#it’d be like a constant reminder of what would’ve happened to her (n maybe wishing it would’ve been her instead of her little brother)

[akabloom]

been having too many matoba sibling thoughts 😔

[poguesofthebau]

memory breach

summary: while out in the field, you fall into the hands of the unsub. after the incident, your hospitalization hits the team a little too hard. to make matters worse, you wake up in the hospital with a foggy memory and some nasty injuries. on top of having no recollection of the attack itself, you seem to have forgotten about chunks of your life-- including spencer, your boyfriend. warnings: memory loss/amnesia, head injuries, gunshot wound, hospitalization

word count: 8.8k (the longest thing i’ve ever written) pairing: spencer reid x female!bau!reader

a/n: here comes the angst, y’all. this one was requested by @astrologics​! i wound up straying away from the request a bit, but i hope you still enjoy! as usual, reader is a part of the team (because i wish i was a part of the team so it always makes writing more fun for me). i don’t think i’ve ever done serious, real angst, so this is my first time including warnings. please let me know if i missed anything that should be included and i will add it!! also lmk if anyone would be interested in some potential spin-off blurb ideas from this one! they would take place mostly during the line breaks in this fic!

he knew you could handle yourself. spencer knew that.

regardless of having that knowledge, he still hated every moment of every case that required you going out into the field. if you were with another team member, spencer had to mentally remind himself that, i trust morgan with her. i trust jj with her. i trust hotch with her. i trust emily with her. i trust rossi with her. and i trust her with them. if you were going out alone, though, his inner monologue went rampant. no matter how many mantras of trust and faith he repeated in his own head, the worry was always more dominant. the only time he found peace was when he was the one with you.

it was silly, and spencer knew that. he knew that he should be able to trust you to not get yourself hurt. but, at the same time, he knew you had the same sense of urgency that he did when it came to saving lives. it was easy for both of you to get caught up in the desperation and rush of it all, and you’d both do whatever you believed necessary to accomplish the task of saving people in danger. the only time spencer was able to contain that urge was when you were by his side. if you were there, too, your life was also on the line, which made spencer a thousand times more cautious on the field. he knew one of you had to stay level-headed and logical, and he always took the reigns of that position when it had to fall upon either him or you. being the one by your side brought him a sense of comfort, but it also increased his sense of responsibility, placing him in the role of the rationally-thinking agent.

all of that-- essentially, his constant need to know you were safe-- factored into the terror spencer felt when you went into the house alone.

the case had been quick so far. maybe it was because the murders were happening in dc, which saved the team some time when it came to getting to know the case and its locations. there was no ‘wheels up in 30′ from hotch, or two-hour flight to a different state, or time wasted asking where in a local precinct you could set up, or unfamiliar drives to crime scenes. regardless, it felt like the unsub had fallen directly into your laps when the team figured out who and where he was, and for that reason, spencer was on his toes. however, it was undeniable that he couldn’t have possibly controlled the time frame of the case, especially the portion of it that had resulted in your entering the house without backup.

you’d arrived to the house with emily. you’d been sent together to the location from which the unsub snatched his latest victim, and after a witness statement, composite sketch, and description of the unsub, garcia was able to pinpoint an address within 5 minutes. much to spencer’s dismay, you and emily had been the closest to the location. so, as the rest of the team rushed to meet you at the house, emily was just parking the suv. when you pulled up, the two of you made a joint decision to go around the back first, agreeing that it’d be the easiest and most effective point of entry. the plan came to a head when you found a barely breathing victim on the back porch.

“she’s still breathing.” emily didn’t have a chance to say anything else before you darted into the house. by yourself. she glanced undecidedly between the door you’d disappeared through and the unconscious woman on the ground. just as emily twitched to follow after you, the woman below her coughed violently, and, with no outward actions to expose her internal hesitation, emily was holstering her weapon and crouching down to try to help the victim.

three minutes passed before the rest of the team arrived. from her position on the back porch where the victim had now come to but refused to be left alone, emily felt helpless. there she was, beside a woman who had been attacked by a violent serial killer, while her teammate and friend was inside with the murderer. it was a sickening feeling for emily to know that she was partially responsible for whatever happened next, but there was a louder voice in her head-- your voice-- telling her to stay where she was, and to save the person you’d come to help. for those three minutes that you were alone, emily felt useless.

then, she heard the suvs come to a screeching halt nearby. “here!” she immediately called, hearing the sounds of rushing and scattered voices and she applied pressure to the victim’s wounds. spencer was the first one she saw, and the relief that had come with the team’s arrival quickly washed away, only to be replaced by guilt. not giving him a chance to ask the question, emily raised a hand and pointed to the door. “she went in, reid, i couldn’t stop her.”

a look of horror crossed spencer’s face as he bolted through the door, morgan and hotch following quickly behind. spencer was now sprinting through the house, gun pointed and coworkers in tow. with every room he cleared, every room he looked for you in to no avail, his movements became fueled by more and more desperation. soon enough he was bounding up the stairs, and as he reached the second floor, his ears tuned in to the sound of a struggle. he could hear punches being thrown as he ran, and your voice calling out warnings his brain couldn’t register. the first two doors he threw open exposed vacant rooms. and then, finally, he found you. you and the unsub.

the moment spencer stepped through the doorframe, he was wincing. as the door swung open, the unsub was shoving your head backward, smashing your skull into the wooden wall behind you. spencer could hear hotch and morgan barking instructions behind him, but he was stunned into silence at the sight. in those few seconds, spencer swore he could hear everything going on around the entire world. but none of it mattered, because the things he was hearing weren’t factoring into his thoughts at all. all he could focus on was what he was seeing happen to you. he didn’t hear morgan yell gun, and he didn’t hear hotch shouting reid, back up. he was still moving forward, toward you, when the two consecutive gunshots went off. he saw you collapse, hitting the ground with a thump that made him nauseous. his peripherals caught the unsub doing the same, but the thud of him hitting the ground didn’t even begin to register in spencer’s mind.

within a split second, spencer was beside you on the ground, calling your name and praying to gods he wasn’t sure he believed in that you would open your eyes and just see him. his ears were ringing at that point, but his vision was only getting sharper. he spotted the blood on the floor surrounding your head first, and then he realized that your blood was coating his hands. he turned your head, simultaneously finding the inevitable head injury and concluding that the blood on his hands had to be coming from somewhere else-- your head was in bad condition, but it wasn’t a realistic explanation for the puddle of red beneath you. “no, y/n, hey. no, no, no,” he muttered, hands hovering over you as his eyes scanned your body for a secondary injury. it didn’t take him long to find the gunshot wound in your shoulder. “no, y/n, wake up, honey. you have to wake up.” tears were streaming down his face, impairing his vision, dropping onto your face beneath him.

suddenly hotch was there, kneeling on the other side of you. spencer watched his superior put pressure on the source of the blood, and he knew he needed to do something. you were unconscious and bleeding right in front of him, and he couldn’t think of anything to do? what kind of genius was that? he needed to--

spencer’s inner monologue was interrupted before he had a chance to think of how else he should’ve been helping you. his sight was still blurred by tears, but he was able to recognize the uniformed paramedics beside him. hotch made his way around your limp body, gently grabbing spencer by the shoulders and lifting him up so the paramedics could get you onto a gurney. when he realized he was being moved away from you, spencer began to fight. he shook himself out of hotch’s grasp, moving to dive back down to your level, but being intercepted by morgan’s bicep reaching out and taking hold of him. “let me go! let me go, morgan! i have to-- i have to--”

“hey, kid, hey,” morgan was calling out, shaking spencer to get his attention. spencer’s eyes flickered quickly to the man once before settling back onto you. he was still crying, something he’d forgotten about until he watched you being lifted onto the gurney. “i know you gotta stay with her, reid. just stop for one second. look at me. reid.” his last word was gentler than the others, almost pleading with the younger man. with a few seconds of hesitation, spencer tore his eyes away from your tarnished body to lock eyes with morgan. the eye contact was intense. if he wasn’t so racked with worry over you, he would’ve felt exposed and uncomfortable. right then, though, he was too caught up in his thoughts of you to contemplate the way morgan was staring at him. “reid.”

spencer blinked, a few stray tears escaping as he adjusted to seeing morgan instead of you. his mouth opened and closed a few times, but he settled on shaking his head in place of trying to use his words. “i can’t-- if something happens, morgan, i--” the lump in his throat forced him to stop speaking, and he swallowed a few times before resorting to shaking his head again.

“hey, kid,” morgan said. spencer’s eyes had dropped to the ground, and it was morgan’s turn to glance back at you. the paramedics had successfully lifted you onto the gurney, and they were starting to roll you out of the room. “are you gonna be alright in that ambulance? because, i know you need it, but if you can’t handle it, man--”

spencer heard the wheels of the gurney through morgans words, and his eyes lifted back to you. “i have to go with her, morgan. i can’t not go.” morgan looked at spencer one more time, trying to find any sign of a lie in his eyes, before finally releasing him. and then spencer dashed out of the room after you, trying to mentally brace himself for whatever would come next.

the ambulance ride had been torture. and then came the waiting around at the hospital.

as cliche as he knew it was, he had truly never loved someone as much as he loved you, and certainly never in the way he loved you. there was something indescribable about the two of you together. neither of you were ever able to put it into words, no matter how hard or how often you tried. you were something like spencer’s best friend, guardian angel, twin flame, and soulmate all rolled into one human, but there was so much more to you than being his. you were kind, and loving, and certain, and stubborn, and selfless, and so many other things. even a person as intelligent as spencer couldn’t think of all the words that existed to describe you. on multiple occasions, spencer had coined you as “everything” when someone asked what you were like, because it was the most accurate word he could come up with.

of all the things spencer had seen in his life, all the trauma and bad experiences, this had to be the worst. and it was the worst because it was you-- the last person he would ever want hurt.

“hey, reid.” once again, spencer was cut off from his own thoughts. this time, though, it was by garcia, whose voice was gentle as she approached. he glanced up from his seat in the stiff hospital chair in the hallway, spotting his friend in her bright outfit complete with a flower in her hair that would’ve irritated spencer at that moment had anyone else been wearing it. however, this was penelope, and while spencer wasn’t in the mood to chat very much, he was relieved to see she was the one who’d been sent to see him. out of everyone on the team, garcia had the highest success rate when it came to providing him any possible level of comfort. the rest of the team was piled into the hospital’s waiting room just around the corner, but spencer had talked himself into a seat significantly closer to where you were currently being operated on. the first two hours of your surgery, he sat silently in the waiting room with the team, but he convinced himself he’d go crazy if he wasn’t as close to you as possible, which had eventually landed him a spot in the corridor. he’d been there, apart from everyone else, for almost an hour. that hour seemed like nothing compared to the three you’d been in surgery.

“hi, garcia.” his voice was quiet, and penelope frowned when she realized he was still in the same mindset as the last time she saw him. realizing the woman wasn’t planning on leaving him alone, spencer cleared his throat before adding, “there’s, um-- there’s no word yet.”

penelope sighed, moving to sit in the vacant chair beside him. “i figured. but, actually, i wasn’t here for updates. i wanted to see how you were holding up, but it doesn’t really seem like you are holding up.” spencer scoffed a laugh at that. garcia unintentionally (and usually unknowingly) putting her foot in her mouth had always been one of your favorite things about her. “reid?”

he sighed then, succumbing to the weight of her stare and looking at her. “i’m scared, penelope.” his words were a whisper, and that whisper snapped penelope garcia’s heart in half. she loved reid, and she loved you, and you both deserved so much better than this. it was a frustration that truly never left her-- why did the people she loved, the best people, always have to go through the worst events?

“i know, honey,” she nodded, blinking back tears. “i’m scared too. the others told me i shouldn’t act like i’m scared in front of you, but-- well, we both know i can’t really fake a smile.” she reached over and grabbed spencer’s hand in hers, giving it a squeeze and feeling the pressure being returned almost immediately after. “she’s strong, reid. so strong-- stronger than any of us. this is y/n we’re talking about. she’ll pull through. if not for the team, or for herself, she’ll pull through for you. i know she will. she has to.”

spencer looked at her, a twinge of hope in his eye at her words. sometimes, he thought no one could see you and him. it was such an intimate feeling, being in love, that he often forgot that people around him could gauge that love, too. and, knowing garcia, she was able to gauge it much better than most others. spencer’s lips stretched into the slightest smile at the thought, but before he could answer, his attention was grabbed by the sound of footsteps approaching. he raised his eyes to see who would turn the corner, only to find jj, morgan, hotch, rossi, and emily. confusion rushed over spencer, and the anxiety in his stomach that had been subdued by his conversation with penelope came flooding back. “what is it?”

morgan smiled comfortingly. “we came to see what was taking garcia so long with the snack delivery.”

“oh!” garcia reached into her pocket with the hand that wasn’t in reid’s, pulling out a packet of vending machine cookies. with a smile, she handed them over to spencer. “i almost forgot.”

“i wanted to come alone,” jj interjected lightheartedly. “but then we got into an argument about who to send, so here we all are.”

the next to jump in was hotch. “how are you?” the simple question seemed to jar spencer, slowing down the rest of the chatter swirling around the group of agents.

spencer couldn’t find the words to answer, and he soon felt garcia squeezing his hand again. his eyes met hers and he smiled sadly, eyes then panning around to see the faces of his friends. the last person his sights landed on was emily, who looked like some combination of a kicked puppy, a guilty teenager, and a remorseful child. the expression on her face only hurt spencer more, and he made a quick decision upon seeing it. swiftly, he stood from his seat and let garcia’s hand slide out of his. not losing eye contact with emily, he took two steps toward her before engulfing her in his arms. for a second, she was stunned. in all honesty, she expected spencer to be mad at her. mad for leaving you, mad for not following the rules, mad for anything. and she wouldn’t have blamed him. but here he was, holding her in his arms like she was the one who had been hurt. a second later, she hugged him back, burying her head in his shoulder and letting the tears fall through a whispered, “i’m so sorry.”

ignoring the tears that were falling from his own eyes, spencer rubbed emily’s back reassuringly and muttered back, “it’s not your fault, emily.”

as the two agents released each other from the embrace, the operating room doors swung open. “y/n y/l/n?”

“yes, that’s me-- that’s us,” spencer immediately confirmed. his heart was pounding in his chest, and he felt like his breathing had completely halted. “is she-- is she--”

“she’s okay,” the man said with a faint smile. the entire team physically deflated before the man, a rush of relief flowing through all of them. before the doctor could give any more details, penelope was enveloping emily in another hug, and morgan was wrapping an arm around spencer’s shoulders with a beaming smile. spencer, however, was still looking expectantly to the man in scrubs, eyes wide as he waited for the rest of the news. “we were able to dislodge the bullet from her shoulder, and the gunshot wound is all stitched up and ready to heal.”

“what about the head injury?” spencer couldn’t handle the suspense. in fact, he was growing a little impatient with the doctor, and that impatience was quickly morphing into anger. he needed answers-- he needed to know if you were truly okay.

“there have been some complications with the head injury.” and, just like that, the rest of the team was holding their breaths with spencer. “she had a skull fracture and a severe concussion. she’ll have some visual impairments when she first wakes up-- trouble seeing at first, which should decrease to light sensitivity and some general blurriness. i know you’re all used to seeing her very mobile, but she’ll have lots of muscle weakness when she comes to. she’s going to be fragile.”

“is that everything?” hotch’s voice sounded off from the group.

“not quite,” the doctor sighed as he scanned the group and continued. “the visual impairments that i described, they’ll be due to direct trauma to the occipital lobe. however, there was some damage done to other parts of the brain as well, and there’s a decent amount of swelling in her head that hasn’t gone down yet. we’re not certain, but we’re afraid that swelling may have in impact on memory.”

after a beat of silence from the whole group, rossi took initiative in speaking next. “what does that mean, an impact on memory?”

“putting it in simple terms, we’re expecting her to have a degree of amnesia when she regains consciousness. there’s no way to be certain until she’s awake again, but it is likely that she won’t be able to recall most details of the event, and that memory loss could also extend to longer-term memories.”

morgan’s arm dropped from spencer’s shoulder then, and he turned to see his younger friend’s reaction.

to put it simply, spencer looked like the world had stopped spinning. “you’re-- so you’re saying-- she might not remember us.”

the doctor nodded morbidly. “again, we’re not completely certain. it’s possible her memory loss will be minimal, but you should all have some awareness of the possibility that she may not know you right now.”

spencer blinked a few times, feeling the world around him distort. how am i supposed to do this? how is this going to be okay? how is this really happening? his feet took him back a few steps and he dropped into the chair he’d previously stood from. his head fell into his hands, fingers raking through his hair as he tried not to lose his mind completely. a part of him was convinced that he was dreaming-- there was no way any of this was real, right?

“okay,” hotch said wistfully. as hard as this news was hitting him, too, he knew the rest of the team would need someone to take the reigns in a situation like this, and he knew he was that person. “what happens next?”

“she’ll be brought into a recovery room for the next few days-- she’s being brought over to a room as we speak. we’ll monitor her closely, and the meds that kept her out during the surgery should wear off fairly quickly, possibly within the hour. until she wakes up, one of you will be able to be in the room with her at a time, and once we can get an idea of how she’s doing, the rest of you will be welcome to see her.”

“reid,” hotch called, turning to look at him. when they locked eyes, a part of hotch’s facade shattered. his eyes softened, the hurt and fear in spencer’s eyes too powerful for even aaron hotchner to mentally omit. spencer sniffled, roughly wiping the tears from his face as he stood again. he stepped up next to hotch, nodding at him. spencer turned to face the doctor, but was quickly stopped by hotch’s hand on his shoulder. when he turned back to face his boss, hotch’s expression had changed. now, he was looking at spencer with an expression that told him he knew what he was going through. “are you sure that you’re okay to see her right now?”

“i have to be,” spencer whispered. hotch searched spencer’s eyes for another moment before finally nodding submissively and letting his agent follow the doctor through the hospital to the room where you were.

spencer had hated the ambulance ride, and he’d hated sitting in that hospital chair not knowing if you were okay, and now he hated looking at you like this. there was bruising under your eyes-- a nurse, not knowing that spencer could figure it out for himself, had explained that the bruising was due to the skull fracture and the swelling in your head-- and he could just barely see the gauze poking out from under your hospital gown, covering the stitched up gunshot wound you’d suffered. he could still make out a tinge of makeup smudged on your face, and your hair was in a tangled, disheveled mess, with more white gauze wrapped around your head. he counted twelve additional bruises and cuts that hadn’t been on your body the day before, and those were just the visible ones. he knew there had to be more, hidden underneath the hospital gown and blanket that you were tucked under. your bottom lip was split open, and the sight reminded spencer of the moment just after the unsub had bashed your head against the wall. the vision of you hitting the ground flashed across his mind, and he suddenly remembered seeing your head bounce sharply off the ground, causing you to unintentionally bite down on your own lip. spencer cringed at the memory.

his eyes flickered down to your hands. immediately, he saw the tan lines on the index and ring fingers of your right hand, and a wave of nausea hit him. on a regular day, you would have a ring from your grandmother on your index finger, and the promise ring he’d gotten you on your ring finger. playing with the rings was a nervous habit of yours, and the entire team had picked up on the tendency a few days after spencer had gifted you the promise ring. from then on, it had become an inside joke among the team-- whenever you reached for that ring, morgan or jj made a sarcastic comment about you “thinking of your husband-to-be.” it was a small difference in appearance, but the thought plagued him. spencer was overwhelmed with discomfort at the discrepancy, and his eyes darted around the room to find the bag containing your personal items. he spotted the plastic bag on the nightstand to your left, and moved to grab it. after slipping the two rings back onto their respective fingers, spencer found himself sifting aimlessly through the rest of your belongings-- your badge, the necklace and earrings you’d been wearing, and your wallet.

trying to do anything to keep his mind occupied and his focus on something other than how hurt you were in that bed beside him, spencer pulled your wallet from the bag and flipped it open. his fingers grazed the faux leather absentmindedly, and before he could toss it back into the bag, his eyes landed on the one photo you always kept on your person. he slid the picture out of its slot in your wallet, blinking back tears at the memory. as he put your wallet back down on top of the bag, the wind was slightly knocked out of him at the rush of feelings. he found himself sucking in air harder than he should’ve had to, but before he could give in to the emotions, he heard the monitor beside him start beeping faster than it had since he arrived.

for a second, spencer was frozen in place as his brain stuttered at the idea of you having woken up already. the hesitation didn’t last long before he was spinning around to face you and getting visual confirmation of his suspicion-- you were awake again.

“um, hi?”

at the sound of you voice, no matter how confused or uncertain it was at that moment, spencer found himself guffawing in relief, tears pricking at his eyes as he grinned in awe. as his eyes locked with yours for the first time since you’d left the office that morning, spencer was on cloud nine. you were there, and you were alive, and you were awake, and--

she doesn’t know who i am.

the thought struck spencer harder than your waking up had. you were awake, but you didn’t know who he was. the smile vanished from spencer’s face, and the tears that were now spilling from his eyes became ones of agony. he felt a quick and sudden flash of embarrassment, realizing that he was crying in front of someone who had no idea who he was, and he swiped the tears from his face before taking a deep breath and giving you a sad smile. “hi, y/n. uh, i’m-- i’m spencer.”

the next few seconds felt like someone had their foot on spencer’s neck. you were processing his words as you held eye contact, blinking slowly a few times. he couldn’t place the expression you wore. all he could see in it was a twinge of confusion, but that didn’t seem to be the only emotion you were feeling. spencer opened his mouth to further explain, but you beat him to speaking.

“obviously, spence.”

now it was his turn to be confused. his eyes widened at your words, and he knew his cheeks were turning red as the heat rushed to his face. “you remember me?”

you were shaking your head lightly then, fighting the urge to wince at the pain that struck the back of your skull as you moved. “how could i forget you, doctor reid? you’re my best friend.” slowly, spencer’s face morphed again. and, this time, even you knew something was wrong-- at least, something other than you being in the hospital. “did i say something?” he sighed, shaking his head morbidly as he took a step toward you. he sat down on your bed, and you finally caught a glimpse of the small piece of paper he held in his hands. it was a picture. “what’s that?”

he opened his mouth to spew out some form of an explanation, but before he could get anything out, the door to your room was swinging open.

“miss y/l/n,” the doctor was calling brightly as he entered. “nice of you to join us again. how’re you feeling?”

a little disoriented by everything going on around you-- spencer acting so different, the beeping of the monitor you were hooked up to, the doctor materializing in your room who currently seemed to know more about you than you knew about yourself-- you looked between spencer and the man in scrubs a few times before settling on the latter. “i’m-- i mean, i guess i’m okay. a little confused, i guess, and my eyes kind of hurt, but fine otherwise.”

the doctor nodded, grabbing your chart from the foot of your bed as he approached you. he took out a light, flashing it in both of your eyes a few times before pocketing it again. “your eyes are looking good-- normal movement and coloration. do you remember anything about what you were doing just before you lost consciousness?”

you thought for some time, finally realizing what was happening. there were chunks of your memory missing. “honestly, i don’t think i remember much. i can’t say what the case was, but i know we were working one.” spencer watched you from the side of your bed, seeing the gears turn in your head as you tried to recall whatever you could. “i think i was with... jj-- no. no, i was with emily, and we found the vic. she was breathing, so i went in the house and emily stayed with the girl. i know i went in. i-- i can’t remember what happened after that. i can’t-- why can’t i remember what happened after that?”

“because you found the unsub, y/n.” spencer’s voice was low, and it held a weight that told you more than his words did. you’d found the unsub, and it mustn’t have been pretty. suddenly you were aware of the dull ache radiating throughout your body, the pain exceptionally worse in your head and shoulder.

“dr. reid and the rest of your team can fill you in on the details of the case that your memory is missing a little later, but the more important matter is your injuries. you sustained a skull fracture and concussion, and you were shot in the shoulder. aside from that, you’re pretty generally banged up, but that head and shoulder are our biggest concern right now. you seem to be doing better than we were preparing for, which is amazing. some nurses will be in soon to poke at you a little more, and you’ll have to spend a few more nights here for observation, but we’re expecting a full recovery physically.”

you had a million questions flying through your head as he spoke, but when the doctor asked if he could do anything else for you, you found yourself shaking your head and dismissing him. for some reason you couldn’t pinpoint, you felt like you needed to talk to spencer before anything else-- you needed him to fill in the holes for you. there was no one else you would trust to do it. why was there no one else you would trust more than spencer? what didn’t you remember that made him the one you needed to hear all this from?

“do you want me to go get the others? everyone should still be here-- jj, emily, hotch, morgan, rossi, and garcia. they wouldn’t leave until you woke up.”

“if it’s okay, i would rather talk to you first,” you told him. he nodded, glancing back down longingly at the picture he was holding. he sighed again, and looked back at you with sad eyes. “spence, what am i missing?”

he held the photo out for you to take, and when you got your first real look at the entire photo, your heart shattered.

in the picture, spencer was standing behind you with his chin resting comfortably on top of your head. his arms were wrapped around your waist, and your hands were resting on top of his. both of you were grinning, and it was clear in the photo that you were trying to peek up at him, head tilted up toward his. when you blinked, you swore you could hear spencer laughing from behind you, or feel his arms wrapped around you, or see garcia grinning and calling out directions through giggles as she snapped the picture, or emily, jj, and morgan cheering behind the camera. you tried to grab onto the snapshot of a memory, but it was gone as quickly as it came. the frustration was clear on your face as spencer watched you analyze the image, and he felt a stab to his heart at the fact that this was harder for you than it was him. he heard you swear under your breath as your eyes skimmed the picture one last time. your eyes fluttered shut for a second as you tried to remember anything, but all you could see were those same four flashes of the same memory. you knew you should’ve been grateful that you remembered anything on your own, but all you could focus on was the idea that you had an entire relationship and all you knew of it was one picture.

“are you okay?” spencer’s gentle voice pulled you out of your own mental abyss, and you forced yourself to open your eyes and look at him.

“i’m--” you glanced down at your hands, flinching when you saw the two rings on your fingers. you remembered those rings. “i’m so sorry, spencer.”

spencer was shaking his head at that, his hand finding its way into yours and giving it a squeeze. “there’s nothing for you to be sorry about.”

“yes, there is. i-- i went into that house by myself, and i don’t know exactly what happened when i did, but i know it landed me here, and i know i can’t remember things that are important to me, and i know how you probably feel right now, and i’m sorry for that. i shouldn’t have gone in alone. if i hadn’t gone in alone, i would remember everything about us right now, and even though i don’t remember, i know i want to, and i know i should.”

“it’s okay. y/n,” as he called your name, his hand slipped under your chin to lift your head, and with the softest touch, spencer was forcing you to look at him again. “i didn’t think you were going to remember who i was at all. it’s not perfect, but it’s best case scenario that you even know my name. we can always make more memories, okay?” stray tears slipped out of your eyes as you nodded at him.

“can i ask you some questions?” spencer gave you a tight-lipped smile at the question as he nodded. his hand slid back into yours, and you laced your fingers through his without a second thought as you spoke. “what’s today’s date?” spencer answered the question without a second’s hesitation, and you nodded slowly before speaking again. “how long have we been together? can you tell me the story?”

“of course i can.” the smile on his face was genuine then, and seeing it caused a swirl of hope and adoration in your stomach. you couldn’t remember finally getting with spencer, but you remembered how he’d made you feel before. you knew you loved him. “i loved you for so long before i finally told you. it was morgan and penelope, really. you’d told penelope that you liked me, and somehow you didn’t believe her when she told you all of the bureau already knew how i felt about you. morgan scared me into telling you how i felt-- he gave me the whole “if you don’t tell her how you feel, she’ll end up with someone else” speech one night when he knew you and i were supposed to hang out-- platonically, of course. it was six months ago, and we were supposed to go to the movies together-- i couldn’t tell you what we were supposed to see, even if you asked. you chose a movie, and i just went along with whatever you suggested because i was too scared and too lovestruck to question you. i picked you up from your apartment, and we started talking about our most recent case before that night while we drove there. when i parked, you said we couldn’t go into the theater for another ten minutes because the previews hadn’t started yet, so i took that as my cue to confess, i suppose. i rambled for a while before i got to the point, as i tend to, and we spent the next four hours talking in the theater parking lot. we missed the movie, but we agreed that it was worth missing for our first kiss after unknowingly pining over each other for a year.”

“so penelope wasn’t lying when she told me you had feelings for me, too?” spencer laughed and shook his head. “that’s good to know.”

“did you have anything else to ask?” you smiled at him, shaking your head lightly. “would it be okay if i went and got everyone else? they’re pretty worried about you.”

“i did take a bullet and get my head cracked open, so that makes sense,” you sarcastically replied. you were acting so much like yourself that spencer almost forgot the truth of your condition. if he hadn’t just recounted that story for you, he would’ve thought you had all the same memories he did. he moved to stand from your bed, but your grip on his hand tightened before he could get far. “do you mind just sending a nurse to get them? i’d like it if you stayed with me, if that’s okay.”

so spencer pressed the button by your bed to call in a nurse, giving you a few seconds of free time to wrack your brain for all the memories you could grab onto.

the next two days were essentially the same.

nurses would come into your room, ask you a few of the same questions, check a few of the same stats, change your bandages, and give you updates on your condition. spencer stayed with you, only leaving once when you sent him home to shower and get an outfit that hadn’t been pulled out of his go bag. during those three hours that spencer was gone, you’d called your doctor into your room. you hadn’t wanted to say anything in front of spencer or the team, but the fog surrounding your memories was beginning to dissipate, and you needed to know where that put you. it was hard to keep from the people you loved, but you didn’t want to get their hopes up for your mind’s full recovery if it wasn’t medically possible.

by the end of the first day you were awake, you’d remembered more than you admitted to. from the second spencer started telling the story of your first kiss, you were able to remember things he assumed were gone forever. you knew that two months into your relationship, the team finally caught on. you knew that spencer had said ‘i love you’ first, and you knew he’d said it while he was half-asleep as the two of you were curled up in his bed after a night out with the team. you knew hotch gave you both his permission to pursue a relationship while also maintaining professionalism in the field and office, and you knew that was a line you and spencer never crossed. you knew that the first time you ever wore his cardigan to work, thinking nothing of it, morgan and emily had teased you for it for the rest of the day, even assigning you a new nickname of ‘mrs. cardigan’ from then on. you knew spencer had given you a promise ring for your four month anniversary, and you vividly remembered how nervous he’d been to present the gift, and how hard you’d cried when you realized spencer was the one.

the last memory you’d recovered before sending spencer home so you could discreetly converse with your doctor was the memory of the picture. it was the first trace of your relationship you’d seen after being hospitalized, and it was the one that triggered the rest of your memories. whenever you tried to unlock the mental images of that day, you wound up recalling other events instead. after a day and a half of trying and failing miserably to remember the day that picture was taken, you made a mental decision to reveal your recovered memories to anyone around you only when you could successfully recount that day. and, finally, after all that energy you put into trying, you remembered it.

when you finally revealed to the doctor that your memories were recovering themselves with the help of your team being around, you didn’t get the reaction you were expecting. you’d braced yourself to be scolded and maybe even lectured for keeping valuable information from your doctor, but all you got was a chuckle. when he laughed, your face contorted into such profound confusion that the doctor laughed again. “i don’t mean to laugh, really. it’s a serious matter, as i’m sure you know, but it’s a bit of a comical situation, especially considering that i know your memories are coming back on their own.” your eyebrows raised at the claim, and the doctor continued with a genuine smile. “i deal with amnesia patients more often than you might think, and i’ve learned the signs. i know when my patients are progressing, and i know when they’re regressing. it’s been clear to me for a while now that you would be ready for discharge by tomorrow.”

“discharge? as in, sending me home?” the doctor nodded. “are you sure i’m ready for that? i mean, i’m starting to remember things, but how can you be sure that i’ll keep remembering?”

“from the moment you woke up, miss y/l/n, you were exceeding our expectations for recovery. based on that, i assumed your time here would be accelerated, and the changes in your physical condition have shown that you’ll be able to get closer to normal than you think you can. and, now that you’ve admitted to remembering so much, i’m even more certain of that. y/n, you’re regaining your memory. there will most likely be permanent gaps missing in your mind from the day of your incident, but everything else will come back eventually.”

“i’ll remember everything?”

“yes, you will. tomorrow you’ll be able to fill out the discharge papers and go home.” with one final smile, the doctor exited the room.

when the door clicked shut behind him, your face broke out into a grin a hundred times bigger than the smile the doctor had given you. you were going to remember.

an hour after your conversation with the doctor, spencer was walking back into your room. his bag was slung over his shoulder and he held a coffee in each hand. things almost felt normal in that moment, and you thought of the countless times he’d strolled into the bullpen just like that, loving smile on his face as he brought you your first dose of caffeine for the day. every time, he’d smooth a hand over your head in place of a kiss on the lips, and you’d gaze at him endearingly as you took a much needed gulp of the coffee. the thought of such normalcy brought a smile to your face, and spencer looked at you suspiciously. “hey, spence.”

he placed both coffees on the table beside your bed, dropping his bag on the floor as he slid into his usual seat. “hi, y/n. you seem like you’re doing better today.” you nodded at his assumption, and your enthusiasm only seemed to further confuse him. “i don’t have to be a genius to know that the odds of someone in your condition smiling like that from a hospital bed are very low. did something happen while i was gone?”

“kind of,” you eluded. patting the empty spot on your bed, you beckoned him to come closer. he moved to sit in the spot you’d directed him to, and as soon as he was settled, you were spilling a portion of the news. “i get to go home tomorrow.”

spencer’s eyes lit up at the revelation, a smile that matched your pasting itself onto his face. “y/n, that’s amazing! already? you talked to the doctor while i was gone?”

“i talked to the doctor while you were gone.” a giggle slipped past your lips at spencer’s expression. he was shaking his head at your actions, and you didn’t doubt that he was a little annoyed that he wasn’t there for the conversation. “i’m sorry, spence. i just didn’t want you to be here for it, in case it was bad news.”

“stop apologizing so much. that’s great news, y/n,” spencer insisted, brushing a stray hair from your cheek. his hand lingered on your face for a few seconds as you shared a loving look, and you leaned forward to press your mouth to his for the first time in days. spencer watched your lips close in on his, uncertain whether or not he should be kissing you right then. you’d made it clear that your feelings for him hadn’t changed, but he was still careful of his actions for a combination of reasons. one was your head injury-- spencer knew that a mishap as simple as your teeth clashing against his a little too hard could cause you an insufferable amount of pain, and he couldn’t fathom the thought of hurting you even more. on top of that, he was paranoid. despite your constantly insisting that you knew him, and you trusted him, spencer didn’t want to push your boundaries in your current state. no matter how many times he’d pressed his mouth to yours before, this situation made everything different, and all spencer wanted was for you to be as comfortable as possible. if that meant not kissing you for a few days, he would make the sacrifice. regardless of his reservations, spencer couldn’t resist but allowing you to connect your lips to his. kissing you again was a euphoric feeling for him-- he’d grown so accustomed to kissing you out of the blue, and kissing you hello, and kissing you goodbye, and the last few days had put a twist on that tendency. now, though, spencer felt like he was melting. it felt like your first kiss all over again. by the time you pulled back from him, spencer had almost convinced himself that you were sitting on his couch, or in your bed, or maybe standing in the elevator on the way up to the bullpen before your workday began. he let his brain play into the fantasy for a few seconds before he finally opened his eyes again, and the affection in your eyes almost knocked the air out of him. “i missed you.”

“i know,” you muttered, pressing your lips against his once again. “i would apologize again, but i don’t want you to yell at me.”

spencer laughed at your taunt, his thumb brushing across your skin as he replied. “you always do that. i mean, you’re always so overly-apologetic. it’s one of the things that made me start to love you-- no matter how redundant they are, your apologies are always genuine.”

you hummed in agreement, not thinking twice before you replied. “you always say that. i don’t know why you can’t just accept my apologies. everyone knows apologizing is one of my favorite pass-times.” spencer squinted at you then, his head tilting slightly at your words. you could see the question in his eyes, and you bit back a smile as you answered it without hesitation. “spence, did you really think i could forget you? forget us?”

“you remember?” instead of responding verbally, you grinned. awe was clear on spencer’s face, but no matter how surprised he was at the news, he couldn’t help but smile with you. “since when?”

“i started remembering little things as soon as i woke up. when everyone else came in, and you guys started telling me stories, it was like somebody broke open a dam full of my memories. i still don’t remember every little detail, and the doctor says i might never remember my fight with the unsub, but a new memory is coming back to me every hour now.”

relief rushed over spencer, and he hung his head as he processed everything you’d just said. you remembered, and you were going to keep remembering. you gave him a delicate nudge when he didn’t look at you, and there were tears running down his face when he finally locked eyes with you again. he took a shaky breath, and you slid your hand into his as he spoke. as soon as his mouth was opening, his eyes were dropping back down to where your hand held his, but you allowed him to speak without any further interruption. “i was so scared, y/n. i-- i watched him hit you, and shoot you, and-- i didn’t know what was going to happen. maybe it’s selfish, but all i could think of when you were in surgery was what i’d do if you didn’t make it out. i still don’t have an answer-- i don’t think i could ever recover from losing you. and then they said you wouldn’t remember us, and it felt like i’d already lost you. i thought that i did something to deserve this, or that maybe this was finally the end of the only good thing i had. i’ve never been more petrified than i was during all of this. i never thought i would love someone like i love you-- as much as i love you. and then i thought i had watched you die, and then i thought i would just be erased from your mind forever, and i--”

“spence,” you called out gingerly. “you know none of this is your fault, right? no one could’ve kept this from happening but the unsub. and either way, we beat him. we won. he tried so hard to take me from you, to take me from everyone. and guess what? i’m right here, and so are you, and he’s rotting in a cell where he belongs.”

“and that’s how it should be. except he belongs in a cell. you don’t belong in a hospital bed.”

“hey. look at me.” spencer’s eyes met yours, searching for any ounce of comfort within them. he found serenity in your eyes, and your words brought him even more peace. “i’m in a hospital bed with you. as long as you’re with me, there’s no place i’d rather be.”

finally, spencer gave in to his urges and planted his mouth on yours again. as he kissed you, spencer found peace in your words. as much as this had hurt him, and as much as it had hurt you, it hadn’t broken you. you were still together, and the love you felt for each other was still just as powerful as it had been last week. after all the panic he had been living with for the past few days, he could finally breath easy and let his focus return to you, because there was nothing more important to him. no matter how much he wanted to remain wrapped up in your lips and the tranquility they brought him, there came a time when his lungs compelled him to pull away and breathe again. when he looked at you, he didn’t doubt for a moment that the look in his eye was mirrored by yours. “i love you, y/n.”

“i love you more, spence.”

[arhvste]

can you maybe do some hcs w kuroo tsukishima and oikawa when their s/o is being bullied by people from school?

love me some savage haikyuu boys 😈

-

KUROO, TSUKISHIMA AND OIKAWA REACTING TO THEIR S/O BEING BULLIED

-

KUROO

kuroo is a perspective little shit 

he analysis’ anything and everything 

he isn’t called the scheming captain for nothing 

so when he notice’s his s/o feeling down or acting different from normal he will find out what’s bothering them

he’ll ask you first

and if you’re not willing to give clear answers he’ll just find out himself

he doesn't want to overstep privacy boundaries

but if you’re being upset by something he feels like it’s his duty as your boyfriend to sort it out

so one day you’re waiting for him after practice

and you both usually meet outside the gym doors to talk home together

however

this time you’ve unfortunately encountered the people who have been making school life unbearable for you

“look its stupid little y/n!”

“why are you still here? waiting for your boyfriend like some sort of lost dog?”

“i don’t know how he puts up with you”

“so clingy and desperate for support i feel so bad for him”

they have you cornered and you’re outnumbered by far 

kuroo has been waiting outside the gym doors for 5 minutes now and is confused 

you’re never ever late 

so he wanders around looking for you since you aren't answering your phone 

now kuroo is annoying but he isn’t stupid

he’s had a hunch about what’s been bothering you lately

he’s noticed a few kids often hang behind class until you leave and they seem to surround you when you’re trying to leave your classroom

he never intervened because he didn’t want to wrongly accuse them of harassing you in case you were friends with them

but you still didn’t look particularly thrilled when you got away from them

so kuroo hears some familiar voices and he heads straight over to them

“don’t cry y/n you don't want to look even more ugly than you already do”

“oh look y/n’s crying they can't even handle a few jokes”

“your boyfriend might even dump you when he sees you”

“the only ones who need dumping are all of you into a pit of fire 🥰”

there stands the 6′2, muscular built, powerhouse school national level volleyball captain with the coldest look he’s ever had

the kids surrounding you are dead silent

“what? nobodies got anything to say now? i thought we were all just laughing and joking with each other so why’d we stop now?”

kuroos eyes soften as soon as they meet yours 

he’s grabbed your hand and pulled you tightly into his chest

“i don't think much of a warning needs to be made but let me make this clear just this once because i don't like having to remind people things, come near her, approach, talk about or to her again and you’re going to have a personal problem with me and my team. got it?”

lmfao the little bitches nod trembling and run 🏃🏽‍♀️

kuroo is such a science nerd who makes awful jokes and has the worlds most obnoxious laugh 

but he’s also a man and a captain and sometimes it’s easy to forget that

he can pick and choose when and what he wants to be perceived as

and right then he has chosen to show you who he really can be 

“why didn’t you tell me angel?”

“i didn’t want to have to bother you”

“oh baby you’re never ever a bother to me. im sorry i couldn't help sooner please never hesitate to tell me if anything like this happens again”

kuroo’s warning sticks with your bullies and they don't bother you anymore

the volleyball team and coach nekomata are throwing dirty ass looks at them too nfjdsbfjs

all in all, kuroo just wants you to know he is there to support you

and he’ll do anything to make sure you’re happy and comfortable 

-

TSUKISHIMA

lmao all i’ve got to say to your bullies is good luck

because if tuski finds out you’ve been bullying his s/o

you’re done for 

this boy has no mercy

he doesn't even need to physically fight

his words can cut deeper than any knife and he knows it 

so when he notices you've been feeling more anxious around school and clinging to him a little more

he grows sus

he’s immediately closing in on who is bothering you and what insults he wants to throw at them

tuski has an exam and it runs a little into lunch 

he told you that if it runs over than you can just wait by your classroom and he’d come and get you 

however while you’re waiting you have a run in with the students who have been giving you a hard time 

just like tuski you’re a student who thrives in academics 

so a few of your classmates aren't particularly fond of your constant reign of lead in your class

“ew y/n you gross weirdo why are you here?”

“they’re probably waiting for their boyfriend to come and pick them up”

“such an entitled little shit, waiting to be collected who do you think you are”

so far you’d done pretty well ignoring them 

but that was in an environment with many other students who’d call your bullies out if they were to step out of line in class

right now you’re an easy target though

nobody to protect you

well that’s what you thought anyway

you feel your bag get snatched from your hands and thrown to the ground 

the bullies are kicking your stuff around laughing while you have no choice but to watch is despair 

that's until one of them is tripped up and lands face flat onto the ground

“you think i should kick them around and see if they can take it?”

tuski is standing there with a dark smile on his face

“so brave of you to pick on my y/n when you all have the audacity to look the way you do and don't even get me started on your academics”

“if i were you'd just apologise to your parents now because realistically what are you all going to do in your lives? success doesn't really look like it fits any of you to be honest”

the other students don't even know what to say

they can't exactly say anything

tsukishima is known to have a sharp tongue with an endless flow of direct insults 

“it’d be a shame if a teacher were to find out about this wouldn't it. im thinking suspension maybe? perhaps you should all call your parents up right now and apologise for your inevitable suspension”

the bullies look at each other nervously

he couldn’t be serious right

“im waiting”

these kids whip out their phones and are calling their confused parents trying to explain about how they could be suspended

“now off you all go, get out of my sight and don't you dare come near her again”

they be sprinting out the hallways 

“you weren’t actually gonna get them suspended were you?”

“it was depending on how fast they called their parents really”

tsukishima is on the floor helping you gather you trashed things

“im annoyed you didn't tell me. don't keep things like this from me yeah? cause not only am i here for you but, i get a kick out of it to. besides, im the only one who gets to be playfully mean to you.”

and he’ll make sure to keep a closer eye on you and keep you around him for a little longer just till he’s certain you’ve been left alone

OIKAWA

fangirls 

the absolute bane of his existence 

oikawa appreciated the support but it was overbearing sometimes 

especially when he just wants to spend time with his precious y/n-chan

in front of him, his fangirls would be so polite and supportive 

“you and y/n look so good together”

“i hope you’re treating them well”

“oikawa is is lucky”

but behind his back these girls were nothing but vicious and spiteful towards you 

you knew you’d have to deal with his fangirls at some point 

you’d decided to keep your relationship hidden for the first few months until oikawa suggested going public and you felt like you couldn’t say no

you’d hear comments as you walked through the halls

classes would’ve been a nightmare if iwaizumi wasn’t in your class

he knew you were struggling with oikawa’s fangirls but you pleaded him not to say anything to his best friend 

iwaizumi didn't exactly want to keep this from oikawa but he also didn't want to go against your wishes 

you compromised instead and told iwaizumi about everything the fangirls put you through and sometimes he’d even take it lightly into his own hand 

despite the fact you had oikawa’s best friend looking out for you, this was also a reason the bullying got worse

“you think you can get iwaizumi to back you up now? you want the whole team or what?”

yes

“stop being so overdramatic oikawa shouldn’t have to put up with someone as fragile as you”

“he can do so much better did you manifest or do witchcraft to get him to date you?”

the comments had become so common to you they started to have no effect

you slowly became more and more emotionally unavailable and this was something oikawa had started to pick up on

“y/n-chan you’ve stopped smiling at me so much. have i upset you?”

at first he’d think he did something wrong and he’d desperatly rack his brain for anything he could’ve done to offend you

“no you haven’t tooru i’ve just been tired lately”

you’d lie and give him a small fake smile 

but oikawa has given enough fake smiles in his life and is more than capable of being able to tell a real smile to a fake one

like kuroo though, he wouldn’t want to push any privacy boundaries and can only hope you’d open up to him soon

it doesn’t mean he’s not going to be watching you even closer now

he’ll ask iwaizumi whether he’s seen a change in your behaviour 

iwaizumi has finally decided this has gone too far

“idiot do you not see it’s your shitty fangirls that are making them miserable?”

“my fangirls?”

“yes your fangirls. y/n can’t catch a break with them around they’re really nasty to her and i don’t know how it’s taken you so long to see”

now that oikawa thinks about it you do cling to him a little tighter when they’re around

you don’t thank them for their ‘compliments’ about your relationship with the setter

you go extremely quiet and anxious when they’re around

oikawa had just thought it was nerves from sudden attention

he didn’t realise they had been secretly harassing you 

so oikawa goes to wait outside your locker when the day ends

“tooru shouldn't you be at practice?”

“come with me” he says sternly but he’s giving you a reassuring look as he grips your hand securely in his larger one

he walks you quickly through the halls and round to the entrance of the gym where his fangirls are usually waiting for practice to start

“oikawa-san! why aren’t you in uniform? is practice cancelled?”

“oh y/n is here... that's cute”

oikawa is beyond livid just from their presence alone

they even had the nerve to say your name?

“you know what isn’t fucking cute though? your disgusting behaviour”

the fangirls are look between each other innocently

“what do you mean oikawa-san?”

“don’t play oblivious with me you bitches! what was going through your heads when you all thought it was okay to harass MY y/n-chan?!”

the girls are silent now

oikawa is usually so charming and relaxed 

nobody sees him worked up outside the court

“there’s a reason none of you have even been allowed to be considered to have the chance to get to know me, you’re all fake. every single one of you. i hate fake people more than anything. this behaviour is gross i want none of you associated with me get out of here and if i hear one more thing about anyone upsetting y/n hell will be broken loose and that won’t just be from me.”

oikawa did not stutter 😌

king

the girls leave immediately 

“i think you’ve just lost yourself your whole fan club”

“oh y/n they were never fans if they have the nerve to upset someone they know i love. why didn’t you tell me i would’ve said something sooner”

“i just didn't want to upset you about your fans”

“you’re always going to be the first priority to me always if they or anyone else ever bothers you again, promise you’ll tell me straight away?”

“promise.”

after that he’ll take you to sit on the bench on the side of the court so you can watch him play and he can keep an eye on you

yeah oikawa may seem like a carefree people pleaser

but if you’re upsetting his s/o, you’ll be experiencing the side he tries to keep under control and he won’t be afraid to let loose.

-

ALL CONTENT BELONGS TO @KUROOSKULT ON TUMBLR 2020 PLEASE DO NOT REPOST, CHANGE OR PLAGIARISE

[yellowsuitcase]

The Unwanted Pet // Draco Malfoy

A/N: Hello! This was a request from one of my friends, I thought it was such a cute idea and I knew it wouldn’t take more than a couple hours so I wrote it! I find it adorable and I hope you do too!

Summary: Y/N wants a crup (a jack russell like creature) but Draco most certainly does not. What happens when Y/N gets one anyway?

Warning(s): None

Word Count: 2.7k

“But Draco, it’d be so cute!” Y/N pleaded with her husband. She was leaning on his back while he tied a letter to his owl to send to his coworker at St. Mungos.

A soft wind blew through their open window, bringing the sweet smell of daisies with it. One of Y/N’s favorite things about living in the countryside was the variety of flowers surrounding their home, which was by no means a modest one. Draco would’ve felt too out of place if they had purchased a small abode, so Y/N caved and allowed him to buy a big Irish style house surrounded by thick greenery and rolling oak tree forests. However, Y/N had grown to love the rather big dwelling. But she’d felt a bit lonely whenever Draco would go to work in the early morning, leaving her alone until he returned at nearly midnight.

She had her own job working on the Hogwarts Express, but that only required her to leave the house a few days out of the year. Even though there wasn’t a need for her to work since Draco had inherited all the Malfoy fortune when his father passed a year ago, Y/N found comfort in driving the train full of young and eager students to and from Hogwarts. It reminded her of her days at the school; it was where she had met Draco, the man she’s been married to for seven years.

“Love, they’re high maintenance and a big responsibility. I don’t know if it’s a good idea,” Draco replied as he sent off his owl, Biko, and turned around to embrace his pouting wife. He kissed her on the head and gently swayed her back and forth before removing himself from her embrace. He then sauntered to the kitchen to nibble on some jelly slugs; he had quite a sweet tooth.

“But Draco, they’re so cute,” Y/N whined. Draco shrugged. “So what? If you want a pet so badly, go find a toad in one of the ponds...On second thought, don’t. Slimy little creatures they are.” Y/N rolled her eyes as she pushed back a long green curtain to allow more sunlight to stream into the cozy living room. “I don’t want a toad, I want a crup, and I don’t see why we can’t have one.”

Draco shook his head and wiped the corner of his mouth with a napkin. “I’ve already told you, they’re messy, you’d have to get a license from the ministry, and they’re high maintenance.” He began gathering his coat and satchel. He had to be at St. Mungos in nearly half an hour. Y/N sighed as she watched him slip on his shoes. She sunk further into their brown leather couch, which once belonged to Y/N’s mother. Draco gave her a pitiful glance. “I’m sorry, my beautiful wife, but I do not wish to have a mangy mutt running around our home. Perhaps something a bit more manageable? How about an owl? I’m sure Biko would love a friend,” Draco said while gesturing to the window his owl had flown out of just minutes ago. Y/N sighed and nodded, “Yeah, perhaps I’ll take a trip to Diagon Alley and see what kinds of owls they’ve got. Would you fancy a barn owl? They’ve got quite a striking face.”

Draco walked over to her and pressed a sweet kiss to her lips. “Any owl you want, I’m fine with. I’ll see you tonight; maybe we can have dinner outside, it’ll be perfect picnic weather.”

Y/N smiled softly and watched him stumble into their brick fireplace and throw floo powder down, disappearing in the green flames it created. Once Y/N was sure he had gone, she sprang to her feet and ran for the closet where her shoes were located. She grabbed the first pair she saw and promptly shoved them onto her feet. Little did Draco know, Y/N had already obtained a license from the ministry and was fully certified to own a crup.

She stepped into the fireplace and dropped her floo powder while saying, “The Ministry of Magic Headquarters!” and in a flash, she appeared in the massive dome-shaped lobby of The Ministry building. The hustle and bustle of employees finding their way to elevators and offices intimidated her initially. Nevertheless, after a few moments, she gathered her composure and began walking towards the Department of Magical Creatures. She’d already sent an owl to the Beast Division and made arrangements to pick up her new pet, so all she had to do was get there. And she did; after many twists and turns and pauses to stare at the fancy plaques on the walls, Y/N found herself outside the door. She wasn’t sure whether or not she was supposed to knock, so she put her tentative hand on the knob and turned it slowly.

It opened to reveal a nice looking woman sitting at the chestnut-colored desk. A fairy was fluttering around her head and putting flowers into her hair. She looked up upon hearing Y/N enter. “Hello! Would you happen to be the person who requested a crup?” she asked. Y/N shifted from her left foot to her right foot, trying to expel the excitement jitters from her body. “Yes, that’s me.”

“Wonderful! Y/N Malfoy, yes?” the woman asked. Y/N nodded, and the woman wrote something down on a piece of parchment. “They brought him in an hour ago, so he should be fed and ready to go! And his tail has already been removed as he is seven weeks old. I’ll check in the back and see if he’s all set. You just wait here, alright?” the lady asked.

Y/N grinned and nodded eagerly. She was a bit sad that her crup’s tail had already been removed, it had to be so that muggles wouldn’t notice it was a magical creature, but it still saddened her. Soon enough, however, she heard scampering behind the door. Her heart leaped in her chest, and she fiddled with her fingers anticipatedly. She held her breath as the golden door swung open. Behind it was the woman and a little crup in her arms as well as a carrier by her feet. Y/N’s hands flew to her mouth as she gasped. “He’s so cute,” she whispered. The crup seemed to notice her and suddenly jumped from the lady’s arms and onto the floor where he raced towards Y/N. She looked down at the dog-looking creature. He was staring straight up at her, and when they made eye contact, he barked.

The lady laughed. “Look at that. He already likes you!” Y/N smiled and hesitantly knelt down to greet the fluffy beast in front of her. “Hello there, would you like to come home with me?” she asked. The crup barked happily, his little butt wiggling as he did so. Y/N giggled and opened her arms for the crup. He ran into them and nestled himself against her chest. Y/N stood back up and gently stroked her new pet. “Do you have a name for him yet?” the woman asked. Y/N nodded her head and glanced up to look at the lady. “I’ve decided on calling him Styx,” she said.

“How cute! Well, I don’t want to waste any of your precious time with Styx, so let’s have you pay so you can be on your way.” Y/N reached into her pocket, pulled out two hundred galleons, and placed them on the woman’s desk. After doing so, she put Styx in his new carrier and zipped him up so he’d be safe and secure. Waving goodbye to the nice lady, she reopened the door and took a deep breath. The easy part was over, now she had to face Draco.

---------

Y/N and Styx had spent the entire day playing with all the new toys she’d bought for him at Diagon Alley. He particularly liked the bright purple rubber ball, as well as his squeaky spider plush. It was nearly ten pm now, and Y/N and her pet were sitting on the couch. Styx was chewing on his bone as Y/N read the Daily Prophet. She was scanning an article about Hogwarts’ new Herbology professor, Neville Longbottom, when green flames erupted from the fireplace. Styx immediately jumped to his paws and began growling at the fire. And suddenly, there was Draco. He was smiling until he heard the low rumble coming from the crup. He glanced down at it and then up at Y/N.

“Tell me that this mutt doesn’t belong to you,” he said sternly. Y/N smiled; it looked more like a grimace. Draco ran his hand down his face in disappointment. “I thought we discussed this. I don’t want a Crup,” he whined, the exhaustion from his workday coming to the forefront. Y/N stood up and walked towards her distraught husband.

“I know you said you didn’t want one, but I’m just so lonely when you’re not here all day. I’ve got no one to talk to and nobody to snuggle with. I just thought having this little guy would give me something to do as well as provide company,” she said quietly, now feeling a bit foolish.

Draco examined her expression intently. She looked remorseful and ashamed; she couldn’t meet his eyes. He sighed and shifted his gaze to the little creature by his feet. Not even Draco could deny the mutt’s inherent cuteness. He looked back up at his wife. “Fine,” he caved, “We can keep him. But I swear if he causes any trouble, he’s going back. I will not tolerate any misbehaving.” Y/N gasped and wrapped her arms around Draco’s neck.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you! You won’t regret it, he’ll be the sweetest boy ever. I bet you’ll even grow to like him,” she argued, arms still around him. Draco huffed. “Yeah, right, I don’t think so,” he retorted. He was convinced he’d never learn to genuinely like the crup. Sure he’d probably be able to tolerate him but never enjoy having him around.

“Are you sure? You’re already acting like a dad with all your ‘I will not tolerate misbehaving’ nonsense,” Y/N remarked. Draco rolled his eyes. “I’m serious. If he chews my shoes, he’s out.” Y/N withdrew her arms and crossed them on her puffed up chest. “You’re on, Malfoy.”

--------

Over the next few months, Styx had become a constant within the Malfoy home. It took Draco a little over two weeks to allow him to sleep with him and his wife on their bed, but when he finally caved, he instantly regretted it. More often than not, Y/N slept with her arms around the Cruppy instead of around Draco. The blonde man would always get angry and shoot death glares at the creature while his lover slept. How dare the mutt take his place in her arms?

However, what Draco was unaware of was the fact that sometimes during the night, Styx would wiggle out of Y/N’s arms and settle himself in the crook of Draco’s neck where he’d give him a few soft licks before falling back asleep. And since Y/N would often rouse in the middle of the night, needing to use the restroom, she’d be greeted with the endearing sight of her husband cuddling with Styx. She’d never tell him, but she had quite a few photographs of the scene.

Styx was generally a well-behaved pet. He didn’t chew Draco’s shoes like the man had feared, but he did, however, eat their food when they weren’t looking. This infuriated Draco to no end. Y/N, on the other hand, found it rather funny. She knew that underneath all his fury, Draco found it amusing as well. She was sure of this because one afternoon, when Draco had the day off from work, she’d gone to fetch a book to read to her husband and pet. When she returned, she found Draco smiling down at the crup. She stopped in her tracks and hid behind a wall to listen in on the conversation.

“Look at you, you little scoundrel, stealing my roast beef. You think you’re clever, don’t you?” Draco asked the dog-like creature. Styx barked in reply, making him chuckle. “No, no. I’m afraid you’re nothing compared to me, Styx. You see, I was in Slytherin.” Styx barked again. “Mhm, I was, and you were not so truly who’s the more cunning of the two of us? I think it’s quite obvious.” Styx barked again and pawed Draco’s calf. “Exactly right, my boy, it’s me. Although you’re definitely the cuter one, I’ll give you that.” Y/N watched this exchange from her hiding place. She knew Draco was rather fond of talking to himself, but it seemed as though he enjoyed talking to Styx as well.

Now, Y/N was writing a letter to her sister in the study when she heard a knock at the door. She put down her quill and turned in her chair. “Come in,” she spoke softly. The door opened, and there stood Draco. “You got off of work this early?” she asked. Draco grinned sheepishly. “I may have asked to leave early,” he said while leaning on the doorframe. Y/N was immediately suspicious of her husband. She kicked her leg up and over her thigh and crossed her arms. “May I ask why?” she inquired. Draco shrugged and reached into his back pocket.

“Oh well, it’s only because there’s a quidditch match tonight, and I got us two front row tickets,” he said as he pulled out the two slips of silver-lined paper. Y/N gasped and clapped her hands excitedly. “Draco! That’s brilliant. It’s been so long since we’ve gone to see a game. What teams are playing?” she asked as she rose to her feet. “I have to go find an outfit that matches the colors!” she shouted happily.

Draco laughed at his wife’s eagerness. “Wimbourne Wasps and Chudley Cannons are the teams. And you can go plan your outfit in a moment; I just wanted to let you know that I’m going to take Styx for a walk before I take you Hogsmeade for lunch.”

His words stopped her in her tracks. She looked up at Draco skeptically. “You’re taking Styx for a walk?” He nodded. “Willingly?” she asked. Draco nodded again. Y/N’s mouth fell open in shock. Her husband’s face turned red. “You’ve taken a liking to him, haven’t you?” Y/N asked incredulously. Draco rubbed his hand on the back of his neck and looked at the window. He noticed the parchment on the desk. “Who are you writing to?” he questioned, trying to change the subject. Y/N moved into his line of vision, forcing him to look at her. “Nuh-uh Mr. Malfoy. You’re not getting out of this one. Answer my question, and perhaps I’ll answer yours.”

Draco muttered something under his breath. “Didn’t catch that; speak up.” Draco sighed and covered his face. “Yes,” he mumbled. “I like the mutt.” Y/N squealed and threw her arms around Draco’s torso and squeezed him tightly. He was surprised by this and looked down at his wife quizzically.

“I knew you’d come around! I told you getting a crup would be a wonderful idea, and now look at you. You’re taking him for a walk willingly,” she declared. Just then, Styx himself came strutting down the hallway, his butt wiggling. He sat by Draco’s foot and barked up at him, almost as if he was asking what was taking so long. Draco smiled down at him. “Yes, I know it’s just that your mother and I were having a discussion,” he said to the fluffy creature. Styx barked once more. “I know, right? How rude of her to delay your walk,” he replied in an exasperated tone. Y/N couldn’t fight the smile that crept onto her face.

“Oh, so now you’re talking poorly about me to my son?” she asked. Draco looked up and smirked at her. “I am,” he said firmly. “Come along now, Mr. Wiggles, let’s find your leash.” Y/N was in disbelief as she watched her lover walk down the hallway with Styx in tow. She shook her head and chuckled lightly. “Unbelievable, those two,” she mumbled to herself before retreating into the study.

[dastardlydandelion]

Please post the sickfic prompt turned corpse disposal. 😂

sure! that one’s p bloodless, i can post that one. 

ao3 link 

content warnings: implied/referenced child abuse, implied/referenced spousal abuse, minimally described fresh dead body, illness description 

Billy isn’t sick.

Billy doesn’t get sick. He really doesn’t. Hasn’t had so much as a cold in years, albeit he’s claimed one as cover here and there whenever coke overuse made him maybe sorta sniffly and Neil started to eye him up like he might be suspicious.

Billy isn’t sick.

If he’s feeling achy, well, he’s just sore because Neil laid the belt on him pretty hard two days ago after he got sent home from school midday Monday, written up and suspended. If he’s coughing, well, it’s just because he’s been smoking more than usual. Neil’s been stressed out lately, so that means Billy’s stressed out too.

“No,” his father says sharply when Billy takes a seat at the breakfast table.

And Billy blinks at him, confused but careful.

“You’re not going to sit with us and cough all over the food like a human biohazard. I raised you to show more courtesy than that.” Neil gives him a stern look. “Go back to bed.”

“I’m not even—“

“Go back to bed, Billy.”

Billy hears the warning heighten in his father’s tone. He doesn’t argue. He hauls himself back to his bedroom and it’s whatever. He wasn’t really hungry anyway.

* * * 

Okay, so Billy is sick.

He got himself suspended because he felt something coming on. He knows his body. He was feeling off kilter and sluggish, uncomfortable in the chest when he inhaled too deeply. So he put his boots on the desk in history class and flipped the teacher the bird when she asked him to sit properly. Even went the extra mile and sneered, told her to blow him when her jaw hit the floor.

He figured it’d buy him enough time to recover without having to call in sick, or get in trouble for skipping class. A suspension was one indiscretion and only likely to invoke one punishment. Skipping multiple days would’ve been multiple indiscretions and more likely to invoke multiple punishments.

In retrospect he should’ve just called in sick because the whole point of avoiding that route was avoiding having to admit it, but he can’t really hide it. Whatever he’s got came on hard and fast, doubled-down by Monday evening. It hasn’t gotten any better. Billy feels bad all over, the cough is near constant, and he’s shaking with chills. Puts his leather jacket on before he buries himself under the blankets and still can’t get warm.

And the coughing, ugh, the fucking coughing. Billy knows he’s being loud. He tries to hold it in but he just can’t. Spasm after spasm squeezes his lungs until they’re aching for air. His chest feels like it’s full of swamp muck and all he can do is ride it out, clutch at his ribs until he makes it to the oxygen on the other side.

Billy should get up. He should make himself get off his ass, go buy some cough drops or at least refill his glass of water. He’s going to make it happen. He’s definitely going to make it happen…just maybe not yet.

He never really gets around to it. Spends most of the afternoon slogging through coughs and trying to get comfortable even though it doesn’t really matter which way he tosses or turns, he’s still cold to the bone, chest stabbing with every burdened breath. The day drags and Billy catches snippets of the other members of the household moving about, knows it’s evening when Neil sticks his head in.

“I dug this out of the cabinet for you,” he announces, holding up a blue container. “Vapor rub. It’ll calm your cough down. Help you sleep.”

“Thanks, Dad.”

His father pads across the carpet, sets the container down on Billy’s nightstand, right within reach. He hovers uncertainly, eyes narrowed. Opens his mouth to say something and maybe he does, but Billy doesn’t catch it, snapping upright to bury another flurry of coughs into his closed fist. It’s a forceful fit and before he knows it, his father’s thumping him on the back. He’s probably trying to help but the heel of his hand connects with one of the bruises the belt buckle left and Billy can’t stop himself before he flinches.

Neil retracts his hand, leaves without another word. Billy rakes in breath at the coda of the coughs, air scraping against his roughshod throat. He goes as deep as he can even though it hurts, snatches the container of vapor rub.

Billy begins to unscrew the lid and notices some of the ointment is crusted under the lid. It flakes off. This stuff looks old. Billy checks the date on the label. Sure enough, it’s been expired for close to a year.

He throws it across the room in frustration, watches it bounce off the wall. Lies back down and pulls the covers up to his chin.

At some point Neil bangs on his door and demands he cut out the racket, probably thinking Billy rebuffed his generosity. Billy’s too exhausted to bother explaining the shit’s expired. Instead he turns his face into the pillow and smothers his fits into the fabric, hoping it muffles the sounds.

* * * 

Sometime later Thursday morning, Susan knocks on his door. Billy contemplates pretending to be asleep. Really, he wishes he was. He’s feeling pretty rundown but he can’t seem to get more than a wink before he wakes up coughing.

But if he doesn’t answer it now, she’ll probably just bother him later. So Billy plods to the door and pulls it open.

“What?”

“Um,” Susan begins eloquently, blinking at him as she fiddles with the thin object in her hands. A thermometer.

“Neil tell you to do this?”

“N-No, but, uh. It’s probably a good idea to check your temperature. No offense, Billy, but you don’t sound so good and you’re awfully flush…”

“If I cared, I’d check myself,” he snorts irritably. “Try to stick that under my tongue and I’ll break it in half. Save your mother hen shit for Max.”

With that, he slams the door in her face. They’ve no love for each other. On infrequent occasions Susan will forget this and make some half-assed attempt to get closer to him. Billy’s always quick to remind her where they stand. It doesn’t take much.

Afternoon rolls around without Susan bugging him anymore. Billy isn’t a big reader but he doesn’t feel up to much else between increasingly productive coughing bouts that leave him hacking up gross, greenish globs into his small wire mesh trashcan. So he flips through some music magazines and the book he’s supposed to read for english class until he gathers enough energy to kick himself into gear.

He didn’t bother changing out of his clothes yesterday so he doesn’t need to change now. Just sprays himself with some cologne, figures he probably smells because he’s sweating nonstop. Discomforting drenching cold sweats like getting caught outside in icy rains, an experience Billy was blissfully unfamiliar with until Neil decided to leave sunny California behind.

He browses the small medical selection at Melvald’s, grabs a couple bags of cherry flavored lozenges  and a bottle of cough syrup. Covers a couple fits with the crook of his elbow on the way to the counter. He swallows the gunk that comes up because there’s nowhere to spit it into and scrunches his nose in disgust, feels like freaking slime sliding down his throat.

It’s the town cuckoo who rings him up. Or that’s her reputation anyway but she doesn’t seem particularly nutty to Billy. Hell, seems less weird than Susan does when she’s doing shit like talking to the spiders she takes outside.

“Time to go, Little Creepy Crawly,” she’d singsonged last week, shaking a daddy longlegs out of her tissue on the front porch. “Go be free.”

“You need fucking friends,” Billy had told her after the fact. Sound advice, he’d thought. Susan only ducked her head and disappeared into the next room.

Town Cuckoo gives the amount. Billy digs through his wallet and comes up two dollars short. Ugh. Fucking brandname linctuses. Shit’s a ripoff but there was no generic equivalent on the shelf.

She tells Billy it’s on the house, forehead crinkling just a bit as she studies him, eyes all melty with sympathy. Screw that shit. Billy isn’t anybody’s charity case. He gives her a pointed glower as he stamps a five down on the counter, takes the two bags of lozenges, and leaves.

He eats through half of the first bag until his throat tingles with menthol and artificial sweetness, and actually manages to sleep for a few solid hours. He knows it’s been hours because when he wakes himself coughing, it’s dark out. Nighttime.

Billy curls inward with the spasms, tries to catch his breath between stabbing pains. This sucks so much. He’s hacking up more gunk. Attempts to rub some of the discomfort from his heavy, congestion leaden chest to no avail.

He just keeps coughing and coughing and he knows before long, Neil’s going to get in his shit about the noise so he forces himself to throw off the covers. His bruises are still healing. He doesn’t need any more.

Billy crams his feet in his boots and drags himself down the hall. To his surprise, Susan’s sitting at the kitchen table. She’s crying. The sobs wrack her whole body the way the coughs wrack his and her cheeks are blotched cherry red just like his lozenges, tear tracks shining under the kitchen light. It throws him, really. He’s lived with Susan for years and he doesn’t think he’s ever seen her cry. She just. Doesn’t show much emotion at all, let alone displays like this.  

Billy watches it the way he’d watch a car crash. Susan doesn’t even notice him until he’s coughing again. He curls his fist around his mouth, muffles them as best he can. Fumbles for his car keys when he’s made it through to the other side.

“Where could you possibly be going?” Susan asks, her voice thick, like there’s a bubble in her throat.

Maybe Neil hit her. Billy’s seen it so he knows it happens sometimes even though he’s pretty sure it’s not often. Not like how Neil hits him. Or hit his own mother. Susan is probably Neil’s favorite, obedient like a well trained dressage horse following all of his cues. Isn’t anything like his own mom who defied Neil like a wild mustang he couldn’t tame, who went braless and smoked hash with the hippies, screamed her lungs out at Neil in furious harpy volumes and called him names no matter how mad it made him. Who did her best to give back as good as she got even outmatched, even if it made him madder, throwing things or fists or swinging Billy’s Little League bat.

Susan is submissively behaved and tepid tempered, always wears her bra under the clothes Neil buys her in the fashions he prefers her in. Susan speaks softly and sweetly, never stays out unscheduled and doesn’t smoke anything at all, always smells like floral perfumes and lotions, never ever, ever like cigarettes or marijuana or other men’s cologne. When Neil hits Susan she goes slack and sloth and silent, and does not lift a finger to fight. It is the only thing she and Billy have in common.

“Nowhere,” he answers. “Gonna sleep in the car before Neil gets on me about making noise.”

“Billy, it’s too cold for that…besides, Neil isn’t going to wake up yet.”

“How do you know?”

What, does Susan think she’s a fucking fortune teller now?

Sure enough, she doesn’t have a straight answer for him. She stumbles over syllables that don’t shape into sentences and the last thing Billy feels like doing is indulging her.

“Pfft. That’s what I thought. By the way, you’re ugly when you cry.” Billy glares at her until she turns away, timid, bowing her head. He heads out to the Camaro, gets in the driver’s seat and pulls it back.

Yeah, it’s cold out but he can’t get warm inside under the blankets anyway. Neil’s already in a bad mood. He’d only barked about the racket last night but his father’s bite is worse than his bark and Billy knows better than to expect a second warning.

* * * 

Friday morning, the frosty air scrapes Billy’s throat raw and makes him cough so, so hard. He’s beyond done with this shit, fuck everything. He takes shallow breaths to avoid the pangs of going too deep. The coughing still brings up gunk he spits out and he can feel the congestion crackling in his chest like thick, goopy molasses drowning his lungs, sticking between every rung of his ribcage.

It’s actually. Kind of. Beginning to concern him.

Is being sick normally like this?

Billy hasn’t been sick in so long, he seriously doesn’t know. But it’s been days and he’s not feeling any better. He feels worse. He really does. Breathing has become a grueling travail. Even to his own ears, his exhales sound wet and ratty. The coughing was a nuisance when it first came on but now it’s just downright exhausting.

But.

Well. He’s gotta be okay. He’s too young to be like, seriously sick. It’s probably just one of those things where it’s going to get worse before it gets better. A lot of things are like that, right?

Everything gets worse before it gets better. He’s fine. He’s definitely fine.

Billy goes inside. Everyone’s at the breakfast table and he doesn’t take a seat because he’s a biohazard and Neil already looks dour. Susan’s pouring him coffee. Max nibbles at a piece of toast. She has a cut on her cheek that wasn’t there when Billy saw her yesterday. Doesn’t look bad, just a simple scratch stretched under her eye, but when he peers closer is that…is that a bruise?

Yes. It’s pretty small. Faint. He would’ve missed it entirely if the thin red thread of her cut wasn’t so stark against Max’s pasty skin.

He’s smart enough not to ask in front of Neil. He doesn’t say anything. Gets the juice from the fridge and pours himself a glass. He’s two sips in before he has to set it aside, covering his mouth as another fit takes hold.

Neil is glaring when he makes it through. Right. Don’t cough around the food. Billy isn’t even sitting with them but whatever. He’s not gonna poke the bear. Heads off to Max’s room and waits.

Eventually she comes in to get her backpack, frowning at his presence. “What’re you doing in here?”

“What happened to your face?”

“Geez, Billy, you sound terrible.” Her nose crinkles.

“I asked you a question, Max.” Billy impatiently twirls his finger, slightly annoyed. He already knows he sounds bad, doesn’t need to be reminded.

Max turns away from him with a shrug, starts stuffing her textbooks into the bag. “I fell on the pond yesterday when I was playing with my friends. Where I fell…the ice wasn’t smooth. It was rough and it scratched.”

Billy narrows his eyes and measures her up. It isn’t a particularly unlikely story. But he wants to be sure.

“You’d tell me if it was Neil, right?”

“…of course I’d tell you if it Neil.” Max looks up from messing with her stuff and faces him with clear resolution in her gaze. “Neil hits you all the time so if he hit me, you’d be the first person I’d tell.”

Billy keeps his eyes on her as he goes over what she said. She doesn’t look like she’s lying. She doesn’t sound like she’s lying. Besides, Neil’s striking hand probably would’ve left a bigger bruise and he can’t place anything on it that would’ve scratched her skin like that. Neil’s fingernails are short and blunt, smoother than Billy’s, which get jagged when he bites. He doesn’t wear rings beyond his wedding band, and his is smooth silver, no shiny rock cut in the middle like Susan’s.

“Alright,” he concedes, turns to leave.

The coughing fit hits heavy, like a wrecking ball to the chest. Billy hangs onto the doorframe with one hand, covers his mouth with the other. It’ll pass. It’ll pass. It’ll pass.

Christ, he’s sick of being sick.

It passes. Billy keeps his grip on the doorframe as he works on drawing in air.

“You okay?” Max asks from behind.

And he can’t actually answer that just yet, still catching his breath.

“You sound really gross, like you’re literally dying.”

“I’m not…I’m fine…even run you to school, if you want.” Billy relaxes his grip on the doorframe and turns back to her.

“Oh.” Max perks up at that, eyes bright. “Yeah, can you?”

She lowers her voice as she adds, “I’m mad at my mom. I don’t really wanna ride with her.”

Billy doesn’t ask what for. It’s probably something stupid. Susan getting after her for not zipping up her coat or touching yellow snow or some other dumb shit. He’s too tired to care, really.

“Sure I can, s’what I just said, isn’t it? Finish getting your stuff together, bus leaves in five.”

* * *

Billy does’t go home for a long time. After dropping Max off, he just sits in the parking lot for awhile, rests his head against the steering wheel while the heat blasts from the vents. He’s got it all the way up and he’s so sweaty his hair’s plastered to the back of his neck, but he’s still freaking cold.

He doesn’t know what he did to deserve this.

Or.

Okay, maybe he does.

Eventually he pulls out of the parking lot, drives around listening to music just to be doing something. Winds up in another lot, an empty lot, where the rumor is they’re going to build a mall next year. Billy hopes so. Hawkins is mind-numbingly boring. Sometimes he just wants to scream about it, set fire to the fucking cornfields and scream at the top of his lungs.

His lungs aren’t really up to screaming right now though. Neither is his throat, really, tender from coughing spasm after coughing spasm tearing it up. Billy doesn’t know if he’s even been this sick.

He’s even considering bringing it up to his dad, maybe even. Asking Dad for help. And that.

That means he’s either desperate or delirious, and neither is a particularly reassuring thought.

Fuck.

Billy despises the fact it even crossed his mind. He can’t go to Neil. He won’t. That’s stupid. Neil would probably just dig him out some more expired vapor rub. Definitely wouldn’t take him to a doctor, at least not until the bruises heal. Maybe he’d compromise and get him the cough syrup Billy didn’t have enough cash for…

Between musings, Billy finds himself squeezed in another fit that pummels his chest like invisible fists. It’s so bad he’s left battling for just a breath of air, so forceful for one very scary second he’s even worried he won’t get it. That the coughing will go on and on, and he’ll never take another breath again. That they’ll find his body right here in the empty lot where maybe the mall will be one day.

Except the coughing eventually does subside and Billy does manage to get some air. But the fit spooks him a little. Takes enough out of Billy that he decides he’s probably going to have to go to Neil. Shit.

He puts it off as long as he can. Doesn’t even go home until he knows everyone is done with dinner. To his surprise, Neil isn’t watching tv. Billy heads down the hall. The light is on under Max’s door. The light is on under the master bedroom door too. Billy hesitates before knocking.

Does he really need to go to Neil?

Maybe he was exaggerating when he was worried earlier. Billy’s hand retracts from the door. It's promptly clamped around his mouth for what must be the hundredth time. He’s hacking hard into his palm, chest throbbing.

He doesn’t actually mean to open the door. But he grabs the knob for support and jerks when the metal is shockingly cold under his fingers. The next thing Billy knows, he’s stumbling over the threshold.

Susan whips toward him, eyes as wide as dinner plates and mouth frozen open in horror. At first Billy thinks it’s him. She’s so disgusted she’s horrified by him and his biohazard germs and any second Neil’s going to pick his head up from the bed and bark at Billy for intruding without so much as a knock, and then—

Then his eyes fall to the long bloodied baiting needle in Susan’s suddenly trembling hands.

“S-Self d-defense,” she quavers, backing away, that needle outward in her shaky, shaky hands almost like she thinks Billy’s going to advance on her. “It was s-self defense, B-Billy, I had to.”

Because Neil’s still motionless, facedown on the bed even though his son’s still coughing, making a racket and expelling biohazard bacteria in his very bedroom. He’s still coughing, fuck, his eyes are watering, but they aren’t so watery he can’t see what’s right in front of him. Billy plants a hand down against the dresser and tries to breathe.

“Self defense,” he rasps at the end of the fit, blinking at the acupuncture kit open inches away from his hand on the dresser.

“S-Slightly preemptive self defense,” Susan amends, swallowing. “Make no m-mistake, I had to. I had to, he— he was right on the verge of a b-blowup. You know your father, Billy.”

That is true. Billy knows his father well. He doesn’t speak to Susan as he shuffles up to the bed. Gulps down some of the gunk in his throat, grazes his father’s cheek with his fingertips. There’s blood welled up in a hole at the base of his skull but he’s warm, kinda, so maybe Susan didn’t kill him after all. He moves his fingers to feel for a pulse.

It isn’t there. Neil’s dead? Neil’s really dead?

“Dad?” he tries. It comes out a hoarse squeak. He clears his throat and tries again. “Dad? Dad, c’mon.”

Billy jostles his father’s shoulder. It yields no response. The bare skin is still warm, deceptively so. There’s not so much as a flicker of life beneath it.

“Holy shit,” Billy gasps.

Susan presses back against the wall, eyes still very wide, clutching that baiting needle so tight her knuckles are blanched. Her hands shake and shake.

“What are you going to do?” she asks in a whisper.

“What am I going to go?” Billy echoes. “I— I don’t know! What are you going to do? Call the cops?”

Because even if her self defense was preemptive, to use her description, maybe it’d still fly. Billy has bruises. Maybe Susan has some too hidden under that deep cranberry dress.

“Cops?” Susan’s mouth tightens as her head gives a firm shake. “Of course not. Don’t you know what police are like? Your father would’ve fit right in.”

Billy considers this as he coughs, stuffing them into the sleeve of his leather jacket. He can’t say his own experience with the law has ever been positive. And Neil was a security guard. What’s a security guard if not a wannabe cop?

“You planned this,” Billy heaves out when he’s done coughing.

“I’m….I mean, y-yes, but I—“

“What was your plan?” Billy interrupts. “Where were you going to go from here?”

“I didn’t expect you to show up,” Susan says, soft and frowning.

“I live here,” Billy points out and he laughs. Strange, strained laughter peals out of him until it triggers another bout of coughing because. What. The. Actual. Fuck.

“Oh, Billy…do you want some water? Maybe you should sit down.”

“Where?” he rasps between coughs. “Next to my dead dad?!”

“Keep your voice down,” Susan urges, waving the needle like a conductor’s baton. “Max is still awake.”

Billy wipes the perspiration from his forehead with the back of his hand. Stares at Susan as he does his best to take even breaths.

“You’re wheezing.”

“You’re deflecting,” he fires back. “What are you going to do?”

“Um, uh…chop him up,” Susan admits quietly. “I’d p-planned to chop him up.”

“That’ll make a mess,” Billy blurts out, blunt.

“Messy, yes, but it’s the easiest way. I can’t exactly carry him.”

Billy touches the small of Neil’s bare back, skims his fingertips between hair thin acupuncture needles. He probes at the small of his own back, winces when dull pain pulses through the bruise. His throat is thick with something other than phlegm and his heart is racing rabbity fast. In this moment, Billy makes a decision.

“Not by yourself.”

Susan gapes.

“Where we taking him?” Billy asks.

“I…I honestly didn’t have an exact location mind, but farther away. Not here in Hawkins, the town is too small.” Susan swallows again and tugs at her sleeve. “I planned to bag his parts in pieces and drive a few hours out and spend the night disposing of the bags in different areas.”

That makes sense, he thinks.

“Sometimes I go to this gay bar about two hours away. Pretty big dumpster in the back.”

Billy tries to hit it at least once a month, if he can save up enough of his allowance for gas. Sometimes he collects enough chump change from idiots at school who forget to close their lockers, and isn’t above duping people outta their dough by turning on the charm, either. His interest in girls isn’t exclusive, he finds a helluva lotta guys interesting too. It’s just nice to get out of fucking Nowheresville even on the nights he doesn’t end up fooling around with anybody.

Susan looks absolutely bewildered.

“Gay bar,” he repeats slowly. “You know. Pride pub, homo hub?”

“I know what a gay bar is, Billy. Why on earth are you going to one?”

“Gee, I don’t know, maybe it’s because I’m secretly a drag queen bingo champion,” Billy scoffs in annoyance and it turns into a cough. The one sets off a fit.

“Billy, um…I don’t, um. I’m not judging your preference in partners or your private life, but you’re too young to be going to the bar. Any bar. It’s not legal, you’re a teenager.”

Jesus, he can hardly breathe. He feels like he’s going to fall over. Maybe he actually should’ve sat down next to his dead dad.

“Oh dear. I’m— I’m going to get you some water.”

Billy doesn’t fall over. He has good stamina. He’s hard to knock over, prides himself on that fact. He makes it through the fit upright. His chest is sore from the stabbing and he’s a little dizzy, perhaps from fatigue or breathlessness, but he’s steadfast.

Billy accepts the glass Susan holds out to him upon her return. Her fingers feel like icicles as they brush his and he suppresses a shiver. Takes slow sips and finds a little relief. Eventually sets the glass down on the dresser when he’s done.

“Technically, it’s not me who goes to the bar. You’re right, I’m not twenty-one yet. But Jason Scott on the other hand, well, he’s twenty-five.” Billy fishes his wallet out and frees his fake ID from its fold. “Looks pretty legit, right?”

Susan silently studies the piece of plastic and worries her lip between her teeth.

“But we don’t actually have to go into the bar to put my dad’s body in the dumpster anyway. I mean, going inside would really be a pretty bad idea…”

“Indeed it would, but I’m glad you showed this to me. It wouldn’t be smart to put Neil anywhere you or I associate with at all. But if you’re not actually associated, it’s an option.”

“It’d take less time than the way you were gonna go about it. Cleaner too.”

Susan nods her agreement. “However, I still might…mm, Billy. I’m not sure if you’re going to like this. But in order to prevent him from being identified, I think I’m going to chop off his head…and his hands. Well, perhaps those I’ll just burn with the clothes iron, um. Either way, his fingerprints need to be destroyed.”

Billy’s gut lurches as he soaks it in. It sounds logical. He can’t deny that, but something about the idea of his dad’s decapitation doesn’t sit. Kinda gives him the heebie-jeebies. And that’s weird. That’s really weird because he’s okay with everything else.

Well.

Okay, maybe he’s not okay with it, but. He understands it. It’s Neil. Of course he understands the bruises she may or may not be hiding, the fear in her heart regardless.

“Do you have to chop his head off? Can’t you just smash his face in?”

“I considered that,” Susan says, nodding again. “Those cast iron lion bookends on the shelf are nine pounds each. I weighed them this morning.”

Billy likes the sound of that better. Neil is going to be dead and disfigured either way. He’s not sure why it makes a difference. Maybe it doesn’t, really. He thinks he might have a fever. Maybe the fever’s just getting to him, making him a little loopy and pulling his thoughts in less than rational directions.

“I could do that part,” he offers. It’d probably take him less time to bash Neil’s face in than it’d take Susan. He has more physical prowess, after all, more power to put behind the blows.

“Are you up for that?” she asks, eyeing him skeptically.

“Yes,” he snaps, somewhat defensive. He’s sick but he’s not helpless.

Billy’s claim isn’t undermined by the brief bout of coughing that overtakes him. He halts the reflex to clutch his ribs. Not now, not in front of her. Especially not with what they have to do.

“There’s two bookends,” Susan points out, seems a little nervous as she watches him cough. “We could take turns.”

With that, she disappears from view. Billy hacks some more gross globs into his hand and for convenience’s sake, just wipes it off on his jeans. When Susan comes back, she has one of those big black contractor trash bags. Spreads it out on the bed beside Neil’s form.

They roll him together and Billy doesn’t know what to make of what he feels when he actually sees his father’s face, features devoid and dead. Very, very dead. Tears do not sting his eyes. They just well up watery because he’s coughing again, battling for breath again, so, so wrung and exhausted, lungs like sodden sponges sopped with sputum.

Then he’s holding the bookend, cast iron artistically sculpted, the maned king of the jungle bearing his teeth in a roar. Billy looks at his father’s dead face and hesitates for only a heartbeat. When he brings the heavy object down, he puts all the force he can muster behind it and it makes an utterly atrocious noise Billy will never forget, but—

Some part of him has always wanted to do this. For that part of him, it is the only thing he’s ever truly wanted. And when Susan takes her turn Billy watches her face and realizes, oh, going slack and sloth and silent with the taste of Neil Hargrove’s hand isn’t the only thing they share at all.

* * * 

They wait until late to don gloves and roll Neil up in the shower liner. They stuff him in the bed of his own truck for transport. Billy takes the torso end because it’s heavier, Susan hefts him under the legs. Billy drives because he knows the way even though it’s the last thing he feels like doing.

It goes mostly okay. He only has a paroxysm bad enough to make him pull over once.

Susan reaches across the seats and rubs his shoulder. Billy’s too busy getting his breath to shrug her off.

“I’m sure you’re not going to love this idea, but I think it’s time to see a doctor. This could be bronchitis, Billy, or even pneumonia.”

“Pneumonia isn’t real,” Billy grouses tiredly. “It’s like the boogeyman. Just some story old people made up so their grandkids wouldn’t play in the rain and track mud all over the house.”

“Uh…um.” She blinks owlishly, forehead creasing. “No, that’s not quite accurate…”

“I’m screwing with you, Susan.” Because that’s easier than conceding to her.

It would’ve been one thing with Neil. As fucked up as things were, Neil was his dad. Neil was supposed to take care of him.

But Susan. Susan is different. Susan is mostly Max’s weird mom who displays about as much emotion as a mannequin whenever she isn’t (wasn’t) dancing on Neil’s puppet strings or talking to the spiders as she shakes them free from soft tissues. Albeit tonight is a game changer. They’re very literally partners in crime now.

“We could even go to the ER after this,” she suggests uncertainly, wary edge to her tone.

“That’s for emergencies. I can wait.”

“If you’re sure.” Susan hums in her throat and draws her hand away.

They have good timing. The bar’s been closed for almost an hour by the time they get there and all the cars have cleared out. Billy backs up to the dumpster so he and Susan can stand on the bed and lift Neil in that way, rather than having to drag his deadweight out and struggle to raise his cumbersome bulk up over the side.

He doesn’t want to be out here any longer than he has to. Whole thing gives him the heebie-jeebies. He feels like a cop is about to pull up any second now and frankly, it’s cold as fuck. He’s cold as fuck.

Not as cold as the unearthly chill that seems to pierce through the plastic liner when Billy lifts his father’s trunk for the second time tonight.

“Do you feel that?” he irresistibly asks Susan, watching her adjust her grip on Neil’s legs and searching her face for the eeriness he’s feeling.

“Feel what?” Susan asks, frowning.

Death itself? Billy doesn’t know.

“Nothing, it’s…just cold, I guess.”

“Oh, Billy, I think you have the chills.”

And he knows he does but it’s not the same thing. He doesn’t comment any more on it. Together they get Neil up on the metal rim of the open dumpster, push him over. Garbage crunches and crinkles beneath his deadweight. Billy feels another coughing fit coming on and manages to suppress it until he gets back inside the truck.

“Do you want me to drive home?” Susan asks.

“No. I know the way better, it’s easier if I do it.”

“You could, um. I mean, you could direct me if I get a little turned around. You’re looking pretty tuckered out.” It’s dark but Billy can hear the frown in her voice.

“Alright,” he sighs out. “Fine.”

Because she’s not wrong. He’s drained at this point. Shoving his dad’s body in the dumpster spent the last store of energy he had. He and Susan swap places. She doesn’t have much trouble once she actually gets back on the main road.

“Thank you,” she murmurs eventually. “If I had to do this myself, I’d still be in the middle of it.”

“Yeah…sure thing, I guess.” She killed his dad. No big deal. Billy blinks, isn’t sure what else to say.

“…so, um…you like the fellas, huh?” she asks, voice light and not a bit unkind.

“Uh-huh." He shrugs. "Guys, girls, I mean, I'm not that picky. A hole’s a hole, a mouth’s a mouth, fingers are fingers.”

Susan chokes on a scandalized gasp and Billy gets a chuckle out of it, even as it turns into a cough.

“That’s, uh. T-That’s certainly crude.”

And it’s funny really, that Susan seems more creeped out by a boorish comment than she did by holding his dead dad’s corpse legs.

By the time they get home, Billy’s so beyond spent he knows he can’t even make it to his room. Doesn’t bother to try. Collapses on the couch cushions without attempting to take his boots off. Smothers what has to be the goddamn millionth round of coughs into the throw pillow.

When he picks his head up, Susan’s standing there, fiddling with the thermometer again, fretful expression on her features. Oh, fuck it. Fine. Billy bites the bullet and takes it from her, begrudgingly jamming the thing under his tongue.

[trampledcactusboy]

Second Chances

Genderbent Castiel X Male Reader

Y/N’s POV

“Cas, get out of the way!”

I slammed the startled angel into the wall behind me as I shielded her with my body.

I managed to get in one good shot before crumpling to the floor like a loose piece of paper spilling with red ink.

“Y/N!” I heard Dean scream from across the room, heavy and fast footsteps headed my direction.

I slumped back into the soft trenchcoat beneath me, realizing the body in it belonged to none other than the celestial being I had just saved but not having enough strength to prevent myself from falling further into it the more I bled out.

My breaths started to get shallow, a slow but painfully high pitched sound ringing through my ears, blocking out everything else.

It felt like a movie.

It was weird, I always used to think that these moments were so cliche, so overdone and overdramatic.

But now, as my vision blurs and my hands shake with the touch of cold that rushes inot me, I want to laugh at the accuracy I’ve mocked all these years.

I saw everything happening in slow motion.

Perhaps, God just wanted me to remember this well.

Remember the faces of my best friends. Remember the feeling of Castiel’s gorgeous hair cascading down my neck from underneath my withering form. Remember being a ‘hero’, even if it was a short-lived career.

I always had a nagging fear in the back of my mind, telling me I wasn’t really making a difference, telling me that I wasn’t hunting for the right reasons.

But right now, in this moment, that constant voice finally quieted down.

Because I knew, with every organ in my body, every slowing pump of my heart and every ounce of my corrupt soul, that what I just did meant something. It meant something to me.

If saving Castiel’s cute ass was how I was going to go out, then so fucking be it. There could be worse ways to die.

The ringing and slow motion all began to subside when I gasped out for a breath of air, coughing as blood dripped out of the corner of my mouth.

Dean was beside me, trying desperately to close the wound temporarily with some cloth.

Sam was standing above us all, eyes watering and heaving like he was about to have a full blown panic attack.

And Castiel, bless her pure self, was still beneath me, eyes widened and looking straight ahead whilst clutching onto my arms securely.

Her warm, small hands wrapped around my thick biceps in a way I wished would’ve lasted forever.

“Why would you do that?”

I looked over at Dean wearily, not knowing how to respond to such an obvious question.

“DAMMIT, Y/N! SHE WOULD’VE BEEN FINE! YOU DON’T ALWAYS HAVE TO BE THE ONE TO SACRAFICE YOURSELF!”

Castiel’s eyes watered at the sound of the older brother’s shouts resulting in me to rub up circles on her hands that surrounded me to soothe her.

“I didn’t miss…did I?” 

I smiled softly, Sam scoffing at my ability to make any situation lighter.

“You better not die on us, Y/N. I don’t know how I’d explain to Bobby that we couldn’t save you.” Sam’s voice cracked, attempting to hold back sobs.

“Don’t bullshit me when I’m dying, Sam. We both know you just can’t stand the thought of going back to fast food dinners every night.” 

He laughed, tears falling as he did and even Dean had a tight lipped smile slide across his face.

“You’re a great cook.” Castiel whispered, still not looking down at the scene playing out before her.

“Yeah? Be sure to write that exact quote on my tombstone, will ya darlin’?” I coughed out another low laugh.

“This isn’t funny.”  She said, louder this time, finally staring down at me.

Her big, captivatingly blue eyes sparkled with what I knew was tears but convinced myself was her depleting grace leaking through her beautiful vessel.

“Hey now, it’s okay. It’s okay, I’m sorry.” I reached up a hand to caress her flushed cheeks that any other time would be such a vibrant pink.

“You should be. I didn’t need saving.”

Her tone was stern but the waver in the delivery gave away her true emotion.

“I know you didn’t. You’re strong, you never need anyone to save you. I just wanted to show off, you know I can’t resist that disapproving look you give me. It’s sexy.” 

My voice was now horse and weak, volume so shallow I was surprised she heard me.

A tear fell down her face and I wiped it away, smiling up at the angel who had taken over my life since she flew into it three and a half years ago.

“Cas, I…”

My body was shutting down, now. I could sense the drowning within my own self occuring as I tried to swim to the surface, selfishly wanting just a few more minutes with her.

But it seemed as thought my time was up, I had wasted too much of my energy stalling the inevitable that I lost my chance to say what I had been needing to say for much too long.

It felt like fainting, not dying.

And I guess, in a way, I was grateful for that.

I expected something painful and excruciating but wa sgreeted with something of elegance and gentlness instead.I felt trapped inside a pool of complete darkness.

Nothing and no one around me to guide me thrugh whatever I had been sent.

I scratched my head in confusion, not understanding what had happened.

This wasn’t hell.

This certainly wasn’t heaven.

This wasn’t even enough to be considered purgatory.

I wandered around aimlessly, calling out to any that could hear me.

“GOD!”

No answer.

“GOD!?”

Nothing.

“HEY, ASSWIPE! I THINK THERE’S BEEN SOME KIND OF MISTAKE! YOU SEE, I DIED! I NEED SOME CELESTIAL TRANSPORTATION PLEASE!”

I pulled at my hair in fristration before plopping down on the black ground.

Was there somplace besides heaven, hell and purgatory that we hadn’t known of yet?

Was I the first to be brought here?

Were they just holding me here while they decided my fate?

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I spent what I assumed to be centuries sitting in that damned pit of despair, only thing to acompany me being my own thoughts.

Some days I’d cry.

Some days I’d scream.

Some days I’d try to speak with God again.

Some days I’d just lie there and try to remember what clouds looked like.

And some days…Some really rare days…I’d hear Castiel.

Or at least, I thought I did. 

I couldn’t tell if it was actually her or me just going insane from the torturous isolation.

But when I did hear her, I chose not to question it and instead would admire it like a magnificent ballad.

She would say all kinds of things to me.

Usually it’d be about her day with Sam and Dean, never refraining to tell me how she think I would have handled the situation. Other times it was about a movie or show she had seen or even a song or a picture or a skyline or a car, anything that reminded her of me and how much I would’ve enjoyed those simple things from life.

Sometimes, though, she’d get real depressing. I’d spend hours not being able to hear anything other than her crying and it made me feel like I was dying all over again.

These moments, however rare, were a double edged sword.

I loved them but resented them all the same, for I yearned to be with her again, to stroke her hair and hold her close to me and reassure her that everything was alright.

Eventually, I came to terms with the fact that this is where I belonged.

God doesn’t make any mistakes, he’d unfortunately made me quite aware of that during our encounter on Earth.

Why he decided to give me the silent treatment, I had no idea. But I’m sure he put me in here for a reason, and that was something that was easier to find peace in than fight considering I had no legitimate choice in the matter.

I took up mediatation, yoga and even singing to occupy my infinite time.

Sure, it wasn’t the best routine in the world and definitely wouldn’t comfort me forever but it was something and that’s better than nothing at all.

I’m sure the boys and Cas would’ve laughed their asses off at the sight of me prancing around here, stretching, hopping and singing to those stupid songs Dean has gotten stuck in my head after all this time.

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Another two years went by.

Castiel spoke to me a few months ago.

It was shocking, she hadn’t taked to me since a year ago.

I was beginning to think she was gone, that maybe my mind had settled down and I was sane once again.

She informed me that it was New Year’s. She told me of all the things they did to celebrate, how Sam had tried to make it fun and cheerful but her and Dean just weren’t having any of it. How Dean had snapped at the sight of decorations and kicked down the small christmas tree his brother had brought in. She told me how christmas was the same, neither of them bothering to open the gifts Sam had sought out for them in protest of the holiday as a whole. She told me how Sam made a joke about her having a first kiss to egt into the spirit of New Year’s, offering Dean as a pair of lips. The way she described how disgusted she was by just the mere image of that exchange had me smiling to myself in both amusement and relief, even if she was just a figment of my vivid imagination. She told me how she always thought I would have been her first anything, how she didn’t find it possible to even contemplate another person to replace my role. She didn’t verify in any detail on what she meant by ‘role’ so I could only hope she meant what I wanted her to mean by it. 

She ended the converstaion, if I could even call it that, by telling me she was sorry for abandoning me lately. She vented about how guilty she had been feeling because my birthday had come around and the memories of me consumed her like a vicious beast. I wanted to tell her I forgived her. I wanted to let her know I didn’t mind and that i hadn’t even known my birthday had passed, make her aware that time in here was only an abstract construct of my own consiousness. I wanted to tell her to live her life to the fullest, to stop wasting her time on me and start taking Sam’s positive influence as an excuse to forget about me.

After that, I spent the next couple of months concluding a hypothesis I loathed to be true.

I figured that God was behind the lingering voice of his child, my angel castiel.

That he had to of been using my care for her as a cruel form of punishment, forcing me to face the reality of my hurting the ones I loved by the actions I took in my leave.

At first, I was enraged by such a theory but gradually accepted it as a lesser of evils.

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Today marked what felt like the third century.

That’s 300 years for those who don’t know.

I had no watch, of coarse, so I was probably off a good 50 years but whose to say I wasn’t in here for longer than I thought?

I honestly had no clue, and I didn’t strain myself with the stress of craving taht sort of knowledge.

I was jogging around in circles around the vast, endless darkness, clearing my mind when I heard a flutter.

I stopped in my tracks and spun around to see a woman in a grey suit.

She had long, wavy red hair, a pale complexion and navy blue eyes that could have easily been mistaken for black.

I debated speaking to her, not sure if this was another trick from my own head.

She giggled, taking a small step forward.

“I’m as real as it gets, Y/N. Shameful to believe your mind is so weak that it would conjure me up. You should give yourself more credit.”

I tilted my head a bit and furrowed my brows, standing in place.

“Who are you? You dead, too?”

She smiled a scarily happy smile, almost like she was a pushy salesperson trying to sell me some load of garbage.

“I’m no person, Y/N. I’m an angel. God sent me here for you.”

“God sent you here?” I asked in the most ‘I-doubt-that’ tone I could muster.

She simply nodded and I stepped closer to her, scoffing with a fake smile drawn on my lips.

“God’s long forgotten about me, sweetheart. So why don’t you fly on out of here? I didn’t ask for no angel.”

“Oh, but you did.”

I placed my hands on my hips and rose an eyebrow at her words.

“Well, not me. But you did ask for an angel, didn’t you? Have been ever since you landed here.”

“Get to the point, ginger.”

“Why? We have time.” She spoke so sweet but so deviously all at once, pacing around the empty space as she continued her little speech.

“You weren’t brought here on purpose by anyone, Y/N. You brought yourself here…”

She paused in her spot, then stolled back over to me, placing a hand and wacthing as it slid down my chest to the spot where I had been wounded but now looks as if nothing ever even grazed the area.

“When you took a bullet to the chest.”

I eyed her carefully, stiffening under her touch. She snapped her head back up to me, hand resting on my chest.

“How brave you were and yet, how naive. So willing to risk your mortal life over a creature that couldn’t ever understand why you had saved it.”

“Her.”

“Excuse me?”

“She’s not an item, she isn’t an ‘it’. And I don’t care if she knows or not, I chose my fate and I’m not apologetic about it in the slightest.”

Her grin widened as she slipped her hand away from me.

“I’m glad you feel that way. I hope you still have that attitude when you’re in Purgatory.”

“What?” My voice held panic inside it, I didn’t want to leave this place, not anymore.

She began pacing again and she explained herself.

“You know, it’s not often I get to do this type of thing. I’m happy there’s a change in schedule, I was getting quite bored of the same old ‘you get to go to heaven!’ and ‘you’re going to hell!’ bullshit. I was craving something new…”

She spun back around to me, biting her lip.“I guess I owe you a thank you for that.”

“No…wait. There’s gotta be a misunderstanding, I’m supposed to be here.”

“What aren’t you getting here, honey? You were never supposed to be anywhere but the land of prey. You’re meant to be some demon’s dinner. God doens’t have any sacred plans for you. God doens’t even know where you are right now. You think you’re the first to have the plug pulled on ya? You’re nothing special, baby.”

“Plug? What plug? What the fuck are you on about?!”

“Oh dear, you haven’t figured it out yet, have you?”

I just stood there, breathing rapidly at the spinning of an ensuing headache.

“You’re not dead, Y/N. You’re in a coma.”

My breath hitched in my throat and my body went limp.

“Or at least, you were in a coma. But it seems like Sam’s had enough of your dreadful existence. I have to admit, it took longer than I bet on. Gonna lose some good change over this. But dropping you off into a sea of hungry misfits will make up for that.”

“You’re lying. Sam wouldn’t do that.”

“You need some proof? That’s fine.” 

With a wave of her hand to my temple my body jolted and the view of my hospital room came into view.

Sam and Dean were arguing by my bedside, Castiel gripping my hand and not tearing her sorrowful eyes away from my unconscious body.

“YOU CAN’T JUST DO THIS, SAM! IT’S NOT YOUR CHOICE!”

“IT’S TIME, DEAN! HAVEN’T YOU HAD ENOUGH OF THIS CONSTANT SUFFERING? BECAUSE I KNOW I HAVE AND Y/N WOULDN’T WANT IT TO BE LIKE THIS!”

“YOU DON’T GET TO TELL ME WHAT Y/N WOULD HAVE WANTED! NO ONE IS PULLING ANY PLUGS HERE!”

“HE’S NOT GONNA MAKE IT! WOULD YOU RATHER WAIT UNTIL THEN? WOULD YOU RATHER HAVE TO SPEND THE NEXT GOD KNOWS HOW LONG CRYING OVER THE INEVITABLE, HUH?”

“NOT THAT YOU GIVE A DAMN, BUT YES, I WOULD! I PREFER TO HAVE HIM HERE AND YOU’RE NOT DOING HIM ANY FAVORS BY ACTING AS IF HE’S ALREADY GONE!”

“BEING IN A COMA ISN’T CONSIDERED AS BEING HERE, DEAN! SO, YEAH, TO ME HE’S BEEN GONE SINCE WE BROUGHT HIM HERE! START LOOKING AT THE REALITY OF THINGS FOR ONCE!”

“THE REALITY?! YOU GO-“

“ENOUGH!” The brothers looked over in surprise at the yell of an angered angel. 

Castiel stood from her spot, releasing my hand as she turned to face the the hunters.

“Neither of you has the right to dictate what happens to Y/N. you are not God! You will let Heaven decide what is best for him and if either of you-!”

She gulped and took a deep breath in.

“If any of you dares to try and take Y/N away from me…I will not be held responsible for what I’ll do to you.”

Sam’s eyes were wide with fear, Dean’s had relief wash over them at the threat, knowing Sam wouldn’t deny Cas of her wishes.

“Okay…Okay…” Sam stepped one foot forward about to reach out to Cas in comfort but she moved away, not breaking the stare they shared as she did.

She sat back down on the chair beside me and put her hand over mine as the room fell silent.

“You sure you don’t have enough juice in those tinkle toes of yours? Not even a little? Even a drop could go a far way-“

“If I could, don’t you think I would’ve by now, Dean?” Cas growled at the older man, not even glancing up at him.

“Sorry…I know you would’ve. I just miss him.”

“We all do.” Sam confirmed, walking out of the room, an expression of distress from the situation evident on his face. He wasn never able to be around people when times like this arose.

But just as he left, a beeping sounded throughout the small room.

I was flatlining.

Fast.

And there was nothing anyone could do to stop it. 

Castiel started to freak out, latching her hands onto me and shaking me, fisting my hospital gown, stroking  the sides of my face, any sort of contact she could perform she did as she spewed out all kinds of pleas, begging me to stay alive.

Dean was rushing out into the halls, screaming for assistance on the top of his lungs, running back in with nurses and docters as he tried to pull Castiel off of me to no avail.

Sam skidded back in, helping pry Cas away from me into a corner of the room as they watched the workers attempt to revive me.

The image then faded away, my eyes opening to see the redheaded angel in front of me.

“Guess Sam was too little too late, huh? I was really pulling for him.”

My mouth hung open, jaw dropped at the realization that this entire time I could of been fighting. This entire time I should have been searching for a way out. The realization that Castiel wasn’t in my head, but out there visiting me, and I never bothered to put any weight to her words. 

“Sorry, was pulling not the proper word? Too soon?” She snickered as I closed my mouth, swallowing a knot in my throat.

“Oh, have a sense of humor, will ya? Now let’s go, steamboat.”She dragged my arm but I yanked back refusing to move.

“I’m not dead yet.”

“Don’t make this harder than it needs to be.”

She tried dragging me again, this time more forceful but again, I yanked back.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

“Listen, I admire your determination to outlive your own body, I really do. But my job is to send you to your designated place of rest, or lack there of, and you’re starting to test my patience.”

“I’m not even a demon! I’m not a monster of any kind. I don’t belong in Purgatory!”

“Sweetie, every rule has it’s exception, and you’re purgatory’s. Your actions on Earth have been a fair share of both good and evil. When it comes to something like that, the person’s own mind determines their sentence. Normally, being the egotistical maniacs humans are, they all believe themselves to be worthy of Heaven. But you...”

She stepped a bit closer, digging her long nails into my arm.

“We both know you’ve been anticipating this for a long time. You’re ongoing battle against yourself has lead you to this, Y/N. You can’t decide if you’re a man of justice or a man of revenge and because of that you’ve managed to climb you’re way into Purgatory. Where there is no good and bad, no damned and righteous, there is only what you do best… hunting.”

She scratched down my forearm, a long trail of red in the carved marking. I winced and hissed at the pain, using my other hand to shove her down.

She shot up and charged at me, her wings extending out of her back.

She tackled me down, me writhing underneath her as she punched me in the face.I kicked her off of me, her rolling beside me and I stood only to reach down and pluck a handful of feathers from her wings as I returned the favor by bashing her head back into the floor.

She screamed, a scrunched expression of sadness overtaking her from the loss of feathers.

I started to run, to where I didn’t knoe, there really wasn’t any place to go in here, just a never ending blank canvas of black. She didn’t take long to bolt after me, trying to land a few ‘zaps’ at me, thank the lord for my yoga because I was now flexible enough to jump high over the blasts she repeatedly shot at me.

Then, the wildest idea came to me.

If I wasn’t dead, I could still pray to Castiel.

I was such an idiot, how had I not tried this before??

I chuckled distatefully at myself as I lunged, tumbled and glided out of the way of numerous attacks from the mad angel behind me, knowing if this didn’t work I was toast.

This was my last resort.

“CASTIEL!” I shouted as loud as I could, hoping my vigorious effort to get in touch with her would be heard through all the chaos in the real world.

“CAS, PLEASE! I’M HERE! I’M TRAPPED, BUT I’M HERE! CAS, DON’T GIVE UP ON ME! DON’T LET ME DIE, DAMMIT!”

“You’re precious Castiel won’t be able to hear your cries! Stop wasting your breath and give up! You can’t outrun me forever!” 

“CAS, C’MON! I KNOW YOU HEAR ME! JUST LIKE I’VE HEARD YOU!”

A blast of I’m-not-even-sure stung my leg, me limping to the ground as the redhead smirked and sped up to catch me at my weakest.

“I HEARD YOU WHEN YOU TOLD ME ABOUT NEW YEAR’S, CAS! I KNOW YOU DIDN’T KISS DEAN! I KNOW YOU DIDN’T OPEN SAM’S GIFT ON CHRISTMAS AND I KNOW THAT YOU STOPPED THEM FROM PULLING MY PLUG!”

I got up and kneeled over, panting just as the angel pinned me down and wailed me in the face, blood spurting out my nose at the hit.

“I HEARD YOU CRY, CAS! I WAS HERE! I’M STILL HERE AND YOU DON’T HAVE TO CRY ANYMOE IF YOU JUST LET-“

Another harsh blow to me face.

“LET ME OUT OF HERE!”

The angel above me dug a nail into my chest, where I had been shot.

I screamed in agony as she drilled it into me, reaching inside of the now present wound.

“I told you.” She said lowly in a deep voice, twisting her finger inside of me, making me gasp out for air. 

She reached down beside my ear, whispering. “She. Can’t. Hear. You.”

Suddenly, the real world and this one flickered back and forth.

I was overlooking the hospital room one second, seeing the drama unfold as they kept resesitaing me.

Then I was back here, watching an angel stab me with her own hand.

I went back and foth numerous times, like my sou couldn’t decide on where to go, confused on which body it was meant to inhabit.

The entire time, I felt the pain of the bullet all over again, but ten times worse.

Maybe this is what dying actually feels like.

Maybe the first time wasn’t an accurate representation of how this goes.

Or maybe the angel who was currently prolonging my death just to see the life leave my eyes was the cause of this horrific feeling.

Who knows?

All I do know, is that I regret everything now.

I used to think I was okay with how it all ended, how I went out, where I was, all of that shit.

But being in this moment right now, I realize I’m not okay with any of it, not even in the slightest.

I regret allowing myself to get shot so easily.

I regret not telling Castiel how I truly felt when I had the chance.

I regret accepting my presumed fate so quickly.

And most importantly, I regret ever letting myself believe for even a minute that I wasn’t a good person.

Because as I look back on my life, I notice all the great fucking things I’ve done.

I take notice to all the impacts I have made in people’s lives and all the sacrafices I have given for the greater good of humanity as a whole, no matter how unfairly I was ever treated.

I remember all the times I had doubted myself or taken blame for things that weren’t within my control.

I remember all the nights I’d lie awake wondering if I had a purpose.

And lying here now, I know I did.

Because maybe I couldn’t save everyone. Maybe I couldn’t fix the world. But I sure as hell did a lot more than most people, and I’m proud of that.

I’m proud of myself.

And I know my friends are too. I know Sam, Dean and Castiel would agree with me for once. I know Bobby would slap me upside the head for taking so long to come to this ruling about myself. And I know God, wherever he is, never thought any different of me. I don’t need any stupid angel to tell me any of that. So if purgatory is where she wants me to be, let her take me. And let her keep taking me back there each time I claw my way back out, because I’ll be damned if I ever give up on myself.

Not anymore.

Things started to turn white.

Everyone washed away from view until nothing was left but that whiteness.

I felt peaceful.

I felt content.

I felt…A hand?

I opened my eyes, swuinting from the bright light invading my vision.

I blinked a few times to adjust into focus.

The ceiling was white.

The ceiling…was white.

Since when were there ceilings in purgatory?

“Didn’t know purgatory had interior designers. Who the hell redecorated this place?” I muttered under my breath.

I then looked down to discover the hand I had felt was holding mine.

A soft, smaller, feminine hand.

“Y/N?”

I glanced up at the most stunning sight I had ever seen.

Castiel, with freshly tinted cheeks and wet tear stains covering the bags under her crystal eyes, looked at me from beside my hospital bed.

“Cas.”

She leaped onto me, her body devouring mine in a hug full that reeked of need.

I slowly wrapped my frail arms around her as she buried her face into my neck.

I felt her take a strong whiff of my scent and smiled to myself at the cute gesture.

I rubbed circles into her back, thriving in the moment of being back, it honestly kicking in at a very steady rate.

I couldn’t help but to wonder why I was back.

Last I knew, my destiny was sealed by a bitchy redhead.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Y/N. I wasn’t thankful enough for you.” She whsipered into my skin.

“Don’t be ridiculous. No need to be sorry. I shouldn’t of been so impulsive like that.” 

“No. You saved me.” She pulled back, hands around my neck as she hovered above me. “You’re my hero. Even if you are stupid.”

I let out a raspy laugh, a smile etching across her face at the sound.

And that’s when I understood.

‘You’re my hero.’

That’s why I’m back.

I had finally made up my opinion of myself.

I decided I was a good man and that I was worthy of much more than the ending I was given.

I decided that I was meant to do more in this world.

And because of that, because of me seeing myself for the ‘hero’ I am, God has given me another chance at a better fate.

“Yeah. Yeah I am.” I smiled back, running the back of my hand down her cheek as she leaned into it.

“I was wondering…” She looked down hesitantly, leaning back into her seat.

“Yeah?”

“What were going to tell me? Before you…” She trailed off, not wanting to finish the sentence.

I stared at her in confusion, not connecting the reference.

She just waited for me to answer, knowing I was trying to remember what she meant.

“Oh.” I breathed out, my hand falling from her and onto my lap.

“I was going to say…”

Her face held anticipation and nervousness within it, my teeth knawing on my inner lip.

I was given another chance. I can’t waste it.

“I love you, Cas. And I don’t mean as a friend or a partner or family. I mean I love you. With every part of myself.”

She took in a breath, holding it for a few seconds.

And, man, those seconds felt like hours to me as my anxiety built on her response.

“I love you as well, Y/N. I thought you always knew of this.”

“Wait, what?”

“I was told humans can be oblivious to the natural sentiment that occurs between ones who share a deep attraction both spiritually and sexually due to denial and or simplicity being as…how does Dean say it? ‘Ignorance is bliss’? But I just always assumed you were not one of these humans being as you’re-“

I sat up and moved toward the rambling brunette, pressing my lips against hers lovingly.

She didn’t reciprocate the kiss and I chuckled against her lips, pulling back just a little bit.

“You talk too much. Now follow my lead.” I mumbled, her nodding in return and finally kissing back with so much emotion I thought I was going to go into another coma.

Her devotion felt like warm silk surging through me. It was almost like reading her mind, but with no words. It was wonderful.

We pulled apart and I sat back against my pillow with a dreamy sigh.

“So where’s the boys?”

“Uh-Uh-Uh-“

I laughed at her stuttering, entwining our hands together and squeezing.

“They went to go call Bobby, update him on your stability status. Or what was your stability status.”

“Perfect! When they come in here act like nothing happened. I’m gonna pretend I’m still in a coma and jump scare those sons of bitches.”

“I know I have professed my love to you but that doesn’t mean I want to be involved with your twisted ‘pranks’.”

“Wow, nice to know my girlfriend doesn’t have my back. And after I took a bullet to the chest for your angelic ass.”

I rolled my eyes teasingly, pulling her on top of me and nuzzling my nose against her temple.

“Girlfriend?”

“Do you not want to be?”

“No, I do!” 

I leaned back slightly looking up at her with an amused expression at her immediate reply.

“Relax yourself, eager beaver. I know you do.”

I pecked her nose with a light kiss and she snuggled into me.

“Ow, ow, ow. Careful with the bullet wound, there.”

“Well maybe now this will be a warning to not be an idiot.”

My chest vibrated with a rorar of laughter.

“Point taken, snarky. Next time I’ll just let you take the hit. I’d rather see you in this gown, they don’t have any backs you know.”

She picked her head up to glare at me, inches away from my own face.

“You’re impossible.”

“Impossible not to looove apparently.” I mocked, booping her nose with my pointer finger.

“For once, you’re not wrong.” 

She locked our lips in a kiss, one of her hands combing through my slightly overgrown hair.

As we let the kiss end and she cuddled me, I hummed to her before stopping.

“How long have I been in here?”

“Four months.”

“That’s it?!”

“How long did you think it had been?”

“Like…300 years?”

“Don’t you think that’s a little absurd, Y/N?”

“You know what’s absurd? The fact that I’m going to be spending the next four months up your butt to make up for my absence.”

She lifted herself up, elbows on my shoulders and hands holding her head.

“Up…my butt?”

“It’s an expression, honeybee.”

Her face was unreadable so I continued.

“Unless you don’t want it to be.”

She blushed immensely, flicking my nose.

“Hey! What was that for!?”

“Dean said if you ever got fresh with me to do that.”

“How do you even know what fresh means!?”

“I’ve learned a lot while you were asleep, Y/N. You’d be surprised.”

“Oh yeah? Well about you surprise me some more then, huh? Spill the beans, kiddo.”

“Well, for one, I understand that saying.”

She went on for the next three days updating me on all the winchesters had taught her in the past four months.

She even revealed some information “the pizza man” had taught her.

And you best believe I put that one to the test.

Let’s just say the pizza man is quite the teacher.

[hollamd]

Letters (Part 2 of Voicemails) - Peter Parker

Previous

Summary: After Peter leaves his voicemails to a missing Y/N, her phone gets shut off. In the following months he writes his feelings to her and slowly heals.

Warnings: Kinda sad, swearing

Word Count: 1469

A/N: Hi guys! Sorry this is really messy, I’m posting from mobile. If I post on my desktop, the post won’t show up in the tags. This took awhile to write and I feel like I put a lot of emotion in to it! I really hope you like it and I’m sorry if it makes you sad. I have some happy fics planned, and you can always request! Please comment your feedback, it really helps! :) 

January 15th

Dear Y/N Y/L/N, It’s been three and half months without you. I stopped calling because your parents shut down your phone. I gotta tell you, the first time I called and got the message your phone wasn’t in service… My heart sank. If it were up to me, I would’ve kept your phone on for the rest of my life, even if it’s just to hear you say the same exact words every time.

We buried an empty casket after the second month of your disappearance. Everyone was there Y/N, all for you. Your parents, Aunt May, Ned, Michelle… Even Flash. In fact, I even think he cried. I know that would’ve made you laugh… God, I swear I can still hear your laugh sometimes. It was a beautiful service, you would’ve been happy with it, even though you’re really picky. Everyone cried that day, even the sky.

School went by pretty quickly, but sometimes I’d still walk by your locker and think of you. It sucks without you, you know. I’ve kept my grades up, and people talk to me more, but I think it’s just out of pity. The Spider-Man thing has been going really well. Once I get out of school, I go into the city, and save people. It’s all I do, really. It’s a constant distraction from the you-shaped hole in my heart. Aunt May is starting to notice how exhausted I am, but I don’t think she wants to say anything… People have been kinda treating me as if I’m some fragile object, as if I’ll break any second. But, the truth is I broke the moment I knew I wouldn’t see you anytime soon.

Speaking of Spider-Man, Mr. Stark’s really been there for me after this whole thing. He even tried looking for you Y/N, even though it’d been a month and a half at that point. He also offered me a spot on the Avengers. I said no, and I know you’d be really mad but I also know you’d understand.One day, I’ll be ready, but right now, I’m just a heartbroken kid in high school.

Once it started getting cold again, I actually missed you constantly asking for my sweater. I missed the tea you’d always make for me after a long night of spidering, and see your nose turn pink from the cold. Anyway, Thanksgiving came, but you didn’t miss out on anything. There wasn’t even anything to be thankful for, not without you. Christmas came, and I got you a present. You know those earrings we always saw on the walk home from school, and you’d constantly drool over them? Well I saved enough money to finally get them. I had to sell a few things, and I know you’ll be mad at me, but I really couldn’t help myself. Sorry.

I find myself watching Beauty and the Beast whenever I think of you. It’s your movie, it always reminds me of you, and I swear I can feel you right beside me.

I know it’s been awhile without you, but I’m not even close to over you. I’m probably being over-dramatic, but we were so in love… It hurts to fucking think of you Y/N, but I’m always thinking of you. I’m starting to learn how to live without you now, and it’s the worst thing.

I miss everything. I miss our movie nights. I miss the way we’d talk about our future together. I miss the way you’d patch me up after a rough night of spidering. I miss our late night phone calls. I miss the way we would do our homework together, and the fact that you were always so good at English. I miss the way your eyes would light up. I miss going over to your house and cuddling with you. I miss our trips to the deli after school. I miss your smile. I miss your kisses. I miss your hugs. I miss your smell. I miss your voice, your laughter, your jokes, your singing, your smiles… I miss how you made me feel. I fucking miss you. So much.

I love you, Peter.

March 29th

Dear Y/N Y/L/N,

You were alive two days ago. Up until March 27th, 2017, you were breathing. It’s my fault. I should’ve never stopped looking, I know I’d be able to find you. You were alive…I’m so sorry. I don’t why I’m writing anymore, or who I’m writing them to, but maybe you’ll somehow get my letters from heaven.

They said when you were found, you just looked like you were sleeping. You were wearing different clothes from the last time I saw you apparently. I don’t wanna know how you died, I don’t wanna get the image of you in pain in my head. You were wearing the necklace I got you last year, the one with my initial on it. I didn’t look at the autopsy report or any pictures. I couldn’t.

I want to hurt the person who hurt you. I don’t know how anyone could ever do something to you, you’re the sweetest and most caring person I know. Or…. knew….

I’m writing this at 4 A.M., because I can’t sleep. I never get much sleep now, but tonight I don’t think I’ll get any. I keep thinking… I wanted to spend the rest of my life with you, but I didn’t. You wanted to spend the rest of your life with me, and you did.

I’ve already told you how I feel so many times, and I feel so much more, but I don’t have the words to say it. I’ve told you I’ve loved you so many times, and a simple “I love you” is just scratching the surface of the what I really feel. Knowing you’re actually gone now, I’ll never be able to get over you. I once thought knowing what happened to you would finally let me close the book on you, and move on with my life. If anything, it’s only started a new chapter.

Sometimes I wonder what you would say to me if you saw me now. You’d be mad at me for sulking over you so much, but then you’d also find it sweet. You’d probably say something like “Jesus, Pete, I’ve been dead for five months, go out and live your life.” I know you like the back of my hand, and I’m sure you know me like that, too.

I don’t know if there’s anything else to say, except that I love you.

Love, Peter — May 11th

Y/N Y/L/N,

I never believed in soulmates or true love until I started dating you. You brought a new light to my world…I’ll move on one day, and hopefully get married, but you always be my true love. Maybe one day, we’ll meet in the heavens and we’ll get to do all those things we always talked about, because true love stories never have endings.

Sometimes I wish I’d never fallen in love with you, because maybe then it wouldn’t be this hard for me to let you go. But then I remember our time spent together. All of the smiles, the laughs, the tears, the kisses, the love… It was all worth the pain of losing you. Losing you, was losing my world. I’ve dealt with loss before, I lost my uncle Ben. That was different, though; I had you. You held me and told me everything would be okay, because we had each other. But I don’t have you, and you’re gone.

I look back at your life and I like to think you somehow got your happy ending. Maybe a happy ending for me is picking up everything I have of you, and moving on. It doesn’t mean I’m going to forget you, or erase you… God I could never do that… But it means starting over. Your actual funeral, with your body, was held a few weeks ago. Not a lot of people were there, your parents wanted it to be small. We already said goodbye to you once, and that was hard enough.

This is my goodbye to you, Y/N. I know you’re always watching me from above and yelling at me to move on, because that’s what you’d want. I’ll be the best hero I can be, and I’ll be the best man I can be without you. We might’ve only been together for two and a half years, and maybe I’m being a baby in writing all these sappy, depressing letters… But I think it’s because I love you more than the world.

Even when I’m with another girl, I’ll always be yours.

I’ll always love you,

Peter.

Masterlist

[bevioletskies]

20 questions [11/20]

characters: peter/gamora, guardians-centric

fandom: avengers academy/marvel cinematic universe

summary: wasp has a new competition in store for the students of avengers academy, and there’s money involved. so obviously, peter and gamora have to pretend to be a couple in order to win. wait, what?

chapter preview: peter and gamora arrive at the wrong conclusion, nebula offers some surprising perspective, and new plans are made.

word count: 5338 | total word count: 118k

a/n: just a little reminder that while these guys are heavily based on the mcu guardians, they're still a lot younger (think like 20 - 24?) and therefore are a little more insecure than their movie counterparts, if that makes sense. That's my justification for why peter and gamora are so bad at this sometimes, oh god

ao3 | previously | next | masterpost

Gamora wished she could say she had done more after that moment. She wished that she could have told Peter about her confusing feelings about him lately, about the things Mantis had said about them being together for real, or at the very least, say that she had missed him (because she did, god, did she miss him).

But that would’ve required confidence, and for some reason, for maybe the first time in her life, confidence had left her hanging.

She wasn’t even sure what it was that left her so weirdly, emotionally numb, the second she was back in his arms. Maybe it was the exhaustion of the mission, the whirlwind of emotions that swirled about in her brain from having to rescue Nebula from the brink of no turning back. Or maybe it was just the warmth of Peter’s smile, perhaps too calming for once, washing away every conflicting thought she had been having.

Peter, despite being an open book of emotions himself, seemed unaware of Gamora’s internal plight, bending to kiss her forehead and hold her for a while longer. The moment was ruined when Rocket hollered for them to get a room (“or just go back to the ship already, don’t make out in front of everyone like a buncha losers!”). Groot also insisted on squeezing himself between their heads so he could snuggle Gamora’s face and chatter to her nonsensically, his mouth running a mile a minute.

Eventually, Peter walked Gamora back to the Milano, mostly in silence, their hands tangled together. He insisted that she needed a nap, promising that they could catch up over dinner with the rest of the group. Part of her wanted to ask him to come to bed with her, maybe chat there, alone, but it strangely felt too forward. Instead, she could only smile and nod in agreement, having done enough fighting for the past month to leave her craving deep sleep, in a bed so uncomfortable that she knew it had to be home.

Once she’d buried herself in her sheets, the rustle of cheap cotton nearly as comforting as the smell of ship’s constant stench of machine oil, she decided she’d talk to Peter about her feelings after dinner. After all, she could play it off as part of their game, maybe find some indirect way of asking if he felt similarly, without saying anything herself. That could work, right?

Problem number one - she slept through dinner, though she could vaguely remember Peter kneeling near her head, pulling her duvet back over her after it’d slipped during her restless slumber, whispering softly that he could bring her a plate later.

Problem number two - she slept through the rest of the night.

Problem number three - she didn’t wake until she had five minutes to get ready before her first class started, and had to sprint across campus before the All-Father could get mad.

Classes didn’t end until 3 PM, and even then, Gamora had to go to the gym for sparring practice with Natasha. “We can cancel if you want to,” Natasha had said. “I mean, you’ve been gone for four weeks, we can miss one more session if it means you rest longer.” But strangely, Gamora had found herself insisting. Her plan seemed less and less of a good idea, the more she thought about it. If she put it off just a little bit longer, maybe it wouldn’t be a conversation she’d want to have after all.

“It feels weird being back,” she said the moment she had arrived, watching Natasha’s reflection as the other girl stretched in the mirror. “I must admit, I wasn’t sure I would make it out alive. Nebula was able to coerce an entire military unit into shooting us down.”

“I'm glad you were able to convince her otherwise,” Natasha said, turning to smile gently at her. “Would've been devastating if any of you had died.”

“You really think I'm that cared for,” Gamora said. It wasn't a question. “I imagine Quill, for example, would be much more of a loss.”

“You’re a valuable person to a lot of people here, including me, by the way, and not just because you’re an incredible fighter,” Natasha said, passing her a practice sword. “And speaking of Quill, imagine how he'd react if he lost you. He'd probably lose his mind.”

Gamora settled into her starting stance, though she hesitated to move. “We’ve become like family. I’d imagine any of us getting killed would hurt him,” she commented. “We haven't actually talked since I returned. But he seems to have made new friends in my absence.”

Natasha smirked, teasing. “Silk especially seems to have made a connection with him. You jealous?”

“I trust him. And from what I could tell, she seems to share a lot of similar personality...quirks...as well,” Gamora returned as diplomatically as possible. “Now, let us fight.”

She returned to the Milano mere minutes before dinner was ready, feeling rather desperate to see everyone’s faces again. Drax and Mantis were busying themselves in the kitchen as always, while Yondu and Nebula seemed to be having a competition on who could take up the most leg room on the coffee table, resulting in them kicking each other like bratty children. Groot was sleeping on Rocket’s head, who seemed unperturbed by this as he reloaded some of his BFGs with fuel.

“Hello, Gamora,” Mantis said happily, looking up from her chopping board. “You are just in time for dinner! Maybe you could go get Peter? He is in his room.”

Gamora narrowed her eyes in suspicion. Mantis’s pushiness, as unusually persistent as it was, was something to come back to another time, so she obliged and went to knock on Peter’s door. “Come in,” he called.

He was sprawled on his bed, surrounded by books and a mess of papers, his Walkman by his side. “Dinner’s almost ready,” she said. She felt weirdly uneasy, the corner of her mouth twitching as if to dare her to tell him what she’d been thinking about.

Peter rolled onto his side to look at her properly, smiling. “We got time to chat before then?” He patted the spot next to him, and Gamora settled in, realizing she could put this off no longer. To her surprise, the first thing Peter did was reach for her, cupping her jaw in his hands. His eyes roamed her face, searching for something. “Didn’t get a chance to ask you yesterday - are you doing okay?”

“Physically, I’m alright. All of my minor injuries have already healed,” she said carefully, wondering how long he was planning on holding her this way. “As for my mental state...I guess I’m just not used to subduing someone with words. How do you do it so easily?”

“Sheer dumb luck,” he said cheerfully. “Doesn’t always work, though. I mean, most of the weird scars on my body come from girls who weren’t so happy with me.”

“Well, I’m mildly irritated by you all the time, and I don’t think I’ve left any marks on your body yet,” Gamora teased. Peter released her very suddenly, an odd expression passing over him as he considered her words. “What happened on campus while we were away? Those new students, who were they?”

He shrugged, nonchalant, finally tearing his eyes away from her. “Other Peter’s got a rogues gallery that would make anyone’s head explode. More enemies, friends, sort-of girlfriends. Something about Symbiotes, I don’t know, Janet would know better than me. I was just a tour guide.”

“They enjoyed your company,” she said, twisting her rings slowly. “Especially that girl, Cindy.”

“Turns out we have a lot in common,” he replied.

Gamora hummed in response, turning onto her back to look at the ceiling. To her surprise, Peter appeared to have printed off polaroid versions of the selfies they had taken on their weekend trip and stuck them up there, including the kiss in Shakespeare Park. It felt so simple back then, Gamora thought. Now I’m acting like a jealous girlfriend to someone I’m not even dating. What is wrong with me?

“Maybe that’s worth exploring,” she suggested. She hoped her voice didn’t sound as tumultuous as she felt, her stomach threatening to turn as she spoke. She’d only briefly introduced herself to Cindy, spoke to her for all of thirty seconds, but it was clear that she had a sweet, energetic nature, upbeat to a fault. Seeing Peter talk to her only made it clearer that Gamora was right, as much as she didn’t want to be - he would be compatible with someone that wasn’t her.

So now, new plan. Instead of telling Peter how she felt, help him find someone else. Someone who didn’t have to babysit her homicidal sister, someone who didn’t have a kill count in the hundreds and nightmares about bloodied bodies in the thousands. Someone who would actually know how to be a good girlfriend, not whatever it was that Gamora was attempting right now. Someone who could make him happy.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, we’re going to ‘break up’ eventually,” Gamora said, her voice steady. “And knowing you, you’re not going to stay single forever, right? If you and Cindy share commonalities, maybe she could be your next girlfriend. Your real girlfriend.”

Peter stared at her quizzically, as if she had grown a second head. What? In the time that she’d been gone, he had come to realize that he liked her, more than he ever thought he would have (and no, he wasn’t going to break out the other “L” word yet, it made everything feel too real). He’d hoped that after Gamora had recovered from her grueling mission, had settled back into her life as it was, they would be able to talk things out. After all, they’d been sharing so many secrets now, conversations he would’ve never dreamed of having with someone as private as her, and maybe, one day, he would have the courage to tell her his biggest secret yet. After all, there was always the chance she felt the same, even if their near-kiss had been an impulsive accident. Now, she seemed almost too confident about him dating someone after they were “broken up”.

Finally, he said, “Cindy seems pretty cool, but I’m not interested in dating her or anything. Just a new friend.”

Despite Peter’s best efforts, Gamora seemed oddly evasive, refusing to meet his gaze. His fingers twitched, wanting to touch her face again, tip her chin upwards so he could read her expression, but he wasn’t about to risk it, not when she seemed so withdrawn. “Oh, well, I guess that makes sense. After all, having two ‘serious’ relationships in a row isn’t really in your purview, is it? I think people would be surprised to see you committing to another person so soon. It would be smart to wait.”

“You really think I care about that?” He shot straight up to a sitting position, eyes cold as they fixated on her face, now staring up at him tentatively. His voice was dangerously low, making Gamora shiver. It was unlike anything she’d ever heard. “You know me better than that, Gamora. Or at least I thought you did. But now I guess I know what you really think of me, hey?” He stood, moving towards the door as if to leave, before turning on his heel. “Could’ve sworn we had this conversation already. I care about being a good leader, a good brother, a good friend. Why would I give a shit about being seen as a guy who plays with other people’s feelings? Maybe that’s what I was like back then, but wow, really, good to know you still see me like that now.”

Sitting up slowly, Gamora finally lifted her chin to look at him, her eyes glassy. “I...apologize,” she mumbled, unusually timid. “I shouldn’t have said that. I’m just as bad as that man, aren’t I?”

He sighed, reaching over to put a hand on her shoulder. To his alarm, Gamora flinched away from his touch, scrambling to her feet and pushing past him towards the door. “Gamora, hey, I shouldn’t have snapped at you like that, you’re not like that guy, I just…” She ignored him in favour of practically running out of his room, a choked sound escaping her throat before she could stop herself. Shit, Peter thought. I really hurt her feelings.

In hindsight, it wasn’t as if her perspective on their increasingly messy fake relationship situation was that far off. Students had been more surprised about him being in a relationship than her being in a relationship, despite him having more experience with people.  He did flirt, constantly and consistently, with many of the people he came into contact with. For the most part, it was just a personality quirk as with all of the oddities that others came to expect of him - the dancing, the impulsiveness, the odd solutions he’d come up with when he improvised. He didn’t expect much to evolve from the flirting, in all honesty. As a Ravager, he charmed people into giving information or goods. As a Conservatory student, he used it as a coping mechanism. Now, as an Academy student, he was surrounded by a lot of powerful, talented women who were much more Peter’s type than some of the girls from his old days. It was natural, wanting to impress them as much as they impressed him.

So yes, maybe Gamora was onto something. He shouldn’t have gotten so angry, but Peter didn’t like the implications of her words - like this relationship was just a checkpoint before leading to something else, a precursor to a “real” relationship. Because after all, this one was starting to feel too realistic. Holding her and kissing her, exchanging text messages late into the night, telling her things he’d never told anyone before. Laughing, dancing, singing words in her ear that he was too afraid to speak aloud...all for this long con, and for what? Ten thousand units. That was all this was about, wasn’t it?

Shaking himself, Peter walked out of his room slowly, head spinning. “Get a grip, dude,” he whispered to himself sternly. “It’s not real.”

Dinner was tense, unusually so. It was normal at first, with everyone fighting over the dishes, arguing over who was supposed to be in charge of cutting up Groot’s portion into smaller pieces, and disagreeing about whatever they’d learned in class that day, but with Peter and Gamora being so withdrawn, the others started to take notice.

“Who pissed in your stew, Quill?” Yondu said, slapping him heartily on the back. “Eat up or else - ”

“Yeah, I got it,” Peter said, shoveling his food hastily into his mouth and nearly choking in the process. As ridiculous as they were, he didn’t really want to hear another one of Yondu’s weird, albeit empty threats.

“You are stressed,” Mantis said sadly, setting her plate down. “What is wrong, Peter?”

He put down his food as well, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “I’m, uh, not really hungry right now. Think I’m coming down with something. I’m gonna go back to my room and sleep it off.”

He could feel everyone’s eyes following him in worry, but it didn’t matter. He knew Gamora hadn’t even looked up.

______

For the rest of the week, it was as if they had given up on the pretense of their relationship altogether. They sat together in classes but said almost nothing to each other, didn’t hold hands or kiss once, and their classmates were starting to wonder.

“If you’re having relationship problems, you can talk to me, Gamora,” Janet had said to her in the girls’ locker room before combat training. “I’d hate to see you and Peter fall apart.”

“We’re just having a bit of a rough time,” Gamora had told her, though she didn’t sound too convinced of her own words. She and Peter had fought plenty of times before, on a near daily basis, in fact, screamed until their throats were dry. But something about that one thing she said, something that she had thought to be so trivial, mere passing commentary, had tipped the scale for Peter, and in all honesty, it scared her. Not Peter himself, but the fact she had even said such a thing about him, had made him feel so low.

Outside of class, the two of them avoided each other like it was a sickness, their tension unlike anything the Guardians had seen before. Groot looked quite crestfallen when Peter didn’t show up to dinner three nights in a row, letting out a sad little “I am Groot” in an attempt not to cry at his missing “father”. Rocket had to hum him to sleep as a means of distracting him.

“Sister, I refuse to talk to you about Quill,” Nebula said loudly on Thursday night, as she plopped herself down, uninvited, on Gamora’s bed. “But your sad nature is even making me appear cheerful, so stop it.”

“Because that’s how it works. You ask me to stop being sad, and it just happens,” Gamora retorted dryly, setting her book aside. “I’m surprised to see you here.”

“I’m bored,” Nebula shrugged. “I’ve finished all the catch-up work that the Director insisted upon giving me in my absence.”

“And you think I need a distraction,” Gamora said, a smile beginning to grow on her face. “How kind.”

“Shut up,” Nebula shot back, although she was starting to smirk in return. “I have an idea. You are going to come with me.”

______

An hour later, the sisters were sitting on the roof of the Avengers Hall, observing the students that were still roaming around campus that had plunged into darkness, only letting the dim lights of the streetlamps guide their way. Nebula was holding what Gamora suspected were binoculars she’d stolen from Jessica Jones (the “JJ <3 LC” scratched into the side certainly confirmed it), searching for something.

“Look at them,” Nebula said, after a few minutes of silence. “I wonder what it’s like to be normal.”

“Our classmates aren’t exactly the best examples of ‘normal’,” Gamora pointed out. “When the most normal students are super spies, your threshold is notably higher.”

“Picky, picky,” Nebula sighed. “I only meant that many of them haven’t endured the things that we have. Tortured and torn apart - myself more than you, but I’ll admit that you were hurt as well.”

“Not everyone requires tragedy to spur them into being a hero,” Gamora said, leaning forward to rest her forearms against the railing, fingernails tapping idly on the metal. “People choose to be good because they are good. I wonder what that’s like.”

“Your moral compass is on the straight and narrow,” Nebula said, “so I don’t know why you’re acting like you’re fallen from grace.”

“We have both done things we aren’t proud of, as much as you hate to admit it,” Gamora replied. “We have killed far too many innocent beings to be truly absolved of our sins. But we’re here regardless, being forgiven by people we do not deserve. That has to count for something.”

“Which is why we should protect our ‘new friends’ by slaughtering our father.” Nebula put the binoculars down on her lap. Gamora squinted to see what Nebula had been observing - it was the Young Avengers, sprawled out on the lawn. Billy was casting some light spell in the air above them, making the light swirl into shapes, causing the others to laugh. Teddy was snuggled into his side, casually draping an arm across Billy’s stomach, and Cassie, Kate, and America were doubled over with giggles. “They do not deserve what we have suffered through. We can suffer a little bit longer if it means we can put an end to his terror.”

Gamora was, frankly, astonished by Nebula’s words. For so long, Nebula’s single-mindedness about killing Thanos seemed like a one-woman revenge story, fueled by the uncontrollable rage of one person against their abuser. To hear her speak fondly (for Nebula, that is) of people who never gave her a second glance, it was...incredible.

“We can’t start with Thanos, you know that,” Gamora said gently. “We have to work our way up his chain of command, strip him of his supporters until he has no one by his side anymore.”

“So, the Black Order,” Nebula nodded. “When do we start?”

“When we have an actual plan, Nebula,” Gamora said, chuckling despite herself. “But I’m glad you’re enthusiastic about something for once in your life.”

Nebula didn’t respond, though she inched marginally closer so their legs were pressed together. It might’ve been the first physical contact she’d ever initiated that didn’t result in grievous bodily harm. “Do you remember that night on Sanctuary when we played a trick on Korath?”

“Of course I do,” Gamora said, smiling wider now. “We were just little girls, and to us, he was a big, mean teenager. We fashioned small picks out of rock and put them in his implants while he slept.”

“I quite literally expected his head to explode,” Nebula admitted, and Gamora laughed, leaning forward to bury her face in her arms to hide her giggles. “He never did realize it was us.”

“He suspected it, though,” Gamora said, still chuckling. “We were the stealthiest of all of Thanos’s children.”

“We cannot be the only ones left,” Nebula said, suddenly clutching Gamora’s wrist. “There must be others who would also be willing to take him down.”

“They may not have gone through the same training as us. We cannot ask that of complete strangers,” Gamora said sadly. “Knowing Thanos, he could have hundreds of ‘children’ out there, abandoned because they were not strong enough. But we will be.”

“We have to be,” Nebula agreed, releasing Gamora’s hand. They glanced back over at the quad, where the Defenders were sneaking in, trying to look as inconspicuous as possible. Clearly, a mission in Hell’s Kitchen had gone well - Elektra was practically skipping with glee, and Luke and Jessica were practically attached at the hip, Jessica grinning up at Luke with a rare softness in her eyes.

“For them,” Gamora said quietly, nodding.

______

In a moment of weakness, Peter had made a list. Granted, it wasn’t the best use of his time, but when had he ever claimed to be the most productive of students? Besides, writing it all out might clear his head of the fog he’d been experiencing all week, or hell, the whole time Gamora had been gone.

Things I want in a girlfriend.

Peter supposed the title sounded somewhat misogynistic, like a laundry list of shallow characteristics that frat boys talked about when they were both drunk and sober. For all of Peter’s peacocking tendencies, he wasn’t that guy, never wanted to be that guy, and yet, he found himself questioning what he was looking for. After all, what with Gamora’s insistence on him pursuing a relationship after they were “broken up”, she had clearly removed herself as an option. As much as it hurt, maybe it was time to step back and think about how to move on. There were seven weeks remaining in this ruse of theirs, seven incredibly long weeks before the yearbooks were out, and only then, could he try to get over her.

Not that he wanted to. God, he did not want to. He could still feel her whispering in his ear, moving ever so slowly, her impossibly long eyelashes fluttering closed as they closed the gap. Almost closed the gap. What would’ve happened if they had?

Funny. Thinks I’m funny. Likes music and movies. Can quote movies. Dances. Strong. Powerful. Beautiful. Wields a giant sword. Gorgeous red hair. Scolds me for leaving dirty towels on the bathroom floor -

Alright, that was enough. He hastily scribbled out the last three and threw the list aside. Maybe this wasn’t going to help at all. If anything, it was making it worse, reminding himself of all the things he lo - liked - about her. Knock, knock. “Who is it?” he snapped, making no attempt to hide his frustration.

“It’s, uh, Peter. Parker. You knew that, you’re the other Peter - ”

“I’m not really in the mood to do you more favours, Parker,” Peter retorted. After all, the last one had landed him in more of a mess than he could have ever anticipated.

“It’s not that, it’s just, your girlfriend’s been standing here for like, twenty minutes, but she hasn’t knocked, and I thought if she’s not knocking, maybe I should knock for her, because you two are clearly having problems and I just wanna help, and I’m gonna go now because she looks like she wants to kill me, and she can, so, bye!” His voice faded very suddenly with his last few words. Peter suspected Parker had taken off in a sprint.

He opened the door to see Gamora standing there in her pajamas, her hair in a topknot, looking rather morose. “Quill,” she said softly. “I know it’s late, but can I come in?” He stepped aside and shut the door behind her. Gamora paused for a moment, considering where to sit, until she finally chose his desk chair, deciding it was a comfortable distance. “We really shouldn’t avoid each other like this,” she said. “It’s not good for the team, and it’s not good for our friendship, either. I…” She took a deep breath. “I miss you.”

Peter wasn’t sure what she was going to say, but he certainly hadn’t expected that. He moved to sit on his bed, wishing he had his Walkman on when she’d arrived. At least it would give him something to do with his hands. “I miss you, too. And I’m so incredibly sorry that I snapped at you like that. You didn’t deserve it.”

“But I shouldn’t have said it,” Gamora exclaimed, shuffling closer to grasp his hands in hers. “That might’ve been what I thought about you before, but I don’t think of you that way now. You are...not the frivolous playboy I thought you were when we first met. You’re a good leader, and a good friend. My best friend. And I don’t like this...this thing, where we stop talking to each other.”

“We’ve been pretty good about talking things out in the past,” Peter said, smiling weakly at her. “I don’t even know why what you said got to me so badly, I just know it did. So...let’s just call it water under the bridge?”

She stared at him. “Your Terran idioms confuse me. But if that means that we can move past this, the things we’ve said to each other that we both regret...I’d...really appreciate that.”

Feeling brave, he gently tugged on her hands, pulling her to her feet. She walked closer towards him until she was standing between his legs. Looking up at her, that signature spark in his eyes, he murmured, “Then let’s do that. And maybe we can start with another question? Haven’t done that in a while.”

Gamora couldn’t contain the grin spreading over her face, relieved. She bent to wrap her arms around him, burying her face in his neck. As his arms immediately moved to pull her in tight, his entire body warm, steady, strong beneath hers, she paused to let the exhilaration of feeling at home again settle into her bones. “I guess I can’t help but be curious...have you had any relationships other than Carol?”

He finally released her, settling her down next to him on the bed. His head was bowed slightly, but not out of fear, more out of unusual shyness. “No, I haven’t. I guess I shouldn't be surprised you thought otherwise, though. I do talk the big talk, don’t I?”

“Considering you've been able to charm people into or out of anything, I'm honestly curious about why you haven't.”

“I never had anyone I was that interested in,” he admitted. “People I found attractive, people I slept with. But I didn’t know what I was looking for in a relationship, so I never bothered looking.”

“But you know now,” she prompted, causing his heart to skip a beat. “You told me.”

“Made a list, too,” Peter said before he could stop himself. At her raised eyebrow, he grabbed the piece of paper from his desk and passed it to her, hoping she couldn't read through the scribbles. To his dismay, Gamora’s keen eye never failed her, as she pointed to them immediately.

“What happened here?”

“Changed my mind,” he said easily, taking it back. “Didn't think it through. So, while we're on the topic of relationships - do you feel like you're ready for a real one? Or is it something that's not on your mind right now?”

“A year ago, I would've said they were impossible, but I think now I’d be open to one.” Gamora’s eyes flickered around the room, taking it in. It was unfamiliar to her in comparison to his space on the Milano, but still sang of Peter’s personality in every decoration, every book on his desk and every bit of dirty laundry strewn across the floor. Typical Quill, she thought fondly. Never very neat. Always did leave towels all over the bathroom floor.

“What changed?” he said quietly. Peter was genuinely curious. He couldn’t imagine someone with her upbringing being comfortable with romantic relationships, but then again, he never would have imagined her being comfortable with anyone, considering how skittish and angry she’d been when they first talked.

“Me, I guess. Turns out letting people into my life wasn’t such a bad idea after all.” She smiled, shifting a little closer, causing the mattress to dip. She bounced a little, frowning as she glanced down as if it had offended her. “Quill, why is your bed so much nicer than mine?”

“Pepper set me up with a better mattress.” He watched as Gamora laid down on her side, pulling her hair out of her topknot and letting it fan out across the pillow. After looking around, considering, she pulled the sheets around her body, turning to hide her face underneath the silky duvet. He hoped she couldn't hear his breath hitch at the sight. “Sure are getting comfortable there.”

“It's been a long day,” she admitted. “Nebula and I had a really nice talk before I came here, and I’ve been thinking a lot about what you - you guys mean to me. And maybe I don’t want to spend the rest of my night alone with my thoughts. Is that silly?”

“Not at all. You're welcome to stay,” Peter said, his voice cracking slightly. “It's probably better, too. If you tried to sneak out of my room now, Hill would probably see and report you to Fury.” She hummed in response, her eyes already fluttering closed.

He turned off the light and got in next to her, realizing too late that a double bed meant they were basically pressed up against each other, much closer than they had been in the hotel room’s king-sized mattress. She was warm, her body temperature running a little hotter than a Terran’s, and she felt too familiar already - the sharpness of her elbows, the slope of her shoulders, the curve of her hips, neatly slotted against his torso. He could smell the toothpaste and chocolate (Mantis wasn't the only one with a sweet tooth) on her breath, see the silver markings on her face glinting from the moonlight that streamed in through the window. The rigid tension of the week had left her face, and Peter once again was overwhelmed by the desire to kiss her.

“Good night, Quill,” she said, her voice barely above a breath.

“Night,” he murmured.

a/n: well, i did say this was slow burn, didn't I? trust me, i'm bashing their heads together myself, and i'm the one writing this haha

i know this kind of seems like it's heading downhill from here, but they might surprise you from this point forward ;) next chapter is a fluff fest!

[totalfanfreak]

Knight by Night Pt. 1.5

Knight by Night Pt. 1 1/2

 On the Way to the CDC:

Death was the easiest and hardest thing in the universe. It was so easy to get killed, so many ways, so many causes, but it was so hard to allow it. No one wanted to die, no one wanted to go off into the unknown, and it was so hard for the people left behind, hard for them to let those people go. Seeing all the people get torn apart as you fought through the mob of walkers…it would be a lie to say it was the first time you saw something like that, but it hurt just as much if not more so. Amy was gone, and Andrea was devastated. That look of such abundant grief was all so familiar to you that you stayed away, having slid back into the RV before Andrea had finished burying her sister. Amy and Glenn had been the first friends you had allowed yourself to have since your family had been taken from your life. Now it was back to how it started, whittled down one by one. It’d go on until there was no one left.

Pulling up the sheets Dale had found to cover the windows you threw off the stifling hoodie, able to breathe again as the sweat beaded and dried. It left you with the feeling you had played in the ocean. You didn’t want to cry, you hardly ever did to begin with, and that left you sliding on the floor next to the bed. Your face hurt, you knew you stayed out too long. You hadn’t put that much sunscreen on, wanting to stretch it until you found some more. Poor decision now that you knew it didn’t work. The corticosteroids you had were running low too, and without a book or something telling you the list of the ones you needed to look for your supply was going to deplete. You had aloe though; lots of it, and you slathered it on. The relief was minimal but it was enough to soothe the sting. You gave one of the throbbing bumps on your face a poke, praying they would go down and not blister.

“Y/N?”

You gazed at the door, while it cracked open. “Yeah, Glenn?”

“You okay?”

You nodded, solemn. “Yeah. It all just happened so quick, you know?”

He came in the room, taking a seat on the bed. “Yeah. I do.”

It was always hard and a little weird to think of everyone you had met, their life before, they all had families – people who loved them. You knew Glenn had parents, two older sisters. You tried to picture that, a little Glenn, if they were like your sister they would’ve used him like a doll. Dressing him up, tea parties, maybe putting makeup on him. And he lost that. All of you had lost a lifetime of memories in a split of a second. You leaned on his knee. It was never an issue with the two of you, the platonic realm of the friendship. It was like you could pretend you were family.

“I wish I had been closer…to Amy. Maybe I could’ve helped her, and she wouldn’t –“

Be gone. Dead. Shot through the head.

“There’s nothing you could’ve done, Y/N. Fact is, I kinda thought you were…you know. We couldn’t find you for so long.”

“I’m sorry. There were so many, I tried to get them to follow through the woods to the traps. Not many did.”

“It was smart, and you did what you could.”

“Sure.”

You were both quiet for a while before Glenn cleared his throat. “Rick came up with the idea to head to the CDC. Someone there might be able to tell us something about all this. Maybe they can help Jim.”

You were going to sputter out something sarcastic but stopped seeing the expression on Glenn’s face, he had hope. He hadn’t seen what a person went through when they were bit. Didn’t know that it whatever rotted sludge is on the dead’s teeth rushes through the bloodstream and shuts the immune system down. An adult usually didn’t last a day, but you had seen it. Knew firsthand that a child could last up to three days, they’re immunes systems in top condition trying to battle off the virus. But succumbing to it in the end. Yet you kept your mouth shut. If there was hope in them let them have it, there could be something there, supplies, a safe place to lie for a while.

“Sounds good. Better than that damn fort Walsh wants to drag us to.”

“It’ll be closer anyways…um, I know you use it in here so, you know, you don’t…but the group needs to –“

You smirked. “Glenn just spit it out.”

“They want to put Jim in here. So he can rest.”

“Hey, if he doesn’t mind it a little dark then I’ll watch him. It’ll all be fine.”

Glenn smiled, perking up at your ease of the situation. “Right. Your right, everything’s going to work out. Something’s got to, doesn’t it? I’m going to let everyone know.”

You made sure everything was pinned up well, settling into the small stack of pillows on the floor. Sighing you reached into your knapsack – clothes, toothbrush, regular brush, odds and ends. But you found what you were looking for. It was a picture of you and Amy, taken when Glenn had snagged a Polaroid from a run. It had been late and she couldn’t sleep, both of you talking and working through the night. She had wanted to take the photo to commemorate her new friends. You both looked like shit from doing laundry and other chores, sweaty from the balmy air. Part of you wanted to hoard it for yourself but the other part knew Andrea might like to have it. You both knew this loss, but the greater one would be when the image of them would start to fade. You had been around your family every single day of your life, but without that constant, their faces, mannerisms, voices it all started to blur. Yes, you had some moments that you could recall so vividly but to forget a few pieces of them was like losing them all over again.

You would be asleep right now under different circumstances, but you were too wired from everything. After waiting several minutes your anxiety got the better of you so you went back outside to see what the holdup was. Exiting the RV the sun blinded you; God you needed to find another hat or something soon, some sunglasses would be nice. When your eyes stopped burning you were able to make out everyone in a circle near the cars, you made your over to them sure to make quick strides to ask what was happening and make a beeline back to the safety of the RV.

“Something wrong?”

You had been waiting for the group to respond, not expecting the surly voice to come from behind. “Yeah, sumthin’s wrong, your dumbass’s back out here.”

You jumped, turning to see Daryl sweaty and bloody from burning and burying the dead.

“I thought you guys were bringing Jim in to keep me company. None of you came so I was afraid something’s wrong.”

You saw Daryl begin to snarl when footsteps drew you to the other direction. It was the guy Glenn and them brought back the other day – Rick, Carl’s dad, Lori’s husband. The one who handcuffed Merle up, tried to go after him. He seemed like a decent man. Hell, he was a cop, but then again so was Walsh. Heard them say they worked together, good friends, so how decent was he when Walsh was such an asshole?

“We’re about to load up soon, just affirming everything, saying goodbye.”

“Goodbye?”

You searched their faces and landed on Miranda who gave a sad smile.

“No.”

She reached out to you, pulling you into a hug. The older woman shorter than you but held that such maternal strength.

“It’s for the best, novia. It’s our time to find how our loved ones did.”

After wishing them luck, and saying goodbyes you felt yourself pulled from behind back to the RV. You saw Rick striding closer, hand going out.

“Now listen, we can’t have that.”

It was Daryl pulling you, and in a moment you knew the sheriff thought he was hurting you. It made you laugh, Daryl could shoot a squirrel between the eyes, probably punch a guy’s head off, but he wasn’t an abuser. He’d let a girl beat him up before raising a hand. He reminded you of a dog you used to pass on your way to school growing up. It had been some kind of boxer breed, jumping up on his hind legs to stand against the fence, barking ferociously. All living things on some level could smell fear, and at nine you were aware of that. But you stood your ground, a trait you held onto even now, baby talking the dog as his ear went back in confusion. You brought him treats, keeping the soothing voice until the day he didn’t use the ferocious bark instead using one of eagerness. One day you came up, holding your hand out against the protests of your siblings while the dog sniffed your hand before giving a tentative lick. After that you were best friends. That old saying his bark’s worse than his bite seemed to adhere to Daryl just as well.  

“Can’t have what? None of you are gonna put her in there. Ya’ll just gonna leave her out ta burn to death.”

Rick didn’t understand, looking at you to explain. But Daryl speaking for you instead.

“Look at her damn face; she can’t be out her that long.”

You flushed. You hadn’t cared about your appearance since this started, why should you? People were dying and coming back there was no time to give a shit how you looked. But having Daryl Dixon, filthy and sweaty usually not giving a shit about anything pretty much saying your face was horrendous enough to be used as an explanation it made you want to lock yourself in the bathroom to use the mirror.

“It’s fine, Mr. Grimes. Daryl wouldn’t hurt us, and as much as it hurts to say he’s right. Just bang on the side of the RV if you guys need help or something.”

Rick nodded, eyes steady on you. “We will, I promise we won’t leave anyone out.”

You smiled in reply, seeing his honesty. You let Daryl drag you back inside, and you nearly sighed from the relief of the cover.

“Thanks for calling me ugly out there, Dixon.”

“Didn’t call ya fuckin’ ugly. Yur face is all red and shit.”

You rubbed at the raised bumps on your cheek. “I know. I hate it. But I needed to do it.

He was staring at you, like he had something to say. When he wouldn’t let it out you spoke up.

“Wanted to thank you for doing it too, all the help you do…for staying.”

He was biting the inside of his cheek. If you had to take a guess, Daryl was nervous.

“Don’t gotta thank me for that shit. Stayed cause I wanted to. Figured it was like ya said, we’re both out lookin’ for each other, end up bumping inta him sooner or later.”

You nodded. “I think you will.”

He started to leave before he turned back around. “I thought about what you were sayin’. Maybe I did do it wrong, I –“

He clamped his mouth shut. “I’d still want someone ta do it for me though. Merle had a stash here with him. Not much, but if Jim’s wantin’ to could help him. Help him fall asleep then, ya know…”

“I’ll ask him. That’s kind of you, Daryl. He can dream for a while before…He shouldn’t have to hurt so much.”

“I hear ya. Keep an eye on him though, just in case.”

You smiled, watching Daryl’s eyes cast to the ground before leaving the RV.

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