territorial growling that rumbled from that speckled pelt. Taking in a soft but deep breath, he sighs as he turns his illuminated gaze upon Lukas. With that last comment in mind, he reaches out and grasps the adventurer's shoulder, heavy but not hard.

     Warping is one of the easiest parts of traveling. In mere seconds they arrive and tread within one of the worst scars of the forest. Admin releases Lukas’ shoulder and steps back, which silently urges Lukas to turn around and take in what he sees..

     ~

     The author audibly gasps and his hands smack against each side of his head, shocked and appalled at the sight he’s sent to behold. A burned down, lifeless field of smoldering trees and scorched earth. A blue sky with fluffy white clouds is an ocean of color atop the blackened and charred earth. Lukas steps forward, taking it all in. Chunk after chunk of beautiful forest.. Gone. All that’s left is the dead, lifeless remains of what once thrived here. His head shakes slowly in disbelief, then he glances down. The ecologist kneels, resting his knees against the scorched remains of where grass once grew. He runs his hand through the soot.. Collecting a small amount of the ash upon his fingers, just to let it fall back to its untimely grave. 

     Anger. Rage. Fury. The man stands and turns sharply, looking back at the Admin. The deity hung back in the surviving tree line, storing himself in its protective shadows as the author grieves in sunlight. “What happened here!?” Lukas asks desperately.

     The Admin stays silent, of course, but this gives Lukas the time to figure it out on his own. The author looks at the Admin, his eyes going out of focus on him as he visualizes the traps set out by the hunter’s, learning only today that those traps weren’t for any animal or trespasser, but for the Admin himself. Lukas turns back to the heart wrenching sight. Piecing the puzzle together.

     “Those hunter’s.. Those people back in BeaconTown.. They did this?” Lukas waves his useless hand towards the scorched field. Suddenly his anger sears hot like the charred earth beneath him. They.. burnt down part of the forest. “They did this.. To reach you?” He turns again, searching the Admin for a response. A brief moment of silence.. Then a single small nod from the blue man. Lukas’ hands splay out, then clench into tight, furious fists. He looks upon the field.. Seeing all the scorched trees.. Blackened and wilting.. He scrunches his nose up at the smell, growling as he makes motion to walk forward.

     “I-I’m going to have a word with that damned mayor! I will not hold back on her this time, so help me-” A heavy pressure grabs his shoulder, forcing the author to stop. Lukas comes to a halt, then looks up over his shoulder. His heart shakes when he sees the Admin.. The deity keeps his back to the sunlight, though his massive imposing form is outlined with a delicate touch of light from the afternoon sun. The Admin stays shadowy when facing him, but this close.. Lukas can see more to his complexion than ever before. How deep those bigger gashes on his face are. The split in his top lip. The scruffy facial hair. He can even see white pupils hiding within those glowing turquoise irises. 

     Lukas feels his anger waver.. Subsiding as it drains out of him and becomes one with the blackened dirt beneath his feet. He tries to shake off that nagging warmth that keeps rising within him, all too worked up to give in just yet. Lukas’ voice cracks as it tries to find some grounding in all his spiraling emotions. “W-why are you stopping me?” Lukas stares up into those glowing eyes, just as a light gust of wind snakes between the two men, causing each of their messy hair to stir. The Admin’s gaze softens into that tired expression once more and then…

     Lukas sees white. With a single blink he’s in a new area.. Once again deep in the tree line, but gazing upon another scorched field. One which shared a similar unfortunate fate. Across the field is another tree line, more of the forest that stands untouched, while looking right, further down the field and many chunks away, Lukas can see the grasslands and far off forests he remembers seeing on the other side of BeaconTown.. Which must mean.. 

     Lukas’ brows furrow, looking over the charred landscape. If one side of the forest is scarred, and another is the same… Then..

     The ecologist turns on the Admin, charged with emotion. “They’re trying to burn the forest from b-both sides? To.. To..” He stops and thinks.. Searching the logic he presumes. “Are they trying to split the forest in half? To force you into certain parts?” Lukas winces at the thought, looking back at the Admin. The deity stands in silence.. Residing within the shadows of the trees once more. Instead of nodding, the man looks down and away from him. Lukas has it figured out. 

     “Oh.. Oh my god..” Lukas shakes his head, horrified. “I-.. I’m going to talk to Petra! A-and demand that she–” Before he can even think to move, the Admin has him snared. An unseen force grabs Lukas and holds him still, snaps his mouth shut and forces him to look up at the forest dweller. The Admin’s tired gaze has once again sharpened into a deep, displeased frown. He shakes his head slowly, then releases his hold on Lukas with a huff and crosses his arms. 

     Lukas wants to complain. He wants to ask why, but he knows he won’t get a direct answer. The Admin is stern and forceful with his ideals, practically demanding Lukas keep this knowledge unspoken with a lack of words. The blond’s distraught heart wavers, searching the deity’s eyes briefly before yielding with a heavy sigh. Lukas turns back to this second field and takes his time to look over it. It seems this field has been this way for quite some time.. While there is still plenty of charred earth keeping his heart weighed heavy, there are little specks of life here and there. Young shoots of green grass can be seen poking through the scorched barrier between soil and air. In some spots, even some wild flowers have begun to grow. 

     Even with these scars.. The earth finds its way to recover. 

     The author scrunches his face up, his heart tearing in two. He so badly wants to show Petra the fury he feels for her and her hunter’s actions, but he also desires the Admin’s trust. There’s only one that can outweigh the other. So with that.. Lukas turns towards the dark tree line once more, his head lowered and his heart crushed, he enters the dark woodland. 

     The Admin watches him pass, then looks back towards the devastation BeaconTown has caused. He lingers for only a moment before he too turns and follows Lukas into the shadows of the trees, disappearing into the safety of darkness.

[rikes-lyrics]

sternenschwärzer

 

es geht des nachts ein finstres gefühl

der himmmel verhangen ° der wind bläst kühl

ein schatten ists ° der sterne pflückt

und in seinen weiten ° schwarzen mantel steckt

gespenstisch flackert der sterne licht

und huscht über ein zerfurchtes gesicht

ich folge den schritten des hastigen wandrers

möchte die sterne retten ° ich kann nicht anders

unser weg führt in den wald

stockfinster ists und bitterkalt

eine undurchdringliche nacht

hat alles pechschwarz gemacht

der schatten ° der mantel ° die sterne

ich bin verloren in näh' und ferne

da sehe ich direkt vor mir ein blasses blinken

und eine hand das leuchten schnell ins schwarze tränken

ich will es greifen ° bleibe kleben

kann meine füße nicht mehr heben

ich rufe laut "so helft doch, helft"

ein schwacher lichtstrahl fällt vom himmelszelt

ich sehe viele wesen ° die sich regen

aber nicht mehr von der stelle bewegen

und überall der schatten ° der beherzt

immer weiter sterne schwärzt

so aussichtslos ° so schwach ° verloren

durchhalteparolen werden geboren

auf dem fundament von angst und wut

machen wir uns mit stillstand mut

bauen dann mit unseren finstren gedanken

wofür sternenschwärzer sich bedanken

weil wir ohne dieses licht

das aus unserm innern spricht

jede menschlichkeit verlieren

und nur noch schatten schatten kontrollieren

nehmt euch ein herz ° erhebt euch heute

macht unsere werte ° unsere freiheit nicht zur leichten beute

für jäger ° die daraus hass als lockstoff kultivieren

wir sollten nicht den glauben an uns selbst verlieren

[callsign-phoenix]

I wrote this for my 1.5k follower celebration, I hope you like it!

It is a Natasha ‘Phoenix’ Trace x female!Mitchell!reader blurb, requested by @sylviebell.

Thank you @footprintsinthesxnd for proofreading!

The prompt requested is: a hello/good-bye kiss that is given without thinking - where neither person thinks twice about it.

Warnings: none

Your father’s one rule for dating had been implanted in you ever since you had been thirteen years old.

He was an important man in the Navy, or at least to those below his rank, so he felt the need to clarify that you were never to go out with a pilot.

Whenever you returned home from a date, no matter how late, Mav was there to greet you, checking in on you with the catchphrase you had established with each other.

He’d get up from his chair to watch you walk through the door, the two of you making eye contact even in the dark.

“Not an aviator, never an aviator,” you said simultaneously, oftentimes accompanied with a grin and an eye-roll from your side.

You knew why your dad asked this of you and you weren’t exactly excited to have your lover shipped off to God knows where, never to return.

When you met Nat however you just knew she was the right one for you.

You started off as close friends and you didn’t exactly know when things shifted between you, the sitting next to each other on the couch turned into cuddling, turned into making out.

You two just liked each other too much, but you tried to keep it secret.

Everyone knew you and Nat were friends so you two being seen together wasn’t unusual.

You were very happy about that because you didn’t care if other people knew about Nat and you, you liked your privacy and you loved being with her, but you also liked that your dad didn’t know you were breaking your rule.

Days, weeks and months flew by and Nat and you were happy together, spending time together and with friends as well, keeping a low profile with your love life.

You were so excited when Nat started to ask you to come with her to official gatherings.

You loved to go with her and even though you didn’t externally act like a couple you still shared silent glances of loving pride.

Over time there were small slip-ups, a short holding or squeezing of hands or a kiss to the cheek, but all of it could have been interpreted as acts of close friendship.

When your dad invited you and his squadron of aviators over for drinks you were excited to go, and Nat was as well.

Your evening was nice and without a problem, up until Nat went to say good night.

She was hugging everyone until she came to you, smiling at you before pecking your lips in a quick and slightly tipsy display of affection.

She whispered a simple ‘see you later, babe’ before she was on her way, leaving you with everyone’s eyes on you.

It took you a few seconds before you realized it, your eyes widening as your head whipped around to look at your father.

Maverick’s expression was stern and his eyes were set on you, the phrase ‘not an aviator, never an aviator’ repeating in your mind in his voice.

You gulped quickly but Mav only took a second to shrug, a small grin forming as he shook his head.

“Could have chosen way worse, kid,” he said as everyone visibly relaxed, the chatter slowly returning to the room.

It seemed like Nat and you were now official.

tagging: @starkleila @mayhem24-7forever @green-socks @letsfvckingdance @shadeds-library @yespolkadotkitty @whateverbagman @neptunes-curse @sweetheartlizzie07 @top-gun-rooster @iloveprettyboysblog @ateliefloresdaprimavera @imjess-themess @littlebadariell @angstyjellybean @marchingicenotes7 @midget713 @supernaturaldawning @gspenc @adorephina @gigisimsonmars @pansexualwitchwhoneedstherapy @bespinnn @malindacath @aerangi @kassieesworld @kwanimations @18crazybutcutealsopsycho @marvelandotherfandomimagines @mavericksicybabe @kendra-rose @desert-fern @mavrellover91 @allivingstone01 @rhettabbotts @withakindheartx @trikigirl271 @cherrycola27 @bonitanightmxres @ratcatcher2world @glowingtree @wingmanvenus @oliviah-25 @natasharomanoffisbaebby @d0ingitwithpassi0n @eggscrambler84 @tamix44 @katesmadness

(please tell me if you want to be added to the taglist, or use this link)