#it had a little tunnel underneath you could crawl in so I did when fighting them

[redfirefox-55]

I finished Artificers campaign last night in one sitting, and honestly I expected to rage quit at least once, but it was great! The scavenger for karma system isn’t amazing, but god I loved not having to worry about my karma level. Karma grinding is the worst part of the game in my opinion.

I got the ending where you just murder everything, and it was awesome. I love killing stuff, it was so much fun.

The only parts I didn’t like was having to haul an elite scav back to the exit gate so I could go report back to 5p, and how the scav king mask took up a hand slot, but it wasn’t so bad.

Anyway, definitely recommend! It was awesome!

[wkemeup]

After

summary: The morning after confessions and years of self-imposed unrequited love, you and Bucky are finally together. Happy. Until a woman from Bucky’s past shows up and threatens everything. 

pairing: bucky x reader

word count: 9k

warnings: stalking, psycho ex-girlfriend, kidnapping, canon level violence, bucky is a precious little angel in this one and I still made it angsty lol

a/n: I usually end my fics with the big confessions and the ‘I love yous’, so I thought it would be interesting to start a story at the happy ending and consider the potential threats to it after it would have typically ended! (Also - the woman in the header is the ex, not y/n)

A wet, sticky substance dripped down the base of your neck. Thick and oozing, it trailed in large droplets down your spine, drawing a tense shiver from between your bones. It took a moment as you came to, blinded by the sting of florescent lighting hanging overhead. Your vision was tunneled, swaying in doubles as you looked in the cobwebs hanging the corners of the empty room, then to the dust lining the floorboards. Metal cuffs seared into your wrists, securing you to the single chair at the center of the room. Skin raw and blistered underneath.  

Vague flashes – memories – of a washcloth pressed against your nose and mouth, suffocating you until you inhaled – burning in your lungs with every breath until it stole your defenses and rendered you to the darkness. You could still feel the burn of it in your chest. Hot and aching. The taste of chemicals on your tongue.  

Your voice was a razor to your throat as you managed to choke out, “What have you done?” 

A woman emerged from the shadows – a cold, satisfied look in her eye. “What I had to.” 

*** 

T W O  W E E K S  E A R L I E R 

You slid out from Bucky’s bedroom just after sunrise in search of the last two donuts in the kitchen. It had taken most of your willpower to crawl out from under his arms and leave his sleeping form behind, but you’d escape for a valiant purpose. The last chocolate glazed donut wasn’t going to eat itself. Unless Clint got to it first. 

You’d never known Bucky to sleep as soundly as he did last night. You were so used to hearing his quiet footsteps pacing back forth through the early hours of the morning, his tossing and turning, his screams when he could no longer fight off the demons in his wake. But he had closed his eyes the night before without hesitation – his arms folded warm around your body, his lips over your temple, and he didn’t stir again through the night. 

Perhaps it had something to do with mess of desperate confessions you’d shared that evening. His recklessness in the field had driven you to the edge and he didn’t seem to care. He had nothing, he’d said. Nothing important enough to come back to, so why did it matter if he was the one taking all the risks, who would care if he took it a step too far? 

You’d argued with him until your lungs burned, until tears swelled in your eyes and still—he wouldn’t relent. It wasn’t until you finally admitted the feelings you held for him that he took pause. Once the words spilled from your lips, they tumbled – like the break at the edge of a waterfall.  

You told him how helplessly you loved him, how it chipped pieces off your heart when he came home bloodied and broken and didn’t seem to care, how it would shatter you endlessly if something were to take him from you completely. 

You didn’t stop until you were breathless. Until tears were wet against your cheeks and your chest rose heavy and labored. But it was the silence that follow that scared you the most – the lingering fear of losing him in the wake of your confession. But his silence was made of disbelief. It was filled with years' worth of questions and contemplation as he ran back every interaction you’d shared.  

Once the shock wore off and you’d resided to his rejection, Bucky shared his own agonizing admission that he’d spent years trying to suffocate those very same feelings. He’d spent his night under warm bodies of women he could hardly look in the eye. He wasted away on booze that barely touched his system. He drowned himself in the certain truth that he would never be good enough for you – too broken, too heavy with the weight of his crimes, resembling the sort of monster that often chased you in your own dreams. 

Confessions that led to stunned silence between you. But then, a smile of relief. A laugh. Tears. Jumping into his arms and his lips over your neck. His kiss on your mouth. A desperate plea as he gazed in your eyes because his hands were shaking against your hips, fingertips slipping against the band of your shorts. Needy to make up for so much lost time together – to feel you, to know you, to apologize for his blindness, to love you the way he so often imagined.  

Perhaps Bucky slept soundly in the wake of shared desire. His heart racing in his chest, a gleam of sweat over his skin, a blissful smile on his lips as his eyelids fluttered shut. It was relief you shared. To finally be with one another, to no longer have to parade under the mask he hid his feelings under. To be able to call you his own and to know he was yours.  

He didn’t stir once. Not even as you lifted his arm and slid out from his embrace. Not as you bent down a pressed a warm kiss to his temple. Not even as you pulled his t-shirt over your head and slipped out into the hallway. One last look as his peaceful form laid over the bed, sheets curled up at his waist and exposing his bare chest. Comfortable. Eased.  

You admired him only a moment longer before you escaped to the kitchen in search of those donuts.  

The box was still waiting on the kitchen counter and a skip nearly hopped in your step as you scurried around the corner to grab them.  

“Morning, Y/n.” 

You jumped, hand clutching at your chest as you spotted Sam Wilson standing at the edge of the kitchen, sipping a steaming mug of coffee. 

“Dammit, Wilson,” you hushed, willing your heart to slow down. “You scared me.” 

Slowly, you inched towards the donut box, peering inside to make sure Clint hadn’t taken the last two in one of his typical midnight snack runs. Sure enough, both remained and you couldn't help the grin that curled over your lips. Breakfast in bed was the perfect way to draw Bucky from his sleep, to remind him that everything you shared the night before was real and perfect and wonderful.  

“I see Barnes finally manned up, huh?” Sam smirked. It took until he gestured to your outfit that you realized you were only dressed in Bucky’s t-shirt, your legs exposed to the tops of your thighs. In the hall behind you, Bucky’s bedroom was cracked from where you had escaped. You winced, tugging the fabric of his shirt lower on your thighs. 

“Don’t be embarrassed,” Sam chuckled, setting the coffee on the counter. “I’ve been after him to tell you for months.” 

You bit your lip, taking a quick, cautious glance towards Bucky’s room. A smile inched on your mouth, heart stammering a little louder. “Took until I said it first, but good to know he’s been dragging his feet for so long.” 

“Sounds like maybe you have been, too,” Sam reminded you.  

You nodded. Almost two years of it. This terrible back and forth of loving him from a distance, watching him bring home girl after girl from the bar, listening as he promised to call them in the morning and never did. The casual flirting, the mutual jealousy, the acknowledgement that there was something more than the friendship you portrayed and still too paralyzed to do anything to change it. 

Until last night. 

“I’m happy for you guys,” Sam finally admitted, and you were surprised to find his words entirely genuine. He picked up his coffee again, crossing the room on his way to the balcony to watch the sunrise. He paused, leaning over your shoulder. “Just don’t become that insufferable sort of couple, you hear me? All that PDA and lovey-dovey nonsense. I’d hate to have to tease you mercilessly about it.” 

You laughed; a flush of welcomed warmth in your cheeks. “Pretty sure you would do that either way, Sam.” 

Sam winked, shrugging his shoulders as he backed onto the porch. “Got me there.” 

When you finally returned to Bucky’s room, donut box in hand, Bucky was sitting up on the bed. With his back to you, you could see every ripple and layer of muscle carved into his spine – the fusion of flesh into the vibranium that appeared less scarred since Shuri gifted him the new arm. His hands curled into the edge of the mattress, handfuls of sheets in his palm. Tension rippled down his spine.  

Slowly, you clicked the door behind you and Bucky’s head snapped to you, a brief moment of shock before the relief settled in. It hit like a bullet to your chest, his obvious surprise to see you return. You fought to keep a smile pressed to your lips.  

“Didn’t see you when I woke up,” Bucky said hesitantly as he crossed the room to you. “Thought you might have wandered off on me.” 

It was a deflection, a teasing joke to cover his very real fear that you’d left him after your night together, that maybe he was only worth one good lay and his heart laid bare wasn’t enough for you. It was the very reason he held himself back for so long – terrified to admit how wholly you'd taken his heart.  

You set the donut box on the edge of his bed, sliding your free hands up his chest to rest on the sides of his face. Thumbs brushing sweetly over his cheekbones and drawing away his tension with the touch of your hands.  

“Nowhere else I’d rather be,” you said and you hoped he heard the sincerity in your voice.  

Bucky grinned as he leaned down to kiss you. It was a new feeling, to be kissed by him so earnestly, to be kissed good morning and ‘just because.’ You savored each one, even knowing there were more to be had. An endless supply for as long as he would give you. An eternity, maybe.  

“Is that the last chocolate glaze?” Bucky inquired as his stomach let out a rumbling growl. You laughed, nodding as you handed him the box. He picked it up, sighing at the smell. “You sure you don’t want it, sweetheart?” 

“I’m good, Buck. I’ve got this one,” you said, picking up the final donut in the box. It wasn’t chocolate glaze, but you remembered Bucky’s stories of the chocolate donuts in Coney Island when he was a kid. It was more than just a sweet treat to him – it was a memory. And you liked seeing him smile, even with chocolate icing on his lips.  

“You’re perfect, you know that?” Bucky grinned, mouth full of donut. Lost in the comfort of sweets and the ease of you beside him, he muttered “I love you,” in a heavy, exhale. Then, he froze, eyes wide. He took a cautious step back. “Sorry, I, uh... I know a lot has changed in the last twelve hours and I don’t want to scare you off but... no more secrets, right? I won’t hide anything from you and especially not this. You mean too much to me and I won’t hide how I—” 

“I love you, too.” It was the easiest thing you’d ever said.  

Bucky tossed the rest of the donut in the box, lunging towards you and throwing the both of you onto the bed. His sticky sweet lips trailed over your cheeks, your jaw, the edge of your neck where your collar met his shirt, and back to your lips where he tasted of sugar and chocolate. You laughed against his mouth and wondered if it were possible to ever grow tired of his kiss. 

*** 

Days later and you were still lifted in the high of being with Bucky.  

Sam – true to his word – teased you both mercilessly, but Bucky didn’t seem to mind one bit. He’d roll his eyes at Sam and tug you a little closer to his side, swing your legs over his lap, and kiss you right on the lips. If you looked close enough, you swore you saw the corner of Sam’s mouth curve at the left edge when he turned away.  

Despite spending the better part of the last four days together, Bucky wined incessantly when Steve ordered him and Sam away for debrief. Sam had muttered a short, ‘see this is the insufferable nonsense I was talking about,’ as he dragged Bucky away from you by the collar of his shirt. It was all in jest. Even Bucky gave you a short wink as he finally stopped dragging his feet and gave Sam a good shove as they jogged to the conference room.  

You had a few hours to spare before Bucky would come looking for you again, so you figured you might as well get your run in now. Bucky would slow his pace for you even before the change in your relationship. Half of you wondered if now he might just pick you up and carry you instead. 

The elevator door dinged on the ground floor and the doors opened. You tugged a light tighter at the elastic securing your hair and gave a short wave to the security at the desk. You were just about to turn up your music when you heard a woman’s voice arguing with the receptionist.  

“I’m here to see James Barnes,” the woman said firmly, as if it wasn’t the first time. She tapped her manicured nails against the counter, one after the other in a perfect cascade.  

The receptionist flushed red, her gaze flickering nervously towards the security officer in the corner of the lobby. “I’m sorry, ma’am, but you’re not on the guest list today. Perhaps if you schedule an appointment—” 

“I don’t think you understand who I am,” the woman shot back impatiently. 

“I could help you book a time to meet with the Avengers’ publicist if you—” 

“Can I help you?” You approached the woman from the side, slowly pulling your headphones off and rested the band around your neck. You gave her a short smile as she turned to you.  

Dressed in a form fitted cocktail dress and heels sharper than Natasha’s daggers, she studied you a moment longer before answering. Her silky black hair swung over her shoulders. “No, that’s quite all right. I’m looking to speak to James, so if you don’t mind—” 

“I’m his girlfriend,” you offered quickly, though an awkward wince shortly followed. “Well, actually, we haven’t talked about that yet. It’s new, but—” you laughed, trying to cover your embarrassment as you ran chilled hands over the hear in your cheeks, “anyway... Maybe I could pass a message along to him for you?” 

The woman narrowed her eyes. There was a rigidness to her posture that hadn’t been there before. Stone fractured into the sharp lines of her face. But then slowly, the hardened exterior melted away. She shrugged it off and the tension simply fell from her body. She smiled.  

“That’s so kind of you,” she said, extending her hand. “I'm Tori.” 

You returned her smile as you shook her hand. Her grip was firm, almost aching. 

“Y/n.” 

“Pleasure.” Her lips were pressed together as she smiled – tugging bright red lipstick higher into her cheeks. A startling, bold color that was almost unsettling. She sighed, pausing a moment before she continued. “It’s not that important anyway. Just looking for a quote for the paper. You know how it goes.” She held up a press ID badge. 

You laughed with her, nodding along. “Of course. Well, I should head out before it starts to rain, but it was nice to meet you. Good luck on your story!”  

Tori smiled as she waved goodbye. There was something strange about her expression, even amongst the illuminating glow in her dewy skin and the perfect sheen in her hair. You didn’t realize until you were half a mile from the tower that her smile did not touch her eyes. 

Not once. 

*** 

“I swear it on my life, sweetheart, it’s the best hot chocolate you're ever gonna have!” Bucky pitched his argument for the third time, his hand gripping yours as he tried to tug you down the street to the café he discovered on one of his midnight walks. It was such a lovely change to see him smiling so wide like this – unafraid and unbothered by the rush of pedestrians on the sidewalks or the tourists capturing not-so-subtle photos of the Winter Soldier holding hands with his girlfriend. 

“Bucky, it’s just hot chocolate,” you laughed. “They all taste the same.” 

“Blasphemy!” he shot back, which only made you laugh harder. You’d done it on purpose to get a rise of out him and he caught on instantly, drawing you into his arms and peppering you with kissing until you finally yielded.  

“Fine! Fine!” You shoved him playfully in the chest as his hands swung up in the air defensively.  

“You won’t regret this,” Bucky grinned, grabbing a tight hold of your hand and leading you down the short stretch of alley to the café. Tucked away in the heart of Brooklyn – only a single door under an even smaller awning gave way to the hole in the wall shop. It seemed Bucky wasn’t the only one who appreciated their drinks as it was packed shoulder to shoulder inside the café. His shoulders slumped in disappointment.  

“Go,” you offered at his hesitation. “I’ll wait here for you.” 

Bucky brightened, nodding quickly and he stole one final kiss from your cheek before he slipped inside.  

You rolled your eyes, laughing under your breath. “He’s like a damn golden retriever.” 

“I’ll say.” 

The voice came from your left where a woman stood on the street corner, watching you. Bright bold lipstick and onyx black hair – the woman from the lobby who had been trying to get in to see Bucky a few days earlier. She was sipping from a Styrofoam mug – its label from the café Bucky was currently standing in line for.  

“Y/n, it’s good to see you again,” Tori greeted, stepping closer to you. "Sorry, I didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but I couldn’t help but watch the two of you. You’re very... sweet together.” She seemed to bite out the last two words.  

“Oh, well, thank you.” You pressed out a thin smile, shifting awkwardly in your stance. Stealing a quick glance to the shop and finding Bucky still waiting at the back of the line, you asked, “did you ever get that quote you were looking for?” 

Tori shrugged, shaking her head. “No, but I’m used to that with James. He’s always played hard to get.” 

You stilled; your heart suddenly so loud in your ears it drowned out the traffic on the main street behind you. Heavy thumping pounding in your chest, deafening in your ears. You swallowed, hoping you had misheard her intentions. “Sorry, what do you mean?” 

Her eyes widened, embarrassed. “Oh, I assumed you knew...” 

Slowly, you shook your head, not trusting yourself to speak.  

“James and I – we had a fling a few months ago,” she explained, a smile curling over her red lipstick almost dreamily. “Couple nights here and there. He was... exceptional in the bedroom, as I’m sure you know. So generous. Like’s he’s seeking penance between the sheets. But anyway, he promised me a quote for a story I was working on and I was coming back to collect. Little tit-for-tat, you know?” 

Sandpaper in your throat. Burning. Blistering. But still—you smiled. “Of course.” 

You’d never known Bucky to go back for more from any of the women he brought home to the tower; an endless parade that served to break your heart tens ways to Sunday you now knew was his attempt to suffocate the feelings he harbored for you. Not once did he ever make good on his promise to call them again. It was a meaningless distraction, after all. Except for Tori, it seemed. 

You couldn’t blame him for that. You held no claim on him at the time. And yet – you couldn’t help but feel your heart splintering at the seams. To be reminded that he had touched this woman the way he touched you, maybe whispered the same things in her ear.  

It wasn’t the same. You knew that. Bucky loved you.  

Still. Jealousy was a terrible monster.  

“I should probably head out,” Tori groaned, shooting you a pouted look as she checked the time on her phone. “No need to ask James about that quote anymore, by the way. Story came and went. Fast paced media and all. I’ll see you around, Y/n.” 

You nodded, watching quietly as she disappeared into the busy sidewalk – swallowed by the swarm of tourists and commuters.  

“Hey honey!” Bucky popped up on your right, startling you as you clutched your hand to your heart. He winced. “Sorry, sorry, didn’t meant to scare you. But hey, look – I got hot cocoa.” 

You forced a smile, thanking him sweetly with a kiss to his cheek as you took the hot chocolate from his hands. He was waiting patiently for you to take the first sip, to prove him right after days of buildup, that this was the best hot chocolate known to man. You’d never seen him as light and as happy as he was in the last week and you hoped part of that had to do with you, with what had changed between you, and you were desperate to hold onto it at all cost. 

“It’s wonderful, Buck. Best in the city. You were right,” you told him with a much as smile as you could muster. The smile that spread on Bucky’s face was well worth it, even if the hot chocolate was average at best. Still, you went in for another sip. 

On the way back to the tower, Bucky kept his hand close to you at all times. Lingering over the small of your back, sliding over your shoulders, brushing hair away from your face. The touch seemed to comfort him as you weaved in and around the busy sidewalks.  

“Oh, I forgot to ask,” Bucky started, swallowing the last sip of his coco. “Who were you talking to earlier? Thought I saw you with someone while I was picking up our orders.” 

You nearly choked on your drink, but you shook your head rapidly, quickly recovering. “No one. An old friend.” 

Bucky raised an eyebrow at your contradiction, but he didn’t press any further. Instead, he tossed his empty cup in the bin and laced his fingers with yours. There was no jealousy in his question, no caution or concern – just curiosity. Because he was interested in the things you did. Because he liked hearing you talk.  

You thought about telling him the truth, that you’d been rattled by one of the women he’d slept with before things changed between you, but you knew it would only serve to feed his misplaced guilt. There was nothing that could be done now to change his past – he couldn’t take back his nights with her just as you couldn’t tell him you loved him sooner to avoid all this heartache. You could only move forward. Together.  

You squeezed his hand and did just that. 

*** 

Billy Joel was playing on the radio – the soft hum of Piano Man carrying through the near empty dive bar as you tapped your toe on the edge of the bar stool. You swirled the bottom of your drink in the cup before you stole a final look to the door and finished it in one gulp.  

Carol was supposed to meet you almost an hour ago now. She’d left a message with the receptionist that she would be in town and wanted to catch up, which wasn’t entirely strange for her given she didn’t have cell service in space. But still – Bucky had teased her mercilessly for not having a cellphone when even he managed to figure it out.  

You could still feel the imprint of his hands against your hips as he teased you about how bored he’d be with you gone for the evening. Leaving him to his own devices – he was sure to get into trouble with Sam or ‘accidentally’ watch the next episode on your shared favorite show without you. He liked to tease you like that – small reminders of just how enamored he was with you; how helpless he was when it came to you. Still, he was the one to push you out the door so you weren’t late for your date with Carol.  

He’d kissed you sweetly in the lobby of the tower, unbothered by the stray onlookers and security officers who kindly averted their eyes. He kissed you with his hands against your cheeks, peppering his lips over your nose and forehead before he finally let you go, whispering an ‘I love you,’ as a goodbye.  

He said it so casually now – as often as he could. Perhaps, because he never imagined a world where he would ever get the chance. It felt like a dream each time – the ease with which he said those words, as if nothing had ever been truer.  

“Can I get you a refill?” the bartender offered, gesturing to your empty glass. You blinked a few times to pull you from your thoughts.  

You sighed, checking your watch and looking to the door one last time. “I think I might just head out actually. I’ll take the—” 

“She’ll have another,” a woman took a seat at the bar stool on your left, waving off the bartender when he gave you an inquisitory look. From the corner of your eye, you spotted the bright red stain of lipstick as the woman turned to face you—onyx hair brushed in long waves over her shoulders as she crossed her legs. “We have got to stop running into each other like this.” 

“Tori,” you greeted tensely, stealing another hopeful glance to the door in search of Carol. “Nice to see you again.” 

“Strange, don’t you think? That we keep crossing paths?” She was smiling at you, but something felt forced in her tone, something cold in her eyes. “You meeting someone?” 

The way she said it – it was almost like a taunt, like she knew Carol wasn’t going to show up, or perhaps, Carol was never the one who asked to meet you there in the first place. You swallowed, your heart pounding a little louder. The bartender set the replenished drink on the countertop, shooting you a concerned look as his gaze flickered to Tori. You gave him a short nod, letting him know you could manage. 

“She’s probably caught up at work,” you shrugged casually, taking a sip from the fresh drink. 

“Lucky for us,” Tori smirked, raising her glass to you. You held your breath, watching her as she waited for you to do the same. Only when you tapped your drink against hers, did she finally press out another drawn out smile. Still – it did nothing to touch the impatience growing in her eyes.  

“So, tell me,” she said as her eyes narrowed on you, “how is our super soldier?” 

You gritted your teeth at her punctuation of ‘our.’ Bucky wasn’t hers. He wasn’t something to be shared as if he meant little more than a thing to be used and discarded. You gripped the edge of your glass until your fingers ached. If you’d had Bucky’s strength, it would have shattered in your hand – glass embedded into your palms and still it wouldn’t divert from the hallow ache churning in your stomach.  

“He’s good,” you replied shortly. “Happy.”  

Tori sighed a long, exaggerated breath; the red press of her lips puckered against the edge of her martini glass. “Yes, I’m sure he is.” 

Your phone buzzed against the counter, drawing your reprieve. You were thankful for the distraction as you spotted Bucky’s name light up on your screen. It was a short message, just him checking in on how you’re doing, if you’re having fun, when you want him to come pick you up because – SHEILD analyst or not – he didn’t want his girl walking home alone this late. It was a romantic gesture, he explained, not him being dramatic and overprotective. He ended the message with a winky face. 

You caught yourself smiling dreamily at the message and quickly clenched your jaw, realizing where you were as you felt Tori watching you – her gaze drifting over your shoulder to read the message. You cleared your throat, slipping your phone quickly into your pocket.  

“Thanks for the drink,” you started, sliding out from the bar stool, “but I should probably head out.” 

“So soon?” she whined, pouting playfully as if you were old friends. You inched backwards. “Please, stay. I’ll order us some appetizers and we can—” 

“It’s getting pretty late, and I wouldn’t want to intrude,” you pressed, swinging on your jacket. 

Tori followed you, matching you step for step. “It’s no worry at all. In fact, I insist! Let me—oops!”  

You flinched as her drink spilled down the front of your shirt – staining your white blouse in cranberry juice. You exhaled a tense breath through your nose as you shook off the excess liquor from your fingertips, tugging the shirt away from your skin as it dampened the fabric.  

“Oh god, I am so sorry.” 

You shook your head. “No, no – it's fine. I’m just going to go wash up.” 

You slipped past her and made a beeline for the bathroom. It was a relief to finally have some space without feeling like she was somehow scrutinizing every move you made under the strange guise of plastic friendship and forced smiles. You didn’t know what she wanted from you but every interaction left you feeling unsettled. Like she was peeling back your layers by the tips of her long, manicured nails – exposing you, digging deeper and deeper until you were withered away to nothing. 

There was no avoiding this anymore. You needed to tell Bucky about her as soon as you got home. It would be an uncomfortable conversation and you knew he would take on unnecessary blame, but something was off with this woman and you needed his insight.  

Leaning against the bathroom sink, you studied the pink stain over your shirt. It swarmed into the fibers, crawling like dye along your chest. You groaned, yanking a few paper towels from the dispenser and dowsing it in water. You scrubbed at the stain until it faded, but it somehow managed to spread – leaving your white shirt resembling more of a pale pink mess. Your eyes flickered back to the mirror. There, you caught the reflection of eyes peering back at you.  

You yelped, hands dropping to the sink to steady yourself as you took another cautious glance at Tori’s image standing just over your shoulder in the corner of the room. A nervous laugh escaped to cover the rush of adrenaline pumping through your veins.  

“Shit. You scared me.” You gripped the counter until your knuckles ached.  

Tori didn’t respond. No cracked jokes or bright red grins. Instead, she held your stare through the mirror – unmoving. Impossibly still as wisps of her hair floated in the draft from the air conditioner. 

You swallowed. “Tori? Are you—” 

“What makes you so special?” Her upper lip twitched. 

You narrowed your eyes on her reflection, confused. Slowly, you turned around to face her. “Sorry, what did you—” 

“What... makes you... so special?” she asked again, venom pressed into every word. Her heels clicked against the tile as she approached, backing you against the sink. You felt the edge of the metal towel dispenser dig into your spine.  

Her gaze trailed over you, taking her time as she studied every inch of you, unashamed. “He’s been with dozens of women, all begging him to settle down, and he chooses... you?” 

You held her stare, willing your expression as unemotive as you could. You wouldn’t allow her to break you, to make you feel like you were just another notch on Bucky’s bedpost. His way of coping with the trauma Hydra inflicted upon him and the burdening weight of his feelings for you was his own business. It hurt like hell and broke your heart but you weren’t going to blame him for how he dealt with his pain. You wouldn’t shame him for that either.  

He chose you. No—he always knew it was you from the beginning. He’d told you as much. He loved you. This woman couldn’t take that away from you with a few cruel remarks.  

“I should go,” you gritted out, trying to push past her, but Tori blocked your path. She grinned; red lipstick stained on the front of her teeth – the smallest hint of imperfection breaking through the cracks. Her eyes were a little too wide, her pupils dilated to large, black circles. She barely blinked.  

“No, I don’t think you will.”  

Then, she lunged.  

Your head slammed back against the wall and you heard a deafening crack. Whether it was the tile or the base of your skull, you couldn’t tell, but you struggled to even keep your balance as you swung at one of Tori’s swaying images. You fist only met the air as she easily stepped out of your path and you stumbled forward, colliding against the door of a stall.  

“Pathetic,” she spat, digging something out of her bag. The smell of it burned in your nose as she yanked a tight hold of your hair, pressing you against the wall. She shoved the damp cloth over your nose and mouth. You scrambled under the pressure, panicked, but you were trapped.   

“Go to sleep,” she cooed under tense breath as you swiped your arms over the counter, trying to find something to grab, but your brain was too foggy, your vision too dark. Soap bottles clanged against the tile floor. Blood slid down your neck.  

Your lungs were on fire. You had to breathe. But the cloth was pressed hard over your nose, over your mouth. There was no escape. You felt your phone vibrate in your back pocket. Bucky. Tears welled in your eyes. And then – you gasped for air. 

Chemicals to your lungs. Heat and fire in your chest.  

Then, darkness.  

*** 

You learned hours later that Tori managed to drag your unconscious body through the back exit of the bar, down the alley, and into the back seat of her car without anyone noticing. You could still feel the road-burn on your legs and pebbles embedded into your skin. You spat a glob of blood from where you'd bitten down on the inside of your cheek in the struggle. 

“What do you want?” you groaned, avoiding her gaze as she circled around the room. Your head was pulsing so badly it hurt to so much as speak.  

She laughed – dry, humorless. “To show you exactly how insignificant you really are.” 

You rolled your eyes. “That’s rather dramatic.” 

Tori glared at you. She shook her head, rolling her shoulders back as if preparing a monologue. Then, she took in a deep breath. “No woman has ever tamed the Winter Soldier. He has never gone back for seconds before me. I was the first. I was going to fix him!” You flinched as she slammed her hand against the door. “But then you come along and suddenly, he’s... what? In love?” Her tone was mocking, disbelief and arrogance as she stared at you, agape. “It was going to be me. It should have been me! You’re not special at all! He just got tired of the games and you were convenient!” 

“You don’t know a damn thing about my relationship,” you sneered, unfazed by her venomous stare.  

“I’ll prove it to you,” she taunted, a wicked grin growing upon her face. She tapped the edge of the television propped on the wall and it illuminated to reveal what appeared to security footage from the tower. Twenty-second floor. Kitchen. Sam was making pancakes in the top right corner of the screen.  

“What the hell is this?” you gaped, stunned. 

“I’ll prove that you’re nothing more than just another fuck to him,” Tori continued as if she hadn’t even heard you. She rubbed a new layer of lipstick over her mouth before running a comb through pieces of her hair that had fallen out of place in the struggle. “You’ll see. The second I offer myself to your precious Bucky, he’ll come crawling back in an instant. He knows how good it was with me. He’ll remember and he’ll leave you in a second.” 

You stared at her; eyes wide. Not because you believed a word she said, but because she did.  

“You’re insane.”  

She smirked and it filled your stomach with dread. “We’ll see about that.” 

*** 

Left alone in the room, you tried to break free of your bindings, only for the wounds to dig deeper into your wrists, rendering any movement unbearable. Blood trickled down your wrists, slipping to the tips of your fingers and pooling on the floor underneath. Whatever blood remained at the base of your skull had long dried – crusted flakes caked into your hair and down your spine.  

On the security footage, you watched as Bucky entered the room, holding his phone. He was staring down at the screen, tapping it every few moments. You realized with an agonizing break in your chest that he was checking for a message that would never come— a confirmation that you were alright. 

How long had it been since Tori knocked you out? How long had you been held up in this room before you came to? You couldn’t tell the time of day from the black and white footage, but you could see Bucky was dressed in jeans and a faded SHIELD crewneck Steve had given him when he was first pardoned. Sam flipped a pancake on the stove but that didn’t mean it was morning, per say. The man consumed breakfast foods at all hours of the day.  

You watched helplessly as Bucky ran his fingers through his hair, his gaze shooting back to his phone so often you knew his anxiety must have been through the roof. At one point, he disappeared from the footage and returned with a pair of Tony’s car keys in hand. He waved them about, arguing with Sam as he pointed towards the elevator. But after a while, he slid the keys across the counter to Sam defeatedly.  

You were supposed to be out with Carol. It wouldn’t have been unusual for you to lose track of time together. It had been months since you saw her last and there was so much to catch up on – including your relationship with Bucky. You’d once stayed out until closing with her, not stumbling home until near three in the morning long after the bars closed with a slice of pizza in hand and your cheeks aching with laughter.  

But Bucky was wrestling between his instincts and shoving down the urge to cling to you. You thought it was sweet how often he teased you about how he didn’t want to spend another second away from you, not after all of the wasted time he lost. The Winter Soldier himself was loving and wonderful and selfless and kind when he was with you. He was everything. 

You wondered if you would ever see him again. 

After a while Sam had disappeared from the kitchen, leaving Bucky alone as he sat at the counter. He swirled a spoon around a cup of tea he’d let grow cold, too busy tapping his phone screen to see if you called.  

“Something’s wrong, Bucky,” you pleaded at the television, a lump burning in your throat as he clenched his hand to a fist. “You know something’s wrong. Come on.” 

Then, his head snapped up, turning to something off screen. Hope rose in your chest. Maybe this was it. Steve was coming to tell him you were missing. Carol was calling to say she never saw you tonight. Something.  

But instead, Tori walked into frame and you slumped against the chair, dead weight pulling on your body until you sunk into metal and wood and foundation. She glanced up at the security camera, peering directly at you with subtle wink, before suddenly, the audio turned on.  

A high-pitched ringing echoed into the room and you struggled to shield your ears against your shoulders. It passed only a moment later, leaving your head aching again and a terrible buzzing in your ears. But then – you heard a voice that nearly cracked through your chest and left your heart open and exposed.  

“Tori?” Bucky took a cautious step backward, tension coating his muscle. “What are you doing here?” 

“I’m here to see you, of course,” she replied sweetly, following his steps. The strap of her cocktail dress slid down her shoulder casually and she made no move to fix it. She smirked as his eyeline followed the flimsy fabric, just as she’d hoped he would. She didn’t seem to notice the way his right hand curled into a fist, his nails digging into his palms – something he often did to control his anxiety.  

Bucky swallowed. “I don’t understand.” 

“Don’t play coy with me, James. That’s not how we work.” Tori swung her hips as she crossed the room, kicking off her shoes with each step. Bucky backed himself against the wall, trying to slip out of her reach, but her hands were already on his chest, sliding down to his belt. You tried to look away but found it impossible, even as tears blurred your eyes.  

“Whoa! Whoa, hold on now,” Bucky nervously brushed her hands away before she could unlatch his buckle. You knew with his full strength he could have tossed her across the room, but he restrained himself, even as his chest started to rise in rapid breaths.  

“There’s no need to be shy, James.” She giggled as if he were playing a game and her mouth pressed to his neck— red lipstick brushing over his collarbone as her tongue swept his pulse point. You felt sick, tears openly sliding down your cheeks, until Bucky grabbed a firm hold of her shoulders and pulled her away from him.  

“Tori, enough!”  

She froze, staring wide eyed back at him. His reaction stunned her. She was expecting him to cave to her desire without hesitancy, to drop everything at the offer of her body and her lips upon his neck. He fractured her delusion that he would come to her willingly.  

He cleared his throat awkwardly, a flush of red in his cheeks. “I’m-- I’m with someone now and I... I love her. I won’t betray her. Not ever.”  

You waited as Tori’s posture went rigid, the sharp clench in her jawline visible even from the grainy security footage. Bucky didn’t seem to notice how still she’d become or what backlash he might face if he continued. He started pacing, a tremoring hand carding through his hair.  

“I’m sorry for the way I treated you,” Bucky began sincerely. “I... I used you to avoid dealing with my own feelings and for that, I am genuinely sorry. If I ever made you think that it meant more than that to me—” 

“You love her?!” Tori snapped, the high-pitched crack in her voice freezing Bucky in place. She was seething, steam blowing from her ears as she stalked closer to him. “You-- the guy who slept with half of New York because you’re afraid of commitment!” 

He blinked; a head of shame and guilt hot as stone against his cheeks. “I’m not... I’m not afraid of commitment. I was trying to keep my mind off her because I didn’t think I had a chance in hell. It was stupid and selfish, and a shitty way to cope but—” 

“Dammit Bucky, stop talking,” you urged to the screen, tugging on your restraints. You’d seen the shift in Tori before – how quickly her angry molded into a deadly calm. She’d managed to knock you out because you underestimated her. Bucky was walking into the same trap.  

“Y/n, right?” Tori scoffed, rolling her eyes. “I don’t know what you could possibly see in that woman. I’m the one you want, James. I’m the only one you came back for!” 

“Because it was easier and I was lazy and a fucking asshole,” Bucky admitted, his gaze falling to the floor, unable to look at her under the weight of his mistakes. You held your breath as you watched the rage fume into Tori’s eyes. She held her shock for only a moment and then, a paralyzing calm swept over her. Dread solidified like stone against your chest.  

“It didn’t mean anything deeper to me,” Bucky tried to explain as gently as he could. “I shouldn’t have strung you along, Tori. I thought you knew it what it was. I have loved Y/n as long as I’ve known her and I didn’t know how else to deal with it. I am so—” 

You saw the flash of silver for only a moment. Reflecting under the shine of the florescent lights, Tori swiped the blade from her purse and dove it directly into Bucky’s ribs. You screamed.  

Bucky gasped, stunned eyes trailing down to the knife embedded in his stomach, then to Tori as she spat on his cheek. He winced, clutching onto her shoulders for support, until she twisted the blade further, drawing a pained whine from Bucky’s lips. Then, she yanked the blade back in one smooth motion – spewing droplets of blood onto the couch beside him.  

“Bucky!” you cried, desperately yanking against the ropes, but they would not give. Tears blurred in your vision, sweeping down your cheeks. You could hardly breathe as he collapsed to his knees, hands touching the wash of blood seeping through his sweatshirt. Navy blue dampened in a deep maroon.  

He watched as she stalked off without another a word- his body swaying as his eyes rolled back and – he met the floor. A pool of blood circled around him, stretching out along the tiles.  

“No...” You shook your head. A scream ripped through your lungs as you tore at the ropes, cutting into your skin and soaking blood into the twine. “No! Bucky! Someone – someone help him!” 

But no one came.  

The footage froze – leaving you alone with the image of Bucky bleeding out. Alone.  

*** 

You watched the security tape until your eyes burned – afraid to blink for even a second. He hadn’t moved in almost an hour. Logically, you knew it was because the feed had been cut; the picture frozen only a few seconds after he’d collapsed and still—you watched it as if he’d disappear completely if you turned away for even a second. 

Someone would notice him. Sam would come back. Clint would find his way to the kitchen for a midnight snack. Someone would find him before it was too late.  

Bucky wasn’t dead. You wouldn’t allow it to be true. You’d only just learned what it was like to have him in your arms, to be able to call him yours, to be his. He couldn’t be dead.  

When the door to your caged room crept open with the screeching cry of rusted hinges, you could barely muster the strength to look at Tori in the eye. Her hands were stained red with blood – Bucky's blood. It was all you could focus on – how it dried into her manicured nails, slipped into the cracks of dry skin. You wondered how long it took for him to bleed out after she left him. You wondered if he died alone. 

“He was a fool,” Tori spat, disgust laced into her voice. You kept your stare on her hands, your vision blurred into faded swarms of crimson. She must have finally noticed the emptiness she’d left in you because she added, “now neither of us can have him.” 

Your eyes snapped to hers, rage boiling in your bloodstream. “He was never yours!” 

A slap burned against your cheek as she struck you. You remained still, staring at the left wall of the room for a moment until you gathered yourself again. When you looked at her, she was just as crazed as she was when she attacked you in the bathroom of the dive bar – unhinged.  

“Now what?” you taunted. “You going to kill me, too?” 

She shrugged, sliding a paper bag from her purse. Inside, was a handgun. She weighed it carefully in her grip before she dropped the bag. She’d clearly never used the weapon before.  

“Can’t have witnesses, can I?” she smirked, releasing the safety.  

You clenched your jaw, determined to hold her gaze even if it was the last thing you saw. “No, I suppose not.” 

She raised the gun, barrel aimed at your chest. “I would say it’s been a pleasure, but—” 

The door to the room swung open and chaos ensued. A gun was discharged – the echo of it deafening within the small room and you squeezed your eyes shut. You held your breath; certain a bullet had pierced straight through your chest. Blood was pooling down your shirt, crimson mixing into the faded pink stain of vodka and cranberry on your blouse – you were sure of it.  

But no pain followed.  

Instead, you felt hands press to the sides of your face – desperate, pleading. One warm. One solid as steel.  

“Y/n,” Bucky’s voice shook as he held you, “please, sweetheart, look at me. I’m right here.” 

You clenched your jaw, terrified that if you opened your eyes you might be met with an empty room – that all that remained of the man you loved laid on the floor in the tower. Tears spilled down your cheeks, slipping over the tips of his fingers as he brushed them away.  

“You’re safe, honey, I promise,” Bucky tried again, his lips peppering kisses over your cheekbones, kissing away your tears. “Sam and Steve have her restrained. She can’t hurt you.”  

Slowly, you dared to open your eyes.  

Bucky was on his knees, red stained into the skin on his neck and coating his left hand. It seeped into the cracks of his left, but he was wearing his combat suit— the blood-soaked sweatshirt left behind. He was breathing heavily, his eyes trailing over you in search of further injury, but still—relieved.  

“She-- She stabbed you,” you stuttered, looking to the monitor on the wall where Bucky’s image was still displayed. He clenched his jaw as he turned to look, a cold realization settling in that you’d been made to watch Tori’s advances on him and her subsequent retaliation to his rejection.  

Bucky pushed out a smile. “I’m strung together with some shitty stapples, but I’m okay. It takes more than that to take me down, especially when my girl needs me.” 

He still managed to tease you, even as he worked on removing the ropes on your wrists – a playful laugh on his breath as he made every attempt to draw a smile back to your lips. As he released your hands, you winced at the cold wash of air against the open wounds.  

“She’s not here,” Bucky offered when he noticed your gaze searching the room. “I had Steve and Sam get her out of here the second they wrestled the gun away. You won’t ever have to deal with her again, honey.” 

Bucky sighed, his chin sinking to his chest. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. I brought this on you. I never thought that she—that anyone would—” 

“It’s not your fault,” you said, wrapping your arms around his neck. He nodded as his nose pressed to your hair, breathing you in. You were almost certain you smelled of the thrown martini and chloroform, but he didn’t seem to mind. With his senses, he might still have been able to isolate the wash of your shampoo.  

“I wish I could do it all over,” Bucky admitted. “I wish had the courage to tell you at the beginning." 

You knew what he was trying to say – that he would have traded every one of his meaningless one night stands if it meant he had more time with you. He would have avoided ever knowing Tori or any of the nameless women you’d seen escape from his room before dawn. He would have given anything to have known you loved him as he did everything in his power to forget his feelings for you. He would have made a thousand different choices. 

But he could not have known what you did not tell him.  

“I wish I did, too,” you murmured against his neck. You couldn’t allow yourself to wonder how different things would have been if you’d confessed your feelings for him sooner— if you could have spared either of you months or years of heartbreak. You pulled back from his embrace, only enough to meet his eye. You brushed your thumb over his lips. “But we’re here now, Bucky. You and me. Nothing can ever get in the way of that. You have me, okay?” 

Bucky nodded weakly. He kissed you chaste on the lips, gentle, as if he were afraid to push it further. Not within this room – with blood on your wrists and a half-stitched wound under his jacket. He would have plenty of time to love you properly later. 

You took solace in that. Misfortune and the universe herself had spent years keeping you and Bucky at arm's length from one another. They would not dare to come between you now.  

--

Thank you so much for reading! ❤️ If you enjoyed this fic, please consider supporting me at my ko-fi account ✨

[crumbledcastle28]

Chapter 15: A Clan of Three

Warnings: really bad depression and mourning in the beginning, mentions of large amounts of death and violence, and injury.

Author’s Note: Almost to the end! I hope you enjoy! I also went a bit off canon for this one, so I hope that’s ok!

(Gif gotten from fuckyeahgrogu)

Your walk down in the sewers was….. indescribable.

You felt like the opposite of a ghost. You weren’t a soul roaming the sewers, you were just a body. Only the physical means of you survived this long, and the remaining piece of your soul was left behind with your Mandalorian.

So much so, that you didn’t even know where you were going. You presumed a way out was the end goal, but you didn’t even think about it. You stared at the floor for what felt like hours, sniffling and trying to find your breath.

You hadn’t felt like this before. Not even when Mando figured out who you were…. because he was there.

You didn’t care if he was bloodied, bruised, half dead, or had a physical ailment for the rest of his life that forced you and only you to carry him for the rest of your days….. you just wanted him here.

The kid seemed to be having the same feelings of numbness and shock that you did. His emotions were completely blocked from you and you could tell he didn’t want you to know what he was actually thinking. You couldn’t blame him, your walls reached their peak once more when you felt Mando squeeze your hand one final time.

How did you even get here? Weren’t you trained to always put the mission first? Why did all of your rational and strategic thoughts go out the window as soon as Mando ate with you the first time?

You wanted to go back in time and tell yourself to look at him for even a second longer. Ask him a stupid question one more time. Just one glimpse would tie you over enough to at least speak again.

“I uh… I made the IG promise to bring him,” Cara said at one point, but you didn’t even react.

You were grateful for her trying to lift you up when mere minutes ago she thought you were the reason everything went wrong, but it felt as if it wasn’t even worth it to hope that Mando was alive. Not when there was a chance he could be dead.

You thought about turning back one too many times, but you couldn’t betray Mando like that.

He asked for a warrior’s death… and he got one.

The child started acting funny and crying in your arms, and you tried to sooth him.

“It’s ok little guy,” you whispered into his ear, trying to keep your burning throat at bay. “We have to get out of here, ok?”

But it was no use. The kid wouldn’t stand still.

You almost let your frustration with him get the better of you, until you felt it.

The tiniest, faintest tingle crawling up your spine, causing your brain to echo danger throughout the rest of your body.

Something’s coming.

You spun around, eyes widening as you scanned your surroundings. Your eyes were wide and your heartbeat quickened.

You didn’t know if you had another fight in you.

Cara saw your quick movement and spun around as well, using her flashlight to illuminate the tunnel.

“What is it?” Karga asked, and you slowly but surely heard footsteps approaching.

You wiped your tear stained face and took your longspear from its holder on your back.

Mando wasn’t here. You had to take care of the child, and dying in a sewer underneath an Empire base wasn’t the way you wanted to go.

The form of IG-11 appeared through the faint shine of Cara’s light, and you expected to be disappointed.

You expected him to apologize for your loss and be on his way.

But, a limping form of shiny metal was right beside him, and you felt yourself enter your body once more.

The feeling was almost euphoric. If this was the only blessing the universe could give you in your whole life, you would be a damn happy woman.

Cara instantly ran to him to help him stay up, but your shock and joy only allowed your body to drop your longspear and stay frozen in place.

The child squealed slightly in your arms, and that was the noise that made it real.

This was real. He was here.

Not even a second after Cara helped prop him up did you run to his side, slightly slowing down once you got to him, and collide with his chest.

You felt the tears of pure joy start exiting your eyes, and you couldn’t help but laugh at the small puff of air Mando released when your chests collided.

“Easy,” he chucked out, and you laughed into his armored neck, only squeezing tighter. He rubbed your back with his free arm as you sobbed happily into his neck, and the child tapped Mando’s chest slightly with happy giggles.

You finally pulled away to place your hand on the side of his visor, framing the helmet, and looked into his eyes.

You were stuck in an Emperial sewer, beaten and bruised, with virtually no way out in sight….

…but this wasn’t the last time you would look into his eyes, and that was enough.

“Sorry to.. break up the reunion… but we are kinda stuck,” Karga finally stated, and you let out a breathy laugh with Mando following with one as well.

You kissed his cheek, and then lifted his arm over your shoulders while your free arm reached around his back to help Cara move him down the hallways.

It felt good to finally help Mando up, after the many times he had helped you. Even in the horrible circumstances you were in, you couldn’t keep the smile off your face.

“Do you know which way to go?” Cara asked Mando, referring to the coverts he had lived in before.

“No, I don’t know these tunnels,” Mando admitted, the child still managing to giggle in your arms.

“If we follow the smell of sulfur, it will lead us to the lava river,” Karga said.

“The Imps will catch us before we make the ship,” Mando said, and you couldn’t help but agree.

“We need the Mandalorians to escort us to safety.”

You could tell Mando was using his helmet to search for tracks, and you could feel his body becoming stronger. So much so, that he started standing and walking on his own.

You felt more relieved than you could even explain. Your “partner in crime” of sorts was back by your side, and it felt damn good.

The group was moving faster, until Mando stopped abruptly after turning down a corridor.

A huge pile of Mandalorian armor and helmets was laying on the floor in front of Mando, and he dropped to his knees.

You knew what this meant…. the Empire had taken an entire covert of Mandalorians down. This was Mando’s family, and the Empire had plucked them off their list as if they were nothing.

“We should go,” Cara said, trying to be gentle for Mando’s sake.

“You go. Leave the ship. I can’t leave it this way,” he said, and the familiar pain in his voice was returning.

You bowed your head slightly, trying to show respect to the warriors in the little time you had to stay there. You had fought Mandalorians before, and they were some of the fiercest people you had ever met. They deserved better than this.

“Did you know about this?” Mando asked Karga, and you could hear the venom returning to his voice.

“Is this the work of your bounty hunters?” Mando said, getting more into Karga’s face. The anger in Mando was strong and dangerous. If the group started fighting each other, there was no way any of you were making it out alive.

“It was not his fault,” a voice said from behind you, and a woman Mandalorian appeared from the shadows.

She was taller, but lean and built. She looked strong and tough, but you could feel her mourning as well.

“We knew what would could happen if we left this place. The Imperials arrived shortly thereafter,” she said, referring to when the covert revealed themselves to save Mando.

He had very briefly explained how he got the kid off of this planet before, but you didn’t realize an entire covert of Mandalorians revealed themselves. You were surprised the Empire didn’t wipe them out sooner.

“Did any survive?” he asked the woman.

“I hope so. Some may have escaped off world,” she responded.

Mando took a moment to think, before looking up at her and saying, “come with us.”

“No,” she said instantly. “I will not abandon this place until I have salvaged what remains.”

She began to gather up pieces of armor from the pile and holding them above large blue flames.

“Show me whose safety deemed such destruction,” she asked, and everyone turned to the child in your arms.

“This is the one,” Mando said, gesturing to the now sleeping child.

You tried to keep your face neutral, looking down at the child, but all the eyes on him scared you. This woman was in deep grief, you could feel it, and that made people react in very rash ways. If she felt that Mando was at fault for the pain she had….

“This is the one that you hunted, then saved?” she asked, and the confusion in her voice was slightly comical.

“Yes,” Mando responded. “The one that saved me as well.”

���It looks helpless,” she said.

“It is injured, but not helpless,” Mando responded. “We think he has the powers of a Jedi.”

“Ah, yes, Jedi,” the woman responded, and your heart tightened with fear. If she knew about Jedi, then she had to know what you once were.

“The songs of eons past tell of battles between Mandalore the Great and the Jedi.”

“Are they an enemy to us?” Mando asked cautiously, and you could feel the protective emotions he felt towards his creed and his people.

“No,” she said. “Its kind were enemies, but this individual is not.”

She looked at the child once more. “It is a foundling. By Creed, it is in your care.”

Mando tightened, as did you.

“You have no choice. You must reunite it with its own kind.”

“Where,” Mando asked.

“This you must determine.”

“You expect me to search the galaxy for the home of this creature and deliver it to enemy sorcerers?” he asked, and you couldn’t help the faint grin on your face at his bluntness.

“Until that time, or it comes of age, it is in your care,” the woman said.

“You are as it’s father,” she said, and your eyes widened.

Mando was a father?

If Mando was the kid’s father….. what does that make you?

“And you,” the woman says, looking at you straight on. Your head popped up to meet her gaze, trying to hide the timidity and wonder in your eyes.

“You have helped?” she asks, and you glance at Mando with your eyes for less than a second before meeting the woman’s gaze again.

“Yes,” he responded for you, registering that you were asking for his help. Normally, you didn’t like when people talked for you, but this was Mando’s department, and you didn’t want to speak incorrectly for him.

“She keeps the child safe, same as I do,” Mando says, looking at the woman with confidence.

You grin slightly, looking at the child once more.

“Well then… if you so choose… you are a clan of three,” the woman says, and your eyes snap back to Mando, who is already looking at you.

You had heard about the Mandalorian clans. They treated each other like family, and fought till the death for each other. It had been something you had never had before, but if you were going to do it with anyone, it would be with Mando.

This thought boosted your confidence, and you gave Mando a slight nod of your head, showing that you want this. You want him.

Mando nods back, and says, “Yes. If that is possible.”

You feel the blush creep up your face, and even if you were in a dark and shadowy room, everyone could see it.

You were in his clan. His family. You wanted to jump for joy and squeeze into Mando’s arms once more.

“You have earned your signet,” the woman said, affixing the mudhorn signet to Mando’s right arm.

“You are a clan of three.”

You felt the happy tears creep up again, but you blinked them away. Trying not to ruin the moment.

“Thank you,” Mando stated. “I will wear this with honor.”

You were convinced you had never been happier. The day started with Kuiil dying, fighting for your life, and Mando almost dying, but you made it through. You made it to right here.

You bowed slightly to the woman.

“Thank you,” you said. “I am honored.”

“The honor is mine,” she says to you.

You smiled up at her, enjoying the butterflies in your tummy and the happiness in your eyes.

You had everything you ever wanted… now, you just needed to get out.

Tag list:

@leahkenobi @pinkninja200 @farfromjustordinary @440mxs-wife @bookloverfilmoholic

[cipheress-to-k-pop]

Sunshine

Pairing: Jason Todd x Reader

Warnings: Suicidal themes. Mentions of a gun.

Word Count: 2.3k words

Summary: You’re Jason’s sun. Jason’s having a rainy day.

“If I had to choose between her or the sun, I’d be one nocturnal son of a gun.”

A/N: Felt inspired to write this after simping over Jason with @tadpole-san​

Sunshine. It was a fitting name for you.

The world woke up to the sun, its warm rays casting a glow on their body that’s comforting, full of hope and joy and love. He remembered waking up to the bright rays peeking through his curtains and his body aching when he tried to move off the bed.

He was a night person. Had been his entire life. From when he used to live in the Narrows and had to be a light sleeper to make sure some crazy psycho didn’t break in till when he used to spend sleepless nights patrolling alongside Batman.

He didn’t like the sun; it was just a nuisance that bothered him while he was trying to sleep. While he was awake it was another sign that he couldn’t get back into the Robin suit and fight crime. He hated day time; he was a night owl.

Until you walked into his life, with a smile brighter than the all the stars in the sky and eyes warmer than the sun. Your touch was enough to light him on fire or soothe his aches. Since the moment he saw you, you shined hope into his dark and bleak life.

How someone so perfect existed was beyond him. You were the light at the end of the dark tunnel that he had been crawling through for so long. Your voice was honey, your words like sugar and he wanted to drink in every single piece of you. Your scent was home and your laughter the sweetest melody he ever head.

Jason Todd was madly in love with you.

You who was so good to him, so selfless and kind, not like everyone else in the tower. You were the only one who didn’t appear to hold baggage, a ghost haunting you from the past. He knew you had your secrets, your shadows, your monsters. Why else would you have chosen to join the team?

It was a limited addition collection of traumatized individuals.

You were too pure to be living with them. You were too pure to be hanging around him. Every time you touched him, Jason felt soothed, purified, refreshed. But he couldn’t shake the guilt he felt that every time he touched you, he’d be corrupting your beautiful soul with his own tainted one.

He wanted to stay away from you but even when he tried his hardest, he couldn’t hide from your light. He felt himself blindly searching for it, trying to gain some warmth when he felt cold and alone.

And you would be all too happy to give it to him.

In the dark of the night, while everyone was asleep, he’d sneak into your room to seek your protection from the loneliness. Just a few whispered words and your searing touch would have him dizzy from the contact, hiding in your arms. You were his sun even when the moon was out.

Jason woke up to you cuddling into his chest, legs tangled with his, hands buried underneath his thin t-shirt, pressed to his soft skin. You were his new morning. He wanted to wake up to you every single morning.

People always wanted to watch the sun rise, often staying awake or doing an egregious amount of hiking to watch the golden sun make its way past the horizon. He never quite understood them, but when he watched your eyes flutter open, hair messy and a tired smile on your face, he finally did. He wanted to watch you rise every single day of his life.

Even on the days when you didn’t want to wake up just yet, groaning and whining, burying your face further in his chest and pulling the blankets tighter around your body. He’d laugh but hold up a hand to shield your eyes from the sunlight so you could rest peacefully, and he’d feel full just by looking at you.

But in every life a little rain must fall. Cloudy, stormy days were a part of lives, were a part of people. Jason knew this, he had felt it, but after basking in the sun for so long, to go back to the dark, to the cold rain, he felt scared.

You noticed how he would pull away from you, how he would put distance and your heart broke. You’d lie awake at night wondering if he’d come. You’d hold him but something felt different. His skin was cold and unresponsive.

You knew why it was happening and you tried to make him come back to you. You tried so hard to bring the light back to his eyes, to melt the ice that was set in his veins, to bring him back to you. But it felt like he was slipping through your fingers like sand and the tighter you tried to grasp at him, the quicker he managed to leave.

Now whenever Jason looked at you, he didn’t feel warmth, he didn’t feel his heart being filled with syrup. Whenever he looked at you, he only felt guilt and pain. You were not meant to be with the likes of him, he was tarnishing you just by being with you. He couldn’t bear staying away from you, but still, he couldn’t help but feel dread every time you’d touch him.

You were his sun, and he was robbing every one of your sunlight by poisoning you.

***

“Gar, I just don’t know what’s going on with him.” You stressed, biting your lip nervously. It was the fourth time that Jason had chased you out of his room when you tried to coax something out of him. You knew his experience with Deathstroke had shaken him, and as much as you were trying to help, he wouldn’t let you.

“He probably just wants to be left alone, (Y/N), you know, sort out his thoughts?” Gar had watched you pace back and forth in his bedroom for about an hour and it was honestly making him antsy. He knew you were upset and was just trying to calm you down but he would be an idiot if he said he didn’t notice how you and Jason began drifting apart.

“I know, and I want to give him space too, if that’s what he wants, but I just have this gut feeling that I need to help him, you know?”

“I know you have a bleeding heart, and I also know you care a lot about Jason, but if he really wants some space then he probably needs it. I mean, Jason is crazy about you, why would he want to stay away? He’s probably just a little overwhelmed and chaotic and just needs some quiet.”

Gar’s words comforted you for the time being but there was still a pit in your stomach that only Jason could lift, but you’d wait until he was ready to. Biting you lip contemplatively, you sat down on Gar’s bed with a sigh. Automatically, his arm wrapped around your shoulder, patting it gently.

You heard voices from outside, they started out as mumbles but got louder quickly and you wondered if you should go and check it out. Sharing a look with Gar, you both wandered to the living room.

Everyone looked tense and rigid, the tension was so thick you could cut it with a knife.

“What’s going on?”

“Jason drew crucifixes on Rachel’s mirror.” Said Donna and you gasped softly, head snapping to Jason’s. Gar bristled beside you, protective over Rachel but didn’t make any moves like the level headed person he was. Did Jason really do that?

Jason’s eyes were watering when you met them, red along the borders and your gaze softened. He was gripping his jacket tightly in his trembling hands, jaw clenched tightly to keep him from crying and your heart clenched in your chest.

“I didn’t do any of it.” He told you, voice thick and tense. You found yourself nodding. Jason was hard to work with sometimes, he was hard-headed and insensitive but he didn’t go around trying to make reasons for people to hate him.

“Really cute what you did with the bourbon bottle there, if you go into my room or pull that shit again, I’ll forget what side you’re on.” Hank spat and your brows furrowed. What was he saying?

“I didn’t do any of it.” He whimpered out and you wanted to say something to diffuse the situation but Dawn spoke up, “What about the picture of Ellis?”

“The orange soda bottle?”

Suddenly everyone was throwing accusations at him and you couldn’t stop yourself from reeling. Just as you were about to defend Jason, the sound of the elevator captured your attention.

Out walked Dick, with shoulders tense, white knuckles gripping a gun tightly. His face was stone cold but his eyes were showing terror, looking around the room in a frenzy.

“What’s wrong?”

“He’s here.” He whispered harshly and your brows furrowed, “Deathstroke was here.”

It was like the atmosphere got thicker. You kept your eyes on Dick and noticed the way his pupils darted to an empty space before the dazed look passed and he looked around again.

“Jason...”

Your eyes snapped to where he was standing only to find that he wasn’t there anymore. Something dense and dark settled into the pit of your stomach and you. Everyone moved towards the hallway, probably trying to look for Jason. After finding out Deathstroke was in the building, they didn’t want anyone alone.

But before they made any other move, you grabbed the gun out of Dick’s hand, pointing it at the glass Hank left off the table and shooting. It shattered, splaying shards of glass all over the table.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Hank spat, coming closer to you but you shot another bullet, shattering the bottle beside the glass. You glared up at him, feeling rage fuel when you remembered the way he spoke to Jason.

“The next time you pull that shit with your teammate I’ll forget what fucking side you’re on.” You spat, clicking on the safety before chucking it into Dick’s hands and rushing to the rooftop.

Your heart pounded with every step, feeling dread fill your heart and your eyes began watering before you even reached the roof. You blinked them away furiously but eventually fat tears began streaming down your cheeks and you slammed against the door, a broken sob leaving your mouth when you saw what was in front of you.

Jason was standing on the edge of the building, back facing you. It wasn’t the first time he had stood there, many a times the two of you had spent time on the roof, talking till the sun set. He would sit on the edge of the rooftop, laughing when you got freaked out and anxious and wrapped your arms around him just to be safe.

But it felt different this time. His back was stiff, he wasn’t facing you, his legs and hands were trembling. The thought of him teetering over the edge flashed through your head and your lips quivered.

“Please, come down.” You whimpered out and his shoulders tensed even more.

“I don’t want you to watch this.’

“Please!” You cried out, eyes squeezing shut. The sight of him was a little too much for you to handle, “Jason, I love you, please.”

“You shouldn’t love someone like me,” His voice wobbled with every word, “There’s no helping me, (Y/N). I don’t belong here. I’m the reason this place won’t work. I’m a poison. Shit spreads and it can infect even the healthiest of people.”

“You’re not! You’re not a poison! I love you! And I want to tell you how much but no words are coming to my mind.” You sobbed out, hiccupping.

He chuckled lowly, “You can’t even think of a reason.”

“It’s not because of that!” You shouted, heart breaking in your chest. Your vision was blurry and tears were endlessly falling. It was difficult to even speak, your throat tightening painfully. You just wanted him to hold you, feeling his warmth against your body as you cried, “It’s because you’re really scaring me right now!”

You sniffled, trying to stop your tears, wiping furiously at your face. If you wanted to stop Jason then you’d need to be able to tell him properly.

“Jason, you know how you call me you’re sunshine? Because I show you the light?” You didn’t need to wait for a confirmation her heard you, “Jason, if I’m you’re sunshine then you’re my sky! You’re my home!”

“You’re not a poison, my love. You’re just having a rainy day.” You reasoned, “I’m your sun, Jason, I can’t be poisoned or tainted or broken. I’m always going to be there for you, please give me a chance to prove it.”

“I don’t deserve you.” He choked out and you felt a fresh wave of tears.

“You deserve so much more. You’re so good, Jason. So sweet, so loving. Please, please, don’t leave me.” You whimpered out, stepping forward to grasp his wrist and sharply pulled him towards you.

He fell over you, and you held him against you, burying your head into his hair. He took a shaky breath before a sob broke through his chest. He didn’t try to fight you, wrapping his arms around your waist and crying into your shoulder. You sobbed in relief, pressing wet kisses to the crown of his head.

“I’m sorry, I’m so so sorry,” He sobbed, hands fisting your shirt, “I don’t deserve you.”

You shivered, pulling away slightly to kiss him breathlessly, “You deserve me and so much more. I’m going to be with you every single step of the way, I promise. You’re my sky, Jason. I love you.”

“I love you too, Sunshine. Thank you.”

You stayed in each other’s arms, relishing in the warmth until the moon rose. Even then you still felt the warmth of the sun between you.

Forever Taglist:

@simonsbluee

DC Taglist:

@emmacata

@p--e--a--c--h--e--s

@sometimeseverythingsucks

@sokkas-honour

@unstable1902

@lostgirlheart

[onlinehorrorinserts]

A/N: Normally what I’ll write is just snippets of images and scenarios, and that’s what this was GOING to be but I got insanely inspired and just kept going. What better way to get this kicked off than a oneshot, anyway? Eyeless Jack with the prompt “Why didn’t you tell me you were hurt?” Trigger warning for descriptions of blood and a wound, as well as it being stitched back up near the end (just in case)

You hadn’t expected this little outing to be any different than the usual. A quick get in, get rid of the target, and get out. Someone had gotten just a little too close to the isolated mansion even despite the failsafes put in place, and it just wouldn’t be safe to let them be with the knowledge of what they may have seen.

Unfortunately, you had neglected to take into account that someone who was probably already scared and insanely paranoid and knew their life could be in danger after the things they had seen would fight tooth and nail to keep themselves alive. You had kept to the cover of darkness for a reason - not only should it have given you the clear upperhand, but it should have kept all of the damage to a minimum on both sides.

You didn’t particularly enjoy killing, after all. At least not when it came to innocents who were just in the wrong place at the very wrong time. It was simply a means to an end, something that had to be done to protect the family you had grown to love, twisted as they all were. Twisted as you were too, you realized, but the thought was often easy enough to shove aside.

Needless to say this was something of a routine for you. Something that should never have had the opportunity to go so wrong - yet that’s the very reason you must have grown complacent. What was usually just a quick get in and get out plan turned into a literal stab in the back and the rather aggressive fight that ensued after. The only thing on your side was the utter shock the victim had upon noticing how human you seemed to be compared to whatever he must have seen out in those woods. That realization had killed his resolve for just long enough for you. Humans could be fickle - if they weren’t like you, if they weren’t used to having the resolve to do what needed to be done, they could falter. You didn’t.

You knew the wound probably wasn’t deep enough to kill you. You’d have to seek treatment though. The idea made your skin crawl more than the feeling of blood oozing into the torn fabric of your clothing. It wasn’t who you had to seek out that frightened you. If anything you would have been a bit more comforted by his presence by this point. No, it was the idea in general. Hospitals, doctors, anything related to the medical field gave you tunnel vision in the form of a very rapid fight or flight response. It wasn’t something you’ve been able to control for a long time.

When you returned to the mansion, you were thankful that not many seemed to be out and about, especially not him. A couple of the guys were lounging on the couch or the chairs in the living room, playing games and cracking jokes a bit too loudly to fully notice you enter, except for Jeff who threw a casual nod your way. You offered a small smile in return, waiting for him to return his attention back to the others before you dared turn your back and crept up the stairs. You didn’t want them to see the wound and were thankful when you heard no words calling up after you to indicate that they had.

Only once you were in the safety of your room did you let out a sigh of relief, reaching to your back with a strained wince to try and gauge the damage. The amount of blood that covered your hand when you pulled it back was enough of an answer. 

You knew you had to go see him. You weren’t stupid. No matter how close the two of you grew though, the idea of descending into his basement, penetrating into his bubble of personal space… it felt wrong. Even knowing that no one else seemed to care, and he was technically something of a designated doctor for them all and it was sort of one of his jobs… you couldn’t feel comfortable with it. Or more likely it was for less selfless reasons like that and more your own fear piercing your heart worse than that knife had pierced flesh.

Not much time was given for you to debate with yourself though as you heard a knock at the door, jolting you back into reality as you stared at the knob. It didn’t seem as if anyone was going to take the initiative and just come in. Maybe you could just leave it and they’d get the hint? Another knock was soon to dispel that hope as you sighed, forcing yourself to go answer it. As much as you hated the idea of having to clean it later, you used your bloodied hand to hide it from your visitor.

It soon became clear that it was all for naught though as your eyes met with the familiar deep blue mask, an inky blackness where eyes should have been and a gunky tar like substance slowly trailing down the mask, long ago having stained the fine blue like oil in water.

“So you are back.” The muffled, vaguely distorted voice spoke matter of factly, not afraid to show a vague irritation in the way he crossed his arms. You sheepishly smiled despite yourself.

“What, were you watching for me or something?”

“You know how good my hearing is.”

“I thought your basement was soundproof?”

“And who said I was in the basement?” He had a point, you realized. You had merely assumed he was down there after not seeing him in the front room. As reclusive as he could be, it was likely he had just been in another room. He knew he had you there and so he turned and began to head back down the hall towards the stairs. With a defeated sigh all you could do was follow him.

You kept quiet as you followed him back down and through the front room, the boys pointedly watching as you passed. Had they not noticed the blood before, they certainly did now, and it was Jeff to make that all the more clear.

“The fuck happen to you?” He asked with a cock of his head, perhaps genuinely curious despite his more blunt tone. You were about to stop to respond, wanting to take any opportunity to prolong the inevitable, but predictably it wasn’t going to be that easy. When you slowed, Jack immediately shifted to grab your wrist and with a light pull, ushered you forward and ahead of him. The message he was giving you was clear, and with a soft huff you continued on while he stayed behind, no doubt to talk to the scarred boy.

The descent down the stairs was never very easy to get used to. As soon as you hit the first step you felt the warmth from the house seemingly leave your body as the chill penetrated nearly to the bone. You knew the cold didn’t bother him like it did you - in a technical sense he was scarcely what you could even call alive. Not like humans were alive, at least. The cold was better for his specimens anyway. No use complaining. 

You were at least thankful that he had gotten into the habit of leaving at least a dim light on when he knew that you would be coming down. Just because he didn’t need them to see and not wipe out on the stairs didn’t mean that you didn’t, after all. Once you had found your way down, you went to take a seat on his bed, pulling the sheets up and around you. You didn’t care that you’d get blood on them. He had plenty of spare sheets anyway, considering he had to constantly change them out if he didn’t want to be sleeping in… whatever that substance from his eyes were. He was a bit more hygienic than that, thankfully.

You weren’t sure how long passed before you heard his descent, feeling a shaky breath escape you as you did. A mix of anxiety and relief crossed you in that very moment - an odd mixture for sure. A small shiver passed through you. You decided to convince yourself it was due to the chill in the air. 

When he reached the bottom step he faced you, not wasting time to remove the mask. A couple points of his sharklike teeth poked out from the cover of his grey lips, and though he had no eyes you knew his gaze was focused entirely on your own. It hadn’t been long since he had started removing his mask around you. He seemed to prefer the security it brought him. You weren’t sure what vulnerabilities lie underneath that callous exterior, and though you knew him well enough by now to know there was no harm in asking, you decided not to breach the subject today.

“Come here. Sit by the table, take off the shirt.” Despite the cold you felt a bit of heat rise to your cheeks, and if he noticed he thankfully didn’t comment on it for the time being. All you could do was obey, letting the blankets pool behind you on the bed as you stood and made your way over. Once the material was off the cold only felt more persistent. You wondered for a brief moment if you could catch a cold in here if you spent too much time down here.

The feeling of his hand made you jolt, a soft hiss escaping your lips when it caused the muscle to pull. You heard him sigh but noticed the faintest, gentle skim of his thumb against the unmarred section of skin just below the wound. A form of apology gone unspoken.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were injured?” He finally spoke as he reached over to the table beside you, preparing a few of his tools. Before you could answer he continued, his slight growl of a voice softening the best he could manage, “slight sting.”

You winced when the needle punctured you, but you were thankful when a bit of relief slowly started to take over. You weren’t entirely sure where he got any of this, but right now you didn’t care. You could only faintly feel the pressure of him working on stitching up the wound, wincing only occasionally if he went a bit too deep.

“You know why, Jack.”

“You’d think by now you’d realize I’m not going to harm you.”

“I never said my fear was logical. Anyway, I also just hate bothering you when I have no idea if you’re in the middle of your… work.”

It was then that he paused, perhaps taking in your words. It wasn’t for long though before he got back to focusing on the task at hand.

“I would prefer it be you who interrupts me than one of the others. At least I know that if you get hurt, it wasn’t a stupid mistake.”

“Careful. Keep that up and I’ll make excuses just to bother you.”

“If you want to see live dissections, be my guest.”

You cringed at his words, and while you couldn’t see it you could picture a slight shark-toothed smirk. You could occasionally hear the faint drip of something, probably from his eyes. It seemed he was at least careful not to let any of it drip on you. I guess he must have eaten recently. Your mind wandered, zoning out to the occasional rhythmic sound. That is until he finished his work and pulled back, cleaning the area one last time as he looked it over.

“Okay,” His gaze shifted elsewhere, probably a clock in a darker part of the room but you couldn’t be sure, “Get some rest. By midday you can probably wash up as usual. Until then, keep it dry. No straining the muscle until I give you the okay. If I have to restitch this, I’m not going to be happy.” Though his words were tough, you couldn’t help the slight twitch of your lips. You knew he didn’t mean it. You gave him a small nod and stood, ready to put your torn shirt back on before his cold hand once again gripped your wrist - it was a bit softer than it had been earlier.

“Wait.” He commanded, and though you were confused you obeyed as he went off into a side room. To his credit he didn’t leave you waiting too long, bringing back an extra of his hoodies. It was a bit more worn than his current one, obviously older but the sentiment was still there.

“No use wearing that anymore, but you’re not going up there again without wearing something.” He mumbled, a slight rumble in his chest akin to a feline’s growl or purr. You weren’t sure what that sound really was even now, but you had grown rather accustomed to his quirks. You grinned at him and gratefully took the hoodie, slipping it over your head with ease thanks to the side of it. You noticed as his eyeless gaze shifted subtly elsewhere.

“Thank you, Jack.”

[pieces-by-me]

Golden Eyes

Words: 2627

Summary: There aren’t only rats in the tunnels under York. A big surprise for Ivar that takes his breath away.

Warnings: mentions of blood, death, imprisonment. English is not my first language and first time writing for Vikings.

@maggiescarborough​ - thank you again for the help with this!! I hope you like it and still want to read it (Even though it took me four months to write this)

Ever since Eadrick and Hilda found out she was with child they knew that it would be special. They knew because the pregnancy felt different. Hilda didn't have sickness in the morning and her emotions stayed the same all throughout the months. When they went to the healer of their small village he told them that it was a curse from the Devil. For no women had ever a pregnancy like it, it was unnatural. Eadrick couldn't understand why the healer had the idea that his child could be a curse. How could it be? They tried for so long and never were blessed with one and now that it finally happened they had to hear that it was the Devils work? Hilda had tears running down her face as she stood tall and declared that the healer should feel ashamed. “My child is not made by the Devil but blessed by God!” The healer sneered after them as they exited the small cottage.

Months passed by and the happy pair couldn't wait to see their little boy or girl.They didn't care what the child would be as long as it was healthy. But with the time fleeting and the stomach growing the looks from the people of the village would grow as well and become more and more evil. Word had got out that Hilda supposedly carried the Devils child and with every day that passed Eadrick became more worried for his wife. He knew that he had to protect her and his child, so he did everything to build them a little home in the middle of the forrest surrounding the village.

When Hilda went into labor Eadrick feared for his beloved. The healer refused to help birth 'a cursed child' and they were alone in their small home. Only a fire to help and warm them in the cold winter month. The birth went so fast it was as if it never really happened. And the strangest thing was that Hilda felt not one bit of pain. She was smiling when she pushed and then her child came into the world. Hilda birthed a little girl and Eadrick couldn't help but look at his family with love and adoration. He swore to God that he would do anything, even sin, to protect his family.

She didn't scream when she came into this world. Her big eyes were just looking, searching, for her mother and father. And as soon as her little eyes met the tear filled ones of her father she let out a little laugh that made both her parents cry for joy. Her eyes had the color of light. An almost golden hue that could not be discribed. She was not a curse. She was a blessing. They decided to name her (Y/N). The little girl with sunshine in her eyes.

_______________________________________________________________________

Ivar wobbled through the streets of York with eyes in search for any small thing he could have missed. He had to make sure that everything was in order and that nothing would go wrong. The smoke from the burned up rats and rotten meat made it hard to examine the traps but he managed. More annoying was the smell. He had to swallow back his already eaten food to not vomit all over the street at some points. That would not be a good look for the ruler of the Heathen Army. But that also was something he managed. Ivar sent Hvitserk away to survey the catacombs under York after his big brother questioned his plan. Idiot. As if he didn't build everything in his head to a point and thought about how everything could turn out. Of course he had a plan. A plan that would soon be taken into action, for as the Saxons were on their way to take back York. With an almost malicious smile Ivar made his last round around the outer ring of the city. Oh yes, the Saxons would come soon and think that death took all the heathens away. But they would be met with nothing but death for themselves.

Hvitserk cursed his younger brother. He knew very well that Ivar was not an idiot and had a plan. He just wanted to be included. Not be left out and always chasing answers and responsibility. Not unlike with Ubbe. But now he kind of wished that his brother would have given him another order. And not running around the dirt and rat infested tunnels that stretched out under this Christian city. He didn't really know for what he, and the other worriers that went down with him, should be looking for, but he guessed that if he found something suspicious or wrong he would see and know.

After walking through the foul-smelling tunnels for hours, Hvitserk was about to call it quits and wanted to go back up the ladder when he caught something in the corner of his eye. It was a door. A rotten door with huge metal bolts that looked like it would bust with one small push and fall out of its hinges. He walked closer to it, intrigued to find something after hours of nothing. The wood on the door felt rough to his touch making him think that it was not used often. When he tried to open it though it wouldn't give. It stayed shut and only then did he see the whole for a key.

'You're not the first thing that wanted to stay untouched but I always got my way.' He thought with a mischievous smirk as he thought about some of his past conquests. When he slammed his body for the third time against the door, with running start, and it's still not budging he grew irritated. The wood definitely being more robust then it appeared. What the hel was behind this door that needed to be so protected? After one last push something in that room moved. Hvitserk could hear it. Almost like a hound. Whimpering and shuffling as if to get away. Why would the Saxon leave an animal locked in these dark tunnels?

His thoughts were broken up by the sound of running feet and people flooding the tunnels. The time has come. The Saxons were here. With one last glance to the door Hvitserk made his way back to the entrance where he was supposed to meet up with Ivar. As he rounded the corner he saw how his little brother was being hoisted down and someone was already waiting with his crutch on the ground.

_______________________________________________________________________

The Saxons entered the city. Empty of all beings except the rats that crawled over the muddy grounds. Why were the rats on the ground? The Bishop looked at the small rodents with uncertainty. It was not common for rats to run this free around people. Soon the cheers of the soldiers were washing his worry to the back of his head. Bells were ringing and people celebrating; they have defeated the Vikings.

But while the rats ran free on the ground the tunnels swarmed with Viking warriors lusting for blood. Ivar did it again. He came up with a plan that fooled his opponent and would guarantee his success. He looked up through the manhole to the feet of soldiers walking over him unbeknown to the threat underneath their them.

Hvitserk arrived and made his way over to his little brother. The two Ragnarsons met eyes and in both radiated the intend and want to kill and mark the streets of York with the blood of the Christians. In the back of Hvitserks head the thought of the mysterious door and animal surfaced for a split second, he would go back there and try to open it when the battle is won. With a little shake of his head to get back to now he heard the Saxons cheer for their victory.

Ivar and Hvitserk met eyes again, both smiling like two mad men. Anticipation running through their veins at the thought of finally running their sword and axes through bodies and bones. And with a small turn from his body Ivar watched his warriors, everyone at the soles of their feet to start, threw is right hand in the air and ladders were pulled up. Everyone had to be silent.

As the first men stepped through the opening, Ivar and Hvitserk letting out roars of battle, the Saxons had to realize that they made a huge mistake.

Cheers turned to screams of shock and the streets turned red with blood and gore.

The Heathens were not dead but they brought it with them.

_______________________________________________________________________

The battle was done. The bishop in chains and Ivar was basking in his win. Heahmund thought he was looking in the eyes of the devil when he saw the crawling figure coming closer and closer to him. Chuckling like a demon. While he relished in the humiliation of the Christian, his brother was distracted by something else. In the back of the church were two dogs that fought over a bone, it seams that ever creature was fighting on this day. But the display and sounds brought back a memory to Hvitserks mind. The animal in the tunnels.

He went out of the building without a word in search of a bigger ax. His brother not even realizing he left. When Hvitserk made his way back into the tunnels he had a harder time finding the mysterious door again. The shine of the torch not being light enough for him to see everything. With his luck we would get lost. But the gods were on his side and after he ran into a dead end for the fifth time he found it. 'You're done'

His shoulder hurt after the battle. One Saxon having brought their sword down further then Hvitserk could reflect with his. The dried up blood was still on his clothes. It seamed to open up again as warm liquid trailed down his arm in small droplets. But he didn't care. He needed to know what exactly was behind this stupidly, hard to open door. With a final blow of the ax the wood splintered away and gave sight into the room.

It was dark and the smell of sick and rotten flesh made its way into his nose. It was worse then when they burned flesh for the plan. Even with his torch he couldn't see inside so he made his way back a little and began to bring the ax back to the hole he created. More and more wood split away and after only four more hits he could fit through. Of course it was probably not the best idea to go blindly into a locked room but his curiosity won over common sense.

At first he didn't see anything. No animal running towards him. No treasure or anything being stored in this room. All his eyes were met was stone walls that were covered with vines and mold, water running down in small streams down the sides and puddles of old and dried up blood littering the floor. This was not a room for save keeping. No this looked like a cell if he ever seen one. He turned around and was about to climb back through the door when a sound made his body freeze.

It was the same thing. The small whining of a broken animal. Barley there but in the silent room it appeared to echo from everywhere. He turned around and really searched every corner and halted when his eyes came on a small bundle of brown fabric. Fabric that moved in a feeble attempted to get away from the viking. He took a step closer, cautious as to not scare it even more. He didn't even know what lied before him until two golden eyes looked back at him with so much despair he faltered in his step.

It was a girl. A small, sickly Saxon girl that, by the looks of it, was trapped in this cell for only the gods knew how long. She trembled and flinched and even though he didn't move closer she tried to get away even more. But her body seemed to gave up on her. All throughout her weak attempted to escape the threat they held eye contact until the gold vanished and she collapsed on the ground.

'What in the name of Odin?'

Hvitserk ran up to the girl and up on a closer look saw that her hands and feet were shackled to the walls. Her wrist scraped raw and red. Ankles crusted over with old blood.

Unbeknown to Hvitserk the closer he got to the girl the less his shoulder bled and hurt. But with the situation a little bit more severe he just simply couldn't focus on it. He blamed it on his new discovery and excitement and moved on. With his ax he had little effort with the chains that weighted more then the girl herself, picked her up over his shoulder and made his way back to the church. He couldn't wait for his brothers reaction of his find.

Ivar was getting impatient. Sitting on the table at end of the hall he wondered where his brother was. A small feast was being held to celebrate the defeat of the Christians. He wanted to talk to him about the bishop and then rub it in his face a little that his plan worked. The rumble of conversations died down a little with the sound of opening doors and people made room for whoever entered the hall. By now Ivar could see that ,finally, his brother came. But what he nor anyone expected was the sleeping girl in his arms. What was going on?

With each step from his brother Ivar felt something change inside his body. He couldn't put it into words but there was a force spreading from his chest to his legs. Hvitserk went to the middle of the room and laid the girl on the floor right to his feet. Ivar's eyes widened, breath stuck inside his lungs. Could it be? He didn't feel like this since he was just a little boy. He only remembered that once he had felt it because his beloved mother told him. With a start so abrupt he made everyone in the room look at him he lowered his body to the ground.

Hvitserk looked at his little brother who crawled over the unconscious Saxon girl. Faster then he ever crawled. As if she was the only thing that would keep him alive, that she was the last drop of water for a dying man. His whole body covered hers and he was only breaths away from her. The look on his face was a fuse of shock, astounding, revelation and skepticism. But also, if you were close enough, fear. He looked as if the biggest treasure lay under him. The other vikings in the room stopped at what they were doing and observed what their leader would do. No one said a word. There wasn't even the sound of a single breath. Ivar's eyes didn't even blink as he slowly graced her face with his bloodied hand. Leaving a small trail of blood on her cold face. Who was this girl?

“Ivar, what it is? What are you doing?”

Ivar could only vaguely hear his big brothers words. But they came through the haze he was trapped in and with a small voice, so quiet Hvitserk had to lean closer to the two bodies lying on the ground to even hear him, he said:

“I don't feel any pain in my legs.”

_______________________________________________________________________

Thanks for reading and let me know what you think about this. I have an idea for a little series with this. 

Hope everyone has an awesome day!

[slowpoke-fics]

Empty

Fandom: Supernatural

Pairing: Sam x Reader ; Platonic Dean x Reader

Summary: the group had been hunting a djinn, you get the short end of the straw and find the djinn, what you didn't expect was it taking you

Warning: this is angsty, and can be very triggering, su!cide (to get out of djinn hallucinations), death in djinn hallucination, hurt/comfort, if I missed warnings I am sorry, but you read at your own risk

A/N: This is a three part series, Empty, Cold, Warm, Cold is written so you don't have to read this part, if this fic is too triggering to read, p l e a s e skip it and move onto Cold.

You and the boys sat in your motel room, you had been hunting a family of djinns for weeks, every time you got closer it was like they were one step ahead. You had managed to kill one of them, but you still had two to hunt down. "Okay," Dean started, "I'll check the mines, Sam you get the caves, Y/n look through the train station." Dean had a plan, you were fine with it but Sam was not. "I don't like this," he finally spoke up, "they seem to always be ahead of us, I don't know that splitting up is a good plan. This could be exactly what they want." You smiled at him, going to sit on his lap, "I'm sure it'll be okay, we're all prepared and ready, we can get them this time." Sam shook his head, "I don't know, something doesn't sit right with me." Dean sighed, shutting his computer, "You only say that because your woman isn't gonna be within ear shot," Dean grabbed his keys and headed for the door, "it'll be fine Sammy." With that Dean headed out, most likely to find a piece of ass for the night.

You planted kisses on Sam's face, "It will be okay, this is our best plan to corner them." Sam smiled, not wanting to press, "Yeah, I'm sure you're right baby," pressing a kiss to your lips, "Dean's probably right too, it's because I won't be able to be with you, making sure you're safe." You and Sam prepped nine silver knives dipped in lambs blood for when one of you ran into them, and then laid down, waiting for sleep to come. "I want you to be careful tomorrow," he whispered, "I can't lose you." You kissed him, swinging a leg over him, planting a kiss and grinding your hips on him, "I'll always come back." Sam giggled and flipped you underneath him, kissing your neck, "You better or I'll hunt you down."

The next morning your alarm started blaring, Dean groaning in the bed next to you, Sam pulling you a little closer. You trucked out of bed and stopped the alarm, setting it for half an hour later and heading out the door. You were always the first one up, always headed out the door early to go get coffee. Sure enough as you walked into the room the alarm was going off. You walked to Dean, handing him his coffee, and he gladly accepted, and then to Sam, who shut off the alarm and sat up in bed.

Handing him his coffee and sitting next to him with your head on his shoulder, feeling the worry he holds for you. "Don't worry, we're all gonna get out of this together." Sam kisses your head, "I know," throwing a pillow at Dean, "you'll always come back to me." He put his fingers under your chin, lifting your lips to his, slowly kissing you, "I love you." You smiled, putting your hand on his cheek , "I love you too, Sammy."

After you guys had separated you began to look through the train station, looking everywhere for a sign of a djinn. You were trying to find something, anything that could help you to get ahead of these monsters. From behind you heard a small whisper, "Hello." You immediately whipped around, knife raised, waiting for the fucker to come near you. You circled, and then it charged. "Goodbye."

You were able to duck, and quickly stab the djinn, effectively killing it. "Goodbye, fucker." You continued to look around, with no sign of the other djinn after an hour or so you left. Pulling out your phone to call Sam, "I got one," you announced as you came out of the station. You could hear the pride in Sam's voice, "I got one too, we've finally put this bastards to rest. Pick you up in 15?" You smiled, happy to go home, "Yeah, baby, see you then."

Sam and Dean were both back at the hotel, had been sitting around for ten minutes, trying to call you over and over to no avail. Sam got up, "Alright, lets go now." Dean immediately got up, jogging behind Sam, ready to find the woman he's called family for years now.

When they arrived at the station they looked for about half an hour before coming upon a piece of paper written in blood, hello. Dean and Sam both looking at each other with a sense of horror and realization starting running, just as fast as they could. They eventually hit an intersection, a huge wall, with two knives, identical to the ones you and Sam had prepped the night before, laid neatly before them. Written above the knives in blood was one word that made Sam and Dean both want to puke.

Goodbye.

Looking further, they find your phone nearby, with ten calls from Sam and Dean each, both of them now frantic to find you. After searching the tunnels for hours, Dean finally spoke up, "We've gotta check everywhere man, we have to go back to the caves, the mines." Sam was on fire, he knew this would happen. He saw it coming and he didn't stop it. He screamed, "Y/n!" Threw his flashlight, "Y/n! Come back to me!"

You arrived back at the bunker, ready to crawl into bed and sleep for a week. The ride home was silent, almost deadly. Something definitely didn't feel right. You brushed it off and went to the room you've shared with Sam for years. Sam came in and laid down with you, pulling you close to him, "I'm glad that you made it out. I'm glad we all did." You fell asleep, jolting awake suddenly in the middle of the night, words echoing in your head, "Y/n! Come back to me!"

You felt sick, then it was gone, just as soon as it was there. Sam rubbed your back, "You okay?" You smiled at him, "Yeah, just something bothering me, not sure what it is. Something feels too easy about this." Sam chuckled, "Now you sound like me, paranoid, waiting for the danger," Sam kissed your shoulder and pulled you down to him, "it's okay, we've made it out, now let's go back to sleep."

Dean and Sam checked every inch of the caves and the mines with no sign of you. Sam slammed the car door as he ran his hands through his hair. "Sam," Dean started, "I know," he started his car, we'll find her."

A week later, you and your boys were back on the road, this time going after some vamps, no biggie, Dean even let you drive. When you found the nearest motel to the nest, you finally stopped, not realizing being the driver was very tedious, grateful to have a bed, and an actually decent one. You plopped down on the bed, sighing to yourself, as Sam pulled out the computer explaining the mission. You only heard part of it, "Old mansion about five miles away-" starting to fall asleep, "probably less than ten-" manageable, "go tomorrow morning," Sam finished, closing the computer and over to you, sliding you up the bed. "Don't worry, I'll tell you all about it tomorrow morning Jess."

You jolted awake at that, "What?" Sam looked shocked, "Oh I'm sorry, I didn't mean to wake you up, just trying to make room for me." You sat up completely, "What did you just say Samuel?" Dean looked over, curious what the fuss was about, "I said I was making room?" Sam looked completely confused, a little like he was afraid of something. "Before that Sasquatch." Sam chuckled, "I said I'd explain the plan tomorrow morning, for when you're awake?" You sighed, something is wrong, but you just couldn't quite place it, so you just laid back down, cuddling into Sam.

Sam and Dean went back to the wall stained with your blood the next day, the knives were now pointing a different direction, made into an arrow pointing towards the left turn they can make there. Following the trail, they started walking, shining a light on every part of the walls until they found an arrow. "Let's go," Sam starting moving faster. "Wait," Dean stopped and looked around. "This doesn't feel right," Dean sighed, "man, I don't know what to do here, they want us to go this way, it doesn't make sense." Sam's eyes frantically looked around, "Well we can't split, this has to be a trap, but at least we can fight them together." That was that and they were going to follow the trail.

When you got to the nest it seemed simple, seemed like it was in and out, hit em' while they're asleep. You couldn't have been more wrong. Dean had the front, you and Sam had the back. Dean and Sam went in, you following suit, only to see twenty vamps or more staring at you. It broke out into a brawl, heads rolling all over the floor. Panic flourished in your chest as the brawl died down and only you three were left standing. "Nobody move," you whispered, "this isn't," you sighed, "right." Dean laughed, moving forward to you, "Hell yeah it is, we just ganked a bunch of these fuckers," Dean was still laughing, wiping blood off his face, "damn, we're getting good." It only took you a second to register it, weak boards, "No!" You reached out for Dean, but it was too late, he went straight through the floor.

You screamed, Sam rushing to find stairs, you staying above Dean, who was impaled by several planks of wood. "Hold on, brother," you started crying, "we're coming." Dean started to say something, but he couldn't, then you saw it, a vamp. Coming out of the darkness, relentlessly feeding on Dean. You couldn't breathe, "Sam! There's another one!" Sam hollered something back, then you hear it from behind you, a sense of familiarity, "Hello."

Sam and Dean had checked every single door on the left turn. Wasted so much time trusting that the djinn had left a trap that would lead straight back to you. When they realized they had no further to go, they started sprinting, realizing that this was a distraction, likely to have more time to kill you.

You woke up tied to a chair, Sam planted in front of you. "Well," a vamp coming out of the darkness revealed himself, "I wake up to find all of my brothers and sister dead! How do you suppose I punish you two?" The vamp hummed, another coming out of the darkness, whispering something in his ear. A vile laugh came out of the vamps mouth before biting into his wrist and walking to Sam. You started screaming, jerking around, trying anything to get him to stop. He laughed and laughed as Sam ingested the blood. After he felt like it was enough, he hit Sam, hard enough that he was out cold. He then untied him, clearly wanting to force Sam to feed on you, the woman he loved. The second vamp walked past you, not saying a word, the first one walked by you slowly, grazing his claw against your neck, barely cutting you. "Goodbye."

All of a sudden you couldn't breathe. Remembering the station with the djinn.

From behind you heard a small whisper, "Hello." You immediately whipped around, knife raised, waiting for the fucker to come near you. You circled, and then it charged. "Goodbye." A hand on your neck, and you're out.

It clicked.

The ride home was silent, almost deadly. Something definitely didn't feel right.

Words echoing in your head, "Y/n! Come back to me!"

"Yeah, just something bothering me, not sure what it is. Something feels too easy about this."

Dean even let you drive.

"Don't worry, I'll tell you all about it tomorrow morning Jess."

Something is wrong, but you just couldn't quite place it, so you just laid back down.

"Nobody move," you whispered, "this isn't," you sighed, "right."

You're with the djinn, you didn't kill it. You just pissed it off. Taking a deep breath you slammed backwards, crushing your arm, causing excruciating pain, screaming and crying, "It's not real, gotta get out of here, gotta come back." You were finally able to move as you heard Sam groan. Racing for your gun and raising it to Sam, who had a sinister smile, "That won't hurt me, Y/n." You raised the gun to your head, "I will always come back to you."

Bang.

Blood curdling screams was the only thing you heard when you woke up, until you realized they were your own. Taking deep breaths, trying to gather yourself, you found a knife next to you, the one dipped in lambs blood. One of the djinns charged at you, your reflexes allowed you to slide the knife through her heart. "Goodbye, fucker." You pulled the knife out, holding it up to the second djinn.

"Stop!" He begged as you got up from the ground, "I helped you! You remember! Jess? Feeling like something just wasn't quite right?" You growled, "I don't believe you! You let me rot down here!" He put his hands up, "I helped you! She was insane, driven with rage! You have to believe me, I controlled everything there, I could only help you so quickly without her noticing! She couldn't move on from you killing our brother!" You moved closer to him, barely able to breathe, "I," another step, "don't," another step, "believe," your final step, "you."

You stood there, face to face with him for at least a whole minute, giving him every opportunity to hurt you, he barely whispered, "I don't kill people." You backed away, suddenly not knowing what to do. The door busted down next to you, you were staring at Sam and Dean, both charging at the djinn who is only looking at you, not moving a muscle.

"Stop!" You screamed before you even know what had happened, "he helped me, he doesn't kill people." Sam and Dean turning to you in disbelief, "Y/n you've been gone for days, are you insane?" You scoffed, "Maybe, but he didn't do this-" you pointed to the dead woman on the ground, "she did." Sam looked you up and down, not noticing a single ounce of harm on you, turning to the djinn he moved nose to nose.

"If I ever pick up on your trail, I will hunt you down and mutilate you into a hundred pieces." The djinn just stood there, truly scared. "Go! Get out of here right now!" You begged before you had changed your mind. He didn't need to be told twice as he scattered. "You sure that was the right call?" Dean whispered to Sam, you turned around face to face with Sam, "Yes." A simple statement, lingering in the air as you walked to Sam, gently reaching up to his face, checking his teeth. Once you realized it was really him, you hugged him, whispering lovingly, "I came back to you." Sam didn't want to let go, still so scared.

You turned to Dean, checked his teeth, his body for any injuries, nothing, a sigh of relief. Pulling him into a hug, he wrapped his arms around you, "I love you Dean, you're the best brother I never asked for." Dean chuckled in relief, "Let's go kid."

As you walked out of the station dread washed over you. You didn't feel anything. You were just...

Empty

[passable-talent]

part 4 was so so good!!!!! can you make a part 5? i’m in love with your writing and that series!!! you’re feeding my need for zuko content and i love u for that.

it literally took exactly 19 minutes to get a request for part 5

THANK U THO SHDBCNDGS IM HAPPY YOURE ENJOYING WHAT I DO

been excited to get back to this one, y’all aren’t ready 😏

OKAY I SAID YALL WERENT READY BEFORE I EVEN WROTE IT BUT NOW IVE WRITTEN IT AND LET ME FUCKING REITERATE: YALL ARE NOT F U C K I N G R E A D Y

| part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 |

For chapter five, and my five hundred follower special, we will go back to spring of the year 100 AG, right before Azula’s coup succeeded in their destruction of Ba Sing Se . . .

“So what’s happening?” You asked Mushi as the two of you hurried through the streets of the upper ring.

“Come close,” Mushi answered, and your footsteps brought you beside him.

“My nephew and I are more than refugees,” he began, “my name is Iroh, and I am the brother of the Fire Lord. My nephew, Zuko, is the banished prince of the Fire Nation. I’m sorry we lied to you, but we needed to, in order to stay in Ba Sing Se where we were safe from our family.” Your head reeled, but you kept beside him, because still you trusted this man. You were trained to react and to think, thanks to the Dai Li, so you analyzed his words.

“Were?” you questioned, wondering why he seemed to suggest that he was no longer safe.

“My niece, Princess Azula, has infiltrated the city. She tried to capture me- she did capture Zuko.” Your eyes widened, and your speed increased beside Iroh. “I need your help to retrieve him, and the Avatar’s. That’s where we’re headed.” You looked up at the house you were approaching, half caved in from some sort of destruction. What had happened here?

“The Avatar?” you asked, and Iroh nodded, pausing in front of the door to knock politely. You waited beside him, but held your forehead- you were so shocked about everything you were finding out.

Zuko- not Lee. The banished prince of the Fire Nation. You hadn’t even known that the prince of the Fire Nation had been banished! What else didn’t you know about the other nations of the world beyond the walls of Ba Sing Se?

Why had this information been kept from you? You were training to be in the Dai Li, one of the best and most important police forces of the Earth Kingdom, shouldn’t this information be privy to you? Why wasn’t it?

You were pulled from your thoughts as a girl opened the door, and regarded Iroh with friendliness.

“I need your help,” he began, and you watched the reactions of the other two at the door. They seemed frightened by Iroh- what kind of history had they that you weren’t aware of?

Why were you kept in the dark about everything?

“You guys know each other?” demanded the boy you had to assume was the avatar, who didn’t seem much concerned with your presence. Maybe it was the earth kingdom robes?

“I met him in the woods once, and knocked him down,” answered the girl, and with her gaze that didn’t seem focused on the avatar you wondered if maybe she was blind. She, however, seemed like a strong earthbender. It was one of the things you were trained to pick up on in the Dai Li, and relied entirely on how a person carried herself. “Then he gave me tea and some very good advice.”

“May we come in?” Iroh asked sheepishly, and you wondered why there wasn’t more urgency to his tone.

“Who’s your friend?” the clearly water tribe boy demanded, and you lifted your chin, being acknowledged.

“I’m Y/N, a soon-to-be member of the Dai Li,” you answered, “You can trust me.”

“The Dai Li?” Avatar Aang responded, more shock in his face than before.

“That makes us even less likely to trust you!!” the water tribe boy shouted, and your eyebrows knitted together.

“The Dai Li are the protectors of the city!” you said, though you felt doubt gnaw at your spine- they had kept so much from you, their own cadet.

Iroh turned his eyes to you, and something in his gaze told you to hush up.

“Princess Azula is here, in Ba Sing Se,” Iroh told them, his tone stern and serious.

“She must have Katara!” Aang said, and you looked to Iroh. You didn’t know these people- but that Azula would capture both Zuko and a friend of the avatar meant that she was one of two things: insanely brave or insanely stupid.

“She has captured my nephew, as well,” Iroh said.

“Then we’ll work together to fight Azula, and save Katara and Zuko,” the avatar said, and you felt a little lightness crawl into your heart. You’d be able to help save Zuko, and a friend of the avatar? You were about to go on a crazy adventure.

“Whoa there,” said the water tribe boy, walking back into the conversation, “you lost me at ‘Zuko.’ “

“I know how you must feel about my nephew,” Iroh began, and your expression softened. There was definitely history here, and you’d be interested to learn it. “But believe me when I tell you, there is good inside him.” You brought your eyes to the avatar’s, and nodded, trying to fathom something to say that they’d believe. They didn’t know you, didn’t know what you stood for, and it seemed that you didn’t know much of that yourself.

“I’ve known Zuko for a while,” you said, “and he’s never been anything other than a scared and polite refugee.”

“Good inside him isn’t enough!” The water tribe boy insisted, “Why don’t you come back when it’s outside him too, okay?” Your chest deflated further, and you had to wonder: what had Zuko done, what had Zuko been, that they had this strong of a hatred for him?

Did you want to know?

“Katara’s in trouble,” Aang said to his friend, “All of Ba Sing Se’s in trouble. Working together is our best chance.”

On the way toward the catacombs of the city underneath the palace, you learned Sokka and Toph’s names, as well as the true treachery of the Dai Lee. You learned about the war with the Fire Nation, and had a smile on your face as you took in how lucky you were that the two firebenders whom you had come to love were the only two on the right side of this war.

“Well, whaddaya know, there is an ancient city down there,” Toph said, her hand pressed to the stone courtyard, “but it’s deep.” She opened up a large hole in the stone, heading downward.

“How can you tell?” You asked, and she cracked her knuckles in your direction.

“Right, you’re classically trained,” she mocked with a rude laugh, which made you smile. “I can sense seismic activity through stone. Maybe I’ll teach you, when this is over.” You nodded, intrigued, before Sokka grabbed your attention.

“We should split up. Aang, you go with Iroh and Y/N to look for Katara and the angry jerk,” he said. “No offense,” he added in Iroh’s direction, and once again you found yourself confused on the nature of their shared past when Iroh said “none taken.”

“And I’ll go with Toph to warn the Earth King about Azula’s Coup.”

Aang, Iroh, and you began heading down into the tunnel, Iroh holding up fire for light while you and Aang took turns lengthening the tunnel downwards.

“So, Toph thinks you give pretty good advice,” Aang said, seeming to try to make conversation. “And great tea.” A smile came to your face- Iroh’s tea was the reason that you were, apparently, romantically involved with the prince of the Fire Nation.

Imagine that.

“The key to both is proper aging,” Iroh said, and you laughed under your breath. “What’s on your mind?” Aang paused, and took his turn lengthening the tunnel.

“Well, I met with this guru who was supposed to help me master the avatar state and control this great power.” You turned to look at the avatar as you walked, amazed at both his story and his mere stature. You never thought that you’d get to meet the avatar.

“But to do it, I had to let go of someone I love, and I just couldn’t.” You reached the end of the tunnel, and took stance beside Iroh to take your turn lengthening it. However, Iroh began speaking, and you figured it rude to interrupt him.

“Perfection and power are overrated. I think you are very wise to choose happiness, and love.” With a smile on your face you earthbent and opened up the tunnel further, deciding then and there that you would stick with Iroh. Surely you weren’t to stay and train with the Dai Li, and as it seemed he was teaming up with the avatar, maybe you’d get to help fight in the war!

“But what happens if we can’t save everyone and beat Azula?” You didn’t answer, and let Iroh, both because you didn’t know the answer, and because you felt that the scope of your knowledge and importance wasn’t what it needed to be to even participate in this conversation.

“Without the avatar state, what if I’m not powerful enough?”

“I don’t know the answer,” Iroh said, making you gaze to the side at him. “Sometimes life is like this dark tunnel. You can’t always see the light at the end of the tunnel, but if you just keep moving...” Iroh paused as Aang took his turn to break through the stone in front of you, revealing light and a wide open new space, “...you will come to a better place.” You paused, standing on the edge of a cliff, to look out over the ancient city. There was a fountain in front of you, making the air smell fresh even though you were so far below ground. It was amazing, and part of you wished you could have stayed. However, you knew that there was much more pressing matters, and so you quickly moved along with Iroh and Aang into another chamber to hopefully find the prisoners you were looking for.

Aang burst through another wall of stone, and quickly disappeared through the hole as you and Iroh followed.

“Aang!” A girl shouted before embracing him, and you barely put it together that this must be ‘Katara’ before your feet had carried you to Zuko, and hugged him tightly. You yielded this, however, to Iroh, who hugged him with just as much relief as you felt in your heart.

“Uncle, I don’t understand,” Zuko said, a malice you didn’t recognize glinting in his eyes. “What are you doing with the avatar?”

“Saving you, that’s what,” Aang said, and Zuko began to lunge before Iroh caught his chest. You flinched- this wasn’t the boy you knew at all.

“Zuko, it’s time we talked,” Iroh told him, then looking at Aang and Katara. “Go help your other friends. We’ll catch up with you.” Aang and Katara turned away while you stood still, but Iroh turned to you. “You as well. It’ll be alright.” You nodded, and raced down the tunnel after Katara.

“We’ve gotta find Sokka and Toph!” Katara shouted, but you couldn’t answer her before you heard roaring behind you. You didn’t recognize the sound, but when you turned and saw blue fire, nothing could’ve prepared you.

This wasn’t in your training. It wasn’t in your index of attacks to react to. You had no idea what to do- if it wasn’t for Aang and the wall that he raised, you would’ve surely been charred on the spot.

You didn’t recognize the girl that had shot it, but you felt that it was safe to assume it must’ve been Azula.

Katara raced around the wall and picked up water, revealing herself as a powerful water bender before your eyes. The fight between her and Azula created a cloud of steam, and you staggered back even further from Aang’s wall, your chest rising and falling quickly.

You were panicking.

All of that training, everything that your instructors had ever done to harden your will and sharpen your reaction time, it stood nothing against this. This, with the sister of the guy you were crushing on shooting blue fire at the avatar, and you weren’t even sure who’s side you should be on.

That was stupid, of course you knew you should be on the avatar’s side. But something in your head whispered doubts- she was Zuko’s sister. She was the leader of the Dai Li, who you belonged to.

Azula appeared from the steam and shot two fireballs at Aang and Katara, who were forty or so feet in front of you. You just watched, dumbfounded, and realized quickly that she wasn’t aiming at you. She wasn’t targeting you at all.

She landed on a column, which Aang rocked beneath her, and she fell down to stand between Aang and Katara, her back to you. She kept her hands pointed at both of them, but suddenly, her attention turned toward you.

“You’re Y/N, right?” She asked, and your eyes widened. “I remember you. You’re a very impressive cadet, you could be an asset to me. I control the Dai Li, now, and so your allegiance is to me.”

Just for a moment, Katara’s gaze turned to you, wondering if there was any truth to that statement.

Was there?

A fireball impacted the ground between Aang and Azula and you staggered backward, looking up for the source of the flame.

Zuko. Relief filled your chest- at least you knew for sure you were on his side.

As though time was frozen, you watched as he turned his ready stance from aiming at Aang, to aiming at Azula, and your tension melted away. You could fight beside Zuko and the avatar and Katara, and surely between the four of you the princess would be defeated.

Then, from your position fifty feet behind Aang, you saw Zuko’s eyes land on the avatar.

The calmness drifted away, and all you saw was rage.

Fire blasted toward Aang, and he couldn’t avoid the plume, his air bending keeping him from harm but also sending him back beside you. Zuko’s fire kept coming, and you threw up a wall in front of you, turning to the side with your body made into a smaller target out of pure fear.

Zuko had turned on Aang. He’d shot fire at Aang- he’d shot fire at you.

Aang leapt away to continue his battle, which left you behind your wall of stone, paralyzed with fear and indecision and betrayal and anger and sadness.

Didn’t you know Zuko at all? That look in his eye... you had never seen that before. There was pure rage inside him, and you couldn’t understand it, you couldn’t comprehend how this was the boy you’d cared for.

You heard fire roaring throughout the cave, and the whooshing of the wind that Aang sent back. Rocks clattered to the floor and water shot around the cavern, and it was all too much, the sounds of martial arts and groaning and impacts, you couldn’t get a clear thought through your mind.

“I thought you had changed!” Katara’s yell echoed off the rocks, and just for a moment your hands lifted from your temple. Was she talking to Zuko?

“I have changed,” he answered, and it was in the silence that followed that you made up your mind, finally.

Zuko was on the wrong side of this war. Not as you’d thought.

You heard a yelp from Katara and brought up a hunk of earth underneath you, launching you across the cave and into a defensive position in front of her with a battle cry. Both Azula and Zuko seemed surprised by this decision, but before any of you could react, the rumbling of Aang’s reemergence interrupted the fight. They turned their attention to him, which gave you the moment to send a hunk of stone into both of their abdomens, knocking them backward. However, your eyes turned up with the sound of Dai Li stone chains, and you couldn’t pull your limbs in tight enough to avoid their sudden grip on you.

“No,” you snarled as Katara woke, and brought a ring of water around the both of you. You stood back to back with her, small finger movements slowly dissembling the stone chains around your wrists so you could help her in the fight.

But there were too many agents- you knew you couldn’t take them all on. Not even with a master waterbender at your back.

A gust of wind surprised you, and you broke free in time to see Aang rise from shattered crystal inside a beam of light. It was amazing- and you were stunned into awe.

Lightning struck the avatar.

Katara nearly drowned you in the wave she created, but you pulled up a slab of stone just in time to surf on it behind her, just like you had on summer days in Lake Laogai. Mowing down Dai Li agents, and the royal siblings, the two of you raced toward the falling avatar, before he was caught by Katara. Soaked, exhausted, and tears blurring your vision, you stood between her and the siblings, who walked toward her, as though they were predators, and she an easy meal.

Though you knew you should be watching them both, your eyes were on Zuko. Maybe, there was some of Lee left in him, and seeing you would bring it back. But his eyes were firmly on the dead-or-dying avatar, hungry, predatory, and your heart shattered.

Fire cut off their path and you looked up to see Iroh, who leapt down in front of even you.

“You’ve got to get out of here!” He shouted, looking back at you. “I’ll hold them off for as long as I can!” Katara stood and you joined her on Aang’s other side, carrying the avatar toward a waterfall, the sound of fire roaring behind you.

It was terrifying.

“Hold onto him!” Katara shouted, her grip tight on the avatar as she used her other hand to bend an upward spiral around the three of you.

You watched Iroh face Zuko until the rock covered your vision, and you closed your eyes.

Back on Appa, you kneeled behind Sokka, one eye keeping a watch on Katara as she attempted to heal Aang. But mostly, you gripped Appa’s fur, and cried.

The Dai Li had lied to you. Zuko and Iroh had lied to you. The Dia Li turned on you. Zuko turned on you. Zuko turned on Iroh, Azula killed the avatar. Everything was so messed up, beyond proportion, skewed beyond belief. The boy you thought you might’ve loved...

He’d never existed in the first place.

And though the avatar lived, you laid your forehead to the bison’s back, and sobbed.

tag list for this series- @furblrwurblr @eridanuswave

oh yeah request for pt 6 /// already been requested y’all are fine

edit: | part 6 | part 7 | part 8 |

-🦌 Roe

[bluejayblueskies]

the before, the after, the in-between

Chapter Four: unsweet dreams Words: 4.3k

Relationships: Jon & Daisy, Jon/Martin Tags: Post-Canon, Scottish Safehouse, Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Mute Jon, Somebody Lives/Not Everyone Dies, Nightmares

Work Summary:

There was no knife, no blood, and Jon was not dead. And when he heard a strangled noise from beside him and looked over to see Martin standing in the doorway of the safehouse, flung open and letting in the frigid bite of near-winter and sunlight, there was sunlight, he felt such a dizzying, intense wave of relief that he could hardly breathe around it.

Then, he opened his mouth to say Martin’s name, and nothing came out, and all of the relief fell away in an instant.

.

Jon wakes up in the safehouse in October of 2018, alive and well but without the Eye and without his voice. In the days that follow, he finds himself confronted with a world that has reset itself in space and in time, a version of himself that is no longer the Archivist, and the fact that death during the end of the world had not been so permanent as it had seemed.

Chapter Summary:

Daisy lets out a little huff of air through her nose and says, “Do you still have the same dreams? Or did the Eye take those with it when it left?”

They’re not the same, Jon writes. Then, hesitantly and with a lump in the back of his throat: I can’t decide if they’re better or worse.

“Yeah, me either.” Daisy looks at a point just over one of Jon’s shoulders and says, “My dreams are memories, I think.”

Read on Ao3 (link in source)

Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four | Chapter Five| Chapter Six| Chapter Seven

Or read below:

(cw for mentions of knife and gun violence, mentions of blood)

Jon isn’t used to his nightmares being his own. He’d spent so long closing his eyes only to open new ones, ones that had no eyelids and did not look away and knew nothing but watching and knowing, never enough space in his own head for the things that haunted him and him alone. (Those nightmares restricted themselves to the daytime, striking him at odd moments and leaving him shaking and breathless, his chest tight and his hands clenched into fists on his thighs as he tried to remember how to breathe.) Then, the world had ended and he hadn’t needed to sleep at all, save for the period with Salesa that he’s told was nice, really nice and the time spent in the tunnels beneath what used to be the Institute. By then, he hadn’t needed to dream. Maybe he wasn’t capable of it anymore; maybe he’d forgotten how.

Then, he’d awoken in the middle of the first night of what he and Martin have started to simply call after, a shout stuck at the back of his throat with no way to release it and his hand pressed against his chest, directly above the ragged scar that’s made its home upon his skin. Martin had woken too—he’d always been a light sleeper, even before, and it appeared that he’d only grown lighter during the in-between—and had reached out for him, concern etched across his face.

Jon hadn’t meant to flinch away. But the afterimage of the nightmare was still vibrant in his mind, the phantom pain in his chest still acute, and his body had reacted without giving his mind time to think. Jon doesn’t think he’ll ever forget the look on Martin’s face, horrified and devastated and broken. He doesn’t know if he’ll ever forgive himself for it, either.

He’d had the same nightmare the next night, awakening with a soundless gasp with his hand pressed over his chest. But he’d remembered the previous night and had moved slowly and carefully so as not to wake Martin as he slipped out of bed and out of the bedroom and into the kitchen, where he’d sat at the table with a glass of water in his hands and had stared blankly at the wall in front of him. He hadn’t slept any further that night, and when Martin had come out of the bedroom in the morning to find him curled up on the couch, book in hand, he’d looked hurt, then worried, then blank. Jon isn’t sure which expression he felt more guilty for causing, but he knew any of them were better than what he’d seen the first night.

So, when Jon wakes up tonight with his heart in his throat and an ache in his chest, he waits for his heart rate to slow before once again sliding out from underneath the duvet and glancing briefly at Martin’s face—still slack with sleep—before he exits the bedroom and makes his way to the kitchen.

His pulse accelerates once again as he spots a shadowy figure sitting on the couch, barely outlined by the moonlight filtering in through the window, before he remembers that it’s not just him and Martin in the safehouse anymore. He’s not quite sure how to announce himself in a way that won’t startle Daisy, but he must have made some sort of sound despite trying to avoid the noisy floorboards because her head turns towards him, her expression lost in shadow, and she says quietly, “Can’t sleep?”

Jon lets out a long, heavy breath and nods. After a moment, he makes his way over to the couch, hesitating before sitting on the opposite end of it as Daisy.

She’d had nightmares back in the Archives sometimes—ones where she woke up suddenly with a sharp intake of breath, her hands scrabbling at her throat for a brief moment before dropping away once she realized where she was. The first time Jon had asked, she’d snapped that it was none of his business, her shoulders still tight with fear and stress. The second time he’d asked—because he never was good at keeping his curiosity in check—she’d glared at him for a moment before saying, clipped and weary, “The dirt never filled my lungs, but sometimes, it felt like it had.”

He didn’t ask again. And she’d never wanted him close in the minutes after she awoke, shying away from a hand on her shoulder or against her wrist or his occasional clumsy attempts at a hug. Some weeks after they’d crawled out of the coffin hand in hand, she’d turned away from him and mumbled something about claustrophobia and things touching her skin, and though he hadn’t entirely understood, he thought he understood enough.

Jon doesn’t know if Daisy’s had another one of those nightmares now, and if that’s why she’s awake, or if she just hadn’t gone to sleep at all. So he keeps his distance as he sits just in case, folding his legs underneath him and covering his hands with the too-long sleeves of his jumper to fight off the chill, and she doesn’t move to close it. Instead, she looks at him; at this distance, he’s able to pick out the angled slant of her nose and the way her lips are flat and pinched. It’s quiet for a long moment. Then, Daisy lets out a little huff of air through her nose and says, “Do you still have the same dreams? Or did the Eye take those with it when it left?”

Jon opens his mouth to respond, then shuts it, fluttering his hands in frustration. He shakes his head, huffs in annoyance, then stands and makes his way to the kitchen, picking through drawers and cabinets until he locates a few pieces of scrap paper and a nearly-blunt pencil that he looks at with distaste before deciding that it’ll be good enough for now. He collects the book sitting on the table next to the couch as he returns so that he has something hard to write on, tucks himself in the opposite corner of the couch as Daisy again, and—with a sigh as he stares down at the darkened paper in front of him—reaches behind him and turns on the lamp.

The room fills with a warm golden glow not dissimilar to that of firelight, and with slightly more force than is probably necessary, Jon writes, They’re not the same. Then, hesitantly and with a lump in the back of his throat: I can’t decide if they’re better or worse.

He holds the paper up for Daisy to see, resisting the urge to tear it away before she has the chance to read the words. Although it’s still hard sometimes, it’s… it’s easier to be vulnerable like this. There had been times before, when he’d been dating Georgie or when he used to spend evenings with Tim and Sasha or when he and Martin first moved into the safehouse, where he’d found himself overwhelmed and unable to vocalize what he felt sitting at the back of his tongue no matter how hard he tried. Georgie had grown frustrated once, telling him to just spit it out and that she couldn’t help if he wouldn’t tell her what was wrong. He’d snapped that he couldn’t, mortified to find his voice slightly choked as he did so. He’d pressed his fist to his mouth for a long moment, trying to force himself to just spit it out, before accepting that it simply wasn’t going to happen and mumbling that he had to use the restroom before leaving the room quicker than was strictly necessary. He’d sat on the cool tile floor, arms wrapped around his knees and back knocking gently against the wall as he rocked forward and back, trying to whisper the words to himself now that he was alone and finding that he still couldn’t force them past his lips.

When he finally left the restroom, Georgie intercepted him on the way to the front door, gently guided him to the couch in the living room, and handed him a pen and paper. He stared at and stared at it and stared at it as she said, in a voice more controlled and level than it had been however many minutes prior, that she’d googled some things and she thought this might help. And that she was sorry for pushing. He looked at her after a moment, twisting the cap of the pen back and forth between his fingers, and she gave him what he thought was meant to be an encouraging smile.

So he wrote down what he could. And it was easier, even if it was hard to hand her the paper afterward and to sit there as she read it silently to herself, dreading whatever she would say to him once she was done (or worse—that she would ask him to say more, to explain himself further).

Daisy doesn’t ask him to say more now. She reads the words and nods, says, “Yeah, me either,” and lets out a long breath before sitting back more heavily on the arm of the couch she’s leaning against. They sit there in silence for what must be minutes. It should probably be uncomfortable, but it’s not. Jon closes his eyes and rests his head against the back of the couch, the faint light from the lamp bleeding in through his eyelids and his breathing slowing into something relaxed as he slowly lets the tension of the nightmare drain out of him. He only opens his eyes again when he feels the faint brush of something against his foot, and when he looks down, he sees that Daisy has uncurled her legs and has stretched them out slightly, knees still bent but one foot resting just beside Jon’s. Jon doesn’t move, and after a moment, Daisy looks at a point just over one of Jon’s shoulders and says, “My dreams are memories, I think.”

Jon moves so his ankle brushes up against hers, and when she shifts her gaze so it meets his, he nods once, tilting his chin slightly forward in a go-on, I’m-listening gesture. He knows she dislikes vulnerability as well—she’d said once that it makes her feel unguarded, open, as if inviting herself to be hurt—but he thinks they’d almost gotten to the point, before everything had gone wrong, where they’d been able to deconstruct all of their walls around each other. Jon’s were already cracked, and they crumbled at the slightest of touches. Daisy’s were thicker, well-fortified, and though they had fractured slightly under the pressure of miles of dirt and sand, they stood solid. Jon shared, and Daisy listened, and it was rarely the other way around. Still, near the end, it felt like it was becoming more balanced, like the bricks were coming loose and holes were beginning to appear through which Jon could look and see the other side clearly.

Jon sees the wall, just for a moment, as Daisy hesitates, her eyes sliding away from his and landing on an indeterminate point behind him. Then, Daisy takes a breath, lets it out, and says, “I close my eyes, and I… I see Basira.” The words clearly upset her, though the only real indication Jon gets is the slightest twitch of her jaw, a small sign of discomfort that he’s come to recognize. “It’s strange, because the way I feel when I look at her… I know it’s me, and it feels like me, but it’s also… not. I look at her, and I want her to come with me, and… and that feels like me. But I also want her to be like me, to… to chase like me, and that feels different. It feels like the part of me that was only Hunt, but it’s still me, just… a different version of me.” She pauses, her throat moving as she swallows sharply. “I like it, in the dreams. I’m happy. I chase, and I kill, and it feels right. And then I wake up, and it feels… wrong. Like I’m existing as two people at once, and they’re both me, but they’re not both me right now.” She takes a deep breath in and lets it out slowly. “I don’t like it.”

Jon presses his ankle against Daisy’s again, then reaches forward tentatively and places a hand atop hers. She doesn’t move away, but she doesn’t flip her hand to allow Jon to hold it properly, which is all right. He maintains the two points of contact as Daisy continues, “And then Basira’s holding a gun, and it’s hard, but I can still smell her above the- the blood.” Your blood, she doesn’t say, but Jon can tell she’s thinking it anyway by the way her eyes find his only briefly before glancing away once again. The bite mark scars are just a few inches above where his ankle makes contact with hers. “I say her name, and she looks… sad. Scared. I don’t understand, and I tell her to come. That just makes her look sadder, and there’s so much blood. I can hear it rushing in my ears, can feel it coating my mouth.” Daisy’s fingers twitch beneath his, and her free hand curls into a loose fist atop her knee. “And then she fires the gun. And I know it hurts, but I can’t feel it over the anger. She fires twice more, and…”

Daisy falls silent. Jon curls his fingers loosely around her hand, trying to provide what comfort he can. “And then I wake up,” Daisy says at length. She looks at Jon, and her eyes are heavy. Sad. “The person I was then is still angry at her. Doesn’t understand why she abandoned me, why she didn’t have my back. But who I am now, without the blood… I understand. If she had made a different choice, things would have been worse. Probably would have ended badly.” Daisy pauses, then shrugs—a small motion that’s anything but casual. “She kept her promise. Even though it hurt.”

Jon’s eyes are pulled, almost instinctively, in the direction of the bedroom, where Martin still sleeps soundly. He hesitates a moment before taking his hand away from Daisy’s and shifting so he can grip the hem of his jumper in his hands. He takes a breath to steady himself, then lifts the fabric up to his chin to reveal the jagged scar that cuts across his chest, just beneath his heart in the space where once there had been ribs but now is left empty and unprotected. He brushes a finger against it unthinkingly, feeling the raised texture beneath his fingertip, and then looks back at Daisy, who is staring at his chest with a small furrow in her brow. Jon drops the jumper, letting it settle back over his stomach, picks up the paper and pencil, and writes, in clear, blocky letters, Martin kept his promise, too. Then, he hesitates and scratches the words out, replacing them with, It can hurt to break them, too. He pauses, then scratches those out too. Finally, he settles on, Martin made a similar choice, and then amends it with a quick, Though choice is perhaps a stretch, before holding the paper up for Daisy to see.

Daisy reads the words, one eyebrow arcing into her hairline. “He gave you that?”

Jon nods.

“Hm. Looks an awful lot like a stab wound.”

Jon bites his lip and nods again, slower. Then, hastily, he scribbles, I asked him to, and holds up the paper, because it’s important that she knows. That she knows it wasn’t Martin’s fault.

“You asked him to stab you,” Daisy says. It’s not a question, and it almost sounds incredulous, but there’s also a note of sympathy behind the words. An I understand.

Jon nods, worries his bottom lip between his teeth, and writes, It’s a long story.

Daisy hums. “And you feel guilty for it,” she says. Also not a question. Jon looks at her, surprised, and Daisy sighs. “You’re an easy person to read. Terrible poker face.”

Jon scowls, but it softens almost immediately, and he looks away. After a moment, Daisy continues, “Do you feel guilty because you asked him, or because you had to ask him?”

Jon frowns at her. He’s pretty sure those are the same thing—or at least for the circumstances, they’re indistinguishable. For all of it is probably the most accurate answer he can give. He feels guilty for leaving Martin behind and he feels guilty for putting Martin in the position he did and he feels guilty for pressing the knife into Martin’s hand, but it’s complicated because if he had to go back and make the choice all over again, he… he doesn’t know if he would make a different one. He’s guilty, but he’s not sorry. Maybe he’s guilty because he’s not sorry.

“Jon,” Daisy says, and Jon blinks at her. He’s not sure how long he’s been just sitting there, unmoving, but by the expression on her face, it has to have been long enough to be bothersome. He reaches for the paper and, after a moment, writes, Both. Then: Do you feel guilty about Basira?

It’s not a deflection. It’s not. Jon just… he doesn’t know what to think. What to feel. He’s afraid that if he thinks too much about it, he might feel angry, or frustrated, or… worse. And he doesn’t want that. Daisy gives him a considering look, like she’s trying to decide if she wants to let him turn the conversation back on her, before shaking her head. “No. I don’t.”

Jon frowns and tilts his head slightly to the side in a questioning gesture. His knees are starting to cramp where they’re folded up underneath him, so he shifts so his legs are slightly outstretched, the tips of his toes brushing against the sides of Daisy’s thighs. Daisy is quiet for a moment. Then, she says, “She understood why I asked her to do what she did. She knew that I didn’t want to be… what I was. Not anymore. I asked her to kill me for my benefit, but also for hers. I… I didn’t want her to see me like that.”

Like a monster? Jon thinks, looking down at where his hands are resting on his lap. He… he thinks he understands the feeling.

“We both did what we had to,” Daisy says, an undercurrent of resignation in her voice. “There’s no use in feeling guilty for something like that. I… I know she won’t feel guilty for doing what she did. Hurt, probably. Sad. Angry. But not guilty.”

Jon curls his hands into loose fists and nods, still looking down at his lap. He knows Martin feels guilty. He can see it on Martin’s face when Jon pulls his jumper over his head to change, Martin’s eyes glancing off the scar on his chest like he can’t stand to look at it. He doesn’t know how to fix it.

He doesn’t know if he can.

Before he can obsess over it more, Jon picks up the pencil and writes, in too-big letters, We should call her. Let her know that you’re alive. It’s even more obviously a deflection than the last, but still, he holds the words up and waits expectantly for Daisy to answer them, trying to ignore the tight curling of anxiety and tension in the pit of his stomach.

The line between Daisy’s eyebrows deepens, and she looks away. “I don’t know if that’s a good idea,” she says softly, and Jon frowns. He reaches forward and brushes his hand against hers, and she doesn’t move away, though she also doesn’t look back at him—just keeps her eyes fixated on the kitchen table. The daisies are barely visible, hidden mostly in shadow. “I don’t…” Daisy says, then stops. Her fingers twitch. “I don’t know if she’ll want to see me,” she says finally. Then, quickly after: “I don’t know if I want to see her either.”

Jon’s frown deepens, and he squeezes Daisy’s hand. Daisy must be able to see his expression out of the corner of her eye because she sighs heavily and says, “It’s—complicated, okay? Like I said, the anger is… it’s a part of me. It might still be a part of her. I don’t know what I’ll feel when I see her, and it… scares me.” She says the last part like an admission of a crime, like she’s ashamed of it. Jon squeezes Daisy’s hand again, firmer this time, and presses their legs together. She sighs again wearily and says, “Suppose I should let her know that I’m alive, though. Scared or not, she… she deserves that.” She looks at Jon out of the corner of her eye. “Hm.” At Jon’s raised eyebrow, she continues, “Does Basira know that you’re alive?”

Ah. Hm indeed. Jon pinches his lips together and shakes his head. After a moment, he picks up the paper and pencil, though he’s reluctant to let go of Daisy’s hand to do so, and writes, I don’t know if she’ll want to see me either. If that makes you feel any better.

Daisy looks at the paper and lets out a small, breathy laugh. “Not really. I appreciate the effort, though. Is it about the…” Daisy gestures in his general direction. “Archivist-ness?”

Jon grimaces and wobbles his hand from side to side in a kind-of gesture. More about the fact that I ended the world, actually, he writes.

They’d filled Daisy in as best they could when Martin had gotten back from the store, fresh cups of tea held in their hands and Jon trying not to feel frustrated at the fact that he couldn’t easily chime in as Martin told a version of events that Jon very much had opinions on. Martin had repeated the words it wasn’t Jon’s fault about a dozen or so times throughout, while Jon had sat there and tried very hard not to write any form of well, actually on the notebook in front of him. It had been exceedingly difficult.

So he supposes it’s expected that Daisy frowns and says, “Thought that wasn’t your fault,” but he still can’t help the exasperated sigh that escapes him at the words.

It’s complicated, he writes. And it doesn’t matter. Basira thought it was, at least at first, and I

He stops, pencil still resting against the paper, and after a moment, Daisy says, “Going to finish your sentence?”

Jon worries his bottom lip between his teeth and continues, I don’t know, then stops again. Another moment passes; he can feel Daisy’s eyes on him like paperweights, a gentle pressure that settles in his chest like an anchor. He forces himself to finish, and once the sentence is complete, he pushes the paper towards Daisy with a displeased expression on his face.

I don’t know if she would be glad to find out I survived.

Daisy stares at the paper for a long moment before holding it back out towards him. “You’re right. You don’t know. Maybe she won’t be, maybe she will be.” Quieter: “Maybe she’ll be angry with you too.”

Jon raises an eyebrow. You don’t know that she’ll be angry with you, he writes, a bit cheekily. Maybe she won’t be, maybe she will be.

“Bastard,” Daisy mutters, and Jon laughs, the exhalation sending the top of the page in front of him aflutter. “Fine. We can tell her we’re both alive together, then. Two birds, one stone.”

Jon nods. There’ll be no way to avoid alerting Basira to the fact that he and Martin are alive once she finds out about Daisy anyway, given that Martin will probably be the one to call her. It’s nice to have solidarity all the same.

They sit and talk about meaningless things then, until Jon runs out of paper space and Daisy’s eyelids begin to droop with exhaustion. Jon doesn’t know if sleep is in the cards for him for the rest of the night, but he feels more boneless and relaxed after spending time with Daisy, so he thinks it might be more in reach than it had been the previous nights. He should go back to the bedroom, he thinks. The bed will be better for his back, and the couch is just barely big enough for two, and he knows it would be nice to press himself to Martin’s side and feel his heartbeat against his cheek, warm and comfortable and safe. But he knows if he returns that Martin will wake, and then Martin will worry, and Jon will feel guilty all over again. So instead, Jon gives Daisy a pointed, questioning look, placing a hand on the space on the couch next to her where he knows he’ll fit if he squeezes in close.

Daisy, to her credit, doesn’t mention Martin. He thinks she understands that desire not to bother the ones you love more than is necessary, given how often she’d spent sleepless nights with him rather than waking Basira. Instead, she presses herself into the back of the couch and allows Jon to wriggle in next to her, pressing his back to her chest and allowing his head to fall underneath her chin in a familiar, practiced motion. She slings an arm over his side, and he breathes out as the weight settles a last lingering bit of unrest within him, exhaustion finally pulling at the edges of his mind as Daisy begins to snore, her chest rumbling against his spine.

He still dreams, and they’re still horrible. But when he wakes with a start however many hours later, the room still dark, Daisy doesn’t even stir, just tightens her grip on him in her sleep. He focuses on the pressure of her arm around him, tries to force his breathing into something even, and when he manages to slip into sleep a third time, he stays there until morning.

[natasha-romanoff-deserved-better]

Title: Origins

Summary:

The cat is vibrating in her lap, and she doesn’t quite know exactly what that means, but she can’t deny it feels nice, and the cat’s face is softening, and even though the cat itself is half frozen, something about the cat’s hazel eyes looking up to her fills a warmth inside her empty chest. "

How Natalia Romanova learned what it meant to be good, with the help of an injured cat in the Siberian woods.

Read here or on Ao3

Trigger warning!!: Okay. Very slight spoilers for this warning, but small mentions of animal cruelty by the red room. I tried to keep it as vague as possible while still getting the point across.

***

It isn’t moving.

It’s tiny - a small grey and white kitten, soaking wet and laying sprawled in the gutter behind the facility.  She’s supposed to be running her cross-country route, but her feet refuse to cooperate with her as she inches forward towards it.

She furrows her brow and crouches over it. Her hand hovers for a second, before coming down to softly touch the animal. She just wants to know if it’s breathing or not. That’s all. But as soon as the warmth of her hand makes contact, the animal startles, before arching up to push itself further against her hand. She jumps at the sudden movement, but resists pulling away. The creature is letting out small, tiny, mewls- a sound that reminds her of last week when guard Kuznetsov had held his lighter against the sensitive skin on the inside of her wrist.

The cat pushes itself up on shaking legs and takes several unsteady steps towards her before collapsing in her lap.

“Stupid cat,” She whispers. “I could kill you with only a finger. Can’t you see I’m bad?” But she keeps petting it, doesn’t push it away from her like her instincts and conditioning tell her too. The cat is vibrating in her lap, and she doesn’t quite know exactly what that means, but she can’t deny it feels nice, and the cat’s face is softening, and even though the cat itself is half frozen, something about the cat’s hazel eyes looking up to her fills a warmth inside her empty chest.

She glances around herself, checking in all directions for any of the other girls or teachers. No one is there to witness her display of weakness. They’re too confident in their training techniques, trusting that all the girls were too afraid to ever do something as idiotic as she was currently.

Natalia presses two fingers to the cat’s neck, feeling around for a moment before she’s able to find a weak pulse. She knows absolutely nothing about cats, but even she can tell that the pulse is weaker than it should be. The cat is skinny too- she can feel it’s spine and ribs.

She doesn’t know why she does it. But she gathers the cat up in her arms, cradles it close to her chest as she stumbles through the snow towards the forest surrounding the facility. The woods are dense- no one would find it here.

She shrugs off her windbreaker, tossing it to the ground before gently laying the cat on top. Then she drops to her knees beside it, and shoves her bare hands into the snow, scooping out a handful and tossing it to the side. The coldness burns but she continues, shoveling out a small tunneling hole within the snow.

“This will keep you warm,” She speaks to it, as she picks up her jacket and cat all together and maneuvers it into the hole. She reaches in and wraps the jacket snug around the cat. She accidentally meets its eyes for a split second, before diverting her gaze. She busies herself with collecting nearby twigs and branches, places them over the top of the hole. It’s only once she is satisfied that the hole is decently covered that she turns and begins to sprint back, hoping no one has noticed her absence.

She takes the whipping for losing her jacket in silence, just like the good little soldier she is being trained to be.

...

She should be done with it; she thinks the next morning at breakfast. She gave the cat her jacket. She dug a hole for it to help keep it warm and insulated. She’s already done more than necessary. But she can’t get the image out of her mind.

Keeping a close but discreet eye on the guards and the other girls, she brings the bread roll up to her lips as if about to eat it, and when she is sure no one is watching, shoves it down the collar of her shirt. She doesn’t have any breasts yet to help hide it like the older girls do, so she shoves it down further, near her waist where she can wrap her arms around her torso to hide it by pretending she’s holding her stomach.

She eats the rest of her protein oatmeal, doing her best not to look suspicious, and then fakes an upset stomach towards the end, holding the roll in place until she gets back up to her bed where she shoves it under her mattress.

She isn’t able to focus on her schoolwork. Her teachers are droning on and on about maths, surveillance, survival skills and English lessons. Every bit of it goes in one ear and straight out the other. All she can think about is the damn cat. Did it even survive the night? It was so weak when she found it. Was it warm enough? She knows the hole she dug would help- she and the other girls once had to do it for themselves as part of their outdoor skills class, but she can’t help but worry maybe it wasn’t enough. She knows body heat can only do so much if you’re starving and don’t have energy to produce said heat. Would the cat have even been smart enough to stay inside the hole?

She doesn’t know why she cares so much. It’s just some random animal. She’s never even liked animals all that much - the rabid growling dogs some of the patrolling guards keep have always scared her. But something about the way the cat leaned into her hand, trusted her enough to crawl up into her lap; It felt nice. Nice to be trusted like that, as if she was capable of being anything other than what her teachers tell her she is destined to be.

It’s not until four in the evening that they’re due to begin their running. Natasha lags behind, not wanting the others to be around to see her go off course. She heads straight to the woods, eyes zeroing in on the small pile of twigs. She falls to her knees next to it, begins frantically pulling them away.

The cat is still there, cuddled into her jacket.

She almost cries in relief as she reaches in to pull it out. The cat comes willing, a tiny meow in what she would like to imagine as a greeting.

“Here, I brought you this.” She tugs out the smushed bread roll from her pants waistband. The cat sniffs it before taking a bite. he chews it quickly, then goes in for more. She smiles softly as it eats another piece. It’s tail swishes in contentment.

It makes the hunger in her stomach completely worth it.

She scratches it’s back as he eats. He’s vibrating again, what she now knows is called purring. “Don’t get too comfortable,” She sighs at him. “I would give you a name, but I’m not actually allowed to be here or doing this. Is it okay if I just call you Cat?”

He doesn’t respond, too busy with his bread. But he keeps purring, so she assumes it must be good enough for him.

...

Somehow, it becomes part of her daily routine. Every day at breakfast she sneaks away with her bread roll tucked securely into her clothes. Every day she anxiously waits for 4 o’clock to come around - when she knows she’ll get to see her friend again. The danger of the situation has died out on her now, the adrenaline no longer pumping through her veins each time and instead her heart fluttering excitedly.

She’s getting smaller, and the nurses and teachers are starting to notice. Her leotard no longer clings to her body, her training tanks falling lower than before. She doesn’t mind, it only makes food easier to hide. They question her about it, interrogating her. There are no good answers- if she claims to be sick, she could be killed. If she says she��s been giving food to someone else, she could be killed. So, she pretends to have no idea what they’re talking about. She puts on her confused face, acts shocked when they read out her most recent weight to her. They threaten a feeding tube on her, and she lies when telling them that wouldn’t be necessary.

She doesn’t remember the last time something felt so good. Winning her sparring matches, acing her tests or even the rare praise from her teachers. None of it could compare to how satisfying it felt to feel Cat purr against her. He was getting stronger each day along with every bit of food she brought. Her newfound obsession of nursing this cat back to health well worth the way her own body is slowly starting to deteriorate. For maybe the first time in her life, she was using her skills to help, instead of to hurt. She was creating life, not taking it.

...

Natalia huffs a loose strand of auburn hair out of her face, clearing the obstruction and allowing her to watch her opponent better. They’re both out of breath, circling like two eagles fighting over roadkill. The other girls are lined up against the wall, observing the match.

Klara is good. She’s landed several punches to Natalia already, within the first minute. But she’s getting tired. And while Natalia may not be as strong as Klara, she knows she wins in the endurance category.

Klara breaks the standoff and comes at her again, one hand capturing her wrist while she uses her leg to sweep Natalia’s legs out from underneath. Natalia latches onto her torso on her way down, causing them both to tumble to the ground. Natalia takes advantage of her surprise, and quickly clambers over her body, taking control. She straddles her, sitting her weight on the small of her back to hold her down while she captures her left arm and twists it back, hard.

Klara lets out a small whine. It’s barely noticeable, but it’s enough. Both girls pause in their struggle, glance up at their teacher. He doesn’t say anything, but they know he’s heard it. He’s not happy. He makes eye contact with Natalia, gives her a slight nod.

She knows what she’s supposed to do. Knows the punishment for showing weakness during combat. She tightens her hold around Klara’s wrist.

Klara is holding her breath in anticipation. Anticipation of having a bone snapped, at her hands.

The same hands that had pulled Cat from the gutters. Hands that dug him a safe snow burrow, that caringly pet his fur back into place, that fed him pieces of bread every day.

Her hands were capable of more than just hurting. She was capable of more. She could be good.

“No.” The word tumbles out of her mouth before she can stop it. She releases Klara’s arm, snapping her arms back into her chest and away from her classmate as she shakily stands to her feet, taking a step back to put more distance between them. She doesn’t want to hurt her.

“Natalia.” Their teacher warns. The other girls are watching with wide eyes. She looks at him, shakes her head.

She can see the anger cloud his face as he pushes away from the wall he was leaning on to stomp over to her. She wants to back away from him but stands her ground. He towers over her and seizes her arm.

He doesn’t hesitate. The pop as her wrist dislocates from its joints is heard around the room. She jerks back, causing him to lose his unsuspecting grip before he can fully break her bone. It’s easy enough for him to snatch her back, this time his fists flying down on her back.

She knows the majority of this is just to make an example out of her, but it doesn’t make it any easier as the blood vessels beneath her skin break under his anger.

He tries to switch his grip on her, but her body reacts before her brain catches up. She ducks underneath his arm, feet pounding on the ground as she sprints from the courtyard. They let her go- know that in only her tank and shorts she will have no choice but to return herself before the cold claims her. The fresh bruises covering her body make it hard to move, but she doesn’t stop. She keeps running, muscle memory carrying her to their spot.

Cat is there. She grabs him and pulls him in. It’s not enough- she needs more. Letting Cat down for a second, she takes the bottom of her tattered tank top and yanks it over her head furiously, leaving her torso bare. She gathers up Cat once more, and holds him close to her chest.

“I’m so tired,” She tells him, voice cracking. “I don’t want to be bad.” She slumps onto her side, pulling her knees up and curling into a small ball around Cat. His fur against her bare skin reminds her of velvet blankets. The warmth and weight of Cat in her arms and against her chest are the only things keeping her somewhat grounded.

Cat doesn’t purr, like he so often does when she holds him. Perhaps her sadness is contagious. He stays content in her arms, nuzzling his head into the crock of her neck.

...

The next evening when she goes, Cat is waiting for her.

Next to Cat is a dead mouse. She frowns in disgust at first, but Cat flicks its tail and noses it towards her. It’s a gift, she realizes. Cat brought her something. Something that to Cat, was valuable-  its food and life source. Cat could have eaten the mouse himself. Should have eaten it himself.

Tears threaten to leak from her eyes. She sits down and holds her arms out for Cat. Cat knows the routine now, and hops in the space between her legs.

“Thank you,” She whispers to him. “I love you too.”

She doesn’t actually know what that word means. It’s said a lot in the Disney movies they watch, and sometimes the other girls use it to describe certain material things, but in relation to her as a person, she doesn’t have a clue.

This must be it. Every day that she ventures out here, she is risking her life for this cat. Every bread roll she brings, every minute spent in these woods with this little animal is a risk. And yet here she is.

Words from the adults in her life are ringing in her ears. All the talk about the girls being incapable of love, cold hearted. They were lies, they had to be. There was no other explanation.

...

Natalia laughs as Cat pounces once again, this time nearly succeeding in grabbing the leaves. Three days ago, she’d plucked this branch from a nearby tree, a long twig with a bundle of leaves at the end that had somehow managed to survive the winter. She hadn’t been sure if Cat would be interested, but the fear was unfounded. The past days, she had spent every minute with Cat playing with him, laughing at all his antics. Her favorite move of his was when he would crouch low, stick his butt in the air and wiggle it for several seconds.

“What are you doing?”

Natalia drops the branch in her startle, quickly spinning around to find one of the girls standing there, an eyebrow raised at her.

“N-nothing. I just-” She gestures flippantly towards the cat, as if it wasn’t her only and best friend. “Just found it here. Was just looking at it.”

Annika wrinkles her nose at the cat in disgust. Natalia watches as her eyes slide past the cat, landing on her makeshift jacket bed several feet away and the realization that dawns.

“Do you have a …. Pet?” she spits the word, and Nat is reminded of why she’s always hated Annika. Annika, who never got in any trouble, never disobeyed or got lectured or whipped.

“No,” Natalia snaps, too quickly. “It’s just some random cat.” The lie physically hurts.

Annika stares at her. Natalia can see the disbelief on her face, and knows the ploy is up.

“Please don’t tell anyone. It just needed some help. It’s really no big deal.”

Annika smirks. “Is this the reason you’ve been acting so weird lately? You’ve been putting everyone on edge, you know.”

“I’m sorry,” Natalia isn’t sure what exactly she’s apologizing for. Why she is saying sorry for caring about something.

Annika doesn’t respond, just glances between her and Cat a few more times before shrugging her shoulders and turning away.

“Wait!” Natalia jumps forward, catching her shoulder before she can leave. “You won’t tell anyone, right?”

Annika shakes her off with an annoyed “Don’t touch me,” and keeps walking. Natalia reaches for her again, but one of the older girls appears in view. She’s too far to hear them, but close enough to see their struggle.

Natalia has no choice but to let her go.

...

Hands are wrenching her from her bed.

She’s awake in an instant, struggling against them. Memories of the last time one of the guards had taken her from her bed during the night make it hard to breathe through the panic.

The cold hits her and breaks through her initial terror enough for her to realize she is being taken outside. At first, she’s confused- this is not where they usually prefer to take her for this - before realizing there’s only one other thing this could be about.

No.

No no no no no nonononono.

Her panic renews with a fresh vigor. She tries to twist away from Sokolov, but his grip is crushing. Kuznetov is walking next to them, and she doesn’t miss his hand resting on the baton on his hip, ready to strike. They make quick work of carrying her to the edge of the woods.

Madam is there.

In her hands, she is holding Natalia’s dirty jacket. At her shoes, Cat. He isn't moving well, similar to the first time she had found him, and tears leak from her eyes at the thought that they had already done something to him. All the time and effort she had spent rehabilitating and earning his trust, and yet she had failed to protect him when it really mattered.

Sokolov drops her to her feet but keeps a crushing hand on the back of her neck, holding her in place.

“Explain yourself.” Madam’s voice is hard.

“I-” Natalia can barely hear over her heart pounding in her ears. “I couldn’t just let it die.”

“And why not?”

“I don’t understa-”

“You have stolen from us. This jacket was not yours to give away. How much food have you stolen and wasted on this animal?”

“I wasn’t stealing-”

“Do not talk back to me, child.”

She slams her mouth shut.

“Finish this, Natalia.”

It takes a second for the meaning behind Madam’s words to sink in. Natalia takes a step backwards, shaking her head. “No. No, I can’t.”

“I was not asking.”

She keeps shaking her head, has to resist the urge to cover her ears with her hands. “He’s innocent. You can’t make me kill an innocent-”

“I have no interest on its innocence or guilt. I gave you an order.” Madam steps forward and grabs her chin, forcing her face upwards. “You are being trained to obey. It matters not what you think of the orders. You will say what we tell you to say. You will kill who we tell you to kill. Nothing more, nothing less. You are property of the Red Room, Natalia. You are a weapon.”

Sokolov leans over her, his arms coming around to trap her within as he grabs a hold of her hands. He places his pistol in them, but she keeps her hands open, refusing to take hold of it. He shakes her in frustration, hands closing over hers as he forces her fingers to wrap around the handle. She shakes her head and tries to push away, which only succeeds in pressing herself further against Sokolov. He holds her there for several seconds, until her resolve weakens and he’s sure she won’t drop it once released. Kutnetsov is watching from his spot by Madam. The corners of his lips are slightly turned up.

He’s enjoying this.

The gun is heavy in her hands. She clenches her jaw. Grinds her teeth. Inhales. Exhales. Looks at Kuznetsov. At Cat. She closes her eyes. Raises the gun. Pulls the trigger.

Kuznetsov drops, blood pouring from the hole in his forehead. A second gunshot pierces the air, and she collapses just the same. The gun clatters to the snow from her hands as she moves to clutch her right hand, a matching bullet wound.

The searing pain in her hand blinds her momentarily, before a small whine reaches her ears. She blinks back the pain, sees Madam’s hand reaching for Cat.

“Don’t touch him!” She screams. She throws herself forwards, scrambling to position her body over Cat. The snow under them is strained crimson for Kuznetsov’s dead body as well as her own hand. It’s drenching Cat’s fur and smeared all over her. Sokolov’s hand lands on her shoulder. She turns her head and sinks her teeth into his flesh, the metallic taste of blood filling her mouth. There’s so much blood everywhere it’s threatening to overwhelm her. He rips his hand out of her mouth, delivering a backhand to her before both his hands close around the tops of her arms to tear her off Cat.

The world spins as she is suddenly back upright, but her gaze lands on Madam picking up Cat.

“No!” She screams, trying to lunge forward. Sokolov’s hold almost slips, her skin slippery from the coating of blood, and he grunts in annoyance as he readjusts- reaching down to wrap his arms around her waist and pick her up, holding her captive against him as he trudges back towards the building. “No!” she wails. She kicks her feet back, digging her heels into his body. He doesn’t respond. She reaches back blindly, clawing at his skin. He lets out a string of curses and bends over, keeping her trapped against him. With one hand, he grabs both her wrists and bundles them against her chest, ignoring her yelp of pain as the bullet wound is pressed. Arms contained, he picks her back up again. Continues walking.

She doesn’t stop struggling. “I’ll do it again! I’ll kill you all!” She sobs out, whipping her head back to try and see the scene behind her. “Leave him alone! I’ll kill you!”

As Sokolov takes her further away, carries her further from the only good she has ever known, her screams turn incoherent. A mixture of pleads and threats, and then anguished howls. She helpless to stop this, and the weight of the knowledge comes crashing down on her, pulling her into the depths of unconsciousness.

...

Natalia awakes in the infirmary, which is weird. She hadn’t expected to wake up at all after her show of defiance. She doesn’t struggle against the cuffs chaining her to the bed. She already knows it’s useless.

The presence of Madam is next to her. She can feel her there before she even opens her eyes. She doesn’t want to talk to her, but something about this situation is wrong, and the question nags until she can’t ignore it. She opens her eyes, leveling Madam with a glare.

“Why am I still alive?” She questions. “I killed –”

“Do you feel bad for shooting him?” Madam sits down on the doctor’s stool next to the cot, leaning towards her. It’s a good thing she’s cuffed tightly.

Natalia isn’t sure what game Madam is playing, can’t think of what answer would be considered the correct one to her, so she goes with the truth instead. “No. I’m glad he’s dead.”

Madam smiles. “And that is why, Natalia. A child who can kill without an ounce of guilt is very useful.” Madam leans in closer to her, but she doesn’t look away. She keeps her glare fixed, refusing to let the women intimidate her. “You are no different than any of us now.”

Madam stands up abruptly, giving her a curt nod before turning to the doctor standing in the doorway. “A wipe is needed. Prepare her and then bring her to the machine.”

Natalia jerks up. “What? No. I don’t need to be wiped- it won’t happen again, I promise! I’m fine!” Madam doesn’t even glance in her direction. She moves out the door, leaving her alone with the doctor. She turns her sights on him as he closes in, syringe in hand. She scoots back as far as the cuffs allow, her wrists and shoulders straining with the effort.

She shakes her head. “No…I want to remember him. Please.”

The doctor is silent, just grabs her right arm and shoves the needle into her vein, dispensing the medication. Less than three seconds later, her eyelids are growing heavy.

“Please,” She tries again.

He doesn’t care.

Her vision fades to black.

...

Natalia doesn’t remember how she got the bullet wound in her hand. She flexes her hand, staring at it intently while one of the teachers up front talks more about the importance of the Motherland. It’s been bothering her for a week now, ever since she woke up with a bandaged hand and no memory of being shot.

It feels wrong. She’s used to gaps in her memories, it’s not uncommon here. But there’s some part deep in her brain that nags at her. There’s fading bruises on her back, along with a sore wrist. She had refused to hurt Klara, had been punished for it.

She doesn’t know why she had refused that day, but somehow, it feels like part of the puzzle. So she takes that memory of showing mercy to her classmate, and clings to it as if it was the only thing holding her together.

...

Natalia slashes the knife across her opponent's chest, and he grunts in pain, throwing himself away from where she is laying on the ground. She coughs, ignoring the burn in her chest as she tries to force herself to stand up. She’s lost too much blood to be coordinated, the stab wound in her stomach making things much harder than they should have been.

He comes at her again, is on top of her raising his fist -

There’s a blur of black, and suddenly his weight is gone, knocked to the side as he struggles with the new combatant. He squawks in surprise and pain.

Natalia turns herself onto her stomach, pushing herself up slightly and stretching her arm out, fingertips just barely brushing the barrel of the gun. It’s enough, and she’s able to pull it into her grasp and turn back. She fires the twice, landing two instant kill shots. The struggle stops as his body flops limply to the ground, and she breathes a sigh of relief.

One more KGB agent dead. Another name to cross off her list.

Something steps into her view. She lifts her eyes.

A black cat is standing there, droplets of crimson on his whiskers from where the cat had mauled the agent’s face.

Great, she thinks, now I’m hallucinating.

She stares at the cat. He stares back. His eyes are a shade of Hazel she’s seen before.

This is not the first time their souls have met.

Pain explodes in the back of her head, even though she didn’t hurt her head during her fight. Even if she had, this is a different kind of pain- different than the head injuries she’s had in the past.

A small, cold animal in her lap.

She sucks in a breath at the random image. She doesn’t know where it came from. It hurts.

“I brought you more bread.”

That’s her voice, in her memories. There’s no denying that. She brings her hands up to rub at her eyes, willing the abrupt headache to stop. The cat moves towards her, pushing it’s head against her thigh.

Nuzzling his head into the crock of her arm

“I love you too”

“I want to remember him”

Natalia gags as the flood of memories push past the dam in her head. Both warm and horrifying images flooding her head all at once, of laughing and crying, playing and screaming.

She gags again, the memories too much, and vomits onto the pavement.

She takes a moment to catch her breath, before cringing away from the mess. Now is not the time to dwell on the past. She has a more pressing issue at hand to distract herself with. She forces herself back onto her feet, keeping pressure on the wound in a pathetic attempt to slow the bleeding. She glances at the cat, who is watching her.

“Well. You coming or not?”

He follows her home, circling around her feet. She almost trips over him several times but can’t find it in herself to be annoyed.

She stumbles through the door of her cover apartment, making sure to turn all seven locks back into place once they are both inside. She goes straight to the bathroom, bee lining for the first aid kit.

The cat stays by her side the whole time, even following her the several feet into the kitchen as she goes to find some water. He refuses to leave her side.

“I guess it’s finally time I give you a proper name, huh?”

The cat jumps onto the counter, begins digging around in a paper bag contained a few measly groceries she had bought the day before, searching for food. He somehow finds a stale piece of bread, drags it from the bag. “Geez, you’re like a little goblin now. Is that your name? Лихо? It also means bad luck, you know. Guess that’s fitting considering you keep getting stuck with me.”

She watches him for a moment. Perhaps the English version of the name would be better. It’s stupid, but she can’t bear to name him something in the language of the people who had been so cruel to them.

“Liho.” She cups his face in her hands, brushing her thumbs over the sides of his face. “Your name is Liho. I’m sorry it took me so long.” She presses a gentle kiss to his forehead, fighting back the tears.

He purrs against her.

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

Thanks to @quietlyimplode for encouraging and helping this randomness come about!

[too-scared-to-do-this]

Of the Devil’s head

Chapter six - As predator as prey

Sander’s side fanfiction

Wordcount: 2193

Ships: prinxiety

TW: cursing, slight belittling, demons being demons, talk of torture, background torture in progress, panic. Let me know if I’ve missed any :) 

Summary of the whole story:  They say, the one that wears the crown rules all - the living, the dead, the walking, the crawling, the rooted, the sane and the mad. They say, once you own the crown, you become the  most powerful being on Earth and beyond. Roman’s stolen bigger things - a measly little crown won’t present a problem, even if he has to steel it straight off of the devils head!

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

Chapter six - As predator as prey

Shit.

“Don’t hurt me!”

Somehow, Roman thought that the blanket he pulled over his head would be enough of a protective shield. He was an idiot, and he knew it. But give the man a break! One moment he’s dreaming about this super hot guy and the next he’s being woken to the realization that that supper hot guy is the devil !

His brain needed some recovery time to start functioning normally (even though his actions would be the same, regardless).

At the same time the king went from nervous, through surprised and straight to complete judgement. With narrowed eyes he watched the shivering lump of blanket next to him. Did they really think that that was going to protect them? From him?

For a while nothing happened. Roman kept hidden, waiting for the other to attack. But when it was still quiet and no sign of danger appeared, he slowly lowered his “force-field” and peered out.

Virgil kept on staring at the complete moron, laying in front of him. he knew Humans were… simple… but this was too much.

The thief searched the pail face in front of him. Purple locks covered one of his eyes. the other was swallowed in big dark circles - bags from no sleep, it seemed (or maybe that was normal for him, who knows). Yet, even in this cold narrowed stare he was giving Roman, the eye seemed so gentle. Lighter than the sky. Kinder than a nice summer breeze. Full of dark stormy clouds bringing rain to the drying lands.

They swirled around, creating illusions all shapes and sizes. Roman could barely look away. This eye belonged to the Devil?

The supposed embodiment of all evil? No matter how icy his stare, the thief was certain that this being was not what people made him out to be.

He found himself lowering the blanket shield, just watching the judgement in the others eyes. Yeah… he knew what a stupid idea it was to use a blanket as shield, he deserved the judgement. Doesn’t mean it didn’t sting though.

He was about to ask a question, when the demon suddenly spoke. “How’s your head?”

Roman completely forgot about why he was in this situation in the first place. “Oh yeah…” he whispered, reaching up to find a bandage covering this head. “It’s…” he winced at the touch. “…fine.”

His captor’s eyes narrowed. Virgil didn’t like that wince one bit. The medication the healers gave him was strong - let the earlier events of they’re babbling be proof - and if he felt the pain even with their effect, something was wrong.

“I’ll get the healers.” he huffed and stood up.

Roman blinked in surprise. “Wait, you’re just gonna leave me here?”

“Well yes, that’s the plan.” Virgil walked to the closed chamber doors.

He heard the Human shuffle around, sitting up. The thief sat cross-legged in a pile of blanket, with big surprised eyes glued to the demon. “What- What if I escape?”

Virgil scoffed amusedly, looking at him over his shoulder. “And how would you do that?”

The offended noise that Roman made, caught Virgil completely unprepared. That was too much! He had to bit his lip to not let out more than a small snort. “I’ll let you know!” the thief started, hands flying everywhere. “I am an excellent sneaker! I broke into the Kings castle over fifty times unnoticed! Stealth is my middle name!”

Well, let’s just say Virgil had a lot to do to not let go and laugh in his face. Still, low rumble left his ribcage, gravely laugh traveling through the echoey room. “It was extremely stealthy when you landed in my lap. I didn’t even notice!”

The Human went completely red. “Shut up!”

The was pulled open and V kept on chuckling as he stepped into the dimly lit hallway. “Stay on your ass, liveling. I’ll be back in five minutes.” and the door fell shut.

Roman found himself all alone in this giant chamber again. But that was all right, five minutes was all Roman needed.

He waited a second, until the footsteps weren’t hearable anymore and rushed over to the door.

Cracking it open, he peered out, checking for passerby. Thankfully this part of hell didn’t seem much crowded so the cost was clear. The well-known rush of adrenaline bubbling up in his veins. He rushed down the torchlit hallway, tuning corner after corner until he found himself at a junction. Three paths in front of him, a tall slope in the middle. And signs pointing in each direction.

Roman snorted. “Demons are idiots.”

He quickly read over the signs and started in the direction of “Exit”.

It wasn’t far, he could already see the light seeping in within twenty steps. The narrow corridor widened and stalagmites and stalactites started glittering the ceiling and the ground. Voices traveled to Romans ears.

This was about to become much more fun.

He stepped of the clear path, onto the side littered with stalagmites. On tiptoes, he continued walking, hiding every time he heard something. Weaving between the forest of stone poles until the dark of the tunnel became only shadows and the voices, he heard were now understandable.

Crouching down behind one bigger stone-dagger, he peered over. Two demons, standing with weapons and in armory stood by the entrance chatting.

Roman scanned the place for any possible escape route. And of course, there was only one. Right behind the guards back.

he thought about throwing a stone the other way, but stones were falling everywhere in this place. That wouldn’t get them to move.

So, the thief waited until the demons were distracted enough and got ready to slip out behind their back.

He watched the guards proceeding as quickly as he dared. A few more steps.

Grinned to himself, he picked up his pace. I am the king of stealth you asshole! Nobody is as good as I a-

“OW!” the guard he was sneaking behind roared and Roman felt the ground pulling out from underneath his feet.

He froze, looking down.

Shit… Roman had stepped on his tail.

The demon turned on him, angry stare and all and just like that, Roman was caught. No longer ten steps from the exit. Instead, on the way back towards the Devil.

Virgil’s steps weren’t even hurried as he strode down the dark hallway, confident as ever. A shit-eating grin on his face.

He walked towards the guards, Roman trashing in their arms, cursing all Hell. But quieting down the moment his eyes registered the dark figure approaching him.

He bowed his head in shame. The people were right... No one get’s out of Hell.

“Sir, we caught it sneaking out the left wing.” one of the guards immediately started up.

“Yeah! It stepped on my tail, bastard!”

“What should we do with it?”

The Devil just grinned at his prisoner. “Well, well, well. I see your stealth skills are still unmatched.”

“Oh, shut up…” Roman mumbled. He kept his head low, he didn’t want the Devil to see how pink his cheeks got.

Little did he know, Virgil saw it all, which made him grin even wider.

“Leave him to me.” he said to the guards. They immediately loosened their grip and Roman shook them off, grumbling angrily. He dusted of his new clothes (which he just now realized he had) and looked up at Virgil.

The just smiled. “Let’s go for a walk.”

-

“You see, the souls that get down here are register in, then signed a fitting punishment. We have all sorts of torture - from guillotines to… whatever that is.” Virgil pointed at a small black cube sitting on a table in one of the many rooms they walked by.

The hallway was filled with demons. Let alone demons! Blood and screams and rooms full of horrific devices designed to chop, pull apart, dissect and Roman-didn’t-even-dare-to-think-what-else, humans.

He didn’t know why the Devil would show him this, but they’ve been walking for a good half hour, checking all these rooms full of unimaginable horrors.

Roman’s stomach was flipping and he wasn’t sure weather his ears would be able to take these screams of agony much longer. He kept his eyes glued to the floor for the most part, trying to block out the cries of the damned.

And Virgil kept on pointing at stuff and talking. “We don’t get many living Humans down here, so the demons are all really excited to pick you apart and see how you tick. See how that tiny little brain of yours swirls. For how long that heart keeps beating after removed from the body. Just one wrong move, liveling, and you’re locked in one of these rooms with the rest of them. So, don’t you even think about escaping again.”

That was the first time Virgil took a look at his companion this whole walk.

Roman was visibly trying to fight the shivers that were running through his whole body. His eyes were cast down, focusing heard on the movement of his feet. Fingers fidgeting with his nails.

He didn’t know why, but Virgil hated that sight. It clenched his chest tight and refused to let go.

After all, he still remembered the first time his father took him “for a walk” … How many, many moons ago, the former king led him down the same path. Back then he held his hands over his ears, shielding his eyes. He forced himself not to cry, because one day, he’ll have to supervise this whole mess. He’ll have to walk down these hallways with a proud smile and live with the guilt of all these lost lives. The guilt his father, and all the others before him, lacked.

He hated that feeling just as much as he hated seeing this helpless being quiver under the weight of it all.

So, Virgil decided to do the one thing, he always always did in situations he hated. “Come with me. We have one more stop to make.”

He led the liveling out the nearest exit and turned to follow the path he knew by heart at this point…

Roman didn’t look up, didn’t stop walking. But his shivers stopped when they were far enough for the screams to not be heard.

“Here we are.” the demon spoke, letting his prisoner take his time to look around. After all, this was the most beautiful place in Hell - Virgil’s favorite place.

Giant stalagmite slopes supported the weight of the ceiling, showing you were exactly the solid ground ended. Warning you before the gaping mouth of the pit. From here you could see everything. All the gaping hallways of Hell with not a single flicker of what hides inside them. All the beauty of the massive cave without all the blood spilled or signs drilled to it. And most importantly, it was quiet.

But Roman didn’t seem so relaxed. His head was exploding with questions and worry. And seeing the deep drop so close to him brought the shivers back. “Do you plan on p-pushing me in?” he asked, hating how small his voice sounded.

The demon just gave a short chuckle. “If I wanted to spill your blood, I would’ve done it already.”

He didn’t even wait for the Human. He walked over to one of the slopes and set down on the ground. Back leaning against the stone and leg dangling from the edge.

His head fell against the slope and for a second he closed his eyes. “Can you hear it?” he found himself asking.

“I don’t hear anything…” Roman still didn’t know what to do… He just stood there awkwardly, fidgeting with his fingers. He watched as the Devil completely let go, relaxing his whole body.

He could take a knife and kill him and the king wouldn’t even have a chance to react. He could take that crown and run. He could do so much...

Instead, his feet took him over to the edge and forced him to sit down.

“Exactly. It’s quiet.”

Hah… yeah… It was quiet. Ro listened to the deafening silence in the room, only his shallow breathing disturbing it. He listened to the quiet drops of water slipping down the ceiling of the cave. He looked out at the endless abys and felt so small. So useless. Like nothing he did, does or ever will do mattered. And somehow, Roman finally took a breath. Easy, light breath - gone all the weight and burden he carried on his shoulders all his life. His chest felt so spacious, spilling with all the air this cave could hold. And that wasn’t enough! 

It was a magnificent place… Lights danced around the ceiling. He had no idea where they came from, but it created patterns, swirls of all shapes and sizes. The same way the clouds he saw earlier in the Devils eyes did. (Well, eye...)

If he wanted to hurt him, he would’ve done it already. Maybe Roman was safe for now… It sure as hell felt like it.

Until that eye burned a hole in his side. And a stern but quiet voice, as if scared to disturbed the peaceful silence, broke it.

“Why did you come here?”

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

Well it took me a while, but here I am :D

I apologies for the wait, my brain gave up the fight. But I’m back! And hopefully you like the mess I’ve created.

I tried. 

- 

Tag list:

@romano-hottopic

@alice-only-me

[exauhstedsunflower]

So, I’m writing Marvel now…

The thing is, Marvel is a special interest for me. Has been for a long time. The MCU while it has its downsides (I will never forgive them for what they did to Steve Rogers.) is one of my favorite movie franchises of all time. It’s a crime that I haven’t written any fics for it yet, honestly.

This isn’t nearly finished, and I have no idea when it will be or how long it’ll be. It doesn’t even have a name or full plan yet. But it’s a fun project for me. I want to explore the fact that Captain America is from the 40’s, however when he wakes up he is still in his twenties. He’s technically the youngest on the team while simultaneously being way older and being treated as way older than everyone around him. It picks up during the first Avengers film and is written from Tony’s POV. (Again, so far. It’s not done and I could still switch POV’s every once in a while.)

All that being said, enjoy!

Steve hates him. He hates Tony. Tony Stark. Son of his old friend, Howard Stark.

The old bastard was right, isn’t that just ironic.

Endless fights over Tony being a disappointment. Being nothing like the Greatest Man Howard Ever Knew. Howard never shut up about the great Captain America, so of course Tony knew this was coming.

Tony had tried when he was younger, he did. He’d tried to be better, braver, stronger, faster, witty in a way Howard would appreciate. But after a while he’d realized that no matter what he did, no matter how hard he tried, he’d never live up to what Howard wanted from him. Howard said daily that Captain America, Steve Rogers, would be disgusted by Tony. And Tony had just about recently decided that he was moving on from all of his daddy issues and metaphorically telling Howard to shove his criticisms very far up his ass. And, isn’t this just the kicker, Steve Rogers is right in front of him confirming it all.

“Big man in a suit of armor. Take that off, what are you?”

Exactly what everyone thinks I am, obviously.

“Genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist.”

What? He’s not about to make it easy on Captain America of all people. If anyone can handle his sass, it’s the so called bravest man who ever lived.

“I know guys with none of that worth ten of you. Yeah, I've seen the footage. The only thing you really fight for is yourself. You're not the guy to make the sacrifice play, to lay down on a wire and let the other guy crawl over you.”

Wow, okay. He’s really laying it on, isn't he? He must be really pissed. In all honesty, Tony hadn’t thought it would be so easy to get to him. Or, rather, to get him to a point where he’s actually making personal, cutting blows.

Still, Tony doesn’t want to cause an actual fight. If he wanted that he’d have started off a little more strong, like how Rogers is. What with all the steam coming from his ears. Howard hadn’t mentioned the potentially problematic short fuse in all his ramblings. Whatever, just keep deflecting and find a way to defuse, then. He’s been around long enough to know when the right time to fight is. Currently they have a volatile, murderous psychopath who obviously wants them all fighting on board, so now is not a good time.

“I think I would just cut the wire.”

There, nice and simple. There’s no way Mr. Short Fuse can turn that into-

“Always a way out... You know, you may not be a threat, but you better stop pretending to be a hero.”

Now he’s done it. He’s honestly tempted to say ‘Or what?’. Just curiosity speaking, what would Rogers do? And, another thing, Tony has never claimed to be a hero. Sure, he’s saved a few people, and yeah, he’s trying to save the world currently, but the hero label was all but thrown at him the moment he came out to the world as Iron Man. He doesn’t want to be a hero, all he wants right now is for Rogers to get off his damn high horse.

“A hero? Like you? You're a lab rat, Rogers. Everything special about you came out of a bottle!”

He hadn’t meant to say that. Truly, he hadn’t. He’s supposed to be actively diffusing the situation. But honestly it was an achievement he’d gone that long without actually retaliating. You can only push a man so far-

“Put on the suit, let's go a few rounds.”

He’s not succeeding in his endeavor to not fight Captain America. His dad is likely screeching from his penthouse in hell.

He moves away from Rogers just in time for the locator to go off, signifying that they’ve found what they were looking for. This is followed by an argument about who is going to get it, a rather horrifying revelation that his new best friend besides Rhodey, Pepper and Happy, (Yes, he has claimed this already, he just has to convince Bruce.) has tried to kill himself, and then suddenly Captain America is trying to fight him, again.

“Put on the suit, let’s find out!”

“I’m not afraid to hit an old man.” He replies calmly, though a little heated.

It’s just oh so ironic, (This whole conversation has been filled to the brim with irony.) that as Tony says that he laments how immature they’re acting. Seriously, the guy’s in his nineties, why is he pulling Tony into this? The irony strikes him then and there, as he’s watching Rogers get all riled up. Captain America is practically a kid.

It’s kind of funny to think about. Captain America, the man out of time, he’s only in his twenties. Tony is twenty years older than him, mentally. Now it’s not about fighting his fathers old friend. It’s not even about the fact that this is Captain America, and how anti-patriotic it would be to deck him.

No, Tony wont fight a twenty-something year old. It’s not dignified. It wouldn’t even be fair. Rogers hasn’t had the time to fully develop patience like Tony has. His brain hasn’t aged just as his body hasn’t. No wonder he has such a short fuse, Tony was the same way when he was young.

Something explodes while his brain is having this revelation, and he realizes that this is an attack. Good thing they weren’t fighting each other, then.

Steve helps him up after they’re both thrown across the room from the blast.

“Put on the suit.”

Tony nods, finally agreeing with the man on something.

“Yep.”

-

Of course they would end up working together to fix the turbine. That’s the way the world works. Rogers hates Tony, and Tony won’t fight him, which seems to be making Rogers more angry. But now all of that has to be put aside for the greater good. Hopefully they’ll be able to do this before another turbine goes down and the whole boat falls from the sky.

“What’s it look like in there?”

Tony really needs this to go well. Surely Rogers can’t be too inept with technology. He’s young, young people are the future of technology! He even understood the Wizard of Oz reference earlier, so he’s sort of up to date, right?

“It seems to run on some form of electricity!”

So much for his optimism. Despite the feeling that this is going to end horribly, his mouth quirks a bit. That’s why it had taken him so long to put together how young Rogers actually is.

Still, this has to be tough for the guy, he’s clearly out of his depth here and is trying to help.

“Well, you’re not wrong.”

He teaches Rogers how to fix the relays, which takes some time given that he can’t personally guide the project. He’s a bit busy clearing the debris from the turbine and trying to keep up with the flying boat’s speed enough to stay beside it. You would think they’d stop moving so he can just hover and do repairs, but no! Although he does suppose that there is quite a bit of commotion happening inside too. Enough to warrant not slowing down, maybe.

“Even if I clear the rotors, this thing won't re-engage without a jump. I'm gonna have to get in there and push.”

“Well if that thing gets up to speed, you'll get shredded!”

Aw, he’s worried. Asshole.

Does this count as laying on the wire? Is this technically superhero-ing right now? Is this enough to prove to Rogers he has the right intentions? He hopes so.

“Then stay in the control unit and reverse polarity long enough to disengage mag-“

“Speak! English!”

Tony nearly laughs. He hadn’t realized how charming Rogers actually is, underneath all of the high and mighty hero stuff.

“Unless, Selvig has figured out how to stabilize the quantum tunneling effect”.

“Well, if he could do that he could achieve Heavy Ion Fusion at any reactor on the planet.” Bruce responds, understanding every word. Oh, Tony might just be in love.

“Finally, someone who speaks English.”

“Is that what just happened?”

It was a sly little comment, but it was there. He should have picked up on it at the time. Captain Rogers is funny.

“See that red lever? It'll slow the rotors down long enough for me to get out. Stand by it, wait for my word.”

He watches the man jump over to the lever, landing a little too close to the edge for comfort. Then instead of dwelling on the fact that he was concerned for Captain America’s safety, he goes into the turbine and starts to push.

While he’s pushing, there’s some gunfire. Also some rushing coming from Director Fury in his earpiece. He wonders if anyone has come out to help Rogers, and then realizes that obviously Rogers can handle himself, so why would anyone? Eventually the turbine feels like it's moving faster than him, so it’s time to get out.

“Cap, I need the lever!”

“I need a minute here!”

Uh oh. That won’t do at all.

“Lever! Now!”

This is so not how he wanted this to go. He falls into a rotor, and slides down into the bottom part of the turbine. He is so screwed. He’s going to break his spine, or his neck. He’s going to die fixing a boat engine. Engine’s are his bitch, he can’t die fixing an engine!

Suddenly the rotors let up, and it only takes Tony a split second to fly out and assess his damage. His suit’s going to give out on him. Any second now surely. He should get out of the air-

Loki’s men are on Rogers with guns, how is that a fair fight?

At least, that’s what he thinks before he tackles one and takes them right through the side of the boat with him, finally hitting the ground and letting the suit turn off.

He can’t quite see anymore, and he can’t quite tell if it's the suit or his eyes that are damaged. He was knocked around quite a bit. Maybe it’s a concussion? He hopes it’s temporary, he can’t work if he’s blind.

Actually, scratch that. That sounds ableist. It also sounds like he’s doubting himself, which he’d never do. He very much can work if he’s blind. Plenty of people do it every day.

He feels tired, a bit hazy. He’d been knocked around maybe too much. Is Steve okay? He looks up, and the captain is jumping back into the ship. Good.

Definitely a concussion, he thinks, letting his head fall back and passing out.

-

Coulson died. Loki killed him.

Tony hasn’t been on this boat for too long now, but he’s starting to think this is a suicide mission. Agent Coulson was Pepper’s friend; how’s he going to tell her? How will the news reach the cellist he was involved with?

“There was an idea, Stark knows this, called The Avengers Initiative-”

He hasn’t been listening, and was honestly okay with the numb indifference of his thoughts. Anything not to hear Fury’s words. Lies, honestly. There’s no excuse for the arsenal that was being built, regardless of if Fury hadn’t bet on it in the first place. And now- what? He wants to use Tony and the others as the replacement arsenal? They can’t even save one agent, let alone the world.

“…to fight the battles that we never could. Phil Coulson died still believing in that idea, in heroes.”

Tony stands, unable to hear anymore of this. Tony’s no hero. If Coulson was smarter, he never would have believed in heroes in the first place.

-

“Was he married?”

He looks at Rogers, at his attempt at starting a tough conversation. He sees why everyone likes the guy, really. Even after their almost-fight he comes to attempt to comfort Tony. Tony, for his part, isn’t even sure why he’s taking Coulson’s death so hard. It’s not like they were friends.

He just- well, it feels like this death is on him.

“No. There was a uh...cellist, I think.”

There’s no one to inform about his death. No one to send condolence flowers to. Pepper might mourn, his coworkers may also. The cellist… well, she won't be able to pick up their fling again.

.

“I'm sorry. He seemed like a good man.”

Steve Rogers has a good heart. He may be quick tempered, but he has a good heart.

“He was an idiot.”

“Why? For believing?”

For believing in them. Believing in this stupid, sorry excuse for a team.

“For taking on Loki alone.”

“He was doing his job.”

Oh, yes, defend the dead guy. Make this argument harder. It was easier to hate Rogers earlier, when he was being irrational.

It circles back to there not always being a way out, and Tony thinks that’s bullshit. He doesn’t take well to being told things are impossible or unavoidable. If something isn’t going to work, he makes it work. Coulson should have thought ahead. He should have waited. He should have-

Better not go down that avenue.

He starts to walk away, and Rogers compares them to soldiers. Right, that makes sense. That’s why Rogers took the death so calmly. He was a soldier in a war. He’s used to losing people and having to move forward immediately. He probably has already figured out how not to blame himself for every death he’s ever witnessed.

“Right now we've got to put that aside and get this done. Now Loki needs a power source, if we can put together a list…”

Tony briefly wonders if it's healthy to compartmentalize like that. It can’t be. But then he spots the blood on the wall and his brain moves on to another thought. Rogers is right, anyway. They need to focus.

“He made it personal.”

“That’s not the point.” Rogers replies, not catching the point just yet.

“That is the point. That's Loki's point. He hit us all right where we live. Why?” He needs to explain. The man will get it if he explains. Sometimes he forgets that not everyone’s brain does the jumps his own does.

“To tear us apart.”

“Yes! Divide and conquer is great, but he knows he has to take us

out to -

win, right? That's what he wants. He wants to beat us and he wants to be seen doing it. He wants an audience.”

“Right,” He’s catching on, thankfully. “I caught his act at Stuttengart.”

“Yeah. That's just previews, this is opening night. Loki's a full-tail diva. He wants flowers, he wants parades, he wants a monument built in the skies with his name plastered…” Tony stops, revelation forming. Steve looks fully interested in wherever this is going.

“Son of a bitch!”

“What?”

“Big ugly building in New York!”

Rogers’ eyes go wide, “Let's go.” He orders, Tony already moving.

-

The battle was terrifying. There were aliens, gigantic half mechanical half flesh monsters flying around, and a murderous Norse god intent on taking control of the chaos and coming out on top. Tony wonders why NASA or SHEILD has never claimed to have seen the species this army is made up of before. These guys don’t seem very low key, what with all the planetary destruction. He doesn’t believe for a second that no one knew these things were out there.

He makes a mental note to hack the department of defense after he’s eaten his shawarma.

Tony never prepared for this. The only people who were even remotely prepared tried to nuke New York. And then Tony the not-hero, thank you very much, had to fix that problem on top of the other very pressing one. The other problem being aliens. Aliens invading the earth.

Aliens, Jesus Christ.

Afterwards, Loki gets taken to Asgard with Thor via Beam Of Light™️. Fury says the Avengers are all free to go. But Tony does extend the offer for the others to stay at the tower. They can if they need to, not forever or anything. But, if they want to stick around and help clean up the mess. Someone’s gotta, you know?

Romanoff took the offer. Then Bruce because he wants access to a lab like Tony can offer and totally not because he’s excited about their new friendship. Then Clint, who would like to stay close to SHEILD; then begrudgingly, Steve Rogers, who admits that he can’t quite afford life in New York City but would like to stay here. And suddenly the Avengers are piling into Tony’s penthouse, exhausted but still helping get rid of all the broken glass.

He goes to his lab as soon as sleeping situations are settled. (Natasha takes a guest room, Bruce gets another one, Clint and Rogers take the living room.) There’s no need to stick around. The superhero’s crashing in his guest rooms and living room are cleaned and fed, New York is saved (and subsequently the world.). Besides, he needs to start working on better living arrangements if these guys are going to stay. He gets half way through Natasha’s layout for her floor, when Jarvis lowers his music.

“What gives? I was just getting into a groove here!”

“It seems you have a visitor, sir.”

His head whips around, expecting Pepper, but instead he finds Steve Rogers standing on the outside of the glass door looking like a lost puppy in designer hand-me-down sweatpants. Tony sighs, Pepper won't be in until tomorrow. He’d had to do a lot of bribing to get the New York Airport to let his jet land. They have to clear some debris from the runway, fix some of the landing gear, that stuff.

“Shall I let him in, sir?”

“What? Yeah, yeah. Yes. Let the captain in, open the door.”

The door unlocks, allowing Rogers to step into the lab. He looks around in wonder, the exhaustion from the day being covered by the inquisitive nature of humans.

“What’s up, Cap?”

Rogers startles, having gotten distracted by the tech in the room. Then hesitantly, he speaks up.

“This place is really swell, Tony.”

He sounds like he means it so genuinely that Tony doesn’t make a remark about the outdated word choice.

“Well, it’s no flying boat, but it’s home. Speaking of, you’ll love this. Dum-e! C’mere boy!”

If Rogers looked amazed before, he looks absolutely awestruck now.

“Did you make him?” He questions as he reaches out to pet the robot. Dum-E nuzzles his hand and Tony smiles a bit at the sight.

“Yeah. Made Jarvis too, right J?”

“Yes, sir.” Rogers jumps at the sound of Jarvis’ disembodied voice.

“See? They get along too well though. They’ll surpass their old man one day. Too much plotting happening while I’m gone.”

Rogers laughs, “See, now, I would have thought you'd be all for the minds of the future.” He comments sarcastically.

“And usually I’d agree, but I don’t think I’d be happy if the new robot overlord was Dum-E. And hearing you, a twenty-something year old, tell me that the flying boat engine ‘runs on some kind of electricity’, settled it for me. I have no faith in the future of technology.”

The other man snorts, “I’m not exactly a prime example of the youth, man.”

Tony puts up a finger, “Ah, see, I’d believe you if you didn’t just call me ‘man’. I’m gonna start calling you kid.”

Rogers rolls his eyes, ignoring how that prompted a mock scolding on rolling his eyes at his elders. He then sees the current work in progress on Tony’s work space.

“Is this what you’ve been doing down here?”

Tony’s eyes follow Rogers as he walks over to the plans and starts reading them over.

“This is so nice. There’s a floor for each of the Avengers in here! Even Thor and I!”

“Yes, God’s need sleep too. At least I think they do. I’ll have to ask, actually. -And, also, why wouldn’t you have one?”

Tony watches the man's eyes widen as if being caught saying something he hadn’t meant to say out loud. Although as soon as the look of panic shows it’s gone, Rogers turns to hide himself in the plans again.

“Look, I know we didn’t start off on the right foot.” He starts, quieter than before.

Is… is Rogers attempting a reconciliation right now? Tony thinks back to all the thoughts he had earlier, where Howard may have had a fit. And how fitting he thought it was that Captain America hated him, although he wasn’t entirely happy about it. But this might be worse, actually.

“I believe you were being beaten up when we met, actually. And then I swooped in and saved you.”

Rogers immediately regains his volume, “Swooped in and saved me doesn’t sound entirely right.”

“This. Coming from the guy who still calls things swell? I think I’ll keep my phrasing.”

“I had him! You can't save someone who is in control of the situation!”

“You call being beaten up being in control? Please elaborate.”

“I was not getting beat up. I was holding my own.”

“Sure, kid. Is that a bruise?”

Rogers immediately starts feeling around his face. This is hilarious for a number of reasons. One, he has super healing and any bruise would have been gone by now. Two, Captain America looks far more worried about a bruise on his perfect face than when he was saving the world.

“Where?”

“Right- yeah, right there. Where Loki absolutely had the upper hand!”

That comment startles the older/younger man into stunned laughter.

And thats all I’ve got!! Thank you if you made it this far.

[ashintheairlikesnow]

Come Back: Chris

CW: Police brutality/violence, references to past noncon/violence and conditioning, blood, stimming, head banging, self-injury (largely accidental), references to murder (none occurs). 

Chris wakes up to the sound of pounding on the front door.

It’s warm in the bed, curled between Jake and the wall, and at first Chris thinks the sound is part of a dream or just someone running down the stairs, but then Jake goes very still next to him, every muscle tense, and Chris understands that the sound, whatever it is, is bad. 

BAM-BAM-BAM. 

“Open up!”

Loud voice, deep, slightly muffled through the front door.

“Shit,” Jake whispers, a nearly-silent breath of sound, and that’s wrong, too. Jake makes bear noises when he wakes up, wordless little grunts and angry sounds as consciousness filters back in. Jake makes sleepy sounds, because he doesn’t sleep enough, and when he wakes up he has to fight off his brain from dragging him back asleep.

Chris knows everybody’s wake-up sounds, they tell him what his day will be like. Leila yawns, high-pitched, arms over her head with stretch. Antoni mumbles to himself, talks his way through his routine. Nat hums little songs she calls hymns and says have something to do with redemption. Chris knows all the sounds of good days.

Jake without bear noises means a bad day, except it’s not even day, because it’s still pitch-black outside and Chris’s head feels fuzzy with sleep. He looks at Jake’s clock - he can read numbers, if he’s careful and doesn’t think of them as words - and sees 3:45.

For a second Chris wonders, surreally, if Sir had a party run late again, if he’s woken up beside someone else’s pet and there’ll be explanations again-

“J-Jake?” That’s Leila, calling out from her room down the hall, and Jake pushes himself up on his elbows, the mattress shifting with his weight. “Jake, is everything okay?”

“What’s that sound, Jake?” Antoni, his accent slipping back in from sleepiness and worry. Chris can picture him, his fuzzy curly hair a mess of blondish-brown around his head. “What’s that sound mean?”

The pounding on the door again. BAM-BAM-BAM. BAM-BAM-BAM.

“Shit,” Jake says again, louder this time. His eyes are wide in the darkness, owl-eyes. “Fuck, this is it, isn’t it? Nine’s intel was right, we just got the date wrong.”

“Wh-what’s, what’s, what’s, um, what’s it, Jake?” Chris’s voice is weak, and small. Jake slowly turns to look down at him, the owl eyes right on his, and there’s an owl that calls outside the window sometimes, plus a mourning dove. A woman he doesn’t remember used to tell him, mourning doves are like pigeons with prettier names, baby, but he doesn’t remember her and he doesn’t remember that moment and he can’t get the parts of his brain back on the track, they’re all derailed and smoking wrecks stuck on owls and hoo-hoo-hoo and what does Jake mean, this is it?

Nat comes flying down the hall from the attic, stopping in Jake’s doorway with her housecoat thrown over her sleeping clothes, her brown hair loosely fanning around her, sweeping to the side and then falling down her shoulders again. Chris thinks about mermaids, swimming in water. 

“Jake, we talked about this,” Nat says, her voice flat. Her face is calm but her eyes are wide and frightened. “We knew this could happen.” She looks over her shoulder, back down the hall. “Antoni, Leila, get out. Use the basement tunnel, it’ll bring you up by the bus stop. Take the first bus you see. I’ve called Nine, he’ll pick you up at the next stop after that. Chris will be right behind you in just a second, wait for Chris.”

Red and blue lights flash against the window in Jake’s room, and Chris stares at them, momentarily fixated. They’re not here to help us.

“Got it, Nat!” Leila calls it out and Chris can hear rustling, probably them getting dressed. Leila is throwing her long hair into a ponytail as they run down the stairs past Jake’s door, just flashes of people, barely visible in the dark. The basement door opens and shuts.

“Nat, Chris-” Jake says, softly. “He… he can’t-”

“I know he can’t,” Nat replies, slightly flat. She closes her eyes. “Leila and Antoni will help him. He’ll be fine once they get to the next shelter. We’ll be fine, Jake. As long as they don’t find the rescues, we’ll be fine, I don’t keep the records here.”

“How did they-”

BAM-BAM-BAM. A deep voice, muffled, carries right up the stairs. “This is the police, open the door!”

“Jesus fuck,” Jake whispers. “Do you think someone my classes turned us in after I brought Chris?” Guilt twists Jake’s expression into something ugly and dark. “Or, fuck, what if it was that guy I gave the literature to, I swear to God, Nat, he seemed really fucking sincere-… I, fuck, what if-… if I find out it was him, I swear to God-”

“What ifs won’t make any of us any safer,” Nat snaps. “You know our story. You know how we get them off our back. Get Chris to safety-”

BAM-BAM-BAM-CRASH.

The front door slams open, smacking into the opposite wall so loudly Chris can hear part of the wall crack with the impact.

“Too late,” Nat says, and the color drains all out of her face, blueish in the pale early-morning light. She doesn’t say anything else, just disappears. Her feet thump down the stairs, and they must be so cold on the wooden stairs, Chris’s feet are cold every day.

Jake rolls out of bed, pulling the jeans puddled on the floor up over his boxers, fumbling at the zipper and button, mumbling, “Shit shit shit shit shit shit…” to himself in a low, nearly emotionless voice.

Chris stays right where he is. Eyes wide, heart pounding, he curls his knees up to his chest and puts his arms around them, pressing against the wall of Jake’s room. Police mean go back, police mean being good in the dark again, police mean barcode scans and being called Baldur and they mean his Sir will give him the smug pleased smile that only barely curves his lips and and and- 

His head drops against the wall, and he feels better, for just a second. He does it again.

Jake turns to look at him, heartbroken face grieving face did my face look like that when- but the rest is static, headaches and pain. “Chris, man, I’m sorry, but we can’t do that right now,” Jake says, keeping his voice low. Nat downstairs is talking to the police officers, barking words and answers to their questions. Chris can see her in his mind, her arms crossed in front of her, talking to them with her eyes narrowed. 

Something crashes downstairs. Nat yells out, “That’s damaging my fucking property!” 

There’s a sound Chris knows, then, one he knows deep in his bones, deeper than thought. The sound of an open palm against a face. Nat cries out.

Jake moves, then. He grabs Chris by both arms, grip tight enough to hurt, and drags him out of the bed trailing blankets and sheets all tangled with his legs. Chris whimpers but bites down on his lip, hearing the sounds of more things being destroyed below. Nat’s yelling means nothing, Chris can’t differentiate words from sounds any longer, it’s all just the same noise of bad panic bad wrong bad going to be hurt bad bad bad.

Jake flings open his closet door, dragging Chris into the small space after him, his hand pressing against the smooth old wood along the back wall, searchingly, his eyes scanning up and down, looking for something in nearly total darkness.

“Jake-… Jake, Jake, Jake, what are we-… what’s, what’s happening to to to to Nat, what’s, what’s happening to Nat, Jake, what’s-”

“Sssshhhh, I need you to be quiet right now, Chris,” Jake says, and his voice is low and false-calm, the way you talk to children when you tell them there’s nothing to be scared of, the way you talk to them when there are angry men with guns in the house and someone has to talk to them but it doesn’t work and the guns go off-

Chris lets out a strangled little cry at the sudden flash of pain, sparking in him along with the image of a dark-haired woman’s in a rictus of terrible fear, mouth an O, and inside the O Chris falls down into the darkness again. 

“Sssshhhh, you have to be quiet, you have to be, Chris, you have to be, I’m so sorry. We, we had intel, but they… they lied on the intel, Nine thought it’d be next week, we were going to get you ready but-… shit, where is it, come on come on come on-” 

Jake’s and finds a loose board, and he makes a fist and lightly punches it, knocking the board out on one side from the wall just enough for him to slip his hand underneath. He pulls on something under there and Chris flinches back as the bottom half of the closet wall swings open, inside, like a door. 

Chris’s fingers twist, tap against his own side, rhythmically, a push of sensation, a hint of control. Something he can keep despite the sound of the house being destroyed downstairs. 

“Chris, I need you to crawl in here and be totally silent, okay?” The whites of Jake’s eyes show all around, and Chris nods frantically, heart pounding too hard in his chest, he can’t breathe around it, gasping in jerky, shallow little breaths. Tears prick at his eyes. This is supposed to be a safe place, safer than Sir’s, where no one wants him to be good. Where he doesn’t have to be silent. 

“J-Jake, Jake, I, I’m scared, I’m scared of-of-of, of, I’m scared of them, I’m scared-”

“I know, man. I know. Get on in.” Jake all but forces Chris into the closet, shoving him into a small dark space just big enough on three sides for Chris to sit with his knees bent, but it’s tall and he can stand if he wants to. “I’m scared, too.”

Jake gets scared?

“Stay in here. Do not come out, no matter what you hear.” Jake puts both hands on him, on either side of his face, and Chris nods jerkily, the tears running down. “If they don’t see you, or hear you, they can’t take you. They can’t hurt you. They can’t give you back. Just stay in here, and be as quiet as you can. When I can… when I can come back-” Jake’s voice catches, and Chris sees that his eyes are glittering, too. “Wait until it’s totally quiet out here, count to four hundred, and then come back out. We’ll-… I’ll, I’ll call somebody to come help you, okay? I, I swear. We’ll… we’ll call someone. Maybe Addie… fuck, Addie’s gonna find out about you, I just… no, it doesn’t matter now. Okay, you have to wait, Chris.”

Chris nods. “Yes, Jake, I-I-I, I can, can wait, Jake, I can wait for you-you to come back, but-but, but, but but but do you swear, do you-” His head still pounds, a woman’s voice speaking with the same urgency somewhere inside his mind. 

Baby, stay right here and don’t move, they’re not here for you. They won’t hurt you.

Mom, come back!

Don’t move, honey. Just stay here. Don’t move.

M-Mom-

Don’t make a sound.

“I will come back for you,” Jake says, meeting Chris’s eyes. His jaw is set, his eyes are blazing blue fire in the dark. “Listen to me, Chris. I’m coming back.” He pulls his own shirt off over his head and shoves it at Chris, who clutches gratefully onto it, breathing in the smell of strong soap, lavender fabric softener, and Jake’s skin. “It might take a couple days, but-… but I won’t leave you here.”

“Please, Jake, I’m, I’m, I’m scared, I can’t-”

“Yeah you can, buddy. You can.” Jake grabs him into a crushing hug, holds him close, and then pushes him until his back is against the real closet wall, hidden a couple feet behind the fake one. “You’ll be okay. What did I say?”

More crashing downstairs. Jake winces, glances over his shoulder. Nat is yelling again. “Attagirl,” Jake whispers. “Buy us time, Nat, come on, buy us a little more time. Okay, Chris, what do you need to do? Tell me what you need to do now.”

“W-wait, wait, wait wait wait til, um, until it’s silent, and then count-… count to, to-to-to, can’t, m-my words are b-bad, Jake, I’m sorry-”

“It’s fine, man, your words are fine. Just tell me how high you need to count.”

“To, to, to four-four hundred, four hundred and then come out, and, and, and what then, Jake?”

“Then you wait for me. I’m coming back for you.”

“Jake-”

“Listen.” Jake whispers the words, he doesn’t sing them. “I will send out an army to find you in the middle of the darkest night, it’s true…”

“I will rescue you,” Chris half-whispers, half-hums the words.

“That’s right. I’m coming back, Chris. I’ll come back for you. Wait for me.” Jake closes the hidden door, leaving Chris in total darkness, curled up, tapping on his own skin. But the fear is bigger than his body, it fills him up and leaks out in tears and whimpers, and he has to be silent. Chris jams Jake’s shirt up against his mouth, tries to focus on the smell, comfort, home. 

He can hear, outside his hiding spot Jake’s voice raised loud and deep, his scary voice he uses when people frighten Chris. He hears other voices yelling back, and crashing. It’s all too muffled to understand. But he knows what it sounds like when they throw Jake against the wall. He can feel the thud rattle through the walls of the old house. Knows what it sounds like when a body drops to the floor.

Chris holds his breath. No no no no no-

Jake yells again, and Chris exhales. Jake yelling is good, it means Jake is breathing, it means he still has a voice to yell with. Nat shouts this is fucking brutality you shits, and Chris gnaws on his lower lip, nervous. Nat doesn’t like to swear very much, but now she curses up a storm, unafraid, her voice strong. More crashing, it sounds like the house is coming down around his ears, like the walls will collapse, too, and bring Chris down to the first floor to drown in the drywall and plaster. 

The tapping isn’t enough, and neither is rocking, and finally Chris bunches up Jake’s shirt and puts it up against the wall to his right and knocks his head into it, into the wall through the shirt so the sound is muffled. Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump. 

Little rushes, adrenaline-soothe, reassurance. Thump. Better now. Thump. Calmer now. Thump. He can breathe now. Thump. Tears dry on his face, dried-up riverbeds down pale skin. Someone told him once that if a mourning dove calls outside the window, someone you love is going to die.

Heard a mourning dove the day before-

His head hurts too much, he can’t think about that.

Thump. Don’t die, Jake. Thump. Come back, Jake. Thump. Don’t leave, Jake. Thump. I’m scared, Jake. Thump. Thump. Thump.

Boots stomp loud up the stairs, and Chris keeps hitting his head to keep himself from making any other noises, biting down on his lower lip until he tastes copper-salt-sweet blood in his mouth, sucking on the busted spot on his lip to draw out more. Thump, thump, thump, goes his head against the wall, but the sound of the boots and the crashing is louder, and they don’t hear him at all.

He flinches back at the sudden crash of something against the wall in Jake’s room, glass breaks in a high-pitched scatter-sound. The bed is overturned, a deafening sound that makes Chris squeak and cower back, waiting and waiting for one of them to find the secret way to open the little door in the closet wall, to find him here.

Thump. Be silent. Thump. Don’t make a sound. Thump. Don’t move, Chris. Thump. Don’t move.

He doesn’t know how long they are in the house.

There are sounds that draw out forever. Crashing and destruction noises, in Jake’s room - closest to the stairs. Methodical, they search room by room, destroying everything in their path, talking to each other about the nothing they find. Chris is very good - he stays silent, he keeps Jake’s shirt between his head and the wall. He doesn’t move, just like his mom Jake says. 

He understands, without knowing why, that there was a time once that he didn’t listen, that he moved, and it made everything worse.

At some point the sounds of Nat and Jake yelling fade out, and then are gone. At some point the stomping up and down the stairs stops, and there’s some talking, low voices angry that they didn’t find what they were looking for. Chris wonders if they were looking for him.

At some point, the sounds stop, and it is silent in the house, except for the creaking noises the house always makes in the wind that’s kicked up outside. Once he is sure, totally and absolutely sure, that it is silent, Chris starts counting along with the thumps of his head on the wall.

Thump. One. Thump. Two. Thump. Three. Thump. Four…

He counts to four hundred slowly, starting over and over again as his brain stutter-skips on sixty or twenty-two or one hundred and eight. He doesn’t know if he really makes it to four hundred, all he knows is that he tries, and tries, and tries again, and eventually he thinks it has been long enough.

He pushes out on the little wood door that hides him in the false-backed closet, keeping Jake’s shirt clutched in one hand. He blinks against the sudden burst of bright sunlight through the window - how long was he hidden? - and stares at Jake’s room.

They cut the mattress down the middle, the stuff from the center is spread out everywhere and box springs are poking through the slice. Jake’s lamp was the sound of broken glass, and Chris’s bare toes curl in on themselves as he slowly stands, stepping out of the closet, whining in his throat like a small dog - like Arjun, he thinks, like Addie’s dog - and looks at the clothes strewn along the floor, too. Jake’s textbooks are bashed, some of their spines broken, lying open to spots he’s marked with highlighters. 

Outside the window, a bird trills. Chris looks up to stare through the slightly scratched-up old glass. There’s a red cardinal outside, sitting on the branch of the white birch tree.

Chris moves carefully, slowly, placing each step in hopes he won’t walk into glass. The hallway is a mess, too, the towels have all been pulled down from the linen closet, all the stuff from the bathroom is spread around on the floor. The other bedrooms look the same - Antoni and Leila’s tiny amount of personal things are all shattered, mashed-up, destroyed. Their clothes are in piles on the cut-up remains of their beds. 

Leila’s romance novels are dumped in a corner of her room, the other bed where Krista used to sleep is all broken, too, and Chris is suddenly glad Krista moved out, that she was somewhere safe before they came.

Chris tongues at the still-sensitive open bit on his lip, staring at the way they’ve left the staircase to the attic pulled down. He climbs up it slowly, the wood cold as ice against his bare feet, and finds that Nat’s room has been destroyed, too.

Chris taps himself as he walks, twist-fingers-tap-skin, again and again, letting the little darts of touch soothe him, help him hold out against the panic that is trying to break his heart right out of his chest. He heads all the way downstairs to the first floor. He has been silent. He has been good. He stayed in the closet and he didn’t move and he didn’t make a sound.

Just like he should have the first time, when his mom told him to be quiet-

But he doesn’t have a mom. They don’t have those, anymore, after. Just owners.

Except you, you have friends.

The dishes are all broken, bits of ceramic shards spread around the kitchen floor. The coffeemaker is inexplicably intact, brewing the automatic morning pot that Jake had set up the night before, a cheery sound that draws the first sob from Chris’s throat, holding Jake’s shirt against himself, twist-fingers-tap-skin.

The door to the basement is open, and he goes down the stairs, but Antoni and Leila aren’t there. He didn’t think they would be. They had to go before they were found, too. They couldn’t wait for him. He knows where the secret door in the basement is but he doesn’t dare try it.

What if the cops are just waiting at the bus stop? What if they took Antoni and Leila and they’re scanning their barcodes now, and they’ll be sent back, and if Chris tries to get on a bus they just scan his, too?

Sir would welcome him home. But that’s not home, and Chris doesn’t want his Sir. He wants Nat, he wants Jake.

No. He has to stay here. The shelter is safe. But… he’s all alone in the house. That’s not safe at all. He’s not safe. The safe place isn’t safe anymore.

Chris moves back up the basement stairs, whimpering. 

A car drives past on the road outside and Chris lets out a frightened little cry, flattening himself against the wall, until it goes past. It wasn’t here for him at all. His eyes are drawn by something wrong, on the wall, and Chris stares at the spot until he remembers Jake hitting the wall, the way it rattled up through the frame up the house until Chris could feel it in his hiding place.

There’s blood on the wall.

Jake’s blood.

Chris begins to wail, then, sliding slowly down to the floor, rocking back and forth as he cries, heaving sobs that choke and catch in his throat because he’s not supposed to be loud, now, they’ll come back and they’ll find him, they’ll take him back. He doesn’t want to be Baldur anymore, he doesn’t want to be a numbered boy, he wants to be Chris, he picked Chris for himself, Jake says he gets to make Chris but they made Jake bleed and Jake is never coming back-

“What’s that sound? Is that someone cryin’? Is somebody still inside?” 

Chris’s heart stops.

No. No no no no.

There’s a face peering in through the front door, a hand held up over the eyes, squinting, looking right at him. Chris made too much noise. He was too loud, but now that he’s started he can’t stop, and he keeps bubbling up tears and sobs and snot even as he tries desperately to be silent again.

“Y’okay, darlin’?” The voice is a woman’s voice, older, getting the creaky edges along the sides that come with advanced age. “Can you let me in, sweet boy? I live right next door. Are you all alone here?”

Chris whimpers and curls up tighter, closes his eyes. Maybe if he’s very, very still, they’ll go away.

“You’re scarin’ him, Grandma,” A much younger boy’s voice says, high-pitched. “What d’you think Miss Yoder did?”

“Y’know damn well what she did, baby,” The old woman says, not quite snapping. “She did a good turn, and in our world that don’t go unpunished. Honey can you let us in? We just want to help you.”

Chris shakes his head frantically. He’s not supposed to talk to anyone, he’s not supposed to let anyone in. He wasn’t supposed to make any sounds and everyone dies when he’s not silent, everyone dies and bleeds and they take them away, they take him away.

“Pl-please,” He whispers, thumping his head on the wall, trying to calm his fluttering panic. “Please, please go away, please, please please please go away, please-”

“He’s real scared, Grandma.”

“I have eyes, baby, I can see that. Not blind yet, and I’m not deaf either. He’s prob’ly been scared a real long time. Come on, honey-… oh, the door’s not even locked.” The old woman turns the doorknob and pushes the door open. It screams along the floor, bashed right off its hinges, and Chris bangs his head even harder, trying to drown it out.

Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump.

“What’s he doin’?”

“Heck if I know, Jaden. Hey, sweetheart, you don’t need to be scared of us. We saw them come in here and wreck th’ place. Is there anything we can do for you?”

“Go away,” Chris whispers. “Please, please go away, pl-please, please don’t-… please just go away…”

“Okay, baby. But we’re right next door, right here on your right side.” The woman’s voice is soft, soothing. He wants to trust her but he’s not supposed to talk to anyone without Jake or Nat and they’re not here, because they’re gone, because they made Jake bleed. “Listen, honey, y’hungry?”

Chris cracks open his eyes and watches her, but he doesn’t move. He doesn’t nod. He doesn’t do anything but look. His stomach growls, audible in the silence.

The old woman’s got a face that’s a mess of kind wrinkles and sparkling black eyes, textured black-and-silver hair pulled into a bun at the back of her neck. The boy next to her gives Chris a tiny smile and waves - he looks ten or eleven.

Chris whimpers and curls up tighter.

“Okay. Look, I’m about to go make breakfast for my grandbabies. If you want I can bring you by a plate?” The woman’s eyes move past him, take in the bit of the kitchen mess she can see through the open-framed doorway. “And a fork or two?”

The coffeemaker beeps. Coffee’s done, Jake will want a mug-

Chris chokes back another sob.

Jake’s not here to drink the coffee.

“I’ll bring you a plate, you decide if you want to eat it,” The old woman says, gently. “My husband got in a few of these scrapes back in the 70’s, sweetheart, it’s a lot of cleaning up but they can’t hold ‘em ‘less they found something. D’you know if they did? Was there anything to find here?”

“What did Grandpa do?” The boy blinks, tilting his head back.

“He was all in on the lib thing back then. He’d be crushed to know they’re still fightin’ for it. Come on, honey. D’you know if they found anything they can charge Natalie Yoder with?”

Chris blinks once, twice. Then, in a hoarse voice, he answers, “She, she, she, she doesn’t keep records here, um, she-she said.”

The old woman lets out a breath of relief, closing her eyes “Praise the Lord for small mercies. They got nothin’ to charge her with, then, I bet, or her young man.”

The idea that Jake is Nat’s young man makes Chris twitch the tiniest little smile, thinking of the face Jake would make if he heard that.

“It’ll be okay, darlin’,” The old woman says, then steps back out of the doorway, onto the big concrete front porch. Chris relaxes, just a little, as she puts distance between. “I’ll have my Jaden here leave the plate on the front porch for you in just a bit, how’s that sound?”

Chris opens his mouth, swallows, then says, softly, “It, it, it sounds oh-okay, thank you, ma’am, thank-thank-thank, thank you.”

“Grandma?” Jaden looks up at his grandmother, although not by much - he’ll be taller than she is when he grows up by a lot. “Why does-”

“Hush up. We’ll be back to leave the food. You take care of yourself. I’ll ask around and see if some folks can’t help you clean up this mess before your people get back for you.”

My people.

They say goodbye, and leave Chris right where they found him, curled up against the wall, close to the red spot where Jake’s head hit, he thinks, must have hit so hard…

Outside there are birds calling and the wind in the trees. Jake’s textbooks are a mess and he’s going to miss class and Chris can’t go to yoga by himself can he? And the chipmunk starts chirping outside, going a mile a minute, and Chris shudders and wonders if chipmunks are bad omens, too.

It’s deja vu, he thinks, when you think you’ve lived through something before. He feels like he’s done this before, sit on the ground next to a red spot on the wall. But the spot was bigger the first time. And it was on the floor, too.

He can’t remember why, or how.

Chris lets his head tilt back into the wall, pulls Jake’s shirt up to his nose, takes a deep, deep breath.

Soap-lavender-skin-Jake. 

“Please, please, please come back,” Chris whispers, now that he is alone again. “Please come back, Jake, please, please come back, Jake-Jake, come back, come back, come, come back…” The morning is chilly and his toes feel like ice and his fingers are frozen in the fabric of Jake’s shirt. 

The blood on the wall is drying brownish, now.

A bird calls.The food shows up, just like the old woman said, her grandson leaving it on the porch in a covered plate to keep it warm. Chris shovels the eggs and bacon into his mouth still curled up on the floor in a destroyed house, staring outside through the window in the living room, ducking his head below the windowsill whenever a car drives by.

Chris waits, and waits, and waits.

More food comes at lunch and then at dinner, left in silence by the boy, who waves at him through the door but doesn’t say a word.

Chris puts the dishes in the sink, and then he returns to the window, to watch.

Jake is coming back.

He promised.

So Chris waits, watching the sun go down, hoping his people will come back.

[peantutbutter]

Alfredo Diaz, Neighborhood Watch

Rating: T (language and mild violence)

Summary: Alfredo takes his role as part of the neighborhood watch very seriously. Maybe a little too seriously... (Inspired by the Scotland Yard Let’s Roll)

[AO3]

Everyone tells Alfredo that he takes his position on the neighborhood watch way too seriously.

“You don’t need to drop everything at ten pm because some kid comes knocking asking if you’ve seen their cat,” the man next door grouses, bleary eyed and dressed in his bath robe. But Alfredo already has a flashlight and tin of tuna. The poor girl’s tears has subsided now that she’s found someone to help her.

“He’s not your child, why are you even bothering? If he’s really missing, just let the police take care of it,” the lady across the street says, exhaling cigarette smoke in his face. He bites his tongue and doesn’t tell her that the kid has been known to run away on occasion. He doesn’t tell her about how the parents are going through a messy divorce and the poor guy is caught in the middle. The lady scoffs at him for not responding, but she turns away and heads back inside, and he continues patrolling the block. It takes him a few hours, but he finds the little man and treats him to some Dairy Queen before bringing him home and reminding him he’s loved, cared for, and if he ever needs anything, just call.

Alfredo Diaz cares about his neighborhood because after getting out of the military, it’s all he has.

The people around here like him. He’s helpful, kind, good with their kids, and more importantly, good at keeping their kids out of trouble. Even the teenage ruffians know better than to get up to hijinks when Alfredo’s around. Not because they’re afraid he’ll call the cops on them or anything, but more because they don’t want to disappoint him.

And also because sometimes he bought them beer and would hang out and tell war stories from his time in the military.

He’s a goddamn pillar of the community, he does his best to set an example for as many people as he can. Good role models are hard to come by in Los Santos.

He’s spent the past few hours sitting on the porch of his home, listening to the police scanner. The Fakes had hit a jewelry store a few miles north of the neighborhood. Far enough away that there aren’t any cops crawling the streets, but close enough that there’s the off chance that gang members might come ripping through in their escape.

Not that he knows what he’d do if any of them come gunning past. According to the scanner, the Fakes have mostly dispersed and taken off in different directions. His own bike is in the shop so it’s not like he could chase them down if they came past. And the only quasi-weapon he has on hand is a foam baseball bat he’s been meaning to return after that impromptu kids baseball game a few days ago. Competent as he is in melee combat, he knows the chances of coming out unscathed bringing a children’s toy to a gun fight aren’t good.

Besides, it’s unlikely any of them will come this way.

So, he sits vigil to do the least of what his civic duty asks him to do. Report a sighting should they come this way, and stay out of trouble.

Or at least that’s his initial plan.

But then he sees a figure running down the street on foot. They’re too tall to be a child. All the neighborhood kids should be asleep by now, and most of the teens and adults are probably watching the news, awaiting more information on the Fakes’ most recent heist.

So who the fuck is this?

Alfredo leans over the porch railing, trying to get a better look. They’re doing a good job at dodging the patches of light illuminated by street lamps. It’s hard to make out any defining features, but whoever they are, they’re fuckin’ huge. A massive frame with broad shoulders that seems to be clutching a bag close to their chest. His fingers moving to wrap around the grip of the foam bat. They’re moving like they’ve stolen something, and he frowns. If someone stole something from one of his neighbors, then he’ll be damned if he lets them get away.

He’s Alfredo Diaz of the motherfucking neighborhood watch.

He stands up, bat in hand, and the figure freezes about a block away. They both stand stock still. He’s unsure as to whether or not the person can make out his figure. His porch light is dim, and there are trees and bushes in the way that might block the view. But even if they can’t see him, they’re not taking any chances. The movement of him standing was enough to get them to bolt. They cut in between two houses and starts booking it through the backyards.

“Oh no, you don’t,” Alfredo mutters. He leaps off his porch, breaking into a sprint. It doesn’t take him long to track down his target. While the yards offer more places to hide than the open streets, they also slow the thief down. Play structures, gardens, inflatable pools. There are a number of obstacles in the way. And although the thief is incredibly fit, hopping fences with ease, they’re in no way as familiar with the yards as Alfredo is.

He knows that the Smiths tend to leave their gate door unlocked, so he doesn’t have to leap over the pickets. And that the Robinsons have a tendency of leaving their hose lying about, a constant tripping hazard for anyone who dares trek through their backyard. He also knows that the Yungs and the Sanchezes have a garden tunnel connecting their yards. He uses that to cut the thief off.

He’s breathing heavily when he corners the person in the Yung’s yard. It’s a messy tackle, but he lunges at the person’s waist, and Jesus, they’re fucking solid. “No one escapes the neighborhood watch, bitch!” he yells. He’s not entirely sure what prompted him to say that, but it feels right in the moment. Been a while since he’s felt like a badass.

They fall to the ground in a pile of flailing limbs and pained grunts. It’s a good thing the Yung’s are on vacation right now. With all the commotion they’re making, he’s sure it would have woken them up.

They struggle, a fist making contact with Alfredo’s jaw hard enough he thinks a tooth might have been knocked loose. But he manages to pin the guy — and it is a guy — underneath him. Alfredo’s knee is pressed between the guy’s shoulder blades and he’s managed to pin his hands behind his back using the bat.

Now that he’s up close and personal, he’s got a better look of the guy. Long hair pulled back in a ponytail, leather jacket, black-and-white face paint streaking with sweat, and….fuck. This isn’t some punk thief stealing from his neighbors.

He’s got the Vagabond underneath him.

Were he any less disciplined or not as well trained, he might have let go out of pure shock. But he keeps bearing his weight down on the infamous criminal because if he doesn’t, odds are he won’t make it out of this alive.

The Vagabond struggles beneath him, kicking his legs and trying desperately to buck him off. He spits out threats, snarling like a feral animal. “Get the fuck off me,” and “Let me go and I’ll let you live,” and, eventually, “I’m going to fucking kill you.”

Alfredo’s heart is racing. It’s taking all his strength to keep the other man from breaking free. “Mister Vagabond,” he grunts, resisting a particularly strong wriggle. “On the authority of the neighborhood watch, I am placing you under citizen’s arrest for, uh— theft for sure.”

The Vagabond stills and turns his head. He glares at Alfredo from over his shoulder. “You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.”

“I…No?” Alfredo responds.

Then the Vagabond smirks, and goes lax, no longer struggling against him. “Well, good luck with that,” he says.

Alfredo doesn’t have time to process just how bad that kind of reaction is when he feels the kiss of metal at the back of his head. He immediately lets go of the bat and brings his hands up.

“Anyone want to explain what the fuck is happening, here?” a feminine voice asks from behind.

He twists around slowly, swallowing thickly. A red-headed woman stands behind him. She doesn’t look angry, which he supposes is a good sign. Irritated, maybe. Definitely vaguely amused. She lifts an eyebrow pointedly at the Vagabond. “Well?”

The Vagabond slips out from beneath Alfredo. He grabs the bag and dusts himself off. “Neighborhood watch,” he says. He flashes a smug smile that sends a message, loud and clear: You’re fucked.

But the gun pressed to his head is lowered and the woman looks at the Vagabond incredulously. “Neighborhood watch?” she repeats, holstering her weapon and dragging a hand down her face. The Vagabond’s grin falters. “You escaped the LSPD but were caught by the neighborhood watch? Are you fucking serious?” The Vagabond opens his mouth to defend himself, but she cuts him off with a wave of her hand. “I don’t want to hear it. The car’s ‘round front. Go.”

Alfredo doesn’t think he’s ever seen anyone act so meek. It’s a strange look on the Vagabond. He watches him sulk his way around the house, and he hears the sound of a car door creaking open and slamming shut. The woman circles around him and sighs. She offers her hand and he hesitantly take it. “What’s you’re name, kid?” she says, pulling him to his feet.

It’s an awful idea to tell her his name. He knows it is. But she commands such a presence that he can’t help but answer.“D-Diaz,” he stammers.

“Diaz,” she repeats back at him. “Good name. You live around here, Diaz?”

He nods.

“You care about this neighborhood and the people living in it?”

He nods again.

“Good,” she says firmly. “Now, here’s what’s going to happen: You’re going to go home and get some rest. Then, tomorrow morning you’re going to make a few calls to some of your neighbors and ask if anyone saw what happened tonight. If they did, assure them that it was nothing to be concerned about. You will make no mentions of what you did or saw tonight to anyone. Not your neighbors, not the police, not even your mother. If you do, we’ll know, and we’ll have to do something about that. You don’t want us to do anything about that, do you?”

“No, ma’am,” he whispers hoarsely.

She looks at him gently and smiles, patting his cheek. “Good man. Now, get out of here.”

He stares at her in stunned silence, amazed that she’s just letting him go. Unless this is some sort of trick? But with a wave of her hand, he turns on his heel and books it out of there. He doesn’t stop until he reaches his front door, and it’s only then he thinks to look behind him to see if he’s been followed. A quick glance tells him he hasn’t. No cars linger conspicuously on the street, and he doesn’t see anyone lurking around.

But he doesn’t take any chances. He locks and bars the doors and double checks to make sure his windows are shut tight. Not that he’s sure a simple lock would be enough to stop the Fakes from getting to him if they really wanted to. But as the adrenaline wears off, exhaustion sets in, and his bed looks incredibly comfortable. Tucking a handgun under his pillow, he drifts into restless sleep.

He’s got a lot to do tomorrow.

* * *

A week later, a knock comes at his door. He answers it and sees the red-headed woman from before. Standing beside her is a tall man. It takes him a moment to recognize the guy without the face paint, but he realizes it’s the Vagabond. His blood runs cold. He fights the urge to slam the door on their faces. He can’t imagine that would go over well.

Instead, he forces a polite smile. “Can I help you?” he asks.

The woman looks to the Vagabond, who appears thoroughly displeased to be here. “My friend, Ryan, owes you an apology.”

The Vagabond — Ryan? — scowls and crosses his arms. “Sorry,” he says, not even bothering to look Alfredo in the eye. The woman elbows him in the ribs. “I’m sorry for threatening to kill you,” he amends.

Alfredo doesn’t buy it, not with the petulant and unapologetic look in his eyes, but he sure as hell isn’t going to reject it. “I…Sure. Whatever, dude. It’s all good.”

The woman pats Ryan on the back. “There. That wasn’t so hard, now was it?” she asks gently. Ryan flushes and grumbles something under his breath, but he nods slightly to appease her. Then she turns to Alfredo and holds out her hand. “I’m Jack, by the way.”

He takes it and gives it a weak shake. “I, uh…Alfredo.” he responds.

“I know,” she says. Because, yeah. Of course she does. She knows where he lives too. Fuck. “Can we come in?”

He freezes. His eyes dart around, quickly taking stock of who’s out and about. A handful of children are playing on the street, and a few people are walking their dogs. As much as he wants to shield innocent civilians from these criminals, he’s also not keen on being alone with them. Witnesses are good. Especially if he’s about to be kidnapped or murdered in broad daylight. “I’d rather you didn’t.”

Jack looks at him gently. “We’re not here to hurt you, Alfredo. This is a conversation you don’t want to have out in public.”

“Give me the highlights,” he says, hoping he sounds braver than he really feels. He was less afraid under enemy fire in the desert than he is now. “What’s this about?”

Her gaze flicks back over to Ryan, who’s shoulders nearly cover his ears in a full body pout. “You took down my friend with nothing but a toy baseball bat,” she says with a clandestine smile. “We have a job offer for you.”

[kyberconfessions]

Moments in Time.

————–—–

A/N: hogod I haven't written in so long. I am so sorry if it's bad. This will be a snippet in time of an OC of mine and Maul. Definitely AU (Maul is found by her and becomes "good". Basically not a sith but not a Jedi. He just is. She helps him and trains him to be more than just his anger.) Omega Squad are my Clone OCs, you'll meet them soon. Please be nice.

Also, I'm writing this on Mobile, I'll eventually edit on PC.

WARNINGS: infanticide, death, language, love, bad writing

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

Something was wrong, something was so very, very wrong. Chidori's steps faltered as she clutched her chest, a searing, sharp pain slicing through the force, through her. Her throat felt raw like she was screaming, her skin burned like she had been hit with a thousand blasters, and her ears rang with the screams of hundreds.

Maul felt it too, he felt something through the force, something ripping him apart. He turned to look back at his master, horror etched in his golden eyes.

'Maul?' She whispered, tears rolling down her face. She couldn't breathe, everything stuck into her chest as tight, coiling tendrils clutched at every part of her being.

'Some...somethings happened..I', she whimpered out, before her falling to her knees, folding in on herself. She cried out, hearing screams all around her.

'Master!' Maul knelt at her side and tried to hold her up, putting all her of her weight onto himself.

'Master, you must get up, we need to regroup with the others. We need to find out whats happened.'

She nodded and pushed herself off the ground, still leaning against him. He held her tightly and called out to the clones a few feet from them.

'Nero! Ares! We need help. Somethings happened.'

Slowly they made their way to the clones, the force pulsating all around them, pulling them in all directions.

'It is time. Execute Order 66.'

Maul froze, he knew that voice, it haunted his nightmares, it tormented him in the darkest points of his mind, it was the voice of his greatest fear. The man who betrayed him and left him to rot. He could feel the blood drain from his face and fear over take him.

'Nero? Ares?' Chidori called out softly, 'something wrong, we need to go back. We need to find Delta and the others.'

The clones turned around slowly, raising their guns at the two. Maul instinctively stood in front of Chidori, hand on the hilt of his saber.

'Boys?'

There was a moment, a brief, fleeting moment where the two troopers faltered, guns shaking in their hands, before blasts rang out.

Someone screamed, a saber was ignited, several bolts were reflected back and away; the cacophony was deafening, but the silence that followed was far more chilling.

Chidori looked on in horror as her two clones fell.

'No! No, no, no, no! Nero! Ares!' She tried to run to them, but Maul grabbed her arm, holding her back.

'No! We have to help! I have to help them! They need me...'

'ARC - 8599, come in.'

It was Delta.

His voice filled the air from one of the commlinks, static cackling and distorting him.

Chidori fell to her knees at the sound of his voice, dying a little inside.

'ARC - 8599, Did you dispose of the Jedi? Have you completed the mission? Come in, ARC - 8599.'

'No,' she whispered out, choking back a sob that threatened to escape.

'Mas....Chidori,' her head shot up, looking at her student, 'We have to assume he's compromised as well. We have to assume they all are. Delta would never have called Ares by his number. You know that.'

His voiced was calm and quiet, ever soothing to her inner turmoil. She hated him for it. She hated that he was right. She hated that her promise to her men was broken.

'We need to leave, before they come looking. Please, my Master.'

She closed her eyes against the tears that threatened to fall, and took a deep breathe, before stiffening when she felt his forehead against hers. His hand gently grasped the back of her neck and his thumb rubbed small circles into her skin.

He was quiet for moment before heaving a deep sigh.

'Once, you promised me that you would protect me and lead me through the darkness. That you would never allow anyone to hurt me again. Please, Chidori, let me return that promise. I will protect you.'

She could feel his cool skin against her heated face, could feel his crown of horns pressing softly against her flesh; she could feel him trying to ground her back into this moment, helping her find her way through the force.

All she could was nod, letting him pull her back up before following him away from the scene.

They ran away from the village, away from the clones, to a small outpost several yards from where the clones, her men, turned on them.

It was the small outpost Nero has commented on when they were flying in, when the mission was still simple, still easy.

It was deserted, hopefully the inhabitants had fled when the shooting started, but the abandoned ship sitting in the open proved that was only empty wishes.

As Maul prepped and primed the engines, she stood off to the side and tried to feel out anyone through the force. She tried to find any survivors in her people.

'Maul, we must go to the Temple. We must help.'

Maul looked over his shoulder and nodded, plugging in the coordinates. Once in hyperspace, it would only take a few minutes to get to Corscant, but for Chidori, it may well have been years. She could feel deep fear and sadness hollowing her heart. Everywhere she reached out to, every light spot in the force, was snuffed out. Dimmed into nothingness.

'Master?' Maul called quietly, standing up.

She hummed in acknowledgement, turning her head towards him, eyes still closed.

'You have to be prepared. You have to be ready for whatever awaits us once we land.'

He stood over her, hand running down her right arm, grasping at her fingers. He fiddled with her leather finger wraps, gently rubbing her metal mechno-digits underneath. Once, he thought the worst thing the Separatists took from her was her fingers. Now, he only wished that.

She gently laced her fingers with his and took a deep breath,

'I know. I know we very well may be walking into a trap. I know that we may be the only ones left alive. But we have to try, Maul. We have to help.'

He nodded and kissed her head, lingering for a few moments, before pulling away. He went to step back, but she followed and pushed her face into his robes, gripping at the folds of his tunic.

They stood like that for a moment, before the comms started beeping, signaling their arrival. Maul turned to begin the landing sequence, but she grabbed his arm.

'Maul wait. We should hide our landing. If we are to enter the temple, we need to enter from below. From the tunnels.'

He hummed in agreement, setting to land on the lower levels.

The journey into the tunnels was silent, eerily so. They had not come upon any clones, but there were no other Jedi found either.

As they made their way into the Temple, they kept to the shadows and hidden hallways, fearful of what they might find.

But the smell. The smell was putred and horrifying. Maul, tried to keep Chidori from venturing to far, less she see something that would break her, but the rotting stench of death and decay ate away at his nose.

Who knows how many lay dead in the hallways. How many friends and allies, how many of those who showed him kindness, when he thought he was unworthy of any.

He didn't even want to think of the children...

'We need to get to the Council Chambers. I have an emergency comm stashed away in my seat. Maybe I can contact Master Plo or Master ShaakTi. Or even Obi-Wan...'

'Chidori,' Maul held her shoulder, squeezing gently, then moved his hand to cradle her cheek.

'I don't think it's wise, if we do. I fear we may find nothing but sadness and carnage.'

She leaned into his touch and heaved a deep sigh.

'I have steeled myself to that thought. I know we may find death, but we may find nothing at all. They could...' she swallowed thickly, 'they could be in the halls.'

Moments passed, the silence surrounding them in a blanket of dread, as the climbed to the highest floor. The Chamber doors were shut, big heavy things that usually brought peace to her mind. If she closed her eyes, she could almost hear the chatting of her fellow Masters behind, waiting for her to begin a Council Meeting. She could almost hear Obi-Wan's voice, gently complaining about Anikan.

Maul turned around, his back to her, watching the long hallway. His saber was at the ready, prepared to fight off any who would sneak up on them.

Chidori pulled out one of her two as well, prepared for clones and droids to be waiting.

What she was not prepared for was the scene before.

When she pushed the doors open, it took her seconds to register what lay. It took seconds for her to start screaming. It took seconds for her to fall to her knees, hands clawing at her face.

Maul quickly turned, prepared to fight off whatever phantom caused her great anguish, but he faltered. He could only stand there numbly as the scene before him washed over him.

Chidori crawled forward towards them, sobs wracking her body. She grabbed one of the younglings lifeless bodies and cradled it to her, crying and screaming and rocking back and forth.

Maul couldn't move, he couldn't speak, he couldn't hear the words that fell from her mouth. He just collapsed. Somewhere he registered the pain in his thighs, shaken from the harsh slam of durasteel on duracrete, but he didn't care.

There were so many of them, small, innocent children. Younglings to tiny to even pose a threat. And they were slaughtered.

These were the children who would pester him with questions about his skin and his horns, ask to see his lightsaber, to see if it was truly double bladed. They were the ones who would grab his hand to show him around the Temple, usually with Chidori and a few other Masters laughing at their eagerness and his begrudging anxiety. And here they lay, killed by some dark phantom.

He didn't know how long they were there, or when he started crying. All he could feel were the sobs leaving his Master and the ringing in his ears.

'Maul?'

Someone was calling him, but he didn't know who.

'Maul? Chidori? You...you're alive?!'

Someone in his clouded vision rushed to Chidori and grabbed a hold if her.

Then there was a small hand on his shoulder. A gentle grip grounding him.

'Linger on this, you must not. Destroy you from the inside, it will. In the force, strength we must find.'

Maul turned slowly, wide eyes glossed over with tears, to see Master Yoda standing beside him, tears falling from his face as well.

Yoda took in the carnage, stopping to watch Chidori and Obi-Wan.

Maul, coming back to reality, saw her clutching tightly at the handsome jedi, sobbing hard into his robes.

'Shhh, I have you, I have you.' Obi-Wan whispered soothing words into her hair, holding onto his best friend for dear life.

'Obi-Wan, they came here. They came here for safety. They, they waited for us to save them...'

'I know, darling, I know.'

He grasped her face, forcing her to look at him, as he wiped away her tears with his thumb.

'Chidori, we must leave. We are not safe here. We have to leave them.'

She closed her eyes at his words, fat tears falling from the corner of her eyes. He continued to wipe away her tears, one hand moving from her face to rub soothing circles on her neck.

Chidori took a moment to ground her self in his touch. Eyes closed, she began to even her breathing, finding her center in the force.

Slowly she stood, using Obi-Wan's arm as support.

They walked away from where they were and went to stand in front of Master Yoda and Maul.

Maul looked up at his Master from his knees, waiting for any kind of order or command, some decision that he didn't have to make.

She knelt down, pushing her forehead against his and silently spoke to him. He nodded, skin slipping against skin, before standing up along with her.

The four of them began to leave, but Maul stopped and jogged over to Chidori's Council seat, finding the emergency comms in the hidden panel.

Once he was through the doorway, Yoda used the force to closed doors, shutting away the horrors within.

Together they began the decent into the Temple, prepared to continue with the mission to save anyone left in the darkness.

[thdorkmagnet]

Little Starco Part 1

Happy Halloween Everyone!! Today I bring you all something new! This AU is based off of my favorite game in the world right now “Little Nightmares.” It is a super awesome horror game that I have been obsessed with for months and so I figured the best way to deal with my love of the franchise was to do what I always do: write Starco fanfiction! So yes this is all based off the video game but I did my best to make it understandable without having played the game. It was a challenge the game is full of mystery and a tense atmosphere, while also putting in some of my typical fluff so trying to match the style was not easy. Still I hope I succeeded and I hope you all enjoy!

Also as a fair warning, this is a horror game and while I don't have anything too bad in here I did push the T rating quite a bit for this one. So anyone who is easily frightened you've been warned. Please enjoy and have a great and spooky Halloween!

This will be a two-parter btw.

Disclaimer: Star vs and all its characters belong to Daron Nefcy and Disney. Little Nightmares belongs to Bandai Namco. All rights go to the respective owners.

Star awoke with a start, letting out a panicked gasp as she sat up quickly in fright. She took a few deep breaths as the initial fear slowly began to fade, leaving only the tense anxiety she normally carried with her. The only sound she could hear was the steady dripping of a nearby leak and the quiet creaking of the ship as it gently swayed back and forth. For as far back as Star could remember she had been having the same nightmare over and over again, every single night, being engulfed in a suppressing darkness that slowly faded to reveal a woman in a white mask. She would slowly turn around to face Star, but just before their eyes could meet, she would wake up. She didn't know what it meant (but then what else was new) but she had a feeling it had something to do with her past.

Not that she could remember it.

As bad as the nightmares were though, she wasn't sure if being awake was any better, she was still trapped in a nightmare whether she was asleep or awake. But at least when she was awake she could run from her threats.

Star pulled her yellow raincoat a little tighter around her, trying to fight off the sudden chill she felt creeping up her spine and got a quick look at her surroundings. She had fallen asleep in a vent, finding that one of the safest places to rest in, and she usually slept in one whenever she got a chance, even if they weren't the most comfortable sleeping spot. She took a moment to breathe in the musty air and let the motion of the ship soothe her, as she once again allowed her mind to wander as it often did in the quieter moments aboard the Maw.

The Maw, the mysterious ship full of monsters and danger and death. She didn't know what purpose it existed or how she had ended up here, all she knew was that she had been a stowaway on board the ship for a very long time. Maybe she had always been on the Maw, maybe there was no life outside of it. Star had no knowledge of the outside world or even if there even was one, but to be honest she didn't really care. All she cared about was staying alive.

Star decided she had rested long enough (knowing she needed to find some food before the hunger pains started in), slowly starting to crawl her way through the vent.

After a couple of seconds, the dim lighting faded, the small girl now encompassed in inky blackness and Star reached into the pocket of her coat, pulling out her sole possession (excluding her raincoat of course): a small, thin lighter. She flicked the lighter open and there was a quick spark before a tiny flame appeared, helping light the tight space around her and bring some warmth back into Star's shivering form. Star couldn't help but smile as she stared down into the flickering glow, relishing the feeling the small source of light brought her. Light was a rarity on board the Maw and she had learned to appreciate whatever she was given.

She nearly jumped as she heard a soft guttural clicking noise echoing farther down the tunnel, but she grinned as she recognized the weird noise as nonhostile. It was one of the many small creatures called Nomes that were known to be found wandering all over the ship. Just like everything else on the Maw, the Nomes origin and purpose was a mystery, but they were also the only thing on this horrible ship that was even remotely enjoyable, Star finding the small creatures adorable and she would often go out of her way to find them and give each one a tight hug... once she managed to chase them down, that is, all of them running away from her in the beginning the second she got close.

But, unfortunately, Star couldn't spot the Nome in the dark tunnel and so she instead reluctantly pressed forward, keeping her eyes focused straight ahead. Eventually, she found a ladder and she quickly flicked off her lighter before climbing up. When she reached the top she immediately noticed a series of hooks passing over her head, being pushed forward by a conveyor belt. A few of them even carried large objects wrapped in cloth and knotted closed with coarse rope and Star tried to ignore the oddly human size and shape they had, choosing to instead focus on finding a way up to the hooks. She looked around for a high enough spot where she could reach one and lucky for her she found a pile of the wrapped packages tall enough and after climbing up she was able to easily grab onto one of the empty hooks and sail away to another part of the ship.

She soon found herself dangling over a large gap in between areas, the long drop into the darkness below causing Star to cling on tight. Long, thick chains hung all around, each rung twice the size of her small body and she could hear them shaking and jangling from the constant motion of the ship. It felt like a lifetime before she finally bridged the gap, now hovering over a huge pile of wrapped packages, and she reluctantly let go, letting them break her fall. She held back a shudder as the bags shifted slightly under her weight.

She had heard rumors of what happened to the kids kept prison on the ship but she wasn't sure she was quite ready to confirm that theory. So instead she rose and began climbing down the massive pile, trying to ignore the squish underneath her bare feet and stench of blood that caused bile to rise up her throat.

Once she was on solid ground again Star took in a deep, shaky breath and ran as far away from the bags as possible. But she hadn't gotten very far when Star was seized with an unbearable hunger, the blonde doubling over in pain. She groaned, clutching her stomach tightly as the emptiness in her stomach increased with every passing second. These happened to her every so often, one minute she would be fine, the next it felt like her stomach was trying to eat itself and it was all Star could do to keep going until she found herself some food.

She stood and began shuffling forward on shaky legs but a couple steps later she was down again as her stomach let out a troubling growl. It took some more effort but Star was able to somehow keep going, trudging slowly ahead, her eyes on the constant search for food. She made it into the next room when her stomach growled again and this time lacked the strength to continue standing, falling hard to her knees as she took deep breaths. She looked up through fading vision and spotted the single greatest thing she thought she had ever seen: a loaf of bread.

Star's stomach released another terrible growl at the sight of food and the blonde gathered up every bit of strength she had left as she began crawling toward the bread, her hand outstretched as she reached for her saving grace. Another sharp pang in her stomach zapped the last of her strength, leaving Star to numbly reach forward in a last desperate attempt to get ahold of the loaf, her fingers just an inch too short. The girl felt hopelessness consume her as her vision slowly faded to black, her one chance of survival just barely out of reach and she nearly sobbed at the cruel irony.

Just when Star was about to give up and accept her fate, she saw a hand reach down out of nowhere and push the bread closer to her. Star snatched the food up without a second thought and began greedily tearing chunks of it off with her teeth, swallowing after only a few bites. She could feel a pair of eyes watching her, but she was too busy eating to care, not daring to stop. The emptiness and pain in her stomach subsided as Star finished devouring the loaf of bread.

Once she was done, Star took a few deep breaths letting her stomach settle, blinking as her vision cleared. After that she stared up at her savior, taking in the appearance of a young boy. He looked to be about her age (however old that was) with short, oily brown hair, brown eyes and a tiny little mole on his left cheek. She recognized him as one of the children kept prisoner on the Maw, if the tattered and faded blue pajamas were any indication. And if that wasn't enough proof then the rusted shackle hanging from his dirty leg confirmed her suspicions. Despite this though, unlike the dull, lifeless orbs the other children typically had this boy's eyes gleamed with joy and wonder and a curious smile hung on his lips, as if the horrors of the world and his situation had yet to reach his fragile young mind.

Star felt her cheeks blush as he continued to stare down at her, suddenly anxious for reasons she didn't quite understand. She looked down at her feet shyly, rubbing a hand up and down her coat sleeve as she muttered out quietly, "Uh, thanks... for that."

"No problem," the boy said pleasantly, before offering her a hand up. Star hesitated before accepting the help, allowing the boy to haul her to her feet. "I'm Marco by the way," the boy said pointing to himself.

"Star," the blonde replied.

"That's a really pretty name," Marco commented before the girl blushed vividly

"So what are you doing on board the Maw?" Marco asked. "I mean, you're definitely not a prisoner, " He added, gesturing down to the bright yellow raincoat.

"No idea," Star admitted. “I just woke up here one day and that's all I remember."

“You don't have any memories?" Marco asked and Star nodded.

"Yeah," Star mumbled. "So what about you? I'm guessing you're a runaway, considering the outfit," Star commented.

The boy cringed, rubbing the back of his neck with his hand as he said, "Yeah, uh, I got sent here to the kitchen a couple of days ago, but I managed to sneak away before... y'know."

Both kids shuddered, knowing full well what fate awaited those who fell victim to the Monsters' gluttony.

"That's terrible," Star said sympathetically, putting a hand on Marco's shoulder. "I'm so sorry that happened, Marco."

"I-Its okay," the boy stuttered, his eyes suddenly filled with pain and Star found herself longing to see his innocent smile again.

"How have you survived this long on your own?" Star asked, quite impressed with the boy.

Marco shrugged. "I've just been sneaking some food out here and there when the chefs aren't looking," the boy said modestly.

Star's eyes widened as realization dawned on her, giving his an apologetic look as she gasped out, "Oh my gosh, did I eat the last of your food? I'm so, so sorry!"

"No, no it's okay," Marco reassured her. "You looked like you needed it more." He smiled at her and suddenly Star's cold body flooded with a peculiar warmth. But she didn't have time to question it as Marco suddenly added, "Besides I know a place where we can get a lot more food than that."

"Where?" Star asked curiously.

"Come on, I'll show you," the boy replied before turning and running off somewhere. Star hesitated for only a second before chasing after the boy, hopeful that she could have a full belly for once.

...

As the two got closer to wherever the boy was leading them, Star began to pick up on the metallic swing of a knife from another room as no doubt a large butcher knife was getting some use. She held back the shiver that jumped up her spine, trying not to focus on the concerning sounds down the hallway. Instead, she concentrated on where she was being led and more importantly the boy who was leading her there. He had a calm smile on his face, despite the obvious danger they were in and Star was almost unsure what to think of that. Or Marco in general.

She hadn't been around kids her age in a long time but the ones she did usually weren't this upbeat. Most were quiet, reserved, and had more or less given up. They certainly didn't smile, she was lucky to see them even raise their head in her direction. So far, Star seemed to be the only one on this ship who cared at all about trying to escape their situation.

Until Marco. Star had never met anyone like him before, he was the closest thing she had come across to a companion in well… forever honestly. Marco's charming naivety was hard to resist and the blonde couldn't help but feel drawn to her companion, wanting to know more about him.

Marco suddenly stopped in his tracks and Star ran into his back by accident, causing him to slightly stumble. Once he had recovered, he turned to her and put a finger to his lips, before pointing in the direction of a towering doorway, the sound of something being violently sliced clearly coming from that direction. Star felt a shiver run up her raincoat but nodded in understanding. The two then began to tiptoe slowly closer to that area, Star feeling her heart rate beginning to spike as they did.

Finally, the two seemed to have reached their destination: a large door. The boy grinned over to her to show that they had reached the right place and pointed over to the door for extra emphasis, mouthing the words, "In here."

Star smiled from beneath her hood and the two quickly started to push on the door with all their little might. But for some reason the door didn't budge, staying sealed shut and the two grunted as they strained against the wooden frame. But the effort proved pointless and the two quickly gave up the struggle, letting out deep (but quiet) sighs of despair. Star leaned heavily against the door when Marco suddenly whispered into her ear, "Let me give you a boost up and you can try the handle."

The blonde didn't argue with that, standing up straight as she watched Marco cup his hands into a foothold for her. Star placed her foot in his palm, before hoisting herself up using his shoulders for leverage. Once she was suspended above ground she sprung up off her companion's hands and grabbed on tightly to the handle. She hung off it as it slid down but instead of a noisy click like usual, there was nothing. Meaning the door was locked.

Star frowned, before dropping back down to her feet, Marco staring at her with a mixture of confusion and anticipation. She bit her lip, thankful he couldn't see her face beneath the hood. The last thing she wanted was to make him feel worse about the whole situation. "Well," he whispered, leaning in close to her face and Star felt her cheeks heat up for some reason.

Star shook her head. "It's locked from the other side," she explained, hoping she didn't sound too disappointed. She really shouldn't have gotten her hopes up, especially since the whole thing had seemed too good to be true, but the idea of a decent meal had gotten her excited.

"What?" the boy groaned, his bright eyes filling with disappointment, a sad frown on his face. "But I just checked it yesterday."

"Guess they figured out you were getting in there," Star said, in the most sympathetic tone she could.

"Well guess we came all this way for nothing," Marco said, sitting down hard on the wood floor with pure despair in his voice.

Star couldn't stand seeing her new friend so downtrodden and tried to think of some way to cheer him up. She looked around for an idea of how to help him, before spotting the doorway across the hall, the sound of sharp metal slicing ringing through the air. Star swallowed hard, knowing what she was thinking of was probably a terrible idea. In fact, it was an incredibly stupid and dangerous idea but now that it was in her head, she knew it would be impossible to get out. Besides, she reasoned with herself. I want to make Marco smile again and if it works…

"Well, I know another way we can get some food," Star said, looking over to Marco knowingly.

The boy gave her a confused look, an eyebrow slowly rising. "How?" he asked, with fragile hope in his eyes.

"Well the pantry may be off-limits but…" Star gestured with her head in the direction of the doorway. "I bet there is some food in there."

Marco's eyes widened. "In… there," he whispered, pointing at the doorway fearfully. "B-B-But, the chef is in there."

Star put an arm around his shoulder saying confidently (more confident than she actually felt), "Come on, Marco. It'll be fiiinnneee. I know my way around this place, I'll keep you safe."

Marco frowned, the doubt clear in his eyes, as he muttered nervously, "I don't know."

"Hey, relax. As long as we stay quiet he will never even know we're there," Star said, flashing him a bright grin, not realizing he couldn't see it under her hood.

Star's enthusiasm seemed to sway Marco's mind some, a thoughtful look spreading across his face as he bit his lip, clearly contemplating his options. "Welllll…" he began, only for his rumbling stomach to interrupt him.

"See, Marco, you're hungry, let's get you some food, come on," Star said, not giving the boy a chance to argue as she grabbed his arm and dragged him in the direction of the kitchen. The boy whined under his breath but otherwise didn't resist, following reluctantly along behind his companion.

Everything about this was making his instincts scream at him but he held back the urge to run away, putting his faith and trust in Star. Like she had said, she had been doing this much longer than him, staying alive on this horrible boat all by herself. Marco had barely survived the week, having to fend off every meal he stole from the pantry from rats and other vermin including… leeches. The boy shuddered at the thought.

But Star. Star was amazing! Even though he had only briefly met her, he could tell just how cool she was and he knew if anyone could get them some decent food, it was her. So he figured it was best to follow Star's lead on this.

But he was quickly regretting this as the sound of chopping grew all the louder. The closer they got, the louder it grew, causing anxiety to course through Marco's bloodstream, turning it to ice. When they reached the door frame, Star peaked her head around the side, checking to see the position of the chef, trying to hold back the cringe as she took in the hideous form.

The creature towered over the two miniature children, it's skin an unhealthy looking shade of almost gray. Then again, nothing about the creature screamed healthy. The chef was overweight, barely fitting into its grungy work uniform. Its meaty arms and hands were hard at work, chopping away at a large slab of meat in front of it, short, stubby finger gripping the massive knife tightly as it slammed the blade viciously into the meat, again and again, its movements sporadic and almost vengeful, like it was getting some sick pleasure from it all. It wore the typical garb of a chef, complete with chef hat and apron, its uniform stained with blood and who knows what else.

Its face looked like melting dough, thick layers of skin and flesh hanging loosely from its expressionless face. It was almost too expressionless, something about it felt off to Star like it wasn't really a face at all. Maybe a mask? The chef made noisy grunts and moans as it worked, its attention so focused on its work it thankfully didn't notice the two kids.

Star waited a moment, making sure the nightmarish creature was properly distracted before putting a finger to her lips and gesturing Marco closer. The small boy swallowed hard but followed after the girl, nearly jumping in fright as he spotted the towering figure of the chef. Star saw he was about to scream and quickly covered his mouth with her hand, muffling the cry of terror. Marco continued to stare at the chef in pure fear and Star quickly pulled him to safety under a nearby table, out of the chef's line of sight.

She gave Marco a moment to calm himself down, his breathing shallow and sporadic and Star wasn't sure how he hadn't hyperventilated yet. Maybe this wasn't a good idea, Star thought to herself. But what other choice did they have? They needed to eat and this seemed to be the only way to guarantee them food. The blonde waited until the boy's breathing calmed enough before removing her hand from his mouth, keeping a hand on his back to steady him.

"Sorry," he mouthed to her, afraid of making any sound whatsoever.

Star pulled off her hood and gave him a sympathetic smile mouthing back to him, "It's fine."

She then pointed to herself and toward the next area of the kitchen before pointing at Marco and then at the ground, hoping the message was clear. You stay here, I'll get the food. But the young boy shook his head stubbornly, a determined look in his eyes as he grabbed onto the girl's hand, causing a blush to spread across her cheeks.

There was no way he was letting her go alone. Star had been alone enough, she deserved to have someone by her side. Even if he was afraid, he was going to do everything in his limited power to help her any way he could.

Star was surprised by Marco's response, figuring he would prefer to stay out of harm's way but he actually wanted to go with her. Star felt another stirring in her chest, the warmth beginning to grow and spread to the rest of her but she ignored it for now. Now was not the time to be consumed by emotions, now was the time to act.

So Star simply nodded her head, giving his hand a tight squeeze before slowly leading them out from the safety of the table, creeping past the chef who was still hard at work cutting slabs of meat, before ripping them apart with its bare hands. Star kept a watchful eye on the chef as they tip-toed past him, staying as low to the ground as possible. The chef was becoming violent with its work, slamming the large butcher knife into the meat again and again and Star felt her stomach roll in disgust. These monsters were insane.

The two finally made it past the creature, creeping silently down the stairs into the main area of the kitchen. Star held her breath at every creak she heard on the rotten wood but thankfully the noise was not enough to alert the chef of their presence.

The two tiny kids continued to creep around the kitchen area, ignoring the array of foul odors coming from the many, many boiling pots on the stove tops. How anyone could eat this stuff was beyond Star. The who was eating it was what had her intrigued but she didn't really want to over think that, in all honesty, she would rather not know. Hopefully, there was better food for them to munch on around here. Star looked around for any sign of good food to eat, before spotting a large metal door at the far end of the room. The freezer. That had to have some real food, right?

Star grinned, before tapping Marco on the shoulder to gain his attention. He gave her a confused look and she pointed over to the door. His eyes widened with greed before he licked his lips, the prospect of food too entrancing to them both. He nodded to her, a smile on his innocent face and suddenly everything felt worth it to Star just to see his eyes light up like that.

The two made their way towards the door tip-toeing as slowly and quietly as possible… when two Nomes appeared out of nowhere, chittering as they scurried around the room, one of them bumping into the door to an oven causing it to slam closed. The loud noise caused both Star and Marco to jump in fright and they both felt their hearts drop as a loud moan sounded from the next room, followed by shuffling feet.

The chef had heard the noise and it was coming to investigate.

Star gave up any hopes of stealth as she shouted to her companion, "Run!" The two ran as fast as they could through the kitchen, the chef making another loud groan as it spotted them but Star didn't dare turn around. Instead, she just focused on getting away. She could hear pounding feet as it chased after them and Star quickly ran under a table in the center of the room, hoping that would stall it enough from catching them.

Finally, Star reached the door to the freezer but felt her heart stop as she noticed the large rusted metal lock on its handle. The blonde swallowed hard, trying to think of some way for them to hide before spotting a large shelf. Star nearly sighed in relief as she shouted, "Come on, Marco! Over here!"

But as she turned to check behind her, she saw that Marco was not there. "Marco?" Star repeated softly, feeling a cold fear creeping up her spine.

"Star!" came the terrified and fragile voice of Marco and Star felt pure terror fill her system as she followed the voice to a horrible sight.

The chef had Marco.

Holding him tightly by the back of his hood, being none too gentle with him as it looked around for her. The boy's body swung haphazardly around as he hung there, kicking his bare feet uselessly and trying to somehow pry the meaty grip off of him. But it was no use. Marco was caught.

Star didn't think she had ever been more afraid than she was at that very moment as she watched the one person in the world who understood her and she cared for in the clutches of that vile creature and it was all Star could do to keep herself from running over and trying to pry him loose, but she knew that would only result in both of them being caught. She needed a different plan to save her friend, preferably one that kept either of them from being served up on a platter.

She quickly ducked behind cover as she watched the chef for a moment, trying to formulate some kind of plan to rescue Marco. Her heart was hammering so hard against her chest at this point she worried she was about to have a heart attack. And as she listened to Marco's desperate and frightened cries, calling out for help, screaming Star's name at the top of his lungs, it felt like a knife had just been wedged deep into her heart, twisting viciously within.

The blonde continued to scan the area around her, looking for something, anything, that could save Marco. Finally, the gears in her head began turning as an idea came to her out of nowhere. She didn't even hesitate as she jumped into action, unable to waste precious seconds thinking it through or second-guessing herself, she would just have to hope it worked. For Marco's sake.

Marco's tiny heart was racing so hard it was painful as he tried futilely to free himself, doing anything he could think of to escape. The chef finally gave up its search for the other vermin and instead carried its captive over to a nearby table… one with a conveniently placed cutting board and butcher knife. The chef practically threw Marco down on the table, the boy letting out a cry as his back painfully collided with the hardwood surface. He tried to crawl away but was stopped as the chef placed a grubby hand over him, keeping him pinned and effectively trapped. The boy tried to squirm away but he was trapped, the pressure on his chest causing him to cough and wheeze, struggling to suck in enough oxygen. He could feel something oozing against his back and he felt bile rising at the back of his throat as he shuddered. He did not want to think about what that could be.

The chef casually picked up the knife beside Marco, the gleam off of its smooth edge hitting Marco and causing him to be temporarily blinded. He blinked furiously, trying to regain his vision as he let out shuddering breaths. The moment his vision returned, however, he wished it hadn't as he saw the chef raise the knife high over its head, preparing to strike.

Marco squeezed his eyes shut, his short few years of life flashing before his eyes as he waited for the finishing blow. This was it, he thought to himself. I never even got to tell Star goodbye.

Just before the chef could begin its swing though, something smashed into the back of its head, causing the creature to stumble and release its grip on Marco. The boy looked up with confusion before spotting Star in the scaffolding above a pile of small pots and cups sat next to her. She stared down at him with her bright blue eyes full of relief and determination and for a second Marco wondered if he was staring at the face of an angel instead.

"Marco run!" Star screamed, lifting another pot over her head, preparing to fling it at the chef.

The boy quickly hopped down off the table, the chef reaching down to pick him back up only to be nailed in the arm by the surprisingly strong-armed Star. The boy ran as fast as he could away from the chef, heading the same direction he had seen Star take. The chef chased after him but was stopped after only a few steps as Star managed to land another hit on it with a pot, causing the chef to release a very annoyed growl, clearly growing frustrated with the pair of vermin that had invaded its kitchen.

Star did her best to hold the chef off as Marco ran over to the shelf Star had used, quickly climbing up. But he wasn't fast enough as the chef was finally catching up to him, beginning to ignore the array of glass objects crashing into its head and body, seconds away from reaching the shelf. Star saw her friend wasn't going to make it in time and quickly held out a hand and yelled over to him in desperation, "Marco jump!"

Marco threw himself off the shelf, stretching out an arm towards Star's waiting hand. Time seemed to slow as he flew through the air, reaching out for his friend with all his might, hoping he was able to reach her. Luckily, he barely managed to grab onto her, his fingers nearly slipping out of hers but the blonde squeezed his hand tight, refusing to let go. Star grunted and tried to brace herself as Marco's weight threatened to pull her down too and quickly added her other hand to the effort of holding Marco.

Below them, the chef was stretching up as high as its chubby arms would allow, letting out hideous grunting noise as it tried to somehow reach the two pests. Star and Marco ignored this, however, as Star focused only on pulling Marco up on the overhead beams with her. She finally managed to gain enough leverage to drag him up with her, the boy soon sitting beside her, both panting from exertion and the remnants of adrenaline and terror coursing through their bloodstream.

The two took a moment to calm down, laying next to each other on the high beams and just letting everything that had happened wash over them. That had been one of the most terrifying ordeals of their joint lives and they dreaded to imagine what might have happened had Star not stepped in when she did. Marco tried not to picture the knife being swung high, still seeing the glint of the cool metal and he felt tremors still coarse down his spine at the memory. It had been too real, too close and he was sure it would be haunting his nightmares for weeks after.

"Thanks," Marco finally managed to mumble, still trying to calm his breathing. "That was… too close."

"Yeah, it was," Star agreed, her own voice trembling some. "Sorry I let that happen. I should have protected you better." She slammed a clenched fist into the wooden board they lay on in anger, frustrated with herself for not doing more. She had promised she would keep him safe, instead he had almost gotten killed on her watch.

"Star, it's fine, it's not your fault I got caught," the boy said, trying not to let his fear show as the memory still haunted his mind. It was still too fresh to ignore, to forget. But he didn't want to make his friend feel any worse than she already did. So instead he gave her a warm smile and told her in the most pleasant tone he had at the moment, "Besides you're the one who saved me. I woulda been a goner back there if not for you.”

"Yeah, but you wouldn't have been in any danger if not for me," Star mumbled, crossing her arms in front of her chest.

"The important thing is we both survived, right?" Marco said, putting a hand on her shoulder.

Star stared at him in surprise for a moment. She had expected him to be angry or upset, maybe even part ways with her to avoid further disaster. Instead, he willingly and openly forgave her and Star was so stunned by this she had no idea how to respond for a moment. Instead, she found herself staring into his stunning brown orbs for a moment, full of so much hope and tenderness that her cheeks heated up against her will.

She coughed into her hand to hide whatever this strange emotion was Marco kept making her feel, deciding it best to change the subject before she started acting weird. She really didn't want to humiliate herself in front of her new friend. So she tried to distract herself by taking a closer look at the kitchen below. At this point the chef had given up any hope of catching the intruders, instead going back to making its disgusting meals, grumbling to itself the whole time in its high-pitched whine.

But the blonde wasn't interested in the chef anymore, her concern was on the freezer door and more importantly the lock that prevented them entry inside. She laid her head on her knee for a moment as she muttered in annoyance, "Well so much from getting any food in there."

Marco sat up and followed her gaze to the door, frowning in disappointment. "Yeah, I was really hoping to eat, too."

The two let out simultaneous sighs, staring in longing as the only chance at a decent meal was just out of reach. If only they could get inside there. Suddenly an idea came to Marco, his eyes widening at the thought and a bright smile beginning to spread across his face. He turned to his companion and quickly proclaimed, "Actually I think we can!"

"What? How?!" Star asked in intrigue, leaning closer to him until their faces were nearly touching.

Marco ignored the stirring his chest at the close contact, instead replying, "Well that's a lock right? So all we need to do is find the key."

Star gasped, her own eyes filling with excitement as she exclaimed, "Marco, you're a genius!"

The boy blushed at the compliment, rubbing sheepishly at the back of his neck. "I mean, I don't know if I'd say genius," he muttered in embarrassment. But his nervousness doubled as Star suddenly threw her arms around him in a hug, causing his heart to skip a beat. The warmth was surprising but not unwelcome and Marco found himself melting into the tight embrace, treasuring every second.

Star wasn't sure why she had decided to do this, she had just been so… was happy the right word? She didn't know what she was feeling but she just knew she needed to express it in some way and the next thing she knew she had her arms around him. But now that it was happening, she found she kinda enjoyed it. She liked having Marco this close to her and she found her heart stirring inside her chest for some reason. She still didn't know how to describe the feeling just yet but.... it was nice.

The girl released her hold, pulling back so they could stare into each other's flushing faces. Star felt suddenly awkward about the display of affection, playing with a loose strand of hair as she whispered, "Sorry, I don't know why I was…" Her voice trailed off and she was tempted to hide her flushed face inside her hood once more.

"Uhh, no it's fine," Marco replied, still clearly in shock but the joy on his face was clear as day. "I thought it was nice."

Star grinned back. "Me too."

The two stayed like that for a moment, smiling blissfully at each other, before a loud swing from the chef's knife caused the two to jump, reminding them where they were at. "Come on," Star said, standing up. "Let's go find that key!"

"Alright," Marco replied enthusiastically, following along behind the girl as they went in search of the key to their breakfast.

...

Star peeked her head out from the grate she was hiding in, watching as the two chefs noisily cleaned the dishes, piles and piles sprawled before them, some reaching almost as high as the ceiling. But that wasn't what had piqued Star's interest, her focus was on the small silver key set precariously close to the soapy water and in plain view of the two monsters. Marco must have noticed it too because he turned to her with a smile and a determined gleam in his eye, which she returned. They both nodded as one before crouching back under so they could safely discuss their plan of attack.

The two had been searching for the key for a while now but luckily they had found a loose floorboard and had been able to sneak around undetected right under the Monsters' noses. Except now their only way to get into the freezer was being guarded by the twin chefs and getting past them was going to be tricky. "So what now?" Marco asked Star, keeping his voice below a whisper.

Star thought for a second before replying, "We need to lure them away somehow."

She put a finger to her chin, pondering over an idea, when Marco suddenly said, "The hooks.”

"Huh?" Star said, looking over at the boy in confusion.

"There are a conveyor of hooks running all through this place, I bet if we find the switch that'd draw their attention," Marco explained simply.

"Oh yeah!" Star agreed, smiling brightly at her new friend. "Great idea, Marco!"

The boy grinned at the praise, before standing up and starting to crawl out of the grate, "Cool, then I'll go find the switch-”

But Star cut him off, grabbing onto his arm and pulling him back down with her, saying in a quiet hiss, "Are you crazy?! You can't go out there it's too dangerous!"

“Well one of us has to find the switch," Marco argued.

But Star wasn't having, shaking her head vigorously. "No way, it's too risky! What if you get caught again?!"

"I'll be careful," Marco told her, trying to sound more reassuring than he felt. "Besides, someone is gonna have to run to get the key and I think we both know who is faster." The two shuddered as the memory from earlier flashed through their minds, neither of them wanted a repeat of what happened.

"Okay," Star reluctantly agreed. "Just promise me you'll be safe."

Marco nodded once. "Of course. Safe is my middle name," he told her, giving her a small smile. Marco could see the tiniest of grins on Star's lips and he felt his heart flutter. Then, without warning, she pulled him into a hug, holding him tightly against her for a moment. Marco's cheeks blushed red but he wrapped his own arms around Stars slender frame, listening to her even breathing for a moment.

They parted much too quickly for Marco's liking, craving her warmth and comfort almost as much as she did. But that would have to wait for now, they needed to focus on the task ahead. They could decipher the tangle of emotions they felt later. Marco stood up and Star whispered softly to him, "Good luck."

Marco nodded, before replying, "You too." He then climbed out of the hole slowly. He kept a close eye on the two chefs, who were too deep in their task to notice him yet, as he carefully crept around, staying low to the ground, trying to make himself as small as possible.

He saw one of the chefs move away from the dishes and he quickly hid underneath one of the large sinks, trying to keep his breathing steady as his heart pounded painfully against his chest. He waited until his heartbeat had slowed to a reasonable speed, before risking peeking his head out from the safety of his hiding spot. The chefs had its back to him, sniffling noisily as it arranged dishes on a large shelf. Marco, seeing he was safe for the moment began looking around for the switch he needed. He spotted a large lever in the next room and smiled. That was it. It had to be.

Marco, seizing his chance, sucked in a deep breath and stepped out of his hiding spot. He tiptoed toward the next room, keeping a close eye on the chef as he did. He held his breath, his body starting to shake with fear as he repeated again and again in his terror-filled mind, Please don't turn around, please don't turn around, please don't turn around.

Snap!

The sudden jarring noise caused Marco to jump, looking slowly down at the floor where the sound had come from. The boy felt his heart come to a painful stop as he spotted the bits of glass under his feet. The boy had been so focused on the chef he hadn't been paying enough attention to the world around him and had somehow not noticed the array of broken, discarded plates scattered around him from where the chefs had presumably dropped them.

The boy froze as he heard a grunt from the chef, turning to the towering creature with pure dread coursing through his veins and nearly screamed in fright as he saw the chef turning around to see what had caused the loud noise. Marco panicked, time seeming to slow to a crawl as he waited for his presence to be revealed, to be caught and captured all over again. He knew he should move, run, escape but he couldn't. His legs felt like they were made of lead and his body was still and unmoving as a result.

This was it. In a matter of seconds, he would be back in the grubby grip of the nightmarish chef. He wasn't sure he could bear being flung around haphazardly by the heartless capture again. Couldn't stand the thought of being pinned in place as he watched the instrument of his demise slowly rise, ready to end his short, few years of existence.

But then suddenly, like a light at the end of a dark tunnel, Marco remembered Star. How devastated she would be if he died. How she was counting on him to pull through. He had promised her he would be careful. And he couldn't let her down. He refused to cause her anymore pain or grief. He had seen her desperation before, when she had struggled to reach that loaf of bread, the sight of her so helpless and struggling had torn at his heartstrings. He didn't want her to suffer, he wanted to help her, even if he didn't know how just yet.

So he pushed back his fears into the corner of his mind and forced his legs into motion. He ran quickly across the loose floorboards doing his best to dodge around the broken plates and make as little to no noise as possible. Still, just as he entered the next room he heard the chef release a surprised grunt and he knew he had been spotted. He had to be quick and make every second count.

He hopped up onto a table and jumped onto the lever. His weight caused the switch to be pulled down, a loud whining sound invaded Marco's eardrums and nearly causing them to burst. He landed back on the table and covered his ears with his hands, the sound of grating metal almost too much for his fragile ears. After a few seconds, it stopped as the conveyor of hooks began moving in the opposite direction. Marco smiled in victory.

But he didn't have long to celebrate this as the chef walked into the room Marco was in, letting out an annoyed groan as it spotted him. The boy ran across the tabletop, pushing his legs faster than they could physically go, hoping to somehow escape. The chef strutted its way over to the table, reaching out a grubby hand to grab him but Marco slid under it at the last second.

The boy then jumped through a window into the main room again, landing in a sink filled with soapy water. Marco, who had never learned to swim, struggled to get above water, flailing his arms in some desperate attempt at not drowning. But his clothes felt like they were weighing him down as he became distinctly aware of the chain on his ankle which seemed to be dragging him down instead of up. And to make it worse his eyes were stinging from the obsessive amounts of soap the monsters had used to clean the dirty plates. Finally, the boy managed to get his head above water, gasping and sputtering and he tightly gripped the edge of the sink.

He looked up with blurry and pain-filled vision to see the second chef rushing at him as fast as its stubby legs could carry it. "Oh come on!" Marco screamed in annoyance. Could the universe just give him a freaking break?

The boy quickly jumped out of the sink and made a break for his hiding spot from earlier, his drenched clothes making it difficult to run. Still, he managed to reach the table unharmed, ducking down underneath it and trying to make himself as small as possible. The twin chefs had soon gathered around the table, one of them struggling to reach underneath, straining with all its might to reach the boy, the other just watching the whole thing with nervous annoyance.

Star took advantage of the distraction Marco had provided, quickly racing over to the large sink, climbing up onto it and picking up the key. She smiled in victory, which was short-lived as one of the chefs spotted her and let out a loud moan. Star felt her heartbeat race in her chest, looking around for an exit. She would never make it to the grate in time, which meant she needed another way out of here.

Her gaze rested on the hooks above her head and an idea sprang into her mind. She threw the key with all her might, letting it hit the ground with a loud thud, the chef forgoing her in favor of its precious key. Star then shouted over to her companion, "Marco, over here!"

The second chef had stopped its attempts to snatch him up to watch the commotion going on with its brother and Marco used this distraction to crawl out from underneath the table and quickly running over to Star. The girl offered him a hand up, as he climbed up onto the side of the sink with her. "Where's the key?" he asked, panting from both fear and exertion.

Star shook her head. "Forget the key, we gotta get outta here.”

"How?" Marco asked, his voice cracking with fear.

"We go up," Star said, looking up at the line of hooks and then a large stack of plates reaching just high enough for the two of them to be in reach of the hooks. Marco followed her gaze before a small grin lit up his face. The two's eyes met again and they shared a brief smile before nodding in unison. They had a plan, now was the time to see it in action.

The two climbed up the large stack of plates, ignoring as they wobbled and jolted around with every step. When Star and Marco reached the top they found themselves struggling to keep their balance, holding out their arms in an attempt to stay on the unsteady stack. The chefs both reached for the two children, grunting in their feeble attempts, growing more and more frustrated with every second that passed. Star, however, had her eyes on the hooks, waiting for one to be in position for them to reach it.

She watched as one slowly slid closer, her body tensing as she shouted, "Marco, get ready to jump!"

"Right!" the boy yelled back, determination in his voice as the two crouched down waiting for the right moment.

"3," Star whispered under her breath.

"2," Marco added, his voice shaking with anticipation.

"1!" The two kids shouted together jumping up just as the hook passed over their heads. The sudden shift in weight, finally caused the huge stack of plates to collapse and tumble onto the unsuspecting chefs, causing them to groan in pain and surprise.

Star grabbed tightly onto the rusted metal, while Marco wrapped his arms around Star's waist, clinging to her tightly. The two cheered in victory as they sailed over the kitchen, Star shouting at the frazzled chefs, "Ha take that you monsters! That's the last time you'll think about messing with us!" She then stuck her tongue out at the creatures for added measure.

Marco just let out a sigh of relief, glad that the whole terrifying incident was over. He held Star in an almost death grip trying to ignore the long drop that waited just below them, burying his head into her bright raincoat. Now that they were safe and out of harm's way he couldn't help but enjoy holding onto Star like this, even if they were precariously dangling in the air.

However, something was still bothering Marco. Something he couldn't quite get his mind off of. "Star, where do these hooks lead?" he asked, looking up at his more knowledgeable friend.

Star didn't seem even slightly worried, saying in a smooth, confident tone, "Oh relax, Marco. I'm sure everything will be fine now that we got away from those chefs."

Marco looked up ahead to see where the conveyor belt was leading them only to gasp in shock. "Oh no we didn't!" he screamed and Star looked over her shoulder only to see one of the chefs waiting for them, piles of packages stacked all around it.

Star gasped in surprise and let go of the hook, dropping the two to the ground without warning. Thankfully, a pile of cloth broke their fall and the two slowly crawled their way out of it, cringing and rubbing their aching backsides from the rough landing.

The door behind them busted open, the sheer force causing the thin wood to snap off its hinges and Star and Marco jumped at the sudden noise. The second chef stood in the doorway, a towering, hideous figure fuming with hate and rage and the pair felt the hair on the back of their necks stand on end at the sight.

"Run!" Star screamed for what felt like the hundredth time that day, gripping Marco's arm tightly and pulling him along behind her. She wasn't going to make the same mistake as before. She was not letting him go this time. The two ran as fast as their little legs would let them, their bare feet slapping against the wooden floor and they could hear the enraged chef chasing after them, right on their heels.

What was worse the two were quickly approaching a dead end, a huge gap in the ship standing between them and freedom and Star felt her heart clench in despair. Until Marco shouted, "Look, more hooks!"

The blonde followed her companion's pointing finger to a new row of hooks, these stretching right across the massive gaping hole in front of them. Star tightened her grip on Marco's hand, hoping they made it to them in time.

They could hear the loud, gurgling breathe of the chef getting louder and louder and Star knew they couldn't wait any longer… not unless they wanted to be monster food. So, steadying her nerves (what was left of them) and sucking in a deep breath of air (possibly her last) she dove for the hooks, jumping off the thin railing that was meant to keep people from slipping over the side to their deaths. Marco somehow sensed her movement and jumped too, the two airborne for a second, before Star managed to snatch the hook out of mid-air, the two now dangling from the moving conveyor belt, only their intertwined hands keeping Marco from plummeting to his death..

The chefs were none too happy seeing their prey escaping, throwing all manners of things at them from plates to large bottles of intoxicants, letting out high-pitched groans and grunts as they watched their possible meal slowly drift away.

Unlike before the two kids didn't dare cheer their victory, Star was too busy trying not to lose her grip on Marco's hand. Their position had been much easier before, her arm straining to hold Marco's weight, feeling like her bone was being pulled from the socket. Not to mention her grip on the hook threatening to slip with every passing second. But she fought through the pain, focusing only on getting her and Marco to safety. She would not lose Marco now. Not after everything they had just gone through.

Finally, Star could let go as the hooks flew over a large metal pipe, the two landing gracefully on it. Star clutched her sore arm tightly, hissing some in pain and Marco was quick to check on her. "Are you alright? Did you get hurt?" he asked, concern in his voice as he put a hand gently on the limb.

"I'll be fine," Star reassured him, giving him a bright smile.

Marco nodded but wasn't entirely convinced, reminding himself to keep a close eye on her for a bit. He turned and looked back over the gap, letting out a longing sigh. "Well there went our meal ticket," he muttered under his breath.

Star frowned, sitting down on the pipe as she contemplated everything. "Yeah, I know. Sorry I blew our chance to eat," she mumbled dejectedly.

"Star it's fine, I'm just glad we got away," Marco said, subconsciously laying a hand on top of hers. Star shivered as his warm palm soaked into her cold skin, making her whole arm tingle from the touch. "Besides we'll find more food.... soon."

Star nodded, unable to keep the smile off her face. "Yeah, you're right," she replied in a much more upbeat tone. She didn't know what it was but something about Marco made her world… brighter somehow. She really liked having him around.

"So what now?" Marco asked, looking to her for answers, his bright eyes causing her heart to do all kinds of weird things.

Star shrugged, ignoring the sudden heat in her cheeks. "Guess we should see where this pipe leads."

"You think it'll lead into anything good?" Marco asked as the two stood, their hands still locked. They didn't know why but they liked it better this way.

"Probably not," Star said honestly. "But it can't hurt to try."

"Can't argue with that," the boy replied with a shrug. After everything that had happened today, he really didn't see how it could get any worse.

...

The two followed the pipe for a bit, not really sure what to expect on the other end. They began to notice a strange warmth coming from up ahead but couldn't quite figure out what it was. That was when Star heard a sound and felt her heart jump for joy. She stopped in her tracks, causing Marco to stumble into her on accident. "Marco, do you hear that?" she asked in excitement.

Marco paused to listen intently, finally hearing a chittering sound. "Is that a Nome?"

"Yep!" Star said, her eyes shimmering for the first time since Marco had met her.

"So what about it?" Marco asked in confusion.

"First rule of survival, when in doubt follow the Nomes," Star explained. She dragged Marco behind her as she ran across the pipe as quickly as possible before coming across a crack in the wall. The two paused at that, sharing looks with each other, before shrugging. Star slipped in through the tiny crack, sucking in her breath to help her squeeze through a little easier, Marco following right behind her.

What the two stepped into caught both of them off-guard. A group of Nomes, at least 20 or so were all laying around the area, a large boiler, full of hot coals and warm fire rested in the center of the room. The Nomes, upon spotting the two intruders quickly panicked and all started to scamper away.

"Wait, little guys!" Star called after them. "We won't hurt you!"

She let go of Marco's hand to chase after them, while Marco could only stand there dumbfounded. He had only ever heard the Nomes before through the cracks in his prison but seeing them in person it was quite a sight. They had cone-shaped heads, all completely featureless and small gray bodies. They were even shorter than Star and Marco and that was saying something but something about them also felt kinda cute, although that was probably helped along as he watched his friend's funny but endearing attempts to catch the remarkably quick Nomes shouting after them in an attempt to get them to stop. "Just let me hug you!”

Marco laughed out loud, feeling his cheeks heat up with a blush. But he soon spotted one of the Nomes stuck in a small crack in the wall that it had been too big to squeeze through. The boy rushed over to help the tiny creature, plucking it effortlessly out of the wall. "There you go, little guy," Marco said, setting it back on its feet.

Star, spotted the creature and quickly rushed over, lifting it off of its feet before hugging it tightly. Marco grinned at the cute sight before the blonde set the small creature back down who now let out a gentle coo and stared up at her almost longingly. "Now you hug him, Marco," Star told her friend, giving him an encouraging grin.

"Oh, okay I guess," Marco said, picking the creature up and hugging it just like Star had. It was surprisingly warm and the boy felt his spirits lift a little just by embracing the adorable creature.

The other Nomes, seeing that the intruders were friendly, slowly began to approach them, still slightly hesitant and fearful. Time aboard this ship had taught the Nomes to be cautious.

Soon, Star and Marco found themselves surrounded by Nomes and they happily took turns picking them up and hugging each one, the creatures soon almost begging to be picked up, each one getting more and more excited by the show of affection. Finally, the happy moment was broken up by a loud grumbling from Marco's stomach who blushed bright red.

"Aww poor Marco," Star cooed over to her friend. "I'm sure you must be hungry."

"Maybe a little," Marco replied, rubbing his empty stomach with a sad frown.

The Nomes heard this and all began to chitter loudly, rushing off to a corner of the room and Star and Marco shared a look of confusion. A second later, the gnomes were back now holding a large array of food which they set down in front of the pair. Star and Marco gasped in delight and surprise, feeling their mouths begin to water staring at the food. Real food!

Star and Marco didn't even question the creatures kindness as they began to gobble down the food as fast as their tiny mouths would allow. It was the best meal either had ever had, most of the time surviving on scraps but now they could fill their bellies up as much as they wanted. Anytime the two started to run low, the gnomes would bring them more and the two ate until their stomachs were stuffed to bursting.

The two let out happy moans as the food settled in their stomachs, before turning to the small creatures. "Thanks guys, we really appreciate it!" Star said brightly and the Nomes all let out what the blonde could only assume was joyful chitters.

With their bellies now full and their bodies warm and comfortable thanks to the furnace, the two felt the next pressing matter than needed to be attended to. That they, were in fact, beyond exhausted. It had been a tiring day both mentally and physically the two found themselves yawning and rubbing their eyes as they struggled to stay awake. "We should probably get some sleep," Star suggested.

Marco nodded but Star noticed his body visibly tense up. "Is everything okay, Marco?" she asked, concern etched into her voice.

Marco shook his head before admitting, "It's just… what if I have a bad dream?" He bit his lip, shuddering as he imagined the many nightmares he was often plagued by. And after today, he knew a few more had just been added to the list.

"Do you have nightmares a lot?" Star asked, already guessing the answer.

"Yeah," the boy muttered, his pupils wide with fear. "Sometimes I don't sleep cause I'm afraid… I'll dream about bad stuff again."

"Me too," Star replied and Marco caught her gaze, sympathy and understanding layered beneath. She could see his need was just as strong as hers and she tried to think of some way to help comfort him, to ease his mind.

"Here, how about this? You can lay on me and if you start to have a bad dream, I'll wake you," Star suggested, giving him a warm smile.

"But what about you?" Marco asked in concern. "Aren't you going to sleep?"

Star nodded. "Yeah but I'll sleep easier having you here."

Marco didn't argue with that, allowing Star to wrap her arms around him, his head resting against her chest. He found Star's presence comforting and as he gently breathed in her scent he found his eyes slowly closing. In a matter of minutes, Marco was fast asleep in Star's arms.

The blonde, however, just lay there soaking in Marco's warmth as she thought over her long, exhausting day. For so long life on board the Maw had been pointless and empty. She had carried on day by day just fighting to stay alive for no other reason than her own will to live. She had felt like her life lacked direction or purpose whatsoever but still she had carried on through the darkness and shadows, hoping to find something that would make her miserable existence worthwhile.

And then Marco had arrived and suddenly, she had a reason to live again. To believe, to hope that maybe someday there could be something better for her out there. Because now she had someone to share that with. She had a friend. A companion. Someone she could lean on and that could lean on her and it felt like for the first time in her life she was at peace.

And as Star lay there listening to Marco's breathing as her own eyes began to slowly shut, she promised herself that somehow she would help Marco escape this life, they would leave this dreadful ship together. Her nightmarish world felt a little brighter on that day and as sleep finally took hold Star found herself dreaming of light and hope and Marco.