#for a second his neighbor thought that maybe he was afraid of the hospital bill but he blurts out that he doesn't want livvy to die

[pyreshe]

livvy is TERRIFIED of hospitals. im talking “can barely set foot in a hospital without having a panic attack” kinda fear. the smell alone is enough to set her on edge. ever since her dad’s accident, the two weeks he spent on life support, hospitals have just been firmly established in her mind as a scary place where people Die.

[faeriebcrne]

tw for abandonment, mental illness, and parental abuse

TLDR; Heather ran away from her parents abuse to wind up in an abusive relationship where her boyfriend took care of her kindness and broke her heart, and the once kind Heather slowly rotted and festered into the bitter, selfish, and mean Heather everyone knows today.

( full story under cut )

Heather wasn’t always so nasty and spiteful; when she was a little girl still living in the Other Place with her family, she was extremely mild tempered, sweet, compassionate, and shy -- she never wanted to hurt anyone in any way, ever. Her parents constantly told her that she was “not going to live long” and that she was a worthless faerie because of this, so that ( on top of stealing from a faerie queen ) is why she left the Other Place to live with the humans.

She was still very kind and sweet until she met a boy she thought she had fallen in love with; Taylor. He had been manipulating her from go, sneaking around with other women but keeping her in the dark because, unlike his other girls, Heather would do everything she could to provide for him. She would give him a majority of her paychecks, give up possessions, even sell her prized possessions just to make him happy. She was expected to work, pay the bills, and do the chores in the house, and because she thought she loved him, she did it without hesitation.

But because it wasn’t love, and Taylor wasn’t a traditionally creative guy, Heather wasn’t feeding, and with the added stress of it all, Heather’s mental health tanked to a dangerous level. She had a full psychotic break, to the point that she was afraid that the queen she had stolen from had sent faeries to execute her. Taylor checked her into a mental hospital quickly, telling her that he would come visit her every day she was in there.

Heather spent three and a half weeks in the hospital, and not once did Taylor come to visit her. She would call him, and he would apologize, telling her that he would “make it tomorrow, for sure”, which all turned out to be empty promises. Heather, ever naive and gentle-hearted, believed him every time, even going so far as to make excuses for him. He must have had a good reason to never come visit me. The longer she was in the hospital, the harder it was to get ahold of Taylor, but the last time she did, he swore up and down he was going to pick her up from the hospital.

When she was released, Heather waited for Taylor at the hospital until they told her to leave. Even on the taxi ride home, she made excuses for him. Something must have come up, he must not be feeling well, maybe he is making me a welcome home dinner. When she returned to her apartment, she found three things after talking to her neighbors. One: after she was admitted, Taylor started bringing other girls to the apartment, and each of the girls would leave with a box of stuff. Two: Taylor had hired a moving company to take all of her stuff, and it was overheard that he had planned to sell it all. Three: he had not been paying rent on her apartment, so her lease was terminated, and now a new family was moving in.

Frantic, Heather tried dialing Taylor, too many questions and not enough answers. Maybe he had moved all of her stuff somewhere else, maybe a better apartment? The neighbor had to be wrong, this wasn’t at all like him! But he never picked up; she left frantic voicemail after panicked voicemail, that is, until Taylor blocked her number. 

After that, Heather slowly went sour and bitter with heartbreak, self sabotaging her future relationships, refusing therapy and blaming her time in the hospital for her pain. Despite this heartbreak, she would go back to Taylor without a second thought if he reappeared in her life.

[ikenbar]

Mr. Love: Ike’s Choice CH4 PT11

Second to last part until Chapter four comes to a close! I’ll hate to see it go but I’ll be back on my regular schedule after this. Not to mention, Chapter five has got to be one of my favorites. It’s one I actually go back and read when I have spare time! So get excited!! :D

Warnings: Blood, fainting, setting of a dislocated arm (you more hear about it then witness it), cleaning wounds, we got fluff, we got angst (only a tiny bit tho), and we got some of that sweet farm raised and grass fed cliffhangers!! :D

(Chapter Four (Victor and Gavin) Prologue, and part one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, and ten can be found here!)

Please read the author’s note (and the beginning of the story) on chapter one part one if you’re new here :D

And an additional note in a previous part of chapter four part three here! (I promise these notes are important)

Chapter four:

Part ten:

“No bodyguards.” I insisted for the uptenth time as Adri and I climbed the stairs to my apartment, “I told you I’m fine. Just a minor scrape.”

“It’s not your scrape that makes me worried.” Victor’s voice had a sense of importance, “It’s how you got it. You were driven off the road, Ikamara! What if you had gotten killed?!”

“It takes a lot more than a few cars and guns to kill me, Victor.”

“Ike-”

“Victor,-” I interrupted, moving the phone to my shoulder to grab my keys from my pocket, “I’m-” I grunted. A sharp pain rushed through my chest. I gripped my side and I handed the phone to Adri. “Talk to victor for me while I grab my keys.” I groaned, trying to keep face. Adri nodded slowly then held the phone up to her ear. 

“Hey Vicky!... It’s a no to ‘Vicky?’ Alright, well, Ike blasted some holes in their tires. They aren’t going anywhere. I promise. And, if they do, you’ll be the first person we call, ok?... alright police first, and then you!” Adri paused a moment as she listened to Victor, “... You want to send a doctor?... Well...” Adri gave me a once over. I threw the keys into my door knob and yanked the phone from Adri’s ear.

“No doctors.” I deadpanned, “I’ve dealt with worse injuries than these. We’ll be fine…” I unlocked my door but didn’t open it right away.  I looked over to Adri, “... Although, one thing is strange to me.” 

“What tipped you off? Was it the fact that you were thrown off the road by a bull headed man, perhaps?” Victor asked with sourness on his tongue.

“No, My-”

“Hold on.” Adri took my phone again but, instead of putting it to her ear, tapped the speaker phone button and held it up between us, “Sorry, V. I was hearing one part of this conversation and it was getting old. Please, Ike.” She gestured for me to continue. 

“... Thanks, Adri.” I cleared my throat, “My evol makes it so I have nearly impenetrable skin. Not even bullets can get through it... if that’s the case-”

“Then what cut your arm?” Victor and Adri had caught on quickly as they asked the same question at the same time. I looked down at my arm. 

“I don’t know. The last time I remember being cut this bad was when I was younger and my evol was still developing.”

“Didn’t you get a cut on your date?” Victor asked, “Do you know what could have caused it?”

“No. I-” I paused, “... that waiter’s cufflink. It was what tore at my shirt so it must have been what cut me too.” 

“Do you remember what kind of cufflink it was?” Victor asked. I looked down and hummed in thought.

“Wait.” Adri said, snapping her fingers, “Some construction work requires them to drill or grind into hard and heavy materials so that the building can be sturdy under certain conditions such as earthquakes or thunderstorms.”

“Interesting fact.” I rolled my eyes, “What does that have to do with-”

“Some of the equipment they use had diamonds embedded in them.”

Something clicked in my head.

“The waiter’s cufflink,” I said slowly, “It must have had a diamond in it as well…”

“Exactly.” Adri nodded.

“Ike,” Victor said, gravely, “Did Montu see your injury?” I felt my blood run cold.

“I… I don’t know.” I gasped, thinking hard about the events that had just transpired, “We were talking for some time but... I don’t think he knew I was hurt… but I was covered in blood.”

“Maybe he thought it was mine.” Adri said quickly and reassuringly, “You were bleeding on me when we were hiding in the ceiling.”

“Let’s hope that’s true.” Victor seemed to have said that more to himself then to me, “... Are you two sure you’re alright being alone right now? If not I can send someone over to-”

“We’re alright.” I reassured, though a little unsure, “No need to send anyone. If I really do need someone over... I have my neighbor. He’s a cop so he’ll be able to protect us if we need it.”

“... He?” Victor asked in a strange tone.

“... Yeah? Why?”

“Nothing. I’ll let you go then. Let me know if you need anything.”

“Alright.” I said, complicated feelings rising in my chest, “Hey, send me a bill for your tires. It was my fault they were-”

“Stop.” Even over the phone, Victor’s tone was still harsh enough to silence me, “It wasn’t your fault. I’ve got it handled so don’t worry about it.”

I sighed, “... Thank you, Victor.” 

“If you feel as if you can’t go to work tomorrow-”

“I’ll be there.” I said quickly.

“... Ok. Get some sleep.”

“You too.”

“I will. Good night, Ike.”

“Good night, Victor.” 

“Good night, V!” Adri chimed.

“... Good night, Adrienne.” Victor sighed. I hung up the phone and Adri tossed it to me, a teasing smirk rising from her lips.

“For a moment it felt like you two had forgotten about me.” She taunted, wiggling her eyebrows, “Maybe I should have just left you two alone!”

“Shut it.” I rolled my eyes and twisted the doorknob to my apartment. The door creaked open revealing a quiet, empty, and dark room. I knew no one was in there but for some strange reason, I felt as if I was being watched. Images from the warehouse flashed in my mind. A room where there were photos of me sitting on the sofa or making something in the kitchen. Montu knew where I lived and had been watching me. I wasn’t afraid of them. I beat them that night. I got away from them… but now…

I looked down at Adri. I had taken the sleeve of her jacket and propped her arm up so it wasn’t hanging so loosely by her side. I grit my teeth as I brushed my side again with my hand. This time, it wasn’t just me in my apartment. It would be my sister too. A bloodied and bruised sister whom I couldn’t rightly take care of alone in my situation… 

I was going to need some help.

With a sigh, I locked eyes with Adri. “We were in a car accident.” I enunciated each word I said with precision, "Got it?"

"Uh, sure?" Adri replied, looking very confused.

I nodded and closed my door as I turned to the apartment across from mine. After a long moment of hesitation, I walked over and knocked on the door. There was a moment of silence then movement came from the other end. Instant regret flooded my body.  I frantically looked down at my bullet ridden clothes and bleeding arm. I quickly pulled off my jacket but my blazer was just as destroyed. I groaned as the door opened to reveal a casually dressed Gavin in the doorway. 

"H-Hey birdcop." I stammered, sounding even more guilty than I looked. At first Gavin looked at me confused, but his face dropped and his eyes dilated. 

“What happened to you?!” Gavin’s voice, though stern, shook slightly as he immediately grabbed for my blood soaked sleeve and inspected it. 

“Car accident.” My jaw felt tight as I spouted out my excuse. Gavin looked up at me.

“This was from a car accident?” Gavin’s voice made it clear he was unconvinced.

I nodded and kept the ball rolling, "I hit a snag in the road and fell head long into a construction site and onto some tools. I scraped up my arm pretty bad… and may have broken a couple of ribs.”

“We need to get you to the hospital.” Gavin reached inside his apartment to grab something.

“No!” I quickly grabbed his arm, wincing as my side sparked in pain, “If I’m in need of any kind of sewing, they won’t be able to poke the needle through my skin and find out I am an evolver. I have the stuff we need in my bathroom. Can… you help us patch up?" 

“Us?” Gavin looked up. His eyes locked on to something. I turned and saw a red faced Adri staring blankly at Gavin, clearly at a loss for words.

“My sister was on the bike with me.” I said, guilt and regret riding on my tongue, “I protected her pretty well but she still has some injuries. Mainly her shoulder being dislocated.”

“Why didn’t you take her to a hospital?” Gavin asked, gesturing with irritation.

“They would insist on working on me if I took her.” I said, folding my arms and looking back at Gavin, “Besides, I figured I could handle it.” Gavin glared down at me. I arched my eyebrow. “If you don’t want to help I’m sure I could-”

“No.” Gavin quickly interrupted me as he walked out of his apartment, “I’ll help.” 

“Good.” I nodded and walked back to my apartment, “Thanks, Birdcop.” Gavin grunted from behind me. I rolled my eyes but a warm feeling still tickled my heart as I reached for the door to my apartment again.

“Are you alright?” Gavin’s soft words made me turn around. He was looking worriedly at Adri, who was looking down at the ground, avoiding all eye contact.

“Y-yep!” She stammered, face somehow getting even redder than before.

“Are you sure?” Gavin reached out to her, “Your face is really red. Are you cold?” The moment Gavin’s hand touched her elbow, a small yelp came from Adri’s mouth. She quickly covered it with her free hand and ran next to me.

“Open the damn door.” She whispered, pulling on my sleeve.

“I don’t know.” I cooed, arching my eyebrow as I smirked, “I kinda wanna see where this goes.” Adri cursed and forced my hand away from the doorknob. She threw the door open and ran inside, despite how dark the room still was. I bit back the comments riding on my tongue as I switched on the lights. Suddenly the apartment had become as inviting as it usually was. I sighed lightly with relief as Gavin walked in behind me. I looked up at him. Worry and confusion played on his eyes as he looked at Adri. I patted his arm lightly. "Don’t worry.” I whispered, causing him to look down at me, “She’s always like this.” 

“Really?” Gavin’s expression softened slightly. I nodded.

“Now, make yourself at home." I said in my normal tone as I walked into the apartment and towards the bathroom, "I’ll be right out with what we need.” I walked past Adri, who had fallen onto the couch, slumped over, and covered her face with her jacket. I smirked and continued walking, deciding against making fun of her. At that point, she would kill me faster then Montu would. 

Just as I got to the bathroom door, I paused to look back at the room. Gavin had made his way to the couch, sitting next to Adri delicately. He spoke to her in a tone soft enough that I couldn’t hear them. I had some idea though when Adri’s nervous expression turned into one of horror. Gavin was likely telling her how he was going to set her arm. Something he shouldn’t have to do because the whole ordeal was my fault. But there was no way I could with my ribs being the way they were. 

I tapped at the door, watching them a little longer before finally entering the bathroom. Whether or not it was my fault was not important. No matter what, Adri was still hurt and she needed help, and Gavin was going to help her… 

He was going to help us.

After I was sure I was out of everyone’s eyeline, I collapsed onto the counter in pain. I clutched at my side and gritted my teeth. When had it become so hard to breathe? I panted in short breaths as I opened my mirror. I immediately located the first aid kit.

… on the top shelf. 

Of course it was.

I cursed and tapped my finger on the counter. Would it even be worth the pain? I could just run the scratch over some water and be fine! I’ll use an old t-shirt or something to stop the blood! We’d be-

I heard a painful cry come from outside of the bathroom. I cringed as guilt rushed through my stomach. After another moment of thought, I took a deep breath and reached for the first aid kit. Pain erupted and pushed throughout my chest. Gritting my teeth to the point of breaking, I quickly grabbed the first aid kit and collapsed once more unto the counter. But, because I had used all of my energy to grab the kit, I slipped onto the floor instead. I hit the floor hard as I fell to my knees. Nausea rushed through my throat as black dots flooded my vision, threatening a blackout. I clutched my head and moaned, fighting to stay conscious as the familiar feeling of exhaustion hit me like a truck. 

Hurried footsteps approached the bathroom. I tried fixing myself to look less pathetic but the quick motion ended up making me feel even worse. A figure appeared next to me, kneeling down and surveying me closely. “Hey,” Gavin’s worried voice echoed slightly in my ears, “Are you alright?”

“Peachy.” I gasped, looking over at him. Gavin’s form seemed to be shifting slightly, making it hard for me to focus on him. I closed my eyes and rubbed them as I shoved the first aid kit into his stomach. “Here.” I groaned, “take that to Adri. She’ll…” My balance faltered. The hand on my back quickly moved to my arm, pulling me into Gavin’s chest.

“Hey,” Gavin quickly patted my cheek, “Stay with me, Ike.” I shook my head and weakly brushed away his hand.

“I’m fine.” I lied, “Just give the kit to A-” Before I could finish, I felt the first aid kit slide back onto my lap. I opened my eyes in time to see Gavin slip his arm under my knees. “W-wait-” I began, but it was too late. Gavin carefully pulled me close to him and lifted me up, making sure to take it slow so as to not make my condition worse. I fell further into his chest and gripped at his shirt, closing my eyes again as another wave of nausea crashed into my throat.

“You still here, Ike?” Gavin asked softly, rubbing his thumb over my arm.

“A warning would have been nice.” I groaned, letting my head fall onto his shoulder. Gavin held me tighter as he moved out of the room. A small gasp came from somewhere in the room. 

“Is she ok?!” Adri, through the exhaustion in her voice, sounded incredibly worried as Gavin led me further into the room.

“She’s fine.” Gavin said, his voice vibrating through his chest, “She’s just pushed herself a little farther than necessary.” I weakly flicked at Gavin’s chin. Gavin chuckled, the air from his nose teasing my bangs and cooling the cold sweat on my forehead. 

I opened my eyes as Gavin gently placed me down next to Adri on the couch. He lay my head on one of the throw pillows on the couch and raised my knees up as he tucked a pillow underneath them, keeping them from falling. Gavin took the first aid kit and placed it on the coffee table behind him. Once he was sure I was taken care of, Gavin knelt down next to me.

“Ike-” He began. I raised a hand.

“Ice packs are in the top door of the fridge.” I took my raised hand and pointed it to the kitchen, “Grab one for Adri. While you’re there you can grab me a juice box from the fridge so I don’t pass out.” Gavin nodded and quickly stood from my side. I looked over to Adri. She was watching Gavin, gripping her shoulder tightly. Though she was putting on a tough face, I could tell she was in pain. “Hey, kiddo.” I kicked her lightly, pulling her attention to me, “How are you doing?” Adri looked at me strangely for a moment, then she sighed.

“You know,” Adri elbowed me playfully, “If someone wasn’t already trying to, I would kill you right now.” She smirked. Although it was weak and obviously full of pain, I was glad to see her smile again. I smiled too, winking playfully to her.

Gavin walked back over to us, two ice packs and a grape juice box in hand. He handed me the box. I carefully moved to sit up as I reached for it. Gavin’s hand twitched. I gave him a a reassuring look as I took the box. He hesitated a moment, watching me take a few sips of the juice before moving to sit next to Adri. “Sorry.” He said, handing her an ice pack, “I wish there was a better way to get it back in.”

“It’s fine.” Adri sighed, taking the pack from him and placing it on her shoulder, “I feel like we have grown closer to each other this way.” Gavin chuckled lightly, causing a warm blush to push through Adri’s cheeks. She cleared her throat and stood up carefully from the couch. Both Gavin and I reacted, moving to help her. “I’m fine!” She said, hurriedly waving away our hands as she held her arm up, “I’m just gonna take a quick shower. Ike, you don’t mind if I borrow some clothes do you?”

“Do you think a shower is a good idea?” Gavin asked seriously, “I just set your arm.”

“Well, I’m covered in dirt and blood, so I’m gonna say yes.” She walked across the room and to my bedroom.

“Maybe a bath would be better.” I said as Adri opened my closet, “There’s less of a chance that you could accidentally hurt your arm. And you can keep that ice pack on you.” Adri paused at the door, thinking over my offer, “... I have bath salts under the sink.”

“Sold!” Adri chimed, smiling excitedly as she reached into the closet. She pulled out one of my flannels and a pair of yoga pants then shut the door. She turned to us. “Make sure she hurts like I did, Officer.” Adri said, skipping into the bathroom, “I wanna hear her scream!” I shook my head and glared at her. Adri spit out her tongue and closed the door behind her, leaving Gavin and I alone together on the couch.

Gavin cleared his throat as sat closer to me. “How’s your side?” He asked, handing me the second ice pack in his hand.

“Could be worse.” I grunted, taking the pack and swinging my legs off of the couch, finally feeling strong enough to completely sit up. Gavin reached out but I shooed his hand away. Instead I looked him seriously in the eye. “Thank you for doing that.” I said, tone matching my stare, “I know it must have been hard setting her arm on your own.”

“Don’t worry about it. It wasn’t that far out of place.” Gavin replied just as seriously as he looked me over, “Besides, it was nothing compared to how it was seeing you on the floor back there.” My heart froze. Gavin reached out and touched the back of his hand to my forehead, “I heard a thud so I rushed to check on you. You were as pale as a ghost. I was scared I didn’t get there in time.” Gavin’s hand fell onto my cheek. I quickly turned my head away from him. I didn’t want him to feel how warm my cheeks were getting.

“Y-yeah. Sorry about that.” I said, swirling the juicebox in my hand absentmindedly, “You said it yourself. I just... pushed myself a little farther than necessary.” There was a soft pause. Then Gavin sighed and reached to inspect my arm once more. The moment his calloused fingers grazed my wound, shots of electricity strung up my body. After he inspected it closer, Gavin let go of my hand. His expression changed to one of determination and he reached over to grab the first aid kit. Since the kit was so far from him, Gavin had to lean over me, rubbing his chest on my arm and pushing his leg against mine. I could feel the heat emanating from his clothes as he leaned even closer to me. I felt the burn in my cheeks rise. I quickly turned from him and covered my face, coughing awkwardly to break the air.

After what had seemed like forever, Gavin finally pulled away from me, first aid kit in hand and obliviousness dripping from his aura. He moved a little further away from me and placed the kit on his lap. 

"Take your clothes off." Gavin said nonchalantly as he opened it’s lid.

My eyelids flew open. "Excuse me?" I arched my eyebrows and looked at Gavin with a smirk, "I'm flattered, Birdcop, but buy me dinner first." 

"I mean take off your jacket and shirt.” Gavin rolled his eyes, as he pulled some alcohol and cotton out of the kit, “How do you expect me to clean your wound with your clothes on?”

“Carefully.”

“Ike, just the jacket and the shirt. Stop making this harder than it has to be.” 

I rolled my eyes and moved to remove my jacket. The pain in my chest reappeared.  I hitched my breath and grabbed my side, grimacing through the pain. 

There was a moment of awkward silence. 

We both knew what had to be done.

"Can I-" Gavin started. I held up a finger to quiet him. After a moment I sighed and used that finger to point at him.

"No one tells Minor." I muttered, glaring at the image of Minor's face that popped into my mind, "Agreed?"

"Agreed." Gavin answered resoundly, a tone of dread leaking from his tongue. I nodded then moved closer to him. Gavin also slid closer and grabbed my blazer by the collar, slowly and carefully pulling it down and off my shoulders. Fragments of debris rained onto the couch as folds of fabric came undone. "Glass?" Gavin asked. 

"... I crashed through a window." I said, hesitantly.

"Where did you crash?" Gavin's voice almost had a hint of laughter.

"Just off of Aspen and Brooks." I answered honestly, "There's a new apartment being built there."

"Really?" Gavin sounded skeptical as he moved the jacket steadily past my scrape, "I just received word from a cop buddy of mine that there was gunfire coming from there."

"Really?" I asked, thinking fast.

"Yeah, multiple shots."

"My tire blew and I fell into some tools. I wonder if someone thought it was gunshots and miss called."

"Maybe." Gavin finally pulled my jacket off of me, "I was told it was a false alarm." Mixed feelings welled in my chest as Gavin came closer to me. How did Montu get out of there in time? If the police was called for gunshots, there was no way they would get those cars out of there in ti-

Gavin's hands pulled at the buttons of my shirt. Flustered, I quickly pushed him back. "Uh, I-I can do the buttons." I stammered, unbuttoning my shirt quickly and shakily. Gavin backed away quickly, holding his hand up to his mouth and nodding.

"R-right." He muttered, "Sorry." I looked up at him. His ears blossomed into a bright red as he searched frantically around the room for something to look at. I smiled slightly, both from how adorable he was acting and also from the quick distraction from the subject.

I finished undoing my shirt and Gavin helped pull it off of me. I thanked my lucky stars that I wore a tank top that day as Gavin took a better look at the damage done to my arm. He pursed his lips but didn’t say much more. Instead, he moved back to the alcohol and cotton from before and set the box back on the coffee table. Gavin took the cotton ball, coated it in alcohol, then carefully cleaned the wound. I winced as it stung my arm. Deciding to focus on something else, I kept my eyes on Gavin. He was extremely focused on the task at hand. His hands brushed over my skin with a sort of movement that proved that this wasn't his first time dealing with this type of wound. 

My thoughts seemed to drift as I looked into his eyes. They were full of determination but there was also a soft note of worry. He seemed to be detracting himself from the worry by cleaning my arm but he couldn't quite hide the fact that it was still there, bugging him obsessively.

That tone vanished as Gavin locked eyes with something on my arm. He stopped cleaning as his worry and determination were replaced with shock. Then anger. "So," Gavin said, clicking his tongue slightly, "Where did you land exactly?"

"I… already told you." My defences rose slightly to his change of attitude, "I crashed my bike into some construction tools."

"Oh really?" Gavin's grip around my arm tightened, as if prepared to stop me from running. He grabbed a pair of tweezers from the first aid kit then used them to pluck something out from the middle of my arm. I winced and looked at what he had grabbed. My blood pooled to my feet.

"I don't remember bullets being used in building construction." Gavin waved Dylan's flattened bullet in front of my face.

"...oh yeah." I shakily said, repositioning myself on the couch, "I also ran into Montu while I was there."

The bullet fell from the tweezers.

“You what?!” Gavin's tone changed dramatically as his grip tightened even further, "When were you going to tell me about this?!" Gavin spoke sharply. 

“After Adri had left.” I groaned and pawed at Gavin’s hand, trying to get him to let it go. He did so by throwing it aside and standing up.

"Why do I not believe you?!" Gavin growled, pulling out his phone and tapping it fervently.

"...what are you doing?" I asked, fear rising in my gut.

"I'm calling it in!" Gavin put the phone to his ear, "This is agent-"

"No!" I jumped at Gavin and took his phone. Pain erupted from my side but I merely grunted through it as I hung up the call and tossed the phone aside. Unable to take it anymore, I hissed and fell to my knees, catching myself on my coffee table before I completely hit the ground.

"What are you doing?!" Gavin barked, bending down to help me up, "I was jus-" I covered Gavin's mouth.

"Montu's room from the warehouse had pictures from my apartment." I spoke in a harsh whisper, "I have no idea if he is listening right now or not. Saying your emergency code right now may not be the best option.” Gavin stared at me intently for a moment. I stared back meaningfully.

Ultimately, after a long moment of silence, Gavin pulled my hand from his face and looked at me with a softened expression as he clutched it tightly. I eased my shoulders slightly, looking in his eyes for any sign of contentment. Gavin noticed this and sighed. Before I could say anything, he leaned forward and rested his forehead against mine. “You’re going to be the death of me.” He softly said, rubbing his thumb against the back of my hand.

“I’m pretty sure I’d be the death of me.” I said, leaning against his forehead. Gavin chuckled. Something pulled at my chest. His laugh, which was once a sound of reassurance, now sounded strained, as if he was holding something back. 

Without delaying any longer, Gavin helped me to my feet again and onto the couch. He brought the first aid kit to his lap as he grabbed my arm again. “...Gavin.” I started, “I-”

“Ike.” Gavin interrupted, cleaning my arm once more from newly formed blood, “No more excuses. Talk to me honestly. What happened?” I froze. He sounded exhausted. Likely from me hiding so much from him and my constant lies. But if I told him anything, I would be taken off of the case! And I couldn’t afford to lose the progress I was making. Not to mention, the progress I had made with him! If I told Gavin now, he would hate me and we would just go back to the way things were before. I would never forgive myself if that were to happen. I needed to keep this a secret for as long as possible. For him… for us.

I sighed, “I had just gotten back off from work…”

>>>

I traced my finger down the bandage around my arm. Gavin and I had been sitting in silence for what seemed like forever, brewing over what just been said. 

“... That’s it?” Gavin said, looking at his hands as he slumped over the couch.

“Yup.” I sighed.

“You blew holes in their tires then left.”

“Right.”

“And you are certain they said that they were going to visit another evolver tonight as well?”

I closed my eyes, “Yeah. Very certain.”

“Alright then.” Gavin stood up, “This is a good lead. And it looks like you were right about Dylan. I’m going to need his information for when we take him in for questioning.”

“Right.” I said, but my thoughts didn’t agree. If Montu meant what he said, there was no way he was going to let Dylan go after losing me again. Whether that meant through death or something else, I didn’t know. All I did know is that there was no chance we were hearing from Dylan anytime soon. 

“And Dylan said he did that on his own? No one made him go after you?” Gavin asked.

“Yes.” My voice shook slightly as I stood up as well. Gavin held out a helping hand but I brushed him off casually as I made my way to my bedroom, “Dylan told me outright that he had a vendetta against me. And that he was the one that threw the bomb.” I reached my closet and sighed, “Now, can we be done? I’ve had a long day.” I opened the closet doors and reached for a fresh set of clothes.

“One last thing.” Gavin walked up behind me. Before I could figure out what was happening, he had pinned me between himself and the closet, shutting out any way of escape. He grabbed my shoulder and spun me, locking my eyes in his. There was a flurry of emotions in his honey-like glow. Each emotion moved so fast, I couldn’t keep up with any of them. 

I moved to look away but Gavin grabbed my chin, pulling my face back onto him. “I need you to promise me that there is nothing else you are keeping from me.” Gavin spoke in a tone I had never heard him use. It was full of earnestness and determination… and worry, “And I need you to promise me you don’t have any life threatening secret that you are keeping from me. Promise me you have and will always tell me everything that pertains to this. That pertains to your safety.” I hesitated. Gavin’s grip tightened, “Please, Ike. 

“Promise me.” 

I couldn’t move. Nor could I promise him something so important. But, I knew what would happen if I didn’t...

“... I… I promise.” I said, already beating myself up for doing something so stupid. Gavin’s stare was intense as he read my face, looking for some sort of lie. Before he could find it, I pushed his hand away and reached behind me, pulling a sweater off from a hanger. “Like I can keep anything from you anyway.” I scoffed, pushing him aside as I searched for clothes, “You’ve pulled everything I’ve tried to hide from you out of me anyway. Might as well just come clean, right?”

“I hope you mean that.” Gavin practically whispered as he backed away from me. I hummed but decided not to say anything more, too afraid to let anything slip.

After I had found an outfit, I turned and looked at Gavin. He had his arms folded and was staring at the ground, lost in thought. Sensing my eyes, Gavin looked up at me. I twirled my finger in the air. Gavin blushed and quickly nodded, turning on his heel to face away from me. From this angle, I could see just how red his ears had gotten. I smirked and carefully removed my tank top, avoiding using too much effort. The last thing I needed was to be in so much pain that Gavin needed to help me undress as well.

Gavin cleared his throat, "I think it goes without saying that I'm spending the night here." 

"Oh does it?" I hummed, only half paying attention as I got dressed.

"Yes. For your and your sister's protection."

"Thank you for the offer but I think I can handle it from here."

"But you're injured." Gavin slightly turned his head, "How can you expect to protect anyone in your condition?"

"Carefully." I pushed Gavin's head back around. 

“You should copyright that phase.” Gavin grumbled. After a pause, he sighed, "Ike, I just want to make sure you’re safe. Just one night. That’s all I ask.”

I thought for a moment. I wouldn’t be able to talk to Adri about anything while he was here. Not to mention, Gavin wouldn’t have any place to sleep as Adri would be taking the couch… but he was right. If something were to happen while Adri was here, I wouldn’t be able to protect her. After all, Montu looked pretty peeved last I saw him. It would be nice to have a cop stay the night…

“Fine.” I said, buttoning the last button on my new shirt as I walked into Gavin’s view once more, “But you need to promise not to bombard Adri with any questions. The whole thing was pretty traumatic for her.”

A bang came from the bathroom door. “Alright!” Adri came walking out of the bathroom with a large flannel and loose yoga pants, “Who’s ready to get this party started?!”

Gavin folded his arms and turned back to me, “Oh yeah. She looks like she is positively shaking from trauma.”

 (Next)

[quirkykayleetam]

Broken Pieces Pt. 4: Beth’s Answer

Beth knew something was wrong as soon as Jay didn’t walk through the doors of their apartment building at exactly 5:37 pm.

She imagined what always happened at time, what should have been happening then: Jay would check their mail, draining the last drops of soda from a Grape Crush can.  Condensing the aluminum, they would smile to themselves and deftly toss the can into the recycling bin while humming a wordless tune.  They would switch their mail to their left hand before heading up the stairs to knock on Beth’s door and tell her the stock market index.  Beth didn’t know why Jay did this.  To her knowledge, neither of them owned stocks, but it made Jay feel better, so Beth always smiled and wished them well.

That was their routine.  That was safe.  This emptiness was not.

“Calm down,” Beth muttered to herself, sipping herbal tea from a hideously orange discount mug.  “The kid could have a night out with friends.  (On a Thursday?)  They could work late.  (Despite their painstaking precision)  They could...have a date?”

Beth shouldn’t be worried about them.  Not when they were just a few minutes late.

But then Jay didn’t show up to the apartment’s lounge the next morning to help Beth with her crossword puzzle.  They didn’t tease her about ignoring the Sudoku or make faces at her mug of tea.  Beth grit her teeth and shut her eyes.  She couldn’t take it anymore.  She had to act, to do something, to try to right this wrong in the world.

“What’s the name?”

“Jay.  Well, technically Jonathan Anthony Young.  Junior.  Their dad died a few years ago and they’ve gone by Jay ever since.”

Beth knew she was rambling, but she couldn’t help it.  The police station made her nervous and the cop behind the desk just wouldn’t seem to listen.

“Age?”

“26.  Maybe 27?  They don’t talk about their birthday much because they hate being the center of attention and never want folks to make a fuss.”

“And you are?”

“Their neighbor.”

“Just a neighbor?”

“A friend.”  

Beth squeezed her hands together.  She needed more caffeine.

“Look, are you sure he didn’t just go out of town for a few days without telling you?  I mean, it’s not like you’re family,” the cop said, fake sympathy dripping from her voice.

That was it.  Beth had had enough.  She slammed her shaking hands down on the desk in front of her.

“Look, the kid has OCD, okay?  They don’t break their routines, not for anything or anyone. So when I say Jay didn’t meet me for tea and crosswords this morning I’m not saying that I miss them.  I’m saying that they’re MISSING.  If you don’t let me file a Missing Person’s report whatever happens to them is on you.”

***

72 hours.

Beth cursed under her breath as she left the precinct.  72 hours before the police would do anything.  72 hours before anyone else would even care.  Beth tried to hold out half a hope that Jay’s fancy-pants computer job would notice when he didn’t show up in the morning, but she was too angry to think straight.

Jay was in trouble and she couldn’t help him.  All she could do was wait.

Months passed. Beth had never felt more useless.  Somedays her godawful mugs were filled with more whiskey than tea.

Then there was a knock on her door in 342 B.

“Elizabeth Martinez?”

The man in the suit eyed Beth warily, but remained professional.  Whoever he was expecting, it obviously wasn’t an overweight 38-year-old secretary.  His hands were full of papers and he was backed by stiff security guards.

Beth straightened her posture.  She wouldn’t intimidated without a damn good reason.

“Yes,” she said, parking her body in the middle of her door.

“You were listed by Morgan Security as Jay’s emergency contact.”

The words almost made her knees buckle.

“What happened?  Did you find him?  Is he..?”

“He’s alive.”

Beth breath wooshed out of her in a rush.  She felt something like relief for the first time in months and it terrified her.

“We’d like to discuss the details,” the suited man continued.  “May we come in.”

Beth stepped back from the door.

***

Torture.

Beth’s hands gripped her mouth and her chest as they told her.  Jay had been TORTURED.  Apparently they’d held up well, hadn’t given up anything.  Beth couldn’t care less about that.  She just wanted to spare him that pain.  That agony.  Jay was just a kid.  They didn’t deserve…

She shook her head and turned back to the conversation.  That train of thought would take her nowhere.  She couldn’t help Jay then, but she could as hell help them now.

Morgan Security didn’t want this to go public.  Their clients’ trust in their company was paramount.  The business didn’t want it shaken by a scandal like this.  They offered to pay for all of Jay’s medical bills, rent for a house out of the city, a generous stipend for Beth so she could take care of Jay full time.

Remuneration, they called it.  Thanks for Jay’s hard work and loyalty.

Beth called it Hush Money.

She still signed on the dotted line.

“Jay’s mother?” She demanded before the deal was done.

“Excuse me?”

“She’s sick.  Lives in a psych ward at Felicity General.  Jay always spent a considerable amount of their salary to keep her cared for and comfortable.”

“Certainly,” the suit said.  “We can continue those arrangements.”

“Good.  Now when can I see Jay?”

“I’m afraid that’s not possible.”

Beth squared her gaze and prepared for a fight.

“Jay’s parents are out of the picture.  Their father is dead and their mother can’t tell a hawk from a handsaw.  What do you want to bet that Jay put me down as primary carer on his medical forms too?  Wait, I bet you already know that.  So if you want to try to stop me from tracking that kid down and ramming 12 lawsuits down your throat, be my guest.  I think it would be easier if you took me to him.  Now.”

The suit straighten his tie and cleared his throat.  He nodded.

Beth grabbed her purse to follow him out the door when she heard a soft murmur from the security guard behind her.

“All this trouble for one broken computer tech…”

Before she knew it, Beth was at the man’s throat, finger pointed firmly at his nose.

“You will never call Jay broken again, you hear me?  They may be hurt.  Hell, they may be hurting for the rest of their life.  But they are a person, not a thing you can toss on the ground and just leave.  They gave everything for you and even if they didn’t, they would still deserve your respect.”

She spit in the guard’s face.  No one else moved.

“Now come with me,” she said darkly.  “I’ve got a job for you.”

***

A flurry of activity met Beth and the suit as they walked into Jay’s spacious hospital room.  Guards were stationed at every entrance.  Beth wasn’t sure if they were supposed to make Jay feel safe or to protect Morgan Security’s investment.

“What’s wrong?” the suit said.

“Jay’s asking again,” said a nearby nurse, walking by with a used IV.  “We’ve tried telling them that the operation took 8 hours or that they slept on and off for 3 days.  They’re still agitated.  We don’t want to sedate them until after the doctor has examined their ribs.”

Beth breezed passed the conversation until her eyes found the hospital bed.  Immediately, her hands went to her mouth and chest again.

Jay was hardly recognizable.  Even at 6’2,’’ they looked small.  Starvation had withered them down to a bean pole.  The parts of their skin that was visible above the blankets was purpled with bruises that seemed to sink into their body like they were still being beaten.  Their hands were suspended above them, encased in white plaster casts with splints everywhere that Beth could see.

Jay was clearly exhausted and disoriented.  Dark circles under his eyes betrayed in the wildness within.  They thrashed against their restraints, trying to meet the gaze of everyone around them.

“How long?” they asked, voice cracking.  “How long?”

“7 months, 24 days, and this morning,” Beth said loudly.  Everyone in the room turned to look at her.  She kept her eyes planted firmly on Jay’s.

“You’ve been gone for 7 months, 24 days, and this morning,” she continued, motioning the security guard she accosted in her apartment to bring over a formidable cardboard box.  “And we noticed, Jay.  We missed you every second.  We would never let you fade away.”

The patient’s struggling ceased.  Jay looked back at Beth, still lost.

She went to the box and lifted newspaper after newspaper out of it, bringing all she could hold in her arms to Jay’s bedside.  She held them up one by one so Jay could see the dates, the tangible proof that time existed outside of whatever cell he was held in, proof that they were out of there and that this, this was real.

“That’s today’s date, Jay-bird.  That’s the date you are free.”

Jay, however, just kept scanning the page until he found the Sunday crossword.

“You didn’t do it,” they whispered.

“Of course not.  I didn’t do any of them.” Beth said, gesturing to the box of papers.  “I couldn’t.  Not...not without you.”

She brushed curly blond hair back from Jay’s forehead as it tightened into a frown.

“But, I can’t...I can’t help you,” Jay said miserably, gesturing with his head at his splintered hands.

“Pfft, as if I ever let you write on my crosswords anyway!” Beth said gently.  “Now will you settle down and let these doctors do their job?  I don’t know about you, but I need a nap.  Then you can help me with 12 down.  It’s a stumper.”

For the first time sense the Faceless Men jumped them, Jay smiled.  They settled back against the pillows, fading quickly into a deep and dreamless sleep.

@dragonyoudownwithme​ requested Anger Born of Worry.  I’m pretty darn sure this counts!

I really wanted you all to meet Beth and (hopefully) love her like I do.  Please let me know what you think!!!

Tagging the Broken Pieces Crew: (If you want to be added or taken off this list, just let me know!):  @stoic-whumpee​​, @whatwasmyprevioususername​​, @whumpty-dumpty-fell-off-the-wall​​, @straight-to-the-pain​​, @castielamigos-whump-side-blog​​, @0idril0​​, @fallingstormphoenix​​, @whump-fantasies​​, @imagination1reality0​​, @whumpback-wail​, @whump-tr0pes​, @untilthepainstarts​, @captivity-whump​

[themoonandotherslikeit]

Someone Alive, Part Two

The hospital smelled sterile, and Dean hated it. The long white walls against checkered tile floors made his skin crawl, but if he wasn’t going to be allowed inside the fire station, the hospital was the next best place he could be. 

“Dean?” 

He let out the breath he’d been holding and painted on his best boyfriend smile. “Hey Lis.” 

She’d been leaning on her rolling suitcase, her tight pencil skirt hugging every curve and treating them damn right. She abandoned the suitcase immediately to run to him, stopping in her tracks when her eyes settled on his arm. “What in the hell?”

“It’s not as bad as it looks.” 

“Liar. What’d you do?” She asked, closing the space between them. She gestured for him to hand over his forearm. 

“Ran into a fire.” 

Lisa’s tongue ran across her bottom lip, smudging her red lipstick. “Did you save them?”

He was quiet, staring at her deep brunette hair that fell along her shoulders in loose, effortless waves. He wished he could wrap himself up within it and drown. He didn’t know how he was going to survive, how he could possibly end all of it. 

“I’m sorry,” she said, understanding. “I can come over tonight. We can order in.”

“Yeah,” he said with a quick nod. “Sammy will be happy to see you.”

“Great. I just need to wrap up here. I’ll meet you at nine?”

“Sure. I’ll order a pizza.” 

Lisa leaned forward and left a quick kiss on his cheek. It was informal, almost as if he were a relative instead of her boyfriend. She was in town after all, so they were on . 

He wiggled his fingers in a goodbye wave as he watched her hips swing and her bag drag behind her, the wheels clicking against the tile. He let out a sigh that he didn’t know he was holding. 

He’d come to the hospital to see one of the guys that lived in the building that had caught on fire. He was neighbors with Charlie’s mom, Mary Beth. She was a young mother, about his age, and Dean would never forget the look on her face as he laid her tiny, broken daughter in her arms. He found out later that she had some burns that required medical intervention. She’d run back into the fire for Charlie, but was pulled out by her neighbor. She was a single mother, and now, because of Dean, she was completely alone. She was already discharged, but he was going stir crazy. He wanted to look at the man that was brave enough to rush after a grieving mother to save her life, and he wanted to shake the guy’s hand.

Dean was around bravery every day. He was always trying to find new role models to grow into, and a civilian that would run into a burning building after a neighbor definitely fit the bill. He checked in at the nurse’s station, got a visitor pass, hurriedly scribbling his name with a sharpie, and walked back to the hospital room.

No one had specified what exactly was wrong with the guy. Dean didn’t know what his injuries were, so he was surprised, stopped cold, when he read the sign for the oncology floor. What? He waltzed right up to the nurse’s station and put on his brightest smile, imagining that he’d made a mistake. “Excuse me, ma’am. Name’s Winchester, I’m here to see a man that was involved in a fire that I worked with the CFD earlier this morning. I think I have the wrong floor, mind lookin’ for me?”

The nurse looked up at him, unimpressed and tired. “Sure, sir, what’s the patient name?”

“Gabe Messenger,” Dean said awkwardly, wondering if his broken arm messed with his charm. 

“He is in room 707. You have the correct floor.” 

He met her response with a confused frown, his forehead wrinkling. “This is the cancer ward,” he said blankly. 

“Yes,” she responded slowly, eyeing him like he’d sprouted a second head. “It’s that way, take a right and it’ll be at the end of the hall.” The nurse pointed behind her with a lazy finger. 

“Thank you,” he said, forcing a tight-lipped smile. 

Dean followed her directions, his eyes scanning the passing room numbers. He turned down the appropriate hallway. It was darkly lit from a burnt out bulb at the end of the hall. He swallowed, suddenly feeling electricity in the air, like the kind that can be felt right before a lightning storm. He could feel his hair stand on end, and he instinctively reached back and flattened out the back of his hair. He approached the door only to catch sight of someone leaving the room. 

At first Dean thought the man was a doctor, but there was something about him that led Dean to believe otherwise. He wasn’t quite as tall as Dean was, and he was clad in a suit and a tan trench coat. Even in the low light Dean could see that the man had blue eyes that rivaled the Caribbean sea. They flickered to Dean’s, and the man looked at him fondly, like he was an old friend. 

Dean felt cornered, like he didn’t know what to do or say. His first instinct was to run, and he wasn’t sure why, but his heart was hammering in his chest. He cleared his throat and took a step closer, even though his feet felt heavy. “Are you friends with Mr. Messenger?” He asked. Does my voice really sound like that?

The man’s eyes widened, and he glanced over his shoulder, like he couldn’t believe someone was talking to him. 

“I’m… I’m asking you ,” Dean said, attempting to clarify.

Something washed over the man’s face, his muscles relaxing in awe. His full lips parted, and his eyes got a softness to them that made Dean wonder what it’d feel like to float within them. “I am… I am a friend of sorts.” The man’s voice was rough and low, like the sound of an engine. 

“Is he awake? I wanted to see him… thank him,” Dean stumbled over his words and reached back to scratch the back of his head with a wince as he stretched his injured arm.

The man was focused on Dean, as if he was seeing past his skin, into his soul. His lip twitched into a smile. “He is peaceful.”

“Oh,” Dean said awkwardly, feeling the intensity of the man’s gaze on him like a weighted blanket wrapped around his shoulders.

“You don’t have to thank him, Dean.”

His eyes flickered up, meeting the man’s own eyes. “What?”

“He did what you would have done, what you did do. You don’t have to feel guilty that she died. It’s a part of life. She’s in a better place.”

Dean’s jaw tightened. ”I don’t believe in that...”

“Some things are true, whether you believe in them or not, Dean.”

He ran his tongue along his bottom lip nervously. “How do you know my name?” There was something about this guy. He was different. It was like they’d met before, even though Dean knew that they hadn’t. He’d remember. 

“You’re wearing a name tag.” 

Oh . 

“Right,” he said, letting out a breathless laugh. “And your name is…?”

“Castiel.”

“Castiel,” Dean repeated, testing the name out on his tongue. 

“Dean,” Castiel said in that rough voice that made chills rush up Dean’s spine. “You can forgive yourself. Charlie’s already forgiven you.” 

Dean turned away, rubbing his face with his good hand, as if he could push his emotions back into his skin with enough force. What was this guy thinking? Castiel, what a weird fucking name. He didn’t have a right to talk about the things that he didn’t understand, but despite the heavy, aching guilt on his heart, Dean was inclined to believe him. It was the blue eyes, there was a kindness in them, a truth. He let out a heavy exhale. “I’ve never had faith, buddy. Don’t know about you, but that doesn’t come easy for me. ‘M not sure I’m built to just blindly accept the things that I can’t see, ya know?” He turned to catch Castiel’s gaze again, just to find himself staring at an empty hallway. He was alone.

  Castiel had been watching Dean, much like he watched the others in his charge. Dean hadn’t needed his help, yet Castiel found himself unable to leave. He liked the way that Dean played with his dog, the way he held onto the sides of the sink after washing his face, avoiding looking at himself in the mirror. He never slept, Castiel noticed. He’d just lay in bed staring at the ceiling. His mind was troubled, twisted with memories that kept him awake. 

He didn’t go to the hospital with the intention to be seen, not exactly. He intended to stay back, enjoy Dean’s presence from a distance like he was taught, but when Dean walked toward him, and his eyes landed on Castiel it was as if his life force was reaching out to the angel. 

He didn’t intend to be seen, or maybe he did, but the moment that Dean’s deep voice broke through the silence like breaking glass, it shattered and cracked the air between them, the space separating their two planes. The differences between the two men was the only thing keeping Castiel from reaching out to Dean himself. 

Dean was mortal and Castiel was something else altogether. He wasn’t human, and he didn’t understand humans. He couldn’t understand them, no matter how much he tried. He knew this as a fact, but when Dean looked at him, really looked at him, all the facts were out the window. 

Castiel could see the guilt coming off of him in waves of energy. He’d previously heard Dean tell the nurse that he was looking for Mr. Messenger in order to thank him for his heroics, but who was thanking Dean for his heroics? He’d almost died inside of that building. The kindness of humans was something that Castiel felt came directly from God, it had to. Why else would Dean willingly run into the fire for a stranger? It was something so uniquely human, and as he looked at the softness in Dean’s eyes, the crinkles of skin at the corners, he began to understand the selflessness that meant possibly dying for someone else. As he looked at Dean, he saw a man that was truly good . He was good to the deepest places within his soul. 

And he was looking at Castiel. 

For the first time, Castiel felt the bridge between himself and humanity begin to close, stretching out past the open void that separated them, and he felt something he’d never felt before. 

He felt afraid. 

“I’ve got pizza,” Dean announced as he opened the door, knowing well that Lisa was already there by the glowing light he could see from the street. He balanced the pizza on his good hand, struggling to push open the heavy door with his bad arm, using his hip as leverage. 

She was sitting cross-legged on one side of the chair with her reading glasses perched on her nose. She was wearing one of his t-shirts, and Sammy’s head rested on her lap, his tail wagging in his sleep. The domesticity of it all put a pit in Dean’s stomach, and he suddenly wasn’t hungry anymore. 

“How’d it go?” She asked, taking the glasses off her nose and placing the book on the table next to the couch. 

“He was asleep,” Dean said with a frown. “I’m gonna try to go back tomorrow earlier in the day.” 

“Good idea,” Lisa said with a smile, stretching. The movement of her legs elicited a groan from the sleeping dog on her lap. His big sleepy brown eyes opened slowly, and the moment they caught sight of Dean, he hopped up and bounded to him. 

“Hey buddy,” Dean mused, scratching behind Sam’s ears. “Missed you, too.” He looked to Lisa. “He hates being here. He prefers the station,” Dean lied. It wasn’t Sam who hated it, and they both knew it. 

“What kind of pizza did you get?” She asked tightly, forcing a smile. 

“Meat lovers.” 

It was easier to talk about food than anything real. 

Dean walked to the counter and placed the pizza box down, opening it to pull out a gooey, cheesy slice. Lisa met him at the counter, wrapping her arms around his shoulders. “Does it freak you out that I was a little worried about you when I heard about the accident?”

“Is that why you’re back?” 

“No, I…” She glanced down, sheepishly. “Maybe.” 

“Thought we weren’t gonna do that, Lis.” 

“We aren’t , but I still don’t want you to die, Dean.” She rolled her eyes, before pulling her hand away from his neck and to his chest. “You forgot to get rid of the name tag from the hospital.” She peeled it away and stuck it to his cast. “I won’t apologize for wanting you to live, that’s dumb,” Lisa added, grabbing the slice from his hand and turning away from him. 

Dean shook his head, ready to spark an argument about their previous agreement, but his eyes caught sight of the name tag on his arm and his blood ran cold. 

“How do you know my name?”

“You’re wearing a name tag.” 

He stared at his own script on the visitor sticker in sharpie. He wasn’t sure how he didn’t remember before, maybe his mind was somewhere else, but as his eyes focused on the name tag, it read clearly: Winchester. 

What the fuck?

How did Castiel know his name? What kind of name was Castiel anyway? It was weird and kind of sounded like a pasta dish. 

Dean felt unsteady, but it wasn’t the usual kind that he felt when he was uncomfortable in his house or because he didn’t feel good enough. It was something else altogether. When he looked into Castiel’s blue eyes it was almost as if he was standing there naked, completely exposed, as if the man was able to see right through his skin. He was raw, unable to hide behind his usual snark and reckless behavior. 

Staring at the name tag, he felt that the world was maybe a little more surreal than he originally assumed. It was like he could feel every fiber of the adhesive backing of the sticker. It was like he could feel the dust and dead skin peel off his finger as he moved the name tag away. 

“Dean?” 

Lisa was staring at him, with a half poured glass of wine in her hand. 

“Huh?”

“Are you listening to me?”

He shook away the feelings that were crawling up his skin like spiders. “Yeah, I’m listening. Sorry.”

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah I… I guess I just don’t feel like talking,” he admitted, his head spinning.

“We don’t have to talk,” she offered, taking a sip from her wine. Her dark eyes flickered up to meet his, full of mischief and allure. They were the direct opposite of Castiel’s: his clear, with truthful innocence, while hers were dark and full of lust.

Dean and Lisa hadn’t been good at talking for years, but sex, sex they were good at. He met her gaze with an intense heat and walked to close the space between them. 

Later

Dean stared at the ceiling as Lisa slept softly next to him. Her arm was slung over his midriff, and her breath tickled his bare chest. He couldn’t fucking sleep. He couldn’t ever sleep. His arm hung over the side of the bed, and Sam nudged his fingers with his nose. Dean turned to squint at the clock. It was five o’clock in the morning. He let out a quiet sigh. He had maybe slept a total of two hours, and it wasn’t consistently, but he could use Sammy as an excuse to get up and go for an early morning run. He glanced back at Lisa in the darkness, her dark hair sprawled across the sheets. She was pretty, beautiful even, but he wasn’t in a place to appreciate her. If he was a better man he would cut her loose, but more than anything he was just really fucking tired. 

He picked up her arm and rested it next to her as he slid out of bed, then wiggled into his underwear, sweatpants and T-shirt. He slid into his shoes and connected Sam’s leash to his collar before walking outside of his apartment. 

He took in a deep breath of morning air, feeling refreshed. There was something peaceful about the city at that hour, before most people woke up and started their coffee, before the loud sounds of cabs and the screech of the train polluted the air. Dean felt the most at peace early in the morning, despite not being a morning person in the slightest, but that came from his complete inability to fall asleep and stay asleep. “Let’s go, Sammy,” he said, nudging his dog forward.

Sam was fast, but he didn’t need to be told to stay next to Dean, he just did. They were an odd pair, but the way that Sam attached to Dean from that first moment had connected them forever. Dean couldn’t imagine his life without him.

They jogged together, Sam keeping a happy pace, sniffing at the cool morning air. Dean’s lungs burned, his heartbeat screaming in tandem with the throbbing in his cast. He ignored the pain and allowed his mind to wander. He thought of Castiel.

  It was like hearing his name in the wind, as if Dean was whispering Castiel, and it was catching the breeze. It was early in the morning and during that time, Castiel liked to watch over the new babies in the nursery at the hospital while their parents got some much needed rest. He watched their tiny bellies rise and fall with each breath. Everything was so new to them, every breath invigorating, every pain agonizing. The security they had always known was ripped away in an act of blood and noise. They quite literally came into the world screaming. 

Babies didn’t ask to be born, and Castiel didn’t ask to be an angel. He sat next to a fussy baby girl, Amara, whose bottom lip trembled with every red-faced crocodile tear. He took his hand out and rested it on her belly, sending calm through her just enough to lull her to sleep. Sometimes he wondered what it’d be like, to have the pain and the subsequent release of pain that came from healing. Instead he lived with an everlasting emptiness that gnawed at him like a hunger. 

His name came across the air, through the vent, and into his ears. Castiel . Dean was thinking about him, praying to him, calling out to him. He didn’t have to think about it, not really, he just moved. Angels can move with just a simple thought through the air, through time and space. 

Dean sat on the beach, watching the calm of the lake turn from a cool deep blue of night to glowing with the pinks and oranges that bled across the water. His dog sat next to him, panting from their run. Castiel could see the beads of sweat glisten on Dean’s skin and in his messy hair. 

Even from this far away, he could hear the steady thumping of Dean’s heart within his chest, calming like a song that Castiel didn’t know was stuck in his head until he heard it again. It was a song that didn’t have a name. The chocolate lab sat up and turned to look at Castiel. 

He tilted his head to the side and Castiel offered him a friendly smile. Animals and children were more intune with angels. There was something about growing up that built a wall against faith and kept adults from seeing the things directly in front of them, or at least that had been Castiel’s experience. 

The dog’s name was Sam. It radiated off him like an aura of bright yellow. He ran to Castiel, immediately nudging his hanging hand for a pet. 

“Sammy?” Dean asked, turning to see what his dog was looking at. 

Castiel was scratching behind Sam’s ears, too focused on the dogs large, endearing eyes, and the whispers coming out from his mind into Castiel’s, to notice that Dean was looking at him. 

“Sorry, sir. He’s usually not so… Castiel?” 

The angel’s face turned up quickly, his eyes catching Deans. The sunrise behind him made him glow like the entire sunrise was coming out of him, like his soul was seeping out of his pores and out into the sky. He didn’t intend for Dean to see him, not really, but still he got to his feet. “Hello, Dean.” 

He could feel Dean’s eyes like a pressure against his skin, a presence that was undeniable. If he even had the capacity to understand something as complex and as simple as that. 

“What are you doing here?” Dean asked it almost as if he was annoyed or frustrated. There was a bite to his tone that cut through the air between them, the song in the sunrise. 

“I like the sunrise,” Castiel admitted, thinking that surely Hannah was on the rooftop waiting for him, but in that moment he couldn’t bring himself to care. 

Dean turned his head to the water and then back to Castiel as if it didn’t occur to him before that moment that the world had been turning that entire time. “Oh, right. Sorry,” Dean said letting out a breathless laugh. “It’s just… It’s weird to see you again.” 

“Weird is nice.” 

There was a spark in Dean’s eye, and his lips tugged at a smile. “Yeah I think it might be.” Sam nudged at Castiel’s hand again, and his eyes flickered down to the dogs. “Sorry ‘bout him. That’s Sammy. He’s good, but he can be a little needy.”

“He prefers Sam,” Castiel said absentmindedly as he focused on scratching the places that Sam instructed. 

Dean snorted. “Oh yeah? He tell you that?” 

“Yes,” Castiel said, glancing back at Dean. 

His eyebrow quirked and his tongue ran across his bottom lip. “What else did he tell you?” 

Castiel crouched in front of Sam, patting his back. “He worries about you. He doesn’t think you sleep enough.” 

Dean’s lips opened as if he was going to say something but they just stayed there, empty breath escaping. 

I watch you, Castiel wanted to say, you need to rest. You’re much too tired. 

The moment lingered between them, something palpable, perhaps a string pulling them together by their chests. Or perhaps it was just the song in the sunrise making Castiel a little nostalgic. 

“Yeah well, what does he know? He sleeps too much if you ask me,” Dean said with a forced laugh, making a joke. He did that a lot, Castiel noticed. When he wasn’t drowning in guilt, he was making light of things. 

“Perhaps he does, but that doesn’t negate the truth. You would feel better if you rested. If you’d allow yourself enough peace to sleep.”

“Cas,” Dean began. He said the nickname, the word rolling off his tongue like he’d said it a thousand times. “You busy right now? Got anywhere to be?”

“No, Dean. I don’t have anywhere to be.” Nowhere to belong. 

“Want to get coffee? I’m itchin’ for some.” 

“I’d like that.” I’d go anywhere with you. 

  “What do you want? It’s on me,” Dean said brightly, taking out his old ratty wallet from the pocket of his sweats. 

Cas was standing close to him, and he could feel Cas’ hot breath on his neck. Did the guy not know about person space? He was strange and really intense, but there was something else about him, something honest. Dean's eyes flickered to him to catch him staring, unwavering. “Have you been here before?” 

He looked like he’d been pulled from a trance, snapped out of whatever he’d been focusing on. “No, I haven’t.”

Dean grinned. There was something exciting about ordering for someone. He loved sharing his favorite foods and watching the person's face as they enjoyed it. He’d never forget Lisa’s first IPA, the way her face scrunched up like she’d been pinched. It tastes like a tree, Dean! 

“Two of the usual,” he said with a bright grin. He turned back to Cas. “They have the best buttered croissants. You have no idea.”

“You’re right,” Cas said, his voice dropping. He almost sounded sad like he was longing for something. “I don’t have any idea.”

“Hey. Don’t let yourself frown.” He poked the growing crease across Castiel's forehead. “It’ll make you age before your time. Laugh lines not frown lines, I always say.”

“Why do you say that?” He asked inquisitively, tilting his head to the side as his eyebrows perked up, causing the frown line to disappear. 

“It’s what the photographers say when they come and do the calendar shoot at the fire department.” 

“I will have to see that calendar.” 

Dean felt heat creep up his neck as he reached for the coffee cups and bag of scones. He stuck the bag between his teeth so he could tug on Sammy’s leash and drag him toward a bench closer to the beach.

The two men settled side by side on the bench to eat and watch the sun rise over the water. Dean handed Cas his coffee and pulled the paper bag out from between his lips. He opened the bag and removed two buttered croissants. “Best croissant you’ll ever have,” he said confidently, taking a bite.

“What does it taste like?” Castiel asked, holding his between his fingers. He was staring intently at Deans lips as he chewed. 

“It’s good.” Castiel stared at him blankly, like he was waiting for more. “Shit, I don’t know. Haven’t you had a croissant before?” Dean asked, his cheeks full of pastry. 

Cas’ blue eyes flickered back down to the pastry in his fingers and he frowned just a bit, his lips curling downward in concern. He glanced back at Dean, as if a magnet was pulling his eyes. “I know what a croissant tastes like, but I want to know what it tastes like to you.” 

He swallowed the pastry that he’d been chewing, his eyes locked with Castiel’s. There was a deep and genuine curiosity in his eyes. “What?” 

“Describe it,” he said intensely, leaning toward Dean. 

It felt silly, and he half expected Cas to bust up laughing and teasing him for considering it, but he didn’t. He sat there waiting expectantly for Dean’s description. “Why do you want to know?”

“I want to know everything about you.” 

Those words were the ones that usually sent Dean flying off the handle. He didn’t like the concept of commitment, the serious look in Cas’ blue eyes, or words like everything. And yet he closed his eyes and slowly brought his croissant back to his lips. His tongue touched the flakey, warm surface, and he thought about it for the first time. How often did he eat a croissant and not even consider what he was tasting? He just blindly ate it without even really enjoying it. “It’s… it’s warm and flakey. Kind of like the pieces fall apart when they hit my tongue. It’s really buttery, salty, but a little sweet. It’s really light, almost like some air was in the center. I don’t know, that sounds stupid…” He exhaled, running his fingers through his hair. He felt awkward and uncomfortable, but when he opened his eyes, Cas was looking at him with a tenderness that Dean had never seen in his life, and it took his breath away. 

“It isn’t stupid, Dean. Thank you for sharing that with me.” 

His eyes flickered to Cas’ lips, pink, soft, full, almost like they were painted on. He wanted to reach out and run his thumb across them. He was so strange, but what was even stranger was the pull that they had. How, even though he was uncomfortable, he found himself scooting closer on the bench until his knees brushed Castiel’s. His fingers reached for Cas’ instinctively, and they brushed up against his knuckles, and to his surprise, Castiel didn’t react, his eyes didn’t waiver and his fingers didn’t twitch. He seemed to be truly lost in Dean’s eyes. It was equally terrifying and exhilarating. He’d never been looked at like that before. It was like he was the only other person in all of existence. 

Silence settled around him like new fallen snow and a chill ran up his spine, begging him to shatter the it. “I’m gonna try to go see Mr. Messenger again. Do you know how he’s doing?” 

“He is comfortable.” 

“I really want to thank him,” Dean exhaled. He pointed his knees back toward the lake, resting his clasped hands between his legs. “He saved someone when I couldn’t, a civilian.”

“You did all that you could.” 

He gripped his hands tighter, his knuckles white, and his short nails digging into his skin. “Sometimes I just feel like everything is out of my hands. I can do everything right and people still die.” He pressed his lips together, trying to hold in the ache that radiated from his chest through the rest of his body. 

“That’s why you must have faith, Dean.” 

“But how can I do that? If I have no control then what’s the point??”

Castiel’s fingers brushed the back of Dean’s hand, causing an almost electric shock through his skin, before they settled, stroking from his wrist down his middle finger. “Hope. Hope is the whole point.” 

  Castiel was in the hospital anyway . The fact that Dean planned to see Mr. Messenger was irrelevant to his current position. Completely irrelevant. 

He stood in Mr. Messenger's hospital room, staring out the window at the city beyond the parking lot. Everyone looked so small. The humans were miniatures, like ants, and even the angels looked small. Around every corner, every ledge, over shoulders, watching and protecting the people. That’s what they did. It was their purpose given from God, from the father that they would never meet. Protect the souls, protect the people, and bring them to Heaven. 

It was a heavy load to watch and to wait eternally with no real connection. Sometimes Castiel had an emptiness within him that was so draining that he wasn’t able to catch his breath, but he didn’t know why. He didn’t fit in with the angels, but he wasn’t human either. He was a man between worlds, and he was devastated. 

There was a squeak from the hospital bed, and a whine from Mr. Messenger sucking in his oxygen before a hoarse voice croaked out. “I know you’re there.” 

Castiel froze where he was. His fingers still hovering over the glass of the window. 

“I can’t see you,” he clarified, wryly. “But I know that you’re there.” 

“You can’t know that,” Castiel said dumbly. He didn’t want to be seen or heard, so how did the man know that he was there? 

“You can just go back and tell them that I’m not coming. It’s not my time.”

Castiel sat in the chair next to Mr. Messenger, and looked at him. He really looked at him. The man was sickly, with dark circles under his eyes and puffy cheeks from his low oxygen levels. His hair was longer, pushed back, and thick. Despite the exhaustion and the weight of his illness, his golden eyes were still bright. 

His lips pulled into a thin smile, and his eyebrows quirked up. “My god, I was right.”

Castiel’s eyes widened. He’d been so focused on the man that he didn’t even notice himself appearing. For the second time in his thousands of years he let his guard down. For the second time he’d allowed himself to be seen. “How did you know I was here?” Castiel asked, avoiding the unneeded pleasantries.

“I can always tell. It’s like a disturbance in the force,” he said wryly.

“The force?”

“Like Star Wars?”

“I don’t understand that reference.”

The man sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Of course you don’t.”

Castiel stared at the man intensely, still waiting for his answer. 

Mr. Messenger tilted his head to the side and gave a wryly smile. “You don’t like not knowing, do you? Well I know a lot of things. For instance, I know that you’re an angel.” 

His eyebrows went together in concern. He couldn’t know. He could guess, of course, but he couldn’t know , unless… “Were you spared? Did someone make an exception for you?”

He laughed lightly and shook his head. “That’d be somethin’ else, wouldn’t it?” He stroked the length of his oxygen tube, and turned his sharp cheekbones up to the sky. “But you and I both know that there are no exceptions, not truly.” 

“You are being cryptic,” Castiel complained, desperately wanting him to get to the point already. 

“That’s half of the fun.” 

Castiel stood up, shoving his hands into the pockets of his trench coat. This act caused Mr. Messenger to sit up a little straighter in bed. 

“You’re bothered by this,” he noted, eyeing Castiel. “Which means that you’re able to be bothered.” 

Castiel frowned and shook his head. “No. I just have other things I need to be doing.” 

“So do them,” he challenged. 

He pressed his lips together and stared at the ill man in front of him. Castiel couldn’t very well just leave, and Mr. Messenger knew that all too well. “Why are you taunting me?”

“Because I don’t just share this information.” 

“What information?” Castiel pressed. 

“You aren’t here to take me to Heaven?”

He shook his head no. “Just watching over you.” He shifted uncomfortably, not wanting to be asked any follow up questions for why he was there. He didn’t want to have to mention Dean or to dance around the subject of him. 

Mr. Messenger looked like he was considering something. He stroked his cleft chin with his index finger and thumb, his full eyebrows drawn together. “Fuck it,” he whispered before his tired eyes met Castiel’s. “I know what you are because I was an angel, too.” 

Castiel frowned. No. It was impossible. There was only one angel that he’d ever known to fall, and it was a myth. It was a horror story that little angels heard before they were tucked into bed at night. It was a reminder to behave. 

“You don’t believe me,” he said with a sigh. “I don’t blame you. I wouldn't believe me either.” 

“You couldn’t be. You wouldn’t be dying if you were an angel.” It was harsh, but true. Angels didn’t just stop being angels. 

“You can move with a thought. It isn’t the big feathery dramatic wings like everyone thinks. No halos or harps. The angels are everywhere, just invisible. You’re on earth on some assignment from a father that you’ve never met. You walk people to Heaven when they die. When they’re old, when they’re young, with no say in the matter. You’re a messenger, a soldier for God. You can’t feel the wind on your face or a brush of a hand, but you can hear music in the sunset and the sunrise.” There was an intensity to his words, to his locked gaze. His chin was steady but there was a shake to his voice, a nostalgia, an understanding as if he spoke from experience. 

“How do you know…”

“My name is Gabriel. Friends call me Gabe.” He extended out a translucent, blue veined hand to Castiel to shake.

He stared at the extended hand with bewilderment. He had always heard that Gabriel fell. Well, the rumor was that he was cast out of Heaven, but there were never any details. He was an Archangel, and they were just as mysterious as God. He had certainly never met one. Up until that moment he hadn’t even been sure they were real. 

The prospect of it all… falling, becoming human. Castiel yearned to learn what it felt like to be human. A set of green eyes flashed in his mind and there was a distant pull in his chest, like the tug of a string. 

“You’re thinking about it,” Gabriel commented quietly. “I can see the gears turning.” 

Castiel’s eyes flickered to Gabriel’s. They locked with his. What did he have to lose? What harm would the knowledge of the thing do? “How did you do it?”

“Bust me out of this hospital, and I’ll tell you everything.” 

Castiel took his hand without a second thought and shook it tightly. “My name is Castiel.” 

A large grin grew on his cheeks, his eyes sparkling in the low light. “Son of a bitch, let me get my shoes on.”

 -------------------------

Part Three

Masterlist

Read on A03 Here

Art Masterlist

[moonwaif]

Snow Over Insomnia: ch. 2

Pairings: Gladnis, promptis

Theme: snowed in

Summary:

Once a year, Shiva blesses Insomnia with snowfall. This year's snow day finds four friends in transition. There's Noctis, who's trying his best to enjoy freshman year. With his best friend Prompto enrolled at a different college, it hasn't been easy. When a particularly controversial lecture puts Noctis on the spot, he says some things he regrets. Can he make amends before their friendship freezes over?

Meanwhile, there's Gladiolus, who's finding it increasingly difficult to deny his feelings for coworker and friend Ignis Scientia. The appearance of a mysterious figure from Ignis's past might just be the sign that it's time to come clean. Will Gladio make a move, or will he let the opportunity melt away?

PT. III: 15:45 hours    

Noctis could tell his uncle was back the second he got off the elevator; the muffled music vibrating through the hall announced his presence. He gave the door a light push, already knowing what he’d find within: Ardyn draped over the couch, wearing a long, raggy house coat and drinking wine straight from the bottle. His head lolled back against the arm of the coach, eyes closed and oblivious to his nephew’s arrival.

Noctis walked straight to stereo and punched the “off” button. The sudden silence roused Ardyn from his stupor.

“Well, well. If it isn’t my dearest nephew!”

Noctis slung his backpack from his shoulders. “I’m your only nephew. How long you staying this time?”

“A few days, a few weeks - who knows.” He took a long drink from the bottle, swallowing with a grimace. “This last tour left me feeling particularly uninspired. I need time to re-channel my creative energies. Where better to do just that than Insomnia, my home?”

Normally Noctis liked having his uncle around. It didn’t happen extremely often. Ardyn was usually in the hospital or on tour with his band. On the occasions that he did pop in for a visit, it always felt like having an eccentric older brother slash next-door neighbor. It also meant putting up with his uncle’s neediness and extravagance.

Today, Noctis wasn’t really in the mood.

“Can’t you rechannel in your own apartment?” he groused.

“That’s not very neighborly of you, Noct.”

Noctis ignored him, heading toward the kitchen. He pulled a soda out of the fridge and gulped down such a large mouthful that his chest burned.

It was no coincidence that Ardyn and Noctis were neighbors. In fact, it was the only reason Regis had allowed Noctis to move out of the palace in the first place - well, that and the fact that Iggy had agreed to be Noct’s roommate. With the entire apartment building belonging to Ardyn and security guards posted around every corner, it was hard for Noctis to get up to much trouble without the Citadel hearing about it.

He took another drink of soda.

“Sorry,” he muttered gruffly. “Long day. Lots of classes.”

“Oh yes; I forget, you’re a ‘college boy’ now. Are you enjoying my alma mater?”

“I guess.”

“I hope they’re teaching you children to be good, obedient little civilians. What do they have you majoring in, anyway?

An image of Ignis at the podium flashed across Noct’s vision. “Political science,” he ground out.

“How dreadful. Still, you’re better off than I was. To think, back then I actually intended to become a doctor. Laughable.” The bottle sloshed noisily. “By the way, when does that little chef friend of yours get home? I'm famished."

Noct's jaw tightened. He returned to the living room, plopping into an armchair across from the couch. He glanced at his uncle, dismayed to see the heavy bags under his eyes, the sallow complexion of his cheeks.

“Should you really be drinking during a flare-up?” he asked, eyes flickering toward the half-empty bottle.

Ardyn laughed drily. “If you’re going to act like my doctor, I hope you don’t plan on sending me a bill.”

“Uncle.”

“I’m fine,” he said pointedly. “They call it chronic it for a reason, Noct; none of this can kill me.”

Noctis frowned, but held his tongue. His uncle’s condition had been a touchy subject as far back as he could remember. In fact, all the Lucis Caelums tended to be tight-lipped about the health issues that plagued their line. After all, it wouldn’t do for the public to see the royal family as feeble or sickly, not when kings needed to be virile and strong. Even Ardyn, who turned a middle finger up at most courtly conventions, rarely commented on his own health in public.

Noctis didn't want to think about it.

“Anyway…” Ardyn rolled over onto his side, propping himself up on his elbow. “It’s obvious something’s troubling you. Spill the beans.”

Before Noctis could even attempt to answer, his phone rang. He answered immediately.

“Dude, I just saw your text! What happened?”

Noctis felt his shoulders relax. “Hey, Prom.”

He could hear raucous laughter on the other end of the line. Something clattered loudly in the background.

“Sounds like there’s a party going on over there,” Noctis noted, smiling.

Prompto laughed nervously. “Oh, y-yeah. Sorry about that. We’re at the karaoke. My buddy Dino Ghiranze’s birthday.”

Ghiranze? As in, the "Ghiranzenator"?

Noct's smile fell.

“Kind of early for a birthday party, isn’t it?” he asked, shifting in his chair. He could feel Ardyn watching him closely.

“Yeah, well, they’re just hanging out here until the clubs open, then everyone’s going bar hopping.”

“Heh. You, uh, never mentioned you had other plans.” Noctis scratched his ear, struggling to find the right words. “You gonna join them?”

“Of course not! We’re getting snowed in at your place, remember?”

“Yeah, but...it sounds kinda fun. We could go too, if you want.”

‘And, I don’t know, maybe you could actually introduce me to some of your other friends for a change,’ he thought to himself.

“No way!” Prompto exclaimed quickly - too quickly. “And miss up on the opportunity to kick your ass at King’s Night? Hello no, I’ve been looking forward to that all week! Besides, you hate going out, and the weather is supposed to be total shit. That's a no for me. But dude, back to your text. I wanna know what happened with Iggy! You sounded pissed off.”

Noctis sighed. He let his head fall back against the chair.

“It was just really weird. He started talking about this anti-monarchy stuff in class today for no reason, but he never really -”

“WHAT? Sorry can you say all that again, I didn’t hear you!”

“He started talking about anti-monarchy stuff,” Noctis repeated loudly. Ardyn snickered.

“What?! Dude, that IS weird.”

“I know, right?! I wish you would’ve been there Prom. It was like he was actually trying to defend these guys -”

“Yeah. Uh-huh. Look, dude, give me a sec, I’m on the phone.”

A muffled voice was yammering on in the background. Noct's lips thinned. He wondered if it was Dino.

“Sorry about that Noct!” Prompto shouted, returning to the phone. “But yeah, that definitely sounds wild. Did you talk to Iggy about it yet?”

“I mean, I asked him a few questions in class,” Noctis admitted, trying not to sound as annoyed as he felt. “He just dodged it all with some academic mumbo jumbo.”

“Really?" Prompto sounded doubtful. "That doesn’t sound like Ignis. He’s like, the most thoughtful guy I know. I don’t think he’d say something without having a good reason for it. Plus, he works for the Citadel, so...maybe he's just trying to teach you guys -”

A burst of laughter exploded in the background, drowning out the end of Prompto’s sentence. Noctis’s grip tightened around the phone.

“Teach us what?” he demanded. “That people who’d like to waste thousands of lives and destroy all of our infrastructure in a civil war should get an equal say?”

“Noct, you know that’s not what I - Six, Selphie, can you watch where you’re swinging that thing?! Look, just hang on a sec, I’m still on the phone...Noct. Hey, Noct, can you still hear me?” He was practically bellowing now, voice raised over a roaring chorus of ‘For He’s a Jolly Good Fellow.’

Noctis didn’t answer.

“Look, Noct, I just think you gotta try to see it from Iggy’s point of view! He’s probably just, I don’t know, trying to broaden your horizons or something! Dude, stop, I told you stop swinging -”

For the second time that day, something in Noctis snapped.

“Are you kidding me?" He leapt to his feet, too indignant to stay still. "He was talking about radical terrorists who’d like see me and my family dead. Don’t you realize how fucked up that is? I can’t believe you’re actually taking his side!”

“Easy, Noct,” Ardyn murmured. “You’ll disturb the neighbors if you keep shouting.”

“Noct, I’m not taking anyone side!” Prompto’s tone was pleading. “I just think that Iggy -”

“Forget it. My uncle’s here, I gotta go.”

“Noct -”

“Enjoy the party.”

He hung up and threw the phone down on the coffee table.

“My, my. What a temper! Is that really what’s got you so worked up?”

Ardyn’s smile was sardonic, but his gaze was surprisingly tender. Noctis didn't answer. He was too busy already regretting his outburst.

“People have despised those who rule since time immemorial, Noctis. You shouldn’t let it trouble you.”

“You don’t get it.” Noct's voice was raspy with anger and frustration. “I had to defend our family by myself, in front of the entire class. And they just  laughed  about it like my life is some kind of joke.”

"What life? To them, you’re the prince, not a human being. You exist to serve  the people, or did you forget, your majesty?”

The last words were spoken softly, almost pityingly. Noctis clenched his fists.

“But Ignis and Prompto aren’t ‘the people.’”

Ardyn raised himself from the couch, emitting a single, brittle laugh. “True friends are hard to come by for men of no consequence such as you and I, Noct,” he said, strolling over and resting a hand on his shoulder. “I’m afraid that’s something you’ll learn in time.”

The hand fell away, leaving Noct weary and cold. Ardyn strode to the door. “Call me when dinner’s ready.”

Noct listened to the creak open, then thud shut. A few seconds later came the ding of the elevator as it whisked Ardyn away to his penthouse suite. He suddenly realized he’d been sweating. He ran a hand across his forehead, glancing at his phone on the coffee table. Part of him hoped that it would vibrate with another call from Prompto.

It didn’t.

It was then that Noctis remembered. He hadn't asked Prompto about the presentation.

PT. IV: 16:10 hours  

The only thing worse than having a crush on your best friend was having a crush on your coworker. The only thing worse than that was a nosy little sister who knew about it.

“What’s wrong with you?” Iris demanded, interrupting what had up til then been a mostly silent car ride. “I’ve been playing Catoblepunk ever since we hit this traffic jam, and you haven’t complained once!”

“Sorry,” Gladio muttered, glancing in the side mirror. “Just got a lot of stuff on my mind.”

“Stuff on your mind, huh?” Iris flashed him a devilish grin. “Stuff like Ignis?”

It was a good thing the car wasn’t moving, because Gladio’s foot slammed so hard against the brake pedal that it definitely would have caused a pile-up.

“Not funny, Iris!”

“Sorry, sorry.” She snickered behind her hand, not sounding sorry at all. “Looks like I was right though, huh?”

Gladio made a low, grumbling sound. She was kind of right. He hadn’t been thinking about Ignis exactly. Instead, he'd been thinking about Ravus. The prince had been heading in the same direction as Ignis’s office when they’d ran into each other at the department. In fact, if he kept going he’d walk right by it. He wouldn’t have gone back to talk to Ignis, right? Not after that awkward exchange they’d all been forced to experience. But even if he did, Ignis would be able to hold his own.

Wouldn't he?

Iris patted his arm soothingly.

“Aw, Gladdy. You got it bad, don’t you?”

“Iris, I swear to -”

“Just tell him how you feel!”

“It’s not that simple." He had to raise his voice over his sister's trash playlist. “We’re colleagues, Iris.”

“So?”

“So, it wouldn’t be professional. Besides…” His hands tightened around the steering wheel. “Iggy’s my friend. I don’t wanna mess that up.”

“Maybe it wouldn’t mess it up, though. Maybe you’d sweep him off his feet and live happily ever after!”

A vision of a rosy-cheeked Ignis pressed against his chest rose to Gladio’s mind. The car felt suddenly claustrophobic. He cracked a window.

“Seriously, I don’t get you!” Iris crossed her arms with a pouty frown. “Normally, you’re so gross and flirty it’s embarrassing! What happened to all that confidence?”

“Because it’s not just anyone, Iris!” His voice was practically a roar inside the SUV. “It’s Ignis Fucking Scientia!” He broke off with an exasperated sigh. “Look, I’d really prefer not to talk about this kind of thing with you, okay? Save the gossip for your little girly friends.”

“Hmph. Fine. But roll your window down some more. Your gym bag stinks!”

“Roll your own window down!”

“It’s too cold!’

Gladio lowered the driver’s side window.

“You sure can be annoying.”

She jerked her head in his direction. “What?!”

Thankfully, Gladio’s phone chose that moment to ping. He snatched it up from the ashtray.

“Hang on, just got a text.”

“Didn’t anyone ever tell you not to text and drive? Let me see it.”

Not wanting to set a bad example, Gladio unlocked the phone and handed it over.

“Don’t open the message yet,” he cautioned. “Just tell me who it’s from first.”

“Prompto. Should I open it?”

“...all right.”

“Okay. It says, ‘Just got off the phone with Noct. Sounded upset. My phone is dying by the way.’”

Gladio heaved a sigh. “Looks like our precious prince is still throwing a temper tantrum. Tell Prompto not to worry, just let Noct cool down for a while.”

“Okay. Message sent!” Iris returned the phone back to the ashtray. “So Gladdy, what’s going on with Noct? Is everything ok?”

“If you’re so worried about him, go ahead and give him a call,” Gladio suggested innocently. “I’m sure hearing your voice would perk him right on up.”

The tips of her ears were beet red. “Shut up!”

“Oh, I’m sorry; did I strike a nerve?” Gladio chuckled, his own troubles momentarily forgotten. “My bad.”

“You’re such a meanie!”

“Yeah, yeah; I know.”

Iris grumbled something under her breath that Gladio chose to his ignore. His eyes drifted to his phone sitting in the ashtray.

First Ignis and Noctis, then Ignis and Ravus. Whatever was going on with Iggy, Gladio hoped it would all work out soon.

TBC...

[lovelyirony]

I Did This Because I Need to Pay for Netflix  (How Jen Walters Came to be Barnes’ Lawyer.)

Jennifer Walters was about to be evicted if she didn’t get a paying client. Or if she didn’t, per Trish’s suggestion, “throw that ass in a circle and finally live, Jen.” A.) Jennifer Walters couldn’t throw that ass in a circle because she had no rhythm. B.) She was living. Just on a budget. And off ramen noodle packets. Also, she cried because she realized that she needs to pay people actual money and can’t. 

So her life is going just great. The best ever life. In her second-hand “I got at the thrift store for a total of fifteen bucks” lawyer skirt-suits and her scuffed shoes that she filled in with Sharpie so they didn’t look so bad and her messy hair that was fucking boring and her stupid Instagram account that didn’t have any vacation photos or engagement photos or any photos of her having fun. Jen didn’t know why she wanted her Instagram to be better, it was kind of self-centered. But she...goddamn it. 

Trish was right. Jennifer Walters, lawyer, was not living. She was dying on the inside. 

God, she needed a job. 

She gets a job the next day as she’s checking her email. 

Jen nearly deletes it. Because the lawyers that Tony Stark contracts, also known as: the best fucking lawyers on retainer, cannot possibly be emailing her and asking to meet with her at noon for lunch to discuss a possible case. 

Jen cries as she writes an email back expressing her desire for this and pretends like she doesn’t refresh the page approximately thirty times in half an hour. 

They meet on their bill. Jen is happy because an appetizer costs more than what’s in her bank account. 

“We want you to represent someone for us,” Mrs. Guinevere says, chewing some fancy noodle or other. Jen is surprised at how laid-back they are. Jen turns towards her, directing her entire attention span to this one conversation. 

“Who is it?” Maybe it’s Black Widow or Hawkeye or even that weird guy, Ant-Man. He was a weird hero that had appeared out of...nowhere. 

“Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes, ex-veteran, and formerly Winter Soldier.” 

Jen spills her wine. 

Aw shit.

She’s so stupid for taking the job. That’s the reason they’re asking her. Because no one else in their right minds would touch this case with a ten foot pole.

Well, good thing she’s desperate for money to cover rent and maybe have enough left over to buy herself some cheap wine and actually pay for Netflix for a year instead of mooching off her neighbor’s who accidentally thinks that Jen is into him, and he’s nice, but Jen...she cares more about Netflix and the ending to Orange is the New Black. (You can’t blame her, the show is good!) 

She takes the case. And everything that comes with it.

Jennifer Walters wears her glasses that are a bit crooked after Trish sat on them and her best twenty-dollar pants-suit and her kitten heels that her mom gave her last Christmas, and her hair is in a ponytail. 

As it turns out, Jen isn’t really afraid of Bucky Barnes. Mainly because she’s preoccupied with trying not to be embarrassed because she tripped and spilled water all over him and yelled “FUCK” like some kind of undistinguished woman. 

She feels awful. 

James laughs for a minute straight and she kind of hates him. But he’s also literally the worst at positive affirmation and has mentioned the fact that “I should be dead” about five times now and is always horrified when Jen snorts and says “same.” 

She gets him takeout with the new black credit card that the lawyers gave her for “business-related issues that arise or needs.” Jen deems it a need because James has never had shit takeout before, and that--that’s pretty sad. 

He’s pretty funny, when he’s not trying to convince her that he’s a terrible person. James keeps finding new ways to joke and thinks that the terrible kitten poster that says “paws up! You’re too cute!” is probably the funniest thing ever. Jen finds him to be a disaster. 

They go to court. Jen has been researching for, like, twenty hours, and has been running off coffee for the last seven of those hours. She’s wearing a brand-new business suit that is tailored and looks good and she looks kind of put together. She accidentally forgot to brush her hair and so it’s still in the messy bun she threw it up in to brush her teeth. And she stumbled in the court room and said the word “goddammit” audibly, but that’s all that has gone wrong now. 

James is a person who has genuine emotions and tears up in court. Jen thinks he’s disgustingly sad, and she hates Ross’ lawyer who keeps trying to snidely bring up the fact that Jen is barely qualified to try a case, she’s new around the joint. 

“And yet, I’ve managed to bring up evidence to counter every single one of your points, and I’m trying to help a man who was subjected to torture and human experimentation. Tell me, Ross, what was it you did to Bruce Banner again?” (So what if Jen brings up her cousin that hasn’t called her in six years because he’s in danger and kind of an Avenger? Not like she cares. Not like she hates Ross, who called Bruce “freak” and tried to murder him.) 

That shuts Ross and the lawyer up. “Now, as I was saying...” 

They win. 

They fucking win. 

Jen thinks she deserves just so many Rum and Cokes after this. Like, all of them. She’s stunned as the jury reads the verdict. 

“We find Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes, formerly known as Winter Soldier, pardoned.” 

Jen spits out her water. 

It’s a picture that makes the rounds. Jen becomes a meme. 

She thought that she would get enough money to cover rent and maybe buy some cool stuff. 

Jen gets enough money to buy a house and a car and hell, Louboutin shoes. 

She’s suddenly getting clients and she loves it and she’s working and it’s all coming together and she can finally buy Trish a Christmas present even though it’s October. 

Jennifer Walters has a late night at the office. She’s tired and locks the office door and still can’t believe that the Tony Stark was emailing her about the case and sending her a congrats about the new news article.

It’s dark. 

Someone approaches her. He’s taller than her, and Jen already has her keys tucked between her fingers like Wolverine. She tries to smile, but he just looks at her with a furious expression. 

“Winter Soldier was a goddamned terrorist and you took his case? Worked to let him walk free?” Oh god, not one of these people. Jen stiffens. 

“I believed in an innocent man,” she says carefully. “He’s not Winter Soldier. That is a separate entity that Hydra brought out when it suited. James Barnes is a man who is just trying to live.” 

“No,” the man says, growing angrier. “That’s--that’s not it!” 

“Look, this doesn’t have to be complicated,” Jen says, slowly backing away. “I just want to go home.” 

She feels a shot through her stomach. 

And oh shit. This isn’t gonna be pretty. She might die. It’s late at night. 

Bruce Banner flies in for a conference. Ends up not going to it and staying in a hospital. 

He...he can’t let Jen die. Even if she gets...turned. Into someone like Hulk. She’s the Jen who teased him about playing Dungeons and Dragons and then proceeded to learn literally everything about the game just in case she ever got to play with him. Jen, who called him after everything in Harlem was said and done just to say that Hulk shouldn’t wear purple pants, they make everything look bigger. Jen, who cried because she loved the show Too Cute! and recorded it for Bruce so he could watch it. Bruce, who hadn’t called her in six years. 

She...Jen certainly isn’t boring. She’s big and green and wow I guess this is what mom meant by “blooming.” Jennifer Walters is She-Hulk. 

Hot damn. 

[usnewsaggregator-blog]

US frees African asylum-seeker who's on life support

New Post has been published on https://usnewsaggregator.com/us-frees-african-asylum-seeker-whos-on-life-support/

US frees African asylum-seeker who's on life support

As the eldest son among 15 children, Senegalese tailor Saliou Ndiaye was his family’s greatest hope for a better life in a city rife with unemployment where many still travel by horse-drawn cart.

He learned to sew as a child, and for years sent money to his parents – first, from his country’s capital and later from a factory job in Brazil.

But after Ndiaye embarked on a lengthy journey to the United States, their dreams were dashed. A U.S. immigration judge denied Ndiaye’s asylum application in July, and after a year locked up in California, Ndiaye reportedly tried to kill himself.

Now, the 33-year-old lies in an American hospital bed, hooked up to tubes keeping him alive. Immigration authorities recently stopped efforts to deport Ndiaye and released him from custody in a decision that under normal circumstances would be cause for celebration but in this case has drawn criticism from his supporters.

Ndiaye’s story is tragic and exceptionally rare but raises questions about the U.S. government’s responsibility for detainees’ medical care in an immense immigration system, where more than 300,000 people cycle through detention centers each year.

In an ironic twist, Ndiaye’s volunteer lawyer is asking an immigration judge to find the government can’t properly release an unconscious person, and order Ndiaye back into custody. She wants the U.S. government to remain responsible for his care and potentially his return to Senegal, where Ndiaye’s parents pray for a miracle.

“He is our great hope,” said his father, Mor Ndiaye, clutching Muslim prayer beads during an interview at the family’s home in Touba, Senegal’s second-largest city. “Everything he has done, he did it to support his family.”

U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement is responsible for detainees’ care of regardless of where they’re held.

It can make financial sense for the government to release ailing immigrants to avoid providing security for them and paying costly medical bills that hospitals would cover anyway for poor patients, said Dr. Marc Stern, a former medical expert for the Department of Homeland Security’s Office for Civil Rights and Liberties, which investigates detention complaints.

But in some cases, the government also may have an incentive to free gravely ill immigrants because deaths in detention must be investigated and reported to Congress and the media. “It may count against them if he dies in custody,” Stern said.

Immigration and Customs Enforcement spokeswoman Lauren Mack said Ndiaye was freed for humanitarian reasons and so his family and doctors could make medical decisions for him.

She declined to discuss how immigration authorities handle suicide attempts in detention, but said a report was completed on Ndiaye’s case in line with agency standards.

It isn’t the first time immigrant advocates have raised concerns about the release of ill detainees. In 2015, Ethiopian immigrant Teka Gulema was hospitalized for an infection while in detention in Alabama. He was guarded by authorities for nearly a year but freed less than two months before his death in a hospital bed, said Christina Mansfield, co-founder of Community Initiatives for Visiting Immigrants in Confinement.

As of last week, Ndiaye lay in a hospital bed at Arrowhead Regional Medical Center, in the Southern California city of Colton, with a tube through his neck to help him breathe and another one for feeding. His eyes gazed into the distance, then closed, as his chest rose and fell. He didn’t respond to visitors.

Arrowhead declined to provide information about Ndiaye. But Ron Boatman, its associate administrator, said the hospital covers medical costs for indigent patients when no one else can pay.

Back in Senegal, Ndiaye’s family grieves for a son they can’t help. Why he ended up so far away is a mystery.

Ndiaye grew up in Touba and attended a Muslim school. By age 10, he would bring his mother whatever coins he earned sewing.

Eventually, Ndiaye moved to the capital of Dakar to work as a tailor, sending home money each month.

In 2013, he told his parents he had a visa for Brazil and asked them to pray for him. He traveled to the South American country and stayed there for two years, working in a factory and continuing to send home monthly contributions and forwarding grainy cellphone selfies of his new life.

Without telling his parents, he left Brazil and traveled through nine Latin American countries by car, bus and foot to reach a U.S. border crossing in 2016. It is a lengthy trek often undertaken by African migrants, who upon reaching the United States tell border authorities they are afraid to return home.

Ndiaye told officials he left Senegal over economic troubles and religious differences with his family, and was sent to a California detention facility.

The family learned of his whereabouts when Ndiaye called a younger brother and told him he was detained.

Ndiaye’s relatives could only speculate why he went to America. His uncle, Mor Diagne, has lived here for 35 years, and they thought maybe he hoped to join him.

At an asylum hearing, Ndiaye told an immigration judge he actually fled his country because he is gay and feared he could be killed over his sexuality if returned. The judge, however, cited inconsistencies in Ndiaye’s testimony, denied his application and ordered him deported.

Ndiaye appealed and lost. He was due back in court for an October hearing but never made it.

Immigration officials called Diagne, a Connecticut street vendor, to say Ndiaye tried to kill himself using a sock and a towel. Diagne flew to California, and Ndiaye’s immigration lawyer, Carrye Washington, took him to the hospital to see his nephew.

Two detention guards stood watch over Ndiaye, Washington said. Diagne signed papers for doctors to insert a feeding tube.

“I don’t want to tell them to take him off a machine and die,” Diagne said. “The doctor said only the machine is keeping him alive, and if it were turned off he would die within minutes.”

A week later, Immigration and Customs Enforcement stopped trying to deport Ndiaye and released him from custody. A box with his belongings was sent to Diagne’s home.

Diagne said he was afraid he’d be asked to pay for his nephew’s medical care, which he can’t afford.

Mor Ndiaye is so grief-stricken he hasn’t told his wife the full extent of their son’s condition. The couple said they knew nothing of assertions in his asylum petition that he was gay, which is illegal in Senegal. Other relatives speculated he said as much to bolster his claim.

Since Ndiaye was detained, the family has been under increased financial strain. His father went to Dakar to find work, and the family delayed baptizing Ndiaye’s niece and nephew because they can’t afford the customary party to feed friends and neighbors, which can cost $150 or more.

It is unclear whether Ndiaye has any possibility of recovery or what will happen to him. Washington has a December hearing before an immigration judge and hopes U.S. authorities eventually deport Ndiaye.

“My dream is that he wakes up and goes to Senegal,” Diagne said. “If he is to die, I want him to die at home with his parents.”

———

Larson reported from Touba, Senegal. Associated Press writer Ndeye Sene Mbengue in Touba, Senegal, contributed to this report.

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