#if it's nerve pain is severe enough then the meds he takes on a normal basis might not be enough to treat it sooo nico having to pull out-

[lususnatura]

ahh, don't mind me, y'all — i'm just thinking about how, in my canon, nico morselli (the doctor who blamore is allies with AND also is friends with but don't tell him that, shhh lol) was the first person that it actually learned to trust after it's transformation. and i say this because, in the first few months after it's transformation, it's nerve pain was actually even worse than it can be now. and due to how blamore's metabolism is different... nico felt like formulating a specific type of anti-convulsant for it's condition was the ideal option for blamore because there was a LOT of uncertainty around how much meds he should give it. so, in the meantime while nico worked on a drug that he knew wouldn't possibly O.D. it (man's also has some experience in biochemistry + he's also got a degree in that) those first few months were roughhh.

this is because he primarily used nerve blocks for it's pain which are actually injections that are given through the spine and as you all may know, blamore's spine is like a HUGELY sensitive spot for him. and so it doesn't let anyone it doesn't trust touch it + with this in mind, it didn't trust nico at first, but for an MD with some questionable patients (he's been the primary doctor of someone in the mob for years); nico actually seems to have his heart in the right place a good amount of the time because he comforted blamore every single time he gave him one of those injections 😭 because they never got any easier for blamore to take, and i don't mean nico just talked him through it, either. man's held it's hand and everything. and for that, he's a real one

[mimiriko]

𝐋𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐁𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐄𝐑(𝐒) | 𝐆𝐎𝐉𝐎 𝐒𝐀𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐔

✰ tags :: 1.8k. fluff. (scene heavily inspired by song of achilles by madeline miller) ✰ notes :: reupload! gojo gets injured for the 1st time and is dramatic (pacing is off don’t jump me i can’t look at this anymore)

He can't think. Can't move without grunting. Can't stop his shoulders from sagging.

He drags himself with slipping energy, through the streets and crossing roads, head low and absentminded to traffic. A throbbing headache pounds at his temple and he stops—eyes fluttering, sucking in a gulp of air— and continues. Orange-lit streets single out his winter hair, shades the outline of his figure with iridescent dust surrounding him. Too pretty, an Apollo like beauty.

A final three ascending steps, uniform knocks on your familiar door, soft clicks of the lock—and he's rewarded with the sight of you. Tousled hair, bleary eyes sharpening with recognition.

It’s primal, etched into him, the necessity to see you. Your face, presence, aura, flesh and bone. There’s not a point in the history of your friendship where it blossomed to life. No gradual descent to his state of want, no easing into the fact that his feet take him to you on default.

He doesn’t remember being a 1st year in highschool and painfully yearning like this. 2nd, 3rd, and 4th year he’d been more and more attached to your bone. Always friendly, like two cats hooking their tails together. But not like this. Never like this.

The memories, full of smooth faces and honey smiles, never had the hunger that tinted his lenses like right now.

You blink. "You're…bleeding.”

The words feel fuzzy. "Yeah. Hey.”

Your lower lip gets hitched up by a canine, nibbling. You decide upon opening the door wider and stepping out of the way. Scattered lamps catch his marble-cut jaw, defining the bones and the blue and purple beneath his glass skin. His eyes dull and bare without his glasses, the skin underneath sunken. Tight uniform dirty and creased, hair flat with wisps of his fringe sticking to his forehead.

(An intent to project a tragedy, you would’ve joked if not for the heaviness around him. It’s like the air around him became denser, clumped together, looking at him through a layer of thick viscosity.)

He offers a slanted smile.

Waves of pain shoot down his spine, the wound across his arm charing his nerves. He clamps his hand down to apply pressure, giving modicum comfort. Warm rouge oozes out of the crevice of his fingers, dripping to his elbow and dropping on your hardwood floor as he trails behind you, heading straight to the living room. It's quiet.

"Sho will, um, kill me if I wake her at this time, and I thought you would be staying up again so I came here.”

Your back is his only view, no gateway to your face or how you feel. It gives him a surge to talk more. "Y’know if a wound is severe enough, you can bleed to death in minutes. I take offence, you don't look so worried."

He's met with nothing.

(Faintly, he feels something shift between his ribcage. His divinity chipped off. Another jump down to the mortal realm.)

A weak squeak almost leaves his mouth when you turn on your heel, looking at him dead in the eye. "'I’ll get the med kit; wait here for me, okay? Keep the pressure on that."

He dips his head in compliance. Not a wobble of your lower lip or a hitch of breath in sight—you looked calm, reassuring. But an undercurrent of emotion, thick and raw, behind your voice makes itself known. A slip in your act of strength, laying down the grief that resides in your throat. The knowledge of it existing, the sorrow, is like a needle to his skin. Impossible to ignore.

Then it hits: exhaustion. It splinters his resolve, lowers his smile. He wishes the duo of talk and taunt would work as it would normally. The familiar barrier he brings up every sunrise— creating a foundation, laying the bricks, adding cement one by one until the top of his heart is covered— is falling apart.

For, what might be the first time in his life, he had been struck. On his arm, and light bruises forming on his back.

And if it isn’t for the muffled pads of your sock-clad feet coming out of the bathroom, motioning him to sit on the couch with a hand that trembles lightly, it could have worked. He could have been stitched back to life and left with immeasurable shame and a wink.

Your dexterous fingers peeled his hand away from the cut, crimson hand falling on your lap without resistance. Fresh beads of blood spill and he kisses his teeth at the cold air burning the spilt skin. A metallic, bitter taste coats his tongue, molars aching as he clenches his jaw harder, swallowing and wincing at his throat constricting.

Gentle touches work to clean the infected area with saline solution, your attention flickering to his face—a mixture of pain and strained indifference on his waxy features— and back down.

"D'you wanna take a shower after this?"

A hum escapes his throat. "Not really, why?"

"It’ll make you feel better." One hand clutching the antibiotic ointment, the other goes up to his cheek, wiping a speck of grime.

The gaze that falls on you becomes lovesick, "You calling me smelly?"

"Maybe. Then I can finally snoop and see what you do to keep your hair so fluffy."

The flow of the conversation, light and airy and completely juxtapositional—it charms him. The choice of your tone, hushed and kind. Legs brushing as you sit. Wiping the red away with no disgust. It’s done with precision, an intent to be soothing for him.

In the early hours of mornings, or late hours of the night, he becomes a ball of emotion, a soft egg yolk of sensitivity.

He remembers how you were the whole day; replays your actions driven by kindness to the people least deserving; smiles to himself at the people flocked to your side. Your basin of love manages to catch him in it as well, cradling him underneath your collarbones when he assumes there mustn’t be any space for him left.

He remembers everything.

Hey, your shoelaces are undone. Hold on, I’ll do them; you might fall.

He never noticed. Or cared. He wouldn’t fall from it. But you crouched down anyway.

You sure it won’t be too much for you?

It was the first thing you had said to him, after he went off on a tangent about the new line of missions he’d been assigned. He had been part agony; part joking.

Nah, it’s what I've been born for.

A crazed part of him searched for answers, hints, anything to reveal the venom in your intentions. That you’re no different from the higher ups, that you’re equal to the plastic love his parents gave. He never spoke of his conspiracies out loud, fearing that to question such a beautiful soul in his life would cause you to vanish, like winter in the desert.

Yo, the new Super Mario Bros game is out. Wanna play?

It’d been released for over a week now, and his hair was still damp from the shower he took after coming back from assignments. In fact, he had been buzzing, jittery with impatience to get his hands on it.

A gloss overpowers the sleep in his eyes, and the ignored growls of his stomach roars with delight watching you return to his room, placing bowls of sizzling ramen next to the nintendo’s.

It was a dream he’d only ever wanted to come home to.

Another memory surfaces: roughly a few years ago, a group of students—juniors, he assumed—went up to the bench you were slouched on, covered in homework. They giggled, asked if you or him remembered them, twisting the ends of their plaid skirts with smiles.

Your face shone with recognition, sweet and lovely.

Ah, Ayaka, Momo—

The girls’ smile brightened.

—Sakura and Keiko, right? From last month?

They replied with affirmation. In a school-girl manner, quick and full of life, they expressed their thanks. For helping them.

When they left, you filled in the blanks. They’re the group we escorted out of that building, from the whole ceiling curse fiasco.

How d’you still remember their names?

You laugh. They’re good people.

He finishes the last equation of his work, and fishes for the box of pocky sticks in his bag. Still, it’s easier if they only remember us.

How many times have you proved that you’re an angel on land? Without wings or a halo, but possessing the divinity just like the rest. How many times has he stomped the thought away, before coming to the point where he is now?

He studies you in the ambient light of your living room. “I’ll never share my hair secrets, but if you wanted to see me naked you could've just asked. I’ll strip for you, y’know?”

"I know." The light permeating from you, warm hands on his cold arm, wrapping a gauze with blood stained nails, it's comforting. Grounding.

Little strokes on his covered flesh, travelling down to his wrist then palm, holding his fingers and giving attention to each one, caressing his knuckles to his nail plate.

Even now, distracting him from pain and duty, you do it so well.

“Tell me one hero,” he blurts.

You smile lopsided at the mood switch. “Icarus.”

“Was he happy?”

“Err, no.”

He nods. “Give me another.”

“Odysseus.”

He snickers at the choice of Greek mythology. “Was he happy?”

You skim through it in your mind, and shake your head.

He tips his face forward, pressing his nose against yours. Smiling, radiant, eager. You missed this. “Let me tell you something.”

“Go ahead.” And he brings his mouth to the shell of your ear, ghosting the grain of his lips on your skin.

“I’ll be the first one-” he bites your earlobe and looks back at you- “I’ll be the first happy hero.”

Nothing can eclipse the constellations in his eyes, forming little hearts. You’re sure he sees the same thing in yours. “Ask me why.”

“Why?”

He pauses, pink dust on his cheeks. “Because I have you.”

“Because you have me,” you echo, tasting the words on your tongue.

It’s silent. The wound on his arm forgotten.

”C’mon hero, let’s get the bath running,” you say, pulling him up to his feet, “you can wear my clothes after.”

© mimiriko 2022, all rights reserved. [ interaction heavily appreciated! i’m emotional ab this fic ]

[crypticsesh]

So two weeks ago I had a procedure scheduled that required me to stop taking all my pain meds three days prior. I was in so much pain. I had forgotten how bad everything was without my medication. I could barely stand up, and just barely walk.

I went to stand up to go to my appointment and my right knee gave out. I fell. I fell hard onto my tile flooring. My pain has been outrageous since then.

I called my pain management doctor to have the fall documented on my file. He scheduled an MRI. And I just got the results...

Everything is basically the same as before, except my L3 and L4 have shifted backwards and it's pinching a new set of nerves that affect my entire right side.

On a normal day, prior to the fall, my pain level was at a constant 7 or 8. Since the fall...it's been off the charts. I was really hoping it was just a sprain or something. Of course, no such luck.

I'm being put on steroids and now have another lower back epidural scheduled for tomorrow.

The damage "isn't severe enough" to warrant surgery. So my three options are

1. Steroids

2. Super strong epidural injection

3. Physical therapy

I'm so tired y'all.

I just want a somewhat normal body.

This pain is draining me of everything I am.

[palidan-sheep]

How do you think the companions would react if Sole had to cut off their own limb to get out of a trap or otherwise save their life?

Another interesting one, I like these! Thank you Anon.

Situation/scenario- Sole found themselves in a hard place between a rocky wall and a fallen boulder, their beloved arm caught between the two. Their arm below their elbow was far from saving, bone turned into dust and flesh mashed into a paste-all that jazz!

So after enough chems to kill a deathclaw and a grizzly few hours later, Sole stumbles homes, missing an arm but still alive and conscious.

Cait-

“Shite, you look like you’ve been through the ringer.”

Despite the playful words, Cait is an absolute mess of stress, worry, and panic.

She’ll be running around bossing and barking command at people despite not really knowing how to go about fixing up a wound this massive.

She can’t offer much help asides for tons of booze and moral support.

Cuire-

There’s some correlation here with what Cuire said back at the memory den after she became human and the situation presented-I’m too dumb brain to figure it out tho.

Panic 100%. Flurry of words that make no sense but she knows what she’s doing.

Immediately takes charge upon the situation, no explanation needed.

Despite this, she has a hard time telling the others what to do and considering the situation at hand, everyone a mess. She depends on a louder voice to voice her request and commands.

Danse-

“You’ve got guts, I’ll admit that soldier, but was it really necessary?”

He’s seen some shit in his life so this doesn’t have too much of an effect upon him(unless they are dating in which case, he’s a fucking mess.)

He only retains basic medical skills so he helps with what he knows that he’s capable of but leaves the rest to medics.

He won’t leave Soles side unless asked to via a medic or sole themselves. Fancy lad cakes and moral support.

Deacon-

“Alright, alright, alright, I get it. I won’t complain the next time I get a splinter.”

Humor. Lots of humor.

Asides for splinters and the occasional gun shot, he has no idea how to help other then tons of stimpacks and Med-x.

Laugh away the pain. Laughter is the best medicine after all.

Gage-

“Holy Shit Boss...”

Rather then seeing this a weakness, he sees this as a strength. Sole’s got the gull to do shit like that, the they certainly got the gull to whip Nuka-World into shape.

He’s, shockingly, has some experience in medical care but no one really trust him to help Sole. 

Hes there by Sole’s side but like no one really wants him to be there, they have no idea when he last cleaned himself. 

Hancock-

“I hope the reason why you had to do this was a good reason, like it was bitten off by a deathclaw or something, now take this, it’ll help with the pain until we can find you some help.”

On the outside he’s cool as a cucumber but on the inside, he’s a shit-show and a half. a few nervous leg jitters here and there and lots of chem usage. though he tries to be mindful about how much he uses, never know when sole will find themselves wishing for the sweet release of death.

He’s too chemmed out to even entertain the idea of being a doctor, one fuck up could be the difference between life or death.

Whether Sole asked for it or not, he’ll start to make up sorties about how they lost their arm. No body believes him but its funny at least. 

MacCready-

“Heh, that's uh...that's quite the wound wouldn’t ya say?...we need to find you a doctor, like now.”

Like most others, he’s seen his far share of blood and bone and normal it doesn’t effect him too much but since its Sole, someone he cares about, he’s a nervous reck.

He has no confidence in his medical skills while being nervous, afraid that if he had to stich up the wound, he’d jerk and snag something important like a nerve or some body thing.

Concerned Father watching over their severely ill child. 

Nick-

“Well isn’t this quite a predicament we are in? Guess I’ll start working on your mechanical hand.”

He’s not shocked that your missing an arm, he’s more shocked that you actual had the guts to do it. He’s being serious too, he’s got some connections that could help in making you a function prosthetic.

in terms of medical skills, he has none. On top of being a robot, his hands don't offer very much help, sure he can be super technical like stiches but his metal hand has done more damage then he’d like to admit. 

He’ll inquire about the situation after the dust has settled until then, he just offers some advice for living without a limb. 

Piper-

“B-BLUE!”

She’s. A. Fucking. Mess.

A Incoherent and in shambles mess.

She’s the last person you would want to be around in situation such as Sole’s. Remaining clam is the best way to go about this and Piper is the farthest thing from clam.  

Preston-

“General! you were gone for a day! A single DAY!” 

Everyday, his will to live shrinks. 

 He has no idea what he’s doin when it comes to a wound that big. Yeah sure, just like everyone else, he can patch up a bullet hole or stich up a slash if needs be but he has no idea where to start when it comes to a missing limb.

He’s good company, offers great moral support and lots of “eat the pain away.”

X6

“You’ve got guts ma’am/sir, it will only help to prove that you’re willing to do anything to help further improve the Institute.”

Sole, whether or not it was their intentions, has more of X6′s respect and admiration for this feat.

He’s pretty skilled with medical care and definitely prefers it if he the one who take charge in patching up the wound.

Not very good company. 

[willadisastercry]

More than ‘just a little tired’: the aftermath part 2

tw: lil bit of gore described, burn wounds, collapsing, lots of pain described, muscle relaxer used and effects described, slight paralysis ensues, emotionally heavy towards end.

Keith finally let’s his friends help him but his adrenaline is fading rapidly and everyone is still focused on fussing over Pidge. Lance is distraught with how cold Shiro is being, he doesn’t understand why no one is listening to him while he’s literally supporting Keith with his own body as he crashes. Hunk needs to look at something other than the blood and gore so he tries to find Coran’s magic cream and is just proud he only threw up once.

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3

“Woah, Hunk! He’s going down!”

Lance dropped to his knee as he struggled to keep Keith from falling further out of his grasp, his face now deathly pale and pressed against his shoulder as he took in large, shuddering breaths to try remain conscious.

“We’ve gotcha bud,” Hunk’s hand snaked around his waist then as Lance righted himself and they brought him back onto unsteady legs, his right not even strong enough now to put much weight on without buckling.

“C’mon we gotta go...”

With his arms slung over either boy’s shoulders and their hands hoisting his hips up by the supply pack on his utility belt, they made their way to the med bay relatively quickly, a feat of which was only possible because at some point Keith had stopped trying to keep up and allowing himself to be dragged was surprisingly a lot faster.

The whooshing of the med bay doors after what felt like an enternity was what startled Keith into opening his eyes again.

“Oh, hey guys...” Shiro said, sparing only a partial glance their way before continuing to pour over Pidge with Coran and Allura. She was awake and fighting the helping hands.

No one seemed to notice Keith’s prone form held up entirely by his friends who stood frozen in the doorway, a bit at a loss for how to proceed.

“I think I’m fine, guys! Seriously. All that’s left is already half healed and not nearly deep enough to warrant a freaking pod!”

“Maybe, but you still lost a lot of blood that will need to be repelenished...” Coran pointed, his mustache twitching as he attempted to convey the necessity of the percaution and failed.

Keith’s legs hadn’t been contributing much to the effort of keeping him standing but admittedly had some part in it because the longer they remained where they stood the more they seemed to melt into jelly.

The adrenaline had almost entirely worn off by then, leaving his body buzzing as the pain slowly intensified.

“G-guys...” Keith whispered weakly, his voice was barely audible.

“What’s—“

“Need to sit... like now...” he managed before his legs were wobbling dangerously, suddenly devoid of all the strength that remained in them.

“Alright, that’s okay. Over there, Lance,” Hunk assured, his injured leg completely useless as he transferred even more of Keith’s weight onto his hip to make up the difference while they ushered him towards one of the chairs across the room.

“Uhhhh, how much longer you guys gonna be with Pidge?” Lance questioned nervously once they’d settled Keith down, his heart clenching with fear for how grey his face had gotten, his hands never leaving his drawn up shoulders out of fear of what would happen if he did.

Hunk was already across the room tearing apart medicine cabinets for the burn cream he’d mentioned and Keith was finding it increasingly difficult to support his own body weight.

“Woah! Okkay—that’s okay, just lean against me,” Lance offered when Keith couldn’t keep himself from swaying as he narrowly avoided leaning back against the chair, nearly tilting out of it before Lance righted him and guided his head to lean against his hip.

“We’ll be done as soon as Pidge stops being difficult... why?” Shiro asked, his eyes still scanning the partially mended slash across the smaller girl’s stomach.

“Just uh, Keith is sort of not doing so well.”

Lance wasn’t entirely sure he understood why everyone was being so curt and dismissive, not tearing their eyes away from a clearly fine Pidge, who yes, at one point had been not fine at all, but was now.

And Keith wasn’t.

The blasts on his back were... bad.

Bad enough for him to be in so much pain he was forced to accept his friend’s help. Lance also figured the haunting glaze of exhaustion in his eyes and purple bruises beneath them had a good deal to do with lowering his defenses, the realization of just how tired he was sending another jab to his chest.

The material of his suit looked like it had melted into his skin, lining the edges of the puffy burns with a smokey black. Some were larger than others but there were at least a dozen and they were all bleeding steadily, the constant rise and fall of his chest making it impossible for any of them to clot.

“I’ll come check him out once—“

The burns were so deep, like little caverns carved into his skin and Lance was suddenly concerned about how zapped the nerves must be that he didn’t even realize he’d been injured this severely.

They looked so painful.

Breathing looked painful. And sitting, and talking and the way moving air brushed against them.

Shit, Keith.

“No, Shiro...”

The words came from deep in his throat, his voice low and serious, a stark derision from his usually charming vibrato.

“I think someone needs to check him out now. We’re talking about Keith here! You should know better than anyone that when he’s says he’s not okay, he means it.”

Shiro’s shoulders dropped as he straightened up, Lance couldn’t even find it in himself to worry about getting told off for his tone with how angry he was, his irritation justifying itself as he watched Keith’s breathing devolve into something more and more erratic.

The room seemed to silence all at once after he’d raised his voice. The inflection of it, shrill with fear and frustration is what got Shiro to finally look their way, his already weary expression falling further at the horror of how Keith looked against Lance. Slumped and panting, his features tight in anguish as blood dripped steadily from somewhere and collected in a now sizeable puddle on the floor.

Pidge was being forced to lay back down when surging up to see what was wrong had her keening and clutching her middle, Allura remaining at her side while Shiro and Coran raced over to the boys.

“What the fuck happened?!” Shiro demanded, his eyes grey pinpoints that bored into Lance with a sort of accusation until the two men reached the pair, both gasping simultaneously when they got close enough to take in the sight of Keith’s back.

“I don’t-I don’t understand, you said you were tired Keith!”

“Plasma blast burns... most of them 2nd degree it looks like...” Coran offered, his eyes flicking wildly as they scanned the burnt and bloody skin.

“He is tired...” Lance assured, turning his gaze back to Keith’s shaking shoulders. His trembles seemed more like spasms then, each jerk prompting a fresh gush of red from the wounds.

“He’s fucking exhausted but was too stubborn to tell anyone he was hurt...” he continued as Coran left muttering to himself in search of supplies, joining Hunk in his endeavor of locating more than just the burn cream now.

“S-sorry... really thought it was just one...” Keith explained before Shiro shushed him, crouching down to run his hand through his hair even though it was slightly damp with sweat.

His eyes weren’t open so he tensed when the hand first fell into place but soon softened under Shiro’s touch, the cold weight of the galra metal oddly comforting.

“It’s not on you, bud. I should’ve checked in more thoroughly, looked you over myself...”

Lance seethed at that, Keith was feeling guilty when Shiro was the one who had fucked up by ignoring him. He didn’t even sound sorry.

“Damn right you sh—“

“What’s that?” Shiro entreated, cutting him off and lifting his head to face the younger boy with something so fierce in his eyes that Lance had to force himself to look elsewhere.

As much as he wanted to tell Shiro how royally he’d fuck up he knew it wouldn’t be productive. Knew full well that the last thing anyone needed was more chaos.

But before Lance had to take actual precautions to contain his anger, Keith made a noise as if he wanted to respond but all that came out was a defeated whine as his chest stuttered which pulled even more at the mess of his back, sending him into a fit of flinching and hissing.

“Hey, you’re alright—“ Lance cooed, the additional hand on Keith’s neck centering him while he tried to ride out the pain without causing more “—that’s it, just take a second to calm down...”

But Keith couldn’t calm his breathing in time to avoid the waves of agony that followed such harsh breaths, eventually becoming desperate enough to clamp his lips shut and hold his breath until his heart let up with its incessant pounding.

This admittedly made the general haze clouding his mind so much worse, sending black dots dancing across the floor as he stared at it against Lance. He hadn’t realized when his hands had traveled up to clutch at Lance’s stomach but they were there now, clawing at the unwavering material stuck to his torso like glue for something to hold onto.

There were so many hands on him but he couldn’t feel much of anything other than the heat on his back and strain in his lungs as he continued to restrict his breathing. It had come to hurt so badly he was afraid to even try to breath normally again.

“-ith!”

Voices sounded so weird and distant then, like they were calling to him from across a noisy room.

“KEITH!”

It wasn’t until someone was knelt down next to him and nearly screaming in his ear that he could understand anything.

“Stop doing that, you have to take deeper breaths or you’ll pass out...”

But he couldn’t manage anything other than short and rapid inhales that weren’t nearly enough. He didn’t care if he passed out. It wouldn’t hurt so bad if he were unconscious and it had gotten to a point where he sort of wished for that kind of relief.

Coran was speaking to Shiro over them then, of which Keith had only ascertained from the way Shiro’s hand left the base of his skull to rest more on the crown of his head just as a dull and disordered humming began.

His hearing had abandoned him again once Shiro left his position, reducing the conversation to unintelligible murmurs drowned out by the rumbling in his eardrums. The static spotting his vision not letting up as the blast wounds burned relentlessly on his back. It felt like there were literal flames licking up at even the slightest movement and marring deep as the fire only seemed to spread.

The entire expanse of his upper body had gone numb with it, his arms slack at his sides and his neck weak under the weight of his head as he put all of his concentration into slowing his breathing and keeping it as controlled as possible. He didn’t even feel the hands slipping under his armpits or fingers tugging at his supply belt, only the scorching stretch of his body straightening as he was pulled to his feet.

Lance and Shiro shifted around him with care, Shiro guiding his head to rest on his shoulder when it rolled limply, Coran hovering anxiously as they struggled to lift him to his feet without jarring his injuries. In reality, it was entirely unavoidable but hey, it’s the thought that counts.

Keith really tried to hold his own weight this time, but as soon as he was upright, his back lit with a new fury that had his vision whiting. Soon he couldn’t even be certain his feet were still on the ground as his body went lax and the darkness that had been teasing him descended quicker than he could process.

He assumed he had screamed bloody murder since his stinging throat was the only pain he could pinpoint as he lost consciousness, but by then he wouldn’t have been able to hear his own voice if he spoke so he wasn’t be sure. All he knew was that he’d pitched into a slew of arms like his bones had spontaneously emulsified, blissfully unaware as to how the whole room seemed to cry out when he did.

Pidge was near tears with Allura struggling to assure her that Keith would be fine, and Hunk was so startled by the commotion that he had nearly flung the supplies he was organizing on a sterile tray.

“Let’s get him settled comfortably before he comes to,” Coran ordered, his voice sharp and anguished as he motioned towards where Hunk was stood.

Together and with considerable effort the three dragged Keith’s limp body to the other side of the room, careful to keep his torso straight and his injured leg from bending so they didn’t inflame his wounds further, depositing his lifeless weight onto the table on his stomach where all of his injuries could be tended to.

“We have to get as much of the suit off as possible... some of it will of course take a little more effort,” Coran sighed as he poked at one of the darker blast marks with a wider radius than most of the other. There was a ring of molten black around it that looked like it had dripped into the pit of missing flesh from where the material of the suit had melted off. The sentry that shot him there must have been only a few feet away.

“Alaran...” Allura gasped out as she made her way to the group once Pidge had calmed down enough to be left alone.

“These are going to need extensive cleaning before we can put him into a pod.”

“I know, Princess. Let’s get started, maybe we can get the bulk of it finished while he’s still uncioncious,” Coran postured, distributing the supplies Hunk had gathered to everyone.

The task was harrowing and had everyone slightly queasy, but the urgency to complete the process before Keith woke up prevailed everyone’s gag reflexes, even Hunk’s.

Being enveloped by the black that had teased him so long wasn’t as bad as Keith had imagined it would be. It was warm like this, more absent of cold than possesing a distinguishable heat. Pleasant. Peaceful even. A more than welcomed improvement to the inferno he was slowly being consumed by when he was awake and alert.

Sounds started coming back to him slowly as his body recovered from the shock of his plummet in blood pressure. His friends’ words sharpening gradually to where he could almost make out what they were saying.

“...suction... yes, that bit has to go as well...”

He still felt floaty and numb from the pain but knew he was laying on his front and could feel a sensation of tugging and pulling on his back.

“...keeps moving... waking up...”

It wasn’t so much painful as it was uncomfortable in his state of semi-consciousness.

“...dangerous to... sedative before a prolonged stay in the pod...”

His brain was just too fuzzy, still replenishing the blood supply to his brain.

“...looks like he’s in pain...”

Each moment he remained in limbo he grew more restless.

“...Coran I can’t... this piece... tearing the skin...”

The in and out of everything was making him anxious, he’d rather just be entirely out or entirely conscious.

“...should will help with any discomfort...”

Whatever was meant to help wasn’t. He was aware he’d probably been given some sort of drug or medicine but still he couldn’t relax.

It didn’t matter that he was utterly exhausted, his body was reacting to the anxiety bubbling in his stomach whether he had the energy to support such a reaction or not.

“...easy Keith...”

That’s the thing, he couldn’t take it easy. His mind was wired and his body was going into shock once again as things clarified and he woke up more.

“You’re alright number four... steady now, just breathe...”

If he thought it was hard to breathe before it seemed like it was absolutely impossible now.

“-us? Keith...? Keith, can you hear us?”

He could. He could hear everything now. It was all so loud and piercing, everyone’s voices, the tools clicking, his heart beating, the tear of medical supplies packages. Everything was so crisp and right there, the smallest noises sending tingles down his spine that made him want to cringe and he struggled to surpress the urge to.

“Quiznak! Coran I’m gonna hurt him if he keeps squirming!”

He was panting now, his mouth hung open against the towel folded under his face that was catching the blood still leaking from the wound under his eye. A hand came down on the back of his neck and he jumped.

That did it for the pain that seemed to have been numbed, not gone, just too far away for him to register. It was just as close as all of the sounds were now.

Hands clutched at his shoulders and forearms and hips as he wailed, pushing him flat so his flailing didn’t make it worse. He sobbed loudly and unabashedly as the pain surged its way back to the forefront of his awareness, a strange warmth similar to the one he’d felt when he had passed out taking the edge off but not staving it much.

“Keith! Listen to me, you have to relax. I know this is torture, but you’re only going to make it worse if you keep struggling,” Shiro urged, his voice the closest.

Shiro was right, but he couldn’t. He wasn’t in control of his movements anymore, because if he was he would listen. He didn’t want to hurt anymore but his body didn’t seem to give a shit.

“Coran,” Allura said sadly, her eyes looking at him with a sort of heart breaking resolution.

“Okay, Princess,” he agreed, his expression falling dejectedly.

“What-what is it? What just happened?!” Lance asked worriedly, knowing something had seemingly been decided but no idea as to what.

“We’re going to have to give him a muscle relaxer to keep him still, but it won’t take away his pain. We simply cannot risk putting him in a pod while medically sedated, we couldn’t be sure he would ever wake again if we did.”

For the second time that evening a collective silence fell over the room, one filled with such aching and regret and fear that it was as if it wasn’t silent at all.

“Do whatever you have to,” Shiro advocated, handing the tools he’d been using to Hunk.

“But he’ll be in pain Shiro?!” Lance noted desperately, his indignation back in full force.

Shiro just looked at him sadly and moved to drag a stool over to the other end of the table where Keith’s head was, his face twisted up as his sounds of pain continued.

“How can you be so heartless? It wouldn’t be so painful if Allura had partially healed him too! If you had given enough of a shit to notice sooner! To notice at all!”

The sound of Lance yelling bore into Keith’s skull sickeningly, his body unable to contain the shiver that overtook his muscles at how bone deep the sound irked his now oversentive ears.

“Lance—“

“No, Allura. He’s right, this is my fault. I was too focused on the fact that Pidge was hurt to notice that he was too and now he’s worse off because of it. I didn’t listen to him when I should’ve. Administer whatever you have to Coran, I’ll help him through this, it’s the least I can do right now...”

Coran didn’t have to be told twice, skillfully pulling liquid from a vile with a syringe that he poked gently into Keith’s neck.

Hunk nudged Lance’s arm to break his death glare at Shiro and get back to freeing one of the wider wounds on his shoulder as the medicine took affect almost immediately.

“Sh-sh-shir-Shiro...”

“I’m right here, shhhh, don’t speak. Just relax, I’ve got you,” Shiro soothed, grasping Keith’s hand tightly as he took shuddering breaths that grew more and more shallow as whatever control he had left over his body slipped away from him.

With some last few twitches he sagged completely into the table. The hand clutching Shiro’s released its grip and the older boy started to thumb assuring circles into the limp appendage since he could still feel it.

“This is gonna suck, but just focus on me okay?”

Keith couldn’t nod, couldn’t move his exhausted body at all now, so he sighed instead. The tears that had welled at his eyes falling defeatedly and mixing with the blood staining his right cheek to make a slightly pinker mess on the towel beneath him.

“Just focus on me...”

[corvus--rex]

Another one that's not truly abandoned, working title Code Violet. Post s.8 Omegaverse, Klance slowburn. Omega Lance has been put on medical leave by the Garrison after the war because of his PTSD, which really just translates to secondary sexism as he's the only Omega among the Paladins. But then Keith goes missing on a Blades mission and Shiro calls the team back together.

~*~*~

He could deal with torture. At least, that’s what Keith told himself, having never been through it personally. But he did know how to deal with pain. A result of too many fights and questionable decisions in his life. But the sensation that overwhelmed his senses wasn’t pain. Or maybe it was. He didn’t know precisely. All he knew at that moment was that he could actively feel every last one of his nerves. He could feel the normal everyday functioning of his body mixed with a racing heartbeat and hyperventilating lungs. And yet he felt oddly detached from it. It felt as though his Alpha was protecting his mind like a mother wolf with her threatened pup. It was a very strange sensation. It felt like it went on forever. He felt something in his body shift. Something new and wholly unfamiliar. And then the pain actually hit. It crept in slowly, radiating from his core until the blooming white-hot flames licked their way through all of his nerve endings. He might have screamed, but he could never be sure. And when the searing pain left, it didn’t go quickly. It smoldered like the embers of a bonfire, burning low in that deceptive way that made it unclear as to whether or not the charred remains were still alight. But Keith could feel it, the low, steady flame that curled its way through his fingertips and all the way to his toes. Neither mind nor body relaxed until the cool touch of unconsciousness wrapped him in its embrace. He was blissfully unaware of being lifted, carried, and finally left in a dark cell while his captors waited for him to wake.

~~*~~ 5 Movements (7 Weeks) Later ~~*~~

Lance was startled awake by his comm screaming for his attention on his nightstand. No one he knew would call at half past five in the morning. All the official evaluations he’d undergone concluded that yes, he had PTSD just like the rest of Team Voltron and everyone else who’d fought in the war, but that with his weekly therapy sessions, he was handling it well enough for active duty. He had the unpleasant suspicion that it had something to do with him being the only Omega on Team Voltron. It didn’t seem to matter, however, as he was kept on medical leave.

When he was woken at the barest hint of dawn’s asscrack, squinting at his comm’s screen, he was shocked to see Shiro on the other end of the call. He fumbled for the button, accidentally dropping the device on himself. He figured he must have hit it somewhere in his sleep and adrenalin-fueled struggle when Shiro’s sleep-deprived face popped up in the holographic projection.

“Shiro? What? What is it? What’s going on?” Lance asked, voice low and rough, his mind not yet fully engaged.

“How soon can you get to the Garrison?” Shiro answered, sounding more awake than he looked.

“Um, probably about an hour. Why? What’s happening?”

The face of the Atlas’ captain darkened. “Keith’s gone missing. He was supposed to check in one movement ago, no one’s heard from him and they can’t trace his comm. It’s the second one he’s missed. Acxa and Kolivan are here requesting a team from the Coalition.”

Lance was awake. He knew Keith was away on another mission, he’d heard it directly from the man himself. He knew Keith would be out of reach for a while. He knew he wouldn’t know if Keith was ok until the mission was over. But he also knew that Keith was expected to keep to the check-in schedule, sending a scrambled message to a secure communications outpost that would then be sent on to Acxa, who was leading the Blades for the duration of the mission. It was almost overly complicated, but the mission was one that required careful stealth. It was the only thing Keith had been allowed to say about it before disappearing for what was supposed to be an extended 3 phoeb mission.

Acxa made sure to keep Team Voltron informed when it came to the check-in schedule, letting them know that Keith was ok. He had made the first three check-ins, even if the team was kept in the dark as to the messages’ contents. Acxa knew that there was a possibility that he could miss a check-in, but as long as his comm was active and could still be traced, she would know that the mission was still going. If he missed more than one check-in, it would raise alarms. Shiro said that he’d missed one a movement ago, which meant that he should have checked in again and hadn’t. If Shiro was calling to say that Keith had missed the check-in, and not that the mission was confirmed to have gone wrong, well, Lance didn’t quite know what it meant, but it wasn’t going to stop him from finding out.

“I’ll be right there,” he said, fully awake and already half-dressed.

Shiro nodded and cut the call.

Forty-five minutes later, Lance was walking into the conference room. He was surprised to see that he was the first one there save for Shiro. Lance was the only one of the team who wasn’t either assigned to the Atlas or stationed at the Garrison. Given his leave status, he’d decided to stay home with his family. The Garrison knew where to find him if they wanted to.

Taking a seat in the middle of the table, Lance leaned forward, resting his arms on the metal surface. “Who else is coming to this?” he asked.

“Adam, Pidge, and Hunk, Acxa is bringing Kolivan, and against my wishes, the MFEs will be here as well. They don’t have the security clearance our team has. They were involved on the front lines, but they’re not us. And they know even less about the Blades. But Iverson ordered it, so they’re coming.”

“Kinda surprised I still have the clearance,” he muttered, even though he knew Shiro would hear him anyway.

“And you know that if I had any real say, you’d be on the Atlas with us. You’re an outstanding pilot, the best at small team tactics I’ve ever seen, and I know no one can iron sight a target like you can. We wouldn’t have made it through several of our missions with Voltron if it hadn’t been for you. I don’t know if you realize it, but we never would have won the war without you.”

Lance looked up at that. Shiro was watching him, the Alpha’s expression one of pride and affection. “How’s that? We did it as a team. I wasn’t any more or less important than anyone else.”

Shiro shook his head. “Not at the end. You’re right about that. It was a team effort. I meant before that. Back when we rescued Slav. We only had one chance at getting him out, and we almost didn’t. If you hadn’t made that shot, we never would have succeeded that day, and – as much as I hate to admit it – Slav’s input and genius went a very long way in helping us win. Without you, none of it would have happened.”

Shock and realization flashed across the Omega’s face. “I – I never thought about it like that. I just did what I had to. We needed him, and I just did it. I never put it together like that.” He stumbled through his words, understanding the weight of what he’d done hitting him. He started at Shiro’s hand on his shoulder.

“I hadn’t either until recently. But that wasn’t a conversation to be had over a call. And I want you to know from me that I have been fighting Administration over your forced medical leave. It isn’t Iverson who’s sidelining you, it’s the heads of the Medical Division. They’re the only ones who can overrule him. Your evaluations confirm what we already know – that you're fit for active duty. The shrinks know it, we know it, even Iverson knows it. I don’t know why the med admins won’t clear you, but I have an idea, and their thought process is wrong. Being an Omega has nothing to do with your capability as a Garrison officer. We will get this sorted out.”

Lance stood up in a rush, nearly knocking the chair over, and crushed his pack Alpha in a tight hug. “Thanks, Shiro,” he mumbled into the Alpha’s shoulder.

“Anytime. I mean it. You’re more than just your service record. You are still, and always will be, part of the pack. Part of our pack. You do know that, right?”

Lance huffed a laugh into Shiro’s shoulder. “That’s about the only part I haven’t questioned. I – I miss him, Shiro. I just want to get him back safe.”

Shiro pulled back, holding onto Lance’s shoulders. “We will. We’re not giving up, not even if I have to go after him myself.”

The door gave a soft hiss as it slid open and closed. Lance and Shiro snapped to see who was there.

“We interrupt something?” Pidge asked, Hunk standing beside her.

“Lance! You made it! Oh, man, I am so happy to see you!” Hunk practically yelled, rushing in to wrap his old friend in a crushing hug.

“Yeah, I made it. I'm happy to see you too, Hunk,” Lance said far more softly and returning the enthusiastic hug.

~*~*~*~

Links to the rest of the series:

1 | 2 | 3* | 4 | 5* | 6* | 7 | 8 | 9* | 10 | 11 | 12* | 13 | 14 | 15* | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19*

[ironmandeficiency]

all’s fire in love & war

pairing: hardcase / reader

word count: 1911

summary: hardcase hatches a plan to win your affection that doesn’t quite go off without a hitch. you’re infuriated at his eagerness to endanger himself but also quite sentimental when the burn marks in the terrain simulation arena look suspiciously like a heart.

a/n: i’ve fallen in love with hardcase, all there is to it. idk whether him, dogma, or tup were at point rain but they were now. (this is also somewhat inspired by this art by @panthermouth​ )

read it on ao3

“hardcase! you were only supposed to detonate the droids, not the whole karking simulation arena!” fives was, quite understandably, furious. this was the third time in five days hardcase has pulled a stunt like this, which was far more often than normal. hardcase was giggling like a child that had eaten too many sweets, thoroughly enjoying the blazing inferno before him. the sprinklers went off like clockwork and it was honestly so strange to think that hardcase was actually considered an adult.

you were a civvie medic assigned to the 501st, and your time was divided between the resolute and the front lines. the clones seemed to worship the ground you walked on, which you attributed to the way you fought at point rain. it could also have a lot to do with the way you’d give contraband (read: candies) after their visits and the soft voice you’d use with shinies experiencing their first med bay trip.

his smile was the first thing you noticed about hardcase. its boyish charm and hints of trouble lurking beneath it working like a magnet pulling your affections to him. it was hard to find peace and quiet when he was around, but since you hated silence, it was great to hear his voice after a long day elbow-deep in blood and bacta.

you groaned as the sirens went off, not even bothering to throw your blacks on before slipping on your boots and going to assess the damage. you were in night clothes that didn’t keep much else covered besides the necessities, but you weren’t one to shy away when it came to your body. your state of dress was inconsequential to you at the moment because there was something happening that may need your presence.

the day of a medic was never over.

your feet were pounding on the durasteel floor of the resolute, partly hoping that you were woken needlessly for the sake of the men but also that you weren’t roused from a particularly pleasant dream for no valid reason.

another boom shook the ground slightly and you did not like the way the alarms seemed to get louder in protest to the second shock.

your entrance to the terrain simulation arena was loud and heavy from the near-spring you’ve been in since you left your bunks, your breaths being heavy and a smidge labored.

“what’s wrong, vod- holy kriff, we need a medic! medic!” you recognized the voice in seconds. the fact you could taste the explosion in the air did nothing to soothe the nerves that had built up at the arc trooper’s tone. there was no time for jitters or worrying, you had a job to do.

your feet carried you to fives’s side, quickly reassuring him with a hand in his shoulder. “i’m here, fives! what happened?”

“this pile of bantha fodder decided to go overboard and now he’s-”

“it doesn’t matter if i went ‘overboard’ on this,” hardcase did finger quotes around the accusational word with a sith-may-care grin, “it’s working! this was, uh, just a minor setback.” that is, if being impaled with droid metal could be considered minor anything.

fives could have killed him right then but somehow was able to grip his last remaining bit of self-restraint tight enough. the restraint didn’t weaken the desire to strangle his vod’ika but it sure kept him from acting on it. ‘we’re literally right next to a medic, if i killed him now she’d probably be quick enough to bring him back-’ the tirade was cut off with a groan from hardcase, the man slightly moving within the grips of five’s arms.

you had no idea what kind of plan (that fives was in on by the sound of his frustration) the brothers had concocted. the only thing you were focusing on was the embedded piece of shrapnel in hardcase’s side that was bleeding a bit too much for your liking. the fool didn’t even bother to have full armor on when dealing with his precious explosives and was seeming to have no issue whatsoever with being impaled by some sort of twisted metal far too mangled to identify.

the fire from the explosions were smoldering as you and fives lifted hardcase between you both, making a mad dash to the medbay. hardcase was determined to not be carried and so his legs would occasionally try to carry a bit of his weight; the pain was white-hot and with every step he attempted to make he tripped over his own feet. through the pain, he was still adamant that his injuries were a minor setback.

what was new information, however, was the tinge of fear in your eyes as you and fives gently laid him in a bed, fives being grilled with questions while you and kix both got to work. it filled him with guilt he didn’t have the hindsight to consider if things went sideways in his plan (which they did).

hardcase only intended on your presence being a precautionary one at most. he knew you’d be one of the first to respond to an incident almost anywhere in the ship and even though part of him didn’t like taking advantage of your caring nature, he made sure to act on his plan somewhere he knew you’d be the first to reach. there wasn’t a part of his plan that accounted for him actually being injured, let alone the frantic tone so unfamiliar to him as you shouted things to kix.

in the eyes of the 501st (and the 212th) you had no fear. back during the second attack on geonosis, you took up arms alongside them despite the multitude of regs clearly stating that civilian medics were prohibited from participating in combat. a member of the 501st had used his dying breath to give you his dc-15s and the moment his hand lost its grip on yours, you figuratively told the regs to kiss your shebs in the form of shooting every droid and bug in your way.

you were enraged but calculated while kicking ass (it still got hardcase a bit hot under his blacks when thinking about it), and when the battle ended you were immediately back into the medbay as if you never left your medical duties. there was no evidence that you had previously been fighting alongside the rest of them with the ease you slipped back into your duties, your voice returning to the soothing firmness of someone that cared about the men under their care.

this was also the day hardcase fell head over shebs for you, your desire to go above and beyond for clones of all the people in the galaxy standing out to the heavy gunner. it was in the way you’d happily listen to him ramble on about whatever his mind thought of next and actually contribute to what would normally be a one-sided conversation, even among his closest vod’e. you cared about who he was as an individual far beyond just his physical health and he ached to show you how much that meant to him.

safe to say, what was going to be a well-humored display of affection turning into an emergency trip to you and kix was not part of his plan. what’s worse is that he had become the reason your voice had lost its calming cadence, your words rushed and sounded like you were teetering on the edge of losing it.

why were you so worried about little ol’ him?

he wanted to ponder the implications more but he was knocked out, either by an anaesthetic shot or blood loss, he was too far gone to know which.

--------

kix has had the idea bouncing in his head for a while, but tonight’s events solidified his thoughts into one fact: hardcase was a kriffing idiot.

when fives told kix about the “plan” his vod’ika had cooked up to get the attention of his fellow medic, it took several deep breaths and the promise of alderaanian wine in his bunk to keep from doing something rash. only an idiot (which hardcase was established to be) would be blind to the extra care you held for the di’kut.

you’d always be sure to stash his favorite flavor of medbay candies away for when he came in for one thing or another (usually it was just to lighten the mood of less-crowded shifts) and listen to the word vomit that never ceased to come from his mouth even through sleep. kix isn’t the only one who’s noticed the lingering physical contact when it was completely unnecessary but it grated on him more than most, seeing as he was subjected to its naivety more than most.

the fact that hardcase thought he’d need a heart-shaped explosion to get your attention truly attested to his stupidity.

he was just glad that hardcase didn’t need time in a bacta for all the trouble this was. the largest piece lodged into his abdomen and -thank the maker- missed his organs. but even bacta couldn’t keep it from getting a pretty gnarly scar, something he knew wouldn’t bother his vod a bit. knowing hardcase, he’d boast about the thing to anyone who’d listen.

kix had sedated him not long after he was brought in. fives had been dismissed after kix had heard enough of the ridiculous plan that had landed hardcase in medical, and the privacy left kix with the perfect opportunity for a conversation with his fellow medic.

“y’alright, y/n?” he started off easy, knowing that your worry was bound to make you more sensitive than normal.

your breath was shaky as you exhaled, leaning against the bed hardcase occupied. “would it be bad if i said no?”

“not in my eyes, baar'ur’ika. i know you care about him an awful lot.” a playful smile graced his features, hoping to ease the tension he could sense radiating off you. it worked a little, your shoulders slumping out of the tense posture they carried minutes earlier.

“i do care about him, and that’s what makes it all worse! we’re fighting a war here, death is as common as a blaster!” you took a deep breath, trying to fight the way your voice gets weaker but failing. “ i don’t know if i could survive losing him, kix.”

kix continued to apply bacta to the smaller cuts hardcase sustained before continuing. “the fact we’re in war should encourage you to show him what you feel. us clones never know when we’ll die, and our last thoughts are always on the things that made us happy, that made this damned war worth fighting. i know for a fact that if hardcase died tomorrow, his last thoughts will be of you.”

yeah his words were meant to be encouraging, but they were a painful reminder all the same. maybe it was time to let yourself have a sliver of happiness within the death and sorrow that permeated the entire gar. you may not completely believe you deserve the happiness he would bring you, but hardcase surely deserves whatever happiness you could give him.

you didn’t know what to say in reply so you continued your work in silence. once the sedation wore off, hardcase would be free to leave. until then, you could stay beside him and wonder how the kriff you were going to explain your feelings to the idiot that won your affections with no effort.

[repulsivepangolin]

SEAL Team Whumptober 23/31 -Full Metal

No 23. WHAT’S A WHUMPEE GOTTA DO TO GET SOME SLEEP AROUND HERE? Exhaustion | Narcolepsy | Sleep Deprivation

 _______________

A/N: Okay, so a few of you needed to know what happened to Metal after the "Toto, I have a feeling we're not in Kansas anymore" installment. And, some of you enjoyed the idea of the Hello Kitty pants.

So, yeah... Hurt Metal, a few weeks (you decide how many weeks you think that is, but it's more than 'a couple'...) after the back injury, sporting the infamous pink Hello Kitty pants. (And Trent doing his best to keep Metal safe and comfortable...)

________________

“I brought pizza…”

Metal offered up a tired smile as he focused his eyes on him.

“How are you feeling?” Trent studied his brother for a moment. He saw that he was in pain. He didn’t need the visual clue the familiar pink pajama pants were to know that much.  

Full Metal did a half-assed shrug.

“You’re already wearing Hello Kitty pants,” Trent scrounged up his nose, “It’s alright to admit that everything sucks at the moment.”

Metal nodded a little, “Well. Yeah. It does.”

“How’s your back?”

“I made it from my bedroom, to the bathroom and back here with only crutches…” Metal sighed.

“That’s good. That’s progress.”

Metal nodded a little, “Right now I think I’d prefer that amputation at C2 you’re sometimes joking about…”

Trent nodded a little, “Lots of pain?”

“Everything below the injury feels like it’s on fire.” He admitted.

“Ouch.”

Metal nodded.

“So, how long have you been stuck on the couch?”

He shrugged, “Was up pretty late. Around noon.”

“So… Give or take, six hours.”

“Sounds about right.” Metal nodded.

“Anything you need?”

“Pain meds.” Metal sighed and fixed his gaze at the ceiling, “And I was about to call Sarah down the hall for help getting back up, I really need to take a piss soon.”

Trent nodded and temporarily placed the pizza box on the kitchen counter. “Meds first?”

Metal nodded.

Trent pointed towards Metal’s bedroom, “On the nightstand, right?”

“Yeah.”

Trent nodded and went to grab them. Next to Metal’s bed he stalled a bit, “Which one? Pregabalin or diclofenac?”

“Both.” Metal closed his eyes.

Trent returned with both the vials and placed them next to Metal on the table, “So, did you at least get some good rest before you got up?”

Metal shook his head as he reached for the first orange container. “I told you that everything below the injury feels like it’s on fire right? Or like I’ve got some electrical current running through it…”

Trent scrounged up his nose. Sometimes he felt he had gotten lucky with his arm injury. There was nerve damage, but for him that mostly resulted in general numbness and sometimes a phantom type itch. He knew enough veterans who had similar injuries who experienced the more disabling symptoms from their injuries to know that even though his arm looked like a nightmare, he was one of the lucky ones. He just hoped this was something which would pass for Metal, that it wasn’t his new normal.

“-No, I haven’t been able to get a proper night’s sleep since a few days after the accident.” Metal bit out, then his eyes watered a little, “I’m tired.”

Trent nodded.

Metal popped one pill into his mouth, twisted the lid back on and reached for the other vial.

“Do you need something to swallow them down with?”

“No…” Metal shook his head as he twisted the cap of the other container.

Trent went to the fridge anyway, and brought back a bottle of water, “Here.”

Metal sighed and accepted the bottle.

 *    *    *

 “You think you could help me up?” Metal asked after about twentyfive-thirty minutes.

“How could I ever say no to a grown man in Hello Kitty pajama pants?” Trent chuckled, before he took a decisive breath, “What do you need me to do?”

“First of all?” Metal flashed a short grimace and held up a hand, “I need you to help me into a seated position.”

“Just, pull you up?”

Metal nodded, “After that, I need to get my feet on the ground…”

Trent nodded and grabbed Metal’s hand, “On three, okay?”

Metal nodded.

 *    *    *

 It had taken several minutes just to get Metal vertical. And Trent wasn’t entirely sure the other man was ready for it when he saw him crutch towards the bathroom.

“Hey, do me a favor…”

“What?” Metal didn’t turn around.

“Don’t lock the door, alright?”

“I know you know how to pick a lock…” Metal chuckled a bit, his voice was strained with either pain or concentration, “Relax, I won’t.”

“Thanks.” Trent let his shoulders relax a bit, “I’ll reheat the pizza in the meanwhile. How does that sound?”

“Good.” Metal nodded, before he half-stumbled a step and cussed.

Trent moved in close enough to place one hand on his back and one hand on his chest so the taller man wouldn’t topple over.

“You good?” he could read Metal’s body language well enough to know he wasn’t. His shoulders were tense, his arms were tense, his knuckles almost glowed white where he gripped the hand grips hard enough to make Trent feel sorry for the material.

Full Metal’s eyes were squeezed shut, and his entire face was knit in a grimace, his teeth bared.

Trent could both hear and feel how Metal tried to force his breaths even, how he tried to regain control.

“Let me know when you’re ready for me to let go, alright?” Trent said, his right hand gently gliding a couple of inches back and forth over Metal’s shoulder blade.

Metal nodded stiffly.

“Let go?”

This time Metal shook his head, but just as mechanically.

Trent nodded a little, still rubbing his right hand gently over the same spot. He didn’t like the way Metal was literally trembling.

He was pretty sure minutes passed before Full Metal looked over at him and nodded, “Think I’m ready…”

“Sure?”

Metal frowned a bit, “Keep close though…”

He couldn’t help but chuckle a bit at the worried look the slightly taller man sported.

“I mean it.” Metal gritted out, “I’m actually a bit afraid. -I don’t trust my balance.”

“I’m sorry…” Trent felt bad for almost laughing.

Metal sighed and glared at the door to the bathroom, “This. Sucks.”

“I know…” Trent nodded, “But hey, you’re actually getting better.”

Metal scoffed, “Not fast enough.”

“You were completely paralyzed from the waist down a few weeks back. The doctor said the swelling could cause permanent damage even though your spinal cord wasn’t cut.” Trent stepped in front of Metal so he’d easier meet his eyes, “It’s almost unbelievable that you’re able to move your feet, not to mention actually being able to stand and walk with crutches.”

He saw Metal’s jaw working.

“I’m being an annoying prick?”

“Pretty sure it’s mostly because of the pain, but yeah.” Metal nodded, “And move out of my way. I need to make it the last twelve feet that way…”

Trent nodded and stepped aside.

 *    *    *

 Sitting back down after his almost daredevil trip to the bathroom was almost heavenly. The meds had started kicking in, and even though everything still hurt, it was getting better.

“Think I’ll finally reheat that pizza now…” Trent winked a couple of seconds after Metal had managed to find a position he was almost comfortable in, “You’re gonna eat something whether you’re hungry or not.”

Metal nodded, “Actually, I think I could wolf down a slice or two now…”

“Good.” Trent grinned.

[lifeisdabubbles-undersalmondean]

La Pomme ~ Chapter 16

Pairing: Sam x OC (eventual Dean x OC and Dean x Castiel. And I mean eventual.)

Series summary: George is a casual French-Mistake-universe Supernatural fan living in no-COVID 2020, who's life is upended when she's suddenly launched between realities, two years into the boys' past (S13E22). What begins as an insane, immersive fan experience turns into more when Jack goes missing and George offers up her AU information to help track him down. Soon it's discovered that she and Sam may actually have history. But that's impossible, right?

Word Count:5,800

Warnings: {smut, fluff, angst, show level violence, swearing, mentions of suicide} ***Detailed warnings will be tagged for specific chapters.

A/N: Following the events of my prequel Paradise and second story From My Eyes Off. Reading those first gives context but isn’t necessary to start this one.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

George was alone with Jack for the next few hours while the brothers set about the tasks of clean up, house warding, and hopefully some rest of their own. She was the perfect person to take first watch, considering every time she closed her eyes she saw Jack’s bloody, near lifeless body behind her lids. Staying with him gave her a reason to keep her eyes open and she figured the more she could see him looking distinctly alive, the better. Every once in a while she’d take his hand in hers and squeeze tightly, thinking ‘happy thoughts.’ Considering her recent angelic kidnapping, she refused to call it prayer; instead she tried to imagine sending healing energy through her hands to him.

Just as the sun began sneaking a ray or two into the room through the half open blinds, George spotted movement out of the corner of her eye. It startled her at first, thinking the psychotic angel was back. She relaxed when it was only Dean.

“Morning,” She said quietly. She watched him hold a mug up to his lips and take a careful sip before acknowledging her.

“Morning,” He mimicked, stepping into the room. “Your Aunt serves decent coffee.”

“‘Decent’? Don’t let her hear you say that,” She warned with a tired smile.

Dean gave her a once over and then motioned for her to get up, “OK, shift change. Time for you to get some rest.”

“Dean, I’m fine--”

“I’m sure you're fine as a frog’s hair, but you still need sleep, young lady.” Came Lorna’s stern voice from the doorway. She was holding a plate of fresh baked mango scones that made Dean's mouth water. Lorna held the plate out to him and he took two, then eyed the plate longingly. “Go ahead. I have another batch on the counter and two more in the oven. And if the coffee’s not weak enough for you, there’s a Starbucks in Gibbousville,” She informed him in a stern voice, a smirk on her face. Dean glanced at George, who’s expression clearly said ‘toldja so,’ and then sheepishly took a third scone with a happy, quiet mumble of thanks.

There was only one scone left on the plate and Lorna handed it to George, “You’ve been awake since I stitched you up. Take this to the garage and get some shut eye. I’ll feed this one before I go to work and he can keep watch while you rest.” George looked between the two of them. Despite the crumbs stuck to Dean's chin, the serious expressions on their faces told her she wasn’t going to win any arguments about it. Giving Jack’s hand one last tight squeeze, she got up, took the plate with a defiant ‘thank you,’ and left the room.

The converted garage apartment consisted of one 15’ x 30’ living room-kitchen combo area with an attached bathroom and shower downstairs. At the top of the stairs was a long, narrow bedroom that had just enough room for one queen and one full mattress, placed on opposite sides of the room and a small nightstand for the queen bed. The room was cramped, with slanted ceilings so severe that neither brother could stand up fully in there other than one four inch horizontal line down the middle.

George entered the cottage and placed the plate of scone on the counter. Splitting it in two, she left one half on the plate and took a bite of the other. Unsurprisingly it was delicious and fluffy. Her aunt had always been a whiz in the kitchen; it was comforting that her alt-aunt was too. Glancing around, she saw her Target bags sitting on the leather loveseat across the room and walked over to them. She debated her options, then closed her eyes for a moment, just to see. The image of Jack’s lifeless body was murkier now, but the face of her angel tormentor was too realistic to handle. She opened her eyes again quickly, glanced around to make sure she was alone, then grabbed her toiletries.

Shower first, it is.

After brushing the blood from her teeth thrice, she carefully scrubbed her grimey skin, limited a bit by her injuries. The pain meds had worked well but she could feel a deep soreness on her side when she tried to reach certain spots. She stayed under the warmth of the water for a long time, avoiding the inevitable. Sleep was definitely going to require her eyes to be closed, but she couldn’t shake the traumatic images. She’d even attempted to calm her nerves with a few fingers but couldn’t concentrate. As she turned off the water, she hoped at least that the sun had risen high enough to chase away the darkness and maybe her fears along with it.

She wrapped her long wet hair into a towel, and began drying off. Then looked around for her clothes and realized she hadn’t brought any in with her; everything was still out on the loveseat. With a tired curse, she wrapped the damp towel around herself and peeked out to make sure the coast was clear before exiting into the living area.

Across the room, kitty-corner to the bathroom, was a modest sitting area with a loveseat and matching oversized chair positioned in front of a small redwood coffee table and fireplace. When she got to her clothes, she dropped the towel to the ground without even thinking and reached into the bag for some fresh white underwear and a black sleeveless undershirt. With her injuries, it was a bit of a struggle to get them on, but she managed it slowly.

Just as she was about to search in the bag for her pajama pants, she heard a distinct creaking sound and her head snapped toward the staircase. Knowing there was no way she’d be able to get the pants on fast enough, she reached down for the towel. The only thing she’d had time to do was grip it before Sam appeared at the bottom of the stairs five seconds later.

“Sam--” She sputtered apologetically with a start when she saw him frozen there, dressed in a casual long sleeved grey v-neck and black pajama pants. There was still sleep on his face, but he was quickly waking up, looking very surprised to see her in such a state of undress.

The second she laid eyes on him, she felt her whole body relax. She almost laughed in disbelief, considering normally she would have been falling all over herself to cover up and apologize. Whether because of the insane dream connection (which she still hadn’t fully processed) or just the past few weeks getting to know him, his mere presence made her feel safe. Safe enough that she didn’t need to say sorry. Safe enough that pants were optional. Even safe enough to close her eyes and take a deep, calming breath when she saw nothing but inky blackness behind them.

“Georgia?” Came a quiet rasp. He’d been worried about her since the rescue but, there’d been so many things to do, he hadn’t found a good time to talk to her yet. After helping to get Jack stabilized, he and Dean carefully and discreetly painted warding around the property to prevent the angels from tracking them. Then began the clean up.

Once that was all finished, he’d stopped by Jack’s room to check on her, but noticed she was talking outloud to him. Not wanting to interrupt, he’d decided to clean himself up with a shower before another attempt. His final barrier had been Dean, who literally wouldn’t leave him alone until he got some rest. He knew telling him to chill out because he needed to go talk to ‘the woman of his dreams’ wasn’t going to be a conversation ender for his brother. Just trying to wait the man out, he had accidentally fallen asleep.

Seeing her now, though, he realized just how nervous he was to be alone with her. It certainly wasn’t like he’d been trying to avoid having life-altering conversations with her by finding important busy work to do, but he couldn't deny that a tiny part of him was scared. She was still from an alternate universe and now that they had found Jack, they were supposed to send her back. So what if he’d dreamt about her and she kinda seemed to be aware of it too? So what if that fact indicated she may have had the same dream and the two of them have a decade old shared memory across alternate realities, hmm? What did that even mean? Did it even really change anything? She still had to go back to her world, right?

Considering he didn’t yet know how to answer any of that for himself, he instead started with, “How are you?”

Hearing the concern in his voice, her eyes opened and she smiled gratefully at him. Momentarily appreciating the messy morning hair and beard, she felt the stirrings of something primal and almost considered revisiting her earlier solo shower work. Instead, though, she figured she’d ask him to stay with her just until she could fall asleep.

“Tired,” She answered before dropping the towel and walking over to him. She slowly took his hand and led him back up the stairs to the bedroom. He wasn’t exactly sure what was happening but he knew he’d follow her anywhere. He allowed her to guide him back up, trying not to stare at her barely covered behind on the way.

Since their conversation in the car, Sam very clearly saw the young blonde bride he met in his dream whenever he looked at her (any of her). He was dumbfounded it took him this long to see it; he thought he had that woman’s face seared into his memory. His only explanation was that he’d successfully been able to convince himself that the dream hadn’t been real all those years ago. Therefore, it didn’t occur to him that a real woman he’d never met, from a universe he’d only been in once, could be the same person from a fake dream. Whatever the reason, he saw it now and it caused him to ache with curiosity and desire.

When she reached the top of the stairs, she realized she hadn’t actually asked him to stay and turned back around, causing him to stop as well. He was a few steps down, so they were eye-level and George could see the desire very clearly in his bright hazel eyes. The primal urges she’d placated downstairs took over; leaning forward she placed a soft, desperate kiss on his lips.

When their lips touched, she panicked for a split second about her impulsivity. Then she immediately felt his hands on her waist and she was filled with exquisite peace. Able to close her eyes untroubled for the first time in hours, she sunk into him.

Sam was so startled by the kiss that he grabbed her sides, holding on tight. Once the reality of what was happening registered, he responded enthusiastically. From his dream he remembered her taste, the way she felt in his arms, and her silky soft lips but the reality of it was unbelievable. His senses were overloading; she felt familiar and new all at the same time. It was electrifying and so consuming that all his doubts about what was happening were forgotten.

Frustrated that she couldn’t kiss him any harder without her lip protesting, she pulled back. He gripped her tighter instinctively. With a smile, she reached up and grabbed his hands, prying them off her body.

Taking a few steps backward into the room, she tugged at them, inviting, “Stay?” His mind was in a fog of stunned yearning and it rooted him to his spot. Noticing his hesitation, she squeezed his hands and pleaded softly, “Just until I fall asleep? We don’t have to do anything.”

He pulled his hands from her grip slowly, then climbed the last of the steps and stood tall over her. One hand slid into her hair, the other wrapped around her waist, pulling her back to his lips for a slow, lingering kiss. Gently and carefully, so as not to hit either of their heads against the very low and steeply angled attic roof, he guided her backwards to the larger of the two beds. Stopping her just before they reached the mattress by squeezing her against him. He’d meant to stop kissing her long enough to make sure exactly what she wanted to do, but her tongue was very distracting. Then her hands moved to softly touch the scruff of his cheeks and he melted, tumbling farther away from being able to stop kissing her.

Suddenly she ripped away from him and her forehead dropped to his chest silently. Looking down at her in confusion, wondering if he’d hurt her or she’d changed her mind, he noticed a sharp inhale of breath. When she lifted her head again her eyes were a bit watered and he realized how tired she really was.

With a smirk, he inquired, “Georgia, were you hiding a yawn from me?” Avoiding eye contact she shook her head, keeping her lips pressed together. The smirk turned into an amused smile and Sam loosened his grip on her, placing a tender kiss on her forehead.

“Bed,” He ordered softly, noticing the shiver that ran through her. Shaking her head in protest George reached up and grabbed at the collar of his shirt, pulling him down towards her. He chuckled and grabbed hold of her hands to stop her. With a charming smile he rubbed his nose against hers, bringing his lips near her tauntingly, “I’ll keep going if you can tell me how much you want me.”

Her eyes rolled back in her head and she hesitated, trying to lift herself up to his lips without him noticing.

Squeezing her eyes closed tight in hope, “I wan--” was all she got out before another yawn hit her. She wasn’t fast enough to hide this one. Why was her brain betraying her body like this?

Sam gave her another sweet but chaste kiss as a consolation prize before letting go, hunching over, and carefully maneuvering around the left side of bed. She turned her body around to follow him with a depressed slouch. The covers and pillows were disturbed and she assumed that’s where he’d been sleeping before coming downstairs. He gave the pillows a quick fluff and folded the blanket back.

To her pleasant surprise, he climbed in first. Once he was situated comfortably up against the headboard, his left arm stretched out on the empty pillow next to him, he looked at her expectantly. She straightened up from her slouch in surprise; too elated to move.

Grinning wide, she finally murmured, “Are you for real, Sam Winchester?”

With a small smile, he assured, “C’mon. Bed,” He ordered again, beckoning her with his hand. Finally her muscles moved and she climbed in next to him. Laying against him as the little spoon, she rested her head half on his shoulder, half on the pillow. Once he pulled the covers up over them both, his arms wrapped around her. He lifted one hand up, stroking her hair, and rested the other hand just below her underwear on the naked skin of her hip. Squeezing her close, he nuzzled her neck and placed a few kisses on her soft skin.

Her fresh, clean scent was intoxicating. He should have stopped kissing her; he knew she needed sleep, he could see it all over her face. Yet, having her this close after all this time was nearly making him burst; he couldn’t help himself. Glancing up, he saw her hardening nipples through the thin fabric of her shirt and knew it was too late.

Goosebumps appeared on her skin shortly thereafter and she teased, squirming a bit, “Hey buddy, I can’t sleep if my libido can’t sleep.” She’d expected him to stop instantly.

Instead, she heard, “Do you want me to stop?” murmured genuinely in her ear and felt his hand freeze in its movement from her hip down toward her thigh. With a surprised shudder, that primal instinct roared awake once more.

“Hell no,” She purred, shifting her hips so her butt was flat on the bed. When she spread the leg he wasn’t gripping, her movement caused his fingers to brush against her fabric covered core. They both groaned. Tossing her head back and to the side, she begged, “Touch me!” Before reaching up to grab the back of his head and pull him down for another hungry kiss, lip injury be damned.

He responded eagerly. His hand slipped under the fabric and he played her like a soft, warm instrument he hadn’t picked up in years, but never forgot. Every sound his movements elicited, reminded him what to do next to please her. There were also new and exciting things he hadn’t expected, like the metal jewelry he could feel surrounding her nipples while his fingers toyed with them under her shirt. The moment he felt them, he smirked, realizing then how she’d known the pierced librarian would be interested in seeing them. His head filled with ideas about what they might look like, but he couldn’t see them in the dimness of the bedroom. He worked her through two quick releases before she passed out, satisfied, in his arms. __________________________________________

George was back in the bar where she'd first met Sam. Her wedding dress was on and her hair was purple, just like the dream. Sitting next to her in the booth, Sam’s face was ten years younger and smooth as a baby’s bottom. His eyes were the same, though; an ocean of deep pain and loss and they distracted her from whatever he was saying.

Suddenly they were kissing and she couldn’t think about anything else. Her hands rubbed roughly against the skin of his neck as her tongue flicked across his lips. Opening his mouth and meeting her tongue with his, he obliged. Their tongues wrestled blissfully for an eternity before they finally came up for air.

“What are you?” She heard him ask, but she wasn’t listening. Her eyes were still closed, hoping he would bring his lips back again.

“Hmm?” She murmured after a moment. When she opened her eyes, she couldn’t see his face through her fog. “Sam?” She asked, blinking a few times in order to get her vision back. When she tried focusing, she noticed that his features were twisting and swirling slowly. In confused horror she watched him morph into the dark haired angel who’d assaulted her. With a gasp she tried to pull back from him and then felt a hand wrap around her throat. She tried to reach for the hand and pry it off but it felt like her body was moving through thick molasses.

“Tell me what you are,” He barked as she struggled to escape. The hand around her throat grew tighter and he shouted again in her face, “Tell me. Whe--What you are!” Struggling to get air, she closed her eyes tight and tried to scream. His voice was beginning to skip and warp like an old worn out record.

A deafening “whooshing” began, punctuated by a few other sounds she couldn’t quite make out, “VaSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHtivaSSSSSSSSSSSSSHHHHHHHHHHHHHHtivaSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSHHHHHHHHHHHtivaSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHtivaSSSSSSSSSSSSSHHHHHHHHHHHHHHtivaSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSHHHHHHHHHHH”

Suddenly a voice with a deeper, richer tone spoke quietly to her, “Vashti!” When her eyes snapped open in response, she was startled. It wasn’t the angel anymore. Now Sam looked like a man with thin dusty lips, rounded features, short spiky blonde hair, and blue eyes that matched her own. She didn’t recognize him but something about him filled her with a familiar dread she couldn’t pinpoint, causing her to increase her efforts to get out of his grip.

With a smug curl of his lips, the stranger called to her in a low, sing-song voice, squeezing her throat, “Tell me where you are. Tell me where you are, VASHTI!”

Launching herself upright with a gutteral noise of panic, her eyes darted around the room trying to orient herself as she gulped in air. She saw a figure standing near the stairs and instantly screamed out to Sam for help. It didn’t register that the figure was Sam, until he was sitting on the bed in front of her with his hands on her arms. She grabbed onto his biceps and held tight while he tried to calm her.

“Georgia! It’s OK, you’re OK! I’m here, it’s Sam, it’s me! It’s just me. Me and you, OK?” He shushed forcefully, staring into her eyes to help her focus. She tried to slow her panting, as she felt her body begin to relax, her brain finally able to process her surroundings. Nodding slowly, she let go of his arms and fell forward, hugging him tightly. He hugged her back and stroked her hair calmly. Once her breathing returned to normal, she pulled back and sat up straight.

Looking at her with concern, he asked gently, “Bad dream?”

Running a shaky hand over her face she explained, “It was a great dream until that fucking angel showed up and started strangling me...” Sam frowned in empathy, watching her carefully. She seemed to want to say more; her eyes were glazed over.

The angel had freaked her out but the blonde man had terrified her; her heart was pounding. The feeling of the dream reminded her of the time she’d had sleep paralysis and saw a bony, bloody, scraggly haired witch on top of her; except a thousand times worse. It took her a week to get a good night’s sleep after that, and she hasn’t slept on her back since.

When she didn’t speak, he asked, “Was there something else?”

George blinked the man’s face away and looked back at Sam, “I uh… I don’t know. Yes, maybe. Someone else.”

“Who?” The concern on his face nearly melted her. No one had ever looked at her like that before and she nearly choked up. She was starting to doubt herself. Maybe it was no one? Some actor or character she couldn’t place? Maybe the face of one of the other angels from the group in the forest? Maybe just another case of sleep paralysis? Maybe it was ridiculous that she’d let it get her so worked up and it wasn’t worth focusing on. Especially not when a man as amazing as this one was sitting right in front of her.

Shaking her head a bit she started, “I didn’t recognize him…”

Sam nodded and began rubbing his hands up and down her arms comfortingly, “Well, can you describe him to me? Maybe I’ll rec--”

George shook her head and placed her hands firmly on his chest, cutting him off, “No, no, no. This is silly, I’m being silly. It was just a bad dream, maybe some sleep paralysis or something? I’m better now.” Sam searched her face suspiciously, and she smiled, feeling the hard muscle beneath his shirt, “I promise. Especially with you here.”

“Georgia, er--” The wiggle of her eyebrow caught him a little off guard. He tried to stay focused on whether or not she was really ok for just a minute longer, “Listen, I don’t think you’re being silly. If there’s something you want to talk about, we can talk about it anytime, OK?”

“Mhm, I appreciate that,” She answered, nodding enthusiastically and beginning to giggle just a bit. His attempt to slow things down with kindness and concern was only revving her up. It really wasn’t his fault; he couldn’t know how adorably sexy he was. “I am feeling much better, thank you.”

“You’re sure?” He asked, a furrow in his brow, as he adjusted a few strands of her hair gently.

“Actually, there is something I’d like to talk about,” She asked, looking at him with an exaggeratedly worried expression.

“Anything,” Sam assured her with a kind smile.

“Well, I don’t like this shirt you’re wearing,” She said apologetically, lifting it up by the hem a bit. He looked down at the shirt quickly and she continued, “I don’t think it looks good on you.”

He looked back up at her confused, “You... don’t?” He had other shirts, but was this really a high priority concern at the moment?

“No, but it’s OK because…” She smirked flirtatiously, batting her eyelashes and tugging harder at the offending garment, “I know it’ll look good off you.”

It took about 1.5 seconds for Sam to catch on and he couldn’t help but laugh shyly, “Oh, yea?” She nodded quickly as he reached for her, pulling her close and planting a kiss on her lips. Allowing him a grace period, she wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed herself against him, kissing him back fiercely for a few moments.

Suddenly she pulled back and grabbed his shirt on either side, lifting it up and demanding, “Shirt.”

Sam huffed in annoyance at having been unceremoniously ripped away from her lips but figured the quickest way to remedy that was compliance. He let go of her and grabbed the shirt from her hands, yanking it up and over. As the small fabric fell to the floor, he didn't allow her any time to enjoy the view before grabbing her again.

“Freeze!” She squeaked, placing her hands on his shoulders to stop him. He stopped with a flare of his nostrils and she requested, “Un momento,” before giving him a slow once over. She happily noted his gorgeous, tanned muscles, the dark, sparse patch of hair in the center of his chest, and the dark ink of the protection symbol on his skin, which she slid her fingers over softly. Then, running her hands down his chest with a satisfied sigh, she granted, “Proceed.”

With an amused shake of his head, he leaned forward with a forceful kiss. Pushing her back onto the pillows, he climbed on top of her. Her legs spread so he could lay against her comfortably but the blanket was still between them. She cursed it’s very existence as the two of them got lost in each other’s mouths.

At some point--George was certain an eternity had passed--Sam pulled back and started placing wet kisses on her clavicle. She buried her fingers in his silky soft hair, throwing her head back and lifting her chest toward him. His hand slid down to the hem of her shirt and his fingers slipped underneath. Somewhere in the deep recesses of her brain she thought she heard a low *thonk* sound in the distance.

She was about to mention it when Sam’s hand began sliding up her torso and he murmured with uncertainty, “This looks terrible on you?”

She bit back a chortle and responded with a tug at his hair, “Uh oh, I should probably take it off then, huh?” Under her brain fog she thought she’d heard a voice begin to speak just as Sam let out a loud, sharp agreeable groan. Pausing his kisses, he sat back so he could help her undress.

“Did you... hear something just now?” She murmured nonchalantly, distracted first by his abs and then the thin pajama pants containing his very obvious desire. “Oh, fuck,” She uttered, not caring anymore.

Whatever. The worst it could be is Aunt Lorna and she’ll understand.

She sat up and grabbed the bottom of her undershirt. Sam reached out and grabbed the shirt too, but a split second before they began to pull she heard a quiet voice in her head remind her, Or it could be Dean?

A squeak on the bottom step made them both freeze and when they heard, “Sammy? That you?” they exchanged a look of mutual horror. They both knew he was going to be insufferable if he caught them together.

“Shit!” Sam hissed quietly, while George leaned forward quickly and gasped in pain at the sudden ache that radiated throughout her left side. “Are you ok?!” He whispered in concern.

She nodded quickly, waving him off and whispering with a frantic point, “Shirt!! Your shirt!”

“Sam? Are you up here?” Sam jumped into action, diving over the edge of the bed and grabbing his shirt, scrambling to put it on. Thinking quickly, George grabbed one of the pillows behind her and tossed it on the floor. Sam got the message and threw himself to the ground next to the bed with a clumsy thud. Suddenly he popped back up and leaned in, placing one final quick kiss on her lips before slipping back down into position hurriedly. George, trying to hide her giddy smile, carefully laid back, suddenly very aware of yesterday's injuries, and covered herself with the blanket.

Sam had just finished adjusting his pillow when Dean’s head popped into view from the staircase with a worried expression, “Sam?! Are you O--Oh!” Dean paused for a split second before walking the last two steps and looking between the two of them curiously. George noticed the other half of her mango scone from this morning in his left hand. Instead of mentioning it, she acted like she was wiping the sleep from her eyes, starting to fake yawn.

Trying to look like she was just waking up, she asked, “Dean? Hmm, what time is it?” She glanced down at her side and asked very casually, “Where’s Seen--er, Sam? Have you Sam him? Seen ham--Seem--Have You. Seen Sam?”

Smooth, she kicked herself.

“I--I’m here, still, George,” Sam piped up loudly. “Remember, I offered to stay here on the floor next to your bed until you fell asleep earlier? I guess I fell asleep, too! Oops. Remind me to ask your aunt where she gets her pillows,” He let out a forced, nervous laugh.

Dean, hardly listening, allowed them to ramble while he took in the sight of them, quietly contemplating his next move. These two drama students weren’t fooling anyone; it was clear to him that he’d interrupted something and it filled him with glee. He had serious news but this was like a christmas present hand wrapped by Santa himself. The kind of gift every big brother dreams of.

He asked curiously, “You both OK? I thought I heard some banging?”

George blushed and Sam shook his head, “Yaah--yup, we’re all good. Might have just been my feet kicking the closet.” Sam shifted his foot and gently kicked it a few times against the tiny closet door demonstratively. “Like I said, I’ve just been down here. On the floor. Helping George get some rest.”

“Mhm, he’s been a big help,” George affirmed with a slow, pointed nod. It was obvious Dean knew something was up. She tried her best to seem confident and nonchalant, but she couldn’t help tossing the innuendo out there.

“Cool,” Dean shark-mouthed quickly before shrugging, “well, listen it’s good that I caught the two of you together,” he paused for a split second, looking between them pointedly. Then he explained, “Ja--Ow!” He had shifted to the right causing the side of his head to knock into the slanted ceiling. George bit her lip to keep from snickering when he growled, “OK, did your aunt build this attic to house unwanted children or something?! What the hell!”

“What’s up, Dean?” Sam asked pointedly, clearly ready for him to shit or get off the pot.

“I might ask you the same thing,” He chuckled in response and then, seeing their matching threatening expressions, he informed them, “Jack’s awake.”

“What?!” Without thinking George leapt up off the end of the bed, careful to land where she’d be able to stand upright and ignoring the pain in her side. “He’s awake?!”

“Oh! Well, that’s not for me to see,” Dean muttered when he saw she was only dressed in a black undershirt and briefs. He instantly jerked his head up, smacking into the ceiling again. “Gah! Friggin dollhouse!”

George walked up to him, pausing briefly to ask with concern, “Is he OK??”

Dean, glancing down at her face before back up to the sky, answered, “He’s recovering. Wants to see you. Both.”

“Well move it, then!” She pushed past him and began descending the stairs.

“Georgia!” She stopped and turned back to look at Sam expectantly.

“Clothed maybe?” Dean suggested before Sam could speak.

“Pants!” Sam reminded her with a face palm.

George was too excited to care, explaining, “They’re downstairs!! Let’s go!” before taking off down the steps. Dean turned back to Sam, giving his brother a knowing smile while he, in turn, avoided eye contact.

Sam crawled around to the foot of the bed before standing up, so as not to hit his head on the ceiling. He steeled himself, trying to conjure up his most ‘NO’ expression, and walked over to Dean. When Sam finally met his eyes it was all he could do not to punch the giddy look off his face.

“Look--”

“Hey, you don’t need to explain anything to me, little brother,” Dean began, very empathetically. “I know you’re a gentleman. If you say all you did was sleep next to her on the floor, so she felt safe, I believe you.” He reached up to pat him on the arm a little too hard before turning and beginning to walk downstairs. About halfway down he turned and asked with a curious brow, “And I just assume wearing your shirt inside out is the latest style, right?”

Sam’s head snapped down to look at himself as Dean kept descending the stairs, chortling with glee. Noticing the pronounced seams around his neck Sam muttered a curse; quickly pulling the shirt off, tugging it right side out, and threw it back on as he followed them downstairs.

Sam walked out of the stairwell into the main room and saw Dean, alone, looking around curiously. A flushing toilet answered their silent mutual question a split second later. George emerged from the bathroom in dark blue jeans and a long sleeved pink and black plaid button down, with her black undershirt still underneath. Dressing had been a challenge but she was so excited that Jack was awake--meaning he was at least OK enough to be conscious--that she ignored the pain.

Gathering up her long hair and twisting it into a bun on top of her head, she ordered, “What are you putzs standing around for? Jack’s awake, let’s go!”

“You go ahead, I still need to change,” Sam stated, reaching down to the floor next to the chair for his duffle bag. “I’ll catch--” By the time he looked back up, he could see George through the front window, halfway to the house already. Dean trailed a few feet behind. “Up,” Sam finished with a sharp, accepting nod, heading for the bathroom to change.

[amour-de-tous]

Finally, the update on my health

TW: lots and lots and lots of talk about health, and bad health, in particular, below.  So I know I never really updated everyone on What Was (is) Going On With My Health. It’s been a huge mess, and I run out of spoons every day just trying to eat meals at the right times to take my meds.  Shortest version possible (believe it or not): at the end of May last year, 2019, pretty much all my joints and extremities swelled up unbelievably. Like I couldn’t put my feet on the floor because they were so swollen it felt like the skin would split open. I had to sit in a chair all day with my feet elevated on a stool and pillows just to keep them from continuing to swell, and I had to sleep with pillows under my feet to keep them from swelling more during the night. I say “sleep” loosely, because I was getting about an hour to two hours of very interrupted sleep every night. The swelling was so bad that just to leave my chair where my feet were elevated, and go sit at the table to eat meals, my feet would swell so bad it was hard for me to walk from the table back to my chair. Then my hands started going numb and tingly, but not in a “my hands are asleep” kind of way, but more an “this is excruciatingly painful but I still can’t feel my hands” kind of way. I couldn’t close my hands into a fist, and I couldn’t open my hands either, they were frozen in a sort of half curled position. There were several weeks where I couldn’t hold a fork or spoon to feed myself. There were months upon months were I couldn’t brush or wash my hair by myself. I spent months with my hands/wrists/feet/ankles packed in ice every 20 minutes to try to control the swelling. I also had this awful brain fog situation where I couldn’t focus on anything. Even if I had been able to hold a book, tablet, or phone (which I couldn’t, because my hands were so bad), I couldn’t read because I had absolutely zero concentration or focus or comprehension. Even watching TV was almost impossible because I would zone out and come back to awareness and so much time had passed I’d have no idea what was going on. I literally spent three or four months just sitting in that chair in pain, staring at the ceiling, crying on and off. So, so much more below the cut.

I could barely attend my niece and nephews baptism. We were there for as long as it took for the actual service to happen, and while I tried to stay for the meal and gifts and such, I was in such excruciating pain--and using a cane to even be able to walk--that we had to leave early.  My niece’s 4th birthday was a few weeks later, in late June, and again I was there with a cane and in excruciating pain. I’m my niece’s favourite person and having to tell her Auntie couldn’t get down and play with her, or hold her, was terrible. By the end of June, my PCP had run enough tests to be outside his area of knowledge and referred me out to a rheumatologist. The earliest the one I wanted to see could see me was January. This was the first week of July. So I looked around for whoever could see me first and chose them. The soonest someone could see me was, unfortunately, on my birthday last year, July 15th. So I spent my birthday seeing the rheumatologist, being diagnosed with carpal tunnel, tendinitis, and what he suspected was rheumatoid arthritis. Once I left his office, I spent my birthday getting bloodwork (8 vials, yikes, which continued monthly for the remainder of 2019), and then getting fitted for a set of wrist braces that I would have to sleep in for maybe the rest of my life, and wear during the day when the pain was so bad. The rheumatologist literally said to me “well, none of your labwork confirms this and we don’t really know, but we’re gonna treat you as if you had rheumatoid arthritis”. Although he kept running tests to try to confirm the RA, he didn’t look anywhere else to try and figure out what I actually have. So they started me on medication(s), and referred me to occupational therapy and physical therapy. I was so bad when I started going that my PT consisted of sitting in a chair and (trying) to flex my ankles in different directions, and then a lymph massage to try to reduce swelling. My occupational therapy, when I started, consisted of trying to pick up pieces of sponges and put them in a cup. I was so bad that was actually almost impossible for me. They also referred me out to have a nerve conduction test, where they stuck needles all through my arms and electrified them. It was the worst thing ever, let me tell you. Then I got referred to a hand surgeon (who is lovely, actually) for surgery. He decided to hold off on surgery and see if steroid shots would help (they did, to an extent, and I am so grateful for that). Fast forwards through months and months of testing and bloodwork and physical and occupational therapies and medications, and the swelling had reduced enough that I could stand up or walk to the bathroom or eat dinner without swelling up so bad anymore. Being at PT and OT still meant I came home and had to pack my feet and wrists in ice and elevate to take care of the extra swelling, but it was better. Not good, not right, but better. Fast forward more, still, and it’s December. At that point I could stand long enough to help cook dinner, or even run an errand or two before I was in too much pain and had to sit and elevate again. In mid-March they released me from PT and OT. Not because I was better--I still couldn’t (and can’t, now) bend my wrists at all--but because the prescription had run out. I’d basically used all the allotted amount I had. This ended up being alright in the long run, since aside from one trip to the lab for bloodwork, I haven’t left my house since my last day of OT on March 13th, due to Covid. Turns out having an auto-immune disease and being on immunosuppresants makes you REAL high risk for Covid, and I’m just not playing that game. At the beginning of April, I finally got to see the rheumatologist I WANTED to see all along (via video visit! Didn’t even have to leave my house and be exposed!). She’s awesome and is really set on finding an ACTUAL diagnosis for me and not just saying “we don’t know”. Had 9 vials taken from me in her first round of bloodwork, and then she said it looked like it could be Lupus and did more tests. She’s now pretty certain I DON’T have Lupus OR rheumatoid arthritis. I had an appointment with her at the very end of July (video, again), and it turns out she thinks I have something called sarcoidosis. This is going to require a CT scan, for my lungs and heart, to see if the disease is in them. Evidently with this particular auto-immune disease, your body overreacts and encapsulates what it thinks are dangerous foreign bodies (but really are just part of your own immune system) and creates “granulomas” around them. Basically think of an oyster creating a pearl around an invading body, except in this case instead of pearls, I have lumps of stuff that hurts me.  Horrifying to know I have to walk into a hospital at this point in time, of my own free will. Like I said before, aside from one set of bloodwork, I haven’t been exposed or been out where I could be exposed at ALL. All that goes out the window once I walk into a hospital for a CT scan. :\ After the CT scan, depending on the results, there’s other tests I’ll need. Chest x-rays, EKGs, pulmonary function tests, lung biopsies (YIKES) and others. She seems fairly confident that this is the correct diagnosis for me, but wants confirmation and also to see progression of disease.  At any rate, she’ll be changing my medication. Which sucks for so many reasons, not the least of which is I just picked up 360 tablets of it that I now won’t be taking. :| Also the fact that now I get to try a new medication and do the “am I having side effects or am I just anxious” song and dance. She’s also talking about needing to put me on steroids which I am REALLY unhappy about. I suppose it’s better to go on steroids than to die, but I’m still really unhappy about it. In other, related news, I’ve developed hypercalcemia. Which means there’s too much calcium in my blood, which can cause a HOST of other problems. So I’ve been put on a no-dairy, low calcium diet. Do you know how many items have calcium in them? Almost everything, that’s what. Also, they fortify all the non-dairy “milk” products with calcium. They all have as much or MORE calcium than dairy milk. It’s been a NIGHTMARE, to the point where I’m actually afraid of food now. I’m obsessively reading labels and doing research online. “How much calcium is in 81 grams of kiwi, after all?”. Nightmare. Dairy was my #1 love and foodgroup, and having to suddenly figure out all new things to eat and ways to cook while simultaneously being in pain and *exhausted* 24/7 because auto-immune is not. fun. at. all. It’s already all my energy every day to help make, eat, and clean up a meal. I literally have to sit in my chair after a meal with my feet elevated to recover. Now having to spend all this energy on a whole new diet plan is a nightmare. Basically this whole thing has been a MESS. It’s been 15 months, I’ve been being treated for the wrong disease for 14 months, the news I’m getting now is worse than the news that flattened my emotional response all those months ago, I still can’t function, and I can’t work. Oh, yeah. I haven’t played an instrument since May 2019. My whole life revolved around my music, and now I can’t even play to make myself feel better, because my hands don’t work. I’ve also been out of work since then, too: my last concert was April 2019. I haven’t made any money since. But I have had co-pays out the wazoo! Which reminds me that they raised the price on two of my meds, because of course they did. Thanks, congress. This has been really, really hard. My anxiety has skyrocketed through this, and my depression isn’t doing much better. Although physically I’m not as bad as I was, I’m nowhere near normal, and I don’t think I’ll ever be able to go back to my normal again, either. The best I’m hoping for at this point is to be able to eat calcium again someday, to not have my organs eaten up by this disease, and to continue existing. It’s been exhausting. It really, really has.  That’s not to mention the added stress and anxiety over Covid, and the fact that neither mom nor I can even go to a grocery store because of my high-risk status. We’re averaging getting groceries about once a month right now. It’s super fun now because I have to read the label on EVERYTHING but Aldi doesn’t post their nutrition labels online and!!! That means I have to either guess or not get things! Great!  All this to say that I miss being on tumblr. I miss all my friends here. I miss talking to you all and being able to laugh with you and geek out. Things have been really hard for me (and there are multitudes I haven’t included in here; even if my hands would allow that much typing, I’d probably hit a character limit. Just: I miss you all. I love you. I’ve been a wreck, but I think of you all often. <3

[deamstellarus]

In Viata Asta (3)

Pairing: Stucky x Reader Word Count: 6k Warnings: Uhm…none? Maybe injuries and language?

A/N: Sorry this update is so late! My work schedule was shit last week so I was behind on editing and posting. So! I thought posting a little early would help make up for it, and it’s the longest so far? Also yes I know, this gif doesn’t have that much to do with this update but I love how it looks.

Series Masterlist | Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

You woke up to murmured voices and mechanical beeps. You were in a bed in a very white room. You could only assume it was the infirmary of S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters. Several IVs were attached to your arm. A woman with long dark hair in a bun and a white lab coat jotted something down on a clipboard beside you, then took her leave silently. Something was making your brain feel hazy. Your bets were on the strong antiseptics in the air, but it was more likely whatever pain meds they were feeding you. Your hand was bandaged now, your back probably was too for how tight it felt. You started to sit up in bed.

“You don’t want to do that, zvezdochka. With your luck, you’d probably pull all your stitches.” Natasha sat next to your bed in an uncomfortable chair, staring intensely at the screen of her tablet. She set it down on the small side table next to you, and pushed a button on a remote. Your bed shifted you into a seated position. She held a white cup with a straw to your lips. You drank greedily, the cool water soothing your dry throat. 

“How long...?” You croaked. 

“Only twenty-four hours. You lost a decent amount of blood but we got you back soon enough.”

Then why did it feel like you were laying on fire?

“Your back was practically shredded from the rocks.” Had you said that out loud? “You needed a few stitches but you’ll be fine. The boys should be back in a few minutes with snacks, if you’re hungry.”

You nodded. Or tried to; your neck was stiff. Natasha went back to her tablet, so you closed your eyes for a few more minutes before Steve and Sam’s voices echoed through the otherwise quiet space.

“Look who’s up. Miss Rough and Tumble.” Sam’s toothy grin lit up the room.

“How are you feeling, Blue?” Steve’s ocean eyes were filled with concern. He looked perfectly okay. As if he hadn’t almost drowned in an evil river. Stupid super soldier serum.

“Just peachy, Cap.”

“I thought we had a deal.”

“Sorry… Steve.” You smirked. Your stomach grumbled. Loudly. He chuckled and plopped the white paper bag he held on your lap. You opened it, smiling to yourself when you found a couple buttery croissants and one of those twisted glazed doughnuts. Natasha was giving away all of your secrets it seems. You chose a croissant, biting into the warm, flaky pastry. It was glorious.

“I see you still can't go very long without getting yourself into some kind of trouble," a familiar voice said. 

"Sorry, sir,  I—" Steve started before you cut him off.

"To be fair, I was doing fine on my own until these hooligans showed up." You muttered, mouth full, lazily gesturing to Steve, Natasha, and Sam, who stared at you indignantly.

"Don't be like that, Baby Blue!"

Fury looked unimpressed. "Excuses are—"

“...just lies we tell ourselves to justify doing something poorly." You finished his phrase, then swallowed. "It's nice to see you too, Nick."

"Nick?" Sam gasped.

"What, did you think his name was just Fury?"

"He doesn't exactly like when anyone calls him that," Sam grumbled.

"Aww, Nick! I knew you were going soft on me." 

Fury grunted, but eventually relented and came over to pat your shoulder until you flinched at his touch.

"Heal up, Agent. We’ll talk about the incident when you’re standing on your own two feet again," he said as he walked to the door.

"Not an agent," you called after him.

"We'll see about that." He threw out.

You pouted. You knew it was unbecoming of you, but this is what you'd been dreading. You didn't want to come back to S.H.I.E.L.D. That time of your life turned out to be so traumatic you ended up in a cabin by yourself for two years. But the reality is, you knew he'd get his way in the end. He always did.

__________

As far as doctors went, Dr. Alexandra Marks was patient and kind, and clearly had years of experience dealing with agents that tended to make reappearances in her infirmary. She was thorough with her diagnostics and made sure to emphasize what you could, but more importantly could not, do while you were in the recovery phase. Stitches, a heavy dose of fluids, and an advanced topical solution to help “speed up cell production”, and you were patched together the best you could be. Supposedly, they had a machine that was designed to generate skin, called the Cradle. It could have prevented the scarring, but it was out of commission due to an update or something. To be honest, it sounded too much like a cross between a crazy science experiment and a magic trick. Just the thought made you wary.  

“While you’re still lucid, I need you to give me a report of what happened,” Natasha said after Dr. Marks and the boys left. She attached a keyboard to her tablet, pulling the kickstand out so the whole thing could rest on the bed tray. “It’s just better to do this while it’s still fresh in your mind.”

“Yeah, I know.” You frowned at the screen. Blips of the incident flashed through your mind. “Honestly, I’m not too sure what I actually remember. It feels like it’s all a blur.”

“Any little detail helps,” she pushed. “Anything at all.” 

Weren’t those guys just Hydra goons though? But if that were the case, then why did it feel like there’s something more to this?

“What aren’t you telling me?” 

Her face went through a series of micro-expressions that you would have missed had you not known to look for them.

“Is it not Hydra that came after us?”

“We don’t know. But… it doesn’t look like it at this point.” She sighed. “Just write the report for now.”

“Okay.”

So you did. Any little thing you could remember from the men to the river, you included in your retelling. For the most part, you didn’t remember the men standing out in any way more than they seemed out of place in the general store. The majority of the normal clientele wore flannels, sweatshirts, or thick hunting jackets. The sleek black jackets and black caps they’d been wearing made them stand out. That being said, everything was nondescript, no labels, no logos. Pretty generic bad guys if you were being honest. The only thing you could think of was the small tattoo on the side of one of their necks, but you hadn’t been close enough to see the actual design. 

Maybe that was just you being paranoid and projecting. The tattoo was probably just a tattoo. 

A couple hours later, Dr. Marks released you, with a promise that you wouldn’t do “anything unnecessary like your troublemaker friends.” You snickered at that.  

Natasha gave you a tour of what you now learned was the Avengers Compound in upstate New York. Apparently, S.H.I.E.L.D. has been running part of the agency out of the side buildings that were part of the campus since they re-established, while there was still a segment in D.C. She pointed out the different buildings and rooms during the brief tour, but you were distracted, rightfully so, by the sheer amount of agents that gave you judgemental stares the entire way to the main Avengers building. You steeled your nerves; you wouldn’t give them anything more before you could physically defend yourself.

You stepped into an elevator after Natasha, the smooth doors sliding silently shut behind you. You allowed your shoulders a break from the stiff, upright posture you’d taken.

“You alright?” Natasha asked.

“Yup.”

“Ignore them. The most fun the majority of them have is over rumors and gossip.” Natasha said. “F.R.I.D.A.Y., third floor please.”

“Of course, Agent Romanoff,” a voice responded from above.

“A.I.?” you questioned. Natasha nodded. 

“F.R.I.D.A.Y. is one of Tony’s creations. She’ll help you with anything you need.”

“Huh, well thanks in advance then, F.R.I.D.A.Y.”

“It’s my pleasure… I cannot find your identification in any system, miss. What shall I call you?”

“Oh, you can call me Blue?”

“Very well. Enjoy your stay, Blue.”

The doors opened, revealing a hallway that lead to the left and right of the elevator and seemingly wrapped around the perimeter of the building. In the center, you were able to look down over a common area of sorts, with a variety of couches, tables, an oversized TV, and a kitchen off to the side. Natasha turned to the right, passing several doors before she stopped.

“This is your room.”

The door in front of you was a glossy white with a biometric scanner to the side. 

“Put your hand to the scanner,” she said. You did. A blue light shone through your hand, then with a soft click, the door slid open. The room was bigger than you thought it’d be, but knowing who owned the building, you didn’t expect anything less. There was a plush bed on one side of the room, a desk with a swivel chair on the opposite wall. Tall windows allowed natural light in the space. A fluffy rug and long drapes helped make the room less cold and clinical. But that wasn’t what drew your attention the most. 

Draped across the bed was the plush purple blanket Clint had bought you when you were first brought back to headquarters. It was so, so soft. On top of that was your green duffle bag. It was the one thing you took with you everywhere. It stayed stocked and ready for if you needed to leave at short notice.

“Thank you, Natasha.” 

“Of course,” she nodded.

"No chance of me going back to the cabin, huh?" You asked. Because as lonely as it had been there, it was yours, for the most part, and had become your safe place.

She shook her head. "Sorry, Blue. It wasn't discovered yet, but now they've seen your face, they know you're in the area. We can't take that chance."

You knew that, of course. She only confirmed it.

“There’s an ensuite bathroom behind that door, and a walk-in closet next to it,” Natasha pointed out. “It’s not the cabin, but it’s a good place to stay. You’ll like it here,” You nodded. 

She pulled you into her arms, her hands holding you like she didn't want to let go. 

"You scared me, zvezdochka," she whispered into your hair. 

"I know. I’m sorry.” It was rare for her to show so much emotion. As long as you’d known her, Natasha had always kept her feelings hidden.

A cough at the door disrupted the mood. 

“What does a guy have to do to get the famous Widow to hold him like that?” The man leaned against the door frame, dressed in jeans and a vintage band t-shirt. It seemed far too casual for such a well-known billionaire.

Beside you, Natasha pulled away and rolled her eyes. Like a switch, her blasé facade was back in full force.

“Tony, this is Blue. Blue, Tony Stark,” she introduced.

“What kind of name is Blue?” 

“It’s a nickname,” you said.

“Uh huh.” He squinted at you. “And your real name would be?”

“Leave it alone, Stark,” Natasha growled.

“I just find it strange that not only is there no record of her in S.H.I.E.L.D.’s database, but I can’t find her anywhere. Not a name, a city, a school, medical record. Nothing.”

Natasha bristled. Her eyes were narrowed slits. “I said leave it alone, Stark. She’s a personal friend of mine and Barton’s. Leave it alone.”

Tony glared at Natasha for a moment before yielding. 

“Fine, but we’re talking about this later.” To you, he said, “Welcome to the compound, kid.”

He took his leave, and Natasha shook her head. 

“He doesn’t like when he doesn’t know everything about something or someone. Unfortunately, he will get his way eventually. He’s pushy, but it comes from a good place.”

“Don’t worry about me, Tasha. I can handle him. Besides, I am living under his roof for now, he has a right to know what he wants to know.” 

“Only if you want to.” She puts a hand to your shoulder, before she walks to the door. But his inquiry did make you wonder…

“Why isn’t there a SHIELD file for me, or at least Agent M?”

“It may have gotten...lost when I released the files to the public.” 

“You deleted mine instead of yours?” You remember she had a list of aliases, most from before she joined “the good guys.”

She shrugged. “It was time for a new chapter anyway.” She waved it off as if it meant nothing, but she risked her own neck so you could remain nameless.

“Thank you, sestrenka.” She was always looking out for you.

“Dinner is at six. You’ll meet most of the rest of the team then. Take a nap, you look like you need it.” She winked.

“Tell me the truth, how bad does it look?” You tilted your head, indicating your back.

“Eh, it’s just a few stitches.” With that, she left, copper curls bouncing behind her. And really you had no choice but to take a nap like she said. Especially when the bed looked that comfortable. __________

Natasha lied. That was your only thought as you looked at your body in the mirror of your bathroom. It was not just a few stitches. Forty-seven in total. You cringed as you read off the report FRIDAY supplied. Hearing it from Dr. Marks, and reading it off the report, hadn’t quite prepared you visually for the reality of your injuries. From what you could tell, your back was covered in black zig-zags, reminiscent of Frankenstein's monster. At least as much as you could see that peeked out from underneath the white bandages and gauze. Plum-colored splotches covered your body. In addition to your back, your right hand also received six stitches, and your sprained ankle was now wrapped. And there were bags under your eyes. You looked awful and felt like a walking bruise. 

“The meeting will be starting in fifteen minutes, Blue,” F.R.I.D.A.Y.’s voice startled you.

“Thanks.” You’d have to get used to never quite being alone alone. 

Dinner passed by pretty well the night before, by your standards at least. Tony had apologized for his aggressive questioning, with a nudge from Pepper Potts, however wary of you he may still be. That was alright for now. Steve and Sam had taken the initiative to make you feel included in the conversations, though you were more content to observe the people around you. You were introduced to Col. James Rhodes, who had a dry sense of humor and held himself like a military man, and Dr. Bruce Banner, whose alter ego was a stark contrast to the mild-tempered man that had sat beside you. By far, the most fascinating member you’d met was Vision, an android with an English accent who reminded you vaguely of a curious child. 

Now you were heading to a meeting Fury requested you attend. A loose-fitted tee and a pair of sweatpants and you were on your way out the door, wishing you’d had the forethought to have packed makeup in your duffle bag. While you never needed it on the mountain, it would have helped make you look marginally more presentable and less dead. Especially on the walk through the interconnected buildings to the conference room where you stuck out like a sore thumb. Maybe Natasha could take you out to pick some things up soon.

You cracked the door open. Eight and a half pairs of eyes followed you to the empty seat next to Sam. You were the last one there. Of course. Fury stood at the head of the table, Maria Hill next to him, arms behind her back. She raised a perfectly sculpted eyebrow at you. Steve, Natasha, Tony, and three agents in uniform filled out the rest of the table. A projection screen behind Fury exhibited pictures of several men you didn’t recognize. 

“Now that we’re all here, let’s begin,” Fury said. He pointed between two of the five pictures on the screen. “These two men matched the facial recognition we were able to get off the cameras at the general store where the Captain and Agent M were first shot at, amongst civilians. There were no casualties in the store.”

You squinted. The men looked familiar now, especially without the hats to obstruct their faces. In the right image was the man you’d known to have the tattoo. Now that you could see it, on the left side of his neck, the small symbol looked like three triangles overlapping.

“They were found dead in their vehicle on the side of the road, SUV wrapped around a tree. This is confirmed with the reports Captain Rogers and Agent M gave upon arrival.” He pointed to the next two images. “These two were killed on sight by the extraction team in search of the Captain and Agent M.” He pointed to the last of the five head shots. “This last man was interrogated briefly by Agent Romanoff before he was terminated.”

“So were they Hydra agents from the mountain base?” Steve asked, confusion clear on his face.

“Not exactly,” Fury said.

“He wasn’t Hydra,” Natasha said. “He said Hydra was a group run by hot-headed leaders with imperfect ideals. He said what they were was bigger and better than Hydra could ever hope to be.”

“And who are ‘they’?” Steve pressed.

Natasha shrugged. “He didn’t say, just that there were more of them and now that they had a ‘confirmation,’” she made quotes with her fingers, “they’d have all they needed soon enough to execute the program. He didn’t elaborate on what the program was or what exactly they’d confirmed. But before I could really press him for more, he killed himself. Cyanide tooth capsule.”

“Long story short, we’re led to believe these were not Hydra agents that tracked the two of you down. There were no markings on the body that would express allegiance to the group, nor did any declare their motto.”

“So what are you saying?” Sam questioned.

“I’m saying there is another organization who has at least one of the two of you as their target of interest and until we know who they are, you need to watch your backs.”

“No offense, sir,” one of the agents began. “But what would terrorist organization want with her?” She was pretty, blonde, and had an intense look about her. She wasn’t outright rude, she had a point at least; you’ve basically been in isolation for two years. Besides, she had to be more than capable to be in this room to begin with; that didn’t mean her comment didn’t irk you. You pushed down the urge to get defensive, and schooled your face into a neutral mask.

Simultaneously, all eyes were on you.

“At the moment we’re not quite sure,” Fury admitted. “Agent M’s official history within S.H.I.E.L.D. is otherwise non-existent as far as the database is concerned. However, that doesn’t mean no one would recognize her if they worked under S.H.I.E.L.D. before the disbanding.”

“You think this group is a bunch of ex-S.H.I.E.L.D., ex-Hydra rogue agents?” Steve interjected.

“Anything is possible,” Fury said. “For now, it’s best to assume Rogers was the target and Agent M was just an additional person of interest by proxy.”  

“Keep your eyes and ears open for anything that could be related to this organization.” Maria advised. “If there really is another large-scale terrorist group among us, it’d be best to nip it in the bud as soon as possible.”

After the briefing, Fury held you back, as most of the others left the room. Maria relaxed by his side, her shoulders not quite as taut.

“You’re reinstated as an active agent, effective immediately, Agent M.” Fury held your gaze with his good eye. 

“I never said I wanted to come back to S.H.I.E.L.D.. In fact, I distinctly remember telling you I never wanted to be put in that situation again.” You glared back. The fingers on your left hand dug into your palm.

“We all have to do things we don’t want to do.” His large hand cupped your shoulder. “Just because you run away from something, doesn’t mean it goes away. You are good at what you do, and I refuse to let you waste your skills anymore.”

“But I—” He cut you off. 

“You’re not the only one who’s lost someone, Blue.”

He rarely called you by your nickname. It was always ‘Agent.’ You sighed. As difficult as Fury has always been, he’d never given you bad advice. He was the one who fought for you to stay and train to be a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent in the first place all those years ago. 

And yeah, maybe he was a tad softer on you than on the others. You’d seen him as a father figure of sorts. If he thought you should be reinstated and otherwise get your head out of your ass, then you really couldn’t argue.

“Fine.”

“I knew you’d see it my way.” Fury smirked, patting your shoulder twice heading towards the door. “As soon as you’re cleared for it, you’ll start training. Rest up. This little incident tells me you’ve lost your touch.”

__________

You sat on a couch in the common room a week later, skimming through the data, searching for anything you could connect to an unknown terrorist group. Without a name, it was hard to even associate what little frays you did find, and you were led to dead end after dead end. You set the laptop on the seat beside you and pressed the heels of your palms to your eyes. You looked to your Stark-issued phone for the time. It was well past midnight. This wasn’t the first time you’d been unable to sleep this week due to your mind racing about the implications of an unknown group trying to bring devastation for whatever reason they’ve deemed justifiable. The bad feeling in your gut only intensified the more frustrated you got at the lack of information. You really wanted to punch something, but you weren’t cleared to do more than brisk walking, lest you pull a stitch and elongate your recovery period.

You went to the kitchen and poured yourself some water. The cool liquid did nothing to soothe your restlessness. So instead, you paced the halls, a habit you picked up since you arrived. You passed the entryway to the lab. More specifically, Tony and Bruce’s lab. The other common occurrence you’d noticed every night were the lights in the lab always being on this late in the night. It seemed like Bruce usually went to bed early in the evening, preferring to start his day earlier than most. Which left Tony as the only possible night owl. 

You hesitated by the door before pulling it open and wandering through the cool-toned lights in the lab. Classic rock played softly through the speakers. Tony stood at table at the far end of the room, back hunched over. He was poking at something that caused small sparks to shoot from the device. His masked face was probably still too close to the object. 

You pulled out a stool from a neighboring table smoothly, just enough to make some noise, not enough to startle him. The masked tilted up, then focused once again on the task at hand.

“Not asleep, Agent M?” He said with an ever-so-slight sneer.

“You can call me Blue, you know.” Tony hadn’t warmed up to you like you’d hoped in the past week. He’d been distant, always in the lab. Natasha assured you that was normal for him though, so you took her word for it. 

“Do I know that?” He snipped. He worked in silence for a few moments, then he put down his tools and flipped up his mask. His eyes were rimmed in red, most likely from exhaustion. “You know, I just find it odd that everything was all fine and dandy until Rogers and Co took a trip to Washington State. Now there’s a new terrorist organization we have to look out for, and you show up with no official identity in any database on the planet, and one word from Fury and we’re supposed to just be okay with that? I’m not exactly a big believer of coincidences.”

“Just ask what you want to know, Stark. I don’t want to always feel like I’m tip-toeing around you.” Because it was annoying. 

“What’s your history with S.H.I.E.L.D.?” 

“Natasha and Clint were on a mission, found me as a teen in an abandoned warehouse. Brought me back to S.H.I.E.L.D.. I was an agent for three years.”

“What made you leave?” His gaze shifted elsewhere.

“Bad mission. I lost people I cared about.” His eyes found yours. “And with Hydra discovered inside the agency and S.H.I.E.L.D. dissolving, I just got out while I could.”

He was quiet for a long time. Absently, you twirled a random screw between your fingers.

“Tell me about the mission.”

You squeezed your eyes closed, sighing deeply. You recalled your worst nightmare like it was yesterday. You opened your mouth to begin when he put a hand up.

“Sorry. You don’t need to tell me.” He waved you away. “I can be insensitive when I’m tired.”

“It’s alright, I understand. Long story short, it went really, really wrong, and I couldn’t handle it anymore. I was young-”

“You’re still young, kid,” he quipped.

“-and I already couldn’t remember my past. Losing people, people I was especially close to, was too much.” Your breath shuddered. “I didn’t want to have to go through that again, so I left. Fury kept tabs on me, same with Natasha and Clint. But I swore I wasn’t going to be an agent anymore.”

“And now, here you are.”

“Here I am.”

Tony nodded. He got up unexpectedly, shuffling over to a hidden cupboard that housed a coffee maker. He came back with two mugs, steam spirals swirled in the air. You took a sip. Minty.

“It’s a peppermint blend. Some candy cane Christmas bullshit I got in a ‘thank you’ basket over the holiday. It’s barely coffee, not even caffeinated, but it tastes nice. Supposed to help clear the mind or something.”

You shrugged. Because it was good.

“So… you don’t remember your past?”

“I don’t even remember my name.”

“That must be tough.”

“Mhm,” you agreed.

“Listen, I’m sorry for the rough start. Genuinely. I spend so much of my time trying to do the best to defend against the bad, that I sometimes jump to conclusions and can be…”

“Overly suspicious?” You supplied.

“Yeah.”

“No worries, Stark…”

“Tony.”

“Tony,” you smiled. “I would have thought the same thing. I mean hell, I almost embedded a knife in Captain America’s head when I first met him.”

“I want to do that sometimes and I’ve known him for years.” He chuckled into his mug.

“So we’re good?” You didn’t want to just assume. A heart to heart doesn’t always form a friendship, but at least maybe you’d be on good terms now.

“We’re good, kid.” He smiled, a genuine grin on his lips. “Come on, you can help me test this new version of my gauntlets.”

Huh. Maybe you were wrong. __________

Another week passed before you were cleared for active duty. The scarring was… definitely there. Harsh, red lines spider-webbed around your back. Apparently, it healed faster than Dr. Marks anticipated, especially without the cradle. She seemed convinced the shorter recovery time meant there was a high chance the scarring would fade quickly as well. You weren’t exactly a vain person, but it didn’t look pretty as of now. At least you could cover it up easily. 

You were placed into a random group of S.H.I.E.L.D. agents, Group C apparently, and were given a schedule that listed off times for hand-to-hand combat training, weight training, endurance training, and shooting practice. You were convinced Steve loved to see you and the other recruits suffer as he pushed you all to run the laps of the course around the compound. The first day, you were dead after three miles, collapsing on the ground when the muscles in your legs gave up and lying on gravel sounded like a better idea. Steve only ordered you to get up and run again. You might have grumbled something about seeing if you’d ever save his life again.

Now you were able to keep up with the group. You found it a necessity, as you’d overheard in the locker room how they didn’t like you because you were “definitely sleeping with the Captain” or why else would you be there. You’d caught a stink eye more than once, and decided you had to push harder and tune them out. The chatter was useless. You knew the truth, so their opinions didn’t matter, but you didn’t want Steve to be accused of favoritism. He didn’t deserve any unnecessary backlash. 

By far, Natasha was thrilled to have you in training again. 

“You’re having too much fun with this Natasha,” you groaned from the mat. 

You were constantly being thrown by her, taunted that you’d lost your reflexes from being out of practice. You always ended up sore and bruised after a session. The snickers of the other agents really pissed you off, but you couldn’t exactly bite their heads off. Plus, even when you were in your best shape, you weren’t always able to out-Natasha Natasha; you’d only done it a few times. You knew first hand the rest of the agents in the room couldn’t do that. And you’d out-fought enough of them to know that.

“You’re making it easy on me,” she pulled you to your feet. “Maybe you should practice with someone with a little less agility for now?” She tilted her head to Sam, who’d over heard as he sauntered in and pulled a bitch face at her.

“Oh that’s low, girl. Real low.” But he joined you on the mat anyway.

Sam’s strikes were powerful and quick, like a boxer. He shuffled his feet, throwing punches at varying intervals. You dodged and blocked what you could. He got in a few hits before you picked up his pattern. That was the problem with most people in hand-to-hand. The body naturally wants to move in a rhythm, just like in running, but it’s too predictable in fighting, which is one of the reasons it was so hard to fight Natasha. She was slippery as a snake and it was hard to anticipate her next moves at the speed she moved.

You swung your arm out, your fist clipping him in his unprotected ribs, jumping out of range after. He stumbled back. You took the opportunity to rush him, diving low last minute to the space beneath his legs. You half-turned in your crouch and kicked your leg out, knocking him off balance and crashing into the mat. Finally.

“Adequate,” Natasha complimented. “But I’ve seen you do better. That was sloppy.”

You nodded, panting. She was right, but you’d take then win. It would take you a while to get back to what your skills had been, but even you had to admit. The ache of your abused muscles was actually rather nostalgic. __________

It was well after dinner when a knock at your door had you sitting up, causing the ice packs to tumble off your body. You sighed.

“Come in!”

Natasha stepped in, eyeing the ice packs. 

“Have we been too rough on you?” She teased. You didn’t take the bait.

“Nah. Just not used to it yet.”

Natasha nodded. “Just wanted to let you know Clint and the others are almost here. The quinjet should be landing in five, if you want to join us.”

“Of course.” You stumbled off the bed, and slipped your shoes on as you followed her to the hangar.

The hangar was cleaner than you would have thought. Relatively spotless and spacious. You and Natasha joined Steve, Sam, and Vision by the marker number 1 just as the rumble of an engine made the quinjet known. The noise echoed loudly in the space as the jet landed smoothly in its spot. The engines cut off, and with the high-pitched whir of the propellers winding down. The door opened down into a ramp. At first, no one came down, then there was a stumbling, mummy racing down the ramp toward you. Clint scooped you up into his arms, twirling you around, rambling a mile a minute.

“I thought Tasha was messing with me when she said you were here!” He was shouting in your ear, but you couldn’t get a word in edgewise. “When did you get here? How long are you staying? Wait! Are you back for real?”

“Barton, I’m pretty sure she can’t breathe.” Natasha’s voice cut through his excitement.

“Oh, right.” He plopped you down. You staggered before you caught yourself.

“It’s good to see you too, Robin Hood.” 

His eyes flitted over you, not overlooking the bruises from training this week.

“Geeze, you look awful. What happened?” 

“What is with the two of you?” You looked between him and Natasha. “You can’t just tell people they look awful when they’ve been beaten up. Besides, you’re one to talk,” you sassed. Clint was covered in butterfly bandages and deep purple bruises. “Can’t you go on one mission without coming back like you belong under a pyramid?”

“‘S not my fault.” Clint scratched the back of his neck. You stared at him pointedly. “Well, not all my fault.”

“Some things never change.” You grinned.

“Blue, this is Wanda Maximoff.” Natasha held her hand out to a girl around your age, with long auburn hair and sparkling green eyes. She looked at you hesitantly.

“Hi, I’m Blue.” You did a little wave, then immediately regretted it for how dumb you probably looked. 

“It’s nice to meet you.” She enveloped you in strong arms. She had an accent you couldn’t place, but it wasn’t so thick you couldn’t understand her. “I’ve heard quite a bit about you from Natasha and Clint. It’s nice to match the face with the name.”

You smiled, because she seemed very sweet. You could already see yourself being friends with her. You noticed Vision hovering just behind her, and when she pulled away, her hand reached back to find his. That was cute. You also now had questions, but that was for another time. You certainly weren’t close enough to just ask anyway.

Behind you, Steve was embracing a man with shoulder-length brown hair. He looked just as built and strong as Steve, maybe an inch shorter in height. Steve’s eyes were closed, his lips were moving, speaking too low for you to hear. The intimacy of their moment had you assuming they were more than friends. Definitely together. You wondered if the public had that knowledge, but it was more than likely not. The media would probably have a field day with that info.

Steve opened his eyes, meeting yours with a smile before he stepped back and called out to you.

“Hey Blue! Come over here and meet Bucky!”

His companion turned around and the breath caught in your throat. You did a double take. After all these years, you never thought you’d see him again. Maybe you’d dreamed you’d find your long lost friend, hoping that you both hadn’t changed too much to pass each other on the street someday without realizing. But you would recognize those eyes anywhere. 

Before you could open your mouth, he spoke. 

“Ingeras?” _________

A/N: Just now realized I haven’t given any translations for words so far, but I will from now on!

zvezdochka (Russian) - little star sestrenka (Russian) - sister, sis ingeras (Romanian) - angel

_________

In Viata Asta Taglist:  @rvgrsbrns​ @artsyspacebee​ @thelovelydreamer17​

[1stunseeliefaelass]

Darksiders Arthurian Tales Revisited

Chapter 6: Healing and Regrouping

Death and War then sat around in silence for a time. War didn't notice at first, but soon heard Death snoring quietly. He decided he'd remain in the room for now, wanting to keep an eye on him. He observed the injuries on Death as they slowly began to heal up now that he was finally resting. Soon enough Puck came on by, and War instantly went on the defensive. Always being wary of the Satyr.

"Satyr, do not even try."

"I have no idea what you're on about Horseman, I'm here to help." Puck assured him.

Death meanwhile heard Puck's voice and groaned, "If I could move, you wouldn't want to stick around."

"Yeah well you really can't now can ya? Now let's see what damage I'm working with exactly."

Death tries to move but is unable to, he begs War, "GET ME THE HELL OUT OF HERE!"

War however tries instead to keep him in place on the bed, "If you keep moving I'll let the Satyr do his work."

Death stiffened at that and immediately went still again. War then asked Puck, "State what you're trying to do Puck, and it better be good. Or else..."

"I would be offended, but you know my reputation." Puck states pulling out a bag.

"What's in it?"

"Medicine, to help with the pain. And also accelerate my work." Puck explained before pulling out a syringe.

Both Horsemen give him a concerned look but he says, "Don't worry, they're new."

He then comes up to Death who asks nervously, "What's in it?"

"Eh....milk of the poppy for one. And two several mystical herbs with regenerative abilities."

Death froze up again, "Wait a minute.....that's opium!"

"Morphine. But similar enough, it comes from the same plant." Puck corrected him.

"If you're lying to me, and I get high, I'm going to kill you."

"Oh you won't be high, but hopefully you won't get addicted to this crap." Puck explained.

Death sighed, "You better not put too much in the needle, and I also better not get addicted to it."

"Eh, don't worry Horseman. I know how the Nephilim are with these kinds of things."

Death then asked, "Wait a minute, Strife isn't your guinea pig is he?"

"Define guinea pig."

"YOU'VE BEEN DRUGGING MY BROTHER?!"

"Don't worry, I'm not going to give him anything dangerous that he can get addicted to." Puck assured him.

"THAT YOU KNOW OF!" Death protested.

"Yeah yeah hold still and I'll get this in ya."

Death in time felt the pain go away, but also a little nauseous as time went on.

War looked at him a bit concerned, "Should I worried?"

"Eh, not really. Just be aware of the splash zone."

"Wait what?"

Death meanwhile quickly shouted to War, "I feel like I'm gonna be.....hrrrrp....Get me a bucket!"

War then grabbed on quickly and helped Death to handle the puking before looking at Puck again, "Was that normal?!"

"Yes that indeed was normal. Nausea is a common symptom, it's to be expected."

Death managed the shout between hurls, "How am I......huagh......supposed to.....aaach....eat like this?"

"Uh ok then. I don't know. I've not exactly tested this on your kind to this extent before." Puck explains.

War started holding Death's hair back and comments, "You know if you trim your hair or tie it back you might find easier to..."

"SHUT THE HELL UP, you don't even practice what you preach!" Death shouted quickly before feeling another wave coming on.

"Hey bro how are ya do.....oh my....What did you give him Puck?" Strife questioned upon coming in.

"Ah just a simple bit of morphine."

"Just morphine?" Strife pressed.

"Yep, apparently your brother can't handle it." Puck stated sarcastically.

Meanwhile Merlin finally came in after taking a look at Morgen, and upon seeing Death got very concerned. He also looked Puck's way,

"Morphine?"

"Yes." Puck told him.

"Oi......I'll my magic." Merlin says.

It is a very difficult and long process. But eventually Death gets passed the nausea and Merlin is able to start healing him. He inquired of Death,

"Why do you let him give you meds?"

"Because he practically forced them down my throat." Death expressed annoyed.

From there Death explained to Merlin what all happened in the past two days. Merlin only sighed deeply at the end of it all. He then said to Death in regards to Morgen,

"Right now, she's acting like she's already dead. Just laying there saying nothing."

"Do you have any idea of how to help her?" Strife implored of Merlin.

Death meanwhile muttered under his breath, "I know all too well, how she feels right now.", he then offered, "Is there any way for me to help?"

"Not unless you can say something to her. Physically she's doing alright. Mentally however, I don't know."

Death shook his head slightly, "She probably feels broken, used, just something below what you thought you were."

War looked at him oddly, "You sound as though you had a similar experience."

Death grunted softly, "I don't want to talk about it, not with you."

"Why not brother? You spoken of many gruesome things with me?"

"This was.....far from gruesome. Far more....horrific." Death stated grabbing at his inner thigh.

"More pain?" Merlin inquired.

"No.....just an old wound. One that....never healed right."

"Ok then."

"When will be capable of moving?" Death inquired of Merlin.

"Well if Puck here uses his magic alongside me, it'll probably take a few hours. You were injured very badly, that Nerve Ender really messed your nervous system. Patience is key. I know it's not your strongest of virtues. But try to start practicing it now." Merlin informed him.

Death fell back against the pillow, worried for Morgen. He could only hope his words and experiences would be enough to help her. For now, he'd have to wait to use them. Meanwhile Morgen heard a rested Barrcus enter her room to try his luck.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry I wasn't there to stop him. I couldn't see what was going on in there. Care to explain that to me?" Barrcus started as he began to gently stroke her head.

Morgen stirred a bit at his touch but didn't say anything. She only curled up and began sobbing again. Softly crying into the pillow she'd been holding close. Barrcus began to silently comfort her as best he could. Stroking her head and back, singing as best he could manage for her, and even suggesting that she should eat. Morgen's stomach growled when he mentioned food, only then did she speak. But her tone was reserved, distant, and barely heard. Her eyes were grey to represent the creeping depression she felt,

"I'll eat, but that's all."

This tone hurt Barrcus to hear, but he remained strong for her, "I'll go make you something. I know you used to love my cooking."

Morgen actually managed a small giggle at that, his dishes were truly experimental. As strange as they looked, they were always a delight. She actually told him before he walked away, "Uh something warm please....I'd like to feel...some semblance of warmth right now."

Barrcus only nodded and made a note to make it his best dish yet for her. He'd ask Mina to help him too, something he knew she'd agree to for Morgen's sake. Morgen meanwhile sat at the window as she waited for the meal. Looking out longingly for a freedom she felt powerless to gain or reach. She wasn't sure how long she'd been looking outside, but she soon felt a little fluffy thing rubbing her ankles gently. Looking down, Morgen saw Fuzzball being all sweet to her, wanting to cheer her up. She couldn't help but give a small smile to him.

"Awwwww, came to see me did you?"

Fuzzball made a sweet little chirp like sound and began loving on her some more. Morgen permitted it and even petted him. She actually started to feel somewhat happy with him around. Even hugging the rodent for his little efforts and letting him give her a little lick on her face.

"You truly are a sweetheart aren't you little one? I can see why Death has you around." Morgen muttered quietly whilst giving his belly some nice scritches.

As time went on, and Barrcus took his time, Morgen heard a light knock on her door, and a very familiar voice. Only this time, it held a gentle warmth that she currently lacked,

"Morning."

Morgen turned around and looked at him surprised, course her surprise became concern, "Morning, are you alright?"

Death looked at the various patches all over himself and explained, "Nothing the uh mad scientist can't patch up so to speak. You should've seen me earlier, laid out unable to move heheh."

"I can imagine it was truly painful for you."

"Yes it was painful, but to be completely honest that was far from the worst. Trying being stabbed in the chest. Not a pleasant feeling I assure you. But even that wasn't exactly the worst. From fights between me and Absalom, no. Not even that. Do you really want to, what it is, the worst one?"

"Only if you're comfortable Horseman. I won't force anything." Morgen explained scooting a tad bit closer to him. As if to get some of warmth he's currently giving off.

"In order for me to tell you, you must first see something. And understand it's significance to it." Death told her calmly before carefully removing his trousers from under his kilt. Having switched into his one of his lightest armor sets for now. Morgen kept calm but wondered why he'd remove his trousers for this.

Then he sat back down and questioned her, "What should parents do?"

"Any good parent should protect their children, raise and love them well, do everything they can for them, and overall just be good to them." Morgen replied.

"Funny on how our experiences had to be the exact opposite."

"Wait....you're saying our....don't tell me that you.....that you were...." Morgen began to say.

Death sighed, "Most of the four don't know, expect for Strife. Lilith...was my creator....but she...far from being my Mother. Mother to the Nephilim race she was, but....not mine. At least in my eyes."

With that Death moved his kilt aside, showing Morgen the wide and deep scar that lay across his inner left thigh.

"What....did she do to you?" Morgen asked nearly touching it but pulling her hand back at the last moment.

"Go ahead, touch it. I've grown used to it."

Morgen tenderly ran her hand along it and noticed him tense up slightly, "It doesn't hurt does it?"

"Every now and then. But you're hands aren't, painful in that area right now." Death assured her.

Morgen continued touching him for a time before asking, "What happened to you?"

Death sighed deeply and taking a deep breath began, "The years you spent with Uther, Lilith managed to compress into three days. I was ordered to go...visit her...alone, if I had known then I would've disobeyed orders. Broken rank almost. Funny isn't it? How a parent who is supposed to protect their children, can become the most vile, hated, most personal, demon and an enemy. The words I wish to say about her, I don't think have been invented. I don't remember....much....about those three days. I was either drugged, which I'm hoping or I was the one that repressed them. I do remember the pain, some of the experiences, how many time I begged or pleaded for it to end, to stop it. No respite came of them, only laughter. Only the maniacal...SADISTIC LAUGH ANSWERED. And that VOICE, IT MAKES SICK TO THIS DAY. Everything crawls, when I try to remember what she said. Every single time I'm forced to be in a meeting with her, turns my stomach. I WISH she would break the rules of the Council, just so I would have a REASON TO OBLITERATE HER, AND DRAG WHATEVER'S LEFT INTO OBLIVION. But I was able to find something afterwards, something that saved me. A crystal that my real Mother gave me. There's only one person I truly view as my Mother. When I came to her that night, when I finally was able to get away from Lilith, she didn't hesitate. She brought me back into her home, gave me fresh clothes, made sure I could feel safe, did so much for me. Even took a slap from Lilith herself just to keep her out of her home, away from me. All to do what Lilith FAILED to do for me. Ale treated me as a Mother should treat her son, with love, kindness,...understanding, and unconditional support. Since the day I was 'born', she's the first thing I saw. The first person I saw. And no matter what she's been there, and will be there until the very end. Those very same things I will never say for Lilith, under any circumstances. You have someone similar to that, and he's currently cooking you breakfast. Go to him, you don't need to tell me about what happened, but you need to tell him about everything. As I told my Mother."

Morgen, who had been listening intently, hugged him, "Thank you for sharing with me. And I'm truly sorry for what you endured all those years ago. Thank you so much, I needed to hear this from someone, to know I wasn't so alone."

"So, are you going to tell them? Cause you're going to need to. Also, you're never truly alone. But nor are we truly together in some cases. It's just of a matter of figuring out things."

"A sad but true statement. But thank you nonetheless. Perhaps we could talk another time, I rather enjoyed this?" Morgen inquired gently, her eyes now a beautiful shade of amber.

"My doors are always open, to those who ask good questions. Not to those IDIOTS I've had to deal with recently. Give Barrcus my regards as well and ask about recipe. It smelled rather delicious." Death told her.

"I'll bare this mind, and of course I'll ask about the recipe. Good day for now." Morgen expressed with a sweet smile before hurrying off.

Barrcus was warmed to see Morgen managing to finally smile. Though he could she was dreading something. As she sat at the table with Mina gently rubbing her hand, Barrcus posed to her as he began plating the food,

"How are you doing?"

"Better now. After you left Fuzzball came by and helped better my mood a slight bit. Death however, he understood. Although I'm sure his own pain was worse than my own, I'm glad he felt he could share it. It gave me the reassurance I needed right now." Morgen informed him.

"I'm glad that he was able to assist you in what you were going."

"He told me I should tell you what happened. That it should help with my recovery." Morgen explained simply.

"Do you wish to tell me? Or is it too painful right now? You don't have to tell me everything, just take your time." Barrcus assured her as he placed the food on the table at last.

As Morgen ate up, albiet slowly at first, she began recounting what happened the night before. She wouldn't speak on the other many years she'd suffered the same fate, as she wasn't comfortable bringing them up. Only mentioning that night, Uther's twisted mentality, his strange change in mannerisms, the guilt tripping. All of it, she laid bare for Mina and Barrcus. Mina embraced her gently and rubbed her back as she spoke, and eyed Barrcus to make sure he kept his anger down. At least for right now. Barrcus in turn tried his damnest not to lose it to his rage. Swallowing it hard as he focused as best he could on Morgen. Comforting her alongside Mina in the only ways he felt he could. Mina kept urging him to speak up once Morgen finished, and to hug her as she was doing. Barrcus tried to think of something to tell her, either assurance or comfort, but did at least hug her. His other four arms trying to get to Morgen to make the hug even better for her. Finally he thought of something,

"I failed to protect you. I failed to keep my promise to your Mother. I failed you."

"You didn't fail at anything. My fear just kept me silent." Morgen insisted.

"You're all I have left of Igraine, why couldn't I....see. Why couldn't I see it so I could prevent it?"

"Uther, he placed an enchantment on the room. One that blocked you out. Everytime you sent spiders to my room it killed them. I fear it would've harmed you as it did them."

"He shall die," Barrcus explained grasping her hand, "He will suffer a fate fitting for a monster like him. He will know suffering."

Morgen let out a quiet chuckle before it turned into quiet crying. Mina and Barrcus hugged her tighter at this, causing Morgen to say, "At least.....I'm lucky enough...to have you in my life."

"And we'll always be there for ye lass. No matter what. We'll do everything we can for ye." Mina declared softly.

"Until the day I die, I will protect you. The way I should've, the way I must." Barrcus stated.

"Thank you...both of you." Morgen replied as she worked to calm herself down.

Mina gave her a handkerchief and began singing in Swedish. Granted she still had the Scottish accent on it so it did sound a tad off. But to Morgen, it was always soothing. Soon Morgen was finally calm enough to continue her meal. Mina watching her closely the whole time. As always she did finish it, "It was amazing Barrcus. Just as they always are."

"I try my best."

In the meantime Death had been thinking about his own experience. Normally he'd hate thinking about it, but after having told Morgen, after having shown her the scar, he felt different. He felt it was almost cathartic now, but at the same time it scared him a bit to wonder if the things in his nightmares were indeed memories he locked up. Finally he took out the crystal he'd shown Morgen and called up his Mother. Wanting any advice she could give him, and wanting to hear her talking to him in general. She always had a way of calming him down with her voice alone.

"Hey, Ceise? You there?"

He heard Ale give a small yawn on the other end before she told him, "Yes Atan I'm here. Is everything ok?"

"Kind of uhm....just wanted to check on you. See how you were doing?"

"Oh I'm doing just fine as always....,"Ale told him sweetly before bumping into a wall, "...Ouch! Oh."

"Are you alright?"

"Fine, just ran into the wall again ehehe. Anyway, are you sure you're ok? I know that tone, and you only use it when something's troubling you." Ale inquired.

"I just...just uh dealing with this mission I'm on right now. It's....unique, to say the least."

"Well tell me about it then. What's on your mind Atan?" Ale bade of him gently.

Death proceeded to explain the recent events. Why he was there, and what had happened, everything. Even how it all went to shit. The last thing he mentioned, was how he'd told Morgen what happened to him.

"So....why did you tell her Atan? Were you pressured?" Ale asked a little concerned.

"Because she has something in common with me with those regards. She was in the black pit I'd been in, I......wanted to help her...get out....to deal with it....understand it....whatever could help. When I told her, discussed it with her, it helped. Her and me. But it also opened up a prospect that scares me." Death explained to her.

"Is it the nightmares Atan? Are they worrying you again?" Ale gently queried.

"It's what's implied by them that worries me. What if they're, old memories, crawling their way back? What if....I wasn't drugged like I'm now hoping I was?"

Ale heard him breathing heavily and fast. It was clear to her just how scared he was, "Atan, listen to me. Calm down. Take deep breaths. You'll be alright, she can't hurt you."

"I know, I know. I know...just things are getting a bit too personal, that's all." Death explained wanting so much to believe her.

"You can hide many things from me Death, but one thing I'll always know, is when you're scared. Your breathing picks up speed and becomes heavy. Do I need to come down there? Would it help?"

"I.....Uh....I'm I.....uhm...uuuuhhh..." Death attempted to say before ultimately going quiet.

"That settles it, I'll make my way there. Just stay calm ok? Maybe go see your family until I'm there?"

"Uhhhh heh uhm right....they're technically in the next room. Also Merlin's here so, be worried. So goes for Puck, oi."

"Don't worry Atan, I'll be careful. Just go see your siblings and try to keep calm. Or at least see Strife, as I know you told him." Ale sternly but gently ordered him.

"Yes Ceise I will. Be careful, also I could just ask Merlin to open a rift for you."

"Don't worry Atan, I know the roads well. Besides I can also use my crystal to track you. I promise I'll be there before too long." Ale promised him sweetly.

"Alright if you're sure, be mindful of bandits, and swindlers!"

With that he hung up and went to go see his siblings as requested. Ale in the meantime began to prepare for her trip. Death ran into his siblings in the hallway and as he did, caught sent of something delicious.

Strife immediately spoke up, "Death are you experimenting again?"

"I've been in there most of this time. That's Barrcus' cooking."

War then added, "Either way it's food."

"Mmhmm, may as well get to it." Fury suggested as she walked on past her brothers.

They followed her ultimately to go see what was cooking. Back at Uther's castle, he had other plans for this afternoon. He went down into the catacombs, where in a lone chamber, stood a caged wendigo. One he'd bought from some pretty sketchy hunters that had searched 'Vinderland' as they put it. Uther meanwhile knew it as North America these days.

"Rise my pet, I have need of your service again."

It made a hissing like gurgle before coming towards the corner Uther was closest to, it's voice sounding like someone suffering from hypothermia, "What do you require of me your grace?"

Uther pulled up a portrait of Morgen and torn cloth from Death's kilt, "Find her, bring her back unharmed. This one on the other hand....," He began whilst giving the cloth to the wendigo for Death's scent, "..kill him. And make sure he's never found."

The wendigo laughed maniacally, "And if anyone gets in the way?"

"Do what you want, I don't care. Just bring HER alive." Uther demanded.

"As you wish, but do you have anything for the cold?" The wendigo inquired.

Uther told him, "I would build you a fire if you so wish. So long as you do your job. You won't have to worry about being too cold."

"Done."

Uther moved away and snapped his fingers. The chains in response snapped away and left the Disorientation Collar around it's neck. One similar to Death's own, but Uther could control it's affects. This the wendigo knew, as it sprinted off to find it's target. It moved quickly, even whilst in it's more humanoid form.

Ale at this time was halfway down the road and comes up to a fork in the road. She took the direction the crystal suggested to her. She heard steps ahead of her and stopped briefly, her ears keenly picked up the sounds of someone shivering badly. As the being, whoever they were got closer, Ale cocked her head in concern. Finally she called out ahead of her, "Hello there? Are you alright? I can't see you but I can hear you."

The vines on her wrists and ankles however tried to tell her something was off about this being. That it looked wrong in some form. Ale however listened keenly as the being sniffed the air around her, "J-j-just c-cold....and a b-b-bit h-hungry......"

"Oh well I may have something warm on me, a scarf or hood perhaps. I also have some food with me in another crystal if you'll permit me a moment." Ale explained as the being got closer and sniffed at her again.

"T-t-thank you."

Ale heard him sniff at her once more and finally inquired a bit naively, "Are you ill perhaps? Maybe a cold got you."

"Y-yes....it seems....u-unfortunately..."

"Well uhm hold on...I have some warm soup on me somewhere. And would you prefer a scarf or hood?" Ale questioned the being.

"B-both....please."

"Very well then.", Ale said before finding the soup and summoning it, "It's not too warm, so hopefully the bowl doesn't burn you. You can test with a finger to be sure though."

The being took the bowl and begins to slurp it down. A bit too quickly in fact, like a starving man. Ale noted this with concern and finally found the scarf and hood.

"Perhaps you are more in need than I realized. Were you starving? How long have you been traveling for? Poor thing."

As Ale wrapped the hood over it, having a bit of trouble at first with the antlers but managing all the same, he responded, "T-thank you...."

Ale then wrapped the scarf around him and her hand barely touched his skin, she didn't notice much beyond how frostbitten it felt to her. "Oh my, you really are freezing. Where did you come from? How did you get so frostbitten like this?"

"North....far north."

"Well hopefully this warm air helps along with the scarf and hood." Ale expressed with sympathy as the vines continued to try and warn her.

"So....what brings you to this side of things?"

"I'm visiting my Atan, although I'm not too familiar with the area out here. So I'm using a crystal to guide me there." Ale informed him.

"Crystal?"

"Mmhmm, I use a special magic in it to track his location." Ale stated as he sniffed around again. She thought nothing of it this time, wanting to polite.

"May I....take a look at it?"

"Oh of course, just be careful." Ale explained before handing it over. She noticed his hands were partially clawed, freezing to the touch, and highly bony. She did her best to hide her concern at this revelation.

"So....what is your Atan? Whatever that word means..."

"Uhm....my son actually. Perhaps I can call a carriage for you? There may be someone in the nearby town that can help you. Plenty of good folks at the tavern there will help anyone in need. I'd stay and chat longer...but I must be going. My Atan is expecting to arrive soon." Ale told him trying to hide her growing nervousness.

"W-who's your son?" The creature pressed, his heartrate elevating as she spoke.

"A good man, one I raised well. He's strong too." Ale explained vaguely.

"Strong? Plenty of meat on the bones."

Ale noticed he isn't shivering now by the sound his voice and goes to sprint off but is grabbed by both arms. She herself is now left shivering as this thing finally lets down the rouse, mocking her, "Thank you for your help. I'll make sure your death is quick, a mercy I was not given."

"W-w-what?!" Ale shouted as her teeth chattered.

"Heheh, I must be in a strange land. If you couldn't figure out what I was....what I AM."

Ale began squirming as best she could trying to call Death on her crystal. But the Wendigo notices easily what she's doing, "Maybe we should call him?", then upon taking it, "Just to say hi."

He hissed as the crystal vibrated for a moment before Death answered, expecting Ale on the other end, "Yes Ceise?"

"Does this sound familiar?", He hissed before slicing one of Ale's cheeks. She yelped in pain naturally and Death froze before shouting in rage, "WHO THE HELL IS THIS?!"

"Someone who was sent to kill you. I want to know first your name." It asked with a slightly distorted tone.

"I am of the Four Horsemen, and my name is DEATH!" Death shouted trying to intimidate him.

It only laughed however, "Funny...very funny...I used to have a name like that. Now...all I have is the hunger...and the cold. Hopefully your Ceise can help....alleviate that problem."

Death's own heartrate picked up, "You touch a single hair on her head I will kill you!"

"I doubt that Horseman, many hunters tried. All of them became prey."

"I'm not ordinary man." Death retorted.

Giggling the creature responded, "You'll have until dusk, before my appetite takes over. Good thing she gave me some soup a while back, otherwise your amount of time would be shorter. And keep your 'group' away. I would love to feast on them but I'm on a schedule. If you don't come alone, I'll guess I'll have to have a feast."

The signal cuts out once the crystal is shattered in the Wendigo's hand. From there it asks of Ale, "So, do you have anymore of that delicious soup?"

Ale nods and says whilst shivering badly now, "H-h-h-here......in t-this...c-c-crystal....."

"Thank you, dear." He expresses before scarfing down all the food he can from it. Ale in the meantime huddles up to a tree in a mix of fear and extreme cold. Course the winds around them both are starting to pick up, although it doesn't seem to be doing so outside of their radius.

The Wendigo laughed at noticing the wind speed up, "Familiar, but insignificant."

Ale goes quiet and closes her eyes. It looks as though she's napping, but she's actually in deep concentration. Waiting for the right moment to shoot out a burst of power. Allowing the speeding winds to swarm around them all the more in a very gradual and deliberate way. One that catches Death's attention when he sees it after preparing to leave and find Ale.

Using Despair, it doesn't take Death long at all to reach the sight. But he finds the wind having picked up speed massively. The Wendigo is actually starting to get a bit concerned but doesn't say anything of it. Not when Death shows up at least.

Clapping and laughing maniacally he begins, "You actually did come alone. I actually was hoping for a feast. I guess a small meal would do."

Death realized all too well what he was facing now, "Wendigo..."

Laughing once more like a hyena mixed with a dog that mated with a smoker he told Death, "I've never even tried Nephilim flesh before. Hmmm is it sweet or bitter, gamy or fatty? You have a lot meat on the bone, I'll bet the marrow tastes so sweet! Better than the rabbit, I would make a stew out of her."

"How about we come to a proposition? I know what your kind are, and what they love to do, to hunt. How about we have a wager, you catch me, you eat me? But if I catch you, you burn."

"No deal....I'M TOO STARVING TO CARE! A TRAP!" The Wendigo explained before showing it's true self to Death.

"Fine by me, saves me the time from killing you. I'll make you pay for wounding her."

The Wendigo can only get just under the tree canopy in height before the collar shocks him, preventing him from reaching past it. Death notices this and realizes what is happening,

"Uther."

It growls in pure anger and upset before charging at Death. Death dodges out of the way of it's lunge as best he can, but still takes a slight scratch for his efforts. But it's nothing his magic can't heal.

"A simple lunge? I know you can do better than that."

The Wendigo hissed at him, "Words that you shall swallow!" It then began swiping at him and is barely able to snag Death at all. He even rips trees out and throws them at the Horseman, only for Death to cut each one in half with Harvester. Upon cutting a final, truly thick tree in half, Death was met with a giant smack upside the head with a trunk. After being sent flying, and bouncing off the ground a few times he lay still for a moment before stirring to get up. Hearing the Wendigo screeching in triumph like some demented eagle. He throws this tree at him as well, and Death uses his Reaper Form to take care of it, but hopped out of it shortly after. As he can only use it in short bursts without Council leeway, best to save that energy up. He stood back up slowly and cracked his neck and back,

"Ok, my turn."

Death then began to run at this thing, stopping just in front of it before using a teleport slash on him. The Wendigo retreats for a moment, being quite surprised at Death for him having done that. Meanwhile down the road, a wagon had been hindered by one of the tree halves that got chopped by Death. A golden brown haired young woman was currently trying to chop it with an axe, whilst her Dwarven adoptive Father shook his head.

"C, we could just turn around. We don't have to clear the road. Just leave it for the officials."

"I know that Gregory, but I haven't found any good contracts lately. This is a good way to keep my strength up for em don't ya think?" C replied with a smile.

"Lass ye've gotta know when to quit too. Sometimes quitting really ain't as bad as most folks tell ya. I knew when to quit military life, and look at me. I'm still kicking and got plenty of my strength left. Seriously just look at me girl."

"Yeah you and all your gray hairs can certainly attest huh? Hahahahaha." C remarked jokingly.

"Eh be lucky yer my daughter, otherwise I'd be leaving ya to this whilst going my own way. Seriously lass, this'll only delay us by several hours. Whilst the path I'm thinking of will only take at least two."

"Come on Gregory, I know what I'm doing. I'll have this done in no time at all." C urged him whilst looking at him. Behind her however a tree trunk had come flying their direction.

"LOOK OUT!" Gregory shouted before tackling to the ground.

"Ah what the he...?!" C shouted back before the tree landed just behind their wagon, barely missing the back.

"I told ya! Now what the hell was that?" Gregory quizzed before getting up to look over the tree in front them. From there he saw Death as he was fighting the Wendigo. "Oh we are NOT getting involved."

"Why what's wrong?" C asked getting up to look herself. Seeing it for herself really peeked her interest. Normally she would agree to leave a Horseman to his job, but then she spotted Ale hugging a nearby tree as she was trying to concentrate. "Shouldn't we get her out of there though? She might be hurt bad."

"Fuck!" Gregory cursed before grabbing his crossbow, and switching it over to a rapid fire setting with white phosphorus attachments.

"What are you doing?" C inquired curiously.

"Get ready to fucking deal with that THING!" Gregory declared before trying to sneak over to Ale.

"Wait Gregory what are you....argh?!" C called to him before hurrying to get a weapon herself, this one being something she picked up as a reward for a job once. A sword that when its pommel was twisted, grew a firey plume over the blade. On the inside of the pommel was an obsidian stone. C normally preferred using water stones, but for this task she figured she may as well use this stone. She twisted the pommel and with the firey plume also came a change to the blade. Turning it from simple steel to obsidian, amplifying the capabilities of the blade. Course the sound of the blade igniting did unfortunately catch the attention of both Death and the Wendigo.

"Ehehehehe....oops..."

"I said alone!" The Wendigo shouted.

"They aren't with me!" Death retorted.

"Then you won't mind me feasting."

C gulped and prepared herself as the thing turned its body towards her, "Oh shit." Then is knocks Death aside before charging at her. C uses the tree trunk to hop into the air and try to slam her sword down on it. Course she's swatted aside like a fly, but does at least burn the Wendigo since it smacked her sword.

"Ahhhhh....warm...." The thing taunted to her.

"Still fire isn't it?!" C hollered.

Death however yelled to her, "Stay out of this child!".

He then began to use his scythes to attack this beast. Using a magma enchantment on Harvester, and forming one scythe into a hook to latch onto the thing's left shoulder. His other scythe stabbing the beast in-between the shoulder blades. Crying out the beast grabbed Death by his dangling leg and flung him to the side. Both halves of Harvester lodged into his body, he still continued to converge on his current aggressor. Death is ready to go tooth and nail, only to be surprised by a sudden explosion hitting the beast's chest head on.

Looking behind him he saw an elderly Dwarf with a crossbow, "Come at me ye fucker!"

The Wendigo made a truly nasty look towards Gregory and made a full charge at the Dwarf. Death took the opportunity to grab the hook again and began making more stabs into the beast's back. It cried out again and since Death was staying in the middle of his back, he started trying to shake him off. As that proves fruitless, it decides to jump up then slam onto its own back. Death still clung on, but barely. Then finds himself being shaken around again since the Wendigo decided he was weak enough to try that again. He begins slipping off the hook as the Wendigo begins grabbing after him frantically. Gregory meanwhile loads another bolt and hollers out, "Just let go so I take a chunks off this thing!"

Death then found it himself to grab Harvester again and once he'd tightened his grip on the hook again he forced the beast to rear up on it's hind legs, baring it's chest towards Gregory. "FIRE!!!"

Gregory did so, albiet reluctantly as he didn't know how Death could handle a white phosphorus explosion. But he fired multiple bolts into the beastie with rapid succession. Causing it to roll over and let Death take a few hits himself. Gregory called out to him, "Horseman! Just let go ye stubborn git!"

"Just keep firing! I'll live!" Death shouts back, making a mental note what the hell was in those bolts later.

The Wendigo has now had enough and begins bolting away. Death eventually realizes what may happen as the thing seems to be going towards Uther's castle. He finally just lets go, landing on the ground whilst bouncing off of it a bit and rolling before calling Harvester back to him. Causing the twisted creature one final piece of pain. He lay there on the ground after that as the adrenaline began wearing off, leaving him with the pain of the white phosphorus burns.

As Gregory came up Death inquired behind pained growls and gritted teeth, "WHAT WERE THOSE BOLTS?"

"Explosive white phosphorus, hence why I said let go. Ye stubborn git."

Death then looked back towards the young woman nearby with the flaming sword as she shut the spell off with a simple twist, "You were doing good child, proved to be a....excellent distraction."

"Yeah ehehehe.....I meant to do that. Yeah...." C replied rubbing her neck.

Death sighed, "You may want to get a better enchantment. Fire's good, but a super heating enchantment is better."

"Noted, thanks. Though maybe you wanna check on this lady over here?" C inquired pointing towards Ale.

[megalony]

Detox- Part 3

Another part to my latest Roger Taylor series which I have gained some lovely feedback for.

Taglist: @lunaticspoem @butlegendsneverdie @langdonzvoid @jennyggggrrr @luvborhap @radiob-l-a-hblah @rogertaylorsbitontheside @chlobo6 @rogertaylors-lipgloss @sj-thefan @omgitsearly @luckytrashgooprebel @scarsout @deaky-with-a-c @killer-queen-ofrhye @bluutac

Series taglist: @killerqueenbucky @the-ridge-farm-raven

Warning: Mentions of drug use.

Series masterlist

Enjoy.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Please..."

Tears began to fall from Roger's eyes as his hands trembled like someone was vigorously shaking him. Both his hands were enclosing one of Brian's that he was holding very tightly to try and get his friend to agree with him but even he knew his attempts were not going to work.

The guitarist felt tears welling in his eyes as he stared down at one of his oldest friends who was in absolute agony. They had just put Roger into a coma so he didn't go through the symptoms and effects of withdrawal from heroin and yet he looked like he was being put through those symptoms right now. He was trembling, a light coat of sweat was beginning to glisten on his exposed skin and his eyes were red-rimmed. Roger had been awake for one day and he was close to breaking. He was dangling on the edge of a cliff and if no one helped him then he was going to let go and fall into the crashing waves below.

Everyone knew that Roger was not making a threat out of pain or agony, he was making a threat that he was willing to go through with because he had been lied and ignored before. If they didn't give Roger painkillers soon or treated him for his back then he was likely to do himself in. He was in a hospital and he was a biology major. He knew the tricks of the trade and when they had him in a room with medication in every draw and a crash cart by his bed, they were leaving him in a room full of goodies just asking to be tried out.

Six months of agony had left Roger vulnerable to needing an escape as soon as one became available. Which was why he was now begging for Brian to get him drugs. The doctors weren't giving him any painkillers because they needed him clean for the tests they were running. They had taken two blood samples this morning, they had done an x-ray, MRI and CT scans of his back and spinal cords.

Roger wanted any form of drugs that he could get his hands on now, he didn't care what tests they needed to do. He couldn't stay clean, he needed to be under the influence of anything, hell he would even drown himself in alcohol if it would take the pain away.

"Rog, they'll give you something soon. You've had nearly all your tests now." Brian's words were not as soothing or calming as either of them thought they were going to be. He only told Roger that he was being denied relief by everyone around him and that hurt. Roger wanted Brian to get him something or he would just ask whoever else came through the door. The drummer would call for the media and give them a story if they gave him something for the pain.

"I- I have a stash under the bathroom sink... t-there's still some in my green jacket at the studio. Or ask Robbie... Bri, please, just something to take it away." Roger leaned his head back against the pillows that were surrounding him. He had two under his back and about three under his head to try and ease the pain but he needed meds, not feathers.

He watched Brian's jaw slack at the sudden revelations but Roger couldn't find it in himself to care. He only cared about Brian either getting a doctor to help or going and grabbing something from his stash at home and bringing it back to give to him. Roger would screw up every test they did with a small dose of heroin if Brian would give it to him because he was in that much pain. But Brian couldn't do that. He couldn't ruin Roger's health and potentially kill him, he would sit by his side and make sure he didn't do anything stupid and he would chase after the doctors to make them give him something as soon as they could. But he couldn't help or encourage Roger's drug abuse anymore.

"Robbie gives you the drugs? Fucking hell, Rog. I'll call Fred and he'll get rid of the stash in your jacket because the studio can't know about that. (Y/n) will search the house and clear it out and I'll bloody kill Robbie myself."

Robbie was one of the tour managers who helped to set up the sounds and stages when they went on tour. He also hung around the studio a lot when they were making their albums. He was a good friend up until now. Brian wouldn't have him fueling Roger's addiction because if Roger had drugs again he could kill himself without meaning to, Robbie needed to know this. He shouldn't even be dealing drugs in the first place.

"No! I told you so you could get me them! I'll call Robbie if you don't-"

"Stop it." Brian snapped. Roger should have known Brian would only raid his stashes and get rid of them, he wasn't going to play along anymore. He had watched Roger get high and drunk and be pain-free due to that for too long. He was taking a stand now. "You've detoxed. If you have one small amount of heroin your body will break down because you can't tolerate it anymore. You will overdose and I am not being at fault for that Roger."

"I wish I'd died in that coma." Roger spoke slowly, punctuating every word and syllable that passed through his chapped lips as he kept the eye contact with Brian so he knew Roger wasn't having a tantrum. He was being deadly serious which was proven by the malice in his eyes and the sudden tsunami of tears flooding his face.

If Roger had passed away he wouldn't have woken up in more agony than he had been in the car crash. He wouldn't have had to sit here for hours and have every test in the book whilst being two seconds away from wanting to kill himself. He would have been put out of his misery and not left to suffer like this because everyone had let him down at one point or another. (Y/n) and the band fueled his addiction, the doctors wouldn't give him the medication he needed for his pain management and he had reverted to drugs because of that. Miami had brought this on for Roger's own good but it wasn't doing him much good right now.

Robbie had been the only one who helped in Roger's eyes because he never gave Roger enough to overdose but he kept him in supply and never asked why. He shouldn't have been dealing drugs but he had taken Roger's pain away.

"Your life may not mean anything to you but to us, you are everything."

Brian brushed the tears out of his eyes as he left the room, begging for Roger not to do anything stupid whilst he was in there alone. He couldn't let Roger die and he couldn't have Roger thinking his life was that worthless and agonising that it needed to end. Brian needed Roger in his life, he provided that stability for Brian because he was one of Brian's rocks. His world would shift and gravity would be lost if Roger died.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ "I-is this the last test?" Roger spoke through gritted teeth as he tried to keep his eyes locked onto (Y/n)'s. Trying so hard to let her features captivate his attention like they normally did but the pain was overriding everything. He couldn't focus on her dazzling eyes, her button nose or her lips her even her cheekbones anymore. All he could see was the colour red swimming in front of his vision from his back.

He had a few pillows propped up behind his head as he was now laid on his side facing (Y/n). A nurse was stood behind him, peering closely as she got ready to perform a lumbar puncture. The moment she told Roger what procedure he was going to have he had wailed like a newborn. His back was shredded to pieces. His spine felt like it had been severed and dislocated in every column. His nerves were sparking like the electrical impulses were getting cut off and it was torture. Even the shredded muscles in his back felt like they were withering and dying. He could feel fragments of muscle just dropping from around his spine and withering into nothing like the fallen petal from a rose.

His back was causing him a headache and that was making him even more agitated and it was getting worse from the sobs he couldn't help but let out. They had to give him meds now or he would act out until they sedated him.

A lumbar puncture was a needle pressed straight into one of the spaces of the vertebrae in between the bones of his spine. They took the fluid in there and checked for anything abnormal or wrong but they were going straight for the affected area. They were putting a needle through the swelling skin covering his spine, straight through the bruises and into his spine that was damaged.

They'd already had to give him medication when he was in a coma and drain some of the blood that had formed beneath the skin because it could cause an infection. So his back was swollen even worse and battering away like someone was continuously hitting his spine with a baseball bat.

"I'm not sure Mr Taylor. Your doctor will be in soon to talk to you about the tests, he'll sort out your medication for you."

(Y/n) reached for Roger's hand but he batted her away, his eyes suddenly bulging from their sockets the moment he felt the tip of the needle puncture through his skin. When it hit the swelling his eyes managed to go back into their sockets so he could clamp them shut. Curling up just that little bit more as he began to shiver. When the needle pushed further, Roger groaned which ended in a choked sound as it pushed further. As soon as Roger felt the needle getting to his spine, he felt the air leaving his lungs begin to get cut up into little pieces that scratched against his already raw throat. His voicebox churned the simple air into one of the worst screams he had ever let loose which he was unsure actually tore from his own lips.

"Take it out!" Roger belted the words as if he was singing along to his favourite song in the car but his tone showed he was not singing in delight. He was screaming in torture from one of the smallest needles he had ever seen. Such a small pinprick went straight through to his spine but he would never have thought it would hurt on a level such as this.

Roger's head started to feel foggy like it was filling with water that each thought had to swim through in order to get heard. He could feel the room spinning very slowly around him in an anticlockwise direction so much so that he could almost feel the bed lifting from the floor as his head swayed.

"Take it out!" Roger repeated the words that broke off into the cry of a dying man. This shouldn't take this long, the fluid dripped straight through the needle into the vile she held and there wasn't a lot of fluid to collect. If she didn't take it out soon she would find Roger's hand reaching around to do it for her. Roger's fist bashed against the murky cream plastic of the bedframe just as the nurse started to pull the needle from his tortured skin. As soon as Roger felt the foreign instrument leaving his skin he let out the most animalistic growl that vibrated against his throat in all the wrong ways.

His hand continued to bash against the frame of the bed until his knuckles split in a feeble attempt to force his mind to focus on the fresh pain. The brain automatically focused on the newest source of pain which allowed Roger to focus on his hand instead of his back.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Leaning her head back against the wall, (Y/n) glanced up to Brian and Freddie who were sharing words that her mind hadn't been interested enough to take note of. After the lumbar puncture, Roger had been sedated when he wouldn't calm down which was very understandable in his current form of pain. But something told (Y/n) that even though he was in immense agony, Roger knew that if he attacked himself like that they would have to sedate him. Either way he was only just beginning to wake up now and everyone thought it would be better to leave him be.

The doctor would be down soon enough to give Roger the results of each test he had and to finally put him on the medication he so desperately needed. But until then, (Y/n), Freddie and Brian were waiting outside so they were not at the brute end of Roger's temper.

As Brian and Freddie continued to share words that were becoming rather rowdy as if they were starting an argument, (Y/n) turned her head to the side so she wasn't watching them anymore. Her head tipping in acknowledgement as she smiled kindly at John who pointed to Roger's room before slowly heading inside. Braving the room that no one else fancied going into for the time being.

Just as Brian was about to retaliate to whatever Freddie just said, his brows furrowed as he turned to look at (Y/n).

"John?" He questioned, pointing to the room asking for confirmation that he hadn't imagined the bassist walking past them. (Y/n) nodded her head, wondering why Brian looked confused or as if he had just woken up and didn't know where he was. "What was he taking in?"

"Rog left his jacket at the studio, asked Deaky to bring it back for him. Why?" (Y/n) shrugged her shoulders as she spoke, her head pounding from lack of sleep and the trauma of the day. Roger had gone through so many tests today and each one had made him feel worse than the last. He didn't deserve any of this and yet they were putting him through it. She didn't know what any of them would do if Roger wasn't on medication by the end of the night. They would surely have to resort to desperate measures to make sure Roger wasn't tempted to do anything stupid. Especially after Brian confided in them all that Roger seemed to be feeling suicidal or on the verge of suicidal.

"Green jacket..." He muttered under his breath. He hadn't been seeing things, John had walked in there with Roger's dark green jacket which the drummer confided in Brian held some of his heroin. Roger was going to take it. 

Brian's face fell like the strings holding it together had been severed as his shoulders sank down an inch or two before he suddenly turned in the direction of Roger's room. His body suddenly beginning to run, his feet slipping on the newly polished floor as Freddie and (Y/n) scrambled to follow him. Both unsure what he was doing or what was happening.

"He's got heroin in that jacket!"

Roger was going to overdose.

[raspberryfanfics]

concepts pt II—hyuga hizashi

Summary: All of the world's unproven things could be explained in concepts: fate, freedom, fear, love...and a girl obsessed with birds made Hizashi question everything he believed in and made him believe. He didn't question it, he just let it be. After all, change is just a concept too.

Word Count: 6108

ON FFN HERE Part I HERE

They all made chunin that year, and Hizashi found himself struggling to keep his emotional distance from Asuka.

It seemed that every time he looked at her, she grew even more beautiful. Her once flat and unshapely body had now developed soft curves and toned muscle. She was even faster than before, her legs long and lean to help carry her at incredible speeds. Her hair was now usually braided into a ponytail to keep it out of her face and it trailed behind her when she leapt from tree to tree, becoming even closer to flying.

She was now able to use the wind-riding jutsu much more proficiently and it was now more common for her to spar in the air rather than on the ground. They all had their fair share of scars now. Some on their arms from rather tough enemies, some from surgeries after they were exposed to toxic chemicals, and some from each other. Yet their team's bond was unbreakable and stronger than before.

However, he was furiously failing to keep the distance he promised the heir of his clan.

It was hard to avoid her. Sometimes he noticed that he would be cold to her but she wouldn't care, because she knew just as well as he did that he would always find her again. Once he had a new training idea, she was the first one he went to. And when she'd sneak into his bedroom in the middle of the night and talk about her mission or birds with such passion in her eyes...how was he to continue to be cold to her when she made him feel so at home?

She took his sudden changes in attitude to be moodiness and still treated him the same. It was usually later in the day where everything would be normal again.

They each were promoted to jonin one by one in the course of four years after several missions led by Kazane-sensei. On one of the S-ranked missions, the four of them stumbled upon a map in one of the scrolls of their assassinated targets. It appeared to be a map in a language that he didn't understand. However, when Kenji examined the scroll once more, he understood it immediately.

According to their teammate, it was the signs and symptoms of strange diseases understood by a skilled medics. However, the procedure and symptoms apparently made practically no sense and were organized into several chunks. Kenji spent a week trying to figure out what it meant, even consulting Tsunade, who was also very confused.

One day, when Kazane-sensei and Hizashi were meditating, Asuka bird-watching, and he was reading, he jumped up and shouted. "I know what it means!"

The three immediately looked up and he spread pages of lined paper onto the ground, pinning them with kunai.

"So most of them provide strange snippets like right here, it says the nerve was damaged severely and the word nerve was underlined. So to try and remember this, I put the abbreviation for "nerve", which is "N" on this paper, then went to the next one, which says "sutures in the nose" so I shortened that to "intranasal" and abbreviated that to "IN". Those ones were super obvious but some of them like the missing symptom for a disease were harder to find."

"You lost me, Kenji." their sensei admitted.

"Nevermind. If you take the chart abbreviation for each section it spells out into complicated instructions to a ninja falcon cliff! It's a map to find the ninja summons of falcons written down by a med-nin who probably wanted to keep it a secret!"

And with that statement, Asuka nearly fainted. 

He caught her as she fell back but she clearly needed to hear more, and she couldn't do that if she was unconscious. She recently also acquired a contract with ninja owls, and it was clear she was hungry for more. With a writ from the Hokage, she was granted permission to leave the village in search of the ninja falcon.

Sixteen-year-old Hizashi and the other two bid their teammate goodbye at the gates of Konoha, supplying her with emergency contact gear, extra weapons, summoning scrolls within summoning scrolls, and items that were supposed to bring luck. She assured them she would be fine even as Kazane-sensei reminded her to do things in the way she used to back when they were genin. They were reluctant to let her go, knowing that it could be half a year before seeing her again. Yet this was her passion and if she succeeded, she would be a stronger ninja, something they all wanted to be.

After hugging the other Kenji and Kazane-sensei, she quickly threw her arms around Hizashi, taking him by surprise.

"I know you don't like hugs," she softly as his frozen hands shook, then slowly wrapped around her waist. "But I'm really gonna miss you, Hizashi."

He blinked, burying his face in the crook of her neck into the soft fabric of her dark grey cloak. It was true that he disliked hugs, but having her in his arms was a completely different story. "I'll miss you too, Asuka. Please be safe."

"I will,"

They seemed to linger for a few moments, even as the other two watched their interaction carefully. She then pulled away and ran off, speeding towards the distance. She leaped and turned around mid-air, giving them a final wave before disappearing.

He felt disappointment flood his body and admiration as her flowing cloak and hair escaped his immediate sight.

Kenji put a hand on his shoulder and shook his head, a grin plastered on his tanned face. "Oh man, you really got it bad, don't you."

"I—I'm not supposed to—"

"Have you told her how you feel yet?" his friend asked.

"I don't have—"

"I have my own Byakugan that see through the lies you tell yourself, Hizashi."

The young jonin sputtered, his face reddening. Kazane-sensei rolled her eyes and shoved her hands in her pockets. "Come on, Kenji. Let the poor guy try to actually sort his feelings out himself. He'll tell her when it's ready."

"Is it really that obvious?" he said a little bit too loudly.

They both gave him an identical look and he groaned, burying his face in his hands.

Four months later, he was nearly asleep when a bird was tapping at his window. It was Suisen, the tiny swift that destroyed his twin brother in the Chunin exams. At first, he thought it was a dream. But when he opened his window and let her in, she quickly flew onto his lamp. "Asuka is back."

His heart pounded in excitement. "Did she summon you to get me?"

"Nah, I thought you'd like to know. She's back home, finishing up cleaning. I think if you get there fast enough, you'll still get there."

He didn't need to be told twice. "Thank you, Suisen."

Hizashi cranked open his window as she disappeared with a poof and silently leaped over the rooves until he reached the window of her apartment. She lived on the highest floor, close to the sky and the roof. Her light was still on when he crouched on the sill of her window, knocking on it three times. When she didn't answer, he slowly pushed it open with a little bit of chakra and crept in. No one was in her bedroom and he was slightly worried.

Suddenly, the door opened and she was standing in a towel, dark hair dripping, and completely oblivious to the fact that he was in her bedroom.

"Asuka," She screamed, throwing her hands out to make hand seals, nearly losing the grip on her towel. He quickly looked away and raised his palms up. "Wait! Wait, it's just me."

His best friend relaxed and put her hand over her chest. "Lord Kami, you scared me, Hizashi — wait — Hizashi!"

Her face lit up and she hugged him once again, damp skin pressing against his clothes. He had to push her away, knowing that nothing was under her towel. She seemed to suddenly realize this fact too and blushed hard, stammering.

"Let me put something on."

Asuka took a few clothes out of her drawers and headed back the way she came, coming out once more with a loose shirt and shorts. "How did you know I was home?"

"Suisen," he replied, still trying to grasp his mind around the fact that he was home.

He wasn't supposed to miss her so much.

Every day he thought about her, wondered if she was ok, or if she missed him too. His nights were restless even though in the day he prayed he could go back to sleep just to see her in his dreams again. Then he wondered if she would even come back. What would he do without her? And even then, he thought about her hair and her birds, her cloak and her smile, he was pretty much a wreck while she was gone.

"I—I thought Suisen went back. She didn't tell me that she would find you—"

"I'm glad she did."

"Oh?"

"Yea. I really missed you, Asuka."

She smiled, brown eyes beaming warmly at him. "I missed you too."

"How did it go? Did you make a contract with any falcons?"

Her face lit up and she started on the tales of her journey, nearly falling off a cliff several times, being soaked to the bone, getting lost, and finally making it to their habitat, only to be tested if she was worthy. She talked for an hour, the light in her eyes shining as she talked about something she was passionate about. Usually, she didn't say much and they could understand each other through glances alone, but she could go on forever about birds. Sometimes he would zone out, the sound of her voice morphing into music and the way her lips moved entrancing him. Though she looked exhausted, she had enough energy to finish her story.

"The falcons can see even farther than you can," she whispered.

"Don't tell me I'm being replaced." he joked.

Asuka laughed, shaking her head. "Unfortunately, they don't see tenketsu points. Otherwise, you would have been screwed."

"Do they have crazy families?"

"Oh, yea. That falcon family would be crazier than yours besides the fact that they don't inflict terrible pain to those who disobey them."

It was a weirdly morbid joke that made the two silent for a moment, but Hizashi started laughing and she was on her way to apologizing until she burst too. They laughed, clutching their stomachs and rolling around, trying not to wake up her neighbours. Then he realized how pretty she was when she was laughing like that and stopped admire her.

When she noticed that he was no longer laughing, she stopped too. Her eyes fluttered to his lips, then back to his eyes. He prayed she would do whatever her eyes were saying she wanted to do. He prayed for her to have less self-control than he did because right now, he knew he didn't want her enough to kiss her but wouldn't stop her if she did.

Yet Asuka was never one to be bold in situations like these. Even in the rare seduction missions, she wouldn't even have to play the innocent girl because it came so easily. In a mission where she would have to show a lot of skin and crawl her fingers up an old man's arm, they would be screwed. When she looked away embarrassed, he wasn't surprised. It didn't stop Hizashi from feeling disappointment though.

He coughed awkwardly, reluctant to go but unsure of what else he could do. She smiled weakly at him when he crouched at her windowsill.

"Goodbye," her soft voice echoed through his ears.

"I'll see you tomorrow, ok?"

She nodded and he waved a final greeting before jumping out her window, feeling light and airy, almost as if he could fly as she did.

Months later, he found himself winded up in one of the most intimate moments he ever had. The two lay side by side, staring up at the sky, which was littered with flecks, shimmering above them. Nothing touched his skin but blades of grass on their open training field, and the soft breeze of the summer night. He was fully clothed but he never felt so exposed in his life.

Hizashi didn't know much about stars and neither did Asuka, but she explained to him how birds sometimes knew where to go by looking at them. It was one of the few things about the feathered creatures she couldn't figure out: how they found their way home no matter what.

She reached out her hand as if she could touch the brightest stars and he briefly wondered how soft her fingers would feel if he wrapped his around them. Yet instead, a small owl flew past and fluttered silently around them, landing near her, looking around for prey before flying off again.

"Back in the academy, I thought your obsession with birds would be a phase. I've been proven very wrong. You have a way with them and you don't even seem to try."

She shrugged and sat to look back in the direction where the owl left. He now only saw her face, rather than stars in his vision.

"I'm not sure why. Maybe it's because I respect them. I always have seen them as equals." she paused for a moment. "For the longest time, I've wanted to be like them. They're free. They have no bounds. I wished so badly that I could fly as easily as they did."

"You said all of that in past tense. Do you not wish to fly anymore?"

Asuka chuckled. "No, I do. But I can almost fly, and for me, that's enough. I wanted to fly because of the freedom, but even birds have their limits. They have more limits than humans do. I didn't want to be caged but the truth is, all of us are in one. For them, they cannot swim or go past our earth into space. For me, my limits are the same as birds and the laws of the shinobi. For you, it is your clan. I am happy with my cage. It satisfies all my needs, there is enough space, and enough unknowns to last me a lifetime."

"You always talk about freedom, but if you are caged, then how can you be free?" he asked.

"Freedom is a concept," she explained. "We all are restricted by one thing or the other. It is only freedom when you don't feel like you are restricted. I feel free even within my restrictions, therefore I am free. Yet if I were to be put into your place, in your clan, I don't think I would be. Do you feel free?"

"Sometimes," he said. "When I'm not at the compound, I feel it completely. I'm free until I take off my forehead protector and see my cursed mark. Or until I see my brother without one. When my parents don't look at me anymore."

"I'm sorry."

"It's ok," he smiled weakly. "Around the team, on missions, and with you, I usually just forget about it."

"Do you hate them?" she asked.

"I try not to. It's hard, that's for sure, but there is little I can do about it." Hizashi then hesitated.

"What is it."

"I—I hate my brother."

"I can hate him with you,"

He laughed softly. "It's ok, my hate is powerful enough for one person. It's just that I see him and try to find things I'm better at than him. And I am better than him. I learned all the techniques faster, became jonin quicker, and I know that we're identical, but I feel more attractive than he is."

Asuka rolled her eyes. "You have no idea how odd that sounds coming from a person like you."

"Anyways, I think about all the ways I'm better than him, but then I remember he doesn't have a curse mark and it outweighs everything."

She thought for a moment, staring down at him with sad eyes as he watched the stars.

"What about our team?"

"Hmm?"

"You have our team. Does that outweigh your seal?"

"Asuka I—"

"Does being on a team with me outweigh your seal?"

He felt himself at a loss for words. When he thought about it, she was right. Having such a close bond with his team outweighed the seal. Being close to someone as wonderful as her by itself outweighed the seal.

She blushed, looked away and sighed, threading her fingers around the long grass.

"Hiashi…he likes you. I—I can't."

"Since the academy, right?" she murmured. "It's just an infatuation. And it's not like he even knows me. How could he have real feelings for me when he knows practically nothing about me?"

"How do you know he doesn't have real feelings for you?"

"Are you defending him?"

She didn't seem angry, just surprised. He nodded, thinking selfishly that if she were to like him back, it would be easier for him to avoid her.

"May I ask why?"

"I'd rather not say."

Asuka crossed her legs and he propped himself up on his elbows. The moonlight hit her face at a perfect angle, highlighting her soft cheekbones and illuminating her eyes, making them appear almost silver. Her lips seemed incredibly welcoming at the moment and he wondered if they felt as soft as the looked. Would he be more satisfied by a quiet gasp if he kissed her jaw and sucked her neck or if she pressed her thin frame onto his, winding her fingers into his hair?

"H—He doesn't look at me like you do." she breathed. "You look at me li—like you—"

"Like I what?"

When words didn't arrive, he felt his stomach drop. Yet he suddenly tensed up much more when her hand reached up to his jaw and her thumb brushed lightly against his cheek, turning his face to her. His heart pounded in his chest so loudly that he couldn't hear his own thinking. Did she think about doing that? Was it easy for her to just touch him like that or did she contemplate on it, like he did every time he was around her?

"You care," she whispered. It wasn't a comparison anymore. She didn't say "like he cared". She knew. And the way she said it, he knew that she didn't mean it platonically.

She knew that he was in love with her.

It was something he had denied to himself until the very moment. He knew this as his skin heated before her hand even touched his face and as he found himself dizzy around her. When the thought of losing her made his chest hurt so much that he felt like he had to hold it and cry. How just being around her was probably the best thing to ever happen to him and how he wanted her to be around for the rest of his life.

Her whisper may have been quieter than his raging thoughts, still deafened by his pulse, yet the two words rang in his head over and over again.

Hizashi swallowed, slowly raising his hand to grab hers, locking their fingers, and painfully choosing to lower them from his face and back to her side. He let go of her hand and a new set of voices rang in his head again.

"Stay away from Asuka,"

"Hi—Hizashi?"

"I can. I can make you do whatever I want,"

"I should go—"

"Am I wrong?" she said, sounding hurt and so innocent, looking at him with big sad eyes that made him feel disgusting.

"No," he choked. "You're not wrong."

"Then why?"

And they both knew that deep inside, he knew she returned his feelings. Two people who loved each other should hardly be a problem, but it was. He lay back down from his elbows and rubbed his face with his hand.

"I don't want to hurt you—"

"You know I can handle pain, even emotional,"

"I—You—What if you realize that I'm not worth being around—"

"We've been teammates for five years."

"I have orders!" Hizashi choked, trying to keep the tears at bay. He wasn't going to cry in front of her. "I can't make any advances on you."

She was silent because even she knew that orders from the main family weren't to be taken lightly. "For how long?"

"Since you beat Hiashi during the chunin exams."

"That's when you started trying to avoid me."

"I know."

"I'm not an object."

"I told him that,"

"Yet it's an order nonetheless." she sighed.

"I'm sorry, Asuka."

He sat up, deciding that it could be a good time to leave.

"If—If you didn't have these orders, wo—would you have kissed me by now?"

One last sentence rang in his head.

"You better keep your word, brother."

"Yes, I would have," he said honestly. He wasn't going to lie to her, especially when it was a truth, not an advance. When he wasn't going to let himself go any further, she deserved it.

"Then if you don't make advances, is there anything about rejecting one?"

He blinked a couple of times, running her question in his mind over and over again. "No,"

She leaned in closer, darting her eyes between his and his lips. He prayed she would break the distance. Once again, he wouldn't lean in until she kissed him. Asuka hovered over his lips, so close he could feel her breath, so close that they shared the same air, and so close that he was scared she would hear his heart beating out of his chest.

It seemed to be forever when she finally closed her eyes and kissed him, wrapping an arm around his neck and slowly joining their breaths together. He sighed in relief and wrapped his arm around her waist, lightly pushing her to the grass and savouring her lips. They were just as soft as he imagined them to be but the fireworks exploding in his chest and the dopamine rushing through his system were completely unexpected.

When it was time to pull away, they lingered around each other, eyes still half-lidded, faces still pulling towards each other like two positive ends of a magnet, almost touching, but never there. They didn't want it to end.

"Asuka…"

"Hizashi…"

"May I walk you home?"

"You don't have to ask."

It was silence on the way to her house, unlike the other times he walked her home. Yet it was a comfortable silence, one that was warm and welcome.

She pecked him on the cheek just before walking inside, beaming radiantly.

"Goodbye,"

"I'll see you tomorrow, ok?"

She nodded and smiled, then closed the door.

On his way home in his daze, he didn't realize that her small summoning owl was trailing him. His strength was his sight, not his hearing, and the owl also knew how to keep in the blind spot of his, even when his Byakugan wasn't activated.

What he did notice, however, was his brother standing at the entrance of the compound with his arms crossed. Hizashi was not one to be scared of another. He was scared of concepts. He was scared of dying without purpose, others controlling his fate, and unimaginable pain that was enough to strip him of his humanity. Yet as he stared in the identical yet much too different eyes, it was clear that he was scared of his brother because he could be all the concepts that Hizashi was ever afraid of.

"You broke your word."

Funny how the same vocal cords can sound so cold when they come out of another's mouth. Or how someone you are more powerful than can still hold more control over you.

"I did not,' he replied steadily.

"Then what was your session in the woods today?"

"You watched me?" he growled.

Hiashi didn't move. "I have watched you uncountable other times. It appears that you never came to your senses after all."

"I did not put forth advances. It is she who has chosen to kiss me. Do not blame me for the fact that she knows I'm a better shinobi and a better person than you are."

"Don't lie, you kissed her back."

"I did."

"That counts as an advance."

"You did not specify."

"Must I spell it out for someone of your calibre?"

Hizashi ground his teeth together. "If you truly had feelings for her, you would consider the fact that she can make her own decisions."

"Oh, I know she can. I'm not stopping her from falling for you. I'm stopping you from letting her. I can't control her, but I sure as hell can make sure you don't lay another finger—"

"You make her sound like she's your property! You probably don't even remember the type of bird she summoned to defeat you in the chunin exams. You don't care for her at all."

"Her name was Suisen. She's a swift, a White-throated Needletail to be exact. I know more than you think."

He blinked a couple of times, surprised. "You can't have actual feelings for her, can you?"

"I can."

"Wow, I'm surprised that you even had any emotion left inside of you, Hiashi-sama. Looks like you've changed. Next time work on treating women as equals and brothers as humans. Or maybe try to give people a choice and to stop lying about caring for someone you don't know—"

Hizashi suddenly felt a fist hit his face, faster than he could react.

"You don't know what you're talking about, branch filth." his brother spat.

In his years of knowing him, even though Hiashi never defended him or did anything good for him, he had never sunk so low to call him by his status in the clan. Furious, he went to punch, but Hiashi's Byakugan was already activated.

Everything turned downhill from there. Two brothers, similar in skill, equal in rage, threw gentle fists, weapons, and chakra towards each other. It was a battle to kill.

Yet Hizashi was just a little stronger than he was, so Hiashi slowly started to lose. It was until the branch member was about to close a tenketsu point until a searing pain erupted through his head.

It was indescribable.

The pain could not be explained and he wasn't aware of anything anymore. He suddenly could not use any of his senses. He didn't know if he was screaming or not. He couldn't tell if anything was happening because he couldn't hear himself, nor could he feel his vocal cords growing sore as the pain in his forehead masked it. The agony started to subside in what felt like an eternity.

When his sight started growing clearer, he saw elders looking down at him with disgust. His brother's mouth was open in shock and he was staring at his hands. His own father stood over him and looked at his state without any sympathy, then at the bruise on the heir's cheek.

"Do it again," he demanded.

"Father," Hiashi's voice shook. It was the first time Hizashi had ever heard him falter. "I—I ca—is it really necessary?"

"Do it!" he bellowed. "If you are ever to rule the clan you must be able to inflict the curse mark like I taught you to!"

"Please Hiashi," he whimpered, "Please don't,"

"Address him with the proper suffix, branch scum,"

"I—I'm sorry, Hiashi-sama,"

"Son, do it now! Don't show branch members any mercy. You let them beg, but you do not ever grant their requests. They must know their place within the clan."

But Hiashi didn't move. He shook. For a moment, Hizashi was relieved, glad that his brother really did have some compassion, even after inflicting the seal on him himself. Yet his father quickly brought his hands together and the pain was present once again, this time even worse than it was before. Those hands were experienced. They had struck pain into countless branch members, rather than just one.

He wished he could pass out but he didn't. He wondered if this was the end for him. Would they even find his body? His hands gripped at his hair, his scalp so numb that he didn't know how much he could have ripped out. It could have been days when the pain finally started to ease. Yet it was still night, the footprints still fresh on the dirt.

Hizashi couldn't hear it but he felt a warm presence drift near. A huge bird landed by his side and a girl jumped off, gathering his forehead protector and pressing an ice pack to his head. It didn't completely ease the pain but it helped and he blindly reached out to whoever had provided him with the relief. She took his hand and let him squeeze it as hard as he could, even when he may as well have crushed her bones.

The girl carried him onto the back of the bird, he decided it could only be an owl from the silence, and they flew off.

"Asuka?" he breathed. "Is it you? Am—Am I alive?"

It was only then when he heard her sobs as she wiped his tears away with her finger. It stung when she touched his cheeks from the tears he didn't even know he had shed. The rush of wind blowing past them as she held him on top of her owl soothed the pain on his skin but did nothing for the agony in his temples.

"You're alive, Hizashi. I'm so sorry. I'm so so so sorry." she cried. "You're going to be ok, we'll be at Kenji's house in seconds."

"It hurts," he whimpered. "It hurts."

"I know, I know. I'm sorry,"

She apologized over and over again, though he didn't know or ask why. The owl fluttered by a window and rapped its claws along the glass until their teammate saw. Kenji was didn't have his prosthetics on so he stumbled out of bed and used his hands to propel himself towards the window at an alarming speed, cranking it open so she tumbled in, dragging Hizashi with him. She still pressed the ice pack to his head and tears were still streaming down his face.

"What the hell happened?" Kenji asked as he strapped on a pair of legs and removed the ice pack from Hizashi's forehead and replacing it with the back of his palm. His eyes widened when he realized that it heated up seconds after removing it. "How did he get this fever?"

Asuka cried even harder. "It's not a fever. It's the curse mark."

And the seal was still glowing.

His groans filled Kenji's apartment and his parents rushed in the room, shocked to see their child's teammate clutching at his head, another teammate crying over him, and the pain he seemed to be in. The medical ninja quickly explained the situation and took out his summoning scroll. He bit his finger and with a poof, a small needle and a vial labelled "morphine" appeared. After measuring a small amount of the drug, he took out a tourniquet to find a vein in Hizashi's arm. However, his skin was so pale and the veins already protruded from the tension and all he had to do was look to inject the morphine into his system.

Hizashi's screams and moans were finally reduced to small whimpers.

"I've been working in the hospital for almost 5 years," Kenji broke the chain of unspoken words. "I admit, I may not ever be as talented as Tsunade, but that also means I have dealt with more traumas, cases that don't require 12-hour surgeries, far more patients than she had at my age because I treat everyone, not just the serious ones. In these five years, I have heard screams louder than his and eyes swollen shut from crying but I don't think I have ever and will never see someone in so much pain, physical and mental. I would even go so far and say that the curse mark functions by combining the user and the receiver's emotions, throwing it into the mind, and turning it into pain. Usually, someone would have passed out from how much of it he was experiencing, and I think he endured it without falling unconscious because that was just a part of the torture."

The medical-ninja switched the melted ice pack for a fresh one. "Hizashi, please tell us what happened."

The deathly pale sixteen-year-old looked at Asuka for permission and she nodded. "It's your story to tell, not mine."

"Wait, what do you have to do with this—" Kenji interrupted, then saw the way they were gazing at each other. "Oh...oh...oh shit."

"Hiashi has liked Asuka since the Academy, as I'm sure you know. After he realized that she would never see him the same, he, uh, he ordered me not to make any advances on her."

"But you did," their teammate sighed.

"No, I did," she said. "I—I did. It's my fault. If—If I hadn't then none of this would have happened. You wouldn't be—"

"It's not your fault," Hizashi said soothingly, slowly sitting up. "You can't blame yourself."

"But."

"He's right," Kenji replied. "Is it ok for you to tell us what happened next?"

He took a deep breath. "I don't know why, but Hiashi was watching us. We argued and I told him that he was emotionless and called him out on the way he was treating us. He punched me and we started attacking each other. I was about to knock him out before he—he activated the cursed seal."

Even his forehead hurt by thinking of it, and Hizashi winced in pain. They set him down and lay his head back on the pillow. He continued to tell them what happened, how Hiashi refused to activate the seal again so his father did, and how he begged for them to stop.

"What about you two? What's gonna happen now?" Kenji asked. "Will you still be together?"

"No," said Asuka.

"Yes," Hizashi replied at the same time.

The two looked at each other uncomfortably, then at the medical ninja.

"Don't look at me! I'm worried for you too and you probably need to figure out what you'll be from now on. Dating? Secret lovers? Friends with benefits?"

The kunoichi nearly passed out of a nosebleed at his last comment. "N—No. I won't let us go on. You can't suffer more because of me."

"Are you breaking up with me?" he asked, failing miserably to bring light into the situation. "Wow, I'm glad you thought of me as your boyfriend in the first place."

"I—"

"What if you do keep whatever you have going on?" Kenji asked. "I'm rooting for your safety, but if you guys can be safe and dating or whatever, I want that for you two. If you keep—er…this, will Hiashi continue to activate the curse?"

"I don't think he will choose to. I can only hope that he has enough humanity left to let us be."

"Do you really think so?"

"He's my brother. Hopefully, he will put aside his anger and remember that."

Originally wasn’t going to post the other parts on Tumblr but I caved.

[tisfan]

Say It Again

Square: B3 - Deaf Creators: @tisfan & @27dragons Title: Say it Again Warning: None Rating: Teen Characters: Bucky, Tony, Clint, FRIDAY Tags: temporary deafness, tech doesn’t solve everything, caretaker Tony, dyslexia, ableist language and self-hatred Summary: Bucky loses the ability to hear… and learns something new about himself... Warning: This fic contains some mild amounts of cultural ableism, particularly in Bucky’s views on himself, not being able to read.  Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19396732 Word Count: 3397 Posted for @winterironbingo​

Bucky always seemed smaller, somehow, in the infirmary, than he did in the rest of the world. Presence. Tony knew something about that; people were constantly shocked by how much shorter Tony was than they’d imagined, and, to some degree, how much less loud in a personal setting than a professional one.

The fact that he had lifts in the Iron Man armor probably didn’t hurt, either.

Bucky had come awake very suddenly that morning; the damage from the fall, combined with being at ground zero of a non-nuclear explosion had sent him into a coma for several days. Not unexpected, and while nerve-wracking, Tony admitted that sleep was the best thing for him. Let the serum heal the damage, just as soon as the medical trauma teams finished closing up the wounds.

He’d… laid there for a long time, not answering anyone. Eyes opened, looked around the room, and then closed again. He didn’t entirely seem… aware.

Around noon, he’d finally given medical something they could work with. He’d pointed metal fingers at his ear, and then shook his head.

His hearing was gone. Entirely, though the medics were confident that the serum would heal the damage in time. They didn’t, however, have any idea how long that would take. A few hours? A few days? A month? No clue. Ears, it turned out, were finicky and fussy constructions.

But other than that, he was in great shape, only a few bruises and nicks left to highlight where the worst of the damage had been, so they were cutting him loose.

Which left it to Tony to take care of his boyfriend. That was a switch; usually it was Bucky hovering at Tony’s side as he laboriously and without the serum healed from his injuries, or hacked his way through whatever bug had run rampant through the building.

Tony had whipped up quick app for Bucky’s tablet -- as long as he was within range of the Compound, anything anyone said to Bucky would be displayed on the tablet’s screen, in a discreet little bar at the top of the screen, where it wouldn’t interfere with the rest of the tablet’s function. “Here you go, babe,” he said, demonstrating the functions. “I’m pretty sure I can make it work outside of FRIDAY’s range, but the native voice-to-text translators are... lacking.”

Bucky stared down at the tablet, then back up at Tony’s mouth, back down to the tablet. He hadn’t said anything, at all, since the med techs turned him loose, even though nothing was wrong with his vocal chords. He scowled at the tablet again, then, very slowly, tapped out Thank you, and showed it to Tony. Followed by a scribble of Bucky’s normally terrible handwriting -- he’d been left handed before the accident, and Hydra hadn’t cared about his penmanship -- you talk too fast.

(more below the cut)

“You already knew that,” Tony pointed out, grinning. “I’ll try to slow it down a little for you. Is this better?” It felt like talking through molasses, honestly. “You know you can still talk, right?”

Bucky nodded. Medtex md me. Fezl weird.

Tony squinted at the message, then nodded. “Okay, as long as you know you can. Whatever makes you more comfortable. They said you should take it easy for a while, so... What do you want to do? Play chess? Watch a movie? We can put in something you’ve already seen, turn on the subtitles.”

Bucky stared down at the block of text that Tony had spewed out, even talking slower, he tended to say at least four times as many words as strictly necessary. Movis good. Die Hard? Unlike Steve, who complained constantly about the gunfire scenes in various action movies, Bucky’d always seemed to enjoy them; everything from Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy to Indiana Jones and back, the more ridiculous, the better.

Die Hard was not a Christmas movie, even if some people insisted it was, but they’d started it as a tradition around then, and sometimes Bucky would ask to watch it in July anyway. It might not be a Christmas movie, but Tony knew something about comfort films.

“You got it, sugarlips. You want to get it set up and I’ll get us some snacks?” Especially since Bucky had been in a coma, healing, for a couple of days. He was bound to be hungry; IV nutrition just barely sustained him. Something calorie-dense -- nachos, maybe, with meat and veggies and cheese, protein and fat and carbs all at once, and at least a nod toward nutrition. And some cookies for dessert.

Tony put it all together, a heaping platter of food and a selection of drinks, and carried it all back out to the movie room.

For a while, it was just them, and then Nat came in, wearing old leggings with holes in them and an oversized sweatshirt that Tony was pretty sure belonged to Steve. And then Steve joined them. And Bruce. And Clint.

And of course, everyone talked.

Bucky spent more of the movie scowling at his tablet than he did watching the film.

Tony nudged him. “Okay?”

Bucky nodded. Then, taking advantage of what appeared to be yet another Steve-against-gun-phyics argument, said in a voice that was probably meant to be a whisper. “It’s a lot.”

Tony glanced down at the tablet, which was scrolling text across the top in a continuous marquee, one line for Steve’s rant, and another for the movie, and a third of Clint arguing with Steve. Tony grimaced. “Sorry,” he said. “You want to do something else?” He pointed over his shoulder with his thumb to underscore his question.

Bucky nodded. Wrksp? Can just watch u

Tony nodded quickly. “Yeah, absolutely, we can do that.” He set aside the various dishes and bottles piled on their laps and then helped Bucky to his feet. “We’re just going to go somewhere a little quieter,” he told the others’ curious looks.

“He’s deaf,” Clint pointed out. “It doesn’t get much quieter than that.”

Tony made a face. “I can still hear you, birdbrain.” He curled his hand into Bucky’s. “Come on, Buckaboo.”

Being deaf was not at all like what Bucky had thought -- if he’d even given it any thought at all before it happened, and he was pretty sure he had not. 

First off, it wasn’t pure silence, if there could ever be such a thing. Bucky’s serum had enhanced most of his senses, turned them up to eleven, as Peter Parker had once explained it. He could hear breathing and heartbeats and the pulse of blood through a person’s veins, including his own. So, silence was a concept, not ever a reality.

Even being deaf, apparently, wasn’t no noise.

It was just senseless noise.

His head rang like a bell, constantly. Like a headache, with no pain. What he “heard” was the audio equivalent of the shimmer of sunlight on too-hot pavement. Directionless. Meaningless. Noise.

But it wasn’t silence.

There were some sounds he could still, sort of, hear. Gunfire. Someone yelling. It didn’t mean anything, out of context as it was, but he could hear it. 

So, that was good, at least. He didn’t have to worry about not hearing someone who was shooting at them.

Not that Steve would let him back into the field, even if Bucky wanted to, while he was operating impaired.

Bucky wasn’t sure he wanted to.

He relied on his hearing, the way a person moved in the space around him. Several times, recently, Tony had startled him, badly, just because he came up behind Bucky, out of his peripheral vision, and Bucky-- couldn’t sense him coming.

The shop, at least, was nice.

There was always noise -- Tony talking to his projects, the fabricators, FRIDAY, the bots -- but very little of it required Bucky’s attention at all, once he’d gotten FRIDAY to stop putting up song lyrics. He really did not care about the tribulations of Bon Scott.

Tony didn’t slip as seamlessly into his work as usual, coming back every ten minutes or so to check on Bucky. “Did you get enough to eat? Need a drink? A blanket?”

Bucky couldn’t decide if it was nice, or infuriating. It was very easy to get lost in the not-quite-silence. Like slipping away, sometimes it would take someone a moment to get his attention. So, it was nice to be reminded that he wasn’t… quite as alone as he’d felt. 

On the other hand, he was the goddamn Winter Soldier, and if he needed a blanket, he could bloody well get one.

“Reminds me,” Bucky said, and that was always so strange, talking. He knew he was talking, he could feel everything working just the way it was supposed to. He didn’t feel like he was drunk, or slurring, or anything. He just couldn’t hear it. And he didn’t know how loud he was being. “Of being the Winter Soldier.”

Tony blinked, startled, and tipped his head to the side curiously. “How?” he asked, or at least, that was the shape his mouth made.

Bucky gestured at the space around his head, like that meant anything. “I’m here. And there’s a wall of --” he tried to lower his voice, the pinched expression around Tony’s eyes a subtle clue, maybe, that he was talking too loud. “--nothing. Around me. Like, I’m here, but I’m not… important? Or I don’t understand. They would talk, near me, of course. But it never mattered what they said.”

Tony’s face got tight and pinchy, and he sat next to Bucky, reaching for Bucky’s hands. “You matter,” he said, very slowly, like it was very important that Bucky be able to understand him. “I love you.”

Bucky watched Tony’s mouth moving, memorizing each twitch of lip, the way his teeth moved, closing around the sounds. “Say it again.”

“I. Love. You.” Tony punctuated that with a light kiss, just a brush of his lips across Bucky’s.

“Thanks,” Bucky said, and his throat ached and it had nothing to do with whether or not he could talk, or hear. “Love you, too.”

He closed his eyes, felt Tony under his hands. He hated having his eyes closed, it made everything feel even further away than it was when he couldn’t hear it. But sometimes he just needed to not-- be.

God, his head hurt. Reading had always made his head hurt, for as long as he could remember. “Sometimes the best thing about bein’ the Winter Soldier was that I didn’t hafta read,” Bucky said, speaking into the blackness. 

Bucky felt Tony freeze for a moment, felt the vibrations of Tony’s voice, for a brief moment -- no more than a few words, before he remembered that Bucky couldn’t hear him. Tony moved, leaning closer, and he was nuzzling gently against Bucky’s cheek, his breath warm as it spilled over Bucky’s skin.

Bucky stubbornly kept his eyes shut for a few more moments, not wanting to try to read, or figure out, or… anything. Waited there, in the darkness. Heart thudding in his chest; he could feel the way it tripped, beating faster than normal. His blood pressure was probably through the roof, honestly.

What if it never comes back?

Finally, he sighed, opened his eyes, looked at Tony. Wondered if Tony was going to scold him for trying to ignore everything. Or something. Bucky wasn’t sure. The whole not-being-able-to-hear thing was giving him the serious creeps. Like he was always… missing something.

And that he might never get it back.

Tony was looking at him, forehead creased with worry and confusion. He opened his mouth, then shook his head a little. He opened his hands like a book, then made a comically exaggerated yuck face, tipping his head and raising an eyebrow.

“Yeah, I swear, I dunno how you all don’t have headaches, like all the time, stupid squirmy shit,” Bucky said. “First thing I did, when I moved in, back-- you know, back when it was JARVIS. He read everything to me, right in my ear. It was great.”

Tony’s lips moved, slowly repeating squirmy. His frown deepened, until Bucky felt the urge to reach up and smooth it away. And then all of a sudden, his eyes widened, and he said something that Bucky couldn’t read. And then started chattering a mile a minute, so Bucky could only interpret maybe one word in five. “--believe-- --help-- --so much-- --better--”

Bucky scowled down at his tablet, then “What’s sldexic mean?”

Tony stopped, and the scrolling letters paused, thank god. He turned his head, saying something to FRIDAY, and the monitor Tony had been working on flickered and cleared, the schematic replaced with a single word in a typeface -- font, they called it now -- Bucky hadn’t seen before. It was... heavy, like the bottoms of the letters weighed more than the tops, the lines there thicker, and it didn’t stop the letters from wriggling around, but it slowed them down, anchored them in place. DYSLEXIC, the word said. Underneath, a new line of text unfurled, in that same weighted text. A disorder that creates difficulty in learning to read or interpret words, letters, and other symbols.

Tony was watching Bucky closely.

“Slow,” Bucky said. “S’what my teacher tol’ Ma. I wasn’t-- I mean, I’m not. I ain’t… I ain’t dumb. I can read.” He felt that familiar shame, that what had been so easy for everyone else, Bucky had labored over and laughed around, and gotten out of by being charming. And… by a sticky fingerprint on a flashcard that told him that one word, the one he kept getting wrong. Was building.

Tony nodded, shook his head, made a face. “You’re damn smart,” he said slowly, carefully. “It’s not intelligence. It’s how you see the words. The letters...” He made a wriggly gesture with his hand. “Move.”

Bucky rolled his eyes. Of course they moved. That’s what words… did. They moved around, like they were playing musical chairs and Bucky could catch them, sometimes, and pin them to the page, enough so that he got the general idea of what he was looking at. But mostly, he just hadn’t bothered. Shooting a gun made… sense. “Well, yeah?”

Tony shook his head. “They should not,” he enunciated. “They should stay still.” He pointed at the monitor. “Better?”

Quieter. More still. Like he could pick the whole word up. Which, yes, better, but the fact that something had to be changed, just so Bucky could deal with it-- “Something’s wrong with me,” Bucky said. It wasn’t a question. Something had always been wrong with him, but hell, he was just a dumb gun, he didn’t need… except now he couldn’t hear, and apparently he couldn’t read. 

And he was alone inside his head.

His eyes burned and then words disappeared in a sudden wash of blurry tears. 

Tony’s arms were around him, holding him close, voice a subtle vibration against his chest, hands stroking soothingly over his hair.

Maybe it was that soft touch, or the way Tony’s voice was nothing but more wah wah in the wall of nonsense noise that flooded him, or just, realizing how big the gap was that separated them. Tony was a genius. A genius, and everything that came with it, and Bucky was not. Not even as good as a whole person anymore, and he didn’t deserve Tony.

And he couldn’t hear himself talk, so the whole story came flooding out. How he struggled so much in school, and hearing that there were places for kids like him. Hospitals for kids that weren’t right in the head. And so he learned. He got his sister to read to him, and she was two years younger, but he could get away with being loud and trouble because he was a boy, and she’d read to him and he’d memorize it. No one had to know.

Tony’s hands tipped Bucky’s face back to look up at him, brushing away hot tears. “You are smart,” Tony insisted. “Bruce is not dumb because he needs glasses to read. You are not dumb because you need help holding the words still. And I love you.” He pressed a kiss to Bucky’s forehead, to Bucky’s nose.

“Okay,” he said, because what else was he going to say? Tony obviously didn’t believe that Bucky was an idiot, even if Bucky felt stupider and slower than he ever had in his entire life. And maybe, maybe he could figure this out, cover it up, learn-- there were sign languages, weren’t there? Clint used them sometimes, when he didn’t feel like putting in his hearing aids. Bucky could learn that, maybe.

Something. 

Tony wouldn’t stand for it, if Bucky decided to just… give up.

He let Tony’s gentle, exploratory kiss brush over Bucky’s mouth. “Say it again.”

“I love you. I love you. I love you.”

A week after that breakthrough, Bucky was learning ASL -- mostly from Clint, but supplementing with actual lessons, otherwise he’d mostly only know long-range weapons tactical words, and how to order a pizza, and a week after that, he was back in the field. 

Friday could translate Bucky’s sign into words when the team needed it, and the new font meant that Bucky was back on comms, with FRIDAY scrolling necessary information on his HUD.

Three weeks after that, Bucky had surprised Tony with an impromptu waltz around the shop, being able to feel the music rhythms in a special headset that Tony’d been working up. It wasn’t the same as being able to hear, but it was something, at least.

And every night, before bed, Bucky would ask him, very seriously, “Say it again.”

And every night, Tony would tell Bucky, as many times as he wanted, “I love you. I love you. I love you.” He signed it as he said it, occasionally dipped into other languages, but always came back to the simplicity of English, and punctuated each declaration with a kiss.

“Love you, too, peaches,” Bucky signed back. He talked less than he used to, signed more. Tony missed the sound of his voice, sometimes, but tried not to mention it. Things were better, so much better, than they had been the first few weeks.

When Tony was woken from a sound sleep to Bucky’s cry, he was utterly shocked. Bucky didn’t make… involuntary sounds. Not anymore.

He was sitting up in bed, clutching at his head, and whining.

Tony sat up as well and put a hand on Bucky’s back, rubbing in small circles. He didn’t bother trying to talk, not while Bucky wasn’t looking at him. He turned up the lights a bit, though, so they could see to sign, if Bucky decided to tell him about it.

“Oh, god,” Bucky said, a whisper, barely a sliver of sound, and then again, louder. “Tony--” He stared up, eyes wide in the half light. “Tony, say something.”

“What is it, sweetheart? I’m right here.” Tony signed as he talked. He didn’t know as much ASL as Bucky had learned, yet, but it was hard not to pick it up, surrounded by it so much.

“I-- I can hear you,” Bucky said, almost reverently, like an old fallen sinner who’d just found God. Again. “Tony, I… Tony, I can hear you.”

“What?” Tony’s hands faltered. “You can? You can hear me?” He caught Bucky’s face in his hands. “Really?”

“I can hear you,” Bucky repeated.  “I didn’t--” he started crying, almost silently, little hitches of breath and the tears rolled down his cheeks. “I got used to it, I thought that was, it was just always… I got used to it.”

“Hey.” Tony pulled Bucky into his arms, tucked Bucky’s face up against his throat, rocking gently. “It’s all right, sweetheart, it’s okay. We didn’t know when, or even if. It wasn’t going to change anything important.”

“Scared me,” Bucky admitted. “Woke up… there was a noise, and I woke up. I didn’t even know… what was happening. Oh, god, Tony, I missed you-- so stupid, I missed your voice, all the time. The way you laugh. The way you say--” He looked up again. “Say it again.”

“I love you.” Tony kissed Bucky’s lips, his cheek, his jaw, and then nuzzled at his ear. “I love you,” he whispered.

“Love you, too, peaches,” Bucky said. “God, I missed that. More than anything else.”

A/N: https://www.dyslexiefont.com/en/typeface/

Dyslexia, as a disorder, became more widely known in the United States in 1944, the year after Bucky Barnes fell from the train. For quite a long time, it was still thought of as being a lack in education, rather than a disorder. Bucky, having gone to school in the 20s and 30s, would have been classified as Learning Disabled and treated accordingly. (Not well.)

Divider Line by the way, Tumblr, I hate you. Give me my damn line back.

[surlymccoy]

I, uhh, I wrote a thing for @fasciinating. Is it a drabble? Is it a starter? Is it Chapter One? IDEK

Gone Wrong

        No one aboard the Enterprise knew what the fight had been about, exactly. Sure, McCoy and Spock were renown for their squabbling, and some of the crew (those that didn't know them particularly well) often wondered how two people who were so clearly opposites were even together. But there was also a well established synchronicity between Len and Spock, an uncanny instinct they had for orbiting around one another (or, perhaps, around Jim Kirk) that went deeper than mere colleagues. It was... t'hy'la.

         But this fight... Well. By all accounts, it had been bad. Bad enough that the entirety of med bay heard Leonard bellowing from behind the closed door of his office. Not his normal brand of yelling, the sort that spoke of concern and care and McCoy's deeply embedded love for the well-being of his charges. This was something jagged at the edges, Len's voice cracking with strain while Spock's responses remained cutting and clipped. The volume rose to a crescendo, crashing like a wave against rockface, and the sudden silence that followed felt vacuous... ominous.

         In the Med Bay's triage area, nurse and patient alike kept preternaturally still, as though animals sensing the danger of such a confrontation. They held a single, collective breath in anticipation of what might come next, eyes casting dubious stares in Head Nurse Chapel's direction. When the door slid open and Spock stalked from the CMO's office, Christine alone stared the Vulcan down, eyebrows lofting at his poorly-composed veneer. He fled Med Bay, and no one saw either man in the same place for the next six shift cycles.

         In Jim's mind, that was a hell of an accomplishment.

         "...you know things can't keep going like this, right Bones?" The Captain asks, holding tight to his bemusement in order to keep from throttling Leonard McCoy over the head. It's three awkward shifts later and they're sat opposite one another in Bones's quarters, Jim draped in the single comfortable chair while Leonard slumps on the couch like a puppet with his strings cut. The doctor looks like shit, his under-eyes bruised and sleepless, mouth scrawled in a resigned line, as though even a scowl is too much effort. Kirk's received several reports on Len's terrible mood in Sick Bay, but at least he's not the one making the science department collectively wet themselves. Jesus, and they act like he's the infant. "--- for crap's sake, talk to Spock, would you??" 

      "--No." Leonard mumbles, words slurring (not drinking, just exhaustion) as he shakes his head, "...Jim, you don't...I can't just..." Taking a short, hitching breath, the CMO drags a palm down the length of his face. Despair grooves lines into his expression, cast in sharp relief by the low-light of his quarters "...I'm not sure there's anything left to fix, kid. Maybe... maybe Spock an' I aren't really... meant t'be."

             "I'm going to ignore you said that.." Jim grits out, relentlessly cheerful in the face of such idiocy, "...on the grounds that it's complete bullshit." He pushes himself up from his seat and paces the short length of the room, glancing around. Aside of any recent clothing or Data PADDs, the signs of Spock's cohabitation in Len's quarters are still present, thank god. Kirk exhales and drags a hand through his hair before pointing it at Bones, "--- You want me to make it an order? Fine, that's an order from your Captain. Talk to your partner and sort this disruptive shit out before we get to Yatthova Prime, Bones." 

        From his crumpled position on the couch, Leonard groans and lets his head fall back against the cushions. He'd forgotten about their diplomatic mission to the small Beta Quadrant planet, assumed it wouldn't require his presence anyway. Now, knowing Jim, Len has little doubt he'll be scheduled on rotation for the away team... alongside Commander Spock. 

        "....can't you just leave well enough alone?" He (pleads) asks, closing reddened eyes and trying not to think about what it'll be like, trapped planetside with a Vulcan lover who has closed off his side of their empathetic connection. And isn't that just fucking unfair, being able to turn off the presence of emotions, to shut out what's transpired between them? Spock can fall back on meditative practices of Kolinar to absolve himself of this pain, but Leonard.... Leonard's just one big walking nerve ending, ain't he. Goddammit.

         Rolling his head to one side, McCoy opens bleary eyes to find Jim Kirk watching him keenly, seeing far too much with that bright gaze and genius level intellect. It's clear the kid doesn't intend to leave Leonard alone until he hears the response he wants. "....fine. I'll... I'll sort my shit out, okay?" Len grumbles at last, flinching when Kirk's expression shifts to something sympathetic and knowing. At least the Captain hasn't insisted that he make up with Spock. Bones tries not to make promises he's not sure he can keep. 

       Nodding in acceptance, Kirk heads for the door. He pauses by Len's figure and claps him once, gently, on the shoulder. "...It's gonna be okay, Bones." He says it confidently, like he means it, like he can make it true. And Leonard, who believes in Jim Kirk even when he shouldn't, swallows a tell-tale tightness in his throat that he's spent the last week trying to ignore. Silent, the doctor grips the back of Jim's hand for a long moment, before releasing the Captain and watching him stride from his dim, lonely quarters.

TBC?