#i hate him so much i wanna hit him with multiple metal pipes

[beef-unknwn]

That one trend making the rounds on xitter dot com

[biisexualemma]

tired pt.2. bucky barnes

word count: 2.3k

warnings: violence, mentions of blood

requested: n/a

plot: you get injured during the mission to locate karli

a/n: so this is sort of a part 2 to the winter soldier imagine i wrote! i'm gonna be posting a part 3 soon too, i'm pretty much following each episode lol, this is obviously episode 4, and then next part with follow episode 5! hope you enjoy! i am very much enjoying writing for bucky atm! let me know what you think anyway! (sorry if there are any minor mistakes i cannot read this over again i am tired lol)

pt.1 / pt.3 / pt.4 masterlist

you knew this was a bad idea. any idea that involved trusting zemo was bad. which you had reiterated to your team multiple times now, but here you still were, relying on zemo to get to karli. to top it all off, captain america and his nosey sidekick had found you guys, somehow, and invited themselves to tag along. too much toxic masculinity was floating around in the air when john walker tagged along anywhere, it was suffocating. made you wanna punch him whenever he opened his mouth and that arrogant, condescending tone came out. that, and he was resolved to shamelessly coming onto you whenever he spoke to you. you were sure he only did it so he could feel more in control of the situation. you tried not to let it get to you, but sometimes he was plain insufferable.

bucky already hated walker with every fibre of his being, and he definitely didn't take kindly to his flirting with you either. the only thing holding either of you back from decking walker was sam, and his level head. but you were constantly stealing subtle glances and touches with one another when you could without bringing too much attention to it. you had both decided it would only make things way more complicated during this mission if your relationship was out in the open. there were too many things that could go wrong, you definitely didn't want your relationship to be used against you. so only sam remained in the loop. everyone else was blind to your affection for the super soldier, and his for you.

the blonde haired fraud and his right-hand man, had somehow managed to make everything ten times worse again. you found yourself scouring the building, looking for karli, after mr-i-have-jurisdiction charged into the room where sam had been having a, somewhat productive, conversation with the girl. he barged in there, throwing around hollow threats, like karli would cave and come lightly after everything. he was ignorant and he was an idiot and you could've killed him for screwing up another mission.

you held your gun at arms length, kicking the door open in front of you, edging your way in, eyes scoping the room for any signs of movement. it was empty. you lowered your gun, making your way across the floor to the door leading to the next room. "east wing is clear so far, one last room to check and then i'll circle back to the stair--"

your words caught in your throat as a grunt left your mouth, feeling the blunt impact to the back of your head. you stumbled forwards, clumsily spinning around to see one of karli's super soldiers towering over you, an old pipe gripped in his hand. you quickly lifted your gun to shoot but the bullet hit the ceiling when he swung the pipe, knocking the weapon out of your hand.

you gritted your teeth, your head was throbbing where the pipe had made contact, and now you were weaponless. you ducked swiftly as he swung the pipe at you once again. you dived forwards, trying to catch him off guard and using your full force to tackle him. ordinarily, this would have knocked him off his feet and you would have used the upper hand to locate your gun and seize it before he could recover.

but this guy, unfortunately for you, was far from ordinary. he was significantly stronger than you were.

"all clear, y/n?" sam's voice echoed in your ear through the comms but you were far too distracted by your current predicament to answer him straight away.

"shit," you mumbled under your breath. the man had barely flinched, before switching it on you. before you could retreat, his arms grabbed your torso and you were halted, heaved off of your feet. "i need backup!" you shouted desperately into your comms, hoping one of them would turn up sooner rather than later. his grip was painfully strong as you tried to scramble out of his hold. but, with almost no strain on his behalf, he hurled you across the room, your body slamming into the brick wall and crumpling against the hard floor.

you let out a wheeze, you felt like the air had been knocked right out of you, and you definitely heard something crack. you clutched your side, wincing as you clumsily dodged the blows he threw at you, trying to clamber away from him. you had to pull yourself together, get up and get to your gun before this escalated any further.

you propped yourself up onto your arms, pushing yourself back and away from the super soldier towering over you. "sam, buck," your breathing was laboured as you tried to reach them again, after hearing no response from your initial plea for help. "east wing. i'm unarmed. super soldier with a pipe and a mean swing-- i need backup-- now."

you cringed, sharp pains rushing from your chest the further you dragged yourself away from the soldier. that was when you noticed the gash along his calf, blood soaking his pants. that was your ticket. you waited for him to swing again, dodging it only by a split second, but took your window and kicked as hard as you could at the open wound on his leg. he let out a loud groan, his leg collapsing under the shock of the pain.

you, however, scrambled as quick as you could, onto your feet and ran to the gun sitting on the floor behind him. before you got too far, your legs were swept out from under you as the soldier grabbed your ankle, your face slamming into the concrete floor as you fell. you let out a groan, followed by a soft whimper, blood now pooling from your nose. you desperately stretched out a hand for the gun that was just out of your reach. his grip tightened on your ankle, you felt yourself being hauled backwards before you lunged one last time for your weapon.

your hand clasped around the gun, twisting yourself onto your back, not hesitating to fire at the super-soldier attached to your limb. the bullet fired straight into his shoulder, he let out a shriek of pain, his grip lost on your ankle. you hurried as far away from him as you could on your hands and knees, your breathing shaky and uneven as the adrenaline coursed through you.

you sat still, legs brought up to your chest, your breathing heavy as you watched the super soldier grip his shoulder, trying to stop the bleeding. you held the gun up, directed at him in case he made any more movements. you were panting, your hand moving to your head, wincing as the throbbing pain started to return, and your comedown ensued.

"oh shit," you heard from the doorway. "shit," he muttered harshly, his footsteps drawing nearer to you. you were preoccupied, the pain was spreading quicker now that your heart rate was slowing down. you felt the sharpness in your ribs every time you took a breath in, ringing in your ears growing louder and the throbbing in your nose intensifying as blood dripped onto your shirt.

you flinched when his hand brushed up against yours, your unsteady hands still gripped tightly around your gun. "hey," he whispered, you only just about heard his soft voice echo over the ringing. you noticed the familiar metal hand grazing yours and your grip loosened, letting him remove the gun from your hand. your eyes trailed up to his comfortingly familiar, blue eyes. you let out a soft sigh of relief, cracking a weak smile.

"took your time," you mumbled, teasingly, trying to ease some of the tension you were feeling. you moved your hand to your mouth, blood transferring onto your fingertips from where it had trickled from your nose onto your lips. you let out a halfhearted, tired, chuckle, your face contorting as the pain in your chest intensified. you were relieved that it was over, and that he had been the one to find you. you let out a strained breath, "i'm gonna need one hell of a drink when this is all over."

bucky, however, was examining every inch of you, his eyes shifting all over you, frowning as he found more blood the more places he looked. he watched your hands shake as you touched your lips, the lump grew in his throat. he knew you were trying to make light of the situation, to ease his mind but he could tell you were hurting, a lot.

he moved his hand to your face, his thumb brushing your cheek. his stomach lurched when your eyes met his again, the blood soaking your face was a sight he never wanted to have to see again after today. as impossible as that would be in this line of work. "let's get you fixed up, then we'll see about that drink, alright, doll?" his voice was soft, quiet when he spoke to you. you nodded, reassurance slowly washing over you with his fingers caressing your cheek. his touch was more comforting to you than he'd ever realise.

he dragged his eyes away from yours, over to the super soldier who was still squirming, his hand clamped over the wound in his shoulder. bucky glanced at you for a split second, his expression harder than before. you knitted your eyebrows delicately, noticing the shift in his temper. "wait here," he mumbled, his jaw twitching as he moved away from your side. you felt cold with the loss of contact.

bucky moved to tower over the super solider, his head tilting slightly, not hesitating for even a second as he raised his leg, quickly slamming the heel of his foot against his face. the solider dropped back onto the ground, now unconscious. "stay down," he mumbled under his breath.

"c'mon, we gotta' find sam and zemo first," he ignored your amused expression, helping you onto your feet.

-

you'd returned to the hotel room now you had zemo in your custody again. zemo was nursing his headache with a glass of whiskey, sam busying himself with something on his laptop, and bucky had pulled you into the bathroom to help clean you up.

"how ya' feelin', doll?" he quirked an eyebrow at you, positioning you so you were seated, while he hovered over you. he busied himself, soaking a cloth in warm water so he could tend to your wounds. you shrugged, lowering your gaze to where your hands sat in your lap, shaking less now you'd had that drink.

"i'll be fine," you muttered, unconcerned with your well being for now. your mind was swimming with thoughts on how you were going to handle the karli situation. no doubt, walker would be knocking around soon too, just to make things harder for you guys, and probably try and twist the story around to make it seem like karli getting away had nothing to do with him.

bucky wasn't convinced by your answer, but he didn't push you. instead, his hand moved to your chin, using his forefinger and thumb to tilt your head upwards. you saw his jaw clench before he started to wipe away the dried blood from your face. you flinched when he touched the bridge of your nose, recoiling from his touch. "ow, that kinda' hurt," you admitted.

"suck in your breath," he instructed, his jaw stiff as he spoke. "if i don't clean it up now it'll only get worse," you just nodded, doing as he said. you held your breath, biting the inside of your cheek as he cleaned up the rest of the blood (his spare hand moving to the back of your neck to stop you from pulling away). "all done," you let out your breath, your eyes were watery, a reflex from the sensitivity of your bruised nose. "y'good?"

you nodded, letting yourself fall forward, resting your forehead against his stomach, trying to disguise the range of emotions you were feeling. he let out a sigh, his hand still tucked around the back of your head, tangling his fingers in your hair. "you don't have to keep up this act," he spoke after a while. exhausted, you let him hold you up, relaxing yourself against him. "it's just me."

you sniffled, pulling back to look up at him. he felt his chest tighten at the sight of your bruised face, stinging red eyes and pink cheeks. you weren't often vulnerable with anyone, but you were so worn out from everything going on, and bucky was looking at you in a way that made you feel so safe, you couldn't help but let go a little.

"i'm just tired, buck," your voice wavering. he moved both hands to either side of your face, pushing your hair out of the way. he cupped your cheeks, his thumbs brushing against your flushed skin. you relished in his touch, comforted by the warmth he was radiating, soothing you. "this missions been hard."

"i know, doll," he hummed, his gaze softening watching you relax against his palms, your eyelids drooping shut. he gulped. "let's get you clean, then you can get some rest."

you hummed softly. "thanks, buck," he took a step back, his hands leaving your face for a second. you hastily moved your hands to his, stopping him from moving further away from you. "no," your voice came out hushed. "just a bit longer," you pleaded, you weren't ready to let go of his comfort just yet.

bucky simply nodded, moving his hands back to either side of your face, letting your head fall against his stomach again. he raked his fingers through your hair soothingly, holding you for as long as you needed. he was just relieved you felt comfortable enough to be vulnerable with him, it meant you felt just as much for him as he did for you.

[misha-moose-dean-burger-lover]

destiel roll reversal where dean's the angel and cas is a hunter?

Okay, so I know this is SUPER LATE, but would you still accept the short thingy I could write? Many thanks, and the prompt is extremely appreciated ~

***

Bobby and Castiel waited. The older hunter was going through the ingredients of the spell again, though it had already been performed and discovering a flaw wouldn’t be helpful now - but perhaps he did it to look for a reason why he hadn’t shown up yet.

Dean.

That’s all Pamela had told them.

It didn’t sound like a grand name you call an all-powerful entity by. It wasn’t a name you’d listen to and quake in your boots. It brought the image of a guy-next-door; the name of a neighbor with a little garden but an unmowed lawn, the name of a mechanic shop owner, maybe a business major at community college. It didn’t make Castiel think of someone who could pull him out of hell. Literally.

But he didn’t doubt Pamela either. So, he simply waited, with a shotgun and a demon blade, all prepared for whoever came through that door - demon or some other supernatural sonuvabitch.

Castiel had been leaning against a dusty slab, counting his breath, and he could see Bobby pace around in circles around the ashes of the performed ritual, still frowning as if the grey remains were telling him that he’d got it wrong. “Bobby,” He called. “Stop it. You didn’t make any mistakes, you know that too. And we both went over it together. So if - if this thing is summonable, he’s on his way.”

Bobby shot a gruff look at the hunter, who may not have been pacing around anxiously like him, but his grip on his demon blade hadn’t loosened an inch. Castiel’s eyes held a familiar flare, one of the final stages of a hunt. How could any of them have known, that this was the opposite of a hunt and the opposite of a finale?

When Bobby started to say something to the latter, about minding his own business probably, suddenly the barn door swung open.

Following the clear creak of rusted metal hinges, and darkness pouring in from outside, finally came distinct footsteps.

It was everything at once. The man’s face came into the clear, and Bobby recognized a confident stride. Green eyes. No greatness implied in his gait. Barely taller than Castiel. No weapons on him.

It was everything at once, and nothing at all. Castiel had instantly aimed his gun at the figure but didn’t use it just yet. An anticlimax beheld him, and some sort of damp dread vanished. He stared at the man.

No, not a man. Just...Dean.

The footsteps brought him closer. Now that Castiel had gotten over his initial surprise at the man’s inhumanly attractive face, he stared at the rest of him with a more objective sense. This was the being that pulled him out of hell. This was the terrific Dean! It was ridiculous that Castiel had trouble looking past those green, green eyes; when there was so much to behold.

The one who’d walked in looked shockingly ordinary, in the cosmic scheme of things.

He slumped slightly beneath a leather jacket, with the air of someone who wore it too often, and had classic cut blond hair. There was no expression on his face, all hard lines of jaw and cheek - except perhaps the beginnings of a smirk as he noticed Castiel’s heavy, inspecting gaze.

Inwardly, Castiel didn’t know what to make of this. They’d been expecting a higher-pay grade demon - but Dean looked the opposite of one of those hellish creatures. There was a glow he carried into the room with himself. They’d expected a force of nature strong enough to pull him out of hell; someone terrible and violent; something vastly more evil!

This being...he wore holey acid-washed jeans, for Christ’s sake.

Castiel shoved the incredulous judgment of character from his head momentarily and resumed thinking like a hunter should’ve been. Not someone who’s suddenly enamored by a non-human who casually walked into the traps he'd been summoned to. (Like he was looking to order two drinks for a date.)

Dean walked over the devil’s trap without a thought, crossing the barn over to them. So, either this demon was strong enough that those didn’t hold him back at all - or he wasn’t a demon at all.

But when Castiel heard Bobby cock his gun, he dropped his thoughts and did the same. They both shot at him together, multiple times, aiming for the heart.

Well, neither of them had expected this ghastly entity to drop dead due to iron-bullets, but they were both shocked when he didn’t even flinch. Just twisted his lips into a bemused frown, directing it completely at Castiel with eyebrows raised as if to mock.

The strain of being focused upon affected Castiel’s accuracy, and he fumbled to put down the gun after two of his bullets hit Dean without cause, and one struck the wall behind him after being shot with a loud rapport. His grip on the knife, at his waist, tightened still.

“Who are you?” Castiel conjured his most commanding voice, and glared at him.

“Wanna do this the good ol’ 20-questions style?” He grinned.

It was such a sudden gesture, the baring of teeth in such a genial smile, and Castiel’s sense of safety - he had no idea where it had even come from - shattered. He snapped, and all the righteous fury to demand answers - and much of the residue from goddamn hell, came bolting back to his chest.

Castiel had always hated the villains who thought they were funny.

“No, I don't.” He growled, and in a quick motion, stabbed him; piercing the man’s heart with Ruby's knife. And a stab in the heart could kill just about everyone, and with Ruby’s blade - This had killed the worst of monsters yet.

But there was no dying light, or yelp of pain. Blood drenched the man's shirt as it flowed from the wound, and Castiel was too taken aback to even twist it out. As if he’d been ticked with a feather, the man took the blade by the hilt and calmly pulled it out of his chest. The blood which flowed out seemed to reduce.

Before Castiel could exchange a look with Bobby about this strange encounter they were in the middle of, and warn him against attacking more, it was too late. Bobby rushed up to hit the guy with a pipe from behind, aiming for the head and a fatal wound. Without even looking in his direction, he caught Bobby’s swing, turned, and waved two fingers at the grizzled hunter’s forehead, causing him to pass out instantly.

Castiel inhaled sharply, fearful for Bobby’s safety. He followed his dropping body and noticed - hopefully - a heaving chest, indicating there’s still life. Castiel needed to save him! So, he doesn’t charge at Dean or yell at him, lest he anger him further and make him take Bobby’s life. All his thoughts of this thing not being as evil as they’d anticipated vanished.

“Look,” Dean suddenly spoke up, and Castiel glared at him. Dean took a step ahead and Castiel inattentively shuffled back, “We need to talk. Preferably somewhere less dusty, though.” Castiel swallowed, waiting for him to finish. The man went on casually, and it was all sorts of ridiculous how normal he sounded. “Well, how about this roadhouse that I’m a regular at? It’s a couple states away, so what say you and I skip town?”

“Who are you?” Castiel repeated, stormy. What sort of jest was this? Take him out for drinks, and then take out his intestines? And what did he want to talk about? What could Castiel know about anything, that was of interest to him? What could he have to say to him?

“Dean.” He replied, simply.

“I..” Castiel was once again hit by how the name was so normal. Why couldn’t he have had an unpronounceable Latin name which translated to The Supreme Evil or something, that’d make it easier. “I know that!” He recomposed himself. “I meant, what are you?”

“You could call me an angel if that’s the kind of stuff you’re into,” Dean shrugged. Castiel froze. Angel? “But it’d be better if you called me Dean. There are thousands of angels, just as there are millions of humans. But I’m Dean. That’s what’s important, if at all. Just as you’re Cas, right?”

“I’m not.” Castiel pulled back, dumbly.

“What, wrong address?” Dean squinted, before breaking into such an easy grin that the desire to mirror it was strong. “Nah, I’m kidding. I know you well enough to know who you are, Cas. I pulled you from hell. And I’m kind of a gentleman that way because I only forget the really dumb one-night-stands, not my four-month favorites.” He winked.

Castiel frowned. “First of all, I’m Castiel.” Dean rolled his eyes, dismissively. He ignored it. “And secondly, we aren't - I mean, surely you can’t be an angel!?”

“Why not?” Dean asked, curious. “You don't believe we exist?” Dean didn’t wait for Castiel’s firm nod of his head. “Don't be a dick, Cas, everyone is valid.” Dean snickered at his own joke, but Castiel didn’t.

Castiel was silent for a minute, and when he finally spoke up, his head was a tangle of indecision. “But if you’re a-actually an angel,” He stammered. “Wouldn’t you have wings?”

“You need proof?” Dean’s eyes flashed with a slight bit of emotion. As if...for some reason, he was disinclined to show Castiel his wings. “Well, it’s kinda third date material, you know?”

“I don't believe you’re an angel, because -” Castiel declared, barely thinking about what he spoke.

“Because I’m not as grand as an angel would be, huh?” Dean shot back. “Because I don't have a halo? Because when I entered, I didn’t make sparks fly and shatter the windows? Because I didn’t give you some lame line like ‘I gripped you tight and raised you from perdition’, and because I’m not a Michael wannabe in a tuxedo and because I -”

Castiel didn’t know exactly why, but it was hurtful to hear Dean mock his judgment, and hurtful still to see him this fighting back verbally.

“Some angel you are,” He cut him off, pointedly. Not listening to the voice in his head. “You burned out that poor woman’s eyes!”

“I warned her to stop,” Dean countered, but sounding like he’d taken a blow too. “She didn't listen! Looking at my true form can do that to people.”

“Then, what is this?” The dots connected in his head. “Why am I alright?”

“Oh, don't worry, it's not because you're special or anything. Of course this isn't my true form,” Dean displayed a tiny bit of a smirk. “You grossly underestimate me if you think this freckle-faced bow-legged 30 year old white man is all that’s me?”

“So, you’re possessing some poor -” Castiel recoiled.

“He prayed for this; some corner-office-y Smith from Illinois,” Dean raised his eyebrows. “And, well, there’s a limit to the number of days you can survive on suspenders, treadmill desks and kale salads. He turned to the divine, gave himself over, and well - I kinda liked his face.” Dean ran a hand through his hair.

Castiel decided to drop it because he had hardly an idea what he’d even say to that. “I still don't get it, Dean. Why would an angel rescue me from hell? ...why did you do it?”

“Because I was dispensible, I guess, I was sent on an errand, and the guy they told me to save originally seemed like a torturous dick, but you were much better, so I went with my instincts and fought off those dickheads like a badass, to fly out with you,” Dean deadpanned.

“I -” Castiel blinked.

“I’m kidding, okay?” Dean suddenly burst into a grin. “You were my errand. You're both the dick and the good guy. Nevermind. It was a joke for another audience, another time." He paused. Cleared his throat. "Because God - no, because Heaven commanded it.” And in a slow descend, the dangerously contagious charming smile slipped away into a frown, his eyes grave. “W-They have work for you, Castiel.”

*** 

I just really hope you find this okay because this is awfully short and I dunno, and once again, sorry for being months late, @xxkatgotyourtonguexx ~ and tagging  my taglist : @all-or-nothing-baby @petrichoravellichor @adventurous-blob @awkward-penguin-in-a-trenchcoat @telefunkies @legendary-destiel @ladywaywarddsc @styggtroll @moderatelypanickedbisexual @trenchcoatsandfreckles @noemithenephilim @naitia @ctrl-alt-destiel @a-mess-of-many-fandoms  and maybe @3dg310rdsupreme uwu

Also, many thanks to @shejustcalledmeafish for helping me edit, and If you wanna be added or removed from the taglist, just drop me a line!

[thefauxfox-blog]

Vicarious

A Sanders Sides fic that will hopefully have multiple chapters Honestly, there was a prompt I saw- I have no memory of who said it, if anyone knows PLEASE HELP ME CREDIT THEM- it was about Person A always wanting to be a hero but being normal and meeting Person B, who’s got heroic powers but really isn’t into the whole hero thing.

Summary: “Wait, don’t go! I just… You don’t understand, I’ve always wanted that, I’ve always wanted what you have, I’ve spent my whole life dreaming about it, and you’re just… Please, just tell me your name.” “I… I’m Virgil.”

Warnings: cursing, potentially violence in later chapters

A/N: I have no set update schedule for this- this is the worst time for me to start writing something but I had to get this out. It’s set in the same universe as the Avengers, Defenders, etc. (Also I use a lot of personal experiences to help write this so I apologize if there’s things that are unclear, feel free to message me and ask questions or even just to chat!) Also posted on AO3

Roman lifted his chin, enjoying the feel of the thin, cold air pulling at the hair at the nape of his neck and ghosting over his shoulders. The wind caught the long line of red behind him and gave it lift, ripple, life. The city sat below him, expectant. Waiting.

His city.

He stepped carelessly to the edge of the building and stepped further out into the air, tilting his body forward, and the air supported him. Below his chest was the ground, above his shoulders was his cape, the wind, the sky. He flew between skyscrapers and statues, looking for trouble, but all was well. That was his hard work. He had done this, taken care of everything, saved it all-

Something slammed into the desk near his head and he flinched upward, leaving the imagined city, falling back into the 300 person lecture hall that smelled of stale McDonalds and musty wood.

“This is not conducive to earning your degree,” Logan said disapprovingly, leaning on the book he’d just dropped on Roman’s desk.

“You’ll just let me copy your notes later. And- it’s just biochemistry. We’ve already taken biology, and taken chemistry, so this is pretty redundant.”

The corner of Logan’s mouth twitched. “I suppose you’re not wrong.” Roman mentally patted himself on the back- Logan had said much the same thing at the beginning of the semester, and had repeated it several times, and there was no better way to please the nerd than by parroting his own advice back at him.

“I’m working after I’m done classes today anyways, I needed the sleep.”

“It’s, what, Memphis tonight?”

“Right. They’ve got a really elaborate setup, from what Talyn texted me. A whole fake radio station roof and antenna. It’s quite lovely.”

“They could’ve used projectors and screens to just put a picture of a radio antenna up, rather than putting up all those heavy parts and doing that much construction work. It’s rather unnecessary, in my opinion. It looks dangerous to set up and take down.”

“Well, they needed me this evening, because I’m one of the only ones who’s harness certified and was available.”

“Just don’t neglect your classes. You’ll never be an Avenger if you fail out,” Logan teased.

“I told you that in confidence!”

“And I haven’t told anyone. Relax,” Logan said dismissively. “I would just sound ridiculous. And like a trashy gossip- ‘did I tell you my friend decided to try and get a massively difficult to obtain biological engineering degree just because he thinks it could help him make himself into a superhero?’ That would just get both of us laughed at. And you accomplish getting yourself laughed at enough without needing my aid.”

“You’re such a loyal friend,” Roman said sarcastically.

They went to the food hall for lunch, and Roman managed to stay awake through calc 3, physics, and physics recitation. He headed into work after that, saying goodbye to Logan, changing into his theater blacks and joining the crew setting up the show.

Memphis was lovely, and Roman loved theater, plays, singing, and music- he kept his coms set muted as he hummed along with all the songs from the left wing. When the show was over, the moment the curtain closed for the last time, he headed over to the harness rack and the scissorlift. Joan was already there, harnessed up, and swinging themself into the the lift. They snapped some switches and pushed the throttle.

It didn’t move.

“Uh oh,” they mumbled, widening his eyes at Roman. He got his harness tightened and hopped up with Joan.

“Is it on?”

“Gee, thanks Roman, I’m so silly, I just forgot to turn it on. Silly me,” Joan said, voice thick with sarcasm. They jiggled a few switches. “Is it dead? I unplugged it when I got in.”

“Hold on a moment, I’ll follow the cable back,” Roman said, swinging down. He followed it back to the plugs, and sure enough, it hadn’t been plugged in. He hurried back to Joan to tell them.

“Fuck. And we don’t have the boom lift this week, its at the State Theater. Fuck! Now what?”

“We’ll have to belay down from the grid,” Roman realized.

“Fuck! I hate that. This is probably all Graulnick’s fault, I know he was the one who used it last. Dammit. Fine. I’ll go let Scott know, you wanna grab the ropes and meet me up at the grid?”

“Sure. Here, put my phone in the office- I forgot to bring a cable for it.”

“I did too, actually, thanks for reminding me. See you up there,” Joan said, taking their phones and heading for the office. Grid rules were that you couldn’t bring anything up that wasn’t tethered to your body, or else if you dropped it, it could fall and hit someone below. They all had wrenches on strings attached to their belts, but often they would just leave their phones and any other belongings in the office, in their boss’s desk where it wouldn’t be stolen.

Roman gathered the ropes, clips, carabiners, and helmets they would need, and took the three sets of ladders up into the grid that held the curtains, mounted subs, battens, and currently one large and ridiculous (curse Logan for always being right) radio station roof.

He began tying the knots to the grid, opening the hatch, and looping the cables through carabiners and his harness. He’d only done this a handful of times, and was glad when Joan arrived- they knew more about this all than he did. They could’ve gotten the training books out, but it was a huge set, it was already 10PM, and they had to get everything broke down and back in the trucks before they would be able to go home and catch what sleep they could before the next day of classes.

Roman got his rig finished first, and lowered himself down to the fake roof, using it to balance but not applying his full weight. The antenna had to go first, so he and Joan set about removing bolts and loosening pieces. The entire setup was connected to several battens- long metal pipes that ran the length of the stage that were attached to motors that could raise and lower them with a control box down by the stage, but the setup had to be connected and disconnected from each other in the air, before lowering each section and batten.

Joan had been there in the morning when it had been put together, so he was disconnecting parts while Roman belayed up and down to bring him tools and put away parts. They got three of the five pieces disconnected and down- by then it was a bit after midnight, the stage was nearly empty with everyone else loading lights and speakers into the truck, and both Joan and Roman were exhausted.

“My fingers are fucking killing me,” Joan mumbled, rubbing grease into yet another stubborn bolt.

“My eyes hurt. And my hands. And my back. Heavens, all I can think about is the tomato rice soup I’ve got in the fridge. I just want to sit on the couch and watch Moana and eat soup.”

“We’re more than halfway done.”

“I biked in this morning. Odin’s pants, I don’t want to bike home in the cold tonight.”

“Shit, same, I forgot. Ugh,” Joan groaned. “Here, I’m done with this one, I won’t need it again for a while,” they said, passing Roman a heavy mallet, unclipping it from his belt and snapping it onto Roman’s own belt loop.

“Thanks. B-R-B,” he said, grabbing his rope cinch to raise himself back up to the grid.

He put the mallet in the tool bucket (also tied to the grid) and unclipped the carabiner from-

-he was falling.

The support around his torso was gone, and in an instant he was plummeting. The fall only took a few seconds, but it felt like a minute as he experienced each sensation- the sudden loss of tension around his shoulders, back, and legs, the jolt of shock in his stomach as he accelerated downward, the replying jolt in his heart as he went from sleepy to oh my god I’m going to die in a moment, the air- cold air pulling at the hair at the nape of his neck and ghosting over his shoulders-

Something struck him from the side, knocking the wind from his lungs, and his direction changed from down to sideways.

For a moment, there was nothing but the pressure of someone’s arms around him. He blinked and focused and saw the grid above him, half the radio station roof still hanging, then looked further and saw feathery brown and purple hair, tousled in the still air, round expressive eyes the color of warm maple and of the same liquid consistency. Dark streaks of eyeshadow, high cheekbones and strong bone structure, a wide mouth with lips slightly parted with surprise, ghosting warm breaths across the small space between them to Roman’s own mouth, sharing a moment of air.

Backlit by a halo of stage lights, suspended a dozen feet above the floor, wearing an expression that was both open and unreadable, and holding Roman safely in his arms, was the most beautiful man he'd ever seen.

And then he was lying on the floor, intact, alive, gasping, running his hands over himself in disbelief of his lack of broken-ness. His side hurt a little, and his neck felt vaguely whiplashed, but he was- he wasn’t dead? He wasn’t dead.

“Uh. Shit. I- uh. Are you- are you okay?” The gorgeous man was talking to him. A low voice that stuttered a little with uncertainty, at odds with the strength he'd felt a moment ago before being dumped out of his arms.

“Man. Hey. You alright?” Roman’s dark angelic savior said again. He had to swallow several times before he could speak.

“I’m- yes, I’m unharmed. Did you... save me!?”

“No. Yes. Uh… please don’t tell anyone.” Roman’s mouth dropped open a little, confused.

“What?!”

The man rubbed the back of his neck, looking away shyly. Oh heavens, even shy, he was cute.

“I uh… I caught you, yeah, so I guess I did. Please don’t- don’t, like, make a big scene or anything. I’m just a normal dude.”

“A normal- a normal dude?! You just saved my life! Did you- oh my god, you flew-” Roman realized, the scene replaying in his mind, trying to make more sense of it. Unhooking the wrong rope, falling, certain he was going to die, arms wrapping around him, a strong body impacting his from the side, grabbing him and flying him to the darkness of the side stage, dropping him between the curtains before alighting himself, soundlessly and gracefully.

“Shh. Please don’t tell anyone. I’m not a hero, I’m just an english major,” the man said pleadingly. Roman pushed himself to his feet, brushing a bit of dust from himself.

“No, you are a hero!” Roman exclaimed, but in a hushed voice, staying quiet as the man had asked.

“I’m really not, I don’t want to be, I don’t want to join the Avengers, I don’t even like New York, I just want to live a normal life,” he said quickly, putting his hands up.

“But you can fly!”

“Yeah, among other things, but really I’m just a normal guy, I swear- just a normal guy who got placed with some real great mad scientist foster parents for a few years when I was like, five. I didn’t want any of this, I just- I couldn’t let you die, and now I’m just gonna go back to being a normal guy.” He was backing away, but Roman couldn’t just let him go- he caught his arm.

“But you’re… that was amazing! Wait, don’t go! I just… You don’t understand, I’ve always wanted that, I’ve always wanted what you have, I’ve spent my whole life dreaming about it, and you’re just… Please, just tell me your name.”

“I… I’m Virgil.”

“Roman. Nice to meet you. Look, I promise I won’t tell anyone, but… don’t just disappear, I want to get to know you better. I- you’re incredible.” With each compliment, Virgil was blushing darker and darker red, but Roman could see in his eyes that the compliments meant a lot to him. “Let me buy you lunch sometime.”

“You don’t owe me lunch-,”

“I mean as friends. I… I think I'd like to spend more time with you. And also, how have we never met before? I thought I knew everyone who worked here,” he said with confusion.

“I usually work in the sound booth, with Luke. And I don’t talk to people much. I don’t really have friends. I mean- like, I don’t have many friends,” he stammered, looking embarrassed again.

“I have lots of friends, and we all work here. Why don’t we all get lunch sometime? I won’t tell them either, I promise. I just… this might  sound foolish, but I’ve spent my whole life dreaming of being a hero, and we just happened to meet like this? You might not believe in fate, but I do. And I won’t let destiny get away from me- I feel like we were supposed to meet.” Roman had always been an excellent people person- he could tell Virgil wasn’t used to compliments, friends, or reassurances like this, and he might have been putting it on a little heavy, but everything he said was true.

“I… what?”

“Can- blast, my phone isn't here, hm… Can I add myself in your phone?”

“Uh, sure.” Virgil pulled a large phone with a splintery screen from his pocket, unlocked it and opened a new contact, and passed it to Roman.

He entered himself in, as Prince Roman, and fired a text to his phone so he'd have this number.

“Okay, then- wait, why Prince?”

“Because rather than saving the princess, you saved the prince,” Roman proclaimed.

“I just did what anyone would have done.”

“No, you just did what nobody can do.”

“Ease up a little, would you? One lunch. No superhero talk. Just… keep it normal.”

“I accept your terms, but would just like to reiterate- you're not normal, you can fly.”

“Yeah, fine, whatever. Look, I gotta go back to the ramp, I want to be home before sunrise.”

“Agreed. I'll text you,” Roman called as Virgil ducked away, headed back out to the loading bay.