#i got him squared away until he can get in to the ER

[ramp-it-up]

Mood

Summary: You and Steve were “special” friends. Until something that happens on one of your training missions puts Steve into a mood.

Word count: 2.7K

Pairing: Early CATWS era Captain Steve Rogers x SHEILD Reader

Warnings: 18+ Only, Minors DNI. Not Beta’d. Read at your own risk. S MUT! Early CATWS Steve, talk of hurt, ambush, implied assualt. Angsty, moody Steve, Steve with the urge to kill for you, possessive Steve, Steve pining for reader, idiots in love, Dom Steve, fuck buddies to relationship, fluff, Captain and Sir kink, dirty talk, edging (but not quite), begging, body worship, nipple play, raw p in v, female receiving oral, emotional sex.

A/N: This can be seen as adjacent to the fic Call Me Captain When I..., but can be read as a stand alone. I was in a mood when I wrote it, so here we are.

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------

After you checked yourself out of the hospital against doctor’s orders, Steve Rogers steamed as he waited for you to get out of the shower. He wanted to be in there with you, but decided to give you some space, and give him some time to cool down.

The fact that you were standing at the visitor’s entrance, in your hospital gown and combat boots as he drove up to sit with you, was the latest thing to get him riled up.

When he saw you, he parked in the fire lane and got out of his car, hands on his hips as he questioned you.

“What the hell are you doing out here?”

He eyed the bandage on your forehead and the one on your cheek, fingers trembling as he brushed his thumb over your bruised face.

The rage had not subsided for him over the past three days. 

Even after he and Sam beat the medivac to the scene and transported you to the best ER in the area.

Even after he was assured that you were ok by the doctors at the hospital. 

Even after you protested that he was overreacting when he set up a security detail at your door headed by Sam. 

Even after he’d found who did this to you and… well, seeing you bruised countenance again reignited his emotions.

He wondered how you got around Sam who was posted up. But then, your cunning and skill was a big part of how he felt about you. So was your kindness, intelligence, and beauty.

But you didn’t know exactly how Steve felt about you. And perhaps he didn’t either. Until you were ambushed on a routine training mission with your troops.

You lifted your chin and squared your shoulders as Steve shook his head. 

“I’m fine, Captain. I want to go home. I’ve been in the hospital for four days. And on the training mission for 10 days before that. I was due to be discharged in the morning anyway.”

You looked up at Steve. He couldn’t resist those eyes.

“I want to rot on my couch, sleep in my own bed.”

Steve grunted his assent, although the thin line of his lips indicated his displeasure with you.

“How’s your head feel?”

You met his eyes and focused, if only to prove how healthy you were.

“I’m fine, Steve. I just want to go home.”

Steve stared at you, wanting to just take you into his arms, but not doing it. Then, he stared around the parking lot, scanning the perimeter for anyone watching.

“Get in.”

He moved next to you and picked up the plastic bag that had your belongings in it, and put his hand on your back to guide you toward the sportscar.

“But my ride...”

Steve looked down at you as his jaw clenched, the blue fire in his eyes threatening to burn you.

“Get in before I take you over to that bench and spank the hell out of you, Lieutenant.”

You swallowed a gasp and grew warm at the threat.

“Yes Sir.”

You climbed into the passenger seat and sat back as Steve buckled you in, then waved at Sam, who’d come running out of the hospital just as Steve drove away.

You were along for the ride of this mood of your superior, friend, and fuck buddy Captain America, Steve Rogers.

—-

You stood before Steve, wrapped up in your soft, fluffy white robe that he had put into the dryer to warm up and left on the hook on the door of the shower. It was such a sweet gesture that contrasted his cold, harsh demeanor on the way to your place.

You felt as if you were about to be punished, but you didn’t care. You were exhausted. And just a little bit spooked. But that last part was lessened, because Steve was with you here in your quarters. You looked at him, wanting to ask him to stay, but you didn’t.

Steve stalked toward you, and you noticed that he was barefoot, which seemed to indicate that he wasn’t going anywhere soon. You smiled as you dragged your weary eyes up to his face. You decided to go for it.

“Are you staying?”

Steve grunted at you again.

“Just try and get me to leave you alone.”

His deep bass rumbled through you, and you whimpered, despite the fact that he wasn’t even touching you. Something seemed off as he moved toward you, pulling you closer by the tie on your robe.

“I’ve been riding on the edge of insanity ever since that day.”

Steve’s hand was in your hair, gently massaging the exposed scalp between your braids as his eyes took careful stock of your face.

You were shook.

“I’m okay, Steve.”

“I’ve got to see for myself.”

All he wanted to do was to take inventory of you, his rough fingers moving over every inch of your naked body to make sure that every bit of you was okay. He’d almost lost you and was experiencing an almost feral urge to consume you. You could feel the guilt radiating off him.

“Steve. No one could have known. Shit, I’m head of intelligence and I didn’t know.…”

Steve put his finger to his lips, and then yours. He gently stroked your cheek as he kissed you tenderly, carefully.

“Why do you always taste so good? Like you smell. Like sweet coconut…”

He leaned in to kiss you again, groaning as every gentle stroke of his tongue was met with a bolder one of yours. The passion increased until he pulled away and leaned his forehead against yours. You could tell that he was holding back. 

What was wrong with him?

“I know that no one could have known that the mission was a trap. But I feel like I should have.”

His hands moved from your neck, to your torso, down your belly, to the juncture of your thighs. He was sitting on your bed as you stood before him, warmed by the shower, but goosebumps raised on your flesh and your nipples formed into tight peaks as he examined you.

“I’ve never felt the urge to kill as much as I did when I tracked them down. It only took a day and a half to find them, and then a day and a half to get close enough to… “

Steve stopped short of revealing what happened to the people who hurt you and just looked into your eyes. The fury you saw as he looked up at you was chilling, yet arousing. You wanted to ask what he did to them, but you couldn’t. You just looked at his hands to find evidence that you knew wouldn’t be there because of his super soldier healing.

“Steve?”

He didn’t respond to you, just continued to stare at your most intimate parts.

“Captain-”

He looked up at you then.

“What I said at the hospital earlier. I-I have a serious desire to give you a good and proper spanking for almost losing your life, although it wasn’t your fault.”

You started to laugh, but he was serious. The look in his eyes was unlike anything you’d ever seen before.

“I can’t give you up. I can’t.”

You shook your head.

“Steve, I’m fine-”

He pulled you to him by your thighs, his large hands grabbing you, gently but firmly, and bringing your crotch close to his mouth. He looked back up at you.

“I know we’ve never talked about this, but…You are my anchor.”

You ran your hands through his hair as his breath tickled your clit.

“I had the barest control while Sam and I were flying to get you, and only a small bit more when I learned you were okay. And now I have to verify that you are ‘fine,’ as you say. I need to see it with my own eyes, feel it with my own hands, taste it ….”

The unspoken part of that statement caused you to shudder as he went back to examining you, His hands moving down your legs, while listening for any sounds of discomfort from you as his skin slid along yours with a gentle but firm pressure, then standing up and depositing you on the bed as he examined you to the soles of your feet.

He placed one of your feet on his pelvis, next to what you’d discovered was his rock hard cock housed in his jeans, and one foot in his hand, beginning to massage it. Steve knew how a sensual foot massage made you wet. He grunted in response to your whimpers, but only turned you over as he examined the back of you.

Steve palmed the globes of your ass and pulled them apart, and you could feel his eyes at the crease of you for a full minute. Then, his palms slid upwards to your spine, smoothing over each vertebrae as he moved up to the back of your neck.

He was on the bed now, between your legs, and pulled your hips up to meet him as he gently circled your neck with his fingers, bringing you up slightly as his other hand rolled and pinched your stiff nipples. 

“How do you feel?”

His gruff whisper, full of need and at the shell of your ear elicited a groan and caused you to roll your hips on his rock-hard erection.

“Steve.. I… Please!”

You incoherently pleaded for more as you moved against the stiff fabric of his jeans, making a mess there. Steve looked down and rolled his eyes, his hand rubbing your ass as his palm itched to smack it.

“Mmmmmm. You have no idea how much I want to give you this cock. But you need rest.”

You reached back and slapped your own ass, pulling on your asscheek to enable him to push deeper between your legs to feel how wet you were.

“We also need to talk…”

Steve shuddered at the sensation of you rutting against him, and with every gasp and moan from you his control was dwindling. 

“I need it Sir. Please, Captain…”

“Fuck. Maybe just one orgasm. Then you can rest.”

You leaned down to give him that arch and he licked his lips. His cock was in full control of him now.

“Best idea ever, Captain.”

His hand moved to your core, and his fingers were instantly soaked with your arousal.

“Jesus. Looks so good.”

Steve’s dick throbbed and he gritted his teeth against the wave of lust, yet he stood up and took off his own clothes. He watched your empty pussy clench around air and he had to taste it. The minute his lips were wrapped around your clit from behind was the moment you started keening for him.

“God, yes….right… fucking…right there!”

Steve carefully inserted a finger into your cunt as he suckled your clit, trying to be gentle. You bit your lip as he pulled off and started to withdraw his finger slowly.

“So soft for me. But so tight.”

He watched your face as he added another digit, causing your eyes to squeeze shut and your mouth to hinge open as you worked your hips on his hand for some relief.

Your eyes popped open and you blinked rapidly, but he didn’t speed up to the insistence of your hips. When he curved his fingers and found that bundle of nerves inside, pressing gently, you broke apart as he stroked over and over again.

 "I–God. I'm going…" 

You bowed your body, and Steve watched in awe while your pussy clamped around his fingers.

“Oh yeah. This was what I needed to see. Give it to me.”

Steve rolled his thumb over your clit to extend your orgasm. You open and completely out of control, with no thought of hurt or danger, was the sight that he loved.

 And he wanted to make you do it again and again.

“Jesus, you are beautiful. I want to...” 

He was fisting his cock and watching your wet, creamy folds as he squeezed your ass for a better view.

“Want more. Please!” 

“Hmmph,” He grunted. “Don’t want to hurt you.”

You leaned over again and presented yourself to him, giving him a view of your fingers working your clit and sliding inside yourself. 

“Fuck me, Captain. Please…”

Steve actually whimpered. His cock was drawn to you magnetically.

“Are you sure…?”

“Need it.” 

Steve cupped your ass harder and guided his cock to your slick, heated cunt and groaned.

“Oh shit. You fucking own me.” 

Your eyes widened in shock, and then you looked over your shoulder, locking onto his gaze. You relaxed, causing Steve to sink deeper inside you. You both hissed and Steve’s eyes closed. 

“I’m never leaving. Could stay inside you forever. Wanna see that beautiful face.”

Steve grabbed your leg and shifted you down and around, maneuvering you onto your back. His eyes raked up and down your form as his hands found your hips and drew you closer to him and his cock deep inside you again. He leaned down and captured your lips in a heated kiss as you arched your chest against his. 

You dug your nails into his shoulders, his name a chanted mantra between kisses. With each slide and retreat of his stiff cock in your slick channel, both of your groans got louder. Steve’s gaze occasionally dipped to where you were joined, watching his cock slide in and out of you. You arched your back again, and he dipped his head to draw one of your nipples into his mouth. 

"I. Yes. Harder. Oh God. Oh my God." 

Against your nipple he muttered, "Let me hear you. So good.”

But he didn’t fuck you harder like you asked. Your response was to tug on his hair, and Steve chuckled around the flesh of your breast. 

“I love the sounds you make.”

You moaned loudly, very wet now and very frustrated. The sound of the slick squelching of your act was such sinful music. Steve groaned, his jaw ticked tight from holding back.

“Please!”

But Steve just continued at the same languid pace.

“Later, when you’ve rested, I have plans for these babies,” Steve flattened his tongue and licked around both areolas. 

“Gonna lick, bite, kiss, fuck them. Be rough.”

You shuddered as he leaned up and blew on them, causing your nipples to draw up into hard peaks again and your pussy to shudder around him. Steve leaned up and stared at your breasts as they bounced with each thrust and he shook his head as his pace faltered. You clenched around him again and he spoke, his voice broken.

“I know you’re close. Feel so good around me.”

Steve looked into your eyes as he snapped his hips, and your mouth went wide again as he worked his hand between you and found your sensitive clit. 

Your eyes crossed as your slick walls clamped around his cock and milked him. 

"That's it. Cum for me. I'm so addicted to the sight." 

With three more pumps, Steve was coming apart, his control falling away. Another orgasm rolled through you and you tightened around him once more, causing a groan from Steve as you rode out the wave. 

“Holy fuck.” 

He kissed you again, licking into your mouth as he continued to thumb your clit. Good Lord, it was impossible to think at all when he did that. You were a whimpering mess as you begged him again.

“Please Captain. Give me your cum, Sir. Cum inside me.”

Steve buried his head in your shoulder as he sped up incrementally, his cursing muffled against your skin. You rolled your hips to meet him, making him groan again. You turned your head to bite, then whisper in his ear.

“I’m gonna cum on your thick cock again. Just fuck me. A little harder. Just three more pumps and I’m there. Pretty please, Sir.”

You wrapped your legs around his waist as Steve finally let go and gave you three hard, deep pumps, but as you predicted, he could not stop there.

Steve cursed and fucked you hard, stroking at the devil’s pace for at least a dozen more times, roaring as you stiffened and clamped down on his cock as you came.

“G-g-g-geeez! Fuck!”

Steve was a drooling, practically sobbing mess as the forcefull spray of his cum shot against your cervix, so much so that it leaked out almost immediately. Steve stopped and watched the sight, gasping, mouth open. Then, he looked back up at you.

“Everything about you, about us is so damn perfect. Especially this. We almost lost it. I love you, Libby.”

Your heart surged with emotion, finally understanding what had gotten into him.

“I love you too, Steve.”

You smiled and wiped the tears that were forming at the corner of Steve’s eyes as he softened inside you. 

“Shhhhh. Steve. It’s okay. I’m okay. Let’s take this one day at a time. Right now, we both need to sleep. We’ll talk more tomorrow.”

Steve nodded and sank down into your arms as you held onto your super soldier and rocked both of you to sleep.

——

If you liked it, hit Reblog! 😊

[dr-spencer-reids-queen]

Heart-Stopping

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Surgeon!Female!Reader

Word Count: ~900

Warnings: fluff

Summary: After a ten-hour surgery, all you want to do is go home and be with your husband. When he comes into the ER needing surgery, your entire world is turned upside down.

Square Filled: "Oh, don't worry, this blood isn't mine." (2022) for @spencerreidbingo

Author’s Note: any and all comments are appreciated <3

x

You trudge out of the OR into the scrub room to clean your hands and arms. The surgery you were just in lasted an atrocious ten hours. You’ve gone for more, but this was so tough since the patient’s heart kept arresting and her blood vessels were so friable that it was hard to do any kind of stitches. Still, you managed to get her fixed and stable enough to be transferred to the ICU.

All you want to do is go home to your husband and cuddle until you fall asleep in his arms. He understands your job and how you can’t always be home with him. He’s in the FBI so he has the same demand even if he’s doing work that’s completely different. The reason your marriage works is that you two make it a point to call each other every day, plan an at-home date every week, a date anywhere that’s not your house every month, and have a small vacation every six months.

He’s your rock and you don’t know what you’d do without him in your life. He’s your biggest supporter and the love of your life.

You’re scrubbing away the sweat and grime from your hands when your pager goes off. You grab a microfiber towel and dry your hands before checking the pager. 911 ER. You toss the towel away and run out of the room hoping you can get to the ER in time. There is a patient who needs your attention and might die if you’re not there. It amazes you that you have so much energy after a surgery like that and maybe it’s because of the silent promise of saving as many people as you can.

You push the double doors open that lead into the ER and look around to see if you can spot the patient that needs you.

“Dr. Y/N! I need you to know that everything is okay…”

You can’t hear anything your resident says because all you’re focused on is your husband lying on a stretcher covered in blood. Your entire world comes crashing to a stop. You’re a very skilled heart doctor but it feels like your own heart is going to stop at the thought of your life without Spencer in it. His coworkers, Derek and Emily, are by his side without blood on their clothes.

“Y/N!” Derek grabs your shoulders and snaps you out of the silent panic you’re in. “He’s okay, I promise he’ll be fine.”

“What happened? Spencer!”

You rush over to him, and he grabs your hand gently.

“Oh, don’t worry, this blood isn’t mine,” he mumbles.

“What happened?” you ask Derek and Emily.

“There was an accident. He tried to save our victim and got caught in the crossfire. She’s right behind him.”

“Y/N, we’ll take care of him.”

You turn to see your chief of surgery and your best friend who has a determined yet empathetic look on his face. You can’t take care of your husband because he’s your husband so the only person you trust to take care of him is the chief.

“Okay,” you whisper. “Don’t let him die, please.”

“We go it. Go to Trauma One!”

Spencer is wheeled to the first trauma room just as the victim comes in right behind him. She, you can help. Spencer is wheeled into surgery to fix an injury on his leg while the general surgeon and neurosurgeon take the victim to surgery. If there is anything to be done on her heart, they’ll call you in. You’re stuck thinking about Spencer instead of being in surgery to take your mind off it. You leave Trauma Two and walk over to Emily and Derek who are talking to each other.

“What happened to him?”

“There was a car accident, the car the victim was in. They skidded on a patch of ice and the car slammed into a tree, ejecting the victim out of the windshield. Spencer was the first to her which is how he got all of her blood on him. Another car came around the corner and didn’t see the crashed vehicle, and they collided with it, sending shrapnel into Spencer’s leg. He lost a lot of blood on the way over here.”

“Shit,” you whisper with tears in your eyes.

“He’s going to be okay. You have a talented team of doctors here.”

“I know,” you nod.

There is no choice but to wait for Spencer to get out of surgery. When he is, they take him to a private room where you can sit with him. It takes twenty minutes for him to come out of the anesthesia, but he’s still pretty loopy from it.

“Hey, baby, how are you doing?”

You take out your stethoscope and check his heart and lungs, relief clouding your head when you don’t hear anything bad about it.

“Doctor… I need… I need some… some flowers.”

“Flowers? For what?”

“My wife. Her birthday is this weekend, and I want to get her flowers.”

Your heart swells happily at his little confession. He knows how much you love getting flowers. They brighten up even the darkest of places.

“It’s very important, please.” He rolls his head to the side and looks at you through hooded eyes. He doesn’t seem to recognize it’s his wife right in front of him. “I need you… Can you write her a card for me?”

“What do you want it to say?”

“I love her. Her eyes are pretty. She makes me so happy. Just say that.”

“Okay,” you grin with tears in your eyes.

Spencer’s eyes close and you sit next to his bed. You grab his hand and kiss the back of it, content with staying just like this until he wakes up.

x

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[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

august 2024 episode of octavinelle + 4koma update

You know the drill by now!

Spoilers for the 4koma and the Episode of Octavinelle chapter 12 below the cut. As a reminder, the Episode of Savanaclaw won’t be updating again until winter.

🫵 THERE THEY ARE…

THE SMOOTH CRIMINALS…

The poses in this opening page are so good; Leona sat all lax like a boss who knows who’s large and in charge, Ruggie leaning against the chair and swinging the keys to the vault around on one finger… The posing perfectly captures their personalities and roles in relationship to one another.

Once again, Azul makes many fantastically desperate and despair-filled expressions this installment 😭

Falling to his knees???? Laying flat on the floor??? Man is UNMATCHED when it comes to theatrics.

I like this shot of Azul and Leona’s gazes lining up; it really helps give you the sense of two rivals sizing each other up.

(Side note: you can also tell how much painstaking detail the artists went through to include their eye makeup in these close-ups. Hats off to them for the extra effort, it looks great!)

… WHY DiD THEY hAvFTA mAkE HIM So smUGHERE 💀

damn i wish i was that stack of contracts

… I mean what

sorry

Sorry

SORRY

I got distracted there, what were we talking about again????

AYO they always make Leona casting King’s Roar look so darn cool in the manga 😭

My favorite panel in this sequence has to be the one with the text bubbles. He looks so nonchalant and a little stern as he speaks the chant… The shadows on his face add a lot to the atmosphere of it!

This chapter is the part where Leona gets to sanding Azul’s hard work away! Look at how beautifully drawn Azul’s reaction is ✨

The particle-y effect of the contracts melting into sand is nice 😌 It feeds Azul’s tears… Tasty meal…

MOU YADA IN MANGA FORM IS PEAK

lmao Azul for real threw a tantrum, flailing his limbs and everything 🤡 Love that even Leona and Ruggie have NO idea how they should respond to this.

Oh no, here comes the OB…

The anguish Azul’s experiencing is really coming through. He’s sweating so much and his entire face is so. Er… for lack of a better term, twisted.

I think seeing the blot leaking out from each of them helps to illustrate that they’re truly being overwhelmed and consumed by their own inner darkness. It’s sad to see 😔

We cut back to Yuuta and co. squaring off against the twins!

I wanted to point out and comment on these parts with Jack. He’s not a character that I usually pay much attention to, but I gotta commend him for fighting back so hard and trying to shield the picture even when he’s clearly got no chance of winning. Jack bearing his fangs at Floyd with pupils contracted… 🫶 Very good and loyal pupper! I get the Jack appeal now, lol

I LOVE THIS

It reminds me of the similar Azul-Leona framing earlier in the chapter, though with a different context. I like that this shows how the twins are in sync and coming to the same terrible conclusion.

Not long after, they rush to Azul’s side—which makes me think that these two worry for his wellbeing 😭 THEY DONmT SAY IT OUT LOUD BUT THEY CARE

Oh yeah, here it comes… OB Azul has arrived!! 👀

I MEAN YEAH it’s not good for his health, but I’m so hyped for the battle and flashbacks to his childhood! Baby!Azul shall NOT escape our sight…

The 4koma this month centers on Jack, Vargas, and others (Jade, Kalim, Deuce) talking about using transformation magic for racing.

dhejeveiwhwuow I would say more, but I actually didn’t find this 4koma that remarkable. It’s a generally the boys chatting about animals and their different activities they excel at.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Sum of All 5

Warnings: non/dubcon, mentions of crime, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: mob!Steve Rogers

Part of the mob drabbles au

Summary: you are given an unexpected assignment.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

“You look upset?” Rogers’ voice startles you. You sit straight and rub the stitch from your forehead. How long has he been there? 

“Do I?” You wonder.  

Three days in this place, sifting through scraps and musty old receipts, and it’s starting to bleed through. Oh, don’t think of the blood. You grip the desk and shift in the chair. 

“I guess,” he shrugs. “Something wrong? I can get you a different chair.” 

“Chair, uh?” You look down, “no, that’s fine. Actually, I think I’m probably almost done.” 

“Good,” he says.  

He crosses his arms and turns on his leather sole. He starts to pace. He does that a lot. If he’s not sat in the arm chair or disappearing to wreak havoc out of sight, he’s there, walking back and forth. Back and forth. Combing his fingers through his hair, waving his hand in a wordless argument, moving his lips silently. Even if you hadn’t witnessed it that first day, you could tell he’s a man with a lot of pent-up anger. 

You go back to tallying it all up. Your stomach somersaults as you hover the pencil along the columns and review the numbers. Honestly, you are done, you just don’t know how to say what you need to. To tell this man what you discovered. 

“You’re breathing heavy again,” he stops and turns to you, “what’s the matter?” 

“Asthma?” You lie. He grimaces. 

“You got something for that?” He asks. 

“No...” you look away guiltily. “Alright, I don’t have asthma,” you wiggle the pencil nervously then tap your nose without thinking. What are you doing? You still it and put it down. “I’m done, okay, and, er...” you suck in air through flared nostrils, “you gotta promise you’re not going to freak out.” 

“Freak out?” He echoes as if the concept is absurd to him. 

“Yeah, because it’s not good news.” 

“Spill it,” he steps closer to the desk. 

You lean back in the chair and look up at him. A shank of his dark hair slips past his ear and the sheen of silver strands on his chin catch the light. His jaw squares under his thick beard. 

“Okay, but like just remember that it’s this Warren guy...” You clasp onto the armrests as you talk. “Oh boy, right. I’m not sure how to say it...” your eyes skitter back and forth. When you look back to him, that vein is bulging in his head. Just say it before he explodes! “He stole. A lot of money. And he actually hid it quite well but... yeah, I can show you--” 

“Amazing!” He claps and his face lights up. You flinch and your eyes go wide. Huh? He looks almost happy. 

“It is?” You flutter your lashes as the fog fades away from the edge of your vision. 

“You did it,” he said. “Get up. You gotta tell the boss.” 

“Huh? Me? You can’t--” 

“You’re the one who knows numbers. Grab the book, let’s go,” he commands. 

You don’t dare disobey. You grab the ledger and stand so abruptly, the chair snaps on the axle. You give a sheepish smile and scurry around the desk. 

He waves you out of the office. You’re all too happy to oblige at the realisation that you’re close to being out of here. He takes you down the hall and stops you at that same door. He knocks and waits until he gets an answer from within. 

He ushers you in ahead of him and shuts the door with a heavy click. That man, Buck, or Bucky, or Barnes, or whatever he wants to be, sits behind his desk. He is just as unimpressed as the last time you saw him. 

“Steve,” he greets the other man. 

“Go on,” Rogers nudges you with his knuckles. “Tell him.” 

You hold the book up in front of your chest and sway, “may I?” You nod towards the desk. 

Barnes gestures to the empty space and you approach. You put the ledger down, flipping it to face him. You turn the pages back and start at the beginning. 

“So, I was going through it all. This Warren guy. You see, here are the expenses, then--” 

“I don’t need the exes and ohs, doll, just get to the business,” he insists. 

“Right, I know you’re a busy man so I wouldn’t want to waste your time,” you chuckle nervously. “Alright, well,” you stand straight. Your head feels bubbly. “He stole a whole bunch money!” You say it a bit more chipper than you mean too. “Oops, well, not that it’s a good thing but...” 

Barnes’ eyes narrow and his chin ticks. You gulp and chew your lip. Shoot. 

“Sorry, don’t be mad. It wasn’t me, you know, I just added it up and--” You rock backwards and tip.  

You’re saved from hitting the floor as Rogers catches you and puts you back on your feet. He keeps hold of you, an arm across your back and his other hand on your shoulder. Barnes watches with unyielding derision. 

“Holy hell, she got something going on in her head?” Barnes asks. 

“She’s fine.” Rogers insists. “Look, Buck. We figured it out. You got everything you need to off that guy.” 

“Off... you’re going to kill Warren?” You squeak. 

Barnes gives you a sharp look and you seal your lips. Why did you say that? Your vision pulses and the colours blur. You feel yourself tilting and your head falls back. You slip into darkness to the shallow noise of your own breaths. 

When you wake again, you’re in a car. Rogers’ car. It’s dark and he’s silent. You look over at his shadow as he drives. You don’t recognise the streets outside the windows. 

“Noooo,” you sit up and pull on the handle as panic course through you. “Nooo, please, don’t kill me--” 

“Hmph?” He grunts and grabs your arm, pulling you back against the seat. “Sweetheart, if I was gonna kill you, you wouldn’t be awake right now.” 

“Oh god, so you would?” You screech. “I don’t know anything. Consider it all forgotten. Out of my head... oooh, my head.” 

“Calm down. Have some water,” he points to the cupholder. Your water bottles firmly in it. “Boss is happy. You did a good job.” 

“Oh, okay, right. Yeah. I’m a good accountant,” you say. You cringe and take the water bottle. You uncap it and clear your throat. “I’m sorry.” 

You drink deeply as he keeps his foot on the gas. You feel a bit better. You put the water back and wipe your hands on your skirt. 

“Um, Mr. Rogers?” You eke out. “Where are we going? You don’t have to say but I’m just asking.” 

He snorts quietly, “gotta pick someone up. You just stay quiet and don’t move.” He pulls up in front of a house. It looks like a really normal one. “Can you do that without passing out?” 

“I...” you look between him and the window, “I’ll try.” 

[solargeist]

"What are you even doing here?" Grian grabbed Martyn's shoulder and dragged him to the side into an alley way.

"Don't worry. It's a rescue mission. We're here to rescue you!" Martyn let himself get yanked off the main square full of other Watchers. Grian was fully aware that there was no way the Watchers didn't already know that there was a Listener out and about in their streets.

"Rescue mission? We?"

"Yeah? Me and Jimmy mostly, but Pearl managed to get her hands on the uniform." Martyn says with pride, giving the outfit a little spin for a very stunned and disbelieving Grian. "Not sure about the holes in the back though. Seems like an odd design choice from such a conservative group."

"It's for your- our wings-" Pearl knew about Grian going to this Warcher conference. He had been formally invited to attend and even speak on some topics that he and the Watchers still agreed on. He was almost sure that this was Ather's idea. An olive branch of sorts.

Of course, Pearl would cause trouble about this.

Grian took a deep breath and raked his hands over his face as the Listener thought about his words. "Oh. Oh! That's what these are for then?"

To both his horror and amazement, Martyn leaned own and hiked up the skirt of his stolen uniform. There was a bag that was hidden by the long fabric. He undid the zipper and pulled out the cheapest wings Grian had ever seen. The elastic tool was caked in more glitter than there really had any deserving right to be on an article of clothing. Grian genuinely thought the rubber bands used to hold that thing to anyone's back would cause them to snap.

"Who gave that to you?" Grian really couldn't hide the almost horror from his voice.

"Jimmy said he had Heard Warchers have wings, right? I geuss he picked these ones out."

Grian wanted to rip his scalp off his head. "Of course."

"Don't worry." Martyn said again, trying to sooth as he put his bag away and attempted to put the wings on. "Like I said, I'm here to rescue you. We'll get you out of here in no time!"

"I am here of my own volition." Grian felt himself say distantly as he watched Martyn struggle to get the bottom of the shawl unbuttoned without taking the whole thing off. "I- Martyn that isn't going to work."

"Course it will!" He said cheekily. "Besides, I'm sure they won't even notice you gone. You don't have to pretend to want to be here."

Grian took a deep breath before stepping forward, undoing the back button that kept the shawl flat agaisnt a Watcher's back over their wings. He helped Martyn slip the restrictive cords over his arms before getting them situated back into the long sleeves.

"Okay, Look, I mean, look, Martyn. I can't leave just yet. I actually got somethings to do before we go."

"Do you have to?"

"Martyn, I was Invited here."

He pauses. "You were?"

Grian rolled his eyes. "For a Listener, you are very bad at paying attention."

"What do you expect me to do right now then?"

Grian stepped back and tried not to look at the glitter on the wings. "I geuss you walk beside me and we pretend I don't know you while I do all of the talking until we can both go home."

"Why are you here willingly on a Saturday?" Martyn asked, baffled.

Grian suppressed another eye roll. "I'll explain later, as of now... well, lunch starts in half an hour. I hope you can actually can pretend to be mute and only listen, er, Listen for now. Because if you cause any problems, I'm not gonna come back for you."

This was a lie and theh both knew it, but Martyn folded his arms and looked down at Grian. "Sure. Fine. Whatever."

"Good. Let's to. Keep your mouth shut, Martyn." The two stepped out of the alley, the taller 'Watcher' following behind the shorter.

-Lunar, who is typing this out on a new phone and is having a fucking nightmare of a time doing it

they are so ridiculouS

[enigmalynne]

Life at the Breaking Point: Love, Duty, and a Deadly Confrontation in the ER

Title – Life at the Breaking Point: Love, Duty, and a Deadly Confrontation in the ER Pairings – Jensen x Reader, Jared x Madison Word Count – 8,526 Warnings – mentions of shootings, beatings and violence, inaccurate police scenarios, hostage situation JAcklesverse Square – “I thought I lost you forever.”

He's a SWAT team member at the Sheriff's Office, and she's a doctor at St. David's Medical Center Emergency Room. They met at Jared and Madison's wedding, becoming fast friends with a longing for more that the other knows nothing about.

Those feelings come screaming to the front of his head and heart when Jensen hears about a shooting at the hospital where Y/N works, where she's held hostage at gunpoint. Will he be able to remain professional, or is his love for this doctor going to make him do something crazy?

Y/N was sitting at her desk, typing notes from her last patient, when she heard the popping sound. She didn’t think anything of it at first since the emergency room faced the highway and cars backfired all the time, but when she heard the succession of pops a second time, she lifted her eyes toward the glass doors heading outside. 

“What was that?” one of the nurses asked as she walked by. Y/N kept her eyes on the glass doors and listened intently for the sound again. When she heard it the third time, it was louder, closer to the entrance. She knew what it was immediately. 

“Oh, God,” she muttered, eyes going wide. She swung her head toward the nurses standing nearby. “Get as many people and patients out of here as you can. Get them to the elevators and send them up at least three floors.” 

“What?” a nurse asked. 

“Now!” Y/N shouted, grabbing the phone in front of her. “Go!!” The women were startled and started running into action. With a quick punch of numbers, Y/N’s voice went over the intercom for the entire emergency room. 

“Code Red! We have a Code Red in the emergency room!” she said, looking behind her to ensure people were moving. “Code Red in Emergency!” 

Suddenly, the front doors to the emergency room were kicked open, glass breaking and metal bending. The mechanism that makes them slide open sparked and broke, causing them to stop working. Y/N ducked her head to make sure none of the glass got close to the desk area she was at.

“Someone get over here and help me!” a furious voice shouted. Y/N looked toward the entrance of the ER to see a man standing there, holding another man who looked like he had been shot. He had a gun in his hand, and Y/N instantly knew he was the one firing the shots outside. 

“You!” he growled, pointing the weapon in Y/N’s face with furiously narrowed eyes. She immediately lifted her hands in a show of surrender despite her fear. A few nurses and an orderly nearby froze when they saw the weapon. 

“You. You a doctor?” he asked. Y/N nodded. 

“Yeah, I’m a doctor,” she responded. 

“Good. You help him. If he dies, you die,” the man said. Y/N nodded again, swallowing back her terror. 

“What… what happened to him?” she asked carefully.

“What does it look like happened to him? He was shot, you dumb bitch!” the guy shouted. Y/N flinched. “Now help him, or you’ll be shot next!” 

“Can you take the gun off us long enough for us to help him? Please?” she asked timidly. The guy gave her an incredulous look, but she continued. “Just put it away until we get him into a room and get him help. You can keep it on me the entire time I’m working on him, but for now, I need you to put it away so we can focus,” she begged.

The man glared at Y/N before looking back at the man he was carrying. He looked back at the doctor before nodding his head and slipping the gun into his jacket pocket. Once it was out of sight, Y/N moved.

“I need a gurney here! Now!” she shouted, causing a flurry of action. The two nurses ran up while the orderly dashed off to find a gurney. Y/N helped the nurses assess the injured man as best they could and lifted the wounded man onto it once the gurney showed up. As it rolled away, stats started to be shouted out.

“Gunshot wound to the abdomen, no exit wound. We need to get him intubated.”

“Trauma 2 is open; make a hole, people!”

“Blood pressure is low; pulse is thready; he needs a transfusion; get me two units of O-Neg!”

“Someone get surgery on the phone, let them know we need a room now!!”

As they were running into the trauma room, the gunman followed along close by. 

“What’s his name?” someone asked. 

“Mark,” the gunman said. “His name is Mark.”

“Count of three, people… one, two, three,” Y/N said, and the group moved the victim onto the bed. The activity kicked up a notch as a third nurse jumped in to assist by putting leads on his chest and turned on the monitors nearby, causing beeping and tones to start in the room over their talking.

“Mark, can you hear me? I’m Doctor Y/N,” she said, checking out his eyes. Y/N continued to assess the injury as one nurse cut the clothing off him and another put an IV in his arm. More information is being shouted around, causing the gunman to watch in confusion. 

“Mark, if you can hear me, squeeze my fingers,” Y/N said, putting two fingers inside his left hand. When nothing happened, Y/N frowned, shaking her head. Suddenly, alarms went off around them.

“He’s flatlining!” 

“Someone get the LUCAS!” Y/N shouted. One of the nurses ran off to grab the machine while Y/N and the other nurse got the man ready. “Get that bag ready!”

“C’mon, Mark, don’t do this to us,” Y/N muttered as the three women got the machine into place. As the nurses strapped Mark’s arms into place, Y/N set the machine and once cleared, it began compressions. 

“Start breathing for him,” she snapped at one of the nurses. Every twenty compressions, a nurse squeezed the bag connected to the vent in his throat to provide air into his lungs. The gunman watched with wide, panicked eyes. Just then, the surgeon, Benny, walked into the room.

“What d’ya got?” he asked, his Creole accent thick. The gunman was startled and pulled his gun back out of his pocket, having forgotten about it while watching the work being done to his friend. Y/N noticed it and tried to hold the man’s arm down. In frustration, he yanked his arm free and whipped the gun across her face, causing gasps from the nurses in the room. 

“Whoa,” the surgeon shouted, stepping forward to stop the attack but freezing when the gun was pointed at him. Y/N was on the ground, a hand on her now bleeding head. 

“Back off,” the gunman growled. 

“Stop!” Y/N shouted roughly from the ground. “We have to get him into surgery if you want us to save his life!” The gunman glanced at her on the floor, then backed up at the people in the curtained room. 

“She’s right,�� one of the nurses explained. “He was shot in the stomach, and there isn’t an exit wound. The bullet is still in his stomach somewhere, and we have to get in there, get it out, and stop the bleeding.”

“Look, man, if you want to save his life, you have to let us work,” Benny said, his hands placatingly. He’s already on the LUCAS, which means he’s already close to death. The more time we waste here, the less of a chance he has.” 

The gunman reached down and grabbed Y/N by the hair, pulling her up. Once she was on her knees in front of him, he placed the gun on her temple. The other people in the emergency room whimpered at the movement, including Y/N. The gunman looked back up at Benny expectantly.

“I will kill her if he dies,” he said. “Now, go.” Benny glanced down at Y/N’s tear-filled face before turning and giving orders to the nurses. The three pulled the gurney toward the elevator and made the move to the surgical floor. There was a momentary pause where the quiet took over, then the gunman dragged her up to her feet and shoved her ahead of him so they could walk back into the waiting area.

“You’re coming with me, Doc,” he said, keeping his weapon aimed at her head, his hand still gripping her hair. Y/N swallowed back a sob, tears still running down her face. “Get up.” 

Attention all units: shots were fired at St. David’s Medical Center Emergency Room, with an unknown number of shooters, at least four victims.

Jensen was finishing up some paperwork in his vehicle when the call came over the radio, causing him to pause and listen to the report. St. David’s Medical Center is where Y/N worked, a woman he met at Jared’s wedding a few years ago. Throwing his car into drive with lights flashing and sirens blaring, Jensen peeled out of the parking lot he was sitting in and headed toward the hospital as fast as he could. 

When Jared told him he was proposing to Madison, a schoolteacher he fell in love with after meeting her at a law enforcement appreciation day, he couldn’t have been happier for the man. Jensen had seen Jared through many failed relationships because he was a law enforcement officer, and he hated seeing his friend discouraged. As a man from a big family, Jared always imagined having a wife of his own with three or four kids running around. When Jared and Madison met, Jensen could see the instant connection. When Jared asked Jensen for help picking out a ring a year later, he couldn’t have been happier for his best friend. 

During the planning process, he, the best man, met the maid of honor, Y/N. The emergency room doctor was the complete opposite of Madison. While both girls were outgoing, friendly, and energetic, Madison was more sophisticated and genteel, whereas Y/N was a bit more wild and carefree. Jensen had no idea how they became best friends until he saw them hanging out together, and their personalities blended perfectly. 

The two spent much time together helping the bride and groom prepare for a storybook wedding, laughing and making fun of the couple. They connected instantly and even gave a joint toast at the reception. They have remained friends ever since, though if Jared had his way, they would have been a couple since the end of the wedding. 

Jensen arrived at the hospital quickly and jumped out of his SUV, eyes scanning the building. He popped open the back and unlocked the case that held his rifle. He pulled it across his chest and slid some extra magazines into the slots on his bulletproof vest before closing the hatch, locking his car, and running up to where the rest of the deputies had taken point. Once he got to a safe location, he knelt and aimed at the front of the hospital. Five minutes later, Jared Padalecki came up beside him.

“Mads called me on my way over,” Jared said quietly. Jensen glanced over at him, but Jared’s narrowed eyes never left the front doors to the emergency room. “Y/N’s working today and isn’t answering her phone.”

“Fuck,” Jensen cursed under his breath. “That means she’s in there and probably one of the hostages.”

“Yeah.”

“Ackles! Get over here!” a voice shouted from the Incident Command Center bus. Jensen popped up from where he was and ran over.

“Yessir!”

“I understand you have a solid understanding of this hospital, including how we can contact someone inside,” Lieutenant Singer said. Jensen nodded.  

“Yes, sir, I do.” 

“You’re coming with me, Doc,” he said, keeping his weapon aimed at her head, his hand still gripping her hair. Y/N swallowed back a sob, tears still running down her face. “Get up. The rest of you get moving. If you can walk, walk up front,” he growled. The remaining nurses, techs, and patients who could move did so quickly with their hands up in surrender. With the gun pressed to Y/N’s head, the hostages knew they had to obey the gunman’s orders.

“Look,” Y/N started, stumbling as she tried to keep up with the man dragging her by her hair. “We have sick patients in the ER right now. There are injured people just outside the doors; they need medical attention. Please, you have to let us help them, or they could die.” 

“I can’t do that,” he said quietly. The man cocked his weapon, causing Y/N to inhale sharply and the people nearby to cry out. Once they were in the waiting room in front of the ER, he ordered the hostages to line up. When they didn’t move, he shouted. “Line up against those fucking windows, now! Or someone else will get shot today!” Everyone rushed to line up against the windows, sobbing echoing through the now-empty waiting room. 

The gunman glanced out the front doors, catching sight of the flashing lights, and cursed under his breath. Looking around, he ordered two of the hostages to stand in front of the shattered doors. They scampered to do his bidding, glancing at Y/N as they went by. The gunman continued to drag her with him, his fist tightening in her hair. Y/N whimpered, wincing at the pain in her scalp.

“Why don’t you tell me your name, huh?” she said suddenly, trying to get him talking. 

“I’m not telling you my fucking name!” he shouted, spittle flying from his mouth. Y/N flinched, her hands starting to shake as she held onto his hand in her hair. The gunman aimed his gun toward the ceiling and fired a round, the sound echoing around the emergency room, causing people to scream. 

“Any more dumbass questions, and the next one will be in your head, understand?” the gunman growled. Y/N nodded as well as she could with his grip on her. Suddenly, a phone on the main desk rang. The gunman growled as he shifted his gun to one of the nurses standing by the windows.

“YOU! What’s your name?” he asked a young brunette in bright pink scrubs who was crying. She whimpered loudly before swallowing hard. 

“Ma… ma… Maggie,” she stuttered. 

“Well, ma, ma, Maggie…” he said, mocking the girl. “Answer the fucking phone and get rid of whoever it is.” Maggie nodded, rushed over to the desk, lifted the receiver, and placed it to her ear. 

“He… hello?”

“This is Lieutenant Singer of the Travis County Sheriff’s Office. Is everyone okay?” 

“Yes, sir.”

“How many hostages are in there with you?” 

“Um, well…” 

“Hang up the fucking phone!” the gunman shouted, causing Maggie to flinch and whimper. 

“See if you can get him on the phone,” Singer said calmly. Maggie looked over at the gunman and held the phone out to him. 

“It’s the police. He says he wants to talk to you,” she said, her voice slightly whimpering. The gunman dragged Y/N with him as he stalked over to where the nurse sat, snatching the phone out of her hand. 

“No one here wants to talk to you, asshat!” he shouted into the phone. The gunman then yanked the phone and threw it against the wall. 

When they heard a gunshot inside the hospital, tensions grew in the parking lot where police were set up. Singer tried to reach them on the phone to ensure everyone was okay, but it ended in a dial tone. Roman was using his binoculars to investigate the emergency room through the glass doors in front of the building.

“Roman, what can you see?” Singer asked. 

“Looks like most of the hostages are in the lobby, lined up in front of the windows. He’s got one by the hair,” Roman responded. “He’s trying to make it hard for anyone to get a shot off through the glass.” Singer cursed under his breath, realizing sniper work was not an option. 

“He knows what he’s doing,” he muttered. Jensen stood nearby, his AR-15 aimed at the hospital. He kept his green eyes locked on the front of the hospital, watching for movement. 

“We got intel,” a voice said over the radio. “Shooter is Andrew Clarkson, age 32. Has a long rap sheet, mostly petty theft and small crimes, but recently, he’s been picked up on a few drug charges. Don’t know why he’s decided to hold the ER hostage, but this would be his first major crime with a firearm.” Jensen shook his head, glancing at Singer. As he was about to open his mouth and say something, a man started to walk into view.

“Suspect is coming to the door; he has a hostage with him,” a voice echoed across the radio. Everyone lifted their weapons and aimed as all eyes faced the entrance to the emergency room, including Jensen. The gunman shoved the broken glass door aside with his foot, dragging someone with him. The gun pressed to her head gave everyone pause. He yanked the hostage forward and hid behind a brunette dressed in blue scrubs; his hand fisted into her hair as he shoved her in front of him. Her hands gripped his, her pale skin tear-stained and bruising as she tried to control her breathing. 

When Jensen realized who the hostage was, fury burned viciously in his veins. 

“That son of a bitch,” Jensen growled.

“Get back!” the gunman shouted, pressing the gun into Y/N’s temple. “Get back, all of you!” 

“Let her go, Andrew,” Singer said into the mouthpiece of a megaphone. The gunman, Andrew, grew angrier, yanking at Y/N’s hair. The cry that came from her was like ice down Jensen’s spine. Jared glanced at him from the corner of his eye, ensuring the man didn’t do anything stupid. 

“All of you just stay out of the way, and no one will get hurt,” Andrew shouted. Then he smirked. “Well, any more hurt than they already are.” 

“What is it that you want?” Singer asked. “Maybe we can help in some way.” 

“What I want is my brother to survive, and if this here bitch doctor and that surgeon friend of hers upstairs do the job right, he will,” Andrew spit out. “That ain’t none of y’all business, so go about your way and let me handle this.” 

“You know we can’t do that, Andrew. You’ve shot four people already. You have an emergency room full of doctors and patients in there being held hostage,” Singer shouted, shaking his head. Jensen was starting to get twitchy, Jared noticed. 

“Hey, take a breath,” Jared muttered quietly. “You aren’t going to help her going in halfcocked.” Jensen shot him a furious glance. “I want her outta there too, but we must use our heads here.” Jensen took a deep breath and adjusted his grip on his rifle. He studied the man who was holding Y/N hostage, her cries of pain infuriating him as he watched Andrew drag her back into the emergency room.  Once they were out of sight, Jensen and Jared lowered their weapons, but not without sounds of frustration. 

“There’s gotta be some way for us to get in there without being detected,” Jared said, looking up at the building. Jensen shakes his head. 

“They already have guys working on going in from the roof,” he said with frustration. He turned and looked at the sign in front of him pointing the way to the back of the building. Noticing the directionals, he had a sudden thought. 

“I have an idea,” Jensen said, looking at Singer. “Emergency rooms typically have a back entrance when they must take people from an ambulance. It’s different from where the public comes in, so they don’t get traumatized. I’m betting our perp doesn’t have that back entrance covered.” 

Jared catches on to what Jensen is saying, snaps his fingers, and points. 

“Right! Some of us could go back and sneak in that way while you have the rest of SWAT coming down from the roof,” Jared said. Jensen nodded.

“Make it obvious we are coming in from the rooftop; get him distracted so he isn’t aware of us coming in from the back. We sneak in, take him by surprise, pin him down, and it’s all over,” Jensen explains. Singer looks at Jensen with narrowed eyes, then nods slowly. 

“Alright, let’s do it. Pick three more to go with you. The rest will go up,” Singer said. Jensen turned to Jared, bumping fists. 

“You in?” Jensen asked.

“Always.”

“Awesome. Go get Seb and Jake; meet back here in five.” 

Jared turned and jogged off to pull the two men away and get them ready to go around the back. Jensen looked back over to the front of the hospital and took a deep breath. Hang on Y/N, we’re coming.

Andrew and Y/N made their way back into the emergency room, the sound of muffled sobs echoing around the room. Andrew shoved Y/N away from him, causing her to stumble and fall. She landed hard on her knee before collapsing against one of the sets of chairs put together. The chairs were loud as they scratched along the floor, moving as Y/N slammed into them. 

She moaned quietly, her hand going to her head to rub her scalp as she looked over to where Andrew was now pacing the floor in agitation. Y/N wasn’t sure what would happen next, but she knew things were about to get nasty.

Jensen and his team slowly made their way around the back of the emergency room, running in time with each other, their weapons held at the ready. The helicopter carrying the rest of the SWAT team was flying above them at the same time, making it evident that the sheriff’s office was about to drop deputies onto the roof to make their way down. Jenson glanced up at them once as he made his way around.

Once the back doors came into view, they slowed down to walk so they could see around the corner without drawing attention to themselves. Jensen signaled for the men to pause while he made his way over to the doors and glanced in. It was quiet; the only noise came from machines tracking heart rates and other vital information from patients left behind.

“Just as I thought, no one is back here,” he muttered quietly. “Okay, Seb and Jake take the far end. Jay, you stick with me.” The men nodded their heads in agreement before moving toward the automatic doors. As they quietly swooshed open, the team silently moved forward. Each man made their way through the curtained area of the emergency room, checking on the patients who were still in beds with machines hooked up to them. A few of the patients who were not unconscious saw them moving and were startled by the sudden appearance of a law enforcement officer. The deputies made movements for them to keep quiet.

“Stay here, and don’t move no matter what you hear. We’ll come back and get you out,” Jared whispered to a young couple who sat terrified next to their elderly mother. They nodded frantically, fear radiating off them. Jared then got on his radio, messaging the deputies out front that there were innocent people in the emergency room beds, forgotten and left behind by the gunman. Once the front lobby appeared, Jensen held up a hand to stop them. 

From where he stood, he could see Andrew pacing in front of the desk where a nurse was sitting. The hostages were still lined up against the windows. He didn’t see Y/N anywhere but knew she had to be there somewhere. 

“Will someone answer that fucking phone already?” Andrew shouted. The nurse at the desk suddenly shot up from her seat and ran over to a different desk to grab the ringing phone. She spoke into the receiver momentarily, then held it to her chest. 

“It’s surgery. They want to talk to Doctor Y/L/N,” she said. Andrew spun around, stalked over to some of the chairs in the waiting area, and bent down. It wasn’t until he stood up that Jensen realized it was Y/N. She must have been on the ground. Andrew dragged her to stand by her arm and shoved her over toward the phone. 

“Answer the phone. Find out about Mark,” Andrew growled. Y/N stumbled toward the desk and took the phone from the nurse. She kept her back to the gunman; from her expression, Jensen saw that whatever news she was getting wasn’t good. Jensen glanced at Seb and Abel, giving them hand signals to move forward slightly but low to the ground. His gut was telling him this was about to get ugly. 

Y/N hung up the phone slowly and turned to face Andrew, the gunman. Her eyes were filled with tears and sorrow for the man standing before her. His gun was being held on her, and she knew when she told him the update she was most likely going to get shot herself. 

“Well? What did they say?” Andrew asked angrily. 

“Andrew, you have to understand; Mark was already in a bad place when you first brought him in…” Y/N started.

“What are you saying? Are you telling me that my brother is dead??” Andrew asked incredulously, causing Y/N to whimper and startle. Tears slowly started to make their way down her cheeks as she swallowed thickly. 

“He had already lost a lot of blood before you got here… and then there was an infection that started where the bullet wound went in. Moving him around with the bullet inside him did a lot of damage, too,” Y/N explained, her voice choked with tears. “We sent him up on the CPR machine, remember?”

As Y/N was explaining what happened, Andrew’s arm with the gun was drooping slightly. She thought maybe she was getting him to understand, and he would not shoot her, so she continued explaining.

“Benny did all he could to bring him back, but it was just too much for his body to handle. He died twenty minutes ago. I’m so sorry, Andrew,” Y/N said.

The next moments happened very quickly, causing panic and confusion. Andrew looked back at Y/N, lifted the gun, and fired at her. Y/N flinched, which moved her to the right, which caused the bullet to just graze the skin of her temple instead of embedding itself into her skull. The strike still caused her to fly backward and hit her head on the desk behind her, then crumpled to the ground. 

All four deputies who were in the emergency room saw what was about to happen and opened fire on Andrew, hitting him in the chest and taking him down. This caused chaos among the other hostages in the waiting room area. Jensen moved up to kick the gun away from the dying suspect as his fellow deputies moved forward with him as backup. 

“Jake, stay with this guy. Seb, see if any of those nurses are stable enough to help him. Jay, take the rest of the hostages to the back. I’m going to check on Y/N,” Jensen ordered his team before moving. He didn’t stop to hear them answer. Instead, he leaped over a counter and moved to where Y/N was crumpled on the floor. Just as he reached her and started to roll her over, Jensen was quickly pushed out of the way.

“I got her, Jen,” a doctor named Chris said, pushing him aside. He then rattled orders to three other people next to him, lifting her onto a gurney that appeared out of nowhere. “I need a CT scan on her head; I wanna find out if that bastard did any permanent damage!” he heard as they ran down a hallway and into an elevator.

Jensen stood and watched as they rushed her off and away from him, startling slightly as Lieutenant Singer set his hand heavily on his shoulder. Once she was out of sight, he turned and looked at Singer, then nodded before walking to rejoin his team. An investigation would be conducted on the shooting of a suspect. They would need his weapon to interview him, and he would be put on administrative leave until everything was completed. Until then, however, they had a hospital full of people and a petrified emergency room. 

Y/N sat on her couch dressed in a pair of old pajama pants and an oversized t-shirt wrapped in an old, soft blanket as she stared into nothingness, thinking about what had happened that day. 

Her hair was damp from the long hot shower she had taken earlier, during which she drained the hot water tank and stood under the spray. She was pretty sure Madison, who rushed over to the hospital once she was able to get in, was sitting outside the door the entire time. Once she left the bathroom, Madison took one look at her red eyes and held her for a long time before gently braiding her hair back. 

Y/N had two butterfly bandages holding the small cut on her temple closed, the bruising darkening as each hour passed. The bump on the back of her head was sore but not visible, thankfully. She didn’t have a concussion, but she would have a headache for a while. Thankfully, the CT scan showed no permanent damage to her head or her brain. She’d just be bruised up and sore for a while.

She had a hard time grasping that she went in for a typical 24-hour shift at the hospital only for her day to end in the middle of a hostage situation slash shoot-out that should have killed her. A bullet was aimed directly at her head. A shudder of fear ran through her for the hundredth time that evening, causing her to close her eyes, take a deep breath, and attempt to calm her nerves. Tears once pressed against her eyelids, and she struggled to hold them back. She wasn’t ready to fall apart yet.

Madison had lit one of her favorite candles after hustling her into the shower, so the room smelled of apples and cinnamon, but it wasn’t giving her the comfort it usually did. Her relaxation playlist on the Alexa speaker wasn’t either, despite it being her usual after-shift routine. Something was missing, and she couldn’t put her finger on it yet. 

“Here,” Madison said as she sat beside her on the couch. Y/N’s eyes dropped to the mug of coffee in her hand. “I know you’re not allowed any alcohol with the painkillers you’re on, so I figured coffee was the next best thing.” With a small smile, Y/N unwound her arm from around herself with the blanket and carefully took the mug with a shaky hand. 

“Thanks, Mads,” she whispered. She held the mug and sipped the coffee between her hands, enjoying the sweetened warmth filling her. “You used my salted caramel creamer.” 

“This was a good reason to splurge, I figured,” Madison said with a shrug. “You should try to eat something. I can order pizza?”  Y/N shook her head slowly.

“I feel like if I eat something, I’m going to throw it up,” she said quietly. A knock at the door startled her, causing her to wince after. Madison glanced at the door, then back at her friend. 

“I’ll get it. You stay here,” she said, standing. Y/N nodded, then sipped from her coffee once again. She closed her eyes and enjoyed the warmth, listening carefully to Madison making her way to the front door. 

After taking Andrew down and getting Y/N help, it took Jensen and the rest of the SWAT team longer than expected to clear the hospital. Then, he had to go back to the office and hand over his weapon until the investigation into the shooting was completed. It was a long, tedious process that included an interview with internal affairs and a meeting with the chaplain. When he was finally done for the day, he decided to shower in the locker room so he could just head straight over to her place. 

He was grateful that Madison showed up at the hospital to care for Y/N while he was still working. Given her injuries, there was no way she was going to be able to drive home, and she really shouldn’t have been left alone after what happened. The few times he texted Madison to check on Y/N, her responses weren’t encouraging, which only solidified his decision to go over and check on her in person.

He wasn’t surprised she was struggling. While Y/N was trained to handle a crisis, being held at gunpoint wasn’t exactly in the job description of an emergency room doctor. That was more his world, one he never wanted to introduce her into. Once Jensen was cleaned up, he left the sheriff’s office, stopped at his favorite Chinese food place to grab some takeout, and headed to Y/N’s place. 

When Madison answered the door, Jensen frowned slightly. He expected Y/N to answer. 

“Hey, Jen,” she said, smiling sympathetically at him. She stepped aside to let him in the condo. Jensen looked down the hallway before turning back to the woman with concern on his face. 

“How is she?” he asked quietly. Madison locked the door and turned to face him with a shrug. 

“I think she’s still in shock right now. She was crying a little earlier, but she keeps stopping herself from doing it now. I think she’s going to break down when it all hits her,” Madison said. “She’s been quiet, which isn’t like her. I’m really worried.” 

“Yeah, me too,” Jensen said with a sigh. “Thanks for sitting with her until I could get here.” 

“Hey, don’t thank me. I would have been here regardless,” Madison waved off his thanks.

“Why don’t you head out of here? Jared should be home by now, and we’re on administrative leave until the investigation into the shooting is done. I know he’d love to see you right now,” Jensen said, giving the woman a tight hug. 

“Are you sure?” Madison asked, returning the hug. 

“I’m sure. I’m not planning on going anywhere; I got her,” Jensen nodded. 

“You’ll call me if you need anything?” Madison asked, pointing at him. Jensen smiled gently. 

“Yeah. I’ll call if we need you,” he agreed. Madison nodded as she led the two into the living room where Y/N was sitting. 

“Hey, Y/N, Jensen’s here,” she said with a smile. Y/N was resting, the coffee cup forgotten as it sat on her table; her head was in her hand, her arm leaning on the arm of the couch, and her eyes closed as her breaths remained steady. Her fingers pressed into her hair, rubbing slowly against her scalp in a light massage. Madison stepped closer to her, resting a hand on her shoulder. Y/N startled slightly, lifting her head to face the two. 

“You okay?” she asked, and Y/N smiled slightly, humming. Jensen studied the woman, frowning slightly. He’d never seen her look so defeated before. Even earlier, with a gun pressed to her head, she looked confident and strong. Right then, she looked... broken. 

“Hey, sweetheart,” Jensen said quietly. Blue eyes looked up at him, and after a moment of stillness, a small smile made it across her tired face. 

“Jensen, hey,” she said softly, causing him to smile gently at her. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize you were here.” 

“It’s okay. I brought dinner. You okay with Chinese?” he asked, holding up the bag of Chinese. Y/N’s eyes dropped down to the bag of food he had in his hand, and it didn’t smell all that appetizing.

“I’m not that hungry,” she said, looking back at him. Jensen smiled softly at her, setting the bag down. 

“I’ll make a deal with you. You have some soup and maybe a little lo mein, and I won’t bug you about it the rest of the night. Doesn’t have to be a lot, but it has to be something,” he said, kneeling in front of her. Y/N frowned, looking back at the bag of food with a sigh. 

“Soup counts?” she asked, returning her eyes to Jensen. He nodded. 

“Soup counts,” he repeated. 

“Okay,” she whispered, nodding slightly. Clearing her throat, she tried to speak louder. “Yeah, okay. I’ll get some plates.” She unfolded herself and stood, making her way toward the kitchen. Madison stepped aside to let Y/N by, using Jensen’s shoulder for balance as she made her way. Jensen stood once she was passed. The two friends then watched her walk away before Madison threw Jensen a look. 

“I know. I promise I got it,” Jensen said, raising a hand before Madison could say anything. “Jared is waiting for you at home. Go.” Madison nodded and walked into the kitchen behind Y/N. 

Jensen started pulling the food out of the bag and setting the boxes on the coffee table. When Y/N returned from the kitchen carrying the dishes and flatware, Jensen stood and took the items from her. 

“What would you like to drink?” Y/N asked quietly. “I have some beer and soda. There’s still some coffee left that Madison made.” Jensen smiled softly at her and gently guided her to sit. 

“I know where everything is. Why don’t you get comfortable, and I’ll grab us some sodas?” he said. She thanked him and sat back on the couch, pulling one of her blankets around herself. Jensen walked into the kitchen and pulled two sodas out of the fridge. He carried them back to the living room, setting them on the table while watching Y/N as she stared out the window. Jensen sat down next to her and reached an arm behind her. 

“Hey,” he muttered quietly to get her attention. Y/N turned and looked at him, blinking away the distant look in her eyes. “Tell me what you need.” 

“I’m fine,” she said, dropping her eyes and sighing. “I’m just…” she started. She trailed off and shook her head. 

“Just what?” Jensen asked. Instead of answering him with words, she simply shifted her body to face him and ducked her head so she could lay it on his shoulder. Jensen pulled her closer to him, moving her legs so they laid over his and he could cradle her against his chest. This allowed him to start running his hand up and down her back. After a bit of silence, her hushed voice caught his attention.

“I keep thinking about what we could have done differently,” she muttered quietly. Jensen frowned. “I knew there was nothing we were going to be able to do to save his brother just by examining him. He waited too long to get him to us. I was able to get him to put the gun away long enough for us to try, but when we had to pull the LUCAS out… Surgery was a long shot, but we needed to try?” 

“Yeah,” Jensen muttered under his breath, his voice rough. 

“But then we were waiting, and things just got…” she trailed off again, shaking her head. “Nothing I was saying to him was making a difference. I knew it was only a matter of time before his patience wore out and he was going to start killing people. Then, when we got word that his brother died… I just knew.”

“You knew what?” he asked softly. 

“That he was going to kill me,” she replied. Jensen’s arms tightened around her.

“What you did in that hospital, keeping your head… talking to him like you did… that was exactly right. It was the right thing to do,” Jensen explained. Y/N shook her head, her eyes downcast.

“You did everything right, sweetheart,” Jensen reiterated.

“Then why did he still try to kill me?” Y/N asked after a moment of silence. Jensen sighed heavily, his heart hurting badly for this woman in his arms. 

“Because sometimes, even though you did the right thing, the bad guys don’t care and still react violently. Sometimes they just want to hurt others like they were hurt,” he said quietly. Y/N’s eyes started to fill with tears once again, against her will. 

“I didn’t do anything wrong,” she said, tears breaking free and running down her cheeks. 

“I know you didn’t,” he reassured. 

“Those people he killed didn’t do anything wrong.”

“I know.”

“I was trying to help him; I wanted to save his brother.” 

“I know you did.” 

“I tried to save him; we all tried to save him…” 

“I know,” Jensen said, hushing her as she began to cry earnestly. “You did everything you could, and it’s not your fault. Andrew should have realized that. You’re safe now, and he can’t hurt you anymore. I won’t let anything hurt you anymore.”

“I’m sorry,” she whispered as she sobbed. 

“It’s okay, don’t apologize. I’d be worried if you weren’t upset,” Jensen said, pressing his lips to her temple. He held her close as she cried herself out. When finished, she lifted her head and wiped her eyes, glancing at the man who held her close.

“Better?” Jensen asked, wiping the tears from Y/N’s face with the thumb of one hand. Y/N nodded a little, sniffling a bit. “Let’s eat.” 

“I’m not that hungry,” she admitted. 

“Hey, you agreed to try. It doesn’t have to be a lot, but you need to put something in your stomach,” Jensen said, cradling her head. She lifted her sad blue eyes to meet his tender green ones. 

“Okay,” she muttered. 

“Okay,” Jensen repeated, pressing a kiss to her forehead. He then reached over to the food and grabbed two of the Styrofoam containers with soup in them. He carefully opened the lid of one of them and handed it to her. She smiled gently and sipped the soup. 

“Let’s find something we can watch on TV, okay?” 

Jensen didn’t want to leave Y/N alone; she wanted to stay in case she needed someone or something. She argued, saying she’d be okay, but he knew better. As they watched television, Y/N fell into a doze on Jensen’s shoulder while clinging to the blanket around her shoulders.

“Do you want to watch another episode?” Jensen asked, looking over at her. “Y/N?” That’s when he noticed her closed eyes. A gentle smile fell across his face as he watched her sleep. Moving carefully, he lifted her into his arms. The blanket wrapped around her fell away as he carried her across the living room, down the hallway, and into her bedroom. Thankfully, her bed was rumpled from a nap she had taken earlier, so he could lay her down and cover her with the sheet and comforter she had there. He pressed a kiss to her forehead. 

“Good night, beautiful,” he said quietly before leaving the room. 

With an arm behind his head, Jensen was dozing on the couch as he rested on a few of Y/N’s throw pillows. Y/N’s scream had him leaping and running to her bedroom. He opened the door he had closed earlier to find her sitting in bed with one hand pressed to the side of her head. She seemed to be trying to get away from something or someone, Jensen thought as he watched her sob. He frowned as he walked into the room and calmly hushed her.

“Hey,” he said quietly. “Hey, hey, hey, shhhh…. It’s okay. You’re safe,” he muttered.

“He’s gonna kill me,” she bawled, shaking her head and then whimpering. He was sure she was in pain with how she was holding her head. 

“Okay, okay, come here,” Jensen said, pulling the blankets back. She launched herself into his arms once she was free of the blankets. He caught her with a soft ‘oof,’ the weight unexpected, but once he had his arms secured around her, he sat on her bed.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he whispered, his heart aching for her. He situated himself so his back was against the headboard, and Y/N rested against him. She ended up in his lap, her legs straddling his hips while her head rested on his shoulder with her face pressed into his neck. Jensen wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close, gently placing a hand on her head and massaging his fingers against her scalp. Her tears ran down his neck to his shirt, causing him to pull her closer. 

“I’ve got you,” Dean said gently. “I won’t let anything happen to you ever again.” Without moving her from against him, he reached down and grabbed her blanket and wrapped it up in it, offering warmth and comfort. Once he was happy with how they were situated, he turned his head and kissed her forehead. Having her in his arms like this, with her crying, was wrecking him.

“God, Y/N…I thought I lost you forever,” he whispered against her, her sobs quiet but intense. He knew she didn’t hear him; it wasn’t for her. His heart screamed at him, hurting at how this could have turned out. It took a long time for her to calm down, and Jensen held her and rubbed her scalp the entire time. Once her sobs subsided, the room was quiet, aside from a sniffle here and there. They remained like that for a long time.

“I thought I was going to die today,” she muttered, her voice clogged with tears and terror. Jensen tightened his arms around her, pulling her impossibly closer. He turned his head to press his lips against her temple and closed his eyes against the onslaught of emotions that raged inside of him. 

“He’s dead, right?” she asked worriedly, pulling her head away so she could look at him. Jensen looked over her face, noticing the bruising on her temple had gotten worse. The bandages and wounds on her delicate skin practically glowed in the dim light of her bedroom. He gently brushed a few strands of hair sticking to her cheek from the tears behind her ear as he nodded slightly. 

“Yeah,” he grunted, clearing his throat before speaking again. “Yeah, he’s dead. He’s not going to hurt you again.” Y/N nodded slightly, looking down. “Hey. You’re safe. I promise. I’m here and won’t let anything happen to you.” Y/N nodded her head before laying back down against his shoulder. Jensen cradled the back of her head with his hand, holding her there, resting his head on top of hers gently. 

“Thank you for saving my life,” she whispered after a long silent pause. Jensen shut his eyes against another onslaught of emotion, swallowing hard. He pulled his head back to look at her. 

“You’ll never have to thank me for that,” he said, eyes studying the woman in his arms. “When I saw him come out with you, I almost shot him right then. I never want you to be in a situation like that again.”

“You gonna become my bodyguard?” Y/N asked, a bit of humor creeping into her voice. 

“I don’t think you understand, Y/N. You’ve become the most important person in my life,” Jensen explained. Y/N lifted her head to stare at him as he spoke, her wide eyes watery. Jensen stared back at her, more severe than he had ever been with her. “I was so angry when I realized that you were in there with that maniac. I wasn’t going to stop at anything to get you out of there safely, and when you got hurt…”

“It wasn’t your fault, Jen,” Y/N whispered. Jensen shook his head, his own eyes getting misty. The following words were out before he could stop himself.

“If anything were to happen to you… I don’t know what I would have done. I’m so in love with you, Y/N. I can’t imagine my life without you in it, and that asshole almost took you away from me,” he explained, resting his forehead gently against hers. Y/N’s breath caught at his admission. 

“Jen… I love you, too. I think I have for a long time now,” she admitted. Jensen pulled back and stared into Y/N’s eyes, searching. Once he found whatever he sought, he gently pressed his mouth to hers in a passionate but modest kiss. Y/N tried to deepen it, moving her hands to his neck and fingers to his hair, but he pulled back.

“No. Not now,” he explained gently. Y/N frowned, hurt. “You’re hurting and need to take some painkillers. I know your head hurts you. And honestly, I just really want to hold you for a while. I almost lost you. I thought I lost you.” 

“Does that mean you’ll stay?” Y/N asked timidly. Jensen nodded her head.”

“Yeah, I’ll stay,” he said quietly. Y/N nodded. “Where are your pain medications?” 

“They’re right here,” she said, facing her nightstand. She picked up one of the three prescription bottles sitting there, and Jensen took it. He opened it and shook out one of the large pills into her open hand. She then reached over for the bottle of water to swallow down the pill before taking the prescription bottle and setting both back on her nightstand. 

“Let’s get some rest, beautiful,” Jensen whispered. Y/N nodded as she laid her head back down on his shoulder. After a while, the two adjusted their positions so that they were lying down instead of sitting up against the headboard. 

That was where Madison found them the following day. She smiled wistfully as she called out to Jared and waved him over to the doorway to Y/N’s bedroom. There, lying in her bed, was Jensen with Y/N curled beside him. Her head was still on his shoulder, her hand gripping the shirt he had on tightly. Jensen wrapped his arm around her waist, the other cradling her head against him, his face turned toward her as his lips pressed to her forehead. The two onlookers smiled softly at the two. 

“She must have had a bad night,” Madison whispered, leaning against Jared.

“It’s nice to see them finally together, too,” Jared muttered quietly, kissing Madison’s head. 

“Wonder how long till we are planning their wedding,” Madison gleefully whispered as she closed the bedroom door. It was quiet for a long moment, then…

“We’re gonna elope if I have anything to say about it,” Jensen whispered, smirking. 

“We’ll do it at one of those tropical resorts in the Caribbean. It’s still kind of eloping, but I still get to dress up, and we still get pictures and flowers and shit,” Y/N said under her breath as she snuggled against him. Jensen tightened his arms around her, pressing a kiss against her forehead. 

“Okay, I like that idea better,” he sighed. 

“This is why I’m the smart one, and you’re the pretty one,” she replied with a soft giggle. He huffed at that comment. 

“You’ll pay for that later. Go back to sleep.”

“Kay.”

[nicedeviledhamrightthere]

if i fall

Summary: Neal gets hurt during a case and his found family checks up on him. He's not used to that.

Words: 1.9k

Notes: This fits in at the end of the episode "The Original", and fulfills the square "broken ribs" for my hurt/comfort bingo card and also "regret/guilt" and "tricky" for my White Collar bingo card which puts me at a bingo! Zero plot, just some found family feels. Super simple, written over the course of two discord sprints.

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Marble everywhere. Peter stepped over the mess carefully, crumbled bits of brown and beige dust crunching beneath his shoes. The sculpture is ruined. Decimated. Nothing but an indoor landslide. Peter didn't mind that much, he didn’t care for it in the first place and proof or not...he trusted Neal when he said it was a forgery. Nothing on the floor means anything to him except Neal and he’s slow to get up, favoring his right side when he stands. Peter watched him press one arm against his chest, discretely feeling out the source of obvious pain before correcting himself and forcing his features into something that reads as neutral. He made a show of catching his breath, and it was hard for Peter to tell if he was actually hurt or if he was playing it up to give their suspect another charge for his dance card.

Neal isn’t exactly a Federal Agent but it’s still assault.

“You okay?” Peter asked and Neal nodded quickly. He would never say otherwise anyway. Peter watched as Neal crouched to pick up the scroll, carefully controlling his features as he bent down, coming up totally preoccupied by the forger’s signature. Peter missed the way Neal held his breath, and anyone else watching might think he was just nervous that he’d destroyed a multi-million dollar sculpture.

Neal was not concerned about that in the least. He was certain that it was a fake that had been destroyed. A half-ton of marble that caught his fall without doing a thing to cushion the blow. His chest hurt, every breath screaming agony. He wasn’t sure he was a good enough con man to get away with this injury but he was going to try.

“We’ve got him,” Peter said, patting Neal on the back. He held firm even though he wanted to squirm away from the rough display of affection. “A little unorthodox, baiting someone into breaking their own work by making them want to kill you...but I’ll give you points for creativity.”

Neal winced and nodded. He might not put this tactic in his repertoire after today. “Thanks Peter.”

“You in the mood for a celebratory drink? First case won for the new ASAC and it’s about as high-profile as it gets. Can’t help but put us in her good graces for a while, huh?”

Neal glanced around the room and shook his head. He only wanted one thing: to go home and lie down. He didn’t trust the new ASAC and he didn’t care about being in her good graces. He did care about the deepening pain in his ribs that time was doing nothing to alleviate.

“Rain check.”

“Yeah. Sure...okay. Have a good night, Neal.”

Peter watched Neal leave helplessly, hoping that he was alright. He wouldn’t push, though. Pushing only made Neal bristle and retreat. All he really knew was that if it had been him that fell full force on top of a hunk of marble, he’d be on his way to the ER.

By the time Neal arrived home, he was barely taking full breaths in. Every single movement made his chest ache like he’d just been attacked with a sledgehammer.

“Neal,” June called as he ascended the staircase slowly. He tried to look casual and was glad for the brief respite provided when he stopped to talk with her. “Would you have dinner with me tonight?”

He thought it over. What he really wanted was to pour a large glass of wine and lie in bed, not moving a single muscle until morning. But June looked so hopeful and he’d put her off now three or four times for various reasons, none of which seemed important now.

“Absolutely,” he replied in spite of himself. “What time?”

“Seven. I’ll have it brought upstairs, we can eat on the roof. It’s supposed to be crystal clear tonight, not a cloud in sight. I do love getting to see the stars.”

Neal nodded, glad not to have to use the stairs again if nothing else. “That sounds wonderful.”

June had several employees who brought the meal up in pieces, multiple courses spread over an hour of conversation. She never once asked him if he was alright but he could tell she was thinking it, she was watching him closely. Every move he made under scrutiny. The looks she was giving him, the fact that she’d had dinner brought up to him...he hadn’t lifted a finger all night.

“June,” he said finally as dessert was laid before them. “Did Peter put you up to this?”

She feigned offense for a moment, but quickly let the guise drop. “He was worried about you.”

“And you?”

“I think you got hurt today, but I think you’re alright. Are you alright?”

“I am pretty sore but I’m alright.”

“You’re a tough cookie. Eat your dessert. That always helps.”

“Thank you for checking on me.”

Truth be told, he still wasn’t used to having people around who cared about his well-being. He’d been so many people over the course of his short life and he was so lonely. June sitting beneath the clear night sky, eating a meal with him, it was as close to heaven as he thought he might ever get. He hadn’t exactly earned his way into the pearly gates, but he finally had people who loved him and wanted to keep him around.

People who cared that he might be hurt.

“I’m not checking on you, I’m having dinner with a friend,” she replied with a soft smile. “If I happen to notice that you got hurt today, that’s hardly cause for all of this trouble.”

Neal said goodnight to her after a final glass of wine and made his way to bed. June’s call to Peter did nothing to assuage his guilt at letting Neal leave without insisting he be checked out. Why had he? Any one of his agents and he wouldn’t have taken no for an answer, it was protocol, there was paperwork, but not with Neal. Not for a CI. But that only served to make him feel worse, and more than that...he felt responsible.

“Hon,” El said as she lounged in bed. Peter was brushing his teeth. “He’s okay.”

“June said he’s obviously uncomfortable.”

“Uncomfortable isn’t dying, but if you’re so concerned why don’t you go check on him?”

“He could have a broken rib, a punctured lung…”

“That seems unlikely. He ate an entire meal with her.”

“He would never say so. He’s so used to doing things on his own, El. He’s practically been alone his entire life.”

“I know. You’ve told me.” She smiled and put her book down, knowing that her husband wasn’t about to let this topic drop. He would have to talk his way through it, reason out the pros and cons, come to his own decision after so much back and forth. Her job was only to wait it out.

“Did I tell you he grew up in WITSEC?”

“You did.”

“I can’t imagine. From what I understand, his mother was...not much of a mother. He was on his own so young, it’s hard for him to ask for help.”

“Well don’t make him ask then, hon. Go over there.”

“And do what, exactly?”

“I don’t know Peter. Just go check on him. Make sure he doesn’t have a punctured lung.”

“Now you’re making fun of me.”

“No, I’m just…” she started but he leaned down and gave her a kiss, stopping her in her tracks. “Call me if you need help.”

What he found was Neal sitting hunched over an easel, great pulsing colors gashed over the canvas. The door was unlocked, not uncommon but it still made Peter a little wary.

“Hi Peter,” Neal said quietly, setting his brush down. He didn’t turn toward the other man, just sat still. Moving would have given him up, and frankly, he just didn’t want to deal with the pain of movement.

“You’re hurt.”

“Yeah,” Neal admitted. “It’s worse than I thought.”

“Do you need to see a doctor?”

“No. No doctor.”

“Alright. Can I help?”

At that Neal made the effort to turn in his seat and Peter could see the pain in his features. “You could open that bottle of wine for me. I’ve tried twice but I can’t.”

“You need some pickles or a jar of jam opened too?”

“Nevermind.”

“No, no, I’ll get your wine open. I presume you intend to self-medicate.”

“Something like that.”

“May I see?”

“If you get the wine open and pour me a glass, you can do whatever you want.”

The cork slid out with little effort, and Peter poured the glass a little heavy before handing it to his friend. Neal took it gratefully and sipped. It was not a small sip, but not quite a gulp. He wasn’t that bad yet.

“So, this an original Neal Caffrey?” Peter asked, leaning forward to examine the painting.

“It wasn’t supposed to be, but…”

“I’m not much of an art connoisseur but even I can see this is a painting of pain.”

“Well, when you try to paint with broken ribs…”

“Let me take a look.”

Neal sat still while Peter lifted his shirt and gently ran his fingers along mottled splashes of bruised ribs, pressing slightly where he thought the most damage might be. “This is gonna hurt for a while.”

“How long?” Neal asked, and Peter saw a flood of innocence and a little fear in Neal’s eyes. He shrugged.

“A few weeks, at least. It shouldn’t be so bad after a copule days, but you’ll want to be careful. I should probably…”

“No. That’s why I didn’t want to tell you Peter. You’re going to bench me.”

“It’s for your own good, and for everyone’s safety.”

“Please Peter. I don’t want to be stuck at my desk.”

“How about the van? There are a few stakeout requisitions on my desk. You and Diana can sit in the van, but you have to promise you won’t do any of the leg work until you’re feeling better.” Peter paused, trying to get a read on Neal while his defenses were still down. Before he started formulating a plan. “And I can tell if you’re lying to me. You know that. I let you get away with things more than I should, but I always know.”

“I know you do.”

“So why try?”

“Because it’s fun. And I don’t know who I am if I don’t.”

Peter smiled and pulled Neal’s shirt back down before walking toward the freezer to find an ice pack. There wasn’t much in there, but he did have a malleable gel pack so Peter brought it out and placed it against the worst of the bruising. He held it there for a moment, before Neal managed to lift his arm and place his hand over the ice.

“Thank you.”

“You should go lay down. I’ll close up.”

“Yeah...okay…” Neal whispered, staring at his angry canvas. It did look like pain. He didn’t mean to paint that, he’d been going for something a little less personal but lost it after the first missed stroke.

“Take tomorrow off,” Peter said as Neal shuffled stiffly toward the bed with his ice pack pinned to his side and a glass of wine in hand.

“Okay,” Neal said. Peter felt awful pushing him aside, and even worse that he wasn’t arguing much.

“If you have Italian roast...I’ll stop by for a cup of coffee on my way in. We can discuss the plan for you coming back.”

“I always have Italian roast, Peter.”

Peter grinned. “I know. I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Peter…” Neal groaned, trying to get into bed. “Thank you for checking on me.”

“Of course.”

[ddejavvu]

happy multiverse monday! how about a little bit of outlaw jake seresin and reader who refuses to be scared of him, despite his ‘confirmed kill count’ 💛

today is multiverse monday! send me an au you can think of :)

oooh i'm thinking like old timey western town <3

--

From the hush of the crowd, you know there's something amiss. No one is ever quiet in your bar, and when you spin on your heel, you know why.

It's Jake Seresin. They call him Hangman, and while you'd like to think he's just proficient at the word game, you know it's because he's got a warrant out for his capture so big the zeroes make your head spin. He's damned, destined to be hung by the neck, and here he stands in front of you.

"Start fillin' 'er up," He smirks haughtily at you, throwing a bag onto the counter, "I'll tell you when to stop."

You have half a mind to soak it in whiskey and see what he does.

"No."

His brows raise, and a murmur whips through the room. You stand tall, shoulders squared, jaw set tight.

"Pardon me?" He cocks his head to the side, smirk infuriatingly cocky, "Do you know who I am?"

"The man who's ugly face is plastered all over the town on wanted posters." You drawl, "I'm not giving you booze unless you pay for it."

You're not sure his brows can shoot any further up without disappearing into his hairline.

"Is that so? If you've seen the posters, you know why I'm wanted. I'm a killer, little lady, I think it'd be best for you to start following directions."

"I'd rather go nose-to-nose with your gun than tell my boss I gave away drinks," You narrow your eyes, hands defiantly stuck to your hips, "Kill me if you're going to, Hangman, otherwise I've got no time for you."

He bites the inside of his cheek to stop from sneering.

"You must really have a death wish, huh honey? Either fill the bag, or get out of my way, and I'll do it myself."

"You'd better hurry," You slide to your left at the sound of a scuffle outside, ducking behind the cabinet stuffed with bottles, "I think word got out that you're wandering around town."

You expect him to flee. To turn tail and bolt out the back door, never to be seen again in your dingy bar. What surprises you is the brown, mucked-up surface of his boots slamming to the ground in front of your eyes as he hops the counter.

"You're gonna keep your mouth shut," He commands, a large, rough hand snaking behind your head and curling around your mouth, "And you're gonna help me outta here, you understand?"

When you don't nod, he lets his hand slip from your mouth, using it to turn your face to his instead as you hear the patrons filing out of the bar, informing the sheriff outside that his suspicions are correct, "I said, do you understand?"

"Duck into the alley behind that door," You whisper, pointing roughly at the back exit, "There's garbage cans you can scale the wall with. Stay on the roof until they leave."

"No," He laughs, a genuine, booming sound from deep in his chest, "You don't get it. You are coming with me, little lady." He grins ruefully, tightening his hand around your mouth again before you can protest, "You really think I'm gonna leave behind evidence?"

[narukape]

20230125 — served tea

< previous | masterlist | next >

20230125 12:30PM — STARPRO

as you walked towards eichi's office, the fact that you might be in trouble didn't help at all with calming your nerves. you weren't gonna get scolded for suddenly interfering with a unit, right...? you were just helping family. perfectly fine, right? it's not your fault that a photographer got sick on knights so suddenly either so you're fine! truly, certainly fine... right?

and with that, you started to overthink... more.

you're great! well, at least you think you are. and really, not to toot your own horn but you're, in the words of wataru, "amazing~!" ensemble square is lucky to have the chance to work with a person such as yourself!

eichi wouldn't punish you for doing your job... even though there were no contracts involved which you would probably have to deal with later on— but he definitely won't punish you! he knows that you're a valuable asset. you know this too so surely he merely wants to chat? catch up with an old buddy after you had to be away for so long in another country? what else would it be? the emperor had summoned you to his OFFICE, for goodness' sake— it's really either you get killed or get freshly brewed tea.

...you really hope it's the latter.

speaking of the devil— well, leader of heaven (ironically), in this case— eichi opens the door just when you were about to knock, causing you to stiffen up, "oh, [name]! come on in~" he smiled, face angelic and warm as always— making you hope even more so that it won't become the face you'll last see when you die.

sitting down quietly at his request, you greeted him as he sets down a teapot in front of you.

"would you like some tea?" internally sighed in relief.

you nod, "yes please."

"excuse me...?" you suppress a cough, trying not to spit out what remained of your tea. you repeat your question, asking eichi to repeat his'.

"you haven't worked with your cousin in a while, am I wrong? well, up until the whole unplanned knights shoot request, that is." the blonde repeats, a calm smile resting on his face despite seeing you almost choke. what an asshole.

you shake your head "no" as a reply, knowing full well how unprofessional it is to answer in such a way but at the same time, you really REALLY didn't trust yourself to speak right now. besides, you aren't professional with eichi (who's somehow your friend) to begin with.

"so why not work with him, and knights in it's entirety, officially? just for two months. unless you deem working with them— and new dimension, I might add— worth your time, then we can see for a longer time period in the contract."

"why me, exactly?" eichi looks at you, comical question marks visibly popping up on top of his head. "I thought that you might've just wanted to scold me for volunteering to help a shoot unannounced but you're offering me a job? like, I already have a contract signed here in es so you offering is... weird...er? than anything you've ever gotten me into."

the blonde sets his tea down, a knowing smile on his face replacing his usually calm one, seeming as if he's been waiting for you to ask. "I figured you might say that so I prepared quite a handful of reasons!" he chirped.

"you're an award winning photographer that's worked with most of the idols outside and within ES. you're connected to a lot of publishing papers too which would be good for me if there were any trouble... or scandals— oh! and! you're my friend! of course I want you on the team! plus—"

"plus...?"

"—a certain sakuma happened to have told me an interesting tidbit about you recently." you felt your stomach drop.

oh.

oh no.

the president looks at you, expectant, making you sigh in resignation— having already known what eichi unfortunately does now too. you'd be lying if the offer didn't sound enticing at the very least, so it wouldn't hurt to accept... no?

"fine, sure, I'm in."

you were definitely going out for ritsu's throat later.

20230125 3:40PM — HOME

SYPNOSIS— Photographers are known to have quite the eye when it comes to beautiful sights— being naturally drawn to every opportunity of catching good visuals on their camera. [name], a famed photographer that is currently affiliated with Ensemble Square, is no exception. Truly it's no wonder that they fell for the prettiest sight of them all; Tsukasa Suou, leader of Knights.

[the12thnightproject]

The Brotherhood of the Travelling Warlords

Thank you everyone who helped send me armchair travelling around the world (and in some cases, into the past as well). It was a lot of fun to research these places and try to figure out what our warlords would want to check out while they were visiting.

Event summary...

Fifteen postcards written, as requested by fourteen people.

Warlords on the move: Mitsuhide (4), Nobunaga (2), Shingen (2), and Masamune (2) win the frequent flier honors, but Sasuke, Yukimura, Keiji, Mitsunari, and Kennyo also got to do some sightseeing as well.

Of all the places requested, I had been to three: Times Square, Washington DC, and Dublin Ireland. I've been to Chicago before, but not during the 1896 World's Fair.

Warlord who gave me travel-envy. I've always wanted to go to Hawaii, New Orleans and Prague, so I would have stowed away in Mitsuhide's suitcase without question.

Places I learned about that I now want to visit: Vigan City and Hoi An Ancient Town.

Place that was a nope... well, we sent Sasuke to an active volcano...

Request that gave me the most difficulty. Rome in 2020, only because I had to do some research to figure out what the COVID restrictions were at that time.

Favorite finished postcard design. I really liked the way Paris France, 1900 turned out. The artwork and graphic design of the era is so very much in my aesthetic sweet spot.

Easter eggs... all of Mitsuhide's postcards have a faint hidden graphic underneath the text of the postcard.

Favorite postcard text - I think I might go with Mitsunari on this one. I figured of all warlords, he'd be the one who started out writing his postcard too big, and be forced to make the lettering get smaller and smaller until he had to write up the side of the card (also he was writing the postcard while on a tour bus for part of the time, so it was a little messy for that reason too). Plus, I just enjoyed thinking of him trapped in Trinity College library and not worried at all about it. Him losing his shoes was a running joke in his longfic, so I stuck that in there too.

Mistakes... I think my biggest planning mistake was not figuring out in advance a couple of the world building issues. Would these warlords be going to a recipient who was currently living in Azuchi (or Kasugayama)? Since some of the requests were anon, or from posters I don't know very well, I made the assumption that the postcard recipient had indeed been previously wormholed into the Sengoku. Also, how would the warlords deal with a language barrier? With that one, I figured that for any warlord travelling to a timeline past (or just around) the 20th century - they could probably find someone who spoke their language (both Kennyo and Masamune went to World's Fairs where there was a Japanese installation). But when Shingen went to Ancient Greece and Mitsuhide went to the Golden Age of India, I figured they would just have to do their best with pointing and making up a sign language as they went along (they're both smart men, they can adapt!). Masamune had less difficulty in medieval Poland, not because he found someone to translate, but because he travelled into a siege situation and I figured he was well enough acquainted with battles that he'd do ok ... I er, quite possibly overthought these.

Along those lines... while I had fun picking out handwriting fonts for the warlords, I made a few mistakes early on... Mitsuhide's for example, took up too much space and I couldn't fit as much content on his cards (and so of course, he was the most requested warlord).

Curious about the handwriting I picked? I was pretty random about it... mostly it was a combination of what felt right to me, plus whether or not it would fit on the postcard. Shingen is more romantic, so his handwriting is flowy, whereas Nobunaga's takes up a lot of space - but I had to balance an authoritative font with being able to include a decent amount of text. I figured that Mitsuhide would think faster than he writes, so his is a little more careless looking, and Sasuke would print, because he's used to writing lab reports. And of course, once I picked a handwriting font for one postcard, I kept it through the rest of them.

Here is everyone in a row, for comparison:

As for the postcards themselves... here they are gathered once more...

Masamune visits Malbork, Poland in 1460

Mitsuhide visits Maui, Hawaii

Keiji visits Times Square, New York, New York

Sasuke visits Koma-ga-take volcano in 1582

Shingen visits Ancient Greece

Yukimura visits Rome, Italy in 2020

Mitsunari visits Dublin, Ireland

Kennyo visits Paris, France, 1900

Mitsuhide visits Pataliputra, India, 300 to 600 CE

Mitsuhide visits New Orleans

Nobunaga visits Washington, DC

Nobunaga visits Vigan City, Philippines

Masamune visits the World's Fair, Chicago, 1893

Shingen visits Hoi An Ancient Town

Mitsuhide visits Prague, Czech Republic

Thank you again to everyone who requested a card. Maybe some day I'll bring this back!

[price1972]

TLDR. If I knew how to put this under a cut, I would, but that bit of tumblr magic is beyond my skills. I’m warning you, this is long. I’m trying to catch any typos as I write, but please forgive any I miss.

Traditionally, I am VERY pro-vax. I’m vaxed, both my kids are vaxed and I am not saying one way or the other that a vaccine(s) are the root of my issues. All I’m doing is writing what I personally have experienced. Everyone should get as much info as they can, talk to your doctor if you have one you trust, and do what’s right for you.

Ryan is my husband. I live in northern Harford County, Maryland, about 1 hour North of Baltimore. My alcohol consumption has never been alcoholic level, I’m talking about a glass or two of wine over several hours in a night, maybe a little more if I was at the pool over the course of a day, or a dinner out or something, but not insane levels consumed. I stopped drinking because it stopped tasting good, probably because of what I was starting to go through.

So, back in 2021 I got my 2 Pfizer shots when I was eligible, had no problems. When I was eligible for the first booster shot, I got that too. At the same time as the booster, the pharmacist said, “hey, do you want your flu shot now too?” Since my elderly parents live with us (also vaccinated) and I didn’t want to risk getting them sick, I said sure. Got both at the same time.

3 days later, I woke up and could barely move my legs, my legs felt like they were encased in burning metal and swords being shoved up my heels and my hands also felt like they were on fire and so sensitive to touch, it felt like they were being constantly scrubbed with super rough sandpaper and also had no strength in them, so they were basically worthless. Went to my PCP (Medstar doctors group), they told me to go to the ER, because they didn’t know what was wrong and wouldn’t prescribe me anything for pain other than Tylenol or advil. Went to Upper Chesapeake ER, spent 14 hours in the waiting room to get 2 bags of saline to help with being dehydrated. However, once they found out I had stopped drinking 6 months prior to that (this was December 2021), they basically treated me like I was a drunk and looking for pills and sent me home to follow up with my PCP instead of admitting me and running more tests. I kinda understand, because it was the height of Covid and the ER was packed and they were running the ER out of the waiting room, but the lack of giving even a little bit of a shit about what was wrong with me was pretty disconcerting. There was a 20-ish year old kid who was sitting next to who smoked so much pot over 3 days that he forgot to eat or drink and the staff treated him more courteously than they did me and admitted him while I was still sitting there, waiting to see if they could find a bed for me.

So the next day, I did follow up with my PCP, and they said they’d been researching it more, and thought I might have Guillome-Barre Syndrome, which is a nerve disease where your white blood cells attack your nerves (most usually starts in the hands and feet), and is dangerous to not get treated because it can paralyze your lungs and kill you. They wanted me to go back to the hospital. I refused to go back to UC, so they suggested going to Franklin Square instead and I agreed. They wanted me to go right away, and would “call ahead” so my ER wait wouldn’t be as long. It was only an 8 hour wait there until I got called back and then eventually admitted me after they found me a bed. Ryan couldn’t stay with me because they were being super strict about visiting hours (armed guards in the ER and everything), so that sucked.

That night, the neurologist examined me and said I probably did have GBS and explained the treatment (there are 2, one is a intravenous medicine given over 5 days -IVIG- and the other was a total blood transfusion or something. ) I got the IVIG and everything that would go along with it. Starting the next morning, the doctor in charge of the ER or something (I don’t remember what his title was at this point, but he was a pretentious blowhatd who had at least 6 if not more of his students following him around like ducklings on his rounds every day) examined me and thought the neurologist was wrong and there was nothing majorly wrong with me and I was most likely just looking for pain meds to abuse. Of course he didn’t use those words, but his demeanor and attitude toward me, even when Ryan was also allowed to be there, made it clear what he thought.

So the neurologist won the start of the pissing match between the two of them, and I got all 5 days worth of the IVIG treatment. On the 6th day, I had to get a lumbar puncture to see if I had the GBS protein that they use to diagnose the syndrome. I apparently didn’t have the protein present, but even though the neurologist wanted to keep me there for more testing (because they are seeing GBS a lot more now than they used to, and they don’t know much about it yet; he was arguing that the protein they look for may have mutated into something different, etc, but otherwise I had all the symptoms of GBS. They two of them had the discussion (fight) in front of Ryan and me, with the ER doctor waving my test results in the neurologist’s face and saying “See? I told you there’s nothing wrong with her! She’s morbidly obese (fair, I was 300 lbs at that point, and looked about 15 months pregnant with a 20 lb baby), an alcoholic, looking for pain meds to abuse and the pain is all in her head. Anxiety. I’m discharging her.” And he won that fight, because I was discharged the next day. I still could barely walk and Ryan had to basically lift me up into the car to take me home. They sent a nurse with us to supervise me getting into the car and keep us from stealing the wheelchair I guess, but she didn’t do anything to help at all. Discharge papers said I didn’t have GBS, but a description of GBS and how I was treated for it, a list of vitamins and anxiety medication to get filled and to follow up with my PCP. Oh, and I wasn’t allowed back there to be treated for anything unless I had documented proof that I had completed a 30 day inpatient rehab program for alcohol..even though it had been months since I’d had any alcohol at all.

So I did follow up worth my PCP. Who has been treating me for over a decade or more as needed, knew my drinking was moderate and I’ve never had a history of looking for pain pills. But it was clear that they agreed with the ER doctor about being too fat, an alcoholic and looking for pills. Even though I never asked for oxy or narcotics, I just wanted something to stop the pain. I didn’t care what they gave me, as long as it worked. Never with either hospitals or the PCP was cirrhosis or potential liver failure mentioned or tested for.

So they gave me a laundry list of vitamins and medication, including Gabapentin to try to help with the nerve pain. Had a bad reaction to that one: it made me dizzy, pass out and fall, most of my hair fell out in one large clump, suicidal thoughts. Basically every side effect that could happen did happen, so I stopped taking that one. The anxiety med I was sent home with could be upped from 20 mg (anxiety) to 60 mg for nerve pain, so my PCP did that. This was around April 2022. I was OK at RJ’s (our son, 23) wedding (issues walking, but not needing a walker or wheelchair yet), but soon after that, the new medication caused me to sleep 23/24 hours per day and to hallucinate horribly when I was unconscious. I still remember most of those hallucinations and I feel so bad for people whose brains make them go through that, because it is SO REAL when you’re in the middle of it.

So this went on for the rest of 2022, until Ryan started to wean me off the meds. His reasoning was that I looked like I was dying, couldn’t eat or drink, couldn’t recognize him or Ryleigh, (our daughter, 17) and if I was dying anyway, maybe I would die with enough sense to be able to say goodbye to them and it mean something. I basically “woke up” on December 1, 2022 as if nothing had happened. I didn’t know when it was or what had happened, but could sit up, get in the shower, get dressed, etc with a walker and/or Ryan helping me, use the bathroom instead of a diaper etc. by this point, I couldn’t feel anything in my feet, very little sensation from my ribs down and hands still basically worthless and painful. Also couldn’t write anymore, type or even see very well, even with my glasses on. But better than being comatose or dead.

At this point, I wanted nothing to do with doctors or hospitals, and I told Ryan if he forced me to go, I’d leave AMA because they wouldn’t believe me, and I wasn’t going to go through all that BS again when it did nothing for me the first time. So for most of this year I walked/moved around as much as I could, did light PT exercises with rubber bands and tried any holistic or natural remedy we could find. But I was steadily getting worse.

Until July 20 of this year when I finally crashed. I was really bad, and Ryan begged me to let him call 911 and go to the hospital. I agreed and after a flurry of movement that I don’t remember much of, I had almost 8 liters of fluid taken out of my liver. The ER doc at UC told Ryan that he’d do the best he could to stabilize me, but that I might not survive until the next day. Also that UC wasn’t equipped to treat me and either University of MD or Hopkins would have to accept me for me to have a chance. UM wouldn’t take me because they didn’t take our insurance and Hopkins wasn’t sure if they could free up a bed for me.

Amazingly, after being at UC for 2 days, Hopkins found me a bed and transported me there. After what seemed like every test in the world, miraculously they found me a liver that matched me perfectly (a 23 year old man who died from a drug overdose; I’m allowed to contact his family, but I have to figure out what to say without sounding like a complete bitch) and my transplant values were bad enough to move me up on the transplant list, so instead of going home to wait for the “bat call” as Ryan calls it and potentially wait years for the transplant and hoping to stay alive in the meantime, I miraculously got my new liver after 2 weeks, on August 6.

I won’t go into the boring details of recovery, but from the start, my body seems to be accepting the new liver very well. The GBS has complicated it a lot (even though I hadn’t been drinking much before, and had 0 alcohol since RJ’s wedding more than a year ago, my liver was so bad, they couldn’t even use it for research. I still can’t feel my feet and have nerve pain in my hands, legs and feet and also have optic nerve degeneration from the GBS causing my vision problems. So I might not ever be 100% or be able to drive again, but it’s worth it to be alive. I have pain specialist, neurologist and neuro-ophthalmology appointments with Hopkins doctors, but not until mid-November.

So hopefully the GBS will eventually reverse itself (for most people this happens, but I’m not holding my breath) or there might be medication that would help my nerve pain and eyesight. Very irritating and tedious, but again, so worth it to be alive and able to walk with a walker and get out of the house, which I hadn’t done since RJ’s wedding last April. I’m doing PT/OT through Hopkins to relearn stuff, learn workarounds for stuff I still can’t do and to hopefully get those nerves to wake up and start working the way they’re supposed to. So for the most part, doing well, and aside from some hiccups with the medications (I take 16 pills daily, some multiple times a day); which I’m told is fairly normal, life is good.

It’s funny. A lot of people in the hospital and since have been surprised at how upbeat I typically am, and not overly upset over the issues I still have. And honestly? Surviving nearly dieing at only 51 and getting a second chance to witness the amazing young woman Ryleigh is becoming and getting to eventually (hopefully) have grandchildren to fawn over and love, why wouldn’t I be supremely grateful and happy about surviving? Yeah, there’s stuff that’s annoying, but if it never gets better than this? WORTH IT!

So, there’s the majority of what’s been happening to me over the last 2+ years. I’m sure you’re sorry you asked, lol. I do really appreciate you caring about what happened and all the good thoughts and prayers I must have received for everything to have worked out the way it did. Not that scared of dieing anymore, but hopeful it won’t happen anytime soon. ❤️

Also, my point of bringing up the Covid/flu vaccines is because (anecdotally; no proof yet) the medical community is seeing a sharp increase in nerve related issues in people after being introduced to MRNA vaccines, which the flu shot is now as well. While they’ve known about GBS for awhile, until recently it’s been pretty rare in our population and it’s not a syndrome like MS or Parkinson’s that’s been studied a lot. Best guess from multiple doctors is that it was more the flu shot, but especially getting it at the same time as a Covid booster that caused the GBS to manifest now. I might have always been going to get it, but probably not until much later in life. They still don’t know enough about the nerve related issues or even the vaccines to say for sure. So that’s been fun.

And, I only weigh 165 lbs now. It’s a hell of a way to lose weight, I don’t recommend it. 😂

I am the lucky recipient of one of those 11 livers.

[awellboiledicicle]

“April, a word?” They continued scribbling away in their notebook as if Jon hadn’t just called them from his doorway directly across from their desk. He cleared his throat. “Now?”

“Engorge.”

“.... what?”

They blinked at him over the top of their roll top desk, though their smirk was rather obvious.

“You asked for a word.”

“In my office. About a statement.”

“Well, why didn’t you say?” He tried his very best to not twitch too much in annoyance while they ambled their way around to join him. “Which one?”

“The one from staff sergeant--”

“Oh, the piper! That’s a good one.”

Jon, for what it was worth, managed to not outwardly grumble as they waltzed past into his office and took a seat. He’d not intended them to sit down. He’d intended for them to stand there, answer his question, and then get back to work. He did not yet know that was not how the archive functions.

“It’s... something.” Stiffly, he returned to his own chair and sat down. He did his best to ignore the deep feeling of discomfort that followed April turning their attention from his desk, to himself. “Do you know why it’s in the section from the early aughts?”

They chewed at their lip and became very interested in the corner of his office for a moment. Then, rather startlingly, they clapped their hands.

“Afghanistan! Or Iraq. We-- er, the US and whoever i guess-- kicking around in the middle east probably stirred the ol’ piper up. Or something close enough to it.” At his look of confusion, they shrugged. “Just a guess.”

“There’s no literal Piper, April.”

“Must be.” They gestured to the file, expression amused. “Wilfred met it.”

“I...” He quickly decided that he did not have the energy to argue about the existence of personifications of war with them. He rubbed at his forehead and sighed. “Fine, sure, whatever. Why, exactly, would it be grouped like that? Or are you saying she grouped all war statements and these got separated?”

With a sigh of their own, April went back to staring at him in their very specific way that made him fidget.

“I’m saying that you could probably tie them together from personifications, war, the sociopolitical climate of the decade, so on. Or maybe she was just reading them at the same time and none of us could be assed to sort it back into the old as fuck section.” Another shrug at his look of disbelief. “Look, i know you think we’ve been down here watching TV and eating bonbons for a decade, but sometimes the standing order was ‘i will find it if i need it’ or ‘make it hard on Elias’.”

“Why in gods name would hampering Elias be the standing order?”

At this they got very, very still for a moment. After a slight shudder, they shook their head.

“Gertrude was a very particular woman. Very picky about her archive. I expect you’ll get super picky about who can and can’t get into the statements too! Now,” They focused in rather directly on his face and he had to concentrate on not trying to move away. If April noticed, they didn’t seem to react. “Until you’re further into your little digitization spree, it’s not going to matter what one you pull first. You’re going to have us all chase down leads on them all anyway, so the where you found them doesn’t matter.”

This time, he didn’t particularly try to hide his scowl.

“It does, in fact, matter! Just because Gertrude couldn’t manage this archive doesn’t mean I will take the same lazy approach! Everything needs to be in order. And, as Mr. Delano seems loath to help in any meaningful capacity, the burden of seniority falls squarely on yourself and Mr. Shelley. Meaning each and every error and filing mistake falls upon your shoulders.” Crossing his arms, he raised an eyebrow. “Is this understood?”

To his dismay, they seemed more amused than intimidated by his declaration. Thankfully for his ego, they did him the service of nodding.

“Gotcha, Jon.” They stood with a stretch and headed for the door. He could have, he supposed, pointed out that he hadn’t dismissed them. He opted to not fight that battle. “Have fun reading.”

“...right.”

[dodgerkedavra]

okay I think I waited patiently enough for someone else to ask that I get to ask another...I wanna know about the dronarry plans 👀👀👀

This is the general vibe LOL!!!

Harry stares at Ron in the corridor outside Courtroom 1, the croissant he ate on the way sitting like a stone in his belly. He's sweating like he's about to be sentenced to Azkaban, not sworn in as a Junior Auror for the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.

Ron looks back at him, his freckles tinged a sickly green.

Otherwise, he looks good in red.

"It's just cold feet, yeah?" Ron's voice wavers.

The answer is yes. The answer is, they haven't spent a year training to back out at the last second. The answer is, Ron and Harry decided to become Aurors in school, and that's what they're going to do. Hermione's out there waiting in the audience. Ron's mum and dad. All his siblings but Fred, and George has spelled his twin's face onto a jumper and is wearing it for the occasion.

They can't disappoint jumper-Fred.

Harry opens his mouth. Before he can speak, a voice rings in his mind, clear as a bell.

Hermione's voice.

That's the sunk-cost fallacy, Harry.

Fuck. What is Harry doing? What are they both doing?

"Actually, I don't want to be an Auror." Harry says it fast, because they're walking out in--Merlin, fuck, less than a minute. "I can't, Ron. I'm--" He jabs his thumb over his shoulder. "I'm out. I'm leaving."

"What, now?" Ron's eyes are the size of dirigible plums. "You're going to make a run for it?"

"I'm going to walk," Harry shoots back.

"What about your uniform?"

"They can have it." Harry strips off his outer robes, only to find more of the uniform beneath. The jacket. The trousers. He fumbles for the buttons. Shoves off the trousers. Even his socks were assigned to him by the DMLE, so he takes those off, too.

He's down to pants and an undershirt when Ron says, I don't have to do this in a wondering tone.

Robards' assistant sticks his head out the door. "Weasley? Potter? You're up."

"Fuck off!" Ron shouts, and throws his uniform jacket into the man's face. "You can have our support but not our lives!"

Harry breaks into a run, his heart soaring, and Ron chases after him, stumbling out of the rest of his uniform.

They run until they're in the Ministry atrium.

They run until they're out on the pavement.

They keep running.

That evening's Prophet has a full-colour photo of Ron and Harry sprinting away from the Ministry in their pants, laughing their arses off.

It takes them two weeks to hunt down building they both like and buy it with some of the money from Harry's vaults.

It takes them three days after that to put out a shingle with the name of their new curse-breaking agency.

The sign has been out for twelve hours and seven minutes when the door opens. Harry and Ron are standing behind the counter, frowning at a book on curse-breaking.

"Fuck," Ron says quietly.

"Fuck," Harry agrees, under his breath. He's not totally sure how to run a curse-breaking business, come to think of it, but he honestly thought they'd have more time before they got their first customer. He lifts his head and tries to project confidence. "Hello, and welcome to—"

The rest of the sentence shrivels up and passes out in his mouth, because it's not a customer, shoulders squared and face set.

It's Draco Malfoy.

He drops an enormous leather-bound book on the counter between them. It lands with a thump, a cloud of dust that Harry hasn't gotten to yet rising from the wood.

"Malfoy," Harry squeaks, then clears his throat. "What do you—er, how can I help you?"

"I want a job," Malfoy says, each word crisp in his posh accent.

"What, here?" Ron indicates their shop.

Malfoy's eyes go to Ron, then come back to Harry.

"Here." His tone is definitive. "At your shop. With you."

[frozenwolftemplar]

Writer's Month Day 21: At a Bar

Fandom: None

Rating: G

Word Count: 1,066

Summary: Once again, I didn't have any ideas, so once again Calliope and Libby are back, this time seeking out inspiration in, well, I think you can guess.

+++

Too-raucous laughter stampeded out the door with all the force and heedlessness as a herd of panicked steeds, so thick with alcohol that Libby very nearly had the impression it was an actual drafter shoving up against her along with the escaping firelight.

From where she was surreptitiously coiled around her neck, Calliope wrinkled her nose distastefully as she caught the scents of whisky and rum as cheap as it was hard (ugh, common drink; give her a martini any day). “Did you have to choose this bar?” She sniffed as Libby carefully picked her way through the jam-packed establishment.

“It’s the most popular one in town,” Libby replied, gathering her skirts to preserve them from a mystery puddle (oh joy...). “Besides, it was *your* idea to go pass time in a real bar to find inspiration for today’s tale. If I want to ‘get a sense’ of a bar, this is the best one.”

Calliope puffed a disgruntled cloud in response but said nothing, simply joining her mistress in scanning the bar in search of a seat, preferably an isolated one (she was not an ignorant muse; what few believers were left in this age would become the wrong sort of excited at the sight of her glorious self). “What about there?” She indicated a friendly looking stool with her claw, tantalizingly empty, blissfully quiet, and-

“Oi! Timber!”

-reduced to splinters courtesy of the hiccuping factory-man who’d just collapsed on top of it, much to the rowdy amusement of his fellows.

“...Or not.”

“Keep looking,” Libby said, edging away from the bunch as a second grease-smeared worker toppled over and landed on his fellow. “There has to be a good seat somewhere.”

“Hi! Wench!” A lad with foam caught in his stubble patted his lap and leered over at Libby as she reflexively whipped her head towards him. “I’ve got a seat for ya right ‘ere, love!”

“Oh! Uh....n-no...” Libby stammered, taking a step back as his friends laughed riotously. “I- I wouldn’t want to trouble-“

“Come now!” He crowed. “No trouble at all for a bonny thing like you! And even if it were, you could always make it up to me later!”

A scalding blush rushed up her neck, hectic to match her pulse, as the laughter and- oh dear Mirah- offers of seats grew. “Er...”

“You’re being too nice,” Calliope hissed. “Say ‘no’ like you mean it!”

“No, thank- OH!”

“Don’t thank him!” Calliope’s voice, buried under the din, was sharp as the nip she’d just dealt to Libby’s collarbone. “Just *leave.* And be haughty about it.”

For a beat Libby stayed rooted where she was, a pheasant unable to fly in the face of a shotgun’s barrel, until a second, sharper nip spurred her to action. Sticking her nose in the air, Libby obediently pivoted on her heel and strode towards the back of the tavern, ignoring the whoops and mocking cheers that ensued when the illusion of hauteur was ruined when she stumbled over her feet and nearly splashed into Mystery Puddle Number Two.

Calliope grumbled as she dig her claws into Libby!s neck lest she slide off and land in said puddle (how crass could humans be?). “You are a terrible protege. You call that a rebuff?”

Libby huffed. “You’re my muse for writing, not flirtation.”

“I could be both.”

“NO!” That ‘vacation fling’ story still hadn’t been scrubbed from her consciousness.

“There you go! That was perfect!” Calliope flicked her tail in self congratulations. “I’m such a good teacher.”

Libby elected to not comment on Calliope’s pedagogical prowess beyond an eye roll (let it never be said dragons were patrons of humility. Quite honestly, that was the *only* useful thing she’d learned from her since her arrival, descriptions of past dragonish flames and lengthy lectures on the best sugar to purchase or the most fetching color to compliment her scales falling squarely in the category of ‘things she could live without knowing.’ Just then she just spotted an empty stool in a safe (i.e. deserted) corner and made a beeline towards it before any falling factory men or bona fide creeps could materialize. Fortunately, the fates showed her a mercy; the stool remained free, the corner remained isolated, and in a blink it was hers. Finally.

“Alright then.” LIbby took out a pad and pencil, flipping to a blank page. “Let’s get observing. The sooner we find a story, the sooner we can get out of here.”

“Maybe we’ll get lucky and a fight will break out,” Calliope mused, surveying the bar and privately wishing she possessed Polyhymnia’s gift of throwing her voice so she could help usher one into existence.

“Maybe we’ll get lucky and one won’t.” LIbby tossed back, watching with distaste as the barkeep cut someone off by pitching their inebriated self out the door. “Besides, would Hugo really want to heat about something like that?”

She waited for Calliope’s usual retort about the Dark Lord having the taste of a dung beetle, but none came.

That’s odd, she thought. Calliope shared her goddess’s passionate dislike of Hugo and never missed a chance to disparage him. She hadn’t slithered off; Libby could still distinctly feel her scales, slightly rough and as warm as a chestnut in a muff, laying against her skin. So...why the silence?

With a mix of curiosity and concern, Libby glanced down to where Calliope was tucked inside her collar. Instantly, the former sensation was overwhelmed by the latter. For around her neck, sapphire eyes stared wide and horrified at something overhead, there was a minute tightening of claws, and the heartbeat fluttering against her throat thrummed quick and anxious.

Dread creeping into her veins, Libby followed Calliope’s gaze, craning her neck, and gasped.

There, protruding from the wall behind them, was a row of mounted dragon heads. Scales dull with death glinted in the light from the hearth, not with inspiration or pleasure, but with a hollow artificiality that caused Libby’s stomach to turn. With dust coating their horns and necks stiff with an enforced elegance that was but an imitation of Nature’s, they watched, affectless glass eyes holding no commentary or judgment or snap of life such as shown by the creature around her neck, only a diluted, warped reflection of the buzz of the bar.

“Again,” Calliope’s whispered, an uncommon rasp in her voice, “Why did you have to choose this bar?”

[galeforged]

👤 + shigeru can spill the beans about Miki as a treat (your rules don’t apply to me)

via Send me 👤+ a character name for my muse’s opinion on that character (closed but the rules did not apply to her)

"Come on... you know I had to ask at some point," behind a cheeky grin did come Kōtarō's tongue-in-cheek chiding, directed towards Shigeru much like the flask of water he was waving about. "Wouldn't you rather I be the one asking you about it? Instead of... I dunno, you getting teased for it by one of your subordinates or... Captain Iba, maybe?"

All the Lieutenant received for a response was another grumble from the fussy 7th Division officer... who then all but snatched the bottle right from his hand. A hearty swig saw the man down a good portion of H2O, before he let out a loud and hearty sigh. Part of it came from his own exasperation from Kōta's inquiry, thought their lengthy sparring did leave him exhausted.

"Giggle even once, an' I'll gut ya 'fore it's game on again." That was all the warning Shigeru gave before he casually tossed the battle back to Ryōhei. It's a good thing that Shōrō Kanraku was already well within arm's reach...

"Ha! Good one."

The remark was met with the clank of sword within sheath as Shigeru grabbed the hilt by his side, earning him a jolt from Kōtarō sitting by his side.

"O-okay, sheesh! Message received, no jokes, Lieutenant's honour and all that..." His hands were already raised, palms out defensively until the blade was, after a terse few seconds, finally let go. With remnants of the anxious grin on his face melting into a more sympathetic simper, Kōtarō resolved to ease off on Shigeru's case. After all, it was rare to see him open up to his sensitive side. "So... Captain Fuyuno, huh?"

"Hm." Only an affirming grunt and a nod followed while Shigeru gazed off to nowhere in particular.

"What is it about her, then?"

Now that earned Kōta something of a proper smile from his friend. Good, no threat of imminent violence.

"A coupla things, I guess... Bein' real friggin' patient with my ass is already a big plus tho'," Shigeru laughed, albeit sardonically as it came at his own expense. "But yeah, she's... fantastic, really. Short enough that you'd end up losin' 'er in a pile o' pillows, but she's got the right kinda attitude ta not take sass from anybody. Puts a lotta work into her looks and the results just speak for themselves like... I can't focus for shit when I end up thinkin' about 'er. Not the fairytale-like hair, not her pretty-lookin' face, and her voice straight up makes me melt, especially when she's actin' all playful. She humoured me with a sparrin' match once, an' I walked away from it wantin' to learn Kidō, an' from her, too! Me!"

Upon hearing all of that, Lieutenant Ryōhei couldn't help but let out a low whistle. Subtlety, sadly, never was Shigeru's strongest suit, so his feelings towards Miki were never the best hidden. Upon hearing him spilling his guts out, however... perhaps he didn't give his friend enough credit.

"Alright, so you're not just infatuated..." Kōtarō observed, murmur cut short with a few sips of water on his end. "So after all that, and you're still not taking initiative? Whatever happened to the courageous and all-boasting Gushiken-sama from before, huh?" Though his words spoke of admonishment, he ensured the concern in his tone came from a genuine place all the same. Not entirely out of fear of retaliation of some kind though, heavens no... though, curiously, the 13th Division reaper seemed to glance back towards the entrance to the square they were sparring within.

"I ain't... good at this romancin' stuff. Ne'er bothered before since... well, 11th Division grunts don't often appreciate dames the way they oughta be appreciated, and that reputation sticks, try as Cap'n Zaraki might to change that. Some of 'em even go out an' buy their own fun for a night, if ya catch my drift. Not that anyone really caught my eye much either, anyway..."

Kōtarō could say something in reference to Shigeru's partial blindness, but, oath-bound not to crack wise, he kept mum.

"Then Cap'n Fuyuno comes along, an' now I'm worried if I'm even good enough for a proper lady like her, y'anno? Never mindin' the fact she's a Cap'n. I don't... wanna risk makin' 'er look bad in that station, not for associatin' with a brute like me. That, an' I can't keep gettin' frazzled ev'rytime she bats eyes at me. Not settin' a good example as 3rd Seat if I don't get my act together..."

To hear Shigeru admit as much, complete with a disparaging sigh on his part, only brought Kōta to smile upon hearing that.

"Isn't the fact that you do worry about things like this all the more reason for you to try? You know, something about being your best self? To me, it just shows that you're being conscientious of her," he suggested. "Besides, if you weren't capable of that sort of maturity in the first place, I doubt Captain Iba would've taken you under his command."

"Ya think so, eh?"

"I know so! Give yourself more credit, bud." With a well-meaning pat onto Shigeru's shoulder, Kōtarō... then slowly rose to his feet.

"Ya ready for round two, then?" Shigeru already made to reach for his zanpakutō, taking the lieutenant getting up as his cue.

"What? No, no! I'm just getting ready to run, that's all. You can thank me later," came Kōta's clarification in kind, spoken all too dismissively while he ensured Hai'iro Ranmaru was properly sheathed by his side. Shihakushō seemed all nice and orderly on his person too... so, with that, he turned back towards the training square's entrance as if he were expecting someone.

"Wait, the hell d'ya mean by-?"

"Captain Fuyuno! He's all yours!" And without any further prompting, he vanished with a burst of shunpo. What better way to get Shigeru's proper thoughts out in the open than with a hint of deceit?

"YOU SET ME UP?!"

[tathrin]

The ending of the book:

“Your people been in touch?” he said.

“No. Yours?”

“No.”

“I think they’re pretending it didn’t happen.”

“Mine too, I suppose. That’s bureaucracy for you.”

“And I think mine are waiting to see what happens next,” said Aziraphale.

Crowley nodded. “A breathing space,” he said. “A chance to morally re-arm. Get the defenses up. Ready for the big one.”

They stood by the pond, watching the ducks scrabble for the bread.

“Sorry?” said Aziraphale. “I thought that was the big one.”

“I’m not sure,” said Crowley. “Think about it. For my money, the really big one will be all of Us against all of Them.”

“What? You mean Heaven and Hell against humanity?”

Crowley shrugged. “Of course, if he did change everything, then maybe he changed himself, too. Got rid of his powers, perhaps. Decided to stay human.”

“Oh, I do hope so,” said Aziraphale. “Anyway, I’m sure the alternative wouldn’t be allowed. Er. Would it?”

“I don’t know. You can never be certain about what’s really intended. Plans within plans.”

“Sorry?” said Aziraphale.

“Well,” said Crowley, who’d been thinking about this until his head ached, “haven’t you ever wondered about it all? You know—your people and my people, Heaven and Hell, good and evil, all that sort of thing? I mean, why?”

“As I recall,” said the angel, stiffly, “there was the rebellion and—”

“Ah, yes. And why did it happen, eh? I mean, it didn’t have to, did it?” said Crowley, a manic look in his eye. “Anyone who could build a universe in six days isn’t going to let a little thing like that happen. Unless they want it to, of course.”

“Oh, come on. Be sensible,” said Aziraphale, doubtfully.

“That’s not good advice,” said Crowley. “That’s not good advice at all. If you sit down and think about it sensibly, you come up with some very funny ideas. Like: why make people inquisitive, and then put some forbidden fruit where they can see it with a big neon finger flashing on and off saying ‘THIS IS IT!’?”

“I don’t remember any neon.”

“Metaphorically, I mean. I mean, why do that if you really don’t want them to eat it, eh? I mean, maybe you just want to see how it all turns out. Maybe it’s all part of a great big ineffable plan. All of it. You, me, him, everything. Some great big test to see if what you’ve built all works properly, eh? You start thinking: it can’t be a great cosmic game of chess, it has to be just very complicated Solitaire. And don’t bother to answer. If we could understand, we wouldn’t be us. Because it’s all—all—”

INEFFABLE, said the figure feeding the ducks.

“Yeah. Right. Thanks.”

They watched the tall stranger carefully dispose of the empty bag in a litter bin, and stalk away across the grass. Then Crowley shook his head.

“What was I saying?” he said.

“Don’t know,” said Aziraphale. “Nothing very important, I think.”

Crowley nodded gloomily. “Let me tempt you to some lunch,” he hissed.

They went to the Ritz again, where a table was mysteriously vacant. And perhaps the recent exertions had had some fallout in the nature of reality because, while they were eating, for the first time ever, a nightingale sang in Berkeley Square.

No one heard it over the noise of the traffic, but it was there, right enough.

Have s2 playing in the background again and once more am thinking about the significance of misdirection, especially 3-and-1 tricks.

Across both seasons we have three versions of it mentioned:

three babies that appear to be the same but one has an antichrist in it

three lengths of rope that appear to be the same but one has more length to it

three cowrie shells that appear to be the same but one has a hidden caraway seed

With every variation of this trick, the key is to get the person watching to follow the wrong thing from the beginning. If God is the one playing three-card monte with the universe, she made everyone pay attention to the Antichrist: Heaven, Hell, angels, demons. And when they picked the card, the day the Antichrist came into his power, it turned out they'd all been looking at the wrong card the whole time.

Now, apply this idea to the three seasons. All three seasons are three-card monte. We're all looking at the wrong card.