#i have this incessant need to save energy for the next work day and we are saving all our money for our move

[agaycullen]

really hate those rot days where you don’t even have the energy to watch or read something you like, the only thing keeping me afloat is mind numbing scrolling i’m not actually watching or taking in anything…just scrolling

[of-house-atreides]

Under the Veil | Part 8

Summary: House Atreides doesn't get the rest they so desperately need

Pairing: Duke Leto Atreides x OFC

Words: 3374

A/N: Please do remember that I am French so there might be some mistakes here and there, also I wrote this at work and was quite distracted so I hope this isn't too bad/weird

Warnings: mentions of death

Masterlist

Tags: @karolajnx0yep @partypoison00 @beepboopyoda @cute-baby-ducks @theliterarybeldam

The greenhouse was dark and chilly, but Sierra enjoyed the calm and quiet of the empty garden. The events of the day had given her a burst of energy she couldn’t safely let out within the walls of the castle. The gardens were the perfect place for it, she could just give it all out to the plants and the flowers and focus on her recovery undisturbed. Leto had given her way too much potion, and although it did manage to restart her heart and allow the regenerating ice to cleanse her system from the poison, she still suffered from the overdose of strong medicine that was causing her incessant pain.

Leto found her sitting at the fountain, her hands tightly gripping at the cold grey stone, her head bent down, her eyes closed shut, pain written all over her face. He approached her slowly, unsure if she was aware of his presence, wondering if his accusations had made her physically sick.

“Do you have more questions about my father’s plan to have me killed?”

She spoke up as he came to a stop before her, not moving an inch as if her pain had paralyzed her. He clenched his jaw as he held back his frustration. He had offended her, and he knew it, but he needed to be certain, he needed to know if Caladan still stood a chance. He sat next to her, leaning over as he rested his elbows on his thighs.

“Are you in pain?”

“My stomach is on fire,” she replied slowly, quietly.

“I gave you too much potion, didn’t I?”

“Don’t worry about it, it’ll pass.”

“I…” he paused. “I didn’t know what to do.”

“You saved my life.”

“You died. In my arms.”

His tone startled her. She opened her eyes as she heard the heartache in his voice. She hadn’t realized he had witnessed her death. She hadn’t realized it had affected him so. She looked up at her husband and saw the sorrow in his gaze as the tormenting memory replayed in his head.

“You did everything you could.”

“I couldn’t do enough. I couldn’t protect you. I couldn’t protect Paul. I failed you today.”

“You did fail me today,” she agreed, and he looked down in shame as he accepted the blame, “but not in the way you think.”

He frowned, puzzled by her comments, until he realized she wasn’t talking about her death. As if the implied insult to her father had pained her more than her own demise.

“I need to know how to protect my people, my House. I can’t do that if I don’t know who my enemy is.”

“My father is not your enemy,” she stated, her anger returning to meet her pain.

“I need you to really think about this…”

“Leto…”

“No, Sierra. I need you to really think about it. Is he capable? Would he even entertain the idea? Because our other suspicion is Dr. Yueh and if you can look me in the eyes and promise me your father could never, ever, do this, I will have him arrested and tortured until he gives us answers he may not have.”

She gave him a confused look.

“Why Dr. Yueh?”

“He was in a position to do it. All of it. I need you to be sure, Sierra.”

She tilted her head to the side, winced at the pain traveling from her liver to her stomach and back, and waited for it to fade away before she managed to look back at her husband once more and lock her eyes with his.

“We are a proud people, Leto. We are strong and loyal. That is our honor. The Harkonnens have none. The Emperor has none. They work in the shadows to better their own interest, they don’t care about anyone else. My father meant every word he said to you. He respects you. And I know he despises them. Their own people hate them. There is no honor in treating with people like that. My father wants to be part of the Great Houses, yes, but he wants to be respected like you are. The Harkonnens are known for their evil ways. My father is a smart man, he knows not to trust the Emperor’s word. But he also knows to trust yours. Because you are House Atreides. And there is no faith that you betray. And the least you could do is have faith in us in return.”

Leto listened carefully to her every word, studied every well-reasoned argument, and judged the honesty in her eyes. He had dealt with Abel Valen in good faith, despite his advisors’ doubts. He had cast away every bias for one reason, and one reason only: Sierra. He thought he could trust Lord Valen because he was giving him his daughter, trading her for legitimacy. His marriage to Sierra had opened doors for Valentia they had been trying to open for centuries. But Gurney was right. It seemed too good to be true, and perhaps that had caused Leto to doubt Valentia in this moment of crisis. If Sierra died, it could potentially give Valentia a good excuse to walk back on their word, but, if Sierra died, murdered by the Harkonnens, then siding with them would close all those doors back. If only the other Great Houses knew what the Harkonnens were playing at with the Emperor.

“Alright,” he nodded as he stood up. “Gurney will arrest Wellington now.”

“I am not wrong about my father.”

“I know. I trust you,” he said as he crouched down before her, placing a hand on her knee. “You need to rest now. It’s been a long day, I’m sure you could use a few hours of sleep.”

“Actually, I was wondering…”

“Yes?”

“Do we have a steam room here?”

***

Although Leto had found her request quite strange, he was relieved to hear the baths had helped her recover speedily. She had left the sauna feeling anew, the heat and sweating allowing the potions to dissipate quickly. She was happy to find Edward waiting for her outside looking seemingly unharmed, and to her relief, not afraid of her. She wondered if Nesta would be as brave. She didn’t have the chance to find out as her chambers were empty when she returned to them. She was relieved to see the mess had been cleaned, and the Harkonnen agent had been removed from the wall in the hallway. There was no trace of blood and the sheets she had died in earlier in the afternoon had been changed. Sierra made a mental note to thank Nesta for it in the morning. She took a long relaxing bath before sliding into her bed, wondering if Leto had gotten any answers from Dr. Yueh yet, hoping he was really to blame. Not that she doubted her father, she hadn’t lied to Leto, but if Dr. Yueh wasn’t responsible for the recent gruesome events, then not only was an innocent man being tortured, but the real traitor was still roaming around the castle, perhaps planning another attack.

The sunrise filtered through the windows and reflected on the silk sheets of Sierra’s bed as she enjoyed a well-deserved rest. Someone came to disturb her at dawn, unfortunately, for them. Sierra woke up to a hand on her shoulder she couldn’t recognize. It wasn’t Leto, no, it was a woman’s hand, but it wasn’t Nesta either. And perhaps she would have reacted differently if it weren’t for the day she had just had, perhaps the terrible amount of stress she was under had her overreact, but she seized the stranger’s wrist as her eyes shot open and pulled, bringing the woman close enough for her to grab her throat with her free hand and pin her against the mattress.

“Sierra!” the woman choked.

Her eyes grew big as she realized she had trapped Jessica under her firm grip. She released her immediately and jumped off the bed.

“Sorry!”

Jessica coughed as she sat up, raising a hand as a way to let Sierra know she was fine.

“I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“I know,” Sierra sighed as she went back to the bed to sit by her side. “Did I hurt you?”

“You’re strong,” Jessica answered honestly as she brought a hand to her throat. “I’m sorry to wake you so early.”

“What’s happened?”

“I have news.”

“Dr. Yueh?”

“He confessed immediately upon his arrest. The Harkonnens have his wife.”

“Oh,” Sierra’s face fell. “Did he think they would release her?”

“He knew better. He just wanted to make sure she didn’t suffer for too long.”

“What’s going to happen to him?”

“Leto hasn’t decided yet.”

“Treason is punishable by death, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” Jessica nodded sadly, although Wellington’s actions could have led to her son’s death, she didn’t know what she would have done had she been in his position. “There’s more.”

“Really?” Sierra complained, feeling too exhausted for any more surprises.

“A Valen ship has requested permission to enter Caladan. It will land in half an hour. You need to get ready.”

Sierra’s heart skipped a beat. A Valen ship? What did it mean? Valen soldiers? Valen diplomats? Could it be – and she didn’t know why the thought made her so anxious – her father?

“Due to the unexpected nature of the visit, Leto doesn’t want you to dress too formal. Nesta is on her way to help you.”

“What about you?”

An amused smile appeared on the concubine’s face.

“My presence would be an insult to you before your people. I won’t be there.”

Sierra opened her mouth, but said nothing. She had always considered herself the insult to Jessica and Leto’s relationship, but as a concubine, Jessica was the constant reminder of Leto’s infidelity to his wife, the insult to their marriage. But she didn’t care. The last thing she wanted was for Jessica to be cast aside. But she knew she was right. If her father was coming to visit, Jessica shouldn’t be present. Jessica shouldn’t be anywhere near him.

“I’m sorry…”

“What for?” Jessica chuckled.

“I don’t know,” she whined, running a hand through her face. “I’m too tired for this.”

“Yes, the timing is unfortunate. Hopefully, they’re bringing good news.”

Sierra scoffed. Could they really bring them more bad news?

***

Sierra was nervously picking at her dress as she stood in the hall, waiting for her husband. She had to be presentable – she had to be perfect – if her father was the one to step off that ship. Nesta, whom, to her relief, hadn’t seemed too wary of her, had done her best to conceal the traces of the previous day from her face. She was fidgeting when Leto joined her. Her heart broke as she saw him. He seemed tired, and weak. Exhausted, both emotionally and physically. He gave her a small smile as he approached her and placed a quick kiss on her forehead.

“How are you?” he asked, his voice quiet and breaking?

“Tired,” she answered quickly, dismissing his worry, as she would rather focus on him. “You look…” she paused, unable to find the words as she found herself concerned for her husband in a way that was unfamiliar for her, for them, for their relationship.

As she wondered what could be upsetting him so, she remembered the two attempts on his son’s life, her own demise followed by the uncertainty of her survival, and the betrayal of Dr. Yueh, who was a trusted member of his House, all in the span of sixteen hours. However awful the recent events had been for her, they had been as hard on him, and she wished they had had time to rest and gather their strength for future potential threats, rather than dress up and welcome potential more bad news.

She brought a hand to his face and gently stroked his cheek with her thumb as she locked her eyes with his and gave him what she wanted to be a reassuring and encouraging smile. He placed his hand above hers as he smiled back, standing there with her, just enjoying the moment together, just the two of them, understanding each other without saying a word.

She wished she had some strength left to give him some energy, to cheer him up, to make it a little bit better, but she was drained, and even standing on her own two legs was a struggle at that moment.

“I know,” he merely said before he placed a kiss in the palm of her hand.

He positioned himself on her right and straightened his uniform one last time before nodding at the guard before him. The doors opened, letting the sunlight shine on the Duke and Duchess of Caladan. He intertwined his fingers with hers, surprising her. He nodded at her as she looked up, making her a silent promise. She hadn’t said it, and had barely allowed herself to think about it, but if her father was the one to step off that ship, she wasn’t sure she was strong enough to handle it. What should she say? How should she act? Should she be his daughter, or Leto’s wife?

He let go of her hand as they walked out onto the platform where they were to wait for their guests. Soldiers and officials were already waiting all around the landing area, positioned behind them and before them on either of their side. Only a few minutes left before the ship was to touch ground. The knot in Sierra’s stomach grew more painful as the seconds past and she started pulling at her fingers as she prayed for everything to go alright. Leto took her right hand and brought it to his lips, placing a kiss on her knuckles, turning the knot in her stomach into butterflies in her chest. He winked and smirked at her, and she held back a giggle. She squeezed his hand as a way to thank him for making her laugh, as a way to thank him for knowing her so well. The ship slowly came into view, and she released a sigh of relief as she recognized it to be an Explorer.

“It’s not my father.”

“Are you sure? Who is it?”

“Sentries, emissaries,” she shrugged. “Those ships carry soldiers but also mind fighters, they’re led by an ambassador. They’re meant to seek planets who could potentially treat with Valentia.”

“Why would your father send them here?”

“I have no idea.”

The ship was thin and rectangular shaped, the white color had turned a dirty mossy green which told Sierra they must have been under heavy rain for a certain amount of time for such deterioration to happen. It came to a stop in silence, the doors opening quietly after a few minutes, the walls crumbling down and turning into stairs. Sierra tried to remember exactly how many envoys were sent on an Explorer. Four mind fighters – one of each – an oracle, a weatherman, a telepath and a telekinetic, and an ambassador, someone of high rank, a good fighter, a leader to make them a team.

They came out together, the oracle and the weatherman on one side and the telepath and the telekinetic on the other, following their ambassador before them. They were wearing the same colors, white and gold, although their outfit was different. The ambassador was all dressed in white, the sunlight reflecting on the gold medals on his chest.

Sierra gasped as she recognized him, a grin forming on her face. All her troubles disappeared, the events from the previous day almost forgotten, as she brought a hand to her chest, trying to stay calm and keep her excitement to a minimum.

“You know him,” Leto stated, wondering if it was some general’s boy she had known as a girl. He studied him from where he stood, a blond, young man, tall and strong, wearing his planet’s colors with pride, and his medals with irony.

“Jason,” she breathed out, her smile somehow growing even bigger.

His eyes moved from hers to him, a frown appearing on his face as he wondered who exactly he was to her, as he could tell she was trying very hard to stay put and not run to him. But, obviously, he didn’t have her restraint. He transposed himself from the other side of the landing field to the bottom of the stairs, right at their feet, catching them by surprise.

“Sierra!”

“Jason!”

He jumped up the stairs and opened his arms to her, expecting her to launch herself at him, which she did, with an ease that told Leto they had done this a thousand times before. He laughed as he wrapped his arms around her and swirled her around.

“Oh, you’re a sight for sore eyes,” he told her as he put her down.

“You’re so pale!”

“Haven’t seen the sun in months,” he complained, “but I don’t look nearly as bad as you. You look awful! Caladan not treating you well?” he teased as he looked up at Leto.

The duke raised an eyebrow at him, trying to remain calm and not respond to the insult made against him, his wife and his planet. Sierra rolled her eyes as she playfully slapped his arm.

“Caladan’s been treating me very well,” she assured him.

“I know, I know, Sophie’s told me all about it. Actually, that’s the reason why we’re here, we tried to warn you about yesterday, but found ourselves unable to make contact,” he said, finally looking straight at Leto to whom he held out a hand. “Apologies, I’m not a diplomat, my father would be terribly ashamed of my manners.”

“Leto,” Sierra said with a proud smile he had never seen on her, “this is my brother Jason.”

“Your Grace,” Jason grinned as he gave an exaggerated bow.

“Lord Valen,” Leto nodded as he shook his hand, and any animosity birthed out of jealousy (that he might have felt for a second) vanished away. “Welcome to Caladan.”

“Thank you. I’m sorry we have to meet under these circumstances,” he said with honesty, before he turned to Sierra. “Sorry I missed your wedding, sis’.”

She rolled her eyes. “Well, at least you haven’t lost your sense of humor.”

“Nor have you lost your vigor, I hear.”

“You said you tried to warn us about yesterday?” Leto questioned.

“Yes,” Jason sighed, all traces of amusement vanishing from his face. “Valentia hasn’t been able to contact you for a few days now. We think the traitor in your midst tampered with your comms.”

“I’ll have them check now,” Leto said as he gestured for one of the uniformed men to his right to take care of it.

“My father is happy to learn the spies have been neutralized,” Jason said, eyeing his sister, “and very glad to hear your son is safe.”

“I thank you.”

“We have a few ideas on how to proceed from now on. I know you’ve had a short night, but would it be possible for us to sit down and talk about a plan to put your Harkonnen problem to rest?”

Leto tilted his head to the side, carefully guarding his hope from a promise too good to be true. The four mind fighters caught up to their ambassador and bowed to the Duke and Duchess of Caladan as they came to a stop before them. Leto politely nodded at them before returning his focus on his brother-in-law.

“Put it to rest?”

Jason smirked, then stepped forward as he put a hand on Leto’s shoulder, invading the duke’s personal space, something he only allowed three people to do. He raised an eyebrow as he met Jason’s arrogant eyes, seeing nothing there that reminded him of his sister. But the words he said next shattered the walls he had built around his hope, and he allowed himself to believe them, to believe him, to believe his wife when she said her father only wanted the best for House Atreides, because that meant the best for Valentia.

Jason spoke quietly, only allowing his sister and her husband to hear him.

“Put the whole Arrakis problem to rest.”

[archetype-archives]

ROTTMNT : SPIRITS WITH THE WEAPONS

Not like every other day.

Masterpost

Plot: It was a normal day for the four spirits when suddenly four turtles and one human changed everything.

Genre: Fluff, Attempts at Humor, Family-Bonding, Light Hearted, Original Characters, Canon Compliant 

Notes: this one is a bit meh, but it's been sitting around for a while so I decided to just publish it as it is. I'm working on other projects that are much more exciting, so all my time is put into that instead.

Standing tall on the outskirts of the Hidden City stood a tall menacing building filled with a mix of mechanical and organic parts. Pulsing vines, steaming pipes, ominous glowing lights. The home of a warrior-scientist yokai. Inside, amongst many, many rooms, is a large abandoned hall filled to the brim with new and old weapons of various kinds. Swords, axes, arrows, shields. The room pulsed with a vibrant energy of science and magic combined in a glorious concoction. And there, on a far wall, glowing brilliantly in hues of red, orange, blue and purple sat four weapons unlike the rest. An Odachi, Tonfas, Kusari-Fundo and a Halberd. Mystic power surged through the wood and metal, a buzz surrounding them, shivers of vibrations, and, if you leaned close enough, you might be able to hear voices.

The voices of four ancient spirits. 

"Rock. Paper—"

"We've got no hands, Fundi."

"Oh right, yeah…. Uh… I spy with my little—"

"No eyes either."

"But we can still see, Oda, so we can still play!" 

Oda—un-originally named after the Odachi he inhabits— sighed. One would think, after decades of being stuck on a wall in a long forgotten room with three other unusual spirits, he would've gotten used to Fundi's incessant need to be entertained. 

But no.

There was no getting used to this.

And he didn't want to get used to this either.

It was driving him mad.

"—Something beginning with 'A'!"

"Ax." Oda didn't hesitate to answer. 

"Damn."

Right, after decades of eye-spy, when they couldn't move past the wall they were strapped to, there were only so many things they could use to play the word game with … and only so many weapons starting with 'A'.

Oda sighed again.

"Okay, okay, me next." The red glowing Tonfas beside him chuckled, obviously trying to save Oda from another headache. "Hmmm…" The spirit inhabiting the Tonfas—aptly named Tonfa— hummed thoughtfully. "Ooh I've got it! I spy with my little eye something beginning with—huh?! Turtles?"

Fundi groaned. "Tonfa that isn't how you play—"

"No look." If he could've, he would've pointed at the pile of four humanoid-turtles stacked at the far end of the room having fallen from an old trapdoor tunnel. "Turtles?…and a human!" 

Oda quickly snapped to attention at the mention of a human. Yokai and such they were used to. The Baron that owned this building, and subsequently them, was a yokai. His henchmen and gargoyles were also yokai, so turtle yokais weren't anything new. A human however… that was new. 

"Oh, do you think they'll want to play eye-spy too?" Fundi beamed, a flicker of fire shivering down his chain in anticipation.

"Draxum says humans are vile, evil creatures." The normally quiet purple Halberd—Hal—muttered nervously, a trembling pulse vibrating around his spiked ball. "What if the human wants to hurt us?" 

"What if the human wants to use us for evil?" Tonfa added to Hal's already growing anxiety, a few particles of translucent squares formed around the Tonfas like nervous beads of sweat. 

"Humans aren't inherently evil." Oda said calmly. "But if she doesn't get out of here soon, she'll be the one in danger. You know how much the Baron hates humans."

Tonfa's fear subsided, turning into concern instead. "Oh no, the poor thing." He fussed. "We should do something."

"No." Oda said firmly.

"But what if the human—" Hal said in a small unsure voice.

"We cannot make ourselves known." Oda cut in with a tone of age-old wisdom. "We'll just keep an eye on them and hopefully they'll find a way out of here soon."

"I'm sure those turtle yokai will help her." Tonfa agreed.

Fundi lifted up the ball at the end of his chain, a puff of orange fire zipping around the spiked ring through the center, something he only did when he was agitated. "But just watching is booorrrrriiiinnnngggg!"

Oda sent a spark of blue electricity towards the Kusari-Fundo, effectively telling Fundi to stop; they couldn't risk being seen. Fundi lets the fire die, but not before huffing childishly at the Odachi-inhabiting spirit.  

Oda chose to ignore him and instead focus on the intruders. 

The turtles recovered quickly from the messy pile of limbs and were quick to explore the vast range of sharp and dangerous weapons around them.

"It's like if magic and science had a baby!" The one in a purple mask said as he marveled at the mad-scientist aesthetic.

They sound like children, Oda noted with an inward cringe. Children and weapons do not bode well. Where are these kids' parents!?

"These'll do." Another one of them exclaimed merrily while holding up a pair of nunchucks. Nunchucks weren't too bad, at least they weren't sharp. The turtle would soon throw them down once he realizes just how difficult they are to wield. A few bruises and bumps later and hopefully he'll never pick up a weapon again.

The blue one however…. He just had to pick up a pair of Katanas. He probably saw the shiny sharp blade and saw himself and some kind of ninja. This isn't a game, Oda wanted to yell. But alas he knew the turtles couldn't hear him. 

All four turtles and the human danced around the room, each picking weapons they found "cool" or whatnot. And here Oda thought Fundi was the biggest headache. No, these children beat the unruly spirit by a mile. They were reckless, overly-excitable, and completely unaware of the danger they were in by being in Baron Draxum's lab. 

But it just had to get worse before it could get better. 

Oda knew what the large red one was thinking when his eyes turned to the wall the spirits were strapped to. Like a moth drawn to a lamp, the bright light the spirits emitted had the big one's eyes sparkling with awe. A huge grin spread across his face revealing his singular spiked tooth. 

"Don't do it kid," Oda mumbled. "Ignore the urge. Just walk away."

"Oda…" Hal whispered. "I think the big one is looking at us."

"Don't do it kid, don't—"

"Hey yo, guys!" The red one called out loudly to the others, a mischievous smirk on his beak. Oda groaned. "How about we take the glow-y ones?" 

Hal inhaled anxiously next to him. "Oh no." 

Fundi giggled. "I don't know why you guys are so worried." He said with an air of mischief himself. "They seem fun!"

"Oh, dibs on the sword!" The blue one exclaimed, much to Oda's horror. 

"No! No "dibs" on the "sword", do you even know what type of sword I am?" Fundi laughed harder as Oda glowered angrily at the blue‐clad turtle reaching up to him with sparkling eyes "I am an Odachi! Not something a snot-nosed kid like you should lay a finger on— no, stop! Kid seriously, put me down. You'll only hurt yourself!" 

"Oh boy!" The blue one gleamed proudly.

"Too late." Fundi laughed as the smallest turtle grabbed with him an equally joyous laugh. 

"Hot soup!" The orange one yelled as he struck a pose.

"Hot soup?" Fundi laughed harder. "This kid is funny!"

"Boom!" The red one shouted as he took the Tonfas off the wall next and struck his own fierce pose. "Hahaha!"

"Please be careful, big guy." Tonfa didn't seem all that bothered by the turtle holding him up in the air like a trophy. In fact, much to Oda's dismay, the Tonfas spirit sounded like a proud older brother as the red turtle started shadow-boxing with him. 

He expected Fundi to be ignorant of the consequences of children wielding powerful music weapons. But for Tonfa to also take everything in his stride without doubts was surprising… and frustrating. 

Surely he could rely on Hal to be sensible. Hal was always sensible, but only because his overactive anxiety and nervousness got the better of him in pretty much every situation. 

Oda watched Hal carefully while trying to keep the young turtle from cutting himself as he swung the Odachi around like a stick. He gulped dryly as the human girl took the Halberd off the wall. Then, without a second thought, strode causally towards the final and less excitable purple turtle. 

Oda watched apprehensively as Hal started to panic, stuttering incoherently. 

"What about you, Donnie?" She swung the Halberd teasingly in front of the turtle. "Don't you want a glow-y weapon?" She asked as if said weapon was as harmless as an inflatable toy. 

"No, I'm good." Hal breathed a sigh of relief when the turtle quickly turned down the offer in favor of stroking his mechanical-advanced bo-staff like an overprotective parent. "I'll never let you go." The turtle whispered with a pout. 

The human girl shrugged it off, almost as if she expected such an answer and the Halberd went limp at her side. 

"Oh, thank goodness." Hal breathed out. 

At least one of them is sensible, Oda couldn't help but think as he caught a glimpse of the three other turtles playing ninja by themselves. 

Wait, Oda takes it back, this purple one isn't sensible… in fact he's just as clueless as the others as he ponders over a small purple mystic crystal. "This looks interesting, though." He says cheekily as he snatched the crystal and tucked it away, no doubt for later investigation.

"Doesn't he know how dangerous that thing can be!?" Oda mentally face-palmed. 

Suddenly they all gathered together and an air of eagerness buzzed around them. Then the red one raised an arm and loudly declared, "Let's go save the dog thingy!"

Oda sighed for the umpteenth time. "These kids are going to give me an aneurysm and kill me all over again."

~End~

[saksukei]

seungcheol neighbor au

masterlist

it was no secret that choi seungcheol was the most handsome man to ever exist and also,,,, the strongest,, like he was a LITERAL HUNK

he lived on the apartment right in front of yours so you met him pretty often,, with just the occasional ‘hello’ and ‘good day’ type of convos

so you were heading to your apartment after being let off early from work because you had caught the worst cold eVER like literally there was snot everywhere and they were like pls go home

you got into your apartment, changed your clothes and grabbed fifty blankets and sat down on the couch

you had a really bad coughing fit,, and you were sure you were going to cough your lungs out at this point,,

seungcheol was going into his apartment,, lost in his thoughts,, until like he was interrupted by this loud and incessant coughing

but instead of thinking that you were like having a flu or something,,

HE THOUGHT YOU WERE CHOKING

in panic, seungcheol dropped all his stuff off at the door

and obviously, he wasn't going to knock

so yep

HE RAN AT YOUR DOOR AT FULL SPEED

AND KNOCKED IT DOWN

yes, your door was literally on the ground

only to find you, wrapped in five blankets, tissues scattered all around, a red nose

and you were like uh hello??

and seungcheol waS SHOCKED because he thought you were choking??

“um hi?”

“IM SORRY I THOUGHT YOU WERE CHOKING AND YOU WERE GOING TO DIE SO I BROKE YOUR DOOR TO SAVE YOU,,,,, OH MY GOD IM GOING TO REPLACE THE DOOR–” he rambled on and on about how he was going to replace your door and how he was a bad neighbor etc

“seungcheol, it's okay,” you smiled. “at least–I know now if I was ever going to choke, you'd break the door down,” you teased.

“oh god,,,, this is so embarrassing, I'm so sorry– I will get you a new door.”

“seungcheol, i told you, it's fine.” you reminded him,, he was literally beet red at this point. he had never been this embarrassed in his life and he was friends with hoshi.

“no I broke down my neighbor's door and it's so unsafe at night and you're already sick,,,” seungcheol started hyperventilating “i am so sorry–”

and before he started rambling again u were like SEUNGCHEOL I WILL DECK YOU IN THE FACE IF YOU SAY SORRY ONE MORE TIME

and he was like (((;ꏿ_ꏿ;)))

“but it's just–ugh–I'm so fucking stupid,” seungcheol groaned.

“you did the right thing,, please don't feel bad,” you comforted. “it happens.”

“i'm so sorry,,,,, I'll just drop my stuff in and spend the night here if that's okay?” he asked. “its not safe with your door down and all, and we can't leave the apartment unattended, plus you're sick.”

“dont worry about it,,,,”

“i broke your door down pls this is the least I can do”

“okay then”

and then, seungcheol your handsome and FREAKISHLY STRONG neighbor came in his soft pajamas with his hair all fluffy and his lil smile

GOD PLS HES SUCH A BABY

basically seungcheol looked so cute that your heart was going BOOM BOOM SHAKE THE ROOM

“here,, I got you some medicine.”

“thanks– um,,,, do you want to watch something?” you asked, as he sat down beside you.

“i'm fine with anything. I also talked to the landlord and he said the carpenter will be there in two or three days,” he informed. “so I'll spend the night here, to make sure no one does some weird shit.”

“thank you so much seungcheol,, you really didn't have to go through all the trouble”

“uh,,, I broke your door– I think this is the least I can do,” he replied and you chuckled.

so the two of you just watched tv, all the while talking about random things during the day

and slowly you started falling asleep on the couch right beside seungcheol and seungcheol just looked at you he was like wow

like literally ,,,, seungcheol had his eyes on you for the longest time but he didn't do anything about it and now, you were beside him looking all cute and snuggly

and he brought over a spare mattress from his place and slept on it because you were sleeping on the couch and yes, you're damn right, he's a gentleman

he even woke up earlier to make you breakfast

you woke up and you were feeling a lot better and you saw cheol making you brekkie

“seungcheol,,, why are you making breakfast?” you asked him

“you need the energy,” he answered.

“what about your work?”

“oh well, our boss gave us an off for the weekend,” he answered. “it is okay, right?”

“i'm okay with it,,,,” you smiled sheepishly

the next two days,, seungcheol slept on the couch while you slept in your room

he even made you breakfast and took care of you, made you laugh like

the only thing you were thinking about was how much this guy was boyfriend material and like WOW SIMP!

and seungcheol was just having the time of his life because he's with you

once the door was fixed, cheol was sad because he thought he had lost his chance, given that he did break your door down

“of course cheol,,, we'll be friends,” you comforted him.

“I was kinda thinking if we could be more than that,” seungcheol smiled sheepishly, his dimples showing as he blushed.

and you were like omg HES SO CUTE

“of course we could be more than that,” you got on your tippy toes and pressed a small kiss to his cheek

“hmm, maybe I should break your door down more often,” he teased.

“why break it when you can have the key?” you teased, leaving seungcheol's heart beating faster,,, than before.

[iron-mum]

I wish you would write a fic where Tony and kid Peter are being adorable father and son as retribution for the angst you’ve made me suffer through in the past hah! (JK I love you and your angst! 💛)

Well, well, well. What do we have here, eh? A request for adorable? I'm not sure, I'm very good at that 😌

Here's SIMTony who would stop at nothing to help his unwell son, Peter get better. Even if it meant using Extremis.

P.S. ILY3000 💕

In the final throes of the graveyard shift at the hospital floor, the elevator pinged for its frequent lone visitor. The front desk staff, whilst tense and sitting up suddenly straighter, knew not to actually engage. No ID was needed for their boss, one of them barely suppressing a gulp as his determined strides headed for the private room that had been deliberately placed near to the room equipped for every possible kind of emergency. Once inside, he carefully shut the door silently and took a seat at the bedside.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

Sharp blue eyes shifted from the persistent buzzing of the most technologically advanced medical equipment anyone, anywhere could offer before looking back down to something far more invaluable and precious. Tony’s entire world. His purpose in life. The little boy on the bed lay motionless, breathing slowly and evenly, nose occasionally scrunching up at the discomfort of the oxygen mask upon him. He should have been cocooned in a hug from his father but instead his son, Peter, was littered with wires attaching him to the very best modern medicine had to offer.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

Pale, soft skin with the daintiest of freckles stood out against the dark curls spread across the far too big pillow. The small fingers of his left hand had loosely closed around the calloused thumb of his father, letting him know that whilst he had been rendered weak from illness, he was still aware of his comforting presence. Tony’s index finger gently glided across the small knuckles, willing himself to see a tiny curve of the lips on his son’s face.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

This had been the Avengers fault. Peter’s current critical condition. The young boy had been on a school trip when a battle had broken out and the wannabe heroes managed to cause more destruction than lives saved. A chemical explosion had landed most of the class in hospital and many of them had ended up becoming very unwell. Unfortunately for Peter, he already suffered many ailments so even under the wing of Stark’s finest medical personnel, the struggle had taken a toll. The genius shook his head as thoughts of revenge started to sprout from the many seeds that had been planted since the catastrophic incident. He shelved the many ideas he had that would lead to the demise of the reckless group once his kid was better.

It had been hours when the sound of a nurse's footsteps acted as the catalyst that would remove Tony from the room so he could head back to his lab. As he reluctantly moved his hand away, there was no reaction. Not even a twitch from the slender child. Bending down, he tentatively stroked a small amount of the exposed skin that was available on the boy’s face before planting a light kiss on his forehead. By the time the nurse was opening the door to the room to complete the routine checks, any sign of a visitor would be long gone.

The moment Tony was back in his workshop, he strode towards his desk. Music started to reverberate from the ceiling, the sound greatly appreciated compared to the low hum and incessant beeping from the emotionless devices that were currently keeping his son alive.

Tony didn’t believe in a higher power other than himself. So in no way, shape or form was he ever going to accept that he couldn’t save Peter from the incurable illness now ravaging his frail body. Feeling powerless was simply not an option.

Rolling up the sleeve to his top, the genius opened a drawer and pulled out a device meant for extracting blood as painlessly as possible. Not that pain meant much to him these days. No pain would ever compete with a parent having to watch their child deteriorate every single second of every single day.

Satisfied with the draw, Tony placed it into a diagnostic machine of his own making. He caught a glimpse of his reflection in the glass of his workshop, eyeing it like he was in the most intense staring contest of his life. Jaw clenching, his arm shot out allowing liquid metal to glide across his skin before firing a repulsor at the glass and shattering it. There was an element of irony to everyone loving his face except himself in the minimal but intrusive “what if” moments that surrounded his current situation. With a crack of his neck, his arm remained outstretched so the Endo-Sym armour could return to it’s housing tank.

“Boss, the results are back,” F.R.I.D.A.Y. informed as the music lessened in volume. “No adverse reactions detected still. The chemical composition indicates that the Extremis is unchanged in it’s integration with you on a genetic level and continues to remain stable.”

“And the sample from Peter?” Tony asked, confident that he knew what the answer would be.

“Also remaining stable.”

“Alert the staff intending to see Peter following tonight's shift that their presence will not be needed,” the genius demanded as he mentally reiterated the next steps of his plan in his head. Lips curled into devilishly handsome grin at his victory, eyes crinkling at the sides. The smile only softened when his eyes drifted to a framed picture Peter had drawn of the both of them. He’d done it.

“Certainly, boss,” the AI had responded without any acknowledgement. Tony was too busy in thought. Not only was the Extremis flowing through his own veins, leaving him feeling at perfect health. But soon, it would be doing the same for Peter too. Pain free, peak performance and at complete and optimal health.

“Have there been any sightings of the Avengers in the last hour? I feel a splash of revenge is in order for this special occasion?” The holo-screens in front of him started to flicker as social media sites were searched and hashtags refreshed repeatedly. Hulk had been trending within the hour and Hawkeye in the last eleven minutes.

"Well, how about that?" he grinned gleefully. "I really am being spoiled for choice."

Whilst the genius had been certain F.R.I.D.A.Y. had relayed the message to the morning staff, Tony still found himself exhaling sharply at the sight of someone sat by Peter’s side reading his file. The thin bag of Extremis in his hand was shifted into his back pocket as quickly as humanly possible. The good feeling from beating the shit out of one of the Avengers, plus the buzz of providing Peter with a cure that no meagre doctor had been able to, shifted into a tension as tried to work out who it was.

Their face was narrow with sharp features and glasz eyes remarkably penetrating when they met his perusing stare. His black hair had been combed back neatly, the sides of his temples a distinct light grey. The well fitted suit looked designer even for Tony’s impeccable standards.

“Your services are no longer required,” he affirmed with a dismissive flourish of the hands before the man could even introduce himself.

“I’m sorry?” the other man replied without hesitation, closing the file and rising from the chair. Tony’s chair. If he’d been expecting any pleasantries or introductions, he was thoroughly mistaken. Tony was already locked onto Peter, the gentle rise of his chest a welcoming sight as always. He refused to allow his attention to be divided, ignoring the piercing stare boring into him now. “I have an oath to this patient. He critically needs help from the best in all fields. He needs my help.”

The genius turned at that, an eyebrow raised as he looked the doctor up and down. He certainly held himself strongly for someone who had that much audacity in addressing the owner of everything within his current vicinity.

“Are you new around here… Doctor Strange?” He asked disingenuously, eyes narrowing as he scrutinised the name badge. The letters ‘VISITOR - Dr Stephen Strange’ jotted on the bottom, likely the reason he hadn’t got his AI’s memo. The receptionist who let him in would be fired whether it was her fault or not.

“Unlike everyone else in this building, no, I don’t work for you” the doctor shot back tersely. “However, you were so insistent on my consultation that, somehow, I found my diary completely cleared of all surgeries that were booked in.”

“Well, you can now stick them back in your diary. We’re done here.”

“I know this is difficult,” the doctor started, tone suddenly softer as if he were hoping a change of tact would get through. “You brought me in for my expertise, so use them.”

“I’m the most intelligent, capable person on the planet. I don’t need you. I don’t need anyone.”

“Your arrogance surpasses all the rumours and expectations I had of you,” Strange snapped back incredulously. Apparently nothing was going to get through. “Your child is-”

“You know, it would be a real shame if you were to lose your medical licence, wouldn't it, doctor?” Tony sneered dangerously low. This ungrateful little shit was going to get it for not only wasting his time and energy, but also his son’s. An insignificant speck like the rest of the world.

“Are you threatening me?” the doctor replied doing his best to keep his tone cool and unflinching when the other man removed all personal space between them. The lack of intimidation he was feeling only pissed Tony off more.

“Let’s not test my resolve, doctor.” Despite feeling completely wrong about leaving considering Peter’s condition, Dr Stephen Strange tucked the file he’d been reading under his arm and left the room in just a few strides. Tony had spotted the hand diving for a phone as the door shut behind him and clenched his fists in disdain.

“F.R.I.D.A.Y., be a darling and ensure Doctor Douchebag doesn’t make it back home,” Tony demanded followed by a nonchalant sniff.

“Yes, boss. His phone has also unexpectedly lost all signal so will not be usable anytime soon.”

Satisfied with the course of action his AI had taken, Tony locked the door to his son’s room for good measure. He eyed the current equipment before making his move. One of the drips currently providing Peter with much needed medicine was switched to make way for a sample of the Extremis that Tony had meticulously created and tested on himself. He peered at his son, swallowing thickly that this would all be worth it.

Bag secured, the first few drops started instantly, the older man watching as they flowed along the thin tubes before entering the cannula imposed on Peter’s hand. The skin began to glow orange, the lava looking trail gliding all the way up the arm’s before entering the chest. Daring a glance at the monitors, Tony noted an instant improvement in the readouts. A smile spread across his face as sheet-white, sickly skin started to immediately brighten.

Peter’s big, brown doe eyes suddenly shot open as he took a huge gulp of air, eyes landing on his father who was remarkably in focus for the first time in his life without the aid of glasses. Tony removed the oxygen mask so he could take his son’s face in fully for the first time in well over a month.

“Dad?” the young boy croaked, clearly a little disoriented from the abrupt wake up.

“Hey, buddy,” Tony whispered, voice cracking with emotion as he closed the distance between them.

Peter lunged at his father, his small arms wrapping tightly around the genius’ neck and face burying into his chest. It had been far too long since either had been able to enjoy the tender, heart-bursting feeling of overwhelming, unconditional love from one another.

“I love you, kiddo.” Tony gushed as one of his hand’s lovingly cupped the back of Peter's head holding him as close as possible. The other enveloped around his back, his thumb slowly stroking up and down. When the older man's hand started to trail through Peter's hair, the boy somehow managed to burrow even closer. Tony soothingly lifted curls between his fingers and then let them ping back as new life continued to circle through his son’s body.

“I love you too, dad,” Peter whispered, a strain evident in his voice that Tony hadn’t been expecting. When he leant back, he saw the likely cause. Now unnecessary wires were tugging at his child’s skin.

“Let’s get these off you, bud. You don’t need them anymore,” he promised softly as he carefully went to work at removing the monitoring equipment clips and stickers. Peter’s curious eyes followed every step of the way, surprisingly not wincing even when some of the tougher stickers were peeled away. Although he was too young to even begin comprehending what had happened, he knew from vague memories he’d been hurt and that he’d slept a lot. Often he had been unsure if he was dreaming or awake when he’d hear his father read him stories, express his love and let him know how brave he was being. A slight tug on his hand drew him from his recollection as he looked down.

"I’m scared," Peter timidly admitted as he eyed up the last piece of medical equipment attached to him. The cannula in his hand.

“Here’s what we're gonna do, bud. We’re going to put on our brave faces and before you know it, it’ll be all done and over with. Can you show me your bravest, fiercest face?” Tony gently challenged, as part of his upper lip curled and he playfully growled.

The child’s dinky nose scrunched up and his lips pushed out into the biggest pout he could form. He shook his head a little and hummed in a way that likely felt fierce to him but could only be described as adorable to his dad.

"Wowzer. That was super mean, you nearly scared me!” Tony gasped dramatically, as he gestured for the boy to look down and see that the only thing on the top of his hand was a small cotton wool ball and a light pressure from his dad. Using his free hand to fish into his pocket, Tony revealed a green Paw Patrol sticker with Peter’s favourite character, Rocky, on it.

It had been a distant memory since the young boy had handed it to him, having spotted the numerous nicks and cuts that littered his hard working hands after a long day in the workshop. Extremis meant Peter wouldn’t even need it, but the placebo effect would make it worth it.

“Am I all better, daddy?” Peter asked as Tony eyed him up once more. The overwhelmed father cupped his kid’s face and planted another kiss on his forehead, relief washing over him that he was now free from the concatenation of medical instrumentation.

“You most certainly are. And that means we get to skedaddle out of here.”

Before his son could anticipate his next move, his father had scooped him up into his arms and they were making their way not only out of the room, but off of the floor for good.

They’d had a chance to change into matching casual wear and feasted on a huge breakfast before snuggling up on the sofa. Peter had selected an Octonauts movie to watch as he tucked into his father’s side and enjoyed the sound of his steady heartbeat.

It would be a couple of hours when Tony’s phone pinged with a notification he knew was F.R.I.D.A.Y. when she was being discreet. His son huffed at the movement as he shuffled to get the phone out of his pocket, muttering an apology to his kid before opening the message.

[Unfortunate accident on the Hawk’s Nest, Route 97. Vehicle crossed the barrier and rolled multiple times down the cliff’s edge before landing in the Delaware River. Initial scan from one of the Iron Sight Bot #364 shows one survivor.]

Tony’s smirk widened into a full blown smile. Peter’s heart-of-gold eyes suddenly on him, looking up from his position. It was likely a silent protest at the lack of head strokes he was suddenly receiving so the genius replied swiftly.

[Call off any emergency services and get him med-evaced here.]

“You know what I think we need. Celebratory cheeseburgers for lunch,” he announced as Peter let out a squee of joy.

[seriouslyhooked]

The Bast Bad Idea (Part 2)

Three-part CS AU where Emma and Killian are doctors working at the same hospital (world without pandemic). They’ve yet to meet, but Emma has definitely seen the sexy Dr. Jones in her travels at Mist Haven Medical. It’s generally a bad idea to get involved with a colleague, but a little fantasizing never hurt… right? Inspired by the song ‘Bad Idea’ by Ariana Grande and a TV couple who set the bar for true love stories.

Part One Here. Story available on FF Here and AO3 Here.

A/N: Hello everyone! First and foremost, I want to start with a huge thank you to all of you who have reached out about this story. The response was so far beyond what I was expecting, but I am thrilled to know that all of you enjoy a CS Doctor AU as much as I do. As someone who grew up watching Grey’s Anatomy, it’s essentially engrained in my DNA to love a medical romance, and this story is one I have wanted to write for a long time. I’ve had more than a month away from writing thanks to my busy schedule, but finally my muse came to play and add a bit of fluff to this sweet short story. Chapter two picks up with a critical question – what was Dr. Jones going to propose to Dr. Swan…? Without further ado, here is our answer. Thanks for reading and hope you enjoy!

“This might be presumptuous of me, love, but I find I’m helpless to resist. I was wondering – that is, I was hoping that perhaps, you and I, we could…”

His eyes strayed down to her lips, and Emma wet them absentmindedly. She heard a low growl, and realized it was coming from Killian. She shifted in her seat, turned on in a way she had never been before. Instinctively she moved closer, sensing the sinfully sweet current between them, like lightning just before it cracked across a summer sky. The instant attraction was breathtaking. It felt almost out of time and space.

“We could…” she continued, nudging him along and hoping he would elaborate. She wanted so badly for him to say aloud what she herself was wishing for.

Yet where Emma expected words, she was instead met with action, tantalizing and surprising, but inspiring something in her she never expected. Before she knew it, Emma was in Killian’s arms, aching for this moment, kissing him and knowing she was positively senseless. All that existed was this kiss, this touch. It was electrifying and invigorating, a blaze rushing through her blood stream that emboldened a part of her she’d always held back. Desire. That was what this was, and it was luscious and intoxicating.

Following his lead, Emma broke away from the kiss only to gasp for air as he crowded her body against the wall. The hardness of the cement blocks behind her, coupled with the heat and definition of Dr. Killian Jones was too much to handle. She arched into him, striving for contact, and reveling in the feel of his skin on hers. The only problem was these damn clothes between them. Never in her life had she been irritated at this doctor’s coat she’d worked so hard to earn. For years she studied and poured everything she was into medicine, all for the authority this coat portrayed, but she practically purred when Killian stripped hers off and tossed it to the ground. Pushing his off of his body in return made her mind race. The muscles of his chest and arms were driving her to distraction. Then they flexed, and she swallowed harshly, earning a deep, decadent chuckle from this man who drove her crazy.

“See something you like, Swan?”

God that cockiness. They’d never had any kind of real conversation before now, but the way he smiled spoke volumes. His air and his persona were dripping in assuredness. Emma used to think that she hated so much confidence, but when it came to Killian, she craved it something fierce. It was somewhat infuriating, the way his eyes shone with mischief and conceit, but it was also hotter than anything she’d ever known. Still, part of her would rather die than admit that aloud. She had her pride, no matter how wrapped up in this moment she may be.

“It’s hard to say,” she replied, her voice sounding out with a shredded silkiness that she’d never heard before. “I haven’t seen much of anything yet.”

“My apologies, love. Allow me to rectify the situation.”

Emma watched as this ridiculously attractive man purposefully teased her. With deft fingers he reached for the base of his scrub top, inching the material higher up his body. The trail of dark hair he revealed was evocative, but it held no candle the shape and tone of those abs underneath. Sweet Jesus, were those real? Emma bit back a groan at the sight, her lip pressed tight between her teeth. It took everything in her to keep her hands from reaching for him. She lay them flat on the wall behind her at her sides instead, but they balled into fists unconsciously as Killian eventually tossed the shirt away.

His black hair was mussed now, both from removing the scrubs with that always-present swagger, and from her fingers having run through it during their never-ending kisses. His eyes were dark navy blue, but still they shone with hunger and delight. His grin was a mix of charming and predatory, but instead of inciting a fight or flight response, Emma only wanted to surrender. This was a man who knew he was in complete control. He had hooked her, totally and beyond any shadow of doubt, and all she wanted was for him to have his way with her.

The curses he whispered while helping her shed her own scrubs were like prayers on high, a sweet song to her ears that only added to his allure. Killian’s eyes never strayed from her, but his reactions were so open and transparent. He hid nothing, allowing her a glimpse to the world inside, and it caused the power between them to shift. If Emma was being hunted, then she was also hunting in return, and Killian seemed ready to be caught.

“Emma, I -,”

His voice faded out, and she struggled to hear him. Instead, there was a blaring alarm. Was this a fire drill? Why had the light in the room gone hazy? Still, Emma heard herself whisper his name.

“Killian?”

BEEP. BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.

The screech of the sharp, incessant chiming by her ears wrenched Emma’s eyes open, and immediately she groaned in disappointment. All of that – every exquisite moment – was a dream. Ugh, of course it was! Because this was her life now: fantasizing about a hot trauma surgeon ceaselessly and wishing that her memories of him were more than mere imagination.  

“Damn it,” she muttered aloud, covering her eyes with her hand in frustration. With her vision blocked, Emma was more aware of the feeling that her body was wrapped up in her sheets. She’d obviously been tossing and turning through the night, restless in ways she rarely was before seeing Doctor Jones. These freaking dreams just felt so real, and they’d only gotten worse since officially meeting him.

That was three days ago now, but things had been chaotic in the meantime. The level four trauma that came in when they’d been formally introduced totally swamped the ER. Emma was called down for consult on multiple patients, needing to give life and death assessments and treatment plans for half a dozen people. While down there, Emma had the chance to see David and Killian in action. She was struck, even in the grips of adrenaline, by their cohesion and capability. They were cool and collected, battling odds that were dire to say the least, but they prevailed. Emma had worked for years to hone her craft, to heighten her skills, and to meet the moments of medicine that her work provided. But the energy in the ER had shifted, and she felt her own abilities elevated by the camaraderie and collectiveness of everyone in the hospital.

That shared experience only lasted a short while, for after initial inspections and emergency consults, Emma was quickly rerouted to the surgical wing. For 16 hours straight she worked to save the lives of four people, and through something that felt like magic, or maybe divine intervention, she was successful each and every time. That good fortune held, not only for her, but for all of her colleagues as well. The hospital had managed something next to impossible – they had saved every victim of the horrible accident, but the work had been backbreaking. When she’d finally scrubbed out of her last procedure, Emma admitted defeat, heading home and sleeping for twelve straight hours.

Her next shift was markedly slower, and Emma had the chance to see the progress of her post-op patients, and to connect with the others in her unit. It was critically important that the doctors, nurses, admins, tech teams, and other staff were all feeling strong and secure. Patients needed everyone working as a collective whole, and Emma took it upon herself to monitor that. It was unusual for a Doctor, especially one who wasn’t overseeing daily operations, but it mattered to Emma. Saving lives took so much more than her medical degree and steady hands. She needed each and every person in the cardiac wing to be successful, and she valued every one of them for what they brought to the team.

Unfortunately, while Emma’s day was slower and steadier, there was also a favorite element now lacking. She wasn’t too proud to admit that she’d willingly joined Ruby on the daily trip to the coffee cart. Actually, she’d been the one to page Ruby this time, earning more than a bit of teasing from her best friend, but Killian and David never showed. Only later, when Emma was at the tail end of her workday and helping with a consult in the ER, did she learn why.

“He was here for sixty-eight straight hours,” David said bluntly, after having confirmed his diagnosis for a patient presenting with a blood circulation issue.

“I’m sorry?” Emma asked, confused for a moment at David’s turn of topic.

“Killian,” David said, prompting Emma’s face to heat. Here she was, hoping it wasn’t totally obvious that she was looking for a man she hardly knew beyond imaginings, but David had seen through her in a matter of moments.

“Oh, um – that’s, well that’s… crazy. Sixty-eight hours?” That beat even her record, and she’d been called a workaholic on more than one occasion.

“Mhmm. We were on the end of a twelve-hour shift when the call came in and he stayed, until every last patient in the trauma department was seen and attended to. I left for eight hours and was dead to the world the entire time. Still felt laggy when coming back. Meanwhile, he caught maybe four hours sleep total interspersed between rounds, crashing in on call rooms. You’d never know though. He was totally unfazed. Brilliant as ever. It was like being back in the field again.”

“Seriously?” Emma asked, amazed at that. She was no stranger to long shifts, but to work that hard for that long was a herculean feat. Somehow, though, she wasn’t surprised to hear Killian had pulled it off.

“Yup. I had to force him to go back to his hotel. Actually, Regina had to. I tried, but until the Chief said something, he wouldn’t budge. She had to spew all sorts of protocol and legal jargon at him to get him to go. Even then, I could tell he was debating whether to stay or not.”

“He has a real connection with his patients,” Emma commented, vocalizing a fact she’d ascertained by watching him in action. Killian cared deeply, and while his main job may be all about stemming the flow of crisis, and bouncing around from one case to the next just to keep people holding on, he kept track of all those he helped, and invested in each patient no matter what.

“Maybe. I think it had more to do with the fact that it was only eight am and you wouldn’t be at the coffee stand yet.”

Before Emma could respond, David was paged for something else. He’d left her with a polite goodbye, but also a knowing smile. Another time, Emma might have tried to fake that she wasn’t interested or deny that there was something between her and Killian, but instead she was too busy fixating on what she’d just heard. Emma carried David’s assessment around with her for the rest of the day, well after leaving the hospital and heading home. She spent the night wondering if what David said was true. Was Killian as interested in her as she was in him?

“This might be presumptuous of me, love, but I find I’m helpless to resist. I was wondering – that is, I was hoping that perhaps, you and I, we could…”

“We could what?” she whispered, getting out of her car, heading inside to her next shift. “What was he going to ask me?”

“Did you say something, Emma?”

Emma jumped at the unexpected question, senses on high alert as she stood before the elevator in the parking garage. When she found Mary Margaret only a few feet from her, and clearly the orator of the previous question, Emma relaxed slightly. She tried her best not to show her embarrassment, but it was difficult. Now she was talking to herself? Jeez, she was truly losing it at this point.

“Oh, uh, nothing. How are you today?” she asked her friend. Mary Margaret smiled widely. Her excitement was palpable, filling up the elevator car as the two of them stepped inside.

“I’m great! Just eager to get to work.”

“Any interesting cases on the schedule?”

“Oh, uh, sure, there’s a few, I guess. Well really most of my day is going to be in consult with the Chief’s office.”

“Wait a second, you have to spend a prolonged period of time with the Evil Queen and you are smiling? Who are you and what have you done with Mary Margaret?” Her friend now looked flustered, clearly trying to grasp at an explanation and then it dawned on Emma. “This is about David isn’t it?”

“David?” Mary Margaret asked, her pitch higher than it had been just moments ago. Emma laughed at her friend’s terrible play acting. Trying to pretend that this wasn’t about David Nolan was a lost cause. Eventually Mary Margaret realized that, and she sighed, releasing the tension in her shoulders as she exhaled. “Okay, yes, I am seeing Dr. Nolan today.”

“Let me guess, he’s also going to be at the admin meetings.”

“They’re about coordinating long term therapies better with our emergency protocols and treatments. So yes, the head of the ER is likely to make an appearance.”

“I see,” Emma said, biting back a smirk so as not to make Mary Margaret too uncomfortable. In the end though her curiosity won out, and she had to ask. “So, any movement there?”

“Movement?”

“Has he asked you out yet?”

“Not exactly.” Emma waited for her friend to explain herself. Mary Margaret held off for a few seconds before blurting out the truth. “I actually asked him.”

“Really?” Emma was shocked. Not because she thought any less of Mary Margaret. In fact, quite the opposite. She was proud of Mary Margaret for going for what she wanted. She just had never ever seen Mary Margaret step outside of a comfort zone like that, and certainly not with a hospital colleague. “Good for you. And he obviously said yes.”

“Why is it obvious?” Emma rolled her eyes, but in a teasing way.

“Come on, you know you two were making heart eyes at each other the other day. There was a definite spark. We all saw it.”

“I’m honestly surprised you noticed since you had your own, what did you just call them? ‘Heart eyes’? Well, you definitely had heart eyes for a certain trauma surgeon.”

Now it was Emma’s turn to blush, and what perfect timing, because the elevator doors had just opened to the lobby. They exited the quiet of the elevator to a hustle and bustle found only at a top tier hospital. It felt like a swarm of people, buzzing every which way, on their own individual paths.

“David and I going to dinner tomorrow,” Mary Margaret said quietly, looking around and finding no eavesdropping colleagues. When the coast was clear, she smiled, looking back at Emma with excitement all over her face. “That’s all I know though. I may have asked him out, but he made it very clear he had plans for how our first date was going to be.”

“I have a good feeling about this guy,” Emma said, referring to David. She had known Mary Margaret for a long time, and she knew how much her friend wished for a real and solid love in her life. Few people desired and deserved that kind of connection like Mary Margaret, and for Emma, there was a real satisfaction in seeing her friend’s instant connection with a stand-up man. Based on past experience, there weren’t too many of those to go around.

“Which one?” Mary Margaret asked. Emma stammered something non-committal out, causing her friend to laugh once more. “And that right there is all the answer I need. See you later, Emma. Oh, and when you see Killian again, just go for it. Believe me, it’s so much better than waiting and wondering.”

With that, Mary Margaret headed towards the wing of the hospital where the Chief and her admins worked. At the same time, Emma turned her attention to the cardiac unit.  She had a ways to go to get there, but while still in the main entrance of the hospital she was stopped short by a gruff, and somewhat uncertain voice.

“Excuse me, Doctor Swan?”

“Yes?” Emma replied, looking to the young man who approached her. Taking in his features, she realized she knew him peripherally. He was one of the new interns cycling through the hospital this year, but he hadn’t worked in the cardio wing or in a surgical capacity. Taking in his lanyard, which bore his ID card over plain clothes, she saw he was an ER intern. Interesting. “Can I help you?”

“This is for you.” The young man offered her a paper box. Emma accepted, thoroughly confused before the intern elaborated. “Curtesy of Doctor Jones.”

“Oh,” Emma said, suddenly incredibly interested. Unable to resist, she opened the box. She didn’t know what she was expecting, but what she found made her smile widely. “These are flowers. Paper flowers.”

“Yes, ma’am. I’m not entirely sure of the significance, but Doctor Jones told me there is a note inside as well. He wanted me to be sure to mention that.”

Emma was more than excited to read what this astonishing man would write to her, but something the intern said reminded her of the awkwardness of this situation. Had Killian used his authority over the interns to have this delivered? It wasn’t a crazy assumption. Many of the residents and attendings here saw interns as the low rungs on the ladder. They were meant to be learning and training, but often they were sent on coffee runs and foolish errands. Emma never believed in that though. She found it unkind and unnecessary.

“To be honest, it was hard to convince Doctor Jones to let me bring these,” the intern said, perplexing Emma further while eerily reading her mind. “I had to offer about a half dozen times. My shift was ending, you see, and I’ve been looking for a way to thank Doctor Jones since he got here. You know he created extra hours in the ER skills lab? He’s working with first years too. We get very little access usually, because the third years are prepping for exams and stuff, but he convinced Doctor Nolan to extend the hours. He’s even hosting classes himself. Cool right?”

“Very cool,” Emma said with a nod, and another smile. She breathed out a sigh of relief, genuinely happy to realize this man she’d been thinking of was good to others. It also made accepting this thoughtful gift so much easier.

From there, Caleb said goodbye, heading out for whatever interns did with down time these days. Oh, who was she kidding? Sleeping. That’s what she’d done, and no doubt that was what all interns still wanted most of all. Emma though, felt more awake now than she had in a long while. She found a quiet corner in one of the corridors leading to the cardio unit and took a seat, opening the box away from prying eyes.

Inside the box there were six different types of what looked like origami flowers. They were beautiful and delicate, and she wondered where he could have bought them. Only when she opened the note did she realize the truth.

Emma,

As you know, I’ve been away for quite a while, out in the field in a completely different world. In the desert there’s not really that much to do, except survive and keep as many of your people as well as you can. The downtime is long and hot and quiet. I picked up these tricks from a fellow soldier. It kept my hands at the ready and my mind clear, and there’s an honest beauty in them that reminds me of you. 

Truth be told, there’s a flower for each time I’ve tried to catch you at the coffee cart since our meeting. Clearly my missions have been unsuccessful, so this calls for a change in tactics…

Emma smiled at the thoughtfulness and felt the pull of butterflies low in her chest.  He thought she was beautiful, and he said it without fear. Had a man ever said so much? Had it ever mattered? Certainly not like it did now. Reading on, Emma laughed at the lightheartedness of the note and the bit of cheeky humor that accompanied it. His easygoing candor and transparency enchanted her, drawing her in even more than she already was. Then she memorized the time and place he suggested that they meet at the bottom of the page, knowing nothing and no one was going to keep her from this meeting.

Only after reading through his handwritten thoughts three or four times did she realize an added layer of perfection: these flowers weren’t just handmade and crafted with intention. They were also safe for her to take with her to her ward of the hospital. Being in and out of the ICU and cardiac units, Emma couldn’t bring real flowers into her offices without putting some patients at risk, but she could have these. From within the box she selected a bright yellow blossom, beautiful and intricate and folded to perfection. Wordlessly she tucked it away in her pocket. The others were deposited for safe keeping in her office as soon as she arrived back in the East Wing, and displayed on her windowsill, brightening the space.

The hours between the start of her shift and the time she was meant to meet Killian passed by slowly. Her rounds usually distracted her, but not today. While she still gave all due attention to her patients, Emma had that sense in the back of her mind that this afternoon would bring so much more to the forefront. The promise of seeing him again kept her heart pattering faster than it should be, and by the time the clock was minutes from their meeting, she was positively bursting with anticipation.

“Okay, usually I would give you a hard time and pretend to tag along, but even I can’t mess with a smile like that.” Ruby’s words snapped Emma’s focus back to the hallway where she was standing, pretending to read a chart. As she looked to her friend, however, she would never be able to recall what was on the screen in front of her. Ruby grinned when their eyes met. “He gave you the flowers, didn’t he?”

“You knew?” Emma asked and Ruby nodded.

“Yup. Ran into him at the cart a couple of times. He was really starting to piss off the kiosk guy with all his loitering. Had to give him a hundred dollars just to shut him up.”

“He didn’t!”

“No, I wouldn’t let him. I told Boris to shut it unless he wanted a hospital wide nurses strike. Guy knows better than to cross me. He just acts tough for clout.” Emma laughed, knowing her friend truly ran this place in most ways. But then the apprehension of the moment caught up to her again, and Emma’s brow furrowed in worry. “Oh no you don’t. No doubting this, Ems. I’ve vetted this guy. Run all the background, checked all the sources. He’s a good one, a one in a million, needle in a haystack, diamond in the rough kind of man. And, to top it all off, he’s crazy about you.”

“You think?” Emma asked and Ruby nodded.

“I know, but that’s all I’m saying. Let Killian speak for himself, okay? And, even though it’s hard, try and trust this.”

“I think I already do,” Emma whispered. “Trust him, I mean. But that’s crazy, right?”

“Love tends to be that way.”

“Ruby.”

“Emma,” her friend parroted, taking her hand and squeezing gently. “Just go for it. Go for it and see for yourself.”

With a nod, and the validation that she needed to hear from a trusted friend, Emma headed off. It felt natural and expected to make her way towards the center of the hospital once more. This time though, she passed the coffee cart, with only a fleeting glance. Killian wasn’t meeting her there today. In fact, she wasn’t entirely sure where they were meeting. She followed the directions he’d given her, up a few more flights of stairs and through the wing with pediatric patients and newborns. She had been here many times before, for consults and comfort. It was a draw here in the hospital – the cuteness of babies just starting their journeys in the new world. Emma looked at them today, noticing the vibrancy inside the nursery, but didn’t linger. Instead, she followed the last of the route that Killian had given her and ended up somewhere she’d never been before. A place that must have just finished being renovated.

“Wow,” Emma whispered, walking into the sunlight on the open terrace.

With the glass surroundings and the plant life everywhere, this place was beautiful. There were pergolas and hanging vines, topiaries and flowering plants, daffodils and tulips, all breathing in the spring. It felt like a park, floating in the air, with the sounds of the city barely audible below. Emma could imagine the kids and the families who would come here someday. She hoped it would be a space for them to find some peace and happiness while staying in this unfamiliar and often stressful place. Hospitals were rarely any fun for patients, necessary as they may be, but this space was beautiful enough to distract from that.

“You made it, love.” The deep rumble of that familiar voice sent a shiver through Emma’s whole body. She cast a glance over her shoulder, finding Killian, leaning against the stone façade of the building behind them. In his hands were two coffees, and as he moved towards her, he offered her one with a boyish smile. “This is for you. Didn’t want you missing a routine caffeine fix for my sake.”

“Thank you,” Emma said automatically, feeling his fingers brush across hers, sending a zing of awareness through her. Her eyes flashed up to his, and she knew he felt it too. Suddenly she had no want or need for this coffee. She cleared her throat slightly before continuing on. “Where exactly are we? And how, might I ask, does the new guy know about it before I do?”

“It’s the Hubbard Family Wellness Gardens, gifted by one of the hospital’s most loyal benefactors” he said, full of knowledge. Emma was shocked that he actually knew what this place would be but then he smiled, gesturing to the plaque bearing that information. She bit back a laugh. “And as for how I found it, that’s easy. I never leave well enough alone, and I’m curious by nature. I’ve been nearly everywhere in the hospital now, but this place seemed the best for what comes next.”

“What comes next?” Emma asked, her voice hitching up as she repeated the words.

“Aye,” Killian murmured, his tone dipping sensually low. She swallowed harshly as he entered into her space, and he tracked the motion. She felt the heat of his closeness, and caught his scent in the air, clean, and male, and with a hint of spice.

“I’m afraid I didn’t think this through,” he said, close enough to kiss her. God, how she wished he would kiss her. Emma vocalized her first thought.

“Really? I did. Like a lot.”

His smirk told her she’d said that aloud even though she never meant to, but before she could react, he took hold of her cup once more.

“I meant these,” he gestured to the coffee in her hand. Oh, right. “May I, love?”

Emma nodded, and shakily let go of the cup she forgot she was holding. With deft hands, Killian  placed their drinks back on a table beside them with far more poise than she could muster at the moment. When that was done, he stepped towards her again, looking at her with a glint in his blue eyes that made her heart skip. His hands came to her body, one to her hip, the other to cup her cheek. The rightness washed over her, and so did the realization that none of her dreams could actually prepare her for real intimacy with Killian Jones.

“Last time we spoke I intended to ask you something. Do you remember?”

“Yes, I remember,” she whispered, her voice hoarse from wanting this so badly. Without thinking, she wet her lips, and he caught the action, letting out a groan that mixed pain with passion and pleasure. Then he cursed, a totally British ‘bloody hell’ falling past his lips before dipping his mouth to hers and giving them both a taste of temptation.

The kiss was… beyond incredible, but Emma was so deep in it she had no ability to comprehend anything at all. She was consumed with the moment, arching against Killian, feeling the silky strands of his dark hair and the scruff of his beard. His kiss was assured and passionate, dominant and indulgent all at once. She succumbed to the sensations, and let the rightness surge within her, not caring at all that they were outside or at work or that they’d just met. Instinct took over, and her gut, which Emma had always trusted, was telling her that this man was even more than she imagined, and someone she should choose to let in.

Pulling back from the kiss, Emma and Killian stayed close, and Emma took stock of all the places they were touching. His hold on her was firm but caring, like she was precious, and he wouldn’t let her slip away. In his eyes she saw so much emotion, and again she was struck by his transparency and trust. He wasn’t shying away from her or the moment. He was in the depths of desire with her, and their kiss, that perfect, sexy as all hell kiss, had left him tongue tied. The quiet wasn’t awkward, but assuring, and Emma felt secure here, safe even, while also being filled with more unknown wonder than she’d ever been before. Like someone at the start of a glorious adventure, she took a next step born of passion and hope.

“I’m off at six tonight… so, you want to pick me up at seven thirty?” she asked, referencing a date he hadn’t actually asked her out on. She feigned ignorance even though she could read him like a book. “Unless you were going to ask me something else…”

His hold on her tightened, and he shook his head immediately. She was right. He wanted a date – and she saw no reason to wait when she wanted one just as badly. She grinned at him, loving how the tables had turned. This time he swallowed harshly, and she was oh so tempted to kiss him again and see if he’d stay shy or rise to her challenge.

“It’s a date, Swan,” he said dazedly. 

Emma hummed out her agreement, going in for one last fleeting kiss. But where she meant to only tease, he took the reins again, kissing her senseless and leaving her breathless when they finally broke apart. Only when her pager beeped with an incoming call did they end their inevitable interlude, and as they did, Emma felt a pang of longing, wishing this moment could last so much longer than this.

“Tonight, love,” he whispered, running his thumb against her lips. “Far away as it may seem, I promise the wait will be worth it.”

“Good,” she replied, nipping his thumb ever so softly, and bringing the fire back in his eyes, before taking a step back. And with that, and just enough presence of mind to grab her coffee, Emma headed off, back through the hospital to the work that awaited her, knowing she could and would get through anything today for the promise of tonight.

Post-Note: Ah!! Finally!! I got the words on the page!! I did the thing!! I wrote the story!! And honestly, it’s such a relief. It felt, at some points, like I may never get this chapter written, but finally today it came. I know many of you were waiting, and I cherished every comment and review and message along the way. I hope all of you who wrote me, and those who read along with chapter one, all enjoy this installation. I write these stories for me and to brighten my world ever so slightly, but also in the hopes that they’ll spark joy for others too. In a time like this, a little joy goes an awful long way. Anyway, thank you all for reading, sending you the best, and hope you’ll join me next time for the final chapter of this CS AU! xE

[spencers-renaissance]

Rain is a Chance to be Touched Ch.7

a poem begins in the lump in the throat

Chapter Six

This is the seventh chapter in my ongoing hotchreid fic! Please click here for the fic summary, full tags, trigger warnings, more information etc.

Last Chapter: Aaron went to Spencer's apartment and found him in a depressive state. Lots of cuddles and comfort ensued.

In This Chapter: Aaron and Spencer go to a museum with Jack, but it is definitely not a date. And Spencer's depression definitely does not get in the way.

TW: same as usual — as well as additional ones for a trigger scene and depictions of caring.

Word Count: 4.8k

RCT Masterlist // Main Masterlist // Read on AO3

SPENCER

A poem begins in the lump in the throat, a sense of wrong, a homesickness, a lovesickness. — Robert Frost

The day after Aaron had turned up at his flat, he’d rung Penelope who had not-so-guiltily confessed to sending him his way. He wasn’t upset though, quite the contrary. A kind, cuddly, caring Aaron showing up in the middle of a minor depressive episode was exactly what he needed, and the evening they’d spent together had burned its way onto the tissue of Spencer’s heart. It was one of the happiest moments he’d experienced in a long time, despite the weighty, persistent, downward tug on his mood.

He’s been over every day the team has been home in the two weeks since, Penelope taking over when he’s away, and as exhausting as Spencer has found human company in the past year, neither Aaron’s nor Penelope’s presence drains him in the way everyone else’s has. They accept his low mood, not blinking an eye when he doesn’t have the energy to respond to something they say or when he zones out and stares blankly at the wall for minutes at a time. He can’t even find it in him to care that both of them have seen him naked now.

Their company starts to chip away at the glacier of loneliness that had spread itself across his chest, inching its freezing border ever closer to the corners of his ribcage as he pulled away and watched everyone else do the same. Aaron and Penelope simply aren’t having it, and their determination to show him love and friendship and warmth is slowly but surely melting his isolation to a puddle on the floor, soon to dry out and be forgotten.

Penelope had come with him to his first psychiatrist appointment, though she’d sat in the waiting room this time, and it had been incredibly relieving to be able to properly let go of some of the heavy burden that had weighed so heavily on his shoulders all this time. He’d kept him on the same antidepressants Dr Reese had prescribed him, and although he hadn’t felt a huge difference yet, Dr Parker was incredibly reassuring and he was trying not to assume defeat so early in the game.

He did feel slightly better, though, as he came out of the dip in his depression that had come on the day after his day out with Penelope. Once Aaron had noticed his mood brighten and his energy levels increase slightly — evidenced largely by Spencer not immediately falling asleep on the sofa when he comes back in from work — he’d suggested getting out of his apartment and doing something.

Spencer was apprehensive at first: the idea of willingly putting himself in a position of proximity with strangers and unpredictable circumstances made his skin crawl. But then Aaron had proposed a quiet trip with him and Jack to the Natural History Museum, maybe a walk in the park if the weather was nice. Spencer had found it hard to decline.

The last few weeks had only solidified Spencer’s feelings for Aaron further, intensified by both his persistence in being close to Spencer and his relentless kindness, and he had begun to feel something like real, genuine hope stirring on the surface of his soul.

He’d caught Aaron looking at him a few times when he thought he was asleep or zoned out, and the softness on his face felt reflective of Spencer’s own expression when he looks at Aaron. He couldn’t imagine him being so insistent on taking care of anyone else on the team, and since he’d left the BAU anyway, he had no obligation to be so dutifully kind.

Yet, he shows up before and after work every day the team is in Virginia, no matter how far out of the way Spencer’s apartment is, making sure he eats, showers, has clean clothes. Making sure he knows he’s loved. (Something whispers deep in his heart that maybe that love is the kind he’s dreamed of.)

On bad nights when he was still working at the BAU, he’d hug his knees to his chest and imagine Aaron curled up behind him telling him how much he loved him, telling him that it was going to be alright. He could never look the man in the eyes the next day at work, but that didn’t stop him. It worked better than anything else he tried and now it’s a reality he can’t pinch himself out of.

Truthfully, in the weeks between quitting the BAU and Penelope forcing Aaron and herself back into his life, he’d desperately missed his time in Aaron’s apartment, playing with Jack and pretending his life wasn’t splitting at the seams. The idea of spending a whole day with them — without the added baggage of trying to box up his increasingly untameable depression — was something he actually looked forward to. It’s a nice feeling; admittedly one he hasn’t felt in a long time.

Penelope comes over the morning of the outing.

(“I’m not about to let you flush this down the drain just because you end up having a tough morning,” she’d insisted when Spencer told her she doesn’t need to. “I’ll come over and force you out of bed and into a nice little outfit if I need to. You are going on that date with Hotch. Sorry: Aaron.”

“Shut up,” Spencer had said weakly. “It’s not a date.”

“Irrelevant,” she’d sniffed and levelled him with a glare he couldn’t argue with.)

He’s pretty sure that her insistent and relentless protectiveness and aid is part of her very focused mission to make up the last year to him. In fact, he’s almost certain, considering every time she sees him he’s bombarded with yet another apology and a small present for him. He’s not sure how to get through to her that he’s already forgiven her.

“Have you eaten yet?” she asks as she walks into the living room to see Spencer curled up on the sofa with a blanket pulled over him. He had actually made it to bed last night, but the only way he could pull himself out of bed this morning was to promise himself a few minutes on the sofa, exciting day ahead of him or not.

He shakes his head. “Not hungry,” he sighs, picking at a loose thread of his blanket.

“That’s okay,” Penelope says lightly, dumping her handbag on the armchair before breezing into the kitchen and setting the orchid she’s brought with her on the windowsill. He hopes she knows she’ll be the only person around responsible enough to water it. “We’ll find you something small. How does a little bowl of cornflakes sound?”

“Fine.”

She puts the coffee machine on before bringing him a bowl of cornflakes that is decidedly not little. He hates that her tactic works and he eats the whole thing. “Why do you always have to be right?” he grumbles as he polishes off the bowl and puts it on the coffee table.

“I don’t know, baby genius,” she sighs exaggeratedly, sagging into her armchair. Spencer doesn’t know what he’d do without Penelope Garcia and her incessant dramatics. “It’s truly an affliction.”

“Mhm.” Spencer raises an eyebrow, unimpressed, but Penelope’s saved by the coffee machine beeping and she stalks into the kitchen to pour him a cup. He has no idea how early she wakes up to make it over to his house dressed to the nines with a full face of make-up on at eight am. He smiles fondly at her as he takes the proffered mug. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” she says brightly, sitting back in her chair and sipping at her own cup. “So, how are we feeling about our date today?”

As much as Spencer does not appreciate her suggestive eyebrow waggling, he can’t help but smile at her antics. He also can’t help but blush. “It isn’t a date, Penelope, I’ve told you this.”

“Right, right,” she says drily. “I think I’d have an easier time believing you if you weren’t constantly sending one another heart eyes and weren’t clearly half in-love with one another already.”

Spencer decides it’s probably best to avoid mentioning that his feelings have definitely progressed past the ‘half in-love’ phase, and just looks down. “Jack will be there,” he points out instead, “and the Natural History Museum isn’t exactly a steamy date location, is it?”

“No, that’s exactly the point. It’s a Dr Spencer Reid date location.”

Spencer looks at her a little speechless for a moment. Unfortunately, she’s right. He’s privately thought about getting married in one of DC’s many museums, and science and history are two of the subjects even a casual acquaintance would know he’s fascinated by. Plus, it’s also something he’s bonded over with Jack.

All of that may be the case, but it doesn’t change the fact that he absolutely cannot let himself consider this a date.

He’s already let himself fantasise enough about Aaron returning his feelings; not letting himself think of this as anything other than platonic is the only thing he can hang onto to protect his fragile heart. Getting his hopes up only to find out he’s wrong would crush him, and he can’t risk a devastation of such proportions right now. He’s barely getting out of bed in the morning as it is.

Penelope seems to catch on to his spiralling thought process and leans over to lay a hand on his knee. “Hey, I know it’s intimidating,” she says gently, “and you don’t have to think about it as a date if you don’t want to, especially if you’re apprehensive because he hasn’t said anything explicitly. I just don’t want you to doubt yourself. I promise you he has feelings for you, too, okay? You need to trust me on this one. That man is absolutely gone for you.”

Despite himself, he finds himself smiling at her as her words warm him from the inside out. Even if he knows he has to be careful with his heart, he can’t help the optimism his head conjures up at such a promise from someone he trusts with his life. “Okay,” he whispers shyly.

“Right,” she says, putting her half-empty coffee mug down on the table and gripping Spencer’s free hand to pull him up from his pathetic sprawl across the sofa. “Come on, you. Aaron won’t be long, let’s get you looking at least half-human.”

He only agrees because she lets him bring his own coffee mug with him to the bathroom. She’s a good friend.

Penelope slips out a few minutes before Aaron is set to arrive per Spencer’s request, and he sits nervously on the sofa, waiting for the doorbell to buzz. He’d chosen his favourite shirt and tie combo and gone with a lilac sweater under his smartest navy coat. He holds his scarf in his fidgeting fingers, ready to put it on once they get outside, but he still feels naked. Suddenly, everything that’s riding on this day out fills him with a sort of dread and he feels vulnerable, scared of all the endless ways this could go so wrong.

Before he can spiral properly though, his intercom buzzes and he rushes over to answer it, even though he knows who it is. He’s glad he does, because Jack’s voice crackles its way into the quiet of his apartment. “Spencer, Spencer, come out, we’re here,” he shouts excitedly, and even though Spencer winces at the feedback his high-pitched voice elicits, a fond smile still finds its way onto his face.

“I’m on my way down, buddy,” he says back, with as much enthusiasm as he can muster, before patting his pockets to make sure he has his keys, phone, and wallet. He locks his door carefully and makes his way down to the front of his building. Apprehension balls in a pit in his stomach, but it loosens as soon as he approaches the pair waiting in the cold outside the front door.

Jack runs up to him and he crouches down to give him a big hug, wishing he had the strength and confidence to pick him up and twirl him around like he’s seen Aaron and Derek do so many times. Jack doesn’t seem bothered, though, an excited grin painted across his face as he pulls back from the hug.

“Hey,” Aaron says once Jack has let Spencer go and he stands back up straight. He presses a hand gently to the middle of Spencer’s back and the touch spreads warmth up to his shoulders as he watches the curve of Aaron’s smile. “How are you doing?”

“Rocky morning,” Spencer admits — he’s almost certain Penelope sends Aaron status reports, so lying is pointless. “Penelope helped.”

“She always does,” Aaron says warmly, keeping one hand on Spencer’s back while the other holds Jacks as they walk to the car parked a little way down the street. A little spark of excitement rushes through Spencer’s body as he briefly lets himself think about what casual passers-by might assume about the three of them. “You still up for the Natural History Museum?”

“Of course,” Spencer replies, as brightly as he can, trying to ignore the pull of sorrow still weighing his gut down. “Are you looking forward to seeing the dinosaurs, Jack?”

“Yes!” Jack shouts eagerly, letting go of Aaron’s hand to unzip his little puffer coat to reveal his long-sleeve t-shirt. A big, green t-rex stands out against the blue background, and Jack’s never looked prouder. “Dinosaur, see?”

“I do,” Spencer laughs. “It’s a great shirt, Jack.”

“Hey, let’s zip that coat back up, buddy, well done,” Aaron says gently and Jack does so obediently. “He insisted on wearing it,” he tells Spencer once Jack’s hand is back in his and he’s securely wrapped up. “He wanted to show you.”

They arrive at the car before Spencer can reply, and Aaron opens the passenger door for him to get in before strapping Jack into his car seat and setting him up with a few of his toys, including his favourite dinosaurs. It’s only a fifteen minute journey to the museum, and they pass the first half of it in a comfortable silence, but eventually, Spencer works up the courage to ask the question that’s been at the tip of his tongue the past two weeks.

“How’s work?” he asks, trying to be as innocuous as possible, though his awkward avoidance of Aaron’s eyes probably gives him away.

“It’s good.” He’s clearly treading carefully as he eyes Spencer for a brief moment before he returns his gaze to the road. “We’ve only had one major case since you left, and we muddled our way through it, got it solved. Everyone does miss you, though, Spencer. They really do.”

It’s a concept he still can’t really get his head around. He hasn’t been around for a year, not really, and they didn’t miss him then. It feels almost… convenient, to Spencer. Guilt is not remorse.

“Have you found my replacement yet?” Spencer surprises himself by not feeling any jealousy at the prospect of someone taking his position on the team. He’d long ago accepted how replaceable he is socially, and it’s not like the pool of talented, intelligent prospective agents is exactly small. He also has no desire to be around his old team; not as they were in the build-up to his resignation, not like that. He still has Aaron and Penelope, but he’s only just starting to trust that they’re not going anywhere.

“I think so,” Aaron sighs heavily. “As long as her paperwork goes through, she’ll join the team later this week.”

Spencer nods, not really knowing what to say to that. Aaron reaches his right hand across the console and rests it on top of Spencer’s clasped hands, the warm reassuring weight of not just anyone’s touch but Aaron Hotchner’s turning his insides into a melted puddle as his heart beats faster. He hooks one of his fingers over Aaron’s, a silent message to keep his hand there, and he doesn’t worry about what to say next. Nothing needs to be said.

Spencer knows the Natural History Museum like the back of his hand, so he directs them to the best parking spot before taking the lead and walking them into the gorgeous, open foyer. Jack bounces excitedly between them, so Aaron lifts him onto his shoulders to reduce the likelihood of a disaster.

“It’s not too busy for a Sunday,” Spencer observes, half trying to calm himself down in such an unfamiliar environment, “so we should be able to see everything we want to. Jack, do you want to see the dinosaurs now or later?”

“Now!” he shouts loudly, wiggling as happiness floods his little body. Spencer smiles fondly at the pair, and a little more of the apprehension he’d felt at leaving the house melts away.

“Well how could I refuse that request?” he chuckles, leading them towards the dinosaur exhibit. His breath catches when he feels the back of Aaron’s hand brush the back of his, and in a moment of bold and brash insanity, he interlocks his pinky with Aaron’s. After the moment in the car, he feels such an action is warranted, but as soon as he does it, panic sets in.

Before he can retract his finger though, Aaron takes Spencer’s hand properly. The feeling of Aaron’s big hand gripping his own in a gentle but firm hold makes his stomach dip, and goosebumps find their way up his arms and down his side. He’s never felt safer than right in this moment — never mind the crowds of people they’re passing through; the insecurity of being outside his flat; the uncertainty of what could happen — never mind all of that, because his hand is in Aaron’s and Aaron keeps him safe. He doesn’t trust much anymore, but he will always trust Aaron.

Jack babbles eagerly the whole way to the dinosaur exhibit, repeating some of the facts Spencer had taught him in his previous visits to the Hotchner household in a “did you know?” format, leaving both Aaron and Spencer chuckling fondly, trying to encourage him as much as possible.

Spencer shows them around the exhibit, acting as their tiny group’s personal tour guide, and Jack couldn’t be happier, insisting on walking instead of being carried so he can press his face up as close as possible to the displays, his breath fogging up the glass as he leaves fingerprints all over the cases. They spend nearly an hour walking around the exhibit, playing with the interactive toys and examining each and every display in a close-up fashion.

Once they wrap up their dinosaur exploring, Spencer brings Jack to a bench and asks him what his favourite thing he learned is.

“Uhh,” Jack hums, furrowing his eyebrows in a way that reminds him so much of Aaron it’s almost uncanny, “oh! They were terrible and they were stupid!”

Spencer’s confused for a moment before laughing as he manages to decode what Jack is trying to say. “Dinosaur does translate to ‘terrible lizard’, well done,” he agrees, “and you’re right, they weren’t much smarter than reptiles these days. Good job, Jack!” He raises his hand for a high-five, and Jack doesn’t waste any time in slapping his palm to Spencer’s.

“Can we get ice cream?” he asks eagerly, widening his eyes in a plea as he looks at Aaron who's been observing the unravelling scene from the pillar next to the bench.

“Go on then,” Aaron concedes, grinning at his son’s uncontainable happiness as he wiggles around next to Spencer.

They head to the museum’s cafe and all order ice cream, taking a seat in the middle of the canteen.

“This reminds me of field trips back in school,” Spencer muses, gesturing to the surrounding noise with his spoon.

“Yeah?” Aaron asks while Jack picks distractedly at a scratch on the table, licking his ice cream cone happily.

“Before I was identified as a gifted student and sent years up the grade school ladder, I was a fairly normal kid in a fairly normal school. We went on a field trip to a museum in first grade, and I loved every minute of it. I got to impress all my friends by sharing all my memorised facts about space, and we ate our packed lunches in a canteen like this. My mum was still on her meds back then, and she’d cut all my ham sandwiches into dinosaur shapes.”

Aaron’s smiling at him as he talks, and he realises that it’s probably because it’s the most he’s had to say in weeks, much less something anecdotal and personal. Spencer realises belatedly that it’s the sort of thing one might share on a date, but there’s nothing he can do about it now.

“I’m glad you have nice memories from your early childhood, Spencer,” he says, and his hand reaches across the table to find Spencer’s again. “It’s the least you deserve.”

He averts his eyes as he blushes, suddenly feeling a little overwhelmed by the attention, and focuses on his ice cream for a few minutes before he’s cooled down a bit. “What about you?” he asks, meeting Aaron’s eyes again. “Any field trip memories?”

“I made out with my ninth grade girlfriend at the planetarium once,” he admits quietly, a mirthful chuckle finding its way into his voice.

“Maybe minutely better than dinosaur shaped sandwiches,” Spencer says, a little shyly.

“Ooh, dinosaur sandwiches!” Jack chimes in, suddenly aware of the conversation the adults are having. “Can I have some?”

Spencer’s phone vibrates just as Aaron goes to appease Jack’s enthusiasm for novelty shaped lunch food, and he pulls it out curiously. These days, the only people to text him are Aaron and Penelope, and Penelope had told him she was going out with a friend today.

Hey, pretty boy — Spencer’s heart sinks as he reads the first line of the message, tears immediately springing to his eyes — I’m sorry I haven’t been in touch. Hotch said something about personal stuff going on? Anyway, I thought I’d text you to tell you just how much we miss you at the BAU. Life isn’t the same without you, and it was hard to not even get a chance to say goodbye. Any chance we could meet up at some point? We don’t have to go out if you don’t want to, we can just go grab a coffee or something. D

Aaron must read something off in his face — it’s not exactly like he’s trying to hide it — and he immediately slides closer to him on the circular canteen bench. “Hey, hey, Spencer,” he says soothingly, “you’re alright. What’s going on?” He just slides the phone over to show Aaron the message, and he immediately gets it. “I know that must be overwhelming, and we’re in public which can’t be helping.” He glances over at Jack who’s looking worryingly at Spencer, clearly confused. “Why don’t we go back to our place? Jack and I will help you feel better, won’t we, buddy?”

Jack nods at that, pressing himself into Spencer’s side and wrapping his tiny arms around him. “Yeah, we make you feel better.” He reaches up and clumsily brushes a tear away from Spencer’s cheek before kissing it. It makes his heart warm that this is how Jack treats someone sad: he must be emulating the behaviour adults have shown him in these situations, and Jack only ever deserves the absolute best. Especially after losing his mom.

“Thank you,” he whispers, pressing himself closer to Aaron. Every time he’s upset he seems to lose his inhibitions around him, but he can’t help it. He needs the comfort only Aaron can provide, and after denying his starving heart the love and reassurance it's been begging for for so long, he can’t help but indulge himself now it’s finally an option.

They make their way back to the car and Spencer’s in such a haze of confusing emotion the only thing he can really ground himself in is Aaron’s arm wrapped around his waist and Jack gripping his hand on his other side, sending him worried looks. If he had the wherewithal to feel anything other than a deep sense of grief combined with rising panic he’d feel guilty for ruining such a nice day out, but as it stands he’s spared that particular brand of misery.

The drive back to Aaron’s is a little longer than the first journey of the day, but Spencer just clings to the hand Aaron offered him as soon as they got back in the car and tries desperately not to spin completely out of control and start hyperventilating in front of the five year old strapped into his car seat behind him.

Jack is asked to play in his room for a bit once they get home and he obeys, aware of — if not entirely comprehending — the tension in the air. As Spencer sits on the sofa waiting for Aaron to get back with a glass of water, the grief and panic clear a little. He hates himself for the relentless gravity of his depression: the way it pulls down even the brightest of days, the way he can physically feel his insides being sucked downwards into the blackhole of desolation.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Aaron asks gently as he sits next to Spencer on the couch, close enough that their arms are touching. Self-loathing is the only thing preventing him from leaning into his comfort like he did at the museum, like he did in the car. Instead he pulls away and curls himself as small as possible into the corner of the sofa. When Spencer doesn’t reply, Aaron takes a risk. “Do you think you might be so upset because somewhere, deep down, you want to see Derek too?”

He snaps his head up at that, surprised Aaron would say something so blunt and, as much as Spencer doesn’t want to admit it, truthful. After a good few moments of contemplative and patient silence, his thoughts are ordered enough to voice them. “I miss them all,” he admits quietly. “I desperately want to see Derek. But the Derek I left hurt me so much I wouldn’t know where to even start in trying to reconnect with him.”

Aaron nods in understanding from his spot in the middle of the sofa. Spencer longs for this pit of self-loathing to melt away so he can feel confident enough to crawl back across the cushions and share Aaron’s personal space again.

“That makes a lot of sense, Spencer,” he says, resting a gentle hand on his ankle, and it’s such a casual, intimate touch he doesn’t know what to do with himself. He settles on not moving even an inch, lest Aaron pull his hand away. “For what it’s worth, the others have started to piece together why you left. I know they’re all regretting how everything played out, and everyone on the team misses you sorely.”

Spencer ponders that for a moment. He doesn’t know how it makes him feel: it’s nice to be missed, and a sick sort of vindication flourishes in the less savoury side of him at the idea of the others realising the crippling, world-changing pain he’s been in for the last year, right under their noses.

He misses so much about the others, but that’s not new: he’s missed JJ’s hugs and Derek’s teasing and Emily’s friendship for close to a year now. Sitting at his desk in the bullpen next to Derek and Emily’s private bantering, sharing an inside joke he didn’t understand towards the end of his career at the BAU had cut deep, reminding him just how achingly alone he was.

“I don’t know where to start,” he says hopelessly, feeling like he’s repeating himself. Tears spring to his eyes again, spilling down his cheeks relentlessly, as though the second he’d let one fall, they toppled down his face like river water desperate to escape, unsure of when the dam will close again.

Aaron scoots himself over to Spencer’s end of the sofa like he can’t help himself, and this time he lets himself fold into Aaron’s warm embrace. He cries as quietly as possible, but it’s hard when he doesn’t have the energy to do anything other than sob helplessly. He can hear himself; he knows he sounds like a broken, defeated man, but he simply doesn’t have the power to care.

As his sobs start to dry out, he sees that Aaron is crying, too. He’d noticed his wet eyes the last few times he’d cried in his presence as well, and he has no idea how to feel about it. If Aaron is seriously going to cry every time he does, though, then he’d better strap in.

“Why don’t you have a nap?” he suggests, wiping a tear from the sensitive skin under Spencer’s eye so tenderly it makes his heart clench. “Then afterwards, we can think of a way to go about this. Maybe we could start with a short text back. How does that sound?”

Spencer nods tiredly, and lets Aaron help him get into a comfortable position on the sofa. A warm, soft throw is draped over him and Aaron half closes the living room blind, but the day is dark and grey enough already anyway. As he’s falling off to sleep, a hot water bottle is tucked under the blanket and he instinctively curls up against the warmth, but he knows that the real comforting soporific is the man reading quietly in the armchair next to him.

For the first time in a long time, Spencer looks forward to waking up.

Chapter Eight

Rereading Penelope in this chapter when I came to edit it made me want to take a second to recognise all of the unofficial carers out there <3 I've been a carer for both my mum and my grandmother at various times in my childhood and teens, and it's tough going. If you're looking after a friend or a family member, please remember how amazing and wonderful you are, and also remember that it's okay if it's too much, and it's okay if you need to cry or scream or break down. You are still just as brilliant no matter your emotional reaction to what is an exceptionally difficult situation to find yourself in. I love you, and I'm always here to talk to you about this (or anything that comes up in this fic!) <3

If this chapter brought anything up for you, hotlines are in the endnotes of the AO3 version of this fic. Bigger countries are listed and a link is included if you live somewhere else in the world. I love you <3

taglist: @criminalmindsvibez @suburban--gothic @strippersenseii @takeyourleap-of-faith @makaylajadewrites @iamrenstark @hotchseyebrows @reidology @i-like-buttons @spencerspecifics @bau-gremlin @hotchedyke @tobias-hankel @goobzoop @marsjareau @garcias-bitch @marvel-ous-m @oliverbrnch @sbeno22 @aaron-hotchner187 @kuolonsyoja

[miss-choco-chips]

North star

Core disaster week Day 1: Bart’s Birthday// First kiss

-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Cassie smiled, sitting down in the picnic blanket. There was so much fucking food- it was awesome.

But not as awesome as being together, all of them. It’d been a while since they managed to meet like this. Kon, particularly, had been hard to pin down and convince to come; but exceptions had to be made on certain days, and Bart’s birthday was the height of special occasions.

Tim, too. She risked a glance at him, stony and silent, and smiled sadly. It truly had been too long.

Sitting each on one end of the blanket, like a flesh and blood compass rose, she smiled again at the unintended philosophy of it all. Bart to the east, bringing the sun into their lives, his energy and warmth a hope for the new day; Kon to the south, lost in memories of the past but a steady, firm ground beneath them; She herself to the west, holding the weight of it all on her shoulders like the sky held the heaviness of sunset; And Tim, sweet, depedable Tim, was undoubtedly their north.

“Cassie? Wonder-honey-baby-dearest girl?”

Snapping out of her reverie, Cassie waved Bart’s concerned face off.

“Don’t worry, just lost in thought. C’mon dude, it’s your day, we can’t start eating until you do!”

A little unsure, Bart sits back on his spot, glancing to his right at Tim. He hesitated a bit, something extremely unusual for a speedster presented with a widely varied menu (Kon and her had flown all over the world picking and choosing his favorites from every possible country- there was a lot).

“He doesn’t mind”, interrupts Kon softly, before anything else can be said.

Taking his word as the gospel it is, Bart’s face broke into the biggest smile and cleaned up his first plate of ‘a little bit of everything’ in less than a blink, already reaching out for more. Without even pausing his chewing, he started babbling out at Tim, who for once didn’t reprimand him on his table manners, nor tried to use a napkin to clean his chocolate-stained cheek. Cassie tried very hard to hide the pang that surprise-attacked her heart.

Desperate for a distraction, she turned to her right, to Conner. He was looking at the other two fondly, a small smile breaking through his face of steel like it was butter.

She remembered back when they were younger, just children, before all the tragedies and the losses; he had smiled easier, then. Wider, unprompted, freely. Giving that handsome smirk like it was candy on halloween.

“It was a good idea to come here”, he acknowledged, once again making her snap out of her head.

“One day, you’ll just accept that all my ideas are good.”

“Do I need to remind you about the deal with the beet demon?”

“That wasn’t that bad.”

“Cassie. We had to eat borsch for every meal. For a month. I don’t think Bart ever forgave you about that.”

They both waited for a second to see if the speedster was about to interject, but he seemed to have missed their conversation, regaling Tim with a tale of his latest training session with Wally.

“Anyway”, Kon coughed, drawing her back to their moment, “it really was. I… I know I wasn’t the easiest person to convince, so..”

“‘The easiest person’? I had to track you down across an entire hemisphere, lasso you like a wild animal and drag you here kicking and screaming. Literally. My bruises have bruises.”

“Anyway, thanks. I… needed to see you all again. I never thought we’d be able to just… sit here and enjoy ourselves, without… you know, all the…”

“Angst?”

“... yeah. How did you even manage to secure us this spot?”

Cassie smiled, leaning back against her arms, enjoying the sun on her face.

“You can thank Tim’s brother for that. I made him promise to make sure no one interrupted us today.”

The other meta snorted.

“It’d be a cold day in hell before I thank Nightwing for anything.”

She winced a bit, but refused to let the implications ruin her good mood. “Come on, you know he’s not my favorite person in the world, but he’s really doing his best to be here for” -a quick glance, Bart still talking his heart out to Tim- “the new Robin. If you can bury the battle axe...he’s not so bad, nowadays.”

Unsure, he shrugged.

“I don’t really care if he discovers the cure to cancer and spends the rest of his life in seclusion as a monk. If I see him on fire and I have a big water bottle, I might help him put it out- after taking a few drinks, first. But that’s as far as I’d be willing to go for him.”

Considering the numerous times Kon had tried to outright attack the older vigilante, Cassie was going to take it.

“How's Jon?” she asked, subject change as unsubtle as a kick to the chest, taking a delicious french pastry between thumb and forefinger and examining it.

He copied her, selecting something brown and salty-looking from the assorted items

“Nothing new. He’s still a better mentor than Supes, though his choice in friends leaves much to be desired. Still, like I told you, I’m… better? I think?”

A pause, as he washed down whatever he ate with a raspberry slushie. Bart’s incessant chatter, once annoying, was now a beautiful background noise. He was just so damn happy, Cassie felt more accomplished even than the time Diana first told her ‘good job’ after a spar. All he’d asked her for his birthday, soft and broken among his tears, had been this; just the four of them, together.

And she’d done her best to make it happen, securing this place and guilting Kon into accepting. She’d done it, and the memory of Bart’s genuine laugh as he told Tim about his last caught villain would -hopefully- be enough to deter the nightmares sure to come with sunfall.

“Anyway, he’s good. What about Donna?”

Cassie let her head fall back between her shoulder blades with a groan, closing her eyes against the glaring midday sun.

“Ugh, don’t remind me. I love her to pieces, but honestly? I can see why my mom has so many grey hairs. Diana is lucky she’s perpetually young and perfect and thus doesn’t need to deal with stress lines. If this is what I was like when she trained me, I have a lot to apologize for. Starting, but not limited to, our days in Young Justice. We did so many stupid things back then.”

“So, the Titans are a riot?”

“They are a bad influence, and I hate how they taught Donna to disobey when I tell her to go to safety and let me do the fighting, but honestly, it’s so much like looking at our past, I can’t help but want to wrap them up in a blanket and wish them luck.”

“I wish you luck. This is why I refuse to take a younger hero under my wing. Too much responsibility.”

“You are a weak bitch. Even Bart is mentoring someone. We have to nourish the younger generation, Kon. Think of the children.”

“You are nineteen, stop talking like you just turned seventy.”

“Well, Cissie is retired. It’s not such a stretch.”

“I’ll tell her you said she’s old.”

“Don’t you dare.”

After those first few hiccups, the rest of the afternoon went smoothly. Uncharacteristically restrained of them, no food fight ensued, but even so it was a pretty fun day. They caught up with each other, teased about past exes and questionable fashion choices, and every silent, solemn moment was endured with joined hands and hearts, a united front against the grief.

Bart’s wet eyes shone, filled with gratitude, when he blew the candles. Cassie caught the exact moment on camera, having learnt the value of getting those precious seconds immortalized forever somewhere other than her own mind.

He kept his wish to himself, but it wasn’t really a mystery. Just by the way he glanced at Tim, they could harnett a pretty solid guess.

Heartache was a familiar, almost comforting feeling to her now, but the wave of raw emotion that almost washed her away at Kon’s crystalized eyes and Bart’s trembling hands gave her pause. Cassie looked away from them for just a second, giving herself this moment of weakness, and in the fleeting light of sunset, she could have sworn she saw a familiar face, looking over them from the shadow of a tree, smiling fondly.

But it was missing with her next blink, so she just shook her head to dispel any traces of wistfulness and turned back to her boys.

It was in silence that they picked up their stuff. Super speed would have made it a chore of just a millisecond, but none felt the urge to run away, so they took their time, hands brushing and then clutching while they cleaned up this sacred place they had borrowed for the day.

Cassie really needed to thank Damian for coming through for her on this. As much as she had despised the other vigilante in the past, a leftover feeling from Tim’s own feud with his older brother, she had learned to forgive and forget. It was, she’d come to accept, the only way she could move on.

Basket finally full with the blanket, empty plates and chocolate stained napkins (Kon’s hand had trembled as he cleaned Bart’s cheek in their leader’s stead), they stood together, arms around each other with the birthday boy in the middle. One by one, they said their goodbyes. It hurted a little less than the last time they could manage to do this, perhaps helped by the fact Kon hadn’t stormed off midway this time.

Cassie smiled. It was sad, it was raw, it was heavy. But it wasn’t broken. She-they- weren’t broken. A puzzle with a missing piece was incomplete, not shattered.

The hand not around Bart’s shoulders stretched, as Cassie’s finger traced the poem they had Bruce engrave in Tim’s tombstone.

“He was my North, my South, my East and West,

My working week and my Sunday rest,

My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;

I thought that love would last forever: I was wrong.

The stars are not wanted now; put out every one,

Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun;

Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood;

For nothing now can ever come to any good.”

The kids that had chosen that poem as immortalization of their grief had been drowning in it, she knew. Had needed a way to let the world know “we are not okay, we’ll never be okay again”. It was, maybe, what saved them back then.

But she wished she could crouch down in front of those lost, overwhelmed kids and tell them ‘you never stop missing him, but you learn to be happy again; and he brings you all together, just like the first time’.

So Cassandra Sandsmark, former Wonder Girl (now something more), lets her head fall back, looks at the setting sun and smiles. Because she can. Because she’s alive, and she’s gonna fucking smile for him, if its the last thing that she does.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-

The shadows of the coming night hide him, embrace him, want to keep him; he puts a stop to that, let’s himself be kept from wandering eyes but avoids the eternal retaking. He’s seen that side of the road and is under no hurry to visit it again.

Instead, he watches the young heroes, bathed in light and laughter, sitting around a dead bird’s grave.

He yearns. He wants, more than anything, to go to them. To join them in the warmth, in happiness. To go back to the only home that never felt anything else than welcoming.

But he has work to do; there’s a new Robin in the streets, and he needs to ensure that what happened to him doesn’t happen to this frail, rough around the edges and full of life bird.

He waits until they pick up and leave, before donning his suit and walking in the opposite direction. Hopefully, a time will soon come when he can smile with them again.

But, for now, the Red Hood has a clown to hunt and a criminal underbelly to conquer.

[retvenkos]

survivors | d.m.

Harry Potter: Golden Trio Era - Draco x Slytherin! Halfbood!Reader, angst, slightest fluff

word count: 11.2k

tw: blood, mentions death, mentions of war, pessimistic ending

A/N: this could be read as a platonic reader, if you want.

Summary: Draco couldn’t fix the Vanishing Cabinet himself, no matter how hard he wanted to. (Y/n) hadn’t wanted to help him, but they decided to, despite themself. Neither knew each other very well, but there seemed to be an understanding. Perhaps they could fix it together, and perhaps (Y/n) could fix the broken boy, too. Or maybe both of them would be shattered beyond recognition.

i.

and i am angry at this world                 because i was not one of the innocent they decided to save.

ii.

During his sixth year at Hogwarts, Draco Malfoy didn’t feel as alive as he once did. This castle was colder and quieter than it used to be, and as he patrolled the dungeon corridors for his prefect duties, he felt a chill in the air; the cold pricked the back of his neck - that bit of exposed skin between the ends of his hair and the stiff collar of his uniform. Despite himself, he twitched at it’s touch; the cold reminded him of darker memories that threatened to pull him under, reminding him of what happened over the summer.

If he closed his eyes, he was still there.

The harsh clicking of his father’s cane as he walked down the hall, someone else accompanying him by the sound of their footsteps. A voice that sounded like the hissing of a snake - high and cold and beckoning him forth. His mother’s frightened gaze and his father’s stiff jaw. The soft pleads of protest. But who were they to defy the Dark Lord...

Draco could still hear the sound of their approach, echoing against these aged, stone walls. The incessant sound filled his senses. His fingers twitched. His arm started to burn as the sound of footsteps came nearer. Echoing, echoing, echoing...

“You would be an idiot if you weren’t such a genius.”

A voice, not at all what he was expecting, brought Draco reeling into the present. The footsteps weren’t that of phantom memories, but the sound of someone in the castle - in this dungeon with him - traversing the corridors in the few moments before curfew.

“You could make a fortune off of your skills if you sold them the right way. What other students here can make their own spells?”

Draco stepped closer to the wall, his interest peaked. He fiddled with the cuff of his sleeve, waiting for the voices to speak, once again. He wouldn’t scare them off. He had never been much good at being a prefect, anyway.

“Michael, we talked about this. They’re all a work in progress - do you remember what happened last time I tried them out? I won’t make a fool of myself because they aren’t perfect.”

“That was one time, and you knew things weren’t going to go well. And I can’t remember the last time Hogwarts pumped out an actually decent spell creator! The talented only come once every lifetime - you shouldn’t pass this up.”

The voices devolved into arguing for a moment, until one of them swore lowly. “It’s curfew. You need to get up to Ravenclaw Tower.”

“Think about it, (Y/n).”

“Go.”

Footsteps filled the corridor once again. Draco took a deft step backward, further into the shadows, and a fellow Slytherin rushed past the corridor, never noticing the prefect that watched them. Draco pushed his lips into a thin line, grey eyes narrowing just a bit. The echoes faded, and when the corridor was silent, he breathed. Running a hand through his hair, Draco turned away, disappearing into darkness and shadow.

iii.

When Draco Malfoy sat down next to them in Charms class, (Y/n) supposed it was an oversight. Rumors about Draco not feeling well had been circulating the Slytherin gossip lines for the whole two months that school had been in session; Malfoy had missed classes regularly, skipped out on meals completely, and seemed to be neglecting his usual bully behavior, trading it all for a personality that seemed to be more like that Blaise Zabini than the boy he used to be. Sitting next to (Y/n) had to be a symptom of this strange illness that seemed to have captured him - maybe he was too tired to care.

Yes, that seemed to be it - he was tired. He certainly looked it, when (Y/n) spared him a glance, their eyes flicking over to him for a half moment while Flitwick was demonstrating their lesson for the day.

There were dark circles under his eyes, a sort of gaunt appearance to his well shaped face, and even though he seemed to be very keen on stopping it, with his eyes focused the way they were, his hands seemed to be shaking, just slightly.

(Y/n) turned their attention back to the worn textbook in front of them, scratching notes on a spare bit of parchment. They tried to focus on the words written on the page, but their mind still wandered to the boy beside them.

Together, the two students’ thoughts swirled like winds in a tempest - never in one place at one time, but simultaneously everywhere. This world seemed to be pulling everyone in all possible directions, spreading them ever thin, as though trying to test when they would snap.

Both Slytherins, different as they were, weren’t the type to break.

Some days, they wished they were.

(Y/n) failed to notice the careful way Draco appraised them. His eyes flitted from their old school supplies to their mended robes, and yet the newness in other belongings that perhaps didn’t need to be bought anew every school year. (Y/n) eventually caught him staring, and Draco leveled his gaze with theirs.

“I need your help,” and even his voice resounded from his throat, as though he had no energy to sustain it in his chest.

(Y/n) blinked. Once, twice, three times. “I’m sorry?”

At the front of the classroom, Professor Flitwick was giving instruction on the Reducto curse, but his voice was fading into background noise, now, as (Y/n) stared at the boy beside them. Of all the things they could have guessed Draco Malfoy to say to them, that was not one.

“You know what I asked for.”

Again, he was tired - too tired to explain his baffling request, too tired to give any kind of context as to why he had come to them, or whatever he needed help for.

“My help?” They didn’t get so much as a sigh, which was interesting, to say the least. (Y/n) wanted to scoff, but they had to keep their voice low enough for the professor to not take notice. “Why would you- What purpose—” their mind eventually caught up with them ”—Why do you think I’d give it?”

“Because I’m—”

“Draco Malfoy, yes.” The scoff escaped them, agitation setting in. (Y/n) pulled their gaze away from the boy to turn back to the front of the classroom, eyes narrowing as they pretended to read the writing on the blackboard. “What would your father think of you getting help from the likes of me?” They all but spat their words under their breath.

Draco seemed to twitch uncomfortably at the mention of his father, but he played it off with a roll of his eyes - the first real reaction (Y/n) had got out of him the entire conversation. “He’d think it shrewd of me.”

“Like keeping your enemies close?”

“Like keeping allies near. Us Slytherins are all one big brotherhood, aren’t we?”

“I think you muddied those waters when you’re obsession with blood purity extended to belittling us halfbreeds.” (Y/n) fixed Draco with a withering stare. He looked down at the desk, scrutinizing the aging wood. His demeanor shifted to something deeper than what lay on the surface, and a wiser person would have stopped there, but (Y/n) couldn’t let it go. “Suddenly you want to be family?”

Draco breathed in deeply as though by expanding his chest and allowing for more oxygen, the tension between them would dissipate. For a long moment, he didn’t speak. The two lapsed into silence, and Professor Flitwick's voice floated over to the two of them, regaining precedence.

“It’s important to keep in mind this spell is very volatile. It’s unlikely you’ll get it correct on your first try…”

(Y/n) allowed themself to decompress, their shoulders dropping and their hands relaxing on the page of their textbook.

For what could Draco Malfoy possibly need their help? They weren’t even friends, but he had the gall to call them family.

“I’d settle for partners.”

The bell rang. Students around them started to pack up, hurrying to their next class. Draco didn’t move a muscle.

(Y/n) fixed him with a stare that betrayed their display of anger and showed some of the interest within. They picked up the bottle-green bag beside them. “Then I suppose that depends on how much you’ve changed over the summer,” they spat, already standing to leave.

“Quite enough, I think you’ll find.”

(Y/n) paused on their way out the door but resisted the urge to turn around, instead pushing forward through the bottlenecked door with renewed conviction.

Who did Draco Malfoy think he had become, asking for favors like they were old chums or something of the like? What did he even need help for, that he couldn’t ask his posse of loyal followers? That Blaise Zabini was smart, and Theo Nott wasn’t too bad, either. Of course, Theo was a halfblood too, so maybe Draco had managed to piss him off in his fourth year as well, when he started to sneer at halfbloods as though he were somehow greater than them. It wouldn’t be surprising, really, if Draco had somehow managed to alienate all of his “friends” in some way or another. He wasn’t known to have much of a filter with his thoughts.

Maybe that was what all of this was about. Draco had mentioned his father thinking their conversation was “shrewd” - maybe Lucius Malfoy had a little conversation with his son about not alienating the people around him. Perhaps there was a little father-son chat about revitalizing the family image with the Death Eaters and the rise of You-Know-Who being what it was. How quaint. Did they have him updating his father in person, too? Is that why he looked like he hadn’t slept since summer?

Part of (Y/n) insisted that they were being overdramatic about all of this and that they should get a hold of their emotions. No one was really at liberty of being emotional during times like these, and maybe, deep down, Draco really had become something that wasn’t beneath asking genuine help of someone without having ulterior motives.

After all, he had been tired - without real signs of deception or bigger purpose… and he was… shaking - as though genuinely nervous or afraid and.... and he had said something that made them stop in their tracks… that the summer had changed him “quite enough,” said with a sort of bitterness and resignation that was unlike any kind of Draco Malfoy (Y/n) knew…

(Y/n) slid into their Herbology seat with practiced ease, and when they went to grab their textbook, they came up with an Astronomy book, instead.

“What?”

(Y/n) didn’t have Astronomy, and this textbook was far too nice to be theirs. Maybe it belonged to their roommate? But then why was it in their bag? (Y/n) clearly had the right bag since they had pulled out their textbook in Charms, and—

(Y/n) flipped to the inside cover of the Astronomy textbook in front of them.

Property of Draco Malfoy.

Professor Sprout started the lecture just as (Y/n) swore under their breath.

Their Herbology partner turned to them questioningly, and (Y/n) asked to share their textbook for the day. Their partner complied readily enough and (Y/n) shot them a smile. The rest of the lesson, (Y/n) calculated the quickest way from the greenhouses to the Slytherin common room, where they would no doubt find Draco Malfoy skipping yet another meal and doing whatever it was that occupied his time. They had switched bags, somehow, and (Y/n) was keen on getting theirs back.

When Herbology was finally over, (Y/n) all but sprinted to the dungeons. Of all days for this to happen...

When they reached the steps that led down to the common room, they saw Draco Malfoy standing at the bottom. A book was in his hands, and as (Y/n) descended the stairs, they got a better look at it.

Their heart dropped.

Draco was flipping through the pages of a tiny, leatherbound book. It looked inconspicuous enough, a kind of journal that was old and weathered, but (Y/n) knew who it belonged to, and what was hidden inside.

It was (Y/n)’s spellbook - always stuffed to the bottom of their bag in case inspiration or genious struck All of their spells were in there - from the nearly refined to their half-baked disasters, every spell (Y/n) had ever had the idea to create was in that book, along with every failure. If Draco had looked at their disastrous attempts from third year...

“I’m not here for games, Draco.”

“Neither am I.” Draco held out the book to them and (Y/n) snatched it, also taking the school bag that was at his feet - no doubt theirs. “I only needed to check - Ravenclaws have a way of dramatizing things, and since you weren’t happy to help…”

“Check what?”

In the half-light, it was hard to tell what Draco was feeling, or at least, what he’d allow to show. But when he spoke, his voice still carried a fatigue that wore him down and made him appear as though without an agenda. “That you can help me.”

(Y/n) rolled their eyes. “Again, what makes you think that I will?”

“You need money, don’t you? I recognize signs of wear when I see them, and you were rather quick to get back your used textbooks - probably borrowed, since you don’t have any older siblings and our textbooks aren’t as old as our parents. The (L/n) family must have come into financial trouble recently,” Draco reported with a sigh, as though he found no glee in this run around of his. Was this the same boy who used to flaunt his observational prowess, making scathing remarks about the most minute details of others?

(Y/n) wanted to snap that they didn’t need his money, but they had enough common sense to not be proud. The Malfoys were one of the richest families at Hogwarts. If Draco was willing to pay... at least he would be good for the money… and he had been looking at their spellbook. If he needed a spell, it would be nice to experiment on someone else’s galleon, wouldn’t it?

(Y/n) swallowed. “What do you need?”

“A spell, and your secrecy.”

(Y/n) nodded slowly, still weighing their choices. They had nearly made up their mind, but something still ate at the back of their mind, like an itch that couldn’t be satiated. “Why did you think I’d help you?”

“I knew you would.” Draco fiddled with his sleeve. “Because you want to know my secret.”

iv.

When Draco said they were going to the Room of Hidden Things, (Y/n) hadn’t expected the room itself to be hidden. It would have been ridiculous, and yet, looking at it, everything seemed to make sense. The room only appeared when you asked for it, and it contained thousands of knick knacks, all sorted and piled on top of each other haphazardly, the facade of order.

If everything ever hidden lay within this room, (Y/n) wouldn’t be surprised. The room seemed to stretch off into infinity, the walls on either side disappearing behind stacks of lost things that reached impossibly high, never appearing to meet a back wall. Everything in the Room of Hidden Things was seemingly left to oblivion, stacked and scattered with no real rhyme or reason, things left behind and obliterated from memory. As they walked deeper in, (Y/n) found themself searching, as though there was something they needed to find.

If Draco felt the same urge, he hid it well, winding around piles of lost things like one would walk around their own home in the dark, completely aware of where everything was and able to avoid things that others tripped on.  (Y/n) found themself wondering, ‘How many times had he been in here?’

Draco stopped in front of a tall, imposing cabinet with wrought iron detailing. The black wood seemed so stark against the rest of the room that (Y/n) wondered how anyone could miss it, and yet, if they turned their head as to put it in their periphery, the cabinet seemed to disappear.

Funny, how it could be there, but not.

After a moment, (Y/n) was able to place why it looked so familiar. The Vanishing Cabinet. Why was it here, of all places?

“It’s broken and no mending charms have worked on it - not even in conjunction with others.”

(Y/n) nodded, opening the door to the cabinet and taking a look inside. So that’s the kind of spell he needed.

“You probably heard about Montague getting stuck in a kind of limbo last year when the Weasley twins shoved him in.”

“So it has a twin.” It was more a statement than a question, but when (Y/n) caught Draco’s eye, they found an affirmative answer that almost looked guilty. (Y/n) turned away, rifling through their bag to find their creation book.

(Y/n)’s mind was flitting about, again, trying to call up all the information they had ever learned about passageways and vanishing cabinets, mending spells and charms. To modify a spell would probably be too simple for the complexities of a Vanishing Cabinet. They would have to start from scratch. (Y/n) flipped to the page where they wrote down the methodology of apparition spells. Maybe the answer lay within the creation of the spell rather than the outcome. Apparition spells might apply to the spontaneity of the Cabinet...

Draco handed (Y/n) a book or two that were clearly ancient, the pages themselves written in fading ink.

“I found these in that pile—” he gestured to a stack of books that reached into the heavens “—they’re the only decent information I’ve found so far.”

(Y/n) nodded and moved to sit on the floor, placing the books carefully in front of them. Draco retreated to the base of the tower of books, picking up a few that were scattered around a large chair that caught (Y/n)’s eye. It seemed out of place - pulled from the pile of furniture that was closer to the entrance and devoid of the thick layer of dust that seemed to permeate everything in this haven of the lost.

After a moment, (Y/n) realized it as a makeshift bed - a blanket that looked like it once belonged to a Hufflepuff thrown over the arm, a stack of clothes next to the chair, and Draco’s bag hanging from it.

How often was he in here?

(Y/n) turned their gaze back to the Vanishing Cabinet before them, trying not to dwell on what the Slytherin Prince had become. They had a job to do; a Vanishing Cabinet needed fixing.

But why, of all things, a Vanishing Cabinet?

“Planning on disappearing, Malfoy?” Their tone was light, playful. (Y/n) turned to face him, and he was stock still.

Draco didn’t respond, just looked at the cabinet with an intensity that seemed to bring the weight of the word onto his shoulders. He tugged at his left sleeve, and for a fleeting moment, an answer was swimming in his eyes.

‘Yes.’

v.

It had been around two weeks since (Y/n) had been first introduced to the Vanishing Cabinet, and ever since, their evenings were spent in the Room of Hidden Things, their attention split between homework and the puzzle before them.

One part of them was intent on creating the right spell. If they were able to do it correctly, this new spell could be revolutionary, potentially changing the way mending spells were thought of for years to come. With the way that Vanishing Cabinets worked, it wasn’t just the cabinet that needed to be fixed, or the passageway in between, but the space that was warped when the door to the cabinet was closed. It was mystifying, to say the least, and the possibilities were endless.

Another, more nagging side of (Y/n) was intent on figuring out why Draco needed a Vanishing Cabinet in the first place. What purpose did he require of it? Better yet, what purpose could it serve? The possibilities for this, too, could be infinite.

“(Y/n)? Are you listening?”

Michael Corner, their friend of six years, bumped his shoulder into theirs. They were walking to Potions, and he had been chatting about how he hadn’t seen them in a while - not since they started slipping out of the Great Hall early after dinner.

“Yes - you think I’ve been trying to perfect my failed spells from third year and I’m too proud to tell you that I actually do listen to your advice.”

Michael grinned. “So… are you?”

“I am working on my spells, if that’s what you’re after.”

“And have you taken my advice on selling them?”

(Y/n) thought for a moment. After all, they were getting paid for what they were doing for Draco, so technically a ‘yes’ would be appropriate. But if Michael started to ask who bought it and for what reasons, (Y/n) wouldn’t be able to say.

“Maybe,” they said, lamely.

It seemed to be enough for Michael, though, and he talked excitedly about the possibilities as they made their way into the Potions classroom. (Y/n) approached their seat and Michael groaned. “It sucks that Slughorn assigned us partners. I’m stuck with Hermione Granger and, well, you know how she is. Potions could be so much better if we got to choose who we work with.”

(Y/n) sat down in their seat, sighing before fishing for their textbook in their bag. “You’re not the one stuck with Malfoy,” they deadpanned as usual, but the words didn’t fit as naturally in their mouth as they once did.

“Yeah, but when does he even show up to class, anymore?” For emphasis, Michael slid into the Slytherin’s assigned seat.

The two devolved into their usual banter, talking about common interests and idiotic assignments. Professor Slughorn walked into the room two minutes or so before class started and when Michael swore, he fixed him with a stare. Things were as they always were, but then something changed.

 Draco Malfoy walked into the classroom, and Michael was surprised, but quick to slip out of his seat. He chose to hover near (Y/n)’s end of the table, and while he was careful not to stare, his eyes flicked to Draco. He wasn’t the only one; the whole class seemed to notice Draco’s presence, but Malfoy seemed to be avoiding the production of it all - very unlike him. The pallor in his skin didn’t seem to be getting worse, but the melancholic air that seemed to follow him was palpable.

Any day, now, the rumors would get worse and the speculation would start. What was eating at Draco Malfoy?

(Y/n) had been working with him closely for two weeks, now, and even they weren’t any closer to figuring out the truth.

Harry Potter seemed to have particularly keen eyes, whispering to his friends without losing eye contact.

The whole of Hogwarts seemed to be holding its breath, unsure of what was to come, but anticipating how bad the storm was going to be. Michael tried to ignore the shift in demeanor, nudging (Y/n) with his arm.

“I’m still surprised that Harry Potter ended up getting the Felix Felicis - I was honestly expecting Padma or Hermione to get it. Since when is Harry a potion making prodigy?”

Beside (Y/n), Draco stiffened. (Y/n) let out a puff of air like a subdued scoff and Michael smiled. So the Potter-Malfoy rivalry was still going strong.

Michael scratched out a note on a spare bit of parchment and stuck it in (Y/n) textbook with a conspiratorial wink. “I’ll go see if I can snag some of Potter’s notes, yeah? Maybe he can spare a bit of genius.”

With that he was off, and (Y/n) rolled their eyes before turning to the front of the classroom. Draco was still on edge beside them, his shoulders taut and head bowed in such a way that (Y/n) couldn’t catch his eye.

It was later, when (Y/n) was flipping through their textbook to the instructions for the potion they were to make, that they found the note Michael had left behind.

‘At least you know you have something to make his blood boil.’

vi.

“We’re going to need space,” (Y/n) muttered to Draco. They had agreed to meet by the statue of Lachlan the Lanky when going to the Room of Hidden Things, and Draco was already there when (Y/n) arrived. “Testing out this spell could be dangerous in such a cluttered space - the entire room could be destroyed.”

Draco nodded deftly and (Y/n) could tell by the way his eyes narrowed that he was thinking of a way to fix their problem. It had been a little over a month since the two started to work together, and after being Potions and Alchemy partners, working beside each other during their free period, and spending their nights in front of the Vanishing Cabinet, the two knew each other better than they cared to admit. (Y/n) still held fast to the idea that they were acquaintances at most, but there were times when they saw him in the Room of Hidden Things, sitting on the chair he used for a bed, and they knew what he was thinking. Acquaintances couldn’t do that, could they?

Draco walked past a section of the corridor three times, his perpetually tired expression furrowed into concentration, and the vanishing door appeared. As soon as they could, the two Slytherins ushered themselves in. This time, they were met with a bright light.

(Y/n) blinked furiously, and when their eyes adjusted, they realized they were looking at the sky.

Bright blue and without clouds, the sky seemed to mimic that of a summer’s day. The sun that beat down was a welcome change from the cold winds of December, and (Y/n) let the warmth fill them as they took in the view. The Room of Hidden Things had somehow shifted into a vast, open field that was full of tall, yellowing grass.

The field seemed to stretch into oblivion, never quite ending as it reached a horizon point. (Y/n) felt something like calm wash over them. This place carried a mixture between knowledge and peace. A little ways out, but close enough to be identified were the only two things that upset the sprawling landscape - a willow tree with low hanging branches, far more serene than the Whomping Willow that Hogwarts students were familiar with, and the Vanishing Cabinet.

“What is this place?” (Y/n) still gaped at what lay around them, eyes eagerly taking in every color that seemed to bleed in the way a painting would.

“The Room of Requirement is whatever you need it to be.”

“And the Room of Hidden Things…?”

“Inside it.”

Draco looked worse, somehow, in the full light of the sun; his skin was more pale, like death had already touched him and all he had left to do was walk to his grave. (Y/n) couldn't look long.

The two started toward the Vanishing Cabinet. (Y/n) felt the distinct urge to put their hands out to feel the grass brush against their skin, to see just how real this beautiful illusion was. If the room could create this, what else could it fathom?

If (Y/n) could stay here forever, would this room create a reality beautiful enough to keep them?

(Y/n) sat their bag down a few paces away from the Vanishing Cabinet and rolled up their sleeves. Draco retreated to the foot of the weeping willow. (Y/n) checked it to make sure that it stood far enough away from the blast zone. It seemed alright.

(Y/n) placed a spare bit of parchment into the Cabinet and took a few steps back.

“Harmonia Nectere Deambulatio!”

(Y/n) turned their wrist precisely and grey wisps of light illuminated from the tip of their wand. The Vanishing Cabinet before them lurched forward abruptly and (Y/n) staggered a few steps backward. The Cabinet righted itself and after a few moments of hesitantly watching it to see if the cabinet would be pitching itself to and fro once more, (Y/n) quickly approached and opened it.

The paper inside was far worse than what they expected; the parchment shredded and burning, as though it did some acrobatic routine for the circus with very poor aim. (Y/n) quickly doused the flames and turned back to their book, scratching out the failed attempt.

(Y/n) sighed and started again, trying out a few variations of the spell they had already drafted up, praying that one of them would work. After an hour or so of the Vanishing Cabinet turning out botched attempts, (Y/n) decided they needed to rethink the spell itself, and not the delivery.

This wasn’t their first spell to go wrong, but it was definitely the hardest, since gauging what needed to be fixed was near impossible. (Y/n) figured that it had to be the passage between each Cabinet. The slicing of the paper was most likely a failure to use the passage - it was torn on its way to the other cabinet and when fragmented, couldn’t be supported through the warping of space, so it was spit back out and was lit on fire from the friction.

(Y/n)’s focus, then, should shift from the spontaneity of the Vanishing Cabinet and work on the passage rather than the walk through it. It was the space between that needed warping… perhaps they should look at their notes of Transfiguration spells, they were particularly good at warping space… a safe bet, too, since Transfiguration was fairly testable and not overly theoretical, compared to other spells...

(Y/n) looked at one of the books Draco had given them a week prior. From what those books taught, tangibles were off the table with Vanishing Cabinets. A safe bet might not fix anything. But anything else might be more risk than it was worth...

Maybe a principle of Alchemy could be used. Transmutation might be the key - not shifting the length of the passage, but shifting the properties of the passage, making it safer to traverse… of course, transmutation spells were highly dangerous when not perfected, and seeing as most of the creation of their spell had to be theory rather than tested reality...

Both (Y/n) and Draco would have to be very sure it was the route they wanted to take, and then they would have to be incredibly careful. Especially in a room where space itself warped… if anything went wrong, the spell could kill both of them.

(Y/n) had never been the best at Alchemy, but Draco was a prodigy when it came to the subject. It was one of the few classes he showed up for, anymore, and since (Y/n) had gotten better at reading him, they noticed that Draco actually took interest in the subject. He seemed to be fascinated by the idea that one thing could be made into something completely different with dedication and patience.

But how much could (Y/n) trust Draco? He hadn’t screwed them over, yet, but would he, eventually? Maybe it was only a matter of time…

But, then again, what did he stand to gain?

Both of them were working day and night to solve this problem. Draco may not have fully understood how spells were made, but his research was invaluable, and there was no way either could do it on their own. Fixing a Vanishing Cabinet was improving upon Ancient Magic, all of which was confusing and uncertain, to say the least. There was a reason why there were few Vanishing Cabinets in existence, and a reason as to why Dumbledore didn’t fix the Cabinet himself. It’s near impossible. There’s no way Draco could do it on his own.

He needed (Y/n), and he seemed to know it, too.

(Y/n) sighed and walked over to the willow tree where Draco sat, calling out to him, their voice faint, like it would be in a real, empty field. They parted the tall grass as they went, feeling the scratch of it on their legs and arms. The sun seemed to have dipped lower in the sky, but the suspension of time that the Room of Requirement always held still stood. (Y/n) could only guess how long they’d been here - a few hours, maybe - but it didn’t feel like it had been long enough.

“We’ll have to shift our theory - I think the basis of this spell has to be Alchemical properties or at the very least Transfiguration. It’s tricky, though, since this magic is so old…”

Draco was asleep, a book from the Room of Hidden Things opened on his stomach. He looked disheveled, pale blonde hair mussed up, his robes in disarray. His sleeves, always pulled low, were starting to ride up on his left arm and (Y/n) could see the skin beneath, pink and rubbed raw, as though he scratched and agitated the length of his forearm all day long.

(Y/n) sat down beside him, far enough away as to give him privacy, and yet close enough so that neither was alone. The field around them suddenly felt more exposed than before - (Y/n) understood why Draco chose to sit underneath the tree; the low hanging branches of the willow tree created a sense of security - like they could hide, if they had to.

Draco had nightmares. It didn’t take long to realize that - he twitched and fidgeted in his sleep, expression twisting into something torn between fear and pain. (Y/n) wanted to wake him from his spell, but when they looked at him and saw the pallor of his skin and the circles underneath his eyes, they knew it was best to keep him resting.

Sometimes you fight a war on two fronts, and there is no escaping it. Draco needed to rest. And who was (Y/n) to decide whether the terrors of sleeping or waking were worse?

At some point, they must have fallen asleep, too, because they awoke to Draco shaking their shoulder, his eyes averted and his hands cold. The painted sun had dipped over the nonexistent horizon, and the moon was out.

“We need to go. It’s after curfew.”

(Y/n) stood up and smoothed out their uniform, nodding deftly.

“I’m a prefect, so just follow my lead and no one will ask questions.”

vii.

“We’ll try out the transmutation theory.”

(Y/n) pulled their gaze away from their Charms essay to stare up at Draco incredulously. It was nearing midnight, and with most of the students being gone for the holiday, the Slytherin common room was empty.  Draco had just entered and was on his way to the dormitories, but he stopped on his way and spoke to (Y/n) in a low tone.

“You know the risks, right?” Draco just stared pensively into the fire that blazed beside them. “Are you willing to die for this?”

Maybe it was the flames that threatened tears to his eyes. “I’m dead, either way.”

viii.

The bell rang, signaling the end of Transfiguration, and the classroom erupted with life, people closing their books and racing out the door. As far as last classes went, Transfiguration was okay, but at the end of the day, everyone wanted to get out as quickly as possible. Michael nudged (Y/n) when he was shoving off, reminding them to grab some dinner before they holed themselves up for the evening. (Y/n) shot back a retort and he flipped them off as he left, earning a scolding from McGonagall.

“Sorry, professor.”  Michael ducked his head apologetically, but when McGonagall turned around, he caught (Y/n)’s eye and winked.

(Y/n) rolled their eyes, shoving a quill in their bag as McGonagall fixed her attention to them. “(Y/n) (L/n).”

The Slytherin snapped to attention. “Yes, professor?”

“Would you remind Mr. Malfoy that he still has my class, even if he chooses not to attend?” McGonagall took a step closer and (Y/n) held their gaze, more surprised than anything else. “It’s not imperative he show for lessons, but he does need to turn in his work if he expects to continue with this subject.”

(Y/n) was caught off guard. “O-Of course.”

“He is slated to take Transfiguration next year, and N.E.W.T.s will not be kind to those who don’t dedicate themselves.” McGonagall looked at (Y/n) over the top of her glasses, seemingly more stern than before. “I know you and Mr. Malfoy are close - perhaps you will be able to motivate him.”

(Y/n) shrugged their bag onto their shoulders, a little too eager to leave. McGonagall seemed to take note, but waited patiently for (Y/n) to speak. “Oh, um… Draco and I are just partners in class.”

McGonagall pressed her lips into a thin line. Was it… amused? Knowing? “I’ve heard, you frequently meet up by the statue of Lachlan the Lanky, as well.” Her eyes still carried that intensity. Perhaps her gaze was more of a warning.

(Y/n) looked down and swallowed, mind racing. “I’ll tell him, professor.”

“Thank you.”

(Y/n) walked out of the classroom, and it wasn’t until they were in the dungeons that they dared to breathe. McGonagall's words were inconspicuous enough, but it was the way she said it that struck (Y/n) to the core. If McGonagall knew about them meeting up at the statue, what else did she know? Maybe it wasn’t much, but she felt justified to bring it up. And in that tone…

She could know anything, maybe even more than (Y/n) - and if McGonagall knew, surely Dumbledore did, as well.

When they entered the Slytherin common room, Draco was inside, sitting with Blaise Zabini and Pansy Parkinson. They were talking in hushed tones, and the concern in their gaze was palpable. If it has been a few months ago, (Y/n) would have pretended like they hadn’t seen anything and gone avoided their stare. But now, they just pressed forth.

At the sight of (Y/n) approaching, Pansy stood and pulled Blaise with her, putting a hand on Draco's shoulder before leaving. (Y/n) locked eyes with the two retreating figures and there was something grateful in their stares.

(Y/n) averted their gaze.

“Draco,” (Y/n) sat down on a couch across from him and kept their voice low. “I think Professor McGonagall knows.”

Draco was careful not to show interest in his body language, but his eyes were sharp, wary. (Y/n) leaned in a bit, telling him all that happened, recalling the strange way that McGonagall looked at them and how she knew where they met up. The shadows of the fire played against Draco’s gaunt features, making him look almost ghostlike as he listened intently.

“The only reason I could see her keeping tabs on you is because of that rumor Harry Potter is spreading about you giving that cursed necklace to Katie Bell.” (Y/n) shook their head, blinking and they missed the way that Draco froze at the mention. “But either way, we need to be more careful.”

For a moment, the two just sat in silence, eyes intent on their hands as they tried to see a place beyond this present. Both were unaware of what the other was thinking, and yet they both wished the same - that is world would stop around them - if only for a moment.

The fire behind them raged and the voices of those surrounding them didn’t cease.

(Y/n) sighed and tipped their head back, looking at the glass ceiling above them, dark waters rippling from the movement of merfolk and the Giant Squid. What would it feel like to be suspended for your whole life, never coming up for air? Peaceful, perhaps.

“Don’t worry about the professors.” Draco spoke suddenly, and (Y/n) sat up to find him mimicking their actions, still looking up at the lake, his hands fidgeting with the sleeves of his button-up. “They know perfectly well they could stop us if they wanted to. They could know everything if they wanted. But they don’t.” There was a bitterness in his tone that seeped in slowly, then all at once. “They don’t meddle in anything I do. They don’t concern themselves with us. They don’t—”

Draco cut himself short. (Y/n) looked at him for a minute, their expression soft but broken - a little wondering. The wondered if they understood Draco a little more - maybe they recognized that anger, simmering on low, the fire just able to be sustained but burning out.

“They don’t save us, do they?” and it was a whisper, but it felt earth shattering.

Draco sighed, his eyes fluttering closed. “Not us.”

ix.

On Wednesday nights, Alchemy students were expected to go up to the 16th turret where classes were usually held to do an extra lesson. Part of their curriculum required the moonlight filtering through stained glass to complete, and Slughorn said there was no way around it. It was the only night of the week when Draco and (Y/n) didn’t go to the Room of Requirement to work on their project, the only night when they breathed just a little easier.

The sky was lighter than the usual inky night. The moon was full and brightly reflecting, and it’s solemnity in the sky was a stark contrast to Professor Slughorn’s excitement as he flitted about, giving instructions on how to complete the assignment. There were a few stars that managed to twinkle in the sky, and (Y/n) found themselves transfixed by them, wishing they were admiring the night sky for stargazing, instead of work

It was much easier, admiring something from a distance; dealing with things closer to the ground was heavier on the heart - it took more of a toll.

Draco worked beside them quietly. Things between them usually were quiet, with the occasional word or moment of recognition in the heart of the other. Questions weren’t usually welcome, but (Y/n) could sneak in a few, every once in a while. Especially during Alchemy; Draco was more relaxed up here - almost content.

Slughorn went over to Padma Patil at the front of the classroom, leaving the pair of Slytherin’s in shared solitude.

“I can’t imagine you’re sleeping well, in the Room of Hidden Things.” (Y/n) whispered so no one would hear, sure to make their tone soft, unlike anything that might set the other into a mood. Draco turned to them for a moment, impassive, but didn’t say a word. (Y/n) tried again. “I realize the Cabinet’s important, but enough to sacrifice your health? Why?”

More silence. There had been a time (Y/n) wouldn’t have minded.

“Can’t you tell me anything?”

Draco’s jaw flexed, and he was so thin it stuck out more than normal, sharp with a jagged edge. (Y/n) eyed him with a guarded expression of their own, allowing silence to lapse between them as Slughorn walked by. He checked on their progress with an impressed hum, and once the professor was out of earshot, (Y/n) interrogated Draco once more.

“I just want to know something - this is dangerous for me, too.”

Draco seemed hesitant. After a moment, he spoke, “I have to do this,” he whispered, almost more to himself than anyone else.

“I don’t understand why.”

“No, you don’t.” Draco looked at them sharply but (Y/n) wasn’t one to back down. His eyes flicked around the room, as if to see if anyone noticed his sudden movement, but no one seemed to take note. Still, Draco turned back to his work, shooting his next words out of the side of his mouth, eyes blazing with something that was white-hot, but not anger. “And you wouldn’t.”

“So I get to do your dirty work, but without an explanation? Did you forget we’re being watched?” (Y/n) shook their head, expression tight with anger.

“If I don’t do this, I’ll die. Is that a good enough explanation for you?” Draco’s jaw twitched and (Y/n) heaved a sigh, through with his dramatics. Every day it got worse and Draco didn’t seem to be opening up anytime soon. It was exhausting, and for what? A few Galleons? A feeling like they were somehow helping him? 

A secret? Draco was fiddling with his left sleeve, again, and (Y/n) had the familiar feeling that they already knew the answer to any question they might ask.

The rest of the evening wore on in silence. Both Slytherins were tense with emotion, thoughts swirling around them, the tension in the air almost thick enough to taste. Occasionally, the sounds of others wafted towards them - Slughorn’s footsteps, excited whispers, low swears and were quickly reprimanded - but neither spoke a word or did so much as to spare the other a glance. Eventually, Slughorn dismissed everyone, walking out himself, and the only two left were Draco and (Y/n).

(Y/n) stood up and gathered their things, and after a moment's hesitation, faced Draco with a guarded stare. They breathed in, “I’m going to figure out what’s happening, Draco. But I’m not going to like it if I have to figure it out on my own.”

With that, (Y/n) turned to leave. But before they could walk away, Draco had caught their arm. (Y/n) turned back around with a sigh. He was standing, now, and the moonlight that filtered through the stained glass window drowned him in deep shades of red. 

“Do you know my family’s allegiance in this war?”

(Y/n) felt their blood turn cold. “Well, I…” they stammered, “I figured—”

“Then you have your explanation,” he cut them off bitterly,  and was quick to look away, releasing his hold on them and cleaning up his things.

(Y/n) blinked. Once, twice, three times. Tightening their grip on their bag, they walked towards the door to open it, but their hand rested on the knob. Their mind was like a tempest - never in one place at one time, but simultaneously everywhere, trying to remember everything they had ever believed in and everything they thought they knew.

“We’re meeting again tomorrow, right?” And (Y/n) hated the way their voice sounded; soft and unsure. They looked back to see Draco - really see him - but his expression was just as conflicted as ever, just as pained and stiff and grasping. It was almost as though he were drowning in his own sin, bloody and red.

After a moment, he nodded, grey eyes pausing, for once, never leaving theirs.

“Then I’ll meet you there.”

x.

Draco passed (Y/n) the apple and they set it down in the middle of the Vanishing Cabinet, it’s lively green skin stark against the black cabinet. They shut the door carefully, and took a step back.

Yesterday, for the first time in their five months of working together, a piece of parchment Vanished properly. After three different theories on the spell, about 12 different spell variations, and many late nights, it was finally working. There was a sort of peace in that, and yet something akin to dread seemed to settle in the air - almost thicker than the dust that permeated the Room of Hidden Things.

Draco seemed to feel it, too. His weight seemed to settle heavier in his bones, his entire essence dragged downward, somewhere where he couldn’t be found. They weren’t going to be saved by anyone but themselves, but sometimes it seemed Draco didn’t have the fight in him. Not anymore.

His hands were shaking, and the boy made to fix the cuffs of his sleeves. (Y/n) reached out and grabbed his hand and he turned to them, sharply. (Y/n) didn’t say anything, just squeezed his hands once, then let go. His hands stilled.

“Harmonia Nectere Passus.”

It was best done as a whisper, with the slightest curl of the wrist. The light was soft and melancholic. The Vanishing Cabinet didn’t make a sound nor shudder, just stood there, imposing as ever.

Draco opened the cabinet. It was empty.

Despite themselves, both smiled.

He closed the door.

“Harmonia Nectere Passus.”

The wrought iron was cold as (Y/n) pulled the cabinet open, once more. They picked up the apple, same as before, and it was perfect. (Y/n) turned back to Draco and gave him a solemn nod. He walked over to the bird cage that stood beside his makeshift bed, pulling out the white songbird within. It sang.

Draco closed the door.

“Harmonia Nectere Passus.”

The singing stopped, and (Y/n) didn’t need to open the door to know that it worked. But they did, and the cabinet was empty. When the cabinet was secured again, and all that was left was to say those three words, they both hesitated. The two Slytherin’s stared at each other, unwilling to breathe in fear that it might not work.

Or worse, maybe it would.

Draco lifted his wand slowly, and when he spoke, his voice was thick, but each word carefully crafted. “Harmonia Nectere Passus.”

The silence was deafening. Draco’s eyes flicked to (Y/n), and when he saw his own fears reflected in their gaze, he swallowed hard.

Inside, the bird was dead, it’s tiny, white body sitting in a sea of darkness. (Y/n) picked it up, knowing they had to determine how it died to fix what had gone wrong when it rematerialized. When the bird was cupped in their hand, it’s body was still warm.

They turned around and Draco was crying.

xi.

The Room of Hidden Things was a maze. Without windows or any real sense of the passage of time, tit could feel claustrophobic and dense. The candles and torches the endless room used for light threw long shadows and at times, there was something lonely about the place. On occasion, though, when (Y/n) and Draco spent afternoons amongst the clutter and set candles near them, the room could feel cozy - maybe even warm.

The two had been working quietly for a half hour or so when (Y/n) felt the itch to ask a question. As always, they pondered letting it pass, but their curiosity got the better of them. They set their quill down and turned to look at the boy across from them. “Tell me something about Draco Malfoy that no one else knows."

Draco, used to questions by now and in a better mood than most days, didn’t bother to look up, but responded, anyway. “Why?”

“You learned a few secrets of mine when you skimmed my spell creation book. It’s only fair that I get to use something against you.”

“You know about this place.”

(Y/n) looked at him unimpressed, but still, Draco didn’t raise his head. They sighed. “Give me something more than that. Technically, this is my secret, too.”

Draco rolled his eyes, but his quill stopped scratching, and he closed the textbook before him. “Like what?”

“Like…” (Y/n) shrugged as Draco watched them, his grey eyes lighter than usual, less filled with the weight of all things. “Alright, I’m allergic to pumpkin, but I wanted to try pumpkin juice so badly in our first year that I had to go to the infirmary on the first day of school—” (Y/n) was smiling at the memory, and it was the first bit of happiness they had allowed themself to have for a while. “—it was nothing too bad, and Madam Pomfrey was quick to fix me up, but I couldn’t taste for the next week. A real shame, too, seeing as the first few feasts are always the best.”

Draco’s lips were pressed into a thin line, only the very edges curling upwards, so slightly anyone else would have missed it. A genuine smile. (Y/n) was proud of themself for having coaxed it out of him. Funny, how much they had started to care.

“Something idiotic, then?” and the lilt to his voice was almost amused.

(Y/n) rolled their eyes. “You have to have something.”

Draco thought for a moment and (Y/n) watched him as he tried to pull a memory. They noted how much younger he looked, here, in a light dim enough to be considered conspiratorial, but bright enough to be distinct from the rest of their existence. It was almost as though they belonged here, two more lost things in a sea of used belongings.

“I tried to grow out my hair like my father’s in the summer before our first year.” Draco’s voice was soft in reminiscing, but it grew louder with fondness. “A cousin told me I looked like a girl and I cut it off that same night. My mother fixed it for me in the morning, right before we went to Diagon Alley.”

(Y/n) let out the ghost of a chuckle, but when Draco joined them, their laugher grew, echoing through the endless room.

xii.

“So... tell me, is Slytherin gossip really just made up of lies, or are you actually hanging out with Draco Malfoy? Is that where you’ve been sneaking off to?”

Michael and (Y/n) walked side by side, catching up for the first time all week. They had been heading to lunch when Michael realized he left his quill and ink in the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom, so the two decided to take the walk back together. Somehow, their conversation landed on gossip around the school, and of course, Michael had to bring up Draco.

(Y/n), used to dodging questions by now, simply rolled their eyes. “I don’t know, did you actually join a secret army last year and not tell me about it?”

“I already told you that Harry himself didn’t want any Slytherin’s involved. How was I expected to go against the Boy Who Lived?” Michael defended himself poorly but passionately, pushing his dark hair out of his face. Suddenly, his narrowed. “But yes, I did. So does that mean you’re admitting to hanging out with the Slytherin Prince?”

“If it makes you feel any better, it’s only because we’re partners in Potions and Alchemy. Slughorn has this weird thing about classroom symmetry.”

Michael chuckled at (Y/n)’s annoyance, but continued pressing in the way that only a Ravenclaw could successfully pull off. “Then do you know what’s wrong with him? There are bets going around, and I just put down 8 Sickles on him having some rare illness that Pomfrey doesn’t know how to heal.”

“Is him being a werewolf one of the theories?”

“It was, actually,” (Y/n) snorted and Michael turned around to face them, walking backwards down the hall, “But after Padma saw him in Alchemy class during the full moon, the idea was thrown out. Seamus Finnigan lost a Galleon or two.”

“Any other ingenious ideas?”

Michael opened his mouth to speak, but was bumped into abruptly by Harry Potter, walking the other way with a bewildered and shocked expression. He reeled backward and Michael apologized, but all Harry did was nod absentmindedly before continuing down the corridor, walking quickly as though trying to create some sort of distance.

“Weird.” Michael huffed, watching Potter as he retreated. The two friends shared a confused glance before continuing down the hall, and after a few steps, (Y/n) slipped on something slick.

The floors were wet with Harry Potter’s trailing footprints. (Y/n) looked at Michael and they both had the same, strange urge.

Follow them.

The two set off down the hall, neither speaking a word as they followed the trail. No one else was in the corridor but them, and the sound of rushing water filled the corridor as they got ever nearer. The footsteps led to the boys bathroom, which must have busted a pipe or two, judging by the flooding. Inside, someone was muttering a healing incantation, their voice echoing with a concentrated sort of aggression. Michael looked at (Y/n) questioningly before stepping inside, calling out.

“Hey, is everything alright in here?”

The bathroom was a disaster, but in the middle of the floor was Draco Malfoy, still and lying in a pool of his own crimson blood. Professor Snape was crouched over him, trying in vain to stop the bleeding as it drenched his shirt and dissipated into the water around him. (Y/n) stood rooted to the spot, their breath coming in short and their heart pounding their chest. They couldn’t take their eyes off of him, life ebbing away from him, the only indication that he was still alive being his laboured gasps.

They wouldn’t sustain him for long.

“Get. Out.” Snape looked at the two with a ferocity and Michael turned to leave, tugging on (Y/n)’s arm with an expression that was seemingly everything at once - pouring forth from busted pipes, flowing down the corridors...

For a moment, (Y/n) didn’t feel in control of their own limbs. Michael called their name, an urgency lacing his tone, and (Y/n) blinked. Once, twice, three times. The world came into focus. They shook their head. 

“Go,” they whispered, and it only took a precisely aimed stare to get Michael to disappear.

Snapped out of their daze, (Y/n) rushed forward, kneeling beside Draco and ignoring the professors command to leave. Their hands shook as the pulled their wand out from their newly soaked bag, but they uttered a healing spell under their breath - something they had created in their fourth year - praying to Merlin that Draco would live.

Snape stared at them for a sharp moment, with a look that seemed to be knowing and confused at the same time.

Together, the blood that they were kneeling in made its way back into Draco’s body, but the wound - a deep gash on his abdomen - still wouldn’t close. When Snape said he needed to take Draco to the Hospital Wing, (Y/n)’s clothes were drenched and their face was damp with tears they hadn’t realized they wept.

(Y/n) trailed after the professor, not caring they were missing class, their mind still hyper focused on Drac’s survival. They had never seen so much blood outside the body. And with him lying on the flooded floor... how much had escaped him? He would have bleed out, had noone arrived sooner...

Madam Pomfrey didn’t allow (Y/n) to hover while she worked, so the Slytherin sat outside the heavy doors, still dripping with water but not caring as they tried to calm their breathing. They would be waiting outside when Pomfrey finally allowed visitors, and when they Draco again, they couldn’t afford to let their fear show so plainly.

Slowly, their body returned to something fit for survival - worried but functional. Their heart rate was erratic, and their jaw no longer trembled. (Y/n) dried themselves off and waited, sliding down the wall until they sat with their back pressed against it.

They wouldn’t leave until they knew Draco was okay. They couldn’t leave him.

Not like this.

Snape was allowed to wait inside, possibly helping the Healer, and two agonizing hours later, the doors opened and the professor stepped out. His robes swished about him and despite everything, he still carried his usual composed confidence. The Slytherin Head of House turned and fixed (Y/n) with a stare that left them feeling vulnerable - as though any secret they ever had had just been told, without uttering a word. For a brief moment, (Y/n) wondered if professor Snape was a legilimens, or if they were just shaken, still.

But then another thought crossed their mind. ‘Did it matter?’

“You can go in.”

(Y/n) was inside the infirmary before Snape had time to turn away.

The Hospital Wing was silent, and their hurried steps echoed in a way that made their heart beat louder their chest. Madam Pomfrey didn’t look surprised to see them, just apologetic. “He’s unconscious for now. It should wear off in 20 minutes or so. He’ll be fine.” She pointed to a nearby chair and (Y/n) pulled it up, sitting at Draco’s side and eyeing him closely.

After seven months of spending nearly every waking moment together, (Y/n) knew Draco Malfoy better than anyone else. They knew all that he had once been and all he became.

(Y/n) knew the toll that his secrets took,  and how unrelenting they were as they tore at everything Draco was. Harry must’ve known, too. He must have sensed it - maybe all those months ago, when he looked at him in Potions as though ready to duel. But to nearly kill Draco?

(Y/n) didn’t know what had happened - or just who Harry Potter was. But they couldn’t believe something like was intentional.

(Y/n) had to believe Harry didn’t know what he did.

This war made monsters of them all, but did the best of them have to succumb to its dangers? Did everyone in this world have to get twisted and suffer so? They were all innocents, and yet they slaughtered each other like enemies. Did none of them shed tears?

There were many more terrors to come, and (Y/n) had to believe that Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, would be strong enough and kind enough to forgive them. Sometimes this world leaves you without a choice; sometimes it leaves children to nothing but ruins. (Y/n) was just a child, and they didn’t know who to save or even how to do so.

But they did know a few things. A simple, handful of facts that would have to be enough to get them through.

Across the room, Madam Pomfrey took her leave, wandering to the back office where she kept many of her potions.

Despite everything, Draco looked peaceful as he slept - something (Y/n) had never seen, despite the two dozing off plenty of times while working together. He was always in turmoil, no matter his conscious state. So to see him so still was unnerving; it was almost as though he had finally given up.

(Y/n) noticed the sleeves of his shirt had ridden up, and before they could reach out to fix them for him, they noticed the end of a curling tattoo on his inner, left arm. They stared at it for a moment, the curling end of a snake, sitting inside of a skull. (Y/n) considered it, expecting fear to grip their heart but feeling something like sympathy, instead.

They already knew, deep down, what was branded there. They had known for a while. It wasn’t a revelation, and part of them didn’t want to reach out and expose the rest of the tattoo. Did they need to confirm it, now? It was silly, the idea that seeing it would make it more real.

They saw it every day in the way in hands shook, or in the anger in his eyes. They didn’t need to see a tattoo to know what Draco Malfoy had been branded. Sometimes, (Y/n) believed that the ink on his skin didn’t make him different, at all.

How quickly they had grown to trust him. And yet, how quickly he revealed himself, when the two of them were the only souls still awake and bleeding.

(Y/n) pushed the rest of the sleeve down, covering the exposed skin. A cold hand grabbed their own.

Draco stared at them, grey eyes alert and panicked. For a moment, he didn’t seem to breathe. (Y/n) pulled away and his grip went slack, his expression still torn and frozen in place, the only difference being the tears that were welling in his eyes.

“It’s alright, Draco.” He was running from a catastrophe, these days. He seemed to live in the fallout of terrible revelations. A younger Draco wouldn’t recognize him, if he could see himself, now. “I already knew.” Draco tried to scoff, but it came out a sob. Did it somehow hurt worse, the admission of knowledge rather than a sudden reveal? Did it paint him, to realize he had been known all along?(Y/n) tried to offer a smile, but it didn’t quite meet their eyes. “You’re not the only one who’s observant.”

“Why are you helping me, then?” His voice was hoarse and unsure.

Why, indeed?

“You and your whole family will die.” Tears pricked at (Y/n)’s eyes, though whether they were of frustration or sadness, they did not know. Perhaps it was both.

“Others will die because of us,” Draco breathed the words, as though he didn’t want to admit it to even himself.

“They’d find a way inside Hogwarts somehow - nowhere’s safe. But… but if we do it this way… maybe more can be spared.”

“Everyone will die,” Draco shook his head, every emotion he had ever felt spilling over, seeping out of him like all of that blood collecting on the bathroom floor. He has been holding it in for months, and now he was letting go all of it go, bursting forth until he had nothing left. “You don’t know them like I do, we — we’re all dead.”

“Not yet,” (Y/n) wiped at their cheeks furiously, resolve making their voice strong. “We can still save most of us. It’s Dumbledore they want, isn’t it?”

Draco let out another choking sob.

“Why don’t we just tell him?”

“Don’t you see?” Draco was shaking with emotion, his face red and streaked with tears. His every word was punctuated, trembling with a mixture of anger and sadness and fear. No matter where he went, there was so much fear. “I’m the villain in their story.”

(Y/n) took in a shaky breath and put their hands in his. They were still crying, but it wasn’t for themself. “You’re not a villain, Draco. You’re just a boy,” they whispered, but the sound of it seemed to echo around them. “And we’re a brotherhood, right? So I’m here for you. Even if it is just us.”

And they cried together, two voices who’s echoes sounded like one.

xiii.

“Harmonia Nectere Passus.”

This time, the songbird lived. It sang through the thick wood of the cabinet, it’s lonely tune bright, as though it knew spring was upon them - as though it knew nothing of the impending frost, and the death that was sure to follow. Draco and (Y/n) didn’t need to open the door to know that it worked. But they did, and the tiny, white body ruffled its feathers before flying into the sky, chirping happily as it circled the towers of lost things, alone, the last living thing inside the room.

Draco stepped back from the Cabinet, his entire being trembling. It wasn’t until (Y/n) reached out to still him that they realized they were shaking, too.

They both knew it, but neither felt they had the courage to say it.

“This is the end.” (Y/n) forgot to clear their throat.

“Of Dumbledore.” Draco turned to them, all of his life in his hands, all of his regrets on his face. His voice was thick and his eyes were dull. “But not the war. Potter may still win. Somehow… if he survives.”

Both of them knew this world wasn’t kind to survivors.

But (Y/n) held his gaze. “Will we?”

xiv.

maybe one day they will find me                                                                                 under all of this rubble.

-- taglist: @musicallisto​, @theletterhart​, @locke-writes​, @randomfandomimagine​, @brokenandheadoverheels​, @timeofmadness​, @writerdream22​, @lotsoffandomrecs​, @neelia-thedaughtherof-athena​ // message me if you want to be added!

[witcher-and-his-bard-archive]

Geralt is having a bad day. He's been travelling non-stop for over a week and between the monsters and Jaskier's incessant flirting, he's exhausted. It's not that he minds, per se; if he did, he would have left Jaskier behind years ago. But since he admitted to himself - begrudgingly - that Jaskier was, in fact, a friend - and very probably something more - it’s much more difficult to deal with Jaskier’s flirting.

And now he's fulfilled a contract early which in and of itself is not a bad thing, but he's hopped up on potions and feels like he's crawling out of his skin. The villagers, he's sure, meant to help when they stepped in. And they did, but Geralt didn't want help - he wanted to take his anger and frustration out on the beast and return to the town for a hot bath.

He's still planning on the bath, but getting paid for his work is going to have to wait. In his experience, returning to a client looking like he does know never results in a repeat contract. And Geralt needs as much coin as he can get.

They let him into the bathhouse, but only because Geralt knows the man at the door, had saved his wife from a stray drowner a few years back. He fills the tub himself and heats it with igni before stepping in and sinking into the water. He shuts his eyes and sighs, trying to calm the storm in his mind. His peace lasts for all of five minutes before his fingers twitch against the side of the tub and his muscles ache to stretch and move.

Sighing angrily, Geralt pushes himself up out of the tub and crosses the room to find his clothes. He'll have to return to the inn because he can't just take off without letting Jaskier know, but he can't stay here any longer. He needs to move. Jaskier will be upset with him. They've both been looking forward to a break and a warm bed, but it's going to have to wait.

When he gets back to the inn, he keeps out of sight but a few people catch a glance at him and cower in response. One even goes as far as running to the innkeeper to tell him. So Geralt is tense and irritable already and when he opens the door to their room, his patience reaches its limit.

Jaskier is sitting on the edge of the bed, one leg folded under him, naked except for one of Geralt's shirts hanging off his shoulders. The scent hits him first and heat rolls through his body, lingering at the back of his neck. He shuts his eyes to at least relieve himself of the image of it, but his mind recreates it for him behind his eyelids.

"Geralt-" Jaskier starts, quick, panicky.

"I'm not mad," he grits out and Jaskier's footsteps stop. "Take it off."

Geralt can hear the sharp intake of breath and he can only hope Jaskier doesn't realize what's going through his mind right now. It's not his fault Jaskier looks so damn good in his clothes and it's not his fault he smells like heaven. And normally it wouldn't be this bad, but he can hear every hitch in Jaskier's breath, smell the faintest changes in his emotions and right now he stinks of lust and something not unlike embarrassment.

He makes no attempt to comply with Geralt's request, though, and Geralt's eyes snap open, careful to meet Jaskier's and hold his gaze.

"Take it off," he growls. Jaskier smirks at him and the scent of lust in the air spikes.

"Make me," Jaskier says and he says it so quietly Geralt doesn't think he's supposed to hear him. His feet move without his permission, hands pressing against Jaskier's chest as he reaches him. He doesn't stop until Jaskier's back hits the wall, his breath coming too quickly, his heart thudding heavily in his chest.

"What did you say?" Geralt hisses and Jaskier just tilts his head and grins at him.

"If you want it back, take it."

Geralt's hands move roughly and he tries to tell himself this is a bad idea. Leave. Leave the room and go somewhere else. Anywhere else. Even if he gets the shirt off of Jaskier, it's going to continue to smell like him and gods it smells so fucking good on him. Geralt's fingers graze Jaskier's bare skin, holding his breath and focusing so hard not to break his control.

He wants to touch, but he keeps his hands back, only barely letting his fingers brush skin as he lifts the cloth up. But faint touches seem to be enough and Jaskier's soft sighs are too much. Geralt gets the shirt up and over his head, holding it out behind him. Jaskier reaches out to him and Geralt drops the shirt instantly, pressing Jaskier's hands against the wall above his head.

He doesn't trust himself now and at his most controlled he struggles to refute the bard's advances. He looks ahead and Jaskier catches his eyes. His pupils are wide, but his eyes are bright with devilish glee and want. And Geralt aches with unspent energy and a need to please.

"Fuck."

Before he realizes what he's doing, his lips are pressed against Jaskier's, stifling a soft groan that goes straight to Geralt's cock. Jaskier responds enthusiastically, reaching to tangle his fingers in Geralt's hair and every inch of him is pressed against him. Belatedly, Geraly realizes that this is his doing and he rips himself away.

"I could hurt you," he breathes, eyes lowered to the floor. Jaskier doesn't let go of him.

"You won't."

"I will. I don't want to hurt you, Jaskier. I don't think I could hold back."

Jaskier presses closer, pushing himself off the wall and one of his hands wanders. He brushes gentle fingers along the side of Geralt's face and Geralt presses into the touch instinctively. His pulse settles a little at the gentleness of it and Geralt's eyelids flutter.

"Maybe not then," Jaskier breathes. "I want you to enjoy being with me. I don't want you to force yourself." Geralt's head jerks up to look at him.

"I'm not," he insists and Jaskier smiles softly.

"Not what I meant, darling. Pass me that shirt?"

Bad idea, Geralt thinks, but he detangles himself from Jaskier and bends to pick the article up from the floor. Jaskier takes it gently and pulls it back over his head, despite the fire still burning in his eyes.

He guides Geralt toward the bed, sitting him on the edge of it and dropping to his knees. For a moment, Geralt's pulse spikes, but the scent wafting off Jaskier is softer now, the thick spice of lust lingering in the background.

Jaskier lifts one leg at a time, pulling Geralt's boots off and setting them aside. He climbs up onto the bed next to him and Geralt follows him with his gaze, watching as Jaskier lifts the pillow and leans them against the wall. He settles back into them and runs his hands over Geralt's shoulders, encouraging him to move back with him. Geralt moves, slowly pressing himself back between Jaskier's legs.

He shuts his eyes and lets himself be drawn back, so he's pressed against Jaskier's chest, his head resting on his shoulder. Jaskier is still aroused and it's distracting. He can't smell it anymore, but he can feel the press of him against his back and he groans with the desire to touch him.

"Sorry," Jaskier breathes, "just relax."

Geralt snorts at him and Jaskier slips his fingers through his hair, running his fingertips along his scalp. It's calming, but Geralt struggles to quell the adrenaline still raging within him. He lets Jaskier pet him and rub his shoulders and it helps. He focuses on the press of his fingertips and the soft rise and fall of Jaskier's chest under him and he settles.

It takes some time, but the colour slowly returns to his skin, the black veins retreating. He breathes normally again and Jaskier buries his nose in his hair. As he starts to sing, Geralt rolls his head to face him, looking up through his lashes. Jaskier curses under his breath and smiles down at him so softly.

"How are you feeling?"

"Mmm."

"Good. Do you want supper?"

Geralt shakes his head, pulling Jaskier's arm over his chest. He shifts and presses his nose into Jaskier's neck, inhaling his scent. He reaches up to brush his fingers along the other side of his neck and Jaskier shivers under him.

"Thank you," he whispers. He tips his head up and Jaskier's heart races as he presses their lips together softly. Jaskier is softer, making space for him as Geralt turns in his arms. When Geralt pulls away, Jaskier kisses his forehead and smiles down at him.

"Any time," he breathes, lazily running a hand up Geralt's spine. "You should eat, then later maybe we can think about dessert?" He wiggles his eyebrows and Geralt huffs a soft laugh.

"I don't need to eat," he hums. He slips his arms around Jaskier's waist and leans in again, determined to make the bard forget about the idea of food. He has more important things on his mind.

When he kisses him, Jaskier hums against him and it only takes a moment for the fight to go out of him. The elixirs may have run their course, but Geralt still feels lightheaded. He's warm and content and Jaskier's hands feel hot where they creep under his shirt. He feels nearly drunk, but his mind is clear.

[3pirouette]

Fic: The Honey Trap (12/12)

Title: The Honey Trap

By: TriplePirouette/3Pirouette

Disclaimer: They're not mine.

Distribution: AO3 Anyone else please ask first :) 

Story Summary: Peggy’d lost count. She wasn’t sure if she was a double or triple agent at this point, and in the end, it didn’t matter. What mattered was getting out of this alive.

A/N: See END for all AN for this chapter. 

Chapter 12/Epilogue: Just One More Minute

The beeping was incessant, mechanical, and right at his ear, pulling him from sleep. He groaned, moaned, tried to move but couldn’t.

He heard a sigh, and settled.

~*~

The beeping was louder this time, and he could hear hushed voices in the room. He didn’t want to wake up: his body was still screaming for rest and even he had limits, but he wanted to know what happened, wanted to know how long it had taken them…

It was when he’d remembered exactly what had happened, exactly who he’d been with… that he fought to open his eyes. He needed to know how Peggy was. He needed to know she was alright.

He needed to know she was still alive. He struggled to move, his eyes fighting to open.

“Hey!” A warm, familiar voice greeted him. It was rough, and not as he remembered, but still unmistakable.

Steve’s tongue was thick in his mouth. His eyes finally blinked open, and even though the focus was fuzzy, he still couldn’t trust what he was seeing. “Buck?”

“Yeah, yeah pal.” Bucky smiled, but it was rimmed with wrinkle lines, even though eyes were just a the same under a flop of salt and pepper hair. Steve would have thought it was Bucky’s father staring at him, tears gathering in his eyes as he took his hand, except for the voice. He’d know his best friend anywhere. “This must… this must be a shock.”

Steve felt a headache coming on, and couldn’t quite get the words out. “What… why are you…”

“It’s been a long time.” Bucky swallowed hard, sadness and loss filling his words. “You were missing for a long time.”

The machines to his side started beeping, matching his elevated heartrate as he tried to do the math. Ten years? Twenty? He couldn’t have been missing for so long that Bucky had aged so drastically, could he? In a second, a young man who seemed more familiar than not rushed in, beckoned by the incessant beeping. “Uncle Buck, what did you—” He stopped halfway to the bed, surprised. “He’s awake.”

“He’s awake,” Bucky smiled, nodding at the man.

“How- Howard?” Steve blinked again, sure that the man looked more like his friend than not, but being far less sure in the assessment even though his vision was nearly clear now.

“Half right,” the man said, moving forward and reading over the displays to the side of his hospital bed. He turned, smiling as he shoved his hands in his pockets. “Tony. Howard’s son.”

Steve was baffled, looking between both men. Tony had to be nearly forty on his own, looking more like Bucky’s contemporary. “How long, Buck?” He finally whispered, fear growing deep in his belly. “How long has it been?”

Bucky tried and failed to answer, the words catching in his throat, so Tony stepped in, soft and serious. “About 70 years, give or take a few months.” He nodded gently, looking back towards the door. “Dad never stopped looking for you, but you didn’t make it easy.”

He was confused, but the answer was all he needed to know. The serum had saved him, but she had nothing to stop the icy water from taking her. The heart monitor beeped faster and faster as he felt the grief swell in his throat. His eyes snapped shut tight, trying to keep the well of emotion inside him.

“Steve?” Bucky leaned forward, holding his hand tight as Tony started reviewing the monitors, yelling for a doctor. “Tony, what’s happening? What’s wrong?”

“Dunno,” he looked between the man and the monitors, concerned. “I don’t- I don’t think it’s physical but we’ll have to get Doctor Cho in here.”

Steve shook his head, grasping his friend’s hand. After a second, he opened his eyes, tears falling down his cheeks. “Peg,” he whispered.

Bucky slowly sat, nodding. “We don’t know, Steve.”

He closed his eyes again, tight. “After all that,” he choked out, “I still lost her.”

“Huh?” Tony snapped his head around, surprised. “Lost her? No. No no no no no.” He moved to the side of the room and pulled at the sliding curtain, revealing a glass wall that showed an identical room on the other side, gesturing wildly to the figure in the bed and the elderly man sitting next to her. “We found her, too. Right there with you- holding on for dear life. Dad’s been sitting with her.”

Steve tried to push himself up out of the bed, but Tony and Bucky both pushed him down. “You just said—"

“I meant we don’t know if she’s gonna make it, still, Steve.” Bucky pushed his friend flat while Tony moved to push away the glass divider. “You recovered faster. She’s not out of the woods.”

Before the partition was even opened all of the way, Howard was up and out of his chair. “Steve?” He smiled, clapping his son on the shoulder as he passed him. “Holy shit, Steve, you’re awake!”

“Holy shit, Howard, you have a son,” Steve retorted, exhaustion starting to make itself known.

“Probably the least surprising thing for you right now, huh?” Howard chuckled, stopping by the edge of his bed. “Yeah, I uh- guess that’s not something you would have guessed for me.”

Steve tried to fight the heaviness of his eyelids, but it was a losing battle. “Peg?”

“Slow. But encouraging.” Howard smiled, and that was enough reassurance for Steve. “We’ll move you two lovebirds together.”

“Questions…” Steve mumbled, sleep pulling at him hard now.

“We’ll have answers,” Howard replied, moving to help Tony start to sort the monitors. “Sleep. We can talk more later.”

He didn’t need any more permission than that, and sank away from consciousness.

~*~

He was up and walking a day after that, feeling more and more like his old self by the hour.

He’d been sitting by her bedside for three days now, his own recovery deemed full and miraculous. Bucky often kept vigil with him, and when Bucky wasn’t there Howard was. It hurt, to see his friends so different, to hear the stories of lives they’d lived without him, to hear that Bucky had received a bastardized version of the serum from Zola and it took them longer than not to figure it out, but it was an ache that was tempered by the fact that they both still lived, that they were both still alive and well and underneath it all still the same sarcastic friends he’d left behind.

Peggy lay in the bed, the heart monitor beeping steadily away and her chest rising and falling with each breath. She didn’t quite look like herself with her hair straight and flat, not in the meticulous curls she worked so hard for, and with the bright red varnish cleaned from her nails for the monitors they clipped on her fingers.

“Tell me one more time,” Steve gently demanded of Howard, breaking the silence of their watch.

“I can write it down for you,” he joked lightly, closing the small laptop he was working on. “The army found you, not on purpose but by accident. A glacier had shifted and the snow fell away in an avalanche, revealing the wreckage.” He sighed, setting the laptop on the floor below his chair and pulling his glasses off. “That’s where I went wrong. I just assumed you sank. You didn’t: you landed in what was probably a thin spot on the glacier back then. It was enough to crack through and let the water up and in, but it stopped you from sinking. The snow covered you up and that was it.” He shrugged. “Arial recon all came back just icy white glaciers and clear water. I was looking on the bottom of the ocean for you. Didn’t even think maybe you’d been covered by snow already.”

“You can’t beat yourself up about that,” Steve whispered, taking Peggy’s hand. “We both knew exactly what we were doing when we got on that plane.”

Howard huffed a laugh through his nose. “Never could stop the two of you from doing anything.”

Steve did laugh then, shaking his head. “No, not you or Phillips.”

“He’d be happy,” Howard nearly whispered. “He felt horrible, too.” Steve moved to reply, but Howard cut him off. “You know, that was the only time I ever saw him cry? At the memorial the Commandos had.” Howard sniffed, emotion welling up in him, and he tamped it down with a cough. “You can ask Barnes about that, though.”

Howard sat tall and cleared his throat. “At first we thought we just found you, but she was hiding.”

He let his hand slide up and down her arm. Her skin was still cool, but warmer than it had been the day before. “Hiding? How?”

“Under you.” Howard shook his head. “It’s the damndest thing. She was just… under you. Like somehow between the two of you you’d managed to make this perfect little air bubble cocoon that just…” He laughed. “It almost looked like you were dancing, the way you two had your arms around each other.”

Howard scrubbed his face, looking back and forth between Steve and Peggy, then glancing around to make sure they were alone before he continued. “There was this… hole. In the ice.” He dropped his voice. “I didn’t tell anyone else, and I destroyed it, but there was this spot, right at your feet. A square hole.” He waited for Steve to meet his eyes. “Water doesn’t make perfect squares in nature, Steve.” He looked at him seriously. “It was the cube you found that day, wasn’t it?”

“It was called the Tesseract.” Steve looked over at Howard, hand still holding Peggy’s tight. “It was blue, and glowed like those energy weapons- but it was the source, the thing Schmidt and Zola used to make all those weapons.” Steve shook his head. “I’d never seen anything like it.”

Howard waited, but Steve didn’t continue. He rubbed his hand across he jaw. “We’ve still got those little blue bits and energy weapons locked away in Alamogordo,” Howard confessed. I’ve been trying to learn more for years, but… I don’t think it’s… I don’t think it was from Earth,” he nearly whispered.

“It’s not,” Steve replied evenly, as if he were talking about the weather. “The things I saw it do… it wasn’t.” He kept to himself the suspicions he had about Peggy, the thoughts he had about how the two of them had survived. Those were for another day when she was awake and talking to him and they could tell Howard together.

They were quiet for a moment before Howard took a deep breath and moved to grab his laptop again. “Tony will be here in a few hours with that tablet for you. Access to anything you want.”

Steve raised his eyebrows. “I have a lot of news to catch up on.”

Howard opened his laptop and smirked at his friend. “We’ll get you the highlight reel.”

They were quiet for a while before Howard leaned over and held the laptop over to Steve. “You should start with this, though.”

Steve gently undid his hand from Peggy’s, taking the laptop. “What is it?”

Howard grimaced as he looked over at Peggy, her color getting pinker by the minute. “For about 20 years Peggy’s disappearance was classified. You were publicly mourned, but they couldn’t say she was with you, or why. According to public record, she was your scorned lover and hadn’t been on that plane but rather just disappeared into Nazi Germany to never be seen again, listed as a traitor. At least, that’s what the government wanted everyone to believe.” Howard held up his hand as devastation fell over Steve’s face. “I know, believe me. But she was a spy. She knew the risks to her character if she died under deep cover. The information Peggy got us, and some of the names and places she supplied, helped us topple the regime from the inside out after that day you guys went down.” He smiled as he continued the story. “Phillips helped me and the Commandos petition to get her last mission declassified.” He tiled his head at the website on the computer. “That’s the write up the Smithsonian did on her. It’s nice. They call her a hero.”

“She was.” Steve looked up, eyes pulled away from the screen.

“She is,” Howard agreed. He sighed. “She’s coming back to us, Steve. You just need to give her more time.”

“Operation Honey Trap?” Steve asked, eyes drawn back to the article.

Howard tried not to let his amusement show as Steve gingerly touched the keys, trying to scroll the page. “That’s what they called it after the fact. Phillips hated it.”  Howard kicked back his legs to and after a few seconds reached over and showed Steve how to scroll on the touchpad silently. “The CIA was the biggest pain in the ass about getting that declassified. Apparently, they’d modeled several operations off of what she did and thought we’d be outing them.”

“She’d hate this.” Steve smiled, reading the words.

Howard shook his head, standing. “She’ll have to get over it. She was one of the best spies during that war, and maybe ever. When you two are feeling up to it, there are going to be a lot of people who want to talk to you, who are going to want to get you back into the saving the world business, myself included.” Howard lifted his eyebrows and tipped his head. “But you get to decide. Whatever you need, we’re here for you.”

Steve looked up at him, genuine gratitude in his eyes. “Thank you, Howard. I mean it.”

“Eh, least I could do.” He clapped him on the shoulder, leaving it there just a second longer. “Damn, I forgot just how solid you were.” Howard poked his arm a few times and smiled, turning to leave. “I do good work.”

~*~

It was dark when she fluttered her eyes open, and the plain white ceiling baffled her.

Berlin.

No. Switzerland.

But it didn’t smell right, and the bed wasn’t quite the same as the last bed she could remember.

What could she remember?

She closed her eyes and took stock of her body. Everything seemed to be in working order, but she felt heavy, fuzzy. She felt like she was swimming through a fog and all she wanted to do was go back to sleep.

She fought, but the pull was too strong. She was about to let herself fall into the void of it when she felt a hand take hers.

A large hand.

A familiar hand.

“Peg?”

She smiled. Eyes closed, confused and lost, she’d know that voice anywhere, and it made her feel safe.

Safe.

She let sleep claim her again, knowing she would be alright.

~*~

She dreamt. She dreamt of the light of the Tesseract surrounding her, cradling her, making her feel warm and fine and irrationally calm as Steve held her in his arms, the cold water rising up around them.

Wallace. Zola. Schmidt. The plane.

It flashed past her thoughts in a second: months of work that left her battered and bruised and nearly lost in her own mind.

And Blue.

Everything was tinged blue.

Blue, like Steve’s eyes. Blue, like the sky on a warm day when she was a child.

Blue, like the glow of the Tesseract when she touched it, fearing for her life, but instead feeling instantly calm, like a higher power had taken her hand and commended her for a job well done.

Blue, like the cold water welling around them, touching them but not, staying far enough away that she could still breathe, that she could still smell the sweat on Steve’s skin as she took what she thought would be her last breath.

Blue, like space and time standing still, holding her close in its power, letting her know that her time in this world wasn’t done yet.

She could feel herself swimming to consciousness. She could feel it pulling at her, but she was afraid. She was afraid to see where she ended up, afraid to open her eyes and find that it was just a dream, that she was still in occupied territory and her mission was far from over. Afraid to find she wasn’t with Steve, but with anyone else.

She took a deep breath and blinked open her eyes.

She was alone.

Two slow breaths, and nothing about the room changed. It was dimly lit, giving her the feeling of night, and she was surrounded by three walls and one heavy curtain. The bed was like no bed she’d ever seen before: sleek steel and plastic, stylized buttons, and a mattress that felt too soft and too firm all at the same time.

Slowly she sat, looking at the stack of machines next to her. They seemed almost fake without levers or buttons, but flat glass screens displayed readouts from the leads attached to her. She worked hard to keep her breathing slow, to keep her heart rate down as the machine quietly kept time with her.

Nothing about it made her think it was Hydra, which was a comfort, but nothing about it seemed familiar, which was not.

She heard the door start to creek, and didn’t have enough time to lay down and feign sleep before it swung all the way open.

It didn’t matter.

There he was.

Steve.

He dropped the thin screen he was holding and took big strides to her, wrapping her up in his arms before she could even comprehend that he was actually, really there. She let herself sink in his embrace, in the familiarity as he held her, whispering her name over and over.

He smelled different: the sharp hint of frontline lye soap was gone, but her head fit in that nook against his shoulder just the same, and the tiny hairs at the back of his neck felt exactly right as she let her fingers run through them. Every muscle was in the right place and his voice was smooth as honey and wrapped around her like a cocoon. Even the way he hugged her, soft at first then slowly tighter until she felt completely engulfed by his frame, was exactly the same.

He pulled back, eyes soft and worried and somehow so sad and so elated at the same time. “Peggy, please tell me you’re alright? Do you feel okay?” He let his hand run over her cheek, thumb brushing gently across her jaw.

Her tongue was thick in her mouth and she couldn’t quite get the words out, but she nodded. “Fine,” she croaked finally. “Just fine.”

He laughed, a light happy sound that came out as he smiled, looking happier than she could ever remember seeing him. “Yeah, you would be, wouldn’t you?”

“What happened?” she managed to scratch out, her throat dry.

The smile faded. “What do you remember?”

She looked him over, the dark feeling that something was terribly amiss creeping up on her again. She swallowed, saliva starting to coat her mouth and throat, making the words come out just a little gentler. “The plane. And Schmidt. I—I shot him.”

He nodded. “Anything after that?”

She looked at him, the crisp blue of his eyes reminding her of that feeling, that safe feeling that was so foreign. “You. Falling.” She paused, unsure but not willing to hide it. “Safe. I felt safe. I don’t know why.”

Steve nodded, pausing. He couldn’t quite find the words, but then, she really didn’t need him to.

“How long has it been?” she asked softly, taking his hand tightly in hers.

“Peggy…”

She pressed her forehead to his, closing her eyes. “How long, Steve?”

“Too long,” he whispered, the pain evident in his words, a pain he hadn’t shared with his friends who were still around, but far, far different from how he’d left them. “Seventy years.” The words hung in the silence between them, heavy. “I’m sorry, Peggy. It wasn’t supposed to happen like this.”

She leaned forward, closing the inch between their lips. She kissed him softly, his lips unmoving under hers for the barest of seconds before he kissed her back. She pulled away and snuggled herself deep in his embrace. “There’s nothing to be sorry for. We did what had to be done.” She sighed, her eyes fluttering closed at the feel of his hands in her hair. “We always knew there might be consequences.”

“Not like this,” he whispered, reveling in the feel of holding her close. He waited another breath, squeezing her tight before starting to push away. “I should get the doctor.”

“Not yet!” She clutched at him, feeling panic rise in her. He immediately stopped, pulling her closer again as she let out a shuddering breath. “Just… just not yet.” She felt tears start to well in her throat, the enormity of everything hitting her at once. “I need a minute. It’s…”

“It’s a lot.” He held her close, hand rubbing up and down her back. “It’s a lot.”

She nodded, her heart slowing just the slightest bit. She still couldn’t wrap her head around what had happened, or how they’d ended up here, but there was time for understanding. There was time for explanations.

Right now, the war was over, Hydra was gone, and she was in Steve’s arms, safe and warm. Things might be a little different than she’d imagined, but she had all she wanted and she wasn’t about to let the opportunity to live her life the way she wanted slip through her fingers.

She just needed one more minute in his arms, something she’d lacked for too long while they both faced down their enemies, and then she’d be ready to face whatever was on the other side of that hospital room door.

Just one more minute.

~*~

A/N: Thank you all for taking this journey with me. This has been a really funs tory to write, even if it has given me fits and starts here and there. Yes, I know this opens up an entire new world to play in, but I don't plan on exploring it any further, at least not right now. This story, and I'm still not exactly sure why, always ended with Steve and Peggy together in the future, courtesy of the Tesseract. (Oddly, Wallace was always meant to be a good guy, too, but we all see how that went...) Again, thank you for all your comments and replies. They truly do mean the world to me, even though it takes me a while to get back to you. 

[kanene-yaaay-o-retorno]

The Pink Pearl

Kanene’s Notes:

Soooo... I needed to improve my action scenes. And then this fanfic was born! :D)/ 

It has pirates and ghosts and pirate ghosts! :DD

Warnings, fun facts, random things and stuff:

* That fanfic was a bit inspired on that fabulous video  right here.

* Contains: Angst, Cursing, Hypnosis, Implied death, Clear description of bein hypnotized, clear description of a ship burning to the ground, Hur/Comfort, Mild Comfort, Mystical beings, Magic, Happy ending, Hopeful Ending.

* This characters do not belongs to me. They all belongs to Thomas Sanders.

* Something around 3.500 words. -w-)b.

* You can also find this fic on AO3.

* Sorry for any spelling, pontuation and grammar mistakes! Any advice is very very welcome!

* Tô com preguiça de postar a versão em português brasileiro aaaa! Thankys for reading! Eat a snack, rest, watch that favorite movie you have been wanting to see again, take care and drink water! Byeioo!~

                        [~*~]

“I need help.” He tried to not grimace with how the words dried even further his hurt throat as they left his lips, shivering when a sudden breeze from night’s cold froze the sweat on his skin. Remy - at least that was what he said his name was, but trusting in a pirate word could lead you to not so pleasant storms - snorted, moving his cuffs and pressing their backs closer.

 “Yeah, no shit.” His voice was raspy, tired, and not for the first time Emile wondered for how long he had been there, since his presence was already a constant when the amateur sailor’s boat had been plundered and he got captured, thrown on the darkest part of the ship and finding his company.

 “That makes two of us.” The last part came out as a bitter whisper.

 A peaceful wave hit the hull, making the ship stumble and rock under the moonlight that gazed pieces of their skin through a few cracks in the highest woods.

 “No. I mean, yes, but…” Emile sighed deeply, tired awareness washing over him as the sailor realized the full extent of his next words. He rested his head on Remy’s shoulder, a move which led the other to untense his muscles and be more open to conversations.

 They didn’t have much more time before the moon hit its highest spot in the sky and Emile wasn’t sure if they would make it to another full moon. Remy could only distract the crew so much. “I need your golden necklace.”

 The other stiffed, breath hitching, stiff pose. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

 “Yes, you do.” Calm voice, free of any accusation, his brown eyes stared at the ‘ceiling’ picturing stars and constellations and the unstable clouds and how it feels when the salty breeze hit his skin freely. “I know it’s probably an important possession for you given how long you’ve been hiding it, and I’m really sorry I am asking for it but we really need a good offering.”

 “Are you going to beg Neptune to save us?” Sound of fabric being ripped, the metal’s clicking making itself known. “He has islands and ships of gold being given to him right now, goldenfish. This may be a preciosity, but isn’t that worth it.” 

 Goldenfish: Breakable; Pirates who didn’t experience the true nightmares of surviving in the ocean; Naive; Fragile;

 “If I’m going to go in a shit way, at least let a captain die with the last of his treasures.” His voice choked in the middle of the sentence, but both pretended to not notice it.

 Emile felt dread fill his stomach, tightly closing his eyes as tears pricked their corners. Their captors never held their tongue, always discussing all their possibilities to get rid of their prisoners during parties and meetings on the main deck, voices loud enough to be heard by them both. Besides, the sailor was sure the crew wouldn’t stop themselves from making morbid remarks whenever Remy was called to ‘amuse’ them, even though the other refused to say anything to him when he was back, playing it off with some sarcastic sentences and ironic expressions.

 (Emile attempted to be interesting one time, trying to pry their attention from Remy at all costs. His light-hearted efforts and humored puns were rewarded with nasty bruises and more chores to deal with. There were no sarcastic phrases that day.)

 Still… It was the first time they talked about it out loud. Ignoring their eventful end made things more forgettable, easier to look away. But, now Emile was sure he wasn’t the only one sensing the impatience clouding and suffocating the air around them as the days went by.

 Emile wished they had more time. “We’re not going to die and I’m not going to pray to Neptune. Not today.” Remy scoffed, yet listening. “I have a pink pearl with me, it can…” His sentence trailed off, his tired mind trying to find an easy way to explain his family situation. “Some spirits own me a favor.” 

 Emile had seen Remy’s eyes when he was dragged, barely conscious, to his prison for the first time. They were black and deep like the bottom of the Ocean, full of untold beauties and unseen mysteries. He could almost feel their glare on him.

 “Do your spirits happen to be friends with the sea nymphs? The Thunder Damsels? Because that is the only fucking way we’re getting out of this.”

 “They can help.” Emile stayed firm, trying to buckle their conversation out the way it was heading.

 “Because…?”

 “Remy, we don’t have much more time, please, give me the necklace.”

 “Oh, of course, I am sorry for trying to know who my last possession is going to. What a bitch, am I right? Wait! Thinking better about it, why don’t we go up there and ask for the crew to help us? They’re full of gold, too!” He hissed. Because he couldn’t even shout out his irritation. Because it has been days since he last slept due his haunting nightmares, but the possibility of this being a dream freezes his blood and tights his throat. Because Emile’s hope was beginning to make its way to his soul and he knew how dangerous that could be.

 “Ghosts, ok?! They are ghosts!”

 Remy stared the wall in disbelief, seconds passing by. Emile closed his eyes.

 “My stars, are you trusting our lives to haunting ghosts?” He barked a laugh, despair and astonishment dripping from his words. 

 But Emile didn’t laugh, seeming to shrink behind him.

 So, Remy stopped, convincing himself that it was because of the coughing fit that hit him, molesting his dry throat, and not the soft heart he so fiercely denied to have.

 Someone dropped a cup on the upper floor, curses immediately following suit. The sound made them both jump a few inches in the air, unable to stop the squirming, the shivering. The other’s whisper cut the silence.

 “If you can’t trust me now, I don’t know when you will.”

 Remy sighs, pressing their backs closer and lightly elbowing his ribs. 

 “Drop the pout, starfish.” As he got up, his chained hands maneuvered to grab his necklace from the hidden pocket on his boot, dropping it on the cold floor and carefully pushing it in Emile’s direction. “If this doesn’t work, I’m getting you back later.”

 “Thank you.” The sailor’s smile only increased as Remy scoffed. Although, he didn’t have too much time to rest in the warm feeling blooming on his chest, quickly getting the pearl from his own hidden place. He gathered the two objects on his hands before sitting in front of a small hole he opened on the lower part of their cell, a glimpse of the ocean shining behind it. 

 Deep breaths. Ok. He could do this.

 The well known chant sea flew from his mouth. It sounded like sunny afternoons and picnics, and nights embraced on the dimming dark, and soft hugs, and loud laughter with the feeling of freedom and dances around a wooden, crowned table. It was melodious, it was memories and his last shout of hope. His energy, his gratitude, his fear, his last chance, his last treasure, everything was offered.

 The objects fell from his palms and were engulfed by the deep, incessant waves. 

 For a moment nothing happened and Remy regretted all his life choices, a not new habit of his, however at least this time he had a different reason, especially as Emile continued the tunes of that old song, apparently unfazed by the clear failure of his attempt.

 Then Remy realized.

 Besides his voice there was…quiet.

 A life dedicated to explore and navigate the seven seas could be a lot of things. I could be dangerous, it could be difficult, lonely, adventurous, memorable, exhausting and even boring. But never quiet. There was always something. Always the melody of the waves carrying your ship, the wind slapping the sails, the mermaids whispering in your ears, a curse daunting your dreams… Silence could be present, but not for long and never as absolute.

 But now…?

 Now everything was quiet.

 And that made a run shiver run across his spine, muscles tenses, instincts shouting. “Emile?”

 The sailor didn’t respond, didn’t even stir as the temperature turned unbearably colder.

 “Emile,” His dark eyes widened as his breath became visible in the air. “Emile, stop singing!”

 “I already did.” He whispered, his stranger soft voice muffled, with something missing.

 The ex captain noticed the truth behind his words as he concentrated. His senses could notice the melody coming from nowhere specific, echoing on the walls in a steady, patient pace. 

 A soft high pitched giggle cut the song. And, no, Remy did not shriek. Shut up.

 “They’re here.” Emile’s voice was filled with something he couldn’t quite place, nor did have time as, in the middle of the room, a silhouette started to form, trembling and bending the light around it.

 [...]

 Aaron didn’t believe a lot of things, which, in itself, doesn’t mean that the amount of things he did believe was in any way whimsy. 

 Actually, he considered himself a very rational, plain figure. He believed in what he saw, touched and experienced. That is why he was on the nocturn security duty. His mind wasn’t easily fooled and his instincts were something he had plenty of capacity to control. 

 He prided himself on the moments of dinner and drinking, the hours of dawn when the crew would be a tad too drunk, playing and saying that, if any day Aaron stumbled on the feathered singer - because even on the fog of the rum, they knew best than say the name of the creatures out loud and pull bad luck onto their travel - he would be controlled enough to laugh at them, spit some curses and them navigate away while appreciating their nice melody in the background.

 That was the memory which clawed on him as the mist involved the masts, swirling in a calm manner to the wooden floor, a whispering beginning to take over his eardrums. It was a song that made his bones ache and muscles tremble. He closed his hands on fists, nails tearing the epidermis to stay firm. 

 Even when a not-quite red, not-quite translucid figure appeared four feet away from him. Sitting in front a mesmerizing pitfire, carefully rocking the silver liquid in the golden chalice held firmly by his fingers, his lips parted, the chant pouring from them.

 And the fire? The fire danced under his control, at each musical note it contorted and expanded, inch by inch, flame by flame. It got higher, vivid, swirling wound the translucid form who extended his hand and let the element run freely across his palm, petting it as if it was a domesticate, harmless animal.

 The calm melody hit its climax, the high, vibrant note was prolonged, taking over the air, stealing all the attention and all the oxygen from the viewer.

 He got up and the flames continued to travel from his hands through his body, burning his clothes which dissolved in brilliant ashes and left behind a gleaming trail of a completely new vestment being formed.

 Under Aaron’s – mesmerized – attentive gaze long crimson sleeves involved his arms, crawling across his shoulders and leading the way to his chest, a warm white fabric shining under the moonlight, the fervent grooves that cut it in the form of limpid waves flowed through the petticoat from the gorgeous dress from the figure that couldn’t be named as translucid, anymore.

 The song stopped.

 The flames, much higher, much larger, raised like curtains behind the mysterious being, and his scarlet screaming eyes focused on Aaron, stealing his oxygen, again, and demanding – commanding him to show - every slight drop of his attention. His lips parted, one more time.

 The song was back.

 And he began to dance.

 The fire accompanied the synchronized movements of his arms, also performing its own dance on the ship, spreading across the floor on the rhythm of his footsteps, sliding from the vestment’s veils and taking over all the space, climbing the ratlines, burning the masts, consuming the emergency boars and dancing together with the red figure and his frenetic melody, which overflowed and inundated everything around, attacking and drowning Aaron, who didn’t allowed his glare to deviated from the moves before him for one single second, all the others things being forgotten.

 Beautiful. Everything was beautiful.

 “And wouldn’t it be even more if you could dance with him?” A velvety voice – that wasn’t his – whispered on his mind in golden shades.

 “Yes…” Aaron answered, hoarse. When did his throat get so dried like this? Why didn’t he realize it sooner? Why wasn't the oxygen coming back?

 “Then go.” The gold thought was fast in cutting his line of thinking, leading him to focus one more time on the figure in front of him. “He will love to guide you through the steps.”

 And Aaron agreed quickly, wondering how the other’s hands would feel under his touch. If they would be cold for his previous translucent state or hot just as the fire that accompanied him. He questioned himself if the flames would follow his pace, dancing with him, as well. He wanted. He wanted to be so beautiful like this. Maybe if he controlled the fire, maybe if he showed himself so skilled like this the being before him, he would be the one mesmerized. He would be the one to bow and to ask him for a dance.

 He got closer and closer from the fire, extending his hand, about to pet it.

 Perhaps…

 A splitting pain spread like an explosion through the length of his arm and Aaron moved away with a scream, tears falling from his eyes with the painfully beat of his burned hand capturing all his senses, the song and dance disappearing from his mind.

 And suddenly the frightened screams filled his eardrums. Sounds of pleas for help, of kicks and punches and wood crackling smacking him in an only one hit that destabilize the pirate, leaving him coughing and gasping and loud, so LOUD-

 His eyes widened. Hot. Hot. Everything was burning. He was burning.

 He wanted to scream. His throat was dry, but he needed to scream, needed to warn everyone, needed to-

 “Rest.” The calm, velvety voice came back to his mind, offering peace, a safe space to where he could flee.

 (An illusion made especially for him.)

 However, he couldn’t. Everything was hot and burning and it shouldn’t be like that. He knew it shouldn’t be like that. This wasn’t normal. Wasn’t good. Screams.  He also needed to scream. Because he was hot and the ship was hot and he was-

 “-With a fever. You’re burning from sickness. Just a small fever isn’t something worth waking and alerting the others, right? You’re so clever, so strong, you sure can manage to ignore such futile, delirious dream alone. Maybe the rest of the crew wouldn’t be able to, but you’re braver. No one can ever fool you.”

 Yes. This was true. He was intelligent, reasonable. That is why they always choose him to be on the night duty, because no one could do a better job than him.

 A very known song begins to ask for his attention, one more time.

 He can do it. He knows how to take care of the danger, so-

 “-so there is no reason to worry, because there isn’t any danger here. It’s just a dream. A beautiful dream.”

 His eyes rise and meet again with the dancer. Beautiful. So beautiful.

 “Yes. That is true. Then why don’t you just relax and enjoy your wonderful, special dream?” The yellowish, velvet aura involves his body and suddenly the hotness stops to bother him, just like the ship dismantling in flames and the screams of help of the pirates locked on their rooms, terrified by the illusions taking form and life in the middle of the darkness.

The red eyes, for a second, focused on something behind Aaron, smiling, before finally sticking on his, the smile still on his expression as his hand went in his direction and rested on his forehead, a melodious tune following his acts.

 “Sleep and dance on your dreams.”

 And then everything disappeared in soot and ebano.

 [...]

 “Oh my stars!! Martin! It’s been so long!” Émile controlled himself to not laugh at Remy’s astonished expression – even if the shorter tried to hide it in a nonchalant behavior, - which proved itself to be simpler when the sky-blue ghost dashed until they were face to face, squeezing his cheeks and alternating between smiling at him and frowning at the number of old and new bruises that covered his skin. “You’re so tall now!! You kiddos grow up so fast!! Do these hurt? No worries! Roman, Remus and Janus are taking care of everything so we will be able to properly take care of you and your friend in a bit, okay? It’s been so much time since they saw you! I bet they also can’t wait to hear all the news!”

 Picani stared deep into that shiny gaze, couldn’t help himself but smile back at Patton, a faint, almost erased memory of the blue figure helping him and his grandpa to make cookies in one of the docks they used to visit, they all whistling happily the known melody shining on the back of his mind. The memory was blurred, mostly consisting in laughter, songs and a warm feeling.

 “Pat,” he gulped, mindless playing with the chains that locked his wrists on the walls of the cell, a frown in his face. Patton lightly hit the side of his own head, dislodging a bit his glasses’ frame, letting go of his face and heading to the keys poorly hanging on a rusty nail on the other side of the room.

 (A constant reminder from the others of the freedom they could achieve if they only would be able to research the keys…)

 “That is right, that is right!” He carried a happy aura on his steps, floating to them in a fast pace, unlocking their cell, kindly glancing at him and Remy, who eyed him for a few seconds before having his attention claimed by smoke descending from the cracks on their ceiling. “We should probably be heading out here just now!”

 “Pat,” Emile tried again, holding his hand when the ghost freed him, ignoring the goosebumps running across his arms in a protest about the coldness of the other’s skin. His tune was careful. “I am Emile. Emile Picani. My dad gave me the pearl.” Patton’s smile faltered, a glint of understanding and something else taking over the gleam on his eyes. “It’s been twenty three years.”

 “Oh,” he muttered, squeezing his hands back, eyes looking for something in his gaze. Something Emile couldn’t quite place. “oh, kiddo… I am sorry.”

 Emile gave him a kind, sad smile.

 “Me too.”

 “You really grew up fast, didn’t you, kiddo?” Remy deviated his eyes from the scene, partly because the feeling of twist on his guts meant that he was probably intruding on a private moment and partly because his attention was again held by the sudden, growing hotness which didn’t cease to expand across the entirety of the ship. Muffled screams coming from all the places and nowhere at the same time. His body started to get absurdly antsy with adrenaline, sweat dripping from his forehead.

 A flaming part of the ceiling fell in the middle of their cell, jolting the two from their conversation, the blue ghost blinking a few times at the flames.

 “Ah.” He speeded his pace to free them from their cell, smoke and soot starting to paint and took over the air. “Well, guess this is our clue to get going!! Come on, come on! This way!”

 “Fucking heck finally.” Remy only didn’t shout his displeasure due how hurt his throat was, however he made it sure his voice wasn’t low enough so the others wouldn’t be able to notice, even though none of them opted to point his reaction, deciding instead to nearly dash through the doors and stairs of the ship until finally arrive at the handrails, ignoring the way flames danced and deviated from them, a red figure smiling brightly at Patton’s direction when he waved, yellow eyes from another golden person staring them as if he could read their souls.

 Remy ignored both as another ship arrived, medium size, well conserved and barely noticeable, his eyes feeling the urge to look at everywhere except it every time he tried to concentrate his efforts to capture all the details, but he kept himself firm, noticing how it doesn’t own any visible treasure, the only thing more catching being the navy fog covering all its extent, flowing in abundance from the form in the main deck, his hands moving with precise, fast gestures.

 A dark purple ghost popped from absolutely nothing in front of them, inquisitive, wary glare.

 Remy narrowed his eyes back, his guts screaming to not trust the wooden board thrown at their current position, making a not very secure path from one ship to another. The purple being smirked at his expression.

 “V! We’re back.”

 “Good. The princey and the snake right there are almost over and Logan is growing restless. Remus is already on his room, resting.” His face lost its softness when he stared right back at the humans. “Get in. Fast.”

 Emile nodded, wanting nothing more than to leave this nightmare and maybe get a good night of sleep, but his arm was held in a warm, firm – yet gentle – grip.

 “Is that bitch even safe?”

 V’s smirk grew. “Define ‘safe’.”

 “Things that I can touch and embark without fucking dying.”

 “Death is inevitable,” the purple – V, as it seems, looked smug with his words, - any choice is just a pathway to this end.”

 “I’m going to fucking show him the pathway.”

 “Remy, please no.” Emile sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

 “Think I can’t punch a motherfucker ghost? Fight me.”

 “I know you can’t. Bring it on.”

 “Virgil.”

 “Remy.”

 Patton and Emile said at the same time, with the same hard tone that made both of them deflate in a very similar way, still glaring dangerously at each other, but clearly putting more physical space between them. Emile patted the ex-captain hands, warm eyes.

 “Can you go first so I can hold on your cape? My balance is not very good.” Because he realized, somewhat, how he was trembling and that holding him was the one thing assuring Remy that none of this was just another crazy dream.

 He gulped, then nodded, his usual snarky remark already falling.

 “If I die, no offer will get me out of your back.”

 “Noted.” The sailor replied, chuckling lowly.

 And then they both walked to their first of many future nights, after so many tears and tears, of being able to watch the stars and feel the sea’s breeze.

 Safe.

[yet-another-fan-girl9]

Different Worlds (3)

Summary: You’re the youngest Winchester, a girl who needs to show her big brothers that she doesn’t need help. Then one day, on a totally normal vampire hunt that you had all under control, three meddling Avengers come barging in.

Warnings: language, violence, canon divergence, slow burn, me making stuff up

Word Count: 2011

A/N: This is basically how I’m going to update this series: like two a day and then a multiple month hiatus.

~*~

Chapter 3: Trouble On the Horizon

You sat in the booth, squished up to the wall because of a large, dark-haired supersoldier next to you. Across from you, the Falcon was happily eating his burger with Captain America next to him. You quickly sent a message to Sam and Dean telling them that you were fine and that you would meet them back at the bunker.

“Sooo…” you prompted the superheroes before you took a bite of your burger. 

“What happened back there?” the man next to you asked and turned his steel-blue eyes on to you.

You took your time before answering, chewing your food, swallowing, and then taking a sip of your drink. “That was Mr. Robert Walker.”

“Why’d he do those disappearing tricks?” the Falcon asked.

“‘Cause he’s dead.” The men raised their eyebrows simultaneously. “Robert Walker and his wife, Petra, died in like 1970 or something.”

“So he was a ghost?” Captain America clarified.

“Yep.” You popped the ‘p.’ “They, or their ghosts, were responsible for a couple of recent deaths ‘round here.”

“Why?”

“Spirits do things for different reasons.” You shrug. The three men were actually listening intently. “Some want revenge or just keep killing the way they killed people when they were alive.”

“You’ve done this before?”

“‘Course!” you snort. “‘S my job.”

“You’re a ghost hunter?”

“Sure.” You took a long sip of your drink.

“Why did you kill everyone at the bar? Pretty fucking sure they weren’t ghosts,” the Winter Soldier spat at you. His friends raised their eyebrows slightly in surprise at his tone.

“Yeah… that was a colony of vamps.”

“Vampires?” the Falcon asked with a smile and wide eyes.

“Yes, vampires!” You mimic his expression before dropping it quickly and resuming your so-called ‘resting bitch face.’ It was important to look intimidating in this line of work.

“Why did you have to cut off their heads?” Captain America sat back and crossed his arms.

“How else was I supposed to kill ‘em?”

“Did you have to kill them?”

Uhg. This is why. This is why the hunters stayed away from goodie two shoes, ass-kissing heroes. They always wanted to find a way to save people. Even if they were too far gone. Even if they were so blatantly monsters.

“Yes, I had to kill them. It’s. My. Job.”

“So there are ghosts and vampires,” the Falcon said to change the topic, “what else?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know.” Your friendly mood had disappeared. Your back ached from where Mr. Walker threw you against the wall and you were tired. “I’m done here.”

“How’s your arm?” the blue-eyed man next to you asked, stopping your ‘escape attempt’ of climbing over the back of the seat.

“Whadya mean?”

“Last time, with the vampires, you injured your arm.”

Well, you didn’t expect this. Especially from the Winter Soldier. You could tell he wasn’t satisfied with your answers, or lack of them, but at the same time, he was actually asking about your injury.

“‘S all healed.” You pulled down your shirt from the collar to show them. Cas had been useful and fixed you up. No ugly puncture wounds today.

“How?” You looked at the man for more explanation. “How did you heal so fast. It was only a week ago.”

“Mag-my friend is really good at patching people up.” There was a beat of silence. “Can I go home now?”

“We’ll take you home.”

“Thank you, Mister America.”

“Call me Steve.” You narrowed your eyes at the patriotic man. “My name is Steve Rogers. We know all about you, might as well tell you about us.”

“You don’t know anything about me,” you mumbled as the Falcon introduced himself as Sam. “My brother’s name is Sam.” They probably already knew that.

“We know.”

“I’m James Barnes,” the Winter Soldier less enthusiastically than his teammates who gave him a sharp look. “But my friends call me Bucky.”

You snorted. “Bucky? What kinda name’s ‘Bucky?’”

“It’s from his middle name, Buchanan,” Steve explained while Bucky glared at you.

“Well then, Bucky. You were going to take me home?”

You had the superheroes drop you off in St. Louis, Missouri. You had a motorcycle in a storage cell in the city. Your brothers didn’t need you bringing some superheroes to the front door. Who knew if they were going to continue to show up?

You loitered around the city for a while after they left, just in case they were still watching you. You’ve never gotten the opportunity to explore St. Louis before due to, you know, being wanted by the FBI. Today, you still kept your head low.

About an hour after the superheroes left you, you made your way to the storage compound with a Starbucks drink in your hand. You smiled when your black, retro motorcycle caught your eye. It had been a while since you last rode. You dusted off your helmet, because it would be a sad ending for a hunter to go out because of a simple road accident, before swinging your leg over the vehicle. Time to go home.

~*~

Bucky sat in the quinjet, this time with the rest of the team. A Hydra base they had just recently raided had shown signs of activity. Somehow, he couldn’t get his mind to focus on the current mission. Didn’t he not want to go on that little case a week ago? Now he couldn’t get (Y/N) off his mind.

No, she wasn’t stuck in his head because he thought she was pretty. Or very capable of taking care of herself. Even though she did look very nice with her shotgun. No. (Y/N) was only occupying his mind because there was a mystery surrounding her and Bucky had to get to the bottom of it.

Obviously by talking to (Y/N) more. That wasn’t a bad thing. Good thing Sam couldn’t read his thoughts.

Bucky peeked at Wanda sitting a few seats away. She had her earphones in, no doubt to block out everyone’s thoughts. She mentioned before that everyone was loud before missions but music helped.

He still had the niggling worry that (Y/N) and her brothers had something to do with Hydra. Or Hydra had something to do with them. Did Hydra know about ghosts and vampires? Bucky knew how many experiments they performed on people. He’s pretty sure that they tried to make vampires once. That didn’t end well with anyone.

The rough landing of the quinjet and Clint’s incessant apologies from the cockpit pulled Bucky out of his thoughts. They left the plane in sets of three: him, Steve, and Sam (of fucking course); Natasha, Clint, and Wanda; Tony, Rhodey, and Vision.

Tony’s team tackled the outside forces as Nat’s team took the north entrance. Bucky’s team made it into the south entrance with ease. They faced very little opposition as they made their way down the halls of the facility. Bucky hoped and assumed that it was because Hydra didn’t have the manpower.

“Guys, look at this,” Sam called down the hallway from a random room.

Steve and Bucky followed Sam into the room. It was dimly lit and empty save for a couple of cans of red paint in the corner and a large book on a stand in the middle of the floor. Sam had opened the book and was flipping through the yellowed pages.

“What’s this?” Bucky walked up to him and the book while Steve kept an eye out on the hallway.

“I dunno. Can’t read it.” When Sam flipped through, Bucky noticed strange symbols decorating the pages. “Woah,” Sam exclaimed when he landed on a certain page. “Didn’t know Hydra did this kinda stuff.”

The page displayed a large red pentagram along with instructions in what Bucky assumed was Latin. Even though he couldn’t read the words, the star spoke enough. A chill went down his spine and his mind instantly went to (Y/N). Was this part of her world?

“Let’s take it,” Bucky suggested. “Don’t want to leave it with them.”

“What’s all this?” Nat interrupted.

“What are you doing here?” Sam spun around quickly.

“The building’s clear. I was doing our job while you were having a book club.”

“Apparently Hydra’s into some weird shit.” Bucky motioned to the pentagram on display.

“Fuck,” Natasha mumbled as her eyes searched the pages. “Looks like Hydra was planning some Satanic ritual.” Her words echoed through the comms.

“You can read Latin?” Sam asked.

“Let’s just get out of here,” Bucky grumbled, grabbed the large book, and marched out of the room.

~*~

“We have a problem,” Cas announced, suddenly appearing and startling everyone in the previously quiet room.

“Hello to you too, Cas,” Dean smirked.

“Hi, Cas!” Jack beamed at one of his many father figures.

“What is it?” Sam rationally asked. You closed the book you weren’t really reading and took your feet off the table to sit up and look more attentive.

“Lucifer is trying to take heaven.”

“Again?” You fiddled with your new ring.

You had found it on the ground in one of the storage rooms in the bunker. Jack didn’t find anything malevolent on it, but he said that it could store energy and magic. At your request, he had filled it with healing magic. You really didn’t want to die. Again.

“Yes, again,” Cas answered. You paused for a second before remembering your question before losing your train of thought. 

“This isn’t really a problem anymore,” Dean pointed out. “Just a monthly chore.”

“Weekly, actually,” Cas corrected. “He would try to break out every Saturday, but he had ceased his attempts for the last five weeks.”

Lucifer was being held in Heaven, or you supposed he used to be held there considering he was now trying to gain control. The angels decided to lock him in Heaven because it was easier than trying to shove him back into the cage. It also kept him away from his demonic minions.

“He broke out and now is gathering forces to take Heaven?” Dean guessed.

“Sounds like my father,” said Jack under his breath and you gave him a small, sympathetic rub on the back.

“Yes,” continued Cas. “He’s already recruited some witches to find a book of spells. He’s looking for the Magicae Libro.”

“The… Magic Book?” you laughed. “Creative.”

“They didn’t need to be creative when it was the only one.”

“Right, sorry. So what is the Magicae Libro, other than a magic book?”

“It was the first spellbook. Written by some of the first witches, directly advised by Lucifer. Because of the power basically woven into the pages, the spells and rituals cast using the book are more powerful.”

“That’s a thing?” Sam ran his hand through his hair.

“We gotta get to it before the witches bring it to Lucifer, then,” Dean spoke over his brother.

“Any idea where we start?” Jack asked plainly.

“Maybe ask our own witch to get it for us,” you suggested. “Rowena’s always in it for the power and she would want the Magicae Libro for herself.”

“Rowena is unpredictable,” Cas argued.

“She’s gotten better, though.”

“Don’t let her hear you say that,” Dean butted in. “She’d kill a bunch of people just out of spite.”

“We can let her take the book once Lucifer is under control once again.”

“We promised her powerful books before.” Cas wasn’t giving it to her.

“And the deals worked. We’re all still alive. The same deal can work again.”

“I am not giving the Magicae Libro to Rowena!”

“Then you and Jack go looking for it.”

“Jack is going nowhere,” Cas growled. “His father will be looking for him. We don’t want Lucifer to find the book and Jack in the same place.”

“Then we ask Rowena for help.”

“No.”

“I can do it,” Jack agreed.

“No!” All three men yelled at the boy.

“Jack or Rowena.” You held out your hands and moved them up and down like a scale. “Jack or Rowena. Pick one.”

“Fine.” Cas glared at the table. “Call Rowena.”

~*~

~*~

~*~

~*~

~*~

Tag List (strike though means tag didn’t work):

@grav3dollie-666

[derireo]

night and day - misumi & hisoka

It was a bright, but chilly weekday at the Mankai Dorm. This meant that all of the students were already out of the house while the adults with jobs were probably going to come home later as per usual.

Izumi didn't have any meetings this morning so she was hoping to get some more hours of sleep in, but with Misumi startling her awake by hopping onto her bed, she feared that that was not going to happen.

"Izumi!" The young energetic man yowled happily as he bounded onto the bed then snuck under the sheets to cling onto the director who was still trying to snap out of her hazy stupor. A helpless whine blew out of Izumi's nostrils, but her arm still automatically lifted up to let Misumi cuddle against her side.

"Mornin', mornin'!" He laughed and curled his arms around her midriff, his nose just barely bumping into her jaw as he practically wrapped around her like an octopus.

Her body was suddenly engulfed by his surprisingly strong arms, and she couldn't help but sigh a little at the warmth. Even if she wasn't going to get any more time to rest, at least Misumi made up for it with his furnace like temperature.

She almost screamed in surprise when she felt something collapse into her lap next, but it was only Hisoka who was pouting and squinting due to the sunlight that was filtering in through the windows.

Her exasperated sigh was loud and clear, but she didn't do much to push away the two men who were now in her bed. Instead, she brushed her fingers through Misumi's hair as he bumbled on about something she couldn't understand while Hisoka buried his face into the plush blanket that separated him and the two.

Misumi and Hisoka are probably the only adults who don't have a job from what she can remember, but she never really thought about what they did to pass the time when everyone was out and about doing their own thing.

Now wide awake, Izumi stared up at her creamy white ceiling as she groomed the young men with her gentle, caressing fingers. Her mind was still a little sluggish as she tried to figure out what time it was, but the incessant cheek rubbing coming from Misumi kept distracting her.

"Did you two eat breakfast yet?" She questioned aloud. At this point, Misumi wasn't letting go of Izumi and effectively kept her from sitting up from the bed.

Hisoka hummed lazily from his spot near her stomach and squished his cheek against the fluffy blanket with a low sigh, giving no clear answer to the question asked.

"Yes! Omi-mi made me a triangle omelette!" Misumi crooned happily from where his face was pushed into the crook of the director's neck. Izumi thanked the gods above for blessing her with a man like Omi and ruffled Hisoka's hair next to get him to talk.

The silver haired man grumbled under his breath and raised his hand to catch Izumi's wrist between his fingers, the small curve of his lips indicating a frown was about to make its way onto his face. The woman huffed back at him and let her hand fall, palm warming the cool skin of Hisoka's cheek as her fingers lightly traced the arch of his eyebrow.

The comfort of her touch on his face nearly made Hisoka sigh, and with the selfish desire to keep her attention on him, he turned his head to press his lips to her palm as his hand tightened around her wrist, thumb brushing along the pulse that beat under her skin.

"Soufflé." He murmured softly, the word leaving his mouth a muffled mess. Izumi smiled knowingly despite the short answer and brushed the pad of her thumb down the bridge of Hisoka's nose as a reward, her touch affectionate as she tipped her chin to plant a morning kiss to Misumi's forehead.

"I still need to eat," Izumi patted their heads, "let me get up."

She was quickly pulled down by both men when she attempted to sit up in bed and she couldn't help but sigh. Figures.

Every member from each troupe always pulled her back down to her spot no matter where she was. Sakyo would make her sit beside him as he looked over bills, Tsumugi would hold onto her hand so they could tend to the same flowers together, and even Itaru wouldn't let her budge from his lap as he played on his computer.

Misumi and Hisoka were the worst from the bunch, with Banri and Masumi in tow. The two adults never let go of Izumi when it's just the three of them left in the dorm.

"I'll carry you!" Misumi volunteered right away while Hisoka grumbled. He didn't want to move.

"Do you know what Omi made me for breakfast?" The woman gazed at Misumi who was already scrambling off the bed when she did not yet accept his offer, and she groaned unhappily with Hisoka when a pair of strong arms started hauling her out of bed.

The fluffy haired man rolled onto his back and stretched with a yawn once Misumi managed to get Izumi bundled up in his arms. She held onto the energetic man's neck and sighed helplessly, it didn't seem like she was going to get much done today without Misumi or Hisoka hanging around.

"He left some karepan on the table," Hisoka managed to speak out, suddenly on his feet as he trailed behind Misumi who was practically jogging out of the director's bedroom towards the lounge, "said he made it for you."

"It's like Omi has all the time in the world to make these foods in a single morning." Izumi fawned over the absent university student with a dreamy sigh before she was gently set down on the sofa with Hisoka immediately taking his rightful place, his head plopping onto her lap as his legs dangled off of the side of the couch.

"It's still warm!" Misumi happily chirped from his spot in the kitchen, his steady hands holding the plate that held Izumi's breakfast.

Izumi gave him her thanks and beamed at Misumi a smile that competed with his own toothy grin. The sweet ball of energy plopped down on the couch beside her and held the plate in his lap after giving her a few napkins.

In one hand she held a crispy golden brown serving of karepan while the other ran its fingers through Hisoka's hair, earning the director a low purr.

She began to munch on her tasty breakfast while Misumi helped her flip through channels on the television for all of them to listen to. It seemed to Izumi that Misumi wasn't feeling very energetic and jumpy this day, and so she offered him her food despite it not being the shape he would've liked. To her surprise, the young man opened up his mouth and took a bite from the fried bread and hummed happily.

The quiet crunch of the crispy bread being eaten made Izumi hungrier and so she continued to eat, listening to the low rumble from the television as birds began to chirp outside the window. Hisoka lazily mumbled something under his breath and then yawned, stretching his legs while his arms were still tightly crossed over the other as he napped.

"Did you sleep well, Misumi?" Izumi had asked curiously when the lavender haired triangle hunter stayed silent as she ate. When she turned her head all of a sudden to look at him, Misumi jumped. His smile was almost automatic and he wiggled his shoulders playfully to reassure Izumi's squinting gaze that he was alright.

"I did!" He nodded. "I just really wanted to keep you company today."

He flashed her a grin that showed off his one sharp canine and it immediately made her relax back into the sofa with a sigh. Misumi leaned his head on her shoulder with a sigh of his own when she went back to eating and pouted instead, kicking his feet a little as he handed her the last karepan.

"You were very busy this week. Hisoka and I missed you lots." He murmured, to which Hisoka, in his sleep, mumbled in agreement.

The sad lilt to his voice was enough for Izumi's heart to squeeze with guilt. She had been very busy this week, with loads of folders with paperwork she had to go over. There was also the new script that Tsuzuru had written for the Winter Troupe that she had to read through and edit which kept her in her room more often than not.

She only showed her face when she had to do groceries or go to work and most of the time ate all of her meals in her room so that she could multitask there with no distractions.

Sure, there'd be the occasional visit from Muku or Taichi for help with homework, Homare asking to recite his poems to her, and Sakyo to remind her to take care of herself when she was holed up in her room for too long, but she managed to finish all of her work in time. She didn't think that her absence would affect Hisoka and Misumi that much considering their hobbies didn't exactly involve her most of the time.

"I'm sorry, Sumi." The director shook her head, disappointed in herself. Misumi only responded with a light hum blowing out from his nostrils before setting the empty plate on the coffee table to comfortably bury his face into the crook of her neck, his arms curling around her waist as Hisoka grumbled at all of the movement the two were making.

"We can do fun things today if you'd like?" She said through a mouthful of karepan. The offer was quickly shot down by the shake of Misumi's head and she pursed his lips in thought. She thought of doing one of those triangle puzzles Azuma had brought him one day and the colouring books he left under the coffee table, but Misumi beat her to it.

"I just want to cuddle." He yawned, his breath against her neck sending goosebumps along her skin. "Just like this until you have to go back to work."

She hummed softly as she finished her breakfast, leaning her head against Misumi's.

"Let's go back to my bed then. It's more comfortable," she coaxed, blowing away the few strands of hair that stuck to her face, "plus, Sakyo will scold us if he comes home and sees the three of us like this."

At the utterance of 'Sakyo', Hisoka's body rolled off of Izumi to quickly walk in the direction of her bedroom. It wasn't that he was scared of the man, but he hated listening to him nag whenever there was nothing to exactly be upset about. He was just saving his ears the boredom and pain.

With the disappearance of Hisoka, both Misumi and Izumi looked at each other with wide eyes before bursting out into laughter, and while Izumi was still giggling to herself, Misumi had managed to lift her up into his arms again. Her surprised yelp was drowned out by Misumi's joyful yowling back, and he quickly ran to follow Hisoka to her bedroom, the director squealing in fear at how fast they were going.

Sakyo somehow still found something to complain about when he walked into her bedroom hours later, the trio sleeping peacefully in her bed.

[imjustpeachy8]

An Inconvenient Spark

Part I.  Summary: He's a Commander in the Resistance. You are a lowly force-sensitive thief from an equally lowly planet with order defying tendencies. You two under no circumstance get along. Your life take a turn the moment you decide to save his arrogant sorry-ass from certain death. If only you knew saving him would result in joining the Resistance finding not only your purpose in life - but also the biggest oaf-looking asshole in the whole galaxy. If only you could go back in time to that day - you would let him die, just to rid of this incessant headache Ben Solo is giving you. AU.

Warnings: language

Word Count: 2k

A/n:  i just needed an angsty, slow burn Ben Solo fic I guess. Go easy on me guys, this is my first time with writing.

Ben Solo woke up with the intent to make that day better than the last one. Last day was - well, it was complicated. It was messy, unnecessary and downright ridiculous.

He still felt his frustration consuming every bit of his body. Yesterday, it had decided to sit on his heart and made a home in it. He didn't know how long he was going to feel it. And he hated the whole situation in each passing moment more.

Still, he forced himself to start the day as a new one. A blank page. Nothing else before the morning.

It would be for the best. For him, and for the whole base, actually. Yes, he decided then - he would do that, he would behave, he would pretend that everything was fine - just for the sake of the people who he led and commanded. And for her Mother - yes, for her he would behave.

When he stepped foot in the command center, the whole place fell silent for a moment.

Great.

Letting out a breath, he scanned the room to find a familiar face. After a second, Lt. Connix appeared next to him, a small smile disappearing from her face the moment her eyes found his.

"She's in her office, Commander. She's waiting for you."

"Thanks" - he muttered out, and went on his way.

When he reached the door of the office, he gave himself a moment to collect his thoughts. He pushed through the entrance, only to find himself face-to-face with her mother’s stern look.

"Commander, it's good to see you. Although, i believe this was due yesterday." - her tone made sure to have an edge in it.

He huffed out a breath in return. His annoyance was coming back in an instant.

"I apologize. I was.. I wasn't in the right state of mind last night and -"

"So I heard." - she replied. "Tell me, son.. what were you thinking? To send off your comrade without a blaster, and then leave her to fend for herself on her own."

Ahhh, right.

He knew this would be a problem. He just had a tiny little hope that his mother would somehow understand. Basically, he did nothing wrong. He just lost his cool for a moment back there. For a couple of moments, really, but that wasn’t important right now.

"We went back to her, she's fine and i didn’t think she'd be stupid enough to not have a blas-.."

"That's enough." - Leia pinched her nose with her delicate fingers and let out a sigh. "Ben.. you need to be smarter than this. I know the two of you had a rocky start, but this whole thing looks like you deliberately tried to leave her to die on that planet." - She was raising her voice now, obviously mad at this whole ordeal. "She's not just your fellow comrade, she's also under your guide." - She let out another long breath. "You have to fix this."

"Fine." - he reluctantly replied.

There were a lot of things Ben Solo learned in his 28 years of his life. One of the many was, that somehow women - and especially his mother - would turn out right in every argument. Every kriffing time.

Agreeing with her would be beneficial. And if he wanted to be honest with himself, a teeny tiny part of him felt guilty.

So, he let her have the last words, let her see how sorry he was - even if it only was an act. He would get scolded a little but then he would forget about the whole deal. Like nothing really happened.

"Good. I expect you to apologize to her." - she chided after a moment.

Ben let out an unwanted growl. "You cannot be serious! I won't apologize to that wench, she deserved to be left on that planet. Maybe this time, she learned something about why it is imperative to follow a simple kriffing order."

"You will apologize, end of discussion." - Leia decided to ignore her son's outburst, knowing well enough that further engaging Ben will only lead them to another heated argument.

His chest heaved. He was seeing red. Why- why should he apologize? He hadn't done anything that bad, really. He just wanted to teach her a lesson about not following his orders. Nothing else. After all, he was her commanding officer, she should be listening to him. He didn’t left her there, he just wanted her to see that she wasn’t the only person who knew how to play this game.

She was a pain in his ass, thats what she was in reality, ever since he first saw her. She - without a doubt - was the most infuriating person he had ever seen in the whole universe. She was reckless, defiant and most importantly, she tended to ignore orders when she saw fit. Well, honestly, that only happened when said order came from him. For everyone else- she was compliant, nice even. And that made him hate her more. She drew him to the fucking wall.  

He was snapped out from his train of though the moment Leia started to speak again.

"And the two of you are grounded for a week. Maybe this will teach you a lesson, too." A moment passed in silence, but Leia wasn't done just yet. "Oh, and please be a dear, and deliver the news to her."

He couldn't  fucking believe this.

***

"WHAT?"

You and Finn were seated in the mess cantina in the morning. The room was empty except for the two of you, everyone else was already busy with their assignments at hand. Life on the Resistance base meant that work started way too early and ended way, way too late.

You however, were back from a mission. From a really bad, tiring one to be specific. The Falcon landed in hanger B late last night, and since nobody assigned any task for you in the morning, you decided to sleep as long as you could.  Hence, the reason you are the only people in the cantina, with Finn sitting across you, both eating the blob that was left behind.

"You heard me right. Kriffing bastard almost left me on that planet this time. Apparently, to teach me a lesson about defying orders." - you grinned. "Can you fucking believe it?"

Finn looked at you in disbelief. "How are you so calm about this?" - he thinned his eyes at you, clearly being suspicious of your state of mind right now. "You.. - you are planning something, aren't you? That's it, right?"

"No, my dear friend. I'm not gonna do a thing about it." - your grin grew wilder. "Someone else will...I hope." - with that, you got back on munching the blob people here called breakfast.

While eating, you thought back to last day's events. The whole thing was - well, avoidable. If only the two of you just knew how to behave when things went awry. You often found yourself thinking about this arrangement. After saving his ass on your home planet, you found yourself in a place where you could choose. Choose about your future, about what you wanted to do with your life. So you left with him and his team to join the Resistance. Acclimation to this whole situation was pretty easy for you, easier than you previously thought. Everyone was welcoming, and very friendly. The realization of you force powers was the cherry on top. As they told you, there were only two of them on the base.

Since your first day, you have been helping them with everything you could. Sometimes with mechanical work, sometimes with piloting, sometimes with missions. Work was easy to find. Peace - not so much. Not really, when a certain Commander is always pestering you with little, incessant jabs and remarks. Not when every time you come up with a wonderful idea he immediately shuts you up. And definitely not when he leaves you on Nar Shaddaa. You huff out a breath at the thought, shaking your head.

This fucking man.

Blob put aside, you and Finn were chatting about nothing, sipping caf when the doors of the cantina opened, and Ben Solo swaggered through. Your gazes locked on each other. You waited for this moment since the morning.

Being on base only for a couple of months wasn't much, but you thought of yourself as a good judge of character. While Ben Solo sometimes was still a mystery to you, her mother wasn’t. You instantly knew how Leia worked. And you had a suspicion that she knew that you knew. Looking at his annoyed face, you realized Leia was playing along. You were baffled at the thought and forced the creeping smile from your face. You needed to savor this moment.

Your commander stopped at your table, face now impassive but the twitching of his left eye and the current energy around him gave his true feelings away. He was angry and annoyed, and at that moment, you were the happiest person in the galaxy. The staring contest  however, was interrupted with Finn's throat clearing.

You put up your sweetest smile you could muster and batted your lashes at him before speaking.

"Commander Solo, are you joining us for breakfast?" - you chirped.

He looked up at the ceiling then, breathing through his nose. You loved him so riled up.

As he realized that he didn't want to spend any more time in your presence than it was necessary - he leered down at you, and started talking.

"No." A beat. "I'm sorry for the mean, awful, accurate things I said and that I almost left you on Nar Shaddaa." - he still managed to be cocky and arrogant, even when apologizing. You couldn't believe it.

"Thank you, Commander. I hope your bruised ego will get well soon from this beautiful apology. Aaaaand, I just hope next time you would be a little more professional." - You couldn't just let him go with a sorry-ass apology like that. He needed a jab. Just a little one. "I mean.. one would think that after saving your life, you would.. I don't know.. not leave me to die on a hostile planet maybe?"

He was getting angrier now, the force around him resonated. While you loved making him angry, you realized this was not the right time to engage in another argument. After last night, you didn’t have the energy to fight, so you decided to let this conversation go as soon as possible. After all, you got what you wanted.

"What more do you want me to say, Princess? I'm sorry, take it or don't, I don't care."

What a jerk.

"Most importantly, both of us are grounded for a week, and for the time being, you're training only with Rey."

Oh. Ohhh.

You could work with that.

A whole week without working with Ben Solo? Last night, on that planet, while you desperately waited for  rescue you could only think about how unlucky you were to be left behind.

Now? Now, you were certain you were the luckiest girl in the galaxy.

Leaving without another word, you again had found yourself with Finn, a shit-eating grin already on your face.

"Why are you so happy about this? Didn't you hear the part you are grounded? For a week." - he looked at you incredulously.

"Oh, Finn. Don't you see? I got myself an apology and a Ben Solo-free week. I really couldn't have hoped for more."

If being mouthy and sarcastic around the Commander always resulted with a week of not seeing him, you would probably just try to sabotage every mission from now on.

[thatishogwash]

Friend is the Watchword

BoKuroo Week 2020

April 1st, Wednesday - Affection

Five

“Hey hey hey!”  Bokuto crashed into the room which housed the Nekoma Boys Volleyball Team.  Kuroo already had his futon laid out, his back against the wall as he flicked through the songs on his Ipod.  “What are you listening to?” The over enthusiastic teen sprawled out on Kuroo’s futon, basically half laying on Kuroo.  Kuroo held out one of his earbuds without prompting, lips tilting up in a grin as Bokuto placed it in his ear before laying his head down.

It had become a nightly ritual for them during their many training camps spent together.  Bokuto had a hard time winding down from the day but listening to whatever music Kuroo was interested in the time with the background noise of the other boys getting ready for bed and the soft scritch-scritch of Kuroo’s pencil on paper as he did his work gently lulled him into a relaxed state.  More and more often Bokuto would end up falling asleep like that, the other Fukurodani members would check to make sure Bokuto was there but let him be.

No one had to know Kuroo requested earbuds instead of the headphones he usually used for christmas from his parents.  Just like no one needed to know that Kuroo spent a good chunk of time researching and downloading new music that would be calming and soothing.

He was just being a good friend, that’s all.

Four

They move in together after their first year of college.  It’s a tiny apartment on the fifth floor of a building that has seen other days.  The dorms lost their appeal for Kuroo after month one when he realized no one cared about anyone else's sleep schedule, things regularly went missing, fights were a common occurrence, and the fire alarm had been set off at least once a month.  After that Kuroo can deal with an elevator that doesn’t work and a shower that never quite has hot water.

The apartment only has one tiny bedroom so to save on money and space they only buy one futon, big enough to fit them both comfortably.  Kenma had given Kuroo the blandest look when he said they shared a bed due to economical reasons.

“It’s logical if you think about it Kenma, stop giving me that look.”

Kuroo still thinks it was the best decision but he decides not to tell anyone else about it.  Not because he’s embarrassed or doesn’t think it was the right thing to do but he doesn’t want other people to get the wrong idea.

“We’re just friends Kenma.”

Three

It had been a long day on top of an already long week.  The train was crowded even though it was pretty late at night, which meant Kuroo and Bokuto were standing back in a corner and trying not to infringe on anyone’s personal space.  Kuroo had a hold on the bar above his head and was idly scrolling through his email when suddenly there was more weight added to him.

Kuroo braced his legs better as Bokuto rested his head on his shoulder, letting on a deep sigh that showed he was still partially awake.  He then slipped his phone in his pocket so he could wrap his arm around the other man, just in case he really did fall asleep.

Bokuto was having a difficult time with his new team.  It was just an adjustment period, they would all find their rhythm and grow together but at that moment it felt disconnected.  Bokuto felt like he had taken several huge steps back and while he had made great strides on his mental health journey, he still had a tendency to have his ups and downs.

So if Bokuto needed a shoulder to lean on late on a Thursday night then Kuroo would be that shoulder because that’s what friends do for each other.

Two

“Looking good number 8!”  Kuroo yelled from the stands, earning a disgruntled look from Kenma next to him.  Bokuto turned, spotted Kuroo and gave an energetic wave before being pulled away by a teammate.  Honestly Kuroo couldn’t convince Kenma to come out with him often so when he did he had to make the best of it.

Which usually meant annoying Kenma until he started to threaten to leave.

“I thought that annoying voice sounded familiar.”  Kuroo turned, frown in place before he recognized the three people before him.

“Holy shit Sawamura, did you shrink?”  Kuroo cackled as the two old rivals bickered for a moment before he was reintroduced to Azumane and Sugwara.  Kuroo made room for them to sit down and Kenma looked relieved to not be the center of Kuroo’s ribbing any longer.

“Do you go to all of Bokuto’s games?”  Sugawara asked, smiling sweetly. The way he phrased it made Kuroo suspect there was more to that question than it sounded like.

“I try to make it to as many as I can, our schedules don’t match up a lot.”  Kuroo answered honestly.

“It’s impressive that you two are still together.”  Sugawara said, causing Kenma to snort quietly next to Kuroo.

“Suga, you can’t be so nosy.”  Azumane whispered urgently, earning an elbow from Sugawara and an eye roll from Sawamura.  Kuroo suddenly realized they had it all wrong, that they thought Bokuto and him were together but before he could clear that up the crowd cheered loudly.

Kuroo looked over to see Bokuto’s teammates slapping him on the back.  Bokuto looked up into the stands, beaming widely at Kuroo who gave a loud wolf whistle even though he had missed the play.  He could clear up the misunderstanding later, right now he was there to support Bokuto.

Support him as a friend would.

One

Kuroo would never have thought that large, in the prime of their life athletic men would be such lightweights.  He guessed it made sense, most of these men treated their bodies like a temple. Plus between games and training there wasn’t much time to drink and not worry it would interfere with their job.  But the tournaments had wrapped up, the season was done and everyone was letting go a little.

Never in all of Kuroo’s 25 years of living has he felt smaller than he did now.  He was a respectable 188 centimeters, he towered over the majority of the population and was constantly being asked to get stuff off of the shelves for his co-workers.  Yet here he sat, feeling like a delicate little flower surrounded by powerhouses and mostly enjoying it. He had no idea how Hinata dealt with it since he probably weighed as much as Barns left leg.

Bokuto was pressed up against Kuroo’s back as he explained something in a bastardized version of English and Japanese that was helping absolutely no one.  Meian seemed to be the only one who could understand and didn’t seem too put off by translating both ways, though his responses were getting slower with every sip of his drink he took.

“We should eat something to soak some of this alcohol up.”  Meian, who from what Bokuto had told Kuroo, looked as if he took up not only the reigns of captaincy but the role of the group dad.  Considering he had twin toddlers at home it made sense that he was used to the chaotic energy this one team had.

“Yes!”  Thomas agreed, looking proud that he had understood that much Japanese.  Bokuto cheered happily for him. “Karaage, please?” He looked around, confirming that he had spoken correctly.

“I’ll go get it!”  Bokuto leapt over the booth, surprising everyone with nailing the landing without falling on his face.  Kuroo laughed, wondering if he should let Bokuto wander over the bar without reminding him of something important but he decided to be nice.

“Aren’t you forgetting something?”  Kuroo asked. Bokuto turned and tilted his head, his owl-likeness growing the more inebriated he got.  The only noise was the distant chatter of other patrons and Miya lamenting the lack of Sakusa, even though everyone had begun to ignore his incessant chatter almost the moment they entered the izakaya.

“Oh!”  Bokuto grinned, suddenly remembering and Kuroo laughed, reaching towards his coat when he felt something warm and a little moist against his cheek.  He turned slowly to look up at Bokuto. “I’ll get you sashimi too.” Bokuto went to the bar to place their order.

Kuroo slowly removed his hand from his jacket pocket, where he had stashed Bokuto’s wallet after the man had asked him to hold onto it for him.  He had seen a video on how keeping a wallet in the back pocket could have adverse effects on the spine and considering Kuroo always had a bag or coat on him he usually ended up holding onto Bokuto’s wallet and phone.

Kuroo touched his cheek, which Bokuto definitely had kissed.  No one at the table batted an eyelash, as if that behavior was not only accepted but expected.  Kuroo had laughed when Miya had shouted ‘No spouses!’ as he followed Bokuto into the bar. He had thought it was a joke.

They were just friends after all.

Right?

Zero

“Hey Kouta?”  Kuroo asked into the quiet of their shared bedroom.  They had moved out of their tiny flat from college into a more spacious apartment.  It had two bedrooms but they decided to turn the second one into an office-home gym.  They still shared one bed.

“Hmm?”  Bokuto hummed in response, drowsy from a full day.  During his off season Bokuto usually picked up a job to keep himself occupied in between practices and working out.  He had decided coaching a bunch of overactive 5 year olds on how to play football. Bokuto didn’t know anything about football, which was mostly fine because neither did the kids.

“Are we dating?”  Kuroo asked, fingers running idly through Bokuto’s hair.  He felt the other man shift towards him, it was too dark to make out any expressions but he could feel those nearly golden eyes searching him out.

“Do you want to be?”  Bokuto asked but continued on.  “I wouldn’t mind, but this is good too.”

Kuroo thought about it.  This, what they had, what they’ve been having for many years was good.  They were happy, both of them and healthy. They both found fulfillment in their chosen careers, they were settled, and content.

They were friends, very good friends after all.

But perhaps they were also a little more than that.