#i have had like. awful panic attacks the last two nights and been nearly unable to sleep its. rough. anyways

[penaltyboxboxbox]

send me something nice that happened to you today or just a good/happy fun fact or something i am in need of some cheering up

[icedmetaltea]

Yesterday was ok, today anxiety's been awful again...

(rambling abt anxiety and nonsense venting below)

felt dizzy/bit of vertigo throughout the morning and when I checked my BP it was 154/108 so that scared the shit out of me... I took a bit of propranolol and that seems to be helping but I'm worried bc when I asked about what a dangerous BP was my stepdad said 160 and up and that's uncomfortably close. The last time it was high it was only like 140/90 so this was really scary

I called the number the crisis ppl give me from a resource sheet on friday again since I never got a response after leaving a message on monday but this time they told me to call yet another number and they said I couldn't get any kind of help till I came to their office to fill out some forms and like??? I CAN'T LEAVE MY FUCKING APARTMENT

Do these people never get ppl with severe agoraphobia?? The last time I had a full-on panic attack I screamed at the top of my lungs and had to call 911 to get ppl to calm me down so I'd stop hyperventilating, you want me doing that in public again??????

Anyway she told me I can call the supervisor and see if she could make an exception in my case BUT ofc she wasn't available and I had to leave a message, no clue when I'll hear back and when I do I doubt she'll even be able to help me

I fucking hate this system. This is why so many people kill and hurt themselves. When they are lost, when there's nowhere else to turn. When the crisis ppl come they give you a whole list of resources but what is there for people like me who are stuck at home, broke, unable to work bc they literally cannot function like this when it gets this bad every couple of months (sometimes more frequently)

it's either go to a psych ward where they'll pump you full of meds that'd just give me the same "locked in" panic attacks which trust me are far worse than toughing it out at home where at least it isn't bright and loud and horrible or face shit on your own

I thought it was starting to get better, yesterday I cooked 3 meals for myself, I went outside and sat on the step for 5 mins, today I can't get out of bed bc every time I try the room spins. Even when I'm laying down like this it's bad. Even if I close my eyes it's bad... I slept better last night and I thought I was doing well but no, midway through the day everything's horrible again. I keep feeling out of breath no matter how many deep breaths I take... other times I feel like there's "too much air" and I'm breathing too fast and can't slow it down... how do I even describe it??

I feel like I'm going insane but at the same time I know it's been this bad and worse before. I remember my childhood. I remember laying on the floor struggling to breathe, alone. I remember begging god to take this sensation of dread to go away, or to just let me die. Anxiety has a habit of always seeming... idk unfamiliar? No matter how many panic attacks you have, they always feel new

and what's worse is I can't even remember how I eventually always overcome these phases bc I ground rule growing up stemming from OCD I had at the time was I wasn't allowed to write anything in a journal bc it was "bad luck" or something (at the very least my OCD isn't nearly as bad these days) Idk if it takes days, weeks or months to get better. If I spend half a year or longer just waiting for things to get better then like um... it kinda becomes a quality of life issue, doesn't it?

Idk maybe it's the weather. It's 65 rn, yesterday it was mid forties, so maybe that's it. Well then I'm fucked bc it's only gonna get warmer as it approaches summer, and ya know climate change and everything wooooo

Doesn't help that the past two times when my stepdad witnessed me having those really bad attacks he said I should go to a padded cell or something... I know where he grew up there was no such thing as mental illnesses or therapy, only "crazy and not crazy", but damn it hurts. At least my bio dad understood what was going on to some extent. He knew anxiety was out my control, that I was going through it but that it didn't make me "crazy", just that my body was reacting physically to something seemingly unsurmountable on a mental level.

My stepdad was even surprised when I told him anxiety is the second most common mental illness nation-wide. I've talked to many other bad anxiety-sufferers, the reason you don't see us outside a lot is bc most of us are inside afraid to leave our houses! We're literally just trying to survive in bodies with malfunctioning nervous systems and in a society that literally is built around causing stress on a daily basis- on normal people, so just think about how that is if you literally have the being-stressed-out disorder my guy

it also seems like whenever I talk to my mom about this she tries to immediately talk about something else. Like I messaged her earlier today and when I brought up feeling dizzy and having a high BP she just said "Sorry you're having a challenging day! We're at the library getting library cards. Libraries are nice!" like sure some ppl like talking about light hearted stuff to distract them but sometimes I just need someone to be there and listen, you know? All it does is make me clam up and bottle all my emotions in, which ofc makes it worse.

I'm scared to check my BP again. I feel like there's something terribly wrong with my body but it's not as if I can see a doctor if I can't 1. afford it till medicaid processes or 2. fucking go to the doctor. You want me to have another one of those soul-crushing panic attacks and shriek around some stranger in an uber?? Hell no

So yea idk what to do. I have a math test this weekend and I've barely studied at all, can't get myself to focus on anything. I can't drop out again, I've already failed this class twice. I don't think they'd let me take it again and I'm pretty sure I've run out of financial aid to pay for it

Ofc mom and dad are gone, my sister said she'd visit me the other day but "forgot" to, so I'm alone. Completely and entirely alone.

The one thing I have going for me is the PMDD won't start up for another week or two so at the very least I have a will to live rn. Anxiety and depression usually go hand-in-hand but since it's just anxiety atm I'm still able to have the motivation to cook and clean when I'm not ya know unable to get out of bed bc my heart is beating out of my chest

When it does come back, well... I'll keep those crisis numbers on speed dial. I've survived all this horseshit, I might as well make it worth something. Idk maybe the thing I'll keep living for rn is a fucking pet fish someday. I have to hold on to every tiny thing that gets me through the day bc there is a chance, even if extremely slim, that things will in fact get better

[qslovebot]

Nobody: Spencer Reid

Summary: After an accident on a case, the reader is left with trauma and anxiety. A miscommunication between her and the person she needs most (Spencer Reid) begins to eat her alive and he just so happens to be the only one there when she breaks again.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Warnings/Includes: mentions of kissing, mentions of traumatizing events (not specified), depictions of anxiety, fluff, miscommunication, angst to fluff

A/N: The song is Nobody by Mitski. Read with this for the ultimate experience.

Sometimes things felt too literal. Words start to sound weird and feel weird when you say them, clothes feel too much like clothes against your skin, the texture of any food in your mouth becomes too prevalent while eating.

These things started happening after you witnessed and endured something awful on a case. You wouldn't dare bring up the full memory in case it took over and killed you all over again. It wasn't PTSD, but it was the cause of your anxiety attacks most of the time when they occurred.

After that case, you spent a week in the hospital where they happened nearly every day and the doctors weren't much help, to be frank. The only people who really ever helped were your friends and the person you were so close to dating, Spencer Reid.

It was a long story. To dumb it down, the case event happened and you and Spencer thought you were about to die so he confessed his feelings for you and of course they were reciprocated. He asked, then and there through stuttering words, 'If we make it out of here please go out with me?" As his last bit of hope, and he kissed you before you were taken away by the unsub. He didn't endure nearly as much as you did which was why he wasn't as affected. But you had said 'yes' to that question and three weeks later, you still hadn't talked about it.

When the anxiety attacks happened, you often felt like you couldn't breathe, like the walls were pressing in on you. Sometimes you'd be with JJ when it happened. She would immediately ask you what you needed and often that would just be a hug.

Emily witnessed one at your house when she came over to check on you. She rushed over, caring voice and soft hands and told you to put your head between your knees, stroking your hair until you felt better.

Penelope made the 30-minute drive from her house every Friday night she wasn't working on a case to bring you dinner she had made and chat with you about anything you wanted.

Your friends cared for you, it was so prevalent. It was almost always that fact that was getting you through this as you continued to get better. You would return to work in two weeks because now the anxiety attacks were only once in a while and better controlled by you and Spencer still hadn't spoken to you since.

It was now nearly two weeks later. You would go back to work on Monday.

"He did come to visit you in the hospital before you woke up," Penelope said, stirring her cup of ramen. It was just another Friday and she sat across from you in your chair, cross-legged. "I don't know what's up with him if he isn't speaking to you, he seems fine at work."

You sighed, swallowing your bite. "I'm just scared that he regrets what he said and did before I was dragged away. It was those words and that kiss that got me through what the unsub did and I keep thinking about it and him..."

"It was romantic," she noted, waving her chopstick in the air. "I think you should call him, rather than just text him. It'll catch him off-guard and in-the-moment."

"Now?"

"Yes, so I can listen!"

You smiled a little, pulling out your phone as your heart began to race. What if he did pick up? What if it was awkward? What if he somehow didn't remember?

You pressed on his name, then pressed call. It began to hum quietly with pending rings. One ring, two, then five, then seven, then there was a small beep.

'You've reached Dr. Spencer Reid, uh, leave a message,' his voice said through the machine, still as sweet and youthfully scratchy. You bit your lip and nodded.

"I should have known that he didn't want to talk. Penelope, I can't stop thinking about him and he keeps ignoring my calls and I'm... frankly I'm afraid that nothing will ever happen and he'll ignore me forever."

Penelope cringed, "(Y/N), uh... there's... it's gone to voicemail and you're recording."

"Shit!" You panicked, looking at your phone. "How do I stop it?!"

"The red button!"

"That's the end call button I-" you pressed it by accident. Oh my god, the message went through. You just sat there with Penelope, both of you frozen in shock. That did not just happen... did it really just happen? Your one moment of self-pity and worry was one moment that Spencer would hear if he touched his phone on a Friday night.

The rest of the night was spent with you fighting off panic, pacing your room. Penelope agreed to stay overnight, but you could not handle the fact Spencer would hear what you said. It was humiliating to think about him hearing you stress over something like that.

This is what nagged at you all weekend, threatening the impending anxiety that was building up. Every second was agony, spent pacing and overthinking. Sleep was hard to get, so you took melatonin and your dreams taunted you with it all over again.

Monday morning you rushed to get dressed. You needed to see Spencer, no matter how hard it was to face him. You pulled on dress pants and a navy blue cotton v-neck shirt with bell sleeves. Laundry was forgotten through two days of panic, so this was pretty much the only shirt you had.

You brushed through your hair and applied your regular makeup and there, you were presentable and didn't look like you'd lost your mind over the weekend. You were going back, finally. It was somewhat refreshing if you dismissed the Spencer ordeal.

The drive there was fine. Music helped to calm you down and you listened as long as you could. Stepping into the BAU was different, it felt like you were being crushed the moment you stepped in.

"There's my girl!" Derek Morgan was the first to notice you walk in and he greeted you with open arms and a crushing hug. You smiled, letting him. It had been a while since you last saw him. He let you go after a few seconds, but his hands stayed on your shoulders. "We missed you here, things weren't as fun without you."

"I bet," you grinned, heading to your desk. You could hide your freakout well. "I missed the smell of coffee and paper in the morning."

"(Y/N), glad to have you back," Hotch said, walking down the steps. He did seem honestly glad to see you as there was a small twitch of his mouth when he approached you and Derek. "You're sure you're alright to work again? I assume today is a file day, but we'll be back out there soon."

You nodded, smiling back. "Getting there, but it's controllable now," He narrowed his eyebrows. "I'll be fine for the field and if I'm not, I can always stay at the precinct to work things out there."

Hotch looked to Derek, then back at you. "Sounds good. Again, glad to have you back, agent." Hotch shook your hand and passed you, heading into JJ's office.

"Morgan..." You started, fiddling with your fingers. "Have you seen Spencer?"

"Yeah, he just went to the washroom, why?"

"I need to talk to him..."

The day went on and of course, you saw Spencer, but he paid you no mind. Not even a 'welcome back' or anything. You were just there and it was like you never left, except Spencer didn't even look at you. He was busy with his work and you constantly found yourself watching him. Maybe he'd heard your voice mail, maybe not, but either way, he didn't seem to care anymore.

That month and a half you spent recovering- was it possible that he used that time away from you to get over you? The idea was haunting and tugged at your heart. To be the only one all-in was such an incredibly painful idea. What he said before you were dragged away into the depths of hell meant something to you and it kept you alive... and to think he probably didn't mean it...

You needed to stop thinking about it before it made you burst into a million pieces. To be surrounded by everyone who you loved and loved you back wasn't enough if you couldn't have Spencer, too. Selfish, it sounded so selfish, but it shook you to the core that he wasn't amongst them.

The day continued and more pain was endured. More overthinking, more fear, more insecurity. The day was nearing its end.

Everybody seemed like nobody when Spencer was out of the picture. You had spent so much time thinking about him in the hospital and at home in recovery, who were you without wondering you could make it work? Nobody. Without the fantasy you could be his, you stranded on some sort of island. You were nobody if not Spencer's.

So you were nobody.

It was that thought that keeled you over the edge in the parking lot of the BAU. So much fear, so much pent-up emotion, it was too much to contain and just... spilled over onto everything as your hands began to shake, followed by that godawful feeling in the pit of your stomach. Your knees gave out and you fell conveniently onto the curb next to your car.

There was nobody there, either. You were alone on the concrete curb, face in your shaking hand and the other shaking hand gripping the curb so hard your knuckles turned white. Too much, too little, everything was wrong and you couldn't face Spencer.

You looked up for a brief moment and there was a brief look at someone in a beige cardigan and khaki pants and your heart fell to the pit of your stomach- as if you were humiliated enough. Footsteps, closer.

"A-are you okay?" His voice was a little panicked, definitely not as bad as yours, though. Overall, you were just glad he was within six feet of you.

Of course, you were pretty much unable to reply. Your face stayed in your hands and you felt light fingers on your shoulder, his, and they were somewhat grounding. God, he was here and you couldn't even talk to him, you couldn't even raise your head.

"What do you need, I- what happened?" He cared. But to what extent? His hands felt frantic- they shook a little (again, not nearly as bad as yours) and they moved from your shoulder, to upper arm, to near your neck, to the side of your head. "If this is my fault, I-"

He stopped himself. How could he possibly know that it was the thought of him that sent this into motion? The voicemail didn't entail much other than he was on your mind. You hardly even noticed that you were crying from the anxiety attack until you felt how wet your hands were. Your words kept piling on your tongue and the panic rose again in an entirely new wave.

"Do you- do you need help? I can get Hotch or... Derek, Derek knows, I know, but I don't- I don't think you like me very much and I won't be of help-I-I-I-" His voice continued to ramble and you were flooded with new thoughts. How could he possibly think that you didn't like him? In those moments before you were taken, you had said yes to going out with him if you both made it out. You kissed him back then before the arms grabbed you and dragged you off. Where did the idea of you not liking him come from? It was you who was afraid he didn't like you back.

You wanted to speak, you wanted to say something but you were stuck in your own mind, desperately trying to fight this off, trying hard to calm your breathing. The most you could do was take your hand off of the curb and frantically grab his. You took his hand and you held it tight, trying to slow the sharp intakes of breath. That's when Spencer squeezed your hand and you began to feel better.

And when you did start to feel better and your breathing was still harsh, but better and you could finally move a little more, you did what you had wanted to do every day in the hospital. You leaned forward and wrapped your arms around Spencer, your arms resting around his shoulders. You needed it and apparently so did he, because he squeezed you back the same. Either it was that or he knew pressure helped. All you could do was hope it wasn't the latter.

Spencer of course buried his face in the crook of your neck like he had before and you knew now that this feeling was coming to an end. The tide was washing out and there was calm after the storm. No words, just your breathing becoming more natural and the wind over your ears. This was all that you needed.

He stayed like this with you for a good five more minutes before you could finally release him, pulling apart and your hand coming up to wipe under your eyes. He didn't speak then, either- he just watched, his face furrowed in concern.

So you spoke, "Spencer wh-" your voice cut out from still being in that state of anxiety. You coughed into your arm, tried again. "Why would you think I don't like you?"

"I-I- don't think that's the question, I- are you okay?" His hands went back to your shoulders bracingly.

You smiled a small smile, "I'm better, it's passed, but Spencer...' You slid into a whisper with the crying coming back. Had it really passed?

"Yes?" His reply was wary. As if afraid to break you, he tiptoed.

"Answer me, please."

He bit his lower lip into his mouth, sighing. "I don't know if I should, you're- you're upset."

You looked at him, dead-on, determined. "Please."

"You didn't call. Not once and I-I-I was worried and then I started to think about it and everything t-that happened before you were taken and that you probably only said and did that because you were about to-to-uh, die." He rambled, words spilling out. "So I thought maybe you didn't really like me and-"

"I was waiting for you to call, too," you actually let out a laugh. He smiled in realization. "Because I was afraid of the exact same thing. I was afraid you didn't mean it and I worked myself up- I called Friday night, though-"

"I didn't- I didn't know that-" he fumbled to bring his phone out of his pocket and he must have seen that he had a voicemail from you and nodded, a little smile appearing on his worried face. "So you did mean to say yes?"

"And you did mean to ask?" You inquired, head tilted.

"Y-yes, of course."

"Then yes," you replied, smile widening to a grin. "How is Saturday night? I think I'll be better by then."

He was positively beaming as he helped you back to your feet. "Saturday is... great. Are you sure you're alright?"

"Much better.... truthfully." You nodded excessively and Spencer began walking back to his car, but then came back quickly to kiss your cheek.

He was like a child excited to go run and tell friends, "Goodnight!"

"Night, Spence." You stood there, basking in the glory that was solved miscommunication. You weren't nobody, you were in fact, somebody. And you were soon to be Spencer's.

Tags: @ellyhotchner, @softhairedhotch, @laurakirsten0502

REQUEST HERE

[danny-chase]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Batman (Comics) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Damian Wayne & Dick Grayson, Damian Wayne & Bruce Wayne Characters: Damian Wayne, Dick Grayson, Bruce Wayne Additional Tags: Damian Wayne Centric, Panic Attack, Sickfic, Sick Dick Grayson, Damian Wayne Needs a Hug, he gets half a hug, Damian Wayne is a sweetheart, Dick Grayson is a Good Brother, Damian Wayne is a good brother Series: Part 10 of Bad Things Happen Bingo Summary:

Sequel to Pneumonia, Damian decides to spend his day home with Richard.

Full story under cut

Footsteps echo through the hall, light, but heavy enough to be intentional. Too carefully timed to be confident in their placement. And with too little bounce to be Richard’s.

 Nor would he waken if they were Richard’s and that’s really his first clue. Briskly throwing off the sheets and flattening his hair, he throws open the door before his father can make it the rest of the way down the hall. The footsteps stop in their tracks.

 He leaves the door open as invitation, yet it’s unnecessary – father doesn’t approach. From what little time they’ve spent together, Damian finds it strange – his father is single minded in his work but yet so indecisive in his home – well – really this wasn’t his home. “How is he?” The words come out too harshly and he grits his teeth, hoping for leniency – father is to be respected, not talked to in such a manner.

 Nor was father was pleased the last time he erred in his judgment. Ever since he’d failed the first time he meant, he’d been treated like a plague, locked in his room then, and avoided now.

 …But he’d heard stories from Richard about a softer man than the one he’d met a year ago. A man whose love was stronger than his hate – who took in children and saved their souls.

 It was odd that such a man had shied away from his own son. Damian couldn’t understand what he’d done wrong – he understood the skirmish with Drake was wrong – but Richard spoke of a man who could forgive. And yet. He’d only seen forgiveness from Richard.

 He’d thought perhaps, that had been his father’s influence.

 Another footstep resounds around him, and the realization strikes – he hasn’t moved. Huffing – at no one in particular – he silently strides forward, yanking his dresser drawers open to retrieve a set of perfectly folded clothes.

 “Damian.” Father stays just out of sight beyond the door. Its nerve wracking – almost painful – waiting for information. Richard promised he would be fine, last night, he promised Bruce could take care of the things – would be back – would fix it.

 He’d almost believed him, but for a flicker of doubt in his eyes.

 It was odd, seeing him waver – especially because he’d seen for himself how much Bruce cared for him. He’d read the worry in his expressions and the thinly veiled pain as he stitched his successor’s side. Father was back – he’d believed that much – though he didn’t believe it when Richard said it – and that was… a complicated thing.

 Suffice to say, he’d kept watch from afar until he heard the doorknob turn, leaving once father began to speak.

 An awkward clearing of the throat makes him turn. Father stands in the doorway, looking stern but unsure, finally having decided to make an appearance. It’s irritating, how tall he seems; his head mere inches away from the top of the doorframe. “What?” He can’t keep panic from slipping into his voice. Swallowing, he makes another attempt. “How is Richard?”

 Frowning, father shakes his head slightly looking displeased. Damian’s heart sinks to the floor – Richard couldn’t – he promised – he –

 “He’s not doing as well as I’d hoped. His blood oxygen level fell last night, I had to put him on an external canister to raise it.” Damian lets out a long breath, his pulse returning to normal as father continued. “He’s stable, Leslie came over an hour ago. She predicts a full recovery, just don’t expect him to bounce back too quickly.” His father paused, giving him a curious look. “You look flush, are you alright?”

 Suddenly full of the desire to be alone, he shuts the door. “Yes. One moment.” For a moment he thought – never mind that now. Turning back to his clothes, he kicks off his pajamas, hastily changing. He runs a hand through his hair, breathing steadily – everything is fine.

 He can hear his father hesitating, the floorboards groaning as he shifts his weight. “School starts in an hour. I’ll drive you.” It takes all the willpower he can muster not to let a groan escape his lips. School’s awful on the best of days, a miserable prison with miserable teachers not paid enough to put up with his obnoxious rich classmates’ egregious behavior.

 “I’m not going.” Richard needs monitoring after all and his father had fulfilled the task last night. For proper care, he needs properly awake caretakers.

 “You will go.” The response is firm, but not without minor hesitation – something Richard had taught him to look for – something he could exploit in interrogations – something he could exploit here (for a good cause of course).

 His argument must be flawless – rational and logical, nothing else will suffice. Pulling on his socks, crossing the room, he flings the door open, storming into the hall, in a display of righteous fury. “The benefits of my attending school today do not outweigh the benefits Richard would receive if I monitor his progress and allow you sleep in order to be prepared to monitor him tonight. Firstly, I know the material already.” His father makes a noise to interrupt, but he continues unperturbed.

 “Secondly, I understand the social benefits are a concern to you. Ask Richard, I have made a friend. His name is Colin and he’s much better than any of the awful children at that school. And I’ve met with Lian and Irey and Jay.” The Titan’s children were annoying, but he wasn’t lying. It was awful, but he’d made it through the ‘playdate’. “Thirdly, as for extracurricular activities, Grayson has provided me with all necessary materials to pursue my interests. And…” He trails off, finding his father’s eyes tired, the bags under them unreasonably puffy. Gesturing vaguely, he pointed back at a mirror in his room. “Just look at yourself, you expect to watch him well like that?” They can debate all they’d like, but if father refuses to sleep much longer, the argument will be decided in his favor.

 The eyes shift to the mirror and back, then to him, to the floor, then covered by a hand. His father turns, muttering something he can’t quite hear, but he makes out the words from reading his lips. ‘What the hell has Dick been teaching you?’ A smile tugs at the corners of his mouth – he’s won. Perhaps, with further needling, he’ll be out of school for good, but today, he doesn’t press his luck.

 Father drops his hand with a sigh. “Fine. Keep up with your studies.” He takes a few steps back. “You can sit in the room but don’t bother him.” Damian holds back an eye roll, as if he would bother Richard while he’s recuperating. “Call if anything changes, I’ll make breakfast.” Father turns, Damian’s eyes follow, watching him stride down the hall, ducking into the kitchen.

 As the kitchen door smoothly thuds shut, he turns back to his room, swallowing down the odd sensation that stirs in the base of his throat. His steps are silent – mindlessly so, as he pads over into the adjacent bathroom to finish his morning routine.

 He emerges – the strange feelings sticking with him – he supposes he ought to feel relieved, but dread builds in the pit of his stomach instead at the prospect of seeing Richard.

 Father said Richard would be fine. Leslie said Richard would be fine. Richard promised he would be fine.

 None of them are liars – but what if they missed something? The thought wracks his mind on an endless loop. The hallway seems to stretch out as he takes a step towards his brother’s room. What if something changes before he gets there? What if the medication doesn’t work – what if it’s a super virus or an antibiotic resistant bacteria? Their enemies could come up with ridiculously effective toxins, pathogens aren’t that much different.

Richard promised. He tries desperately to hold on to that thought, stumbling forward, forcing himself closer to his room. His heart pounds harder the closer he inches, his head joining the party and thudding along in time. He feels like the deer slipping on ice on that dumb movie Richard made him watch; it’s as if his legs have forgotten to function.

 He’s nearly there – the hallway spins slightly but it’s just a few more steps – he needs to get control of himself but he can’t breathe. Two more steps. Two more steps and then he can. See Richard.

 Halfway through his next step, he trips, falling face first onto the floor, unable to do anything but choke out unsteady breaths, his mind screaming the counts to a breathing exercise learned as a child long ago.

 Pathetic. He would have been killed in the League for less. He mastered control of his emotion as a child – this – this is unacceptable! He reaches a hand forward, sheer willpower the only thing keeping him from curling in on himself – he has to keep moving.

 His hand connects with a foot, he looks up, finding a flush face with bleary eyes staring back. “Damian?” Richard’s voice is rough and quiet, guilt floods his stomach – Richard shouldn’t be out of bed – he shouldn’t have panicked like this – this is – “Woah, buddy, breathe.” There’s a hand resting on his shoulder, the next time he looks up, Richard sits next to him on the floor, tapping his hand in time to a new count, one he learned here a few months ago.

 There’s a million pieces of his mind scattered about the hallway and the longer he sits there breathing, the more pieces settle back into their places. Richard’s verbal count shifts into coughs, but he keeps his hand steady. When he finishes, the tapping’s all that’s left.

 Damian shakily pulls himself up on his knees, not quite sure what exactly happened. Richard gives him a small sad smile, his eyes full of sympathy – sympathy that Damian doesn’t want – feels guilty for receiving – sympathy he’s never earned. It’s overwhelming – and something’s wrong with him – because he doesn’t cry – hasn’t cried since he was nine – and he’s nearly eleven and he’s over this.

 He can’t cry because everything’s okay – Richard’s arms are open in an invitation, his hand receding from his shoulder, but close enough to hover. He’s fine. Richard is fine. Tired, yes, but his side’s not gushing blood, and his coughs subsided. Damian wipes his eyes on his sleeve, glancing around – ensuring they’re alone – before sliding up against the wall next to Richard, scooting under one of his shoulders. A muscular arm drapes over his shoulders, hand settling back on his shoulder.

 He’s warm, a bit uncomfortably so, and his breathing sounds raspy, but as he leans against his brother’s chest, he hears a steady heartbeat and it’s unbelievingly reassuring. The hand on his shoulder is firm, but not tight; he can slip out; he’s not trapped.

 Really, he ought to be ashamed, of needing comfort like some sniveling third-grader, but it’s different – coming from Richard – someone he’s seen far too many times on the wrong end of some twisted concoction of fear gas, crying and screaming – needing comforting himself. Fear gas. Maybe this was an after effect – he files away the notion to mull over later – perhaps run a blood test on himself later.

 Richard’s grip tightens as he coughs, turning to face away. Damian’s gut drops – Richard was supposed to be on supplemental oxygen. Guilt claws at his insides as he quickly stands, pulling his brother along the best he can. It gives him appreciation for Nightwing’s smaller frame – his brother is way heavier and bulkier than he was a year ago – supporting him takes nearly all his might. “Come on.” He urges, dragging Richard into his room, this times his steps steady and stable.

 They’re both out of breath by the time they’ve made it to the bed. Richard plops down, bouncing slightly on mattress, gasping for air. Biting back his guilt, Damian quickly traces the path of the nasal cannula, shoving the nose piece into Richard’s hands. “Here.” He watches the man fumble for a second before settling it place.

 He slides down, tucking himself into a tight ball beside the bed, listening as gasps turns to wheezes, wheezes to coughs, coughs to rasps and back again, as Richard learns how to breathe like a normal human being. “Thanks.” He grunts, nudging Damian with his shin.

 Damian huffs, he shouldn’t be thanked – he caused this mess! “For what?!” He half-shouts, quickly lowering his voice before he can say more. He needs to stay calm – he’s not supposed to be a disturbance. “It’s my fault you-”

 “Damian.” Richard groans in an annoyed way, not an ‘I’m about to hack up another lung’ way. “Thanks for staying in to keep me company. It’s sweet.” Some company he is, forcing his brother out of bed to come pick him up off the floor. “Quit pouting, I’m fine.” The leg nudges him again. A third time when he doesn’t respond. He pushes back. Richard nudges him again. Damian scowls, what’s he supposed to even do in this situation?! “Let’s play Mario Kart or something.” Richard says, as if he’s overheard Damian’s thoughts.

 Just as he pauses to mull over the suggestion, the door screeches on its hinges, shaking him out of his musings. “We should get that oiled.” Father mutters, carrying a tray of breakfast foods. He freezes in his tracks at the sight of Damian on the floor. “Everything okay?” Unfreezing, his motions are rigid and forced, his lips pursing into a straight line, brow furrowing, contorting into deep worry lines.

 Richard swings his legs back onto the bed. “Just left to use the bathroom, Damian helped me back.” The lie sounds natural, comes far too readily out of his mouth. Damian swallows, staring at the floor as his father ponders whether the statement rings true.

 It seems he’s decided to let it slip if he knows. He grunts an acknowledgement, setting the tray aside the bed, passing each a plate. It’s funny – how their dishes are so plain – just pure white, no décor. It struck him as odd when he’d first used them, now no longer odd, but fitting. The bland dish fits right in with Richard’s bland room.

 Father leaves as quick as he came, and Damian’s left to reflect on the empty room as he munches on a bagel. He hasn’t spent much time in here, out of respect for privacy, he’s seen it before, but never thought what it would be like to live in it. “Don’t you get bored of looking at the walls?” He mutters, after swallowing a bite. His own walls are cluttered with his possessions; trophies from fallen enemies, keepsakes from his mother, and gifts from his brother (even a friendship bracelet from Brown is tacked to his corkboard). Richard’s are bare, save one faded poster. His eyes linger on the grinning young acrobat, gracefully swinging with his parents in the background.

 Richard hums, curiously following his gaze. “Walls are walls, I don’t normally look at them. I just come in here to sleep.” He nods towards the television. “If I’m bored I can watch a show.”

 Damian rolls his eyes. “When’s the last time you even turned it on?” He stands, spinning, taking in a full view of the room. “Room color effects your mood.” It’s something Richard used an excuse, to get him to pick a new color for his bedroom when they first moved in. “And potted plants are good for overall wellbeing.” He has a few on his dresser, he even set up an automatic watering system. He could hang some ivy over the balcony. Though… maybe not ivy.

 Richard smiles to himself, letting out a little raspy noise that he supposes could be a laugh. “You’re really into it, huh?” Damian feels heat rise to his cheeks, he’s not ‘into’ anything as trivial as room décor. “Go wild, you can order whatever online and have it delivered.”

 Damian turns his attention back towards Richard, hastily scoffing as he finishes speaking. “I’m not interested, I just wondered how <em>you</em> of all people could have such a bland room.” A flash of annoyance runs over Richard’s face, lingering long enough for Damian to properly identify it. It’s surprising to say the least; Richard almost never looks that way at him anymore.

 Annoyance fades as Richard gazes out past the balcony. “I… lost a lot of stuff in the move.” Damian kicks himself mentally – Richard last lived in New York, but a month ago he overheard him and Drake talk about an old apartment back in Blüdhaven. He’d done some snooping in old casefiles, Richard’s stint there had been quite extended. Extended enough to have his property demolished by a villain even before the entire city was leveled by a nuclear explosion. “Damian.” Richard looks at him, face carefully neutral. “Don’t worry about it, let’s play cards or something.”

 Don’t worry about it – how can he not worry about it?! He’d be devastated if he lost the gifts from his mother – some things aren’t replaceable. He gives the room another glance – it’s still empty – but he could fix it slightly. Maybe consult with Drake about the former apartment, if necessary contact – he shudders – the Titans during – he gags – one of their playdates for advice. “Damian are you okay?” Richard looks perplexed.

 He shoves his plans back down, first things first, walls and flooring. He turns on the spot, marching out the door. “We’re fixing your room.” He mutters, storming down the hall to grab his laptop.

 When he walks back in the room, Richard is staring at him. “What?” He demands, as Richard’s eyes follow him all the way to a chair aside the bed. He’s a bit annoyed at the chair even, it’s from the kitchen, probably dragged in here by his father last night. He adds ‘seating’ to his mental list – if Richard’s ill or injured, it would be nice for Pennyworth or him to be able to sit somewhere.

 Richard shuffles back, edging closer and sitting upright against a mountain of pillows. “Nothing. I just thought you weren’t interested.” He cocks an eyebrow as Damian pulls up a paint comparison site.

 “I’m not.” He spits. “I don’t want to look at your boring walls anymore.”

 Richard laughs again, in his modified way. “Mm. Yup. Sure.”

 Damian ignores the comment, already delving into the program, comparing colors against the wall - connecting to the TV to display them, and weighing the pros and cons of each one. Richard watches, providing occasional commentary, rating each color on a scale from one to one hundred. They argue over shades of green, and the correct way to make purple pop – nothing serious, nor work related. Later the room will be full of things, but for now he’s content to let their conversation fill the void.

[solalunar-eclipse]

Scars You Can’t See - Chapter 13

Chapter title: Finale

Word count: about 4200 words

Author’s Note: Thank you so much to everyone who’s read this fic. From the ones who were here at the beginning to the ones who joined in along the way, and even to the ones who are just reading this for the first time now: thank you! I really appreciate your support and willingness to read all about this idea of mine. I hope you enjoy the final chapter!

Warnings for nightmares and vague descriptions of violence, just in case.

First  | Previous 

...

In the end, another week or so was needed to finally get everything sorted out with G.U.N.- seven days which began to feel less and less stressful and more like an extended sleepover as time flew by. Eventually, though, the organization was shut down and most of their contacts closed off, leaving the country as safe as it could ever be for Teams Dark and Sonic to return.

Even as the former team began to move back into Club Rouge, setting up what little personal artifacts they had left (the suitcase they’d had was being shipped back to them from the motel in Central City where they’d left it), the club itself remained dark and empty, the three residents living above it still too wary to feel ready to reopen. Rouge, Shadow, and Omega spent about four days just living off their considerable savings and watching TV, attempting to get used to a somewhat normal life again after so long without it. 

Rouge got to enjoy those late mornings she’d been hoping for, Omega was able to do his favorite activities without taking responsibility for the team anymore, and Shadow…

...there were good times and bad times, with him.

He would often find himself utterly at peace in some moments, cooking a meal after insisting that Rouge couldn’t eat takeout all the time as his two best friends shouted wildly at their newest favorite show, and he couldn’t help but smile at all the cheerfulness that surrounded him. But at the same time, he woke up screaming nearly every night, unable to stop seeing Rouge and Omega dragged off to an unknown fate by G.U.N., or worse, seeing them lifeless and sprawled on the floor, unable to do anything to save them at all….

Both his friends would always come into his room (they’d actually started sleeping in there now to help him better) and hold him until the panic dissipated, assuring him that they were alright and that there was nothing to be afraid of anymore.

This, however, wasn’t entirely true just yet.

One night, a would-be attacker (one of the last remnants of G.U.N.’s influence guiding them, most likely) picked the lock on the door and entered the club, sneaking across the ground floor. Rouge heard them first with her hyper-sensitive ears, whispering the situation quickly to Shadow. Suddenly, before she could stop him, he darted silently to the door, prepared to fight if necessary. The bat could defend herself just fine, of course, but he was still very much on edge.

It turned out that he didn’t need to worry, though, because as the intruder began to creep up the two flights of stairs, they glanced to their left on the darkened first floor. And spotted an absolutely terrifying pair of glowing red eyes staring at them from the darkness.

That alone would have been enough to make them scream and leave rapidly (they weren’t by any means as trained as some of G.U.N.’s other contacts) but Omega saw fit to point two charging laser cannons at them, too, and quite honestly even Sonic would’ve been surprised at the speed with which that intruder ran.

After that, Rouge decided that she’d had enough relaxing for a while and that she needed some structure in her life, so she opened up the club again and started it working (albeit on a limited basis, she wasn’t quite prepared for a full schedule yet). The well-known hotspot had been sorely missed, as evidenced by the large number of customers- and tips. The bat was delighted to see some of her favorite regulars again, and they were more than happy to accept the shortened hours just so long as it stayed open.

Eventually, though, as it became clear that the bat was fully prepared to just sweep the stress of this adventure under the rug and go back to daily life as it was before, she ended up subjected to quite a few discussions from Omega, Knuckles and even Sonic about her...habits. They were all too aware of how much strain she’d been under during their time on the run, not to mention all of the verbal attacks and physical stress she’d had to deal with beforehand. At first, she managed to brush it off, insisting that she was perfectly fine and that this sort of thing wasn’t necessary at all.

Omega had cornered her one day in her room though, with only a single sentence to say: “Think about the example you’re setting for Shadow.”

Rouge’s ears drooped slightly in guilt as she realized just how much a) Shadow based some of his behaviors off of her and b) how vehemently he had opposed the idea of therapy when it was first mentioned. 

She sighed quietly. “Just one. For Shadow. And nothing’s going to come of it, you hear me?”

Two days later, she walked into the office calmly, her cool business face on and her skepticism high. The therapist she met with was young, friendly, and quite earnest and eager to help her in any way they could. As they listened to the story of her life, though, their face twisted in concern. “I understand you enjoy your job and the risks that come with it...but all those awful things people have said to you- that’s terrible!”

Rouge shrugged her shoulders. “It’s part of the job, y’know? Just have to grin and bear it.”

They looked down at their desk quietly. “How long have you been ‘grinning and bearing it’ for, exactly?”

“....a while.”

Rouge left the office after a little more talking with a distinct feeling of unease in her chest. She drove home quietly, with none of the usual music or radio that she liked on. The bat remained absolutely silent as she entered the house, too, which was the first major sign to both of her friends that something was wrong.

Shadow and Omega appeared at her side quickly, asking her what had happened and what was wrong (with quite a few threats of violence to the person who had upset her) which unfortunately had the opposite effect to what they were hoping for and instead just made her eyes start to water a little.

“Rouge, what’s going on?” Shadow asked, worried, as he pulled her over to the couch. 

She managed to calm herself relatively quickly, and eventually found the words to explain how  the biting words she heard every day cut deeper than she let on. How she took on mountains of emotional stress because she was the leader, and the oldest, and it was her responsibility. 

The bat quickly tried to add that neither of them needed to worry about this, it was fine, that she was still the oldest and she’d accepted that responsibility and she could work out the stress on her own. As Omega began to insist on providing various objections to every last one of those arguments, Shadow vanished, only to return within a couple of minutes with a bag of mystery supplies.

“Today’s your off day, right?” he asked, with a determined look in his eyes.

“Yes, hon.” she said quietly. “I should probably go do the shopping at some point-”

“After therapy? No way.” Omega declared, putting a hand on her head and pushing her back down onto the couch after she’d started to get up. 

“I’ll go shopping tomorrow.” Shadow said calmly. “I remember you haven’t been to the spa in a long time, and even if we can’t make you an appointment this late, we can still do something else.”

Omega pulled a packaged ‘hydrating and exfoliating face mask’ from the bag, holding it by the corner and looking as confused as he could possibly get. “I have no idea what this does, but if you like it then that’s fine, I suppose.” he said, handing it back to Shadow gingerly.

“Aww, guys, you don’t have to-” she insisted, disliking the idea of them having to do any work regarding her own emotional burdens.

“Yes we do.” they said in sync. 

“And this needs to be at least a biweekly occurrence, too.” Omega declared.

“A Rouge day?” Shadow asked. “I agree.”

The bat protested weakly, but allowed herself to be dragged upstairs, and various soaps with relaxing scents to be placed in her hands. “And here’s a bath bomb. Or, uh, three.” The hybrid looked sheepish. “I don’t know which kind you like.”

“And do not come out until you are sufficiently relaxed.” Omega ordered her, before pushing her into the bathroom gently.

Rouge gave a quiet yet fond sigh as she looked down at the various self-care items in her hands. Those two could really be stubborn sometimes, whether about fighting or friendship.

Quickly, she swung open the door and gave them both a hug, then vanished back inside the bathroom before either could react.

The rest of the day was spent taking care of Rouge, whether it was Shadow painting her nails or Omega agreeing to watch her favorite show that night (even if he couldn’t seem to understand why people in drama shows didn’t just do what they wanted instead of agonizing about it so much). That definitely wasn’t the end of it, though.

Eventually, she managed to go back for a few more sessions just to straighten things out and figure out how to care for herself better in the long run. It didn’t hurt, either, that anytime Shadow or Omega caught someone insulting her (and her ignoring it), whether it be for her looks or her interest in a store’s jewelry, they would verbally tear into the person with such fury that Rouge was nearly embarrassed…

...but not quite. It felt good to be looked out for, she had to admit, and they were showing how much they cared about her in their own way.

It turned out that Shadow was showing it in another way, too, albeit one she didn’t notice at first. One day, as she checked through her finances, the bat realized that her bank account had begun to grow too quickly to be normal. When she checked through her balance, she discovered that someone was adding mystery payments every Friday.

Rouge found out why one afternoon when she came back from shopping early to discover Shadow standing in the living room, pulling off some sort of light green shirt and draping it over the back of a chair as he moved to the kitchen (probably for some coffee beans).

“Something you need to tell me, hon?” she asked, and was only slightly surprised when he yelled in shock, hands crackling with Chaos energy before he realized it was her. 

“Ugh...Rouge, don’t scare me like that…” he sighed.

“You didn’t answer my question, Shadow.” she shot back.

He shuffled around nervously, seeming unwilling to provide her with a straight answer. Once he realized that there was no getting out of this, though, her sensitive ears picked up the sound of the hybrid gulping briefly before taking a deep breath. “I...I’ve been working part-time arranging flowers.” he said, rushing the words out as though that would keep her from understanding them.

“Honey, you know you don’t have to do that- we still have enough money to handle the club’s current hours for a while longer…” she began, worrying that he was pushing himself too hard.

Shadow folded his arms. “Keeping us afloat isn’t all up to you, remember? And I actually enjoy it- it’s kind of calming.” he said, almost defiantly.

“If you insist.” she replied. “But make sure not to mess up your schedule, you know you need to make sure you’re getting your rest after everything.”

The hybrid rolled his eyes. “I’m the Ultimate Lifeform, I don’t need-”

“Wrong answer.” Omega said from the doorway, folding his arms and glowering at Shadow. Rouge had an expression to match, seeming pretty distressed by what he’d said.

“Shadow, hon, you keep using that title as an excuse not to take care of yourself, and that’s just as unhealthy as me ignoring people who try and bother me.” she said softly. “I...think you should really consider talking to the same person I did- it’s really helped, you know that.”

The hybrid sulked in the car on the way to the office a couple days later, but didn’t actively attempt to resist, so he probably knew that Rouge was right. He told his story to them in the most calm, nonchalant manner he could pull off, though his friends did take over the story occasionally when his voice trailed off.

By the end of it, the young mouse was frowning at their desk again. “Honestly, I’m...I’m speechless. The fact that so many people were willing to treat you so badly- it’s horrible. So...I’m really glad you’re here, and I’ll do my best to help you however I can.”

Shadow was a little touched by this amount of concern from what was essentially a stranger, though he remained resistant to their suggestions at first. However, a day or two later, he had yet another nightmare- and a bad one too. Ordinarily, he’d just ignore it and lie awake for hours trying to get back to sleep, but this time, he happened to recall what the therapist had said.

“It’s okay to ask for help, Shadow. You deserve it just as much as anyone else- no matter what some people may have said.”

He tried to avoid the thought, but his mind wouldn’t rest and he couldn’t even begin to relax. (Truthfully, he was too scared to, in case the nightmares came back.) Guiltily, he got up, shuffled over to Rouge’s room, and opened the door quietly. It took him a long moment to even work up the nerve to walk over to her bedside, but eventually he did. He shook her awake gently by the shoulder, unwilling to meet her eyes.

“Oh, Shadow….” was all she said, before pulling him gently under the blankets with her and holding him tight.

The hybrid felt so pathetic and childish, yet he still buried his face in the crook of her neck, letting out a quiet sniffle. He could smell a mixture of her perfume and shampoo, and it calmed him slowly, as did the feeling of her arms around him. Eventually, he managed to fall back asleep to the sound of her breathing, and spent the rest of the night in relative peace.

When Shadow woke up early in the morning and Omega was right beside the bed, one of his hands resting comfortingly on his side, he didn’t even question it. He just placed his hand right over one of the giant metal fingers before resting a while longer, a small smile on his face.

As the days continued and the two Mobians started taking care of themselves more- with lower stress levels and many more peaceful nights as a result- Shadow finally even worked up the nerve to spend some time with Omega at the firing range. 

They had made careful plans. There were noise-canceling earmuffs available for free upon entry, and Shadow wouldn’t even be in the same room as most of the weaponry. He had a katana sword and he knew where the practice dummies were, and that was enough.

They’d be able to see each other through a glass window and wave (and show off, of course). So while Shadow approached the building with a slight air of trepidation, he also felt rather excited to be able to work on his fighting skills once again, especially with his friend.

That is, until the attendant at the desk refused to give him the headset when he asked for it.

“You have to rent an item to get the free headphones,” the young woman said, looking bored and generally unsympathetic. “That’s the rule.”

“I don’t see anything saying that.” Shadow shot back, but inside he felt more nervous than anything. He couldn’t stay here if he didn’t get that equipment, but he’d really wanted to spend some time with Omega today…

The robot appeared behind him surprisingly quickly, wrenching aside the attendant’s computer to glower at her better. “I have seen others come in here and get headsets for free while bringing their own weapons, so you had better have a good explanation for why you refuse to give him one.”

“He’s got a sword,” she pointed out unhelpfully, “so he shouldn’t even need one. Headsets are only for people with projectile weapons, anyway.”

Omega’s fingers tightened on the counter until they made a noticeable scraping sound. The attendant winced and even the otherwise impassive Shadow’s ears twitched at the noise.

He lifted up his hand, revealing deep scratches in the stainless steel. “You should think about being fair and providing Shadow with a headset now. Before I become really irritated.”

“That’s- I shouldn’t have to make an exception, he isn’t going to be on the firing range!”

“He does and you should. My friend does not do well with the sound of gunfire, so he deserves to have one. Right. Now.” Omega insisted, glaring at her.

“Well, if he doesn’t like guns then he shouldn’t be here.” she said irritably. “I’m not giving him one. And that’s final.”

The robot turned away suddenly and stalked towards the door. “Then I refuse to spend one moment longer in this building. Congratulations on losing your establishment some money.”

Shadow followed his friend, feeling more than a little like he’d just experienced some sort of verbal whiplash. “Wait...what just happened?”

“I decided that this place is clearly not good enough to deserve our patronage. We can find somewhere else to spend our time.”

“But I thought this was the best place in the area- I don’t want to make you miss out…” Shadow said, feeling bad for his friend.

Omega put a heavy arm around Shadow’s shoulders. “Amenities mean nothing to me if the people there insist you suffer in the process.”

The hybrid leaned against his friend, grateful. “Thank you, Omega.”

(They did eventually find a new- if slightly less upscale- place to go, and Omega managed to hit fifteen bulls-eyes in a row before being informed that they didn’t quite have the money for prizes there. Shadow enjoyed being able to use his sword, and he got significantly more respect on the way out of the building as opposed to the general confusion and mild derision he’d received on the way in...particularly after he defeated one of the most respected patrons in five minutes flat.)

…

Nearly a month and a half after Team Dark left Angel Island, Sonic set up a little party with some friends to celebrate their general success, as well as their slow steps to getting better, day by day. The team had been pretty reclusive and slightly paranoid as of late, so this was their first proper social outing in a long while.

Once they got over to Sonic’s house, all three members of Team Dark were immediately greeted with a shriek of “GUYS!”, followed by the sudden appearance of one cheerful pink hedgehog. “Rouge, Omega, Shadow, hi! How are you guys? Do you need anything?” Amy Rose asked, managing to simultaneously be cheerful, sympathetic, and doting in a way only she ever could.

“We’re doing better all the time, hon. Thank you.” Rouge answered kindly, while Omega waved at her and Shadow offered up a quiet nod. 

Amy wasn’t deterred by the latter’s behavior- she’d spent enough time with him to know that they were pretty good friends and that he was probably just a little overwhelmed, so she gave him his space. Blaze greeted them all politely as they entered the living room as well from her seat on the couch, but was quickly overshadowed by the other spacetime traveler present for the party.

Silver dashed over to the group, looking them all up and down worriedly. Upon seeing that they were mostly unharmed, albeit tired, he focused his attention on his personal hero and occasional mentor on Chaos techniques (Shadow).

“Are- are you going to be okay?” he asked worriedly, hovering (both literally and figuratively) around the other hedgehog. “Silly question, sorry, I just, if you’re not okay then I’m here if you need-”

“Silver.” Shadow cut the psychic off, but in a gentle manner. “I think I’ll be alright. If I’m ever not, though, I’ll keep your offer in mind. Thank you.”

“Okay.” He sighed, his nervous energy dissipating. It was replaced by a smile almost instantly, though, as he added, “Okay! I’m just so glad you guys managed to stop G.U.N. and everything. And that you’re alright now!”

Shadow offered him a small smile. “So am I.”

Soon after, Omega hurried down to Tails’s workshop with a shout of “What have you been working on? I need to see everything right now” and Rouge busied herself with scaring the living daylights out of Knuckles by sneaking up on him from behind. Meanwhile, Sonic stepped into Silver and Shadow’s conversation, at ease with both of them and enjoying the party. “You got some food yet?” he asked the hybrid, smiling warmly at him.

“No…?” Shadow said cautiously.

“Oh, man! There’s so much, you’ve gotta try everything!” Sonic exclaimed, dragging Shadow into the kitchen with one hand while Silver did the same with the other.

Moments later, he found himself with a plate filled with every kind of food available in the kitchen, from french fries to mini-sandwiches to cupcakes. Shadow startled slightly upon realizing that everybody else seemed to have brought several nice foods, and all his team had thought to bring was a bottle or two of soda. “I apologize for our lack of food-” he began, feeling somehow as though he should have done better, but Sonic silenced him quickly.

“Dude, no way! We’re having this party for you guys anyway because of all the stressful work you went through!”

Silver chimed in quickly. “We didn’t ask you guys to bring food because we didn’t want you to worry- you’ve done more than enough work for a long time.”

Shadow, in response, quickly shoved a mini-sandwich into his mouth to keep himself from saying anything too emotional.

Later, as they all settled down to watch the pilot episode of an old but well-known TV show, the hybrid found himself squeezed in between Rouge on one side, still flirting with Knuckles (punctuated by the occasional check-in on Shadow) and Sonic on the other side, in a surprisingly intense argument with Blaze about whether or not this show, Nebula Expedition: The Following Age, was better than the original.

Omega, meanwhile, was trying his best not to utterly crush the beanbag chair on the floor he’d been given after the couch had nearly tipped over the moment he sat down. Tails was leaned against him, while Amy, Blaze and Silver shared the other sofa.

Suddenly, Sonic turned to him, his expression intense and serious. “Shadow. This is the most important question you’re gonna answer all week. Which show is better: The Following Age or the original?”

The hybrid shook his head, a smile appearing on his face despite his best attempts to ignore it. It was crazy to think that he’d gone from the most important question of the week being “Am I going to be captured by G.U.N. and imprisoned?” to “Which show is better?”, and he couldn’t help but allow a laugh to escape him. It was just a quick little snicker, but it was enough for Sonic’s eyes to widen and for him to grin. 

“What’s that all about?” he asked, half joking and half serious, leaning his shoulder on Shadow’s. “You think this question’s a joke? Your answer’s really important here, y’know!”

“Well, for your information…” the hybrid began.

Sonic leaned in a little closer. “Yeah?”

“I like Asteroid Battle the best. Only the originals, though.”

The hero gave a cry of dismay and flopped back against the couch, throwing his hands up in the air. “Asteroid Battle? Asteroid Battle?? That wasn’t even an option!” he cried. “It’s not even in the same franchise, for Chaos’ sake!”

“Too bad.” Shadow replied smugly, folding his arms and still smiling. “Because that’s the one I like best.”

Sonic smacked him on the arm and heaved a dramatic sigh. “Well, too bad to both you and Blaze, because it’s my TV and I get to pick the show.”

Shadow wasn’t the least bit bothered about that as he settled in to watch, surrounded by his friends and safe as he could be. This atmosphere- of cheer and kindness and laughter- this was what he’d wanted to be able to enjoy all along.

He wasn’t entirely there yet- and maybe he would never be able to know the freedom that came when people didn’t carry the memories he did. But in the end, he couldn’t say that he regretted that burden too greatly. Even through all the bad, he had enough good in this world that it was all worth the struggle in the end, if he got to be here, now, in this place with the people he cared for most.

Shadow met Rouge’s eyes briefly, and then Omega’s, hoping that the words he couldn’t say right now would be understood.

Thank you both so much. For being there for me, through the good times and the bad. For being happy with me and sad with me. For standing by me when I decided to take on the largest military organization in the world, and afterwards as well. Just...thank you.

For everything.

[whump-town]

Prof of Law Aaron Hotchner

Warning for violence, stabbing, nightmares, an anxiety attack, and drugs (the prescribed kind)

Aaron Hotchner is a retired Federal Persecutor-- just an AU where Hotch is a law professor for fun and angst!!

Bouncing Jack on his hip, Hotch smiles as he stands over Haley’s shoulder. He pulls his hand back from the cake, wincing when Haley smacks his hand away. She’s a perfectionist and having the smear of his finger through this cake is going to heavily disrupt her otherwise perfect spreading. 

“Oh come on,” he pouts, he turns his body so she can see Jack. “We just want a little,” he attempts. Rousing his son, he jogs the boy up a little more in his arms. “Tell her Jack, tell Mommy, say only a little.” Despite being very much daddy’s little boy, Jack smirks and turns his head away. Giggling and babbling nonsense into his father’s shoulder. Wiping his face on Hotch’s shirt. 

Hotch plays along. “See,” he offers, “just like he said. We only want just a little bit.” 

Haley rolls her eyes, smiling at his antics. She reaches around the cake to the mostly empty tub the icing had come in. “Go,” she instructs, handing it to him. “Get out of my kitchen Aaron Hotchner before I beat you with this spoon.” She searches across the counter for the wooden spoon she’d used to keep the green beans on the oven stirred. 

He smiles and kisses her head, avoiding the spoon when she tries to jab at his side with it. 

As he’s walking away, egging Jack on in his triumph of obtaining the icing, there’s a knock at the door. He’s still talking to the baby, so stepping away from the cake she moves so she can see down the hall from the kitchen. To see if he’s getting the door. “Aaron--”

He steps into the hall and winks at her, “I’ve got the door.” He curses softly, pulling his hand away from Jack’s mouth. He’s swiped a finger into the container before coming to the door. Jack mercilessly chumps down on his fingers and regardless of his absent teeth it still hurts. 

“Hey--” 

Hotch lands flat on his back. The world a dark haze and a strange eerily painful chill in his side. Pain like he’s never felt before. Touching his side, he lifts his head off of the floor and stairs in shock at his hand. The dark, thick crimson of his blood. So much blood. 

“Aaron!? Oh my God!”

 Choking, Hotch tries to move. Mouth open and back arching, he kicks out blindly. The pain creating a black haze around his vision. Coughing and turning his head as he wheezes around the obstruction in his airway, his own blood, he can hear more gunshots.  Jack screams, wailing, and sobbing on in distress. There is one final gunshot and the crying stops. The house falls silent. 

“Jack,” he tries to move but his arms won’t hold his weight. “Jack,” he calls again, panic rising. “Come on, buddy,” he cries. “Where--” blinking the blood from his eyes he looks up and into the face of someone he hasn’t seen in a decade. George Foyet. 

Leaning down, Foyet places his foot against Hotch’s throat. He presses down just enough to cut off the rest of his oxygen, smiling when Hotch uselessly tries to push him away. “Remember me, Aaron? Aaron? Aaron! Aaron--”

“Aaron! Easy, easy.”

He’s in bed. His grey t-shirt slick with his sweat and practically glued to his back. He’s safe. Looking around he can slowly start to piece together where he is. Dave’s house. Well, his house too but it’s Dave’s house.

“Woah,” perched on the corner of his bed is David Rossi. As silly as the older man looks in his matching pajama set (from probably the eighties) Hotch can’t spare the breath to do much more than lean into his embrace. “You’re alright,” Dave assures him, rubbing his back and cupping the back of his head. “Just breath for me kid,” Dave keeps Hotch pulled close, glad that he’s not trying to wrangle away just yet.

“Dave?” Hotch can feel himself shaking, his eyes pinched shut. He’s terrified, honestly. The nightmare had felt so real. So much like the real day. George Foyet had come into his home and-- “I need… Jack?” Hotch pulls away just enough to catch his old mentor’s eyes. Waiting to find the truth there. Because he can’t remember. His brain is split. Had he buried his son that day too? Is Jack… Is Jack dead too?

Dave smiles, it’s sad but it’s not mournful. “He’s sleeping in his bed,” Dave promises. “I checked on him before I came in here.”

Hotch can feel the hitch in his chest as he lets out a relieved breath. “He’s okay?” Hotch asks, he needs the clarification.

Dave nods, “perfectly content.” That’s the easy part about being a baby when the world goes to shit. Jack will never know his mother but he’ll also never have to wake, like his father, in cold sweats shaking from nightmares. Terrified and alone.

“Okay,” Hotch pulls back, scooting back in the bed so he can cross his legs and rest his head in his hands.

Watching him with an air of concern Dave sighs. He looks at the clock and shakes his head. It’s four in the morning and there’s no way that Aaron’s going back to sleep now. “You good,” he asks. As much as he’d like to stick around and make sure Hotch gets back to sleep… that’s futile.

For the last few years, they’ve been working on getting Aaron through the night. Whether it’s nightmares or insomnia he can’t seem to get a break.

Hotch nods with his face covered by his hands.

Dave stands and looks back over his shoulder one more time. “Aaron?”

“Hmm?”

“Try and get some more sleep, alright? You can’t afford to lose anymore.”

Hotch doesn’t look up but hums in agreeance. Already he can feel the low throb at the back of his skull. If he starts drinking coffee now maybe he’ll make it through his first few classes without passing out. In the vending machines outside his office, they sell these little bottles of five-hour energy.

He’s a little too old to go chugging those but he’s not going to go canceling his class over a little missed sleep.

It’s been a long time since he even thought about consuming this much coffee.

By six a.m. he’s consumed four cups.

“How long have you been up?”

Hotch blinks sluggishly despite the warm fifth mug of coffee in his hands. “Hmm,” he asks, rubbing at his eyes.

Directing Jack down the hall, hand over the boy’s head like a claw, Dave looks Hotch down. His posture is awful, bent over himself, with dark rings under his eyes. “I asked how many cups of coffee you’ve had but I’m afraid I don’t want the answer.” Pushing Jack along, the boy scurries into the kitchen. Buzzing past his father to make a B line for the milk and cereal.

“Don’t spill the milk,” Hotch mumbles, watching Jack fumble with the carton.

It’s been nearly three years since George Foyet’s attack.

The man was released from prison for ��good behavior” as young, white men tend to get off. It seemed as if the two young women he’d killed were brought to justice in the ten years he spent in prison. How easy it must have been for the justice system to see the opportunity in a man like him, while ignoring the ones he’d taken. A misguided youth and a tragic backstory only adding to their empathy.

The atrocities he’d committed were not of his own accord, of course not. It’s always so much easier to blame those young women or perhaps his mother. If those girls had not been out so late at night, if they hadn’t worn skirts and frilly tops then he would have never noticed them to begin with. If his birth mother had loved him more...

None of that matters now.

They considered Geroge Foyet “cured” and released him back into society.

Where his first stop was to a library, where he found the address of the man who put in prison. Federal Prosecutor Aaron Hotchner.

This is the part the dreams never get right. Foyet didn’t have a gun. He had a knife. A single pocket knife that he stole from a junkie in an alley. It had been late and Haley had answered the door. Hotch hadn’t even heard her cry out for him. He’d been wrangling Jack out of the tub, the little boy a mess of squirming limbs and very upset with his father for making him take a bath.

They’d been in Jack’s room when Foyet found them.

He’d had his back turned to the door, shushing the crying baby as best as he could while trying to get a diaper around his kicking legs. The first stab had been so quick… by the third he was on his knees and unable to do anything besides keep falling.

On that floor, George Foyet stabbed him six more times. Jack had screamed and cried the entire time. He’d been too young to understand, not even a full year old, but he knew something wasn’t right.

In the dreams, Foyet always kills Jack too. The harsh, overwhelming sound of silence those little cries silenced. There one moment and gone the very next.

He can’t remember much of what happened.

Foyet had moved to Jack, picking the boy up and shushing him. Hotch had watched, immobilized and too weak to even beg for his son to be spared. So he’d watched, choking on his blood, and slowly losing his battle with consciousness as Foyet settled down in the rocking chair in the corner of the room and rocked his son. Soothed him.

A neighbor would walk by and see Haley laying in the hall. The blood…

Hotch had died on the operating table, a fact that Dave would later inform him of. He can’t remember recovery all that well. Clouded with drugs and grief, he… There was once, he remembers this clearly because it had only been a short time after he’d woken up, they’d brought Jack in. Dave and the nurses had been trying everything to calm him but he wasn’t sleeping or eating. He’d cry and cry and cry until he made himself puke or passed out.

The moment they placed Jack in Hotch’s arms, the baby had stilled. His pained cries dying to whimpers as he looked up at his father.

Hotch had been propped up with pillows. Too weak to even lift his own head but they’d stacked pillows around his sides and arms. He couldn’t fight the exhaustion weighing his body down but he clung to Jack. Waking from his sleep in a panic each time, watching the room’s other occupants in case they might try to take Jack from him.

After all the time he’d been nearly unresponsive to them, if having Jack around would keep his heart rate up and his oxygen intake steadily improving no one was going to complain. Several times he woke to his gown being moved so they could place Jack against him. Skin on skin therapy does wonders on humans of all ages. Recovery had been easier with Jack there. The baby stripped to his diaper and nestled against his chest. Little fingers grasping onto him.

It’s been three years and George Foyet follows him everywhere he goes.

“Professor?”

He makes his own lesson plans. He knows which cases come up when. “Who--” he makes the mistake of looking at the screen and his heart stills in his chest. Swallowing thickly around the obstruction in his throat, he looks down to the floor forcing himself to take in a steadying breath. “Who, um, can explain why this case can’t be dismissed on the grounds of Gamble v United States?”

He doesn’t need to call on a student. There’s only about ten kids in the class and it's a ridiculously easy question.

“It’s two separate accounts,” someone speaks up. “Same thing, sure, same crime even but that’s not how double jeopardy works. Besides, you’d want to look more into United States v Felix. Um--” The hard sound of one of the automatically folding chairs shutting in on itself sounds out through the room. “Sir?”

“Sir, are you okay?”

Hotch grips the edge of the desk tighter, his knuckles whitening under the strain. “I’m--” his knees buckle but he forces his weight to his arms. Squeezing his eyes shut and clenching his teeth. “I’m okay,” he manages.

A student, he can’t tell which one, cautiously approaches his side. “Sir,” he calls. The student, Carter one of his more extroverted and adventurous students, squats down by his side, hand on his back just above his belt. “Not to alarm you,” Carter says, “but I think you’re having an anxiety attack. Do you have any medicine? Is there something we can do?”

Hotch squeezes his eyes shut, trying to work against the tears rapidly falling down his cheek. “My--” he grabs frantically for his tie. The knot against his throat tightening steadily to a noose until he can’t stand it. His hands are too weak to pull the material away but graciously, his useless fingers are pushed aside. Carter undoes the knot quickly and Hotch is suddenly very thankful that Carter’s pompous, cocky agenda brings a tie into his little aesthetic.

“In my office,” Hotch rasps, his hand twisted around his dress shirt. “It’s--” he sinks to the floor, head between his knees. “... a few,” he manages, “in my office.”

Carter turns over his shoulder. “Billy!”

Hotch looks up and watches Billy meagerly rise from where she’s called. Billy, while a great student, is riddled with social anxiety. Despite having taught the young woman all three years he’s been employed at the university she can’t meet his eye when they talk. And she always makes great haste in avoiding him. He’s never bothered to figure out if she’s got issues with authority, a problem with her father, or if she just hates him that much.

Carter turns back to Hotch, surprised by the startlingly vacant look in the man’s eyes. His eyes just watch Billy where she stands anxiously waiting to find out what awful thing she’s going to be asked to do.

“Sir,” Carter shakes Hotch a little. Smiling reassuringly when Hotch’s bloodshot eyes meet his. “I’m going to send Billy to get Professor Prentiss, is that okay? Billy is going to get the professor and we’re going to head to your office, alright?”

Hotch nods.

“Can-Can’t someone else go?”

Carter helps Hotch to his feet, graciously nodding his head to another student who slides under Hotch’s other arm. “No, Billy. Now go.”

Professor Prentiss is a notorious hardass. Her students love her but everyone else is terrified to even cross her path. She’s like a black cat, bound to be bad luck. It did not help Hotch’s already scary demeanor to befriend her. To spot the two of them coming across campus, Emily always professionally dressed in slacks and a dress shirt and Hotch in his standard suit and tie, they’d built a good rapport for being scarily mysterious.

Despite how frequently they could be spotted in the campus café laughing over a cup of coffee. Their human moments always outweigh their harsh ones. In fact, Emily Prentiss has only ever come down on a few students. The ones dumb enough to try and fool her. Hotch has never raised his voice to a student and is surprisingly lenient for a law professor or even just a professor in general.

For goodness sake, Emily stops to talk to the campus cats.

Hotch wears a little beanie with a red knot at the top Professor Garcia made him two Christmas’ ago and spends the spring semester chasing his son around the quad. (Garcia made him the beanie so she could recognize him easier in public. There are way too many tall men in suits around but the red little knot makes him easily detectable)

That’s not to say they’re still not intimidating.

“Pr-Professor Prentiss?”

Turning slowly from her chalkboard, Emily faces the weary voice. First of all, this is a senior advanced level Arabic class so there are only five students present and she knows each and everyone one of them. Well enough to know that whoever just called out her name is not one of her own. Nevermind they never break from Arabic during class time. Under her breath, in Arabic, Emily mumbles, “freshman.”

Yet, the young woman is dressed surprisingly professional.

“What is it,” Emily asks, crossing her arms. She pushes her glasses down her nose, moving the reading frame out of her sight. Looking down the length of her nose, raising an eyebrow at the girl. As if interrupting her class wasn’t bad enough, she’s not trying to waste instruction time on some undergraduate student roaming where she shouldn’t be.

The student steps in a little more, chest heaving, breathless, and looking anywhere but at Emily, stammers her way through an explanation. “Uh,” she wets her lips. “Um, Prof--Professor Hotchner he, um, he was-- he was taking us through, um, a criminal law case and he was…”

The half-amused smirk on Emily’s lips placed there in the humor of what she thought was going to be some silly mistake or a prank from a coworker is wiped away. Penelope has sent mischievous students her way in the past, to knock them down a few pegs or remind them who's in-charge here. Derek’s sent way too many kids over, a whole class once, instead of doing his job. It’s becoming very clear this is not a joke.

Tossing her glasses on her desk, she demands, “where is he?”

The girl takes two steps back, not liking Emily’s shift. “He, um, Carter took him to his office, ma’am. He--”

Emily turns to her students, “class is canceled. I’ll send you a text this afternoon to make up for class.” Then with a nod, takes off up the catwalk, shoes sounding sharply against the tile. “We’ll facetime!” Motioning the girls to follow, “you, with me. Let’s go.”

She sends Dave a text, nothing complex just “Aaron, SOS”.

Hotch’s office is down the same hall as his favorite auditorium to lecture in. She’d bullied him pretty hard upon finding this fact out. It sounded very, very nerdy. And it is. What kind of normal person has a favorite lecture hall? Let alone a favorite room? Just as promised, that’s where he is.

He’s on the floor, stripped of his jacket and his shirt thrown open to reveal his white-shirt. His head is in between his knees and a young man, Carter, Emily presumes, is struggling to open the orange bottle of Valium. People go broke buying the stuff from drug dealers and Hotch will refuse one up until he’s breathless and shaking.

“Get out.”

The boy stops, “what?”

Emily nods her head out the door, “both of you, out.”

They share a look but neither student puts up a fight.

Emily cracks the bottle open with a single twist, pouring a pill out into her hand. The only thing she has around to drink is what looks like either tea or coffee from (nothing him) days ago. He doesn’t use creamer but there’s still probably something toxic in their brewing. “Here,” she kneels down beside him.

He looks up, face broken out in sweat and cheeks flushed, and takes the pill from her palm.

“You okay,” she asks, rubbing his back. She watches her friend carefully, studying him.

He takes a deep breath and holds it, ticking the seconds away in his head. Nodding, he closes his eyes and hangs his head back limply between his knees. He lasts only a moment, eyes flying open she finds nothing but pure terror in his dark eyes.

“Hotch,” she calls, unsure if he’s even here with her right now. “Hotch, calm down. What’s going on?”

He shakes his head, “hard to breathe…” His hand comes to his shirt, gripping the white material tightly. “Can’t-- Can’t get enough… not enough air.”

She nods her head, sounds about right. “You’re okay,” she promises. “You’re completely safe right here with me, okay? We’re in your office and you’ve taken a Valium.”

He nods. Right. His office. He can feel the rough mug and smell the old books.

It’s hot. “Off,” he rasps, tugging harshly on his shirt. “Off. I want it--” Too hot and too tight and all over him and--

“Okay,” Emily stops his frantic movements, his hands tearing at his dress shirt. “Okay,” she grabs his left hand by the wrist, easily pulling the shirt off his shoulder and moving his arm out of the fabric. He’s already calming back down, sinking forward as she works his right arm out.

He’d been trapped. Hot and trapped and his brain isn’t working right.

“That’s better,” Emily whispers. She moves closer to him, sitting between his legs and hesitantly pulls him into a hug. He goes where he’s pulled, letting her guide his head to her shoulder.

He sniffles, unable to stop his tears. “He was there,” he whispers. “I saw him.”

She soothes him but she has no idea who or what he’s talking about it. All she knows is that three years ago Dave dragged Hotch here and had a look around. He’d been a mess then. Hair windswept or maybe just unkept and leaning heavily on a cane while Jack had circled them excitedly. She’d shaken his hand and greeted him because Dave is her friend; he'd introduced Aaron as an old friend. He’d looked haggard and disheveled but that hadn’t bothered Emily too much. He’d intrigued her.

Aaron started in an introductory course that fall. Predictably, Dave had allowed him into their trusted group of friends. He’d been removed, at first. Distant and didn’t speak much. Not that he speaks all that much now but it was so much worse back then. Whatever he’d needed that cane for, whatever had driven him from prosecution, whatever had made him a widower and single father that remained his secret. A part of him so guarded only Dave knew and, as she suspected, he would be the only one to ever know.

“Good Lord,” Dave appears in the doorway, shaking his head at the sight before him. “You look like hell.” He leans against the frame of the door, arms crossed. “You know,” he informs them casually. “The two of you have officially ruined your image around here. How’s anyone going to be afraid of you if they walk past this door and see the two of you cuddling on the floor?”

Emily scoffs but doesn’t move away. She keeps moving her hand up and down his back. His breathing has calmed back down but his heart is still racing. “Shut up,” she grumbles. “At least, my reputation isn't being a sleaze bag.”

Dave sucks his teeth, frowning at her. “I am not a sleaze bag,” he defends. He’s not. His reputation for sleeping with the faculty does preside him but it’s horribly honorable that he stays away from the students. They all know coworkers not upholding that standard.

“You okay,” Emily directs her attention back to Hotch. He squirms out of her hold, shakily forcing his feet back under his body and standing.

“Hey,” Garcia knocks on the door and squeezes in beside Rossi. “Everything okay in here?”

Hotch turns his body away from her, scrubbing his face with hands.

“Yeah,” Emily assures her with a smile. It’s obviously not the truth. Hotch is standing in his white undershirt, dress shirt and suit jacket on the floor. His tie not even on the same half of the room. There’s a pill bottle knocked over on his desk and his hair, from what can be seen from the back, is crazy. “We’re good, Pen.”

Garcia nods her head, skeptically. “Okay,” she smiles, eyeing Hotch. He glances over his shoulder at her and she can see his red rimmed eyes and wet face. It’s okay if he doesn’t trust her with this kind of stuff just yet. She understands. “I’ll see you guys at lunch?”

Hotch nods, “we’ll see you there.” His voice is surprisingly rough but she leaves without comment.

Emily reaches out and squeezes his shoulder. “Why don’t you stay here, alright?” He’s still shaking and looks rather awful. “I’m going to send your class home. Take a nap or something, you look like a train wreck.”

Hotch just hums, lifting his his hands to his face. The feeling of his body is yet to return. His arms don’t even feel connected to his body. Rubbing his hands across his face he can hear Emily and Dave whispering behind him. 

“See you at lunch, Hotch.” Emily says as she steps out of the room. 

Leaving Dave and Hotch. 

“Are you ever going to talk about it?” Dave asks.

Hotch sighs but doesn’t turn to face the man.

“Come on,” Dave sighs. “It’s been years. If you don’t get it out, it’s going to kill you.” 

George Foyet going to kill Aaron. Maybe not today but it’s a matter of time. 

“Not now,” Hotch mumbles, turning his attention to his desk. He brushes the spilled pills into the bottle. Ignoring the careful way Dave regards him. He knows he has to eventually work out these stupid nightmares. It’s one thing to find himself trapped there in that house at night. It’s another when the nightmares work their way into the light. 

“One day then, hmm?”

Hotch freezes, his anxiety sky rockets just thinking about it. They’ll have to institutionalize him first. Drug him up and throw away the key before he finds the words to describe what happened that day. Mentally, he’s not even sure he’s strong enough to think about it for too long. 

Clearing his throat Hotch nods, “right.” He takes a deep breath. Lawyers are blood sucking liars, right? Well, he hopes this once Dave believes his bluff. “One day.”

[needs-to-stop-looking-at-yigas]

What if; Sooga had a diary that he wrote ALL his dirty little fantasies about Kohga in. And one day, Kohga finds it. Instead of just reading it by himself, which would be humiliating enough for Sooga, Kohga decides to gather all the members of the clan around, and READ SOOGA’S DIARY OUT LOUD FOR EVERYONE TO HEAR

Oooh this is something fun to work with! Let’s go!

“Where the HELL did he hide it?? Dammit Sooga!”

Sooga was currently out training some new yiga members, and Kohga decided to have something sexy planned for when he got back. Only, what he was looking for, Sooga had hidden in his own goddamn room. It was smaller than his own, and yet, Kohga couldn’t fucking find it. A bottle of oil. His FAVORITE oil, that Sooga had used to jerk himself off. Was it hot? Yes. Was it convenient? No. He kept looking through Sooga’s shit, before he finally found what he was looking for. He grabbed it, and was about to make his way back to the room, when he accidentally knocked something over. Some small book.

“Oops. Hopefully that wasn’t anything too important-waaait. What’s this?”

Kohga thumbed through the small, leather bound book. He didn’t read the whole thing, but he soon realized; this was his diary. With a few mentions of Kohga’s ass. Oooh this was a diary. A PERVY diary. This was WAY better than the surprise he had in mind.

----------------------------------

“Alright everyone, asses in front! All of you!”

No one had any idea why Kohga had commanded them forward, much less to his napping spot. It was important, given the fact that he was in his favorite seat. Sooga joined as well, of course, as he did with any event.

“Master Kohga. I was unaware you had something important planned.”

“It’s a last minute thing. Everyone comfy? Good. Because we’re going to have a BIT of a story time.”

Everyone was clearly excited about that, a few even clapped. Anyone loved ANY chance to listen to Kohga’s voice. Kohga whipped out the book, and Sooga looked over it curiously. He didn’t even know just what he was holding. This was going to be good. Kohga cleared his throat, getting comfy.

“Now. Everyone we got today’s material by a certain loyal lackey. He knows who he is.”

Kohga turned to a random page, and stopped as soon as he saw the word ‘ass’. Perfect.

“Ahem. ‘I’m ashamed to admit this, but I caught myself looking at Master Kohga’s ass today. I was just watching over as he slept, and I noticed how full and voluptuous it was. I was SO tempted to touch it, and had I not been interrupted by another member of the clan, wanting to know if Kohga needed snacks, I may have succumbed to those emotions. Even now, as I try to rest, I picture how it would feel in my hands’”

The recognition in his face. The recognition in ALL of their faces. Sooga made a beeline for the book, eager to silence him, but Kohga held his hand up. Sooga stopped on instinct, but he could tell he wanted SO badly to snatch it. Kohga wagged his finger in the air.

“Ah ah ah~. Sit, Sooga.”

“But Master Kohga, you CANNOT read-”

“Are you telling me what I can and can’t do, Sooga?”

He hesitated, before sitting down on his knees, keeping his gaze to the ground. Sooga patted his head, before turning to the next page.

“Oh here’s a good one. ‘I have acted poorly today. Instead of just resting, like one is supposed to for peak performance, I was up all night. I wasn’t trying to, I swear it, but I kept thinking of Kohga’s hands. Kohga’s hands are so nimble, so soft looking, I’d do anything to have them touch me. My own hand upon my cock is surely a poor comparison to the real thing. I’d do anything to just cum in his palm, just once, have him shove it in my face and tell me I’ve been filthy’. Damn Sooga, you got a bit into that one!”

A few members chuckled, some were eager to hear more of Sooga’s dirty, dirty fantasies, and Kohga swore he caught one or two touching themselves. All while Sooga stood there, trying not to meet anyone’s gaze. He was humiliated, and there was something so sexy, knowing his pride of a boyfriend wrote such dirty words. Kohga skimmed through before finding another page.

“‘I couldn’t believe myself. I had meant to deliver something to Master Kohga today, only to accidentally catch him in his bath. The door wasn’t fully closed, so I caught a glimpse of his nude body. I forced myself to walk away, but I only came back. It was worse off this time, as I had my favorite toy inside of me (the yellow one). I don’t know what compelled me to sit there and watch, picturing the fake gerth inside of me was Kohga’s. Kohga had such a soft looking body, but his random bouts of chuckling led me to believe that he is quite heavy handed in the bedroom. It wasn’t difficult for me to orgasm, right as I was watching him scrub his legs. I felt embarrassed, knowing I had  puddle of cum in my pants, but it was worth it, if only to live in the fantasy that Master Kohga would one day have me, to use me as he wishes’. Didn’t know you were such a pervert, Sooga!”

Even Kohga had to palm himself a little bit, a bit aroused by so many naughty confessions from his second hand. A few more were palming themselves, a few others were muttering over how naughty it was. All while Sooga stood there, gripping onto his knees, as if he was bracing for the pain. Kohga flipped through another page, not struggling to find another dirty page.

“Ooh okay okay, wait guys hold on, this ones gonna be good. ‘Kohga demanded I stay in his quarters tonight. Something about not feeling safe for whatever reason. No matter, I was determined to keep him safe. Little did I know, he wasn’t safe. Not from me. Master Kohga was asleep, and his mask was nudged. I saw his lips. I saw that they were luscious, soft as the clouds and pretty as a flower petal. I should’ve looked away. I should’ve covered him back up. I didn’t. I’m such a disgrace, I started to touch myself. I was sitting there in the corner, wanking off like a damn ape, picturing Kohga’s lips on my own. It was awful, but it felt SO good. Even as Kohga grumbled in his slumber, I felt only more and more aroused. Even as I write, my cock throbs at recalling just how it was possibly one of the best orgasms I’ve ever had. As if that wasn’t bad enough, I found myself cumming all over Kohga’s mask. Ribbons of cum littered his mask, and I was thankful that I was able to get it off. Master Kohga must never know. No one must never know that I defiled my Master’s body, and trust’. Hooo, Sooga! You busted a nut right on me? I think I remember this date!”

Kohga swore he was at half chub now. Dirty, dirty boy he had in his hands. The clan was eager for him to read more, prompting him to keep going. Kohga turned to the last page, and he noticed Sooga’s demeanor changed. He had shrunken down, as if he didn’t want to be seen by his peers. This was gonna be the WORST one, he could tell.

“Okay, last one guys, then we’ll spare our poor, poor Sooga. ‘I’ve done many things in my life that I am not proud of. Knowing Master Kohga has become one of them.’”

Kohga sat up at that. Hello, that was new. The amusement seemed to die down a bit at such a statement. Kohga sat up, fully paying attention, in case he was reading it wrong.

“I have known many sick minded people. From my father, to the enemies I encounter on a daily basis. But not once have I encountered someone so deranged, so on the peak of insanity, as the grand Master Kohga’.”

He wasn’t finished with the page, but the yiga clan looked damn ready to beat the shit out of Sooga. Sooga sat there in shame, not ONCE defending himself. Kohga felt his mouth dry up, but if dirty laundry had to be aired, might as well do all of it. He swallowed, and with a quiver from his voice due to the anger, forced himself to continue.

“‘Master Kohga is nothing short of a madman. He may hold everyone’s adoration, may have everyone convinced he is that like a god, but I have been unblinded, ever since the day after the party. I know the truth.’”

The clan was boring holes into Sooga’s head, and Kohga was besides himself. How could he say all of those things? Even in his stupid diary. Kohga was fully pissed now, standing up as he finished it off, ready to beat Sooga’s no good, back stabbing ass.

“‘For why else would the most beautiful, the most charismatic, the most talented man I’ve ever met, be in love with me? Someone who is far from charming, someone is such a fool to believe that someone so incredible could love him as much as he claims? Kohga had to be insane, and I must be a fool.’”

Kohga suddenly found himself standing there like an idiot, honestly unable to form words. He looked at Sooga, who refused to look back up at him. He wasn’t ashamed over his dirty fantasies (well maybe he was a little), he was ashamed over this part, right here. Kohga motioned for everyone to leave, and everyone obeyed, though they clearly looked hesitant to do so. Once the room cleared, Sooga stood up, clearly in a panic.

“I’m sorry! I didn’t want you to read me saying something so AWFUL towards y-”

He was interrupted by Kohga suddenly wrapping his arms around him in a hug, nearly squeezing the life out of him.

“I love you. I really love you.”

Sooga was unsure what to do, before he just squeezed him just as tightly.

“I...take it I’m forgiven.”

“For nearly giving me a heart attack? Barely. For the wanking stuff? Yeah. You’re so stupid, dammit.”

He was crazy. But it seems as though they both were.

[nostalgic-pancakes]

Room 73- Chapter 4/8

Summary: D&D is planned, two characters get their very own breakdowns, Thomas reminisces, and Virgil has one good day

Pairings: (eventual) QPP’s Remus and Patton, Pre-Relationship prinxiety, sibling-y Virgil and Original Character, Creativitwins

Read on AO3

Word count: 3326

Warnings: Questionable parenting, period-typical homophobia, the foster system, semi-graphic (?) depictions of violent death, rage breakdown, nervous breakdown, minor arson.

Other notes: None!

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Logan quite frankly had no idea what Janus meant by ‘friendly hissing’. All hissing was a warning sign to potential prey, and wasn’t friendly in any incarnation! How could certain kinds of hissing be friendly? They all sound the same!

This was a level of insanity nearly topping Neil DeGrasse Tyson playing Merlin in the fucking Sharknado movies. But not really. That would top everything. Either way, Janus, someone who also hissed rather often (information citation being Patton) was likely the superior authority in tonal hissing. Logan’s a bit too sleep-deprived looking up resources for ghosts and surviving midterms to care too much.

Either way, the Dungeons and Dragons planning session was starting today. Everyone would be there at lunch this time and that meant that one, he would get to see his brother for the first time since homeroom (no common classes on Wednesdays was not ideal), and meeting with the rest of their newfound friends.

(Logan had never had anyone other than Virgil, and the rest seem to be alright. Janus knows, anyways, and he didn’t hate Logan for it, so it’s probably alright. He hopes it’s alright.)

“Lo-Lo!! Over here!” comes a friendly voice from his northeast. It’s Patton, who’s waving at him, glasses crooked, big smile. Logan fixes his glasses, and tries to smile back. It works, and even feels real.

Patton from up close certainly looks a bit tired, but he’s still happy enough, so Logan refrains from pointing it out.

When they reach the lunch table tentatively labeled as ‘theirs’, Virgil scoots over to let Logan slot between him and Roman, while Patton curls up next to Janus, relishing being with their siblings again, as much as friends are ‘neat’.

(Maybe he’s been getting back into Welcome to Night Vale. Maybe Amma cried and hugged him, calling it progress and Mom sat next to him and listened to her own show, the Magnus Archives and held him close. Maybe Virgil squeezed him tight and brought out the ‘What the Fuck is Happening in Night Vale’ board they’d made when they were twelve. He’d never tell)

Remus starts to hand out sheets of paper, asking everyone to draw their characters while he and Virgil work on plot, and it’s quiet in that little space of three pairs of siblings sketching out D&D characters, later talking about little things, big things and everything in between in the courtyard because the senior kids had exams and therefore none of them had last period. It was pleasant, and they’d all be paying their third ever group visit to Thomas later in the afternoon, too.

This was nice.

…

“Hey, Vi?” Hildi asked from behind him. They were sitting back-to-back, on her bed listening to a new album from All Time Low. The name didn’t matter too much yet.

“Yeah, Di?”

“Wanna do low level arson?” she asked, turning to face him and reclaiming her earbud. This was probably a terrible idea, but Hildi was the one person he wasn’t scared of acting out horrific ideas with. He smiles, and it’s reflected in Hildi’s eyes, dark green like the forest she lives in.

“Sure, why not?” he gets up, and Hildi turns around again for him to take his binder off and put on a sports bra, before putting his jumper (that Patton had given him for his birthday last week) back on, and patting his jean pockets for his phone. Once he knew everything was there, Hildi turned back to him, took his hand and led him outside. - “Okay, so how did you possibly, in any fucking timeline convince me to set fire to your old ‘Secret Diaries’ in the middle of the very flammable woods as if it was, at all, anything REMOTELY RESEMBLING a good idea?!”

“The power of friendship, Virge. Don’t fret, the damages are going to be well hidden in a week.”

“Oh my god but this is how forest fires start, were we crazy?!”

“Virgil calm down, nothing is more than slightly scorched, nothing is dead, and we caught every last ember! You’d know!”

“How would I know? Isn’t that more your department?”

“Spend enough time with a witch, and this is what happens. I regret nothing.”

“I regret so many things.”

“Sadness.” - “Hey, scaredy-bro, Love you.” Hildi whispers into the night, and Virgil remembers nights like this in middle school, when he started to realise that not everyone was as scared as him all the time, and he’d become more scared because everyone was watching, and laughing, and--

And Hildi had been there, a casual acquaintance from primary school becoming his best friend becoming his kind of sister because what other word is there (?), offering him trash earbuds that made the grunge music sound that much grungier, and holding him close on the nights Logan came home, unable to speak, covered in bruises, never letting Virgil tell their parents even though Logan was their twin and Virgil was so scared-- She caught him as he fell, and he hopes that she knows that he’ll forever be grateful for it.

“Love you too, you fucking danger noodle.”

Hildi chucks a throw pillow at him. It misses by at least three feet, falling off the shared bed. They both giggle, loud enough that Hildi’s mum ‘ssh’’s them from her own room, audible even with the closed door.

Three hours later, knowing full well that Virgil’s been on tumblr this whole time, Hildi whispers again.

“Hey, let’s look for Kelpies in the creek tomorrow”

This is an awful idea. But it has fewer environmental ramifications.

“Sure, why not. After December break?”

“Fuck yeah.”

They don’t last a lot longer after that.

…

Virgil wasn’t sure what he was expecting to find when he went to check on Roman, after it was ten minutes past final bell and he still hadn’t shown in the chemistry room after going back to pick up his papers.

Having a minor breakdown was not on that list, even though murder was. Virgil’s brain needed new priorities.

“Ro-Ro, Roman, what’s happening?”

“I-I can’t Virgil, I can't do it, please, I’m sorry” Virgil’s hands clenched tighter onto Roman’s shirt collar, knuckles white from the worry.

“You can't do what, Roman?” he asks, as gently as he can

“I-I’m so scared, Virgil. Mom’s not doing well, Dad’s doing the opposite of helping, and Remus and I don’t know what to do, Virgil. They keep f-fighting. The last time we tried to tell, it was by accident, and Mom had gotten so mad, and she’d said “If you keep talking about how Mom and Dad fight, then there won’t be a mom and dad’ and I can’t-- I can’t live without her, I can’t, Virgil!” Roman blubbers into his shirt, staining his hoodie and and pressing against his (currently unbound, but no big deal) chest, but Virgil literally could not give a shit about his hoodie right then, pulling him closer and cradling Roman’s head in the crook of his neck, one hand in his (fluffy, holy shit is this cotton?) hair, the other cradling his back. Roman smells like wood and some kind of flower.

“Have you told her any of this, Ro?” Virgil asks, and Romab lets out a bigger sob, burying himself into Virgil’s torso. Virgil knew that Roman’s parents weren’t on the best of terms right now, even though they kept trying to be good parents, but this? This was new.

“I c-can’t because-hic- She’ll get more upset, and she’s alsways so close to snapping and i can’t tell dad because he’ll get angry and I can’t tell Remus because he knows but he doesn’t, he doesn’t---fuck”

“Doesn’t?” prompts Virgil, softly into Roman’s hair, muffled by the soft chestnut curls.

“know, not same as I do, he doesn’t get sad, he gets mad, and he doesn’t want to become like dad but he stops talking and locks himself in rooms to not yell at people and I don- I don’t wanna make it worse.” he says softly, and Virgil starts stroking his hair, as a way to try and calm Roman down, trying not to cry a bit himself. He wishes, in a horrible way, that this was a panic attack. He doesn’t know what to do here.

“Could you find a way to maybe more quietly tell her to stay, perhaps?” asks Virgil again, even quieter this time. Roman more feels the words than he hears them, a soothing sort of humming.

“But it’s so selfish, isn’t it? That I think that? She deserves to be happy, and if being without us is happy, then she should, right? But I can’t do this with just my dad- he’s trying, but I can’t, help, please.”

And Virgil doesn’t know what to do, or what to say anymore. So he just holds Roman tighter in that very small corner in the 9-D classroom, and Roman clutches back until he’s cried it out entirely, and is ready to face everyone else. It’s been a few minutes, but they can clean up real quick.

Virgil takes out his spare hoodie and changes into it, Roman with his back turned in the boy’s bathroom, while Roman fixes his hair and washes the drying tear tracks off of his face, which were starting to feel like a mask on his face. He tries for a smile, and it’s small, but at least it’s real.

Virgil passes him a granola bar, and Roman hesitates for a second, before smiling again, taking it in hand and pocketing it. Roman offers his hand for Virgil to take, and he does, feeling the softness of Roman’s hands in comparison to his own, long and calloused with fidget rings on both hands. He squeezes.

Virgil looks up at Roman again, and they share a small smile, before walking out of the bathroom, hand in hand.

Wait- why are his hands glowing?

“Fuck you, Hildi.” he muttered under his breath.

“Huh, what?” Roman looked back at him, questioningly.

“Uh, nothing. Just thinking. ‘Cmon.” he smiles again, and he means it. With Roman, it feels like all his fears can be kept aside for another day.

…

“Oh my god, Remus, no you cannot make yourself a dwarven stripper this is a PG-13 D&D game oh my god--”

Remus looks up from the (probably very gory) conversation he’s having with Patton to reply to Virgil. “And why not? Minnie could be a stripper in the way back!”

“Just… no, thanks.”

“UUUUUGH, you’re no FUN, Virgey.”

“C’mon Bro, you could be… I dunno, a taxidermist?” Remus gets the manic glint back in his eye, snatching his sheet back from Virgil to add in the new information, scribbling frantically. His handwriting is already nigh impossible to read on a good day, so he’d better be able to read his own character sheet.

“Hey Thomas, what do you want to be?” asks Janus, undoing his loops to start a new string game, having finished his character profile- a Tiefling Wizard, about ten minutes ago while Logan became his work partner and roommate (Oh my god they were roommates), a human wizard. Virgil was the DM, therefore without a character other than an ominous voice with anxiety and a god complex at the same time, and Patton and Roman were both Elves, though Patton was an Artificer and Roman was a Bard.

Logan quickly jotted down Thomas’s responding morse code, chuckled, and read it aloud. “He says, and I quote: Can I be the thing that goes bump in the night? But also offer tea and biscuits to wayward travellers.”

Virgil smiles in Thomas’s vague direction, trying to make eye contact with the static. He fails, but Thomas thinks it’s quite nice of him to try.

“You’re too nice, T. I’ll write it down for you.”

You’re too nice

He was too nice to not let them get away with it, to stop them from killing him, to stop them from--

”Oi! You fruitcake, too nice to go running to your boyfriend, huh? Get a taste of this and see whether you’re nice enough to take it.”

He was. He didn’t object to the stuff in the bottle going down his throat, burning up his organs and destroying his body from the inside.

He didn’t have enough vocal chords left to scream, even as the other boy, final year, shook him as if trying to see whether he’s wake up, even as a hole formed in his throat, bleeding and burning and burning and burning--

It’s the last thing Thomas remembers.

“Thomas? Thomas? You’re making static-y noises again. You okay?” it’s Virgil, and it’s been nearly a hundred years and they’re dead and he’s dead and there’s nothing left of anyone he remembers but memories and he pushes aside his last memory, the worst one, to try and think of Valerie, his amazing sister who got to go to his school, sit in the same chemistry room once it was converted into a public school. Terrence, his family friend who came to his gravestone specially when segregation ended, and he could finally come and visit.

Everett, his boyfriend, who kept visiting, every day at four P.M on the dot until he was twenty and left town for college. It feels better to remember them as they were, in loose clothes playing in the woods, hide and seek and dolls and Valerie-the-Nurse and Everett-The-Soldier and Thomas-The-Film-Star and finding ways to get Terrence away to play with them too, as Terrence-The-Mechanic who could fix anything, even emotional problems as their Mom’s tittered and their fathers scowled but they didn’t matter because they were having fun.

He snaps out of it proper when Virgil manages to locate his hand, semi-visible ...

Patton’s pulling at his hair, not enough to fall out but enough to hurt, Sarcastrophe by Slipknot raging through his headphones and he knows that this is bad for his hearing, but at this point if it can drown out the absolute rage pounding in his mind, then going deaf is worth it.

He doesn’t even know why he’s mad. It’s just there and he’s screaming into his sleeves, tears caking on his face for moments before the anger arrives again and there’s a new layer of saltwater on top of it, endlessly endlessly going and he can’t stop it and why can’t it just stop--

There’s someone calling. It’s Remus. And Patton has to be happy and he thinks he might just implode with the… everything building up in him, but he has to do this so he picks up the phone.

“Hi Patty-Cakes!” The nickname makes him want to puke, even though he doesn like it, but he swallows the imaginary bile in his throat and replies.

“H-Hey, Remus.”

“Patton? You alright?” No, not at all he wants to scream and kick and cry but also freeze and never move again and his head hurts and there’s a pit in his stomach that won’t go away!

“YEAH! Uh, yeah. I’m good.” he sniffles, and he hopes Remus didn’t pick up on it. Judging by the silence on the other end, he probably did.

“Pat, please, tell me what’s wrong. I won’t say anything. Just let it out. It usually works for Roman and I, but just- see for yourself, okay?” Remus sounds a little concerned, a little desperate, and Patton thinks Remus can hear him trying to stifle his crying. He tries a little harder and all that comes out is one long moan with hitches for cries and the tears are drying, and Remus starts again, concerned, but Patton can’t hear, because the tears are catching up again and he’s screaming again and his fingernails have cut little red crescent moons into his cheek and it drips a little and Remus is still talking, soothingly and Patton latches onto that voice like it’s the only thing that could possibly carry him through this because it damn well feels like it.

He hears footsteps but not really, too focused on trying to regain control of his breathing, following Remus’s count.

When it's been a few minutes of following the count, and Patton’s breathing has evened out, he wipes off his face in his old faithful broom skirt, always ready for days like these, and he buries himself a little further into his hoodie, covering with it the phone on his ear.

“Patty--”

“No, not that, please.”

“Patton, Do you want to talk about it?”

Yes, actually, but he doesn’t really see the point, since nothing lasts for him. He’s a fucked up foster kid ™ style. Good things don’t happen to him. (Maybe to Janus. Janus deserves good things, good people, better than him--)

“Why wouldn’t this last? And you’re a foster kid?” fuck, he said that aloud? Well, rest in fucking pieces, brain to mouth filter.

“Yeah, f-foster kid here.”

“Janus too?”

“Yeah.” he whispers, throat too tired for anything else. He’s not ready for the universal ‘how’ question, but he’s not been prepared for any of this so far, so maybe he should just not bother.

“Okay. Do your foster parents show any signs of wanting to let you go?” no, not really. In fact, he’d seen Remy and Emile trying to quickly hide a sheaf of papers any time Patton or Janus entered a room, and Patton’s been pushing down the hope as much as possible, even as he sees Janus start to believe it eventually. Patton has to be ready for something to go wrong, he can’t afford to let down his guard, lest he can’t protect Janus anymore. He has to make sure nothing can faze him.

But he wants. He wants so, so badly that sometimes he lies in bed for hours, pushing down the want and trying his best not to cry, until it’s morning and he’s waking Janus up even though he could barely push himself out of bed. He says this to Remus, because he still wants. He wants to stay near Remus forever, recite oddly dark facts and binge-watch the Sharknado movies again while Logan and Janus screech in betrayal and huddle up close and he wants to have this. He wants this so badly.

“Pat, I didn’t know how to say it, but I want to be with you forever too. You like my weird facts, and you stay by me when I’m mad and I want to be there when you’re sad, Patton. I want this too.”

“R-really?”

“Of course, Patton. I don’t lie. Especially not to you.” Patton laughs, somewhat wetly, and Remus’s tone brightens when he hears it, and Patton can feel the smile on the other side of the line, manic-looking but inherently full of kindness, and everything feels a little more okay.

The hurt isn’t gone, but at least he isn’t forcing it down into his large intestine anymore.

“Thanks, Re. I-I’ll talk to Emile and Remy when they come home, okay? I’ll tell you what happened. See you in school tomorrow?”

“Course, Patton. Now I’m gonna go get something for Roman to eat before his stomach acids digest his entire body, eyes and all.”

Patton laughs. “Okay! Just don’t miss your therapy appointment, okay?”

“Never do. Bye.”

“Bye.”

The call finally cuts off, and the timer reads 37:19:73, and he probably spent a good chunk of that time having a breakdown, but strangely enough, Patton doesn’t feel super bad about it. The want is there, and he’s still not super sure about what to do with it, but he knows that he wants it to be real, and even if something does go wrong, he’ll still have Remus’s number.

The door swings open as Janus enters the house, and creaks closed downstairs, and Patton flops onto his bed, eyes still a little red, putting his phone on charge to take a nap. He’ll have emotionally charged conversation, but after this nap, thanks.

[supernaturallyobsessedchic]

When He’s Sick

Pairing: Dean x reader

Warnings: sick!dean (it’s a thing, trust me), man flu (most women in relationships, also maybe some gay men would know the constant struggles when their man is sick the ‘man flu’ (usually it’s a cold)), mentions of depression, mentions of panic attacks, fluffiness

Word Count: 2,466

a/n: was reading @supernatural-jackles​ preference list, the title is same as her preference when the boys are sick. Here’s my imagination running wild when I should be preparing to post 7 Days to Die. But, Dammit Jen’s so good, plus, Jen, I hope this is okay...I never talked ahead of time with you about it, this happened spontaneously....I guess read and let me know if it’s all good. If not I’ll remove it.

~

They had been in the town for a number of days. Hunt finished, long finished. But it turns out, someone, somewhere, somehow, the boys got sick with a nasty virus.

Sam was the first down and out. Not throwing up, but heating up with a fever. But his gut feeling like he isn’t going to last. Even if he ate something light on his stomach.

Y/N offered a small variety of foods to the giant. Saltines, applesauce, banana, toast, mashed potatoes, soup, anything light. But he turned it down.

She heard retching in the bathroom. That leaves with the older Winchester. Now when he’s sick, he’s sick. Really sick. Hearing him lose the contents of last night’s supper told her he wasn’t going to be able to keep anything solid down. At least not heavy. But they need to eat something.

He came out after washing up, pale as a ghost. If not dead already. It worried her, seeing how pale he was.

“Any leads on Dick?” He asks, words slurred. A garbled burp escaped. Only to turn into another throw up session. When he felt something coming up, he turned at his heel to make it to the toilet.

It had been weeks since Bobby’s death, Dean was running himself ragged finding Dick. Both him and Sam both wanted revenge. But at least, Sam knows when to stop to sleep and eat. But Dean, has one speed. Go.

She could only shake her head. He needs to take a break.

“You are in no condition to keep this up Dean.” She says from the door.

“Rain or shine, I’m hunting Dick.” He says. He hears her snort. “Oh grow up.” he groans as another wave hit him. Only making him groan louder, unable to throw up.

She took the time to head out to grab some supplies for them before they leave to head to the hunters cabin where they hid out, but also primarily lived.

Grabbing canned soups, broth, and even grabbed a thing of potatoes to mash up. She had weird, not so traditional ways of getting nourishment when sick but also something to be easy on the stomach.

Driving back she heads to their room. Sam still in bed, sound asleep. She hears a moan from the kitchen. To find Dean on the floor.

“Dean!” she says, concerned. Dropping the groceries on the table before rushing over to help him up.

“I’m fine.” He slurs.

“You’re not fine, you’re on the kitchen floor for no reason.” She says, helping him up.

She could feel the muscles in his arms trembling, they were fatigued.

“The floor moved on me.” He mumbles.

As she struggles to get him up right, she had his back at her chest, so his head fell back on her shoulder. He was out of it. But she wraps an arm around to touch his forehead.

“Dean, you’re burning up. We need to cool you off.” She says. Pushing him up to his feet.

“Seriously, I’m fine.” He continues.

He’s up, but knees weak nearly gave out. She has his arm around her shoulder as she practically dragged him to his bed. When his but landed on the side of the bed he didn’t stop the rest of his body to fall onto the bed with a significant bounce.

“No you’re not. You got something, you and Sam both. You threw up, and are running a fever. You need to stop and rest. It’s not gonna kill you.” She says.

He didn’t have the energy to fight her. He doesn’t even fight her when she takes his boots off. Undressing him down to his t-shirt and boxers, tucking him in bed under a thin layer of sheets.

I’m gonna have to play nurse. She thought.

Pulling the thermometer out on the boys. Sam rang a temperature in the hundreds, but it was easily manageable.

“102, just rest up Sam, ‘kay?” she says.

Sam nods. “No problem, this sucks.” He groans.

“I’m making some soup and mashed potatoes. It’s cream of chicken and veggie soup. What’s best is you could also put some of the soup on the potatoes.” She suggests.

“Sounds good, my stomach has calmed down some, so I’ll try some.” He says.

“That’s good.” She says.

“How’s Dean?” he asked.

“His fever is nearing 104, he ate a few saltines before taking the fever reducer. He’ll try to throw up, but it just turns into dry heaves, I can tell they hurt. Whatever he got, it’s worse than what you have.” She says.

“If he gets worse?” he asks.

“He might need to go to the hospital then. For all I know it’s just the flu.” She says.

“The flu can get bad though.” Sam goes.

“In kids and the immunocompromised. And the elderly…And the uninsured…” she listed.

Sam chuckled. “It’s so sad how it’s preventable, but the government makes it a fucking hassle to just take care of your own health.” He says.

“And they die as the end result, because the meds they need or the care they need are too much for them, and they can’t get them. It’s wrong on so many levels. It’s like they’re bullies stealing our lunch money, they’re holding it out of reach and we’re too short to grab it.” she says.

“That’s what I was thinking of saying. But I’m not thinking straight.” He says.

“It’s the fever. Rest up Sammy. I’ll tell the caretaker we’re staying until you two are a little better. At least better enough for the road trip back to the cabin.” She suggests.

“I know I could, him I’m worried about.” Sam says. She nods, agreeing.

 She was only able to get them the room for a couple of more hours before they had to move out. Sam was able to eat her soup and potatoes, Dean not so much. The smell of the food made him gag.

“I’m sorry sweetheart, I just made it look like your food smells awful, and it don’t. it smells amazing, my stomach is just in knots.” Dean whines, rolling on his side in his bed.

“It’s okay Dean, I know. I could tell you wanted to try but your stomach is making it rough. I’ll just pack it up in some topper wear and I’ll pack us up and drive us back.” She says.

“Um, no, you’re not driving my car.” Dean says, trying to get up. Only to dry heave while getting up, lurching forward, nothing coming up.

“Dean, you’re in no condition. Neither is Sam. I couldn’t get us to stay longer. You’re just going to have to deal with it.” she says. “I’ll help you out to the car when we’re ready.” She says.

 The drive was smoother than it could have been. Dean passed out in the back seat; Sam curled up in his usual sleeping position when it came to sitting in the passenger seat.

She didn’t like driving older vehicles. They drove like boats, and this was worse, it was a truck. The year wasn’t that far off, but it was old enough. The four door truck had comfy, inviting seats that took Sam and Dean into dreamland in the instant they got comfortable.

She managed to get the cabin just fine, unpacking without jostling them awake. She got their beds ready with cleaner sheets, Sam was easy to wake up. He was eager to get into a bed. Dean was reluctant, already cozy and relaxed he was content with sleeping in the truck.

“Dean, you can’t stay in here. You’ll make your fever worse.” She says, nudging him awake more.

“Fine.” He mumbles, sitting up sluggishly. Shoulders slumped.

“Come on Dean, I’ll help you.” She says.

“I can walk myself.” He snaps. He’s grumpy.

She snapped her hand away from him, letting him walk himself. But kept to herself after that. But it didn’t really stop her from checking in on him.

Cleaning the cabin she put on her phone her music she’d sing to while doing such chores. Grew up on country music she listened to some old Keith Urban Music, from his albums Defy Gravity, Love, Pain and the Whole Crazy thing, and Be Here, she dusted singing along to Standin’ Right in Front of You.

“Y/N, please stop singing! I’m trying to sleep!” she heard Dean shout from his room.

Feeling guilty, she just hummed the song as she cleaned. She felt bad for a minute, the feeling sticking with her throughout her cleaning.

She cooked up more soup for the boys, cleaned, and once done she just jammed out on the couch with the TV on Spanish Soap Operas. Trying to shake the guilt feeling she had early, as it crept back up on her.

 That night, after the boys ate and got situated for bed, one Winchester had something on his mind.

She was watching cable television, surfing here and there trying to get away from Spanish Soaps, but always finding her way back when finding nothing else on. She heard the floor creak behind her.

Her headphones were off, music off, just relaxing watching TV, she turned to see the older Winchester standing adjacent of the couch. Looking exhausted.

“You’re not coming to bed?” he asked. Voice still rough from being sick.

“I’m not tired. Besides, you need the bed. You’re still sick.” She says softly.

“You’ve been cleaning all day, taking care of me and Sam, you’ve got to be exhausted.” He says, something off about his tone.

“Dean, it’s fine. Just go back to bed, rest.” She says kindly.

He doesn’t say anything to that, but sits on the couch with her.

“Do you even like Spanish Soap Operas?” he asks, hiding a chuckle.

“I don’t like Soap Operas period.” She says. “But we got only cable TV, and it’s 2 in the morning. There’s nothing on.” She says.

“I’m sensing there’s more going on.” Dean goes.

“Dean, why are you up in the first place?” She asks. “You’re sick, you need to rest to get better.” She adds.

“Well see, there’s this girl. She’s more than a friend to me. I’ve been kind of a dick to her lately.” He says.

“Dean, it’s not your fault. I shouldn’t have babied you; I should have kept it down when I was cleaning. It’s fine.” She says.

“And I know how sensitive you are, and can be. You love to take care of those you love. I’m the same way.” He says. “I guess I was more mad at myself for getting sick, I was so fixated on finding Dick I even didn’t care how sick I got.” He adds.

“You got a drive in you it’s scary, but it’s fine Dean. You’re only human. You have limitations, we all do. But you got to recognize your physical limitations and give yourself a break, and then get back at it again when you’re better.” She says.

“Back at you sweetheart.” He goes.

“Huh?” she asks.

“You got to know your mental limitations too. I’ve noticed how quiet you’ve been getting since we got sick. Plus, in the past, I’ve seen it happen. Sam mentioned it to me, Bobby knew it. Depression. It’s no joke Y/N. You got to take care of yourself mentally too.” Dean says.

She locks up, her walls going on. And he sees her tense. “And it’s okay if you don’t want to talk about it. but you can’t bottle it up. You got to deal with it. But you don’t have to do it alone.” He adds.

She nods, fiddling with her fingers.

“What has that demon told you in your head lately?” he asks.

“I’m not doing good enough to care for you or Sam.” She says quietly. Voice beginning to crack. “Stop trying.” She adds.

“You know that’s bull shit right?” he asks. He can see her shake her head.

“You snapped at me, yelled at me to keep it down.” she says. “That’s when it started getting bad.” She adds.

“And now?” he asks.

“It’s saying he’s going to throw you out; he doesn’t want you or your issues. You’re too much for him.” She says. Her throat holding back a sob.

“I’d never do that to you. You’re more than my friend, you’re my girl. I know I haven’t been the best friend lately. But I’m here now. Yes I’m sick, but I want to be there for my girl.” He says. “I’ll kick this demons ass for you, just tell me what you need.” He adds.

“I’m about to have a panic attack, I can feel it come on, can you hold me through it?” she asks, her voice disappearing.

Not saying a word, he invites her in his arms, and the two cuddle on the couch as she cries her eyes out, shakes and trembles, and works to get her breathing under control.

After a while she fallen asleep in the Older Winchester’s arms, when a wooden creak can be heard in the living room.

“How is she holding up?” Sam asks, walking in.

“She’s asleep now, that was a bad attack from the looks of it.” Dean says.

“How are you feeling by the way?” Sam asks.

“Better, but still a little under the weather. You?” He says.

“A bit better. Just a sore throat now.” Sam answers.

“I say we take care of her tomorrow, even if she’s not sick, but she needs us.” Dean says.

“I agree with that.” Sam says. “You up to carrying her or?” He asks.

“Dude, I’m exhausted. And I really don’t want to move her. Just grab us a blanket and some pillows, we’ll crash here.” Dean says with a groan.

“Sure thing.” Sam says with a tired smile. Heading into Dean’s room, grabbing a few blankets, a couple of pillows and heads back to the couch covering them up, and handing Dean the pillows.

“Night Jerk.” Sam goes.

“Night Bitch.” Dean says.

 Sun rose high that morning. Dean woke up with, feeling a warm spot on his chest. Seeing her still asleep, not moving from her spot.

Brushing a strand of hair back, his fingers grace over her forehead. His brows furrow when he feels how warm she feels.

She moans, waking up, causing a dry cough.

“Sounds like someone got sick.” Dean says.

“I feel sick too.” She says, her voice rough and scratchy.

“I finally get to return the favor, and take care of you for a change.” He says with a big grin, hugging her close making her giggle.

“I’m loving it so far.” She says hugging him back.

~

Copying and reposting someone else’s content is plagiarism and illegal. This work is property of supernaturallyobsessedchic. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. These works contain material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited. No part of these works may be reproduced in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without express written permission from the author / publisher. An electronic reference link to the original posted work may be provided for purposes of promotion or assistance of publication by the readers discretion, if proper credits are given to the author in the re-post. 10/2/2020

~

Dean Taglist:

@pandazombie69​, @luci-in-trenchcoats​, @supernatural-jackles​, @becs-bunker​, @mlovesstories​, @winchesters-favorite-girl​

[randomrosewrites]

TSOYS DRAFTS

Here are the remaining drafts I wrote for the story. Excuse the grammar and spelling mistakes. Thank you for reading. 

Chapter 23 draft:

You’re in darkness. 

There’s sweat covering the back of your neck, rolling uncomfortably down your spine in slow droplets.

The dark is horrible, suffocating. There’s no escape from it. An ache buzzes through you, making you want to squirm in place. And everywhere you turn, to try and ease the feeling, an electric buzz follows. 

There’s a chatter. Like the gnashing and tapping of teeth. You shudder. Your body feels sick. Decaying, self-destructing, rejecting itself.

The oxygen flowing to your body slows. Then you can’t breathe. You panic, inhaling deeply, but it’s never enough. 

The buzz nears. And your heart spikes at the familiar sound of well polished dress shoes against the floor. Your eyes aren’t open, but you can feel him coming closer, his TV-face glowing in the sea of dark, inching forward slowly. 

Tap. Tap. Tap.

You squirm, unable to move, to open your eyes, to scream, as the harsh light burns into your eyelids, searing the nerves in them. Every part of you wants to run away - but you can’t. 

His hands grip you, nails digging into your skin and then there’s an awful stabbing sensation in your chest. 

 You jolt awake, eyes flying open. You damn nearly fall out of bed with your panic, catching yourself at the last second. You blink around at your bedroom, remembering where you are.

Knitted blankets. Wood floors. Moonlight streaming through the windows. The soft snore of a raven. You’re in Gluttony, not Pride. 

It was only a dream. 

You hang your head in your hands, letting the terror seap from your bones. Your heart thumps wildly in your chest. Sweat covers you like an uncomfortable blanket and your breathing is uneven. You gulp down deep breaths, fisting the locks of your hair. 

A dream…

You gulp down the glass of water by your bedside with shaky hands, light a candle by your bedside to illuminate your room. The dark seems too oppressive, scary. You pull down your sleeve, looking at the grey lines of the bonding mark. 

It’s not the dark you fear, it’s what in the dark that you-

“Oh shut up,” you growl to yourself. You roll your sleeve back up, laying down and pulling the blankets up to your nose. You watch the dripping wax until your eyes ache and the sun rises, eventually falling asleep once the threat of monsters in the dark is over.

 Knock knock knock.

Your eyes crack open at the sound of a sharp knocking at your door. You curl over, trying to sleep again, but the noise persists a second later. 

Knock knock knock.

Knock knock knock.

Finally, after you know the thing won’t give up, you throw the sheets off of you. Grumbling profanities, you pad your way to the door, undoing the deadbolt and swinging it open. 

Your eyes nearly bulge out of your sockets as Alastor stands there, bright smile on his face. 

“Good morning, neighbor!” he chirps.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” you snap, voice hoarse from sleep.

“To wish you a good morning.”

“Ok? And?”

“It’s the start of the day! And there’s so much we have yet to do.”

“I don’t wanna do anything with you.” 

“Someone’s gotten off on the wrong side of the bed today! Did we not get enough sleep?”

“Alright - Goodbye.” 

You slam the door but Alastor sticks his foot in the doorway at the last second.  

“AH ah ah, we can’t have that! It’s a beautiful day, with so much to do!”

“Ok, so go off and do it by yourself.”

“But I’m quite interested in this place, you see.”

You sigh and rub your eyes. Unfortunately, you know much about Alastor to know that he won’t give up on something he truly wants. 

“Alright, alright. Hand around or something, I don’t…” you’re interrupted by a large yawn. “I don’t care. I’m gonna take a bath.”

“Don’t break anything or I’ll roast your ass.”

“Frightening. I’ll keep that in mind.” 

Barely keeping a scowl off of your face, you close the door shut behind you. 

---

You mull over the days events in the cool pool of the river, thinking about the nightmare you had the night before.

The nightmare you had is fresh in your mind. The awful feelings and past you have return to you. 

You sit in the stream, allowing the cool water of the river to wash over your body. You close your eyes, breathing deeply through your nose to allow the stresses to fall away from your body. 

Your thoughts return to the nuisance waiting for you back at home. How he’s now taken an interest in your life. 

Ugh.  

You rinse the suds out of your eyes, get changed, and walk back to the house.

You open the door and Alastor is sitting in the recliner to your living room. 

“Welcome back.”

It would be polite, if not for the fact that this is your house. 

“What are you doing?”

“Enjoying the morning. At least I’m trying to; you really have nothing in the fridge to eat.”

“This isn’t a hotel," you say, moving over and collecting your bow from the corner. “You can’t just take what you want - Feet off the table.” you tap his shoe, and he kicks his feet onto the floor.

“Where are you going?” he asks. 

“Out. Hunting.” you don’t ask him to come.

“I’ll accompany you. It’s been a while since I last went - I reckon I could teach you a thing or two.” 

“Do whatever you want. Just don’t scare off the game.”

_

“God, will you just be quiet?!” 

Alastor grins. “I’m afraid not m’dear, that’s against my natural programming.”

Furious, frustrated, you chuck an arrow at his head. He catches it easily between his fingers, but his pupils dilate into slits, predatorily honing in on the threat.  

“Ohh…” he chuckles. You can feel the cloud of static wrapping around you. “If you’re going to attack me, you're going to have to try harder than that.”

Despite what he says, there’s a tone to his voice that pushes through the fear you feel. He seems taunting. 

You lick your lips, stringing another arrow into your bow. Alastor’s pupils widen dangerously. “Is this what you want? A little one on one?”

“Am I that obvious?”

‘You’re practically salivating.”

“You go first-” he barely gets the word out before you let your arrow fly. He manages to grip the arrow in his hand, an inch in front of his face. 

“Oh ho!” he dodges the second one your shoot, spinning his microphone into his hands on the third. “You’ve improved!”

Have you actually fought Alastor before? There was wonderland, sure, but never something so one on one.

“Hello there!” you yelp, jumping high in the tree to sneak up on him, bust Alastor is one step ahead. He side-steps you and you crash to the ground. Alastor’s foot presses into your back a second later.

“Seems I’ve bested you.”

“Don’t talk as if this is over.”

“Isn’t it?”

“You underestimate me.” The bow poofs into your hands. Alastor takes an alarming step back as it morphs into a spear, but instead of using it, you take the moment to sweep his legs out from underneath him, sending him falling flat on his back. 

You kick to your feet, holding the spear to his throat.

You both stay still.

“Well,” Alastor wheezes, grinning up at you. His monocle is skewed off place on his face. “You are a very talented fighter.”

“Not talent,” You take a step back, offering the handle to Alastor. “Experience.”

He, to your surprise, takes it, getting to his feet with an unearthly snap of his bones.

“Thank you very much, that was quite brilliant! 

He’s like a dog needing to be let out on a walk, you think amusingly.

---

Three hours later, after more productive hunting session, the two of your return back home. You carrying most of the game, and Alastor ogling at you doing so.

You return back to your home, but to your dismay, Alastor hasn’t left. Instead, he just hovers over the counter, watching you work around your kitchen. Like a fly you can’t get rid of. 

“What?” you ask after he’s been staring at you for the past 5 minutes. 

“You’re doing it wrong.”

You put down your carving knife. “Am I now?”

“Yes,” Alastor unpops the buttons on his suit. “Give me that knife there, I’ll show you.”

Hesitant, but willing, you flip the handle towards Alastor. He rolls up his sleeves - exposing the dark, black markings that run up from underneath his gloves and up his forearms - and takes the knife.

“I always worked with deer, but I suppose rabbits will do,” Alastor explains, expertly running the knife through the meat. “Now, first rule, you want to cut the legs free, it makes things easier...”

You sit back and watch him work, carefully taking note as he parries the blade of silver through the skin like he’s cutting through butter. His hands work masterfully to prepare the meat, slicing off this and that. 

“You’re very good at this,”

“Oh this is nothing, but the butcher down on main street? Oh boy! He was the swiftest cutter on the Mississippi river!” Alastor remises happily. “Of course, I had to learn how to butcher, both because as a cook, and because of my own hobbies…”

That reminds you of a question you’ve always wanted to ask. “Hey Alastor, can I ask you something?”

“Fire away, dear.”

“Are you a cannibal?”

The knife pauses, but only for a brief moment. “Yes.”

Oh. 

“Huh. I thought so.”

He laughs, “That’s a very laid back response, my dear, are you not afraid?”

“Kind of,” you rest your hand in your palm. “You’re an overlord.  Nah, so long as you don’t try to take a bite out of me we’re good.”

“Hm, I’ll think about it.”

You don’t have enough energy to pretend to be surprised. 

Instead, you settle on. “Don’t call me dear, by the way. I’m not your dear.” 

 “Right you are! You’re not even a deer, you’re a raccoon. You’re a raccoon!” his eyes britten suddenly, like he just thought of the most wonderful idea. “A kit!”

The term for a baby raccoon. You already see the delight gleam in his eyes. “No. Do not-“

“Alrightly, little Kit of mine, now that we’ve finished chopping-”

 “No!”

---

 The damned name stuck.

“Darling Kit,”

“Kit could you get me-“

“Kit! I’m hungry!”

In retaliation you began to call Alastor different renditions of his name.

The first time you used ‘Alistair’ he had raised his eyebrow slightly, but brushed it off. But he quickly caught onto what you were doing.

“It’s not stair, its store. Alastor.”

“I dunno. I think ‘stair’ sounds better.”

 “You’re doing this on purpose, aren’t you.”

You reached over him, grabbing a carrot to shred. “I’m just balancing the scales of justice.” 

---

“Here, take a sip.” He holds a spoon out to you. You reach to take it, but he just pulls away. You narrow your eyes.

“You’re not spoon feeding me.”

“Come on,” he teases, waggling the spoon carefully. “Say ‘ahhh’!”

Reluctantly, you open your mouth and allow him to spoon the helping of soup into your mouth. He pulls the spoon away and you swallow.

“So?” he asks with a knowing smirk on his face.

“That’s the best soup I’ve ever tasted.” 

Return to pentagram City arc: 

“You lied to me,” your voice trembles, your whole body is shaking.

“Kit, my dear, darling-”

“Don’t call me that!” you scream, your voice rises. Your whole body feels like it’s freezing and on fire at the same time. “You lied to me!”

“I thought you knew the deal was still in place.”

“Well, I didn’t! I didn’t Al, you certainly did but you never told me!” your breath catches in your throat. “You knew! You knew but you never spoke about it out loud!”

Everything. Him showing up, the gifts, the dance, everything you thought up to this point has been a lie.

He’s never wanted you. He’s only wanted what you could do for him.

Why why why why did he do this?

“Why didn’t you just tell me. Why did you pretend to care about me as a person?”

“I- I did.” he tries to get closer, you bare your teeth at him, growling. “Darling - I - I admit, my motives at first were to the benefit of the war, but-”

“You’re no different than him.” you spit.

He frowns. “That’s not true.”

“How!?” “You- you go behind my back, making me feel good - oh my dear, let’s go to this store! - oh, have I ever taught you about my hunting days. Gods, damn you to Hell, Alastor!”

---

You level him with a hard stare. Your chest hurts, like someone has carved out your very soul from your body. 

“I’m going back home. Don’t follow me. Don’t try to talk to me. Don’t visit my place.” You turn letting the bite of the wind whip against your face. “I never want to see your face ever again.”

You turn and walk, slipping away into the night. You hope beyond all hope, if Alastor does have a heart of some kind, it’s just as broken and hallow as your is. 

[fanficwriter013]

The Tower: The Queen of Asgard - 26

The Tower: The Queen of Asgard An Avengers Fanfic

Series Masterlist PREVIOUS //

Pairing:  Avengers x OFC, Bruce Banner x Bucky Barnes x Clint Barton x Wanda Maximoff x Steve Rogers x Natasha Romanoff x Tony Stark x Thor x Sam Wilson x OFC (Elly Cooper)

Word Count: 3311

Warnings: Drinking and self-doubt, mentions of past physical childhood abuse

Synopsis: The twins are now three and while the Avengers know that Clint and Thor are the biological father’s none of them know or care which blond, blue-eyed baby is related to which man.  When Riley gets the power to control wind and it becomes evident that she is the heir to the Asgardian throne, Elly, Steve, Thor, and Tony take the twins to Asgard to train her.

Not every Asgardian is happy with their king’s choice of consort, nor the impurity of the heir’s blood.  While others expect Thor to make things more official.  What’s clear is, the role of Queen of Asgard is not easily filled.

Author’s Note:  Written with my inspiration to rebel @avengerscompound​

Chapter 25: Worthy

That same night over dinner we plied the boys with drinks.  Just enough for them to get to that relaxed and slightly competitive state they’d get into when they didn’t have a lot of things to worry about.  After the kids were asleep we all sat around on the couch drinking while Nat tried to talk Clint into trying to pick Mjolnir up again.

“Come on,”  Natasha pushed.  “You know you want to.  And now Thor doesn’t have the pressure of losing Asgard.”

“It’s just a trick.  Besides, why would I suddenly just be worthy now?”   He asked.

“Well,” Thor said, sweeping his hand in the direction of Mjolnir.   “She sits on the table.  Whomever wishes.”

“You know your kids were swinging her around earlier?”  I said.

He looked at me with his eyebrows raised.  “My children?  As in plural?  Both of them?”

“Yep.  Both of them.  Piet nearly hit me with her.”  I said and looked back over at Clint “So if the kids can do it…”

Thor nudged me and gestured to Mjolnir.  “Go on, milady.”

“Me first?” I asked, looking back to Thor.

He smiled brightly.  “If the children can do it…”

I got up and looked over at Natasha.  She gave me a sharp nod and I wrapped my hand around Mjolnir’s handle.  Right away, I felt a crackle of electricity that seemed to start in both my hand and the crown of my head before running through my veins.  I pulled up and Mjolnir swung up easily.  “Like that?”  I asked.

Thor’s smiled widely and held his hand out to me.  “Look at you.  Come here, my queen.”

I moved to him and he wrapped his arm around my waist and pulled me into his lap, kissing me deeply.  Lightning crackled off our skin and leaked from our eyes as we kissed and Bruce backed away from us a little.

He pulled back and took Mjolnir from my hand, tossing her in the air so she flipped over and he caught her again.  “Who’s next?”

Natasha held out her hand and Mjolnir flew straight into it.  “Very good, my love.”  Thor cheered.

“Boys?”  Natasha asked, flicking her wrist back and forth with the hammer in her grip.

“Sonovabitch!”  Clint cursed.  “This was a setup!”

Steve got up and rolled up his sleeves, stepping over to Natasha.  “Alright, which ones of you had money on this?”  He asked and held his hand out to Natasha.  Natasha dropped the hammer into his hand and for a second it dropped before he lifted it back up easily.

“I knew it!”  Thor cheered and I started clapping.

“It’s definitely rigged,” Clint whined.

“So does this mean I can fly and do lightning and things?” I asked.

“I can’t say for sure about the flying.  It might take some teaching because it’s more like Mjolnir pulls you along.”  Thor said.

“Can you teach me some things?”  I asked.

Thor nodded and kissed my neck.  “Of course, my queen.”

“Sam, you wanna give this a go?”  Steve asked.  “Or shall I just put her back down?”

“Nah, just put her down,” Sam said gesturing to the table with his cup.

“Sam…”  I whined.

“Hey now,” Sam said, firmly.  “She’s a classy lady.  You can’t just hand her around like that.”

“Why not?  You pass me around.”  I teased.

“Yeah, you’re not exactly classy though, princess.”  Sam countered.

“Hey!”  I yelped and threw one of the cushions at him.

“What about you, Buck?”  Steve asked as he put Mjolnir down on the table.

Bucky shook his head.  “Don’t see how Mjolnir can think I’m worthy when I don’t.”

Steve rubbed Bucky’s shoulder and sat down beside him, pulling Bucky close to him.  “You’re worthy.”  He whispered.  “Of everything.”

Clint got up and tugged on the handle of Mjolnir but it didn’t budge at all. “Aw, hammer.  Come on.  Everyone else can do it.”

I got up and came over to him.  “Hey Clint, pick me up.”

Clint looked at me like I’d lost my mind, but scooped me into his arms.  I held out my hand and Mjolnir flew into it.  Clint didn’t even flinch, he just kept holding me.  “There you go.  Now you’re lifting her.”  I teased.

“Oh yeah?  And how do I use her like this?”  He asked.  “Just throw you at things?”

I broke down into giggles.  “Yes.”

“Alright,”  Sam said getting up.  “Hand her over.”

“Oh, now you want to pass her around?”  I teased holding her out to him.

He shrugged.  “Everyone else has tried.  Might as well.”  He took the handle and it sunk down for a moment before lifting it again.

“You’re worthy!”  I cheered.

He smirked at me.  “You doubted me, Elly?”  He moved Mjolnir in his hands like he was testing its weight.  “I like it.  Balanced, but not heavy.”

“I read somewhere that Mjolnir doesn’t move until lifted is that she never moves.  Rather, when you’re wielding her, the universe moves with it at the center.”

Sam gave me a look and I shrugged. “Just something I read.”

Sam put the hammer down on the table and I went and sat back with Thor.  “Can you show me how to do the hand sparks?”  I asked.

He held out his hand and Mjolnir flew into it before passing her to me.  “Hold out your hand, my queen.”

I held out my hand palm up and Thor put his palm down about an inch over it.  He wiggled his fingers and sparks began to dance over them.  Slowly he brought his hand to mine and slid his hand over my palm.  When he took his hand away the sparks were now dancing on my skin.  I moved my fingers, pushing into the tingling feeling and the sparks kept jumping over my hand.

“That’s it.  You shall be fighting alongside us in no time.  With Mjolnir, your new armor, and the gift you receive at the bonding.”  Thor said.

Steve and Tony both scowled.  “I’m not so sure about that,” Steve said.

“I didn’t make the armor for her to be an Avenger,” Tony added.

I clenched my jaw and the sparks dissipated and I put Mjolnir on the ground beside me.  I really didn’t want to start another argument about them not getting to decide what I did and didn’t do.

“How did you all go selecting clothing for the bonding?”  Thor asked.

“We have dresses,” Wanda said.

“And Pietro predicted that you, you, you and you would all cry,” Natasha said, pointing to Steve, Sam, Clint, and Tony.

“Oh yeah, Tony is going to blub,” Clint said.

“Hey!”  Tony protested.

“Yeah, you will,” Bruce said rubbing his thigh.  “You know you will.”

“How about you boys?  Did you pick out what you’re wearing?”  Natasha asked.

“We all do,”  Sam said, answering for himself, Bucky and Bruce.

“I do too, but these two couldn’t agree on anything,” Clint said, pointing at Steve and Tony.  “They are impossible.”

“I must admit, I too have been unable to find something,” Thor added.

“What happened?”  I asked.

“I want something different, just for this event.  Something unlike my other clothing.”  Thor said.  “I have a vision, but I was having trouble describing it to the tailors and Loki became increasingly frustrated with me.”

“I might be able to help,” Wanda said.  “I could act as a conduit for your thoughts, passing them directly to the tailors.”

“That might work,” Thor said.  “Thank you, my love.”

“Why haven’t you got anything, Steve?”  Bucky asked.

Steve shifted and shrugged a little.  “I don’t know,” he said.  “What I’ve tried on doesn’t feel like - it.”

“Do you want it to be Asgardian?”  I asked.

“Wait,”  Tony interrupted.  “I was told I wasn’t allowed to wear my suit.”

“Oh,” I startled.  “I don’t actually know the rules.  It’s just you were wearing a suit when we were nearly tricked into it.”

“I was told that I wasn’t allowed to wear my suit,” Tony repeated.  “And it’s a wedding suit.”

I startled and shook my head like I misheard him.  “It’s a what?”

“Shit,” he cursed under his breath.  “Nothing.”

“Tony…” I said sternly.

“Shit,” he cursed again.  “El, honey, don’t be mad.”

It felt like my heart was going to hammer its way right out of my chest.  I for the life of me couldn’t understand why Tony would have a suit on Asgard he planned to get married in.  I didn’t even know he was planning to get married.  Or who he was planning to marry.  He’d never spoken to me about marriage.  We were a polyamorous group.  Marriage had never even been on the table as a possibility until Asgard.

“But… I don’t… you have it… and you brought it here from there…  And…”  I stopped and looked at him.  “Who were you going to marry, Tony?”

“No one.”  He said.

“Tony!”  I snapped.  “Tell me your thought processes now before I have a full-blown panic attack!”

“Alright… okay… Elise, please.  You need to listen.”  He said getting up and starting to pace.  “I know what we are okay?  I know.  And as you keep pointing out, I’m not getting any younger.  And my name isn’t on the kid’s birth certificates because there’s only room for one father and one mother.  And there’s no one else.  I wrote it into my will who gets control of the company and that the Avengers Initiative.  But those things are contestable.   And I need to know that if something happens that you - all of you - are gonna be okay.  That you’re taken care of.  So I take the suit with me, because if I need to last-minute, then I have it.  Right?  And it’ll be okay.  And it’s you, El.  It needs to go to you.  I know you’ll do the right thing.  And then I know the babies will get it next.”

I got up and approached him, stepping in front of him and taking his hands.  Gradually I pulled him in against me and he melted into me, wrapping his arms around me, his whole body sagging against mine.  “Why didn’t you talk to us about it?”  I asked gently.

He shook his head.  “I keep going to, but then I think it’s okay.  We have time.  And you’re happy.  You like not playing favorites.  Saying yes to marrying me, I thought you wouldn’t because that’s favoritism.”

“Oh honey, I would have understood if you talked to us about it.”  I said gently.  “That’s why you were so ready to say yes when it was sprung on us?”

He nodded against my chest.  “I’ve been ready to marry you for years, El.”

I looked over at the others.  “We can do that, right?”  I asked.  “When we get back.  So we have the legal connection too?”

“Yes.  Of course.  It’s a good idea.”  Steve said.  “We have this here for all of us.  That there to protect us.  And more importantly the kids.”

“Will it matter if we’re gonna live for 5000 years?”  I asked.

“You’re life-spans will be drawn into line with mine, but I don’t think you gain the physical strength of Asgardians,” Thor answered.  “Even if you do, we may be long-lived but we aren’t invulnerable.  We can be killed and they do have dangerous jobs.  So the extra security is wise.”

I ran my fingers around from Tony’s scalp to his jaw and tilted his head up to look at me.  “Was it just the suit you had?”

“Oh uh…” He shook his head and fished his hand into the inside pocket of his jacket.  “No.”  He held a ring box out and popped it open.  Inside was a diamond solitaire ring with a titanium band and the largest oval cut diamond I’d ever seen in my whole life.  “So, do you want to?”

I nodded.  “Yeah.  Alright.  I’ll be your wifey.”

He chuckled and kissed my forehead before taking out the ring and slipping it onto my ring finger.  “Thank you, honey.”

“I love you, you know?”  I asked.

He nodded.  “Sometimes I’m not sure why.  But I know.”

I nuzzled at his cheek and looked over at Thor.  “Why can’t he wear his suit?”

“I’m not sure.  I will have to speak to Loki.”  Thor said.  “She is better versed with the law.”

“It’s okay.  If we’re gonna get married when we get back I can save it.”  Tony said.  “But, could you guys maybe pick for me?”

“Really, Tony?”  Bruce asked.

“Yeah,” he said.  “You all see me better than anyone else.  I want to be dressed how you see me.”

“We can do that,” I said. “It’s gonna be perfect.”

“So what’s going on with you then, Steve?”  Sam asked.

“Everything’s too tight.  I thought we went through this.”  Steve said, closing back up again.

“Alright,” Bucky said, pouring more mead into Steve’s cup.  “Drink up.”

“What are you doing?”  I asked.

“We discovered last night that Steve gets a little more open with his feelings when he’s drunk,” Sam said as Steve sighed and took a long drink of the mead.

“So what are the pre-bonding things we need to know about?”  Tony asked.

“Well, the day before we have to sit in isolation to think and consider our place in the relationship,” Thor explained.  “During this time an artist will paint our bodies, similar to Henna tattoos on Midgard.  Though stylistically it will be different and there will be color involved.  The tattoos will be a map of us as individuals and who we are together.  After that, we will be scrubbed clean and dressed.”

“There’s no bachelor party?”  Tony asked.

“That isn’t a custom here, but if you desire to have one, we could organize it,” Thor said.

“How, if all our friends are on Earth?”  I asked.

“I could send for them,” Thor said.  “Do you know who you’d like?”

“Oh, you gotta get Hill and Coulson here,” Clint said.

“Fury too,” Natasha added.

“I gotta have platypus here,” Tony said.  “Gotta.  Happy too.”

“Viz!”  Wanda said excitedly.  “Scott and Hope seem like obvious additions too.  It would be nice to share this with them.”

“T’Challa maybe?  If he can get here.”  Sam suggested.  “Though it might be a bit of an ask.”

“I’d like Jax and Clarke,” I said.  “What about your brother and sister, Sam?”

Sam shook his head.  “As much as I’d like it if they came I could never get them to support the idea of this in a day.”

“I’m sorry, Sam.” I frowned.

He shrugged.  “It’s fine.  They’re getting there.  If we had longer I could but it is what it is.”

“I think that’s it then, Thor,” Steve said.

Thor nodded.  “I shall send an envoy.  They will bring back those they can.”

“Are there Asgardian strippers?”  Tony asked.

“Strippers!”  Steve cheered and everyone turned their heads to look at him.

“And we have reached optimal level drunk,” Sam said.  “Elise.  How about you come do the questioning seeing as you missed out on drunk Steve last night.”

“Okie dokie.”  I said and moved over to Steve and sat down in his lap.  “You want some strippers, Stevie?”

“Mmm…” he hummed and flexed his fingers on my side.  “Wanna take body shots off you.  ‘Member when we did that?”

I giggled. “I sure do.  What drink did I make you again?”

Steve started giggling.  “You gave me and Buck blowjobs.”

“Both kinds.” I teased and he rubbed his nose on mine.  “Hey, Stevie?  What’s wrong with the clothes?”

“Not good enough.”  He said.

“Why aren’t they good enough?”  I asked as I caressed his jaw.

“Not them.  Me.”  He said.

It felt like my heart broke in my chest.  I pressed my forehead against his.  “Oh, Steve.  Of course, you are.”

He shook his head.  “Couldn’t finish the war.  Couldn’t save Bucky.  Couldn’t stop Schmidt.  Just barely stopped the aliens.  Nope.  That wasn’t me.  Was Tony.  Can’t make the world better for our kids.”

“Honey,” I said, stroking his hair.  “You’ve done plenty.  Everything.”

“I’m a failure,” he said.  “And a fraud.  ‘S not even my body.”

“Honey,” I said pulling back and looking into his eyes.  “You deserve to be happy.”

“Nope.  Not me.”  He said.  “He said.  ‘Cause ‘m gay.”

I tilted my head.  “You don’t think gay people deserve to be happy.”

“Yes, just not me.  ‘M not gay, am I?  But he said…”

“Oh shit.”  Bucky groaned.  I looked over at Bucky and he ran his fingers through his hair.    

“His dad walked in on us once,”  Bucky said.  “We were pretty young.  We weren’t even doing anything.  It was purely innocent.  Just cuddling.  But he beat the absolute tar outta Steve.  He already hated that he was small and sick.  Add being a sissy to it.”

I grimaced and wrapped my arms around Steve, holding him tightly against him.  I knew exactly what had happened because the same thing had happened to me when my dad had found me kissing a girl.  “Steve,” I soothed.  I was worried there was nothing I could say that would get through to him in time.  This was big-issue stuff, and we didn’t have time to figure it out the way it needed to be.  “You can’t let him decide what you deserve.  Stop letting a man who has been dead for 80 years punish you for being the amazing person you are.”

“But I’m not good enough.  Haven’t proved myself.”  He mumbled.

“Happiness isn’t a prize to be one.  You get to just be happy.”  I said.

“But why?  Why me?  Why us?  Why now?”  He babbled.

I kissed his neck and rubbed his back.  “We’ve gotten very lucky that our very lovely space boyfriend got pushed into a predicament that he was told he had no choice in the matter, and by doing that he finally realized that maybe he wanted it too.”

“And we just get a happily ever after for 5 thousand years?”  He asked.

“We do, honey.  Don’t you want that?”

He shook his head.  “Doesn’t matter what I want.”

“We want it.  Does it matter what we want?”  I asked.

“Steven,”  Thor said, getting up and coming over to crouch in front of Steve.  “You are worthy of this, sweetheart.  Please let us in.”

“Space boyfriend,” Steve said softly.

“Let me be your space husband,” Thor said stroking his jaw.

“Space husband,” Steve said and looked up into Thor’s eyes.  “How many husbands will I have?”

“Counting the Hulk you get to have seven husbands and three wives,” Thor said.  “Would you like that.  We want you.”

“That’s so many.”  Steve giggled.

“So many.  With so much love for you.”  Thor agreed and cupped Steve’s cheek.  “Please marry us.  Make 10 people complete.”

“Til the end of the line, punk,” Bucky said.

“Otay,” Steve said, softly.

Thor leaned over and kissed him deeply.  When he pulled back he sat beside Steve and pulled both Steve and me into his lap.

“Now, my love,” I said to Steve.  “Clothes.”

“Has to be perfect.”  He said.

“I’m gonna be sappy, Steve,” I said.  ���You ready?”

“Otay.”  He nodded.

“It’ll be perfect because you’re wearing it.”

“Aww…”  Steve cooed, nuzzling at my neck.  “You’re a cheese puff.”

I giggled and stroked his hair.  “Can you choose something?”

He nodded.  “Can Thor help me?”

“I would be honored,” Thor said.  “Now, I think it’s time to get you to bed, my drunken fiance.”

“It is late.”  Wanda agreed.  “Perhaps we should all go to bed.”

There was a murmur of agreement and we got up and headed to bed.  It had been such a good day and even though this whole process was so rushed, a week and a half seemed like it was too far away.

//NEXT

[all-hail-the-witcher]

loving too hard

so at the last minute i put this in the spies verse although it can 110% be read as a standalone. im not sure when it takes place so dont ask.

by popular demand here's the playlist of songs i was inspired by:

la devotee thin white lies lose you too dying in la 8 letters the reason who knew this is gospel

______

genre: sad 

ship: platonic ralbert

words: some

editing: nah

warnings: its sad, one brief mention of a shootout and weapons, use of the word love, feelings of regret, emotions, albert is stuck in his head and he made a bad decision, race just wants his hot pockets, he was at walgreens

_____

What the hell are you doing here?

Albert stared down at his hands, the light from the setting sun bathing them in gold, accentuating the purplish bruises scattered across his knuckles. Half moons of dried red framed his nails and dirt streaked his forearms. The gentle breeze stung his cuts. But no part of him was compelled to clean off the remnants of the work day. He’d fought willingly, hell it was his job after all, but suddenly it seemed so strange and weird and...wrong. Normally the last day of a case was thrilling and crisp with satisfaction, but all he could bring himself to feel was hollow regret.

It couldn’t be his job. Albert had known exactly what he was signing up for: long nights of research, stakeouts, codenames, fake identities, tailing criminals, not being seen, broken bones, scars, fights, shootouts, outrunning the inescapability of death time after time again...the endless prospects gave him goosebumps. He was a danger seeker. If he were told to take down a criminal with his eyes closed and hands tied behind his back he’d say well bring it the fuck on already!

And yet here he was, contemplating going back inside and opening his laptop to type a very half assed resignation letter. Why?

The view from the cheap hotel room was nothing special (the parking lot of a run-down strip mall mostly populated by a flock of crows) but he found himself leaning forward against the rickety hotel balcony railing to get a better look. Part of him knew that there was a very real chance it could snap and he would plummet 3 stories, but he found himself not caring. He’d fallen from higher places before. If anything, Race would yell at him for being stupid and reckless.

Race. Where was that bastard anyway? He’d left 45 minutes ago to go get first aid supplies or something, Albert hadn’t really been listening. Still, he was pretty sure that it didn’t take 45 minutes to run into Walgreens and grab some rubbing alcohol and gauze. He should have been back by now and Albert couldn’t bring himself to care.

Race was the whole reason he had this job. Why he had left home. Why he had seen so much of the world. Why he knew how to carry on half decent small talk in Russain (thanks Duolingo). Why he was one of the best field agents in the country. Why he could order meat-lovers pizza in 15 languages and counting. Why he had become such a better person than he had been in high school. But then again, Race was also the reason he had nightmares. Why he had nearly died countless times. Why he felt as though he was stuck in a life he wasn’t sure he would pick for himself if he had had the option.

Everything he had done had been for Race. Every bullet he’d taken, every scar he’d gotten, every panic attack he’d had, every time he’d hid his doubts and his fears about the mission...that had all been for Race. To protect him, to make sure he was happy.

Not like that plan had worked anyway. He knew that every time he so much as scraped himself Race panicked. And then they would ignore it until it became too much and Race would end up revealing just how much it hurt him that Albert was doing stupid shit behind his back and why can’t you just think about how this will affect me for once!?

But Race always came back, always tried to mend the rift. He made sure Albert was comfortable and he wasn’t pushing any boundaries. And what did Albert do in return? Kept fuckin hurting him. Race didn’t deserve that. Hell, no one did, but certainly not Race.

Race was too good for him. He had always been too good for him. Albert didn’t deserve a friend as good as Race, he never had and he never would.

The light’s clicked on in the parking lot below. It was no surprise that the lights, much like the strip mall, were shitty and flickering. Still, he was able to make out one lone figure holding two Walgreen’s bags. Only Race would be able to justify spending an hour in a Walgreens. Even from the balcony Albert could tell that Race’s hair was still coated in a thick layer of dirt and that he hadn’t bothered to change out of his mission clothes yet. Seeing him walking calmly back lifted a weight in his chest.

Are you sure you wanna leave this?

Albert turned swiftly, wrestling with the near-broken door for a moment before bursting back into the hotel room. Blindly he grabbed his backpack and threw random clothes and weapons in. Race was safe. He didn’t need to be here anymore now that he knew that Race was safe. Race was smart, he’d be fine, he didn’t need Albert.

He was in the middle of scribbling Race a half assed note when the door opened, bringing Race in with it. Shit.

“Hey Albie, sorry it took so long, I decided to get us food also but then couldn’t decide what to get and also Walgreens doesn’t have the best food options so I got hot pockets and chips and salsa, which, now that I’m saying that I realize that those are essentially the same thing, I hope that’s okay…” He finally looked up, noticing Albert. “Are you going somewhere? Is everything okay?”

“I’m so sorry Antonio.” Albert kept his voice low, knowing it would break if he spoke too loudly. “I can’t do this.”

Race dropped his bags on the bed and stepped closer to Albert, reaching out to grab his arm. “Do what?”

Albert flinched, stomach tightening as he stepped back to avoid Race’s touch. He felt guilty, but he couldn't do this, he couldn’t do this, fuck why couldn't he- “This,” he waved his hands as if in explanation.

“What Albie?” Race asked gently. “Stay in the hotel? The mission-”

“Us!” Albert blurted out. “I can’t do us.”

“What?” Race’s voice was small and broken as he stepped back, eyes suddenly glassy. Instant regret swelled up in Albert’s throat, but he forced it down. He couldn’t keep doing this anymore. It wasn’t right of him.

“I’m sorry. You’re too good for me Tonio. You’re too good for me and all I do is hurt you. I can’t be friends with you knowing that. I loved you too hard. I need time.” He picked up his backpack, unable to look Race in the eyes. Once his back was turned he tried to wipe at his own tears subtly, but winced when he remembered that he had too black eyes.

“Will you be back?” “I don’t know.” Albert picked up the note he had been writing and held it out to Race.

Race took the letter gently, looking at Albert thoughtfully. “I love you Albert,” he whispered finally. “You can always come back.”

Albert reached for the doorknob. “I-” his tongue stuck in his throat like sandpaper. He couldn’t say it. “Thanks,” he mumbled instead before stepping out into the hallway.

What did you just do?

_____

feedback is always appreciated hmu to be on the taglist

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@sun-kissed-star

@racetrackcook

@ughwaitwhat

@aw-jus-let-em-try​

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@stopthe-presses

@pinecovewoods

@i-got-no-clue-what-im-doing​

@getchapapes

@be-more-chill-evan-hansen​

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@panpervinca

[writingthrones]

the northern dragon- part 1.

PART 1: A SPARK.

TAGS: @psychosupernatural , @xleviiiix (feel free to shoot me a message if you’d also like to be tagged!)

DESCRIPTION: the world thought that just 2 dragons survived, that house targaryen was missing its third head. but there was another– the youngest, the final child of the mad king and queen rhaella. of course, she was almostpart of the near extermination of her house. but the honorable ned stark, unable to watch a babe be murdered for crimes she did not commit, rescued her from an awful fate. instead, she grew up amongst wolves within the walls of winterfell.

NOTES: this a rewrite of the original part 1 after an anon pointed out how i definitely rushed it. i hope this gives you all more insight into the reader’s personality and her relationships to the Starks (and Theon). there’s a few flashbacks in this which i thoroughly enjoyed writing, so expect more in the parts to come. as always, i’d love to hear any & all feedback. requests for what you’d like to see in the story are always nice to hear as well! 

WARNINGS: violence (so there will be descriptions of attacks, wounds and blood).

Things had been stressful since Ned, Sansa and Arya all left for King’s Landing. There was a lot for you to do now that Lady Catelyn was spending day and night with Bran waiting for him to wake. Even when you did have time away, there wasn’t much to do. Robb was now acting Lord of Winterfell and Theon was constantly at his side– though it wasn’t like you’d spent too much time together anyway. Much to your dismay.

You found yourself wandering the courtyard or spending time at the Godswood whenever you weren’t tending to some sort of duty. Might as well enjoy the northern summer while it lasts. As the saying goes, Winter Is Coming and it is not something to be taken lightly in the North. It is one of those nights, just before you head off to your chambers when you hear… something going on. Your brow furrows with curiosity then fear as you watch Summer take off in a full sprint right into where Bran is being kept. Without a second thought, you take off after the wolf when you happen upon a scene that makes your blood run cold. Lady Catelyn is struggling against a man with a knife with only her bare hands when the direwolf comes to the rescue, tackling him and tearing his throat out.

Falling to your knees beside her, you grab hold of her hands. “Lady Catelyn, are you hurt?! What happened?” Without waiting for an answer, you turn her hands over to check, finding deep cuts to both. She still remains speechless, clearly in a daze and it is certainly no wonder considering what took place. “I’ll– I’ll get help.” You take a glance at the man on the floor, then an untouched Bran with Summer at his side before running out the door. “HELP– HELP!” you cry. Just then, Robb and Theon appear in the courtyard, rushing to answer your call. Again, you fall to your knees, the shaking so bad you couldn’t stand anymore. What if there was others? You left Lady Stark, what if something happened to her?

“Are you okay?” the boys ask, frantically scanning your body for an obvious signs of injury. “Lady Stark– you must go to Lady Stark! Someone tried to hurt her and Bran, GO!” Robb’s eyes go wide as he takes off, while Theon bends down and takes your blood covered hands. “Are you hurt, Y/N?” the concern in his voice is evident as his words come out rushed and nearly blended together. Panting, you shook your head. “I’m fine, you must go with Robb,” you insisted. He hesitates, but releases you then takes off after him. Even if your entire upbringing was spent bickering, there was an instinct to look out for one another. You were a pack– Stark or not.

The perimeter was searched in order to assure that there was no one around to finish the job and everyone was safe. Luckily, they found nothing. After checking in with Catelyn, you headed for your chambers. You needed the rest and yet sleep evaded you. Your mind raced with all the what if’s. What if they had succeeded, what if there was still someone out there.. so on and so forth.

So, you laid there for a while before you just couldn’t handle the stillness and silence anymore. You rose to your feet and peered out the window, allowing yourself that one moment before hurrying to tie up your head wrap. Everyone was supposed to be asleep, but you never know. This wasn’t just about you, Catelyn and Ned would certainly be punished if they were found harboring a Targaryen princess.

You sighed as you finished, wishing you could spend just a little bit of time with the nighttime winds blowing through your hair. Then, you pulled a fur robe over your night gown and started out down the hall until you reached the courtyard. It was so quiet out in the snow, save for the soft crunching of footsteps that could just barely be heard on the outside of the walls. Everyone was on high alert.

The cool air felt good on your warm skin— blood of the dragon and all that. You were making your way to a bench when you heard footsteps behind you, immediately causing you to turn around. Inhaling a sharp gasp, you were just about to scream when you found that it was Robb. You sighed heavily, placing your hand on your chest which your heart was nearly beating out of.

“You scared me!” you whisper-shouted. Robb’s face had been stoic, but then broke into a smirk. “Sorry, my lady.” That granted him the eye roll he was so clearly looking for. Though, it was usually Theon teasingly calling you the lady you were clearly not. “I just needed some air. It’s impossible to sleep after that whole mess.” You sighed, fingers rubbing at the bridge of your nose. “Well, you’re not alone in that, ” he murmured.

Having a quiet moment alone with Robb was.. a bit odd to say the least. The two of you hadn’t really shared moments like this since you were kids. He had responsibilities to tend to now and so did you. “I just don’t understand who would’ve done this. Why would anyone want to hurt Bran?” Robb stiffened before shaking his head, just as lost.

You turned to face him, indigo hues focused on his Tully blues. “I need to do something, Y/N. Someone tried to kill my brother-- twice. My mother thinks it was the Lannisters.. I’d believe it but saying anything will start a war. And everyone knows what Lord Tywin is capable of. I...” his words were rushed, the panic evident. This was all too much, resting heavy on the shoulders of a 17-year-old boy. 

“We’re going to figure out who did this and we’re going to make them pay,” you replied, resting your hand gently on top of his. He looked confused. “We?” You nodded, “Yes, we. I love Bran too and I won’t stop until we discover the truth.” You were stronger than he knew, not a lady trained only to serve others. “My mother rides for King’s Landing tomorrow to find proof. We can’t act before she gets it.” You nodded, he was right. If he decided to start the conflict before knowing the truth, then this could lead to a terribly bloody conflict all for nothing. The two of you shared a long look before you removed your hand from atop his, not realizing how long it’d been there. You may have shared tender gestures like these as children but it was no longer appropriate when he was was the heir of Winterfell and you were nobody. So, you rose from your place next to him and hugged the furs closer to your body as you walked back towards your chambers.

“Goodnight, Y/N.”

“Goodnight, Robb.”

That night, you dreamt of your childhood, a memory you thought of fondly. It was before Rickon, Bran was a newborn, Arya was just a babe and Sansa was a toddler. So, it was you and the boys-- Jon and Robb. Theon had yet to be taken on as a ward. The three of you ran around the woods as you did quite often. You had been looking back at them as the chased you, not paying attention to what was in front of you when you sent yourself flying forward after catching your foot on a rock. Bracing for impact, you placed your hands out in front so you wouldn’t damage your face. You yelped as your palms were torn up, feeling your eyes well up with tears. Sitting up, you began to cry looking at all the dirt and blood. Jon and Robb ran over, frantically assessing the damage. Robb moved before Jon could, taking your small hands in his own and examining them. “Are you okay?” he asked, turning his gaze up to meet your eyes. “No!” you huffed, tears still falling down your cheeks. Without another word, he wiped away the mixture of blood and dirt with his sleeve and placed a kiss on each one, mimicking what his mother did when he got hurt. “All better?” he asked, a hopeful smile on his lips. The tears subsided and you smiled, nodding your head. You remember it being the first time you ever felt butterflies.

When you awoke, you could feel the difference in the air. Things were tense now. No matter what Lady Stark discovered, something big was about to happen-- you could feel it in your bones. Whatever it was that happened to Bran sparked something. After dressing, you entered the courtyard and saw Catelyn, preparing for her trip with Ser Rodrik. You ran to see her off before the long journey down the Kingsroad, the last one to say your goodbyes. Your eyes were sad but you forced a smile, as did she. Taking your hands, she spoke, “Take care of them.. please.” She didn’t just mean Bran and Rickon but Robb, too. Sure, he was considered a man now but he was still her boy and she was trusting you keep him from caving under the pressures of his new duties. “I will, I promise,” you said with a nod, feeling tears prick at your eyes. You hated to see her go to such an unsafe place. She nodded, her own eyes looking watery despite the smile on her lips. Taking you into her arms, both of you hold each other tight. Backing away, Catelyn takes your face into her hands. “Don’t worry too much, child,” she said softly. This would be a lot for you to deal with as well, she knew that. It reminded you of when she had to calm you after revealing your identity. Nodding, you backed away and allowed her to get onto her horse and set off.

You intended to keep your promise. You tried spending some time with Bran but you never stayed for long, he was always asking for everyone to leave him alone. It broke your heart, seeing the boy who was once so full of life be completely defeated. You played with Rickon when you could, the young boy’s laugh always putting you in better spirits. Theon was practically attached to Robb and you hardly ever saw either of them. But Catelyn had asked you a promise and you intended to keep it. You tried to visit Robb in the Great Hall or catch him on the way to his chambers, but he always claimed to be too busy to speak with you. 

But one night, you finally managed to do it. It was a chance encounter, you spotting him just as he was going to reach his room. You rushed forward, standing in the way to prevent him from leaving. Stopped dead in his tracks, he looks to you with an unreadable expression. “I know you’ve been busy but I just--” He cut you off, “I don’t have time for this. It’s been a long day and I just want some rest, Y/N.” Your brow furrowed with frustration. “Seven hells-- let me speak! I just want to know if you’re okay... this has all been so much, I wanted to check in on you,” your voice grew more soft as you continued to speak. He sighed heavily, “I’m fine, Y/N. You don’t need to worry about me, let’s just both get some rest, okay?” Your gaze was cast downwards before finally looking up, “Fine.” You moved and walked away in frustration. As you turned around a corner, you spotted Theon, who was giving you a questioning look. “What was that, Y/N?” he questioned. You knew what he was insinuating, causing you to only scoff as you pushed past him. He’d been teasing you since you were young about it but you dismissed it every time. 

The next morning, you unknowingly walked in on a meeting between Robb and some lords from surrounding areas. Once he spotted you, though, he halted the conversation. So definitely something you weren’t supposed to be listening to– noted. “Robb,” you called, causing all heads to turn. The men stared at you in shock. “…Lord Stark, Lord Tyrion has returned from his trip to the wall. He wishes to speak to you.” Before you can get the door to let him in, he simply does it himself. You stole once last glance before slipping out, off to find something to do.

Weeks went on and Lady Catelyn was still gone on her mission to find the truth about what had happened to her son. Ned remained in the lion’s den down south and all that Robb could do was keep the peace in the North. But the people were growing antsy as word of growing tensions began to reach Winterfell, as were you. On sleepless nights, which was many of them, you ventured out into the courtyard where you practiced your sword work. Before Jon had left, you two practiced from time to time after quite a lot of begging. You may not have been a Lady but you were still a woman and he had said it wasn’t your place to be fighting. It wasn’t meant as an insult, either, he just didn’t want you to end up hurt because of it. You pushed and pushed until he caved, though. A true Northwoman you were; fierce and stubborn.

“Jon, please!” you whined. The pair of you were fourteen at the time. Jon had already been training for several years. He was talented and the only one you had even a chance in persuading to train you to fight. “Y/N, I told you, I can’t!” There was nothing else for you to say, but the look in your eyes was pleading. “Seven hells...” he huffed, an admission of defeat. You grinned and the two of you disappeared into the woods where he began to teach you all he knew. Grunts and sword clangs could be heard for some distance. Just then, Jon spotted something, his eyes going wide as he dropped his weapon. Confused, you whipped around to face whatever it was, hiding the sword behind your back as if it changed anything. It was Robb and Theon. “What do you two think you’re doing?” Theon spoke first. “I asked him to. I want to know how to defend myself!” you shouted back. He scoffed, “You’re a girl! You don’t need to know anything.” Taking the sword from behind your back, you pointed it in his direction. “Shut up!” you yelled. Theon gasped, surely ready to bark back some stupid insult. That’s when Robb stepped in between you two, pushing the end of your weapon down gently. “That’s enough,” he had decided. The three of you then ventured back to Winterfell, Robb trying to mediate the bickering between you and Theon while Jon hung his head. Surprisingly, you still managed to persuade him into continuing your training, this time during periods where no one would think to look for you both. Sometimes you’d meet late at night or early in the morning.

Everything finally boiled over when Ned was imprisoned and Sansa held captive while Arya’s whereabouts remained unknown. Robb quickly assembled the Great Lords whose allegiance was pledged to House Stark in the Great Hall of the castle and determined they would march South and retrieve his father and sisters. You just happened to hear the conversation echoing as you passed through the halls. I’m going with them, you thought to yourself. So you dashed off, hurrying to your room where you began packing away all you would need in a trunk. Even if you had to sneak yourself onto the trip, you were going one way or another. Hopefully it would be alongside Robb. 

Not long after, you spotted him leaving Bran’s chambers. Exhaling a deep breath, you approached him with confidence. “I know what you’re doing and I’m going with you,” you said so matter-of-factly. His eyes narrowed. “You’re not,” his voice was resolute as he stepped aside and walked past. Turning quickly on your heels, you grabbed hold of his arm and pulled him backwards. “Yes I am! I will not stay here performing mindless chores while your– our family is under attack!” His jaw was clenching and he opened his mouth to speak again before you cut him off. You weren’t a Stark, you knew that, but Ned had saved you from certain death and it was about time you returned the favor.

“I won’t cause problems,” your voice becoming softer. “I can help…I-I know how to fight, you know I do. I’ll send myself into the front lines if it means you’ll let me come. Please, Robb.” His brow furrowed in thought as he sighed, “I can’t send you out there.” That was a given, though. A woman was not meant to be a solider. “You must-- Let me tend to the mens’ wounds then, anything! I just can’t sit here wondering what’s happening to you all-- I won’t.” You hated begging, you shouldn’t have to. If that’s what got you out there, though, then it would be worth it. It was a long silence between you two and his eyes felt like daggers, piercing through you as he looked down to meet yours. Your heart was nearly beating out of your chest when, finally, he spoke again. “Fine. We march in an hour, gather what you can.” A sigh of relief passed through your lips. “Thank you,” you said softly. Robb said nothing, instead giving a look with a meaning you couldn’t seem to figure out. Was it.. concern, maybe? It was nearly impossible to tell. You hurried back to your chambers, assessing the room one last time to see if there’s anything you’d forgotten. In a rush, you allowed yourself one last look at Rickon and Bran’s sleeping faces, swallowing the lump in your throat. You’d miss them. Who knows if you’d ever see them again. You had to believe that you would, though, that you’d return to them with Ned and their sisters, successfully reuniting them all. Probably far too idealistic for the harsh realities of the world, but you had to hold out hope.

Your belongings were loaded onto a cart as you jumped up on a horse. You may have been lowborn, but you were still allowed to march close to the front, much to the high lords’ confusion. None of them had time to question it, though. It was time for war; not just for justice of the Stark family but for the North as a whole. It was time to take their land back from the Southerners who cared so little for them. The North would be free again, now and always.

[adrenaline-roulette]

Is this just fantasy? Chapter 2

Pairing: Brian May x Reader

Warnings:

Summary: "Want me to bring back some ice-cream, and you can bitch about how horrible you day was?”

The idea of ice-cream had never been more appealing. “I believe Ben and Jerry’s is on sale at the moment, I could really go from some chunky monkey.”

“I never understood why you like that one so much!”

“I try to convince myself that because it’s banana flavoured then it must be healthy.”

“As a dietician in training, it is my duty to tell you, that that is not by any means true.”

“For a dietician in training, you eat an awful lot of instant mac & cheese.”

“Whoa now, there is no such thing as too much mac & cheese!”

Chapter two: Listen carefully to the sound of your loneliness

If you haven’t read chapter One yet, check it out here! 

Roger sauntered his way over to the bar, his eyes focused solely on the woman who had entered the pub only minutes earlier. The fact that she was currently face planted into the counter didn’t bother him too much, his standards were relatively low tonight, he would happily take home anyone just to prove Brian wrong! He couldn’t care less if the woman he was quickly approaching was a mental case who was actually licking the counter, rather than just resting her head. Anyone would do, so long as they said yes. As he stepped up besides the woman, he cleared his throat, a coy smirk donning his boyish face. He had expected her to swoon, or perhaps blush, that’s what usually happened when he presented himself to the opposite sex. This reaction, however, was entirely unexpected, and had him fearing he had lost his charm!

                                                          ********

You startle at the noise beside you, not having expected anyone to disturb your self-wallowing. You had found yourself spiralling into a panic attack as the realisation of what was going on around you, really began to sink in. Somehow, you really were in 1970’s London, and for the life of you, you couldn’t figure out how. The last thing you could remember, before falling asleep was talking to Sara about ice-cream flavours, after that, everything seemed to be a bit of a blur. The feeling of falling remained with you after your dream, but surely a dream couldn’t have caused this? The person clears their throat again, and his time you look up at them, your slumped shoulders lifting so you sat gracefully on the stool. Your eyes travelled up the body beside you, trailing from the feet, past the bellbottom jeans, over the masculine chest, and finally resting on the stunningly attractive face, of the one and only, blue eyed beauty, Roger Fucking Taylor.

Your face must have given away just how shocked you were, as Roger visibly stepped back, a flicker of surprise passing his baby blues. The ever so slight sliver of hope that this was all an elaborate prank, that had remained with you vanished in a matter of seconds. Your eyebrows creased together, as your mouth opened and closed in an excellent impression of a fish, as you desperately tried to form words. “You’re Roger Taylor” You breathed out, your voice raising a few octaves as you looked at him.

Roger blinked his eyes three times, before leaning his hip against the counter, grinning down at you. “Ah, you know me then do you? I’m positive that I would remember someone as lovely as you, but just in case I did somehow forget, what’s your name love?” He practically purred, trailing his index finger along your jaw. The logical part of your mind argued that you should keep quiet, there was far too much at stake, and knowing your luck, you would say something that could completely change the course of history entirely! The only problem with that however, was that you had never been a very logical person, and were more inclined to speak first, think later. This meant, the moment those thoughts entered your mind, you found yourself voicing the exact opposite.

   “What? No! You don’t know me at all. You’ve never met me, and I’ve never met you either! But I used to have your posters up in my room when I was growing up. Well not just posters of you, all of Queen! I had my first kiss to sail away sweet sister!” And there it was, the word vomit. By the time you realised what you had said, poor Roger looked utterly terrified. His eyes had grown impossibly wide, and he seemed to be shaking, and you could swear you almost heard his heart hammering away in his chest.

“I have no idea what you are talking about, but I think I’ll leave you be now. Have a lovely night Miss.” He mumbles, taking a half step backwards. The moment he moves, you leap up from your stool, clasping your hands around his biceps, unaware that the two men he had been sitting with just before were making their way towards the two of you.

                                                                                      ****

Brian reaches the two of you first, he had been watching the exchange between his band mate, and the young woman with a great deal of interest. Brian knew what to expect, after having watched Roger use his charm on many a woman before. Though something was different this time, he could tell, from Roger’s expression, that things didn’t appear to be going the way he had been expecting. The poor man looked visibly shaken, and like he was about to go running out of the pub. The moment the woman stood, and grabbed Roger, he knew he had to do something. He pushed his chair away from the table, and leapt to his feet, Tim following his lead soon after. The two men appeared beside Roger in a matter of seconds, the moment they arrived Roger seemed to relax somewhat. “Miss, is everything alright?” He asked gently, as Tim stepped away a few paces with Roger. The poor woman looked terrified, and on the verge of tears, perhaps Roger had picked the wrong woman to chase tonight?

                                                                                    ****

You feel like you’re about to collapse as you look up into the deep brown eyes of the world-famous guitarist before you, he’s so young, yet still so incredibly handsome. His words shake you from your thoughts as you stare up at him. “No of course I’m not bloody alright!” You practically shriek, how could any of this situation possibly make you alright? “You’re Brian May, And you! You’re Tim Staffell!”

Both men look rather surprised at your outburst, as Roger simply nods along. “That’s exactly what she said to me too! Scared the bloody life out of me.” He mutters, just loud enough so your small group could hear him. Your hands hover mid-air from where you had been clinging to Roger, and you find yourself unable to bring them down.

Brian is the first to come to his senses, stepping forwards and in-between you and Roger, he reaches out to, wrapping his long, slender fingers around each of your wrists, carefully lowering them down to your sides. “Ok, lets start slowly. Can you tell us what your name is?” He asks carefully, guiding you over to the table he, Roger and Tim had been seated at minutes before.

You sit gently down on one of the wooden seats, the leather cushion peeling at the edges of the old seat. The three men sit around you in the vacant seats, all looking at you intently. The last time you had had people looking at you like this, you were introducing yourself to your new class at school, the teacher had kept pressuring you to talk about yourself, wanting to know all about your hobbies and interests. You take a deep breath in, releasing it slowly out of your mouth, this was the tricky part. What damage would it do if you introduced yourself? Just by being here alone, you had surely broken just about every law of physics! What if by using your real name, that only caused more damage to the world as you knew it? Your breathing was becoming shallow once again, as you look frantically around at the three men before you, your eyes finally resting on Brian’s. You had never been embarrassed to admit this before, but now sitting here with the curly haired brunette, you found yourself blushing, the knowledge that he had starred in many of your late night ‘quiet’ moments, stirring something deep within you. “I’m, um, Eleanor- Eleanor Ribgy!” Perhaps that wasn’t the best name choice, but for the life of you, you couldn’t remember when the song had come out! Maybe it was yet to be released and you would be in the clear?

“Okay, so we all now that that’s a lie.” Tim smirks at you, and you find yourself wanting to slam your head against the table once again.

“How about we try this again, what’s your name? You know ours, it’s only fair we get to know yours.” Roger grins, as he takes a gulp of beer, before placing the glass back on the table with a loud clunk.

Right, well, that didn’t go the way you had hoped. Maybe you should just tell them your name, besides as Shakespeare once wrote, what’s in a name? “It’s Y/N Y/L/N.”

“See, that wasn’t so hard now was it?”

You almost glare at Roger, if only he knew how difficult all of this really was for you, maybe then he would wipe that cocky grin off his face. “You have no idea.” You mutter.

Brian twirls his glass between his large hands, frowning down at the amber liquid that was nearly gone. “Can you explain to us what happened just before?”

“Yeah! What did you mean, you had a poster of me in your bedroom? And who is Queen?” Roger butts in, causing Brian to scowl at him. Brian had been trying to approach this situation carefully, but clearly the blonde drummer had other ideas.

You groan deeply, this time, allowing your head to swing forwards and rest against the table once more. Face planting was becoming a habit of yours in the 1970’s, and you can’t help but think it’s likely not a good thing. “Honestly, I don’t even know what to tell you. It’s all too much, even for me to comprehend!”

“Try us, we’re smarter than we look!” Tim offers with a smile of his own.

Your shoulders slump down, before you pick yourself back up from the table, folding your hands in your lap. “Trust me, I know how smart you all are.” You almost whisper, before shaking your head gently. This was your chance, you could explain this bizarre situation to the men sat before you, perhaps one of them would believe you and help you find your way back? Brian has a doctorate in Astrophysics, surely, he would know what to do? But then again, that is Brian in forty plus years, and not the young man sitting with you now. “This is going to sound insane, I know that.” You begin, the three men leaning in closer to hear you quiet voice. “I woke up in the middle of a fucking field today, no idea where I was or how I got there. And now I find out I’m somehow in the 70’s.”

 Roger scratches his heads, mussing up his already messy locks. “I don’t see the problem? I’ve woken up in a field before, maybe you just had too much to drink last night”

A laugh bursts from your throat, as you shake your head no. “Oh Roger, you don’t understand! The biggest problem with this whole situation isn’t me waking up in a field, it’s the fact that it’s the 70’s!” At this, Roger returns to looking rather confused, just as Brian and Tim do. “When I fell asleep last night, it was 2019. Somehow, I’ve gone back in time forty odd years!” You raise your voice at the end, earning a few confused looks being thrown your way.

“Y/N, look I’m not trying to be rude here, but maybe you’re hungover? I mean, time travel? That isn’t possible!” Brian begins gently, reaching out and placing one of his hands over yours. The gesture sends a jolt of electricity through you, and in any other situation you would swoon, but not right now.

“Brian, I know how crazy this sounds! When I fell asleep last night, I was happily living with my housemate, stressing about work, and looking forward to her bringing me home ice-cream!”

He bites his lower lip for a moment, looking directly into your eyes as he thinks over your predicament. “I’m sorry, I just don’t think it’s possible. I of all people would know if time travel was real, I’m studying to be-“

You cut him off before he can finish, “An astrophysicist. I know, and one day, you will be Doctor Brian May.”  

“How do you know what I’m studying?”

At this, you almost wish the ground would open you up and swallow you whole. “Because I’m from the future! I know about all of you Brian, Roger, Tim, even Freddie and Deaky!”

Tim and Roger look between each other with equal looks of curiosity. “Who are Freddie and Deaky?” Roger asks.

Ah right, shit, maybe you shouldn’t have mentioned them just yet. “You’ll know them when you meet them.”

“Wow, that was cryptic.” Tim mutters, causing Roger to chuckle quietly. You shoot them both a glare, neither of them were taking this seriously! At least Brian seemed to be attempting to understand and believe what you were telling them!

“Look, I’ll prove it to you! I know just about everything there is to know about Queen, fuck, I mean Smile. Just, I don’t know, tell me what the exact date is?”

The men look between each other, before Brian shrugs and turns back to you, reciting the date to you. You nod, smiling in thanks as you go back through your mental log of notable Smile era happenings. A spark of recognition flashes behind your eyes, and you leap up from your stool, grinning broadly. “Tim! Today is the day you quit Smile to join Humpy Bong!”

Tim freezes, his hand halfway to bringing his glass to his lips. Brian and Roger and caught between looking at you and Tim. “Tim’s quitting?” Roger mumbles. Oh, okay, so that clearly wasn’t common knowledge yet.

“I- um yeah. They’re going places guys, and we really aren’t, lets be honest.” Tim sighs, drumming his fingers against his glass.

Brian turns to stare at you, a small smile spreading over his lips, you were an absolute scientific anomaly, and he loved it! “Wait, what the fuck are we supposed to do without a singer and bassist?”

You shrug lightly, not sure how much you should give away. But fuck it, you’ve likely already ruined multiple timelines by just being here, you may as well continue. “I believe, this is where Freddie and Deaky come into the picture.”

My Masterlist

[funtimebunnyblog]

Diamante d’Italia: Chapter 3

(Chapter 3: Strangers like me, Part 2)

Before Josuke knew what was happening, Moody Blues had sprung into action, swinging its own fists. Crazy Diamond was immediately there to match the others strength, Josuke had enough grasp on the situation at that point to tell his stand to hold back on its hit.

The force of air even brushed through the large poof of Josukes hair, causing him to flinch, but he was too focused on what was happening right now to care about that.

Two fists collided hard over both users heads, like an overcharged firstbump from two eager friends.

The display of force from the action was so strong it created a shockwave powerful enough to make the cutlery on the table dance.

It seemed as if everything around them was drowned out now. The sounds, the sights, the smells.

It seemed as if it were just Josuke and Abbacchio in the entire world, the latter murdering the former with a penetrating gaze.

"So..." his voice was low and held a dangerous bite to it, like a snake hiding in the grass, waiting to strike and kill. "You're a stand user, you little punk-shit."

Abbacchio was terrifying. Josukes insides felt as heavy as a bag of rocks and his stomach sunk like one being dropped in the ocean as he stared up at the older man in shock.

Abbacchio had gotten up from his chair but the teenager remained seated and the other was now looming right over him, his face set into a deep scowl, sunset valleys angrily burning into him.

Josuke leaned so far back in his chair he almost fell back onto the floor, trying to put as much distance between him and Leone as he could. He didn't expect the man to react so strongly.

Abbacchio balled his fists and reeled one back, the motion mirrored by Moody Blues and accompanied by another loud drawn out beep.

To his own horror, he realized the man had honestly been expecting him to attack at full force, like an ambush of some kind, and his poultry attitude was throwing him off.

"Woah! Woah!" He said, it was almost a whimper, throwing his hands up defensively in blind panic.

The murderous look staining Abbacchios face seemed to waver for a second, the hit never came thankfully, but Josuke could tell he was still holding his ground.

"I-I... I'm sorry-- I...." Josuke was sputtering, trying to uncleave his tongue from the roof of his mouth and speak clearly.

He knew if he didn't say something to pacify the other quickly, his Mother would be getting a death notification from a Police Officer instead of a phone call from a Hotel early tomorrow.

He clammed up suddenly, rambling only made things worse for him. The very reason why he got beat up more times at school than he could count on all his fingers.

"Yeah. Yeah. I-I'm a... a stand-user!"

'No shit dumbass! He knows that!' His thoughts screamed at him, sounding too much like Okuyasu in that moment.

"I... I didn't know if you could see them, I swear I didn't! I was just curious and--"

Welp.

He supposed he'd lived a full life.

Well... if you call living until 16, meeting your Father at long last, stealing his wallet and witnessing the death of a serial killer a full life that is.

If only he had been smart enough to write a will and maybe he could've left half his stuff to Okuyasu...

Leone Abbacchios raised fists shook as he forced them to lower back down and rest at his sides, he forced himself to take a couple deep breaths while he was at it.

Christ. What the Hell was he doing? Josuke looked very much like a kicked puppy right now (he was practically whimpering like one too).

He had watched the idiot get beat up by a group of bums desperate for their drug fix for crying out loud!

Josuke possessed a stand, he finally had that answer but if the poofy-haired nimrod wanted to hurt him at all, he would've done so already.

Jesus, the kid looked so very small in that moment, he looked like he was close to fucking tears.

Of course, Abbacchio would deny all claims those things tugged at his heartstrings like one would play a harp.

'Merda... I am getting soft.' Came the bitter thought as he grit his teeth.

Impressive, he had to give the kid that. It looked quite powerful. He had seen stands of all shapes and kinds at this point, kicked the asses of near to all of them but had never encountered one quite like this.

Abbacchio huffed, all defensiveness  in his body language slowly melting away and the intensity of his piercing gaze softened.

His eyes moved from the terrified teen to the colourful well-built stand directly beside him, making no move to attack but glaring at Abbacchio through the opening in its helmet.

"For a second there, I thought you were gonna try to paint the walls with me." He sighed, moving back to his previously abandoned chair and popped himself down into it.

Moody Blues gave a soft whir, floating closer to his side as he relaxed again.

"Relax." Abbacchio told him. "Being in my.... occupation, reacting like that has become a reflex."

Josuke blinked a few times, sighing in relief and sinking into his own chair as the realization he wasn't going to die before he turned 17 finally settled in.

Crazy Diamond rested one massive hand on their hip, but didn't disappear.

"Ah... sorry." He wore an uneasy smile as he apologized to this man yet again today. "Maybe I should've... asked instead?"

Heh, so his Mom was right. Old habits died hard.

Josuke found himself laughing nervously, silently thanking every possible deity out there that Abbacchio didn't beat him to a bloody pulp before realizing that.

Abbacchio rolled his eyes and offered him a half-hearted chuckle. The scenario probably wouldn't have been too different if he had gone that route instead in all honesty...

Abbacchio nodded, both their gazes fixed on the interaction now happening between their stands, neither one however paying any attention to their own.

Coming to his senses again, he found his gaze trailed to Moody Blues and felt awe wash over him. He admired their design, so sleek and completely androgynous in body, very much unlike his.

"You said their name was 'Moody Blues'?" He questioned.

Moody Blues had floated closer to the other, staring at Crazy Diamond with its unnatural holed eyes. There was some curiosity to be found in its featureless face as it beeped and whirred with some rhyme and reason to it, as if asking the larger stand if it was a friend.

" 'Blues here isn't much of a fighting stand." Abbacchio said, folding his arms and watching the scene with some amusement evident in his face. "But what they lack in battle they make up for uniqueness."

Crazy Diamond hadn't moved an inch from their spot next to Josuke and was standing absolutely motionless, so very silent an onlooker (if said onlooker could see them at all that is) could mistake them for a statue. Their face forever had a stern nature, mostly stoic on the norm, but there was definitely some emotion in its narrowed coral eyes.

They bowed their head simply, a slow acknowledging nod to the other stand, keeping their gaze fixated on them.

Josuke blinked in surprise, for someone as tough and scary as Abbacchio, he never would've guessed his stand wasn't a fighter.

His first impression of the man had been him kicking the shit out of someone after all.

"Oh." He said, he couldn't help feeling more intrigued.  "What do they do?"

Abbacchio paused and seemed to be considering his options, probably debating on whether he should be enlightened to know those things (Josuke knew he was still a stranger to him after all), before smirking.

"Watch." He said.

Finally, it stopped with a distinctive click. The numbers read 00:00:18:43.8

The Highschool student tilted his head, raising an eyebrow as the slim mauve figure froze up for a moment, standing straight and ascending right up over the table, landing in a seat directly across from the two of them.

The blank screen reminiscent of a digital alarm clock on the stands forehead started to fill up with numbers, Moody Blues made a sound like a VCR tape rewinding in a player the entire time.

Josuke nearly jumped in his chair as a noise much like a machine powering down sounded from the stand. Or more importantly, how their featureless face and body dissolved into another thing... no... another person entirely as it happened.

Sitting across from them now was no longer Moody Blues, but someone Josuke had never seen before.

They seemed around his age, sporting clothing colours similar to the ones on his own stand. The most notable thing being the hat on the boys head, an arrow pointing directly down to the  bridge of his nose. His hands were positioned in mid-air like he was holding cutlery and he wore a somewhat serious expression.

"--All I'm saying is, 3-wheel cars should make a comeback. Their design wasn't only cool but it would prevent a Hell of a lot of accidents! Just think about it! It would be for the greater good!.... hmm?.... No! I'm not being irrational!"

Another distinctive click sounded and Josuke watched in fascination as the numbers on the still visible clock began to wheel.

Abbacchio found himself sighing as Guido Mista continued his very long and very boring rant from last nights dinner.

The teenager stared, utterly captivated by the scene playing... no... replaying before him.

"You can... replay events?" He asked, his blue eyes huge and glittering like sapphires, unable to tear his gaze from the show Abbacchio was putting on.

"Sure can. As long as I'm in the right place." He replied, drumming his fingers against the table quite boredly (much like he had done last night as this was happening the first time), only half-listening to Mista continue to rant and rave, slapping the table and pointing fingers now.

"Is that one of the 'comrades' you mentioned earlier?" Now he turned to Abbacchio, giving him a sly smile.

"Yep. One of Four others." He grunted, secretly glad this version of Mista wouldn't suddenly turn on him and scream in his face about how its unlucky to even say that damned word (like it was fucking MacBeth or something). "He's... something. Maybe one day you'll have the displeasure of meeting him."

Josuke had to laugh at that, Abbacchio sounded so much more like an overly tired parent rather than a teammate to this other teenager.

"--Oh really? I'd like to see you try Narancia!" 'Mista' hissed, pointing a finger at the chair Josukes bag was currently occupying. "I'll kick your a--"

There was a click, just as he balled a fist and banged it on the table again, he was frozen in time.

"Another thing about 'Blues is when a replay is happening, you can track everything from the persons heart rate, to their perspiration and breathing patterns." He told him. "Better yet, you could track their brainwaves if you were a Doctor with the right equipment."

Sure he had friends with weird stands that possessed even weirder powers, but he never knew a stand could do something like this!

Josuke couldn't contain himself any longer and found himself jumping up out of his seat to slam his hands on the tables surface.

"Oh my God, that's so cool!" He cried out, stars were practically dancing in the Highschoolers eyes. "Both of things! All of those things!"

"How could I not be impressed?" He asked incredulously. "I wish I could do that!"

Abbacchio couldn't hold back the smirk on his face, raising a pointed eyebrow at his expressive companion in amusement.

"I take it you're impressed?"

He thought about everything he'd want to do if he had such a power. He thought about using the ability to see what his Father Joseph looked like way back when he met his Mom all those years ago. Or hell, even just replay the precious moments he spent with Joseph the first (also the last) time he saw him.

They watched as the form of Guido Mista dissolved completely, revealing the one true Moody Blues again. The stand emitted noises that reminded the Highschooler of a fax machine running, almost seeming like it was enjoying the praise Josuke was showing it.

"Like I said, my ability isn't very practical." Leone hummed, folding his arms and shrugging. "Sure it looks cool but I'm no help in battle."

His duel coloured eyes shifted to the one very strong and silent figure who still hadn't moved an inch.

Abbacchio tilted his chin up, "What about them?"

Josukes cheeks dusted coral pink to match the stand asked about, rubbing the back of his head as a shy smile tugged on his lips.

"Crazy Diamond? He fixes things." He said casually. "Anything from a destroyed building to a small hole in your clothes, he's got it patched."

If Crazy Diamond minded the attention, it made no outward signs of objection.

Abbacchio's eyebrows raised and nodded as he listened, studying the larger and more burly stand as the teenager talked.

Moody Blues, being nosy as always, had now floated back over the table and was hovering right next to the other stand, inspecting them much like its user.

Moody Blues was called back to the Goths side to give the other stand some breathing room to work.

"He's also just really strong. He could probably bench-press two cars if I asked him to." Josuke laughed a little, secretly enjoying bragging about his abilities to someone.

His smile went huge as he became visibly excited again. "I can give you a little preview of his powers if you want!"

"Knock yourself out."

There was a bright twinkle in the teens eye as he pushed his chair back, stepping out of it with a wide grin. Abbacchio spent a moment wondering what would happen.... however nothing on earth could've prepared the man at all for what did.

With a single thought from Josuke, Crazy Diamond slammed one massive fist down onto the center of the table, the legs collapsed underneath in an instant and the surface of it shattered like a plate hitting a hard concrete floor, ultimately breaking it.

It was fast.

Very fast.

Leone jumped in his chair, his own stand catching him as he nearly toppled out of his seat in utter shock.

But just as quickly as it broke, the pieces of the table rearranged itself and everything was as it should be. The restaurant hadn't even noticed the ruckus going on.

Abbacchio blinked rapidly, still gripping Moody Blues like a lifeline as his eyes darted between the others and the table, as if trying to piece together what the fuck he just witnessed.

Josukes smile disappeared for the fraction of a second as his companion sighed, slumping forward in his chair as a hand went to his face. Anxiety bubbled in the pit of his stomach fearing the man was pissed at him again... before seeing his shoulders start to shake.

Josuke and Crazy Diamond looked like the absolute picture of innocence, standing side by side. He could practically see the halo above the teenagers pompadoured head as he smiled at him, eagerly awaiting a response to his display.

Abbacchio swore he saw the tiniest smug grin on Crazy Diamonds face.

Leone Abbacchio broke out into laughter. His eyes squeezed shut and the biggest smile Josuke had seen on the man so far pulled on his face, showing his pearly white teeth. His body shook as he kept laughing and laughing, practically rocking in his chair.

"Jesus..." the man wheezed, gripping at his stomach that was feeling painfully tight from laughter, a hand going to his eye to swipe away a tear quickly before his mascara started to smudge. "I think my heart stopped."

He liked this kid.

He managed to compose himself again, however that small smile lingered on his face, "Very impressive. But next time, for the love of God, fix a damn teacup or something..."

Josuke considered doing something less extreme to demonstrate next, like bending a fork, before he noticed the waiter returning with their orders and hastily seated himself again.

Josuke blinked, his face glowing with embarrassment as he rubbed at the back of his head.

"Oh-- Oops..." he laughed. "I guess I got carried away there..."

Abbacchio supposed the mans timing couldn't have been better. He wasn't sure what he would do if he ended up witnessing a table being destroyed and magically repaired in the span of 2 seconds.

Bucciarati wouldn't be very happy if he caught word of a staff member of his most favored establishment being escorted to a mental hospital for "seeing things".

"Torta di fragole." The waiter beamed at them, placing Abbacchio's plate down as well, earning a nod and a quiet "Grazie" from the Mafioso.

Josuke, on the other hand, was focused more on the heavenly aroma coming straight from the steaming mug the waiter set down in front of him, along with the huge slice of cake.

Leone held back more laughter, the kids eyes were bigger than dinner plates.

Oh man... Abbacchio hadn't been kidding when he said it was 'the best damn cake in town'.

Or maybe after chowing down on nothing but plane food for the last few meals just made it seem that way...

Either way, Josuke hummed in delight, practically scarfing down the dessert.

Abbacchio reconsidered his previous thoughts on just how much this kid could eat, watching him inhale the cake from over the rim of his steaming mug of tea.

He'd be sure to ask Tonio if he could make Okuyasu and him some of this heavenly "tortoise day frog-leg" at his little restaurant back home.

If Okuyasu didn't eat him out of house and home while he was away that is...

'Oh well,' he mused. 'at least the punk didn't try to kill me.'

[sanders-sides-fics]

A Fanciful Dream: Chapter Ten

Warnings: Injuries, Grief, Near-Death Experiences

Masterlist

Ao3

Word Count: 1800

-

Sir Jamahl was finishing his rounds for the morning shift. His knights were on high alert until the expedition lead by Prince Roman returned. No trouble had appeared since the expedition’s departure, but the castle defenses did not lighten. Not as King Thomas grew more anxious with each passing day. Sir Jamahl was sure that if the King could, he would increase the guards on the castle tenfold.

He couldn’t blame the King. Jamahl had been Captain since before the Prince’s birth and the death of the King’s partner. He lead the knights alongside his King in their attempts to keep Sandres safe from the Witch’s grasp. If she was making trouble again, it was no good. The new generation of knights wasn’t ready to take the Witch on. Her dragons, perhaps, but not the Witch.

“All’s clear,” a knight called from the tower. “W-wait! Sir, someone’s coming!”

Jamahl kept a hand on his sword’s handle and waited for their approach. His eyes stayed locked on the horizon until a familiar horse came running at him, with a far more familiar young man clinging to him.

“Prince Roman!” Jamahl dropped his hand from his sword and ran for the two. “Get the physician!”

Jamahl stopped before Maximus, who whined and huffed, throwing his head about in a panic. The poor creature was frightened beyond belief and his tan body was covered in soot. Jamahl reached out and managed to place his hand on the horse’s snout, patting him gently.

“Easy boy, we’re going to help you both, okay?” Jamahl grabbed the reins with his other hand. “He’ll be okay. You did good getting him home, Maximus.”

The horse settled and Jamahl moved onto the Prince. His heart sank at the sight. The Prince was covered in blisters and burns. Tuffs of his auburn hair were burnt from fire, and his metal armor deformed. The young man didn’t move and Jamahl feared the worst, before checking Roman’s pulse.

He sighed in relief when he found it. The Prince was alive . . . but so was the dragon. For now, Jamahl needed to focus on the Prince. He picked up Roman as the court physician, Gaius,  approached, followed by two young apprentices carrying a cot. Jamahl set Roman onto it with care and looked to Gaius.

“Give the Prince your utmost attention. He needs it if he is to survive.”

The physician nodded soberly, “I remember the old days, Sir Jamahl. I will start at once.”

Jamahl nodded, confident that the Prince was in the best hands in the castle. He remembered countless nights spent in the infirmary, after dragon battles gone wrong, under the care of  Gaius.

“Thank you . . . now, I must inform the King.”

The physician hurried off with the Prince on the cot. Jamahl could hear the elderly man from across the courtyard as he ordered the apprentices, Mer and Lin, to hurry, lest they be responsible for the death of the Prince.

Jamahl watched them disappear into the castle walls before he went to see the King. Thomas was a dear friend and Jamahl loathed the idea of delivering this news to him.

-

Thomas paced his personal study, regretting allowing Roman to lead. His son was so confident when the expedition left, but Thomas knew better than to believe that confidence was equal to ability. Now, there was nothing he could do, short of riding out himself. And Thomas couldn’t. He had a kingdom full of people who needed him to lead them through this situation.

He needed to have faith in his son’s abilities. Sir Jamahl had trained the young man to the best of his abilities. Roman was strong and skilled with a sword. He was foolish and young, but Thomas had been when he faced the Witch too.

Until he heard otherwise, the King had to believe his son was capable of handling the situation. Roman would come home with the dragon’s horn as a prize, just as he claimed he would.

. . . Perhaps King Thomas should have paid more attention to his son over the years. His heart ached as he thought of their interactions of late. Formal and stiff, harsh and disappointed, until the conversation before Roman left. Only showing his son an ounce of care before he left on an expedition far more dangerous than any he’d faced before then.

A timid knock rapped on his door, “Your Majesty?”

Thomas turned his head and stood taller. Jamahl must be updating him on the rounds, it couldn’t be much, it had been quiet since Roman’s expedition departed.

“Come in, Sir Jamahl.”

The door opened and Jamahl stepped in, a somber expression on his face. Thomas knew it meant nothing good.

“Is something wrong?”

Jamahl shifted where he stood, “Your Majesty, Roman’s returned . . . but he’s badly injured. No one else from the expedition has made it back.”

Thomas stared at Jamahl, feeling a wave of cold wash over him. The expedition was a failure. Roman was hurt, his knights could be dead. The dragon was still coming. Most importantly, his son was hurt.

“How bad is it?” the King murmured. “What happened?”

Jamahl sighed, “Sire, I think you should see for yourself. The physician took him for treatment, but he was unconscious.”

“Thank you, Sir Jamahl,” Thomas said. “Please inform Noble Joan of what’s occured. I-I need to see Roman.”

Thomas swiftly walked out of his study. He strode down the halls to the infirmary. When he was there, he opened the door quietly and peaked inside. On the cot, Roman laid still, covered in bandages and salve. Thomas gasped and stepped inside.

The court physician was working at Roman’s side, cleaning the last of his wounds before he could bandage them. The elderly man looked up at the King as he approached and set down his wet cloth.

“Greetings, Your Majesty. I am nearly done,” Gaius whispered.

Thomas knelt at Roman’s other side and ran a hand through his uneven hair. Tears swelled in his eyes as he thought of how close he’d come to losing his son and how dismissive he’d been of their time together. His son looked awful, but Thomas hoped he would heal.

Thomas spent Roman’s entire youth focused on what Roman needed in his future. Making the kingdom stable for his son. Trying to mend what the Witch had done to their land, so Roman wouldn’t have too. In this, Thomas abandoned all ideas of spending time with his son. Rarely taking a day to spend with his child. And now the future he worked for could never come.

Gaius called for one of his apprentices, who came running with a pitcher of water and a wooden cup. The physician took the two from his apprentice as Thomas watched and set them on the counter beside him.

“I’ve done what I can for now, Your Majesty,” Gaius said softly. “Would you like time alone?”

Thomas nodded, unable to find words to speak. Gaius smiled and stood, reaching for his cane.

“If he stirs, try to get him to drink. He’ll be dehydrated from his burns and journey.”

Once the physician spoke, he walked off leaving the King alone to weep over his injured son.

-

Thomas held Roman’s bandaged hand with care. The King wasn’t sure how long he’d been there, but it was long enough for the sun to set and day to become night. Roman hadn’t stirred once and his hand remained limp in Thomas’. Thomas would give his kingdom for his son to open his eyes or move in the slightest.

Thomas sighed and continued his vigil, waiting for the slightest sign. Mind plagued by his failings to his son, he hadn’t moved since he first sat down or touched the cold dinner left beside him. The physician had returned for moments to check and replace Roman’s bandages, but allowed the King his privacy.

A quiet, hoarse groan brought him forth from his thoughts. Roman’s eyes were still closed, but he shifted in his sleep. Thomas let out a sob in relief.

“Roman, can you hear me?” he asked.

Roman forced his eyes to open and looked up, blinking slowly. It took a moment, but then he recognized his father and tried to sit up. Thomas didn’t have to try hard to keep Roman from sitting up.

“Easy, Roman. Do you remember what happened?”

Roman opened his mouth to speak and winced, hand weakly moving to touch his throat. Thomas noted it and let go of his hand to fill the wooden cup on the counter with water. He pressed it to Roman’s lips and supported his head to help him drink.

When the cup was emptied, Thomas pulled the cup away and set it down on the counter. 

“Father, I failed you. The Witch, I couldn’t beat her,” Roman said shamefully.

“You went after the Witch? Son, what about the dragon?”

Roman avoided his gaze, “She is the dragon. I-I’m sorry.”

Thomas wasn’t sure how to react. The Witch was attacking his villages, personally. She nearly killed his son. His son who laid before him, too weak to sit up and too ashamed to look at him, was the only member of the expedition to return home. 

Thomas shook his head, “There is nothing to apologize for, Roman. You weren’t ready and I let you go. It is I who should apologize to you.”

Roman looked tired, but more so, confused.

“Roman, we will discuss it again when you are well, but I want to say it now. I’ve been too dismissive of you, telling myself that focusing on my duty to our kingdom would benefit you. But I was wrong, I should’ve been finding a balance and it shouldn’t take you going on a dangerous expedition for me to realize that. I love you so much, it was killing me to know I sent you off on that expedition . . . And to see you like this? I’m sorry and I’m going to be better for you.”

Thomas wiped his eyes as he teared up and clasped Roman’s hand again. Roman gave his hand a light squeeze and Thomas looked at his son again. Roman gave him a tired smile.

“I understand, Father,” Roman said. “I haven’t been the best Crown Prince, but we can both work on it.”

Thomas leant down to kiss Roman on the forehead, something he couldn’t recall happening for years. He needed to rectify that. It wasn’t fair to Roman or himself for him to deprive them of the relationship there should be between them. He wanted Roman to feel comfortable around him, to turn to him when he needed help or advice, it was Thomas’ job as a father.

“I think you should rest first,” Thomas said gently. “You’ve done your best today.”