#instead of trying to get himself tried for his father’s murder Miles tries to bring him back as an apology

[imsosocold]

Ghost Gregory is great but I think Zombie Gregory is conceptually a more entertaining idea:

Franziska, brandishing her whip, crouching over her fainted father: What is that? Miles “ I don’t believe in ghosts” Edgeworth, standing next to the rotted, reincarnated body of his murdered father: A lemon strawberry smoothie, a peach plum smoothie, and a clementine tangerine orange smoothie. You want one?

[dumbass-tumbler-cryptid]

Hello! Est-ce que tu pourrais écrire une suite de "bring your kid to work day" sauf que cette fois spider est particulièrement insupportable au point que quarirch a du mal a travailler? Et ça n'a rien a voir mais ta fanfiction " visited on the son" est vraiment mignonne.

Hello! I finally finished your request! It became much more of an angst fic than I originally anticipated but I'm really happy with it so I hope you like it too! 💞

    Junior threw his toys against the bars of his playpen, making it loudly rattle over and over. Miles Sr already had a migraine from his lack of sleep and it was only being amplified by the noise. “Can you stop it,” the father said, trying not to yell. The boy answered by slamming a block against his cage with seemingly even more force, glaring at his father as he did. Logically he knew his son was just grumpy from his lack of sleep but so was Miles. He sprang from his seat, marched over to Junior, ripped his next projectile from his little hand and picked him up. The boy instantly started screaming bloody murder, crying over the loss of his toy. “Oh hush,” Miles commanded, taking a seat back at his desk with a heavy thud. 

            Junior just kept crying as he was forcibly seated on his dad’s lap. He squirmed for release but it was no use. “Down,” the boy screamed between sobs, “down papa down!”

           “Nope. You're in time out.”

            “No!” Somehow his son managed to cry even harder. He was surprised none of his subordinates came to make sure the boy wasn’t being killed. 

             “Yes!” Miles Sr mocked. He tried to get back to work, ignoring his son’s wailing as he typed up his latest report. He was making decent progress until Junior realized he no longer had his father’s attention. The boy’s sobs quieted to sniffles as he watched the man work, a plan brewing in his head. Miles breathed a sigh of relief at the moment of silence. Then quick as a flash the toddler reached out to beat the buttons of the keyboard. His father snatched him up just as quickly, springing out of his chair and away from his computer as if it were on fire. He did his damndest to quell his fury as he put Junior back in his playpen before inspecting the damage. His report was ruined, whole sections deleted, strings of letters and numbers replacing real words. 

            He bit back a string of curses as his anger mounted. Junior returned to throwing his toys. The father rounded on him. “You stop that right now!”

           Junior’s face hardened. Instead of ignoring the command like before he lobbed a rubber ball right at his father. The toy didn’t even make it out of the pen but the intent of the action made Miles steaming mad. If he had tried half as much with his old man back in the day he’d be getting put over his knee before he could blink twice. It felt like an appropriate punishment now but he stopped himself. His wife would rise from her grave just to kill him herself if he even dared to continue with that line of thought. I’m angry, frustrated, and tired, Miles reminded himself. So is he, his son looked more exhausted than any child should ever be allowed. He needed to de-escalate, not fan the flames.

            Crouching down to the boy’s level, Miles took both of  Junior’s hands into his. The boy twisted and screamed for freedom. “Miles,” he said sternly. His son continued to fight. “Miles,” he called again. On and on Junior thrashed like an animal caught in a trap while his father calmly called out to him. After twenty minutes of screaming the boy was on the ground breathing heavily. “Miles.”

             “Papa,” Junior answered pathetically. 

             “You’ve been acting very bad today son. Throwing your toys and being noisy isn’t a good way to play. Ruining Papa’s work wasn’t very nice and neither was trying to hit me. Do you understand?” Tears were glittering in his eyes as he thought it through. When it all sank in he nodded his head yes. “Good. Now when you're bad you have to be punished. You threw your toys so no more toys…” the toddler shrieked his protest as his father gathered up all his toys and books, placing them in a basket outside of the playpen. Miles was having none of the water works. He clasps the boy’s shoulders saying firmly, “stop it right now. Actions have consequences. You were naughty. You have to make up for that.” He turned the boy to face the wall then moved away.

             “Papa,” Junior sobbed, reaching out to him between the bars of his playpen.

             Every instinct in his body screamed at him to comfort his son but he stayed firm. “I’ll hold y’a after timeout. Turn around and face the wall until I say so.”

             “Papa!” Junior continued crying, slowly melting down to the ground as he pleaded for his father’s attention. It broke Miles' heart but he forced himself to ignore it, focusing instead on fixing his ruined report. 

[cluescorner]

It’s Disbarment Day come get y’all’s comfort.

- Trucy was truly Phoenix’s light in every conceivable way. She can make him smile like nobody else and uses Mr. Hat to give double hugs to her Daddy. Whenever Phoenix can’t bring himself to leave his home, Trucy pesters him into taking her out for ramen or ice cream. She was the sole thread that kept him hanging during the first few days of his disbarment, the only thing really keeping him tethered to the world around him. She was what kept him going even during his darkest times. 

- After Miles heard what happened, he nearly broke international laws trying to make his way back to Phoenix as soon as possible. And the moment he arrived, he held Phoenix and refused to let go. He made sure that Phoenix knew just how wonderful he was and how much Miles appreciated him. Phoenix figuratively and literally saved Miles’s life several times, and Miles repeats one of those incidents every time that he can tell Phoenix’s thoughts are getting the better of him. Afterwards, he becomes the foundation of his family’s financial state. As a prosecutor, he makes enough money to support his family in every way they need and more. He moves in with Phoenix and Trucy, bringing Kay and Sebastian along with him, until Phoenix has a part-time job that affords him enough money to make rent. 

- Sebastian teaches Phoenix how to play piano. Though Phoenix may be woefully inadequate, Sebastian is patient and a better teacher than many would expect. While they practice, they talk about everything. Sebastian tells Phoenix about the time he nearly caused a mistrial for a dangerous criminal and tried to help his father get out of murdering someone, Phoenix regales Sebastian with tales of his courtroom antics and the Matt Engarde situation. They have heart-to-heart talks with each other about everything from relationship drama to feeling inadequate to whether it’s a ladder or a step-ladder. The bond Phoenix forms with Sebastian helps him remember that he’s not alone in feeling set up for failure or betrayed, giving him a person who genuinely understands how Phoenix feels. 

- Kay keeps Phoenix moving. She gets him out of bed, takes him to ‘stakeouts’ (secretly an excuse to get free help on heists), and brings him to whatever local events interest her. Kay knows that constant activity and stimulation help her get out of depressive slumps, so she figures that the same would help her new dad(?) keep himself going. Though Phoenix isn’t quite cut out for tree-climbing and running through the mall after Kay commits felony theft, her antics certainly make sure that Phoenix is never left with nothing to do. Her joy from the most minor things (seeing a cool looking rock on the beach, learning how to use a pottery wheel, or even just walking through town) helps Phoenix see that there are little things in life that are worth living for, even if it’s only a dog on a skateboard. 

- Franziska VonKarma is pissed. She is pissed because Phoenix Wright is a fool for not checking that his evidence was authentic and she is SUPER FREAKING pissed that someone would frame him for this. Franziska drops everything she is working on and flies to that foolish country to give every fool within a 100 mile radius a piece of her mind. She is the first to actually tell Phoenix that she knows for a fact that he would never submit forged evidence, that she would stake her life and her name on it. Franziska tears through the bar association and the prosecutors’ office alike. Once she has calmed down, she helps Phoenix prepare to retake the bar exam, even before he was found to be innocent of forgery. Seeing even Franziska support him, Phoenix began the fight to prove his innocence. And after the truth behind the Enigmar trial was exposed, Franziska was the first person to begin procedures to have Phoenix reinstated. 

- Gumshoe may not be the smartest guy, but he knows how to help people find part time jobs. He helps Phoenix with his search for jobs and offers to write personal recommendations for him, though Phoenix rejects this offer. Gumshoe and Maggy also help Phoenix work through how it feels to get fired, with Maggie being especially helpful by teaching him how to joke about it. 

- Ema knew from the very beginning that Phoenix was innocent. So when he started asking for weird devices, she never asked why. When he asked for her help developing a camera for the Mason System, she quickly made it her top priority. She’s not great at offering comfort or emotional support, but she’s an excellent problem-solver. It was her idea to have Phoenix wear the camera in his beanie and she helped develop the Mason System from a technical perspective. 

- Maya and Mia had a fight over who got to talk to Phoenix first. In the end, Maya won out. She was crying before even he was and kept repeating that he would never do something like this. She had half a mind to channel the spirit of Magnifi or Zak or anyone in order to prove Phoenix’s innocence, but he convinced her not to. So instead she finally paid him back for all of the times he took her out for burgers, taking him out for them instead. She would talk about whatever they usually talked about, trying to make everything seem as normal as possible. And it worked. Maya was one of the very few constants in Phoenix’s life, so having her by his side made everything feel just a little more normal. 

- Mia dropped her ‘an attorney always smiles’ act and lets Phoenix cry to her about everything. She reminded him that she was always there for him, just a channeling away, and that her belief in him was set in stone. She believed that he would get through this and come out better for it, and thus Phoenix believed it. 

- The people in Phoenix’s life are what give him hope and happiness and light every single time. Every time that he felt pushed to the brink, someone would  keep him from falling. But in the end, he was the one who decided to keep going. To become a lawyer again and keep facilitating justice, regardless of what had happened in the past. Everyone else helped him along his way, but Phoenix was the one who chose to keep going every single time. And he’s proud of that. 

[alirhi]

okay. let's do this shit.

Guess what, bitches? Mama bear's back and angry all over again. Remember when I said I might dive into a ragepost about how Bucky's treated after completing the one about Loki? This is it. This is the post. Welcome to fucking Thunderdome.

I will actually try to keep it civil. No promises, but I'll try. and I will not be accepting "constructive criticism" about my rage. Just so we're clear.

Got it? Good. Let's dive in.

In case you don't want to read the whole thing (I know I get wordy) here's what this whole post will boil down to: BUCKY NEVER HAD A FUCKING CHOICE. NEVER. NOT ONCE IN HIS ENTIRE ADULT LIFE.

Now, quick reminder: I don't read comics. I know nothing about Bucky's comic canon, except what Sebastian liked to bring up as often as possible during TWS/CW promotions: at some point, Bucky boned Nat. XD Since Bucky only exists as a Marvel property, I won't be bitching about other source material being disrespected like I did with Loki. This is all MCU, my dudes. And honestly? That's enough, because though we don't see nearly enough of Bucky for my liking, we do manage to get a rich, deep backstory to him in the material we're given, partly thanks to better writing in the early days of the MCU, and partly thanks to Sebastian Stan's phenomenal acting. Unlike the writers of the Loki series, Seb knows how to show, not tell. And gods, what stories those eyes show...

Let's start with the army. In an old post illustrating what an absolute BAMF Bucky Barnes truly is, I mistakenly said he enlisted, and a kind soul educated me on the incredible attention to detail Marvel used to pay - in this case, Bucky's ID number. 32557038. As this kind, eagle-eyed soul pointed out to me, the first two digits of that number - 32 - signify that Bucky was drafted, specifically from the NY, NJ, DE area (that last part is rather obvious, as Bucky and Steve are from Brooklyn lol). Bucky didn't choose to go to war. He was drafted. He was forced to fight, or go to prison.

Bucky was born in 1917, which means - again, as someone pointed out to me a while back - he came of age during the Great Depression. As a child, he would likely have seen his parents living comfortably and able to shower each other and him and his sister with gifts and fun memories, and then POOF. Stock market crashes when he's only 12-years-old, and life becomes brutal and painful. He manages to have some fun with his best friend Steve, and spends his teens/early 20s chasing girls and keeping his stupid, stubborn, tiny friend from getting beaten to death.

Steve constantly has something to prove. He's absolutely got what my mom always called "little man's disease", and Bucky's just doing his best not to roll his eyes too much at this asthmatic chihuahua constantly trying to beat up Tibetan mastiffs. While Steve keeps lying on his enlistment forms (an actual crime) trying again and again to get into the army and prove what a badass he is (definitely not), Bucky's had enough trauma and upheaval in his life and he just wants his stupid friend to calm tf down and live. Enjoy the fact that he doesn't have to go to war and get his limbs blown off.

And then he gets fucking drafted. This sweet, resigned realist who knows exactly how dangerous the war really is, is forced to put on a uniform and go fight strangers alongside other strangers thousands of miles from everything he knows. And on his last night of freedom, when he just wants to hang out with his friend, see some cool gadgets, and dance with a pretty girl, his stupid angry chihuahua friend feels the need to lie and try to enlist again.

Okay. Gotta get back on track. Ragepost about mistreatment of Bucky, not how much Steve annoys me. Sorry. Anyway...

Bucky's drafted, accepts his shitty lot with a brave smile, and is shipped off to Europe, where he is captured by HYDRA and presumed by the Allies to be KIA. Instead, he's strapped down, tortured, and given the HYDRA version of the super serum against his will. Steve rescues him, and Bucky knows he can't leave his idiot friend to his own devices to get his head blown off, so he dives right back into the fray. And then he falls off a cliff, loses most of his left arm, and is declared dead...again. This one's pretty damn valid, though lol. Without the serum no one knew he'd been shot up with, there is no way he would have survived that fall.

Here is where Bucky's story gets truly heartbreaking: His autonomy, his ability to consent is stripped from him through electroshock torture/brainwashing. The trigger words are conditioned into him during this process, and boom. Ten words in Russian, and Bucky Barnes is gone. Even the confused, hurting shadow of him is gone, leaving only a perfectly obedient killing machine, with Bucky's pretty face. He's strong as all hell, though, so they can't keep him fully under their control for long, not without more torture, when the disorientation of being fucking frozen wears off on longer missions.

I cannot stress this point enough, guys: Bucky. Had. No. Choice. Not like the draft, where his choices (go and get shot at, refuse and go to jail, or dodge and run to Canada) just suck. No, he literally didn't have a choice. He had his ability to choose stripped from him. If that's too complex a concept to really sink in, try this: His brain was fucking raped. Repeatedly. For decades. Nothing the Winter Soldier ever did was Bucky's fault. Nothing. Ever. Not remotely, no matter how you fucking slice it. Bucky is not an assassin. I almost said "not a killer", but he was a soldier, and a sharpshooter. He definitely killed when he was himself, but that was in a war, not a series of assassinations.

So far, imo, so good. This is just a rundown of Bucky's pre-show backstory. I don't love what he had to suffer, but I do love how it was treated in the movies. People were afraid of him, but when they knew the whole situation, Steve, Nat, and Sam rallied behind him. Natasha had plenty of reason to want the Winter Soldier dead; he'd tried to kill her multiple times and almost succeeded. Sam had no reason to help Bucky at all; he didn't know him, didn't trust him, and again, TWS had tried to kill him. But he stood by Steve, and when Bucky showed the clear difference between himself and TWS, Sam stood by him, too, and fought alongside him.

And it's very realistic, imo, that Tony didn't give a single fuck that Bucky had no choice. He watched this man murder both of his parents on tape. If TWS had killed my dad and I saw proof of it, I'd try to kill Bucky, too. Grief wins out over logic. Most emotions usually do. And that's a very important point we're going to come back to in a few minutes.

Bucky was really only in like ten minutes at most of IW and Endgame, and for multiple reasons I hate those movies, so I'm just gonna skip them, kay? Kay. On to the main event!

Here's where I get pissed off. Even if I didn't have an unhealthy attachment to this character, or the depth of appreciation for his tragic backstory that I do, the lack of continuity between the movies and the show alone would still piss me off. It always does. Don't even get me started on Joss "Continuity? What continuity?" Whedon and his (iconic, but flawed) shows. Ahem. Back on track...

Let me just get one little thing out of the way real quick: I fucking LOVE The Falcon and the Winter Soldier. I love it. This show amazed me when I first watched it, and I still love it after many more viewings lol. I have only ever watched it all the way through without skipping over as much John Walker shit as possible the one time lol but I love how Sam and Bucky interact, and I fucking adore how Sam's arc was treated. I just wish they'd show the same care and attention to Bucky.

Because what they did to Bucky in this show is a fucking travesty. There was a tiny ray of hope in the pilot, when he called out Dr. Bitchface for being a terrible shrink. I thought that would be the start of him realizing he needed to find someone else and ignore the damaging shit that woman was telling him. But...nope. No such luck.

The show really had a strong start, I'll give it that. We see Bucky having nightmares of his time as TWS and struggling to hide how his traumatic memories are affecting him as he tries to live in the world again. He befriends the father of one of HYDRA's victims, which can't be good for Bucky (and we're shown it's definitely not when he sees the shrine in Yori's home to his late son) but it's sweet, how he's trying to connect and reach out to someone who's hurting and lonely.

They drop the ball a little with the whole... Bucky can hack a fucking car, but can't figure out Tinder thing. Had they just run with the fandom interpretation of the tiger photos line, that it shows that Bucky is bi and left it at that, I'd have been okay with it (and no, that is not because I ship Sam/Bucky. it's because Bucky is and always has been a certified nerd who loves technology and has consistently shown very little issue learning to use new gadgets). The outdated flip phone he handed his terrible court-mandated shrink was a burner; I liked that theory when I read it, especially since it's the only time we see him even holding a phone that old lol. This all could have fit the "Bucky is a sassy bisexual nerd" narrative and it'd be okay. Instead, the director was like "NOOOOOO that line was just to show how old he is and how he can't figure out all this newfangled technology!" Woman, you had him remotely driving someone else's vehicle with a tablet. That is NOT a man who can't figure out a damn smart phone!

But that's just a minor annoyance. What fills me with absolute rage is how everyone - not just the shitty therapist who lashes out at and purposely triggers her traumatized patients, but EVERYONE - Sam, Zemo, people who should fucking know better ALL treat him like he's a psychopath and a ticking time bomb. Like he chose to take the serum and he chose to kill for HYDRA, and he's just seen the error of his ways. *barf*

Bucky in the movies is established to be a victim, through and through. His guilt over what he was forced to do is natural, and that he sees himself as a monster makes sense... but that doesn't mean it's correct. The one and only thing I ever liked about Steve Rogers is at least he got it. He pointed out that none of it was Bucky's fault, he tried to show him that he was worth saving. That's the other reason I refuse to talk about Endgame. This post will get a WHOLE LOT LONGER and a lot fucking angrier if I open that door.

Zemo supposedly knows everything about HYDRA and super soldiers... So why does he treat Bucky like he's a corrupt serial killer? (this, for the record, is why I don't like Zemo) Why does he never point out that Bucky was given the serum against his will, or that his actions, when he had control of them, proved that he was never corrupted? Bucky never wanted to become superhuman. Bucky didn't even want to fucking fight!

Sam, despite constantly resisting the label, is shown very clearly to be Bucky's friend. By episode 3, he cares. He worries about how Bucky is getting lumped in with the other super soldiers in Zemo's speech... But he never really defends him. He says "what about Bucky?" but he doesn't point out that Bucky's a good man, he's fought so hard to help people, he does everything he can to avoid killing... And that fucking speech in episode 5. I was with him on "you gotta stop looking to other people to tell you who you are." I was like "YEAH! Tell him, Sam! Bucky, you're WORTH SAVING, boo! Your value does not hinge on someone else's opinion of you!" And then... Sam dropped the ball.

He not only continued the disturbing pattern of victim-blaming in this show, and in Marvel/Disney properties in general, but he gave really dangerously bad advice! No one in their right mind, mental health professional or no, would EVER tell a traumatized former assassin (whether he was responsible for his actions or not) to go confront his victims' families out of the blue with no warning and no one to mediate and keep things from going to shit. Yori already knew his son had been murdered because he was in the "wrong place, wrong time." How is it being "of service" to tell him you're the one who killed him?! Remember how I said Tony's reaction to learning the full truth about his parents' deaths was valid and would be an important point later? Hi! Welcome to later. THAT is the natural reaction to facing the man who murdered your loved one(s). And even if Yori didn't get angry and lash out, HOW IS IT "HELPING" HIM OR BRINGING HIM "CLOSURE" TO KNOW THAT HIS FRIEND KILLED HIS FUCKING SON?!?!?! This man befriended him, bonded with him, watched him grieve... And now he's learning this is the man who caused all his pain and heartache to begin with? That is so toxic and psycho I just... I can't even... UGH.

And then there's the equally toxic and damaging "deeply traumatized person just needed a stern talking to and a hug to be ALL BETTER AGAIN" ending. I loved seeing Bucky happy and socializing, but it was too soon, and it was unearned. And it sends a fucking awful message to people actually struggling with PTSD, and to their loved ones who don't know how to help them. Heaping more blame on them and then hugging it out is NOT helpful!

This show could have been damn near perfect with just two changes. That's all. Just two. 1) Someone, anyone, bringing up the reasons why Bucky was never a villain in his presence. Someone being in his corner and reminding him, like Steve did, that it wasn't his fault and he's not going to "snap". 2) More time devoted to Bucky's healing. Actual fucking healing, not the shit they tried to pass off as a magic fix-all. He can have his happy barbecue moment, just don't frame it as "everything's great now!" Healing isn't linear, and there will be both good days and bad. Some of the most fragile people in the world have the brightest smiles.

If we get a season 2, which this amazing show absolutely deserves, and they address this stuff, all will be forgiven in my book. Expanding on his story and his journey toward healing will help to reframe that "happily ever after" garbage as something more realistic. But as it stands now... Fuck Marvel.

[thetriggeredhappy]

Consider: the scene in the comics where Scout dies, but instead it's Spy who's dying and he actually has the balls to tell Scout the truth face-to-face before it's too late.

consider: this shit is gonna break your heart, anon. dad!spy hours

(warnings for canon-typical violence, extreme character injury, major character death)

-

Just his luck that he’d find himself alone with so many of those ridiculous robots and with his knee so destroyed. He at least managed to take down the one that finally got him.

These tin cans didn’t even know enough to understand how to efficiently kill someone, he seethed. He’d certainly be bleeding out shortly—he was fairly sure he had a punctured lung, among other things, but the blood loss would probably be what did him in—but god, it was taking forever.

He could take some solace in that he at least didn’t drag Sniper to die along with him, had sent him to try and pick off as many bots as he could from the windows. And... well, he was fairly sure he’d been as useful as he could have been in this fight. Helped kill one of the Classic team—two, if you counted throttling his own counterpart—and done some good recon work besides. This wasn’t the most poetic or heroic death, but he wasn’t a fan of poetry and had never considered himself much of a hero, so that was probably fair.

But that stupid robot had ruined his jacket, which he was pretty annoyed about. Not like it would matter in the long run, but frustrating regardless.

God, it was cold.

He lifted his head when he heard the sound of rapid footfalls echoing down the hall, growing closer. Hey, maybe he could trick some robot into finishing him off, at least. Save himself some time and excruciating pain. He would’ve gone for the cyanide tooth, but unfortunately, this was the one situation where he’d jumped for that option a little bit too early. Just his luck.

(God, it was cold.)

Oh, well. Bludgeoned to death by a Scoutbot at least promised to be relatively quick. They tended to go for the head.

He looked up to at least give a snide remark to his more rapidly-approaching death, only for them to get stuck in his throat as the death in question rounded the corner and made eye contact with him.

“Holy shit, Spy?” Scout asked, looking startled and a little out of breath.

“Merde,” Spy mumbled, and was a little caught off guard by how hoarse his voice was.

In a second Scout had taken a knee next to him and was surveying the damage, mouth running at a mile a minute. “Holy shit we were lookin’ everywhere, Sniper showed up because I guess he was dead but now he’s better apparently and he said you two split off for some reason but you’d been fuckin’ kneecapped and—dude, you look like shit, what happened?”

“What does it look like?” Spy asked dryly.

“I mean, I don’t wanna give you an ‘I told you so’ or nothin’ but this is kinda what you get for disappearing and running off on your own all the time,” Scout pointed out.

He almost couldn’t feel the tiny ache of guilt that put in his chest underneath all the other much more life-threatening aches that were also in his chest. “Well, I’d say I’ve learned my lesson, but I think unfortunately I won’t be able to demonstrate any time soon,” Spy replied, and yeah, there was a puncture to his lung. He had to fight hard to hold down a cough, and only because he knew it would sound extremely pathetic.

“Okay, uh—can you move? Okay, you can’t move,” Scout seemed to decide. “Uh, okay, okay so I’ll uh—so I’m gonna go get Medic, and—he’s fast too we should be able to get back here in like ten minutes flat, easy! Just, I guess try and hold your guts in, I’ll be right back with help!”

Considering the amount of injured Medic was likely to be, he very much doubted Scout would be back with Medic in only ten minutes. And considering the way that his vision was swimming and how distorted Scout’s face got towards the tail end of that last sentence, he doubted he would make it ten minutes anyways.

And he found unexpected panic suddenly rising up in his chest at the thought of dying alone, here in a hallway surrounded by broken mechanical parts and acrid smoke. He forced himself into motion despite the way it made the entire room suddenly seem to careen to the left, and managed to catch Scout by the leg of his ridiculous trousers before he could take off again. “Wait,” he croaked. “Wait.”

“I, no, I gotta go get Medic, I’ll take like ten seconds—“ Scout was quick to assure, so quick that Spy realized he was legitimately worried.

“I’ll—“ Spy started, and paused to clear his throat just to give himself enough time to think of an excuse to have Scout stick around for a minute. “I’ll be fine to wait a little longer, but first I had something important to say.”

Scout frowned. “Yeah?”

And he did. He absolutely did. The problem was that this excuse was... hm.

The problem was that this was something he’d been putting off. The larger part of the situation for about 20 years, and then more directly for about six. And Spy thought that surely he would work up the courage to get to it over the course of their employment, only for it to be unexpectedly terminated, and he decided, well, that was that. He would just have to live with it. But then they got arrested and the thought that surely he would get to it over the course of their time in prison, and once again he didn’t, couldn’t seem to force himself into that conversation, not when he was trapped, not when he couldn’t run from whatever outcome ended up happening.

And now he was dying. And for all he knew, Scout was going to die shortly as well. And in most of the ways that mattered, Spy was the only person who could really answer this question, because apparently Scout’s mother had committed to the lie he’d asked her to tell, had continued to stay headstrong on helping to cover up how he’d faked his death. And how was she to know he was really dead, surely Scout would never bring it up—

If he didn’t tell Scout now, Scout would never know.

Scout would go the rest of his life never getting answers about his father.

“Merde,” he mumbled again, slumping back against the wall and squeezing his eyes shut against the way the world was spinning, feeling motion sick.

He heard Scout take a knee again, and after a second he hesitantly prompted him. “Uh, what? What is it? What’s up?” he asked carefully.

Spy forced himself to open his eyes, and was a little startled by how difficult it was. He focused hard on one of his own shoes, trying his best to make the world stop spinning so fast. He swallowed hard to try and clear his throat, steady his voice. It almost worked. “This is very important,” he started with, and forced sharpness into his tone. “So I will not be needing any of your little jokes and quips and interruptions.”

“Y... yeah, okay,” Scout said, and the worry was extremely easy to read on his face, and Spy kind of hated that.

Spy considered his words. “You’ve mentioned before that you never knew your father,” he decided to open with. Scout immediately began to frown. “And... and I never said anything. Even though that was a very brave thing to bring up.”

Scout opened his mouth to reply before remembering himself and shutting it again.

“And I wanted to apologize,” Spy managed to choke, and he kept track of Scout’s expressions in his periphery, finding it easier to hold on to that way than by trying to look at him directly. “Because you’re never going to get the chance to know your father, not really. Not in the way you deserve, and it’s my fault.“

“Spy, what the fuck does that even mean?” Scout demanded, and maybe the anger starting to flood into his voice was fair. “You—what did you do?”

“You deserved to have a father,” Spy said, and it couldn’t have been more obvious that he was dodging the question, but maybe he wanted to be obvious, just for a minute. “A good one, who did all sorts of ridiculous fatherly things for you. And it’s not your fault that you didn’t. You deserved to. You did.”

God, it was cold.

“And he should have been there for you, and for your family,” Spy continued, and felt his stomach lurch unexpectedly, and had to shut his jaw tight for a moment, tight enough to feel his fake teeth aching. “And he should have supported them and been a good father, and your life should have been made much more easy than it was, and you should not have needed to get in fights and become a criminal in the first place, and you should never have needed to sign up to become a murderer in some terrible desert in New Mexico among a pack of assassins and madmen.”

“Spy, I, I should get Medic—“ Scout tried to cut in, moved as if to stand back up. Spy snared a hand in the front of Scout’s shirt, and though he knew full well that he wasn’t strong enough to actually stop Scout in any capacity, he froze up anyways.

“And—and I know that you deserved a real father, and I knew that,” Spy said, “and I know there is no excuse that can ever be given. There is nothing that I can ever say to make it up to you, or to your mother, or your brothers, nothing. And I should have been there but I was scared and I was convinced I was being hunted and I cared too much about all of you to let that happen because of me, and it was selfish—“

“Spy,” Scout said, and it took all the strength that Spy had just to look at him, and there were a lot of emotions on his face just then. He saw realization, for one. Shock, astonishment maybe.

And for the first time in maybe his entire life, Spy decided that he just needed to be honest. 

“I’m your father, Jeremy,” Spy croaked.

Silence. Long, long silence. In the far distance, gunshots and explosions and yelling, soft enough that he couldn’t be sure it wasn’t his imagination.

“You gonna try and say some kind of cool line, now, too?” Scout asked, and his voice was sharp enough to sting, and Spy winced at it. “Some kind of bullshit about how it, it was for my own good? Or that it’s—that you always cared from far away or some shit, that it was better this way? Gonna ask me to fuckin’ forgive you, here on your deathbed?”

“No, I am not,” Spy replied, voice faint. “I know there is nothing I can say to make it up to you. Words are insufficient.” He breathed deeply and forced down the instinct that was telling him to cough. “But I would rather not leave you wondering forever. I thought... this was better than nothing.”

Scout made a noncommittal noise. Silence.

“I get the distinct impression that you are angry with me,” Spy managed.

“Duh, I’m mad at you. Jesus fuck, you have no clue how mad I am at you. But I’m not...” Scout paused to think over his words. “I’m not mad at you, I’m mad at... old you. The you who ran off. And... I dunno. Kinda seems like you hate that guy too.”

“Very much,” Spy confirmed.

“Yeah. I dunno. I guess... I dunno.” Scout paused for a long moment. “And... maybe this is better than nothing, I guess. Because... it’s not the same or nothin’, but... I dunno. At least I know now. And... at least I know what my dad’s like now. That’s something.” 

Silence. Spy managed a nod, but not words.

When Scout spoke again, his voice was uncharacteristically level. “You’re gonna die here, aren’t’cha, Spy?”

“Oui. I have no doubt in my mind,” Spy sighed, so quietly that he wasn’t sure Scout could hear it.

Scout was quiet for a minute. He moved to pull Spy’s hand off of his shirt (not that it was difficult), and for one terrifying moment Spy thought he was about to just drop Spy’s hand and stand up and leave him to rot in some hallway on an uncharted island where he would never be found. His vision was darkening rapidly, and he didn’t think he had the strength to try and stop him again, or that it would even work.

But instead Scout clasped Spy’s hand in his own and held it tight to his chest, squeezing Spy’s shoulder beneath his hand. “Run hell, asshole,” Scout said with the slightest of smiles, and it was so like Scout to be joking just then, to be trying to comfort him just then even if it was in his own way, to find the most indirect, roundabout method of letting Spy know that things were okay. And it made Spy laugh, and laughing was the last thing that Spy remembered.

-

He saw the last of the color drain from Spy’s face, the way the muscles there slowly went slack, and after a long moment he moved the hand from Spy’s shoulder to check for a pulse. He shifted to try again three times, not positive he was doing it right, before realizing, no. He was definitely doing this right. Spy was dead.

He let his own hand drop, then carefully laid down Spy’s.

Man. Twenty-seven fuckin’ years, and he finally finds his dad, and it’s Spy. He shouldn’t have been surprised that Spy would find a way to escape that kind of conversation and never look back, but he was a little surprised that his solution was apparently dying.

...

That wasn’t that funny.

Scout leaned back, scrubbed at his face with his hand, forcing himself to take a few deep breaths. Conflicted emotions. Conflicted thoughts.

Jesus, he should’ve seen it. That dumb dream he’d had back at Heavy’s house when he’d almost died, the stupid jokes Spy kept making about his Ma and the suspicious amount of information Spy had about him, way more than was probably on any official record. And the weird shit Heavy had been saying to him, and all the times Spy stuck his neck out for him when he really didn’t have to—

He didn’t think it was obvious enough for him to guess, but it was definitely obvious enough to suspect.

...So being an asshole ran in the family, huh?

He sat back on his heels.

...His Ma always said they had similar eyebrows. And their eyes in general, apparently. Ears. The mask made it kinda hard to tell.

The mask.

For a few seconds, Scout really genuinely considered taking the mask off.

This was his dad. Ma apparently lost the few pictures she had of him years ago, and this was his only chance. If he didn’t look now, he’d never really know what his dad looked like. Not in a real way. And didn’t he deserve to know? Hadn’t he earned this?

But he couldn’t, and he knew he couldn’t. That was a kind of disrespect he couldn’t stoop to, not even to a dead guy.

He didn’t know why, but he felt himself tearing up.

If he made it out of this alive, he made a promise to himself. He was gonna talk to Miss P—those two were friends, right?—and he was gonna find out more about Spy. He’d hire a private eye if he had to, he’d spend every penny of his Tom Jones money figuring out everything he could. Spy hadn’t given him a lot to work with, but it was something. It was enough.

He wiped his eyes, rocked forward to stand, shook himself. For a second he thought about getting Medic, seeing if he could work his magic, but he’d only seen Sniper for a minute, only long enough for him to say that coming back to life was a one-time deal. He took a deep breath and turned, starting to walk down the hallway. Running off felt wrong just then.

Maybe God was looking out for him, just then, because that meant he hadn’t turned the corner down the hall, which meant he heard the feeble little cough behind him and could turn around, could see that Spy had a hand lifted.

A pause to process.

“You have got to be fucking kidding me,” Scout scathed in the angriest voice he could manage, even as he felt tears leap into his eyes.

[ibijau]

chap 4 of the modern xisangyao, also on AO3

Meng Yao faces his past and his future

Meng Yao screams upon seeing the face of those two intruders, and nearly stabs himself in the cheek with his tiny knife as he brings up his hands to cover his mouth.

He knows these men.

They killed him, once.

The one in blue chopped off his arm.

That one in red destroyed his reputation, exposed the darker sides of him for all to see, leaving him no choice but to die.

And Lan Xichen, of course, dealt the fatal blow.

Three men in this desolate house with him. Three murderers. Or is it really three? After all, none of this would have happened without…

Meng Yao, who refuses to fall to his knees like Lan Xichen out of sheer pride, sobs. He doesn’t know when, exactly, he started crying. But his face is now wet with tears and snot under his hands and his breath fogs up the blade of his knife. He hasn’t cried like this since his mother died.

In every life he’s lived, she has died too early.

A curse bound to repeat itself, a punishment for everything Meng Yao ended up doing after she died in that first life, and the second, and the third, and…

Somewhere a thousand miles away, heavy footsteps climb up stairs two, three at a times, rushed and loud as they never are usually. Meng Yao can’t see through his tears, but he still knows it must be mister Shanzi. A suspicion confirmed when a moment later his employer speaks up, breathless from running up those stairs.

He never was an athletic man, mister Shanzi, not if he could avoid it.

“Don’t hurt him!” Mister Shanzi cries out, trying to run again, only to settle for stumbling along until he’s in front of Meng Yao.

It’s a surprise, and it’s not. Either way, it startles Meng Yao out of his tears. He blinks a few times, until his vision clears. Mister Shanzi is there, shielding him from the other three, arms spread wide as if to better protect him. Meng Yao can’t see his face, but he can imagine the fierce, determined expression on his employer’s face.

His fourth murderer, and yet now Meng Yao feels less scared at last.

The newcomers aren’t impressed with mister Shanzi. The man in white and blue, kneeling next to Lan Xichen, glares up at mister Shanzi. Meng Yao feels he should know his name. He knew it, once, but they haven’t met in many lifetimes.

“You didn’t say,” the man says coldly, eyes darting toward Lan Xichen, still prostrated on the floor, as if he’s remembering as much as Meng Yao does, and enjoys it as little. “You know how much I’ve tried to find…”

“I’ll buy you lunch, Wangji,” mister Shanzi cuts him. “Deal with your brother, I’m taking care of Meng Yao.”

Lan Wangji frowns at this answer.

That’s his name, Meng Yao recalls. Lan Wangji, the one who goes where the chaos is. And the other, then, is Wei Wuxian. Two parts of a whole. Meng Yao thinks he hated them, once. Even before they destroyed him, he hated them for their freedom, for their right to be careless, when he had to measure his every word, his every action. Or perhaps it is just that a part of him always knew they would kill him.

As Meng Yao tries to remember which came first between hatred and murder, he feels mister Shanzi reach for his hands. The knife is taken from him and put away on the nearest surface, which ought to scare him. He knows, though, that no weapon he might yield could protect him, should mister Shanzi have it in mind to murder him again. Meng Yao has never once been successful in defending himself against him.

With this certainty in mind, Meng Yao doesn’t resist as mister Shanzi pulls him away, back to the basement. This, too, reassures him. Mister Shanzi loves his paintings more than anything in the world, more than scamming powerful assholes and overconfident idiots. If he had to kill Meng Yao, mister Shanzi wouldn't do it somewhere that would taint his precious art.

Once they reach the workshop, mister Shanzi gently brings Meng Yao inside and invites him to take the chair while he closes the door, locking it behind them. This too should scare Meng Yao. It doesn’t.

“How are you feeling?” mister Shanzi asks, coming closer but stopping at few steps away from Meng Yao. Giving him space, so he can feel safe. “How much do you remember?”

“I remember dying because of you,” Meng Yao says, falling onto the chair which rolls away from his employer. 

Mister Shanzi is unphased, his face showing only polite interest, the way he does when meeting sellers and buyers. With him dressed like this, the neutral expression feels wrong. Funny, almost. Meng Yao would laugh, if he remembered how.

“You killed me several times,” Meng Yao says. It should make him angry. When he looked at Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji, he felt unfathomable rage over what they did to him even if he doesn’t understand what, exactly, it is that they did. They only killed him once, though. But mister Shanzi, who he can remember towering over him, holding a blade wet with his blood… “You also saved me, didn’t you?”

Mister Shanzi smiles, if you can call it that.

“I had to find a new way of dealing with you,” he casually admits. “After the first few times, killing you wasn’t as fun anymore.”

“I was a child the last time you killed me,” Meng Yao protests, and maybe there is some anger to be felt over that. He was just a child that one time.

A toddler really, playing in the street with other kids, Meng Yao suddenly remembers. His mother hadn’t quite died yet in that life, but her health had been declining, so he’d been left to his own devices too often. Someone had offered him sweets and he’d been too young to know he should refuse.

He hadn't even gotten those candies before getting his throat slit.

“It was a low point for me,” mister Shanzi admits with a shiver. “At that time, I was... You see, you had killed my brother in the first life in which we met, and in a truly horrible manner too,” he explains, and Meng Yao nods. It rings a bell. A corpse butchered, a melody... “and since he had never reincarnated, I didn’t see why you should get to. I’d always found you as an adult before that, and it was easy to find some failings of yours to excuse killing you. A child though…” He grimaces in disgust, looks down as his hands as if they're still stained with the warm blood of a three years old. “After that, I started reconsidering the way I was doing things. My brother had believed you were worth giving several chances, once, so I thought I’d honour his memory and do the same.”

“I suppose I should be grateful?” Meng Yao asks. “Just as I was supposed to be grateful toward Mingjue.”

Hearing his brother’s name makes mister Shanzi jump. But he’s not mister Shanzi, Meng Yao realises. That was never his true name.

“You’re Nie Huaisang,” Meng Yao says, mostly to himself. “You’re… after so long, and you’re still doing all this for him. I’d murdered the wrong brother, back then.”

Realising what he just said, Meng Yao tenses and throws Nie Huaisang a sharp glance, terrified that he might lash out at the reminder of that crime which has entangled their fates through centuries.

Nie Huaisang turns away, curling up on himself, shoulders shaking. Meng Yao braces himself for an attack, verbal or physical, but instead after a moment Nie Huaisang bursts out laughing, loud and unrestrained.

“Every time!” Nie Huaisang giggles. “Every damn time, you end up saying that! And every time I say that…”

“Da-ge would have been just as fierce in avenging you, so there was no right brother to kill, no right brother to spare,” Meng Yao finishes in a whisper. “I’m not saying that I want to kill you now,” he quickly adds. “I don’t. Not after what I owe you.”

Of course in that very first life, he owed Nie Mingjue, and that hadn’t stopped him. Meng Yao can feel the reek of the terror he’d felt then, stuck between a rock and a hard place, certain he didn’t have a choice. Perhaps he didn’t. Those were different times, and he had promised his mother to be a good son so his father would give him the status he deserved. So she hadn't suffered in vain when raising him.

Meng Yao had tried to be a good son, which had turned him into a poor friend. Not to Nie Mingjue exactly. They weren’t friends anymore by then. But to Lan Xichen, who had suffered first the loss of Nie Mingjue, and then years later the horror of having helped it happen.

And then Lan Xichen had killed him.

Maybe he hadn't been a very good friend either.

“I’m really sorry for this,” Nie Huaisang says. “You’ve always remembered, whenever I’ve taken you in, but it’s never been quite so fast and brutally. And it’s the first time that…”

He trails off, looking over his shoulder toward the door with a mix of dread and longing.

“Lan Xichen,” Meng Yao guesses.

“Lan Xichen,” Nie Huaisang agrees, before chuckling sadly. “Did you… does he… did he know before coming here, or…”

Meng Yao thinks on it, and shakes his head. He might be deluding himself, but he doesn’t believe Lan Xichen knew, not until they arrived to the Hanshi, not until he saw Nie Huaisang, not until he was confronted by his own brother. It took both of them by surprise.

Meng Yao wants to ask about Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian, but doesn’t. It’s not necessary, he realises. Having been in their presence, he can guess that they are more like Nie Huaisang than like him or Lan Xichen. There is just something about those people who no longer die that sets them apart from ordinary humans, even at first glance.

“He was just here about the painting,” Meng Yao explains. “He’s writing a book on… well, on you, I guess.”

The expression on Nie Huaisang’s face is a complicated one, equal part regret and relief.

“Wangji had been looking for him,” he says. “Quite desperately. Well, he found him now, good for him. As for myself, I don’t think I should… well. Well. It doesn’t matter. Lan Xichen made it clear once how he thinks of me, and I know better than to impose myself where I am unwanted. I’ll just disappear for a while, make sure we don’t run into each other. The antics scene was getting a little bothersome anyway. Damn technology, ruining my life. I’ll have to find something else to keep me busy. I guess I’ll have to leave this house, too.”

As he speaks of abandoning the Hanshi, Nie Huaisang looks truly sad. Almost in spite of himself he raises a hand to touch the nearest wall, brushing his fingertips against it as one would a lover.

He's owned this house most of his life, he once told Meng Yao. At the time, Meng Yao had thought his employer had bought it young, or inherited it somehow, meaning he’d lived there for maybe twenty years.

He wonders how long “most of his life” really means.

“Am I fired?” Meng Yao asks instead. A more practical question, and one to which he’s more likely to get an answer.

“Fired?”

“I… I betrayed you. I took someone here without your knowledge.”

Nie Huaisang blinks a few times, then laughs softly and comes to kneel before the chair, taking Meng Yao's hand. His skin his warm, his touch grounding, and Meng Yao, stupidly, wants him to never let go.

“Oh, A-Yao,” Ni Huaisang sighs, squeezing his hand. “Neither of us would ever know how to refuse Lan Xichen anything that he asks. How could I blame you for this? No, you’re not fired.”

Meng Yao lets out a deep exhale.

“I still can’t keep you around anymore,” Nie Huaisang adds, tilting his head slightly. It makes him look like a curious bird. He’d like the comparison, Meng Yao thinks in a panicked effort to not delve on what his former employer just said.

“I won’t betray you again,” he promises, grasping Nie Huaisang's hand tightly, as if that could keep him here.

“If Lan Xichen asks, you will. I don’t think he’ll ask, mind you,” Nie Huaisang says with a smile. “I haven’t seen him since that first life we all shared, and we didn’t part on good terms. You wouldn’t know, you were dead already, but I… well. He did not take kindly to being used as my weapon to kill you, to put it mildly. And now you’re in love with him again, in a world where… well, it’s easier to love him these days, isn’t it?”

“I’m not in love,” Meng Yao says, but the protest sounds hollow as it leaves his lips.

If he’s not in love with Lan Xichen, he’s more than halfway there already. Why else would he have betrayed Nie Huaisang, whom he does love, in spite of how stupid it is? Even without realising exactly what 'mister Shanzi' was, Meng Yao could tell there was something off about the man, something unnatural and dangerous. He's an idiot, though, and loved him all the more for it.

“I’m not in love just with him,” Meng Yao corrects, which startles Nie Huaisang. Good. Meng Yao isn’t quite as cruel as he was in that first life or some of the following ones, but he wouldn’t call himself kind either. If he must suffer, why shouldn’t others do too? “Take me with you. Wherever you’re going, take me with you.”

“No.”

“Do you really think Lan Xichen would still have anything to do with me, now that he remembers?” Meng Yao insists, rising from the chair. Nie Huaisang lets go of his hand and stands up as well, takes a few steps back as if putting distance between them will do anything. “It’s pointless to leave me behind. Take me with you.”

“No. You’re mortal,” Nie Huaisang sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You… I’m not doing that. I’m not involving myself with a mortal. I’ve seen what it does to people like me. I won’t… I can’t allow anything to destroy me like that. Not until I’ve found da-ge again, not until I’ve seen him safe and happy.”

Meng Yao nods, because he understands, because he’d give everything for a chance to see his mother again, would sacrifice anything just to make sure she’s happy. And still, he says again: “Take me with you.”

“No.”

“You’ll need an assistant. You need one. You're useless on your own. You suck at keeping track of appointments, and you still haven’t figured out social media, and… just that, just your assistant.”

“No.”

“I can keep things compartmentalised.”

“I can’t,” Nie Huaisang snaps. “I… I would have let you go soon, anyway,” he adds, more quietly, as if confessing a terrible secret. “You are… I got attached, more than planned. You’re good, in this life. I think the world is finally changing enough to allow you to exist and you’re… but it doesn’t matter. I was always going to let you go, it’s just happening sooner than I’d planned.”

“So I am fired.”

Nie Huaisang grimaces. For a moment, just a second, he looks exactly as old as he is. There’s an exhaustion in his eyes, so deep and ancient it is almost frightening to behold. Centuries after centuries of looking for the same person, of never finding him, of meeting instead his brother's murderer over and over and over again.

“You’re not fired,” Nie Huaisang tiredly insist. “I’m going to continue paying you until you find another job, and I’ll make sure the right people know you’re on the market again, if you want to stay in that line of work. I also don’t mind paying for any school you like. I’ll write you letters of recommendation, I’ll do whatever it takes to make sure you’re good even without me, but… but after today you won’t see me again. I just can’t risk it.”

“And if you found your brother again,” Meng Yao suggests, because unlike Nie Huaisang he’s good with new technology. If Nie Mingjue is alive somewhere, he can find him. He will find him. It can’t be a coincidence that Lan Xichen and him met like that, so maybe…

Nie Huaisang shrugs, and shakes his head.

“I’ll never stop looking for him. But I don’t think he’s coming back. I think the damage to his soul was too great, and it was just the end for him. I’ve got to keep looking, but I think there’s nothing to find. So I won’t make promises to you, Meng Yao. I’ll have that decency, at least.”

It’s funny, Meng Yao thinks, how little Nie Huaisang has changed since that first life. 

By which he means, Nie Huaisang is still the same dramatic asshole as he used to be, still so wrapped in his own problems that he doesn’t really care about the effect his decisions have on others, because he’s a Nie so of course he’s always right.

It used to drive Meng Yao grazy, in that first life, when he thought all Nie Huaisang had going for him was a good inheritance and a pretty face.

It still drives him crazy right now, when he knows Nie Huaisang is perfectly capable of being more than this, should he feel like it.

Before Meng Yao can insist, there is a knock on the door. They both startle, having half forgotten there are others with them in that house. Nie Huaisang looks panicked for a moment, but quickly gets himself under control. He probably guesses, as Meng Yao does, that it cannot be Lan Xichen, who surely would never reach out to either of them.

That guess turns out to be right. When Nie Huaisang goes to open the door, he finds Wei Wuxian there, who looks… not quite angry as such, but ready to be pushed there if anyone says the wrong thing.

“You still want us to take you away?” Wei Wuxian asks.

Nie Huaisang nods quickly, than shakes his head, looking up at the ceiling.

“Zewu-Jun can’t… If he's coming too...”

“He needs time to digest, and he says that one…” Wei Wuxian nods toward Meng Yao, who flinches on instinct “...called him a taxi, so he’ll make his own way home. Lots to think about. Did you fucking know, Huaisang?”

“Not until today, and I called you right away. You think I wouldn’t have told you, if I’d known? You think I’d have gone anywhere near him by choice?”

Wei Wuxian shrugs, in a manner that seems to imply he doesn’t really know what Nie Huaisang might do about anything.

“What about that one?” Wei Wuxian asks, nodding again toward Meng Yao.

Nie Huaisang shrugs. “He has his car. Wei-xiong, I just want to leave now. Please.”

They do leave. Wei Wuxian glances one last time at Meng Yao, but Nie Huaisang doesn’t look back as he exits the room.

Just like that, Meng Yao finds himself alone, with only paintings and a broken game console for company.

He allows himself a moment of sorrow because, and he can admit this to himself now that it no longer matters, he’d been hoping to spend the rest of his life with either Lan Xichen or Nie Huaisang. Both, if fate chose to be kind to him.

Fate has never chosen kindness, when it comes to him.

So Meng Yao dries his tears, and picks up that shattered console on the floor.

The paintings in this room are worthless to him. Over half are fakes, and even Nie Huaisang, who painted them, doesn’t always recognises just from looking what’s real and what’s not. But the console… well, there’s a guy who lives in Meng Yao’s building who’s made a business of buying broken electronics and either repairing them or scavenging them for parts.

Maybe Nie Huaisang really will continue paying him, or maybe he won’t, but Meng Yao hasn’t gotten where he is in life by counting on the kindness of others.

He’ll sell the console when he gets home.

[kaito-is-baby]

Devil Town

Shoto Todoroki x Fem!Reader 

Warnings: Spoilers about Dabi's identity? (I don't think this is a spoiler anymore lmao) and a little of gaslighting from the reader if you stretch

Plot: AU where Shoto kills Touya on accident, he and Endeavor run away, they end up on a ghost town and meet the reader, this will be a series and I can promise you I have a very good mystery for the town, also this was totally inspired by devil town by cavetown, it wil have many references to the song so… if you are a fan I think you will like this <3

part 1 (previous) | part 3 (next)

The bright rays of dawn streaming through his curtains woke Shoto up, he took his phone in his hands wondering how soon in the morning would it be to have the sun just rising now

9:00 a.m his phone screen read 

Where in the world did the sun rise so damn late?

Shoto found clean clothes on his little bedside table, the very same clothes he was wearing, the same print on the white t-shirt he was wearing was resting on the white t-shirt on his table, the same blue shirt he was wearing could be found underneath the white t-shirt and the very same denim jeans he was wearing too, they had just one diference, the new ones waiting in his bedside table were not soaked in now dry blood from his brother.

Once dressed in his new clothes he opened the door just to hear his father’s voice calling him from behing 

Deciding to ignore him Shoto hurried up to the stairs, soon finding the hostel hall and, in its reception desk, the recepcionist was waiting, her elbows on the tabble, her chin resting on her hands and a little movement from side to side from her head, he found her just like he had left her the night before, the same white striped dressing gown on her and the same 'everything is just a game' expression on her face

The girl waved at him and that was the only thing Shoto needed to take his decision

He approached the girl, ready to ask her what had kept him awake almost all night when she cut him 

“Were the clothes of your liking?” she smiled 

“Eh... yeah, yes they were” so it had been her who brought them to his room and found them in the first place “How... How did you find clothes so similar to my old ones? And... it was already midnight when we arrived, the day had just started when I woke up and they were already on my room where did you bought them?”

“I... made them?” her eyebrows curved “Look, it’s my job to make sure everyone in this town is comfortable, I gave you father clothes too and he did not complain, take them and stop asking so many questions, will you?”

“But... I have one more question” the girl nodded at him, allowing him to continue “I want to know your name” 

She giggled 

“I want to know your real name too, I guess we can’t have everything we want” 

“At least give me a false name so I can refer to you” 

“You souldn't refer to me, you should go out and meet the town's people, you will lose any interest in me as soon as you do so”

“I heavily doubt it”

“But I am sure of it” she said, focusing her eyes on the book she had on her table

If there was something Shoto was more curious about than the girl it was that book, it looked like the usual book they have on a hotel to know who is staying in each dorm but the misteryous girl and her misteryous hostel had no one else hospeding than him and his father, what else could be filling pages and pages of that book? and why would she look at it and have it with her everytime? 

"Look, you are cute, really cute, but I’m not interested so can you please leave for once?” the girl’s angry voice woke him up

“Yes, sorry, I got distracted by...” she would never tell him what was inside that book, would she ever explain anything? “its nothing. I will leave now”

Already on the door Shoto said something else before leaving the hostel “You are really cute too” It was more a muffle to himself than a sentence directed to her yet she heard it and a silly smile appeared on her face

He was shy and unused to romantic interactions

And something much worse, he was in a weird town with a death in his back, this was not the time to fall for someone, less someone even weirder than the town itself

...

The sun rays blinded Shoto at first, how could it be already so shiny when it had just rised?

It’s true one of Shoto’s eyes was blue, which usually make the eyes more sensitive but he had never really be blinded by the sun before 

“I guess the hostel is way to dark and my eyes were not ready for this” Shoto calmed himself 

The whole town had changed, he knew it, his father's car wasn't at the hostel door anymore and the hostel was again at the top of a slope

But this time, under the slope Shoto found what he expected to find the first time instead of a weird forest, a little town

Much to Shoto’s disgrace it was now the entrance to the town and the road he and his father were following what had disappeared this time alongside the lonely forest 

Not more than ten houses, a clock tower and a cafe 

That was what constitued this “town”

He entered the small cafe, trying to get them to give him some information about the whereabouts of the road 

Inside the counter was a blonde boy with a black highlight, laughing loudly at whatever his co worker -a big muscular man with thick lips and scary eyebrows- had said. The big guy was scary at first but once Shoto saw him baking and joking with the blonde his first impresion changed completely, he seemed like a good person

But then Shoto thought to himself, Didn't he look like a good person too? And he was a murderer and no better than his horrible father 

“I’m Jirou and I have to attend you, is there anything you want?” a purple haired girl in the same uniform as the two boys behind the bar welcomed him and guided him to his table 

“Do you have green tea?” 

“No, we got out of it just yesterday but we will have the new cargament by tomorrow!”

“Well then I guess a dark coffe will make it too” 

“Alright, tomorrow we will have your green tea ready eh... what’s your name?”

“oh! right!! you are new!!” the blonde exclamed 

“The name’s Dabi” 

“Welcome to Devil town Dabi!” A pink colored skin girl greeted him

Shoto’s cup of coffe was almost empty when a green haired boy filled with freckless all over his faces entered the saloon, standing on a girl of his same height, big eyes and red cheeks

“Denki please, could you give us some ice for Izuku’s ankle? he broke it again”

“Shouldn’t you go to the hospital instead of asking for ice?” Shoto found himself asking

“Are you going to bring them to the hospital?” A deep and angry voice asked him 

“Don't you have one here?”

“Fuck off bastard, you can’t be serious and I really hate people mocking me” The blonde boy whose deep angry voice belonged to treatened him 

“Uraraka will take me to the city tomorrow to get checked” The injured boy, izuku, affirmed

 “In this shitty town there is nothing more than stupid trees” the angry boy spoke again

“And a road in the middle right?” Shoto asked, trying to find it again 

“What are you talking about?” Izuku asked

“There was a road with a sign with the towns name that crossed the whole town”

“The whole town are 10 houses and this cafe, I think you are mistaken, there’s no road here” the girl who attended him, Jirou, clarified 

“No, there was a road and-” Shoto then found a better thing to ask “the hostel! the hostel at the end of this slope, you have seen it right?”

“Yeah, but it’s been abandoned for years now, none of us has seen it working”  The baker answered 

“I don’t think its abandoned, there’s a recepcionist working on there”

“Who?” Denki, the guy who gave the injured boy the ice, asked this time

“I... I dont know her name”

“Look bastard, if you want to make fun of someone go somewhere else I dont want to see your stupid half burned face”

“Bakugo!” the girl with pink skin reprimanded him

...

Shoto left the saloon after that, wondering if he was the one losing his mind and not the people on this town, his biggest hipotesis was that both, he and the villagers were losing their minds

He wanted answers and he wanted answers from that stupidly misterious girl on the hostel 

He headed to the little amount of trees near him, he remebered, alongside the road were plenty of trees, he heard his mother on the woods. He had to walk through plenty of them until he found the hostel and not a single time did he sight the damn town

Shoto walked miles, he walked through the woods for hours and yet he couldn't find the road to get out of the weird town

He heard his mother voice again, calling him, screaming at him like the day he got the scar he had on his face 

“You said something dumb again” Shoto turned to where the voice came from

Sitting on one of the trees branches there she was, the recepcionist again 

“She’s mad” She jumped back to the ground “At least that’s what they say”

The girl was even prettier at the moonlight, it was easy for Shoto to lose himself on her eyes and forget about everything she was saying 

“Who? Who says that?” 

“The trees, obviously, who else would it be?” she laughed 

“oh” Shoto tried to find what she found so logical on her answer but he did just find it irracional, there was no way the trees were speaking, not even if he himself was hearing his mom coming from one of them “who... who is mad?”

“I'd say it’s your mother, she must miss you, all of you.” Was she refering to his older brother too? “I think this is not what she expected when you left” 

Shoto gulpped

He knew well what the misterious recepcionist was talking about, he left on a mision with his father to bring Touya back and now Touya was dead and both him and Endeavor were missing with no explanation

“But we’re fine, no one’s gonna catch you here” She said, speaking from his back again, she had walked through him while he thought about his past 

“What-?” 

When he turned around she was no longer there and so he decided to leave, it was dark at night already and he wanted to wake up soon, he needed to know more 

...

“Can I get an explanation to that last thing you said in the woods?” Shoto exclamed just the moment he entered the hostel, his voice much louder than he had ever expected it to come

“I... I wasn’t on the woods Dabi, I’ve been here all day” 

“You were on the woods, sitting on a branche you said something about being save here because no one would catch us and-”

“Dabi, I think you need to rest” 

“No, you already said something like that yesterday, when you came from- where did you came from when I arrived at this town? I walked trough the whole forest and didn't see you”

“I was here all day, just like every other day, every day is the same here”

“No, no you weren't, when I arrived here this place was lonely like-” Then shoto remembered what the villagers had said about the hostel “-an abandoned place...”

“Well, I’m sorry I can’t have a 5 stars hotel but I’m not even charging you so-”

“You weren’t here when I entered and arrived later, you were out there and I didn’t see you and this place smelled like... The woods sounded like...” Like Touya, like mom was what Shoto tought to himself

“Do you need me to help you get to your room?”

“No... no, I will be fine”

Shoto set his alarm at 5 a.m, the unnamed girl couldn’t be already up at those hours right? He would take a look at that book of hers and finally discover what was going on here. Was this his own personal hell? Because it sure seemed like it 

[oveliagirlhaditright]

Lie to Me

https://archiveofourown.org/works/33943738

Summary: In an AU where L wins the Kira case and Light goes to prison instead of being executed, L gets it into his head that Light should become an executor: because that would see his need for justice and killing done.

Author’s Note: This is actually the first idea I had and first thing I started writing after I finished watching Death Note.I wasn’t sure I was comfortable sharing it with you guys. But I guess I am:)

L’s PoV

L was heading towards… a certain place after the Kira case had been closed for quite some time.

And why he was heading there, he wasn’t entirely sure. It wasn’t as if he owed Yagami Light anything…

Perhaps, L thought, as he now walked into the prison that housed the mass murderer, he was doing this because he wanted to believe if he ever got locked up, someone with his mind would be given a chance like this… or something much better than this idea.

But whatever the reason was, L was walking towards Light’s cell now, to offer him a deal: a deal that had been playing in the back of L’s mind for a long time, even while he’d also been trying to come up with any and all evidence to incarcerate Light.

Finally—after all sunlight faded away and the last seagull silenced itself—L was being led through the massive metal door that would lead him to Light. And L would be facing him by himself. Something that Watari and everyone at Wammy’s House had loudly protested, but L knew that to even get a twenty-seven percent chance that Light would listen to any of this, he would have to go it alone.

L had reassured everyone, of course, that Yagami Light wasn’t one for killing people without his favorite magical notebook. And he knew that he’d be watched on any and all available monitors like a hawk, which was fine.

The Wammy’s boys (Near, Mello, and Matt—perhaps Matt and Mello in particular) had tried to convince L to bring a bomb in with him—one that Light wouldn’t be able to activate on L quickly enough, if he got it away from him, because it was made out of new technologies that Light hadn’t had the benefit of seeing—that he could throw at Light if the man pulled a fast one on him, and then make a run for the door.

But as L thought that there was a thirty-seven percent chance that that would actually cause more harm for him than good, he’d decided to use his intellect here as he always did… and pray to any god that might exist that Light was off his game after these few years (even though that would make this incredibly boring).

L pushed the door open, and was met with the sight of a lot of orange, brown, and grays: dull, fall colors, that had lost any and all shine. Honestly, what had he even been expecting? Perhaps this had been a mistake…

“Well, if I haven’t earned a visit from the one and only Ryuzaki,” Light sang, looking up from the Bible he’d been reading, the moment L crossed over the threshold. And it didn’t escape L’s notice that Light didn’t call him “L”, which clearly meant that he wasn’t seeing this as a victory against him—as it clearly wasn’t that—but it also meant that Light was beyond bitter here. L wondered how that would make the rest of their interaction play out, as he crossed the room and sat in the table across from Light. “To what do I owe the pleasure? Are you here to finally tell me how good orange looks on me?” In some ways, he was perceptive as always, L supposed.

“While I would, perhaps, love to rub it in your face again, that I beat you—because yours surely was the best case that I have yet won,” and here L locked eyes with Light to remind him that he had won, and it would be foolish to think that he could try and turn the tables right now, “once of doing that was more than enough. Not everyone is as narcissistic as you are, Light. No… I’m here for… sympathetic reasons, oddly enough. And you don’t have to believe me about that, but it is the truth.” And it was clear Light must not have believed it for a second, because he’d scooched his chair back from L’s furiously, the moment the words had left his lips.

He’d moved the seat back, but hadn’t gone to stand up. And that was smart on his part—Light had always been so smart—because if he had, L had no doubt that, quite ironically, all sorts of police and guardsmen would be spilling in this very moment to be giving Light a lethal injection.

So, it seemed that even in prison—where so much was ripped away from one—of course, Yagami Light had found a way to hold onto his careful reactions. This was very good.

L could respect that.

“I don’t believe you!” Light hissed, as some of the old fire returned to the young man. And his pupils dilated, and there was certainly a maniac look to them, but no red.

And L was taken aback to find that he somehow missed the red.

“All you ever wanted was to solve the Kira case more than anything else! It was just another trophy to add to your case! The most impressive one of all, in fact! And you didn’t care who you had to throw under the bus to get there, or if you had to act like Kira himself to achieve your goals. So, why would you start caring now? Odds say that you don’t.”

L could have said something to that, like, “How funny it is, that you now start talking about odds, when I always thought that that was my forte,” he knew. But the truth was… he didn’t have the time for their game, even though it had once been his favorite one of all.

A new technology had just been unveiled that could recognize faces with seventy-five percent accuracy one-hundred thousand miles away. And L just knew that it was at once going to be nuclear warfare, if he didn’t get out there and explain why seventy-five percent still wasn’t accurate enough and would leave too many innocent civilians murdered in cold blood and destitute. So, if Light wasn’t going to be interested in the deal L had to offer him here, he really couldn’t care less.

As it was, he was missing tea time right now, anyway, and he quite liked tea time.

Examining his nails in a very bored manner, L continued on with, “Like I said, Yagami Light, you don’t have to believe me. But I have an idea… since we both once loved our game with each other so much, how about we play another one together right now? Give me one good reason as to why I should give you an opportunity, and shouldn’t leave you to rot her for eternity, like you so rightly deserve?”

Light seemed to withdraw into himself at that… and he looked so very small. And as he did, L found that maybe he was finally truly feeling the sympathy he’d told Light that he had from the onset here.

It must not have been easy, L imagined, dealing with the world’s greatest ice queen in the world, who lived behind such an impenetrable fortress.

Nor must it have been easy to try and look like you had something to gamble with, when everything had been taken away from you.

The gears were clearly turning in Yagami Light’s head now. And L wondered if when they were done spinning, if he would actually hear some sort of fantastical truth from the man, or another lie. Surely the latter, since if there was one thing Yagami Light didn’t do, it was tell the truth.

Finally, Light looked up at L with sorrowful eyes. And L imagined that everyone who was watching this scene unfold with him right now, was also waiting with bated breath to see what the serial killer would have to say.

“Did you know my father once tried to kill my cat, L?” Light asked.

And there was his name, “L”, again. So, Light clearly must have thought he could win this one. And L thought he must have been lying, since he was speaking of something so traumatic far too matter-of-factly right now.

But, then again… Light was calling Soichiro “father” as opposed to “dad” for once. And sometimes trauma victims did speak matter-of-factly to try and keep their emotions at bay.

Hmm… L tried not to give anything away here, but Light definitely have L wondering if he’d missed something important in the Kira investigation. And L didn’t know if that was good or not. He had asked for this—and perhaps had even wanted a battle he had chosen, as opposed to the one he now had to partake in for necessity—but was it really a good idea to have a battle of wills with Yagami Light again?

No matter what he thought, L knew the best thing was to try and play it all off, of course. “No, I was not aware of that, Kira. It didn’t come up in anything I researched about you in our time together. If this is true, I assume your family kept it under wraps to protect your father’s reputation? Do tell me about it.”

“Yep. That’s exactly it,” Light allowed, and he was looking at his forearms that rested on the table now, as if he was lost in thought. Lost in his memories, maybe more accurately. So, perhaps, there was some truth to all of this, after all.

L truly hadn’t come here expecting to feel anything for Yagami Light today, but he found he was doing exactly that, and he hated himself for it.

He would not again be the man on a rooftop, looking at who he believed to be his future killer with regret, as he heard bells ring in the distance. He would not.

“It was late one night… Dad was tired. And maybe a little drunk… This was the only cat we ever had, by the way. An orange furball that Sayu had begged that Mom and Father let us have. Eventually, they relented. Anything, for cute Sayu, of course. And I felt the same way. But… it had stomach problems, and hairballs all the time. Mom cleaned it up as best she could. I helped, too. But Father hated this about the thing.

“One night… I guess the stress of everything became too much for him, and he was chasing Aki, the cat, through the house, saying he was going to kill her, and was throwing coat-hangers at her… until Sayu and I intervened. But mainly it was me. I don’t know if it would have gone further than the coat-hangers, if Father’s two little kids hadn’t tried to stop him then, but…

“Anyway, Dad never had a psychotic break like that ever again, so we all just dropped it...”

The way Light had told the story… it mostly seemed true to L. And he hated that after once having said that there was never a time that Light told the truth, that he would now ven entertain that notion.

He also despised that he now thought it made some sense, then, that Yagami Light would go serial killer, since he’d had the trauma of seeing his father attack an animal… and seeing as how he couldn’t really get any help, as mental illness was so stigmatized in Japan.

But Light did not need to know any of these things from L, of course. All he needed to know was that he had passed the test.

And for Yagami Light, who had only ever wanted to get the best grades and be society’s greatest being—and to be a “god”—surely that would be enough.

“Light… what if we put your desire for justice—and death, to an extent—to practical use? What if you became an executor, instead of wasting away here?”

And the moment the words had left his mouth, L wished he could take them back. Because certainly Kira would object that he wasn’t a killer and never had been.

But instead, Light just dabbed at his eyes some—had he started crying?—and shook his head as if he were truly lost, “…If you think that’s the best thing for me to do… I guess I’ll do it. Clearly, I don’t know what’s right, and you’re wiser than I could ever be. So, when do I start?”

L meant to fill Light in then, that it wouldn’t be right away.

No. Some trust would have to be built first, before they let Kira anywhere near lethal ingredients or people he would put in the electric chair, of course.

But L couldn’t find the words.

He was, one, feeling too much guilt, somehow, by what had just transpired….

And two, finding himself almost aroused at the idea of Light wielding such power, but using it rightly this time.

“Watari will get you the information. He’ll be in touch.”

And L headed back through the large metal door, without another look towards Yagami Light.

He had once thought it held Light’s fate… but he was starting to realize that perhaps it held his own, too.

And if he was intelligent, he would never see the man again.

But had he ever truly been intelligent?

L had to ponder that now, when he knew without a shadow of a doubt… he would be seeing Kira again.

[winters-void]

100

a/n: this is based off of episode 9 of season 5 “100″ of criminal minds. -Requests are open.

warning: death, blood, violence, angst, George foyet, murder

relationship: dad! Hotchner x daughter! reader, Spencer Reid x reader (light)

____

Y/n felt her heart in her chest. She couldn't hear, over her heartbeat and her vision was blurred due to the immense amount of tears in her eyes. She felt Spencer's hand on her shoulder and that was all it took to break down. She fell to her knee's being caught along the way by Spencer and began to bawl into his shoulder. His cane fell to the side as he held her close as she broke down into his body.

— previously —

Y/n was exhausted. She graciously took a cup of coffee from Spencer as they made their way up to the bullpen. Finally, there had been a break in the Foyet case. She was so tired of this devil. It seemed like he was everywhere she looked. Even if he wasn't there physically.

She could feel him in her dreams, plaguing her with nightmares. Every time she looked at the family photo on her desk, and a picture of her and Jack from her little brother's 3rd birthday she was reminded of the torment he had caused her family. From stabbing her father and leaving him at the hospital, and now threatening Jack and her mother. She was so tired of it.

They were working on a geographical profile now, focusing on the two different addresses from the letters he had sent. Garcia and Kevin where cross referencing a list of Foyet's medications, trying to find something that he couldn't get over the counter or on the streets.

"Okay so what are we going to do about the two cities?" J.J. asked. "Usually we need 3 different points to get an accurate geographic profile."

"That's all we got right now." Derek speaks from beside her.

"Gaithersburg, Rockville, D.C., Alexandria, Bowie, Annapolis." Prentiss begins listing off nearby cities.

"Where the hell are you Foyet?"

Wasn't that the question of the hour? Of the year actually. All Y/n wanted was to have her family under one roof again. Even if her parents were divorced, she just wanted the ability to call her mom after a long case and play with her little brother. Instead, they were placed into protective custody. She knew they were safe, at least she hoped they were.

The team wasn't told where they were going whatsoever, it was safer that way. No way of knowing where your mom and brother were, and not knowing how to contact them. There was a small amount of people who knew where they were located.

"Okay, me and the boy found a thyroid medication that has no substitute over the counter. You gotta get it from a pharmacist, but a lot of people are on it." Garcia said bursting into the bullpen with a laptop in her hand.

"Find the midpoint between the 2 cities." Rossi told her. "And isolate names in a 25-mile radius."

"153 names." Garcia told him.

"He's smart enough to use a different name." Y/n spoke up. "This guy lived off of the grid for years."

"What kind of names should we be looking for." Derek asks.

"He could've easily stolen someones identity." Prentiss speaks up pointing toward Derek, reminding Y/n of the night her father got stabbed and Foyet checked him into the hospital using Derek's credentials.

"No, he's a narcissist in love with his own mythology." her dad speaks up, flipping through a file. "He'd use a name connected with the case."

"A victim maybe, a cop." Rossi adds.

"Okay, let's check the Foyet files for a list of names, and... nothing." Garcia says shaking her head.

"Wait a minute guys." Her boyfriend speaks up. "Foyet likes things to have meaning to him. The eye of providence, the addresses he wrote on the bus that led us back to him."

Spencer stands up, walking to the bored and writing "George Foyet" on it. "Maybe he's doing the same thing with the alias."

"Like an anagram or something." Prentiss says catching on.

Spencer begins crossing letters out and drawing arrows. Y/n wonders what's going on in his mind. He's always been brilliant and she's not sure she'll understand how he does it all.

"You see something Spence?" She asks him.

"Not yet."

"Reid, he named himself the reaper." Her dad tells him and suddenly 'the reaper' appears on the board as well and Spencer repeats his process of crossing out letters and making arrows.

All of a sudden he turns around, with a name. "Peter Rhea." He speaks.

"There's a Peter Rhea in Arlington." Garcia says looking down at her laptop.

"We found him." Rossi says.

___

The team begins to suit up. Y/n pulling on her vest as calm as possible. Her hands are shaking and everyone notices. This isn't the normal Y/n whatsoever. She just wants her life to go back to normal. With a case hitting this close to home, she can't help but feel like her nerves are racking up against her.

"Hey." Spencer says placing a hand on her waist gently. The rest of the team looks away giving them a moment. "You're okay. We're going to get him."

"Are we?" She asks, voice cracking.

___

Y/n, Spencer, J.J. Derek and Rossi were in an empty building across the street from Foyet's apartment. They had a swat team behind them and Y/n was sitting next to Rossi, her back to Spencer who was leaning on his cane.

"SWAT's getting antsy." Jennifer told Morgan. She didn't really listen to what else they had to say. She just focused on the building ahead of them.

Less than 15 minutes later, the decision to move was made. Derek sent in someone with a camera to look under the door of Foyet's apartment.

"What's that on the floor?" Her dad asked from beside her.

"That's his mail." Derek said and the decision to move out was made. They ran across the street, guns drawn, followed by the SWAT team and undercover units.

They busted into the apartment quickly, discovering Foyet wasn't there.

"He's not coming back here, he left an untouched meal." Her father declared.

"You drop your mail like this when you're startled, when you need to get out of dodge quick." Rossi tells him.

"Something tipped him off, he knew we were coming."

"Suitcases are open there's some clothes missing, there's a safe with a stash of guns in it." Derek says coming back into the kitchen with J.J.

"He didn't even bother to lock them up again." J.J. adds.

"If he's in a hurry, he'll make a mistake." Rossi says.

"Yeah but when Foyet gets cornered he starts killing." Hotch says leaving the room.

"We're not gonna let that happen."

"We need Garcia to get on this." Y/n whisper watching Foyet's screen. It's continuously deleting files from its system. As Garcia reworks the files, you notice something in a picture. "Wait, stop, stop! Is that-"

"The US Marshall assigned to my family." Her dad says looking right at her. He leaves a message on Kassmeyers cell before locking eyes with Y/n. "Let's go."

____

The black SUV's halt to a stop outside of the U.S. Marshals house. When walking inside, they find Kassmeyer on the ground, slowly dying. Rossi gets an ambulance as your father tries to communicate with him.

Y/n could hear the sirens of the ambulance now as medics came in.  "Gunshot wounds to each leg he's missing several fingers and he's badly beaten." Spencer said from beside her.

"Clear out of the way" the medics ordered her father before getting to work. As they got into the ambulance Hotch followed him into the vehicle leaving Y/n with the rest of the team breathing heavily. She felt Spencer grab a shaking hand and squeeze it tight.

Later on the team received a phone call from Hotchner, telling them that Foyet called Y/n's mother from Sam's phone.

"We'll get Garcia to trace it. J.J." Morgan said nodding at J.J. to start working on that.

"He told her she was compromised and I was dead, and that Y/n was in critical condition." Her dad told them.

"Well have you called her?" Prentiss ask him.

"No. He said to throw her phone away and to buy a disposable." Y/n heard her dad say. She wanted to vomit. There was too much happening at once. She wanted to be calm and collected but there was too much on the line. This case was targeting her home, her family.

"Hotch we're gonna come get you right now." Morgan told him.

"No, Anderson's bringing me a car."

"You want us to meet you back at the office?"

"I'm hoping that she's just going to call me, at least, to check. Maybe even Y/n."  

"Foyet posed as a Marshal, called from a number that she recognized." Derek told him.

"And then he did what gets him off. He scared her." Rossi added.

"No, He paralyzed her. He overwhelmed her." Prentiss told the team.

"And now, she trusts him. Where do you think he would take her?" Spencer asked him.

"Witness protection had her living in New Jersey." Prentiss told Spencer.

"He has a head start. He could be there now."

"Garcia's got a trace." J.J. told the team a form of somewhat good news.

"He's bouncing between a few towers." Garcia spoke being added to the call.

"Where?" Y/n's dad asked panicked.

"Fairfax County." Garcia told him.

"He's still local?" Y/n asked confused. "He wants to be close."

"Send the coordinates to my phone." Hotch told her.

Hotchner hung up from the phone call, and the team watched as he called another number.

"Wait that phone's on?" Prentiss asked.

"Hotch is calling Foyet."

"Garcia get us connected to that call." Y/n spoke grabbing the phone.

"Agent Hotchner." Y/n heard Foyet's voice on the phone and her blood ran cold.

"If you touch her.." She heard her father tell him.

"Be gentle, like I was with you?" Foyet asks and Y/n is reminded of walking into her fathers empty apartment find his blood on the floor. "What the hell took you so long? I was beginning to think this phone was dead or something. Why so quiet? You usually lash out when you're frustrated."

"I'm not frustrated. You're more predictable than you think." Her father spoke lowly.

"Am I?" Foyet asked.

"You didn't know where Haley was so you made her come to you."

"You make me sound lazy."

"Just another way for you to show control." Hotch told him. "Your mother tried to protect you from your father but she wasn't strong enough and you hated her for that didn't you? You decided that all women were weak."

"Those are your words, not mine."

"What were you 9 when you killed them?"

"It was a car accident."

"That you couldn't take credit for. That had to be hard for you. But poor George got another chance, the little orphan was saved. By the wealthy, sterile Eastside couple, the Foyets and the story should've ended there." Hotchner spoke, analyzing the Reaper.

"I don't believe in fairy tales, do you?" Foyet asked him.

"That's the thing, George. This isn't a fairy tale." Hotch told him. "You don't have to write this story, you don't have to do any of this. I know you're exhausted, always looking over your shoulder." Her father was pleading with the man now. "Always wondering when the other shoe is gonna drop. Haven't you gotten what you wanted? You've set yourself apart from anybody we've ever dealt with. You're not just a famous serial killer, you're the reaper. We're gonna study you and your methods for years and years."

Foyet took a moment to respond. "You know what I've been thinking? Haley looks pretty good with dark hair. She's lost some weight, must be all the stress you've caused her. Where's the little man? Oh. There he is. Does he like Captain America because of you?"

Another phone rang in the background. Y/n's eyes began to swell with tears. This sick bastard was watching her family. He was playing them like a fiddle.

"That's your wife. Hold please." She listened closely as Foyet answered the other phone. "Mrs. Hotchner."

"I'm here." Y/n heard her mothers voice and she closed her eyes to hold back the tears. It was the first time she'd heard it in months. Never in a million years did she think this would be the circumstance.

"Open the gate and I'll drive in." Foyet told her, and not knowing any better her mother agreed. "Aaron? I really got to go."

Her mind wasn't there while the team was talking. She was just trying to think of where they could be. It clicked once Reid recited Foyet's end of the conversation.

"The gate. The fucking gate. He's going to my house." She blurted. "The one I grew up in."

Immediately she grabbed a pair of keys to one of the SUV's and began heading out the door.

"No, give me the key's you're in no condition to drive." Derek said. "I'll call Hotch."

"Foyet's going to your house Hotch." Derek told him.

"I know." Her father spoke.

"We're sending a full tactical unit. We're on our way."

With that the phone was hung up and Garcia's voice came through to the line they were all connected with. "Foyet's calling Hotch."

"Garcia can you get us on?" Derek asked her.

"Foyet."

"Aaron?" Her mothers shocked voice said. "You're okay? What about Y/n?"

"I'm fine." Hotch said and y/n could tell her father was swallowing his tears. Attempting to make it seem like he was okay. "Y/n's fine as well. She's with the team."

"But.. he said that-" Haley cut herself off. "Oh Aaron."

"He can hear us right?"

"Yes. I am so sorry." her mother apologized and Y/n bit her lip. She felt Spencer place a hand on her back.

"Haley, show him no weakness." Her father told him. "No fear."

"I know, Same told me about him. Is he uh-"

"No Sam is fine." Hotch lied. Sam was indeed very not fine.

"Aaron, Aaron, Aaron." Foyet spoke up. The reality of this situation becoming a lot clearer to Y/n ever second that passed. "Is that why your marriage broke up? Because you're a liar?"

"Don't listen to him Haley."

"I have Sam's service phone right here. They sent out a mass text about his death. You can take a look if you want."

"He's trying to scare you." Her father told her. "Did you even tell her what this was about? About the deal?"

"He's just trying to make you angry."

"Well she should be, she's gonna d-i-e." Foyet spoke up, taunting the family. "Your kids are going to be motherless because of your inflated ego."

"Ignore him Haley." Hotch spoke.

" I'm sure you don't want her to know about this part either." Foyet added. "You know, all he had to do was stop looking for me and you wouldn't be in this mess."

"Don't react."

"What is he talking about?" Haley asked.

"Tell Jack I need him working the case." Y/n knew what that meant. Jack needed to hide. She prayed that he would remember and listen to their father.

"What?" Haley asked confused.

"Tell Jack I need him working the case."

"Did you hear that?" Haley asked her younger brother.

"Hi daddy." Jack spoke into the phone causing Y/n to lurch forward. Her heart ached for her younger brother. His whole world was about to change and he was too innocent for that.

"Hi Buddy." Her dad said voice cracking.

"Is George a bad guy?"

"Yes he is." Hotchner said clearing his throat. "Jack, I need you on this case with me and your sister. Do you understand? We need you to work the case with me."

"Ok daddy." Jack said and Y/n hoped he knew what to do. He was a smart kid, and it was one of his favorite spots to be in when Y/n and Aaron worked on a case at home together.

"Jack, hug your mom for me and sissy okay?" Her dad knew she was listening in. She heard some shuffling and knew Jack was giving Haley a hug for the last time.

"Mommy hug me too tight." Jack said unknowing of the situation at hand.

"I'm sorry." Haley's voice said gently.

"Why are you sad?" Jack asked.

"Oh, I just love you so much." Haley said. "You and your sister are the light of my life."

"Mommy, I gotta go. I'm working the case." Jack told her. Y/n heard Jack's footsteps retreat from the room. She let out a breath she didn't know she was holding. They were still too far away.

"He's so cute." Foyet said. "He's like a little Junior G-Man. I'll be right up, Jackie boy!"

"Is he gone?" Hotch asked her.

"Yes." Haley responded wiping away her tears and sniffling.

"You're so strong, Haley. You're stronger than I ever was." Aaron told her.

"You'll hurry right?" She asked. Y/n looked at Derek almost as if urging the car to go faster and she felt Spencer grab her hand. She'd be squeezing her fist so tight there were imprints left from her nails.

"I know you didn't sign on for this." Her father told her.

"Neither did you."

"I'm sorry for everything." Her father admitted.

"Promise me that you will tell him how we met and how you used to make me laugh." This was her goodbye.

"Haley-"

"He needs to know that you weren't always so serious Aaron. I want him to believe in love because it is the most important thing. But you need to show him. Promise me."

"I promise." Her fathers voice was a whisper. Tears were quietly streaming down her face at this point.

A moment of silence thickened the air, before the sharp sound of 3 gunshots rang out. Y/n broke down in the back of the van letting out a steady stream of quiet tears and flinching at the sound. Derek and Rossi looked back at the girl as Spencer pulled her close letting the girl sob into his shoulder.

"Mom-" She croaked out in barely a whisper. She knew Haley was dead. She knew Foyet would make sure of that. She was in shock at the moment. She didn't want to believe her mother was dead, but she knew that was the case.

The line went dead after the sound of her father throwing the phone and she knew they needed to get to the house as fast as possible.  Morgan sped down the street of her old home, skidding to a stop in front of the house. They found her father relentlessly beating Foyet to death before Morgan wrapped his arms around him and pulled him away.

"Hotch! Hotch!" He yelled. "He's dead. Hotch stop, come on, stop it. It's over, It's over." She watched as her father broke down in Morgans arms. "It's okay it's over man."

Y/n felt her heart in her chest. She couldn't hear, over her heartbeat and her vision was blurred due to the immense amount of tears in her eyes. She felt Spencer's hand on her shoulder and that was all it took to break down. She fell to her knee's being caught along the way by Spencer and began to bawl into his shoulder. His cane fell to the side as he held her close as she broke down into his body.

"Jack-" Y/n said before bolting from the room and into her fathers office. She heard his footsteps behind her. She went to the ottoman that served as a storage unit and opened the lid, not quite knowing what to expect. Her father appeared behind her, a breath of relief escaping both of them to see Jack's face.

"I work the case, just like Daddy said." Jack spoke innocently.

More tears rolled down Y/n's face as she reached into the box to pull her brother out. "Good job Bub" She whispered pulling him into her arms and falling into her dad's embrace.

"What happened to you daddy?"

"I'm okay. I want you to go outside with Ms. Jareau okay?" Hotch told his youngest.

"Come here, sweetheart." J.J. said picking her little brother up and taking her down the stairs.

"Where is she dad?" Y/n asked and slowly they walked into the bedroom where Derek was checking her mothers pulse. She was laying there lifeless, and stained with her own blood.

"I'm so sorry Hotch." Derek whispered and slowly she dropped to her knees next to her mother letting out a sob.Grabbing her hand and falling on top of her not caring. about the blood seeping onto her.

"Mom." She sobbed. "Please, no-"

She knew there was no coming back from this. Still, her mind didn't want to process that the woman who raised her was really gone. It wasn't supposed to happen like this. Her mom was supposed to be there while Jack grew up, and to watch them both get married and become a grandmother.

"Y/n." Hotchner spoke laying a hand on his daughters back.

She let out a flood of tears screaming into her mothers body as her body racked with sobs shaking violently. She let go and fell back into her fathers embrace staring at her mother's lifeless eyes as he hugged her tightly.

"Get out of here." She faintly heard Derek say. "Go see if they need any help downstairs."

___

"She was already gone." Y/n told Strauss looking blankly at the table. "My dad could do nothing for her, but there's not a doubt in my mind that he saved my brother from what Foyet would've done to him. He would be dead as well."

"She died rather quickly." Strauss told her. Y/n flinched at the word. It was still hard to process that her mother was really gone. "She didn't suffer much."

"That doesn't make it right." Y/n snapped before biting her tongue. "I'm sorry-"

"I'm sorry for your loss." Strauss told her. "If there's anything your family needs-"

"Thank you."

Y/n stood up and nodded at the director before walking to the bullpen to be with Jack and the rest of the team again. She sat down next to Spencer as Jack ran to his sister.

"Hi Bub." She said pressing a kiss to his cheek.

"Hi sissy." It wasn't long after that when her father joined and Jack got down from her lap to greet their father in a hug. Reid placed a loving hand on her back and she felt herself relax for the first time in that day into his embrace.

She grabbed his hand subtly and squeezed it tight. I Love you.

He squeezed it back in response and she nodded. I love you too.

[evien-stark]

✧I Need You✧  Chapter 229

Tony had stared death in the face many times. Usually willingly so. ...mostly willingly so, these past few years. The feeling that came with it should have been intimately familiar and not as terrifying- this time it was different. Maybe because all those times he’d put his life on the line, it was by choice. 

This was not his choice. And maybe it was terrifying now because this time it came in the form of Steve Rogers bearing down on him. One of the last things he’d ever really expected out of this wild life he’d been cultivating lately. 

But really the worst part was being aware that she was less than twenty feet away- and she was going to see it- she was going to see Cap ram that shield straight down through his neck- 

Was that really how it was going to end?

Is that where it had all been leading? Were they both so far gone that he was going to be murdered by someone that he respected- someone that he cared for- someone that used to be his friend- 

Maybe it was his own fault. The past few minutes he hadn’t had enough brain power to know whether or not he would have killed Barnes, either. All he’d known was-... well it wasn’t really knowing anything. It had been running on pure adrenaline. Pure anger. Raw pain. Would he have killed Barnes? It wasn’t really a question he could have answered anymore. Because now-

Tony realized within a few thin seconds that he thought Steve would really do it- because instinct drove his arms up in a futile attempt to stop the inevitable. His normally noisy brain, always in overdrive thinking a million little things, went deadly silent in its mad scramble to try and comprehend any of this. There were only two thoughts then. 

I don’t want to die.

And, maybe more importantly-

I don’t want her to see me die like this. 

He’d bore the crown for king of unintended consequences perhaps all his life. This was one in another long line. Could all of this have been avoided? Perhaps. Maybe. But… he was so used to taking the blame for everything- would he do it, even now? Maybe he shouldn’t have lashed out. But pain, and grief, and betrayal were strong killing tools that fogged an otherwise stable mind. 

In the end it didn’t matter. There wasn’t enough time, as Steve raised his shield, hefted back, and started that downward swing. There just simply wasn’t enough time to think anything about anything. Just that… Tony didn’t want to die. He didn’t want to die here. And he didn’t want to die like this. And above all else…

He didn’t want to leave her behind, didn’t want her to be alone to deal with everything this would bring. The world- the universe was not safe yet and- ...he didn’t want to die- for many reasons- but sitting on top of them all was that… simply… 

He loved her. 

What more reason was there to want to stay alive? 

Tony didn’t want to die- He didn’t want to die- He didn’t want Steve to kill him- 

His racing thoughts came to an immediate halt, as always- for her. 

“Stop!!” 

In the very next instant the entire room was flooded in a bright light. One he knew very well. Hers. And in that moment… he knew he was safe. He knew he was not going to die. -because of her. 

But as Steve stiffened and completely locked up, Tony eased his arms back a fraction to try and see past that bright glow, and where the idea of safety had eased his panicked mind, looking at her then made him sweat with fresh anxiety. 

She was lit up like a firework- eyes enveloped in a sunset shine, skin glimmering. His helmet was broken and gone now, but he imagined FRIDAY’s warnings were going off a million miles a minute. All protocols set in place for when she went too far- when she was just on the edge of exploding- 

This was further than that. He’d never seen her like this. Her arms moved, outstretched for a second and then she brought them inward, cupping over her chest in… in a sight a little too familiar. Almost like she was making a heart shape- ...one she’d made at him dozens, if not hundreds of times by now. An intimate, adorable gesture that normally had him melting in place but now… 

Now in between her palms another burst of light seemed to take shape. She was foreign to him now. He’d never seen her like this, never heard her like this and never felt her like this. In all the ways they’d blended together, the ways he knew her best- ...this was different. Her power weighted the room in a heavy blanket- and then seemed to consume Rogers whole. 

He not only stopped but seemed… lifeless. Just for a few seconds and then- 

“Step back.” She commanded and Cap obeyed. Stiffly. Strangely. 

But Tony was at least a little glad when Steve got to his feet and that heft lifted off of him. He wasn’t sure what to do. Or what he should do- if anything. If he even could. 

She moved then, and it wasn’t really walking. It was like a calm sort of glide. Like she owned the universe and everyone in it- and she knew it. More powerful than he’d ever seen her, maybe more powerful than she even knew she was. It was… frightening. Even when she’d saved him, potentially from near death… in doing so, what was happening to her?

Using herself like a wall, she stopped between the two of them, and Tony didn’t much like the sight of her back, not able to see her face. Not able to see her. Watching uselessly, staring up at the two of them as his palms braced the ground beneath him as he tried to help himself up. 

“I don’t ever wanna see you again.” Her voice was a little more hers then. Not as booming, not as commanding. Just… her. Her desire after this fiasco. “I don’t want you near my family ever again.” But there at the tail end of laying down the law, her voice rumbled in that strange, powerful way again. Then he saw her lift her hand, and while she was otherwise blocking his view, he knew exactly what she was doing. 

Especially as she continued, and the outline of a glow burst around her again, “You keep that. Hold on to it. And think about it. Every day.” Tony didn’t need to see what she was doing, and while he couldn’t comprehend it- like most things about her that drove him mad- he felt it then. An inky ooze that flooded the room. Something terrible. It suffocated him for a second and he found it hard to catch his breath. His mind spun in a dizzying ache. 

She was giving something back to Cap. Something she thought he’d earned. Something she thought he’d deserved. And while there were no words that could capture what it was… 

Tony knew. As that feeling bottomed out, it was something he realized he knew maybe even a little too well. And he wasn’t quite sure what to do with the knowledge that all of this- all of it- what had brought them here, what had started and nearly fatally ended all of it- 

...was guilt. A guilt so crushing it threatened to kill. 

Yeah. 

Tony knew that feeling. 

The power around her died in the next few seconds, and Tony found himself exhaling. Maybe even foolishly. Because the next thing Steve did was reach his hand up in a lightning whip of a strike, and her fear consumed him so deeply- a noise he’d never heard from her escaped into the open air. It all happened so quickly. He couldn’t even get up in time. 

He wanted to- Something was happening that was devastating her and he couldn’t even do anything to stop it. To help her. To protect her- and it didn’t matter. He understood in the next moment- as her suit peeled off her skin in some sort of cascade failure, and as Steve’s arm jerked down, he saw the dying light of the Heart Reactor crushed into darkness. 

It made sense- His brain told him it made sense- especially as he pushed her over- Tony weakly reaching up to put his hands at her shoulders to keep her from tumbling further as she landed just beside him- and then Steve just turned in the next instant and began walking away. Picked up his pal Barnes- what all the trouble in the world was worth to Steve- and kept going.

It made sense that he’d do that. Tony’s suit was junked. There was no way he’d make it out of here. And Steve couldn’t risk that she’d go after them too- so it made sense that he’d destroy her suit as a last effort to keep them from following but- 

The quiver of her pain lit a fire in his heart. It didn’t matter whose fault any of this was anymore- and he had a pretty good idea whose it was. 

Barnes had murdered his parents. Rogers had known about it. And now he’d hurt her- 

“That shield doesn’t belong to you!” Tony spat the words as quickly as they would come. “You don’t deserve it!” If that shield was any symbol, any modicum of the picture of truth or justice or fairness- Steve Rogers no longer deserved to be the bearer of it. For many reasons. So many reasons, but- most poignantly perhaps, “-my father made that shield!” 

Howard Stark. Who for all of his life had pushed Tony into Steve Rogers’ shadow- who never shut up about Captain America- who never let Tony live any of it down-

Howard Stark’s greatest creation- and yet that gift to earth had betrayed him so deeply. 

...what would dear ol’ dad think about that? 

The sight of Barnes beating down his father flashed vividly in his mind and he was punished for his quick internal sass, gritting his teeth, and shutting his eyes tight as a sizzle of pain infected his heart- 

He had hoped it would be gone in the next instant, at the sight of Rogers dropping the shield to the ground- but it didn’t fade. Tony wanted to tell himself that he would be okay- that he would get through this- like he did everything else, but those were not the thoughts that came. Instead something terrible preyed upon him. Pushed on him. Weighed on him. 

When he’d started panting he had no idea, his heart was squeezing painfully- he thought he might be having a heart attack- 

But it was her. 

She was wheezing- gasping for air, strange, weak, wet noises escaping her on every other draw of breath. It was clear what was happening, and he knew then he had absolutely no way of stopping it. Perhaps that was the scariest part. He wasn’t sure if he had enough in him to stop this- ...not even stop it, at this point she was too far gone to even have a hope of stopping- but even to help her- 

“Honey-” His voice caught in his throat as he found it harder and harder to breathe. But it wasn’t her own hurt infecting him then, he knew. Because the next second she was wailing. Something deep and guttural. Her hands were pressing at her chest, her head tucked down in shame as tears poured down the sides of her face. Shivering. Pained. 

She couldn’t control herself, another tinge of light sparking around her. She was losing it- and that played a large part in his own inability to help where she was accidentally crushing him but- ...seeing her like this… 

Seeing her fall apart- because of Rogers- 

They were trapped in Siberia. His suit was damaged beyond repair. Her suit was gone. He was hurt pretty bad, she was hurt worse and getting worse by the second- 

They might die out there. 

The reality of that scared him. If he couldn’t help her get it together, if he couldn’t think of something- maybe his suit was just not broken enough to get an SOS out to Happy or- anyone nearby- maybe her ear cuffs had enough power in them still to do the same but- 

If not- what then? 

Had Steve really just sentenced them to die out there in the freezing wilderness? 

Tony was babbling something at her- honestly, he couldn’t even hear himself over her. The painful noises leaking out of her, and her pain- god- such an awful, heavy, stabbing pain piercing through every pore in his body- he just kept trying. He didn’t know what he was saying, but he tried. Eventually it wasn’t words. He couldn’t get them out.

His arms came around her, he pressed his forehead to hers, and he just… he held her. The two of them shivering against each other. And after what felt like an eternity she… she just… stopped. So suddenly it frightened him. Her crying, her aching, it just stopped. And in its place was an eerie emptiness- ...that and a glow. On and off. Shuddering around her. Like she was… signaling something. Or maybe it was a countdown to her actual explosion.

“Honey?” He put a hand to her face, pushed some hair behind her ear and looked into her eyes but there was… there was nothing there. “Honey- hey-” 

She looked so fragile then. So small. Beaten, bloodied, bruised- And so terribly empty. She wasn’t even shivering anymore. She wasn’t anything.

That was the most terrifying thing of all. That she’d gone somewhere so deep he had no way of reaching her. And that warning flash emanating from her wasn’t slowing- His mouth opened, a desperate clutch of noise- no idea what to even say, no idea what would save her but- 

“Stark.” 

It really wasn’t the best time or place to be caught at their lowest point. And he was pretty surprised to see Prince- ...rather, King T’Challa standing there, in that Black Panther suit of his, minus the helmet. What he was doing there…? Best guess, probably trying to finish up. Like the rest of them. Must have gotten their infodump faster than Tony had realized.

Probably a good thing he hadn’t gotten involved in the family fighting. 

“Can the two of you move?” It didn’t take a genius to see the medical condition the two of them were in was probably not great. And there was a modicum of shame to be had here, looking like they were- fighting like they had been- or rather, who they had been fighting with. It also didn’t go without notice that T’Challa seemed completely unfazed by her on-and-off light show.

But there was no time to think about that now. “I’m fine.” Broken ribs and internal bleeding aside. “Take her. She’s- ...worse.” He could worry about himself and his pride later. If T’Challa was here that meant he had a means of getting out of there, too. And Tony would take what help he could get right now. If only for her. 

T’Challa neared, lowered a little, and offered his hand to her and she just… sat there. Thousand yard stare. Nobody was home. No one was in there. And when he realized she wasn’t going to do much of anything, T’Challa instead took her arm around his shoulder and tried to get her to her feet. 

Thank god she stood- otherwise they’d have to carry her out. 

It left Tony on his own to get up, but as long as she made it out that was fine. He was tired, and losing more by the second. It was why he made it quick, pushing himself painfully to his feet, staggering behind the two of them.  They went ahead of him and as he lagged behind him he came to a stop near the shield. Staring him in the face. For a moment he contemplated simply leaving it out there. Who cared, anymore? But- ...but… instead he lowered, and clutched it in a tight grip as he lifted it from the snow and continued his dazed trek.

Had it all been worth the outcome? 

Probably not. 

Outside he felt worse- some parts due to his quickly failing body, though mostly just watching her shuffle out like a zombie. Thankfully, as predicted, there was a small jet waiting in the snow. The Quinjet was nowhere to be found. Obviously. Rogers and Barnes had gone wherever they’d gone. And Tony hoped he wouldn’t have to see either of them for a very long time. 

But when Tony realized T’Challa already seemed to have a passenger inside that small cockpit, he bit back a pained grin. “Four’s a crowd, huh?” He wasn’t going to fit. 

T’Challa had taken possession of Zemo. It made sense, and honestly, Tony was glad the man hadn’t gotten away. After all the trouble he’d caused- the last hour notwithstanding. T’Challa deserved first crack at him. 

Turning, the two of them looked at each other solemnly before T’Challa offered, “I have called for backup. They should be here within the hour.” But as T’Challa said this, he seemed concerned. He was also doing spatial math. And it wasn’t added up in a way he liked.

“Take her. Please.” It was hard to say this. To let this happen. But if T’Challa was about to ask him who went first, the answer was obvious. He didn’t know T’Challa all that well. He seemed like a decent guy. Honor-driven. And… from what he understood, she and him got along well. She seemed to trust him. So Tony would have to take that for all it was worth. And… let him take her. She needed to get out of there. Now. “You take mine and I’ll take yours- until your backup gets here.”

Really. Really what Tony was begging for here was for T’Challa to trust him.

He could wait. And he would force himself to stay conscious and on top of Zemo. As long as she was safe. 

“And where would you like me to take her?” The question seemed like some sort of cryptic test. 

There were a lot of ways Tony wanted to answer this. Anywhere but here being on top of the list. Somewhere safe a close second. Or, maybe, wherever you’re going. But… he was somber as he made another plea, “Somewhere she can get help.” And in asking this, he was really saying- I trust you. 

He would have to. He had very little options left. She’d gone completely catatonic. And right now, much as it hurt to admit it to himself, he wasn’t sure he was in the best state to be of service to her.

T’Challa considered this for a single solitary second, slow as it seemed. But finally he delivered his judgment. “I will. I owe her that debt.” 

This puzzled Tony, and maybe he shouldn’t have asked, but, “For what?” 

“Her kindness.” 

They didn’t know each other at all but in that one moment, as both men looked at each other, they understood one another. She was the greatest woman in the world- in the universe. She was loving, she gave all of herself to everything worth her time, she did everything for everyone, she was brave, and valiant, caring- and- yes- kind. Of this, Tony was wholly, completely sure. More sure of that than anything else in his life. 

She deserved to be repaid for all of that. For her service to everyone. 

It was good that other people were finally catching on. 

                                                             --- 

There was a light in your eyes. An extremely bright one. And a noise- 

Every part of you tried to resist. Resist what was happening. You hadn’t been cold in some time. You hadn’t really been anything. And that was nice. ...but you’d been alone. 

Really alone. Alone and… somewhere else. Somewhere far away. Sights you couldn’t quite put into words- or memories, for that matter. Just… all feeling. And not a lot of it was good. But… it was better than anything else. 

The screaming had stopped, hadn’t it? The crying had stopped. Everything had stopped. You had stopped. And you had no desire to start up again. Floating… somewhere. Alone but… somewhere quiet. And… just alone. Alone was fine. It was fine if it meant… if it meant nothing. 

And it all had meant nothing right? At least alone nothing could- 

“Where am I?” Your voice was groggy and unwilling as it left your throat. Finally you focused. On that light and- the young girl who stepped out from behind it. With long dark hair in braids. Wearing a lab coat. And- “What’s going on?” 

Your entire body sagged under its own weight. Stress wracked your brain. Panic was not too far behind. 

“Ah. Good. Welcome back.” Her words were accented. It was hard to place- ...wait. No. You knew an accent like that. She lifted a tablet and started writing. “Physically I have done all I can. She will be fine. So… please take her home now.” 

This wasn’t Siberia. This wasn’t anything recognizable. But maybe that was better. Because thinking of that bitter cold made you shiver and flinch under the heavy weight of those memories- you didn’t want to think about it. You’d been fine but now- 

“Honey-” It was easy to zero in on Tony’s voice. On his presence. Something you’d been unaware of until just that exact second. Weakly, wearily you lifted your head to try and locate him. Somewhere in that room- but- 

Someone else said your name. Someone else you remembered. And instead of searching desperately for Tony you saw T’Challa step closer. “How are you feeling?” 

“I don’t know- I’m-” The words started to come out in a rush. Heat drenched you. Your heart was hammering. Why? 

T’Challa looked… displeased. He was close. A little too close for comfort. Maybe it was just you. “Just take a moment.” He wanted you to slow down but- 

His hand lifted- He was close and he was reaching for you- He was so close- too close- 

Your body jerked off the table, into a smaller one, objects scattering onto the floor- legs uneasy and unstable, barely able to keep yourself up, especially as you went into overdrive, clutching at your chest. Steve’s anger- the look in his eyes- 

“Don’t-” God- please- don’t- “Don’t touch me-” You’d backed yourself up into the nearest wall. All three people in the room looked at each other nervously. “Don’t touch me- just, please-” You couldn’t stop saying it. Why? What was wrong with you? Steve wasn’t here. He wasn’t here. Wherever here was- Steve was not here. You just kept saying it over and over and over again until it made sense. But it didn’t. He wasn’t here- he was gone- he’d left and- 

He was staring at you. Bearing down on you. Putting pressure on you. Cracking your ribcage open and just yanking- -god… hadn’t you already suffered through this enough?

You wanted to go. Be anywhere but here. Wherever here was. You just wanted- you just needed- 

“I cannot fix that, I’m afraid.” “Shuri-” 

“Honey- hey… just look at me. Focus here… focus on me...” Tony had gotten close. You recognized him before you actually saw him. He was right there. And his hand was warm as he reached up. Testing you- but it wasn’t much of a test. You made contact. Desperate contact, seeking him out. Crumbling into him. Because he was safe. 

There was really only one thing to say, wasn’t there? 

So you said it. Again and again and again and again… 

I’m sorry. 

                                                            ---

Wakanda was a secret nation with a king that had had the good grace to try and help you. With technology that was far beyond you. They never let anyone into their borders yet T’Challa had wanted to help you and you couldn’t even remember leaving- 

Let alone saying thank you. 

You probably hadn’t. Because all you’d wanted to do was go home. Somewhere safe. Somewhere you could stop existing. And when Tony took you back to that fucking awful tower with awful memories- that’s what you did. Even though you didn’t want to be there, that was your home and you had nowhere else to go. 

The Avengers Tower. Maybe you should have gone to the Avengers Compound. 

It didn’t matter. He’d put you down for bed and- ...and… 

Every so often he’d check on you. Ask you if you needed anything. If you wanted anything. What he could do. 

You were being selfish. God- he’d just learned his parents had been murdered- the Avengers were dead- people were in jail that you’d promised to help- the UN was probably calling nonstop- Rhodey was paralyzed and- 

And… 

Every day he came and asked what you needed. What you wanted. What he could do. 

And… 

You couldn’t get up. You just… you just couldn’t… You were tired. You were exhausted. Some weird mix of empty and too full of all the terrible things at the same time. The world was waiting for you to get the fuck up- and… 

You just… 

“Please eat something. ...please…” 

So for Tony you would. Because he was suffering and it was your fault and you didn’t want this, didn’t want to put him through this- but nothing seemed to work. You drifted like that in a daze. Heavy and sad- more than sad- so much more than just that word and- 

“Rhodey is coming back to the Compound. He’s gonna rest up and… I’m gonna help him through his physical therapy. I made-” Tony was talking to you and you weren’t really listening. He’d been talking for a long time, too. Selfish selfish selfish… “-Happy will be here- if you need anything you can call me- and if you want to come…” 

“Is Rhodey okay?” It was maybe the first thing you’d said in a long time- it was hard to tell how much time had passed, exactly. You had no way of knowing. But it must have been a very long time because it stopped Tony dead. Shocked him even, just a little. 

...he’d probably come into the bedroom to talk to you every day- now that you thought about it and you’d just… ignored him. Every day for who knew how long until just now. 

Had it gotten that bad? Why? Why was this the thing that had ruined you… 

“He’ll be okay. He needs to do a lot of work but. He’s tough. You know him. He doesn’t give up on anything.” Carefully he reached out, putting a hand atop your leg over the covers. As your head lolled to the side, weak under your own strain and weight, the two of you looked at each other through the dimness. 

You realized then, really realized, you hadn’t seen him in a while. He’d been there the whole time but you hadn’t heard him. Hadn’t seen him. Hadn’t… hadn’t anything. 

He was so pained. So devastated. Haunted and just… just sad for you. With what little strength you had left, finally you sat up, leaning back against the headboard. Your body protested it greatly. You felt disgusting. ...you were disgusting. And- 

Reaching up, you pressed your hands to your eyes. Taking stock of everything. Finally coming to. “Does T’Challa think I’m an asshole?” Tears started escaping your eyes, you weren’t really sure why. Weakly you forced a sniffling laugh out. As if that question really mattered right now. 

Tony moved to sit next to you, putting an arm around you. The sound of his own nervous laughter eased you. Just a little. “No. Well- I didn’t ask but. That’s not the impression I got. You’re good at making friends in high places. I think he was mostly just worried.” 

“I don’t think I said thank you.” For whatever it was he’d done. There had to be a reason you’d ended up there. 

“You didn’t. But it’s alright. I did enough thanking for the both of us. It’s not like he’s waiting on a card or fruit basket or anything.” 

“Are you sure?” This came out watery, worse than the rest of it and you hid your face in the side of his neck. Crying. Still. Or maybe again. Who even knew anymore. 

His hand was gentle in its slow sweep up the length of your spine. “Yes, honey. I mean, he does want to talk to you but he’s fine waiting.” Slowly he guided you just a little bit back so that he could hold your face in his palms. Carefully. Sweetly. “Everything’s gonna be okay.” 

He said this. And he meant it. In the way that he always did. And it… it broke your heart. That he was trying so hard. That he was looking after you after- ...after all that terribleness. 

Your hands reached up to hide your face again as you started bawling. Where you’d been content to drift in emptiness, to not face this… it was there now. The dam had broken. Ugly and awful. 

He pulled you to him again and you clutched to him like a child, crying on his shoulder. Asking him something you had no right to- “Are you sure?” Asking him to comfort you. Still. Again. Always. 

Even when he was hurting too. 

Tony held you tight. Tight. In a way that grounded you. Made you feel secure. Safe. His head laid atop yours. And that close, his voice rumbled against you, low and warm as he promised you, “Yes. Everything will be okay.” 

“I’m sorry I’m like this- I’m sorry-” Apologizing. Because… he probably needed help too. Needed comforting. And yet there you were-

He held you just a little tighter then. “It’s alright. It’s okay.” “I’m sorry about your parents...” Tony fell quiet before answering this, but eventually he did. “I know. Me, too.” The two of you soaked in each other’s somberness. Just… there together. “I’m sorry. You need help too- need me- and I’m not doing anything- I’m sorry-” It was more hyperventilated blubbering noises now than anything. But he understood. “I know you are. I believe you. It’s not your fault. It’s okay. We’ll be okay. We’ll get through this.” These could have all just been platitudes but you believed every single one of them with all your heart. Only because they were coming from him.

Where there wasn’t enough space for breath or words to get out, you made sure to let him know- I love you.

And he paused, breathed out slowly, and then, “I love you, too. More than anything.”

He’d must have done this a million times- because you were broken- yet you kept finding new ways to get hurt and he always cleaned up the mess. He must have promised you a million times that everything would be okay. 

...and even when it wasn’t, it was eventually, right? 

So you believed him. Because you wanted to. And because he wanted you to believe him, too. 

But even that was overwhelming. Which was why it was nice that he just sat there with you. And let you get it all out. It. All the awfulness. Everything you didn’t want to face. ...at least with him there… it wasn’t as bad. 

[katehuntington]

Title: Black Dog - part two Word count: ±2250 words Episode summary: When Sam gets an anonymous phone call with information about his father, Dean receives a text message with coordinates to different location. The brothers clash and split up, one following orders, the other   trusting his instincts. Meanwhile, in the wilderness of Cascade Range, Washington State, Zoë loses grip on a personal case and is forced to confront her demons. Without back up, this might very well turn out to be her final hunt. Part two summary: After successfully wrapping up a werewolf case in Waco, Texas, the boys are on their way again. However, an unexpected phone call might just result in a change of course. Episode warnings: Dark! NSFW, 18+ only! Angst, gore, violence, character death. Description of blood, injury and  medical procedures. Supernatural creatures/entities, mentions of demon possession. Swearing, smoking, weaponry. Descriptions of  torture and murder. Illegal/criminal practices. Mentions of nightmares and flashbacks. Descriptions of suicidal thoughts and tendencies, depression, panic attacks, hallucinations. Author’s note: Beta’d by @winchest09​​ & @deanwanddamons​​​. Thanks, girls!

Supernatural: The Sullivan Series Masterlist

S1E03 “Black Dog” Masterlist

     Waco, Texas      November 30th, 2005 - Present Day

     “Get your motor runnin’. Head out on the highway! Lookin’ for adventure, and whatever comes our way.”

     It’s early morning in sunny Texas as the black Chevrolet Impala shoots down Interstate 35, just outside the city of Waco. The temperatures are still cool at this hour, but the orange sun that’s rising in the East will change that within hours. It is exceptionally warm for this time of the year, even for this far south. 

     Dean has his window rolled down and joins Steppenwolf’s lead singer John Kay on the vocals. The hunt was pretty straight forward; after a day of traveling and three more to track the creature, the hunters were able to make the kill. He feels ten times better than he did five days ago, the night he got pulled out of the water without a pulse. But the rest, time and a high dose of antibiotics did him good. Deep breaths aren’t much trouble anymore and the cough is as good as gone. Even the sprint to tackle the werewolf didn’t set his lungs on fire. He’s off pain medication, slept horizontally for the first time in days, and is behind the wheel of his Baby; Dean feels good as new. His way of celebrating is by belting out every word of the legendary rock classic Born To Be Wild.

     “Yeah, Darlin’, go and make it happen. Take the world in a love embrace. Fire all of your guns at once and explode into space.”

     His brother, who is huddled in the corner of the door and the front seat, opens his eyes slightly and glares at his sibling through the drowsiness. He’s not sure what’s more surprising, Dean’s unbelievably good mood or the fact that he’s able to hit the notes.

     “Like a true nature’s child, we were born, born to be wild. We can climb so high, I never wanna die!” Dean sings as he drums on the wheel.  

     “Dude, I’m trying to sleep,” Sam complains. “Turn that shit down, will you?”      Dean looks aside, as if his brother just said something vile. Did he just call Steppenwolf shit? The oldest of the two shakes his head; I tried so hard to raise him right. 

     Instead of honoring Sam’s request, Dean lets go of the steering wheel and plays the solo on his air guitar. Startled, the passenger reaches to take control in order to keep the car steady, after which he eyes his brother. As he does, Dean turns the volume button clockwise and sings along again.      “Born to be wi-i-ild!” he cries out.      “Seriously?” The youngest of the two shoots a look of annoyance at the driver.      “Ah, c’mon, Sammy. Why can’t a guy have a little fun?” Dean replies.      “It’s Sam,” his brother reminds him. “And for one, because I barely slept last night, and secondly, because it’s seven thirty in the morning.”      “So? You’re usually the one who’s all chirpy at the crack of dawn. This way we have the whole day ahead, y’know. Make some use of it,” Dean quips.

     Sam lifts one eyebrow and observes the driver for a few seconds. Is this truly coming from his brother, who is anything but a morning person? Bullshit, he thinks to himself.      “That’s the best you could come up with?” he confronts.      Right at that moment, AC/DC’s Stiff Upper Lip starts playing on the radio channel and Dean can’t help but to shout out when he recognizes the introduction.      “Man, I love this song!”      Sam shakes his head. All that his brother is doing is avoiding the topic of conversation. “And Erin didn’t mind you leaving before the alarm?” 

     Dean looks aside, thinking of the gorgeous brunette he picked up at a bar last night during their celebratory drink. “Not sure, she was still asleep when I left,” he admits.      The younger Winchester scoffs. “That’s just mean.”      “It ain’t my style to hang around too long, you know that,” Dean reminds his brother, defending his actions.      “Why the hell are you in such a hurry? We don’t have a lead on Dad, we don’t have a lead on any case at all. Yet you dragged me out of the motel room at 6 AM to hit the road,” Sam questions.

     His brother shrugs and fails to answer the question. Instead, he mouths the lyrics of the song while cheerily banging his head to the beat.      “Dean!” Sam shouts, trying to get his brother to focus.      “What?!” Dean bounces back, getting somewhat annoyed with his brother’s persistence. “I just wanna get to Hillsboro to pick up that lock so I can finally fix the trunk, that’s all.”

     The passenger rolls his eyes at the lame excuse. “That’s not the reason, Dean. And you know it.”      Dean lays his hand on top of the wheel and shakes his head. “You’re seeing things that ain’t there, know that?”      “Funny, though, apparently you know that I’m talking about Zoë, without me even mentioning her,” the youngest returns with an attitude. “And do you honestly think I didn’t notice that you’re driving north?”      “We’re in Texas, Sam. I can’t exactly go South without crossing any fucking borders,” Dean argues. “Not to mention that ‘north’ is a lot of square miles in this country. How the hell would we possibly be able to find her?”      “I don’t know, man…” Sam stares up the road ahead, but then looks aside. “But you did think of it then.”

     Dean sighs, realizing his slip of the tongue. Okay, so maybe he did, but he isn’t going to admit that. “You are the one who keeps calling her every day. You’re full on stalking her, no wonder she doesn’t pick up.”      “I hope to God that’s the reason,” Sam responds, worried.      “She’s probably just neck deep in a case,” the driver brings to mind. “Zoë’s a good hunter, she knows her shit. Why would you think she’s in trouble?”      “I don’t know, just the way she took off. Like she wasn’t expecting to see us again,” Sam recalls.      “You mean that she was nice?” the oldest rephrases. “Look, if she’s in trouble or not, we’d be searching for a needle in a very big haystack. For now -” He turns on his blinker and exits the highway, “- I’m gonna patch up my Baby.”

     Ten minutes later, they pull over on 526 West Elm Street in Hillsboro. It’s a quiet lane on the outer side of the city, on which a little auto shop called Ronny’s Garage and Wrecker Services is situated. It’s not a big place, just a shed, from which the Stars and Stripes flag flutter playfully. A big Chevrolet truck is parked in front of the lawn, and several wreckages fill the large yard behind the house. On the other side of the sober home next to the shed, there’s a small gas station. 

     Dean cuts the engine and gets out of the car. A largely built man with big sideburns and a slight limp in his walk shows up from under the garage door and moves into the sun. Whipping his hands clean with a dirty cloth, he smiles at the sight of the ‘67 Impala. The oldest of the two Winchester brothers walks up the driveway.      “Ronny Davis!” Dean grins as he approaches him. “Man, it’s good to see ya.”      “Long time, no see, Winchester,” the big man says, embracing the hunter.

     Dean pats him on the back and restores the space between them. It has been a while. Last time he saw the brawny guy was at a shady diner in Tampa, where he and John helped Ron out on a Djinn case. It must have been four years ago, at least. Sam just left for college around that time.      “How’s your old man?” he wonders.      “He’s alright,” Dean says, keeping up appearances. “Workin’ another case.”

     It’s not a lie. Well, technically it’s not. He will leave out the part where his father is missing, though. Not telling the truth to the old friend is not something he’s comfortable with, but he will do anything to make sure his father’s work isn’t jeopardized. Sam was eager to reach out to other hunters in order to find him and although Dean wants to track him down just as well, he prefers to keep this in the family, letting sleeping dogs lie. Who knows who, or what, might be listening in. They will find Dad, when he wants to be found. 

     The two men enter the garage, where a 62’ Lincoln Continental lays on the operating table with a bared engine bay. While Dean nods at the car with appreciating eyes, Ronny turns around to  observe the youngest Winchester for a moment, who gets out of the car.      “I see Sam is back in action.”      “Yeah, dragged his ass back into the game,” Dean replies with a trace of regret in his voice.      “He’s an excellent hunter. We can use a few good men like him,” Ronny says. “Especially now that one of the very best was sent on early retirement.”      Dean chuckles at his comment and glances down. “How are you, by the way?”      Ron pulls up the pant leg of his overhaul, revealing the bionic prosthetic.      “It doesn’t even hurt a bit,” he jokes. “Ruguru took it right off, knee and all.”      “I’m sorry, man,” Dean sighs, his sympathetic eyes meeting Ronny’s.      “It’s quite alright, actually,” he assures, smiling at the ground. “I mean, I still have holy water on my nightstand and a sixgun by the door, but instead of killing monsters I fix cars now. Life could be worse.”

     Dean can’t help but to agree on that. A small prick of jealousy pierces his heart, because deep down, he wouldn’t mind living the ordinary life. Sure, he has embraced hunting, or at least acts like he has. He finds fulfillment in the job, saving people who are in need and ridding the world of evil, but it comes with great sacrifice. Who knows, maybe when they finally find the son of a bitch that killed his mother, he can lay down his weapons. Some day.

     The former hunter has walked to his workbench on which a dissected transmission box lays bare. “So, what brings you here?”      “Passing through, just wrapped up a case in Waco,” Dean tells him. “Some scumbag tried to break into the trunk, though. The lock is busted, couldn’t fix it. And since you have six and a half a Chevy in your backyard, I figured you’d be the guy who could help me out.”      “I actually dismantled a 69’ Caprice last week, same lock as the ‘67.” He moves a few boxes around, snuffling through the thousands of parts. In this organized chaos Ron is able to find what he’s looking for and pulls the lock plus keys from a drawer.      “Let’s get to work,” Dean suggests, contented.

     As the mechanics take a look at the Impala, Sam wanders off. Not going anywhere in particular, the youngest Winchester strolls down the crooked sidewalk, taking in his surroundings. None of the lawns in the neighborhood are taken care of, no one made the effort to water the grass. The houses seem neglected, paint is coming off the wooden frames and weeds growing through the tiles. 

     With a sigh he takes out his phone. Scrolling through the list of last outgoing calls, Zoë shows on the display over and over again. Dean’s right; he is stalking her. Despite that thought, he presses the green button and puts his new Blackberry against his ear, since the last one perished in the lake in Paragould.

     “This is the voicemail of Zoë Sullivan. You can leave a message after the--”

     Annoyed, Sam hangs up and walks on. As he enters the small shop by the gas station, a bell rings. A middle aged woman behind the counter looks up and greets him politely. He gives her a nod and takes a few candy bars from the selves, since there is no healthy alternative in stock to choose from. So much for breakfast, but at least this will save them from starvation.      “That will be $ 3,60, sir,” the lady informs while she puts the bars in a plastic bag.      He passes her a five dollar bill and takes the bag and his change. As she wishes him a nice day, he leaves. The sun almost blinds him, still hanging low, but shining brightly already. Sam narrows his eyes and starts to make his way back to the garage, when his phone rings. A bit startled, he hastily takes out his phone, hoping it’s Zoë, but the caller ID isn’t identified on the display. While wondering who it could be, he answers.      “This is Sam.”      “Sam Winchester?”

     A bit stunned, the young hunter looks back at his display to make sure the woman on the other end of the line isn’t Zoë. The voice coming through is different, softer, with a slightly dissimilar accent. Sam digs deep down his memory, but he doesn’t recognize the person on the phone.      “Who is this?” he asks, still cautious.      “I have some information for you.”      Whoever she is, she got his attention. Sam tries to not sound too curious as he responds. “What kind of information?”       A short silence follows before the girl answers, but when she does, her words bring his heart and mind to a full stop.

      “I know where your father is.”

There you have it, the first chapter of the new episode “Black Dog”. I hope I got your attention! Thank you so much for reading. I appreciate every single one of you, but if you  do want to give me some extra love, you are free to reblog my work or  buy me coffee (Link in bio at the top of the page)

Read part three here

[logan-is-noggin]

The Deer Prince- Chapter 7

Chapter Summary: months pass and roman won't give up his search for Virgil, His friend comes to comfort him.

Content Warning: injury

 •:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:•☾🦌☽•:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:•

Logan walked into the library to see prince roman standing at the top of a ladder, pulling book after book off the shelf, after flipping through it he let it fall to join the dozens of others in piles at the bottom. Logan pitied the prince. most days he would find him in this state. intent to find his lost prince although it had been over three months since Virgil had been taken and the king murdered. The remaining guards that survived that night tried to be of any help, recalling every and any detail about the intruder they could remember, but once again, all that was known was there was a resemblance of a yellow snake. and since the word was sent to king Patton of the state of his son, Patton decided to call forward one person who could possibly help.

" your Highness," Logan called up to the prince. " you have a visitor awaiting an audience," he stated formally. Roman descended the rungs and dropped the last three, sighing he nodded " well, send them in."

Logan motioned for the guard to open the door to the library and Remy sauntered in, a sad smile on his face. Roman too, lightened to see his friend and confidante. they embraced. "it's great to see you, my friend, what brings you across the seas?"

" you have to ask? your father worries, I know you've suffered much but..."

" careful how you speak. you can't be asking me to give up my search for my prince."

" nobody is asking that, no one would have the Gaul. i mean to simply have you take pause. come eat and rest. perhaps giving your focus to something else for a time will help you return to your task with fresh eyes."

 •:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:•☾🦌☽•:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:•

it was the beginning of the evening, the sun had started its descent in the sky, and the Deer pawed through a field, bending low to graze the clover. Virgil had learned to stomach the taste. how he missed the feasts that his kingdom held, to be reduced to a herbivore. he had been formulating plan after plan of how to find a way home, or at the very least, find a way to let someone know he was still alive. he decided to gallop through the trees in a new direction than he had gone before, east, away from the sun.

after a while, Virgil stopped and listened to try and find out where he was, when he heard a surprising sound, one he rushed towards.

still hidden in the darkness of the trees Virgil beheld the courtyards of a castle. His Castle! he couldn't believe that all this time he was in fact this close. only mere miles from his home, if deer could, Virgil would have wept for joy. but instead, he stood back and familiarised himself. his favorite rose bush had been kept pruned, which made the prince smile on the inside.

suddenly two figures rushed out from inside the castle and began sparring. It was Roman. everything in Virgil's mind wanted to rush up to his prince. but he remembered that he was not himself. but he was jolted with the plan to fix that problem.

Virgil was anxious, however, for he knew what had to happen. he had to get roman's attention as the deer and lead him back to the lake where if the timing was right, he would transform back and they would be reunited.

but he also knew that meant that Roman would want to hunt Virgil, at least at first. and roman was very skilled with his bow. he prayed to his father that all would be well.

not giving himself more time to back out, he found an opening in the forest and cautiously took a step onto the manicured grass.

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the prince dodged Remy's sword in time for the man to rush past and he swung his own sword bringing it against his neck, " Ha! a flawless victory."

as Remy stood and sheathed his blade, roman stared into the distance. " look, a deer, such an unusual color. I've never seen an all-black coat."

Remy agreed. " in a certain light, it almost appears indigo."

Virgil the deer pretended to graze, listening to the pair. " fetch our bows, this creature would look magnificent mounted on my wall." roman commanded and Remy darted to the weapons shed. Virgil tensed but kept still until the exact moment. He held his breath as Remy handed him his quiver and bow, roman pulled and nocked one and aimed.

with a bleat, Virgil leaped out of the way in time, making sure they would follow, he darted into the woods and followed the sun back to Janus' garden.

 •:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:•☾🦌☽•:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:•

Roman swerved through the trees, releasing arrow after arrow, his breath is heavy as were his footfalls, listening to Remy's as the lad fell behind.

the deer had made it back well ahead of roman and hid in more heavily crowded trees past the lake. there he waited as the sunset behind the castle. Virgil had one shot, so would roman. and if his prince decided not to wait when Virgil went for the lake, he would be shot.

at that moment, roman burst into the clearing, he lowered his bow slightly as he took in the peculiar surroundings. " what in the world?" he whispered to himself " why would that creature lead me here?"

with the moon beginning to touch the lake, Virgil left his hiding spot, he kept eye contact with roman as he hastened down the stone path. roman drew back his bow and aimed, making Virgil quicken his pace. Virgil was at the water's edge when roman released the arrow and it hit him on his back leg, the deer cried out as it continued to push further into the water, roman had grabbed another arrow but the water around the deer began to glow and rise. roman gasped as the deer was enveloped in the waves swirling around him.

moments later the water returned, leaving a human Virgil knee-deep in the lake.

Read chapter 8 ->

[aiorevelations]

A Number, Not a Name: Part 16!

Last chapter for tonight! Feel free to share your thoughts and reactions if you like. We’d love to see them! : - )

15 years earlier:

Liana stared up at the ceiling of her room, gazing up at the stars projected by the galaxy projector. Her mother had loved astronomy or at least that was what she’d heard. She supposed she’d inherited her love for space and celestial objects from her. The stars always seemed to help whenever she was feeling sad and alone. Try her hardest to forget her father’s words from earlier, they had cut through her heart like a knife. Tears filled her eyes and a sob escaped her lips. 

She bit her lip back, trying not to cry. “Venus…” she whispered to herself, “so bright and beautiful.” Her eyes flitted over the ceiling. “And Jupiter, so large and colorful. I wish I was up there…in the sky,” her voice cracked, “away from all this.” 

Haunting images and scenes shook her. Her father lashing his hand across her face. His hand in a vice-like grip around her arm. Abusive words and insults spewing from his mouth. And her shrinking back from him in terror. 

A pang shot through her heart. Why couldn’t her father love her…if only for a moment. From the time she was born he had hated her. Make-believe - it was what had sustained her through the years. In her mind, she saw her fictional family, whose fictional details she’d memorized. Mom, obviously, was an astronomer. One of the best in the world. At least that’s how she saw her in her eyes. Every Sunday she’d make her signature chocolate cake. She and her sister would dash to the kitchen to offer her their help when what they really wanted was to get a small taste of the batter. By the time the cake was ready they, their mom, and the whole kitchen would be covered in flour. The result of one of their “famous” flour fights. Mom at first had disapproved of the whole thing and tried to put a stop to it. However, after being covered head to toe with flour on one occasion, she’d joined in on the fun. 

Dad was a botanist, and he preferred plants to people, except when it came to his family. Gumdrops and lollipops, he’d bring them home every Friday after work. Smiles would fill the living room as she and her sister would eagerly await their Dad’s arrival. He’d playfully pretend to be hurt that they only waited for the candy, not to greet him. They’d tell that wasn’t true and give him a huge hug. And he’d hug them back…both of them. 

Her sister…was the only part of her “family” grounded in reality. Her sister was Lena and Lena was her. Her voice. Her laugh. Her smile. Their epic “battles” in Scrabble. Nearly every time Milena would win to Liana’s frustration. Their happy place was Terzian lake. They’d swim and splash each other senseless. Laughs and giggles would fill the air. All their problems and troubles would melt away in the warm afternoon sun and it’d just be them…together and happy.

Liana turned over on the bed, burying her head in the comforter. Most times it was easier to just try and shut everything out, ignore the real world she was in and the ache in her heart. Tic-tock, tic-tock, the clock that graced her nightstand marked the minutes she laid there motionless on the bed. 

A soft hand gently touched her back. Rolling over Liana saw her sister glancing down at her, a worried look in her eyes. Safety, that’s what she felt whenever her sister was around. Despite his overwhelming hatred toward her, Norvan at least controlled his anger in his oldest daughter's presence.

Milena sat beside her on the bed. “Are you okay?”

“I’ll be okay…just thinking.”

Milena tucked a curl behind her little sister’s ear. “Thinking about what?”

Liana looked down at her hands, her mind suddenly blank. What should she say? Tell her the truth. Shatter her view of their father. Reveal that beneath his masquerade as a supporting loving father he was a cruel monster, who she despised. Would she even believe her? For Milena, their dad was everything a girl would want in a father. He supported her and showered her with gifts and affection. He gave her the world. Worse what if Milena turned on her for saying such things. Lena was all that she had. Joy was a rarity in her life and, for her, Lena was its only source. No, she couldn’t risk losing the only light in her life.

“About…mom. I wish I knew what she was like. Do you remember her?”

Milena sighed “Not really. I mean I see her sometimes in my mind. But it’s not a memory. It’s more like…I don’t know.” She sniffed. “ Bits and pieces in time. Fragments. Like…a collection of moments and feelings. The warmth of her arms around me. The sound of her voice as she sang me lullabies. It was the only thing that could get me to sleep.”

Liana sat up. “She sounds…wonderful.”

“She was.” Milena gently rubbed her sister’s hand.

“I wish she was here.”

“Me too” Milena lied back on the bed. “When I think of Mom I feel…it’s hard to explain. It’s more like there’s something missing, an emptiness, rather than a feeling of loss. It’s hard to miss someone you can’t even truly remember.” She turned to face Liana “But I’m lucky I have you.” 

“And I’m lucky to have you.” Both girls smiled. 

“Which reminds me. Yesterday I was going through the things in my jewelry box. And found this” she held up a bracelet. 

“Mom’s old charm bracelet. I always loved the little stars on it.”

“I want you to have it.”

Liana shook her head. “No, no. Dad gave it to you on your tenth birthday.”

“And now I’m giving it to you.” She glanced up at the ceiling “I love stars but not as much as you do. I know Mom would have loved for you to have it. Also, think of it as a way to be closer to her.”

“I-I don’t know…”

“For me…please…I want you to have it.”

Liana relented and took the bracelet. “Okay…for you.” She silently placed it around her wrist and gave a small smile.

“It looks beautiful on you,” Milena commented.

“Thanks.” Liana softly replied, looking down at the bracelet.

“Hey,” Milena gently touched Liana’s shoulder causing her to look up at her older sister’s gaze. “I love you to Saturn and back.”

Liana gave a small laugh at her sister’s use of her favorite planet. “And I love you… to Venus and back.”

“No. No, don't use Venus.” Milena protested.

“Why not? It’s your favorite planet.”

“It’s closer to the earth than Saturn. And there’s no way you love me more than I love you.”

“Okay.” Liana thought for a second. “Then how about, we both love each other to Neptune and back. Since Neptune was the Roman god of the sea and the ocean, and the water is our happy place.”

Milena smiled. “I love that. To Neptune and back.”

“To Neptune and back.”

“Forever.” Milena took her sister’s hand.

Liana squeezed Milena’s hand back. “Forever.”

…..

Present-day:

Jason made his way up the bifurcated staircase to the ballroom. In the distance, he could hear Beethoven’s Für Elise resonating from the room. Some part of him felt a sense of relief that he had made it back to the confines of Dalmar’s home yet another was filled with dread. After the horrific scenes that had just unfolded before him, the last thing he wanted to do was to spend hours with the man behind it all. On the surface, he appeared exactly like any other gala attendee, animated and lively, yet inside a burning anger consumed his soul. 

He looked upon the sea of people gathered in the ballroom. How could these people wine and dine without a care in the world? While not even five miles away an innocent man had been tortured and murdered without a second thought. What he wouldn’t give to be able to take Dalmar down, right there, at that moment. To make him pay for all that he had done.

He saw now how easily what agents saw and experienced out on the field could make them slip into the darkness. Make their whole mission about vengeance instead of justice. Jason had heard stories of agents going rogue and deciding to kill their targets, rather than allowing them to be brought in. He’d told himself that he could never be that easily swayed. That no situation would ever get the best of him. He wished he hadn’t spoken so soon as he now realized that it wasn’t as easy as he had thought. It was one thing to be behind a desk, sticking to your code on the field was another. 

Jason scanned the vast room for Tasha. His eyes landed on her in the corner of the grand room. Dalmar was twirling her around, prompting a laugh from her. How could Tasha just casually giggle and dance with Dalmar like that?

It is what I'm supposed to be doing. It just feels so…like we should be doing more to help these people than playing a role at one of Dalmar’s galas.

He couldn’t help but feel affronted, he then saw Dalmar encircle both of his arms around Tasha, pulling her dangerously close to him. 

Of course, he's attracted to her. She looks even more beautiful and attractive in that dress. Who knows it might even work out to our advantage. If he likes her there’s probably less chance he’ll suspect us. Still, Jason couldn't shake the disgust and repulsion he felt seeing her in his arms.

As Jason walked closer to her Tasha saw him come into view. Immediately a sense of relief washed over her, yet she was still angry at him for choosing to sneak off. She called out to him. “Edward.”

“Mr. Delucas. How kind of you to grace us once again with your presence. I was thinking you had perhaps gotten lost.” Dalmar added. 

“Only in conversation with a lovely blonde,” Jason responded, which was partly true.

Dalmar chuckled. “I must confess I cannot understand how Ms. Tylerson has escaped your attention.”

“Actually, we tried before. It didn’t work out.”

Tasha smirked. “It’s true what they say about mixing business with pleasure, don’t. Eventually, we had to decide whether to be partners in business or life. And well that was an easy choice.”

Jason crossed his arms. “Yeah, for the sake of my sanity.”

“I was thinking of the money” she fired back.

Dalmar was somewhat taken aback by the exchange between the supposed exes. “So…Mr. Delucas, what do you think of this evening so far?” he asked, attempting to make conversation.

“It’s fine. Though with all due respect I’ve attended better events” Jason tersely replied.

Dalmar found himself surprised by Jason’s blunt response. Upon meeting him he’d struck him as someone who kept their inner feelings closed off from others. “And what about the works by Sargayan?”

“They’re fine I suppose. I prefer Surrealism” he responded curtly. Frankly, he was sick of humoring Dalmar. Talking with him as if it were as natural as breathing. As if he wasn’t responsible for the deaths of countless individuals.

Tasha found herself getting a little unnerved and even annoyed by Jason’s aggressive demeanor. He didn't seem himself, or at least the self she had become accustomed to for the past several days. Outwardly, he appeared very much the same but in his eyes, there was a passion, a fire. Images of Jason flooded through her mind from earlier that day confirming what she was nearly sure of, that look in his eyes, it hadn’t been there before he abruptly left the gala. She felt deep in her soul that something was different now. A shift of sorts had taken place which she only now realized had occurred. Things were different now; she didn't know what to expect. One thing she knew for sure: she didn't like it. Nor did she appreciate Jason’s behavior during the evening. It seemed almost to her that he was determined to blow his, not to mention her cover every chance he got. First by sneaking off into the woods and now starting a near verbal confrontation with their target. Completion of their assignment was the only thing that mattered in the end. Especially now when all that was left was to make it through the rest of the evening without being caught. This was no time to mess things up.

Tasha interjected. “I found the pieces to be quite lovely…as well as this evening. I also told Davit that we have to return to South Africa to attend to some business, but that we’ll be back on Wednesday when the weapons are delivered.”

Paying no attention to Tasha’s words, Dalmar directed his reply to Jason. “I had planned to save the highlight of this evening for later. But since you seem to be so bored with tonight’s festivities I’d say it’s time to liven things up a little. Wouldn’t you agree?”

Jason shrugged. “It’s your party. Besides why even ask me in the first place. You do whatever you want.” A touch of anger shone through his voice. One could feel the temperature in the room begin to rise. Beethoven’s Für Elise and the dancing about the ballroom came to a standstill. Whispers from the crowd filled the tense silence as they witnessed the unfolding scene. Everyone knew Dalmar wasn’t accustomed to being addressed in such a forward manner. The glowering expression on his face confirmed that much.

Dalmar walked closer to Jason. The two of them were standing nearly eye to eye. Anger burned in Dalmar’s eyes; his jaw was visibly clenched. He turned his head to Jason’s ear and sharply whispered. “I suggest you remember who is the guest and who is the host.” Dalmar stepped back from Jason and began making his way to the center of the room.

Tasha stood, her heart pounding, recognizing how close things had been to taking a downward spiral. She laid her hand on Jason's wrist; his pulse raced against her fingers. She looked earnestly at him, hoping he’d let it go. Jason sighed and unclenched his jaw. Patience had never been his strong suit. He never could just wait and sit back. Let things fall into place. He always wanted to take action and make things the way he wanted them to be. The way they should be. It didn’t help how easy it was for him to get angry. His parents were always telling him to learn how to control his anger, yet it seemed a part of him. 

Dalmar’s voice echoed throughout the room. “Ladies and Gentlemen, I want to thank you all for attending tonight’s event. I hope you’ve enjoyed yourselves.” The audience spoke and nodded in agreement. “This evening I have something to share with you all. Now I’m sure you all are probably acquainted with the person I’m about to introduce. She’s an extraordinary entertainer. Her voice and songs have captured us all. May I present Krudia’s own Ms. Jemma Kazarian.”

A tall young woman, with shining brown eyes and a beaming smile, came into view. In her hand, she held a microphone which she brought to her lips. The music started and Jemma’s melodious voice filled the room. Neither Jason nor Tasha paid attention to the song. The words seemed to blur in the background; their thoughts elsewhere.

…..

Outside, the sky was as dark as pitch, the sun long since set below the horizon. Tasha and Jason bid their goodbyes to Dalmar and then headed back to their hotel. They were silent on the way back to The Chardell. Tasha glanced out the tinted window of the BMW, burning to tell Jason what she thought of his actions at the gala. They had gathered all the information they needed, their mission was officially complete, yet she knew she couldn’t just ignore Jason's rash actions and behavior. They’d been lucky this time, or at least so it appeared, but what about the next time. True the odds were she probably wouldn’t be Jason’s partner on his next assignment. But what about his next partner, their security. The security of the mission. If Jason’s reckless streak continued on his assignments it was only a matter of time before something happened. Not if, when. Lives could be lost. National, even international security could be put at risk. Jason needed to be reined in before that happened and it was up to her to do that. 

He had to understand that this incident could have resulted in deeper consequences. His passion for helping others, for bringing down the bad guys, for trying to defend the free world, that was undeniable. But along with a desire to make the world a better place agents had to be able to exercise restraint, to know when to hold back. Jason’s relentless drive to catch the bad guys would do them no good if it got them killed. And if they were killed, or worse, successfully interrogated, it could spell disaster for the NSA. At the very least, it most certainly would prevent them from stopping Dalmar, something they couldn’t afford at any cost.

Crisp cool air hit them as they exited the car. How things had changed since they were last at their hotel. Jason had noticed Tasha was unusually quiet on the ride to The Chardell but assumed she was tired from the long evening. 

Once in his hotel room, Jason carefully pulled the pen out of his pocket and placed it next to the stationary on his nightstand. When it came to ensuring its security his best bet was putting it in a setting where it didn’t appear out of place. If it was seen in a safe or hidden somewhere it would be easy to determine that it wasn’t just a pen. 

A knock came from the door. Jason opened it and found Tasha standing in front of him, a serious expression on her face.

“I guess we need to talk,”  Jason spoke.

“Yes. We do” Tasha crossed her arms.

“I was just about to take a shower. So perfect timing.”

Tasha inwardly sighed. I could really use a shower. A long and very cold one to cool me off. 

Jason turned on the shower to its highest setting. “Since it’s late and we’re both tired, I’ll cut to the chase.” Jason took a breath, eager to tell Tasha of his success. “I got it. The intel we need. I took some shots of a file on Dalmar’s laptop. His plans, where the weapons are stored, it's all there. It’s all on my pen in the other room. Not only do we have intel on his plans we also have photographic evidence. That should make it an airtight case.”

“That’s…good,” Tasha replied in an even tone. “Dalmar pretty much told me the same. Took me to a bunker, showed me the weapons.”

Jason didn’t say anything for a moment. He was surprised by Tasha’s reaction. After how she’d stressed the importance of learning this info hours earlier, he had expected her to show more emotion now that they’d acquired the necessary intel. He could tell from the look on her face that something was wrong.

“You know I’d figured you’d be… I don’t know…more excited that we have the intel we need. What’s wrong?”

Tasha glanced to the side and shook her head in disbelief. Anger trembled through her; she knew she couldn’t hold back any longer. “What were you thinking? Speaking to Dalmar that way. Sneaking off like that. You jeopardized this entire operation. You could have easily blown our cover.”

“But I didn’t.” he firmly responded. “I don’t see any reason to get all bent out of shape.”

“Bent out of shape?” Tasha repeated his words, stunned he’d even say such a thing. Why Jason couldn’t see the seriousness of the situation and even regarded it as trivial, she couldn’t fathom.

“Look, there was a good chance Dalmar wasn’t going to tell us anything. I know what I did was a bit of a risk but not as great a chance we were taking relying on him to give us the intel we needed. You’ve seen his supporters. You’ve seen what he’s capable of. An innocent man was literally tortured and murdered not twenty feet from where I was standing.” The horrific scene replayed before him. “All I could think about was how much I wanted to bring Dalmar in, right then and there. To just forget the mission and…take him down on the spot. I was sick of humoring him. Pretending to enjoy his company when I’ve seen all the suffering and pain he’s responsible for.”

“I know it’s difficult to keep up your cover when all around you see the terrible things these people are doing. But when you take this job it’s what you sign up for. We play these roles so we can catch the bad guys.”

“Exactly! We go undercover so we can bring people like Dalmar to justice. But what good is playing a “role” if we have no evidence to do that. I had to ensure we had all the evidence we needed to convict Dalmar.”

“What about our lives? Our security? You put  them deliberately at risk.” Tasha stretched out her arm, emphasizing her point.

“C’mon Tasha, no need to be overly dramatic about this. It’s not like our lives weren’t in any danger to begin with. Besides, what about the security of the free world? We can’t just sit around and wait for Dalmar to get the upper hand. I’m willing to do whatever it takes to stop these guys. Are you?”

Tasha’s voice rose. “So now you’re questioning my ability?  This isn’t even about me.”

“Who said I was questioning your ability? Frankly, I don’t get why you’re so upset. We got all the information we needed and nothing serious happened.”

“Right now I don’t care that nothing serious happened. You took an unnecessary risk!” 

Jason shook his head, his frustration growing by the second. It was obvious he and Tasha weren’t going to see eye to eye on this issue. “Look, doing good involves risk, that's how it works. I thought about it and decided that finding out the truth about Dalmar’s scheme was worth the increased danger of getting caught. I wasn’t just about to sit back and let my first field mission be a failure!” 

Donovan’s words came flooding back to her mind. In my experience I have found that oftentimes new agents are so anxious to prove their skills as analysts that they recklessly take action without thinking. And I...I worry that the same thing will happen with Jason.“Oh, I see. Everything Headman said about you was right. You wanted to prove yourself as a field agent and decided the best way to do that was by not following my plan.”

“Why can’t I try to prove myself? If I can do that, help others, and bring the bad guys to justice…what’s wrong with that?”

“Nothing. As long as you stay within certain guidelines.”

“Well, I'm sorry. I don’t go by the book.”

Neither of them said anything for a moment. The steam from the shower was almost stifling, fogging up the mirror beside them. Tasha finally broke the uneasy silence between them.“Make sure you pack your things. I’m booking us a flight back to D.C. for tomorrow morning.”

Tasha left Jason behind in the bathroom and made her way to her room. She sat in the chair by the window and buried her head in her hands, exhaustion overcoming her. She was emotionally, physically, and mentally drained. Leaves scattered across the ground outside as the wind picked up. Tree branches slammed against windows on the city street, the noise threatening to interrupt her thoughts. She had hoped that Jason would see her point of view. If not recognize how his actions could have jeopardized their mission, at least understand why she was upset. 

At least we’re going back to D.C. tomorrow. The worst thing would have been if our assignment wasn’t done since we obviously don’t see eye to eye. We probably can’t stand each other right now. Hmm, tomorrow's flight is bound to be awkward. Tasha ran her hand through her hair and sighed. What am I even going to tell Donovan or put in my report? Jason was doing so well…and then this. Headman was right he has all the makings of a great event analyst. It would be a shame if he threw it all away because of his…recklessness and impulsiveness.

She stood up from the chair and went to the closet. After grabbing some pajamas she made her way into the bathroom. The warm, hot water felt especially relaxing after a long day. It seemed in a way to make her forget her problems and worries. For better or for worse she and Jason knew how the other felt about this issue. All they could do now was try to get along as best they could.

….

The older man's eyes felt heavy and sleep called to him. He and his associates had been watching The Chardell for hours. He had to admit this was one of his most boring assignments but at least it paid well. He stifled back a yawn and reached for the car microphone. "White Falcon here. The targets have entered The Chardell.”

Red Sparrow’s reply came through the speaker. “Affirmative. Stay in your current position. In two hours bring them in. Understood.”

“Roger.”

[lipstickbisous]

the rei brown series (1/3)

PICTURE FRAMES.

notes: yeah so i do write for (y/n) lol. just not for my oberyn series. this will have two parts but that’s it. this really has nothing to do with the plot of narcos, so sorry, but instead, we’re getting self-loathing javi. literally the only thing i’m good at is angst so...send that shit in. heaavvvvyyyy inspo from @gummiishark 😘

IT IS IMPORTANT THAT YOU LISTEN TO THE SONG. 

the poem used is NOT MINE.

there is a part that might not add up with the whole 80′s setting, just ignore that pls.

pairing: javier peña x reader

summary: what happens when memories begin to resurface and javi can’t stop them?

warnings: A N G S T -- ANGST ANGST ANGST. there will be a part two but ANGST. an a john mulaney reference ;)

based off of picture frames by rei brown.

word count: 3.2k

it was dark. that was all javi knew in the moment because he didn’t feel like getting up to check the clock in his kitchen. it hung delicately on his wall, almost like how his heart was delicately and barely clinging onto life. something inside of him was hurting, and it hadn’t hurt in a long time. it was foreign, yet when javier first felt the pang, he was nostalgic.

nostalgic of you? most likely, but he hadn’t thought of you in the past twenty years. it’d been too long, and if he was being honest, he’d been too busy--so he assumed that you had been as well. that you were married off to a kind man, because that’s what you deserved, with several beautiful children, a dog, a big house with good money (because that’s what you deserved). he wasn’t sure if you had gotten that, but he hoped to god it’s what life was meant for you. he knew was his life meant now--cheap alcohol and cigerattes, expensive girls and informants, and a job that had him slumped on his couch, ignoring the spanish being spoken on his television. 

he had wasted the past two decades with a career he thought was destined for him, but instead, he had made his living in murder. javi had spent countless nights with girls who were now unidentifiable. three nights ago, he had a pretty brunette in his bed, and once she left in the morning, he couldn’t even remember her name. martina? no, it started with an ‘f’, he was sure...

even though he had managed to convince himself over twenty years that he had completely rid himself of you for good, he could still remember your name. your teenage face smiling in the texas sunlight. sometimes, you would come over to the ranch and simply just sit with the horses. you’d stated that they had a certain essence to them that you enjoyed, but he knew that despite the girls in your grade teasing you about it, horses were your favorite animal. you had light laugh lines creasing from behind your nostrils to the corners of your mouth every time you laughed. javier could remember admiring them.

god, javier admired everything about you. even now, as his eyes were focused on the television but couldn’t think about a single thing it was showing him, he still admired the way you had laughed during summer hang-outs, or during the halls of high school when he tried to crack a joke. and they hadn’t even all that funny--but then again, you did have a big sense of humor and were easily amused.

he had polaroids of the two of you somewhere in his bedroom. he had made sure to pack them along with him on his way to colombia. he didn’t even want to think about the last time you two had spoke. it had been a neutral departing, and even if javi didn’t know it, you were both hiding things you had to say. he’d given it to you simply--a straightforward “i’m leaving texas”--and you were frozen. 

you wanted to support him, of course you wanted to support him. you would be attending college as well, but you were staying in the state. your mother had been scared to death of you leaving texas for school, and as much as you hated it, you could never defy your mother. so, in that moment, you hadn’t moved for a good three minutes. it took a gentle hand on your shoulder to wake you.

“oh,” you whispered, but it was more of an incoherent noise. “that’s nice.” you’d said as well.

at first, you were angry that he could go back on a promise he made to you when you were both four years old--neither of you would ever leave the other. then, you were quick to realize that your frustration was nothing more than your fault. why would you back everything that was happening on a stupid promise you made when you were four years old?

he’d driven you home that night and you had murmured a quiet goodbye in the sticky summer air, but it had gotten caught on its way to javier’s ears. to him, you had left his truck without a word.

javier pushed that memory away. he dug a hole in his brain and buried the thought in its gravery, shoving the dirty onto its wooden box and taking a swig of whiskey. he stood from his couch and flipped the television off, watching as its screen remained with the green halo and the top was still hot. the streets outside of his apartment were always loud, but even now, whether it was a coincidence or not, only two or three cars were passing by quietly. 

he let out a grumble and flipped off the light to his living room and kitchen, stumbling into his bedroom and collapsing on top of the bed. his sheets, a pristine pearl white, usually calmed him in the dead of night when he had a long day at work or maybe he had lost an officer. these sheets, the ones that held so many girls but never you, now did nothing for him. even the smell seemed bland, they weren’t the normal fresh detergent smell. he pressed his cheek flat against the mattress and pulled a pillow over his head, trying to muffle out any small noise or sight that could bother him in the morning. when stuck between his bed and pillow, he exhaled and immediately cringed. his breath reeked of whiskey and cigarettes and whatever spicy food he’d eaten that night--he couldn’t even remember.

then, an idea sparked. it hadn’t been sinful or devilish but his eyes shot open and he threw the pillow to the floor. a car drove past his window, the lights moving through his room. javier propelled himself from his bed and swung his hand over the floor lamp in next to his desk. the room was illuminated and he could only imagine how insane he looked; his hair tousled in different directions, his eyes puffy from absentmindedly crying, his hands frantically running themselves over every piece of furniture in his room. he flipped the covers from his bed and looked underneath but found no monsters or anything. he pulled out drawers from his desk and emptied their contents onto the floor, but only found highlighters, papers, pens, and work-related material (that, if javier was being honest, should not have been in his home). he left the empty drawers on the floor and turned to the bookshelf, pulling every book off of its surface until the shelves were bare.

a hand rubbed over his mouth as he felt tears threatening him again. he could not cry--he wouldn’t. it was then that javi realized the mess he had made and his anxiety completely tipped him off of the cliff edge. he began to lose his composure, breaking down in a way that he was sure made him look ugly. he fell to his knees and leaned against the end of his bed, bringing his knees to his chest. he wore only a t-shirt and boxers, but even in the colombian heat, he felt cold. 

he couldn’t bring himself to say your name. javier felt that just the small noise of his own voice would scare him, but he had always thought your name was the prettiest.

(y/n). he thought in his head, that mental voice almost screaming at him. just fucking say it. 

javier stuttered, choking on his own words, and he never stuttered. he always knew exactly what he wanted, and in this moment, he only wanted you. but you were over a thousand miles away and he had no idea if you even still thought about him. he hoped so, but he wouldn’t blame you if the name “javier peña” hadn’t been used by your lips in a long time.

back in texas all that time ago, he had left the next day. you called his father back at the ranch to try and make some sort of contact but the news had been announced that javier peña was no longer in texas and was on his way to a new school to meet new people and--this hurt you the worst--new girls.

you had never been one for jealousy. it was a vile monster that you just morally could not let take control over you, but for the second and that second only, it was all you felt. you loved javier and he just left? he left you at home while he traveled over the country.

javier didn’t dare to think about it. as he continued to stutter, he let out the smallest of whimpers with the syllables of your name. “(y/n),” he cried to himself and squeezed his eyes shut. hot tears stained his cheeks as they continued to flow in a way that seemed endless. the feeling of his lips pronouncing your name sent chills down his spine as he said it again, “(y/n).”

there were now small splotches on his shirt where his tears had left his face and dripped onto the fabric, and when pressed flush against his skin as he stood, it felt icy. he didn’t feel like doing much, and maybe that was because in his eyes, he had wasted almost his entire life so far on a fucking job. he was practically praying that you had found something good to do--even maybe hoping that you would still visit the ranch sometimes to sit with the horses, but that seemed like a stretch considering your last encounter. 

finally, javi looked to his small closet that held nothing more than button-up shirts, tan-colored suits, and stacks of blue jeans. he chewed on his bottom lip and furrowed a brow. he couldn’t have possibly been that simple as to put something he held so close to his heart in his...closet? his feet carried him to the closet doors before he ripped them open and began throwing out hangers of clothes onto his bed. really, he didn’t care if it was a mess now--he’d clean it up later because in this moment, what he was searching for was all that mattered.

there was a shelf above the bar of his closet that held all of his hangers, but even though javier was considerably tall, he couldn’t reach it. with a harsh sigh, he kicked all of the clothes surrounding him on the floor away and grabbed the chair from his desk. he cringed as the sound of the wooden pegs meeting the wooden floor was insanely loud in the quiet moment before standing on the chair. he could just barely see over the shelf, but he didn’t need to see anymore. a large cardboard box that had been collecting dust and sitting in bored in closet for years seemed to shine in a halo of angelic light. his gaze softened once his hand reached the back and he pulled the box down to him. 

the creases of the cardboard had aged over time and the edges were slightly ripped, but overall, it had been kept in good shape--even when considering that javi hadn’t even looked at it for a long time, let alone hold it in his arms.

it felt like it was almost an historic artifact, that if javier applied just a bit too much pressure, it would turn to dust in his hold. he breathed carefully before gently setting it down on his bed, throwing the hangers of clothes onto the floor. currently, not a square inch of wooden flooring could be seen in his room. his eyes were wide as he traced his fingers over the box, recognizing the faded logo of the brand of boots you wore in highschool. he’d asked for your shoe box, you had no idea why, but now here javier sat with it in front of him all these years later. 

his fingers just barely grazed over the edge of the lid before lifting it from the rest of the box, the dust gently blowing the air and small puffs of his breath. the first thing he noticed was the photo of you he held dearest.

it had been winter in texas and you were both sixteen. usually, during the cold season, because your hometown was so close to the border, the most winter-ish reaction you could get from texas was ice, but this year had been special because it had snowed. little snowflakes fell so delicately and collected on the ground until it grew to be at least several inches high. the roads were completely ice so your school had been cancelled on that thursday. it had been, personally, you and javi’s first taste of snow. and you both had spent ten minutes outside, bundled up in snow gear you never had to use before until you both decided that the snow was not for you and you retreated inside. his father had even gone as far to make hot cocoa and sandwiches for you two. javi had taken the photo with his father’s camera, one that he normally wasn’t allowed to use, when he had captured the perfect moment of you caught up in your laughter. 

he pulled out various other photos from that day and others out of the box and reached a series of polaroids, and this time, it had been from summer. you had daisies in your hair because javier had taken the time to weave them through they strands so they stayed in place. he remembered how you had poked fun at him because while the gesture was so effortless, he stuck his tongue out like he was intently working. in the picture you sat in the fields while the horses were home in their stables, but a small foal had managed to escape. it’s wobbly knees kept it struggling to stand. the next photo was you noticing the creature almost falling over behind you. the third was you laughing and holding it up with your hands on both sides of its stomach.

you had never faked a smile. javier knew so because the one time you had tried, it had gone horribly wrong and he saw right through it. you immediately spilled everything that had been bothering you and he took you out for dinner the diner. 

he continued to shuffle through the polaroids, carefully examining each one that showed your genuine excitement and happiness of life. his fingers would trace around the rim before he sensitively placed them in one large pile. he grew closer to the bottom of the box, and as he began to see its cardboard base and that boot logo again, his art ached. back in texas, he had so many more photos of you and he absolutely loathed his younger self for not packing them. 

there was more in the box than just photos. he had also managed to pack one of your hoodies because you had left it at his house and never bothered to retrieve it. javier wasn’t sure if the act was creepy in a way, but the fabric had been so soft that whenever he held it, he thought of you. of course, during the past years, the smell of your perfume had completely faded and the sweatshirt smelled like any other old hoodie. 

beneath the hoodie was a numerous amount of papers you had written and hidden in your room, but you had never been one for secrets. a day together over the summer and javi found them sticking out of your dresser drawer. he wasn’t sure if even to this day you knew he had them. on the paper, which had turned yellow due to age, you had written small poems. some had been about love, others about friends, and a few about summer and winter. (javi liked to believe that when you were writing about the winter ones, you were thinking of your time in the snow with him)

then, there were the poems he had written. he had never let you see any of them or even know about them. he had written them in a journal he kept at his desk, and whenever you asked about it, he would dismiss you and say it was ‘an old school journal he kept for notes’, but when javier was packing, he ripped each page out and clipped them together and put them in the box. tears clouded his vision as he reread his poems.

a sunflower soul, with rock and roll eyes. curious thoughts, and a heart of surprise.

he had written about you.

finally, javier stared down at an empty box, apart from the single card that remained at the bottom. it been hidden underneath every memory he had of you, and when his fingers unfolded the paper, he let out a choked sob when he recognized the numbers.

never in his life had javier felt such nausea. was the number even yours? were you even in texas anymore? you could’ve moved to fucking new york and completely altered your life. but...it wouldn’t hurt to try...right? he stood from his knees, instantly feeling the imprinted lines from the wooden flooring in his skin, and he only hesitated no more than two seconds before sprinting to his dining room, almost running straight past the phone.

with the paper in between his fingers and his hand violently shaking, his tears falling and his throat constricting to keep in a sob, he dialed the number and hopefully waited for a voice--any voice, even if it wasn’t yours, although if it did belong to himself, he didn’t know what he would do.

three dial tones later and no one had picked up. his eyes became lost in the darkness of his dining room before the line went blank. “no,” he whispered. “no, no, no, no.” so foolish of him to think that there could possibly be hope. javier dialed the numbers again and waited several seconds before a groggy voice answered. he realized just how late (or early) it had been and that whoever answered would be woken up by this phone call at two-thirty in the morning.

“hello?” the voice was unrecognizable yet familiar. javi was quiet, his breath even inaudible as he contemplated how to reply. “hello?” 

he chewed his bottom lip and squeezed his eyes shut, releasing any other tears that were preparing themselves to fall . “(y/n)?” he spoke your name again and god did it feel good to say the one word that gave him solace.

it was silent. unbearably, cruelly, life-threateningly silent. his breathing began to quick as he felt his heart stop. his brows furrowed in some sort of shock but he was defeated. he clenched the paper in his palm so that it crumpled with a gentle sound, the only thing that really broke that painful silence. until the voice spoke again.

“javi?” you whispered, sitting up in your bed. your eyes were now fully open, your drowsiness had completely left your body. your gaze into the darkness of your room softened as you began to happily cry. “javier?”

on the other side of the line, javi only smiled.

tags: literally no one lmao @gummiishark @cyarikaaa @honeyedspace @talesfromtheguild @absurdthirst @pascalisthepunkest @wakalas @zeldasayer @blushingwueen @forever-rogue @otherthingsinhead @pedropascalito @thewaythisis @javierpenaspinkshirt

[neighborhoodmoonchild]

I Feel For You (Werewolf!Jungkook x Empath!Reader)

Genre: Supernatural Au, Fluff, Angst

Warnings: Explicit language, violence, mentions of blood, injuries

Word Count: 6K

Your friend's party was the first time you’d seen him since you were kids. His hair had grown significantly since then, falling across his face in soft wisps he has to continuously blow out of his eyes. His eyes. They were the same as they were before, dark as night but would glisten in any lighting, like the moon across the lake. 

You hadn’t spoken to him in a decade, convinced he must’ve been a figment of your imagination, but the reality of it was that you were just from two different worlds that would never mesh.

You’d only said two words to him that night, when you were both just barely out of booster seats, and you’d wandered too far back in the woods behind your house without your mother noticing. 

Back then he was just a little brown haired boy with brown eyes that seemed to shift as he bared his teeth. You’d been the little girl with pigtails wiping her wet eyes with her dirty hands as she tried to push herself up off the ground. 

“Please don’t.” 

And he’d thought you were afraid of him hurting you. He was shaking in the trap, blood seeping down his leg, teeth bared in defense, and he thought this little girl was scared this monster would eat her. He’d never know you were trying to help him and yourself. 

You thought maybe you’d go over, see if he recognized you, see if he remembered you. But as the DJ cranked the music louder, a group of guys started a fistfight, and a searing pain shot through your jaw, blood pooling in your mouth despite you standing perfectly still by yourself in the corner, you ducked out before it could escalate and made your way home, spitting blood and hoping nobody saw.

—

“Can’t I just skip? I think I might be coming down with something, you know?” Jungkook pleads, grabbing his mother’s hand to rest against his forehead. It was warm, but nothing out of the ordinary, especially for a wolf, and he knew she knows that.

She humored him anyways, flipping her hand over a few times with a puzzled look on her face. After a second, she stood up and began walking towards the bathroom.

“You know what, let me get the thermometer.” Her face broke into a sly grin, knowing fully well that her son knew the only thermometer they had was not for the mouth.

Suddenly, he’s flying past her, tugging on his backpack and giving her a quick kiss on the cheek, “You know what, I’m suddenly feeling a lot better! I’ll see you when I get home.” He takes the stairs three at a time and bolts into the kitchen, ignoring his brothers stuffing their faces and taking their sweet time, nothing to worry about being late to, besides ‘work’ with their father. 

Jungkook is the last of 7 boys born to his mother and father. His eldest brothers, Jin, Yoongi, and Namjoon, were all home-schooled by their mother before Jungkook was even thought of. Once they were done, they took their places on the Pack Council with their father.

Hobi, Jimin, and Tae had gone to the “pack school” which was basically homeschooling with all the kids in the pack by a few select pack members. By the time Jungkook came into the picture, not only did the pack accept the idea of sending their children to human school to avoid suspicion, his mother was so worn out she just didn’t have the energy to educate Kook on her own. 

In her defense, Jungkook was a lot more hyper and wild then his siblings, and being the last meant her sanity was at the edge after the first 6. 

Jungkook didn’t mind, though, he was fascinated by human nature, everything that made their society so different from his, and he made it his mission to learn and experience as much as he could about both. At least, it started out that way. 

As Jungkook grew, so did his wolf. It was harder for him to control his animalistic tendencies, and it was worse when he had to keep it all hidden to avoid exposing his pack’s secret and causing an all-out witch hunt. 

Instead, he chose to push all of his wolf qualities, along with some of his human ones, deep down and lay low. It was easier to protect himself and his family that way. Don’t bring attention, don’t make friends, just go to class and come home. 

And after a while, it got a hell of a lot easier. People stopped coming up to him, trying to talk to him, hell, even teachers didn’t call on him anymore. Instead, all he’d get was the occasional wary stare and a few whispers, but that was about it. 

It hurt him to have people think terrible things about him, but it’s not like he could tell them the truth. So, for now, he’d let people believe whatever they wanted about him, from mute kid who cut out his own tongue to a deranged psychopath who writes stories about how he’d murder his classmates (yes, those are real rumors he’s heard float through the hallways. Humans and their imaginations). 

As long as he was here and his secret was safe, it didn’t matter what others thought of him. 

Jungkook made it through the first for periods just he always had. Aside from getting a surprised look from his Algebra teacher for acing his last test, it was like every other day.

Then it lunch rolled around.

He made his way to his usual table out in the quad, far from everyone else and sat alone. He liked being able to enjoy his meal in peace, watching everyone around him.

Today, his peace gets interrupted not even ten minutes in.

You watched Jungkook sit down at the same table he always has. Seeing him in the daylight instead of the strobes at the party made him easier to study. He wore the same black sweatshirt and pants he does every day and he looks the same as he did Saturday night. 

“Why are you staring at him, got a crush or something?” Your friend nudges you, sending the whole table into a fit of ‘oohs’ and ‘ahs.’ 

You just roll your eyes, keeping your attention focused on the boy across the quad. You’d never told your friends about what happened years ago, considering it wasn’t any of their business anyways. They hadn’t even acknowledged his existence until they saw him at the party that night, wondering why he’d bothered to show up. 

You didn’t know he went to school with you, let alone that your friends knew him, well, knew of him. It was that night, when you’d asked them who he was, that they’d relayed horrid gossip about him.

Knowing just how insane high school ppl gossip can be, you took every new piece of information about him with a grain of salt. It was that night you learned his name, Jungkook. 

Unfortunately, that was the only useful information they had on him, so you figured if you wanted answers, you’d have to go to the source. 

You’d have to talk to him.

Without even thinking, you rise from your spot at the table, stepping over the seat and heading towards him. You could hear the whispered screams of your friends, obviously confused and concerned with your rash actions, but you just blocked them out. 

Your path to his table felt like a million miles, as if you were on trial, with all eyes on you. You’d somewhat made a name for yourself here, part of the ‘popular’ clique on campus, but you didn’t see yourself that way. It was just your nature to be friendly with others. You could sympathize easily, share and understand, most importantly, you listened, and people liked that.  

You rose the social ladder without even realizing it, and soon you were the talk of the school. Everyone wanted to be friends with you, but the socially elite students had already claimed you as theirs and you were too polite to turn them down. 

So, as you made your way to Jungkook, you could feel the judgment each student passed on you with each step. It was like slowly being suffocated, each state and new set of hands around your neck. 

Sometimes high school is just too much.

You didn’t care though; you’d happily dig your own social grave if it meant finally getting answers from the boy in the woods. 

Jungkook can sense you staring at him from across the way, but ignores it. He used to the stares so he figures it’s harmless. It’s when the hairs on the back of his neck stand as his wolf sense you approaching him that catches his attention and drags him from his protest. 

Jungkook doesn’t look up to see who’s there up until you’re standing across the table from him.

When he does, something deep down open side of him recognizes those eyes, your eyes. 

“Mind if I sit?” You ask sweetly, giving him a smile. He just stares at you dumbfounded, not sure what to say, so he just slowly nods his head once.

You set your bag down next to you and rest your arms on the surface of the table. Jungkook ignores his lunch, frozen staring at you. This had never happened before, not even his first year. People didn’t just approach others and sit at tables they didn’t belong. There was a system, a hierarchy, and everyone had their place.

This was not yours. 

“I’m Y/N, by the way,” you stick your hand out across the table, expecting him to take it, but he just stares at it.

“This is usually the part where you shake my hand,” you try not to smirk but it’s hard when he looks like he’s never seen a hand before. 

He hesitantly takes it in his, “Jungkook.” 

He’s hoping this will suffice whatever curiosity you’re harboring towards him and you’ll leave him in peace. Jungkook thinks this is his punishment for going to that stupid party on Saturday when his father told him he couldn’t go. He wasn’t there for long, but he just wanted to say he went to at least one high school party in his life. 

Now he thinks people might have gotten the wrong idea and that it was okay to hang out with him. He’d just have to let you down as easily as possible.

“No offense, but don’t you have friends to sit with?,” he gestures behind you to the table you’d left, your friends awkwardly watching, laughing and whispering. You didn’t bother to look back, just kept your focus ahead, ignoring what you knew was gossip behind you. You loved your friends, of course, but they have awful habits.

“I do, I just figured you’d like some company.” 

He doesn’t mean to, but he scoffs, his wolf annoyed that someone was pitying him. 

You see it but don’t take it too seriously, sensing he was just uncomfortable with your unwarranted presence. 

“I’m fine, you can go now.” You don’t want to leave yet, though, hoping to break through this icy exterior and find out what’s underneath. You can feel it in the deepest depths of your soul that he’s hiding something, holding himself back, and you know it has to do with that night 10 years ago. 

“If it’s alright with you, I’d actually like to stay,” you gesture back behind you subtly, “besides, they can be a bit much sometimes.” You hoped to ease the tension and find some common ground with him, but his wall is strong.

“I’d actually prefer to eat alone,” one part of him is screaming at himself for how cold he’s being. This was a chance to make a connection, maybe make a friend, but the other half is rationalizing that if he lets you in, you’ll ruin everything he’s spent so long protecting.

His mood affects you, the agitation cutting through your usually bubbly aura. You couldn’t help how easily influenced you were by the feelings and emotions of others. You were born to feel what others felt; their happiness, love, frustration, and pain. 

“Why do you insist on cutting yourself off from everyone?” It’s an intrusive question, one a stranger should not ask and did not have the right to know. You couldn’t take it back once it flew from your mouth, though. Speaking before thinking was also an affliction you’d been graced with, one you had spent years trying to correct to no avail. 

His wolf wants to snap, confronting his features into a deep set scowl, his eyes dark. 

“Why do you pretend to be friends with people you don’t like?” It wasn’t fair of him to attack you, but your insistence on prying into his life was wearing his patience thin.

The human part of him regrets the blow when he sees your features, clearly taken aback.

“I’m not pretending, I do like them, just not all the time, no one can like everyone all the time.” You wanted to snap back at him but you kept your calm. It was fair in a way to ask such a question after yours.

Jungkook wolf isn’t satisfied yet, though so he sinks a lower blow, “And why do you always run away when they start shit?”

The guys in your friend group were notorious for picking fights, hyped up on testosterone and privilege. You didn’t think anyone had noticed your disappearing act during such events, but clearly you weren’t as sneaky as you’d thought. You didn’t have a choice though, considering how would you explain when similar wounds appeared on your body as they happened?

You became defensive on instinct, feeling like prey stalked by a predator. You were just trying to be civil and his whole demeanor became a shield to protect himself and retaliate against you. 

“I guess we both have secrets then, huh.” You get up, walking past your table, your friends following you with their eyes, shooting back to Jungkook once you were out of sight. 

At first he didn’t understand why you reacted so harshly to his questions, figuring they weren’t serious. Turns out you may be just as cut off as Jungkook, you’re just better at faking it. 

—

You’d ignored your friends incessant questioning over the lunch fiasco, opting to pour yourself into your studies and after school activities. Once you finished up the meeting for student government, you headed out to the field to grab some supplies for the drama club from the field house.

The coach of the boys lacrosse team had given you the okay to borrow equipment for the club’s upcoming performance, so as the director, you figured it was your job to get everything together.

Walking out, the sun dipping lower in the sky as the boys team practiced on the pitch, you notice a familiar figure looming near the end of the bleachers. You take a second to investigate and see Jungkook watching the team, hands stuffed in his pockets. 

His eyes follow every shot and pass, following the footwork of the athletes, studying each movement. He looked like he wanted to join in. 

Despite getting off on the wrong foot, you could feel the longing dripping from him, the intense desire to be out on that field. He was holding himself back again, and your inner self was dying to know why.

Going against every petty bone in your body, you silently approach him, arms folded across your chest, “You stare any longer without blinking and your eyes will shrivel up.” He jumps a bit, swiftly collecting himself, a minuscule wave of guilt flushing through him when he realizes it’s you.

Jungkook looks back out on the field, fighting his urge to run out and join the team on the field. 

“What are you doing here?,” he asks, slightly interested in the answer but more so interested in what was happening before him.

You follow his line of sight, wondering why he didn’t just ask the coach to try out if he wanted to play so bad. 

“Grabbing some things for the drama club, what about you? Stalking the boys lacrosse team?” His head shoots towards you, eyes glowering.

“No, I just like lacrosse, that’s all.”

Jungkook’s defensive expression turns sullen, once again watching as the ball is thrown back and forth.

“So why don’t you play? I’m sure you’d probably be good at it with your,” you realize where you’re headed with this and can’t help the embarrassment flushing your cheeks, “physical build.” 

Jungkook’s first instinct is to be flush as well, but he covers it up with a sly smirk, “My physical build, huh?” 

Rolling your eyes you reach out to push his shoulder, returning your hand back to tuck a piece of hair behind your ear, “Whatever, you know what I mean.”

Watching you get so flustered feeds the grin on his face. It was kind of cute, though he wouldn’t tell you he thought so. 

“I can’t.”

Your face distorts into confusion, wondering what could possibly keep him from doing something as normal as participating in a sport.

You want to ask him why, but after the last ‘why’ question you’d asked him had gone so sourly, you figured there must be a reason, albeit probably not a good one, and that it wasn’t your business to judge.

instead, you take a step forward, standing shoulder to shoulder with him, well, as best you could considering he is much taller than you, and just watch the team practice. 

You can feel him stare at you when you move closer, but he turns back watching just as you are.

“Well, I think you should at least try,” you look up at him, finding him already looking back at you, “you might regret it if you don’t.” 

And with that bit of wisdom imparted, you get what you came here for, knowing that Jungkook follows your every move with his surprised gaze until you’re out of sight. 

Once you’re gone, Jungkook’s attention goes back to the field, seeing the team packing up for the night. He goes against the part of him telling him to go home, and jobs out to the field instead.

Approaching the coach, Jungkook prepares himself for the step he’s about to take, your words in the back of his mind; ‘If you don’t, you might regret it.’

—

The first time you see Jungkook on the field is during a late evening run to the field house after one of the members threw up all over the jerseys you’d borrowed. The coach was hesitant, but allowed you a few more after your promise to wash and return them yourself. 

The team had already packed up and headed to the locker room, but Jungkook stayed behind to get in at least another hour of practice. 

The coach had agreed to let him try-out that first evening, and after proving himself a valuable addition to the team, he was finding all the time he could to catch up, considering the team had already been in practice for a few weeks now. 

You didn’t mean to stare, fully prepared to march out, grab what you need, and head back in, but you watched as his arms lifted his jersey over his head, wiping the sweat dripping from his face. 

Officially bordering on crappy stalker tendencies, you shook yourself out of your trance and grabbed the jerseys from the shed. When you turn around to head back to the auditorium, Jungkook is jogging towards you. 

“Enjoy the show?,” he pries, smirk taking over his face. If you were paying more attention to his cocky attitude and less to his bare torso, you’d have quickly offered a witty comeback. 

“What-I was just getting some, stuff, for the drama club,” you stop yourself before you ramble on and humiliate yourself further. Jungkook likes to tease you, though, so he finds any way to push your buttons and take advantage of your innocent nature. 

“So that wasn’t you I just saw drooling when I took my shirt off?” You snap yourself out of it, scoffing, eyes rolling so hard you thought they’d get stuck for a second.

“Don’t flatter yourself Kook.”

He’s about to press you further when you feel a sharp pain shoot through your jaw, the faint taste of blood leaking onto your tongue. You wince, hand shooting up to hold your face, eyes darting frantically around your surroundings.

Jungkook could sense your change in demeanor immediately, noticing you wince, stepping forward, “Hey, are you okay?” 

His hand reaches out to you, and you are about to brush it off when you both are alerted to yelling towards the quad.

Jungkook is the first to rush towards the noise, you following in quick pursuit. The closer you get, the more painful your jaw gets, stiff and throbbing, a ringing pulsing in your ears. You almost have to stop and hold your head between your knees, but you need to see what’s going on. 

There in the quad, you see one of your friends beating the shit out of another guy. They are both wearing practice jerseys similar to Jungkook’s. You notice the blood dripping down the guys chin, a large welt on his cheek.

You’re about to say something when your friend swings swiftly, landing a particularly hard punch to the guys face, sending him to the ground. 

At the same time, your head whips to the side, the force sending you sideways, but you catch yourself. Your hand shoots up to hold your face, tears pricking at your eyes, fighting back a yelp as the pain fills every one of your senses. 

Before anyone can see you, you collect yourself as best you can and stagger towards the parking lot. You needed to get away from here, you needed to get in your car, and get home before someone sees.

You’re spitting mouthfuls of blood as you go, the tears streaming down your face, the red and purple colors slowly painting the affected area.

Once you make it to your car, you steady yourself and head home, the farther you get from the school, the clearer your head gets. 

Jungkook turns around after the last blow, coach coming out to break it up. He expects to find you standing there, asking, “Isn’t that one of your friends?,” but finds you gone. 

Without meaning too, his wolf senses kick in, searching for a sign of where you might have gone. He follows your scent to the parking lot and then notices the trail of bloody spit that ends at an empty space. 

He can tell from the scent that it’s yours, he just understand what could’ve happened between the field and the quad that could cause you to bleed like that and run off. 

Jungkook was not only curious, he was worried. 

—

You try to cover the bruises as best you could, but it just wasn’t working. You’d tried to convince your mom to let you stay home, but she wasn’t having it. Your secret was yours and yours alone, not even your parents knew, so you couldn’t argue with her.

Instead, you dragged yourself to school, trying your best to hide your wounds with makeup and a turtleneck. You’d just have to avoid everyone today and lay low. 

You’d gone through the first half of the day without any real problems. You’d met up with your friends in the library where they talked about the fight, and one made fun of your outfit choice, of course, ‘only teasing’ though. 

Avoiding people ended up being pretty easy, until you locked eyes with Jungkook down the hall, causing him to make a beeline straight for you. 

You tried to turn around and keep walking, pretending like you hadn’t seen him, but he was quicker than you, blocking your path.

“Why’d you disappear yesterday?” He wants to ask about the blood, but figures he should start off simple and then get to the bizarre. 

He looks over your face, trying not to seem suspicious, but you instantly reach your hand up to cover the side of your face that’s bruised.

Jungkook notices, zeroing in on the faint purple tint of your skin. He didn’t see anyone with you guys when you were in the quad during the fight, and he was sure he would’ve sensed if you’d been attacked right behind him. How the hell did you get a bruise like that?

As if to help him connect the dots, you both turn your attention to another figure at his locker down the hall. It’s the guy that was attacked, the guy whose bruises are an exact match to yours. 

Jungkook isn’t sure how exactly to piece this all together in his mind, but he does now realize that you had started acting funny once the fight had started, and disappeared right after the final blow. 

Was it possible for one person to feel another’s pain like that? Considering he’s a werewolf, it shouldn’t have been a total shock to him, he’s around unnatural things all the time. 

Still, he’d never encountered something quite like this. It was normal for a pack to share emotions and feelings, in their nature to sense each other on an emotional level.

You are definitely not a wolf though, and this is way more than that connection. 

Before he can question you about it, the bell rings and you rush to class, leaving him behind with more questions. 

Jungkook finally caught you at the end of the day, right before you could run off again. It was his first lacrosse game, and considering you were the reason he even tried out, he thought he’d invite you to come watch.

He also wanted to talk to you about what happened, and figured after the game would be as good a time as any. 

A small part also just wanted you to be there so he could show off and maybe, just maybe, impress you. You were the first girl, first person even, to befriend him despite his objections, and the more you helped him take his wall down, the more he started to like you. Jungkook might of even developed a bit of a crush on you. 

“You want me to come to your game?” You repeat back to him, and that signature smirk rears it’s annoying head again. 

“Yes, that’s what I said didn’t I?” Flustering you was his favorite part about your friendship. He never got tired of seeing your cheeks turn red and listening to you nervously ramble. They were some of the points on the ever-growing list of things he liked about you.

“I won’t have anyone to sit with,” you admit, realizing how distant your other friends had become since you’d started hanging out with Jungkook. Don’t get you wrong, you wouldn’t trade it for the world, but it would be awkward to be alone.

“That’s okay, you can sit with my brothers.” This was the first time Jungkook had really mentioned his brothers, other than the time he had admitted to you that he wasn’t an only child like you and that his family was big.

“Your brothers?”

Jungkook smiles, appreciating how enthusiastic you looked when he shared personal information. 

“Yeah, I have 6, and they all wanted to come watch my first game. You can sit with them if you want, I’ll let them know you’ll be there.”

Now, even though you were nervous, the chance to meet Jungkook’s mystery siblings was more enticing than sitting at home watching movies by yourself, so you promised him you’d come.

—

“What is she, your girlfriend or something?” Jin insinuates, mocking face making kissy noises to further antagonize his youngest brother. Jungkook’s face flushes beet red, flying at the eldest, tackling him.

“Jin, leave our little Romeo alone,” Taehyung joins in on the teasing, causing Jungkook to throw a pillow at his head after tackling Jin to the couch. 

Namjoon and Yoongi are watching their brothers play fight from the kitchen table, not wanting to incur Jungkook’s embarrassed rage onto themselves.

“Is she cute?” Jimin asks from the other couch, Jin and Taehyung nodding their heads in question, waiting for Jungkook to spill. 

“Yeah, I mean, I guess...” he rubs the back of his neck, feeling the heat radiate off his skin. His brothers always found ways to pick on him, since he was the youngest, he was the best target.

“Ooo, well if she’s not your girlfriend maybe I’ll make her mine,” Hoseok yells as he enters the room, shoving Jungkook playfully. 

A low growl rumbles through the room, shutting everyone up. They all stare at Jungkook, his teeth slightly bared, and they fight their natural instinct to react. 

“He was just kidding Kookie,” Jimin says softly, patting Jungkook’s shoulder, calming him down.

“Sorry, didn’t realize how serious you were about her,” Hobi admits sheepishly, pulling out a chair next to Yoongi and plopping down.

“I’m not-,” he scoffs, “I mean, we’re friends, that’s all.”

They all stare at Kook, knowing their little brother all too well, seeing right through his aloof act. 

Jungkook pass over to Hoseok, head down in submission, “I’m sorry for snapping at you.” 

Hoseok just beams a wide smile, “It’s okay, it’s natural to feel protective over your mate.”

Jungkook’s eyes shoot wide open, “What-she’s not my- she’s not even a wolf, and how would you even know-“

Joon is up and patting the youngest’s back, “It doesn’t matter that she’s not a wolf. You’re exhibiting all the signs of having found your mate.”

Jungkook’s embarrassment grows more than he thought it could.

He wants to tuck himself away and hide forever. It had been obvious to everyone but him that you were his mate. The first girl he’d made friends with and it’s his mate. What are the odds?

“We’ll be on our best behavior, promise.” Taehyung holds his hand up, scouts honor. They all share a laugh and Jungkook gets ready for the game. 

—

When you show up at the field, Jungkook meets you at the sideline, pointing you in the direction of his brothers, who all watch you with anticipation.

“Good luck,” you whisper it in his ear to make sure he hears it over the loud roar of the crowd. You miss how his cheeks turn pink, but he just smiles and runs back over to the bench.

You make your way over to the group of boys all smiling at you and cheering for their brother. One of them, tall with brown hair and glasses, stands to help you over the bleachers to sit and shakes your hand.

“You must be the famous Y/N we’ve heard so much about,” Namjoon says and the. Introduces himself along with the others.

You can’t help but feel nervous, not only at the revelation that Jungkook talks about you to his family, but the fact that you’re surrounded by 6 guys you’ve never met before, each one beautiful in their own way. 

You could’ve guessed, considering how attractive Jungkook is, that his brothers would be as well.

The game starts, and you’re sandwiched in between Jimin and Yoongi, cheering alongside them for Jungkook. 

At halftime, your team is up down by one, and Jungkook has yet to be put on the field. 

While you’re growing impatient for him, his brothers seem to be perfectly fine with Jungkook riding bench. In fact, every time the coach looked like he was about to out Kook in, they all watched on almost nervously. 

You wondered why.

Jungkook meets you at the bleachers while the halftime clock runs, the team getting water and the coach going over plays.

“Why are your brothers not upset coach isn’t putting you in?” You ask, holding his water bottle for him as he tightens his shoe lace.

Jungkook knows that it’s because they’re afraid he’ll lose control and wolf out on the field, but he can’t tell you that.

“They’re just overprotective, afraid I’ll get hurt or something.”

You nod in understanding, even though you can sense that’s not it.

The game starts back up and before you know it, Jungkook is heading onto the field.

The boys are all watching in nervous anticipation, so you take the initiative to cheer Kook on for all of them. 

Jungkook sees the ball as it plops to the ground and suddenly he’s after it, scooping it up and running for his life. 

The crowd is cheering and as he approaches the goal, he can hear your voice above them all. He turns his head to look at you for just a fraction of a second, but it's enough for a member from the opposing team to tackle him violently to the ground.

Suddenly, everything is black.

—

You wake up in the emergency room, ice pack to your head and half of Jungkook’s brothers standing around you.

You try to sit up, catching Jimin’s attention, and he rushes over to help you slowly rise from the cot.

“Where are we?,” you slur, head pounding and vision blurry, 

“We’re in the emergency room, do you remember what happened?”

You stare at your legs, trying to think back to last thing you remember, “We were at the game, and Jungkook was about to score, but-“

And it’s all blank after that.

Hoseok approaches your other side, “He got tackled pretty hard. He passed out on the field,” the all look at you, “you passed out in the stands at the same moment.”

While your head is pounding and fuzzy, you understand what had happened and you know that they’re going to want answers.

Before they can get any out, though, they are ushered out and Jungkook comes in. He’s holding an ice pack to his head as well, smiling when he sees you.

“You trying to steal my thunder or something?” He asks sarcastically, cracking a smile out of you.

“I can explain,” you start, but you’re at a loss for words. 

Jungkook just walks over and plops down next to you on the cot.

“Is that why you ran off the night of the fight? Why your blood was in the parking lot and you had the same bruises as that kid?” 

He’d already pieced it together in his mind, and you’re tempted to make an excuse, but decide the truth needed to come out sooner or later.

You stare at the floor going over what you were going to say in your mind. You’d never told anyone this, and here you were, about to tell Jungkook, the weird kid from school and the kid from your past, your deepest secret.

“I remember you,” he adds, and you lift your gaze to look at him.

“That night in the woods, 10 years ago. You were the little girl that was scared of me.”

He looks sad and you can’t help the racing of your heart at the fact that he had remembered you after all these years. You were sure he’d forgotten or not realized it was you, considering he hadn’t brought it up, until now. 

“I wasn’t scared of you,” you whisper, and Jungkook looks surprised.

“I was crying for you, for myself. Your leg was caught in a trap. I could feel your pain, Kook.”

This whole time he’d thought he was this horrible monster that made a poor little girl cry; for 10 years he believed he was the big bad wolf. 

But he wasn’t.

“And that explains the blood, the bruise, and our matching concussions,” his lame attempt at a joke makes you laugh and he’s glad the two of you are alone.

“Yeah, sorry about ‘stealing your thunder,’” you giggle and he can hear his heart beating in his ears.

“Are you okay?,” he asks, looking over your head in search of any other injuries. You grab his hand and squeeze it tight.

“I’m okay.” 

—

You both are released from the E.R. and Jungkook invites you to family dinner at his house. 

As you stand on the front steps, you find yourself more nervous knowing you were meeting his entire family this time, but he folds your hand in his and gives it a reassuring squeeze. 

Dinner is filled with loud laughs and plenty of teasing. You and Jungkook not only have matching concussions but matching blushes as well.

His parents absolutely adore you, knowing the second you walked in that you were their son’s mate. 

After dinner, Jungkook walks you out to the back porch to get some fresh air as the others clear the table.

you both lean on the railing staring up at the stars, when Jungkook lowers his gaze back to you. He’s mesmerized by the way the stars glimmer in your eyes, and when you lock eyes with him, he holds his breath. 

Before you can say anything, he’s leaning down, lips pressing gently to yours. 

It’s sweet and soft, holding a passion neither of you had ever felt before.

When he pulls away, you both stare at each other in silence for a minute, before his mother calls you both in.

You're standing at the sink in their kitchen drying dishes as his mother hands them to you, when she turns to you.

“I used to tell the boys stories of the old world when they were little,” she smiles at you and you return it.

“There was one story, about these incredible healers with the kindest hearts,” and as she looks at you, she can sense the great power within you. 

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Had to repost this because Tumblr deleted it somehow, but hopefully it’s back and everyone can see it, sorry💜

-Moonie🌙

[hannitizer]

To Have a Home Part 18

Summary: After Draco is found guilty of an attempted murder, he is  sentenced to the Lupin’s house with hopes he’ll finally understand what  it means to have a family. Only problem? Draco doesn’t want it.    

A/N: Hey Y’all! I’ve successfully survived my first few weeks of school! It’s going to be a lot, but you know what? It’s going to be okay. Anyways, here’s the next part of To Have a Home. As always, I hope you all enjoy!

Here’s Part Nineteen!

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The breakfast they shared was delicious to say the least. Fred had blown them all away with his cooking skills, something even George seemed surprised about. But slowly, one by one, each member of the party left the Lupins’ house.

First was Sirius, who left with no fanfare. He simply stood up from the table, thanked Fred for the breakfast, and ran to the fireplace before Isla could yell at him for not including her in his thank you. 

Next was Isla. She gave Abigail one last hug and ruffled through Draco’s hair one more time. She promised everyone that she would return soon “and next time,” she said, throwing the floo powder into the fireplace, “I will have good news about your mother.” To this, Draco allowed himself to smile. Just a little. 

Finally there were Fred and George. They took their time saying their goodbyes to Draco, promising they were only one call away and if he ever needed anything, he knew where to find them. A part of Draco wished that they were going to stay there forever; that they would move in and help him face the Lupin’s. That he would be a little less alone in this house. 

That left the three of them sitting at the table: Draco, Remus and Abigail. They sat in silence for a while, no one daring to say even a word. If you looked at it from the outside, it might seem like there was peace at that table; that they were just a happy family finishing up their breakfast. That the fidgeting Draco had was simply because he was itching to go about his day. The smile plastered on Abigail’s face was meant to ease instead of hide. Or the stillness of Remus was a contended father, but they were far from it.    

Draco was fidgeting. His heart was racing, breaths coming in more and more shallow than they were a few moments ago. And was it suddenly hot in there? He felt like shedding his long-sleeved shirt in favor of nothingness. He was studying his hands with utmost care, avoiding looking at either of the Lupins. He couldn’t leave the table, at least not in a graceful manner. His crutches sat a few feet away, leaning against the breakfast bar. And, that blasted bracelet on his arm. A constant reminder of how pathetic he truly was. As if the crutches or boot wasn’t enough. He picked at it, hoping neither Lupin noticed. He wiped a bead of sweat off of his forehead. It must be very hot in this room, and the bracelet really was not helping him. 

And there was the itch in the back of his head telling him that it was worthless. He was worthless. Everyone thought that. Everyone knew that. How worthless could a person be until he was rubbed down to nothing? Now that itch was festering. 

His head snapped up when he heard Remus talking to him, but he couldn’t register what was being said. It wasn’t until he started getting up from the table and heading towards the back door that he realized what was being said. He was going out to the garden. Alone. With Remus. Abigail was handing him his crutches when his brain caught up with the rest of him. 

He shook slightly, his eyes glancing up to Abigail, a silent plea for her to follow. She gave him a reassuring nod, smiling slightly. It was a sign that he knew well; one that read everything was going to be alright, that at the end of the day, she still loved him. But with Remus…

“Come, Draco. I need to talk to you.” He stood at the door, holding it open. Expecting him to walk through with him, but Draco was shell-shocked. Numb, even. 

“Hey,” Abigail said, drawing his attention back to her. She leaned down to kiss the top of his head. In any other situation, Draco would have recoiled, taken aback by the physical contact, but he couldn’t find it in him to respond. He just took the crutches in his arms and, with the help of Abigail, got up and towards the door. 

“I’m right here, if you need anything Draco.” She paused as he made it to the door, hovering around the table. 

He took one last glance at the house, and then walked outside. Remus was beckoning him towards a garden of some sorts. It seemed peaceful enough; the flowers were all in full bloom, a myriad of different colors all jumbled together. 

Draco stopped just short of the garden, his crutches touching the outskirts of it. Remus sat in the middle of it, his fingers twirling around one of the flower’s stems. 

“This one is Abigail’s favorite.” He said, mostly to himself. “It’s called an Ausmas. It’s very pretty, don’t you think?” 

He picked it close to the base of the plant. With it, he gestured to the ground next to him. 

“Come here. I don’t want to hurt you, I just need to talk.” 

Every part of Draco was screaming to run. Drop the crutches and rush into the woods. Maybe he could make it far enough to get lost in there before Remus could find him. 

As if he could read his thoughts, Remus said, “These woods go out for miles and miles in every direction. Your bracelet will stop you from going that far, however. I think it’s spelled at… oh, fifty meters or so. I haven’t tested it, but I assume it’s like a wall stopping you. Now come.”

Draco felt himself move closer, and as if on auto-pilot, sit down next to Remus. He was far too close for comfort, but where else was he to go? He wrapped his arms around his legs, bringing them close to his body like he was a roly-poly. 

“You remind me of myself when I was younger.” Remus mused, laying the flower down on the ground next to him. “Shy, timid… Afraid of everything.” 

“I am not afraid of anything.” Draco’s mouth opened faster than he could stop himself. If Remus heard him, he decided not to react. His gaze was still dropped on the flower. He sighed, finally turning his attention to the shivering boy next to him. 

“Draco, I want to apologize for snapping… Are you okay? Draco, you’re shivering… Can you even hear me? Draco?” 

But his head was pounding, ears ringing out a bizarre melody. The world suddenly felt like it was coming down on top of him, heavy and hard. 

Before he could think, his head was being pushed in between his knees, the sun suddenly not as bright as before. 

“Draco, breath for me, okay? Can you do that?” 

And he did. At first, jaggedly, sucking in air that seemed scarce, but soon it started coming easier and easier to him. After a few moments, he dared to look up at Remus. He was watching him closely, but stayed where he originally was. 

“Draco, it’s okay to be afraid sometimes. For a while, I was scared of you.”

“Scared of me?” Draco tried to sense if he was lying. “I don’t know whether I should take that as a compliment.”

Remus didn’t react. “I’m sorry that I frightened you last night. It wasn’t my intention, but I was so angry and mad that I acted out.”

“It was an accident…”

“I know it was an accident now, but last night, I was distraught. I know you don’t know what it’s like, but Draco, without that wolfsbane potion, I lose myself. I can’t control anything I do… Anything I think. It’s like sitting in the backseat of my mind, watching myself do things I’d never do in my own free will…”

Draco could feel the tears coming. “Remus, I didn’t mean…”

“And I have a family I need to look after,” Remus continued, not hearing Draco’s remark, “If anything happened to Abigail, or to you, I don’t know what I’d do. If I ever hurt you Draco, I don’t know what I’d do.” He stopped, unclenching his hands. There were welts there now, not out of anger towards Draco, but himself. 

“I’m sorry I haven’t been a good father, Draco. All I wanted to do was show you what a loving family is… What a loving dad is, and I feel like I’m failing.”

With that, Draco threw himself into Remus, wrapping his arms around him. Tears were flowing freely down his face; he wasn’t trying to hide it anymore. 

Remus, shocked, hugged him back. He was surprised at Draco’s response. It wasn’t everyday that his enemy’s child threw himself at you willingly, but if that’s what Draco needed, he was here for him. 

After a minute, Draco raised his head to look at Remus. 

“I’m sorry” was all he managed to get out before he hiccupped himself to tears again. He wanted so desperately for this to be his father. That he would look up again and see the long blonde hair and grey eyes of his father rather than the scarred face of Remus. That this was not a never ending nightmare. That he and his father would get up from the garden and walk back towards the Malfoy manor, to where his mother would be reading in the parlor and the house elves would be scampering around, going about their daily tasks, and yet…

Part of him was okay that it was Remus here with him. In fact, he would go so far as to say part of him wanted this. He wanted it to be Remus. He wanted to be at this house with him and Abigail. That this could possibly be his home.  

All of this was hurting his head: the question of what he really wanted. It made him shudder away from Remus, recoiling back into himself, clutching his head with both his hands. 

“All I want is to be your father, Draco,” Remus said, letting his hand drop on his shoulder. “More than just in the legal sense of the word. I know that it’ll take time for you to feel the same way; there’s so much that happened to you in the past month, but I want to know that whenever you’re ready to see me as your father, I’ll be right there waiting for you.” He bent over to plant a kiss on the top of his head. 

“I love you, Draco.” He stood up, extending his hand to Draco, which he accepted. 

“Now, should we pick some Ausmas for Abigail?”